Are you there yet?

Are you comfortable in your own skin?
I'm not.
Oprah says it happened to her in her 40's. Or was it 50's?
Well half way thru my 30's and all I can say is I didn't apologize for my messy house when someone stopped by. It was't an unexpected drop-in. I knew someone was on their way, I just had no time.
Which makes me wonder. Do we get more comfortable with ourselves or just too dang busy to care?

A couple of years ago I was at the Massachusetts State house. I was there with some great ladies, all of us trying to do great things. We had an appointment or were invited to a meeting...or something like that. Whatever the details, we were all heading into the office of the head of the Senate. We had a bit of an entourage which included Mark Lunsford and a writer that was shadowing him for a book. Too many people, too little space. I stayed in the hall with Scott Brown's Chief of Staff.
I instantly thought that I'd like to set him up with my friend. But I had just the slightest bit of sense to know that turning on some guy suddenly and saying, "Are you single?" is quite awkward.
And now that I had something I wanted to say but couldn't made me feel so weird (because I almost always blurt out what I'm thinking) that I ended up saying something only slightly less lame.
I turned and said,
"I spent all day yesturday in an apron making jam."

I heard a cricket chirp. And chirp again.

But lucky for me Greg is a very nice guy and he probably said something that made it sound like he cared.
By no means is this the dumbest thing I have said. It's not even close. It's just a moment in time where I walked away and wondered when will I get over my dorkiness? And if I never get over my dorkiness, when will I get used to it?

Later in the day a small group of us went out to lunch. I dropped my coat while we were walking to the restaurant. The writer guy, an VERY friendly Irishman ran (literally) to grab my coat as it landed on the ground. Cobblestones in Boston are not for the weak and he stubbled and landed right at my feet. In a very William Wallace voice he said, "I've fallen for ya".
It would have been charming and funny but the guy was a little over the top. After a little too much of this, my friend Laurie said, "Did you tell him who your husband is?"
We got to the restaurant. At the table, guess who was sitting by me?
I ordered a wedge salad and got a side of "And here's a picture of me with P. Diddy in Vegas. And that's Kobe right there."
It's one thing if someone is showing you things that they are pleased with or that make them happy. I can sit through vacation photos like a champ. But this guy was trying to impress and woo me. He asked me if I had plans later and if dinner with him sounded good.
I did, in fact, have plans. I was needed for a big macaroni necklace project and some SpongeBob Squarepants facetime.
Unfortunately, I never said any of this. I felt bad. I felt uncomfortable. I simply sat there red-faced.
 When do we get to the point where we just say what needs to be said and are ok with it?

I know some of us are born that way.
I was not.
But I'd like to get to the point that I'm OK with a lull in a conversation. Or confident enough to say, "No thank you."
Or simply,  "Thank you."

What about you?
Are you there?

A Day with The Man From Madrid

In reaction to my emotional meltdown, I took better care of myself this week.
 In fact, today I read a book.
An embarrassingly awesome book.
Want proof? Here's the cover:

Too bad the picture cut off. His bare feet, ankles crossed, on the Spanish tiles really hit home this moment of deep consideration.

My favorite lines?
So glad you asked.

Page 11, first sentance:

"She had a musical voice and nice ankles, he noticed before she disappeared."

Sometimes I think about how I will be remembered. I think being remembered as someone with a nice voice and musical ankles ( I really did type it that way..Freudian?)
Like I was saying, being remembered as someone with a musical voice and nice ankles seems like a good place to start.

My other favorite line, page 125:

"Now I'm a downtrodden housewife, kept perpetually pregnant by this male chauvinist."

That was so funny I stopped what I was doing to text Kelly.
Declarations like that are too funny not to share.
I liked it even more because the wife was very happily married and only pregnant with her second. Thats hardly perpetual. She barely had a leg to stand on.
I have tallied the amount I have spent pregnant and nursing.
85 months, give or take.
85 months.

Maybe I should write a book.
I have some great declarations.
I do declare.

Tears of a Clown

My name is Drippy. Drippy Faucet.
And I am a recovering cry baby.

On Sunday mornings, my family goes to church. Every Sunday, without fail, we go. Sure if someone is sick, some of us stay home. But for the most part, come 9am, we are in our best duds and out the door.
I was up just after 7 to collect clothes and get my self ready. By 7:30am, I had roused the older kids. 32 seconds later, my 13 and 10 year olds were fighting.
I yelled at them.
I went into my room, told my husband (who was burrowed under the covers, "The boys are fighting and I need you to get up before I start killing your offspring."

Are you ready for his reaction? I wasn't.
He sat up on an elbow and counseled, "Ignore them and just give me 20 minutes."

....

Have you seen those caricatures of bulls blowing steam out of their nostrils?
Yes? Then you've seen me at that moment.

Wisely, he didn't languish for the full 20 minutes. He did, sheepishly, come down the stairs and ask me how I was doing.
Brave boy.
And that was the first time on Sunday, I cried. At 8:12am.
I cried and declared that I am losing my grip on reality and he and the children have a front row seat to my undoing.
A bit melodramatic, sure. But it's exactly how I felt.

We made it to church. We all sat down. And during the most reverent part of church, the passing of sacrament, my 3 year old sang a little tune learned from the older ones: "Snape, Snape, Severis Snape."
Then he loudly adds, "DUMBLEDOR!"
Amen.


While at church, I saw Mr. John C. He has a purple heart earned in the Battle of the Buldge.
I had not seen him since Veteran's Day. I went up and shook his hand and whole-heartedly thanked him for his protection and sacrifice and all he did for myself and my children. And of course my voice cracked and tears flowed.
It was 11:39.

After this and that and meetings and kids and a husband waiting for me to do what I do, we went home. My heels (fabulously tall, fabulously fabulous) clicked across the floor as I made my way up to my room. Before I even got changed, I burst into tears feeling the weight and responsibility of everything on my plate.
It was around 1:30.

I went down, started a dinner that takes a  good 4 hours to cook and went back upstairs to help my daughter rearrange  her room. Alone, looking at her dolls and cd's and drawings and pillows, I fell asleep.
About 2 hours later, I was up.
Room looking great, daughter beeming, my husband came in and excused our little  girl.
We chatted about Christmas presants. And this and that. A friend of our had stopped by to visit while I was passed out. I never even heard the door, his voice...anything.
He apologized to me for the morning and asked what he could do to make things easier on me.

Wait for it.....

I cried.
Hard.
I said that if I had things my way, I wouldn't have to go down stairs and shred pork or make rice or salad. I'd order a pizza and sit back and relax with the family.
He offered to do those things, but we both kind of looked at each other. He could successfully do that just as well as I could do his job.
I cried for all the times I've blown it, ever. I cried for fear I will blow it with the kids-my only real fear.
I cried and cried and cried. It was 5:41.

We expected dinner guests at 6:30. No time to continue beating myself up.
I went downstairs. I looked at the oven.
It was off.
Panicked, I asked, "Who turned off the oven?"
My oldest said, "I did. I thought someone must have left it on so I turned it off."
I opened the top oven and showed him the 5 pound pork roast. It was pale and only slightly warm.

I closed the door, turned the oven back on and looked at my husband. We looked at each other. I know he was worried this was going to be my complete destruction.
But in this moment, I saw a light. A reprieve. An answer to an unasked prayer.

Pizza.

I went over to my teenage boy, all bony and awkward. I threw my arms around him sideways.
"Ethan, you ruined dinner and I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!"
I kissed his baby-smooth face. And once again, I cried.
At 6:18pm.

 I made a call, ordered dinner and invited any and all to join me for pick up. I was boucy and jovial.
I grabbed my keys.
Eric, 10, called out, "But Mom, we aren't supposed to buy things on Sunday."
True. An edict I have grown to love.

I acknowledge him. "Ox in the mire, Eric. Ox in the mire."

What a rollercoaster, this life.

Yep. I am Dumber Than You Think.

 Nearly three years ago I had a nervous breakdown. Of sorts.
In a series of emails, I chronicled my madness, all the while making myself laugh out loud.
And this is how I vented my fear/anxiety/over-whelmed-ness.
And avoided the therapists couch.






A lady at church crocheted a diet coke cozy for me...and here she is. I named her Sally in honor of Heather's mother. My mom drinks Pepsi, so naming it after her was not an option. Despite the female name, I often refer to my diet coke cozy in the masculine. Maybe I just have too many boys.
 
 
 
 
 

Diet coke cozy loves music.
Diet Coke cozy is just like me and you.
 
 



 



Diet Coke cozy is a righteous can.

Diet Coke Cozy likes the snow.
It makes his job easier.

                                                                                 
                                                      
                                                                

Diet Coke Cozy knows when to go along for the ride.

Diet Coke Cozy is an excellant cook.
He is always looking for the latest food trends.

                                                                         



Diet Coke Cozy loves his family.



Diet Coke Cozy knows when to entertain himself.

Although young (he was only made last week),
 Diet Coke Cozy is comfortable with the classics.



Diet Coke Cozy serves his fellow can.



Diet Coke Cozy is a right-winger.



Diet Coke Cozy is good with pets. He taught Heather and Derrick

 to hop up on his lid and say, "Pretty Yarn."

                                                 

                      

Diet Coke Cozy is not a jealous can.










Diet Coke Cozy is so perfect, I am changhing his name to Edward.

Stories from a Smooth Operator

I didn't start dating until I was nearly 17. And I was married by 19. But don't worry. I talk like I know what I'm talking about.

Walk with me on my path to love.
 In 6th, 7th and 8th grades, I had a guy friend who was blind. He was funny and nice and really into music. He would let me bang around in his braile writer. He'd try to read my ridiculous sequence of dots. Then he'd type my name and let me keep it. In fact, I still have it in a box at my mom's.
At night, when I would say my Now-I-Lay-Me's....I would throw in, "Please, when I am older, let Dayne fall in love with me." I was sure that I could find someone to like me, but could I find someone that would think I was pretty? Probably not. So I figured my best shot was with someone who couldn't see me. I repeated that prayer over and over.


In 7th grade, I went around with an 8th grader. "Go Around" is an mid 80's term for "I like you and think you are cute, but that's about it." There was some type of buzz about how we'd been "going around" but had never kissed. We'd never really even spoken to one another and I'm pretty sure our relationship was established on the back of an old vocabulary list. But somehow it mattered to someone that we'd never kissed. I rememeber talking to him once behind B Cluster and I was petrified he was going to make a move. He didn't. But he did ask if he could come over to my house to hang out. That seemed as personnal as asking me to keep a toothbrush and some clothes at his place. And with no idea how to handle the situation, I gulped and said yes.
He came over. In my mind's eye, my dad showed him this new fangled thing called a home computer and my sister, after mastering her perfectly feathered bangs, scoffed at us. I really don't know if that happened, but it feels like that happened.  I do know for a fact that somehow, at some point, I got so spooked I ran into the garage, crying, and hid in the bed of my father's blue Ford Ranger. I was mortified, so afraid of a looming first kiss. He found me. I have no idea how I explained myself. He leaned aganist the truck and talked to me (what did he say?! "Don't worry I won't kiss you? How did that poor guy feel?!)
Eventually his older sister came to pick him up. I remember she was beautiful and when she found us in the garage, me puffy eyed and snotty, her brother reassuring me (UG!) she sort of tilted her head to the side and did a little . "Awwweee" sound.
I don't recall how he and I broke up.Maybe my visceral reation to the mere possiblity of affection was conversation enough.

By 8th grade, I was a bit better at the going around stuff. Not that anyone would know. This time, the boy and I would talk on the phone fooorrrreeeeever. Hours, everyday. We would say, "I love you" and "No, you hang up first" and we bought each other the same exact thing for Christmas: Belind Carlise...on tape!
 I recall being invited over to his house to watch a movie with his family. I sat ram-rod strait on the couch, barely talking and breathing. His mom tried to make me more comfortable with pillows behind my back and such. I was sure I was going to make the couch spontaneously combust just by sitting on it. Then I went home.

At school, we never spoke a word. I would sit in front of Heather Castro and sneak peeks at my sweetheart sitting by Jon Hanson. I would read ,"Jane Eyre" and when I recognized myself in Jane Eyre, I didn't see how it was going to work because my true love was a bit of a class clown and he wasn't scary or brooding at all. I settled on the understanding that Love Will Find A Way.
It never did. And by summer I had been spending my days in a summer-school classroom thinking, "Ryan Hardin is the greatest guy in the whooooole world." And then I'd chastise myself because I was still going around with someone else. Looking in the mirror, I would say, "This must be what betrayal looks like."
Not really. But that would have been funny.
My 8th grade love story ended with a conversation where both of us were so clearly over each other, breaking up was simply a few words that needed to be said. So noble of us.

By my sophomore year, I had joined the herds of underclassman in love with the ASB president/Captain of the football team stud. I wore braces and a padded bra. I woke up one morning to sporadically curly hair and still hung my hopes on a blind romeo. At the football banquet, Capt. Awesome started teasing me while I was passing out cheesecake. I still remeber I was wearing high-waisted, light colored jeans and a black velvet vest embroidered with 3 million different colors.
The teasing continued at school and I had no idea what it meant. On the last day of school, he wrote in my yearbook. I swear I could transcibe, verbatim, what he wrote. Suffice it to say, he said I was beautiful, gave me his number (he circled it and wrote, "Call Me!!!!) and then asked me out.
I floated.
Two weeks later, my balloon of dreams popped. One of my best friends "went out" (code for french kissed) with him at a party. Somehow, I don't recall being mad at my friend. Could I blame her for falling under his spell? No. But I did think it was pretty low.
His yearbook inscription haunted me. So I called him up. I thanked him for the flattering words and said No thanks to the invitation. I saidI knew about him and My friend and that I really wasn't interested in a guy who was that  into my friends. We parted ways amiably. And just because I'm pooring my guts out all over this blog, you should know that I used to listen to the oldies song, "One Fine Day" by The Chiffons and feel a bit better. And what do you know...one fine, summer day, after my freshman year away at college, I bumped into Capt. Awesome. He was kind and attentive. He asked if I had plans later. I smiled, a bit more comfortable in my skin. Later I was talking to another guy friend. He asked, "what did you do to so-and-so. He keeps asking about you."

Speaking of college, I dated a great guy who had grown up on the Cape. He always wore a Red Sox cap and had the quintessential Boston accent. One night while on a date, the city was hit with a Nor'Easter. His apartment was close so we ducked in. It was weird to be alone with a guy in his apartment. The storm raged and we conlcuded there was no where else to go. His roomate was gone so there was a seperate bed and everything for me. It was all very innocent. But, if you know me, you know I am always calm, cool and collected in the ways of love. The idea of getting undressed, even a little, scared the be-geebers out of me. I slept that night in all my clothes, my winter coat and my shoes. He chided me telling me he wasn't going to do anything. I smoothly said (squeaky voice and all), "I know. I'm really confortable this way."

So, how could I sum up all of these tantalizing experiences into practical advice for those still on the path to love?

Be yourself.
Be your dorky, uncomfortable, ridculous, insecure self. When I met my husband, dorky became endearing. Uncomfortable melted away. Ridiculous insecurties became all of what made me, me. And he loved me. Not because I was alluring or unattainable. Not because he was into my friend. Not for any reason that wasn't truely me. And guess what?
He has great eyesight.
Huh. Go figure.

So Many Things I Should Have Never Said Part I

Last year, at my daughter's Christmas recital, someone was teasing me about drinking diet coke. Imagine that?
I was minding my own business, shoveling more money into someone else's pocket by way of over-priced concert tickets, and I was being lovingly heckled. For whatever reason, a complete stranger chimed in. Not that I minded. I am all for meeting new people. She informed me that she was a nutritionist and (in her words...well...as best as I can remember) there is, "nothing....nothing I can think of that's as bad for you as diet soda. From a physiological stand point...." that's where I crossed my eyes and started to drool. When she was done, I gracioulsy agreed with her. I'm no fool. An idiot? Yes. Dumb? No. People send me the latest finds of health studies all the time.
She generously gave me some of her amazing health tips. Hooray!
So I nodded vigoriously and said, "I know. You are totally right. But the sadest part is that I will probably live to be 145 and you will probably die in a fiery car crash."
This comment went over like a lead balloon.
"That is a terrible thing to say. I have children, ya know."
Of course I know. Why else would she be here forking over money to video tape kids singing christmas carols?
Like I ALWAYS do when I say something stupid, I tried to explain myself. And it was like a lead balloon launch party.
She walked away. I was out of money so I walked away to join my husband who had witnessed the whole thing. He slung his arm around my neck and kissed my temple.
 "I still like you." were his words of comfort.
We checked our tickets and found our seats. I was almost done scooting down the row when I heard, "Oh great. Not you."
Guess who I was sitting next to?
Fun, fun.

There is a lesson in that story. I haven't learned it yet. I'm still as ridiculous as ever.

Like the time I was at church. It was crowded and I had to tell this guy something. I had been reminding myself all morning..."Don't forget to tell Mike that you can't be there to help next week." All morning I repeated this in my head. So when I saw him, I blurted, "I was thinking about you in the shower this morning....".
Yes, that was true. That's when I began internally chanting, "Don't forget to tell Mike you can't be there next week to help." But after that intro, no body bothered to listen to what else I had to say. I did a mental head slap.
He blushed. I blushed. I wanted to clarify. But really, why bother?
He asked if my husband knew about this. And when word got back to my husband he did the same thing he always does. He slung his arm  around my neck and kissed my temple.

Sigh.
To be continued.....

Who Says Money Doesn't Buy Happiness

Love.
There are a lot of different kinds out there.
Never seems to be enough though, right?

Some people are easy to love. Honestly, I think most people are really easy to love. The older I get, the more I realize that I seem to have a gift for loving others. I can think of only one person really that I don't love. Or at least I didn't think I loved him. He makes me crazy with his smooth talk and salesman attitude. He walked into a party last summer and I had to turn away so I could roll my eyes in private. Eventually we crossed paths. After 30 seconds I realized, yeah, I kind of love him a little, too. Not enough to keep talking to him. I didn't want to press my luck or anything. I moved on to someone else and left the party with warm fuzzies for SmoothTalker.

I most recently have fallen in love with an 81 year old man that hangs out at 7-11. He gets up early and collects cans. I get up early and collect myself. With the help of a double gulp. We have been friends for about oh...8 months. He sometimes brings me pictures of his kids (who are old enough to be my parents). He hugs me, too. All this by 7am. Life's little gifts, I say.

There are no words to explain my attachment to my children. The connection between whatever word I could use would have a tenuious relationship to the true emotion. I won't bore you or even try to explain it. But it's pretty great.

Someone once told me divine love is best described as, "the Redeemer's love He feels for the redeemed while in the act of redeeming them."
Sounded like someone was being cheeky until I really thought about it.  I wondered if I had ever felt like that for someone.
Years and years ago, I heard of a family who had just lost their 2 year old to the flu. A heartbreaking story not unlike many other sad stories we all hear. There was a fund set up to help pay for the funeral costs. I felt inclined to help. After a few quick phone calls, some friends and I had collected about $500. I called the funeral home. Tears, donations, tears, thank yous. I was gutsy enough to ask if there was more needed for this small, very young family. The financial burden of a death was something they were not prepared for and it ruined me to think this couple was going to have to make monthly payments on their child's casket and tombstone.
I called my husband. I was so emotional it was difficult to speak. I asked him, my darling unemployed-at-the-time-husband, if we could do more. I was uncomfortable leaving things as they were. With his consent, I called the funeral home and paid the balance on their account.
I still cry when I think about it, all these years later. Even right now. And I think I am so easily overcome because with that offering on my part, I felt and got to be a part of something Divine.
That chunk of money has brought me a peace and a joy that no other trinket or bobble has given me. I don't think money is the key to giving love. Just worked out that way here.
My husband won't even talk about it. He even told me so when we did it. To never mention it again. He feels like it cheapens the experience. Maybe I've just wrecked it all with this one and only public admission.
But I wonder what it would be like if we all went around giving pure, selfless, needed love. Not giving because I want to give it, but giving because someone needs it.
I hope I can feel that way again. If one act of kindness can fill years with an indescribable happiness, what would two acts do? Three?
I hope to find out.

So, In This Hour.....

Why does buying JetDry, that blue liquid you're supposed to put in your dishwasher, seem like such an extravegance? My word. I nearly had an emotional breakdown in the chemical isle. I NEVER buy it. But I always want it. It's a whopping $2.74 and I somehow take this to be the most expensive $2.74 in the known universe. Conversely, I spent $1.99 at a restaurant Thursday for a side of salad dressing to dip my fries in. I hate ketchup.
I know, I know. Get in line. I even annoy myself.

93% of the time, I'm pretty sure I'm married to the greatest man on the planet. He's like the physical manifestation of all my hopes and dreams. AND, he has no chest hair.
Here are some of his recent highlights:
-Thursday night, he made me laugh so hard I hurt myself.
-Friday, he came home early from work very early; about 2pm. I was still in my pj's, surrounded by unfolded laundry, lost in a book. Our youngest was eating Cheerios from a baggie. Bryan opened the door. Calvin ran to the door, squealing all the way. When he got a proper view of the state of things, he greeted me with a kiss, calling me "Stinky". When Calvin asked to go on a walk, Bryan took him right outside, loaded him in the red Radio Fyler wagon and trotted off. When Calvin ordered him to "go fatter", he went fatter.
-When I could finally pull myself away from my book, he took me to dinner. He didn't care that I had to wear a RedSox hat because I was still stinky.
-At night, he puts on a vest weighted down with 45lbs and does pull ups. It's almost so manly it's annoying. Ben, Jerry and I watch from the bed.
-Today, he, Lauren and I went on a diet coke run. Lauren noticed a kid (3, maybe 4)running alone through the parking lot. Bryan jumped out, of the car, ran across the lot and got to the kid just as a minivan was backing out. That cute little boy with his firetruck was just behind the bumper. Lauren and I watched from my car. We were stunned, sitting in our seats. Watching it all unfold, Lauren said she felt sick. I agreed. Plus,  my underarms were tingly.
-He has never, not ever, raised his voice at me.
-Early this morning, on my first diet coke run, I crossed paths with a man I call "The Creeper". This guy scares the hell out of me. He and I have crossed paths 3 times. Two of those times, he has tried to strike up a conversation with me.
Our first meeting was in line, late at night, at the super market. I was second in line, he was behind me. He immediately started complaining about his ex wife. He was clearly angry. I was clearly uncomfortble. He went on and on. I did my best to disengage from this onesided conversation. In a creepy twist, he began talking about me; saying how someone as pretty as me wouldn't be interested in him. Someone as young as me, pretty as me, attractive as me...he went on and on, repeating himself over and over and over. My skin was crawling and every internal, innate alarm was on red alert. When my transaction was finally finished, I got to my car as fast as I could. I threw my stuff in, showing no care to my bread and eggs. I had sense enough to make note of the few items in his cart and knew he wouldn't be far behind. I started my car and as I drove out of the lot, I made sure no one was behind me. I went a long way home just in case.
I was in tears when I got home. I have nevered been so scared in  public place. Maybe not that kind of scared ever.
I saw him again. I was behind him at  convienence store in another town. I didn't realize it was him until he spoke to the cashier. Just his voice made my every nerve a live wire.
 I see plenty of people in the course of a normal day. Almost no one scares me. This guy makes me feel like a gazelle on the African plains.
I hadn't seen him in months. Frankly, I had happily forgotten about him. This time he was 3 or 4 people ahead of me. He payed for his stuff and on his way to the door, passed all of the rest of us in line. He jerked his head up to me as  form of recognition. Out of pure reflex, I grinned slightly. Not a smile, I just pulled my checks up. It took a full second to register that it was "The Creeper." I paid for my drink and booked it to my car. Before I got my door closed, I was saying-as calm as I could- "It's him! Its the Creeper."
My husband's response?
"I know. I noticed him in the store. I watched him watch you when he came out."
Bryan had never been with me when I have seen "The Creeper."

Sometimes, I think I'm married to Batman.
I wish I could tell you more. But I'd have to kill you. Really.

Work In Progress

Since we last chatted, things have been pretty normal.

I answered an email  chain about a jump-rope-a-thon activity at the elementary school. The kids would get sponsers and we'd donate the money to the American Heart Assc.  I replied that I would need a new bra. the PTO pres (and great friend) let me know that I wouldn't be the one jumping, it's only the children at the school who jump rope.
To which I replied:

"Phew! Because that wouldn't be pretty. And anyone who'd pay to watch me jump rope is a sickko and shouldn't be around children."

Then I noticed that this email chain wasn't just between the four PTO board members. These emails were also going to the principal and handsome PE teacher that I have seem turn mothers into a pile of goo with just a smile.
Great.

That was all last night just before I went to bed. No big. Tomorrow (today) is a new day.

Kids to school. Nice long shower in an empty house, blarring what ever music I want. I'm shopping with a girlfriend tonight who is hunting for the perfect 20 year highschool reunion outfit. This is a big deal in my little world. I never do somthing this exotic on a Thursday. Full hair and make up in honor of the looming dress hunt.
I made a quick stop at the grocery store before rounding up the kids.I was casually tossing stuff in the cart- Oreo's, buiscuts in a can...lots of junk. I remembered back to Saturday's pee-wee football game where I sat with my besties husband and we watched our boys run the field. Somehow in the conversation, it came out that I weigh the same as him. THE SAME AS  MAN!!! I don't really care that he's recovering from some pretty serious health stuff. Or that I've had 5 kids and still wear single digit jeans. I weigh the same as a man.
A quick trip down the health food isle. Green drinks, dark purple drinks, greek stuff.
Running out of time....got to go...

When I heard the total  from the cashier, I fainted. Healthy stuff is expensive. And it's supposed to make me live longer? I need to readjust my retirement portolio if this is the way things are going to be.

If I made it out of the parking lot in time to make the light, and there was no one in line, I would be able to get a diet coke before preschool lets out. Hussling through the parking lot could be like exercise!
Thanks to my hussle, I made it. And then when I was in line to pay for my drink. And then there was a box of Lindor truffles next to the register. The black ones....my favorites. $.39 each or 3 for a dollar. I should just get one. But buying 3 brings down the individual cost. And I just spent so much money on health food. I need to be cost effective if I'm going to live a long time.

  

New Ways to Keep Old Friends

I love texting.
I text one of my oldest friends multiple times a day. In between the phone calls, we let each other know what we are wearing, what the person at the stoplight next to us is wearing, how much diet coke we have and when we will call next.

I'll share the pics when appropriate, but I don't want to give away her secret identity. And it's up to you to figure out who is who. Let's just go with Thelma and Louise.


Thelma: (she included a picture of herself) "I'm going to look like this all day. And I have no clean underwear."

Louise: "Ha! You look great. Very, very thin. I'm in a hat (it's raining) and camo cargo pants. And black converse. I look like an old lady dressed like a skater. I should probably have a joint in my pocket."


Thelma:" I have to go buy a parakeet so i can have yet another thing in my house making moise. Oh and so I can spend all day keeping my dog from killing it."

Louise: "I've given up on my looks. I'm going to work on my personality from here on out. Well, after I lose 20 lbs and get a boob job. Then THEN, I'll work on the rest."


Louise: "I may have to climb into the back of my car and pee in a salsa jar."

Thelma: "BAHAAAA! What?"

Louise: "I love the large cargo space of my car. And the tinted windows."

Thelma: " I'm putting this on Facebook."

Louise: "I'll deny it"

Thelma: "Just Kidding"

Louise: "I have sunk to a new low. Go ahead. Just label it 'The Anonymous Pee-er'. Can you even imagine how scared I was someone was going to tap on my window?"

Thelma: "I had to pee in a diaper once."

Louise: "You are the second person TODAY who has told me that."

Thelma: "I was stuck in a snow storm with my kids. On a road trip. Those Huggies can hold a lot."



Louise: "My son is in the ER."

Thelma: "So...what happened?"

Louise: "Pediatrician told me to bring him in. EKG and Xrays came back normal."

Thelma: "Good. Glad it's nothing serious. I'm at my niece's football game watching her cheer. :)"

Louise: "So cute!Wait! Wasn't that us 5 minutes go?"

Thelma: "I know. Except I wasn't a cheerleader. Not that cool. It's weird to walk into a hs football game. I got that same rush that you remember from hs. Then I remembered I'm old, dammit."


Thelma: "I watched gerard Butler in Phantom of the Opera the other day while ironing. He's not just sexy. He's damn sexy. Like, it should be illegal to inlict him on faithful married women."

Louise: "I LOVE YOU!!!!"

Thelma: "This should be illegal."

Louise: "Where you worried she'd turn around and catch you?"

Thelma: "Totally. I made it look like I was texting. I'm mean. I shouldn't have taken that picture."

Louise: "No you aren't. In the waiting room of the hospital, I took a picture of a chubby guy looking at a weightlifting magazine. I laughed inside wondering if at that same moment someone was taking a picture of me reading a fashion magazine."

Thelma: " I looked shot to he#% last night at target...so I guess you're right."

Louise: "What if someone was behind you?! I doubt it. At your worst, you're rad. Vanilla in Harlem."

Thelma: "Rad? Such a great word."

Louise: "I get teased out here for using it. Apparently they aren't rad. They're wicked."



Thelma: "My daughter's kindergarten teacher's name is Ms. Hooter. I swear."

Louise: "Does she have a big chest? Cause that could be embarrassing."

Thelma: "I think it's one of those things where either way she's hosed."

Louise: "Pretty much."




Louise: "I was on the phone listening to this sweet lady cry about how hard her life is right now and my husband is sitting next to me ripping farts. Sorry I didn't answer when you called. I was lost in a good book, avoiding reality. It was a great and very effective emotional cocoon."

Thelma: "I know excatly what you mean. I have a healthy respect for emotional cocoons. Especially if they are movies with Gerard Butler in them....."

Louise: "Must rent Phantom....Must rent Phantom....."




Louise: "How is it that for the letter D on the 'Chica, Chica, Boom, Boom' assignment, my son picks damn, die and darn.

Thelma: "Bahahaha. That's ok. My youngest practically came out swearing."



Louise: "Isn't that a great shoe? Ignore the bullet proof vest in the background."

Thelma: "Fabulous."



Louise: "Want a little TMI?"

Thelma: "Do tell."

Lousie: " I have a stomach ache and I;m really tired. But I'm up late waiting for diareaha to hit. There you go: TMI."

Thelma: "Crap. Bad pun-sorry."

Lousie: "It's my fault. Once I thought I was going to be sick, I ate a bunch on M&M's thinking if I'm going to be sick, they wouldn't count. And then I was all sweaty today and I didn't want sweat stains on my shirt so I cut up a pantyliner and stuck it under my armpits thinking that would help. Instead I was nervous all day a pad would fall out of my shirt."

Thelma: "I am laughing so hard I'm afraid I wet my pants!!"

Louise: "Me too. But not from laughing."




Louise: "I realize sending my daughter to drama class is like sending Julia Child to cooking class."

Thelma: "Ha! Love it."




Louise: "We have a church activity tonight and my husband and I are at the movies watching 'Devil' ".

Thelma: "Nice."




Louise: "While folding laundry, I realize i only wear sweats. It's like an 8 to 1 ratio of jeans to sweats."

Thelma: "That's OK. Especially if you say 'esweats' like Nacho Libre."




Louise: "Is this an innapropriate gift for a 36 year old's birthday? Just curious."

Thelma: "Only if you plan on glueing him to your dashboard and having long converations."



What's better than a best friend?

I Am a Loser

My husband just had a birthday. He is 38, graying at the temples. The skin around his eyes is getting crinkly. I'm in love all over again.

When we first met, I was bold enough to declare that I didn't want to kiss him for a loooong time. At that time, I thought it would be fun to enjoy the anticipation of a first kiss. He played along. The more we hung out, the more I wanted to kiss him. In fact, 5 minutes after I made that stupid, stupid declaration, I was kicking myself. Props to me for lasting 2 days. Even by then, my mother and everyone around knew the deal and when I finally couldn't stand it any more, I planted one on him. My mother was in the other room with a guy she was dating. After the kiss, Bryan proudly annoucned, "I got her!" My mom sighed deeply and her boyfriend declared something like, "I knew she wouldn't make it."

One point for him.

While we were engaged, a young lady flew to California from France with the singular goal of stopping our wedding. It was a confusing few days. I tried to be polite despite the obvious discomfort. I even took her out for ice cream. While with me she was capable of speaking and understanding English. When ever Bryan was in the room, she suddenly lost her abilities and would only communicate in French, which meant she would only talk to and through Bryan. It was weird and seemed like something from a lame soap opera, but after a few days, she was convinced that he wasn't going to marry her and she left. In fact, we drove her to the airport. I'm not sure I would believe her gone until I saw her face in the little airplane window as it taxied down the runway.
On the way home, relief prevailed! We were giddy and happy until  he announced he needed a kleenex to blow his nose. I had nothing that would work. For whatever reason, he picked his nose. And yes, he in fact needed a big tissue. Again, I had no such thing. So while driving down 101, he dared me to eat his booger. (Why am I telling you this? WHY?).
 We had a complete conversation detailing the specifics of the dare and it's subsequent reward:
I eat the booger- no I couldn't have anything to wash it down with- yes I had to chew it at least once- and for that I would have bragging rights (?) and the $300 purse of my dreams. I will be honest, I thought about it. But only for a second. What can I say? I am a handbag junkie. Ultimately, I refused.
And woke up the next week to a big Nordstrom box bearing a gift...for me.

One point for me.

Not long, maybe a year ago, we decided on a night in. We borrowed a movie from a friend. To make it interesting, I said we should play "Strip Movie". We each had to pick a word and everytime someone in the movie said that word, the OTHER person had to remove an article of clothing.
I picked first. We were watching a James Bond movie so, like the freaking genius that I am, I picked "martini". I was so proud of myself.
He picked "the".

One point for him.

And so the game goes on. Rest assured, I am losing horribly.

Thursday

I was just at Walmart. I look so hideous, I wondered if someone was behind me with a camera. And that maybe I'd see myself in an email Jen Greene always sends me. I looked up at the security camera.
Eek! I did look gross. 3/4 length yoga pants and a Coldplay t-shirt. And gold flip-flops. With a giraffe print extra large handbag. And to add a look of sophistication, my glasses.
The good news: no camera man behind me. But then I worried someone with a Willie Nelson Halloween mask would come in and rob the place and the security footage would be released nationwide...with me, standing at the site-to-store counter waiting for my husbands new ipod- and no make up.

Last night, I went to dinner. I tried to wear something cute. I opted or my dark skinny jeans. I don't know if it's irony or felicity to feel fat in skinny jeans. Let's just say after dinner, when I had to go to a PTO meeting and sit front and center with the rest of the board members, I could hardly sit up. I think I came across too laid back; casual in the extreme while we discussed fieldtrips and fundraisers. The pants were just so tight, sitting up was dreadful. Darn you french dip!

I went to join a gym today.
It was closed when I got there. So I went home and ate pizza and some peanut M&Ms.
I'll try again tomorrow.

And lastly, you know what makes me SO irritated? When my husband says, "You seem irritatted."
I swear steam blows out my ears as I smile and say, "No, not at all."

Married, Not Marred

Tomorrow, I will have been married for 17 years. I was 19 and he was 21 (for 2 more days at least).
I've tossed around ideas of what to say on my blog to commemerate the day. His birthday is Sunday, so I'll use that day to talk all about how great he is. My Valentine's Day post explained how we met.
For this post, I think I'll share with you a few of my favorite moments, so far.

1. On our wedding day, Bryan must have kissed me 3,000 times. Most were just little, chaste kisses. All through the wedding video, you can see he is rainging affection on me. One kiss stands out to me. I didn't realize it that day. In fact I caught in just a few years ago. My back is to the camera (which is a ways away) and Bryan leans in for yet another kiss and just then my friend Jennifer says something to him. Apparently he isn't interested in stopping what he's doing to answer, so by way of response, he sort of lifts his eyebrows twice, really quickly. That's it. I love that simple moment.

2. In 2007, I had our fifth child, a little baby we named Calvin.
By this time, we knew the drill.I check in; I get drugs to enduce labor; I gradually get more and more uncomfortable; Bryan watches ESPN until I am so miserable, I yell at him.That's when we call for the epideral. Moments later, I tell him how handsome he is and that he should come over and kiss me. This is a sure sign that the baby will be born within the hour.
I destinctly remember the moment, the absolute instant,  Calvin was here. As I opened my eyes, I heard what I can only describe as a whoosh! It was Bryan. He had a look on his face that I can't pen.When he spoke, he said, "Wow. You'd think I'd get used to it. After 4 kids, you'd think I'd be used to that feeling. But it'll never get old."

3. Many moons ago, I worked with a children's advocay group. Long story short, we ended up at the same event. He was asked to speak. Those of you who know us, know that in some circles, I don't use my married name. This was one of those cirlcles. While he was up at the podium, he started talking about his wife. Only a few people there knew I was she. Call me lame, but it was some how delightful to see him talking (actually, he was making fun of her...ME!) and we had this little secret. I can't quite put words to that funny moment, but I thoroughly enjoyed that.

4. Once, at a restaurant on Girl's Night Out, he showed up. My friend Cheryl refused to let him sit at the table. So he pulled another table up next to me and sat there. When the waitress came by to offer him a drink, Cheryl emphatically stated that he was not with us and that he didn't want anything to drink. It was so funny and charming. Sorry to all the girlies out there, but I absolutely left with him. Wouldn't you?

5. He has complained, for years,  that I twitch my feet in my sleep. I swore it was all  malarky. Until one day, while putting on a pretty old set of sheets, I fluffed them in the air above my head and I could see how thinned out the fabric was just were my feet fall when I'm lying down. Sounds silly, but some how this deep familiarity is so, I don't know, beautiful. But even now that I realize this, when I start to fall asleep, and my feet are up against his legs, and he pushes them away stating how I twitch, I deny it.

I could bore you with more. And I will. But little Calvin is done with preschool and my diet coke has run dry.

P.S. AB, you are a rockstar.

Idiotic Idiosycrasies

A list of idiosyncrasies for your enjoyment:

I have a pencil holder and a pen holder. It bothers me when they get jumbled together, which they currently are. Even though the pencils still have erasers and the pens all have caps, I may junk them all and start over. I find serious joy in a pencil holder full of orangy/yellow pencils with large, bright pink erasers. NO PENS ALLOWED! GET YOUR OWN HOLDER!

I love to pop pimples. Gross to some; bliss to me.

According to my mother-in-law, I have lovely nailbeds.
That's right, nailbeds. Eat your heart out Gisele.

I have a Gordon Lightfoot station on Pandora.

I'd rather be smart than attractive. So why do I spend more time thinking about losing weight that enlightening my mind?

I find vacuuming  very fulfilling.

I can share a toothbrush, even gum, but I can not, for the life of me, share milk. As soon as someone else drinks it, the whole glass is contaiminated. It just gets all thick and spitty.

The older I get, the more I realize that I would hate to be famous. I'm alright with being the center of attention, sometimes, but only when I feel like it. Other times, I want to blend into the wallpaper. Being photgraphed walking out a WalMart would bother me. Maybe because it's Walmart, maybe not.

I have the BEST friends, on both coasts and in the middle. Ever.

Best advice all summer:
 Keep Tolstoy on the shelf, Carla Kelly on the Kindle.

I think cheeseburgers are always a good idea.

I have some insecurities. But I think I may be more insecure about having insecurities than about the actual insecurity itself. I know, right?

Sometimes, especially if I've read something Jane Austeny, I fret about how I'd have been something like the scullery maid or the fish monger's daughter and I wouldn't have been able to meet my husband. What a waste of nevous energy. I do the same thing if I watch the Bachelor...I worry he wouldn't have picked me. He thinks I'm so weird he leaves the room. I'm pretty sure this is a romance killer. I will try to remember to fret silently next season. On a lighter note, Kelly says she would hire me to be her maid or something (her hubby is French royalty, you know) and so we'd still have each other.

I 100% loved "Night and Day"- the Tom Cruise/Cameron Diaz movie. Seems like I may have been the only one. I'm willing to stand alone on this.

I loved my sophomore year of highschool. I can't remeber the english teacher's name...Mr.G something??
He was hilarious. If I could, I go back to then and memorize everything he ever said.


So....any thing you'd like to share.

On Paper

I was lying in bed this morning, avoiding getting up. It's the last day of summer and I kind of want to rent my clothes and sit in ashcloth. You know, just a little protest.

So while I burrowed in my fluffy covers, I was thinking about all sorts of things.

I was thinking about what I am versus who I am.

Like, if my life had a resume, what would it say.

It would say:

"College drop out.

Married as a teenager.
Unemployed mother of 5."

Nice, huh. I like to think I have a bit more to offer the world than that. Maybe I don't have a whole lot of interesting facts, on paper, but the reality of me isn't so bad. I'm nice and usually friendly and my quick wit cuts both ways.

Years ago I heard a song called, "Girl Next Door."
An apt description of myself, if I do say so myself. The song is about a highschool aged girl comparing herself to  the "small town homecoming queen" who is also the "senior class president, she must be heaven sent" all the while the singer laments, "And I'm just the girl next door."

I love the notion that she feels like she's not much in comparison. I can totally relate. And the best part for me is I was the homecoming queen and the senior class president and I still felt like the girl next door. Because way back in highschool, me, on paper, was probably a lot better than what I really had to offer.

And now, as an adult, on paper I am a bit under rated.

When it all comes down to is  this:

We are more than we appear. Every single one of us.
I am a college drop out. For now.
I need a fresh diet coke. Now.
And at 12:46 pm, I am in yoga pants (that I've never exercised in) avoiding reality.

Motherhood isn't about being beautiful or popular. Integrity and charity are more imprtant than clothes and cars. And resumes do not include a section that says:
"Check all that apply:"  followed by a list of charming characteristics and personality quirks.

And for some, even though their resume is amazing, it's just not amazing enough.
For example, I just spent my vacation with an international business man, a model/ballerina, 2 tennis champs, an opera singer who has performed for people the world over, an brain surgeon, a man with nearly perfect comedic recall and a 37 year old version of the Dos Equis man.
 And me.

And, when assembled, you know what all of these extraodinary people did?
We played scum, Texas Hold 'Em, ate, and watched our little children swim.

And laughed at the Dos Equis man. Because he's the funniest man in the world.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever.......?

1. Had a dream where your mother-in-law tells you that your bra is doing a horrible job?

2. Looked in your wallet to find your credit cards missing?

3.  Looked in your husband's safe and found them?

4. Been out in public and guesstimated how soon you could get home and put on something with an elastic waistband?

5. Read so many cheesey romance novels that you can feel your brain turn to cheesewhiz?

6. Gone to the hospital to distract/support/entertain your best friend only to drip like a faucet for hours and then burst your emotional levy at the Cheesecake Factory...and then your friend who you are trying to help is comforting you?

Yeah, me too.

If you are mad at your husband, don't read this; It's obnoxious.

I took my kids to the beach Saturday.
I wore a 2 piece pink number. Can't you picture it? I have a touch of tan and I think hot pink looks really great on tan skin. Awesome, right?
I won't tell you that it's an old maternity swimsuit and that it fits.

While I was relaxing in my chair, diet coke sweating at my side, iPod on shuffle, I heard someone say, "You're gorgeous."
I'm no fool.
There was no way in heck I was going to turn, not even to see who the guy was talking about.

Several hours later, I watched my older boys quickly toss yard tools into the shed, dark clouds bringing night in the middle of the day. I just stood in front of my french doors watching the rain turn my patio furniture cushions  from light green to dark green.
Then I saw him. He was standing in the backyard, shirt wet and getting wetter. It was starting to cling to him, highlighting the shape of his shoulders. He called out to me, arms wide open at his sides, "Aren't you going to come outside and kiss me?" It was the same voice from earlier in the day; at the beach.
Without hesitation, I opened the door, stepped out into the rain and did just that.

I shouldn't tell you that after a long, passionate kiss I told him to go in through the garage door; I didn't want him to make a mess of my floors. He grabbed my butt and growled just as I walked away.

Epic

today started out normally.
it may have spiraled down hill after lunch time.
i may have been supressing some frustration with my children and their messy rooms.
in fact, i told them i was handling things well and they should pat me on the back.
i may have gone up stairs and noticed the beanbag in my daughter's room. telling her to keep it in the closet may have been the reason she shifted her weight from side to side and her valiant effort to not roll her eyes.
after a pregnant sigh, i went down stairs.
while attempting to open a kitchen drawer, the one with all of the odd-sized and random kitchen gadgets, i may have flipped out when it wouldn't open all the way.
i may have yanked on it and slammed it shut over and over again while screaming, "i can't take it anymore!"
my older sons, upon hearing my louder than ever voice, appeared in the kitchen. So did my daughter. who propmtly started crying.
gadgets where beginning to pop out of the drawer. i was making slow progress getting it open. my two little boys were eating their sandwiches at the table. they were both laughing at the show.
with all five close by, my previous thoughts that the children were colletively working to bring about my destruction seemed confirmed. i may have turned on them.
i may have told my older sons that some day they would find me dead among their legos because the mess in their room was going to kill me.
i may have told my daughter that i have feelings, too, and her journey to discover her sense of humor was destroying my self esteem.
and, ummm, i may have told them that their behavior may be what causes me to start taking drugs to stay normal.

i know. horrible right?

i added that they were taking years off of my life and diminishing my quality of life with their shortcuts and laziness.
that part i don't feel bad about.

it has been described as "an epic adult tantrum."
and, like a young child after a hugely, ugly fit, i am exhausted.

A Review Of Eclipse

 His and Her movie critique of The Twilight Saga: Eclipse.


Favorite Scene:
Next.
I liked the moments where Edward showed a little jealousy. That was kind of fun.


Least Favorite Scene:
When Rosalie was human and got hurt. That stuff really bothers me. I know that's not a funny answer, but that I hated that part.
When Bella kissed Jacob. I never understood that in the book either.

Tear Jerker Moment:
 When that guy (Riley) was upset because the newborns weren't being subtle. It was sad, you know, he has all these kids and no one was listening. So in the end, he just gave up and said, "Fine. Just clean up when you're done." Any parent can relate to that. 
I think the part where Charlie stands up to clap for Bella during graduation.
I was just in Texas with my dad and his side of the family and my aunt pulled me aside. She said its very obvious how much my dad loves me- that you can see his feelings all over his face. So that moment kind of made me think of that.

Eye Rolling Moment:
When Jacob throws his wrench, I mean, chew toy. I thought he was playing fetch with himself.
That's funny.
I think Bella and all of her  "No Jacob. Don't! You'll get hurt" crap.


Best Hair:
Charlie
I hated Bella's wig. It was so obvious to me. But best hair, probably Edward. Sometimes it was rad; like I totally loved it. And then other times, it looked really bad. Guys should always have their hair back off their face. Guys with bangs just look lame.
Unless he's Colin Firth.
Who's that?
 
Best One Liner:
The part where Charlie finds out Edward is going to Florida with Bella. He says something like, "That makes me so happy."
I kind of relate to Charlie, ya know, because besides me, he's the only other person in the movie theatre who thinks everyone else is lame.
Jacob when he said, "Let's face it. I'm hotter than you."
And then, in the same scene, when Jacob told Bella she'd warm up faster if she took off all her clothes. "Survival 101." It's the same line I hear all winter long. 

Worst One Liner:
It would have to be from Jacob or Edward. I just have to figure out which one.
Anything from Leah.

Coolest Outfit:
Charlie
Ummm, the clothes aren't even obvious to me.

Info I could have lived without:
The whole movie
When Bella was visiting her mom in Florida, and her mom got up to go and get Bella's gift, I caught a glimpse of a red thong. A glimpse was enough.
Oh yeah, I remember seeing that and thinking, "Oh gross."



I Sure Needed a Whole Lot More:
 Reese's Pieces
Kissing on the neck. Kissing period. I love that stuff. I'm such a girl.
Yeah, you are.


Favorite Vampire Moment:
I really don't have any.
I loved during the Edward/Victoria fight, when Victoria goes for Bella and Edward pulls her away. The whole scene actually. The way he protects her. When we got home, Bryan and I were in bed talking about the movie. He asked my fav part and I was talking about this scene. Then I asked him what he would do if someone tried to attack me. He just growled. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I sort of loved that.
You can't tell people about our pillow talk. That's private stuff.
Oh. Ok.

Favorite Werewolf Moment:
I thought the cheesiest one was when they all got together around the campfire and whined about vampires.
I liked how they fought the newborns. And how they are so playful and boyish.


Fav Human Moment:
 When Charlie is trying to have "the talk" with Bella.
Yeah, that was good. I also liked Jessica's graduation speech. Why didn't I think of that?
My speech was lame. Very un-epic.

Over All:
 Honestly, It was an OK movie. I'll see it again with you. And Ill buy it for you when it comes out. Mostly I like watching you watch the movie. Plus, you can't keep your hands off me when it's over. Ouch! Why'd you hit me?
I loved it because I love the books. Somethings just don't translate and I wish they'd have just left them out of the movies. I think the actors are much better looking on the talk show circuit, when they aren't all bleached out with makeup.

Looking Forward to Seeing...In Breaking Dawn:
Uhh, you?
Bella in feathers. And the labor scene. And the wedding. And Bella as a vampire. And Edward happy.

Me texting a pic of my pj's to Kelly Foote.

Lucky Me

Yesturday I took the kids to the park. On the way, we all got slurpees.


I had the kids leave their drinks in the car. I had to make a phone just before it was time to leave. When I was done, I called all the kids into the car.

Elliot asked, "Mom, did my slurpee talk to you?"

Me (perplexed): "No. Does your slurpee talk to you?"

Elliot (confident): "Yes."

Me: "What does it say when it talks to you?"

Elliot: "It says, 'You are sooooo lucky' ".

NEWS FLASH: Rachel is a Real Girl.

What kind of books do you like?

I used to read thrillers, exclusively. I've never thought I was much of a girly-girl. I read "Jane Eyre" in 8th grade and really liked it. I felt as plain and boring as Jane. I got her. But romance was not my thing.
Then, on a quick trip to NYC, my sister-in-law recommended a book.
I bought it that day.
On the train ride home, I read it.
It changed my life.

Why, you ask?
Because in reading that romance (and no, not a cheesy Fabio book), I realized I was a real girl (think Pinocchio).
I've never felt overly squeely, girly. I completely h.a.t.e.d the Notebook.
It's a joke that the doctor ordered my hysterectomy when he found out that I wasn't a fan of Nic Sparks.
But I read this book and came to see another side of me.
So, I read another romantic story. And guess what?
I liked that, too!
I have since read a few more. I'm zeroing in on what exactly pulls me into a story so completely that, at times, showering and feeding children become a burden.
I almost have a formula.
What to know what it is? Of course you do.

Take a plain girl.
Put her in a plain environment.
Add an extraordinary suitor.
Keep her ignorant of his almost immediate attraction.
Feel free to give him super human abilities/courage beyond measure.
Give them a chance.

That's it. That's my formula.
Sarah and Capt. Jack are at the top of my list.
Bella and Edward are there, too.
Nothing beats extraordinary falling in love with ordinary.
I should know. it's the story of my life. That's why Kelly Foote says I love this formula.
But c'mon. Don't all girls?
Would Pride and Perjudice be the inspiration for millions of knock offs if I'm the only one?

So tell me something.

1. What books do you recommend I, a freshly realized romantic, read?
2. What's you favorite formula?

Saturday

If maternity was a fraternity*(1), this would have been hell week.
There was a lot going on during this last week of school. And just the fact that it's the middle of June and my kids are still in school is enough to tick me off. But add to that annoyance dance recital rehearsals, play rehearsals, a science project (yes, we really did extract the DNA from stawberries) and all manner of end-of-year garbage and needless to say, I'VE BEEN SPANKED!
The honest to goodness best part of my Wednesday was getting a filling. It was kind of awesome because I just sat back in the chair and did nothing. The downside was that when I went to get a fresh Double Gulp*(2),
the left half of my mouth was numb and when I'd sip thru the straw, a teeny bit is soda would spurt out. Price you pay....
So come this Saturday morning, I was looking forward to wrapping up all of this madness. I knew today would be hectic:

-get Middle child to his cubscout day camp activity by 8am. Camp is an hour away? Mental note: leave in time for  pit stop and diet coke.

-12noon...dance recital for my daughter.

-3pm...musical theatre performance for my daughter. She is Linus in a little vinette of "Charlie Brown".

I knew my husband would be working all day. He has been working almost non stop all month. I had to gently remind him that Sunday is Father's Day and no matter what, he had to be home. With him out of the picture, I had to figure out what to do with my other boys.

5 and 3 are great ages. They are funny and brilliant and loud. These two in particular will tackle each other without any provocation what so ever. And they LOVE potty humor. I have even caught my 3 year old showing a neighbor girl  his penis. Yeah for boys!
That considered, I wasn't going to take them to a dance recital and then a play. All totaled, that would be 5 hours of required silence and stillness.
I asked my teenager if he'd stay home with them. He said yes. I didn't even have to bribe.
I was so proud.

So after I dropped cubscout off, I came home and showered and dolled up myself and my tiny dancer.
Going into the dance recital, I knew it would be close. My daughter wasn't scheduled to go on until the last act. She had two dances an one was kind of in the middle of the beginning of the second act, and the other was at the end of the middle of the act. Can you follow that?
I had the good fortune of sitting next to one of my neighbors, Ken. I had the good fortune because Ken's wife was a designated "backstage mom" and she gave me her ticket. As the show was starting, I explained to Ken how I had to leave no later than 2:30 to make it to my daughter's play. We counted the acts and guessed at the amount of time each would take (I said 5 minutes, he said 3. He was right).
All told, if things went off without a hitch, my little ballerina would miss the finale, but at least get to do both her numbers. And with that, the show began.

Recitals are a funny thing. I love to watch the tiny little ones...the ones who spin in the wrong direction, sing/scream at the top of their tiny lungs, or just cry. It's all delightful. I'm not so much of a fan of the free movement dancing where the dancers have pained expressions on their faces- the whole time. Maybe it's because with all that crap make-up and ridiculously bright red lipstick, they know they look bizarre and totally inappropriate. Remind me to tell you about ballroom dancing because that just made me think of something.....

Each time the lights would go down, Ken's 8 year old son would use his pocket flashlight to see who of significance was up. Ken would chat with me about one-dance-studio-town details. We counted how many dances Tracy's (another neighbor) girls were in and he told me that one year she spent $600.
"A month?", I asked.
"On costumes", he replied.
I know, right. W.O.W.
And then the lights would come up and we'd watch these cute girls with smiling, hooker-ish faces.
After a painfully long intermission, we concluded my girly girl would make it thru her ballet number, but it wasn't looking good for jazz. But then, THEN, the dance studio owner restarted the 3 year olds and their "Popeye" number. What the heck...I couldn't help but sigh out loud after several minutes of adjustments and repositioning. Ken tried to be supportive with an occasional, "This is killin' you, huh."
During this impromptu beak in the action, we tallied the cost of lessons and costumes. I won't repeat the total here (my husband may read this) but Ken did mention that I could have taken my little girl to New York City for a fancy girls weekend, including Broadway shows and shopping and pampering for about as much as I had just blown on unperformed dances and unworn costumes.
But, as luck would have it, my Draling Dear made it thru ballet and then I wisked her away to Musical theatre. We had a few franctic moments in the parking lot trying to get all the gunk off of her face. Despite that, we made it to the show in plenty of time.

When she was settled in backstage, I went to my seat and checked in with my teenager. All was well. He and 5 year ols were playing video games.
"And 3 year old? Where's he?"

"Oh, he's asleep on the floor."
Sounded about right.
I hung up the phone and started to reread a favorite book of mine. I was only a few pages into it. And I really was into it. As this horrible scene of violence started to build, I could feel my chest tighten up. I tried to read faster, to get throught the painful part (you have to know that I love Sarah Agnes Prine as much as any real girlfriend and her struggles become my heartache. And right at that moment she was struggling and my heart was breaking). Just as the scene unfolded into a terrible moment, the show started.
That totally sucked.

The show was amazing. The 2 1/2 hours flew by and as my duaghter and I were getting into the car, she asked if I would take her to McDonald's for a mcflurry. All seemed right.
Then, I noticed a new voicemail on my cell.

It was my friend Sasha. My cub carpooled home with her boys. After they dropped my son off, her boys told her how some older boy scouts had tied my cub scout up to a tree and wouldn't untie him even though he told them to stop and had started crying.
I was sick and enraged at the same time.

I called Sasha- got some info.
I called home. My husband had just arrived and knew nothing. I chatted with my son who explained it all to me and I fought back tears listening to his account. I kind of was crying for anyone who has ever been picked on or held against their will. My mother bear was growling and ready for action.
Not long after I hung up with my son, my husband called.
To say he was upset doesn't quite give you a true sense of the anger rolling off of him, pinging off cell towers and somehow, somehow, finding it's way to me.
Let me just say this, my husband and I are a great team. While he would, and could, rip someone's head off*(3) for messing around with his family, I have a bit of a diplomatic streak. When things go wrong, it is always a good idea for me to be the family spokesperson. (I have some really fun examples. But I can't tell you. Sorry.)

Long story made longer, we all came home. We all had scrambled eggs for dinner. Except for my 3 year old who wouldn't sit still. He kept getting up from the table. My husband announced that we would all go and get ice cream after dinner. 3 year old was told again to sit down. He was warned he wouldn't get ice cream if he didn't sit and eat his eggs.
Guess what?
At the ice cream place, while all the kids ordered their tasty treats, I held him while he cried. He was so sad. So was I. I wanted him to have  a treat just like his brothers and sister. But I also knew that this was a great chance for him to learn an important lesson: Mom and Dad mean what they say.

He cried some more as we all piled into the suburban. A minute down the road, while a tear still on his cheek, 3 year old said, "Dad, tomorrow I finish my eggs and then get ice cream."
It was a statement of understanding more than anything. And with that, my teenager, sitting next to him, offered him a big scoop of ice cream. It was kind of a beautiful moment.
Really, all these moments: good, bad, painful, sad, whatever...are beautiful. I am extremely grateful for the happy moments, but I know they wouldn't feel the same if the bad ones weren't sprinkled in, too.


And, in case my husband is reading this, there are some bad moments coming. Did I tell you I've been really emotional? And did I tell you I have 2 pimples?



Footnotes:
1. Maybe the greatest sentence I have ever composed. I thought you should know.
2.Yes, it is a proper noun.
3. I picture this happening in an Edward/Twilight sort of way.