Living Life on Fire

I've decided to move my blog....various reasons, but here you go:

 

 

I'm still constructing it, but if you stop by....PLEASE leave a comment so I know you've made it!

I have crappy skin. It’s partially my fault, and partially the fault of my ancestry, but there you have it. Once a creamy skinned child with a sprinkling of freckles, I burned and burned and burned in the Southern California sun…once I even had blisters all over my back and shoulders. Do you remember what  “sunscreen” was like in the 70’s? It was Coppertone mayonnaise. I wasn’t even trying to tan back then…in fact Kristy Swanson was in my 5^th grade class and ridiculed me in front of all of our friends, “Nice TAN, Lisa.” (I never like that Kristy.) I was a pink girl with white stripes most of my childhood.  Then in Jr. High we moved to New Mexico, where I got my first set of blisters on my face from skiing. I never had acne, but I had blisters that made me look like the Swamp Thing.

In 9^th grade, we moved back to Mission Viejo, where I was determined to re-claim my California girl identity, and began laying out at lunch, after school, and on weekends. Going to the beach every weekend if possible, and wearing smaller and smaller bathing suits. My mother told me that the sun ages you. She said people think it will never happen to them….and voila! One day your face looks like a leather road map that has been crumpled in your pocket, smoothed out, and smeared with make-up.

I’m 36….and I think I look older. It doesn’t help that my olive skinned husband is three years younger than me…(but at least he’s going grey so I won’t look too much like his grandmother!) And I have been a skin care FREAK ever since I turned 24 and saw the first signs of sun damage. (I can’t say ‘24’ and ‘aging’ in the same sentence. I’ll gag.)

I started with Clinique in high school, then went to Mary Kay in my early 20’s and eventually even sold it for a while because I was so happy with the results. I was 24, of course I was happy with the results!  As I progressed in career and paycheck size, I moved to Lancôme and stayed a loyal customer for years thinking that somehow hemorrhaging money would save my skin. After spending over $100 on a 1.5 oz. jar of Absolue and not seeing ANY difference, I began a quest. I have tried lots and lots of different products. Some products that were stupid expensive , and some that were all organic and mailed to my home on a schedule. Honestly, after hanging out too long in the singles bars of skin care, I think I found it….and it’s CHEAP.

I was grocery shopping about a month ago, cruising past the cosmetics and thinking I needed some moisturizer to tide me over until I could find a new system, and I saw a display for a new skincare line by  Garnier Nutritioniste . The pretty spring green display caught my eye. “Ooooh, pretty!”  I took a look, and saw that I could buy the Anti-Wrinkle cleanser baby-wipe looking things, the Anti-Wrinkle Firming Night Cream, the  Anti-Wrinkle firming Day serum with SPF15, and the Regeneration mico-polish scrub for about the same price as one SMALL bottle of Lancôme cleanser. I threw all the pretty green bottles that my cart would carry to the register, and I love it, love it, love it.

Yes, I’m a skin-care ho. But I’m telling you, if cost is an issue and you actually want to see your crappy, sun-damaged skin improve….you may want to give it a try.  If you don’t have crappy, sun-damaged skin, well then….now I don't like you OR Kristi Swanson.

I have said many times that I REALLY don’t like to run. I mean, I like the idea of it, and the great technical fiber clothes, and the impressed look people get on their faces when I say, “Yeah, we ‘ran’ 15 miles last weekend.” But I don’t love it, and I walk as soon as my body says to walk.

But I can run when chased.

Last weekend our family went out to Lopez Island to visit my mothers-in-law and hear all about their trip to Italy. *Sigh*.  I want to go to Italy.  Anyway, Saturday I was supposed to run 3 miles and Amy said she would go with me.  So we suited up, and got in the car to clock the mileage on the odometer (God knows I didn’t want to run any further than necessary!). The driveway at their house alone is ½ mile, so we just headed down the street toward their poor next door neighbor, Paul Allen. Turns out that from my moms’ front door to Paul Allen’s guarded gate is exactly 1.5 miles. We’ll just do a turnaround - perfect!

So Amy and I drove back to the house, grabbed our water bottles and went for it. We walked most of the driveway to warm up, and then broke into a slow but steady pace. Lopez Island has got to be one of the most beautiful places on this earth. We talked, and giggled and made fun of ourselves all the way down to the spit that heads up to THE GATE. There are cameras EVERYWHERE on that little piece of land (it’s only 300+ acres), and though we couldn’t see them (except for the big ones on the gate), we knew they were watching.

Amy is the MySpace queen, and never leaves home without a camera in her hand or her pocket so naturally, she started snapping pictures. She took some fun ones of us, then no sooner had she snapped the shutter on a view of Paul Allen’s indoor pool building, a white van came out of nowhere at top speed toward the gate.

Oops. I guess passing the ‘No Trespassing’ sign on the spit was a bad idea.  So we turned around (it was time to anyway) and ran like pranksters who have been caught TP-ing the neighbors.  When we looked behind us we saw the white van turn around and head back to wherever it came from like a schnauzer that has chased away the mail man.

Well, the good news is, we did the 3 miles in under 30 minutes - the bad news is that my 13 year old and I probably have our faces on the cover of Scary Stalkers of Microsoft Co-Founders Magazine.

I just read a blog where this woman made a list of all the things she thought she’d be doing at 36. I am still trying not to pee my pants, because it is so funny! Here’s a sample:

• ·         Attending Tupperware parties and bringing home leftover deviled eggs.
• ·         Driving a station wagon. The original beacon for Yes, I Have Stretch Marks.
• ·         Having a martini at 5pm every day. (Oh wait…got that one nailed.)
• ·         Perfecting my skill at using spray starch when ironing. Sadly, I have not a clue.
• ·         Slowing down in the drug store aisle to casually and nonchalantly find out the age I should be to begin taking Geritol.

Read more HERE.

Anyway, it cracked me up because I think we all see ourselves just a bit differently than others see us. Where did the time go? I have these moments where I really forget that I AM 36 years old. That’s the south side of 40, folks, and that is NOT youth no matter how well you can fit into clothes from Wet Seal.

For instance, last weekend I was in the L.A. area visiting my BFF Rosanna, and we went to a club. We sat in her enormous Southern California kitchen in her McMansion sipping martinis and sampling appetizers from Trader Joes before going out for the evening. We were dressed in our little black dresses (okay, for the record, Rosie is still under 30 so she is ALLOWED to wear hoochie momma clothes.) We were in the club dancing, have a nice time just like the old days, and we went over to the bar to order a drink. ON the bar (this was a nice, dress code enforced place ~ not a strip club) was a woman wearing almost nothing except go-go boots with the most perfect (mostly exposed) ass I have ever seen. I mean, not a dimple, not a stretch mark, not a single blemish on her perfect tiny little self and I found myself wanting to push her off the bar and say, “Don’t stand on the furniture! You know better!”

Today was my first run of Marathon Training season. My friend Julie and I were IMing each other last week and I asked her if she had run today. She said, “Yes. You?” (IM chats with Julie are very short) I said “No! I don’t have to start until Saturday…why would I run before then? Sheeesh!”

That’s pretty much been my attitude all Winter long, and man, has my body paid for it. Aside from the obvious weight gain, I have felt sluggish, depressed….blah blah blah.

So today was the day. There are three Marathons coming up in October that I can choose from, and I’m actually pretty excited about it….even if I do have to start from scratch again.

I set up the first run today with six other island ladies to be a 2.6 mile time trial….I was the only one that showed.  So what if it’s Easter, Spring Break, and Island Road-Side Clean-Up day? Come ON, where are their priorities!! Just kidding. Anyway, I dusted off my running shoes and showed up at the designated meeting place at 8:00am as planned. I got a little excited as I began to lumber slowly down the road…it was a beautiful morning with the mountain and ocean on my right and the woods on my left and the island was just waking up. I saw a local farmer putting his eggs in to a cooler by the side of the road for locals to purchase on the ‘honor’ system, and an older man sitting on the porch of his cabin in a flannel shirt drinking coffee and watching his dog.

I did forget music, however, but no matter. It was a very short run (35 minutes) and the birds and voices of passers by saying ‘good morning!’ provided all the music I needed.

Everyone knows not to judge a book by its cover, but we can't help it; we do just that, day in and day out, consciously and subconsciously. We often rate others on the basis of their appearance and compare our own looks with the enhanced images of beautiful women and handsome we find online and magazines.

Beauty not only sells -- it pays off. Beautiful babies get more attention from parents and teachers. Good-looking guys get more dates than average ones. Pretty women get out of traffic tickets and into exclusive clubs. The list of pluses for being one of the "beautiful people" goes on and on.

So what makes a person attractive? Don't bother looking in the mirror; just get out a measuring tape. (It’s not what you’re thinking…read on.)

Last week when I was in California with my friend Julie, I had a conversation with her oldest son Dylan, in which he told me that he learned that people’s perception of beauty was based on symmetry. Now, Dylan is an actor, and a perfectly gorgeous, perfectly built one at that – so I’m taking this on the advice of an expert. I thoughtfully murmured to myself, ‘I think I’m symmetrical’…. Thinking of course, about my nose, my arms, etc….not on the fact that my boobs used to be so huge and un-even that I had to have surgery to minimize their effect on my neck and back. The perky, even, ta-ta's that I now possess are just a side benefit. Riiiiiiiight – at least that’s what my insurance company seems to believe, because they paid for it. I digress.

But think about it ~ nature confirms that beauty is simply balance: The more symmetrical a face, the more appealing it appears. (Dylan says his nose is crooked. If it is, I certainly didn’t notice ~ as I said, he’s a hunk.) Evidently, physical symmetry is subconsciously perceived as a reflection of a person's youth, fertility, health and strength. And although symmetry might not be a bona fide health certificate these days, it has been a marker of good health and genes throughout human evolution.

There is a book called "Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty", by Nancy Etcoff. She says "Our sensitivity to beauty is hard-wired -- that is, governed by circuits in the brain shaped by natural selection," also, "We love to look at smooth skin, shiny hair, curved waists and symmetrical bodies because, over the course of evolution, people who noticed these signals and desired their possessors had more reproductive success. We're their descendants."

Symmetry also is sexy. I just found this:

“In a study by biology professor Thornhill and University of New Mexico psychology professor Steven Gangestad, hundreds of college-age women and men were measured (including their ears, feet, ankles, hands and elbows). Questionnaires revealed that men who were more symmetrical started having sex three to four years earlier and had more sex partners than their asymmetrical counterparts.” 

Right. I’m sure personality had nothing to do with it. Like we’re just going to throw ourselves at a guy because his arms are the same length. Whatever. And geez, who’d they query on this – Wilt Chamberlain? (Sidenote: Both of my parents went to UNM, and while they are both beautiful people, I soooo don't want to know if they were involved in that study.)

Symmetrical people smell better, too. Thornhill and Gangestad found that women prefer the scent of symmetrical men, and vice versa. So much for Old Spice and Chanel No. 5.  This is getting more and more lame. Symmetrical or not, a guy is not smelling good after a run, a bike ride, or day in the yard. Period. Although, I must sheepishly admit that when Jason is sweaty I get all twittery...but we knew I was kind of a whack.

Okay, you guys have all seen or read the Da Vinci code, right? And all the boys and girls are now familiar with the Fibonacci Code, yes? (Also referred to at the ‘golden ratio’.) Well, some people actually make a living researching attractiveness. (Doing that while hanging out at the Bungalow doesn’t count) Stephen Marquardt, a retired California plastic surgeon who researches attractiveness, has moved from beauty's medical side to its mathematical side. He notes that a certain ratio has been found to recur in beautiful things both natural (flowers, pine cones, seashells) and man-made (the Parthenon, Mozart's music, da Vinci's paintings). This "golden ratio" is 1:1.618, with the number rounded to 1.618 known as "phi."

Using phi as his guide, Marquardt designed a mask that applies the golden ratio to the face. For example, the ideal ratio between the width of the nose and the width of the mouth is -- you guessed it -- 1:1.618. The closer a face fits the mask, he finds, the more attractive the face is perceived to be. "Even average-looking people fit the mask, just not as closely as really attractive people," he says. "A lot of this is biology. It's necessary for us to recognize our species. Humans are visually oriented, and the mask screams, 'Human!' "

Okay, Marquardt needs to get himself a life. You can check his Web site, though. It shows the mask on hotties throughout the centuries from Queen Nefertiti to Marilyn Monroe (it works on all ethnicities, with slight variations). There's also a mask for men -- a close fit on Pierce Brosnan, but not quite right on Tom Cruise. To see how well your face fits, go to http://www.beautyanalysis.com/.

Breast reduction aside (I said it was medically necessary ~ sheesh!) I’m not going to get carried away in search of symmetry. Nobody's perfect, and that's just fine. I know when I look at a beautiful face, I really seek the unique qualities, including the unevenness. I think a crooked smile is about the sexiest thing there is. Individuality -- now that's beautiful.

Sometimes I am so damn efficient that I scare myself. Like a power house in pajamas, I start my day at 6:00am. I get up; say good-bye to my teen-agers who are bolting out the door at 6:30am to catch their ferry to school (huh?). As much as they complain about island life ruining their social  life, they get to take a BOAT to school! That is so TOTALLY going to beat any stories from grandpa about walking 8 miles to school uphill, both ways, in the snow, with nothing but a potato in his pocket to keep him from freezing solid. I throw on a pot of coffee, check my email, log in to my IM so that I can begin communicating with my bosses in Boston. As my computer comes to life, I turn the lights on in my younger children’s rooms with a sing-song voice “Gooooood morning! Time to wake up!”, grab a cup of coffee and put in on the steamy bathroom counter for Jason when he gets out of the shower. “Thanks, honey.” I hear through the pouring steam. “You’re welcome.” I say, and then pause, “Heeeey. You’re naked.” I say. No answer. I shrug, sip my own coffee and walk to my desk to take a peek at what awaits me for the day.

As I begin scrolling through emails, I hear the slow and grudging progress of my grade-schoolers getting dressed and making their beds. Sarah comes out in a black, red and ivory plaid dress and pink tights. And pink Sketchers. I turn her around to look for ivory tights and black shoes. Dylan literally rolls out of his room and lays gingerbread-man style in the middle of the living room and pretends to sleep. I look at him just as Jason speeds by me buttoning his shirt, stopping briefly to kiss me on the head.

Approximately 30 minutes later, Sarah and Dylan have eaten pancakes, packed their lunches into their backpacks, found shoes and jackets and are out the door with Jason.

I’m alone at last.

I pour another cup of coffee, put on a CD and begin to work. As I realized for a moment just how much I love my office (the living room), my co-workers (the cats) and the commute (non-existent), I reflect on some of the pros and cons of my occupation:

Pros

·         I get paid to work in my pajamas. No pantyhose required.

·         I can shave or not shave - nobody cares.

·         I can save on my water bill by not bathing as often.

·         Huge savings on gas for my land yacht. Less mileage, too.

·         No co-workers coming into my office to complain about their boss/subordinate/salary/benefits/sex life or lack thereof.

·         More time with family, especially children.

·         Tax write-offs for internet access, home office, etc.

·         I can play any music I want as loud as I want.

·         Snacks and drinks are as close as the refrigerator.

Cons

·         I know immediately when the cat has used the litter box.

·         Cats want in, want out, want in, want out, want in….

·         No going to lunch with my coworkers and no socializing with them.

·         I only leave the island once a week…. Groceries, fast food, even (gasp) the MALL. Turning into a scary cat lady.

·         More time with family, especially children.

·         Snacks and drinks are as close as the refrigerator. But mostly can’t take the time to make real meals or really even dig for a healthy snack.

·         I don’t get a shower until dinner time.

·         I think “Oh, just one more thing”, look up and its 7:00pm and no dinner in sight.

·         Anyway, I meet my deadline today with no trouble. A rare occurrence…not the meeting the deadline part, but the ‘no trouble’ part. Inevitably I can count on a site I’m working on going down, my email not working…something.

I send off my report with a click and a smile. I vacuum, switch laundry loads, clean the bathrooms, then shower and ACTUALLY DO MY HAIR. I pick up Dylan at a friend’s house, Sarah at the bus stop, then hop on the 3:00pm ferry (while on the ferry, I use my SmartPhone to pay my power bill and my car payment) and grab Becky and Amy on the mainland side before they get on their bus, do my grocery shopping, get gas, go to the bank, get supplies for Becky’s Honor’s English class then meet up with Jason for dinner before getting home on the 6:20 ferry just in time to unload groceries, supervise homework, bathe kids while Jason goes to Kristi’s to lay hardwood floors (a barter for Sarah’s piano lessons), and all of us complete and accomplished either in bed after a chapter of James and the Giant Peach (Sarah & Dylan) or sitting here watching Michael Bublé on American Idol. (The rest of us).

These days do not come often. The days that I end by turning off the lights to soft music, blowing out my jar candles, and putting my arms around myself in the living room and say…”I did good.” But today was one. And that, is good.

My last entry was short, and only spoke of a millisecond of the past week and all that has transpired. As I said, my sweet friend Julie’s husband passed away a little over a week ago. I can’t stop thinking about her, of her sons, and of how their lives are forever altered.

Julie IM’d me just under a month ago to say that they would most likely have to cancel their trip up here this summer, because Tom had cancer. It wasn’t confirmed yet, but what they saw on the MRI was not good and it appeared to be everywhere. I wrote back, that of course I understood, not to think another thing about their visit up here, and did that typical thing that we useless friends do….we say, “How can I help?” Help? I could do nothing but pray and try not to hurt her more by making her repeat the story for the thousandth time by calling and writing incessantly.  I read Julie's Blog every day, and could sense her weariness. I called anyway, and she confirmed the worst, told me what their plans were for treatment and maintained her typical sunny outlook through her despair.

Less than three weeks later, Tom died. He passed away in his home, with Julie at his side. Julie IM’d me the afternoon of his passing, and I got online and got a ticket for a flight out the next day.  Tom had a very large Irish catholic family, and Julie has three siblings and a mother close by as well, so I called my parents and asked if they could pick me up, I would stay with them to keep out of Julie’s way.

When I called Julie to tell her that I was coming and asked her if there was anything I could do to help prepare…clean a bathroom? Make some food for the gathering after the service? She said, “Will you sing?” My heart got suddenly lodged in my throat. Sing? I was overwhelmed with the honor that was being bestowed on me, and overcome with fear that I would screw it up. I am not one of those singers that can cry and sing…I start tearing and it’s GAME OVER. I’m a train wreck on a good day if I see someone get emotional, and Tom’s memorial…. Good Lord. “Of course. I’d be honored.” I said. And began to pray that this would be all about Tom, all about his loving family….and that not one single second of this service would be diverted to the stupid emotional singer in the background.

I began to pack, to download MP3’s and sheet music to learn the songs Julie wanted at the service, and to prepare for my departure…. It still just wasn’t real. But I needed to get to her.

I drove my car to Seattle instead of taking the shuttle, because I was only staying one night. My parents picked me up, and we had dinner at Spencer’s in the DoubleTree, San Jose and went back to their house. In the morning, I went to the golf course with my Dad and dropped him off, then headed to the church about an hour early to get the details down with the Bishop, who happens to be Julie’s uncle. Ultimately, there was no background music, and no accompanist so it was a Capella all the way, baby. It didn’t matter. That’s not why we were there. Tom’s sister is a nun, and two of her nun sisters offered to back me up on the song I didn’t know…..picture it! Me, singing with three nuns.…these women were awesome, and we just knew that Tom was somewhere laughing at the scene. There were wonderful readings done, beautiful history being revealed by all of Tom’s loved ones.

After the service, I made a beeline for Julie’s. I didn’t know anyone except for Julie’s sisters and kids (and of course my new nun friends) who I knew would be very busy accepting condolences and trying to be brave, so I thought I might be better put to use at the house preparing food, or laying out serving dishes. 

I got there and tried to make myself useful. The house was very soon packed with people…family, friends, neighbors, co-workers. I sat and flipped through photo albums that were laying out and saw Julie’s amazing talent for creating memories in a tangible form….pre-school pictures of our now high schoolers. The baby shower invitation that I made for her now 8 year old. So many memories.

Early in the afternoon, some of Tom’s close friends held a separate ceremony that was open to anyone. I found myself so glad in heart that they held a service in the Catholic Church that reflected their family’s joint heritage, and then delighted to see a more private ceremony that reflected Tom’s later commitments. There was a gentleman close to Tom that conducted a meditation, and a sage healing ceremony in a more Native American tradition. It was wonderful.

As the afternoon progressed, I realized that I had to pick up my Dad at the golf course so I went to tell Julie good-bye and to give her a big hug. “I wish I could stay”, I said. “and just….take care of you.” Julie said, “Then stay.” I said, “Well, I have to fly out tonight, I have to be in L.A. on Thursday.” she said, “Cancel your flight. Stay until Thursday.” I looked at her. “I’ll check with Jason.” A few minutes later I found a quiet spot in the house and called Jason who said, “Of course, stay.” Then I got online to change my flight and was able to with not one cent of additional cost. Must have been meant to be. Anyway, it was Saturday and I extended my stay until Tuesday. That way I could be home late Tuesday night, spend Wednesday with my family before I had to leave again on Thursday.

So that afternoon I picked up my Dad, had dinner with my parents, then drove my mom’s BMW Z4 convertible back down to Julie’s where I got her stinking drunk on Irish Car Bombs to try to numb the day. The next morning more of her family came to take the kids somewhere fun. Julie opted to go for a ride with me in the BMW to the beach where we talked about Tom. We cried a lot, we laughed a lot, and I just ached to make it better. It’s the most helpless feeling to not be able to soothe a friend’s heartache and know there are just no right words.

Julie and I have a history of re-decorating…we crackled the table that still resided in her new kitchen, and she helped me stencil my kids’ room a million years ago. So, she suggested that maybe while I was there we could do a room.  She said that Tom hated a few of the rooms that were already decorated when they bought their new house, so I suggested that we take the room he hated the most and change it. The bathroom. It had pink and a sickly greenish-taupe stripes on one wall….and in less than two hours it was transformed to a beautiful warm wheat color with towels and décor in deep red and gold tones. Ta daaaaaa!!

Julie was on the phone dealing with stuff she should never have had to deal with. It just feels so wrong to be having to explain to people over and over in the same conversation, “Look, my husband is dead. He won’t be USING your gym again and you need to cancel his membership, I don’t giving a flying $%&@ about the contract!!” I listened without meaning to while painting, and the next thing you know I was done. Julie was so pleased she said, “Can we do another room?” Absolutely. Here are the results of that New Baseball Room for her son, Ryan that we tackled the following day.  The impotent friend who can’t make it better…. This is what I do. I get her drunk and re-decorate. We do what we can.

I’m just so sad. I know it’s not my loss….but I just grieve to the point of pain when I think of my beautiful Julie hurting like this. Tom’s enormously talented son, Dylan working through this and new challenges in his acting career as his show ends this summer. Their son Conor in the most volatile time of his teens, and their sunny child Ryan as he pretends it all going to be okay. I love them all so much, and I just wish decorating and cooking fried chicken for them could make it all better. As my sweet friends who feel like family struggle to adjust, I can’t stop thinking about them. I even emailed Julie a report meant for my boss because I was thinking about her. I bet I’m the only friend that sent an analysis of Hewlett-Packard instead of flowers. *sigh*

  

 

 

Right now I’m typing this as six children ages 5-7 sit at my dining room table eating pancakes. I’m trying not to think about syrup, and sticky dishes, pieces of smashed pancake on the chairs and orange juice spills, but I’m obviously not succeeding well if I’m writing about it. Sigh. I am so tired today. I took on a project for work yesterday that was due this morning at 8:00amEST…which is 5:00am my time, and with daylight savings time that’s actually 4:00am. So I didn’t go to sleep. Which is fine.

Jason left for Australia yesterday afternoon, and I’m certain his plane is still not on the ground…I can never sleep when he’s flying, so I was thankful for the project. Thank God in the field of Media Analysis in the age of the internet, content never sleeps. Anyway, the mumblings of a sleep deprived parent are hardly interesting reading, so I’ll keep it short! (Yeah, right)

Yesterday I woke up at 10:00am (Yikes!!!) and Jason had been up for hours draining and moving the boat, going to the dump, installing a motion sensor flood light above the driveway (he informed me later that although he was missing a piece of curved conduit for that project, he resolved the problem by heating the conduit on the stove and bending it around a pot. Of course he did.), and of course packing for his trip. I logged on to the computer to check my email, and lo and behold from work: URGENT PROJECT. I opened the email and inside contained pleading and demands, and after about two seconds of processing Jason’s absence and its affect on my sleep pattern, I committed enthusiastically. Unfortunately, this meant establishing a VPN connection (most of my work for this company is web-based), which became a pain. Ultimately I got it going, then began the day in earnest.

2:00pm: Jason and I were off on the ferry to take him to the park-n-ride to meet up with a co-worker to head to Vancouver, BC and to the airport. The day was dark and stormy, and I could not stop a few tears from falling. I hate it when he leaves.

3:00pm: Back home. My wonderful, amazing children had cleaned the house and gotten dressed ~ then I REALLY felt like crying. I was so touched!

3:00 – 5:00pm: Got my project set up, talked to the parents of all the K-1^st graders that were invited to spend the night last night, helped Amy find an outfit to wear to help serve dinner at a benefit dinner on the Island.

5:00pm – Picked up Amy’s friend, dropped off Amy and her friend at the Grange for the dinner, got on the ferry to take Becky to her performance. (Becky is in the middle of a two week run of performances of Footloose, so she comes home every night with 80’s make-up and some REALLY scary hair that makes me wonder how we made through the 80’s without it all falling out from hair-spray asphyxiation.)

6:00pm – Back home on the ferry. Drive to the north end of the island to pick up Sarah’s friend, Phoebe, drive to our end of the island and pick up Sarah and her other friend Darian. Once home, I threw spaghetti and meatballs together and awaited the arrival of the two other little people that were spending the night. Honestly, I don’t know how these massive sleepovers keep happening. I mean, I know somewhere in my distracted fog I say yes, but jeeez! So I’m standing at the kitchen counter melting plastic beads in shapes of hearts and stars with an iron (all three girls are making these creations faster than I can melt them), stirring the spaghetti and trying to stick to mineral water instead of downing the liter bottle of wine that is tempting me from the fridge.

7:30pm - Dylan’s friend Green arrives (yes, his name is Green), and Sarah’s other friend Abigail arrives. They start making bead creations, too. By now I have little plastic beads all over the kitchen and on the floor and am listening to 1^st grade girls talk about all the silly stuff they talk about. Kristi shows up to say hi and I am SOOO glad to see her!

9:00pm – Amy gets home from serving at the benefit. Kid count: 7

10:00pm – Christine and Brian (Green’s parents), Leah (Abigail’s mom), and Kristi (lifesaving best friend) leave because I have to run down to the ferry dock to pick up Big-Hair-Becky from her performance. Kid count: 8

11:00pm – All kids in bed NOT sleeping, Becky and her hair and I fire up our computers to start pulling content for my project (She wanted to help, bless her). Becky ends up with laptop issues instead and settles for MySpace.

12:00am – I start working in earnest, and am strangely not tired at all.

4:00am – Finish project, email my report and analysis. Go to bed.

9:00am – Wake up to glowing email appreciation and thanks from my bosses, cook pancakes and bacon for 6 six kids (hello, my teenagers will not open their eyes until at LEAST noon.)

And here I am. The thanks from my work quickly turned to demands and I got put on yet another special project with a strict deadline… that on top of my other two projects that are ongoing, but posses non-negotiable deadlines. I also have a kids party for Dylan’s friend to go to off-island today, then I’m having a birthday party get together for Christine tonight at my house which will go late. When will I get the work done? Hell. I have no idea. I’m just glad to be busy…the week will pass more quickly and I’ll get to hold my husband that much sooner.

Okay, so I’m on the fifth day of this Cabbage Soup Diet madness, and I’ve lost 7 pounds. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s true. It really hasn’t been that bad, either. You heard about the first day…the second day was veggies and The Soup. The third day was fruit AND veggies and The Soup. Yesterday was a little weird, I’ll admit. 8 Bananas, skim milk…and The Soup. I got creative with the bananas and the detestable skim milk (thanks for the suggestion, Kristi!) and put them in a blender with ice and had a couple of banana milkshakes throughout the day. Also, I changed the second batch of soup a little and seasoned it with New Mexico chili powder and cumin. Yay, Tex-Mex Cabbage Soup. Today was steak and tomatoes…and the damn Soup. Seriously, I only have two more days to suffer through this (and it’s REALLY not suffering that badly!) and I’ll have made it to my first step back into the bikini.We don’t get to have summer here in the Northwest until after July 4^th anyway, so I’ve got LOTS of time. Ugh.

For those who are silently screaming, “Diets don’t WORK!” Yes, I know. I also know that all ‘life-style changes’ DO work if you actually stick to them…but ya gotta start somewhere and it’s been a long, dark, FAT, winter and I’m sick of it.

Oh, and it looks as though we’ve got a new four-some to start marathon training again on April 7^th, and I’m VERY excited about that. Let’s just hope that no more life-rocking events happen this fall to make us all quit cold in our tracks like last year. Only Kristi and Robin are allowed to do anything out of the ordinary this fall, and I mean it. Because, well, this Cabbage Soup business is making me all kinds of powerful and I say so.

Ugh. So, I’m doing something a little off the wall, but whatever. I’m on the Cabbage Soup Diet. How very un-South Beach of me. I just want to spend a week totally cleansing my system and drinking tons of water and no carbs, sugar, or alcohol. I clearly can’t do it on my own, I need direction and regime. Also, I hear that doing one of these crazy starvation diets is a good way to kick off a more moderate diet because you’ve managed to starve yourself for a week and eat only weird stuff at weird times….which requires some measure of discipline, right? It makes me think of Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion (an absolute favorite of mine) where they each want to lose weight (uh, have you seen those girls?! They can bite me.) and Romy says she has lost three pounds on a diet of nothing but jelly beans and gummy bears. Michelle sighs longingly and says, “I wish I had your discipline.”

So, here I go. Today I made the soup at 5:30 in the morning because I’m on this new project for work that requires me to complete it by 4:00pmEST each day, which is 1:00pm my time. Gotta love that. I made this great recipe, which isn’t JUST cabbage, it’s got a tomato and onion soup mix base, with cabbage (duh), green onion, celery, carrots, green peppers, and mushrooms and garlic. I made it spicy with lots of cayenne.

For breakfast I had a grapefruit, and a bowl of soup. Then I had an apple. Then I had a whole pineapple for lunch and more soup. Then I had an orange. More soup. By mid-afternoon I had probably left my desk to pee about sixty times, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost 18 pounds of water weight. Dinner was…soup. I made Spaghetti Carbonara (you know, where you fry bacon and onions in olive oil and pour it over pasta that has been mixed with eggs and heavy cream) for my family and ate freaking Gas Soup. I’m drinking club soda with a splash of cranberry juice and a squeeze of lemon right now and pretending it’s a Manhattan.

More on this tomorrow when I wake up 25 pounds lighter.

I don’t want to work today. I have put in approximately one hour ~ and that was under self-inflicted duress. I had such good intentions, too. I got up, got the kids to the bus stop, made beds, did the breakfast dishes, got the laundry going, ran the vacuum…all by 9:00am. Perfect! Now I can sit and get at least four hours of work in today. Yeah, one hour. ONE. Sigh. I think what happened was I walked through my bedroom for like the eighth time bustling through house work, and the book on the bedside table caught my eye. I told myself that if I finished up by 9:00, I could pick up my book for one hour. One hour, then it’s on the computer and to work.

One hour sort of turned into three…oops. But I finished my book, which was satisfying. See? I finished cleaning, I finished the laundry, I finished the dishes and I finished my book! How productive is THAT?! I’m a virtual powerhouse of efficiency! Yeah…well, I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that none of the above mentioned brave accomplishments PAY anything. So, now I’m faced with the prospect of working into the wee hours (because my kids will be home shortly), or putting it off until tomorrow after my conference call, when I will be all psyched and focused on the work. Hmmmmm. Yes, the blessings of telecommuting do out-weigh the curses generally…but this…. I almost wish I had someone standing in my office doorway asking my status.

Naaaaahhhhhhhh.

All four of my kids need new pants. It’s always this time of year, when every single pair of school pants I have bled money on in August are too short. I have stopped buying clothes for my kids for Christmas because I know that they will have this miraculous growth spurt in February and my efforts will be fruitless.

My older daughters are already over 5’10” and STILL growing, my younger daughter and son are like little giraffes with their skinny little bodies and long, gangly legs. They’ve been wearing high-water pants to school for two months. Sigh. It’s time.

So, yesterday, I made the announcement. “I’m buying pants today!” You should have seen their faces light up… it would break your heart. Now, if it was just Dylan I would not have to gear up and give myself pep talks, because of course he DOES not care what his pants look like. 2 for $17.99 at Kohl’s ~ sold! He’s happy, I’m happy. Done.

The girls are an ENTIRELY different story. Becky and Amy love the Seven jeans, the Express jeans, the Lucky jeans…and they all come in “Long”, praise the little baby Jesus. However, they are SO expensive that the prospect of buying two or more pairs at a time requires some budget crunching and planning. It’s also just agonizing to see my tall, perfectly shaped daughters dissolve into tears because they feel fat. Hi, if you wear a 7 Extra-Long, you are not fat. Period. Ugh!!! If I could go back to my freshman year and slap myself I would.

At age 7, Sarah still has reasonably priced legs. She likes the pink camouflage jeans with the rhinestone belt, and the sparkly jeans with the embroidered cuffs but I can still wrangle those up for a reasonable price on the sale rack and she’s content. She doesn’t have to try them on to see how they make her butt look, either.

After an afternoon of torture and tears, shopping for the longest jeans possible, we had to stop at the grocery store. Sarah and Dylan wanted to go into the play area while the girls and I shopped, and that’s always a good thing. So, I was standing at the play area counter and the childcare lady said to Sarah, “Oh, it looks like it’s your last time in here! Oh, and you too!” She said to Dylan, as they walked through the little door to get inside. I looked at her and said, “Really? Why is that?” She smiled at me and said, “Oh, well they have to be small enough to walk right under the doorway without their heads touching and they both touch.” Okay, I don’t normally go off on strangers, but I was really taken aback. “So, my FIVE year old is banned from the play area because he’s too TALL?” She said, “Well, there have been problems with some of the bigger kids being mean to the smaller kids.” My blood was boiling. I was barely containing myself, well aware that I was about to become extremely unreasonable. “So you’re going to punish the tall kids? Do have any idea how wrong that is? Believe me, tall kids have a hard enough time in their classrooms without having to worry about being BANNED from play areas because of their size! I can see limiting entrance to YOUNGER kids, but SHORT kids??!?” She looked nervous. “Well, you signed the paper…that’s the rules, I’m sorry.” I was fuming. I pointed to Amy, who is 13 and almost 5’11”. “How old do you think she is?” I demanded. No answer. Amy shrank visibly, “She’s 13!” How do you think she would feel if people automatically assumed that she would abuse younger kids because she’s TALL?!” By that time Sarah and Dylan were off playing and having fun and I could tell I was starting to make everyone uncomfortable and it certainly wasn’t going to change the rules.

So I huffed off and we did our shopping, came home, did the evening. My friend Katelyn was over for dinner and I recounted the incident to her and Jason at the table because I was still pretty fried about it. Katelyn, who is about 5’ tall, said, “Do you have any idea how many rides I didn’t get to go on as a teenager because of MY size? Who wants to be average, anyway!?”

Right. I looked around my dinner table at all the tall people and the wonderful not-tall Katelyn,

Who, indeed.

In an announcement speech of soaring hope, on a bitterly cold Saturday, to a large and shivering crowd, the indomitable Barack Obama called his plans an "improbable quest." He even did the Grammy acceptance thing and thanked God for bringing the crowd and him together.

Many of our nation’s leaders have claimed to brandish the Christian flag, to uphold the faith that our nation was founded on. Most recently, many who have similar claims have felt their faith hijacked by a narcissistic warmonger who continues to ensure that our nation is among the most hated and feared in the world.

Perhaps it’s just politics, and perhaps it’s just hot air….but I’m buying it. Obama promises a small glimmer of hope that those claims of faith may in fact reflect the foundation on which they are made.

The sheer audacity, the very unlikelihood of a black man becoming president of the United States, is now the driving force of Barack Obama's campaign.

I have such high hopes. Really, I do. But I as much as I wish it so, am inclined to believe that Barack Obama will NEVER be the President. Not because of his race ~ but because of his name. I just don’t think the majority of the nation will ever vote for a president who is not named Bill, or George or Jimmy.

"If you will join me in this improbable quest, if you feel destiny calling, and see as I see, a future of endless possibility stretching before us; if you sense, as I sense, that the time is now to shake off our slumber, and slough off our fear, and make good on the debt we owe past and future generations, then I'm ready to take up the cause, and march with you, and work with you," he said. "Together, starting today, let us finish the work that needs to be done, and usher in a new birth of freedom on this Earth."

This is a rather bold statement. But even bolder was his choice of venues for the announcement: Springfield, Illinois. Home of Abraham Lincoln, in the shadow of the Old State Capitol where Lincoln gave his "House Divided" speech in opposition to slavery, Obama addressed his mission directly:

“For that is our unyielding faith – that in the face of impossible odds, people who love their country can change it. That's what Abraham Lincoln understood," Obama said.

And what will it take for Obama actually to be elected? Decency, he said, the decency that is America.

"It was here, in Springfield, where North, South, East and West come together that I was reminded of the essential decency of the American people, where I came to believe that through this decency, we can build a more hopeful America," he said. "And that is why, in the shadow of the Old State Capitol, where Lincoln once called on a divided house to stand together, where common hopes and common dreams still, I stand before you today to announce my candidacy for president of the United States."

Announcement speeches are designed not just to generate support, not just to allow the candidate to slap himself on the back with both hands, but also to address critics.

Think Obama has not had enough national experience? Try this:
"I recognize there is a certain presumptuousness – a certain audacity – to this announcement," Obama said. "I know I haven't spent a lot of time learning the ways of Washington. But I've been there long enough to know that the ways of Washington must change."

Take that, John Edwards! And Chris Dodd! And Joe Biden! These people are either exploiting the ignorance of a small percentage of the American populace who actually will actually buy their crap (because their names are John and Joe) or they actually believe it, and are letting their own ignorance show like ratty underwear. They’re saying that because his middle name is Hussein that he is a Muslim. Give me break! Obama carefully pointed out that when working in the poor neighborhoods of Chicago, "I learned the true meaning of my Christian faith."  Well, personally, I hope that it’s true. And even if he WERE Muslim…if he were truly abiding by the Koran and the true Muslim faith…it would make him just as beautiful a person and as effective a leader, just perhaps not ours given where the Nation is today. These morons are pulling the Muslim card to incite fear in stupid people, period.

The press came in for its comeuppance, too. Obama criticized "the smallness of our politics – the ease with which we're distracted by the petty and trivial."

Obama said the media's obsession with the trivial is one of his problems. “People say he does not give specifics?” he said. “That is because the press does not concentrate on his specifics.”

"We've given major speeches on just about every issue," he said. "So the key for us, I think, is just making sure that we are getting the press to focus attention on that agenda as opposed to, you know, obsessing on how I look in my swimming trunks."

I’m guessing that there was no danger on anybody concentrating on swimming trunks Saturday. It was far too cold.

Anna Nicole Smith, (born Vicki Lynn Hogan) was pronounced dead Thursday (February 8) in a Florida hospital. She was 39.

I don’t know why the news bums me out so much, she really contributed nothing of any value to the entertainment world, but perhaps I have a fuller capacity of compassion for the voluptuous blondes of our world, or feel a sisterly need to defend them. Perhaps, also, I really can identify with her inflatable/deflatable figure and the search for acceptance. (Not that I’d work a pole or marry an 89 year old man to get it)  Perhaps I just love people who are so incredibly ‘out there’…and man, was she out there.

Poor Anna. The Anna Nicole Show on E! was too painful to watch. (Although my friends Rosie and Liz were dovoted viewers and used to sing the Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna NiCOLE song until I want to peroxide both of their brunette heads to make them shut up.) The MadTV spoofs on it, however, were hilarious. She certainly didn’t have Marilyn’s class, but for some reason we kept watching her.

I remember seeing her picture on the cover of one of the grocery store rags recently and thinking, “Yay, Anna!” because she looked amazing, even in her totally over the top revealing outfit. I also found myself sad for her when she lost her 20 year old son just a few days after she gave birth to her daughter. Why did I care?

I guess because she was so senseless, that I had to love her. Good-bye Anna Nicole, we’ll miss you. God speed, and at least now you get to lay off of the TrimSpa for good.

 

So, I have this huge crush on a 23-year-old British pop star. My daughter found his video on YouTube and we pathetically can’t get enough of it. I look at him and I get that grade-school butterfly thingy….and I know why. He looks JUST like Jason did when he was 23…they could be twins, and it’s a little creepy. Especially since Jason is about as opposite this guy as humanly possible in his demeanor. I mean, Mika is so flamboyant you almost want to wear leopard print and polyester fur and prance around while you listen to his music. If Freddie Mercury and Elton John had a child, this would be him. And Jason is sooooo not flamboyant. He’s actually the most quiet and introverted man I know…(which causes one to wonder how he can stand me) hanging out with him in the evening is sometimes like watching a cute animal at the zoo…you just sit there watching it, waiting for it to do something cute and then finally give up and go get chili fries.

 So, maybe that’s why we work so well….I wear the furry faux stuff and yell “Look at ME!” while he gets all the props for being this quiet, sensitive, brooding person with the big Lisa shaped cross to bear. Works for me.

 

 

You know what one of the coolest things about working from home is? It’s that I can have a random thought, and write about it, without having to wait for my lunch hour to do it.

I’m sitting here trying to get some work done, trying not to get pissed off that my husband has just informed me that he needs to go to Australia this weekend, where it is the middle of SUMMER. I just talked to my dad last night who is whisking my mom off to Hawaii in a few days, and to just add a little more insult to injury, my mothers-in-law are off to Italy in just a few weeks. I feel like throwing a temper tantrum.

I’ve had too much coffee. As I was sitting here stewing and feeling sorry for myself there was a knock on the door, and since he was knocking on the French doors, I could see that it was a man with a paper. Daytime. Man. Paper = Bad. I’m standing there practically vibrating from caffeine overload, afraid this man is going to tell me someone is suing me, or that someone is dead, and it’s just our neighborhood water guy. Our neighborhood water guy telling me that the water will be off for the next two mornings (you know, when I do the laundry, the dishes, and shower) from 9:00am – 1:00pm. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me…but I am in a bad mood. I took his stupid paper, closed the stupid door, then plopped down to read said stupid paper. It says the following:

On Thursday we will be installing a new pressure reducer on Island Drive just across the road from the Brock’s chalkboard. Then on Friday we will be completing the pressure tests that were interrupted when we found the problem with the Pressure Reducer. It’s going to be very important that you do not use any water from 9:00 – 1:00pm for the next two days. Thank you for all your help.

I started giggling. Where, on God’s green earth, is there a place where you get a notice from a public works department that identifies a repair area by the location of the neighbor’s chalkboard? These are quirky older folks who write little sayings on their chalkboard by the road, so of COURSE we all know where that is. How funny.

I love where I live. The only time I feel compelled to lock my car doors is at a gathering of some sort because too often I have returned to my vehicle to find someone’s paper sack of their homegrown zucchini or plums generously deposited there. (You really can only make so much zucchini bread.)

I feel grateful that I love it here….but damn it, I want to go somewhere else and everyone gets to go but ME. I think I'll go leave my car unlocked at the grocery store...maybe I'll find some fruit in my backseat with a worm that I can eat.

When I was growing up, the standard punishment meaded out for just about any offense was getting grounded for two weeks. Really, anything from bad grades to being mean to my sister ~ two weeks. I can’t say that that sentence was particularly effective in inciting the proper remorse for whatever the offense was, but of course teens would not have a pulse if they didn’t spend most of their spare time dwelling on the injustices that they are forced to endure.

So, I was at the chiropractor’s office yesterday. I love my chiropractor, and his whole staff. They are lighthearted funny people who love to chat about jewelry, cooking, gourmet kitchens (I just learned about magnetic induction cook tops yesterday and I want one) and they rant and rave about how much they love their patients. They always comment on what I’m wearing, notice my shoes, compliment my taste…sigh….if it’s a ploy to keep me coming back, it’s working. So, yesterday I was there in the waiting room chatting with the office manager, and the other chiropractor in the practice walks out and starts chatting with me. She’s this totally hot Asian woman, who dresses like a Macy’s I.N.C model, and she took one look at my boots and said. “Nuh uh. You’re not going outside in those boots.”  I looked down, “These? Why not” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, they’re really cute, but for starters, the toes are so pointed they’re ultimately going to cramp your feet (by then she’s waggling her finger at me) and that stiletto heel is going to cause your ankles to counter balance any tilting, putting undue stress on…hold on. Dr. Bob!? Can you come out here and take a look at her boots?” So my chiropractor LEAVES a patient, comes out into the waiting area and clucks his tongue and shakes his head at my feet. “Great boots, but your lower back is giving you trouble when you stand with your rear kind of swaying your back, which those boots are going to incite your backside to do. Dr. Theresa is right. I want you to try to wear nothing but flat shoes…” “But not too flat!” interjects Dr. T. “Right,” says Dr. Bob “Nothing but not TOO flat shoes for two weeks and see what that does for your back”. I sat in my seat, clutching the Gourmet Magazine, looking from Dr. to Dr., with all my heart wanting to shout, “But that’s not FAIR!!!” and was already having devious thoughts like, “How are they going to know…..”.

So there you have it. I’m grounded from my BOOTS for two weeks. My parents should have tried that one. I may be pouting, but I guess I am an adult now, and I do pay this guy to make me stop hurting so it’s in my best interest to listen to them. Okay, whatEVER.

My friend Kristi was the first blogger I ever met, and I got so excited about the prospect that I started my own blog over a year ago. Well, Kristi works from home, and fairly quickly her time in front of the computer at home killed the lure for her to spend yet more time in front of her screen for leisure.

Well, guess what. I am now working from home, spending hours in front of the computer working for a Market Analysis company…..and ta daaaaaa… I haven’t written a blog for a month.

Also, I think my lack of attention to creative outlets has a lot to do with this time of the year. I’ve mentioned before that I suffer (and I should clarify that it’s really my family that suffers the most) from a pretty hefty case of S.A.D. I figured out a few years ago that every time I’ve left a relationship, gotten dissatisfied with a job, moved houses….it’s been this time of year. In fact, I read today that January 24, 2007, a mere two days from now, is the most depressing day of the year. Seriously.

I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I obviously think it has to do with the winter weather, primarily. The unending darkness of the Northwest ~ and actually, this has been the crappiest winter we’ve had in the six years we’ve lived year. Also, I’m guessing it’s pretty common to be facing the reality and consequences of holiday spending, and stressing about catching up financially, as well as experiencing the letdown of the post holiday frenzy of activity. I have many consecutive days that I wish I could crawl back under the covers and not have to face another day of rain, sleet, snow and routine. I know that while days technically get longer after Dec. 21, cyclonic weather systems take hold in January, bringing low, dark clouds, snow, slush and crud to my idyllic little island My other theory is that the majority of people break their healthy resolutions six to seven days into the new year, and even the hangers-on have fallen off the wagon, torn off the nicotine patches and eaten the fridge empty by the third week. Any residual dregs of holiday cheer and family fun have kicked the bucket by Jan. 24.

So, I’ve started working maniacally, and scheduling myself silly to keep moving. Yesterday I took a ski lesson. We have our kids in the same 8-week ski program that they were in last year and they ROCK. It’s every Sunday afternoon, and I really look forward to it. So, yesterday I booked a ski lesson with Sven again. (Actually his name was Jarad this time) and totally pushed myself. And then, of course, the inevitable happened. I cannot take on anything without performing some hideous publicly humiliating act. Before the lesson started, I ran back into the lodge to give Becky some cash for lunch (she wasn’t snowboarding yesterday) and ran right through a puddle on the cafeteria floor and did a TOTAL banana peel flip into a table and flat on my butt. I kicked chair over, and slammed my arm into someone’s lunch. Yeah, that’s class.

So, after popping up as quickly as possible with the standard, “I’m okay!” smile to all the gawkers, I headed out for my lesson. So, Sven and I got up to the top of the mountain and ran through some basics before heading to this black diamond run full of moguls at about an 80 degree incline. I was a little sore from my spill in the lodge, but adrenaline was taking over so I got halfway down (yay, me!) before falling. The fall wasn’t too bad, I had to fish one of my poles out of a hill, knowing as I slid across the slope that one false move was going to send me ass over teakettle down the mountain. However, crisis averted, I got right back up and skied to the halfway point to catch up with my instructor. I stood there smiling at my success, and listening to Sven sing my praises before we both noticed that my pants had fallen down. Like, literally. Fallen. Down. Now, of course I had a pair of black leggings underneath, so it could have been MUCH worse. But still. There was absolutely no discrete way of putting my poles down, hiking up my ski pants, sucking in my gut to snap my pants and zip them. Nervous giggle. Heh heh. I’m like ten years older than the Sven and I pretty much wanted to die.

Sigh. So, it’s Monday. And it’s January. I think I’ll go out and embarrass myself some more. Oh, and I’m sure adding some physical pain to it will definitely keep things exciting.

Do you have nights like this? It’s seriously 3:30 in the morning, and I cannot sleep. Sleep has never been an issue for me, regardless of my current state of mind ~ yet here I sit. Today was the last day of school before winter break, so the kids were in a festive mood today, and we have an extra teenager (one of our favorites) spending the night so needless to say, it’s been noisy and the atmosphere jovial.

While the craziness ensued in the living room with Sarah and Dylan doing their typical art projects and games ~ Dylan rowed himself through the kitchen in a laundry basket with an empty milk carton tied to a scarf as his buoy, eating holiday cookies that he was sure we needed to get rid of and Sarah was drawing jewelry and pictures all over her body with a washable marker. A blue washable marker. When she licked her fingers and wiped the marker off her face to prove to me it could be done, she ended up looking like a Smurf who had been asphyxiated. The older girls were glued to MySpace and YouTube as is typical, and Jason was watching The Blues Brothers.

I chose not to freak. I am almost done with my Christmas shopping, got a lot of wrapping done today, and things are relatively under control, so I went into my room to read my new book. I was visited frequently by hyper kids ~ and I even let Sarah draw a blue crescent moon on my forehead. Why? Well, I don’t know, actually. But the day caught up with me, and evidently I fell asleep at about 8:00pm reading my book with my forehead painted and my new pitch black cat, Bagheera, asleep next to my head like some sort of backward mystic. Anyway, I woke up when Jason came to bed about midnight and I have been wide awake ever since!  He’s in there drooling into his pillow and I’m staring at the blue light on the satellite box trying to clear my mind like Ellen Degeneres on her American Express commercials.

At least, praise God, there is no school tomorrow so I can sleep in a little if I ever GET to sleep. Also, Mother Nature seems to have taken a Prozac because our weather is once again mild and clear and lovely for early Winter in these parts and I don’t have to worry about that giant tree in our yard falling and crushing my offspring today.

So, Dee, if you still read this blog….I miss you like CRAZY. The company party was Saturday night, and the party at Gary’s was Friday night and I just missed you so much it’s retarded. It just wasn’t the same without you and John and I couldn’t stop talking about you guys all night. I think Andrea got a little bored of my prattling on and on about parties past where we got to boogie down with you guys and hear John jam on the bass. Oh, by the way….guess which song I sang with the band. 3 guesses, and the first two are wrong. I MISS YOU! The book I just started takes place in Australia and it’s like salt in the wound…it makes me want to skip a few mortgage payments and hop a plane to come see you. And let me just tell you that I am EXTREMELY bitter that this winter has sucked so much and it’s summer where you are. Grrrrrrrrr. Enjoy your damn barbeque on Christmas day! (I love you! J)

So, for Dee & John’s sake, I will recount the highlights of the Christmas party. At first we weren’t going to be going, because we had agreed to open our home to some friends who lead the music at one of the island churches, because they wanted to host a Christmas Carol sing-a-long in someone’s home…this before we were informed of the date of the party. Well, you can only sing so many carols, and most of the people in attendance were strangers to us so the thing was over and wrapped up by 9:00p. Jason and I looked at our watches, looked at each other, and said, “Let’s go for it.” We ran and changed, and since I had NOTHING to wear (normally I buy a dress for this affair months in advance) I put on a bridesmaid dress that I wore to my friend Liz’s wedding in Southern California a year ago (short black with beaded spaghetti straps and a sheer flowing wrap/scarf thingy ~ praise be to God, a bride with TASTE!). I even had a pair of pantyhose with no runs ~ no small miracle since I haven’t worn a pair in three months. We were off on the 10:00 ferry, and got to the hotel ballroom there just as the music and dancing was getting swinging. Evidently, we missed the lobster, but the cookies and cider we had at the sing-a-long held us up just fine. NOT. Well, anyway my gorgeous gay ex-neighbor who works with my husband, ran up to me and said, “How the f*&# are you!?” in his loudest voice and started hugging and kissing my all over my face. Okay, so there are some drawbacks to getting to a party hours after everyone has been into the free booze. He proceeded to tell me that he tells just absolutely EVERYONE that Jason may look like this hippie granola nut, but he has this HOT wife. This HOT aerobics chick for a wife. Seriously, I saw him about four times throughout the evening, each time a bit further into his cups if that is at all possible, and he said the same thing. GREAT for my ego since I was wearing a bridesmaid dress and no nail polish. I didn’t even mind that he grabbed Jason’s butt.

I did get to sing with my old friends who are in the band that plays that party every year, and that was fun! But then…here’s the best part. Okay, we had only been there an hour. We had had one drink a piece amongst all the many intoxicated party goers and were both sober as proverbial judges. Jason and I were dancing and he dipped me. And dropped me flat on my back. My feet slipped out from under me (I had taken off my shoes, taking the cue from the other ladies in dangerously spiked shoes who had been dancing in them much longer than I) Yes, ladies and gentleman, once again I have been publicly humiliated and there is no doubt in my mind that everyone who saw this (and I saw a flash go off as I struggled to pull my skirt down) will assume that the visit to the floor was as a result of the generous open bar. *Sigh* Evidently, I was one of three to get dropped that night, one of whom broke her wrist, and the other who exposed her thong clad back-side and garter belts to everyone in the room. My spill was mild in comparison, and I’m hoping everyone was really too jolly to notice or remember.

After the band shut down, we went to the after party in someone’s hotel room until 4:30 in the morning hob-knobbing with the executives and watching Gary be his usual gregarious self…even though he had to be on a plane and 9:00 the next morning. That man is like the energizer bunny, I swear to you!

Also, I guess since I’m sleepless in Seattle  (ha ha…so clever), I’ll also say hi to Rebecca, who I had no idea read my blog. Rebecca is the cutest little pregnant lady in the world, (my husband fondles her every time he sees her…sorry, Scott) and I’m pretty sure if she doesn’t have that baby soon she is going to just roll away…but before you do, honey? Take your finger and thumb, put them in the shape of an “L” and place it on your forehead. Big kisses to you, baby!

I’m going to try to sleep…we’ll see. If I’m back in an hour you’ll know it didn’t work. Night-night!

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, my 7-year-old daughter came home from school yesterday and said that one of her friends told her that Santa says a bad word. He says “Ho Ho Ho”.  When Sarah asked her friend why that was bad, she said “Ho means ‘gangster’ and the F-word”. I paused. “The F-word?” I asked. “Yeah.” She said. “Okay, did she SAY the F-word, or did she just say ‘f-word’.” I asked while looking at her in the rear view mirror. Sarah said, “No she said it.” “Said, what. The WORD, or just F-Word.” At this point I’m realizing that I’m not going to get clarification on whether or not she heard this word unless I say it myself….which there is no way I’m going to do. There are FAR too many people in this world that she could repeat it to that would be horrified, and I would never put it past Sarah to tell just the wrong person that I taught her that word.

So I said all of the mom things…”Ho Ho Ho is just laughter, honey. Now, saying the word Ho about someone is slang for calling someone trashy, and it isn’t nice so I don’t want to hear your saying that, okay? Blah blah blah blah” Don’t you just love elementary school? There is such a delicate balance between keeping your kids intelligently informed, and giving them WAY too much information. I was actually about to tell Sarah that Ho was an a abbreviated form of the word “whore”, and then I realized that I’d have to explain THAT word and opted for ‘trashy’ instead.

To make matters more interesting, we were watching a show on the Discovery Channel over the weekend about animal babies in the womb, with actual footage of the wombs of three very different animals throughout the pregnancies. Very cool. However, the show began at the VERY beginning of the process so they got to see elephants, dolphins and dogs getting busy. They didn’t say much, they just watched and talked about how cute the fetal elephant was, and all of those blind little puppies, etc. Then the next day Dylan asked me if he had been a cute little tadpole when we made him. * Sigh *. Whatever.