You know how you wake up at 4:00am with a raging sinus headache, then realize that your daughter is all out of school shirts, and right after that she tells you that all of her gym shorts are too small, and your son won't get out of bed even after you turn on his disco ball and tell him that he's missing the party, then you go to work where your boss has to do everything for you because your head hurts so bad that you can't even wear your glasses, then you go to Target to get some new sinus medicine and end up spending $60.00 because you had to buy your daughter some bigger gym shorts, and buy yourself some makeup remover and maybe a Twix bar, and then you go home and take the new sinus medicine only to realize that you just took NyQuil at 1:40 in the afternoon?

Yeah, me too.

Labels: Kids, Question of the Day, Ramblings

Since my son was born in May, 2002, I have had a lot of bad days.  Watching him get taken to surgery nine times, seeing catheters shoved into places that boys shouldn't have catheters shoved, watching him get stuck for IV's so many times that I've lost track and seeing him almost die twice will tend to make every day feel like a Monday.  A Monday when you realize that you're all out of coffee and you don't have any clean underwear.

There have been so many struggles that parents of a typical child can't even imagine.  And before someone comes along and tells me how fortunate I am that my son can walk and talk, I will say that I know we are lucky.  I have spent enough time around children in the hospital to know that things could be horrifically worse.

But, there have been struggles.  It took 13 months before tube-feeding wasn't an ever-looming threat and it was 18 months before he took his first step.  That was after weekly physical and occupational therapy appointments and more genetics tests than even the geneticists knew existed.

He is almost nine and he vomited while eating just yesterday.  He can't button his own pants.  We found out last week that he needs hearing aides.

As a parent, you fight through these situations.  You modify his surroundings, you buy him velcro shoes, you cut his bites into little pieces.  You, quite simply, adapt.

But, there are certain challenges where there is no fix.

My son is not only medically different from his peers, but also physically, emotionally, behaviorally and socially.  He is tiny, quirky and the most unique individual I have ever known.  Most adults "get him" and appreciate him for who he is.  Most kids, don't.

For the past six weeks, my son has been enrolled in a basketball clinic at his school.  This was more of a social exercise than an athletic one, as my almost nine year old weighs only 43 pounds.  He did, however, just move up from a 5T to a 6 Slim, so he has that going for him.  He'll be out of that negative 3rd percentile before we know it!

Over the last month, my boy learned to dribble and bounce-pass and he learned to play one heck of a man-to-man defense.  He had fun.  They ate pizza after today's scrimmage.  He tried his best.

He has no idea that I sat in the stands and cried this afternoon, because I watched every kid on the court look right through him when it came time to pass a teammate the ball.  My husband knew I was crying, as he sat stoically, but I told him that it was making me sad to watch and he replied, "I know.  It's awful."  If he was a woman, he would have totally needed a tissue too.

I can't fault the boys.  They're young and they wanted to win.  They were smart enough to know that my son couldn't make a basket.  Boys don't have the compassion that girls do.  No offense, fellas, but I'm going to have to generalize this time.  If my son was on the other side of the ball as a typical child, then he would have probably done the same thing.

But, he wasn't on the other side of the ball and he is not a typical child.  I watched him holding his hands in the air, waiting for a pass, for over an hour.  He got a chance to dribble twice, when one of the parent volunteers TOLD the boys to pass it to him.  He loved those few, fleeting seconds.  I could see the pride in his face.

As a parent, you want your child to shine, not be ignored.  You want the world to see what you see; that inside the quirky kid is a funny, smart, gentle soul.  Okay, okay...he's ornery too, but everyone does see that.

It is so hard to have a child like mine, but it is also very special.  It is a joy to see him succeed and to go places I never thought possible.  To me, he is a gigantic force in the universe.

But, to the boys on the basketball court, he is but a speck.

Labels: Family Life, Kids, Prematurity, Ramblings, Socializing, Special Needs, Things I Would Change

Last night I attended my fourth of thirty-six boot camp classes for which I recently signed up.  Just thirty-two to go!

Every other session is devoted to strength training.  I almost threw up during my first one.  Last night was my second.

After I struggled with my barbell, wobbling it side to side during pulsing bench-presses (high five to my spotter), I told the instructor, "Hey, I didn't have this much weight last time."

Which is when I really realized that this wasn't my mom's Jazzercise class, when she replied without sympathy and said, "So?"

Labels: Boot Camp, Ramblings, Shameless Statements

When I was growing up, my immediate neighborhood had a handful of kids my age.  Within one block there were three boys and a girl with whom I spent many a summer night climbing trees and playing baseball.

One of the boys was a good friend and I spent a lot of time at his house.  He introduced me to Monty Python and he had a one-eyed, guinea pig.  No, that's not a euphemism.

I had so much fun at his house.  I played his keyboard (oh my goodness, NOT a euphemism!), we battled at bumper-pool and there was a time, or two hundred, when we played video games.  Geekdom rules!

Fast forward to high school where one of my best friends was a boy.  I hung out at his house so much that when he moved away for good after high school, I still hung out with his mom all the time.  She and I used to have playdates for my daughter and her granddaughter.

I had another really good male friend during college, a group of men with whom I used to work that I'm still close to and, of course, there's my ultimate best friend...my husband.  He has been with me through highs, lows, trauma, drama, thick and thin.  Mostly thick, if we're discussing my thighs anyway.  Oh, and blogging; he's been with me through that too.  He also pays our mortgage.  He's a friend with all kinds of benefits.

Every one of these guys are people that I could see for the first time in years and pick up right where we left off.  There is no judging each other about the way we look, or what kind of moms we are, or feeling guilt because our house isn't clean and theirs is, and they're the head of the PTO and just made a craft and cupcakes and let their daughter have a slumber party where Supermom blended up cauliflower and put it into the punch, but the kids don't even know they're drinking vegetables!  Men don't care.  I'm pretty sure they're lacking the superficiality gene.  Because, there totally is one.

I am lucky that I have a husband who trusts me and understands that I like beer and football as much as I like home decorating and flowers.  He has a girl-friend (that's a friend, who's a girl) who goes to hockey games with him, because she loves hockey.  I don't.
 
I feel more comfortable that he's hanging out with her than with a lot of guys I know.  No offense, fellas.

And, if you are offended and feel like you need to argue that men and women can't be friends, then me and my male, blogging bestie will take you down.  That's right.  Downtown, Buster Brown.

Photo courtesy of Angry Julie.  Word.

Either that, or I'll squish you with my chin(s).

Labels: Bllissdom, Friends, Getting to Know Me, My Better Half, Photos, Ramblings, Socializing

Yesterday, I was looking at a catalog that contains therapeutic socks.

Not just looking at it, but seriously considering the purchase of compression hose because, good gracious, I'm almost 40 and after cooking up lunch for hundreds of kids, my dogs are really barking.  So are my spider veins.

I went to a night club the other night with some friends and I wore a sequined sweater...and tennis shoes.  At one point, I had to step off the dance floor so I could clean my glasses.  Mmm hmm...go ahead and picture all of that hotness.

The bonus?  None of the skeevy men in the club hit on me.  Though, there was that elderly guy with the motorized cart who asked me if I was single.  I thought about saying yes just so I could get a ride back to my hotel room.  Note to self:  If you're going to be walking a lot, don't forget your orthotics.  Or, a scooter helmet.


But even though I paid for dancing at that nightclub with bruises to my shins and calf muscles strained so hard that it shocked me, I didn't let it stop me from shaking my groove thing and having a whole lot of fun.

And, if that makes me consider support hose, then bring on the nylons.

Labels: Friends, Getting Old, Ramblings

My mom and I were recently discussing the names of her grandchildren.  I have three sisters, and between the four of us we have 12 kids.  Eight of them are boys. 

Their names are Stephen, Paul, John, Peter, Matthew, Daniel, David and Adam.

Do you think anyone can tell that we're Catholic?

Labels: Kids, Ramblings

You know how you have a day off, but your kids still have to go to school and you scream, "This is going to be GLORIOUS!", and it immediately goes downhill when you shovel the driveway for the fifth time in a week, and drop off the kids at school (which is not the same as dropping them off at the pool) and they argue the whole time, then you go to the ob/gyn and get a pap smear, and after that you go to the grocery store for the first time since December 23rd and trudge through the snow with a very full cart, then go to the pharmacy and find out they don't have your medicine in stock, and after you take your boatload of food home and put it away you go to your mom's house to shovel her driveway, and you're sweating, and coughing, and it's heavy, and your coffee is cold, and then a man comes across the street with his snowblower and finishes the job for you, and that man is 90 years old, and he smiles at you, and having crossed his (snowblown) path makes your heart happy and the day ends up being glorious after all?

Yeah, me too.

Labels: A Day in the Life, Question of the Day, Ramblings, The Places in My Neighborhood

I am not a small woman.

I know this.  I own this.  I have never been petite.  I will never be petite.

It isn't easy to be big.  It, especially, isn't easy to be big when you need to put on a bathing suit and actually allow people to see your thunderous thighs.

I mean, really.  It's one thing that everyone can see my gigantic, looks-like-I-play-in-the-NBA, hands, but allowing it to all hang out is something else entirely.

Last week, my family and I rented a vacation house for a night to celebrate my daughter's 12th birthday and the birthday of one of our friends.  While looking for the rental unit, one of the requirements was that the house have a hot tub.  Unfortunately we found one.

So, there I was.  Not only was it snowy and freezing outside, but the 104 degree hot tub overlooked beautiful scenery and I had been suffering from a stiff neck for days.  It seemed...appealing.  While the adults were all scattered among different parts of the house, I decided to bite the bullet, put on my bathing suit and climb into the hot tub with my daughter and our friends' two kids.

If anyone won't pass judgment on you it's two 12 year old girls, because they are so concerned about themselves they don't even see your thighs.  Plus, there was a nine year old to distract them...or irritate them...same difference.

I walked outside, removed the towel from my waist, climbed the steps and, under the gaze of three children, I dipped myself into the hot tub.

There.  That wasn't so bad, now was it?  Sure, I'm big...but, it's not like the water went pouring over the edge.  I leaned my head back and let the jets pound against my stiff neck.  I can't believe I was so worried about what everyone thinks of me.

Which is when my daughter looked across the water and said, "Um...Mom?  I think you need a tissue."

Labels: Kids, Ramblings, Shameless Statements

Well, another year has come and gone.  I am envisioning great things in 2011, though that might just be my husband's homemade wine talking.

I suppose I shouldn't get ahead of myself, so instead I'm going to take a look back.  Here are some of my favorite moments from 2010.

January - I was photographed for Ladies Home Journal magazine and my son's poor hearing led to, yet another, shameless statement.

February - I asked my first Question of the Day.

March - I wrote the post that would later be honored at the BlogHer Voices of the Year Gala and Art Auction curated by Kirtsy.

April - I poured my heart out while talking about my son's struggles and I sneaked into my neighbor's garden to steal some...pictures.

May - Ah...spring!  May brought about one of my favorite blog posts ever, which was Question of the Day II.  This.  Is.  My.  Life.

June -  I wrote a letter to my Grandma and celebrated my birthday.  If you call this celebrating.

July - This is when the heat started getting to me.  And to people's crotches.

August - Sigh.  August.  You were so beautiful.  Which is probably why I focused on inspiration and on gifts you don't get in boxes. 

September - Things stopped getting so serious when I shared my post-surgery, Dilaudid tweets.

October - I posted Question of the Day V.  I suffer, so you don't have to.

November - I wrote about my old dog, Blue.  I don't think she's long for this world.

December - I got the job of my dreams.

May you all have a safe and happy New Year!  Thank you for stopping by.  I appreciate each and every one of you!

Labels: A Look Back, Ramblings

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a surgeon. I was fascinated with the human body, with all of its intricacies and its ability to work the parts together like a symphony.  Cutting into a person to repair something, to heal them, well, what better way to show my homage?

The picture in my head was of fixing someone to make them whole again, to mend a broken part so it would sync with the body.  The picture in my head was one of seeing the person move without a limp, to dance without pain and of heartbeats and the color of a muscle.

I was looking at surgery like a creative endeavor.  

Unfortunately, between me and my art stood histology and microbiology and a lot of other "ologies".  It turns out that the intricacies of the human body are all very scientific.  Who knew?

During college, I worked in sales.  I loved sales and I was really good at it, but as it turns out, when you move from selling contemporary home furnishings and dinnerware to selling someone a 30 year mortgage, a lot of the fun goes right out the window.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying to decide what to be and allowed myself to be forced into work I did not enjoy.  Then I had babies.  Remember my discussion about the intricacies of the human body?  Yeah, well some of those intricacies will get you knocked up.

For the past 12 years, my life has revolved around shaping my children.  Helping them grow, keeping them healthy, encouraging them to use their brains, play harder, be smarter, be confident and kind.  Oh, and those intricacies?  Most of them come flying out explosively in a newborn's diaper anyway.

Through all of these occupational changes, there has been one constant.  There has always been my love of the written word.  Of course, reading the thoughts of others usually doesn't pay much.  If they paid you for love and enthusiasm, however, I would be rich!

Up until about a month ago, I was pretty discouraged.  In just over six months, I will turn 40 and as badly as I wanted to follow my passion, I didn't see it working out.  Being employed as a cook has been rewarding and enjoyable, but you can't keep the heat turned on by telling the gas company that you'll pay them with sloppy Joes.

I spent months looking for something that would allow me to do what I love.  I spent so much time job hunting that I had to stop other writing gigs so I could focus on earning more money.  I sent my resume to so many creative companies that it would make your head spin.

"Hmmm...well, she has no experience and not much of an education.  She owned her own business, but now she works as a cook.  This resume goes in the lost cause pile."

And, that's how I felt.  I was a lost cause.

Though, I looked at the bright side.  I still had my evenings free to chat on Twitter and to read blogs where I could immerse myself in the brilliance and creativity of others.  Too bad you can't get paid for that!

Until one day, when I opened my e-mail to find someone had sent me a rainbow.  No, not a stupid e-mail forward, but a real, live rainbow.  One that I could climb atop and slide down.  One where I flew right past the leprechaun and into a pot filled with golden Twitter streams.

My love of blogging and my passion for social media got me a job.

Not just any job, but my dream job.  It is exactly what I have been looking for.  For a long, long time.

I am reading the ideas and opinions of intelligent people and I am taking in the flow of language.  I see pieces of writing come together, each individual word on a page melding into one thought.

I am communicating constantly through social media.  I believe it to be the most powerful resource and tool that a company can have.

I am working from home with my children near me.  I am giving them room to grow, but still here to guide them.

And, none of this would be possible without a company who sees past a pathetic resume and, instead, sees that passion is, sometimes, more important than experience.

I am happy.  I enjoy my work immensely.  I love doing something I believe in.  All the parts are finally coming together.

Like a symphony.

Labels: Bringing Home the Bacon, Ramblings, Socializing, Tooting My Own Horn

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a reality TV junkie.  Before there was Survivor, Real Housewives and So You're an Amish Little Person and You Think You Can Dance (it isn't a show yet, but it will be) there were documentaries.  I watched those too.  Remember Jacques Cousteau?  I loved that dude and I don't even like to snorkel.

When I was in my twenties, Mark Burnett (the creator of Survivor in his pre-CBS days) began airing a program on cable called The Eco Challenge.  It was an adventure race that aired for a few days, once a year.  It was, quite possibly, the best thing I had ever seen on TV.

I looked forward to it airing each spring.  It was raw and captivating and I knew from the first moment I watched it that I wanted to be a competitor on that show.  Unfortunately, Mark Burnett had other plans and discontinued The Eco Challenge when he started Survivor.  Dang the bad luck.

Thankfully, another opportunity arose.  There was a second-best chance for me to show my endurance, strength and fortitude.  It's been a secret I have kept for a long time.

I was once a contestant on The Amazing Race.  This is my story.

My teammate was Melisa from The Suburban Scrawl.  We met in blogland, she brought me candy and a sash and we realized we both had the desire to race around the world.  Go figure!

People, take my advice...don't trust someone just because they bring you Lemon Heads.


The night before we left NYC.  Sigh.  I was so excited.

We started in New York and were told our first stop was Paris, France.  On the flight over, as I began to study maps (because some U.S. Americans do have maps) and research the places where we might be sent, Melisa grabbed my arm and said, "You can put those things away.  I speak fluent French."

I replied, "Really?  That's great!"  I couldn't have been more confident.  I couldn't have been more wrong.

About an hour before we landed, Melisa excused herself from her seat and said, "I'm going to grab my backpack and put on my French clothes."

I eyed her with furrowed brows.  "Your what?"

"I have some French clothes.  We'll fit in better this way.  Trust me."

Heck yes, I trusted her.  Until she came out of the airplane bathroom wearing this...


I stared at her.  "Uh, Melisa?  Why are you wearing a tutu?"

She replied?  "Well, it's either this or my beret."

I was willing to cut her some slack.  Maybe it was crazy enough to get us noticed.  Maybe we would be the first to get a cab.

Or, maybe not.

We were last.

We threw our backpacks in the trunk and jumped into the back seat.  In the excitement of the moment, I forgot about Melisa's tutu and ordered the driver to take us to the Louvre where we would find our first clue.  The race was on....for almost two whole miles until traffic slowed to a crawl.

I turned to Melisa.  "We need to tell him to get off this highway and find another route."  Then I looked at the driver's face in the rear-view mirror as I fumbled with my French, "Sir, autre...um..."

Melisa spoke up and said, "I'll handle this.  Sir!  Au jus!"

I stared at her in disbelief.  "Melisa, au jus means with juice."

She threw her head back and laughed.  "Oh, silly Momo!  It does not.  It means faster!"  She leaned forward in her seat and said, "Haute couture!"

I whipped my head to the side and looked at her to see if there was a hint of funny business going.  That didn't appear to be the case.

"Melisa..."

She interrupted, "You!  Sir!  Bonsoir!  Hurry up!  Filet mignon!"

At this point, I whipped my head in the other direction to see if there was a way for me to escape the car and this crazy woman in a tutu.  There was nowhere to run.

I went for the common sense approach instead.  "Melisa, you're not speaking French.  You're just saying French words.  They don't mean what you think they mean."

"Oh, bidet!  For the record, that means nonsense."

"No, it doesn't.  A bidet is for washing under your crazy tutu after you use the restroom."

"My tutu is not crazy!  It's French!  Duh.  Driver!  Come on!  Yoplait!"

"That's yogurt."

She scoffed, "Faux pas."

"That means mistake...which this obviously is.  Monsieur, vous arrêtez."  I looked at Melisa one last time and said, "That means stop.  I'm getting out right here.  Adieu, Melisa."

"Bon appetit, Momo."


All of this was (not) true...well, except for the candy and the sash part.  Oh, and the part about how Melisa and I want to race around the world.  Though I hate flying and we both hate heights and we would probably just end up in a dive bar drinking $3.00 margaritas.  She's fantastique like that.  Now go read Melisa's post about our imaginary Amazing Race.

Labels: Blog Punk'd, My TV Addiction, Ramblings, Reality TV, Traveling

You know how you go to work at your lunch lady job, and the maintenance man retires, the one who is the nicest man on the planet, who greets your son at school every day with a high-five and a smile and treats him like he doesn't have a special need in the world, when really your son would rather listen to "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" on his electric piano on the highest volume, ALL day long than do anything else, and the nicest man on the planet draws you funny pictures, and would do anything for anyone, and makes work totally non-work-like, and the school has an assembly for him and the kids sing "In My Life" and you start crying SUPER hard, and then the nicest man on the planet sees your son in the crowd and picks him up, and your son says, "I wish that you would never leave", and then they hug in front of the entire school and you sob so violently that when you go back to the cafeteria you can barely roll up the turkey wraps?

Yeah, me too.

Goodbye, Mr. B.  We love you.

Labels: Lunch Lady Land, Question of the Day, Ramblings

One evening, not long after we bought our house in 1998, I was home alone when I noticed a car slow down, then stop out front.  From my bedroom window I could see two men sitting in the front seat, looking up at my house.

They pulled away, but a few minutes later they were back.  This went on a few times...them slowing, then stopping in front of the house, then pulling away, only to return again.

As dark approached, I called my husband and asked him to hurry home.  Then I called my sister-in-law, who lived nearby.  Right after I hung up with her, I stood frozen in the dark corner of my living room as I saw one of the men peeking in the window just a few feet from where I was standing.

My first call was to the police (the man was caught and arrested at the end of my street) and my second call was to my husband to tell him that I wanted a dog.  Like, now.

A month later we went to look at a litter of Labradors.  I didn't pick out the snugly pup or the one who was covering me with kisses.  I chose the dog who was pulling my purse across the driveway.

Here's a hint...when choosing a puppy, the one who pulls your purse across the driveway may also turn out to be the one who drags a 25 lb., frozen turkey out of the kitchen sink and tears it to shreds that you find all over your house.

She may be the one who gets the trash can off the kitchen counter and spreads coffee grounds and dirty diapers in every room.

She could be the dog that you refer to as, "The Shark" because she eats everything in sight, including the entire box of doughnuts belonging to the construction workers down the street, a 12 inch tall, solid-chocolate bunny, a breast pad, and a ham shank that makes her leave piles of diarrhea and vomit all over the house. 

Also, that mess might just be discovered on your 30th birthday AND be smelled all the way from your garage.  Your detached garage.

Did I mention that she may jump the fence and run away frequently too?  So, you'll have that going for you.

But, she might also be the dog who fiercely protects you and viciously barks at anyone who even looks at your yard.  She could be the one thing that makes you feel safe in your own home, because you know she wouldn't let anyone hurt you.

She may be the most loyal partner you could ask for, but once you have a baby she leaves your side to go lay under the crib. 

She could be one of the best dogs you ever have.

But damn, it's going to hurt your heart bad when she gets old.

Fair warning.

Labels: Creature Features, Family Life, Photos, Ramblings

About a week ago, I had a nightmare. 

I dreamed that there was a knock at our front door.  Keep in mind, a knock at the door is a daily occurance around here.  We live in close proximity to quite a few schools and there are a lot of politically active people in our neighborhood.  Someone is always fundraising or trying to get you to swing your vote.

In this nightmare, I ignored the knock.  So the dream was, virtually, reality because that is exactly what I do when I'm awake, except that I usually see the person coming and shut the blinds first.

In my dream, I ignored the knock, only to hear three, consecutive knocks a few moments later.  Against my better judgement, I opened the door only to be pushed back into my foyer by an intruder with a gun.

Then I woke up.

This nightmare will stay with me for awhile.  I know that.  I clearly remember two nightmares I had when I was eight years old, a series of them that I had when my ex-boyfriend was harassing me and one a few years ago about me, my husband, our two kids and the SUV in which we were riding going over the side of a cliff.  Whoever said that dreams are rainbows and unicorns doesn't know a thing about my brain.

Last night, in my real life, someone rang the doorbell and I ignored it.  A few moments later, there were three, consecutive rings.  It was just like what I had experienced in my dream.

My 11 year old daughter asked, "Are you going to answer the door?"

I replied, "No."

She questioned me further.  "Why?  Are you thinking about that dream you had?"

"No", I lied.

She was on to me.  She glared at me and said, "You know, Mom, you can't let your nightmares control your life."

I may not be as smart as she is, but I'll be damned if I didn't open that door.

Labels: Family Life, Kids, Ramblings

So, you know how you go to work in the school cafeteria in your $100 shoes that you bought because your plantar fasciitis was really acting up, and then suddenly the hip you've had problems with since you were 19 years old decides to make you start limping like you're elderly, and then you go home to find your one year old dog got your bottle of Ambien off of the counter and REMOVED THE CHILDPROOF LID, and you think that you can't call the vet because she will insist that you bring her in and they'll pump her stomach and it will cost you $800 and the dog will still die, so you look it up online and see that you should induce vomiting, so you give the dog some Hydrogen Peroxide and then she vomits the entire world in your backyard while you're walking around holding your ears and singing, "La-la, I can't hear you making that hacking sound and re-eating your own vomit", and then you go pick up your kids at school and your son has a fever and he cries so hard that he throws up too.

Yeah, me too.

Labels: Creature Features, Kids, Question of the Day, Ramblings

I don't really know where to start this post and I, most certainly, do not know where it will end. I guess that I should begin by saying that, in the last week, I let myself get so overwrought that I actually contemplated giving up something I really love. No, not chocolate. No, not beer.

I thought about giving up this blog.

I used to believe that if you're going to do something...anything...you had better do it right, but I don't really have time for that mantra anymore. Now, if I'm going to do something it's half-assed or nothing at all.

My kids? Well, they get the best of what I can offer. My 25-hour a week job gets second best. then there's my husband, laundry, cleaning, cooking, errands, volunteering...oh, and this blog. Sometimes I try to sleep, but I don't even do that well.

I won't mention that I am overweight and in the worst shape of my life. Wait. I guess I did mention it.

Trust me, out of all of the things for which I am responsible, I would love to give up laundry and cooking most of all. I even like to cook, but the time it takes out of my day is ridiculous. Of course, that's if it's going to be done right...which it usually isn't.

On top of everything, I am looking for additional part-time work in the afternoons. Writing, editing, testing, whatever. I. Need. Cash. So, you know...call me. Who doesn't want a haggard, stressed-out insomniac on their payroll? Oh, all of you then.

I am tired of living in a whirlwind. I am tired of doing so much, but doing nothing well. I'm tired of being sub-standard and not living up to my potential. I'm tired of being fat. I'm tired of hating myself. I'm tired of feeling weak.

I want to write. I want to read books. I want to go to Yoga class. I want to put my pictures into albums. I want to make a life list. I want to spend time with family and friends. I want to run. I want to do better.

I know that some people handle and accomplish far more than I do. Good for them. I can't do it. I should get credit for my admission.

Unfortunately, I can barely find time to brush my hair, let alone do anything I want to do. And, unfortunately, there is nothing elective to give up other than this blog.

This special corner of my world, with the best support a girl could ask for, is the only thing I can quit.

But, before I do...I am open to suggestions. If you can help me save this place...this thing I love...that is so dear to me, I will be forever indebted. Just don't count on me having time to pay you back.

**UPDATE**
To all of you who called, texted, e-mailed and commented...thank you. Your support proved to me that I'll never be able to stop.

Labels: A Friend in Need, Ramblings

Ali was watching "Barney".

We used to give her empty coffee cans and let her drum on them, but on this morning she had flipped one of them over and was using it as a stool just a few feet from the television. She had her hands on her knees and her head was tilted backward as she stared at the screen.

I was preparing to leave so the two of us could go to story-time at the library. It was the only place where I could watch her socialize and consistently see her be the last in line when they handed out a craft after the story. She never pushed or stepped in front of anyone. She would always turn and look at me and I would wave my hand forward and mouth, "Go! Get up there!", but she never would.

I moved past her and her coffee-can chair to an open window and noted her frozen, I've-been-sucked-into-Barney state. I heard the sound of branches being chipped up by a tree service down the block. I heard dogs barking and cars driving by. After I shut the window and locked it, the phone rang. Ali didn't blink an eye.

"Hello?"

My husband didn't waste time with a greeting, "Hey, do you have the TV on?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Two planes hit the World Trade Center. Turn on CNN."

I grabbed the remote and sat on the corner of the coffee table. As I changed the channel. I glanced down to notice a death-glare from my three year old.

"Wow", I said. "That looks like an awful freak accident."

"I don't think it's an accident."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think anyone knows what's going on."

"Well, we're on our way to story-time so I'll throw a tape in the VCR and watch it when I get home and let you know what I find out."

I unwrapped a new tape, inserted it, hit record and we made our way to the library.

Ali and I found an empty space on the floor where we could peacefully settle in for the duration, but after ten minutes, story-time was abruptly canceled when an employee slipped the reader a note. It was on a small, yellow piece of paper and as she read it silently, I wished I could see through to the other side.

The woman reading calmly pulled off her glasses and said, "We're going to stop here. You should all go home."

Ten minutes later I was, again, in my living room. I stood in front of the television and hit the power button, I saw the second tower fall. I fell at the same time as it did.

I remember the pain as I crashed to my knees and cried out. I remember holding my daughter in my arms and reassuring her despite my sadness. I remember being very scared.

I sat in front of the television that entire day. I watched the towers fall over and over.

As the afternoon sun began to set, I went to the window and lifted it. There were no dogs barking, no cars driving past...not even the faint hum of an air conditioner. Just silence.

Then I flipped over Ali's coffee can and turned on Barney.

Labels: 9/11, Ramblings

You may remember how, recently, my mom called my niece's Volvo, a "vulva". And, a few days ago she was telling me a story about my oldest sister getting seasick when she called a catamaran, a "Cameron". Like my sister was floating around on a person's back.

Yesterday, my mom was telling me about a pair of shoes.

We were sitting at her kitchen table when she mentioned that she got some new clogs. She was trying to describe them to me when she finally said, "Oh, you know, they're those Gators that you and the kids have."

Labels: Mom Logic, Ramblings

Much to my husband's chagrin, I am a Twitter addict. I love to curl up on the couch with my laptop after the kids have gone to bed and read what everyone is doing in 140 characters or less. I don't know why I like it, but I do.

Another great mystery is why I like to go on Twitter after I take my Ambien. Some people sleep-eat, some people make phone calls, I even know someone who took their dog to the dog park and lost him because she was on Ambien. I feel the need to say it wasn't me. Anyway, some people do crazy things on that medicine. I just send tweets.

Last night, after my girly part surgery, I went on Twitter on Dilaudid (also know as Hydromorphone). I did NOT take Dilaudid AND Ambien, because then I would be dead.

Here, for your enjoyment, are a few of my Dilaudid tweets...

I'm on Dilaudid,daf; everylook lop;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

@secretagentmama But I'm halluciantiaon in my liviner oom and I've having fn. I jusst saw a buffalo

I have to pee and I hoptea I don't fall asleep in there like I did earlign.

I dind'dt fall saleep in the bathroom PROGRSSS! Now, eating blueberyy bread and I ckind of what to marry kit.

I thought my hsubnad was hust bringing me wi-ne. I was like, "Wahtewa are you CRAWZZAZZZYY?" His handmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm was empty.

I feel asleep on "hand".

I just said to my husband athat I vfeel like everything I'm telling you is from a dream.. He said, "That's ture." I'm really confursted.

@secretagentmama duid you just calle me Jar Jar Binks? Because I think you called me Jar Jar Binks, when clearly I am Yoda.

My head is like a bobble toy right now=============================

That's not the window!

just asked my husbna if the guy on TV is named, "Major" and he said, "No, it's Rex". Dude I was THAT close.

Thank goodness, I'm no longer in pain. Though you can still look forward to the Ambien tweets. I live for your amusement, or as I told a friend earlier...I'm here to confurst you.

Labels: How to Lose Readers, Ramblings, Shameless Statements, Socializing

One way I can be sure that summer is coming to its beautiful end is the addition of socks to the laundry.

My son has run around in Crocs since school let out. Actually, they're the same pair of Crocs he wore last summer. He's a slow grower. He wore a pair of 3T shorts the other day. He's eight.

My daughter wore her black, hand-me-down sandals all summer. She most definitely did not wear the cute, brown-leather flip-flops, for which we went back and forth to the store because the size wasn't quite right. You know, the ones that cost actual dollars.

I get used to laundry sans socks when the kids are out of school; other than softball and baseball socks, which are knee-high and black or knee-high and red. Meaning...the pair is easy to make.

My kids wear uniforms to school and their ankles have to be covered. So now, I will be carrying around a lot of socks until next June. I tote them up and down the stairs because I can't find the mate and keep waiting for it to turn up. This is my laundry basket and the socks I carry around week to week.

Labels: Family Life, Kids, Mom Logic, Ramblings