lucky.

so my last horoscope suggested that the week ahead was going to be filled with AMAZING GREAT LUCK! like it was basically saying get ready girl and hang on tight because you are going to be blown.away.

so naturally i was thinking i'd win the lottery!!! or get a hold of a bad clam and lose 20 pounds in a weekend!!!

you know, the good kind of luck. the LUCKY kind of luck.

but the thing about luck is that sometimes it's about what *doesn't* happen. but that's not what you're thinking when you're imagining instant wealth and bathing suit season.

and that's where my girlie parts come in.

you know whenever anyone is all up in your grill and you hear 'uh oh,' that that's not good. not during happy fun time with your partner and especially not when you're at your girlie doctor for a check up.

but last week, you know DURING MY INCREDIBLE LUCK WEEK that's exactly what happened. i got the 'uh oh' from my doctor. and i was sent for tests the.next.day. and was told my doctor would call.me.right.away with the results. and she gave me a 'chin up!' before i left.

all of which, in my mind, did not bode well.

so i went to the test. and any time a pretty lady in a dimly lit room with soft colors and nice music is inserting something that hums and seems to be designed with ergonomics in mind into the squishier bits of your person and you're not drunk and you didn't pay cash up front for it then you know you're in trouble. that this clearly isn't a 'dear penthouse forum' moment but a dear god don't let me die moment.

so then i waited for the doctor to call. on wednesday. then thursday. i called the office thursday afternoon. nothing. except the doctor will call you! then i waited friday. i called late friday morning. the DOCTOR WILL CALL YOU! then came the weekend. do you know how hard it is to wait ON A WEEKEND for this kind of news?

by sunday i was sure i was done for and making deals with the devil.

then fate stepped in.

and on sunday night wingman woke me up in the middle of the night with doubled over stomach pains. whimpering, clammy, the whole nine yards. i had him lie flat. palpated his tummy. and right below and to the right of his belly button it was taut and painful.

the appendix.

so i had him stay in bed while i went down stairs to prepare to go to the hospital should we need to. worrying. and when i went back up he was fast asleep. so i let him sleep while i spent the rest of the night wide awake listening for him. worrying. hoping it wasn't the appendix. figuring it was. because we have a family history you see.

when the duke was three months his father came down with a bad stomachache that lasted for days. it wasn't the appendix because he didn't have pain on the right side. but we didn't know what it was.

by the time he finally got to the doctor he was sent to the hospital. and it WAS the appendix! and it had burst. but see his appendix was 'retrocicle' and in the WRONG spot. so there was no way to really know. and he is pretty stoic about pain. but now it had burst and was sitting near and/on his organs just being all infected. much like the present oil spill. not only do you have the problem at hand, now everything around it is affected.

and as a result he had to have a surgery that, worst case scenario, could a) kill him, or b) necessitate removal of parts of several organs or whole organs depending on the extent of the damage.

i was told to prepare for the worst case scenario.i had to a sign a paper that said i understood all this. i was 25 years old. with a three month old. it was not a good week.

long story short, he lived. and the infection had created its own bubble, and it was shielded from the other organs. and he was ultimately okay.

but i read this kind of thing runs in families. the appendicitis thing. so naturally when i have those 3 am signs and symptoms right in front of me i go right to worry. the next morning wingman slept later than usual and had some appetite, but not much. the pain never went away and the pain never got worse. he had no fever. he said he felt 'okay' but he just seemed off. i kept asking did you go to the bathroom, did you eat something weird, yes he went to the bathroom, no he didn't eat anything weird, we ruled out everything. and i worried. do i take him in? because it would have to be the hospital because he has no private pediatrician right now. (long story) and you don't go to the hospital for appendicitis if he's not presenting with symptoms for appendicitis. because they think you're a freak. they think you're one of those moms.

and i did that with the duke. i was one of those moms. 5 years ago. at three in the morning. same thing. but the pain was so bad. and i was so worried. his father lucked out. would my children?

and OF COURSE it was constipation with the duke. and i didn't care that i was one of those moms because he was okay! but, i'm a little concerned about making the same mistake. twice. at the same hospital, with another child. you know, lest they have some sort of 'list' i get put on. the moms who are freaks list. because the first time it's a whew! and the second time it's the list.

later that morning i went to the mailbox, full of worry, and when i came back wingman was hopping about saying he had just 'been to the bathroom' and his pain was GONE. he looked absolutely fine. back to his old self.

OF COURSE he was.

so i called my doctor. and couldn't get through. so i just said fuck it. what if there was something wrong with me? sure, that would suck. but not as bad as there being something wrong with my kid. and whatever it was, if there was something wrong with me, well it would just be what it was. i simply could not worry any more.

then tuesday morning came and i didn't hear from my doctor. and i didn't worry so much as wondered. and, you know, thought it fortuitous that i *just* did my annual update of the play list for my wake a few days before. because i'm just that kind of 'non worrier.'

then i went to baseball and when i came home there was a letter. from my doctor.

Dear Sillymortalmama,

Your test was normal. Please come back in a year.

Signed,

YOUR ASS OF A DOCTOR WHO TOLD YOU 'CHIN UP!' AND SAID SHE'D CALL BUT SENT THIS LETTER INSTEAD.

and it was dated last friday. which meant she knew five days prior and i didn't. five days of unnecessary worry and countless years off of my life with the stress.

which just goes to show you two things; a) it doesn't help to worry, and b) i need a new doctor.

besides, i had a boyfriend who right after we dated found his true romantic calling with OTHER MEN and HE navigated around my girlie parts with MORE EXPERTISE and KNOWLEDGE than this doctor did. good lord it's like she missed that course in school. or never saw a freakin' chart.

so, the good news is wingman is fine. and i *am* going to die, just not for another 40-50 years or so.

well then.

i guess i did have an incredibly lucky week. just like my horoscope said i would.

x.

wherein i find out i still have it. sort of. or not.at.all.

so i'm at the library the other day to pick up a bunch of books i have on hold.

i run in and grab the stack and head over to the self-checkout kiosk.

i've got them all stacked and ready to scan when i happen to look up. and right there at the next self-checkout kiosk is a handsome man. and he's looking at me. and he's smiling.

okay, so you have to know that at my library i rarely see a male person who a) isn't a little boy or b) an adolescent boy or c) an elderly gentleman. occasionally i will see a harried father with a preschooler or two. oh, and there is a male librarian there, but he hasn't been around much. in fact, i saw him working a bit in the produce section at the grocery store recently. but, that's neither here nor there.

so. the handsome man is smiling at me.

and i automatically smile at the handsome smiling man.

and then i look behind me to see who he's smiling at. (yeah, i'm smooth like that. probably because i learned how to interact with the opposite sex from three's company.)

and there is no one there.

oh. (face the camera and give them a wide eyed stare.)

so my smile gets a little bigger and i'm thinking to myself how nice it is to be out of the house, standing here, with a handsome, age appropriate man smiling in my direction.

and we're smiling. okay, this sounds like it's going on like an hour, but really it's just split second kinda smile.

and then he looks down. and his smile stops. and then he gets this pinched look on his face. so i follow his smile down. to my stack of books.

oh.

dear.

god.

my stack is made up of no less than ELEVEN dr. wayne dyer books AND a metric ass load of teen anime/manga. (cue the laugh track.)

okay, in my defense i have to say that i've been thinking about 'intention' a lot. what it means, the power of it. and dr. wayne dyer has a book called the power of intention. and it's something he talks about a lot in his other books. so i got that book and a few others to try and find a quote of his i remember liking. and then i remembered a story he told about a woman and a bag of stones. and i can't remember if it was in his recent books or his older ones. so i got a few more to try and find it. and on top of that, i was picking up the duke's holds. and he is on a HUGE anime/manga kick lately. HUGE. so. there.

i can only imagine what it looks like to him. like i am NOT a good candidate for ANYTHING. like i spend a LOT of time alone. wishing i wasn't. relying on the good dr. and media created for japanese teenagers to tell me how to get out of it, and what to do if i do get out of it. and that i'm probably more often than not covered in cat hair.

i look up to see him walking away really fast.

and even though it's not like it really matters because it's not like we are actually going to meet or date or anything i STILL want to shout "these aren't mine! okay, some of them are! but there's a good explanation! it's not what it looks like!"

but i don't.

because that would be awkward.

even for me.

x.

if you happen upon a home schooler in the wild.

the majority of people i meet are polite and genuinely curious. and i appreciate the interest and the discourse. this is not for those people.

if you happen upon a home schooler in the wild.

1. do not assume they're all christians. they aren't. some of them are even pagans. and do not assume that just because they home school AND are christians that they are conservative. and not all of them dress up for role playing situations/occasions. some of them do. but not all of them. no two home schoolers are alike. you can actually tell us apart if you actually look at us.

2. do not assume all home schooled kids are 'geeks.' because they aren't. and besides, geeks are really cool people. and you shouldn't call someone that unless they've earned the privilege.

3. do not assume all home schooled kids are 'geeks' who can fix your computer. don't ask.

4. do not automatically start quizzing the home schooled child. they actually do not know everything. even the stuff you think they 'should' know. especially stuff you think they 'should' know. they actually forget stuff they've learned or never learned it in the first place.

5. do not act all smug when a home schooled child can't answer your quiz/question. you look like an ass and it proves nothing. except that you have the ability to make yourself look like an ass.

6. please don't ask the home schooling parent about 'socialization.' ever. really. don't. to you it's curiosity or concern, i get that, but to a home schooler it's like nails on a chalk board. like a tired old worn out myth that just won't go away. it's like saying to a parent, "you've obviously made some whacked out choice and now you need to justify that choice to me."

7. do not assume the misbehaving home schooler is just 'under socialized.' does your child misbehave because they are 'adequately socialized?'

8. do not assume that just because a person chooses to home school that they welcome 'your' opinion on home schooling. i don't automatically give you my opinion on your public/private school choice. because that would be rude. if you're not asked then don't tell.

9. do not ask, "huh. how does THAT work?" when someone tells you they home school. because it's rude. ask me how i know.

10. do not assume that because a home schooler is at home that they are available at the drop of a hat to pick up your slack in the busy day. on call child care, drop ins for coffee, long phone chats about NOTHING, after school pick up, etc. etc. etc. i want to help you, and i want to visit, and i will talk to you if you need me, but i am busy too. you know, teaching.

11. do not assume because a home school parent is home all day that his/her house will be sparkling clean and smell like fresh bread. because, you know, she's home all day. because it's not. ask me how i know.

12. do not assume that because a home schooled child goes back to school that the 'experiment' failed. life moves and changes. nothing is written in stone. and just because a person makes a bold, out of the norm commitment does not mean that it's forever. except for sarah palin. unfortunately she seems to be the exception.

13. do not say to a home school parent, " i should just pay you/get you to home school my kid." as a part jest/part serious proposition when your kid is failing academically or socially at school. what makes you think in a million years i'd want to/would? home schooling is a lot of work. it's not a matter of just folding another child in. like putting up the third seat in a minivan. but if you want some help, please ask. i don't like to see any kid fail if there's something i can do to help, or something i can recommend.

14. do not assume that because a parent home schools that they have endless patience and are saint like or perfect in their parenting. this would not be a correct assumption. oh, some of them think they are. but they'd be wrong. i know that i am not. and i do not have endless patience. i'm just a parent who made a choice. just like you. and being a parent is tough work . so if we all cut each other some slack, and ask questions and observe rather than make snap judgments, then we'd all be way better off.

x.

the old heavy petting threat gets them every time.

okay, i've hinted at this but it's really happening now. the duke is becoming a teenager. and i am not the first mama to go through this, i know, but why is it everything our own children do seems like a one way ticket into no man's land? from teething to girlfriends every step feels like i'm making the one giant step for mankind. bringing you all in is my way of phoning home.

and while i've decided to approach this whole phase with humor and an open mind, some things, while age appropriate, simply will not be allowed in this house. and no, i'm not talking about 'twilight.' thankfully, he's not all that interested. whew.

let me set the stage.

last week at wingman's baseball game we were sitting in the stands. me on one side, my husband on the other, the duke in the middle. and my husband (he needs to be re-named for blogosphere purposes. i haven't come up with anything, so for now he's 'my husband.' wow. lucky him.)

okay, so we were chatting and just being. we were not being overly loud or obnoxious. hard to believe, but true. i do have manners and exercise them. you know, when i need to.

so then we hear the duke pipe up

"shhhh. people can hear you."

"what are you talking about?"

"don't talk so loud."

"we are not talking loud and no one is listening?"

"shhh. it's embarrassing."

really? WTF?

oh. yeah. and so it begins.

i knew this day would come, i just hoped it wouldn't. you know, because i'm so awesome how could i ever be of embarrassment to my son. right?

so i tried to ask him what it was that was so embarrassing about my/our behavior. and he didn't have any kind of concrete answer. just us talking, you know, me being me. so naturally i began to rib him a little, and at the same time to seriously tell him it could be worse. you know, pointing out the things i *could* be doing to really embarrass him. you know, other than just being me.

and it just got worse for him. because of course actually TALKING about it is just as terrible and even worse than it happening when you're that age. i know that. but i wasn't talking about it loudly, i was just trying to have some discussion on this new development. and i have a right to address accusations and grievances levied against me. parenting is a two way street, he's not the only one who's allowed to make a case. then i heard

"shhh! stop! you're.embarrassing.me!"

okay. i'm done.

"hey, sir, you brought this up. here. and now. and now you need to listen to ME. i've spent a LOT of years working on accepting who i am and being fully okay with who i am. and that's not as easy as you may think it is to do. and i don't change myself based on the people i'm with. i'm me. and i like me. and you may be interested to know that there are a lot of other people who like me and who actually want to spend time with me. and i appreciate that you're going through some hormonal shifts, i get it. but i am not going to change who i am or stop being who i am because you suddenly can't accept it. and if that's really the case, that i embarrass you, then you can choose to sit somewhere else."

"okay. i'm sorry, mama."

to which my husband added

"yeah. and if you don't knock it off i'm going to pull your mama onto my lap and start making out with her right here."

"PAPA!"

god. it is so hard to be young. how do any of us make it out alive.

x.

if you think this is really about pants then you'd be wrong.

so i have this pair of white pants that i love. they are like those mythical pants from the books and movies. no matter what, when i wear them they are perfect on me. and by 'no matter what' i'm talking about weight and weight fluctuation. these pants give me curves where i want them and eliminate them where i don't. no matter what, they make my ass look perfect. and that is not a brag, that is a fact. and i think we all need to go easier on ourselves and praise ourselves more. so i'm just callin' it like i see it. and i love them for that.

so, the pants. they're white. and i'm not a fan of white. if it's a shirt it gives me some kind of sickly pallor, if it's pants i just know i'm going to sit in something, spill something, etc. and red wine? oy.

so i rarely wore these pants. even though they were perfect on me. yeah, that's how we women like to do things. well, this women.

and this was dumb so i started to wear them more. like i had to make myself wear them. and every time i put them on i loved them all over again, but i was terrified of spilling wine, food, etc. on them. but the more i made myself wear them the more i got comfortable with the fact that i did actually have the capability to keep myself clean in a social situation.

and the more i wore them the more i loved them. and the more i loved them the more i wore them. garden parties in the out of doors! a kegger! a baby shower wherein i managed to break my toe and catch my hair on fire and win the drinking contest i was having with myself BUT did not get one SPECK on my white pants! and then i started getting cocky. and smug. look at me in my clean white pants knocking back the red wine and getting nary a drop on myself.

my talents are endless.

and then came easter.

i was wearing my white pants. flitting about, plating all the appetizers before everyone got there. and then making bellinis when the guests arrived. pouring red wine. look at me with these drippy oven roasted tomatoes, watch while i make this bellini (peach juice, for those of you who don't know, is incredibly staining. weird, right?) hell i even made pea soup with a FIVE YEAR OLD HELPING ME in my smug white pants. pea soup. using the immersion blender and everything. not a drop.

god i'm good.

i thought this as i was putting the mixed berries on the pavlova and running my mouth about something. sipping at my red wine. look at me in my smug white pants.

and then it happened. one errant, terribly full to bursting juicy blueberry broke from the others and like it was in slow motion as it started to roll down my leg. all.the.way.down. on the white pants.

it was a mess. oh sure, it's not like it looked like a scene out of carrie or anything, but it wasn't pretty.

after all those times, the garden parties, the wine, the soup, etc. and it was the blueberry that did me in.

which just goes to show, sometimes it really is the little stuff. sometimes it's not what you think will happen, but what you never consider. because you've gotten cocky, or smug, or just because it was time. and that's how life is.

which brings me to the ball.

my husband and i don't fight. not because we are perfect (because we are not perfect) or scared to, or we don't know how, we are just REALLY lucky enough to both have good communication skills. and THANKFULLY smart enough to remember to use them. whew. skills which have come in especially handy this past year. and seriously, this last year has been so very hard i'm amazed that we aren't at each others throats. all.the.time. because it would be so easy. but, we aren't. thank you god we are not.

BUT

but a few months ago there was a situation. and it started with a yoga ball. and it ended in a standoff of mega proportions. the likes of which have never been seen in this house. and it ended quickly (sort of, i mean in the grand scheme of things) and ultimately with laughter.

BUT

and you know what i'm going to say.

it had nothing to do with the ball.

the ball was the little thing. even after dealing with the big BIG stuff for so long and jumping every hurdle, making everything work out of so very little, hanging on by a thread some days, it came down to a fucking yoga ball.

fucking yoga ball. he was the one who ordered it for me and was inflating it for me. and i was looking at this ball and it was way too small. and he tried to convince me it was the same size as my old one it was replacing. that he had checked and made sure to get the same one. and i would not believe him, and i would not budge because i'm not stupid that is not the same size by any measure. i did a lot of pointing and emphasizing of certain words.

it turns out when you inflate a physical therapy grade yoga/pilates ball you have to do it slowly. like over a period of a day or so. and this piece of information was not relayed to me, or i didn't hear it. (the jury's still out on that one) so yes, it was the same size, or would be *eventually.* but it wasn't then. not yet. but since i didn't know this, i just saw it being small and not the same size at all.

so from my perspective i'm right and he's wrong and why is he trying to convince me of something that simply cannot be true? and from his perspective i've lost my fucking mind over a yoga ball. which, to be fair, was true. i did. and it was not pretty. and then came the freeze out. which i'm really really good at. some people yell, some people throw things, i give the freeze out.

good lord. stress is a killer. and sometimes you don't realize you need a reliever until you are losing your mind over a yoga ball. yoga. ball. and no, the irony is not lost on me.

so what do the blueberry and the ball have in common? does any of this make sense? maybe. it does to me. because the blueberry and the ball are what happen when you're busy just trying to get through the day. living. they are the little things you don't count on.

everyone always worries about the big stuff of life. and the what ifs the big stuff brings. but the big stuff isn't all that hard if you really think about it. not really. because you see it coming. (or you don't but you quickly adapt) you make plans. you work at it. you're given a chance to figure it out.

but the blueberry and the ball are the little things you never see coming. until they're staining your favorite white pants or creating the biggest standoff you've ever had with your husband.

and you don't know it until you're in it and you've got to just figure your way out of it without making the little things bigger than they are. and without 'creating' more little things.

and part of this is about not getting too smug in your perfect white pants, and part of this is about how to learn how to take a step back and ask questions, even if you "know" you are right. especially if you "know" you are right. one minute of jumping off your high horse can do wonders. it's like a miracle cure.

and part of this is me telling you that if you have something that you love and that makes you feel good don't hide it away because you're afraid it will get dirty. or ruined. or broken. or lost. drag it out and wear the hell out of it, use it up and enjoy every moment of doing so.

life is just too god damned short for anything less.

x.

DFTU.

so i've been thinking about the word weltanschauung lately. mainly because it's such an AWESOME word to look at and probably sounds really good spoken in its native tongue.

anyway, weltanschauung is defined as: world view; philosophy of life; a framework through which to interpret the world.

when your life is very different than you thought it would be, or was even a year ago, six months ago, how you perceive life, your own in particular, becomes very very important. in some cases, not only for survival, but for being able to adapt to and enjoy it in some measure. however small. for being able to move forward.

some people just have a world view without really knowing where it comes from, some people pick something by which to define or craft their world view. religion, the way they were raised, what simon cowell throws down on american idol. some people can't figure what the hell i'm talking about when i say 'world view' and that's okay too. (see me after class. maybe i can help.)

for instance, some people craft their world view based on what you 'shouldn't' do. sort of the 7 deadly sins outlook. I SHALL NOT HAVE; wrath greed sloth pride lust envy gluttony. a list of don'ts telling them what they can do. now, i don't know about you, but living by a list of don'ts doesn't sound like all that much fun. not to mention seems a little, well, pre packaged. processed. not a lot of room for free will and creativity. and hell, some of those 'deadly' sins look pretty darn okay to me. right?

and since we're on the subject, why isn't 'being an asshole' on the list? the 8th sin if you will. because it seems to me that THAT is more of an issue and causes way more problems than the rest of the sins. just sayin'.

okay, and then you have the people who don't live by the 'don'ts' but rather the 'cans.' as in they have some particular thing they can do. some talent or creative ability. and that defines them. and subsequently their world view. they can do something, can demonstrate something, can put a really great title on their business cards, can always pull it off. i seriously envy these people because i don't have a particular talent that really defines me. and it seems like it would make those business cards i want to print up for myself a little clearer if i did.

sure, i 'can' write but i mostly write about myself. that's less talent and creativity and more 'abject self absorption.' and which should probably be filed under one of the 7 deadly sins at some point.

then there are people who define themselves and subsequently their world view by their general 'got their shit togetherness.' and by 'define' i mean they don't 'need' to define anything. and if they do, it's just icing on the cake. they are a mash up of the kind of person directly above with the added element of effortless fabulousness. these people are pretty much capable of anything. they always look good, their house is always clean, they have some special talent and creativity, a title to put on a card, and, i suspect, if you got close enough, they would smell like vanilla.

i am not those people.

i spend great swaths of the day in drawstring pants or pajama bottoms, far from camera ready, my house isn't always clean, and i can pretty much guarantee you that i don't smell like vanilla.

BUT

if you invite me to dinner i will ditch the drawstrings and put on a pair of kick ass heels, if you come over i will clean my house for you, if you sit at my table i will cook for you, and i always answer the phone. even at three in the morning. especially at three in the morning.

in short, i love you. that's my talent.

oh jeeze not in the 'i love you! now gimme some jewelry!' kinda way. but in the way you love someone just by being there in their life, even if you don't agree, the way you love someone when you say namaste, even if it's just at the end of yoga, the way you love someone when you put a plate of food in front of them, the way you love someone by drying their tears from 3000 miles away, or say a prayer for them when they need it.

it's there, you only need to call it forth. let it prevail. always.

which ultimately brings me to my weltanschauung. my world view. how i have to see my world so that i can be in it and be the best person i can be and ultimately project that out. because as i have come to learn, sometimes your special gifts and talents and creativeness aren't enough. sure, they are 'enough.' always. but when push comes to shove and you really need to rely on something, well, perhaps there's room for something more. that bit of extra padding when the fall gets a little rougher than usual.

so, you know those bumper stickers that say WWJD. what would jesus do. or WWJJD. you know, what would joan jett do. or president obama, or peter pan, bukowski. take your pick of who you would ask to emulate in a difficult situation to get to an understanding and take action.

well, my weltanschauung is the bumper sticker i've come up with.

which is WWXLCD.

the answer to which is,

DFTU.

don't fuck this up.

with all that i've been blessed with and have, with all that i am able to do, which some days is not much, and others all i can do is ask for help and receive it with a grateful and humble heart, with everything i just need to NOT FUCK IT UP.

which some days is a hell of a lot harder than others. not fucking it up just means no matter what, deep breaths, move forward, keep calm and carry on. love as much as i'm able and know how to say thank you and mean it. because i really really do mean it.

if i can just take each day as it comes, one day, this day, and move through it and DFTU then that's what i can do. and i'm happy. and i'm good. and i think that spreads, and in some small way, at least in this little corner of the world, it makes a good and positive difference.

that's my story and i'm sticking to it.

got weltanschuung?

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

since the beginning of the year the boybarians and i have been doing a study of school lunch offerings in america. it has been nothing short of FASCINATING and HORRIFYING. seriously.

further, our study has taken us all over the world to see how school lunch gets treated outside of america. and i must tell you, it is treated well. very well in a LOT of places. in fact, based on our studies of what is offered where, i've decided i would very much like to be a french nursery school student, aged 4. dude, those kids eat WELL.

not so much here. school lunch in america is in a critically poor state. we need revolution, change, and quick. in short we are harming our children and setting them up for a lifetime of nutritional FAILURE. in length, the powers that preside over how the school lunch program is administered make it a morass of paperwork, rules, guidelines, etc. and so forth and so on. they have taken the act of feeding children and broken it down into a complicated matrix of boxes that must be ticked. it is not about food, it's about the administration of funds, preservation of supply chains, cutting costs where ever possible, and percentages of 'nutritional elements' that must be met. i put that in quotes because i've seen these lunches, and nutrition isn't the first thing that comes to mind.

enter jamie oliver and his food revolution. a new series on ABC friday nights. and it's good. he's been working on revolutionizing school lunch in the UK for the last 10 years and he's bringing his mission here.

he's mouthy, presumptuous, pushy, judgmental, and he uses the word 'crap' to describe food. but he is right on and comes full force from a place of love. love for children and real food. he is committed and he's awesome to watch.

plus, he doesn't just want to come in a make a media splash for his own gain and then leave. he wants to teach people about real food. what it is and how to cook it. because if you know how to cook even one or two dishes you can branch out. and seriously, that's sometimes all it takes. something as simple as just knowing about what foods are and how to prepare them. it's about education and support. because a lot of people never learned how to cook even the basics, and because of that must *rely* on prepared foods. and that is sometimes passed down generation to generation. could it really be as simple as teaching a few cooking techniques? jamie oliver thinks so and i agree with him.

i grew up poor and ate well. because there was real food and cooking in my home. with pots and pans and knives and spatulas. and i am not suggesting that junk food and 'crap' food don't have a place in the world. because good lord we know i do love the cheeseburgers and have been known to crave 'crap' and indulge in it a time or two.

BUT everything in moderation, right? and daily school lunches with all their sugar, fat, salt, and carbs, day after day, 180 days a year? every single day. no, that's not right. not at all. not to mention the children who are having school breakfast, too. two meals a day filled with sugar, fat, salt, carbs. 180 days a year.

look, i know i'm lucky. i home school and my kids get to make their own lunch every day. we have the time and resources to make it delicious and healthy.

but just because my kids don't go to public school doesn't mean i don't care about the kids who do. quite the opposite. just like i support all the school bonds and levies that come my way, and am all too happy that part of my property taxes go to support the public schools, i want to support the change that needs to happen in the public school lunch programs across the country.

i know there are a LOT of people trying, working on this very issue. and have been for a long time. affecting change where they are. good people, smart people. but let's face it, jamie oliver is huge and if he can get this the attention it deserves fast and now, then more power to him. because this needs to go nationwide. and there isn't a second to lose. because we are losing people we love to diseases borne of bad nutrition. and it starts when you're young. and it's perpetuated in the schools. and we need to change that. now.

it is that spirit that i bring you this installment of your moment(s) of zen. please know, it's 43 minutes long, so watch it when you have the time to spend. because it's worth it, and it's important. and please, watch it with your kids.

Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution Fridays 9/8 c ABC.

x.

why i love baseball.

you must understand those are words i never thought i'd type. but, it's true.

i've never been one to like or understand sports. in theory, sure, but in person? like playing or watching? not so much. maybe it's my ADD (self diagnosed, which is the best kind of diagnoses in my opinion) or my lack of coordination, but sports just weren't ever my thing.

i especially never understood baseball. maybe it was the tempo of the game? slow and boooooorrrrrriiiiiinnnnngggg, like the golf i used to watch with my grandpa. and it may also have had something to do with all that math, statistics, averages, blah blah blah. slow and complicated. wow, fun. sounds like a former relationship i was only TOO HAPPY to ditch.

so imagine my surprise when the duke hit me with wanting to play baseball all those years ago. not that we aren't an active family, but sports? especially as organized and intense as little league baseball? he had tried soccer the year before and didn't seem especially into it. he tried basketball and the same was true. and to me, those were the exciting sports! but, baseball?

of course i signed him up and of course he took to it and lo these many years later he's still playing and enjoying it. (as an aside, wingman plays too, but i'm focusing on the duke for this one.)

and watching him play is one of my favorite things to do. i am proud of his dedication and commitment to being a good team mate. i am proud that he continues to improve, and that he continues to ignore the crap that can come about when a bunch of boys the same age hang out together.

oh i know, i have complained about the time commitment, the other parents, the coaches, the cold, the proximity some of the best cheeseburgers on earth and my battle to ignore them, mostly, about the mouthy kids, about the nepotism, and the politics, and joke about carrying and flask, and so on and so forth.

BUT

that's just me being my charming self.

what i love about baseball is watching a team develop. despite all the differences and the politics and the posturing and the popularity of some and the lack thereof of others, there becomes a moment on the field when you see this group of boys and they become a team. and for a moment, or a few strung together, life becomes simple again. a group of boys with a common goal, basic and slightly primal, working together. cohesive. communicating. because it doesn't happen if they don't. getting a job done. a bat, a ball, a base. and they will win or they will lose, but for awhile, it just becomes all about the journey.

a few years ago we were lucky enough to go to spring training in arizona. and while the boys trooped off for games i was happy to lie about at the hotel and do...nothing. but they forced me to go to one game. i groused, (silently) but i went. and, i LOVED it.

it was warm, the day was as fine and blue and soft as you could want, my kids were having the best time, and i got to drink beer and eat a ball park hot dog. and we were close enough for the game to be interesting. now this, i thought, this is nice. too bad it never happens like this at the duke's games.

but the other day it did. the first (mini) game of the season for the duke. oh sure, the sun only came out between gusts of icy wind and the occasional parting of overhead clouds, and there was no beer and no professional ball park hot dog. but there was a moment when the clouds parted and the sun was shining and i realized that i was doing something i really really love to do. after all these years. watching my boy grow right before my eyes on the field, watching a team come together, the rest of us in the stands. enjoying the game and the day.

baseball is as simple or complex as you want it to be. it's changed so much since it was first invented, and, yet, in the grand scheme of things, so very little. and that is its charm right there. it's just as you remember it. and that is such a comfort these days.

i wonder at the country and where we are headed. so much division and vitriol, a lack of a common focus. i worry for the youth with access to so much technology that basic communication skills are ignored in favor of the instant and right away. that cohesiveness for some lasts as long as a text, an IM, or a thread on facebook. and then that's it. on to something new. that because of all this technology you don't really have to 'maintain' an actual friendship any more. that the screen is enough to bond people.

and i worry that people don't journey together anymore towards a common goal. and even if they do, that those goals are ever changing based on what's being offered at.that.moment. that it's all about the end product. that it seems every person is out for themselves, and we are passing that along to every younger generation. that things are so instant there isn't time enough to develop real relationships anymore.

so yeah, i love baseball. it slows things down and brings the simple to focus. it's familiar and timeless. even if it's just for part of an afternoon. and especially so on those few days in may and june that are so sunny and perfect they just want to make you weep. especially baseball with my boy who all too soon will no longer be a boy. it is, and has been, a magnificent gift.

now if they only sold icy cold beer at the snack stand. because an icy cold beer would go PERFECTLY with those cheeseburgers. hey, it's a free country! (for now) and a girl can have any dream she wants, right?

x.

missing.

there's a young mother of a child my child's age missing from the town next to me. her child goes to school 4 miles from my house. her child is missing, too.

the van was found partially submerged in one of the many waterways in this area. there are bodies of water and wooded areas and roads being searched. they are somewhere or they are not. and there are a lot of puzzling clues that don't seem to fit. or they do. and then they don't. she's at fault, or she isn't.

it's a funny thing about being missing. it's almost as if time has stopped for the person(s) missing. and yet it goes terribly on for those who remain. and sadly, entertainingly on for some.

where does one go when they're missing? are you missing just because you can't be found? is there something more? what is it? we wish we could just ring up the missing and ask. we hope we get the chance to ask.

what i have learned from the past five days of her being missing is that missing sucks. it sucks for those who are left behind, those who are searching, those who are questioning, those whose job it is to find the missing. but i've learned it especially sucks for the one who is missing.

i've learned that when you're missing, EVERYTHING is fair game towards finding you. your past and all its glories and heartaches, your recent triumphs or troubles, the suspicions and opinions long held by your neighbors, family, friends come to the surface. things you should never know people are thinking about you are everywhere and now everyone knows. your boss your neighbors your family your friends your community your kid's school the teachers the parents the lunch ladies they all know what others have been thinking. what you did in your past before now.

when you're dead, people only say mostly glowing things about you. they forget the past and they forgive the errors of your ways, the missteps. they may even embellish it a bit towards the positive.

but when you're missing, when you're missing people don't do this. they do the opposite. they play arm chair detective about the past relationships, the failures in judgment, the tattoos the drinking the life lived as lives over time are and every aspect of it comes to light. becomes important. they are clues. and we whisper them over fences and type them in the comments section of the new sites and smugly repeat them in articles and on the local news.

whoever you worked to become falls away and you are just the sum of a lot of parts. and not in a good way. your past is not a long and winding path to the person you've become, it's just a bread crumb trail to this inevitable fuck up.

when you're missing, at first it's sad and scary. there's a flurry of activity. where are you!?! and then it becomes your fault somehow. at first they say 'oh she could never.' and then they start listing the reasons why she probably did. innocent then guilty. guilty as all her past sins. because if it's your fault it can't happen to us. why are you doing this !?!

and i have to think that we don't wish the missing person malice. i have to think this is protection. for us. those who are not missing. because it could happen to anyone. couldn't it? it could happen to you or your kid it could happen to your neighbor your sister your friend.

oh, but not if we didn't have this suspect past. not if we don't buy wine in the big bottles or run around with friends with tattoos. not if we don't love the wrong people or grow up in the wrong town. well then, yes. that's different. yes. that's not us. we aren't her. so it couldn't happen to us.

i check the news every day. many times. i think about her and the boy. i hope she wasn't drinking and driving with the boy in the van, which is one of the theories. and by hoping that i fall victim to that which i am speaking out about. sigh. i am silly and mortal. still, i worry. i try to imagine that it isn't the worst case scenario. i try not to silently judge with the little bit of information at hand. i try to remember she is a silly mortal too. and i am glad for these few days when the weather's been fine, brisk, but sun shining. worried at the cold nights. worried for her and the boy.

where do you go when you go missing? and hell, what happens if you come back? what do you come back to? will you come back?

i don't know why this woman is missing. she just is. and i hope for her and i pray for her. and for the boy. may they be safe. and may things work out for the positive. and i just hope that if i ever went missing those who knew me would be kind. would understand that it wasn't of my own doing and use snippets heard here and there, or witnessed, as trial and jury and verdict.

because i've made a lot of mistakes and missteps, possessed suspect judgment and employed whacked thinking, i've been wrong when i thought i was right, and i have made a mess of things a time or two.

and i would hope that people see that those aren't bread crumbs to the inevitable fuck up. that they are steps on a path to who i am today. evidence not leading to an 'obviously' bad conclusion, just evidence of a life lived. and sometimes lives are messy and some of us just work everlong to pull them up and forward.

if i ever go missing may the world be kinder to me than it is being to this woman. because while all of it may be clues, and those clues may add up to fault, right now it's still her life. her one beautiful life. and the boy, his life. his mom. and we should be more mindful. facts, not judgment. until we know. and even after. even after we know, regardless of the outcome. of fault. be mindful. because unless you've walked in those shoes, you just can't ever know. you can't.

god help us who meet trouble on the path. and save us from those who find out about it.

x.

love and loathing in the pacific northwest.

i enjoy reading the local news sites on the interwebs. mainly because this is where i live, but mostly because the comments section is so hilarious, heartbreaking, and typical.

i like to joke about where i live and call it my (red)neck of the woods. i say that with love AND loathing, which i find to be a fabulous combination that cannot be applied randomly.

i live in a beautiful area. gorgeous and heart stopping in some cases. and while it's funky and mostly a tear down to some, my own particular little spot and abode makes me happy. and is especially beautiful this time of year.

BUT

there are things about where i live that make it less than ideal. for me. community wise. and i didn't consider this before we moved out here. had i considered it before i don't know that we would have. who knows. we're here now.

so.

lately there is a lot of good, and good news going on locally. a new store in the town two towns away that is selling only locally grown produce, dairy, and meat, and locally made products. essentially a year round farmer's market indoors. that's pretty cool.

in the past decade since i've been here i've seen a walking trail put in right in the middle of the retail hub of the county. a beautiful and enjoyable and scenic walking trail. long enough and diverse enough to be worth it. with wetlands, and big trees, and salmon, and it goes right by costco and you don't even see it.

i've seen bridges and roads re-done to better encourage and protect the salmon streams that run through our county, and no less than three new parks built in my town alone.

i've also seen the library levy FAIL by a huge margin because there are 'other things to worry about more.' don't get me started on that. we lost hours and vital resources at all the libraries because of it. i wrote the letter of my life to the editor about that one and would have written more but the profanity. oy. like a runaway toyota i put both feet on the brakes of profanity but it wouldn't stop coming. so, naturally i kept the subsequent letters to myself.

we also don't have a trader joe's. still. it's TWO THOUSAND TEN PEOPLE! i've lived here TEN YEARS! and NO trader joe's. i consider THAT a failure of epic proportions.

but what we DO have are plenty of sexpresso stands. which, as some of you may already know, i like to keep my eye on. oh jeeze, not literally, but the whole thing just makes me giddy. it's like a carl hiaasen novel come to life. i love how people get so up in arms about it. those who think it's okay, those who think it's the devil's handiwork. mostly i love considering the safety and the practicalities, and lack thereof. i've said it before and i'll say it again, i don't have anything against women taking their clothes off for any reason, if it's consensual it's your own business. BUT

all that steam and hot liquid, all that exposed flesh. it's just an accident waiting to happen.

so when there's an article or a letter to the editor about a new stand going up or just the existence of them, as you may imagine the comments section always makes for a good read. the two camps get going and you just can't stop them.

the people who are *for* think that the people who are *against* are all 'repressed middle aged women who used to be fun but who have let themselves go and are now bitter.' the people who are against always drag out the 'what if this was your daughter you pervert wacko in god's name why in the samhell do you need to see boobs and butts while you get your morning coffee?' argument.

but what i really love are the gems. the comments that really have nothing to do with the debate, but just because somebody wants to make them. these are usually made by people you've seen before. the serial commentators who seem to treat the on-line local news comments section as their own personal social networking site. maybe they couldn't figure out facebook? or they don't have enough followers on twitter? but they are always there and they always have something to say about 'everything.' and by 'everything,' i mean 'themselves.' because while they relate their comments somewhat to the article, it's usually just all about them.

so this last most recent article was no exception. but there was one comment that just made me laugh out loud because while it was all about the commentator and not about the actual debate at hand, it was so perfect, and summed the whole thing up in a nutshell.

'fasteddie' wrote, and i quote, "The best times of my life were when naked and around other naked or semi-naked women."

nice.

and therein lies the rub, pardon the pun, of the whole argument. you're up against a lot when you try to argue against women getting naked for business purposes and men paying for it. coffee or all the otherwise. there's just too much there. biology, history, whipped cream being sprung from a can.

that being said, and all kidding aside, i really sincerely hope i don't ever go missing from this town or get into the kind of trouble that would put me in the news. of course for the obvious reasons, but mostly because people are cruel and terrible about other people when given half a chance.

recently a young mother and her son went missing and the comments section was mostly positive and full of prayer and hope. mostly. because a lot are just awful.

and then you get this, "There is more to this story but you can kind of read into the lines. First of all, this lady has a tattoo. I wouldn't be surprised she is into drugs and some drug deal went bad. Why do she and the son have different names. She does not come from any stable family background."

yeah, because tattoos equal drugs, and male dominated patriarchal naming practices equal a stable family. right. i know it's almost as tiresome to be irritated about that kind of viewpoint as it is a tiresome viewpoint to have given the time we're in, but i'm irritated nonetheless. and as i said, unfortunately comments like that are not atypical. and says a LOT about the place where i live. and the people i live around.

do you see now why i was so upset at the library levy fail?

and it makes me angry about and sad for the closed minded asses of the world, especially those who live here, where i live. and for my children who have to grow up around them and their kids. and for my community whose future depends on them.

but mostly it just makes me miss fasteddie.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was about 4 years old i got lost at the oregon museum of science and industry. i was with my mother and father and older sister. i went into a bathroom while they waited outside. the bathroom had two ways to get in and out and i went out the way i didn't come in. and no one was there. and no one came. and i was never taught, or didn't remember, that if you're lost just stand still and someone will find you.

so i did what i thought i should. i left the museum and somehow found our car and stood by it. in the rain. for a really long time. while everyone inside the building panicked and locked the entrances and searched for me. when they finally thought to come outside and check, there i was. next to the car. in the rain. and my mother and father grabbed me up and hugged me. and then my dad spanked me.

there are all kinds of ways of being lost. when you're little and when you're big. and i don't think there's anything wrong with being lost, as long as you have a few tools. the ability to be patient, don't panic, keep breathing, and above all just stand still until someone finds you. really, just stop. someone will find you. always.

it is in that spirit that i bring you this installment of your moment(s) of zen.

and if any of y'all do this to me, i will cut you. LOL! no. seriously. y'all gotta phone. use it.

keep in touch!!

x.

this life. right now.

it's easy to wake up in the morning to the sun and the birds and believe that it's a new day. and that anything is possible.

and then your feet hit the floor and the day begins. and that day brings what it brings.

today is filled with pain and heartache and brokeness for some people i care a great deal about. and that breaks my heart. and it reminds me. and humbles me. because while i am having my own problems here it's easy to forget the bigger picture. and the bigger picture is that if you are lucky to have love you are lucky enough. if you are lucky to have your family near you and healthy you are lucky enough. if you are lucky enough to have a brain that's working and a heart that isn't breaking then you are lucky enough.

nothing else matters in this world. nothing. not houses or jobs or vacations or things or the lack thereof.

i forget to be grateful. i forget to be open. i forget this is my one beautiful life. i forget that i am the luckiest girl in the world. sometimes i forget. i am silly that way. mortal.

and sadly, sometimes it takes seeing the pain and destruction in the world and another person breaking down to remind me to stop and be grateful. for all of it. the good the bad and the ugly. because in the face of the alternative, and there are a LOT of alternatives, it's all beautiful. it's all good. and i am lucky enough.

be good to yourself. be good to others. this is your one beautiful life, right?

x.

it's all fun and games until someone gets lukewarm vinegar in the eye.

okay, so while i was outside and messing about with some weeds i somehow picked up this wicked little rash on my face. that was a week and a half ago. it's going away but good lord the going is SLLLLLOOOOOWWWWW. then last night i went to tuck the duke in and kiss him good night and WHAM! his rock solid head smashed right into my poor not as rock solid lip. and now i have a dark contusion to go with the rash.

i could go on, because there's more. there's always more. but i'll spare you and tell you a little story instead.

it begins with me deciding that what i needed was a little beauty 'pick me up.' something to make me feel better, beautiful in the midst of feeling decidedly not. something to put a little shine on the chrome.

it also needed to be easy and quick. so i decided on a hot oil treatment for my hair. having never done it before i reviewed some sage advice and went to it.

now, it should be said that beauty treatments and me don't go exactly hand in glove. more like fist through windshield. me being the windshield. i'm a fairly low maintenance kinda girl. i can put on the dog when i need to, but mostly what you see is what you get. all that messing about doesn't come naturally to me. so when i get into that kinda territory the results are anyone's guess. and often make for a painfully hilarious story. or, you know, just painful.

one day i'll tell you about my one and only foray into waxing. i cannot give you any more details, specific or otherwise, than that right now but i will say it.was.not.pretty. there were burns involved. and peeling. i missed work. i may or may not have re-evaluated my relationship with god. hell, i think i MET god. just thinking about it makes me nervous.

excuse me. (deep breath in...)

i need a moment. (let it out slowly...)

okay. (deep breath in...)

that's better. (you're safe now...)

anyway, so i grabbed the warmed olive oil and the industrial sized bottle of white vinegar and headed for the bathroom. please, just take that sentence at face value and let's move forward. so, i rubbed the olive oil through my hair and wrapped it in a towel. i read a magazine for the wait. so far, so good.

now. i don't take showers. i take baths. i was told to do this in the shower but the shower is all the way in the back bathroom and i don't like showers.

huh? what's that you say about foreshadowing?

so i filled up the tub and per the instructions i was supposed to 1. wash out the oil 2. rinse with water. 3. on the final rinse dump about a cup of the white vinegar on my head with the shower running overhead and then rinse THAT out. easy. oh, and make sure my eyes were closed. so yeah. easy.

yeah.

the oil coming out was fine. i shampooed and rinsed that out. then for the final rinse i went for the cup of the vinegar. i was using the rinsing pitcher so i just eyeballed it and poured it in. and then dumped the pitcher over my head. and then the shrieking began.

okay, the shrieking was all in my head. good lord me shrieking in the tub would bring at least 3 boy humans and all the cats to the tub. no way. if i can cure a kidney stone with copious amounts of beer and the tub in the middle of the night and not wake a single soul then i can handle this. the tub is like my own private idaho. what happens in the tub stays in the tub and is my business alone. no witnesses.

OH! MY! GOD! did it BURN!!! i thought i had my eyes closed!! but in a split second my right eye felt like someone poured their lifetime's supply of radium in it. and i guess it was a little more than a cup of vinegar, too. a LOT MORE. and it was cold and smelly and did i mention THE BURNING!?!

so then i tried to overcompensate by filling the pitcher and rinsing my eye with warm water. which in the process brought open the other eye. and because i couldn't really see with one eye burning and all my god damned hair everywhere (OMG!!! WHY DO I HAVE SO MUCH HAIR!!!) i missed and then rinsed all the, by now lukewarm, vinegar that was on my hair right into both my eyes.

JESUSCHRISTO!!

and re-cue the internal shrieking.

i don't know how but i finally got the eyes flushed and the hair rinsed. i managed to haul myself out of the tub. i managed to only mostly feel like a lab rat whose experiment had gone horribly wrong.

so now i have two red eyes, vaguely blurred vision, and hair that smells like my kitchen the night before easter.

beautiful.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

Dear Universe,

You've been fucking with me for awhile now. And this most recent chain yanking you've been doing is just lovely. Because what girl doesn't like to be attacked on her vainest level? But as you can see you haven't bested me. I'm still standing. I still get out of bed every morning. Everyone around me is still warm and fed and happy and enjoying life. You haven't won. And you won't. Though I suspect that's not what you're after. I suspect this is all about some kind of 'lesson.' Fine. I get it. I can do this.

So give me your best until you're all worn out. And you'll see I'll still be standing. Because I know a secret. Do you want to know what it is? I'm going to tell you anyway.

The secret is that you can fuck with me all you want and I will never give up because I know just how good it's going to feel when you stop. And that's good enough for me.

Yours,
the girl

p.s. The other part of the secret is you need to have kick ass music around if you're gonna kick ass.

it's in this spirit i present to you this week's moment(s) of zen. kick out the kids and turn it up. and you're welcome.

(it's got a glitchy pause at the beginning. give it a few seconds.)

x.

a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. step #1; get out of your chair.

a few weeks ago the duke was NOT having a very good morning. you know the kind, nothing is working and so it's easy to snap and snip at those around you.

now, when a nearly 13 year old acts like this it's easy to remind him of his age and tell him to start acting like it and not like a 3 year old.

it's easy to yell at a nearly 13 year old who acts like this. to be incredulous. to be mad. to force the behavior away. with consequences or opportunities taken away.

but i know yelling doesn't work. and whether you're nearly 13 or 3 or 38 no one likes to be yelled at. especially if you're already having a bad morning. how does that help?

so that morning a few weeks ago i was watching him rant and rave and just plain have a bad day. and i remembered that occasionally when he was a little kid he would do the same. and i didn't yell at him or try to force the behavior away with consequences or opportunities taken away. when he was little and something was 'up' with him i would re-direct. get creative. i'd 'work' at finding a solution. i wouldn't just sit at my desk and yell at him to stop.

if he had a full blown tantrum (rare, but it would happen) i wouldn't shout at him to stop or leave the room and tell him to come get me when he calmed down. i would grab a pen and a piece of paper and i would go sit next to his mad little shouty self right there on the ground and just start writing down what he said. eventually he would be curious and stop shouting and ask me what i was doing. and i would tell him that if he's that mad, mad enough to shout and freak out, then i should pay attention to what he was shouting about. and he would stop shouting and just tell me what was wrong and watch me write it down. then i would give him the paper. and then we were done.

this of course DID NOT always happen. there were times i could NOT muster it and we both had to take a break from each other. the duke was a challenging and headstrong child. and i am a silly mortal mama. one day i'll tell you about the box of popsicles i threw against the wall. not one of my finer moments. to his credit the duke just laughed at me and told me to use my words.

but i always tried, then. at least i always tried. and i can honestly say that as my children have gotten older i've gotten lazier in the 'trying' department. because sometimes it's just easier to 'make' them behave than to figure it out. to keep sitting and holler from your desk rather than get up.

but, it was time to get creative again. so i got up from my desk and i went to the art shelf and i grabbed some sparkly penguin stickers that were lying there.

then i went and sat next to the duke. and i didn't preface anything or suggest anything, i just started talking. 'when you were little, you were nervous about your first few days of preschool. so one day i grabbed a sticker and put it on your hand. just like this.'

and i took a sparkly penguin sticker off the sheet and stuck it on the back of his hand.

'and that way, you could look at it if you were feeling nervous or missed me and it would remind you that i was thinking of you. and if you were having a bad day the sticker always made you feel better when you looked at it. and as time went on you decided that we had to put the sticker somewhere else because it would come off of the back of your hand when you washed or played in the sand. so i started putting the sticker on your sweatshirt or vest and you would get a whole collection of different sparkly stickers until it was time to peel them off and wash the sweatshirt or vest. and this went on for a long time. until one day we didn't think about the sticker. but by then you loved preschool so much you didn't 'need' the sticker.'

and then i got up and went back to my desk.

and the day passed much smoother than it had started. we did school, had a walk, ate dinner, etc. just another day, uneventful.

and later on that evening, when the day was finally finished and the duke was getting ready for bed, he came to hug me good night. and right there on the back of his hand was the sparkly penguin sticker.

i don't know how to parent a teenager. any more than i 'knew' how to parent a baby or a toddler or a preschooler. but i do know i can't buy into it being some great mystery any more than any child at any age. i'm just going to do it the way i've always done it. i'm just going to figure it out as i go along.

i do know that getting up out of my chair and going to them should always be the first step. the rest will follow.

(oh. and i slipped the penguin stickers in my purse just.in.case.)

x.

it's all right to cry. but not to shake your money maker.

Dear Marlo Thomas,

Okay. I know I always make fun of you and your whole 'Free To Be You And Me' deal. But really, you just made it too easy. Beyond that I have a lot of reservations of how the 70s panned out in terms of the collective parenting of that decade's youth. To which, you so creatively contributed. But that's a conversation for later. Preferably with a well trained therapist.

I have to say that while looking back now I can totally appreciate your message, but at the time it just confused me as I grew older. Because I didn't want to wear a hard hat or be a cop or race motor bikes. What I wanted was to wear short skirts and high heels and big hair and dance in music videos. Where was THAT in 'Free To Be You And Me?' Because if it was there, I didn't see it. Where was *I* represented in that whole egalitarian switcharoo stew?

And Marlo, you must know that it took me a long time to understand that as a young woman it was 'okay' for me to want to do shake my money maker in music videos. You know, for lack of a better term lo these many years later. To want to do that MORE than want to wear a waist belt and do a bunch of heavy lifting. While being a slightly suspect career path in general, I had to learn that it was 'okay' that the only factory I wanted to join was the C & C Music Factory. Union involvement optional.

I am not suggesting I was irreparably damaged, but damn girl I had to dance on a whole lot of speakers to work that out of my system. Have you ever danced on a speaker, Marlo? Yeah, they aren't so sturdy some of them. But I did it. Because we all need to learn how to rise up and bust out of the shackles and the confines and labels of our youth.

All that aside, I am writing you today to let you know how the afternoon passed in my house. My oldest boybarian spent it baking banana bread in the kitchen while his younger brother painted a picture of roses in the other room. And all I could think of was you. Well, after I smugly filed away that whoever the Duke ended up with couldn't accuse me of coddling him and therefore rendering him useless around the house. Damn right, bee-yotch! You'll get your home baked banana bread and you won't have a THING to blame me for! (Note to self; teach the Duke how to do the laundry. soon.)

Okay, so yeah, after *that* then I thought of you and your 'everybody gets a trophy because you're ALL #1!!!' approach that pretty much summed up the parenting creed of the decade in which I was born and bred. Which I then quickly blocked. And instead went for thinking of your message in its purest form, and for what it's boiled down to for me. And for how I see it, and practice it.

And that is how in my house it's not 'weird' to anyone that a boy would bake or paint a 'pretty' picture. Any more than it's not 'weird' that a pregnant mother would push her own stalled car out of traffic just because there was nobody to do it 'for her,' and because nobody stopped to help. So she pushed it herself. And nobody was surprised. That life is for living and experiencing and DOING free from consideration of what sex or gender you may have been born to. And in my house everyone's free to 'be who you are, just let others be who they are, too.' Okay, so it doesn't roll off the tongue like what you came up with, but you get the picture.

So, thanks. Thanks for being the first to expose me to how the world should just work. You know, if it worked perfectly. Always. (Except for the "dancing" thing. But, in your defense, I do believe that was an interpretational difference. I mean, look at Flashdance. She did both. But she had the whole 'Pittsburgh steel town girl' thing going on. Being from a California valley town previously known for cheap jug wine just doesn't have the same cache.)

Oh, and thanks for Alan Alda. 'Free To Be You And Me' was the first exposure I had to him, and hot damn I've been in love ever since. M*A*S*H just solidified that. Wasn't that the BEST show? Sigh. I'm only sorry I don't have a third son to name Hawkeye Pierce. Right?

Be well and give my best to Phil. You know, when AND IF he gets his break from all the housework and KP duty. Kidding!! Ha ha ha! Oh, Marlo. This has been fun.

Yours,

this girl

your moment(s) of zen.

i have been known to be somewhat of a controlling parent. not in a dream crushing, soul stifling way, but in that i once gave the duke a piece of bread and told him it was a cookie kinda way.

in my defense, a lot of what i did, am doing, is because of personal conviction and a WHOLE LOT of research, reading, and thinking about the kind of parent i want to be. when to introduce different foods as babies and toddlers, when to allow certain kinds of media influences to kids as they get older, and everything in between.

and a lot of it has been and is simply because i'm a control freak. it's just what i do.

BUT

that being said, i am aware of it and it's something i am constantly working on. recognizing where i can make improvements, being okay with some behaviors because they fit the way i choose to parent, letting go. sometimes. even though it's really really REALLY hard.

a balance if you will. or, a *valid effort towards* balance.

and as my children get older i am really really REALLY trying to learn how to just take one step back and keep my hands by my sides and out of their business. meaning, not jump right in and do it for them. lest they *gasp!* get hurt, or OH!NO! mess up, or god forbid just get to do something on their own without me butting in and showing them the 'right way' to do it.

and whether your kids are two or twenty or somewhere in between or beyond, i think this is such a valuable parenting tool to keep in your kit. the stay out of their way and let them figure it out for themselves tool.

because when you step back they get to step forward. under their own steam.

and, isn't that really what this is all about? this whole parenting thing? the shepherding them into the future? (well, that and all the snuggling. snuggling's my favorite.)

it is in this spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. it's really quite something and i encourage you to watch the whole thing. whether or not you have kids i promise it's worth the few minutes. and if you do have kids, by all means gather them up and have them watch.

x.

why i won't tell 2009 to kiss my ass.

i've been thinking a lot about 2009. i know it's all done and gone, but it's taken these first few weeks of 2010 to put it in perspective.

see, initially, like the rest of the world, i just wanted to pan it. to tell it how much it sucked, how glad i was it was over, that i was over it. don't let the door hit it on its ass on the way out.

but i knew that wasn't what was really there. wasn't all of what was there. because deep down there's gratitude. i am grateful for 2009 because i learned one of the most valuable lessons to date.

2009 taught me how to get on my knees.

okay, gutter brains, i'll give you a minute to work that image out.

there. all better?

the thing is 2009 did suck. majorly. it was hard. it was depressing. but it wasn't all bad. and in fact, 2009 was the year that made me the most grateful for this one beautiful life i have.

and as much as there was fear and loss and all that, the gifts of renewed friendship, generosity of friends and family, and emotional support was so immeasurable i cannot imagine that there is a luckier girl out there than yours truly. it's almost as if i got that rarefied glimpse of what might happen at my funeral. you know, see how people truly felt about me. and as morbid as that image is, it was, is, so amazing to see.

now, back to the lesson.

in all that sucking there were times i was just leveled. could not take one more step, one more minute of standing strong in the face of adversity. and so i sunk. all the way down. on my knees. and once down there what else is there to do. i spent a lot of time talking to who i believe is up there listening. saying the things i could not bear to say aloud. could not bear to think about. some times just crying because it's all i could do.

and in all that sucking there were times i was just lifted. such love and generosity surrounded me last year that there were times all i could do was sink. all the way down. and give thanks to who i believe is up there listening for all the fabulous people in my life. thanks for how did i get so damned lucky. thanks for reminding me what life really is about. not about money or houses or things. but about the relationships we are lucky enough to have with our fellow silly mortals. the enduring ones the brief ones the renewed ones the undefinable ones. i wouldn't trade any of them for the world.

there are times in our lives we are so in the thick of it we can't imagine how we are even going to take the next step. and i got that last year. and that's how i learned to just stop and not even try to take the next step. if even for a moment. take a load off. give it up to someone else for a little while. and that is a big ass sky above us. filled with whatever you want it to be filled with. with whoever or whatever you believe in. it's there. and it can take it. for a lifetime, or even just a moment.

and when you are on your knees whether it be in pain or prayer or thanksgiving, there isn't anywhere else to go but up. right? once you sink all the way down you have only just set the stage for your rising.

this is a crazy mixed up world. anything can happen. and some days it does. no one is ever prepared for the pain and the heartache. and whether the disaster is mother nature or man made when it hits you've got to figure out how to just make it through. and then make it forward.

while it's going to take another miracle to dig out of what 2009 brought, i wouldn't have traded any of it for the world. on paper it's a mess and totally fucked up. but here in my heart, i couldn't imagine feeling any fuller than i do with the real riches of life; family, friends, faith.

it's your one beautiful life. what are you thankful for?

x.

on another note, please donate as generously as you can to the people of haiti. if you're looking for somewhere to send your precious dollars (i know they are all precious, but they are even more precious to the haitians) please consider visiting the Partners In Health website and checking them out. they are already there and have been for decades. i have donated to them for years and couldn't be more impressed with their organization. it's not just charity it's a whole holistic community approach they promote. www.pih.org. thanks!

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was a much younger and more impressionable lass i was introduced to the jackalope. you know, part jackrabbit part antelope. mainly a desert dwelling animal, i do believe they were spotted as high up as the sierras. which is where i first heard about them.

now, i wasn't *so* impressionable that i didn't harbor *some* kind of suspicion about this actually being a *real* animal. BUT that's back in the olden days when we didn't, when we couldn't, wiki and google everything so how in the world could we 'really' know anything, right?

now fast forward to a few years ago at a local steakhouse with my husband. the bartender is telling us how the bar came over from england and is actually 'the' oldest bar in the state or the world or whatnot. i don't really know what he said because i wasn't really listening. because over the bar was the mounted head of a JACKALOPE! a full rack of antlers and everything! and right then and there i knew they were real!

so i say to the bartender

'hey! you have a jackalope!'

he kinda chuckled and said

'yeah.'

'yeah, i always wondered if they were real. cool.'

at this point it's dawning on the bartender and my husband that i honestly believe that the head over the bar is a 'real' jackalope. that they really exist and here's the proof.

so my husband says

'um, they aren't real. you know that right? that's just a rabbit head that somebody put antlers on. a jackalope isn't a real animal.'

'oh.'

bummer. because a jackalope would be an AWESOME animal.

speaking of bummers, this can be hard time of year for a lot of people. whatever's going on it feels like the short dark days and the long cold nights and the year coming to a close, not to mention possible financial and familial pressures, only makes it seem bigger and worse.

just remember to be good to yourself. go easy on the ones you love. that everyone is trying to make it through, just like you are.

and maybe this year we just go for the best we can do, straight from the heart. leave perfection and grandiose expectations to someone else. maybe we just try it.

and maybe that if nothing else, if the best you can do is just accept that it is what it is and just put one foot in front of the other and just keep moving forward, then hey, you're doing all right.

which brings me to this week's moment(s) of zen. it's 4 1/2 minutes and i encourage you to watch it and share it with the kids. enjoy!

bound bound bound and rebound.

happy winter solstice.

x.

still crazy after all these years.

i think advice on relationships is pure crap. mainly because unless you are in the relationship you can really have NO idea what goes on and therefore should keep your big fat trap shut. even when you're asked. seriously. do yourself a favor and just move along.

i know from experience that when we give advice or opinions we are just being preachy and projecting and so just goddamned glad it's not us that it makes us self-righteous. oh yuck, right?

because self-righteousness is like wine or candy or porn. it serves its purpose, sure, and may be all kinds of fun, okay, but at the end of the day it's just another crutch. and self-righteousness is even worse when employed by someone IN the relationship. however *justified.* because it sure feels good, but that's all. and it's fleeting. it's not going to be there to comfort you when you're sad, or care for you when you're ill, or hold your hair back when you're puking in the yard.

it's SO easy to judge somebody's relationship based on social mores and convention, but those are crap, too. and i am guilty as charged for doing so sometimes, but i'm working on it! so there.

a relationship is its own living breathing organic construct. there is absolutely no way any two could be exactly alike, and therefore there is no way there can be one set of 'shoulds' and 'shouldn'ts.' it's a ridiculous notion.

so with that, on this anniversary of mine i'm thinking of my experience with relationships. and with two marriages, one divorce, lots and lots of LOTS of mistakes made, heartbreaks, and hearts broken under my belt i have one very important nugget of "wisdom" i'd like to share. not because i have a perfect relationship, or because i think i know jack shit, but because i'm happy. i'm happy in my relationship and this is my way of expressing it. again, not because it's perfect, but because it's just right for me.

plus, it's my blog so i get to pretend i know something.

are you ready? okay...

LET THE PERSON YOU'RE WITH BE WHO THEY ARE.

oops. was i shouting?

people are always happier when they can move about their life being exactly who they are, not who someone else wants them to be. trying to change for someone or trying to change someone is futile and heartbreaking and absolutely no fun. barring a few exceptions, for the most part people don't change. they just don't. and wishing they would or wanting them to or trying to force them to just doesn't work.

and hell, isn't life just so much better when you are just...you? even if you are flawed and grappling and still working on it? at least there's a chance to find the answer, right? isn't life just so much better when you're with someone who is just who they are? comfortable with themselves? real? who doesn't have to try so damned hard? only to mostly fail because it's inauthentic to the real them?

so if you want to be with someone with some amount of happiness and success you need to be with the *them* that THEY are comfortable with, not the *them* that YOU want them to be. and if you can't let the person you're in a relationship be who they are then perhaps that's not the relationship for you.

okay, i'm off my soap box. for now. don't go too far, there's usually more.

and with that being said, i will offer the following exchange from a real life relationship moment in this house;

this morning i received the following e-mail from my husband under the subject *Dinner.*

"How do you feel about me making meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and a steamed veggie for dinner?"

to which i replied

"i'm confused? is this a trick question?"

and i'm going to honor my own experience and let my husband be *exactly who he is* and let him make me a 100% home made with love, absolutely delicious dinner while i do nothing but sit on my ass and watch. because i'm sweet like that.

still nothing but full blown excitement around here.

still crazy after all these years.

still the luckiest girl in the world.

x.

yes, internet, there is a santa claus.

so last night after a long day i was looking forward to getting wingman settled into bed, the duke settled in the living room with a book, and me settled with my glass of wine, my husband, and my television boyfriend.

i got wingman all tucked in and turned the light out and was leaving the room when i hear him ask

"mama, how big is god?"

sigh. there are times as a parent when you can defer questions for a later "better" time. like the time the duke asked me where babies came from on the way into target. but last night, this was not one of those questions. not even if by answering it it meant that you were going to miss your television boyfriend.

parental sacrifice is so great sometimes.

so i got into bed next to him and we chatted about it.

the thing is, you're never going to have a more honest conversation about god than the one you have with a child. with anyone else it's a matter of them trying to convince you that he does NOT exist and why. or trying to convince you that he DOES exist and why.

with a child it just is.

wingman has always been the one to come up with the deep thinking and the wondering and worrying. we've been driving in the car and he'll randomly bust out with something like "i don't ever want to die." or "isn't that sky just AMAZING?" or "i think i would like a stepfather."

by the way, as you may imagine, that last one really threw me when he said it. i told him i'd have to get married again for him to have a stepfather. and that wasn't going to happen. and wasn't he happy with his papa? he said "oh yeah! i just think it would be cool to have more parents to love me."

and the cool thing about talking to wingman about god is that he has his opinions and i have mine. and we can just tell each other what we think. and we're both listened to, heard. there isn't church or organized religion in our house, but there is a lot of spirituality and the study of history. and you don't have a lot of history study without study of religion. not properly. so much of what was shaped in this world was (is) tied to religion. jesus, what wasn't, right?( no pun intended) whether it was a civilization, a culture, a border, etc. you can't really get away from it. so in this house there's perspective, context, and the chance for your own opinions on the matter. it's all fair game.

and when you're 8 and you still believe in santa claus and the tooth fairy and you haven't soured on your president yet...when you still believe that the world is a good and right place filled with magic and wonder, and just enough real life, well god just fits right in there. because no one has told you different yet. and someday they will. but today, today you're 8. and you get to believe exactly what you want to.

the thing i love about thinking about the idea of/the existence of god, santa claus, the tooth fairy, true love, the perfect reuben, a margarita ordered from a restaurant that does not suck, etc., is that you get blessed with the most precious gift of all. hope. hope that the thing that is in your brain or in your heart does indeed exist. and that one day, if you haven't already, that you will come across it. you really will.

and i know hope has become a tag word of late, sure. bandied about in meaningless fashion sometimes. but just because it's become kind of trite does not mean that its real meaning and importance is negated.

that being said, to have hope as an adult is not always easy. not when you know that the world around you contains so much misery and heartache. when you may not have enough of anything that you need to just make it through the day, let alone the week, the year, your life. when there are so many needs in the larger world that you cannot even begin to think about it some days.

but when you're little, you don't have all of that. you just lie in your bed at night thinking about the things that 'could' be. things that 'might' be. hope is infinite. it doesn't cost a thing and it's yours for the taking.

that being said, my kids are HUGE believers of santa. the duke has said before, "OF COURSE santa's real. for one, my mother would NEVER spend, like, 70 dollars on me!"

indeed.

we were talking about santa awhile ago, in relation to a larger discussion on faith and beliefs and religion and agnosticism and atheism and all that. and the duke's theory was that for the kids who don't believe in santa, that's fine with him. but he didn't think it was okay to make fun of the kids who do. like there's something wrong with them. he said

"just like people shouldn't make fun of or tease people who believe in god or religion or have faith just because they don't believe or don't have it."

indeedx2.

bear with me because this isn't too formed as a cohesive thought, but to me, santa is the beginning for some kids about learning what faith is. faith right on their level. and by faith i mean the idea of believing in something. really truly believing. a precursor to actual faith if you will.

that for some kids there is this guy, a myth, perpetuated and totally co-opted for the commercial a lot of the times, sure, but regardless he remains a constant mythical *good.* something that these kids can identify with.

and his mere existence introduces kids to wishing. who else but a guy who is all about toys and candy and being good and elves and all the magic that surrounds santa could get to kids in that way? kids 'get' it. and sure we can talk all we want about manipulation and all that, but the fact remains that kids 'get' santa.

and this myth opens the door to the what-ifs. to believing in something that is so fantastical and SO preposterous (flying reindeer? chimney diving?) *that it just might be right on.* and kids know that the fantastical can be real. it's only adults who lose sight of that.

santa is about belief, even when it seems impossible. about lying in bed and wondering and wish making and hoping against hope that it will be how you want it christmas morning. even when you know circumstances in your house suggest otherwise. because wishing and hoping ARE real. they exist. and they're there even when nothing else is.

okay, yeah, i get the disappointment aspect. there's no real way around that. and having been disappointed as a child, and having seen a glimmer of disappointment in my own child's face i get it. (wingman has always wanted a Nintendo DS. he has never gotten one. he was too little then, and now they are just too pricey. he'll get over it. or he won't. who knows. as far as i'm concerned, that's what therapists and blogs are for.)

so yeah, i don't necessarily think disappointment is always a bad thing. but that's a discussion for another time regarding how parents perpetuate the myth if they can't fulfill it and all that. because i can see it eventually becoming a liability under certain circumstances.

does that make any sense? probably not. it did in my head. but that's neither here nor there because it's just one part of my larger point and i'm sticking to it whether it makes sense in print or not.

the bottom line is that for some kids, for me, i think you learn to believe and to wish and to dream with santa. and that's his real gift, his real magic. in the larger picture, it's not the stuff, it's the idea.

that being said, one day the duke won't believe. seriously, he's 12. the only reason he still believes in santa is because i let him. and because he knows how cheap i am and it's the only way he thinks he's gonna get anything good. and may i say that santa TOTALLY ROCKS this house. not in mass consumerist excess, just in real and true fabulousness.

and really, the duke may actually "know." word on the street is that he is rather an astute young lad. but he's not saying anything and neither am i.

and then one day wingman won't believe. and when that day comes, or the day comes that they really want to know "the truth," or they catch me in the act i'll say

"you know, i am santa now and have been as you got bigger. but santa is about belief and as long as you once believed that's all that really matters. and if you spoil it for your brother i'm locking you in the basement."

i don't care who believes in what. everyone is entitled to their own ideas about everything. god, the tooth fairy, the existence of the perfect reuben or a restaurant margarita that doesn't suck. believe away because i accept you and your beliefs just as you are.

but just so you know, i believe in santa just as much as my kids do.

merry merry.

x.

o little town two towns away.

so i was in the town two towns away that i don't spend time in but just happened to have been in twice in one week. the reason why this time was that wingman LOVES nutcrackers. and he loves that santa brings him a cool nutcracker each year. and i figured since santa is so busy these days that i'd help him out and scout around.

SO

i went to the various thrift stores in this town two towns away in search of vintage (read cool and cheap) nutcrackers. and one of the thrift stores is in a strip mall with a grocery outlet and a dollar store. there's also a store there called 'stupid prices.' but it's out of business. i wonder if the prices were too stupid or just the name.

anyhow, i checked the thrift store and didn't find anything. then i headed next door to the grocery outlet. it's got to be a chain because i remember this store from when i was little growing up in california. the name was slightly different, maybe 'canned food outlet' or something like that? but i remember the same rainbow logo. i also remember it was on one side of the freeway overpass and 'budget meats' was on the other. this was a convenient A to B for shopping in my household.

good lord, 'budget meats.' as you may imagine, this was a no frills concern that sold meat. cheap. it didn't smell particularly good, not bad, just not good. especially so during the scorching valley summers. and given its location, it was always an adventure as to who would be hanging around out front. who hangs out in front of 'budget meats?' and, it was not lost on me as a little kid that not only was 'budget meats' NOT a particularly reassuring name, it also had an unfortunately close proximity to a veterinary hospital. as an imaginative child this really gave me pause.

anyhow, so this 'grocery outlet' is supposed to be groceries on the cheap. i heard from a friend that they had an inexpensive wine section, too so i thought i'd go in and check it out. what's the big deal? i didn't think the groceries in this place were all that cheap, a LOT were regularly priced. certainly not something for me to drive two towns away to get to.

oh sure, unless you want "juice." oh, and it's in quotes on the bottles, too, because it's not actually juice. for some reason the 'grocery outlet' had fake juice up the whazoo. and chopped nuts, too. only they are chopped nuts packaged as "nutmeats." and i just can't. i don't care how good a deal it is. i just can't.

oh, and the wine section was a bunch of wines i've not only never in my life heard of, they all had suspicious labels with fake sounding 'fancy names.'

sure, some cheap wines can be very good. okay, drinkable at least. but these were REALLY cheap, and sort of 'off' looking. like something that inmates from an asylum would make for both a therapeutic activity and fundraiser for the facility. but not surprisingly, because i'm me and therefore cannot resist a good wine deal, i started to gravitate towards some label with elaborate swirls and something like "falalalaulia," and i was only saved by the fact that right then over the loudspeaker the song that was playing ended and the new song that came on was 'the christmas shoes.'

ARRGH! 'the christmas shoes!!' look, i love christmas music. secular, religious, churchy, all out god is our savior with the big chorus, i don't care! I LOVE IT! and often the sappier the better. BUT this song, every.single.time.it.plays. i get all weepy and cry!! but not in the good kind of way because it's such a terrible manipulative tear jerker! it's a bad sad cry. in fact it's nearly UNFAIR how it makes me cry. so i hear the opening bars and i immediately make for the door. whew, thank god or i might have actually purchased the "falalalaulia" or whatever it was for 1.99. because i know just by looking at it it was NO two buck chuck. okay, sure, it *might* have been on par with two buck chuck. it *might* have been the best wine in the world, but i'm kinda glad i'll never find out.

so i go next door to the dollar store. because it's there. and because i'm looking for red tapers for my winter solstice advent wreath and you'd think this being the season of red tapers and all that i'd find them easily. not so much. oddly enough, i cannot find red tapers to save my life. so i go in and what is on the loudspeaker? 'THE CHRISTMAS SHOES!' i kid you not! it's a wonder when these things happen (with alarming frequency it seems) that there really isn't a hidden camera crew when i look around for them.

anyway, so i spy candles right as i walk in. of course they aren't red tapers, because that would be too easy. BUT they are soy candles in their own glass holders, a nice brand i remember ordering OFF THE INTERWEBS FOR A RIDICULOUS SUM a few years back. and here they are! for ONLY 1.00! i am a cheap bastard so this at once makes me terribly angry that i didn't think of patronizing dollar stores more in my past and completely gleeful that this fabulous deal has come my way!!!

so i bought 1.

okay, i bought 4. and yes, because i have issues, i felt terribly bad about the extravagance! but they are so wonderful and i'm not getting out and going two towns over anytime soon AGAIN just to buy candles. to balance it out i did briefly think of gifting one or two though...sigh.

then i see the christmas section. and i have to look. and i'm in a crowd of people looking at the ornaments when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this older gentleman, wearing a beret and tweed no less, comes up to me...

okay, can i interject something here? in this town two towns away people don't wear berets and tweed. they are sailors, and steel workers, and meth heads. this is the same town wherein i got hit on at the stop light by the two gentlemen, one with a mullet, in the jacked up whack 4x4 with the handcuffs around the mirror and the suggestive bumper stickers on the back. where i was graciously invited for a 'few beers' at the 'drift inn.' and no, they were not wearing berets or tweed.

oh and another thing, while i'm already off track...

older men love me. and this isn't me tooting my horn (which due to a large ego gets more use than it should) it's just fact. men in their mid 50s to be exact. which, as i age, isn't terribly 'older' anymore. but it's 'older' than me. there's just something about me that they like. it happens where ever i go, but ESPECIALLY so in co-ops and health food stores. and i don't even go to co-ops and health food stores a lot since we don't have co-ops and health food stores out here BUT WHEN I DO it's like the pied piper of the saw palmetto set.

okay, so out of this whole crowd of people this older gentleman walks right up to me and says

"do you know where i can get some hanukkah candles?"

and it must be him or what he's asking or who knows but all the people in the crowd stop what they are doing and are now looking at us.

and i say

"as a matter of fact i do. i just bought mine."

and i tell him where to go. there aren't a LOT of choices where we happen to be, so he's thrilled.

and if there's anything odd about an older gentleman wearing a beret and tweed in the middle of the dollar store in a town two towns away filled with sailors and steel workers and meth heads coming right up to *me* and picking *me* out of a crowd while i am perusing the CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS and asking me where in the county, not in the store but the county because they don't sell HANUKKAH candles at the dollar store in the town two towns away, where he can find HANUKKAH candles and then ME KNOWING EXACTLY WHERE even though i'm perusing CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS because i just bought MINE for HANUKKAH well then i wouldn't know what it is.

because if you look up 'par for the course' in the dictionary you would see a picture of me that is captioned 'whenever she leaves the house...' and a place to fill in the blank of everything that ever has and ever will happen to me when i leave the house.

and this being such a big deal i have to blog about it just serves to illustrate that i need to get out more. if only it weren't such a hassle.

all right, i've got work to do so i'll wrap this up. but not before i leave you with this gem.

you're welcome.

x.