The Laundry Pit

December.

2010-12-04T00:30:00.000-07:00

So much changes in a year.

I want to say goodbye to 2010...and it has not been a kind year to me and I'm glad to see it go.

There are so many things I want to say---much so to a very specific person- but I know he's not listening...and thus there is little point to saying it. I love him- more than he knows, more than I can show, and more than anything. But---I have learned in 2010. Things I wish I had learned earlier.

I'm OK now. I'm good. Better every day...so I don't know that I need to say much more.
I wish....well, I have wishes. But more than that, I have me. Back. Myself again.
I have my girls, and my life. I'm back where I need to be in my mind and heart- and I will enjoy that, because it was worth the fight.

This is good. Good bye, 2010. Good bye love of my life.

Little Light Bulb Lessons....

2010-09-15T20:23:00.001-06:00

OK...wearing THESE little babies in the grocery store evidently paints a big ol' red bullseye somewhere on me (pick your favorite body region) as I found out today...

I wanted to break them in before I tried wearing them for any significant amount of time...and I've been wearing them around the house some- while doing laundry or just for 20 minute spurts so that I get my arches and toes used to it..... but time had come for some real world application...as these babies have 4" heels on them and it's been a LOOOONG time since I ran around in shoes like this for any reason.

Granted, I LOVE them and they've given a whole new attitude to my feeling much like I did in my late teens and early 20's....that I am indeed strong, confident, attractive and all those other wonderful confidence-boosting terms.. I'm just not USED to the attention anymore.

I've been married...and regrettably I'm finding I was more unhappily married than I realized....but still, I considered myself MARRIED and off limits and didn't pay attention to anything male other than the one I was married to....for a long time. Granted, maybe if I painted my butt orange and installed some timing chain and a turn signal he would have paid attention to me AFTER we got married...but you know- live and learn.

I have realized, both with these shoes, and my refined physique due to some serious effort on my part---that there's a whole lotta' attention out there I've been missing. So...between the 4" heels, the red dress I bought a few months ago (that I am still figuring on wearing soon) and the new car I just bought.....I'm figuring I need to get reaccustomed to a little attention now and then, which may be a very good thing given how long I've gone without it!

A big, fat thank you to the guy who followed me around the store tonight.....I'm not giving out my number...but it was nice to have you ask. :)

Hellcat returns....

2010-09-14T03:09:00.000-06:00

Way back in 1990, I did a little stint as a commercial girl.
I had on way too much makeup, way too much hair product, and waay too small a black dress.
But....it worked.

I got a hot little red car to boot.
This red car....a little red Toyota sports car.....was an extension of my personality.
I named her, Hades.
After all, I was "Hell on wheels"...

Now...I am going to be 38 in just a few days.
I am getting divorced from someone I thought was the love of my life, and someone I foolishly thought and believed what he said was true....that he'd be there, always.

Big. Fat. Liar.
Chickensh*t.
6'5" overgrown bratty child.

Well....payback, as they say- is a bitch.
I've lost a buncha' weight....I get asked out quite often (which is feeling pretty good about now) and somehow with the weight disappearing off the baby belly, hips and butt...my boobs haven't gone anywhere.
So I bought a few pairs of 3-4 inch high heels, and as the guy at the gas station in Denver said when I popped out of the very hot rental car the WONDERFUL boys at Enterprise got me...

With the boobs, the heels and the full on wood-dash and leather seats....I got a full fledged;
"WHOA, baby."
From a white guy. A 30-something white guy.
Yay.

Now...the icing on the cake.
I got another red sports car....and accordingly as I was a semi-teen-twenty something last time.....and it was just a 4CYL cutie-pie with no real guts (much like it's owner) this little red sports car fits a 38 year old Hellcat....as it has turbo and will most readily turn some heads along with it's driver. :)

With the job interviews I have in the hopper......and the things I'm doing for MYSELF now.....
I feel good, look even better....and hot damn....this is FUN.
Life as a Hellcat...rocks. :)

Funny how the world works.

2010-07-09T10:34:00.000-06:00

It's funny how the world works.....

Ever done some intensive cleaning or organization- found a box, bag or something you hadn't gone thru in a while and "DING" you find something you forgot was there or had wanted for a long time? It never ceases to amaze me when you get down to it and clean and truly get into what is going on in your life (or living room) you find things you had no idea.... spare change, that missing remote, a lost sock....and sometimes...something really valuable.

In my 37 (gasp-nearly 38) years I have had many people in my life, and I have been a part of many people's lives. I have more friends than I can count....and people that care about me, enjoy me, and I reciprocate the same to them.

To find....here in the midst of some intensive cleaning of my life.....that someone has been watching and thinking of me for nearly 20 years.....is humbling. To see that a voice was found....where before anxiety and fear prevented things from coming to light...... I'm just in awe.

I'm so happy that this big 'clean' I'm going through has found me something tucked away--- something valuable, precious and wonderful...that was there for some time before I knew about it...as I had no clue.

If I'm walking around with a smile on my face....this is why. :)

...Rowr.

2010-06-16T19:55:00.000-06:00

Some very handsome, very tall, very crisp-oxford-shirt gentleman came up to me while I was picking out some fresh spinach for my dinner..... and told me that I had the lovliest blue eyes, and the most gorgeous curly hair he'd seen....

...now THAT made my day....(little hip wiggle)
Whoo. (fanning myself)
Very very VERY glad I found my meds, my diet and thus...my spunk again!

Black Hole, be gone.

2010-06-09T20:46:00.002-06:00

I realized something as I go back over my posts......

...first, no matter what happens in my life, I retain my sense of humor. Second......

I complain. A. Lot.

As I read back over my posts....and I think about some of the blogs I follow- I realize that complaining makes up quite a bit of the blogosphere....and the popular blogs. Given---you can throw humor, and profanity in there and get a bigger audience....but...all in all; complaining is like sex- it sells.

So, here's how it is, folks: I'm done complaining.

I love my children- they are wonderful and I have no reason to complain about the fact they are alive, healthy, whole, gorgeous and very much like their mother. They are two miracles and Lord, thank you.

I love, absolutely love, my husband. From the top of his curly-black-haired-head, to his always-baby-smooth feet....I do. Flaws and all. Even with the dozen things he has/does that make me nuts- there's not a man on this earth that I could or would love more. Even now. Today. June 9, 2010. I still love him with every beat of my heart, every breath in my lungs, every ounce of me. Always.

I love my dog.
I love my cats.
I'm learning to love Durango again.
I'm learning it's OK not to deal with my family. They can't interact in a way that is positive- and I don't have to waste the energy.

I'm learning I have carried a LOT of baggage, for a long time. No wonder I'm so damn tired.
I've been unpacking for a while now...and I'm making progress. No. more. complaining.
I'm thankful I now know what is going on inside of my body.
I'm glad I know how to manage it.
One day at a time. Each day.....just that day. Let yesterday go, and tomorrow will come when it is ready.

I love my friends. Each. And. Every. One.
Holy cow I have amazing friends. Some I've had my whole life.
MY WHOLE LIFE.
Even with everything I dish out- some of them are still here.
That's the most wonderful thing...really.

Most importantly....MOST MOST MOST importantly....I'm remembering who I am...and I love me.
Really. I had forgotten that. Bitch, bitch, bitch......and I forgot I loved me...who I am.
I really can't 'should' on myself.

I'm glad I'm finding this.
I'm done complaining.
(deep breath) [big smile]
-Taj

Growth hurts.

2010-06-08T19:18:00.000-06:00

I'm a tall woman. I was a tall girl. I was a tall child. I outgrew everyone early- and watched and waited until some of them caught up with me. Some never did. Some never will.

I remember growing pains in my legs and torso when I was growing up. When I slept, when I walked, when I ate. I remember wondering when the pains would stop.

They stopped when I was done growing.

I'm going thru a hellish time right now. Probably the worst of the hellish times, and I've had a few, this is the worst of all of them.

My best friend....my blue eyes, my lover.....and the love of my life.....we are on opposite teams right now.

Both of us are hurting in different places, all the time....and it's because we're growing. Maybe not together, and maybe not both positively- I don't know yet. All I know is it hurts. It's been hurting....and I know it's gonna' keep hurting for a while.

Until we're done growing.
I don't know when that will be.
I don't know what things will look like when we're done.
I just don't know.

I'm gonna grow me. I'm gonna grow what I can, with what I've got.
God knows I love my blue eyes....and won't ever not love him...but....I gotta grow, and maybe I'll out grow him like I did those boys in school when I was younger.....and maybe he'll grow and catch up to me at some point like they did---- maybe not.

God be with you, my blue eyes...while you do what you do.
Someday....I hope you realize that in the big scheme of things...all of us have pasts, issues, oddities, and things that we can and cannot help. I also hope you know how close to perfection we came...and how sad I was to see it thrown away so easily, so quickly, with so little concern.

For my part---some of your words are helping me grow---and some are keeping you from growing....which you will have to find out for yourself, as I did.

Adrift.

2010-05-04T08:38:00.000-06:00

I'm adrift right now....lost in a sea of unknowns.

I'm not feeling very strong, or very sure of myself. I feel like I am losing, and have lost- much of what I love in life. In several ways.

I feel like I have lost, over the past couple years, much of what I love about myself. Some of this loss was unconscious, and some was in what I felt was sacrifice.... "the greater good" type thing.

I feel as if I have lost my ability to see--- and it's recently returned; I'm disoriented and frightened and overwhelmed. It's like going from being in the dark all the time to being in the children's toy aisle somewhere and the assault of noises, bright colors, activity and chaos is just too much, too soon.

I'm trying to make choices and decisions that I feel are best...however--- I don't know what my destination or goal is right now--- so those decisions are tough to measure as to what I want to accomplish with them.

I'm very very lost right now. I have a hole in my heart- I feel as if I'm missing everything from my shoulders to my waist- just some hollow ribs running around trying to do things without being able to feel too much because it hurts.

I don't like this. Just for the record.

When I don't blog for a while....I get slammed....

2010-01-16T17:16:00.003-07:00

I've not blogged for a while as I've been busy.

The fates...have decided I needed to blog, and in a perfect storm of dog hair, cat fur, broken electronics, giggling girls, and one FedEx man..... well...Shit.

Last night we went to dinner with friends (at their house) with their 100+ pound dog, Boon. It was a good time....and I came home, made up a drink, watched a movie with the husband, and went to bed.

This morning, I got up....and we had the following plans.....(and this probably should have tipped me off I was tempting Hell to come visit me today....)

1. Tom was to pick up a friends' dog this a.m. as they are out of town- and driving back/forth to their place to check on the dog was counter-productive (plus the dog would shred most of their house by day 3). We have Hamilton, so we figured as long as the dog (his name is Bodie) had his shots- this would be good socialization for Hamilton and perhaps he'd work off some energy and teethy-time with someone besides us!

2. Logan was having a sleepover. A girlfriend had invited her to a birthday party, which was then rescheduled due to a snowstorm- and the rescheduling double-booked Logan for one Saturday with multiple birthday parties, and she couldn't do both. So, the party that she didn't get to go to- and the birthday girl she missed out on, was invited to do a sleepover with us.

3. I had sewing to do.

What actually happened was a Saturday Night Live skit gone hellishly wrong:

1. Bodie is not used to cats. We have two cats that have worked out a compromising existence with our Great Dane puppy in that they don't kill him when he's not looking, but they don't like him either. Bodie evidently chases cats, at high speed. The cats are used to being 'followed' by Hamilton, who is not quick, nor agile. Hamilton is the goofy, uncoordinated kid in this house- with sharp teeth. Bodie is 80# and fast, and black, and quick....and thinks the cats would make good squeaky toys....and the cats aren't used to that type of ninja-like dog.

2. Logan's girlfriend, who evidently is one of a litter of children in her house, came over and with the dog/cat situation I figured it was better to put the girls up in Logan's room, with something to do (read: TV or video games) to keep them 'self-contained' and out of the chaos of dogs/cats. Well....here's where things went from complicated to nuclear:

- Logan gets grounded for not doing chores or homework, etc. and loses her TV/DVD and after the last situation, she lost it indefinately. So- the TV/DVD/VCR has been in my office where I've used it to test discs and watch a movie half-heartedly while working (swap 'half-heartedly' with either 'movie watching' or 'working'--- it doesn't matter) so getting it back into Logan's room requires unplugging 2 power cords, 1 coaxial cable, and 1 a/v cable, and shifting the little table the 2 components sit on.

- I had the TV in my arms and the doorbell rang.

- Now....add in the fact that due to the dog/cat chaos...I had put Hamilton into his crate in my bedroom to keep him out of trouble/danger and out from underfoot. He is NOT happy about this and despite having a puppy k*ng with a dog biscuit smeared in peanut butter...he's barking/yelping/shrieking in frustration anyway.

- Add the doorbell and two giggly girls, and one larger dog.....to the equation of me in the office holding a TV trying to undo 4 cords/cables.....

- I turned, to set down the TV and caught the corner of the DVD/VCR component with the power cord from the TV (no, campers- I did not try to move this with things CONNECTED- I'm not THAT blonde) and the DVD/VCR slid off the table and crashed to the ground. Hmph.

-I darted out into the hallway, holding the TV, to see the girls (both are 8 years old) answering the door (which my daughter knows she's not supposed to do- it's a rule in our house- plus we're training the dog to react to the door....) and it's the FedEx guy who set my NEW SEWING MACHINE at the door and before I could react to it...the girls have opened the door and are now carting in my NEW SEWING MACHINE and trying to handle it like a couple of tipsy sorority girls carrying a baby grand piano.......

......SO.....let's turn this into a math equation as it's now like a very bad, scary, no-good story problem from hell:

1 Frazzled Mom
+ 2 giggly girls
+ 1 puppy aged 11 weeks
+ 1 large black 80-pound dog who chases cats
+ one short-tempered Siamese cat who doesn't like to be chased
+ one psychotic Burmese known for shredding people when he's chased by a dog
+ one 18" television set
+ one DVD/VCR combo
+ two power cords
+ an audio/video cable
+ one coaxial cable
+ one FedEx guy
+ one doorbell
+ a couple house rules
+ one NEW SEWING MACHINE
+ two girls with no coordination nor common sense......

See...this just equals HELL.

Where was my husband in all this?

Outside.
In the back yard.
By himself.
Shoveling snow and dog poop.

This.....is....what....happens...when....I....don't.....blog.

I now have a 20 oz cocktail and my hearing aids turned off. (sigh)

A horse in the meat department....

2010-01-13T08:38:00.001-07:00

I read this blog post this morning over my coffee.... and granted, it made me nearly snort my coffee, groan over my coffee, and finally- somewhat steamed over my coffee.

Why are people such assholes? Really.

I totaly feel for my friend (Jill) ScaryMommy, but more than that- I KNOW HOW SHE FEELS.

That sucker-punched to the gut feeling of; "Wow, here's a really cruel and unfeeling human being with no brain- and lucky me- I get to deal with them."

I'm deaf. You'd think, in some circles, that means I'm:
- stupid
- ignorant
- useless
- invisible

Uhm, I'm not stupid.....and for the most part I'm not ignorant (I try not to be), and other than when I'm asleep I'm not useless- and when I'm asleep (for the record)- I'm very useful in holding down sheets and blankets as even my 6'6" husband can't get me to move off of them if he wants more than I'm allowing him to have.

...and I AM NOT INVISIBLE. Good luck with that one. I'm Irish/Italian, over six feet tall, and pissy. Good luck invisible-ing that.

While I'd love to find ScaryMommy's nanny and plop her bum down on a barstool and educate her in a way SOMEONE should have that other people (regardless of ethnic or religious roots) are worthy and should be viewed as they are- individuals- with their own merits and not as a blanket 'group'..... (pray I don't find out who this woman is or the next run of PMS may entail a road trip)

I've got my own little 'hullabaloo' going on here in the mountains of SW Colorado:
I'm taking a 10 week old Great Dane puppy grocery shopping.

I'm training my service dog.
I'm also getting one of three reactions:

1. "Ohmigod! What a cute puppy! Look at him! Oh, wow! Can I pet him?! Can I? Can I?"
2. [to oneself] "Oh, a dog. In here. Don't look at it. Don't. Pretend it isn't there and it won't be. Right?"
3. A disgusted, frowning, 'I have poop-flavored-pate in my mouth' look on the face, and a scurrying, quick evasive maneuver with the grocery cart.

Really, people? It's a dog. Not even a full-grown dog. It's a puppy! A. PUPPY.
He's cute if I do say so myself.

But here's the big thing; I can bring him in now, at 23...24....25....(he's growing by the minute) pounds....and teach him how to behave and handle public situations and meeting people, how to handle being in an aisle of steak and prime rib and pork chops without going nuts like that bird in the old "Cocoa Puffs" cereal commercials.... or...not.

For the people in #2 and #3 above; would you prefer I waited until he's over a year old, at anywhere around 125-150 pounds, standing 30+ inches at the shoulder...and THEN bring him in to your local Piggly Wiggly (one such nasty-faced lady was from Texas as I saw from her plates on her SUV) and HOPE he doesn't eat the entire butcher section including packaging and the little kid who works there after school stocking ground beef?

Would'ya?

The world has both less and more tolerance. We put up with things we shouldn't, we do things we shouldn't...and yet we judge those around us with more harsh looks, gestures and words....really. That sucks.

Christmas Zombie.

2009-12-24T22:08:00.000-07:00

It's been 9 years since I had a baby around. Nine years since I had Logan...and 9 years since I had a service dog. Granted, it was 15 years ago that my last service dog was this little....but it's been a long, long, long time since I had a baby around...either one of my own or the furry kind.
OMG, I'm tired.

Granted, with human offspring there is the 9-10 month wait to get to the point of caring for the little booger outside of the womb, and by that time I'm so tired of not having control of my own bodily functions that I'm perfectly happy to wipe poopy bottoms and get up at all hours of the night- because I know that a well-timed kick is no longer going to make me wet my jeans in public.

This is a bit different in that I didn't have 9 months to prep myself for the mental and emotional situation of having a baby again.

It's gone back to what it was:

Everything is about poop, feeding and crying.
What time did he poop?
How much did he poop?
Was it a pudding poop or a tootsie roll poop?
When did he last eat and how long between that and the poop?
Where did he poop and did you clean it up?
Why is he crying? Maybe he needs to poop.

I'm telling you- it's been a long, long, long, LONG time since my world revolved around poop.

It's also been a long time since I've needed, no wanted, to sleep at any given moment:

while on the toilet (we're not going to cover poop on this one)
while brushing my teeth
while pouring my coffee
while driving my jeep (yeah- bad idea, I know.)
while standing in line at the supermarket holding a 17 pound great dane puppy.
while my boss is over for dinner and I'm trying to listen to what anyone has to say.

I'm fried. I told Tommy that we had brownies with 'german chocolate' frosting and he heard 'german shepard' frosting and somehow we were both fine with that. Hey, we're Dane people. Don't judge me.

I had 2 nights of sitting up with Hamilton all night- sleeping on the floor (which is why my back is now telling me I've lost my mind) and waking with him every 45-90 minutes to feed him, comfort him, etc. One time I even rolled from my back to my right side as he was nose-butting me for attention, and I rolled to pull him to my torso so he'd be warm and hearing my heartbeat....

......little snot put both huge front paws on either side of one of my breasts, and proceeded to BITE DOWN with those needle sharp little puppy teeth......

YEOW!

That was the last night I slept on the floor with him. He's now learning to sleep in the crate.

Granted- that's another series getting him to sleep in the crate without shrieking that can be heard for miles:

Set dryer on 60 minute cycle with clothes in it
Set washer for 60 minute delay with clothes in it
Turn on TV and put in a guy-flick (first night was "Braveheart", next was "X-men: Wolverine")
Turn on Tom's 'rain sounds' alarm clock setting
Swap washer/dryer at 1 or 3 a.m. and repeat settings for 2 more hours of noise...

Hope the combo of the TV lights and low volume (has to be action flicks- he's going to be a big macho boy not a spotted fairy so no chick flicks for him...) and the 'thrum-thrum-thrum' of the dryer, followed by the 'whrm-ruhm-whrm-rum' of the washer...and the sound of pouring rain...put the little bugger to sleep.

He's down to 1/2 hour whine/cry sessions and then he's good. Last night he only woke up twice...I'm hoping tonight he pulls a repeat cuz Santa's going to give him bupkes if he wakes me up more than twice!

Lord, hope the little bugger knows he is loved. So loved.
Santa needs to bring me a week worth of sleep.
Dear Santa....bring me sleep...and get the puppy to sleep too. Thanks.

Gunslingers in my bathroom....

2009-12-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

I just spent about an hour in the middle of a "gunfight." [and do forgive me if this rambles- I'm sleep deprived!]

An old-west, Clint Eastwood-ish gunfight.
You know how in those older flicks, the camera seems to be standing between the two gunmen (no clue how they both miss 2 guys; camera operator and boom mic operator- when they draw and fire....) and the camera switches views back and forth catching the little twitches, expressions, tics and anxieties of the two that are duelling?

The viewer sees every bead of sweat, the twitch of the eyes, the sun-burnt leather of the skin and unshaven faces....dirty western gear and desolate streets with tumbleweeds. The camera shifts from one gunslinger to the other- back and forth, back and forth, building tension....can you see it?

Well, I was in the position of the camera...... between the "Pointy-eared Siamese" gang...and the "New Sheriff" in town: "Big Woof."

For anyone not caught up on the goings-on in our house; Hamilton came home with us tonight. It's been a long weekend of flying and driving to get him from TN- and we got inside and I set him down and off he went to explore. He came from the kitchen into the living room and Bushi had heard us come in and had come downstairs thru the hall and foyer and was headed into the living room from the opposite direction.

You guessed it. Nose to nose. Boy, was Bushi not happy. I didn't even see him leave he went so fast. Poor Hamilton was sitting there rather bewildered about what just happened. I could just hear him like some little kid with a lisp; "I tawt I taw a puddy tat, mom, I did....?"

As we're doing housebreaking and settling Hamilton in....I'm bunking on the floor as Hamilton is not, and will not be, allowed on the furniture. Ever. I won't be able to move a stubborn 200+ dog from anything- so he's not learning now. He's still small (7 weeks) and these are his first nights away from his mom and littermates and so in an effort to ease him into solo-dogdom....as we don't want him up all night crying and howling- so I'm keeping close to him.

I set up a bed for myself on the floor between my bedroom and our master bath- laying across the doorway on a stack of sleeping bags, blankets, etc. Hamilton's bedding is just inside the bathroom on the travertine floor....where he can't do much damage if he has an accident. So, I'm laying there next to my side of the bed, near the doorway so if he tries to come out, he has to crawl over me....and I roll over the other direction and face my bedroom.....and come eye to eye, nose to nose...with Goonie.

I had settled in with Hamilton to go to sleep as I've been going berserk for 4 days to get him here- I didn't even realize I was in such a position- I rolled over and Rangoon was behind me, standing on hind legs, like a grizzly bear- with big, gold, wide-eyes, and a very uptight expression on his face. (Can't you see the sweaty brow and twitchy trigger finger?)

Nevermind the other 1,999 square feet in the house- both cats need to be in close proximity to the 2 square feet (and growing!) that Hamilton currently occupies!

Bushido was about 4 feet behind Rangoon when I rolled over....and Bushi was looking equally somber. These two outlaws were NOT HAPPY about the new lawman that has come around....and really they are in WAY over their little masked faces with this as they have NO IDEA that "Big Woof" is going to be 200+ pounds here in the coming months.

Hamilton is an absolute bumbing idiot at this point- as all puppies are- and just has this goofy "who me?" look on his face all the time like some gullible little twerp in grade school that all the kids pick on and he's just too happy-go-lucky to let it bother him. Little dork.

That little goofy/nerd kid (think Tobey MacGuire in the first Spiderman, pre-bug-bite) but in the spotted suit with the pink nose that the cats are thinking about picking on ...is going to be the one that comes back the following fall looking like an Arnold Schwarzenegger body double- and who hopefully won't hold a grudge.

The Pointy-eared Siamese boys have been ducking in and out between the legs of the bed, and the chair, and behind a couple of boxes of paperwork left from the migration of my office.

Big Woof was sitting in the doorway of the bathroom with a ridiculous grin on his face, looking like a kid on his first day at a new school, dressed like a nerd- and with no clue that he was going to get pummelled if he left the safety of the bathroom and tried to navigate the darkness outside the doorway and beyond where I lay- not sleeping.

I tried so hard not to laugh. Goonie really looked as if he'd found the Anti-Christ. Freddie Kruger. Jason in his hockey mask. My mother. Just all these horrible and terrifying things you can come face to face with- Goonie was absolutely petrified. Bushi- on the other, hand, was plotting. Is plotting. I can see this playing out like "Karate Kid" or something- but the problem is that if Bushi's not careful- he's going to pick a fight with a dog that could realistically make him into a pile of furry and interestingly marked mashed potatoes in a few months.

The cats have been circling, and angling....ogling and making themselves scarce when Hamilton moves or utters one of his silly and boyish "yips". The whole thing plays out like a western...or a gang movie...or something bad enough to hire Kim Baysinger in it.

I suppose it didn't help my active imagination that the Pointy-Eared Siamese gang both have masks....and a propensity to sit and glare when displeased. Bushido is actually sitting at my feet, glaring at the sleeping puppy- as if he wished it to vanish into thin air due to his laser-beam gaze.

I knew some of this was coming- but I guess I didn't figure on (or I'm too tired to care) how ticked-off Bushi is. I had called to Bushi from downstairs when I was hanging up coats....and I really swore; with my very close mental and emotional ties to Bushido- that I heard him utter some pretty foul language telling me I could take my sing-song sweet calling to him and, well, shove it.

These poor cats. They've had the run of things so much- and they have ruled the roost. However, Hamilton is now here....and he's going to clean up these two outlaws....and show them who is boss.... That is, as soon as he can walk without tripping over his own four oversized feet.

All I want for Christmas.....

2009-12-15T08:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Santa,

I'd like the rest of the world to be totally OK with procrastination. I'd like us all to be more like the French and Italians- and just "whatever, whenever, capice?"

I just really hate it when I slowly rumble out of bed and people expect things to get done. Like. Now.
It's important that you, and everyone else, understand that I DO NOT FUNCTION until my body has been vertical for a couple hours. Before that- I am just auto-piloting things. Totally. No black box- you won't know what's going on, ever. Don't try to find out. It's like gravity; it just IS.

For example....just so you know things we need to address;

I hate that the school bus insists my child be AT THE BUS STOP when they get there. Dang-it. It's cold. Can't they wait a bit while I watch from the warmth of inside and then tell her to scoot her fanny out, pronto? Plus, she's got the whole procrastination-out-of-bed thing going on now and then too and I don't know that I want to entirely discourage that- as I'm asking for it to be more normal in general, you feel me?

I hate that hubs has to be AT WORK at a particular time. I need that morning time to get him to do some stuff around the house, and let me wake up before he starts asking questions or giving me information I'm supposed to remember later- like the fact he is going to be out for the evening with a meeting, or that I need to remember names, addresses and phone numbers....or things like- my name. I mean, emergencies and disasters aren't kind enough to make appointments with us- can't we expect a little latitude about when he's in his office or not?

I'd really like some of the utility people and, like, the people we make our car payments to, and those annoying insurance people....to just chill out a bit about what day of the month it is...and whether or not I've clicked the little 'pay' button online on a PARTICULAR day or not. I mean, the ebay auction I'm watching is a little more pressing than the sewer service bill, yah know?

I'd like this 'right here, right now' stuff to dwindle out a bit....because I'm really trying to be a more relaxed, non-uptight and less-Virgo-type-A-like-my-mother-uptight-b*tch about things----- except, that is, when I need my husband to do something- then I want it enforced like DUI laws in the Middle East, OK?

TTFN,
Dr. Lurch

Small towns suck.

2009-12-09T09:30:00.000-07:00

Hubs and I have hit the divider. The one thing we will never agree on. Ever.
We can compromise on dinner, paper vs. plastic, tomay-to vs. tomah-to, and whether the toilet seat needs to be up or down- and whether people just need to look where they're sitting before doing so....

We cannot, however, agree on bumpkin-ville vs. the city.

I hate. small. towns.
In particular, I really, really, REALLY dislike the small town we're in, in no small part due to the fact I grew up here.

I left at 17. Happily. Jubilantly. Skipping-all-the-way.

Really with no intention to ever return.
It's a freakin' black hole, folks. Come within 50 miles and you're sucked in.
(sucking sound)
Yep.

My husband doesn't get it. The things he loves about this town, I hate. For example:

1. He loves that everywhere he goes he runs into someone he knows, or everyone he knows.

I hate this. I hate the constant pressure to look presentable because you're going to run into someone or everyone you know while doing anything, everything, once you leave your house. I hate that I always have to think of names and faces and how many children, and are they divorced/married, the whole thing of feeling like I have to have 3 x 5 cards in my pocket to make sure I have notes on the dozen or so people I might run into while shopping for Pepto Bismol and glass cleaner at Walmart.

We'll talk about the configurations of my shopping lists, later..

I hate that running into people is a mixed bag; you might run into someone you like- but usually the store or wherever you are isn't a 'sit down and chat' type thing- it's an 'in passing' thing and I am always left with those situations- feeling like I said too much, or too little, and it was so RUSHED and pushy. You come around the corner of the cereal aisle, just after telling your child they can't have the 100% sugar poofy cereal with the made-in-Taiwan toy in it, you're pissy, they're in tears...and lo-and-behold; here's Susan. Who wants to chat.

(Sarcastically) Great.
Super. Right here, right now, when I'm dealing with a temper tantrum, a chat. Whoopie.
Then in the next aisle it's Jill, and then Mary, and then Ashley.....THRU THE WHOLE DAMN STORE!

Or worse, you run into someone you DON'T like...and would like to avoid. You can't. They're everywhere. I have run into the same person in 3 different locations in one afternoon. It was like we had carbon copies of each other's errand lists. The grocery store, post office, bank....and then I think I ran into that same person two more times before I went home.

GOOD GRIEF. GO AWAY, will you? Or will I? Oh, I will. Thank you.

So you run into Bob, that you don't like or have some negative experience with, EVERYWHERE. I'm sorry, but after the third time of feigning interest in what is new in wheat germ...I run out of ways to pretend I've not seen you and will just turn around and walk away. This, of course, isn't going to make the NEXT time I run into you (say- in 15 minutes) any easier.

Again, from Shauna: "Stab. Stab. Stab."

I like the obscurity of not knowing people in big city stores and markets. I've perfected the 'stranger stare' of not actually looking at people, just looking beyond them, and doing my own thing. Left alone. I don't want the contents of my basket or bag scrutinized by people I know are friends with six other people I know, who next time they get together at the bar (a whole other situation) they can talk about what I was wearing, how my hair was, and what the HELL I was shopping for. I know they'll do this because there is NOTHING ELSE IN TOWN TO DO.

2. My husband likes going to the little town functions and street events, and local watering holes, as he knows everyone.

This is a continuation of above, but is worse, as it's the SAME PEOPLE ALL THE TIME.

Over and over and over.

There might be comfort in that for some people (You eat the same PB&J sandwich every day with the crusts cut off and little shapes made out of them? Oh. Wow. You're interesting.) but I'm a variety-lover and I get sick of seeing the exact same little clusters of people, all-the-dang-time. Very little is new, very little changes, and you don't have that pleasant "wow-fancy-that-meeting-you-here" thing...it's more of a "here-we-go-again" thing.

What's worse; I grew up here, so it's the SAME PEOPLE ALL THE TIME that it was in elementary, junior high, and high school.....the SAME CLIQUES, over and over and over. I have a very decided view on people that were born here, raised here, and never leave here.

I have the same view of a goldfish that is perfectly happy never leaving the baggie he came in. Is this ALL you wanted in life? REALLY?!?!

That same-old-same-old crew, most of whom inherited money or business from the folks (or both) really doesn't need to leave as anywhere else; they probably wouldn't amount to much in the big scheme- as here they have a pre-set business, clientele, housing, and income; some of which was given to them by their parents...and negated them having to do/learn/try/aspire or otherwise accomplish anything short of just breathing in and out all day long.

I get really tired of being around the same personalities, the same stories, the same social hiearchy....all the time. It gets to feeling like the jr. high lunch period where everyone has 'their table' or 'their territory' staked out...and the BELL NEVER RINGS for lunch to be OVER. It sucks.

3. Hubby hates traffic. Hubby hates city life. Hubby hates being in cities.

I love all of it. I love traffic, I love driving in it, sitting in it, and figuring out ways around it. I love it being an excuse when I'm late, or a reason to delay things I don't necessarily want to do. I like watching the flow of it, and figuring out the dynamics of it, and just the constant motion of it all. I even like the frantic hurry to get thru it, navigate it, figure it out, and just to sit and watch it work itself through.

I love city life in that there is SO MUCH TO DO. You have your favorite 2-3 places to eat, but there is always something new opening or some place you haven't tried, or some place you've not been to in a while or ever- you just have to put yourself in a new neighborhood for a Dr. appointment or something and 'boom'...new shops, restaurants, and options present themselves in; "Hey! I didn't know we had that there!" ways.

I love to shop, I love to people-watch (when they're STRANGERS!), and I love the constant go-go-go.

I love the parks, concerts, shows, freebie- things, museums, and constantly changing seasonal offerings....like right now, the Holidays:

- The City of Denver lights up a few major buildings that are pretty awesome to see on cold winter night. It's in the middle of the downtown area in a circle of traffic, plaza and park. You drive or walk by it with the sounds of the city, the traffic in motion- the red tail lights and white headlights and green/red/yellow traffic lights, it's a blinking, glowing, in-motion display of light and sound....and you can stand there freezing your bippy off and watch it for as long as you can stand there..... and it's beautiful. Lots of angles, lots of options, lots of pictures!

- The City of Durango lights up a tree on one corner downtown. That's the big hoo-ha.

Whoopie.

You can drive by it in 2 directions and rarely is there much traffic around it.

You have to stand across the street or in the middle of the street to see it all properly, and then that's it.

You saw it. You go home. Yay.

I get goose bumps in Paris when the Eiffel Tower does it's sparkling-blinking thing....and it does it often. I love light shows. I love the constant glow of the city and the motion and the flicker....it's like watching something LIVE. I could stand by the Eiffel Tower all night long and watch it flicker until they shut it off at 2 a.m. or tell me to go home, whichever. Then I'd probably be back to watch the sun rise and the whole area come to life again- because I love it.

Small towns....suck.
I will have to continue my thoughts on small towns as I'm now so disgusted with the idea....it will weigh me down for a few more hours and I have to go make sure the child got on the bus to school, and then to go down and fight the horrendously stupid parking lot at the ONE POST OFFICE we have in town. Yay.

Small towns suck, II

2009-12-09T06:59:00.000-07:00

She made the bus so I'll make this fast:

1. My parents live here and I don't like nor speak to, my parents. My mother crosses the street to avoid talking to me. That's a positive encouragement right there to stick around.

2. There is ONE newspaper, and it's a really sad representation of both publishing and journalism. There isn't anything else for the writer or journalistic-minded. Nada. They have the phone book, the paper, and the major web site producer. I know- I worked there for two years (thinking I could come in and grow and change things- HA!) and it SUCKS!

3. I had to drive 100 miles RT for a $0.33 skein of embroidery floss. 100 miles. Nobody in town has it.

4. We have 2 grocery stores, and 1 Walmart. If they don't have what you need- you evidently don't need it. Ever.

5. Rent here is astronomical. The median home price is nearly a half-million dollars. You have two choices:

a. Spend over 60% of your income on a decent, clean place to live that is owned by someone out of state who has 3 houses.

b. Spend 30-40% of your income on a rat-hole that has housed thousands of college kids and is only being held up by the paint, and is owned by someone in town that has 10 houses they ignore.

..............there is a joke here: "You know you live in Durango when you work 6 jobs and live in a $100,000 house you don't own with 5 other people also working 6 jobs, or you have no job and live in one $1,000,000 house you own with nobody else around."

6. We do not have a fabric store within 50 miles. We do not have a craft store within 50 miles.

7. I buy a strand of beads from Hong Kong for $1.50 + $3 shipping and wait 3 weeks for them to arrive. I go down on main street to the one bead shop we have and pay $30 for 1/3 the strand of those same beads.

8. Gas prices are at or just below that in Aspen and Vail.

9. Housing prices are the third or so highest in the state.

10. Incomes here vary between the retired snowbirds ($$$$) the mega-bucks who came here with money from elsewhere ($$$$$) and those who work and live here ($$) and actually live outside of town due to the cost of living in town (or they go with that joke from above).

11. We have crappy asian food (other than Thai- and there's ONE. If she's closed, you're out of luck)

12. We have crappy mexian food (the tourists like it though)

I have more list...but this is depressing!

Make me waffles, or not, I really don't care....

2009-12-06T10:35:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I want to try to have more kids so I can have a son.
I don't know why the idea of having another male in the house would appeal to me at all.
I don't know why the idea of having a male in my house ever crossed my mind. Ever.

Really.

My husband and I seem to have days where we speak two totally different languages, but both of them sound like English. I have a degree in English. Why, when my husband speaks it, does it not sound like English, but at the same time, it is? This is along the lines of why does jello wiggle and who the hell eats blue jello...but hey, there are many unanswered questions out there.

I finished cataloging some mail this morning and went to go upstairs, and hubby came hustling down the hall to the bottom of the stairs;

"Do you want waffles for breakfast?"

I stopped. Oh, boy. What a loaded question. Now what am I going to do?

"Uhm."

My hesitancy has now flicked his switch and he goes into passive/aggressive mode.

"Well, if you don't want waffles, I don't have to do waffles- but I thought I would offer to make waffles."

I'm already tired of the word waffles.

We had breakfast for dinner the other night as I bought fresh blackberries and we had...you guessed it...
waffles.

Normally I am the cook in the house as I don't use recipes, I don't follow instructions (this is a life-long thing) and I cook using my senses and intuition- which means if someone else does it- and follows a recipe or instructions- I totally DO. NOT. GET. IT.

So Tommy made waffles the other night when we did breakfast for dinner. Uhm...they weren't, well. Great. Something was not right. I cut one with a fork and it disintegrated. No part of said waffle would stay on the fork. It was weird. I ate one. That was all I could manage as I was about to get a spoon and some chopsticks to contain the 'waffle' that really a physics scholar should have been figuring out what on the atomic level was WRONG with this waffle.

Flash back to me on the stairs, staring at my hubby with his white-boy-Irish-afro of hair and boyish expression, now wondering what in the world I had against him, his cooking, and more importantly, his waffles.

"Well- the waffles the other night just tasted odd- and I'm not sure why. If we don't do that again...yeah."

He said: "Ok."

I proceeded upstairs with my cache of mail and went up to my office- which I am trying to avoid today.

I came back downstairs a few minutes later- to Tommy sitting by his laptop. Hmmm.

So I sat back down on the sofa and went back to pursuing that really obnoxious ebay auction that had caught my attention.

Twenty minutes go by. I risk being eviscerated:

"So, are we not doing waffles?"

"Well, you said you didn't like my waffles."

"No, that's not what I said...." (but it's what I thought- maybe I thought out loud...) "I said the last ones were kinda weird and 'off' tasting and if we don't do that again, I'm fine with waffles."

"Ok, so you want me to make waffles?"

"No. Whatever. I'll toast a bagel."

Here's where things just slide like butter on a hot cookie sheet.

"Fine. I'll make waffles for me, and I'll eat my waffles and if you think you can bring yourself to eat my waffles, then eat the waffles...but I'm making waffles...."

I'm going to borrow a phrase from Shauna Glenn: "Stab. Stab. Stab."

Something tells me this is not the time to tell him that when he makes the coffee it tastes like feet, or that I totally don't trust him in the kitchen cooking any more than he trusts me in the garage fiddling with a metric wrench set and hydraulic fluids.....

I just didn't dig his waffles the other night. I walked past the stove while he was prepping and the batter looked like spackling compound- but hey, he was cooking so I sucked it up and didn't say anything hoping that the lack of food in my system was fiddling with my eyesight and it would all be just hunky-dory....right?
Yeah. Well. Whatever.

So....I'm sitting here in the living room not saying anything. No waffle. No objection to waffles. No opinion on waffles. I'm sipping feet-flavored-coffee that I put half a pint of cream in to avoid the feet-taste, and I'm not saying anything about the XY chromosomes in my kitchen making odd-flavored food.

I must be insane to want to replicate this situation by having a son. Really.

Now, I'm gonna go sit down at the table and choke down the waffle he just dropped onto a plate for me.....with a resounding "FWAP!" that I heard here in the living room.

Marriage is all about the communication.....and the waffles.

It was due 5 days ago, but we're just telling you now....

2009-12-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

I want to find out who hires for the City.
I want to know who hired the cashier lady at the City Hall "Cashier" window.

I think she has to be one of the least, if not THE least, helpful people on earth. I will refer to her as "Potted Plant", as that's what she is...and gets paid to do it. Grrrr.

Yesterday, Tom left the house in the a.m. not feeling great. This sometimes is a result of a lack of coffee, or he's slow waking up, and he improves over the morning. Yesterday, he didn't improve. He felt lousy.

11:00 a.m. rolled around and he decided he was not going to make it to 5:30, so he IM'ed me he was coming home. A few minutes later he IM'ed me that he wasn't coming home; there was a boot on our truck.

Yeah, the day after "Ms. RDBIKER" was all up in our tailgate. My ridiculously predictable husband parked in the same spot....which had me thinking "Ms. RDBIKER" had a friend in the police department or something....and was a little 'bottlebrush' about her three tickets.

Who says I don't have an active imagination?

So- at home, warm, comfy and working on things- I now have to get OUT of my pajamas (WTH?) and into clothing and go save my weak, tired, not-feeling-so-hot, hubby. I was less irritated with him than I was with the idea that assault is against the law and so's putting marshmellow creme all over the car of whomever did this.

We walked over to City Hall from his office- and this "Cashier" whom I call Potted Plant, (her more appropos title would be "Doorstop") has always responded to every single question I've given her with:

"I'm sorry, I don't know, I can't help you."

Oh. Really. Then WHY FOR THE LOVE OF CHEESE DO YOU WORK FOR THE CITY?!?!?

Turns out, she CAN help you if you crawl up her leg and chew at her backside a bit- by pushing her a little outside of her comfort-zone of doing NOTHING, and request she actually DO something.

She tells us we need to go deal with this at the Transit Center, 8 blocks away.

Really. Really? REALLY?!?!

Hubby is standing here turning green and swaying (all 6'6" of him) and she wants me to what? Put him on a dolly and wheel him down there? His truck is booted- transporting him is not an option. (nevermind my jeep- that isn't a factor here.) So then...We do the 'Press' technique.

Tom: "Can you call down there and find out what is going on with my truck?" (the little sign they left did not specify why they had booted it.) I glared at her from behind my husband where I was trying to hold him upright. Glaring seems to affect Potted Plant a little.

Potted Plant: "Uhm, yeah."

I also have to mention that I went in about a month ago and dealt with this same Potted Plant person where our water bill was concerned as it had been in the wrong name and we were only sporadically getting our bills. She claimed she could not do anything about it- "Sorry, I don't know, I can't help you." I was so upset that maiming someone with my car keys would get me in trouble...... (ahem)

And so I asked for her supervisor. She looked like I'd threatened to shoot her, but nonetheless called for her supervisor. I re-explained the situation with our water bill, our name, and our postal layout, as well as postal regulations- and the supervisor reached LESS THAN TWO FEET to the left and whipped out a form, which I filled out, signed, and now our water bill is in the right name.

I think this useless Potted Plant Cashier remembers me when I step around from behind my husband and now she's thinking she'd better help us or I'll ask for her supervisor again.

So, Potted Plant gets on the phone and talks to the parking department for a moment and hangs up. Then she turns forty-five degrees to her right and GETS ON HER COMPUTER and pulls up the information. RIGHT THERE. IN FRONT OF HER. WITHOUT STANDING UP OR WALKING ANYWHERE.

Turns out my husband had 3 parking tickets (expired meter) from August- which he doesn't remember, I never saw, and thus- we never paid.

Oh. Ok.

Potted Plant then says; "A letter of notice was mailed to you last month telling you about this."

Oh. Really. So we paid the ~~extortion~~ fine, and then had to wait 15 minutes for someone to unboot his truck.

Hubs then came home and went to bed and proceeded to sleep until 5:30 the next morning. Yay for him. He evidently feels better today as he went to work, and took youngest child to school as well, without bugging me to get up.

HOWEVER: When we got home yesterday, after this whole interaction with Potted Plant, I found the "letter" she referred to. Dated 11/25/09. Postmarked 11/30/09. Arrived 12/1/09. Booted 12/2/09.

This does not add up. Tom has taken the letter and envelope down to the City Hall building (and might I mention he works for the County and is in charge of all the Sheriff and Police, Fire and EMS in the county?!?) and file a complaint to get his ~~extorted funds~~ fine back as giving us 7 days notice, and then sitting on the notice for 5 of them, does not compute.

Evidently Potted Plant at the City Hall isn't the only one of her kind.

Excuse me? Can you get your tutti-frutti sunglasses out of my butt? Please?

2009-12-01T13:16:00.000-07:00

My jeep has been acting up lately.

Usually it's just something that I don't hear in my running around that the first time my husband hears it he has a cardiac that I let something audible go on for very long without finding out what it was..... (that 'if a tree falls in the forest...' thing?) UH, hello? I'm deaf.

A couple weeks ago my jeep quit while I ran errands and I could not get it to start again. I couldn't even hear it well enough to describe the noises, or lack-thereof, to the hubs, and our 8 year old was no help; "Mom, it made a kkkkkkk-chhhhhh noise." (sigh) I called the hubs, who 15 minutes later showed up....but 30 seconds before he did- the jeep started. Go figure.

So....if I have multiple errands to run I tend to go into town and find the truck, swap it out for my jeep, and then swap again before I go home. This covers my fanny should the jeep act up while I'm running errands with multiple start/stops- as often hubs is not where he can either take a call to try to talk me through it, or hear what is going on, or drop things and come get me.

Today, I went and found the truck, like this:

It reminds me of Steve Martin's line:

"Uhm, EXCUUUUUUUUUSE me?
Do. I. Know. You?!"

Yesterday, I spent over half my day, laying on my back, with my pants off, while various doctors and techs poked and prodded my girly attributes....

Today I'm a WEE BIT SENSITIVE ABOUT ANYTHING POKING AROUND MY BUTT.

Even the butt of my truck.

I'm just plain ole' irritated about anything invading my personal space as I was poked, prodded, tickled, tweaked and pushed at yesterday....enough.

So I pulled up, and got my stuff out of the truck, and then walked around the whole situation throwing out a few choice 'adverbs' for good measure.....and wondered where the inconsiderate BOOB who parked here, was.

I did a little investigating I picked up from my cousin, Ted, and made an inventory of what was in the vehicle:

Opened UPS package on the passenger seat...

cup holder with checks and CASH (oh, so we ARE stupid?!?) in it, as well as a few girly things, and a little gold Christmas decoration/bell/ball on the rear view mirror.

Then....there were these pink trendy-girl-with-teensy-thighs-and-no-real-responsiblities-sunglasses sitting next to the shifter.

RRRROOOWWRRRR.

GRRRRRRR.

My blood boiled.

Oh, and this has nothing to do with my period being due in 5 days.

This has something to do with just laying there being poked and prodded all day yesterday, and it has a LOT to do with my wanting to get my errands done so I could go HOME and have hot chocolate and not DO anything else today.

Little Miss Pink Sunglasses parked her little psudo-SUV where her front lic plate was TOUCHING MY TRUCK. (seething, rumbling, demonic thunder noises being heard over on the E side of third....)

I hopped back in my jeep, and went the few blocks to hubs' office and had him get on the trusty police radio....and report it. Nevermind there was already one ticket on there....

(for parking within 15' of a fire hydrant)

....and never mind if I wiggled a bit I could get out (it was about 3-4 back/forth to do it though!)

I. was. just. mad.

So...little-miss-pink-sunglasses-and-cash-out-in-plain-view-and-doesn't-know-how-to-park-to-save-her "RDBIKER" fanny....you can "Share the Road"...but not my parking space.

I hope you enjoyed the 3 tickets you got for your lack of parking etiquette...and I hope you subsequently got TOWED.

Please, in the future- keep your tutti-fruity sunglasses out of my butt, thank you.

With or without pants?

2009-11-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

Today we went to see our new OB/GYN, Dr. A. C. Russell. This in and of itself isn’t remarkable except that she’s a fantastic doctor…and that she delivered my eldest 16 years ago. I have not felt the same trust and support from any doctor I’ve had in the 16 years since- so, in light of our baby-making experiment options, I elected to re-visit her and get her take on things.

We were well rewarded for our efforts……and yet, Tom spent over half of today with me being either naked from the waist down or only in one of those horrendous backless gowns…and there wasn’t any real ‘fun’ in all this nudity where he was concerned.

I think I got dressed and undressed more today than I have in a long, long time- save a few clothes shopping expeditions.

Dr. Russell has ordered full blood work on both of us, including a chromosomal analysis on each of us. I had the rest of the entertainment today in getting a pelvic exam and an ultrasound to ensure I didn’t have a party going on in there that we needed to worry about. Pelvic and ultrasound were normal/good. I don’t have a second uterus, a third ovary, or anything odd going on from that perspective.

Blood work was another matter- and I confess I’ve had a bumpy few days with sleeping in different homes and beds and that messes with me a bit and I don’t sleep as well or as deeply as I need; so I’ve been doing Starbucks and Chai to stay upright.

I have been going to bed at a decent hour (10 p.m. or so) but it’s just not been the restful sleep due to the transitions and not being at home- as well as some anxiety over both this appointment, and some anticipation that I’m now 20 days away from picking up Hamilton in TN.

I am dehydrated….and the techs could not find a good vein to tap for the dozen or so little glass vials they need for the panel of tests for me. They did not want to try to push too hard and then have me get a clot, which with a 7 hour car ride- could be dangerous. SO- I have to hydrate today/tonight (and evidently ‘scent- mark’ trees and signs all the way down 285) and go have the lab in Durango perform the draws for me tomorrow or Wednesday.

Dr. Russell (and Lord, I love her!) then will review all the test results and has a specialist in mind for us. We are NOT an infertility case; Tom can knock me up at will. We just can’t seem to retain the pregnancy beyond the first couple of weeks and my feeling is that spending 18 months in the FIRST FREAKING TRIMESTER is the seventh level of Hell. Really.

We’ll get home (I’m typing this as we go down 285, and no, I’m not driving- but we ARE following a very pokey, lost, irritating car out of AZ that evidently doesn’t do well in mountain driving) and I’ll get the truck unpacked from all our shopping this weekend (Hamilton made a haul!) and then we’ll get ahold of the specialist that has been recommended and make the necessary appointments and contacts to take it to the next step with Dr. Russell’s guidance.

As Tom is now barreling around curves at his usual ungodly speed (we passed Pokey from AZ) I’m going to shut this down for now….and post more later.

My thanks for my friends’ and extended family support- this is a good step in the right direction. I’m thrilled to have Dr. Russell again as she’s just THE BEST.

Our baby blog: babymoto.blogspot.com

...scheduling an intervention.....

2009-11-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

Ok. It's bad. Worse than I imagined.

We're finding evidence in every room in the house. We're finding signs in tucked-away places. Different colors each time....and some of them are in bad shape.

With the baby coming.....we have to do something.

We knew....with the baby coming next month....that the boys were going to take this hard....and that we would expect some rebellion and bad-behavior. I figured we might lose the younger one to him hiding himself away and refusing to come out...or to engage with the family when the baby comes.

I know...with the eldest boy...he's going to be outspoken at times....and withdrawn at others.

I expected some of this...but, wow. There's more than I thought.

And...tonight......sitting there at dinner surveying the evidence...the sheer volume of paraphernalia we found...everywhere....we knew for the baby's safety...his health, we've got to do something now.

It's time for us to have an intervention....for Bushido.

Rangoon is following his big brother and quickly accumulating the same addiction and habits......and it's got to stop. Now.

We have to address the number and volume of pipe cleaners around the house.

With the puppy coming in less than a month....Bushi's 'currency'...and how he gets his 'hits'......it's too risky.

Bent wire in a puppy gastro-intestinal tract.....is not good.

This is going to be bumpy...... keep us in your thoughts as we try to break this cycle.

(I'm not making light of real addictions and problems...real drug or alcohol issues....I feel for anyone fighting or facing that. I do. Know my post is meant in fun- and in the reality that our newest 'baby' is going to get our full attention and care...for his, and the other pets' best interests. Thanks.)

Bolting thru the house naked...

2009-11-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

I'm so glad I have a sense of humor.

I wish I had a butt to match my impeccable sense of humor..... that would make some of owning my Snowshoe more enjoyable. Why?

I have a blog post on what I go thru in the bathroom, and the post originated over a territorial dispute with the hubs over real estate. Read it here. I have a lot of stuff in the bathroom.

However, and this is irony for you that my last post was "I heart my cat"..... The little masked snot....loves hair ties. I have long hair and often succumb to the lazy-mom routine of a ponytail or one of those 'folded ones' as I don't want the kink to be permanent when I have 7 lazy-mom days in a row. Bushido, adores hair ties. I have no bloody clue as to why.

He will teeter on the bathroom sink to get to the drawers beneath, and wiggle them open for hair ties. He will get up on the counter (no!) and pull hair ties off of bottle tops (thought that might stop him- it didn't), he will sit IN the sink and get the hair tie off the sink faucet if I put it there too. I resorted to the drawers as a "Hail Mary"....and now he has those figured out too. I am running low on hair ties because along with pipe-cleaners...my siamese LOOOOOOOOOOOVES having those, and I am running out of hiding places.

So....I'm in the shower, washing my hair. I remove the hair tie from my hair and NORMALLY I put it in the soap dish so that nothing happens to it. I've learned.

This time my hands were slick with soap and I dropped it. From behind the shower curtain....ON THE OTHER SIDE (the dry side, mind you) comes a white paw.....*zing*......

I can't believe his accuracy. He had to be waiting there like a ninja.

He nailed the hair tie....snagged it with his paw....and bolted.

I know that Bushi + hair tie = chewing, which in a larger equation = cat barf around the house.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I shrieked. He ran faster.

He made it out of the bathroom, through my bedroom, and into the hallway before pausing to get a CHOMPCHOMP on it..... and before he either realized or acknowledged there was a tall, wet, naked woman following him.

We made it to the top of the stair landing...in view of THREE un-curtained windows.

I'm so glad this was during the day and visibility is limited!!!

Cripes.

He dropped the hair tie in his effort to make a quick getaway...at the top of the stairs.
I think I took all 6'2" of me and scrunched to 4'....and got the hair tie...and returned to my shower.

Good grief. Remember when flying thru the house butt-naked and wet from a bath was fun?
This was NOT that fun.
Stoopid cat.

Rhino-liner for the drapes?

2009-11-20T10:29:00.000-07:00

I want to know if the "Rhino-liner" company that does the spray-on pickup-truck beds has something for my house.

I want to know if they can back up a dump-truck or cement-truck sized vehicle with a tank to my driveway/garage door, run a hose...and proceed to hose down my house with a tough....scratch resistant coating....

over everything. EVERYTHING.

I want Rhino-lined furniture.
I want Rhino-lined carpets.
I want Rhino-lined bannisters on the stairs, and mouldings on the doors.
I want Rhino-lined window-sills and thresholds.
I want Rhino-lined cabinet doors.

I want my closet Rhino-lined.
I want the spray-on shoes that the guy had in "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs."

I want nothing in my house to be vulnerable....

I....have a Great Dane puppy coming. :)
I must prepare to be chewed.

The New Baby Boy....

2009-11-19T11:17:00.000-07:00

Hamilton, our baby Great Dane. (shot November 2009 @ 3 weeks old)

All I needed to know..... I learned from my Siamese.

2009-11-17T13:16:00.000-07:00

10. Being rational is overrated.

9. Staring at someone will eventually drive them bananas.

8. Racing thru the house for no apparent reason makes you very interesting to observers.

7. People treat you with more respect and servitude if they think you could flip out at any time.

6. Glare at people now and then.

5. Love up to people when they least expect it.

4. Find a spot in the sun, and park it.

3. Get comfy and then play dumb when people want you to move.

2. Hiss when you don't get your way.

1. Being gorgeous and learning to sulk properly are profitable, and powerful, life-long attributes.

Your membership packet is enclosed....

2009-11-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

I'm frustrated.
I've vented a little bit on my Faceb**k page about this with the family I have associations with....and I am talking about family.

Family is what you're born into. You don't have any choice in the matter, really.
Your parents have some choice; they decided to have kids. That is where their choices end.

You don't get to menu-item your children (at least not yet- and I don't think you should) for what they will look like, act like, think like or be when they are grown. You don't get to. That's part of the gamble, folks.

So- You're born into a family. You show up.
Screaming.
Goopy.
Upset.
It's their job to care for you.

You grow up, you become who and what you are- both due to internal and external influences.

They don't get to vote you off the 'island' or 'team', or out of the family because you didn't conform to their preconceived ideas, right?

Uh, in my family, it's not a family- it's a membership.
You join- involuntarily, and you're on probationary status with no guidelines, bylaws or clues as to what's going to get you thrown out- until you do something that gets you thrown out.
Oh, and they call themselves "Christians".....all evidence to the contrary.

And....AND....if you're thrown out- you're automatically shunned by ALL of them. Not just the people that created you and raised you (think there might be some influences in those two factors, hmmm?) there begins a petition or a campaign, if you will.....to excommunicate you.

You might as well fall off the face of the earth.

Nasty lies will be spread.
Hateful emails will be sent.
Whispers behind your back, stories of half-truths (or no truths) will circulate.
You....do not get to discuss this. You, do not get to defend yourself.
You, are done. Gone. Worthless in their eyes.
Don't even THINK about showing up with fruitcake or fudge during the Holidays.
You are now known as "she-that-shall-not-be-named."
Hmph.

Perhaps what incites me at the moment, as I really don't try to think about this much, are two things;

1. It's the Holidays again. Holidays is synonymous with 'family' and 'togetherness'. I've had many Christmases alone in recent years. I'm unclean. Heathen. I'm (gasp) divorced.

2. I came across an email to my eldest, from the woman who holds the biological title of being my mother (I reserve my opinion as to whether she deserves it or not as she often told me she wished she hadn't had me).....about a 'family' reunion.

Uh. Point of order, Madam Tyrant?

It's not a 'family' reunion. Don't call it that when half the family is excluded, intentionally.
It's a "membership meeting".
It's a "club meeting" -it's an exclusive get-together of those willing to abide by the snooty, self-centered, and hurtful actions/behaviors and statements that circulate about those of us who share the biology- but aren't 'worthy' according to those in 'command' of the situation.

Madam Tyrant, your emails to the rest of the 'club' and even the outcasts- are inciteful.
I know you enjoy it....but, uh...it makes you out to be a real b*tch.

So. I'm not included.
I wasn't part of this big email campaign about this 'reunion' taking place in the town I live in.
IN. THE. TOWN. I. LIVE. IN.
Not across the state, not across the country, (repeating rapidly): in-the-town-I-live-in.

Now, I'm not invited. I'm deliberately excluded. I have a feeling if I showed up, someone would call the sheriff and ask to have me escorted off the property. Sounds like a real warm bunch, doesn't it? Funny thing- I know most of the cops, sheriffs. I'm a good cook- they like me.

They, being the Emporer and his Madam Tyrant (my parents) invited my daughter.
However....as a point of controversy; I'm not to know that.
They invited my daughter....and the plan is to keep the plan from me.

Two summers ago they snuck her out under my radar and had her, and her dad (no big stretch for him) lie to me about where she was and who she was with.

Nevermind her dad and I agreed my parents are "toxic" and she shouldn't be alone with them.
Case in point; She came back from this visit with MY PARENTS using phrases to describe me such as:

"Unholy." "Immoral." "Unstable." "Mentally Ill." "Unfit." "Liar." "Parasite."

Oh. Really.
Funny, those citing me a liar.....lied to me, and TOLD and ENCOURAGED my own child to lie.
Does anybody else smell that rotten, putrid stench?

So...now...the invitation list has gone out....and it's not a FAMILY REUNION.
It's a club. Much like the clubs that exclude certain races or ethnic backgrounds. Much like the clubs that don't allow people of different faith, ideals, thought or feeling.

It's not just that the club is closed to that....they aren't even open to discussing things.
If you don't agree with 'the club'...and what 'the club' and it's 'masters' think......

It's not that you're just not allowed to disagree.......
You don't exist.
You don't matter.
You don't count.
You're just plain wrong.

Always. Forever. No matter what.

You have a glass of wine at a wedding when you're 30? Oh! How heathen!
Nevermind that the person criticizing you publicly at a table of 8, (my father) goes and works on his sizeable belly every hunting and fishing trip he goes on.....working his way to the bottom of a cache of Budwe*ser.

Hey, Pot? Meet Kettle. Kettle has good taste in wine.

I have an issue with this situation.
I have an issue with being 'voted out' of my family, which I really had no choice of being put into, to begin with.
I have an issue with this 'club' thinking they can access my children- at will- and influence them to think in the same small-minded, thoughtless, evil, hurtful, and UnChristian way.
I have an issue that my name is on my girls' birth certificates.......not theirs---and they think they can override that.

I also have an issue with the 'sheep' in this club that just go along with things to avoid angering or being 'voted off' themselves. Is this club really that great? I don't want back in, but for crying out loud, PLEASE SHUT UP, and leave my children alone.

Wouldn't it be a pretty BLAH club if the only club members were the two or three tyrants?

What if the rest of the 'club' refused to play?
What if the rest of the 'family' actually acted like decent human beings....and did what they thought was right....or at least acted civil and human.....rather than going along with the bad ideas of the leaders, just because.

I cite the situation in California:
A girl was raped, beaten and brutalized.
More than 20 people stood and watched.
People joined in because it appeared to be the 'status quo'...and it was STILL WRONG.
People stood by....because they can't think for themselves.

I think for myself. I make mistakes- but I think for myself. I'm not a sheep- never have been.
I'm not a member of this 'herd' of snobs.
Somehow....I think I'm better off not being a 'member'...but I'm still part of this wreck of a 'family' whether they like it or not.

My children, are mine. Period.
I think I need to make some points known, in a larger way than just this blog.

Hmmm. Time to think.

Sa Wa Dee!

2009-11-03T04:54:00.000-07:00

OK, just tripped on something.

1 box of "Pacific Natural Foods" soup, the "Curried Red Lentil" one.
1-2 lbs of chicken breasts or thighs, skin off, no bones.
1/2 pkg of chopped broccoli (frozen)
1/2 pkg of chopped spinach (frozen)
1/2 pkg of pepper onion mix (frozen)

1-2 cups of rice prepared as per pkg directions
1 T of chicken rice paste (optional- found at asian food stores)

1. Prepare rice with rice paste.
2. Pour soup into large covered skillet
3. Place chicken in soup and bring to a low boil
4. When rice is done.....scoop into skillet with chicken/soup
5. Add frozen veggies, stir.

Simmer until rice is tender, chicken is done (med to med-hi heat, keep it bubbling but not boiling)

Taste.
Additional seasoning may not be necessary- however; pepper, cumin, light salt if desired.

Miss Antoinette.

2009-10-31T22:53:00.000-06:00

I had to post some final photos......she managed to get well enough to go out.

A different kind of kick-off....

2009-10-31T14:34:00.000-06:00

Halloween. All Hallows Eve....

Daylight Savings Time.....

Last month of possible 'autumn' weather and the issuance of boots, gloves, hats and scarves....and the digging out of sweaters, wool socks, clunky snowboots, and snowshovels and sidewalk icemelt.

I also feel- based on a suicide mission into Walmart today- that tomorrow (Nov. 1) marks the kickoff of "The Holidays"...and all the frenzy thereto. I strolled the aisles where Christmas decor is coming out, and did double-takes and closer looks at the HD and flat-screen TV's with prices falling already (need to find a Black-Friday doorbuster on those!) ...and here it comes. "The Holidays."

I've started some of my Christmas Ebay-ing (I don't Christmas shop, really) and the conceptualization and strategy session we'll have to have about where to put the tree and how to defend it from our two siamese cats. "The Season" is soon upon us. A few short hours away.

I'm going to have to stop procrastinating on our Christmas Card Slideshow we'll send out to our family and friends, and I'm going to have to finish the monsterous clothes-swap from summer to winter for Logan.....

We've had our first major snowstorm this week......
And I've got my first cold of "The Season" to get me wanting hot cider, thick socks....turtlenecks, and heavy blankets.

Best wishes to my friends...and family....as we kick-off "The Holidays"

The cycle of being sick....

2009-10-30T19:30:00.000-06:00

Ok, I want to opt out.

I was sick on my birthday in September, right after we got back from NYC.
I toasted #37 with Nyquil.
I have been downing Vit C shots like they were water.

I'm sick, again.

Face puffy.
Eyes feel hot.
Neck is sore.
I's tired.

I just got better and now I'm coming down with something.
The ick.
I don't have time to be sick, again.
Agh.

Repost: "Here's your Sign...."

2009-10-30T08:59:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Thomas and I are in the kitchen making pancakes for dinner.

(we are packing to move so we are trying to use up pantry items, etc.)

Logan [coming from stairway in red sleeper pajamas with a concerned look on her face, she approaches the bar near the kitchen.] "I have a mark on my forehead."

Tommy: "What is it?"

Logan: "I don't know."

Tommy: "Did you hurt yourself?"

Logan: "Uhm...no."

Tommy: "When did it happen?"

Logan: "I don't know."

Taj walks around the end of the cabinets from the kitchen and meets Logan at the end of the bar. Just under Logan's hairline is a reddish-pink swipe along her forehead, looks kindof like 'road rash', varying from pink to purple/red with spotty, dotted edges, and a tapering shape like a comet.

Taj: "Go wash your face."

Logan: "Why?"

Taj: "When your mark or owie is sticky, that's one problem. When your owie is sticky and tastes like raspberries, it's another. You wiped your finger on your face after you made your PB&J for after-school snack. Go wash your face."

Logan: "Oh."

[she retreats to the powder room bathroom where you can hear her telling herself it's a jelly owie, not a real owie.]

A repost: The Crash.

2009-10-30T08:55:00.000-06:00

I've had a bumpy week or so here, and much going on. I need to sit down and blog some- however, until I can, here is an oldie but a goodie!

The crash.... (June 17, 2008)

Tommy drove Logan to summer camp today. The following conversation got sent to my blackberry and I had to sit at the stoplight at Main and laugh until the guy behind me honked for me to get my rear in gear:

Logan: "I have a crash on Travis." (and you need to keep in mind Tom and I were watching Godfather III last night before bed)

Tom: "What, what do you mean, you hit him?"

Logan: "No. Like we have something going on. I'm going to marry him."

Tom: "OH, Ok, well that's a long time away."

Logan: "I know."

Who said kids aren't into the inner workings of relationship dynamics?!?!?! She's SEVEN.

Oh, help.

As if she weren't mine....

2009-10-25T00:14:00.000-06:00

I. Cannot. Sleep.

For five years I've been involved in litigation around my youngest child. It has dragged on, and on, and on. What started when she was 3....is now affecting our life when she's nearly 9.

I'm tired.

In a nutshell: another state is telling me they are going to take my daughter. A state she's never lived in. A state she has no ties to. A state she's not attended school in, has no home in- and has not set foot in, in over 3 years.

My daughter is in her fourth year of school here, where she lives, with me- and where she has been for four, going on five years, now.

Her father has kidnapped her, three times.
Her father has lied to her, to the courts, to himself.
Her father fled this state, for another, and filed for custody there- against the law- and by lying.

There is a little something, called the Uniform Child Custody Jurisdiction Enforcement Act, or UCCJEA.

What it means is, that a child has a "Home State". The "Home State" makes the rules.
My daughter's HOME STATE- by a signed custody agreement in 2004, by SIX judges, is and has been- Colorado.

Colorado, evidently, doesn't have the balls to enforce it.
Colorado, evidently- is fine with another state taking it's children- children of Colorado residents- just because.
Colorado is fine, with that other state (which by the way, wrote a law that had people from all over the country driving for thousands of miles to DUMP OFF THEIR CHILDREN because the state had such poor wording, poor understanding and POOR FAMILY LAW) taking a child from her mother- due to lies.

To put it in simple terms-

You and a friend jointly own or have 'something'.
You and the friend agree the 'something' belongs in one place, in one home, and you may both access it, in that agreed place.
Your friend- behind your back, takes the 'something' and runs with it. Far away.
The 'something' is now not where you agreed- and your former 'friend' now refuses to let you see it, have access to it, or to return it.
You- have a contract. A signed, binding, legal, notarized, contract that the 'something' stays in the agreed place and that all discussions and issues about the 'something' have to happen in that agreed place.
You- have been asking for the 'something' to be returned.
The other party- has refused, lied, and hidden the 'something' to avoid being caught.
You- pursued the matter to the authorities, retrieved the 'something' and now have fought for five years to prove that the 'something' should be in the agreed place- and due to the other party being dishonest and trying to damage/steal the 'something', you should now be in charge of the 'something.'
The authorities said You were right, the other party is wrong. Five times, they said you were right.
However, if the other party won't ADMIT they're wrong- the authorities you have, that you have to respect and obey- that are there to protect the rights, interests and needs of the 'something'- as well as You, for being in the right- refuse to enforce you being right- and will let the other party.....

...this thief.
...this liar....
....this unfit custodian.....

....keep your precious 'something'. Worse yet- they will destroy your 'something' by letting it go where you can't see it, touch it, or interact with it- and where your 'something' will be poorly cared for.

Angry yet? Upset? Might lose some sleep? Yeah. I thought so.

Her father has visited her once, in 30 months.
One vist, for less than 2 hours- in over 2 years.
Before that visit, two visits in 20 months.
That's. It.
4 hours- in over 3 years. I've been there for every second of her 8 years. Oh, and the 9 months prior.
Her father hasn't paid child support in 4 years. He wasn't there when she was born.
Her father ignores her birthdays, holidays- anything and everything.

Yet- he claims he is the better parent- and wants custody.
His paperwork- his orders- his assertion.............eviscerates me.
I have no visitation. I have no rights. I have no contact. I have no say.

I have been there, her mother. Every. Day.
I have been there for upset tummies, sore throats, parent-teacher conferences, rainy days, sunny days, soccer practice, games she won, games she lost. I have been there for play dates, sleepovers, ice cream, encouraging her to eat her vegetables, and learning ABC's. I have been there for nightmares, silly stories, days off from school, and dress-up giggles. I have been there for the first word, the first bad word, the first hard questions. I have been there for tears and laughter and quiet and calm and jumpy and bouncy and running and swinging.

He. Has. Not.

I am deeply troubled by this.
I am very troubled that CO might let an 8 year old girl leave her two-parent home, to go to a single father who can barely support himself, has a history of mental illness, and grew up in a violent, abusive and alcoholic home- and has shown he will not care for, nor respect the primary needs of the child....only his own wants and needs. I'm sick that such a situation exists, and has gone on for FIVE YEARS.

I have the second highest court in the state's decision. I am 100% right, but unless he admits he's wrong, and the other state admits they're wrong- my daughter could be taken from the only home she's ever known- and be sent to what I feel is an unfit, and very damaging situation.

I am very tired of the FT job of being my own lawyer, by myself- as I have spent over $10,000 fighting this.
I have been right for five years- yet....I can't get this to stop.

It's like a child is on a merry-go-round and she's sick. She's throwing up. She's screaming.
I, as her mother, want to get off this spinning nightmare- calm her, clean her up, get her to feel better.
Her father wants it to spin faster, so that I lose my grip.
Nevermind what it does to her- he isn't interested in that. He has to win.
The Courts- which should be working to help her- foremost- are more concerned with protocols and not the child.

I. am. tired.
But, I can't sleep.
(sigh)

A letter to my daughter as she turns 16.....

2009-10-20T16:02:00.000-06:00

I sit here and think about that soon, you will be sixteen.

Somehow that does not seem possible, yet, I know- from seeing the young woman you are, that it is.

I know, there is no gift I could buy you, no trinket, no toy, no gadget, nothing that I have not tried to share or provide with you, that I can give you right now. I have tried; no gift I have sent has been sufficient. No amount of time I've had or shared has been enough. Nothing I have done or offered has been what you wanted.

I know, that with the nature of our relationship, the struggles and challenges we have had, and the difficulties and changes we undergo now, that your soul is working on it's own right now, and nothing that I do or say has much impact- maybe later, but not now.

I know you think things of me that aren't true...and that you've been given a warped and unfavorable side of things for a long time. I am both at fault and innocent- at fault that I've not been there to show you how I am, and innocent in there is nothing I can say that changes how things are. I also know that right now....it's easier for some people, and perhaps you; to have a negative view of me- thus removing your need for your mother, any desire to be with me, or to enjoy having a relationship with me. I don't agree, but I try to respect and understand. It is simpler for you and others to just have that view, and I will have to hope someday your view changes.

I know some people are less-inconvenienced by giving a false account, a false perception. I know that some people glean a twisted sense of satisfaction that they have influence over you, and your perceptions. I also know that you're my child, and even as you may fight it, you are me- in so many ways- I know you will see your way through the fog to the clear skies, and make up your own mind.

Now, and until then, and even every day after- I will offer you what I have offered you from the day I found out I was carrying you- my unconditional, irrevocable love.

I realize that this may seem insignificant now- and while I won't apologize, I will rest in the consolation that at some point in the future, you will see it's value.

I will remain, as I always have, a rock- which you as a growing girl, and now a young woman, act as the ocean upon-

At times you will be calm and come to me as such, and we will work in harmony.

At times you will be angry or excited and you will crash upon me, and I feel the most important thing isn't to try to stop you, or to move you, but rather to just stay where I am, and not move, so that when you find the calm again, I'm right where you left me. Waiting.

I wish I could tell you that you will have an experience like Cinderella, and that at the stroke of time where you were born, when you are 16, that things change magically and it's everything you want it to be.

Unfortunately, the change will be much more gradual, and it will take you double the time you have had on this earth, to see some of the differences.

I can say this; that from this point in your life, and in gradual increasing measures over the last few years, you are where you are choosing your course in life.

Decisions you make, they may seem small, or trivial, or momentary now- and you won't know until you're much further into them;

Some will last moments, and some will have lingering effects, and some- will stay with you forever.

The magic, if you will, is not knowing which of these things, these choices, will result in which length or duration of outcome.

Some of these things will be pleasant, and some will challenge you in ways you can't yet understand.

You, my child, are one of my decisions made long ago, and I had no idea at the time that sixteen years later- I would be looking at what I am looking at now. I know, dear baby girl, you will come to this point, and your own hindsight view, someday.

I will promise you this- that unlike my own mother- I have never regretted having my children, and as that rock I must be- I will take what you throw at me. Unlike my own mother; I will never tell you I wished I hadn't had you just because motherhood isn't what I imagined it would be when I was younger. I am- to this day- proud to no end that you are my daughter. No. Matter. What.

You are my creation.

Of all the things I have done in my life, and all the choices and decisions I have made, and rest assured I have made good and bad-

You, and your sister- are my greatest accomplishments, for the fact simply that you are. Simply that you breathe, that you move, that your heart beats.

Beyond that- beyond that first breath you took, the first time you opened your eyes, that first second you split from my body and became your own---

You have exceeded my expectations and made me proud every moment since.

Regardless of anything you have said, done, felt, thought or acted upon.

You will never be a disappointment to me. You will never be anything but my proudest achievement in this life.

These are the things I can give you now, and always- my love, my appreciation, my support, and my never-wavering awe of you.

Happy Sweet Sixteen, my beloved child. I am thinking of you, as I do every day..... with every beat of my heart.

-Mom

A friend is a friend forever....

2009-10-20T11:04:00.000-06:00

This weekend we said goodbye to a friend.
A furry friend.
Our beloved Himalayan, Lucius, passed on 10-17-09 with the love of his family.

I am sure I will expound on the values of pets and animals, friendship and support, in coming entries.

For now, I just want to say that Luc was a warm, soft spot when things were glum. Luc was a clown when I needed a laugh and a reminder that even when we are older, feeble, and in pain, loving and being loved does somehow make it all better.

He will rest with a view of his hillside where he loved catching mice and tormenting the chipmunks and deer, where the sun shines warm all afternoon, and with our love. We miss you, Luc.

Figuring out what 'fixed' means....

2009-10-14T12:36:00.000-06:00

Our little beloved, acrobatic, flight-approved Burmese, Rangoon- is now at the vet....being 'fixed'.

Last week, when I made the appointment, Tom and I agreed that we needed to prep Logan for the reality that Goonie would be in the big crate for a day or two to recover- as he has a tendancy to jump......sometimes 3-4 feet in distance and 4-5 feet in height- and we needed to contain the little bugger to allow his sutures to heal- and we wanted to prep Logan for the fact that Goonie would be contained and complaining (as only a Burmese can) for a day or so....
Our conversation that day:

Mom: "We have to take Goonie to get fixed next week..."

Logan: "Oh, we're going to have his ear fixed?"

(he did get a scratch/bite that bled on one ear a few weeks ago)

Mom; "Uh, no- that doesn't need to be fixed. That healed on it's own. Fixed....well, fixed means that he is going to have a little operation so he can't have baby kitties."

Logan: "I thought the girl kitties had the babies?" (oh, brother.)

Mom; "Well, she does- but she can't do that by herself...."

Logan; "Ok, so the boy kitty carries the baby kitties too...??!?"

Mom; "No. Do you know what a mammal is?"

Logan; "uhhhh...."

Mom: "Mammals are a kind of animal- mammals have hair and are warm-blooded and give birth to live babies and the moms make milk for the babies..."

Logan; "Ohhhhhh. Ok."

(long pause)

Mom; "So the cats are mammals."

(Logan looks confused)

Mom; "With mammals- it takes a boy and a girl together to make a baby."

Logan; "So...who has the babies?"

(groan)

Mom; "Ok, if you want a baby horse, there has to be a boy horse and a girl horse and the girl horse carries the baby horse in her tummy. Got it? Same with dogs, cats, all the mammals."

Logan: "OK, I got it now."

Mom; "So we're having Goonie fixed so he can't MAKE babies with a girl kitty."

Logan; "Ahhhhh. Ok. How do they fix him?"

Mom; "It's called neutering."

(Logan has a blank stare- I can tell that didn't make a dent.)

"He has to have his little nuts cut off."

She now looks a bit shocked, but seems to be pondering this answer. I figured, since we hadn't gotten into HOW the baby gets in the girl's tummy...I was going to drop this line of conversation. Now. Period.

We have had issues with Logan retaining information and instructions- or being able to reiterate what she's been told or learned. We have been practicing telling her stories or events and asking her a couple days later to repeat or re-tell the story or event to see how she's doing on retention and her ability to recount how things happen or what she was told.

This morning, during breakfast, Tom was talking to Logan to remind her that tonight Goonie would be locked up in the big crate, and that he wouldn't be able to play until Wednesday. Their conversation went something like this :

Tom; "So you know where Goonie is going today?"

Logan; "Yeah, he's gonna get his nuts cut off."

(Tom both feels a small twinge of pain and resists the urge to laugh at this)

Tom: "Well, uh, yeah, kindof. Do you know why?"

Logan: "So he can't make baby kitties. If we had a boy kitty and a girl kitty we could have baby kitties. "

Tom: "Yeah....pretty much. We don't want Goonie to make babies so he's getting fixed."

At this point we're fairly proud of her for remembering what, who, and why....however, in typical third-grader fashion....the 'story' of this situation is about to take a slight detour from reality;

Logan; "If we had a girl kitty we'd have to get her nuts cut off too...."

(Tom resists the desire to do a head smack)

Logan; "When I grow up I'll have to get my nuts cut off..."

Tom: "Ok...lets talk about something else...."

Have a glass of Bitch...

2009-10-13T13:32:00.000-06:00

Heck, have the whole bottle.

Yesterday was tough.
Hubby had been gone since Friday a.m., he had OEM training on Friday all day (which means no IM- no chat) and then left town right after for a motorcross race that was the entire weekend.
After three weekends of chaos (he had another race right after we got home from NYC and I was down with the flu at home) this was my first full day home with him in nearly a month- and we had SO much to do.

I envy women who just lose their husbands to the TV on Sundays. At least he's home. At least he's where you can see him, and get an occasional grunt of indifference to whatever you ask him- as his eyes never leave the screen and the gridiron within. I might also add that such a scenario is ideal to ask questions about those tough-to-discuss topics;

"Do you think we need to buy a new.......?"
"What do you think of me and the girls going for a girls' weekend to......and putting it on the credit card?"

And so on.

My husband, and I love him down to every raven-black curl on his head, every freckle on his shoulders, down to his last goofy little atom....... My husband insists on going out in the middle of nowhere and getting on a motorized bike- and tearing thru the woods, deserts, rocky culverts and other desolate spots- in four states- at varying and usually high rates of speed. (sigh)

Yeah- his job; helicopters, rock cliffs, fires, chemicals, searches in extreme temps and conditions, finding lost people, handling disasters large and small, the occasional (and sad) recovery op where a search has resulted in a distressing finding......yeah, his job isn't enough adrenaline...[take a BIG sip of Bitch]

Perhaps I may come off as paranoid and controlling, and in some ways you'd be right to think that. But, I have reasons for the paranoia and wanting to keep him close;

He's the only husband of three, that I've been upset to be away from. Visibly upset. Hugely upset.

I realize that, too, is a weird sign in that I've married twice before- and found after the first six months to a year- that I feel relief when he was away or I was away from him. Probably was a red flag....several red flags. But- live and learn, right?

My husband, next to my girls, is my life. I shudder at his stories of broken bones and near-misses at these races. I cringe at his stories of people that encounter rocks, trees and other immovable objects with pieces of their bodies, which yield to the said object with distressing, and often gory, results. I really don't like the idea of anything happening to those freckles, or those curls, or any other part of him for that matter. I don't like the idea of doing anything without him- or having him in pieces. I don't like the idea of him being hit by an idiot....either on the course or the highway- and either not being the man I have now, or not being, at all.

I know he's an expert- I know he's probably one of the most skilled guys on the course- but I also know there are a number of idiots who think they can do what he can- and they are gravely mistaken- and usually somewhere within 10 feet of my beloved muddy-hubby at some point in his loop of the course. Idiots in range of my beloved, with motorized vehicles and a lack of common sense. Eeeesh.

My secondary thought on this is that by getting married, you often give up elements of being single- barhopping, cruising the scene, and doing things that deliberately exclude your spouse on a level that displeasure, discomfort, angst.....are involved. I can't go with him. I can't go and just be on site. I can't leave our kids, and our work, and our home, and go do that with him- or be there when he ambles off the bike covered in mud and thistles and what-have-you. I just can't. My obligations here....are too many. The situation there, not exactly ideal for a girl that prefers pavement to dirt. I want him to have something of his hobby- just.....maybe not so much of it.

I worry about things happening to him.
I worry as we can't communicate at all sometimes while he's gone.
I worry as he covers several hours worth of driving in areas where...well, places I'd rather he wasn't.
I worry as he often gets home late, and is exhausted, dehydrated, and 'useless' for a few days afterward.
I wonder why it's worth all that- sometimes.
I envy the woman who just has to tolerate a big-screen TV somewhere, or a room painted his team colors....or the donning of a jersey once a week and him parking himself in his favorite chair.

I suppose....I love him no matter what, and will love him whatever he does- just kinda sucks sometimes.
So.....I sat down with a big glass of Bitch, and some cheesecake last night after talking to him about how I feel about this....and we'll see what he thinks about that.
(sigh)

Just the important stuff....

2009-10-11T18:47:00.000-06:00

I was doing a bit of clean-up in the kitchen and walked from the kitchen to the door going to the garage.

I had to push Lucius OUT of the house, and push Bushido back IN to the house- which slowed me down a little bit and it's probably why I noticed the calendar near the door:

My husband has apparently decided to:

Vault us into December earlier than planned.
Freak me out that I haven't started my Xmas shopping yet and don't plan to for another couple weeks.
Not-so-subtly hint his birthday is approaching (you got the vintage shoes with the glow-in-the-dark laces, baby. I done took care of your birthday, champ.) and neglect quite a few candles that would overtake the block allocated to the 7th...
Indicate he has no faith in the knee surgeon that will be working on Dad's knee on the 14th....as apparently the knee replacement will be conducted with Dad exposing his knee to a standard wood saw. I didn't see an IV or any indications of anesthetic....so.....
He's expecting a slightly lopsided christmas tree, apparently of the pine variety, but without the usual drooping and willow-like branches that I prefer in a tree.

I noted he missed:
1. The children are out of school for a good portion of this month.
2. We're in California for a while
3. His days off from work for the holiday

I guess....from his perspective he got the important stuff:

He gets cake on his birthday and gets to lie about his age.
His dad gets to test his pain tolerance without anesthesia
We're getting a tree this year whether I like it or not.

Gotta love the male prioritization system.

Getting jiggy for that hit of salmon.....

2009-10-10T11:02:00.000-06:00

My cat can be a pig. Tom's cat, Goonie, IS a pig.

We've got Cleo here- and she has a very specific diet:

Kibble
Top-of-the-line canned (Salmon & Brown Rice Dinner)
Baked chicken or sliced/diced beef

When she got here, the cats hated her.

They've [the cats] gone from volcanic-loathing to mild indifference.....to full-on hitting on the dog.
Two male siamese..... walking thru the house, cat-calling a 120lb great dane.

I. am. finding. this. strange.

I got my answer tonight.
I went to feed Cleo dinner and in her bowl, was a ratty, nasty, sad-looking little pink catty pipecleaner.
This. Is the boys' currency.

Pipecleaners, especially the ones that look like catapillars ("catty"-wide fuzzy, narrow fuzzy, wide fuzzy) are their fix. The love them- carry them everywhere, sleep with them. Pipe cleaners are 'the bomb' with our cats.

Bushido is a snowshoe- which means he LOVES water.
Bushido puts anything he LOVES, into water. His dish, the sink, anywhere he can get it into water.
Goonie, at 5 months- does whatever Bushi does. Little brother = Monkey-see-monkey-do.

We have 3-4 water bowls around the house- and each one is now garnished with a pipecleaner, like a cocktail:

Upstairs hall bowl, red snowflake bowl with white interior: lime green straight pipe cleaner.
Downstairs kitchen bowl, silver wide pawprint stainless steel bowl: two- red straight, black catty.
Office bowl: Dark green ceramic: yellow catty, and sometimes blue.

So...basically this is what it is-

Cleo gets serious din-din.
Cats get regular dry cat food.
Cats have figured out that dog gets gourmet.
Cats now leave 'payment' for raiding the dog dish after she's done with it.

Good. Grief. Goonie is going to weigh 50 pounds by the end of next week, little snot.

All hail her royal hairness.....

2009-10-09T19:43:00.000-06:00

The Halloween costume has begun.

First, we had to do something about that hair.

I seriously doubt Miss Antoinette had the siamese,

nor was she watching 'Twister' when her hair set.

More photos soon....with the dress and everything.

Saturday morning- good hair day....

Is a RT ticket worth the "Big Apple Red"?

2009-10-06T18:12:00.000-06:00

My pedicure is fading. (sniffle)
The gorgeous glossy color is beginning to dull, and the edges of my toenails are showing. (sob)

Perhaps I should explain the reason for my deep, thick, black despair.

Pedicures where I live: suck.
Granted, it's like eating a foreign food here in the U.S. and then going to that country of origin and eating the "REAL THING" made how it's been made since God was a boy...and going "WHOA! I've been getting RIPPED OFF!" because the real thing is SO much better.....leaps, bounds, miles, light years.

When I was in NYC last month, we were staying on Long Island in a village called Cove Neck. I put in quite a bit of 'mileage' in NYC covering most of the island. I think....if I had a range: from the north end of Central Park all the way down to Battery Park and the piers for Staten Island and such. I. walked. everywhere.

The first thing you have to keep in mind is I have a blood disorder that messes with my circulation. I'm SO horribly thrilled about that as I might be 37 on the calendar- but I am NOT 37 in my head. I'm 22. And 22 does NOT mean old, or getting old, or even within SIGHT of old. Yet, here I am....I have circulation issues.

Apparently, my circulatory issues like to manifest themselves in my feet first: swollen little vienna sausages for toes. Big, plump, acorn squash looking feet with bulbous ankles. Sounds lovely, doesn't it.

UGH.

Ok...so, from 2 flights out, major altitude changes, a 7 hour car ride to GET to the airport....the deck was stacked against me from the start on this NYC trip. Then I went and walked. And walked. And walked....and WALKED. I climbed stairs in and out of subways, I trotted uphill and downhill, I went round and round in stores and markets. I hit high curbs and low curbs. In the rain.

Oh, did I mention I have arthritis too?

So, by the fourth day in NYC, my feet, were D-O-N-E. Well done. Completely done. Borderline burnt-done. We paused to do laundry that Sunday morning in a little laundromat in Oyster Bay, New York. We're sitting there having our NY bagels, with some NY coffee. Next door, is a nail shop. Not a full-on salon, mind you, a nail shop.

We have these nail shops everywhere now. A few things are standard: First; asian or oriental staff. Second; sparse decor. Third; Big Buddah inside the door. This shop fit the profile.

I walked in, and I was the only client, with three women working. I was laid siege to. Blissfully. The menu of services was simple, and I tend to expect to spend $20-40 on a pedicure, which includes the soak, re-doing my toenails, and some work on my heels as I tend to be barefoot 90% of the time.

At home, this is a 45-60 minute process, with "meh" (read indifferent) results.

HOLY COW. The three ladies set upon me, rolled my jeans up to my knees, and started working on my calves. Mint Julep sea salt scrub. (sigh) Lavender oil massage. (sigh) Meanwhile, my swollen and aching feet were in a hot soak with soothing salts and moisturizers. (sigh) I couldn't believe what they were doing for the price she quoted me.

You also need to know that I HOBBLED into this shop. My left foot, with my high arches, was cramped. My heels and ankles swollen. My toes screaming if I curled them. I also had a blister, about the size of a silver dollar, right at the top of my foot, under the toes, right where the large pad and the smaller pads meet. Think: between your big toe and your first little toe, on the underside, between them, to where it 'creases' when you curl your toes. Imagine walking with a blister, there.

Yeah. Define agony.

So I hobbled in, and just figured a set of nice colored toenails would make me feel better.
Again: HOLY COW.

After this great treatment to my aching calves, which she then wrapped in warm towels smelling of jasmine....(I wanted to take her home with me at this point but she didn't speak any english) this beloved angel of mercy set upon my poor feet.

Turns out, my angel was also a trained Chinese reflexologist/accupressurist. I've never come so close to being in love with a woman in all my life.

I went from not being able to flex, curl, or otherwise mobilize my feet to being able to curl, flex and feel like I could dance down Madison Ave. with no problem whatsoever. That sweet, HEAVENLY creature spent 45 minutes massaging my feet- from the initial winces of pain and stifled shrieks I had when she pushed her thumb into my arch, to where I was nearly asleep, in a fog of jasmine and lavender.....and my feet completely relaxed.

She didn't stop there. [ I did mention I offered to let her come live with me, yes?]

She wrapped my heels in small plastic bags filled with hot parrafin. She removed the warm towels, and then massaged my toes and pads with her fingers- and I just melted into a puddle in the chair. Then she had me get up, and sit in another chair...where she proceeded to massage my shoulders, neck and back. I fell asleep. She was that good.

I can't tell you- but my husband could- what that hour did for me. I came in there a broken, worn out, swollen and blubbering photographer who was dreading the next day of shooting in NYC as I wasn't sure I was going to be able to walk for it. She brought me back to life. I danced out of that nail shop, that heaven.

I also put in a 17 hour day the next day and shot over 1200 photos. I was still walking at 2 a.m. when we got off the LIRR train in Oyster Bay.

SO, if you're ever in the neighborhood:

They are angels. They are magicians. I'd import them here if I could.
I wonder if a RT ticket to Oyster Bay from Denver is worth the $35 pedicure she gave me, and part of me says it is. I tipped her, HUGE. I'm mad at my local shop- I think they are a gimmick.

Oh yeah, the color I had her do? "Big Apple Red"....worth EVERY PENNY.

"Freeze!"

2009-10-06T16:33:00.000-06:00

I remember a game we used to play when we were kids, that was a take-off from 'tag'...it was called "freeze!"

It was somewhat like tag in there was an 'it' and then there were a bunch of other kids who were, well, 'not it'. The object was to run around and the 'it' would yell 'freeze!' and you had to- well, freeze in place. We'd add special requests that each kid had to be doing a specific thing: walking on all fours, backwards, acting like a monkey, crab-walking...etc. If you didn't 'freeze' when told, one, you were now 'it' and two....you often got 'dog piled' by other kids in more rambunctious sessions.

What brought this to mind..... Cleo is in the house....the big 120# great dane....and she's pretty mellow.

Rangoon, or Goonie, our 5 month old, 3 pound Burmese, is NOT mellow. Ever.

Rangoon and Bushido have a daily routine of going berserk around 10 p.m or so....as most other cat-owners will identify with- the 'witching hour' or 'evening crazies'.

Yesterday evening, Goonie and Bushi were tearing around the house at their usual speed of sound.....during this period of 'insane'....and Goonie came flying around the back of the sofa to find that Cleo was laying there.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH.
I heard the carpet fibers being torn as he stopped.
I heard all 20 claws engage the loops of the carpeting.
He stopped so suddenly I wondered if he'd hit some invisible wall. He stopped, and was instantly arched, in a perfect Halloween cat silhouette pose.

Back arched, toes curled, claws out. Tail. FLUFFED.
We tend to call that move 'bottlebrush' as the tail just goes EVERYWHERE.

FOOF.

The funniest thing was- he did this more than once. The dog never moved. Well, she noticed him, her eyes tilted in his direction.

She huffed and her jowls and big droopy lips fluttered like a breeze blowing at a curtain over an open window.

She even lifted her head and stuck her tongue out, like she was clearing a gob of peanut butter from the roof her mouth...that 'smack, smack, smack' sound.

But that was it.

Goonie continued to do "Freeze!" three or four more times.....just run......come to an abrupt stop.....arch, fluff, and then back away like a cartoon cat, until he was on the other side of the sofa, and then he'd go back to playing. Looked like a little kid teasing a WWF wrestler-type who was taking a nap.

Even looked like a kyaker coming barreling up on an aircraft carrier and then acting freaked that the big ship was there. Hmph.

I think the cats are sneaking into the medicine cabinet when I'm not home..... (sigh)

I'll take a thin piece of sharp metal in the ribs, thanks.

2009-10-06T16:12:00.000-06:00

We have Blackberries.
We have the iPhone.
We have really snazzy laptops.

My husband has more high-tech clothes and shoes and emergency gear.... really serious stuff for fires and chemicals and explosions and dirty, wet, ugly, nasty and dangerous stuff. He can go anywhere with this gear.

We're a bit outdoorsy and our garage has all this STUFF in it....
We have kevlar, and polartec fleece, and lightweight breathable high-performance sport fabrics.

We have programmable appliances from coffee pots to a refrigerator with a TV in it.
We have smart cars with cameras....and wireless uplinks....and remote assistance.
We have technology, engineering, and product advancements up the wazoo.

So, will someone please tell me...
As I just unloaded my front-loading, high-efficiency, water and electricity saving HE2 washing machine....

Why the HELL can't someone create an underwire bra where the underwires AREN'T wires...
and if they ARE wires, why they aren't some space-age material from the space-shuttle.....
something that bends and flexes......something that is wearable and durable and that
DOESN'T FREAKING SELF-DESTRUCT IN THE WASH......
...thereby snapping in half (in the casing of the apparel of course where I CAN'T SEE IT)
and then effectively acting as a maximum-security-death-row-inmate type SHANK to my ribcage?

On top of that- once the wire has blown- you have to throw the whole thing away- or pull out the wires and render the support system, "combat ineffective". Crap.

I'm telling you- if men had to wear these things- we'd have some newfangled, space-age material...
something tried and developed with NASA and NORAD, CIA, FBI, NOAA and a bunch of other acronym things........

I know why we still have a thin, flat, SHARP piece of wire next to the things that men claim to love most...what they find attractive...what they stare at in public and in movies...what they talk about as teenagers and what they ogle as college boys.....because they don't have to wear them.

I vote we mandate, for one month, that men have to wear a pair of underwire jockey shorts..... with that same flimsy, unreliable and crappy wire they use for us.....because I can guarantee you- a month is all it's going to take.

Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go throw this torture device in the trash and find a band-aid for my owie. Harumph!

Potpourri in the washing machine....?

2009-10-03T23:08:00.000-06:00

I put the dog on her bed in the hallway.

I snickered at the cats cowering in my bedroom.
I then went around the corner to switch the laundry, that my husband started this afternoon.

I opened the machine.
A towel...attached to a motocross/dirtbike glove.....?
Some cycling shorts.....the ones with the padding 'there'.....another towel.
Motorcross pants. For those of you without dirt-loving spouses......these have layers. Multiple-materials.
Something leather-ish. Some mesh. Ballistic nylon. Velcro. Stuff I don't know about- and I sew.

[I'm afraid to keep looking]

....another towel....attached to the pokey-side of the velcro of the OTHER glove... (sigh)

....two pairs of jeans....one of them MINE (shrieks)

....a hand towel....a RED hand towel......

and hubby's 'under armour' shirt from his motorcross bag...which I know when he's worn it can smell like...well.... a 37 year old 6'6" guy who's been on a dirtbike with 3 layers of clothing, a Camelback, and other stuff on...riding thru dirt, dust, mud, water, brush...... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.
....and his red/black motorcross socks.....which go on his feet...in his boots, in the mud........
...oh, and our youngest child's teddy bear.

I'm barring the husband from 'helping' with the laundry.
Maybe this is that theory that if men do something so blatantly unhelpful, they won't get asked to help.

(groan)

She's just not that into you....

2009-10-03T22:50:00.000-06:00

....and I'm taling to my siamese.....both of them.....about the great dane sleeping in the hallway.

I'm talking to my two meezers....who are at the foot of the bed....on the bed, and under the bed, respectively.

I'm talking to the two furry idiots about the much larger furry idiot that's asleep. In the hallway.

I'm talking to my two very paranoid cats about the dog.... in the hallway. Ignoring them.

I'm still talking to my two felines.....who are bottle-brushing and posturing.....while the dog snores.

Bushi, my snowshoe, will. not. take. his. eyes. off. the. dog. His..............body................however................ is.................moving.............
in...........slow...........motion.
One...............paw................
at.............a..............time.
Like......................
there..................
is.............a.............bomb.......nearby.

I need to get video.

Goonie, our burmese, well.............he's just under the bed.
A large cocoa-puff comes out now and then and postures, bottle-brushes...and then retreats.

The. dog. snores. on.

Come on, boys. This is like two high school boys checking out a grad-student girl.
They are all worked up, and she could not care less.
She flicks an ear and they both jump.

Really, babies. She's just not that into you. Good night.

All Hail Marie Antoinette....

2009-10-02T19:47:00.000-06:00

Hooo. Boy.

You want to talk pressure? 4th down and 30 pressure. Clock in the seconds column pressure.

Last year Logan wanted to be a geisha for Halloween. We came up with this in August, she watched "Memoirs of a Geisha" and "Mulan" and settled in on being a Geisha girl. Easy enough, right?

[Buzzer sound] Wrong.

We got the wig. We got the hair sticks. We got the cute little wood shoes and white 'thocks' with the toe notch. We ordered the kimono and obi. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
October 1......October 10..... October 20.....25....28.... CRAP! No kimono, no obi. Her little red kimono with the black satin stitched dragons wasn't there. Wasn't going to be there. AUUUUUUUUUUGH.

So I pulled a "hail mary" and made her a pot of geraniums. I'm not kidding.
I did a 20 minute Walmart costume Hail Mary.

Green long sleeved shirt. Check.
Black sweatpants. Check.
Plastic pot that fit around her hips at the base. Check.
Green ballcap. Check.
Silk pink geraniums from the floral department. Check.
Hot glue gun and glue sticks. Check
Bright green curly fake lashes. Bonus! Check.
Pink hair spray. Check.
Ticket: $22.10
(she had the pink nailpolish)

Granted, she was adorable.........and admired, and every mom wanted to know where I got it......but it was NOT what she picked out.

Being the focus of so much attention helped dull the pain of NOT BEING A GEISHA....but it still....AUGH!

So, last year after that fiasco, in November, she was watching "Phantom of the Opera" [the good one with Gerard Butler singing] and the Carlotta character did a piece where she was dressed in the style of Marie Antoinette...the tall wig, the wide dress, the white face and circles of pink on the cheeks.....the works. Logan was sold.

Pink beehive wig, Ebay, $9. Check.
Pink maribou fan, Ebay, $4. Check.
Makeup, Walmart, $3. Check.
Dress........... Dress......... DRESS?!?

I. Have. Been. Looking. For. A. Year.
There were too big ones, too small ones, red ones that didn't match her wig. There were plain ones, there were UGLY ones....there were a million-and-one dresses, but not ONE PINK BALL GOWN SIZE 9!

I have ebayed and I have thrift-stored and I have watched Freecycle and Etsy.
I spent today on Ebay and must have looked at 80+ pages of dresses as I'm going from frantic to psychotic.
Let's revisit my search terms:
"girls ball gowns" [buzzer sound]
"girls formal gowns" [buzzer sound]
"girls pageant gowns"
"girls princess gowns" (well, some here, but smaller sizes and cheap construction)
"petite wedding apparel" (figured- hey- short girls are bridesmaids too!)
This went on for probably 20 searches......and many, many, many pages of looking and debating.

"Can I shorten that?"....."Can I tuck this here?"....."Can I hem and tuck and narrow....?"
On. And on. And on.

Finally- I knew I was reaching desperation......when I was punching in "drag queen" and "ugly prom dress"
I figured with dark pink beehive hair.....wearing that horrid lime green or tuquoise cast-off bridesmaid dress wasn't going to hurt- and if I took it in enough here and there..... I mean, I REALLY WANTED to find a dress for this as, heck, it's October 2.

[bing] The Ebay Fairy found me.

In going from a seller to a seller to a store to a seller, I tripped on "THE DRESS"

[insert heavenly chorus of angelic music here]

It's pink. It's a ball gown.
It has puffed sleeves. It has lace.
It has a tiered skirt. It has the hoop underskirt.
It's her size, exactly. EXACTICALLY.
It's full length and not the tarty grown up sleezo costume.
It's not cheapo.
It's a feckin' miracle!
[ Jim Carey style flourish] Tah-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

IT. ENDS. IN. TWENTY. MINUTES.
IT IS AT $10.29.
OH, MY GAWD.

Say it with me now..."OH, my gawd."
Let's all say it together: "OH. MY....."
Yeah, you got it.

I think I gnawed my fingers to the bone in those 20 minutes.
I put in my 'pouncer' which bids in the last 3 seconds for me.
I put up my countdown page.
I had another laptop sitting there with a bid page open.
Three laptops. Two bidding aids. I was going. to. win. this. dress.
I waited to go pee until this thing was done.
I've been drinking TEA for the whole day!

I. Won. It. $21.09.
[taking a bow]
She has....her dress.
Mom, can relax.

*headsmack* [sound of body hitting floor]
Photos will be forthcoming.

Some thoughts on pasta..

2009-10-02T15:40:00.000-06:00

Dinner last weekend...as it was just me....
Pasta with tiger shrimp, and a bit of a cream/wine/butter sauce with pesto and fennel....a green salad with dressing, and a bottle of Le Fin Du Monde.

I find myself debating writing a cookbook as I know there are tons of things I do in the kitchen that I picked up in part from my maternal grandmother, and in part from my travels and time in the kitchens of people I stayed with and visited abroad.

I had dinner guests just before we went to NYC and I guess my method of cooking pasta is different- and I have gotten so many requests and compliments on the flavor- when it's just boxed, dried, same-as-everyone-else pasta, and not even the expensive stuff.

So, I'll share a few thoughts and welcome feedback on it.

1. Whomever thinks taking the pot of boiled pasta and dumping it out in a strainer....then rinsing it with plain water- is missing the big picture. Works for boxed mac and cheese (shudder) but not for true pastas and meals containing pastas where you will actually TASTE the pasta.

2. Soups and stews are what they are due to the process of cooking meats, veggies and seasonings in the water for a period of time- pasta- whether fresh or dried- boils in water for anywhere from 5-10 minutes.....it's an opportunity to infuse a melody of flavors to work with your finishing touches.

3. My process: Boiling pasta in water, given. Additions: fennel (nutty, earthy, toasted flavor) rosemary (sweet, floral, slightly tangy) Oregano, Basil.....and such things as the juice from the can of olives, the oil from the sun-dried tomatoes, the brine from the artichoke hearts, and always-always-always- a good olive oil. A good olive oil is one you can dip your finger into and taste it and taste a chorus of flavors....sweet, tangy, smoky, earthy, crisp, smooth, buttery....it will vary. If you taste your olive oil plain and it's just oily- uh, move on, or just use that one to keep stuff from sticking to your pans.

So...this evening- boiling the standard spaghetti in water, with some of my nutty/smoky olive oil, some fennel, oregano and the addition of a few tablespoons of wine; Sutter Home Moscato 2006. I had boiled the shrimp beforehand, not to being DONE but where they could be peeled.

Shrimp curl when cooked, and I used tiger shrimp, from a 16-20 ct sizing, smaller shrimp curl faster, of course. I boiled the shrimp to where they were just starting to curl, and then rinsed in cold water to peel them. Then I tossed them into a skillet where I had a 1/2 cup of Moscato warming, some fennel, oregano, and a drizzle of the olive oil. I sauteed the shrimp until they curled fully (done) and then removed them to a plate nearby.

I then retained the liquids, which had reduced, and poured in the sauce mix; a good creamy alfredo to which I had added 2 tablespoons of pesto, and let sit overnight in the fridge to combine. I brought the cream/wine reduction to a low simmer (don't boil it) and then turned it to low while the pasta finished cooking.

Don't drain the pasta in a strainer in the sink- it's fine to drain/rinse for mac and cheese...not for this.

Use the pasta tool to remove from the water and allow to drain above the pot, but don't rinse it. I scooped the spaghetti onto the shrimp, and then tossed it, and then poured the cream/wine reduction over it. I found it to have a warm, buttery, smooth taste with a hint of smoky/nutty flavor, the shrimp had additional boost of flavor as well- and nothing was overpowering. I accompanied the dish with a tossed salad of baby italian greens and a chopped roma tomato with an avacado/lemon/cream dressing (which I'm not sharing the recipe for yet as I'm fiddling with it) and a Le Fin Du Monde.

I could have easily gone with the remainder of the Moscato as my drink of choice as I do love it- however the malt flavoring of the Du Monde and it's 'bite' of carbonation was a nice pairing to the smooth flavors of both the pasta and the salad.

The Moscato I've named is one of my favorites in that I am a foodie- to where I cannot drink wine just for the sake of drinking wine- I do like to pair it well with a complementary flavor or food- even just cheeses or fruit, and I seldom find a wine I will drink a full glass of without a food or meal to accompany it. I find beer or cocktails to be better suited to just 'drink' solo, and even some beers I prefer only with foods. Anyways....

This Moscato, however, is that of pears and apples and a cool Indian Summer afternoon with a smooth yet crispy feel to it, a little sweeter than some, and not horribly dry. I tend to get headaches from Chardonnay and don't favor the flavors of a Pinot Grigio or other white/light wine with some cooking- so I always have a bottle or two of this Moscato around- in that I can drink it by itself a glass at a time- and it does add nice flavors when I've cooked with it. Tommy finds it a bit too sweet for his tastes, but he likes when I add it to sauces or dressings as it does impart a light, fruity, buttery taste.

Hmmm. I'm full. :)

Six-two blonde with a Guinness

2009-10-02T06:36:00.000-06:00

I find it amusing that men in a liquor store seem to think I'm lost.

I can understand that when I appear in a mechanic's shop, or at Auto Zone; I'm to be regarded as a foreigner who cannot speak the language....but in a primarily wine-focused environment, or my local store that houses quite a few of the local and specialty brews of beer as well as a good wine selection...

please, gentlemen, stand down.

I'm not sure where men get the idea that beer or wine isn't something a woman can figure out- and I'm generalizing in that not all men think that way, and not all women are proficient in the varietals of wine or the difference between a stout and an IPA....but still....

Last weekend, I'm standing in front of the bomber case at the back of the store, near the 'mix and match' shelves where you can procure your own six-pack of quite a number of Colorado and other micro/specialty brewed beers- and I'm contemplating. Not that I don't know what things are- just that I am not sure what my palate wants.

I'm in a Saturday mode; jeans, black long sleeved tee shirt, hair in a french braid, and heavens- no makeup. I'm six-two in my bare feet and in my favorite red patent sandals- probably closer to six-three. I'm nowhere near as thin as I was in my 20's where attention was a given, I'm curvy and not a small girl that looks incapable of hefting her own six-pack of beer or anything.... and I have a wedding ring on.

So what prompts men to come up to me as I look over my selections of foreign and domestic beers and not only attempt to strike up conversation, but to tell me what I might like for a beer- confounds me. Do I look that out of place? I've even been known to stand there with two bombers in one hand (I have big hands) to deter the suggestions....but it still sets me a bit back on my bum that total strangers- and often ones toting a far inferior beer or wine to my tastes, feel the need to suggest to me...what I would like.

My standard response; "I'm a Guinness girl." And I am. A room-temperature, motor-oil consistency stout girl. Not just the nicely chilled selections of Guinness we have here. The real deal- served pub-style in Dublin or even lesser known Irish locales- and hole-in-the-wall pubs thereto.

I suppose if I were to walk in and get one of the little pushy-cart things that I think look a bit ridiculous unless you're carrying a purse and a small accessory pet like Paris Hilton does.....and head for the Corona and Miller Lite with Lime....I could be perceived as being in need of direction.

So....I'll just say to the infinite populous of the internet..... I'm a six-two (ish) blonde usually carrying some Guinness, and capable of reading the labels on this stuff in six languages. I'm doing fine, thanks.

Why a Siamese?

2009-10-01T22:18:00.001-06:00

Anyone that knows me, or has visited me recently, knows I adore siamese cats. Obsessively adore.

I blog about my cats. I talk about my cats. I am the crazy cat lady, at times.

Why do I love my siamese?

Think of your favorite celebrity of the opposite sex. The one you'd 'just die' to meet. To be ignored by.
Think of walking into a Starbucks somewhere and seeing the object of your obsession, standing across the room from you, latte in hand, ignoring you. Looking perfect. Sunglasses on. Impeccably dressed. Aloof. Silent. Ignoring you.

That's what living with a siamese is all about. This gorgeous, impossibly perfect creature, that ignores you.

Call it a daily dose of self-abuse. Call it what you want. It's why I have Siamese.

Frye........Frye......Frye......

2009-10-01T22:18:00.000-06:00

I'm in a Nyquil stupor.
I'm in a cough-drop induced high.
I'm swimming in herbal tea.

I'd like to find something positive about being sick.
[thinking]

uhm, not coming to me yet.

Well, maybe it's the ability to cash in, load up, and otherwise gorge out on vintage movies.
At present I'm engaged in the showing of "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."
What a sad loss of John Hughes. Will anyone ever encapsulate teenage angst with such accuracy?

What of the teenage movies of late? All "High School Musical" and what I view to be 'tutti fruity'
Ick.

I will admit a certain kindred spirit with Cameron of "Ferris" at this point; lying in bed, in a catepillar coccoon of comforter. Refusing to face reality of any kind. Let them drone my name wherever, let the emails pile up.
Let some odd chick who knows an absurd arrangement of people relay my illness to someone who just doesn't get it. Let the weirdos with flowers ensue. Shoot. Just let me sleep.
I'm sick.

What's your favorite movie to watch when not feeling human?

The Dr. is "In".....

2009-10-01T11:05:00.000-06:00

After a long hiatus from my post..... I have been convinced by an old college friend to return to The Laundry Pit.

This column, started in college. It was the vent for my gripes, elation, and musings as a 17-year-old college co-ed..... viewing the world from my small dorm room...and with the only solitude to write on my own being when I did my laundry.

The laundry room in my dorm was a dark, windowless world of ancient and noisy machines, mis-matched socks, and clusters of lint that moved about the room with ghost-like animation of their own. It was here that I wrote my column, in my journal, and often a letter that may or may not have been mailed. It was my dark and gloomy place to empty my thoughts onto paper, and purge things from my creative corners, either joyfully- or through great pain.

Therefore, I found that the similarities between this environment and the 'pit' of medieval lore, were too many to be avoided.

The Laundry Pit was born.

My life took other directions after college; children, marriage, divorce, remarriage, careers, aimless wanderings, pointed wanderings, and other items I will have to revisit and rehash in some detail.....

So...after quite an absence..... I have returned. As Lucy of Peanuts fame says, "The Doctor is in."

Real Estate in the Bathroom....

2009-10-01T09:10:00.000-06:00

The line has been drawn.
The gauntlet thrown down.

I have to justify my needing 3 of the 4 shower shelves, and 2 additional corners in the tub.....and more than an exact measured half of the vanity top......AND 4 of the 5 shelves in the adjoining closet area for my 'things'.

I am not without the skills to defend my position as queen of the bathroom, and the major owner of real estate therein.

In evidence thereto, I supply the following:

1. Haircare:

If you clean out the drains, hubby's hair is all of maybe 1 to 1 and 1/2 inches long. Mine is anywhere from 13 to 18 inches long. Let's call this difference in hair length; "Exhibit A."

Hubby's hair routine:

get wet.
shampoo.
rinse.
towel.
muss gel.
leave.

My hair routine:

get wet.
apply one of three shampoo options as residue builds from using one product for too long, so variety is necessary.
let shampoo soak in for 30-90 seconds.
rinse.
bottle says to 'repeat' which I only do when I've been grubby.
rinse with cool water.
rinse with hot water.
apply standard conditioner.
wait 5 minutes.
rinse with warm water.
rinse with cool water.
apply coconut oil.
do not rinse.
comb out.
comb hair into ponytail.
look for ponytail holder that snowshoe Siamese is convinced is 'his'.
locate ponytail holder that has been chewed.
locate new ponytail holder and make a mental note not to leave ponytail holders unsupervised.
re-comb hair as searching for ponytail holder has made prior combing pointless.
gently wrap ponytail and twist, as to avoid a 'crease' when hair dries.

Point #1: I win on the need for space for items for my hair, 2 of 4 shelves in the shower.

2. Shaving:

If you analyze where shaving is taking place in the bathroom and on the respective bodies;

Hubby has his cheeks (sort of- as he complains the hair won't grow here and thus he feels weird trying to grow the goatee or beard I've asked him to- if for no other reason than to see how he looks with one) chin, upper lip and jawline.

Square inches for Hubby: maximum of 20, and at most once per day.

I have: armpits, thighs, knees, shins, ankles, back of my knees, my calves, and if I'm really 'into' it, the backs of my thighs. As a bonus point offering, I have other, ahem, areas which hubby certainly doesn't mind me keeping trimmed. (cough)

I cannot shave ANYTHING of mine in the sink. Ever.

Square inches: Legs alone: 35 inch inseam, times two, times the circumference of the various parts.....times once per week. Armpits: maximum of 10 square inches, and at least twice per week or things get weird. Other areas: not calculated as they are bonuses and would triple anything I'd calculated thus far as far as surface area- just due to the trouble therein.

Point #2: I win on surface area, frequency and complications that may evolve thereto by not having the proper products within reach- especially when doing the backs of my thighs.

1 of 4 shelves in the shower

Moving on to the vanity:

3. Skincare:

Hubby's routine:

wet face.
apply soap in hands.
apply friction.
apply lather to face.
rinse.
dry if he feels like it.
leave.

Me:

wet face, being cautious of eye areas and lips.
select cleansing product based on humidity, temperature, activity level and current mood.
apply to selective areas based on humidity, temperature, activity level, and menstrual cycle phase.
rinse, carefully.
blot dry.
apply second product that is in opposition to areas aforementioned: face is either oily/dry or normal/oily, or normal/dry. Never all one type at once.
apply moisturizer to normal or dry areas, using caution to avoid oily areas.
apply toner and astringent to oily areas, avoiding normal or dry areas.
note that face does not come with 'color by number' aids and guessing is essential for categorization at times and may merit backing up and redoing any or all steps hereto.
apply SPF product to face avoiding sensitive areas.
note that sensitive areas will vary from time to time.
application of SPF product to sensitive areas will result in verbal outbursts without explanation.
apply general oil-free anti-aging product to entire face.
stand before mirror in stunned silence while various product interactions take place and the whole she-bang dries to where I can move.

application of makeup is now a possible option, or this process may have to be repeated from any point therein and to entirety.

Point #3: I win a larger portion of the vanity space in front of the mirror, any drawers that are in reach of the vanity, and any shelves at either side of the vanity area.

4. Finishing touches.

Hubby:

Please visit Items 1 and 2.
He showers, shaves, applies 'pit', brushes his teeth.
He's done.

Me:

Please visit Items 1, 2 and 3.
Let's add a few things, shall we?

Blow drying hair:

Time; 30-40 minutes

Curling hair:

Time; 30-60 minutes

Makeup:

Time; 30 minutes if we don't goof and have a re-do

Nails:

Time: 30-60 minutes, if we do our toes too

Products: blow dryer, diffuser, air direction attachment, curlers, straightening iron, flat brush, round brush, smoothing brush, narrow-tooth comb, wide-tooth comb, mousse, gel, pomade, hairspray, shine serum, and finishing mist.

(deep breath)

mirror, magnifying mirror, lighted magnifying mirror, eye pencils, lip pencils, 3 shades of foundation, cotton balls, q-tips, eyelash curler, mascara, blush, 3 makeup brushes, makeup sponge, 2 lipsticks, tissues, conceal stick, green stick, yellow stick, and lip gloss.

(deep breath)

pumice file, pumice stone, green tea scrub, mint julep cream, cuticle oil, no fewer than 10 nail colors, cotton pads, manicure stick, acetone remover, non-acetone remover, strengthening remover, q-tips, cotton balls, ridge filler, base coat, top coat, quick drying coat, and assorted nail embelishments ranging from the little jewels to the flower nail tattoos you think look cute.

Point #4: I get the cupboards under the sinks and any shelves in the closet space near the vanity.

CONCLUSION: I live in the bathroom, it's mine. mine. mine.

A Dr. of....

2009-10-01T07:38:00.000-06:00

First, the disclaimer: I don't have a formal doctorate.

Second, my friends, the life-long ones, would dispute the First one.

I might hold a doctorate in life. In remaining upright in a storm. In holding my own. In standing up for who I am. In not bending to the masses. In not bending to a shearing wind.

It's up for debate.

Lurch= nickname from Anthony B. in high school. Initiated with the intent to upset me. However, revisit the Second above. I wore the name with pride. It was on my college volleyball jersey.

Dr. = the girls in college, all of the colleges, found my room to be a center of conversation. A center of male-bashing when one of us was wronged by the other sex. A center of laughter. A center of calm, or a center of chaos, depending. I became known as the 'Doctor' of my wing.

I began to find post-it's on my door addressed to Dr. Lurch. I found notes slid under my door addressed to 'the Dr.'..... I found a hand-made sign similar to the one Lucy had in Peanuts cartoons, that "The Dr. is In/Out" and a little cup for the $0.05 required to consult.

The nicknames stuck. I endeavor to earn them.

I am...what I am...

2009-09-03T17:08:00.000-06:00

1. ENTP Extroverted, iNtuition, Thinking, Perception in the Meyers-Briggs test.

2. Type 8 Enneagram Personality

3. I'm a Virgo (on the cusp)

4. I'm half Irish, half Italian, with some German thrown in.

5. I'm 6'2" and a force to be reckoned with.

'pat' 'pat'.... plop. "Meow"...?

2009-09-01T10:20:00.000-06:00

I doubt my Bushido knows how much I love him. I doubt he knows how much his blue eyes and soft sing-song meow make my day some days. Most days. I doubt he knows how my heart warms and a smile takes over whatever I am doing when he shows up with a 'toy' for me to play with him.

I was sitting at my desk just now, working on a frustrating project- when I felt a slight pat on my ankle....twice. I glanced down thinking he'd just walked by, brushed me and then caught a second touch with his tail....and he was sitting next to my foot, paw on my ankle, with his 'ball' at his feet. "Meow?" with the big blue eyes.

Oh, heck yeah, we'll play fetch.

He's on his 10th retrieve...make that 11th.

I LOVE my cat.

Show and tell, or not?

2009-08-29T18:58:00.000-06:00

I remember show-and-tell. I remember thinking up things to take. I remember seeing my friends and classmates bringing their things to share. I think, if I remember correctly- what show-and-tell is all about;

who you are. what you are about. what you like. what you do.

Now, at 36, show-and-tell is not quite the same thing- but then again- the theory behind it hasn't changed.

If you visit my blog, or my Facebook page, or my Twitter feed, or any number of my websites, photo sites, or other online 'living spaces'..... you are seeing a part of me. Who I am. What I do. What I'm about.

If you go further, and visit my house; you're going to see my love of photography. You will see I love cityscapes and odd views and grungy stuff. You'll see I love my cats and my children (and that order changes from day to day in ranking), and that I'm prone to dark colors and clean lines, and simple things that have complex internals. You'll discover I'm a geek, and a cook, and a foodie, that I love shoes and books and foreign languages and foods, and sometimes a bit of a slob in my closet.

The point is- there is quite a bit of visualization of who I am, out there.

The question, or rather the challenge, has been brought to me; why do I put things out there?

I raise that challenge by one: why does ANYONE put things out there?

Why do musicians compose, artists paint/sketch/draw, why do photographers shoot, compose, and wait for the light. Why.....why do cooks spend hours in stores, markets, farms, and their kitchens working on different things- tasting, smelling, mixing, thinking, experimenting?

Why do writers write, and journalists document, and why do we all buy magazines and papers and newsletters and write each other and share photos and stories, and why do they make movies and shows and documentaries about 'stuff'?

Take it to another level; why do technical people make advancements. Why do programmers work on new versions- why do architects and hardware specialists work for hours, days, weeks, years on end to move the bar a little higher?

Ready? Another level still. Why do doctors, nurses, researchers and other medical professionals push the limit of where we are now to make new and better things, to find new and better treatments for illnesses and genetic issues?

I mean, why?

Maybe it's because they, like many people, think there is always something better on the horizon. Maybe it's because they like the challenge. Maybe it's because just looking down at your own two feet and thinking that is all there is in the world is a little short-sighted.

I don't want to imagine a world without Picasso, Cezanne, Renoir, Da Vinci, Galileo, Bach, Strauss, Beethoven. I don't want to think of a world without aspirin, allergy medications, pain medications, heart medications, eye glasses, hearing aids, mobility devices.

I DO NOT WANT TO THINK of a world without computers, technology, blackberries, MP3's, cell phones, hi-def television, blue-ray, and 40,000 TV Channels. Sometimes the choices are overwhelming, but having a choice is better than not, yes?

I was told today- and recently it's been a reoccurring theme:

"If you don't want your stuff/work/photographs taken by people- don't put them out there."

Well, I think it's less of a question of whether I want them taken (I don't- without my permission) and more of a question why people think it's OK to take them without my permission.

I think it's more of a question of what kind of world we'd have if every creative and generous person kept their creativity and generosity to themselves.

I think it's more of a question of why something beautiful or cool or interesting can't just be shared and enjoyed, it has to be manipulated or often misused.

I truly think some of the great minds; Mother Teresa, Gandhi, the Dali Lama.....
There has to be this 'bug' in their minds- why are people the way they are?

I think God can only answer that one fully.

I will continue to put my 'stuff' out there.
My 'stuff' is important.
My 'stuff' is valuable.
My 'stuff' is interesting and beautiful and funny and smart, and often thought provoking.
My 'stuff' is MY STUFF.
I don't think that people have grown to accept taking 'stuff' that isn't theirs is a reason to stop having and sharing 'stuff'.

Maybe in addition to 'show-and-tell' from our tender years of crayons, paste and blunt scissors- another theory needs to be put into action more often than 'show-and-tell' needs to be rebuked;

"If it's not yours, ask. If it's not yours, don't touch it. If it's not yours, don't take it. Respect other people's 'stuff', and respect yourself in the process."

Hmm. What a thought.

House of Cards....

2009-08-29T15:37:00.000-06:00

Oh- it figures. Every time Tom leaves town, something happens that is so 'off the wall' and 'out of the ordinary'.....it's always something that when he's here, is no big deal. But, with him gone..... my coping skills are different, and my ability to deal with challenges and stress is affected.

This time, he's in UT and I'm here, sitting amidst a huge pile of 'cards'...for lack of a better analogy.

I have a friend from Jr. High and High School. We weren't 'BEST FRIENDS' but we did O.K. With the wonders of the Internet and Facebook- we reconnected, uhmmmm, over a year ago. We've shared photos and info and jokes, and talked about men and the ups and downs of our lives. Again, it's not a 'BFF' thing, but it's a friend thing.

I've posted about the 20th Reunion I worked at. It was hard. I did NOT enjoy it. It was every bad thing that I remember about growing up and high school- revisited.

I won't rehash the reunion debacle, other than to say I turned to this friend for support, and encouragement in the face of this atrocity. The support was there, but at the same time- things were 'off' from where they'd been before.

After the reunion- I posted photos. This was part of the job I was engaged for- and part of the purpose. I had the appreciation of the members that could not attend, and some orders for the discs. Then I started looking around on Facebook.

This friend of mine- who had been tagged in a number of my photos- had copied nearly ALL of the photos I took and placed them within that profile, with no credit or mention of me- or my work. Hmph. At first I tried to take this with a 'grain of salt' in that it didn't APPEAR malicious- yet I couldn't believe someone would just think that was O.K. to do.

I'm sure we've all copied a photo here and there and used it (I try to use stock photography whenever possible for my blogs and work- royalty free stuff) but, not over 100 of them, at once, in one place.

I thought about it for a few days and then the problems started. Two orders were retracted with the gist of; "If you are giving them away, why should I pay you $5 for a disc?" (groan) Well, now I had a problem. In addition to feeling a bit taken advantage of, this was costing me business.

I posted twice to the wall of my friend, not about the issue at hand, but about something else. This was two-fold; one, I didn't want this a public fight. Two, nobody wants to read or engage in something they KNOW is bad or negative- so starting out on a positive foot was a better idea. Both my posts were deleted from the wall. (scratching head) The first time I thought it might be a FB glitch as I know sometimes a 'post' or a 'send' doesn't take and you have to do it again. The second time, I posted a positive comment, refreshed, waited a while, and went back to verify it was there. It was. The next day- gone. The two posts on either side of my comment that were there when I verified it- still there. Mine- gone. (disappointed look) Drat.

OK, so now I tried email.
I emailed about the same positive thing I had posted about.
And waited.
Nothing.
Days. A week. Ten days. Nada.
Ok, now this sounded more like being blown off and ignored. So, I posted on my own items a non-accusatory and naming-no-names account of the situation- someone had taken or used my 'stuff' and I was upset. The responses were very supportive to my taking action against the person or party. The 'rules' of FB were completely on my side.

I again waited this out. Went a couple nights with no sleep. Had a few irritable days- some undefined stress.....which means I am cranky and snippy to people and short tempered. It all boiled down to a few things:

1. I felt used.
2. I felt betrayed.
3. I was hurt.
4. I was disappointed.

This, added to the general bad feeling about the reunion- well, it just was 'enough'.

I wrote about it, asked friends about it, etc.
Then I contacted Facebook.
I explained that I was upset and disappointed, indicated that the issue was with someone I had thought to be a friend- and then clarified that I was a 'hired lens' for the event and that the 'theft' of my photos was affecting the business aspect of the gig. I waited. I posted for those who were following along that I felt certain there would be fall-out. I felt certain there would be backlash. I watched my friend count....anxiously. A week or so went by.

An email arrived this past Thursday- seeking clarification of the 'stuff' that was taken and where it was. I complied with the email's request for information and sat back.

Then yesterday, Friday- all hell broke loose. This friend of mine issued a 'challenge' to whomever had 'reported' the photos. There was confusion. My friend didn't understand......what the problem was, what had been done, and why someone would be upset.

I sat back, quietly and watched this unnamed rogue get condemming comments one, after another, after another. My friend posted again- and more lynching offers, more comments that the reporting party had to be an 'idiot' and an 'a**hole'.

Hmmm.

Then my friend posted that information had been provided and the reporting party identified. I waited for the boom to lower. Nothing. I emailed my friend. Asked to talk about it. No response. I watched more comments go onto walls about how horrible a person this reporting party might be and how people should gang up and figuratively 'beat up' the offending person.

(sigh)

I waited some more, emailed my friend again. No response.

I then posted to the wall that I was "shocked and upset to find my photos posted elsewhere and that I had tried to make contact to discuss and address it but that my efforts were deleted, ignored and blocked and I felt bad about the situation- and it was unfortunate. "

Oh-ho-ho. Talk about a maelstrom.

My friend sent me a LONG email that was evidently under production when I had posted the aforementioned comment to the wall. This long email was full of information- information I had no clue about in the year's time we'd been talking and sharing online. Information- some of it just sad, and some rather upsetting, and some....downright scary.

It was too late- the cat was out of the bag- the posse was forming- the situation now outside of what I had intended; personal and private.

My friend was now hysterical- and growing more so by the minute. I was upset as now I was both a target and a victim, and really sad that the event had come out publicly and now people were obviously choosing sides.

What followed......is somewhat surreal.

My friend has built a house of cards. Illusions. Masks and smoke & mirrors things. A life of rice paper realities- or no realities. A life, a fake life. A strong front- with a very weak foundation. A crumbling foundation. A suicidal foundation.

I can't express the pounding in my chest. The tears in my eyes. The lump in my throat. I was caught in a real mess. None of it my making. I did a job, the situation was horrid, and evidently, more fragile than I had imagined.

This situation has brought so many points and views into collision: I'm worried about my friend. I feel bad the situation went public. I did what I should do, and what I had to do. I tried to keep it private. I made quiet and ambiguous contacts to see what other people would do in a similar situation. I asked for input, without naming names, with very few specifics. I tried direct approaches to approach my friend, I tried less pointed approaches. I complied with the rules and for that matter- the laws. I tried to be quiet. I hurt my friend. My friend hurt me. I'm more stable.

My friend is unstable- and has scared me with comments and innuendo.

The final straw was when my friend posted a status message that alluded to the practice of 'cutting' or self-inflicted harm, and made illusions to being suicidal. I panicked. I wasn't the only one panicked. Other, mutual friends, came out of the woodwork. This was not good.

The house of cards was falling down. Wind had blown, the foundations shaken- the cards were shuddering, flittering and losing their hold and shape. The illusion was up. The truth coming out.

I felt horrible. I was up, seeking mutual friends. Looking for contacts, keeping IM's and emails going to see what I could find and do. Nothing was very reassuring. Nothing was helping. I had 3 laptops going, multiple IM's and emails, I was talking to Tom, and he was in UT and I was on my bed- not sleeping- It was 2 a.m.

I can't fully explain my jumble of emotions and confusion:
1. I had misunderstood my friend's intentions, and my friend had misunderstood me. There was no communication- and the silence led to extrapolations and inferences..... aw, crap.
2. I had inadvertently set off emotional reactions that my friend was nowhere near ready or able to handle- and in that fragile state; something that would be a pain or a minor problem- discussed and resolved- was now a major crisis.
3. I had done what I needed to do to protect my livelihood, my profession, and my property, but thinking my friend had 'used' me as there was no response to my attempts to discuss it.
4. My friend had used poor judgment and not only stepped on my toes, stomped on them.
5. My friend- who is living with so many things hidden- has far more problems and issues than I can help with, or have known about. I care so much- and there's so little I can do.

The situation now stands- my friend has removed me from their list. Other people are choosing sides. The 'gangs' are forming as to who is right and who is wrong. My friend is....messed up with pain and emotion. Bigtime. I so love my friend and feel for the pain being experienced. My friend needs help. Love. Support. I'm scared, I'm sad. I don't know what to do. I don't know what not to do.

(sigh)

I guess.....My feeling is; if you build a house of cards......if you work very very hard to present a mask or illusion to people so they don't see the real problems (and can't help you because they don't know) you should be prepared, and now my friend has to be prepared......for people to both believe the illusions, and to call their bluff.

I am so sorry my friend is hurt. I am so sorry my friend is having a hard time. I can't be sorry for protecting myself and my rights, my stuff. I can't be sorry and I'm not sorry for trying to handle it honorably and discreetly, with care and slowly, quietly. I am sorry that was not enough for my friend in their present state- and I am sorry they have a long and hard road ahead.

I was up until 3 a.m. worrying. Upset. Concerned. Exasperated.

I have told my friend I am still here. I am still a friend. I have said I am sorry for the hurt.

I think that's all I can do, for now. (sigh)

Some days....you just gotta nap.

2009-08-28T09:23:00.000-06:00

I'm going to try to take my cues, at least for a little while- from my two precious meezers. (this is Rangoon, this morning on the bed before I made it)

I'm uptight. I'm picky. I'm...ugh- anal- about things.

I'm much like my mother- and that upsets me.

I get uptight about things Logan does; she wore a 'good' outfit to school today with a ratty ballcap and ratty shoes. I wasn't happy she dipped into the 'good' clothes section and wore something I keep for occasions like dinner out, visiting with relatives, etc. Not to mention it was a shorter skort- which meant at the bus stop this a.m. she was shivvering and after she complained yesterday IN PANTS it was cold out there at 7:15 a.m.

I just remember my mother being so critical- all the time.
Everything.
Nothing was good enough. Ever.
Pick. Pick. Pick.
She couldn't find anything positive or supportive to say- I think- to save her life.

She just had to pick away at everything- which eventually picked away at my self-esteem and confidence.

I don't want to be my mother. I don't want to be like her.

I don't want my children, my girls, feeling the way I do about my own mother- about me. I must learn to relax a bit....and take my cues from my meezers- who seem to just take everything in stride.

Sit in the sunshine- enjoy the moment- nap when you can- and let the rest of it just go by, with a blink of big eyes and a flick of a very sleek tail. Lessons I learn from my cats that I never learned from my mother. (sigh)

Figuring out what 'fixed' means....

2009-08-24T09:46:00.000-06:00

Our little beloved, acrobatic, flight-approved Burmese, Rangoon- is now at the vet....being 'fixed'.

Last week, when I made the appointment, Tom and I agreed that we needed to prep Logan for the reality that Goonie would be in the big crate for a day or two to recover- as he has a tendancy to jump......sometimes 3-4 feet in distance and 4-5 feet in height- and we needed to contain the little bugger to allow his sutures to heal- and we wanted to prep Logan for the fact that Goonie would be contained and complaining (as only a Burmese can) for a day or so....

Our conversation that day:

Mom: "We have to take Goonie to get fixed next week..."
Logan: "Oh, we're going to have his ear fixed?"
(he did get a scratch/bite that bled on one ear a few weeks ago)
Mom; "Uh, no- that doesn't need to be fixed. That healed on it's own. Fixed....well, fixed means that he is going to have a little operation so he can't have baby kitties."
Logan: "I thought the girl kitties had the babies?" (oh, brother.)
Mom; "Well, she does- but she can't do that by herself...."
Logan; "Ok, so the boy kitty carries the baby kitties too...??!?"
Mom; "No. Do you know what a mammal is?"
Logan; "uhhhh...."
Mom: "Mammals are a kind of animal- mammals have hair and are warm-blooded and give birth to live babies and the moms make milk for the babies..."
Logan; "Ohhhhhh. Ok."
(long pause)
Mom; "So the cats are mammals."
(Logan looks confused)
Mom; "With mammals- it takes a boy and a girl together to make a baby."
Logan; "So...who has the babies?"
(groan)
Mom; "Ok, if you want a baby horse, there has to be a boy horse and a girl horse and the girl horse carries the baby horse in her tummy. Got it? Same with dogs, cats, all the mammals."
Logan: "OK, I got it now."
Mom; "So we're having Goonie fixed so he can't MAKE babies with a girl kitty."
Logan; "Ahhhhh. Ok. How do they fix him?"
Mom; "It's called neutering."
(Logan has a blank stare- I can tell that didn't make a dent.)
"He has to have his little nuts cut off."

She now looks a bit shocked, but seems to be pondering this answer. I figured, since we hadn't gotten into HOW the baby gets in the girl's tummy...I was going to drop this line of conversation. Now. Period.

We have had issues with Logan retaining information and instructions- or being able to reiterate what she's been told or learned. We have been practicing telling her stories or events and asking her a couple days later to repeat or re-tell the story or event to see how she's doing on retention and her ability to recount how things happen or what she was told.

This morning, during breakfast, Tom was talking to Logan to remind her that tonight Goonie would be locked up in the big crate, and that he wouldn't be able to play until Wednesday. Their conversation went something like this :

Tom; "So you know where Goonie is going today?"
Logan; "Yeah, he's gonna get his nuts cut off."
(Tom both feels a small twinge of pain and resists the urge to laugh at this)
Tom: "Well, uh, yeah, kindof. Do you know why?"
Logan: "So he can't make baby kitties. If we had a boy kitty and a girl kitty we could have baby kitties. "
Tom: "Yeah....pretty much. We don't want Goonie to make babies so he's getting fixed."

At this point we're fairly proud of her for remembering what, who, and why....however, in typical third-grader fashion....the 'story' of this situation is about to take a slight detour from reality;

Logan; "If we had a girl kitty we'd have to get her nuts cut off too...."
(Tom resists the desire to do a head smack)
Logan; "When I grow up I'll have to get my nuts cut off..."

Tom: "Ok...lets talk about something else...."

Facebook Etiquette...First installment.

2009-08-10T13:25:00.000-06:00

Things I see on Facebook that I think someone like "Miss Manners" or "Emily Post" really should address but don't;

There is a reason you have a password. Sharing that password invalidates the need for passwords, understand?

Passwords, once shared, result in embarrassing and often off-color contributions to your account by/from other people- perhaps with less 'good judgement and character' than you. However, your name and/or photo shows up next to their behavior, food for thought.

Accurate spelling is becoming a lost art. As a society, let us try to find it again, shall we? If you are unsure, consult dictionary.com. If you can only convey or communicate via the lack of vowels and text-speak, please remove me from your friends list as with a Harvard education, I find such laziness annoying and somewhat unforgivable.

Tact is something you can never have too much of.

Facebook labels are purposeful:

"Wall"= a public area anyone can see.

"Message"= information sent to a party or parties, usually private.

If you post to the wall, the world will see it. If you send it in a message, provided you did not add your entire friend list to the "To" field, only the named recipient will see it.

There are appropriate purposes for both:

To wish someone well, congratulations or support, the wall is appropriate.
To inform someone of anything you have to think twice about before informing them; send a message.

In this area some aged and sage advice: "Best to be thought a fool than to open one's mouth [or post one's thoughts on a wall next to one's name and photo for ownership thereto], and remove all doubt."

Copying other members photographs, then posting them to your own album (and thereby inferring credit for those photos) is a cheap form of plagiarism and a blatant form of copyright infringement. Not to mention a clear indicator of your character and personal boundaries as far as another person's personal and intellectual property.

As a professional photographer this infraction and gaffe is particularly disturbing in that time, education and practice have yielded my skill and perception in my trade. If another member would like to reimburse me for the tuition (KU, UT at Austin, Nebraska, and Harvard) I would be less upset about releasing claim to my work and/or intellectual properties. If not, please keep your mouse 'click-copy-save' to yourself.

Finally, as the younger generations of Facebook users will soon find out; people outside of your intended audience will, and do, see what you post. This includes (but is not limited to): teachers, college recruiters, police officers, your friends' parents, your girlfriend/boyfriend's parents, your siblings, your cousins, your future boss, your future parole officer, your future cell-mate and your future co-workers. You never have a second chance to make a first impression. The bong/topless/drunk/handcuffed/illegal impression will not be lost easily....and please see the preceding paragraph regarding the 'abduction' of photographs from your albums- just because you delete it, does not mean it is "gone".

I have much more to contribute as to what I find on Facebook- but for now.....(sigh) this will have to be a start.

Old garbage, redelivered.

2009-08-04T09:24:00.000-06:00

I don't know if this is a rant, if I am just pondering one of life's little oddities...or if there is journalistic merit to the idea.....

It's Class Reunion season.
Having never been to one (I didn't attend my HS 10th, and none of my college reunions) I only had the 'Hollywood' version of reunions to go from;

1. popular kids are either still popular, or have slid into mediocrity.

2. unpopular kids are either still unpopular, or now CEO's of multi-million dollar corporations or something equally lucrative.

Well....that's all in my current perception, somewhat true; sortof.

I attended the 1989 Twentieth for the high school in my home town last weekend. It wasn't MY class, per se, but I did know most, if not all the people in there as they were seniors when I was a sophomore (which turned out to be my last year of HS as well...) and so I did have a number of memories and connections with these people.

I now see why alcohol is mandatory for reunions. I now see why Hollywood has had fun with this concept. I now see why TV shows cover this concept. I now know why some people break out in hives and come down with mysterious ailments when it it comes to their HS reunion.

Tommy found it interesting that the Class of '89 here was so much like the class of '88 where he was in high school; an island unto themselves. Isolationists. Elitist. Exclusive. Reclusive.

With the great social movement of Facebook, the concept of losing touch with old HS classmates is less of a reality- and finding people you've not seen in 20 years and having a connection with them, is quite a bit simpler than it has been in the past- IMHO. We can now, as a society, share photos, video, and daily tidbits with those we have in our lives now, as well as those we had friendships with (and rivalries) in the past.

Facebook has also presented a new set of social questions, such as; "Do I really want to reconnect with this person?"

Case in point: A few months ago- someone who was quite difficult for me to deal with in Jr. High and High School popped up on my 'friend requested' section of Facebook. Quite frankly, the first thought I had was to find the video for "You want to be my friend on Facebook?" - which I'll warn you is a little, uhm, explicit in the lyrics- and is subtitled in the video below- but I found it very appropriate for some of these people....and one in particular. (it's actually got another title- but along with the title- and be warned; she drops the F-bomb a few times- ....)

It really does summarize how I felt that day getting that friend request. I, however, didn't "Ignore"....at least not yet. I thought about it, and Tommy even remembers my face that day when I got that request. "AGH. Ewww. Sheesh!" I thought about it- and decided it's been 20 years and I could be the bigger person, the grown-up, the mature adult- and move on from the behavior of the past.

Uhm, he can't. Ever.

I still haven't blocked/ignored him- but I did remove his 'posts' from my 'feed' within a week or so after accepting HIS friend request- (note, I didn't go looking for him) - and his posts hinted he was still the small-minded pervert I always thought he was.......but again- I tried to be the big-girl here and not judge someone by their, uh, Facebook cover.

So- now we have last weeks' reunion. Which, at the request of the organizers, I was photographing for classmates that could not attend; posting photos on Facebook and creating a compilation CD of photos from anyone that would contribute their shots- as well as ones I took at the events.

Guess who is the first reunion guest I run into a the first event- yeah- the FIRST one to walk into the patio where I'm setting up my gear? Yeah. You guessed it. Facebook Jerk-boy. (sigh)

The back story in a nutshell; Daily torment. Daily tears. Public humiliation. Explicit and profane fabrications (lies) on his part about me and anything I might have done with him had I been willing to come within 100 ft. of him on purpose. Yeah- every TV/movie bully-jerkface you can think of- rolled into a 6'3" package with no tact, no personality, and no self-esteem.

Now he's a 6'6", 300lb guy who lives in California. And he's worse.

I'd friend listed him, he recognized me from Facebook, and I made the mistake of making eye-contact. I'm screwed now. Eye-contact is like a handshake of sorts- you're committed to acknowledge the person- or be a jerk yourself. (sigh)

I put on my big 'Hi there! ' smile as I'm NOT devoid of self-confidence or social graces, and greet him. So he sits down at my table where I'm unpacking gear- and strikes up a convo. It becomes painfully evident that he has NO CLUE who I am. My name has changed since then, I've grown another 3-4" in height and a little more than that in girth. It actually feels like he's hitting me with the 'player' sales-pitch. Eww.

I tried to play along, I really did. However, I don't like deceptive people that 'fake' something and then "yank the rug out from under you" later- so I had to address this mistaken identity with him, now. I started dropping hints. I started rehashing classes we took, field trips we went on, and people we knew. He wasn't getting it. (sigh)....so I dropped my maiden name. Boom.

With a smart-a** remark, he picked up his drink and left the table. Period. And, aside from some shouted, less-than-cordial-comments directed at me from across the room for the remainder of the night- he was done with interacting with me; at least in a positive way.

Good grief. Twenty years, and still a jerk. A tall, loud, thoughtless jerk who yelled things at me from across the room/buss/hall in school and now was yelling things across a crowded patio at me- with a total lack of propriety. The only thing that had changed about him was he is now a BALD, mean, unattractive, insecure guy.

BUT....the reunion was not all about him. At least not for me.

I want to drop a few tips for anyone going to a reunion, ever:

If there's a hired photographer, don't be a jerk, or a witch. I'm sure by the time a 20th reunion rolls around people have been to weddings, events and company parties enough to know there may be a photographer there and to at least look at the camera, and smile....or at least smirk. Turning your back to the hired photographer only lets you know (and everyone else) if your hair is combed- and how big your butt is given the angle.
If you see someone at the reunion you didn't know or didn't care for in yester-years....be a grown-up and be nice. "Hi. Good to see you." and then invent your way across the room, quickly. "Must go catch so-and-so before they leave" or "getting my wife/hubby a drink and you look wonderful!" and walk on.....just smile, be nice, and go on.
Don't BS people. Especially if you're drunk and they're not. I had one guy- he wins my BS award for this event- try to talk to me for 5 minutes about how great it was to see me and rehash our HS time together- when he had NO IDEA who I was. None. He did a great job at the above recommendation of being nice and making conversation like a big-boy....however he took it to another level and acted like we'd been best buddies or even dated or something.....which was cute/funny, and better than the jerkface routine....but still.....total drunk BS about everything.....egh.
Remember that you, and everyone else, are not 15 anymore. Behavior that suits a 15 year old (or less!) only makes you look stupid, not cool. Cool wore off at about 19. Then it became immature. At 25 it became juvenile. At 30 it became inappropriate. At 37, it's stupid. Very stupid. Don't do it. Your clique has dissolved, your status as 'cock of the walk' or 'homecoming queen' is over. Long over. Chances are the kid you abused all those years ago now has a better job, bigger house, and more stable marriage than you do, and being a butt about it- yeah. You got it.

I can't begin to express my amazement, and somewhat- disgust, at how these people, or MOST of these people (some were fabulous) haven't grown up- AT ALL.

Is this really what HS reunions are all about? Getting drunk for DAYS on end and behaving like idiots? Abusing people you've not seen in 20 years or so- simply because they were shy or finding themselves when they were 16? Really?!?!

I was rather amazed no interest existed in what people were doing now as far as careers or education or family- it was apparently more about everything 'back then' and a regression of older, balder, larger people to being younger, snobbier, and more drunk than their current age would allow for. Wow.

No wonder booze is the standard accompaniment to a reunion: there's no way to tolerate any of it sober.

Ok, rant over.

Do I want to know?

2009-06-14T18:56:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting working on some copper wire wrapped gemstones....and Logan is playing on her computer. Bushi is asleep on the loveseat behind me. Tom is out on a 'mission'...it's a quiet Sunday afternoon.

Logan: Mom?

Me: Yes?

Logan: How do you spell "mosquito"?

Me: Mosquito? [This is not a third-grade word]

Logan: Yes.

Me: (pause) Uh....well, what are you doing? [Thinking she's playing a spelling or sentence game]

Logan: I'm writing a letter.

Me: (pause) Oh. (long pause) to whom?

Logan: God.

Me: [Oh, now what?] Uhm..... just do the best you can I'm sure he'll understand.

It sounded like a good idea at the time.....

2009-05-16T15:33:00.000-06:00

DISCLAIMER: If you read this, you don't get to tell my husband I did this as I took great pains to eradicate all the evidence......

I got a 5' one of those 'love sac' things...it's like a beanbag but bigger......and filled with shredded foam. I got it off freecycle thinking it would be great for the dog/puppy we are hopefully getting. I got the thing off Freecycle so it didn't cost me the $400-600 that would normally talk a rational person out of doing anything remotely wonky with the thing.....

I just figured with a great dane in the house I needed to find a place for him to 'sit' and lie down that didn't involve my couch, bed, or club chairs.

Then I sat on the thing.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

The dog can have an old, folded up comforter.

This. is. mine.

I got to thinking, that if we were successful in getting preggo....and I can't get comfy sitting in any chair in the house....this is going to be my 'nest' for days. Weeks. Trimesters.

Well, as I said, I got it off Freecycle and the donor had put a ratty-looking slipcover of flannel camouflage (ugh.) on it....and so I shredded that and found the dark navy canvas material underneath. No bizzare odors...a few scuff/dusty spots....meh.

Here's where I get in trouble.....ready? One......two....three.....Go.

I figure; "I'll just pull the innards out of this, put it in a couple trash bags, and wash the cover, and restuff it. Voila."

Uh. No.

Nothing doing.

Nailing jell-o to a tree would have been more productive.

15 trash bags later.... I'd made little to zero progress, wearing black, and covered in little foam lint..... in my hair, my hands, my clothes, everywhere. It sticks to anything, everything. I'm sure when I die the autopsy will find bits of foam in cavities of my body I didn't know I had.

So, I figured this was a project I had to abandon due to my own stupidity....and lack of being able to accurately calculate volume....(something my husband would have nailed in a .004 second glance..... )

AND I still had to clean up the scene of the crime.

So: 1 shop vac + regular vac + 15-now-empty-but-still-linty-thanks-to-the-miracle-of-static trash bags, and me...

in black yoga pants and a black tee shirt, looking like I got mauled by a Tim Burton creation made of foam. And the foam won.

I'd say I'm about 95% done on the crime scene cleanup......and he's not due home until tomorrow. Think if I leave the lights off in the house from now on, and strew some laundry around, he'd notice that last 5%?

Maybe I can blame this on hormones?

Tired, cranky, suspicious and irrational....

2009-05-13T10:11:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it is.

I can't talk about it.

No, not because I know anything, but because I don't, and I can't talk about it for both lack of information and lack of interest in talking about something with a lack of information.

I'm tired.

I went pee 8 times last night, I know 4 of them I did bed-bathroom-commode-bathroom-bed with my eyes closed so I HOPE that was the toilet I sat on.

I'm cranky. Someone ate or disposed of my last bit of pre-mixed waffle batter with chocolate chips....and I had to settle for a graham cracker and milk for breakfast.

I'm suspicious. Tom put on the AXE body spray this morning and then took a call from a female coworker at 6:45 a.m. while I was in the bathroom with him, going pee, again.

I'm assured it's nothing...however, I'm not in control, my hormones are. My hormones think it's something, so they are driving the rest of us nuts like a sugared-up 3-year-old, on a 10 hour road trip in a sub-compact car, doing 45mph in the middle of nowhere where you can't even play "I spy..". Wait for the mushroom cloud over my house. Wait for it. Wait....

I'm irrational. I found Tom's 10 year old bottle of Drakkar Noir on the bathroom counter yesterday morning, where I'd never seen it before. I thought that was odd since he smells good with just soap and water and doesn't wear the stuff....for me...that is.

He assures me that both the Drakkar and the AXE are byproducts of other innnocent situations (running out of space in his drawer next to the sink and who needs 10 year old cologne, and that the AXE is actually a smell-cover-up for his OTHER morning activities which would entail gross TMI.) however I'm hormonal, tired, cranky at being deprived of my waffle, tired of going pee constantly, suspicious about why my husband needs to smell good for an airport crisis exercise that evidently involves body parts being separated from their owners (what the 6:45 a.m. call entailed as well as the question of what time this crisis was supposed to start) and so I'm also irrational.

This is just so much fun I want to do it every day. Not.

Actually, I did a quant beta draw yesterday and have another tomorrow.

Until then, there's nothing to report.

Nothing to see here, folks.

Move along, before I use my jedi mind powers on you.

As much fun as cleaning the oven....

2009-05-07T10:52:00.000-06:00

I'm really not looking forward to another run of Clomid....though I confess I am somewhat of a pessimistic mind today....

Monday I felt lousy....and Tuesday I felt lousy...yesterday I felt lousy in spurts...and today (Thurs) I'm not doing too bad.

I got up at 8:00 and have been cleaning and organizing for the party this weekend.....no nausea....and I'm not horribly tired (though who would I be to turn down a nap if one was offered?)

So...I'm not exactly thrilled....that I might be doing another month of Clomid....and all the things that go with it. Getting freaky on that stuff is about as fun as...yeah, cleaning the oven. (sigh)

They're back....

2009-05-05T11:41:00.000-06:00

Those of you with weak stomachs, and prone to nausea, should not proceed.

Well...since I'm among that group....and yet the author of the blog, I don't have a choice.

The cravings are back.

Pineapple mango chipotle salsa and tostitos scoops, and then jello fat-free/sugar-free choco fudge pudding.... in the same sitting. With a diet caffiene free coke, as if that was going to make any difference.

The chocolate I can understand- I could be dead and want chocolate.....but the salsa is a little more complicated. After I had Logan eight years ago, I had a gallbladder attack just weeks after delivery. The doctor said it's quite common in second and third pregnancies...and that was little comfort after feeling like I was having a fence post driven through my torso. After that surgery...spicy stuff was OUT for me. This was in part a pain in itself as I was the girl in college that had a whole jar of salsa, with or without chips to keep me through it...by myself.

I'm also tired. Dead tired. Dog tired. Been-rode-hard-and-put-up-wet tired. Shoot me tired. Hair-in-a-clip-and-no-makeup-on-going-to-the-market tired. [thankfully most of the other people in town look this way most of the time] Slept 8 hours last night. I'm still tired.

Then there's the queasies. The unbearable little snots...I envision them as tiny little gremlin/fairy crosses that go about making you just feel GREEN. You sit up on the edge of the bed and one of these little buggars comes up and hits you on the forehead with a crooked twig of a wand, and presto! You're nauseated.

Lie. back. down.

This is murder for my productivity.

I did manage to haul myself out of bed and make it a few errands yesterday, but by far the most interesting was the pedicure I was LONG overdue for. I sat down- having remembered to wear pants that I can pull up above the calf easily (I always wind up doing a pedi in jeans and not being able to roll them up far enough to keep them dry) and dunked my tootsies into the swirling mini-spa of blue-ish water. I had my usual flash of; "Why do they tint this the same blue as the toilet stuff ....?" and then was too tired to care. Could have been tidie-bowl and I'd not have cared, and it might have taken care of the calluses and rough heels I had to boot.

So there I sat....in the massage chair made for shorter people than me....and my asian nail tech went to work. I should also mention that I'm probably their least favorite customer, not because of anything I am or have on my feet/nails...but because they are all asian, speak vietnamese or mandarin, and insist on trying to talk to me while wearing masks or in spurts between chattering amongst themselves which I have learned to selectively tune out. I'm a zero conversationalist when getting my nails done...so they just quietly work on my digits and leave me alone.

The tech begins by taking off my lovely Opi 'Eiffel for you' which is a vampire purple of a color (felt like it after watching 'Twilight' the other night) and...my big toenails were still...purple. Urk! Both big-toe toenails, from the inner edge toward the center, were half-circled in purple, blue, green and black BRUISES! [picture is not of my feet- but of some research I found while trying to figure out if my feet were falling off- my feet are prettier than this, even with the bruises!]

What. the. hell?

One was actually sorta' turquoise in color....and I have to tell you; I've played basketball. I've been a volleyball goddess of pain, I've rock climbed, I've hiked....I've put myself into a flight suit and gone supersonic and corkscrewed in an F-18.....I've never had bruised toenails. I've done nothing requiring my toes to go above and beyond- save some work at home, and a wedding shoot this weekend.

I thought back to where I felt tender toes right after I painted them last- with the vampy purple- and how a couple days later I noticed while curled up in bed that my big toe felt tender when I bumped it...and I thought nothing more of it. Weird. Online research has turned up little...and the tech himself said he sees it all the time with hikers and mountain climbers. Tom said he gets that from time to time riding his dirtbike if he jams his toes into his boots......it still irks me.

So....add to the list.... I'm tired, I'm nauseated, I want chocolate and salsa in close proximity with a garnish of Caffy Free Diet Coke- and I have bluish-blackish-turquoise toenails under the 'Cats Eye' polish I have now...and refuse to remove due to gross toenails.

Maybe I'm pregnant?

Check out the guy at the end of the bar...his butt's blinking....

2009-04-28T16:21:00.000-06:00

I'll get to Mr. Flashie here in a moment.

I guess, after my weird dream of Sunday night...I should learn to keep my mouth shut around my husband when it comes to my bizarre brain activity.

Of course, that could mean we wouldn't talk much....

I told Tom about the weird 'order your child' dream I had...and in the silliness of the moment we started discussing how random all of this baby-making stuff is.

Which of course, led to us discussing the fact that we are struggling with the OPK tests, and how dark a line is a dark line....and where we are for ovulation and resulting or following 'festivities' or 'exercises', as you will based on our ability to interpret this varying pink line......

I said that I thought it would be so much easier if it were more outwardly obvious that I was ovulating. Kinda' like other areas of the animal kingdom where it's blatantly obvious that procreation is afoot and that you'd either better get with it, or go somewhere else.

Why can't my right pinky fingernail turn blue or something?

This led to my long-held belief that I think that it would have made adolescence and my 20's a great deal more entertaining and less filled with male land-mines had it been more obvious in some situations what I was dealing with when it came to the mating dance or at least the mating stumble.

Let me elaborate with a little scenario for you:
(lights come up....)
I walk into an establishment, room or just into public. For the sake of argument we'll pick a frequented locale of the 20-to-30-something single group: a pub.

As I enter the room, small flashes of varying green and yellow hues begin.

Blink. Flicker. Blink.

I automatically know I'm going to be dealing with a host of issues that night, or in that location: because the guys in the pub have been blessed (or I've been blessed, rather) with the mating technique of the aforementioned Mr. Flashie, the firefly:

If they're interested, their butts glow. Simple, eh?

Six guys, sitting on barstools, down the line; dark, dark, faint glow, dark, flicker-like-it's-not-all -the-way-screwed-in, and whoa!

Now I know...and can judge....do I want to deal with them, or do I need to look for an emergency exit?

Tom, of course, said that men are already flagrant enough in their displays (though that little black bird on Discovery Channel, with the pom-pons that spin around his neck, and he dances all over the underbrush- he now comes to mind....) in that they act like total boobs, dorks and idiots....with telltale physical, ahem, 'uprisings' in some situations. I told him that wasn't always as blatantly obvious to the female as it was to them.

He proceeded to hit me with a pillow, launch himself from his side of the bed to mine...and thereby ending our evening discussion on ambiguous mating rituals and signals........

....as I got his message. :)

Waiting on the surge.....

2009-04-27T15:52:00.000-06:00

With ovaries tingling and sometimes burning....I now am waiting for the LH surge. What's an LH surge?

Basically, I'm waiting for my body to tell me I've released an egg. On Clomid...there could be....could be...more than one.

Apparently, my subconscious is looking to entertain me while I wait for this surge, as I'm having WEIRD dreams...

Last night I dreamt that a woman, wearing a doctors coat, came into a room I was in. I was lying in bed, and she came in carrying what looked like either two dino-eggs, or two mini nerf-footballs, under one arm. She had a clipboard...I'm serious...looked like an everyday Doctor.

So she comes into the room, and puts the two din0-football-egg things on the foot of the bed. She then starts asking me what I want....like a waitress at a fancy restaurant where there's always 50 options for how you want your food and accompaniments. So...I start telling her:

"I want twins. Boys. I don't care if they are identical or fraternal. If you do fraternal I don't care if one is a girl, but we want a boy no matter what...."

The Doctor-looking chick checks off some boxes on her clipboard and whips out a PDA...and more questions....

" The eldest boy will be our jock/moto-head. Looks like his daddy. Into engines and sports...very driven, serious, quiet...like his daddy. The other baby, if it's a boy....."

And I rattle off my requests like I'm ordering a steak, potatoes and salad, a bottle of wine and to follow up with dessert.....and worse, I go into detail like I'm coordinating patterns, fabric, woods and tile for a house!

If that isn't enough bizarre stuff, she takes the two dino-football eggs and with the PDA, apparently "programs" them. (?!?!) Then, straight out of 'Alien v. Predator'...they begin to morph.

I know I've watched that movie too many times....

I guess I get knocked out while they are morphing, because the next memory of this dream I have....Poof. I'm pregnant with the twins that I ordered.

Maybe it's going without wine. Maybe it's going without a Guinness or a Chai now and then.

I'm waiting for my surge....and I think in the interim...I'm losing my marbles. (sigh)

Variation on theme......

2009-04-08T19:04:00.000-06:00

In the wonderful way the universe works....I've been given a couple small distractions from the whole 'lets-make-a-baby' roulette.

First, I'm planning Logan's 8th Un-birthday party.

It's an un-birthday party as her birthday was 3/1, and we were in Denver...then we were home for 2 days, and then we were in Denver again...and Boulder....and then we were home...and then we were sick....... (you get the picture...the birthday didn't happen as planned)

SO: in the way I get twisted ideas I've come up with this one.....we're doing an "Alice in Wonderland" themed un-birthday for her and her entire 2nd grade class, with cake, punch/tea and croquet. Required dress code: an unusual hat.

So...I gotta scare up about 10 spare weird hats, and 3-4 croquet sets.

I'm baking a cake in the shape of a giant tea-cup surrounded by 'present' cakes [I so love ebay and the new silicone baking pans that are out there!] and we will have a gaggle of people over on the front lawn for croquet and cake....and hopefully it will redeem us from her birthday being trampled by the chaos that is our life.

Second, Logan came home from a birthday party today, and while I like the little birthday girl and her parents, I must confess a level of both confusion and irritation with the said birthday girl.

This little pixie....keeps terrorizing my daughter with the standard fare of 2nd grader mis-information.

No, no, no...I'm not talking about mis-information of the procreation sort.....something that is MUCH more terrifying to an 8 year old: food.

My daughter is the child of a foodie. This is bad juju!

This little, dare I say it, Imp, keeps telling my daughter that things are 'poisonous' [carrots] and that she will turn to stone if she eats this food [salad]...and the latest one:

"R*ce Kr*spie Treats
are made with poop."

Granted, I got this last little, shall we say: nugget, of information as I told my good little girl that as she ate her dinner [even after having ice-cream cake and who knows what other sugar-coma inducing stuff] and cleared/rinsed her plate, cleared the table and then got into her jammies, washed her face and brushed her hair.....

....I announced that her reward for a timely end to the evening....was either a pudding snack or the object of her discussion with her classmate.....a little cube of rice cereal held together with marshmellow. A look of sheer terror came across her face that I could suggest such a thing, and she relayed the precious info to me......as I dare suggest she consume something made with....(gulp) doo-doo.

As I expressed my frustration to my clan of other-moms....I did have to ask the question......

"Will it negate me from the running for the title of 'Mother of the Year' if I tell my daughter to use the response I do when confronted with such sheer idiocy and unfounded information;

"Well, they're right! You CAN'T fix stupid!"

I couldn't tell my child to do this, even if I would happily come retrieve her from the Principal's Office, and silently nod while I was lectured on what my child uttered to her friend...and then secretly smile inside with glee that my daughter was mastering the skill of the quick-retort.....

Damn.

I thereby struggled with a number of responses that were less fitting, and some that would better suit the likes of Dane Cook, Robin Williams, or.....well...other and more foul-mouthed celebrities. BUT, since I was on a roll, and I do hold some titles in the area of the quick-retort...Top runners were:

"Oh, so you know this from trying it?"

"Is poop part of your family's food group pyramid?"

"Which do you prefer, the ones made with green poop or brown poop?"

"Is it poop holding it together, or what does that make the little brown chunks, or the little colored sprinkle things? Is this like when the dog/cat eats crayons and you get a two-fer?"

What better distraction from my attempts to have a child than to have one that I already popped out....so full of disgusting propaganda?

Parenting....the final frontier.

Silly Beans....

2009-04-03T17:15:00.000-06:00

How I wish the Progesterone were these pretty yellow jelly beans.

At least then when I felt like *!@# after having one I could attribute it to a sugar overdose.

(sigh)

Nope...these are the little buggers...... Yellow pills of delerium.

I need to ask my Dr. if I can take them 'the other way' (rolling eyes)

I guess this pill can be taken by mouth (they don't say 'orally' on the bottle anymore-is this indicative of the dumbing-down of our culture?) or....well..... closer to where you need it to be going....... yeah, THERE. Medical studies and the like say that taking it the 'other way' tend to induce less of the side effects (So I won't feel like I'm "Being John Malkovich"?) and I gotta wonder why my Dr. is wanting me to be on the loop-de-loop right now. Hmm.

OK....room is spinning...I'm gonna lie down and watch "Two Towers" as this stuff is like wearing 3D goggles sometimes. (grinning impishly)

Just slightly less expensive than the new stimulus/bailout plan....

2009-03-31T12:51:00.000-06:00

I just got back from Walgreens.

I think my pharmacist is involved in mob transactions.

I think my pharmacist may be skimming to pay back student loans.

I think my pharmacist may have that ungodly big house on the hill that is Mary Kay pink with a copper roof. (I kid you not about the existence of that house.)

$170.00/month.

I. kid. you. not.

Actually, that's the whole point: kid.

I just picked up a prescription for the progesterone supplement I'm supposed to be taking as we ovulated this past weekend, or I should say I ovulated this past weekend, and Tom lived out his teenage hormonal fantasies of a wife that never says no.....

My doctor has presently narrowed down the possible hurdles to our procreating to:

1. My second set of genes for protein/blood is abnormal and I'm getting microclotting which is suffocating/strangulating the blood supply to both my uterus and any potential tenants thereto. The solution has been for me to go on 81mg aspirin, or 'baby' aspirin [which one of my friends was so sharp to point out "doesn't have the baby in it."] which I started over a week ago.

2. I don't crank out enough progesterone. My uterine lining is as thin as a bargain-basement Motel 6 blanket, and the progesterone hormone is evidently similar to the auto-pilot in a plane in that if it's engaged...the plane flies on per the programming and flight plan, and if it shuts off....well, it's a very close examination of the side of a mountain at high speeds with large amounts of aviation fuel. Hmm.

Part of the conversation between the hubby and I, upon returning to the house after taking out a second mortgage for this stuff:

Me: This is a list of side effects, or possible side effects:

"Nausea, bloating, breast tenderness, headache, change in vaginal discharge, mood swings, blurred vision, dizziness, or drowsiness may occur. If any of these effects persist or worsen, notify your doctor or pharmacist promptly.Remember that your doctor has prescribed this medication because he or she has judged that the benefit to you is greater than the risk of side effects. Many people using this medication do not have serious side effects.Tell your doctor immediately if any of these serious side effects occur: unusual vaginal bleeding (e.g., spotting, breakthrough bleeding), mental/mood changes (e.g., depression, memory loss), swelling of the hands/feet, frequent/burning/painful urination, breast lumps, dark patches on the skin or face (melasma), yellowing eyes/skin, stomach/abdominal pain, persistent nausea/vomiting, dark urine, unusual tiredness.This medication may rarely cause very serious (possibly fatal) problems from blood clots (e.g., heart attack, stroke, blood clots in the lungs or legs, blindness). Seek immediate medical attention if you experience any of the following: chest/jaw/left arm pain, weakness on one side of the body, slurred speech, difficulty walking, sudden vision changes (e.g., blurred/double vision, loss of vision, bulging eyes), confusion, sudden severe headache, severe dizziness, fainting, trouble breathing, coughing up blood, pain/redness/swelling/weakness of the arms/legs, calf pain/swelling that is warm to the touch.A very serious allergic reaction to this drug is rare. However, seek immediate medical attention if you notice any symptoms of a serious allergic reaction, including: rash, itching/swelling (especially of the face/tongue/throat), severe dizziness, trouble breathing.This is not a complete list of possible side effects. If you notice other effects not listed above, contact your doctor or pharmacist."

THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE LIST OF POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS??!?!?

Tom: OMG! Ok.

I promptly told my husband that I was both saving the $170/mo retail price info, and the list of side effects, and any chat 'fights' or arguments we have while I'm on this crap....and any time our (hopeful) child does something:

1. stupid

2. irrational

3. destructive

4. disobedient

5. belligerent

6. air-headed

7. loud

8-20. (reserved)

I'm going to whip out these bits of info and inform him that this is HIS child...and that I went thru THIS to get it, and he needs to go deal with whatever 'crap' our offspring is dealing out, because I paid my dues, even BEFORE labor and delivery, so I have UNLIMITED credit in the "I'm not dealing with this crap." department. Period.

Now, I just have to wait until tonight, at bedtime...to see how crazy this stuff is actually going to make me. Tom said "How is this different from how you are normally?"

Someone's sleeping on the couch.

The diaper bag cometh.....

2009-03-26T15:19:00.000-06:00

I read this great blog post today.

In a totally non-lesbian way, I just love this woman, Mia.

In some ways I can't even fanthom what she goes through with her special-needs child...she's just heroic in my mind.

I love her wit.

Her post on what she has in her purse....my brain just went from auto-pilot to 'online'.

My girls are so much older than this (hopeful) baby that I forget things like this.....

I will be stuck carrying a diaper bag soon.

I have forgotten the need for little packs of kleenex, small toys to amuse in situations where a child's stage whisper will be heard for miles... the little containers of Cheerios and other finger snacks, plastic clamshells of wipes for dirty faces, fingers, toes, everything.

I have forgotten, in having an 8-year-old and a 15-year-old, how much of the house has to leave with me when I go...with a small child.

I did a quick mental inventory to see if I could still do one, on what I need to leave the house with a 3-to-6-month-old:
Diaper bag: wipes, diaper, 2 changes of clothes, 2 snacks, 2 bottles, changing pad, and a little blanket.

Stroller: with the travel system we got off Freecycle (that I'm still raving about how it looks new and we got it for $0.00!) I've got the carrier that snaps into the base in the car and then goes into the stroller. The stroller itself is fabulous in theory and in application, however, in transit...I have to wonder if I'm going to require an Army Engineer to fold and open the thing while balancing the other contents of leaving-house-with-child.

Extras: This is Colorado. Mother Nature doesn't pull any punches here. Tuesday it was 70 degrees. Today is in the 30's with the northern part of the state getting the snot kicked out of it by a spring snowstorm.

That means there always needs to be a coat for everyone in the family in the car. Period. I have a rain-shell and a mid-weight coat in my jeep right now. I've not left the house in a week due to sick children, but I have the dang coats.

Baby just amplifies that 'prepared for anything' status.

Now I need to be sure to have a coat, extra bunting, perhaps a zipper-sack, cover for the carseat/carrier....and of course, an extra fleecy small blanket.

I don't even carry a purse right now!!!

I don't really leave the house with anything that doesn't fit into the inner pockets of my jean jacket. This is really going to be a major adjustment.....again.

On top of all that, I actually have a father for this future child that will be interactive....responsible...... involved. I'm going to have to look for a diaper bag that will work for a 6'6" guy that resembles Eric Bana or a mafia hit-man (when he has his black sunglasses on.)

Pink flowers and little stylized insects are not going to cut it for him.

If it weren't enough....the whole style issue...there's his job. It's who he is. He's the OEM Coordinator. We have our garage organized into little bins. I can leave the house (right now- pre-baby) in 15 minutes, with a survival kit for a week in who-knows-where during an emergency.

I'm going to need the FBI/CIA/Spec Ops version of a diaper bag.....

So....for the moment my mind is taken off the TTC issues; calendars, temperatures, days, hours, and peeing on sticks. The diaper bag cometh....and there will be no denying it. (sigh)

Chaos settling....

2009-03-23T13:25:00.000-06:00

We have been home for nearly 2 weeks now...after a really eventful and busy end of Feb and beginning of March:

Thomas had a conference (Governor's OEM Conference on Emergencies) in Denver from Feb 21-28th, so we all three went to Denver for that week. Saturday morning we left and arrived at our friend Aron's house, where we hung out until late afternoon. We had sushi reservations with our friends; Aron, Kegan, Jeff, Judy and the three of us. All you can eat sushi is something that hasn't caught on in Durango yet, regrettably!

After an awesome stay with Aron, we headed to the hotel for Sunday-Thursday. Sunday we also got to spend some time at St. Joseph's Hospital with Thomas' uncle Chris, who was undergoing treatment for leukemia. He was in good spirits, and it was wonderful to see him and his wife, Christina...even though we wish it had been under better circumstances.

Monday, 2/21 , I spent in the Court of Appeals lobby, scanning 600 plus pages of 'the record' on the custody appeal for Logan. It sucked, suffice to say. I also spent a good portion of the week in Denver working on my brief for the appeal, which I turned in on Monday, March 2.

The rest of the week with the conference went quickly. We had a nice hotel room and we were quite comfortable; Logan got to swim and I got to run errands and do some bargain hunting I had been wanting to do. We stayed with friends; Christy and Jason Ward, my cousin Anne and her family, and a night in a B&B for us courtesy of Grandma McNamara so we could see Chris and Christina (and family) again towards the end of our visit as Chris had left the hospital and was home, pending hope for options to treat his leukemia.

We had planned to head home on Sunday, but Thomas was afforded the opportunity by the county to attend a training/certification seminar for the new emergency radio system; his being trained and certified will save the county over $250,000 in the next few years. So, we did not head home until Tuesday, March 3- and we arrived rather late- tired and road-weary.

Wednesday we attempted to return to home life, however, we received a call that evening that Chris did not have much time left, perhaps a few days at best. This was very sad news, and we planned to return to Denver within the next two weeks to ensure we had more time with Chris and family if possible. Regrettably, we received a call Thursday morning that Chris had passed on that morning (about 7 a.m. MST) and that plans for the funeral and family arriving were in progress. We elected to not keep Logan out of school for more time, so she was set up to stay with friends here in Durango to attend school.

Thomas and Taj made the second trip up on Saturday, March 7th, to attend Chris' funeral on the 8th. We were surrounded by the McNamara clan; Dad and Mike had flown out from CA, Barbara and Gary, with Gail and Stacy and their children, Christina and Kyle, Tyler and Paige, Stephen and his wife Lise from NJ with their three children; Matt, Ryan and Kelsey, Mark and his wife Shanie, and their children; Jess, Joey and Katie, and then Ricky and his wife Anne, and their two boys; Christopher and Gavin. This was also added by cousins and extended family- so we had a very large group of east-coast accents to set off the few west-coast and mountain dialects in the house. I have told Thomas many times, I adore his family, and though I wish it had been under better circumstances, it was wonderful to see them all. We also are very thankful to our friends Jeff and Judy, for letting us bunk with them, and for spoiling us rotten with food and drink on our visit.

Sunday, March 8th, we attended the memorial for Chris McNamara. Chris' service was attended by the family, and a very large group of friends and neighbors. The church itself was standing room only, and an outdoor tent had been arranged with video monitors to view the service. Thomas and I were near the back doors of the church, and we found the service to be beautiful, moving, and very much embodied what Chris was, and is; full of life, and laughter. He is loved and missed by all.

The following Monday, March 9th, after nearly 3 weeks of running around, we again prepared to return home. Most of the McNamara family was flying out on Monday, so a long breakfast with various family, and goodbyes around.... everyone returned to their homes with their love and memories of Chris.

Thomas and Taj drove home through Colorado, and as we neared home, battled a bit of a snowstorm over Wolf Creek and the southern San Juans. We arrived home late on Monday night, with Logan still at her friends' house. Thankfully, our friends had known we would be late, and they were more than happy to take Logan to school for us on Tuesday. It was a good thing, as Taj came down with cold/flu symptoms on Monday night, and by Tuesday was rendered 'inoperable.' Thomas followed on Wed/Thurs with his own bout with the bug. The following weekend we spent, the whole family, in our respective beds with TV and laptops, resting.

Here we are now....two weeks later; Logan is recovering from her bout with the flu, and will be returning to school, yet again, tomorrow. Thomas and Taj are recovering with simple fatigue and weakness, however most of the other symptoms have moved off to their next target. Hopefully, Taj staying in the house for the last 2.5 weeks has minimized her exposing others, and with Logan home most of last week, she's kept from spreading it as well.

We will miss Chris. It was wonderful to spend more time with our family, though the situation was less than ideal. It was wonderful to see our friends in Denver, and spend time with them, though we were run ragged with errands and obligations in between.

We are now home....and recovering...and looking to the first signs of spring in Durango. We wish all of you our best, our love. Happy Spring.

Turkey Beggars

2008-11-28T13:15:00.001-07:00

These boys aren't spoiled, no way.
Nuh-uh....
not at all...

Thanksgiving 2008

2008-11-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

Pausing with my coffee here, as the kitchen work for today has begun.
Bushi is already cruising around, begging for things to be dropped and bestowed upon him, as he has come to find out that when I am in the kitchen, I'm usually working on something he'd like to get a bite of.

With only 3 of us this year, we are going for simplicity. We got a modestly sized turkey breast only, that thankfully most of the work has been done for me; no legs/wings, innards, neck, head, etc. A simple 8-or-so pound turkey that will require little interference from me once it's in the oven. I stuffed it with chopped apples- Granny Smith, Rome and Gala, sprinkled some ginger, thyme, rosemary and sage...and then drizzled some olive oil over the carcass and into the pan. Double-foil covered it, and it's now sitting in a 350 degree oven.

I'm trying something new; baking the yams in the skin- as that's how we have them the rest of the year, however on the pan with them are an acorn squash, halved, and a butternut squash, cut into manageable sizes. Some olive oil on the pan to keep the cut sides from sticking, and they'll go in for about an hour or so. I figure once they are all baked and tender, I'll scoop the flesh from both potatoes and squash, and then mash them together with some seasonings and some almonds, and that will be an interesting change from plain yams or candied yams. We'll have to see how that goes.

Logan prefers yellow sweet corn for her veggie, so we have some of that to steam, I picked up a round of Hawaiian sweet bread, and then I'm making up some simple stuffing with herbs. I have some of my Moscato from last night- though Tom finished his Chamay- and I haven't even thought about dessert, or if I want dessert.

Outside, though I had expected to wake to snow from all the forecasts, we instead woke to sporadic and scattered rainshowers, and it's cold and bleak and gray out, so we will be inside for most of today. I have proofed this morning's paper, and thankfully my banner was placed appropriately (whole other story there) at the top of the homepage for the paper....so my part of 'work' today is done, and we are going to move on to home improvement and organization strategies.

The living room will need to be re-arranged to allow for an out-of-the-way locaation for our tree, which we are going to a cutting party with our friends, the Rowlands, on the 7th. I'm hopeful to find something similar to what we've had the past 2 years; a white pine...but I know that may or may not happen-- where DO you find a white pine? I love the graceful drape of their needles and the willow-like spreading of the branches- seems to have a relaxed and graceful look about it that I prefer. We'll have to see what cutting comes when we go, I will be sure to take photos and blog about it when we return.

I've been absent from blogging of late, I will have to take time in the next week or so to elaborate more, however....let me just state that I'm thoroughly unsatisfied with my employer, the company, and my position, and my focus has been more on re-evaluating where I am in the scheme of things and where I need to be--- and thus, what I need to do to take care of how negatively I view my current work/job status. SO, with that focus has come other things; I'm not blogging, emailing or writing much due to feeling very disappointed and almost disgusted with the state of the paper and the online services division thereto.

Tom should be back from a quick errand momentarily, and I think I should probably head to a shower and find something besides my pajamas to have on for the remainder of today. I'm sure we will be doing phone calls and emails of Happy Thanksgiving as the day goes forward.

Sibling rivalry....

2008-08-15T16:22:00.000-06:00

Lucius and Bushido are adding to their repertoire of entertainments....

I came downstairs this afternoon after a quick shower, Luc was on the landing at the top of the stairs and he came down with me, and Bushi shortly thereafter.

I entered the foyer, and walked through the hall to the entry of the living room where the tile ends and the carpet starts.

Luc, has a nickname. Bathmat. He has earned this for his habit of walking into a room or into your view and then in what I can only describe as similar to an overweight and rather intoxicated man.....rolls to one side starting with his head down, and progressing backward to his tail. He then flexes out to his full length of about 24 inches....and is FLAT. Like a bathmat.

Well, this afternoon he proceeded to 'bathmat' right at the entry to the living room and just as he started to roll to the side, Bushi came galloping into the room, ran to the spot above Luc's head, and did THE EXACT SAME MOVE. Granted, Bushi is about the size of one of Logan's shoes...and Lucius is the better part of 17 pounds....but the look on Luc's face was one of sheer disgust.

Luc then proceeded to arch his back and extend both front and back legs/paws and S-T-R-E-T-C-H.

yup. Bushi followed along like Luc was a yoga instructor.

To this, Luc looked right at me as if to say.... "MOM! Bushi is copying me!!!" To which, Bushi looked at me and I SWEAR I heard (mockingly) "Mom! Bushi is copying me!!!"

Lucius got up and left the room. Bushi sat there looking rather pleased with himself.
By God I love Siamese.

Things that go ##@!$%! in the night...

2008-08-06T09:16:00.000-06:00

Poor Lucius is stuck inside today (and has been more often lately with the sightings of mountain lions in town).... last night he was glued to the window near our bed which faces the front of the house. Tom heard a noise like a cat-fight about 10 p.m. last night and we did a quick fur-count to make sure we had Luc, Bushido and the 3 fosters all in the house.... turns out this morning he found out what the noise was:

It appears to be a young raccoon, Tom said he only heard what sounded to be one animal, but I'm guessing since the raccoon is still intact....meaning he wasn't killed to be eaten, it was more than likely a territorial thing. This poor raccoon is out between our driveway and the neighbor's, under our apricot tree. With the bears/lions and raccoons out, we've been picking up the fruit as we can, but it seems almost that the more we pick up off the ground...the more shows up the next day. We have so many fruit trees nearby it's bound to attract wildlife looking for an easy meal. It rained hard last night as well so this poor wet 'coon is more than likely what the noise was about last night, and he/she/it will be picked up by the DOW as soon as Tom can get them here.

Between the racoons and the mountain lions, we're keeping a close eye on both the cats and Logan when she's outside. Gotta love living in nature!

Contrasts...

2008-08-02T07:54:00.000-06:00

This morning I took Bushido out of the crate he slept in....and put his dish of food on the floor. He approached it, sniffed it as if it held only mild interest to him, and proceeded to saunter around the room.

I then let Bear, Moose and Puck out of their crate and put two more dishes of food on the floor. The three tabbies attacked the food as if they hadn't eaten in days (rather than hours) to which Bushido came over as a cultured gentleman might in a group of rowdy college boys and did sit and eat with the tabbies, however it was like watching an english lord eating with a bunch of drunk frat boys. It's like watching Cary Grant come to dinner with Larry the Cable Guy and some of Larry's friends.

I've had all four kittens out for the morning while posting and my observations validate what I have always felt: siamese are elite. Bushido may romp and play, but he does not attack my feet, claw my bare leg as he flies past as Bear has, he does not jump on the sofa or claw/cling to the arms, he does not fly about with disregard to others, he is not reckless. He is sophisticated, suave...with a James Bond [Sean or Pierce] sort of air about him. While he is playing with the other kittens, he is certainly more siamese than anything...and I adore him for it.

I love my Bushido.

6:27 p.m. A second perspective:

This morning my views were that the tabbies were somewhat 'less' than Bushido, because of his appearance, etc. I'm now sitting here watching the four of them and I have another view. Bushido does not know how, or realize how, to play.

The tabbies are bouncing, stalking, slinking, running, bounding, springing...all the things we associate with playful kittens. Bushido is watching them....almost as if he doesn't understand what they are doing, or why. He's confused. He hesitantly starts to raise a paw to one of them as to bat a tail or an ear, and then seems to stop....as if unsure if that's what he's supposed to do.

Perhaps my judgement of the tabbies of being less.....is what we tend to do, sometimes unintentionally. I judged the value of each kitten based on looks....and Bushido is gorgeous....and laughably socially inept. While the tabbies don't have his grace, beauty or style...they are showing him....it's OK to play...how to play. It's the private schoolboy in his uniform and pressed shirt.....out on the playground with the kids from the 'hood.....and it's adorable.

My thanks to Bear, Moose, and Puck...for teaching Bushido to be a kitten.

Bushidō

2008-08-01T20:36:00.000-06:00

"Bushidō"

Taj's 36th birthday present....he's an 8 week old Snowshoe Siamese.

Bushidō (武士道, Bushidō?), meaning "Way of the Warrior", is a Japanese code of conduct and a way of the samurai life, loosely analogous to the concept of chivalry. It originates from the samurai moral code and stresses frugality, loyalty, martial arts mastery and honour unto death.

-Wikipedia.org

What summer is for....

2008-07-27T10:58:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine knows that moose (and I can't help but think "meese" in plural) are my favorite animal.....it's what I believe to be evidence that God, in all his wisdom, has a sense of humor.

[In regal James-Earl-Jones-meets-Charlton-Heston type voice]

"Ok, now I need something, let's go with herbivore, lives in mountain regions, tolerates cold....hmmmm, long-legged like an elk, but with a more cow-like body, a head like a camel but let's fiddle with that and make it look truly odd (making noises like a child playing witha wad of playdoh) and take a pair of jackrabbit ears but bigger..(stretching sound), the camel hump thing (more squidgy and squishing noises), hair like that of a brown bear....and the dangly goofy looking thing off the turkey, but we'll cover it with fur.....Oh, okay. This will truly confuse things....cool."

I think a moose is irrefutable evidence that The Lord has a sense of irony and a wicked sense of humor. I received this video, and I believe it's worth the 600,000 something views it's gotten in a month! Mom, and twin babies (can't be more than 5 months old) doing what ALL children do in June/July: playing in the sprinkler.

Can't you just hear the exchange that took place up the hill?

Baby moose: "Mom! mom! mom! Can we go down and play in the sprinkler after lunch?"

Mom: "Well, let me finish my salad and if you're good we'll go."

One baby to the other: "Awesome! Dude, we get to go play in the SPRINKLER!"

Round II

2008-07-18T17:15:00.000-06:00

Larry, Curly and Moe are back at the shelter, they have made weight, and will most likely be 'altered' today or tomorrow, and be put up for adoption.

Larry

Curly

Moe

I will admit I miss Moe....but....I have 3 new little fuzzballs to manage:

(counter-clockwise from top) Bear, Puck, Moose

Three little male tabbies, two with fairly short hair, and one with a darker coat and longer hair. The tiniest one is about 2/3 the size of his siblings and is a little firecracker. We have dubbed him, "Puck". His siblings are now "Bear" and "Moose".

Bear

Puck and Moose

Frolick in the hallway....

2008-07-14T14:33:00.000-06:00

I'm telling you, they're licensed therapists by now as I can't stop giggling....

Senseless loss...

2008-07-04T17:24:00.000-06:00

While I wait for the brats on the grill, the parade down main, the fireworks to come tonight....I am wrestling with a day that has been filled with emotion and confusion. I know I sent out an email earlier today, so if I am repeating myself to anyone I do beg your forgiveness as I attempt to get my mind around the news of this morning.

If you are new to the situation, I lost a dear friend last week. I feel somewhat guilt-ridden that I'm finding out nearly a week later. I suppose were I to watch more local news than the CNN/MSNBC channels I tend to watch, I would have seen or heard something about it. I don't know that it would have been any easier to absorb thataways, or not. I probably would have hit the buttons on the remote mandating my TiVo go back and forth over the footage as I'm sure I'd still have the response I feel now that it's not possible, not real.

Scott T. Pierce, 40 years old. 6'7" and quite possibly one of the biggest teddy bears I have ever known, was shot and killed in his new home, beside his new bride, in a senseless act of revenge and violence in Albuquerque on June 28, 2008. Just 6 days after he and "Kath" as he called her, were married.

Scott was my friend. I have many friends from the same origins; online associations where we have talked, laughed, cried and shared online via chat, email and webcam...as our lives unfold. Scott and I found each other while I was dating online, and started talking while I was ill with pneumonia in the early months of 2005. We had each other in stitches in no time, he being quite tickled with my phrase of "Shaddap", and I his quick wit and obvious intellect. Scott was in school pursuing nursing, perhaps to look into pursuing an MD at some point as well. He worked hard, studied harder, and always remained focused.

While we did not 'date', we have talked often enough, long enough, and regularly enough to be friends that share in life's ups and downs, challenges and rewards. I always teased him about the long hours he worked and studied, but I also admired his dedication and devotion to his goal.

From what information I have, it would appear that Scott was injured, shot in the neck, while protecting his beloved Kath, and his home. A man broke into their new house- which they had only been in about a month, to exact revenge on a former tenant. This miserable excuse for a human being....this imbecile....thought he'd take revenge on someone...and Scott paid the ultimate price as the intruder found Kath in the kitchen at 3:00 in the morning. I don't know more particulars than that...though I am sure they will come out as time unfolds. The story is on KOAT, KOB, and other Albuquerque, NM stations, as well as the Albuquerque Journal and the AP has picked up the story as well.

The man, or men, that are responsible- have been caught and are in jail in Albuquerque. One without bail and one with bail at $2M. In my opinion that's not enough to merit what they have robbed the rest of us of. Scott was worth much more than that, I'm sure his worth cannot possibly be measured where Katherine is concerned. I will be watching with great interest the upcoming legal matters on this...and extending my thoughts and support to Katherine as I can.

To my friend Scott, my dear and sweet friend that I will miss his banter and wit....and forever remember his smile when I'd good-naturedly tell him to "Shaddap", I wish him peace. I miss him. Kath has informed me that Scott has been cremated and will be spread upon his beloved mountains..and as such I will not look at another snowy mountain or tree-filled valley without thinking about Scott. He shared my love for photography and had his own site, and I will miss him dearly in the coming days, weeks and years. Rest, friend....find peace and I will know you are watching over those whom you loved, and loved you in return.

-Taj

KOB TV: Killers face a judge

WOAI San Antonio

KRQE Coverage

KOB.com coverage

The crash....

2008-06-17T08:03:00.000-06:00

Tommy drove Logan to summer camp today. The following conversation got sent to my blackberry and I had to sit at the stoplight at Main and laugh until the guy behind me honked for me to get my rear in gear:

Logan: "I have a crash on Travis." (and you need to keep in mind Tom and I were watching Godfather III last night before bed)

Tom: "What, what do you mean, you hit him?"

Logan: "No. Like we have something going on. I'm going to marry him."

Tom: "OH, Ok, well that's a long time away."

Logan: "I know."

Who said kids aren't into the inner workings of relationship dynamics?!?!?! She's SEVEN.
Oh, help.

44419- Evergreen at midnight....

2008-05-24T18:07:00.002-06:00

We have spent some time this afternoon painting in our bedroom. The room has been a pinky-mauve with seafoam green blinds since we moved in at the first of March...

....can you say EWWW? C'mon, all together now..."EWwwwwww!"

I am a big fan of 'oops' paint. Being a single mom for as long as I was, I find being thrifty in weird ways that really seem to surprise people. However, I also manage, with my artistic background to come out with something that looks like a million bucks, and then people think I'm lying when I tell them I paid bupkes for it.

For those of you that don't know, "oops" paint is the paint that sits usually under a counter or on a back shelf where you buy paint, that was mixed, usually custom.....and someone got it home and went "oops." and brought it back. The store, stuck with the choices of throwing out paint and being blackballed by environmentally conscious consumers, usually puts the 'oops' paint on a cart or shelf somewhere for $5-7 a gallon, and $3-5 for a pint, and it's fabulous for odd projects, school classroom murals, and in my case, painting a room for under $30.

The flip side with 'oops' paint is what you see, is what you get. You're paying $5 or so a gallon for what someone else decided was too dark, too light, too brown...and too much like the next door neighbor's teenager's hair. You have to have an eye for color and an open mind. I've been known to mix oops paint with mixed results.

The good part of this is I have paid $5 for a gallon of Ralph Lauren premium paint ($40+ a gallon in some markets) or Behr or something equally high-end.....that someone just decided didn't work for them but is fabulous for what I'm doing. My buddy Aron has the perfect color in his living room that matches his suede couch...we did the alcoves of his window seats and gave his all-white bachelor pad some much needed color. Anyways....

You don't, however, get the luxury of having names for 'oops' paint always, as it's sometimes a custom color that someone brought in to mix/match from an object like a favorite plate, shoe, doll, etc. Computer matching means everything from your favorite pair of heels to juniors ball cap is fair game for a paint color if you so wish.

Thomas and I have found shades in the color range we like: Mushroomy-brown-gray-greens with undertones of gold or red. The color for the bedroom does not have a name, but we'll be a little snooty to match our current housing neighborhood and give you some ideas:

"Evergreen at midnight"

"Irish dame green"
"Sleepy hollow moss"
and
"Smoking Room at The Club"

Now, chances are....that didn't help you envision the color. Green, especially, is all over the board and nailing down what it is in your mind that I'm talking about, with names like that, is a long shot.

I always think people that come up with paint chip names are really pushing it in some senses...I prefer something that conjures up exactly what color we're talking about...although it may be somewhat goofy.

Therefore.....our bedroom by MY paint-naming convention:

"Mom fed the baby spinach."

There ya go. Take it or leave it.
Looks great with the "Slightly overcooked asparagus"

we painted on the other walls.

Really.

Thoughts of a somewhat homicidal, somewhat pregnant woman.

2008-05-13T14:35:00.000-06:00

I hate doctors.
I don't like that I can't have chocolate, or that my husband rations it.
I hate shoes in the bathroom at 3 a.m. when I won't turn on the light because I just want to pee, not wake up fully.
I hate falling in at 3 a.m.
I hate trying to work when I want to go lie down and sleep.
I miss my cat. My stupid cat, that between my 14 year old and me, the cat has a PhD in therapy.
I hate laundry. Wear the same clothes for a week, I don't care.
I don't like explaining to my 7 year old for the 9,000,437th time how to brush her hair out.
I want to strangle anyone that remotely looks like an Obstetrician.
I want to bludgeon to death anyone wielding an internal ultrasound wand.
I'm tired of chewing ginger.
I want a Guinness.
I'm irritated by smells I don't like and can't find the source thereof.
I want to go home.
I want to suddenly be 10 weeks pregnant with two above-average sized twins. Poof. I don't care what it does to my wardrobe, belly button, or pre-existing stretch marks.
I want to not be pissed and irrational in the same breath. Separate breaths, please.
I want 4 years of undergrad, 4 years of grad, 2 years of intern, 1 year residency and 10 years of practice to count for something if that's what my damn doctor has.
Playing doctor with someone's baby is inexcuseable.
This is not a pizza order someone screwed up.
I'm tired.
I'm nauseated.
I'm bloated.
I'm done.

Keeping my mind occupied.....

2008-05-09T12:23:00.000-06:00

I have about a half an hour until I leave for my OB appointment and I confess I can't focus on work. I WANT to, I just can't. I don't do well with unknowns and everything about this...aside from my feeling like CRAP, is an unknown.

Do we still have twins? Were they sure it was twins to begin with? Is this for real? Can I handle twins at 35? Am I ever going to see my feet/knees again after this? Will Tommy get over my not having these porn-star chest attachments forever?

I'm tired. Really, unbelievably tired. I know why but that doesn't make it any easier to try to suck it up and stay alert and not keel over and bonk my head on my keyboard.....I'm sure though no one would hear it.....the fact I have windows in my cubicle....and everyone walking by can see me drooling on my space bar....would not reflect well on my professionalism.

30 minutes....hmmm....now 25......hopefully we will get a different ultrasound tech. Hopefully there will be two little ones in there waving hello when we get the THING going again. Hopefully I didn't have something hallucinogenic in my 7-Up (since the machine was out of Fresca, dang.) that's making me think odd things.

I'm researching books on twins, parenting twins, nursing twins....surviving twins? Surviving? That's not a positive reinforcement there....that they are to be survived? Hmmm.

I'm tired. Fatigue, anxiety and delusions are not a good combo. I'm going to go fiddle with the copy machine for a few minutes and see if that helps me get my mind off this.

Bleah!

2008-05-08T09:31:00.000-06:00

Ohhhhh, goodie. Here we go.

I'm green in the gills....and drinking chamomile tea....
my fatigue is increasing....and my aversions are
multiplying, I'm getting morning sickness too.

These are all good signs that things are progressing,
though somehow it's hard to be chipper about my husband standing next to me going "I'm SO happy you feel like CRAP, Sweetie!"

It's encouraging that my husband can find joy in my misery. :)

Hills and valleys....and twins

2008-05-05T18:48:00.000-06:00

Now that we have told mom and dad McNamara....we can spread the word a little further:

Thursday's ultrasound found what I'd expected: twins.

Call it women's intuition, gut feeling, premonition...what ever you want. I've felt that I had twins from the beginning.

However, as there are hills to view glory from the top of...there are valleys with shadows and fog, where doubt lives.

Our ultrasound did not show heartbeats, as I said. This was quite upsetting as we thought we were 8 weeks and had figured all was well as I hadn't had any problems, just alot of fatigue. I've been taking extra care of myself and doing all I can with my diet, rest and staying off anything even remotely risky, no tea, coffee, chai, yerba mate, and no chocolate if I could help it. As I also said earlier....this is not the be-all-end-all of it as we may be earlier than we thought...and several signs point to that:

1. The sacs are smaller than they should be for 8 weeks, and so we can't get a measurement of the embryo or fetus, but my symptoms continue and are increasing: nausea, fatigue and I am starting to get cravings/aversions where food is concerned. Bring licorice around me at your own risk as I may throw both licorice and consumer for yardage. EWWW!

2. I can be sure of the start of my cycle, I can't be sure of my date of ovulation, but as I am 35, I'm not as regular as I once was...and with twins, the possibility that two eggs were released.....which means the first one may have waited around for a buddy to go 'downtown' with. All factors: age, just coming off contraceptives.....these point to odd dates for ovulation, which means I could have gotten pregnant LATER than I thought and found out only DAYS after we conceived instead of WEEKS.

3. The blood work from Friday and today showed an increase of hormones in my blood, from 30,000 to 37,000. This is an increase, which is good, but not as big of one as expected. HOWEVER, it's within the range for a 4-5 week pregnancy (which does not have beating hearts yet) and it may be as high as I'm going to go for 4-5 weeks in. The Dr. said it may be high enough....that it isn't going any higher yet, and we're fine. Or...maybe not.

These present both the yin and yang. I am pregnant, there are two. I did get increased hormones over a 4 day period, though it did not double. Not doubling is not indicative of failure as the number is high enough that it may not get any higher until the next stage of development, 8 weeks or so. So, highs and lows, valleys and hilltops....good and bad.

We are scheduled for an ultrasound (again) on Friday at 1:30 MST, and a consult with a Dr. at 2:00 p.m. MST. We are told that this second ultrasound, which should find me at about 6 weeks, should show progression and growth in the sacs, and would be really great if we found heartbeats!

IF no heartbeats are found on Friday and there are no signs of change or growth....chances are very good that we will lose the twins. Not 100% positive, but not a strong indicator that things are going well. It's an odds game, a chance thing....and a gamble we'll have to see what comes up. Either I will miscarry or I will be as big as a barn and drop two little miracles in Thomas' lap the week of Christmas this year.

We ask that you all pray for us and the little ones....as this is heartwrenching....and I don't do "wait and see" all that well. I know God does not give us more than we are capable of handling, so I know he is doing what he sees is best for Thomas and myself....even if we don't understand.....but.....I'd like to know he was petitioned to let us have our healthy, happy, big, fat twins, by friends and family far and wide.

What a mom says in 24 hours...

2008-04-28T12:11:00.000-06:00

I found this interesting clip.....granted, I can only get out of it what I can read on her lips....but...it was enough to merit it being interesting....

Lyrics:
Get up now
Get up now
Get up out of bed
Wash your face
Brush your teeth
Comb your sleepyhead
Here's your clothes and your shoes
Hear the words I said
Get up now!
Get up and make your bed
Are you hot?
Are you cold?
Are you wearing that?
Where's your books and your lunch and your homework at?
Grab your coat and gloves and your scarf and hat
Don't forget!
You gotta feed the cat
Eat your breakfast, the experts tell us it's the most important meal of all
Take your vitamins so you will grow up one day to be big and tall
Please remember the orthodontist will be seeing you at 3 today
Don't forget your piano lesson is this afternoon so you must play
Don't shovel
Chew slowly
But hurry
The bus is here
Be careful
Come back here
Did you wash behind your ears?
Play outside, don't play rough, will you just play fair?
Be polite, make a friend, don't forget to share
Work it out, wait your turn, never take a dare
Get along!
Don't make me come down there
Clean your room, fold your clothes, put your stuff away
Make your bed, do it now, do we have all day?
Were you born in a barn?
Would you like some hay?
Can you even hear a word I say?
Answer the phone!
Get off the phone!
Don't sit so close, turn it down, no texting at the table
No more computer time tonight!
Your iPod's my iPod if you don't listen up
Where are you going and with whom and what time do you think you're coming home?
Saying thank you, please, excuse me makes you welcome everywhere you roam
You'll appreciate my wisdom someday when you're older and you're grown
Can't wait till you have a couple little children of your own
You'll thank me for the counsel I gave you so willingly
But right now I thank you not to roll your eyes at me
Close your mouth when you chew, would appreciate
Take a bite maybe two of the stuff you hate
Use your fork, do not burp or I'll set you straight
Eat the food I put upon your plate
Get an A, get the door, don't get smart with me
Get a grip, get in here, I'll count to three
Get a job, get a life, get a PHD
Get a dose of,"I don't care who started it!You're grounded until you're 36"
Get your story straight and tell the truth for once, for heaven's sake
And if all your friends jumped off a cliff would you jump, too?
If I've said it once, I've said at least a thousand times before
That you're too old to act this way
It must be your father's DNA
Look at me when I am talking
Stand up straighter when you walk
A place for everything and everything must be in place
Stop crying or I'll give you something real to cry about
Oh!
Brush your teeth, wash your face, put your PJs on
Get in bed, get a help, say a prayer with mom
Don't forget, I love you
And tomorrow we will do this all again because a mom's work never ends
You don't need the reason why
Because, because, because, because
I said so, I said so, I said so, I said so
I'm the mom, the mom, the mom, the mom,
the mom!!
Ta da!!!

Surface testing technician: Lucius

2008-03-05T11:03:00.000-07:00

Lucius has taken to 'testing' the new house.

I want you to visualize a rather stocky, older man...one of the ones that watches the world with a 'been there, done that' expression most of the time....I'm thinking that Lucius is the Jack Nicholson of cats.....he just has a "Yeah, whatever." look most of the time. Now, envision Jack Nicholson going into a furniture store and testing out sofas and recliners.... you have to have his persona and attitude in mind for this to work:

.....wandering an aisle, hands deep in trouser pockets, ambling steps, stopping to consider each chair........leaning backwards a bit, taking one foot and nudging the base to make the chair rock a bit, checking the response......then with an exaggerated gesture of arms and a wide stance.....sitting. Shifting of the hips, digging into the seat some, wiggling of shoulders and torso against the back......positioning and repositioning the arms and angle of recline.......wiggling some more.....checking the length/depth of the arm rests....and then slowly rising and resuming the prowl through the line of recliners and sofas.

That.......was Lucius in the new house.

The fireplace mantle.
The fireplace hearth.
The windowsill.
another windowsill.
The ledge near the front door.
The bottom step of the landing.

After watching him do this routine in each and every possible flat surface in the house....I couldn't stop laughing. He'd sit, adjust his feet and tail. Look around below him at the surface, and then roll onto one side. Each movement accompanied by a visual examination of the space and his relationship thereto with the part of his body touching it. A shift of his torso......extension of his back legs.....placement of his tail.......extension of his front legs......rolling his head backwards to look at the wall/fireplace/mirror----his blue eyes and long whiskers, upside down. Resume standing or sitting. Stretch in place. Sit again. Roll to the OTHER side....repeat adjustments. Move on to the next location.

Our new house has passed the Lucius inspection.

Why tall girls are picky.....

2007-12-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, and short guys in cones generally strike out anyways.

Logan and Cleo in the snow.

2007-12-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

Child: 60 lbs

Dog: 110 lbs

Laws of physics: Larger object has influence over smaller object. Hmmm.

15 things about Tommy.

2007-11-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

1. He's 6'5", and a rather big guy. He's ticklish.
2. He will fall asleep on the sofa reading and look 5 years old.
3. He shops for organic, wholesome food, and then drinks Mt. Dew.
4. He was sent to the office in nursery school for reading textbooks.
5. He threw temper tantrums and passed out as a toddler.
6. He can build anything with an engine from scratch.
7. He gives the best, gentlest backrubs; he learned how by being a nursery school teacher.
8. He hates jeans that taper at the ankle
9. He plays video games where he's a black ops soldier.
10. He does the voices when he reads Logan's bedtime story, even the high squeaky ones.
11. He can cook as well as I do, with a recipe.
12. He remembers important dates without being reminded
13. He admits it when he's wrong.
14. He says he's sorry when he screws up.
15. He can't get up in the morning without hugging me until I'm laughing.

"Here's your sign....."

2007-11-06T18:16:00.000-07:00

Thomas and I are in the kitchen making pancakes for dinner.
(we are packing to move so we are trying to use up pantry items, etc.)

Logan [coming from stairway in red sleeper pajamas with a concerned look on her face, she approaches the bar near the kitchen.] "I have a mark on my forehead."

Tommy: "What is it?"

Logan: "I don't know."

Tommy: "Did you hurt yourself?"

Logan: "Uhm...no."

Tommy: "When did it happen?"

Logan: "I don't know."

Taj walks around the end of the cabinets from the kitchen and meets Logan at the end of the bar. Just under Logan's hairline is a reddish-pink swipe along her forehead, looks kindof like 'road rash', varying from pink to purple/red with spotty, dotted edges, and a tapering shape like a comet.

Taj: "Go wash your face."

Logan: "Why?"

Taj: "When your mark or owie is sticky, that's one problem. When your owie is sticky and tastes like raspberries, it's another. You wiped your finger on your face after you made your PB&J for after-school snack. Go wash your face."

Logan: "Oh."
[she retreats to the powder room bathroom where you can hear her telling herself it's a jelly owie, not a real owie.]

Missing.....

2007-10-27T18:19:00.000-06:00

Thomas is headed to Denver for another moto race....

I know this dirt time is one of his favorite things to do....however when I can't go with him due to work and other items (moving, packing, kids, shoots, etc) it's not so much I can't keep myself occupied, it's when I curl up to go to bed and he's not there for me to nestle into the spot on his neck..... I miss his dark curly hair and how we always seem to fall asleep in some nestled format.....or laughing about something.

It's a very good thing when you find the person that compliments you to the point you wonder where you stop and they begin. So I will sit here...get thru the work I gotta do.....listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers and The Fray....and miss him. :)