How to Have a Cold

I am writing this for my daughter, who is currently sick and sniffly with a cold. I believe that this is important information that I should impart to her, so that one day she will be able to capably care for herself or someone else.

I guess the signs of an incoming cold (or sinus or other various and assorted respiratory infections) vary for everyone. Maybe your nose starts running, just a little at first. Your head feels stopped up, maybe your throat starts to get that prickly feeling and you think to yourself, uh-oh. You're in denial. "It's just my allergies." you assure concerned co-workers, who shoot you side eye every time you blow your nose or sneeze. Your nose starts dripping more, and since you are still in cold denial and not yet willing to stuff tissues in every available pocket, you start surreptitiously wiping it on your sleeve, or if you're really desperate, your shirt collar.  The throat tickle worsens and suddenly doing anything other than sitting still and nursing a throat drop causes you to have a coughing fit of epic proportions. The side eye from co-workers continue, as you try to assure them, in between coughing fits, that it's still just allergies.

Then there comes a moment - and again, this is probably different for everyone - in which you are forced to finally admit to yourself, but most definitely not anyone else yet, that this is a cold. For me it's usually a sneeze, a huge sneeze with a lengthy buildup. The kind of sneeze where you sort of involuntarily freeze and contort your face around until you sneeze violently, usually expelling an alarming volume of mucus that you are then forced to wipe somewhere. After this sneeze - and I never know it before, but I always know after - I know.  I know I'm in for at least a few days of moaning, whining couch sleeping, tissue-littered floors and early, clumsy attempts at natural remedies followed by an enthusiastic embracing of modern medicines, as you ditch the Echinacea and Vitamin C for Alkaseltzer cold and Nyquil.

Because justice is so poetic, often times this moment occurs while I'm at work. I sneeze THE sneeze, try and wipe the snot on my office chair or somewhere on my sweater, and then have to decide: do I admit to these good people that I have been lying through my teeth for two days about allergies so that I can leave and go home? Or do I stubbornly cling to the lie and soldier through, germing up my desk, my phone, my pens, my keyboard, until I can stagger out at 4 o'clock and drive home in a haze of sinus pressure? I find it's better to just 'fess up as soon you are willing to admit that this is more than an allergy attack. Just find your boss, and say something charming like, "I really thought this was just allergies, but I just keep feeling worse as the day goes on. I think it might be--" at which point the recipient of this speech interrupts with "Just go home! Go home and feel better." And then they go through all the motions of helping you pack up and gather your things, and as they lead you towards the door, someone else is approaching your workstation wearing a surgical mask and carrying a spray bottle of undiluted alcohol to sanitize your stuff. And their stuff. Because we've all seen those Mythbusters episodes about sneezing.

The next step is incredibly important: if it can at all be avoided, DO NOT GO HOME YET. Even if there are children to be picked up, even if you feel like hell, do not go home without stopping and picking up some essential supplies. Yes, you're tired and you're sick, but the truth of the matter is that if you go home now, you will not feel like going to the store later. I don't care what you tell yourself, you won't do it. And around 10PM, when you're miserable and your nose is completely raw from blowing it on paper towels (or baby wipes, like I did once), you'll wish you had stopped at the store, but now it's too late, and maybe the kids are in bed and also, you don't feel like going. Maybe you'll be lucky and there's someone else who will go for you, but never assume.

These are good, handy items to have around the house all the time, but maybe you've run out of them for some reason. Possibly because I'm not a very good adult, I never think about tissues if I don't actively need them, thus I rarely have tissues in the house. So the following is a list of things to make your cold experience a little better (your list might be different from mine, so feel free to add, but never, ever subtract):

• Echinacea
• Vitamin C
• Hot Steam Vaporizer (you might be tempted to skip this, but don't do it! they have many benefits)
• Vapo-Oil, or some other product that you can put in your vaporizer
• Tissues with at the VERY least lotion. Even better with lotion and aloe, and BEST with lotion and Vick's scent
• Neti Pot (if you're like me and can't take sinus meds, this is a lifesaver!)
• Neti Pot Saline Packets
• Convenience Foods

While you are at the store, you should pick out some food items that can be easily cooked and/or eaten. Go ahead and get some soup, but if you want Hot Pockets, get those as well. You will lose your sense of taste fairly soon, so it's not really going to matter. Plan on drinking lots of water, but also grab a special beverage for your sick days. Ginger ale is always good. Get orange juice if you want, but OJ gives me heartburn. Once you have obtained everything on the list, go home. 

1) Put on comfy pajamas. Go with a light weight pajama, because you can always cover up with a blanket if you get cold.

2) Pick your sick spot. Maybe this is your bed, maybe this is the sofa - but decide where you will hold your court of sick. It's usually best if this spot has access to a television and decent natural light for reading. Prepare your sick spot with comfy pillows and your favorite blanket. If you are a responsible person, place a small trash can nearby for litter. If not, throw your litter on the floor - screw it, you're sick. Make sure there is a place to hold a drink. Find books you might want to read and place them nearby. Put your new, soft, vick's scented tissues nearby.

3) Prepare your vaporizer. Instructions will come with it. Don't add too much salt, but be as heavy handed with the Vapo-oil as you would like. I'm not happy until the entire house smells like Vick's. If someone were to approach my home, I want them to be able to smell the Vick's from the porch - sort of an olfactory plague cross. The vaporizer should be close enough to be helpful, but not so close that it steams up your glasses or obstructs your view of the TV.

4) Go into the kitchen (bathroom, back porch, wherever), blow your nose and use your neti pot. Is it gross? Absolutely. Uncomfortable? Yes. Helpful and possibly able to shorten the duration of your cold? Totally worth it, then. Use distilled water so you don't get any weird water bugs in your brain (true story; google it).

5) Take your vitamins. Wash them down with a decent amount of water.

6) Fix yourself some dinner. Maybe you're still willing to go for the soup, but maybe the Hot Pockets are calling your name. Whichever, fix it, eat it. It's probably best to eat it in the kitchen or whatever passes for your dining area - if you bring it to your comfy sick spot, you might be too lazy to remove your dishes and then you'll just feel gross.

7) Lie back and settle in. Shove tissues in your nose, if it feels too drippy. Take off your pants, if that's what feels comfortable. Wallow in your own filth and misery. Think unhappy thoughts. Remark to yourself about how unfair it is to be sick when you have to work the next day. Do the same a couple of days later, when you're complaining about how unfair it is to be sick when you're off the next day.

8) The duration of an illness can be lessened with rest, so rest.

A note about those saints of the sick, caretakers: If you have someone around to help you with things, awesome! Good for you. But be true to your sick self, and considerate for that someone. Are you the kind of person that really just wants to to be alone when you're sick - to sleep sans pants on the sofa with one leg thrown over the back, mouth gaping open and snoring like a chainsaw? Maybe you can excuse that someone from having to be around for that. Different people have different ideas of what taking care of someone else means. For one person it could be leaving soup on the front porch, ringing the doorbell (which is hopefully clouded in vapo-oil haze, if you're doing it right) and running away to their car to avoid your germs. This is acceptable, because who wants to get sick? Other people might think it means sitting with you the whole time. If you're cool with this, it is also acceptable. You should never feel the need to dictate how someone helps you, though. Demanding someone sit with you while you watch TV and hack and sneeze and fart into the couch cushions is never endearing. Accept offers of help graciously, if the help is needed, but don't expose innocent people to your germs because you are feeling lonely and want someone to wash your dishes.

Follow the three day rule. If you're not better in three days, go to the doctor. But do wait the three days, if you can. Use your common sense here. Don't get dehydrated or ignore troublesome symptoms.

And if your old mom is anywhere around, just know that you can call me - day or night, regardless of the hour and how germy you might be, no matter how old you are, and I'll gladly come and take care of you. I'll put a hand on your fevered brow and then make a fuss over you. Feel better, my love. And remember that this, too, shall pass.

Despite all my rage: a GIF party in honor of my inappropriate overreactions to frustrating situations that really aren't that big of a deal

I've been dealing with a lot of crazy emotions lately, due to the whole divorce thing. Sometimes I'm sad, sometimes I'm happy, sometimes I behave like a petulant toddler. I am generally fortunate enough to catch myself being irrational. Sometimes before it happens, but most often when I'm in the throes of some ridiculous rant, or am glaring at the back of a poor, innocent co-worker who is retreating from my desk after either being pointedly ignored OR threatened with bodily harm.

In some ways it's like being pregnant, or constantly having PMS. I take everything SO personally. I was getting ready to leave work the other when my co-worker decided to walk across the street to the post office to drop off some mail. He even took some mail that I had waiting to go out, which, had he not walked it over to the post office, would not have gone out until the next day. This was, in reality, a kind and decent gesture, but to my crazed mind? It was intentional. Intentionally done, to thwart my leaving in a timely manner. EVERYTHING EVERYONE DOES IS ABOUT ME IN SOME WAY, did you not know? I was standing at the glass door, watching his progress as he crossed the street to the mailboxes. "WHY did he go NOW? HE KNEW I had to leave. IT'S LIKE HE DOES THIS ON PURPOSE!" I fumed to myself, even stomping my foot for emphasis once. I was delayed for roughly two minutes by someone who was basically doing me a favor, and I was livid. Ridiculous.

Office supplies also infuriate me.

Other things that have driven me to inappropriate (whatever the word for over the top, not in line with circumstances) rage recently:

Captchas - Oh, these make me angry. I generally find them to be an inconvenience, but I understand their function and therefore am willing to put up with them. However, recently, I have been on the receiving end of some ridiculous captchas. The letters are so squished together and malformed that it just looks like this: "IIIIIIII". I was at my work computer and trying to take care of some personal business online. My boss was working near my desk, so I was hastily trying to wrap up what I was doing but encountered a illegible captcha mine field. I couldn't take the audible hints, because my boss was within earshot, so I just kept having to ask for new captchas, and by the time I finally got one I could make out, I was all like:

My printer at work (I can't even get into it, I'll just have to say it with Disney animation) -

But there are things that make me happy. This is one of them, because 1) I love Ron Swanson, and 2) this episode makes Bella laugh SO HARD that she makes me laugh at her laughing:

And also this one from Parks & Rec, because it makes me laugh every time (he's saying "STOP. POOPING."):

But, sadly, much of the time I am more like this:

But that's ok, because it's a process, right? Right.

Gut Check

It's amazing how the separation/divorce process keeps finding new ways to depress me. It's like any other kind of grief, I suppose, in that it sneaks up on you. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, you're rolling merrily along, feeling good, thinking "I got this", and all of a sudden, SMACK! Dawning realization, grief, tears, depression, it all rolls back over you. At one low point, I remember sitting on the sofa, enduring random crying jags while watching 30 Rock episodes on Netflix and absentmindedly eating literally half of a cake (it was a small-ish cake, but still: half).

Prior to the separation, I didn't get out much. By that I mean, I did things with the kids, but aside from going to work, never put too much of an effort into getting out without the kids. And then wa-BAM! Separation, and suddenly I find myself with actual kid-free time, two nights a week. I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, but I just don't know what to do with myself.

At first it was exhilarating, having the house completely to myself. I listened to explicit music at high volume, walked around in the buff, was able to watch R-Rated shows and movies on the actual television (instead of sitting hunched over the computer with headphones). I went to the store by myself, just because I could. I brazenly ate a popsicle while sitting on the couch, and I'll explain to you why this is a big deal: most any mother of small children knows you cannot do this without your child wanting a popsicle, but they don't want the purple one they want the orange one, but then his sister got pink and he thinks that looks good but it's the last pink and HOW I MUST HATE HIM SO MUCH because I deliberately gave his sister the last pink one but wait, there's a red one, I'll take that one but can you open it? Can you wrap a napkin around it? Can you hold it for me? Oh wait, I dropped it on your new rug but that was like 5 minutes ago and I forgot to tell you because I got distracted by cartoons - and THAT is when you resolve to never eat anything in front of your children again.

The first few times the kids were gone I was all "WOOOOO!", but then my first weekend without them  rolled around. And I spent an entire Sunday going completely bonkers, going back and forth between bursts of productivity around the house and watching HBO shows. I would wander into one of the kids' rooms, look around for a few minutes and then suddenly decide to take on some overly ambitious project, like "I'm going to move all the furniture into the center of the room and paint in here!" - and then 20 minutes or so into the job I would come across something that would make me miss the kids so much it was like a physical ache. In Manny's room it was his handy dandy notebook, full of his scribbles, with the crayon taped together. In Bella's room it was her 3rd grade journal that I came across in her books, her sweet musings on some pages, other pages with just half a sentence or one or two words, because she was too busy talking during journal time. So I would sniffle, feel really sorry for myself, then go sit down and watch True Blood (because Alexander Skarsgard is like big viking balm for my troubled soul).

I was used to the companionship of marriage, and even though my husband worked a lot (because of his demanding job, that wasn't a bitter or nasty remark in any way), he was there some of the time. You come to depend on that, not just the person doing things for you but that person simply being there. Sitting up late into the evening watching 'The Office' on Netflix and hear a weird noise in the backyard? Your husband is asleep in the back of the house, and that is comforting. Even if he doesn't want to get up to check on it, there is someone there. There's a huge palmetto bug in the sink, you can ask him to kill it. There's someone there to get you a glass of tea when you're feeling lazy, someone there to physically make the petulant toddler brush his teeth when you're reached your petulant toddler limit for the day, someone there to do all the small things that you can take for granted. One of the things I miss the most that my husband used to do was making certain the trash and recycling got out to the curb for trash day. I'm really bad at doing this in a timely manner - many Tuesday mornings you can find me exploding through the front door carrying my trash and recycling, darting to the cans and throwing them in, and trying to maneuver two 50-gallon cans to the curb at the same time while the garbage truck is mere houses away.

So the reality of being husband-less has been an adjustment. No one to kill the bugs, or make sure the trash gets out to the curb. No one there when there are strange noises in the backyard, or the front yard or anywhere else. No one there to call into the room when Bubba has stacked 8 throw pillows and perched himself precariously atop them. No one to talk to once the kids are in bed. No one to step in and take over when you've reached your saturation point of grumpy preschooler. Its sad and its lonely. But its made me stronger, more independent, and more confident.

I was also used to the companionship of children. Little people to do for, to do things with, a constant hum of activity and conversation. From the moment I got home from work, there was always something to be done. Not just chores, the fun things, too - congratulatory hugs for yet another good behavior happy face for Bubba, laughing at how Bella's playground scrape looks like oddly like Scrooge McDuck. Then you move into other portions of the evening - the doing of homework, and the review of completed homework and tests ("why did you say that the beatitudes are Jesus telling us to have beautiful attitudes?", and so on and so forth), dinner and dishes and playing and walks and baths and bickering. Then bedtime, and you are exhausted and ready for bed yourself, and you putter around the house picking up, straightening and putting things to rights. Then maybe you watch some tv, maybe you read, maybe you mess around online, and then you sleep the sleep of the happily exhausted, knowing that, while you're not the perfect mom or housekeeper, you tried your best.

However, when the kids are gone, there is none of that. There is just deafening silence. I listen to music, I turn on the tv for background noise. I talk to myself, mostly about how disgusting or messy things are (for example, discovering a bowl of leftover spaghetti in the fridge but we haven't eaten spaghetti in a month). I clean and straighten and organize, but not as much as I could or should be. For a change of scenery I sit on the porch and posit theories about my neighbors, wondering why the people with the pool won't invite us to swim, or what exactly the people on the other side are doing with their blacked out back room. Then there's the people who live behind me and their mystery shed. I am fascinated by their shed, and their comings and goings in and out of it. I'm sure it's probably their laundry room, but I imagine maybe it's a meth lab, or it's where they keep their marijuana plants. For some reason I don't read, which is odd because I am usually a voracious reader, and I have the opportunity to read without interruption, but I think reading is just too quiet. It's dangerously close to being left alone with my thoughts (and remember, my thoughts run to meth labs in sheds), which is scary for me.

My first thoughts, when I realized being alone was becoming a problem for me, were that I should make an effort to become a social butterfly. I thought maybe I would find a group hobby of some sort, and start going out with friends more often. Well, the problem with a group hobby is that those things usually scheduled, and our schedule for visitation is rotating weekly (it follows my husband's work schedule. Or, ex. Or, soon to be ex. There needs to be a name for people in this situation), which means my availability literally falls on different days every single week. Ok, strike the group hobby, let's go out with friends! But wait...most of my friends are moms, too, so their availability is scarce. I have married friends who are childless, but again, there are issues of availability and also of compatibility - many of my witty anecdotes are child-based, so if you don't understand the magical rainbow of colors that toddler poop can come in, you might not be amused (not all of my stories are poop based, by the way. But many of them are). People are busy these days! That's not to say that I haven't had success finding people to go out with, or that I'm not enjoying spending time with people. I've reconnected with old friends, gone to parties, had dinners, had drinks. So it's not all bad!

So, when plan 'Social Butterfly' didn't pan out, I reflected some more and realized that I need to learn how to be alone. That might sound simple, as in, just be by yourself and there you go, that's it, but that's not what I mean. I mean that I need to learn to be at peace being alone, to learn that there is no shame in one. To just forge blindly ahead, filling my life with tasks and activities and outings and meetings, would be doing myself no favor. I have to learn to like myself and my own company. And maybe one day, down the road when I'm ready, that will allow me to attract someone who is more likely to enjoy my company as well.

So I'm going to start an experiment of sorts, making myself go outside of my comfort zone in the name of learning to love myself and my own company. This sounds incredibly vapid, I'm certain, or maybe selfish, or self-indulgent. But what I'm trying to say is that I sort of lack a sense of self right now, and I need to re-discover it. I'm not a wife anymore. I'm still a mother, but there are a couple of days a week when the kids aren't there. And I have no idea what to do. I do offer this up to God, and pray regularly. And I've put lots of things in God's hand during this entire process. But God isn't going to come down and, physically and in Person, hang with me when I'm at the beach by myself, so I need to find a way to enjoy it. Know what I mean?

So anyway, maybe I'll post here about my forced alone-ness and what I do. How it feels. And in the meantime, I offer you this sort of silly video with a neat message:

I'm Out!

I'm going on vacation!

My sister and I, her 11-year old son and my two children (ages 2 and 8) are taking a grand road trip up the east coast. 11 days of shenanigans! Lots of time in a car with a toddler! Ack! We will visit family, an aquarium, we will watch fireworks and go to amusement parks and art festivals and amish country and a civil war reenactment and an Indian museum and we'll even see Rock City!

We have decided to blog about our trip - we figured out that we can e-mail blog posts (with pictures attached, even!) from our smartphones, so it is ON. Should you desire, you can visit the blog: The Tucker Girls' Great Northern Adventure. We can be sarcastic from time to time, be warned. Rest assured any statement regarding abandoning our children at rest stops or adopting them out to Bigfoot are only jokes.

We have been planning this trip for over a year, thus we had lots of time to contemplate. That contemplation led to the establishment of rules via the Constitution (rules for car behavior) and the Bill of Responsibilities (rules for being a houseguest).

We also created a scavenger hunt for the two older kids in the car to complete. And it's no regular car scavenger hunt - it's special. Check the list out here. It's epic. And trip-wide - it lasts until the kids complete all the items and/or we get home. And what do the kids get for their troubles, you might ask? Trophies! With their names engraved on them! (I recommend Crown Awards if you find yourself in need of a trophy - our trophies were $3.95 each, including the engraving)

Yay for vacation!

Wordless Wednesday

(photos courtesy of Katie King, pnj.com)

From my neck of the woods:

Contract workers cleaning oil off the beach (photo by Tony Giberson, pnj.com)

Oil clump on beach (photo by Tony Giberson, pnj.com)

The boats in the background are shrimp trawlers skimming for oil

Tarballs

A health department notice. This particular beach was the one I practically grew up on.

(unless noted, all photos by Bruce Graner, from pnj.com)

Say what?

We are preparing for a hurricane in November. Not fair!

Right now my lovely hometown is right in the center of Ida's projected path cone. School has been canceled through Thursday (Bella's teacher was almost jubilant when she called to tell me). There's a run on ice and bottled water at the grocery stores, gas stations are mobbed, and insanity reigns. The good thing about hurricanes is that you do have the notice, but you have a lot of tough decisions to make, like whether or not to evacuate.

I'm not planning on leaving, although after Hurricane Ivan in 2004 I decided I would leave for a strong category 2 or higher. I was genuinely scared going through Ivan. We were in good spirits at first, but as the night progressed things got bad - there were leaks that turned into downpours, ceilings started collapsing, and the huge oak tree in the front year developed an ominous lean. I remember huddling in the hallway with my then two-year old little girl, praying, and being distracted by droplets of water on my face from yet another roof leak. We were running around pulling pictures off the wall, dragging furniture out of rooms whose ceilings had fallen, putting pots and pans under the contained leaks...it was really scary. And we were lucky compared to some, compared to many, really.

Evacuating is a mixed bag - you can get out of town, but traffic can be horrible and, unless you're headed north, there's always the chance that the storm will change direction and you'll be driving into the bad weather. A neighbor of mine told me a horror story about getting stuck on the interstate trying to evacuate during Hurricane Opal, and trying to dodge tornadoes, drive with zero visibility, etc.

There's also the choice about battening down the hatches. How far do you go? For this storm, I'm going to take in the items on the patio and move things away from windows and doors (in case of wind-driven rain). You have to decide whether or not to board up windows, among other things. I am employed by a small business that sells high-end grand pianos and church organs, among other things. Preparing for a hurricane there is no fun. Lots of heavy things to put up on blocks, lots of moving and shifting and hoping for the best.

This will be a tense night. Things can change overnight, maybe for the better. Or maybe not. I'm thinking that we will get rain and blustery wind and hopefully that will be the end of it. I have to decide where to stay tomorrow night. Depending on how things look, we might go stay at my in-law's house. I don't really trust the construction of our apartments - if noise passes so freely between the walls, I can't help but wonder about wind and rain. Plus, at my in-law's house, I can be there to help should more roof issues arise. I don't know what my grandparents are planning to do, and I'm worried about that.

And I just saw that the weather channel is sending Jim Cantore here, which anyone who lives in a hurricane zone knows means that YOU ARE GOING TO GET HIT. Jim Cantore is like a hurricane magnet - where he goes, storms follow. Dang it.

I was going to start pulling things off the patio earlier and I encountered a snake. A small-ish snake, but still a snake, so I hastily retreated inside the house and decided the clearing the porch is my husband's job.

You just never know. But, having the notice is vastly preferable to just being slammed, so I shouldn't complain. Sigh. A hurricane in November. Boo! The upside: if we lose power, it won't be as hot. There we go. I'll cling to that while I'm watching the tropical update on the weather channel all night. If you pray, I know whoever is in the path of this hurricane would appreciate a word or two, so keep us (or whomever!) in mind.

I'm Silly

I have trouble sleeping. Well, that's not entirely true, I don't have problems sleeping, but I have problems getting to sleep. I can't just lie down and drift off, I have to do something to quiet my mind. Usually I read, but it has to be something I've read before. New books can't be bedtime books, because I end up devouring a new book in one sitting and then go to bed way too late.

So I read, and usually fall asleep with a book on my face. I was finding myself waking up in the wee hours of the morning, contorted in awkward positions on the bed or sofa, lights blazing, sometimes with the TV still on. So I decided I would try an audio book. I downloaded "The Hobbit" (because I love that book) and my sister was kind enough to share the seventh Harry Potter novel and a few David Sedaris books with me. So I tried it: I turned out the lights, laid down with my MP3 player, and...ten minutes later I was out like a light. This has been my nightly routine since this, and it has been wonderful.

Saturday night I settled into my routine: lights out, player at the ready. I decided to listen to Harry Potter, since I had listened to the Sedaris novels already. I fell into a blissful sleep, but was rudely awakened and utterly aurally overwhelmed by a huge and horrible onslaught of noise. The first thing I could hear was a long, piercing scream, occurring simultaneously with a spooky sounding male voice in my ear. Completely out of it and beginning to panic, I started flailing around on the sofa where I had fallen asleep, trying to get my bearings and completely unable to do so. My flailing caused an avalanche - the cordless phone, cell phone, TV remote and my hair clip that I had earlier placed on the back of the sofa all fell, of course directly onto my head.

Deluged by electronics and hair accessories, I fell to the floor, still baffled by what was going on. I was literally in a panic, and shrieked a little when I hit the ground. The screaming intensified, and the spooky voice in my ear was suddenly joined by swells of ominous music. After a moment on the floor, I realized that 1.) Bubba had awakened and was screaming his displeasure at finding himself in his bed, and 2.) Harry Potter was still playing in my ear and was at a particularly scary and dramatic point in the story. I yanked the earbuds out and went to rescue Bubba, my heart still pounding. There was a good two-minute period there in which I had absolutely no clue what was happening in my house. I'm silly.

And now for this little gem, which involves the loss of dignity that occurs in pregnancy (consider yourself forewarned):

When I was pregnant with Bella, I was taking Lamaze classes with my sister-in-law, because of my husband's work schedule. We had a routine: meet for the classes, and then out to dinner afterwards. We went to class one night, where the instructor was showing the class massage techniques for labor. We had been working on the floor, and she instructed us all to get up for standing positions.

My SIL and I rose from the mat we were seated on, and there was a noise that sounded distinctly like someone passing gas. I immediately thought it was her; she immediately thought it was me. This gave us both a terrible case of the giggles, which we were trying to keep to ourselves. The lights were low, there was relaxing music playing, and there were four other couples in the class trying to learn. Giggles quickly gave way to something close to hysteria, and tears were streaming down both of our faces as we tried to control ourselves. The instructor tactfully suggested that we take a moment outside, and we agreed, snorting with mirth as we left the room.

Once in the hallway, we faced each other and said, at the same time, "Did you fart?". This caused us to laugh even harder. In between our gales of laughter we ascertained that neither of us had farted. We laughed even harder, and then I had something happen to me that can be somewhat common in pregnancy, especially when laughing or coughing: "I just peed on myself a little!", I informed my sister-in-law. This did not help matters, and only caused us to laugh even harder. After a few minutes we settled down, and were getting ready to go back into the classroom when I asked where she wanted to go for dinner. "Dinner? But you just said you peed on yourself, you really want to go to dinner?". "Oh," I replied, waving my hand airily, "I pee on myself all the time, it's nothing." Our shaky composure lost once more with this comment, we gave up on ever getting back into relaxation mode, grabbed our purses and headed to TGI Friday's.

We still laugh when we tell that story. The noise ended up being caused by someones shoe on the mat we were sitting on, by the way. And the Lamaze techniques were completely forgotten half an hour into my labor. My husband offered to rub my back with tennis balls in a sock, and there was nothing soothing about that idea. Hitting someone with tennis balls in a sock, that idea appealed to me, but even in pain I realized it wasn't very appropriate.

So those are my silly stories. Instead of complaining about how busy I am, or the things that I am worried about, I thought I would make myself feel better by offering the world of blogging a little more mindless blather. And I do feel better!

UPDATE: After writing this, I called my sister-in-law to ask if she remembered this and she and I laughed ourselves to tears again. Nothing like a good (gross) story.

I had a moment

We have recently transitioned Bubba to a twin bed, since he insisted on taking spectacular dives out of his crib, landing in awkward positions and screaming like he was mortally wounded. I considered the various schools of thought on this topic - you have the "get him out of the crib now before he hurts himself" side, then you have the "he probably won't hurt himself falling out" side. I found myself coming in on the not "hurting himself side". I'm not willing to risk a broken arm. Not to mention the fact that the boy has an iron will, and the one time I played the "just put him back in bed" game I lost. I relented after literally the fifteenth time he intentionally fell out of bed.

How is the transition going, you ask? Oh, very poorly, I answer! He has screamed himself hoarse over the last couple of days. But let me take you back in time, to the place my stress started building: Sunday morning, at Mass. We were in the crying room, and I was trying to keep Bubba in line. He did OK for a while, but the he started to melt down. I was holding Bubba, who was protesting mightily, and trying to reign in Bella, who was making faces through the glass at a school friend sitting a few pews away. I was standing close to the glass, my hand on Bella's shoulder to pull her away, when Bubba broke into loud, high-pitched shrieks and started hitting and kicking the glass. I immediately backed away from the window, but not before getting some rather...unamused glares from people sitting in the back pews.

I had also made the mistake of putting poor Bubba in a collared shirt for church. I know better - he can't stand collared shirts, but in my haste I didn't think about it. As I backed away my poor baby just lost it. He started flailing around uncontrollably, yanking at his shirt and screaming at the top of his lungs and hitting me. I sat down and started trying to soothe him and he headbutted me in the nose (it was an accident), so hard that I started bleeding. I had to put him down because I couldn't see for a moment. So he thrashed around on the crying room floor, banging his head so hard I could see the parents next to me wince. I gathered our things and we left. Bubba has a major meltdown every Sunday at church. Stress!

When we get home he refused to take a nap. He was in his room, throwing a fit, when I encountered a neighbor who informed me that, should she hear me letting my baby cry like that again, she was going to call the department of children and families and have me investigated. Stress. Now I feel trapped in my own home, like I can't do what I need to do because, should he cry too long, and who knows what this person's idea of too long could be, I'm going to have to deal with CFS. Not that I'm worried they would find anything undue, understand, but that's a headache I don't need in my life.

Now we are into nightly screaming fits. He doesn't want to be in the crib, he refuses to stay in bed, and bedtime has become a battle that I dread. Nothing gets done around the house, because by the time he finally gets settled he sleeps for a little while and wakes back up again. We are both getting fragmented sleep, and neither of us are the better for it. And I feel like I constantly have the spector of my neighbor reporting me to CFS hanging over my head, even though I know I haven't done anything wrong. Stress!

I'm having a little work stress, and a little money stress, and Bella's school is, in all honesty, driving me absolutely crazy. I am sick of policy changes and important memos and the constant complaints that parents aren't doing enough. It's just been one thing after another (like the day she got an out of uniform notice because her belt was tan and not brown), and it's piling up and adding to my worry. Bella is having trouble in a couple of subjects at school - worry. My car is acting up - worry.

So all that to say that it culminated tonight, when I was trying to get Bubba to sleep. I was putting him back in his bed for the fifth time, when I stood up my chest got tight, and my heart started racing, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I had to go sit down and take some deep breaths and eventually felt better, but it was a wake-up call I needed. I need to calm down. Or, as a friend of mine would say, I need to settle my butt down.

I can't control everything. And I feel so guilty about poor Bubba, and about Bella having issues at school...I am awash with guilt. So my answer is: I can't fix everything at once. Progress takes time. I'll just have to take it slow. I just wish I had more time. More time to spend with Bubba, to help him with his issues and enjoy the bubbly boy that he is. More time to spend with Bella, to help her with schoolwork and just appreciate her for the joy that she is. But, since I can't make more time, I'll just have to adjust. I'm trying too hard to do everything. To work and take care of my kids and my house and my husband, to make sure that there are groceries and hot meals and a clean house and time to enjoy each other. I'm failing. What's the answer here?

Well, for starters, we are going to try going to an earlier Mass. Hopefully that will help with the meltdowns. I am going to do some reading and try and come up with some creative ideas for bubba's new sleeping situation. It might take a few nights and be hard work, but we will figure something out. As for the work and the money stress? Part of life, and will all work out. Bella's school? I'll just chalk all the irritating changes up to a new-ish administation settling in (although this is the last year I'll give them that credit) and hope that things get better. And I won't send her to school in a tan belt. Bella's classroom issues? We'll just work on that together. Nothing is happening that can't be handled through compromise or hard work. Maybe instead of complaining of how put-upon I am, I should be grateful that my problems are so easily solved. They might be stressful in the here and now, but looking long term, they're really just little issues. Humility is what I need. Humility and grace. And some sleep. I'm going to go pray for the first two and attempt the third. Good night!

Can't learn how to learn

Last year, Bella had fabulous religion grades. I could always count on her to have an 'E' (equivalent of an 'A') in religion. This year, she has been having some problems, and I was trying to get to the root of them the other day.

We were studying for her religion test last week, and I knew that it was all material that had been covered last year, so I was fairly confident. Things like the Holy Family, etc. While I was quizzing her from the study guide her teacher sent home, I noticed she was agitated, and the agitated turned into being flat-out freaked out. She didn't know any of the answers, and she was getting very, very upset. So we took a breather, and I asked her what was wrong. This was her answer:

"Last year, we learned the answers in order and the test was in the same order and as long as we knew the order that was how we passed the test! But this year the answers aren't in order and I don't know how to learn them!".

Say whaaaaaat?

I had encountered this last year - we were studying for her religion test and I asked a question out of order and she recognized it immediately. "That's not in the right order! I only know them in the right order!" Panic ensued. I calmed her down and just asked her the questions in the right order and everything was fine. I didn't think about it at the time, but I now know I wasn't doing her any favors.

So I told her last week that it was no big deal, we would work on them together. And we studied over the week, and I thought she had the material down (it was only about seven questions) and then when the test came home, she got a 'D'. I'm not too worried about it at the moment, because it's early yet and we have time to work on it, but this concerns me.

She also freaked out about her math homework. They are doing fast math facts, where they have to just look at a problem and know the answer immediately. The other night we were working on numbers 1-9 plus 0 and 0-9 plus 1. I started asking her questions out of order again, and she lost it again. "I can't do it that way! That's not how we learned it last year!" I tried explaining that she is in second grade now, and that things will be different this year, but it was to no avail.

When I say she gets upset, she gets really upset. She cries, her breathing speeds up, and she is terribly agitated. It seems to really stress her out. And I'm not pressuring her, yelling at her or anything like that. Just a casual, "What does the word 'divine' mean?" and she falls to pieces. She doesn't do that with spelling words. I am at a loss.

My question is: how do I help her actually learn the material, not just memorize the answers?

What to do

Look at that smile. That beautiful little face, those chubby little cheeks, those bright eyes. My darling boy. I love him with all my heart.


But he vexes me. This is normal, you say, and yes, it is, but Bubba is a master vex-er. He has vexing down to an art form.


It's funny, when Bella was a toddler, I never purchased a parenting book. I didn't need one, really, because she was an easygoing baby. And I had the maternal-know-it-all that comes with a first baby (sometimes). The second time around, I should be even more sure of myself, but I am at a loss. I am currently reading four parenting books, all by different authors, all with different ideas. I've learned the secret to reading parenting books is to always have a backup. Because with almost every parenting book I've read (with the exception of 'Raising Your Spirited Child' - I recommend!), I have encountered SOMETHING that made me say, "Oh, no way would I ever do that, that is ridiculous" and then I put the book down in disgust and move on to something else. Then later, when Bubba has done something that has particularly bamboozled me, I decide to overlook whatever part disgusted me so and read further, hoping for an idea or just anything, anything that might help me to help my boy.

My concern is that I am not entirely certain whether he is exhibiting normal toddler behavior, just slightly amplified, or is there is something else afoot. He does exhibit plenty of normal toddler behavior, we have toddler behavior coming out of our ears over here, but some things he takes to an extreme. Examples? Well, let's see...he is a head banger (and I don't mean in a 80's hair band kind of way). And he's not just a headbanger in a mild way, he is a full-on, almost violent and somewhat distressing to myself and other people head banger. We actually had to leave the crying room Sunday because his headbanging was freaking out the other parents. One mother asked me if he was ok, and I just wanted to scream "I DON'T KNOW! AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!". Not out of anger, but out of frustration. Because I think he's doing it out of frustration and I can't help him.

And temper tantrums? Oh, my sweet boy has raised the temper tantrum to an art form. He does not deal with with transitions, my Bubba. I have been trying to get him outside in the mornings, for some fresh air and running around. According to my myriad of parenting books, you can ease transitions with warnings about how much longer you have to be involved in a particular activity, which is a great idea if an 18-month old had any concept of time. "Five more minutes and we have to go inside" or "We will have to go inside soon" means nothing to him - but I still say it, possibly just to make myself feel better. So two mornings in a row, once we went back inside the house, there was a temper tantrum of epic proportions. The first one lasted for an hour. An hour of screaming and throwing himself around the living room, flopping from place to place, hitting his head on the furniture. I feel so helpless. He can't be soothed when these big tantrums happen - he doesn't want to be held (although I still try, sometimes), he can't be distracted. The second morning he went for about twenty minutes, and then I just scooped him up and took him to my mother-in-law's house. Once we got to maw-maw's house he was better (because maw-maw makes everything better). We haven't tried going outside since. And if I leave the room to shower, he will lay outside the bedroom door and scream the entire time. THE ENTIRE TIME. And it's not like he's by himself - this is with my husband there in the same room and he is. This is why I try to shower at night, to avoid such scenes.

He doesn't like going to stores or restaurants, either. Restaurants are better than stores, possibly because there is food involved. But stores? Forget it. He does pretty well for about ten or fifteen minutes, and then he is done. And it is full on tantrum mode again, and he is inconsolable. He doesn't want to sit in the buggy, doesn't want to be held, doesn't want to walk. He just flings himself around, yelling and coughing and sputtering. When it first started happening I thought maybe it was because he wasn't getting out enough, so I tried taking him out more. FAIL. Then I thought maybe he would do better in the mornings. FAIL. So I thought maybe evenings would be better. MISERABLE FAIL. Afternoons? STILL FAIL. Regardless of the time of day or how well rested he is, he melts down every time (EVERY TIME!) we go to a store. Bookstore, toy store, Wal-Mart, it doesn't matter - he freaks out. But as soon as we are outside? He is fine. He stops crying immediately, he'll happily let you carry him or ride in the shopping cart, and the only remnants of his meltdown from mere minutes before is his tear stained face and snotty nose. I joined a 'parents of spirited children' e-group, and I posted something about this to the group, and the consensus seemed to be that this is a phase that he will outgrow. I sure hope so, but it's been literally months now and it only seems to be getting worse.

He has some other peculiar habits - he has a very sensitive gag reflex at the SIGHT of food, and will gag while he is eating, but he hasn't thrown up and doesn't seem to be bothered by it, he just gags and then continues eating. He chews on everything, almost like a puppy - he actually chewed his crib rail down to bare wood. His toy golf clubs - his favorite things in the world - are all chewed up on the club heads. He eats things that should taste bad - and I don't mean he just tastes things, I mean tastes and then keeps eating - thus far he ate three bites from a bar of ivory soap and about the same amount of my husband's deodorant. And I'm not a bad parent, letting him run around and sample the personal hygiene products or anything, I promise. He's just quick. And he's stealthy. He has some other odd little habits, too, that I can't remember now. I keep a list in my purse, actually, so the next time we visit his doctor I can mention it. Which is all I can do at this point. And I'm pretty sure I'll feel silly, but my maternal instinct tells me I need to bring it up, even if the doctor poo-poos it and says he's just being a toddler.

I'm not entirely certain why I shared all this, except maybe that I needed to get it out of my system. I've been talking to my sister and my Aunt about this, so they are probably sick of it, but maybe I needed to put it in writing. I feel so bad for him, really, because even though he is a happy baby when things are going his way, his lows are so terribly low and upsetting, to him and to the people around him, that I feel like maybe...I don't know what. Like he's not enjoying life like he could, I guess. And then I feel guilty, too, like maybe something I'm doing or something I'm not doing is the key to all this, and once I figure out what that is then things will be better for him. Kids get upset, I get that, it's a part of life and I get that, too. But he gets so upset, and it becomes such a huge scene and ordeal, and I just wish I could help him to cope. Part of that is selfish, yes, because when he gets worked up it's very stressful, especially if we are out somewhere, but that's not the heart of the matter - the heart of it is that I want him to be able to handle things better so he can enjoy more.

As it is, he can handle going to homes without issue. My in-laws, my sister, my aunt, my dad, he will happily spend time in their homes without having a major meltdown. He seems to reserve the really big blowups for home or while we are out somewhere. And he loves to be outside, but the only problem with being outside is that eventually, you have to go back inside, and you've already read about how that works out. He doesn't mind being in the car - he is a fairly decent car rider. I just can't figure it all out. But I want to help him. I just have to figure out how.

Tropical School Daze

Well, tomorrow is the big day: Bella goes back to school. My big second grader. She is excited, and while I am excited for her, the start of school always stresses me out. The getting up earlier than we have been for months, the traffic, the insanity of carpool line, I could go on but I won't, because it's nothing I have any control over so there's no point in fretting. I just need to get over it.

Are we ready? We are ready-ish. Bella still needs to put the finishing touches on her summer reading book reports, for one, but she's planning on doing that this evening. We still need to write her name on her bookbag, but that will take two minutes. Her supplies are already at school, so that's taken care of. Her first two days are half days, so I won't have to address lunches until the middle of the week. This year I have a new lunch policy - Bella will be making her own lunch, the night before school. Theoretically, this should make lunch problems moot - she will hopefully eat whatever she brings, since she made it, and it will lessen the post-school lunch criticisms. We shall see how that goes.

We have uniforms, although we don't have many uniforms, and the ones we do have need some attention - a hem there, a dried-in mustard stain there, a faded logo. The mustard stain is causing me much distress, because I have been working on it all summer and have yet to get it out. I've faded it, but you can still see it. I was actually praying about it last night, praying for assistance with a mustard stain, of all the silly things. I wished that I might have more time to get it out, although if I haven't managed it in three months I don't know what any more time could do for me. So I wake up this morning and find out...we are under a tropical storm warning! Does that fall under the "be-careful-what-you-wish-for" category? I had hoped for some more time, but not due to a tropical weather system slamming into us. I went to bed last night aware there was something churning in the Gulf, woke up to a tropical depression and came home from the grocery store to Tropical Storm Claudette.

I don't even know if school is going to be canceled - if we do get hit, it is supposed to be in the early AM hours Monday. I don't think I would like to attempt morning carpool during a tropical storm, but I will if I have to. We are on the western fringe of the projected path cone (ah, the projected path cone - how we love it or hate it, depending on where we are in relation to it), so we might just get some breezy rain. Either way, I think we are prepared. We have some bottled water and batteries (I always try to keep both around, anyway, so I had them on hand), and later I'm going to stash the things on the porch somewhere, and that's about all I can do. That and hope the power stays on, but hopefully my proximity to the naval hospital will ensure that any outages, should they occur at all, will be brief. So I'm going to go batten down the hatches, in a casual sort of way, and then it's back to business as usual. Which for me, today, will be prayerful last minute attempts at stain removal, the ironing in of hems (because I cheat because I can barely sew) and the safety pinning of waistlines.

Claudette, stay away!

**UPDATE!!** With some elbow grease and possibly some divine intervention (hey, I don't know but I'm not ruling it out, after all, I did pray for it) the mustard stain came out! My jubilation quickly turned to dismay, however, when Bella ripped a hole in the armpit of the shirt putting in on this morning. Literally months of hard work on stain removal reduced to moot. Gives me a little perspective, though, I suppose.

Bad Haiku Friday: Pimento cheese and Marines in their underpants

My Godfather makes

the best pimento cheese spread

Thank you, Mr. Mike

My marine neighbor

walks his dog in his boxers

A sight to behold

Go and visit Laura at Catholic Teacher Musings for more bad haikus.

Teen translator

I met a sweet young girl who might babysit for me every once in a while! Exciting, yes? I'm excited. I asked her the other day is she was old enough to babysit, and she said yes, so I told her I would hire her. Then she 'friended' me on Facebook, so I sent her a message that said "Hey, future babysitter!". This was what I received in reply:

"hey...i wud actually lurv to babysit fer u and my mom said shed take me anywhere if i wanted to babysit someones kids to make some money and stuff...but i lurv (Bella) and (bubba) so theres no prob..."

I was a bit stymied, so I forwarded the e-mail to my sister, who also knows the girl. My e-mail to my sister said this:

"Does this mean yes? I'm confused..."

To which my sister hilariously replied:

"Don't worry, I speak teenager...allow me to translate:
"Yes, I would love to babysit for you! My mother is willing to provide transportation. She is excited for me to have such an opportunity! I do so enjoy your children!""

And THAT is one of the many reasons why my sister is so awesome.

Stink

My car is smelly

Diaper fell under the seat

Air freshener, please

Bad Haiku Friday

I was up for trying Laura's bad Haiku challenge today, so here is my meager contribution to the world of bad haiku. This particular Haiku was inspired by my fondness for (and recent excessive downloading of) Beastie Boys music:

The Beastie Boys should

write haiku because that would

be really awesome

This is also intended as a tribute (poor as it might be) to MCA (Adam Yauch), since he recently announced he has cancer. Get well soon MCA!

If you don't have anything nice to say...

...don't say anything at all. I haven't had many nice things to say, lately. Good things have been happening, I'm sure they have. Good things and funny things have happened. I've been eating well and working out and physically, I feel better than I have in years. I've been stressed, though, and I was afraid I would just complain endlessly if I blogged, so I didn't blog. I will blog now, though, and try and get all of the complaining out of the way:

My husband's schedule has changed, which completely throws off our childcare. Now I will need childcare different days of the week, every week. Some weeks I might need childcare three days, some weeks I won't need it at all. Not a lot of affordable childcare providers who are willing to put up with such nonsense. That's stressful.

I need to add more hours at work, both for financial and workload reasons. I'll see less of my kids, have less time to do all the things I need to do, and also adds to my childcare issues. Stressful.

There's all sorts of other reasons why I'm stressed - my in-laws, my grandparents, girl scouts, church stuff, school stuff. But also, and I'm going to lay down some brutal bloggy honesty here: I'm having some problems in my marriage. Some pretty heavy stuff is going down, and I'm...well, I don't know what I'm doing. Trying to hold it all together? I guess. Every relationship has ups and downs, and right now we are pretty down. But we're working on it.

That's my confession for the day. I haven't been blogging, but I have been reading other blogs. Lurking, really, since I haven't been commenting as much as I would like. I miss my blog friends! I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things, and maybe it will help me to focus on the positive. I will try to be more positive. I will be more positive.

On a somewhat cheerier note, I had posted previously about my suspicion that I was sinking into depression. Since I made the changes to my diet and started exercising regularly and taking my vitamins like a good girl, things are much, much better now. Not to say that I don't get a little melancholy now and then, but I don't feel bad all the time like I did before. So there's something positive, something to be thankful for. I have many blessings in my life, and all my problems are relatively short-term problems that will work out. It's just hard to remember that sometimes.

In search of some ink

I have a tattoo. Just one, on my shoulder, so I can easily cover it up. It was actually a birthday gift. My sister-in-law suggested it, and offered to pay, so we took a ride up to see a friend of ours who was working in a tattoo shop. I didn't know what I wanted, so I put my foot down on having anything done immediately - if I was going to have something etched permanently onto my body, I wanted it to be something of great meaning to me, not just a ladybug or a butterfly or anything like that. After some internet searching and the help of a talented and artistic friend, I ended up with this (please excuse my raggedy hair - it's not quite long enough for locks of love just yet, and forgive my messy bathroom, poor photography skills and ugly pajamas):

Mother and child, a tribute to my love of my vocation, my love for my children. A few months before I got the tattoo I had endured a miscarriage, so it had even more meaning for me. And I lost my mom while I was pregnant with Bella, so it could stand for my mother, her mother, anybody who is a mother or a child. I like it. And Bella likes it - she calls it 'our heart', since it's sort of heart shaped.


I have been feeling a hankering for a new tattoo for a while now. I'm not an ink addict - far from it, actually - I got the first tattoo about four years ago. I'd like to get another, so I'm trying to decide what I want to include in the design.



Disclaimer: I realize that some people dislike tattoos, and that some people dislike religious imagery in tattoo form. If so, you might be bothered by this post. The last thing I want to do is offend, so please consider this fair warning. I don't want any nasty e-mails, so please keep in mind that people can have differing opinions while still being respectful. If you would like an interesting perspective on the subject, browse over to this site: Religious Tattoos. The site is run by a Catholic father of four who happens to appreciate body art. Check out the tattoo pictures page, sorted by subject - it's fascinating, and if you visit the links page, you will find tattoo shops that tailor specifically to Christians.

My younger sister is one of the best Christians I know, and she has multiple tattoos. Some of which he had done while she was going through a bible college. She now has a bachelor's degree in theology.

My conversion to Catholicism was huge for me (as it is to everyone who does it, I'm sure). It was a big step, something I never thought I would do, and I discovered how much it meant to me and how much I wanted to do it when I was on the verge of not being allowed to move forward. I made it, though, and I want my tattoo to signify my faith, among other things. For starters:

I want a triquetra because it has all sorts of meaning - the Holy Trinity, obviously and mainly. Two sisters plus me equals three. I have two children with me and one I lost, for a total of three. I do realize that the triquetra can also be considered a pagan symbol, but that's not a problem for me because I look at it this way: it is going to be on my body, so what matters is what the symbol means to me. Both my sisters have triquetra tattoos, and we have long talked about all three of us having one, so I'm pretty sure my next inking will be of a triquetra in some way, shape or form:

BUT - I don't know if I want a thin line, a thicker line (like the one above), a double, or if I want the circled version. That's one decision to make.


Throughout my conversion to Catholicism I found myself drawn to the Holy Spirit, for a myriad of reasons, a lot of which are rather private. I wear a Holy Spirit medallion, all the time. So I would like to include a dove. I know, I know, the trinity symbol includes the Holy Spirit, but I'm giving an extra little shout-out. Maybe like one of the doves below:



So I have to decide which dove, and then where to put the dove. Inside the symbol? Outside? Above, below? Another decision. I'm thinking, though, that I would like the dove inside the lower left side of the triquetra.


I would also like to have something that represents the Blessed Mother and all that she represents. I can't decide on that one - maybe a fleur-de-lis, or the initials and crown, one of the two, as seen below:
I don't know which. Or where. Another decision. But I'm leaning towards a fleur-de-lis in the lower right hand section of the design - I like the blue and white one, above.

In the top section of the triquetra, I would like something for my kids - maybe little stars, maybe circles - one in pink (for Bella), one in blue (Bubba), and one in white (for the baby I lost).

And that leaves the center. Hmm...what's a girl to do? I could leave it blank. I was thinking I would like to do something for my mother, but I'm just not sure. And this is all up in the air, of course, because I could get this sketched out and it could look busy and terrible, or it would have to be huge to fit all that stuff inside of it and I'm not looking for a huge tattoo. Who knows, I might end up just doing the triquetra. So that's what I've been up to lately, mulling over tattoo options. You know, because I just don't have enough to do already. :-)

Happy weekend to all!

Come Tuesday...

So I'm at work today, working with a customer on the phone, when I see a gentleman strolling to the back of the store with my boss. He looks familiar, but I can't place him, and I was trying to both help the customer on the phone AND wrack my brain to try and figure out who he was, when my boss says, "Hey, you guys, it's Jimmy Buffett!". Ahh, THAT would be why he was familiar.

He shook hands with everybody, and was looking at guitar tuners - you know, since he needed a tuner for his stratocaster because he's going to start working on an album tomorrow, and stuff. He talked with everyone, while I was still stuck on the phone with the same customer. I wanted to say, "Jimmy Buffett is here! Can I call you back?" but I didn't. He was getting ready to leave when I finally got off the phone, and he was shaking hands one last time so I snuck in. Everyone else was talking about where or when they had seen him play live, but I had never seen him play live, so when he shook my hand all I could say was, "I've read your books". It's true, I have.

He was busy contributing to the local economy, apparently, because he had a huge shopping bag from the jewelry store across the street (I mean huge - I wouldn't think a jewelry store would have a bag that big - I mean, it's jewelry). He had to leave in a hurry because he was meeting his sister for lunch and didn't want to be late. So there you go!

That was my brush with fame today. Well, that and speaking with Mrs. Fetterman (widow of Admiral Fetterman, and somewhat famous locally), who was telling a charming story about her friend Tom Benson, who just happens to own the New Orleans Saints.

I love this town sometimes, I really do.

It's been a while

Hasn't it? I apologize to my few readers. I haven't been all that busy, but I have been enjoying the lack of school and girl scouts. Bella has been enjoying it, as well, and has been staying up far too late. She seems to have a knack for knowing just when I'm about to tell her to go to bed, and when she senses that coming she'll come up to me, give me a big hug and say, "Mom, I think we need to have some girl time right now". How can I argue with that? So we play Wii - usually Cooking Mama, and some Lego Star Wars, but the player perspective on Lego Star Wars makes me queasy after ten or fifteen minutes. Sometimes she reads to me, sometimes we just snuggle on the couch and watch TV, or we will do some needlepointing or some crafts. Lots of fun.


I am feeling a little blue, my friends. I think I'm a bit depressed. I've been trying to address it myself before I seek medical intervention - changing my diet around a little, trying to make sure I get more/enough sleep, get some exercise, things like that. I'm hoping those steps work.


I took Bella to the bookstore yesterday with her summer reading assignment and let her pick out books. We picked a few books off her assigned list, and then I told her she could pick out one other book of her choosing, as long as it was a chapter book. She browsed through the beginning chapter readers, and after a moment exclaimed, "Everything is fairies and princesses! I have lots of those already!". She didn't want more Junie B. Jones books or Magic Tree House books, so I was helping her try to find something and we came across the Franny K. Stein series, about a little girl mad scientist. Much to my amusement, she opted for one of those books. And she loved it! She is planning on 'reviewing' it on her website tonight, since she finished it in the car on the way home. She laughed out loud more than once while reading it, and actually read a couple of the more amusing passages out loud to us. I read it, too, after we got home, and I liked it. It had a great message about staying true to yourself, even if you're a little different. And parts of it made me laugh out loud, like this:

She was just about to tell the girls how Chompalina could bite the heads
off their dolls when she noticed something. Their dolls were all kind of...sweet
and pretty. They all had long hair and flowery dresses. Not a single one of them
oozed uck. They didn't ooze anything. Franny made a note to herself: Pretty,
non-head biting dolls, it said. And less oozing.

Or this one, possibly Bella's favorite passage in the whole book:

The kids just stood there. They didn't know how to help. A few tried
crying. A few tried screaming. One tried wetting his pants, although later on he
admitted he had no idea why he thought that might help.

That's funny stuff, especially if you're seven.


Summer is in full force here in rainy Florida, where the temperature is in the nineties by 9am and the humidity makes you feel like you're stepping into a hot tub everytime you step outside. You can't go outside during the afternoon because it's too hot, and you can't go outside in the evenings because you get eaten alive by mosquitos. My little stretch of porch is alive with nature, and by nature I mean angry stinging insects that chase you back inside the second you step out. I sprayed a couple of wasps' nests a couple of weeks ago, and we already have four more. The joy of swamp living. All this and hurricanes, too! I should write ads for the department of tourism.

I hope everyone has a lovely summer weekend!