Tagging Myself Because I'm Just Too, TOO!

A~attached or single~ Attached!
B~best friend~ Dead: my mom; Living: Lizzie
C~cake or pie~ Cake...mmmmm....chocolate cake with chocolate frosting - YUM! Black Tie Mousse Cake from Olive Garden (excuse me while I wipe away my drool.
D~day of choice~ Sunday
E~essential item~ hot water
F~favorite color~ Green
G~gummi bears or worms~ blech! none. I give them all to hubbly bubbly.
H~hometown~ Juneau, AK - that's Alaska not Arkansas
I~indulgences~ chocolate...rich dark lovely chocolate...and a trashy novel
J~january or july~ July in Alaska, January in Oregon
K~kids~ 3 - two boys and a girl
L~life in incomplete without~ Robert
M~marriage date~ Sept 13, 1997
N~number of siblings~ 2 both boys. I am the cream in our family's Oreo cookie
O~oranges or apples~ Apples - braeburns to be precise. Although I like oranges. Every time I have one it's like, "Ooh, I forgot how good these are!"
P~phobias or fears~my kids growing up and leaving me and thinking I suck; being a horrible mother-in-law; Robert dying; doing new things that I've never done before; taking risks
Q~quotes~ Seriously?! Fabulous!
R~reason to smile~ mi familia
S~season~ Hmmmm....I'll take them all. I best like the parts of the year though when there are no holidays and no birthdays and no extra work for Mom
T~tag someone else~ Robert, even if I have to fake your answers, Mia, Lizzie, BiV (just because I want to tag you), Jill...ah hell, play if you want and if you don't just promise to comment!
U~unknown fact about me~ I have a tattoo.....Just kidding. I thought about getting a tattoo while in college but I could never think of a place to put it. (I wanted a stylized infinity symbol.)
V~vegetarian or meat eater~ Meat eater. I think about being vegetarian but then I lie down until the feeling passes.
W~worst habit~ picking my nose and biting my fingers (but not after I've done the former)
X~ x-rays or ultrasounds~ What an odd question. I realize x is hard but couldn't they ask if I've ever played the xylaphone before (yes); if I've watched x-rated movies (no); if I'm xanthocomic (no); if I have xenomania (slightly); if I've ever had xenomenia (not that I'm aware of); or if I'm ever xerotic (in the summer, in Oregon, yes). But no, they ask "x-rays or ultrasounds." What does that mean? Which do I prefer? Have I ever had them? Answers: Ultrasounds (because usually there's a baby involved and it's fun to see them) and I've had both.
Y~your favorite food~ sushi especially the raw fish kind.
Z~zodiac sign~ Leo the Lion

Thought I'd try something I learned on CSI....see, TV can be educational!

By the way, can you tell that I'm totally trying to calm down and not think about packing and running errands...and oh, dear, my knots coming back!

Slightly Panicking

Do you see this countdown thing to the right? Do you see how there are no days left, only hours? Do you feel the knot in the pit of my stomach worrying about all the things left to do? Rob and I stayed up until about midnight packing. I have a list of errands and things I need to pick up before we can go and, ideally, I will finish throwing in the last few odds and ends tonight at a reasonable hour and get some sleep.

Yeah. Right.

I have a feeling even if I accomplish everything and go to bed at a reasonable hour that I am going to be up all night worrying over what I packed and what I didn't pack. *sigh* Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to try and be prepared early. Maybe I should have left all the chaos of packing for the last minute when I wouldn't have time to think and to worry. Why is being prepared a good thing?

And I realize that this post is not terribly clever but it's hard to think with 747's taking off and landing in the pit of your stomach. Come on people! Be clever for me and make me laugh in the comments!

Apparently I'm Not As Clever As I Thought

I thought I was being so smart and unique and witty by giving a tour of my home. (Okay, I really did it for Mia who's been dying to know what my home is like and I thought, "Why should I do all this work just for one person?" So I shared.) Evidently, this must just be a big blogger thing and I am just another conformist.

Damn.

But, in the effort of salvaging something out of this, may I point out that mine was first? HA!

And that I didn't get the idea by seeing it anywhere else (although I'm now convinced that this is done all the time?)? Double HA! HA! HA!


And to those who were concerned by yesterday's red alert, I finally settled on microwaving the last little bit of chocolate chip cookie dough into a nice warm melted pile of buttery, chocolatey, sugary mush. Yum! Red alert resolved.

RED ALERT!

We have a major catastrophe.

Major.

I cannot find the bag of chocolate chips. I swear when we did this major stock up trip to Costco that we bought a 10lb. bag of chips. I remember the moment vividly as Robert and I had a conversation about it.

I said, "No honey, I think we have enough."

And I'm sure he gave me that look that says, "Darling, is enough ever enough?"

And I said, "Why no, snookums, you're right. Let's buy another bag."

And then we came home and DH put them away and I. can't. find. them!!!!

I used the last of our current bag last week when I made cookies. I wasn't even disturbed to be emptying the bag because I knew I had another 10lb. bag somewhere. I looked in the garage - no luck (no dead rats either). I tore apart our pantry but the big bucket that says, "salt," actually holds salt. Same with the ones labeled pasta and flour. What is up with that? I was hoping that one of them was filled with chocolate chips in disguise but no such luck. I even checked the freezer thinking that we put the there for some odd reason. No. Nada. Just chicken and pork sausage. And vegetables. Seriously? Where are the chocolate chips?

Finally, I called Robert. At work. You have to understand that I am not ever supposed to call him there. They don't like it. The children must be bleeding from an artery or the house on fire before I make that call. But I did because this is so an emergency.

"Robertwherearetherechocolatechips?" Just like that because I'm so frantic.

"We didn't buy any because you said we had enough."

"No. No. You didn't listen to me and we bought them anyway."

"No we didn't."

"We didn't...." Feeling tears welling in my eyes.

"Nope."

"Well why did you listen to me????? Don't you know you aren't supposed to listen to me?!?!?" slightly enraged because, really, this is all his fault. He knows my addiction. He knows!!

"Maybe next time you should listen to me when I suggest we buy something."

"Fine."

Silence. Sinking in that just maybe, maybe, he doesn't think this is the emergency I do and that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have called.

"Sorrytobotheryoubye."

"Bye." I think I heard him laugh.

So that's it. No chocolate chips. And I'm cheap. Have I mentioned how cheap I am? I refuse to go to Safeway and spend $2+ on a 12oz bag of chips when I can get 10lbs (10 POUNDS!) at Costco for $15. Nope. Can't do it. But I have to have the chips. But they're expensive. But I have to have chocolate. No, Maraiya, you will survive. But....NO....But....

I'll be going on like this for the next few days until I go to Costco or fly to Juneau and Mia shares her stash.

BTW, my birthday is coming up and donations are always accepted (remember I like the dark stuff - no milk chocolate please!).

Good Moments

It's summer vacation and I have spent many, many hours and days being a referee. I have heard whining and foot stomping and been talk backed to. I have had all those moments that make me want to pull out my hair and wonder why I didn't practice birth control better.

Then....

Today we were playing outside at a park. Rhys and Lulu were swinging, the sun was shining and there was this fabulous cool breeze. I closed my eyes, lifted my face to the sun and heard my children laughing. *click* Inner snapshot. These are the moments that make me so grateful to be alive. These are the moments that make me happy to have children and long for more. These are the moments that I am grateful for my body; I love to receive wind kisses from God and sticky, strawberry infused ones from my children.

Today was good.

Robert's Home!!!

And I am so happy!!!

100th POST!!!

Has anyone read all of them? Really? Every. single. one? Yeah, I thought so, just me. Maybe that's a good thing....

I was trying to think of something new and fun to do - 100 is a big number; I had no idea I'd stick with the blogging thing this long let alone post 20+ posts in one month. So to celebrate, y'all are invited to my house. Look - I even made you cookies!

Now admit it, who's your favorite blogger? Not me? Well, I would be if "Wonkavision" were real and I could just blast these babies over to your house - mmmm, real butter, extra chocolate chips. Y.U.M!! But, *sigh*, I guess I'll just have to sacrifice for you. Now, (munch, munch, chomp) ifth ya culd pease (swallow), ah, please follow me. And, for the record, no commenting on the mess or my lack of talent as a housekeeper. (I already know!)

Welcome! Our piano, fly tying and lure making gear as well as a random box of hand-me downs are ready to greet you. Shall I play a ditty? Which hymn would you like? I know - not very danceable but it's where my (cough)..um..playing talents are needed the most.

To the immediate left we have our living area (yes the room is only 10' wide but 30' long; it's not an optical illusion to make my front room looking looong and skinny - it is what it is.), aka, Robert's bedroom.

(I have managed to put up the pillows and extra blankets - see them there behind the book shelf next to the love seat? - since Rob's been gone for over a week. And here you thought I hadn't cleaned up at all!)

To the right is our wood stove - the only used heat in the house.

Did you read that Robert? The cadets are just for the mortgage company - we don't actually use them. Usually there is more on the mantle but our kitty is getting more and more adept at climbing and well, I'm afraid for the life of anything up there. (Note her climbing perch to the left of the wood stove, which is really just to keep the dog from eating her food, and our lab's kennel.)

Oh, and I have to point out to you, see the rack on the wall behind the lamp in the living room? Here, I'll blow it up for you. The rack holds our movies. I recently moved the kids' movies to make room for all my exercise tapes (the bottom two shelves) thinking that the constant reminder would help....Has it? Uh, well, hmmm...no. But it's only been three days since I made the switch and one of those days was Sunday and oh, HEY - when was the last time you worked out? Yeah, I thought so. Moving on....



Next we'll just step forward to the small open space we like to call our "dining room." I know, I'm optimistic (makes up for my mourning on the longest day of the year now doesn't it?). See how close it is the back of the piano? The children have to sit back in the corner because Robert and I can't fit. And see that deep fryer on top of the dishwasher (right next to the flowers on the photo)? That's why we don't fit. -- Ooh, hey, there's my Mr. Quinn. Cute isn't he? I think even paranoid DH will let this photo fly.

As you can see, off the back of the dining room we have two bedrooms (the left is for the boys and the right is mine) and if you look closely you can just see the edge of the door to our one and only bathroom.


The bathroom is a small affair but big enough for the necessities. And hey, the toilet is so close to the shower you can almost take care of all your needs at once! See the mirror? That's the only one in the whole house, the only one; I can only see myself from the waist up. That's how I convince myself that I'm really not this big and those stretch marks from child number 1? Gone. Yeah, I like to dream. Oh and that black cord in the picture on the right? That's our new hair dryer. I bought that, not for me, but for my 9yo son who likes to spike his hair. Is it a bad thing when your son uses more product and spends more time styling his hair than you do? No? Good. Maybe they'll let me keep my chick card.

My bedroom is next on the tour. Again, no commenting on the housekeeping or lack thereof. I was going to say, "Move along folks, nothing to see here," but I do want to point out the dolls in the middle of the shelf in the picture on the right. See it?

The one to the left was my mother's. Her mother made them the Christmas before she died (my mom was 1.5yo). The doll to the right is a doll my mom made for me. I wanted to keep my mom's doll (her two sisters each have their own as well) for posterity but I was going to get rid of mine until I put them together and saw her doll with brown eyes and mine with blue eyes and well, now they sit together. (Yes, I cried over doll eyes. I KNOW!! -- now, can we just move along?)

The boys' bedroom is next. Robert built the bunks (hard to tell right?). Well, they may not be pretty but I could stand on the top bunk and jump up and down (if I didn't pass out from hitting my head first) and nothing would budge. These things are solid and perfect for my two growing boys.

The little closet to the left is the only closet for all three kids. (Lulu's 8'x7' room is too small for a closet.) Quinn's dresser is next and Rhys' is to the right. As you can see, my kids have inherited my clutter -oh -just -stack -it -anywhere gene. We tried to get organized (see those lovely storage towers) but have had mixed success. That and my children have been cleaning their room all by themselves for the last six months. At least the floor is generally walkable. Oh, before we go, make note of that doorway next to Rhys' dresser (we'll come back to that). See, the boys' bedroom has only inside walls and no window (perfect for convincing them it's bedtime in the summer) so they have to have two doors to provide that second exit.

Okay, now we'll back up into the dining room.


Oh, hello Quinn - why haven't you moved? (Hahahaha, yeah, I crack myself up!!) This time we'll head off to the left, past the deep fryer..again, if we had Wonkavision, I'd make you some fries but....sniff...oh, well. How 'bout you just go to McDonald's - on me - really, send me the bill. It's okay. I'll wait....And wait....Could you drive faster? Oh good, you're back. Let's head into the kitchen.

Notice the griddle on the counter - the boys made dinner tonight: bacon, eggs made to order and toast. As long as I don't cook, who am I to complain?

Ahhh, dishes drying next to the sink and our beloved Ish the Fish. I know you can't see him (the opaque plastic makes it hard) but in that white ice cream gallon bucket, right next the empty Gatorade bottle being reused as a water bottle, is Ish the Fish. He was won at a preschool carnival and has survived 2 years in that bucket. At this point I'm afraid to get him a real goldfish bowl; why jinx it if it's working just fine? Those kids on the fridge - not mine. Totally borrowed those photos to stage these pictures...okay, that's a lie. I know who they are. But I'll never tell.

Next in line is the hallway to the back hallway (hey, we didn't build the house, we were just the suckers who bought it) and the home of my computer. I love my computer. I love my internet. I love to blog. (Perhaps you should just give us a moment alone....)

There are two closets down this hall.

The first, on the right, is our pantry, which, you'll also note, is directly behind the computer desk. It makes snacking while blogging so easy. (See, there was a reason to our house buying madness!) The second is our file storage, extra plastic bags, canning supplies, sheet music, ironing board, too big to wear yet rubber boots, extra plant pots and breaker box storage area. It's very handy.

Finally we come to the end of hallway #1 and the laundry area. See my pretty plants? Aren't you impressed that they're still alive? I am in awe of my indoor gardening skills!


See my pretty machines? I lusted after them for years. (Yes, I know it was wrong but my DH loves me anyone and one day he did bless me with these wondrous machines - after the old ones kept flooding our floor and the dryer stopped even turning but that's another story). And yes, I could have taken a better photo but I wanted you to see all my hard work (folded laundry), our beauteous water heater and the plethora of cleaning products (just to prove that I do occasionally clean my house - I know you were wondering).

Okay, it's been a long tour and I know you are getting tired, but we've got just a bit more to do. I'm sure you're wondering where my darling daughter sleeps. Well, wait no more....

We are now in the back hall (remember that extra door in the boys' room) and Lulu's room is at the end of this hall. It used to be one long hall but DH used his handy dandy hammer and removed a sliding glass door, boarded up the extra door in my room and added a loft bed and a wall, et voila!


Lulu's Room. A wee bit more organized than the boys but certainly messier. We keep trying to convince her that, yes, a 4.5yo can clean her room. She insists it's too hard. (That's her dresser on the left.)

The chair on the left goes to her new vanity. (The middle drawer isn't really a pull-out drawer; the top lifts up and has a mirror.) After we put it in, she immediately asked for make-up to go in it. I told her when she was 10, she could have some play make-up. She's convinced that she will be 10 on her next birthday. I should have just said "No!" and saved myself 5.5 years of whining.

So, that's my humble little home. But before you go...oh please don't groan, it's just that I really must show you...my books. You didn't think you could leave the home of a Johnny, a bibliophile and a philologist without seeing my books did you? I won't show them all...just the major highlights.

These are some family history books, kids' chapter books (and the doors on either side are kids' bedroom doors so they can sneak out at night and get new books to read - see how I encourage their little minds to grow?!).

This is my wall of books, mostly stuff from college and what I've picked up at library sales. I have even culled the herd a few times and I still have all this left.

The first is mostly picture books and education books for the kids. But see those doors on the bottom of the shelf? Guess what's behind them? Yup, more books (music for me and cooking for Robert).

Well, hey, that's about it. Maybe next time I'll take you out to the garage and show you DH's pride and joy - his '56 Chevy Pickup. But, until then, thanks for stopping by. Hope you liked your cookies and fries! Also, thanks for not commenting on my housekeeping. Really. I so appreciate it. you were a super fabulous guest. Hope to see you again! Okay. Bye-bye. Good bye now. Have a safe trip home. Oh, but please leave a comment first. Because, well, this was about 3 hours of hard work and really I'm just an attention freak. (wave) Bye!

Are you gone yet?

Hallelujah! *sigh* My cheeks hurt from smiling.

Why I Love Math

I love the neatness of the problems, simple sentences with numbers and fanciful notations that all have meaning. I love that unlike Esperanto, math is truly the universal language.

I love that, higher math which I have never studied notwithstanding, every problem has a solution. I love that you can even get partial credit for the wrong answers, an "Atta girl!" for the effort put into solving the puzzle. Where else do I get that? Certainly not at home - no one gives me credit for a bathroom fully cleaned let alone one only partially done.

I love the cool logic of geometry. It is like the balm of Gilead to my emotional soul. When I lose myself in math, I block out all of the crazy thoughts I can't solve, all of the crying and sadness and euphoria and just feel the knots work out. 8/16 becomes 1/2. Simplify. Simplify. Nothing is too complex. Everything has rules but they are straightforward and understandable.

Circles are my favorite shape. Any line that cuts through the center will be the same length as any other line cutting through the center. There are infinite points of symmetry and, arguably, so many sides that it appears as just one line; the circle embraces the mystery of the infinite in the one. As a woman, I identify with the circle and the curves and I love that it is only made definable by pi, an irrational number, or by trying to square the circle. The feminist in me loves the fact that man can only find the area of a curve by breaking it down into an infinite number of rectangles; I feel as though something is still untouched and while it can be understood enough to work, it still falls short of true comprehension.

In math, I see God. He's there in the symmetry, the graceful, elliptical movement of the planets and the ratio of phi. I find Him in the rule that you can do anything to an algebraic equation as long as you do the same thing to both sides; He has given no law that is merely temporal and my choices here, will effect who I am in the afterlife.

I love graphing and parabolas and hyperbolas. I love limits and the idea of approaching infinity but never getting there. Math is beautiful. It is poetry in numbers. It is the world and life reduced to a simple phrase.

When I think about becoming a math teacher, I think first and foremost of trying to get others to love math. I want them to see the beauty of a quadratic equation and understand that they really will use math on a daily basis, even algebra. I want them to feel at home amongst the numbers and know that there is some part of math (arithmetic to Non-Euclidean geometries) that they can relate to and find meaning in.

Exhausted Angst Ridden Sabbath

I feel like I need a pensieve from the Harry Potter books. I want to stick a wand to my ear and pull out all of the thoughts that are multiplying like tribbles and be left with a happier, lighter brain. These last two sentences should serve as a warning; I have a feeling this will be a long (meaning Lizzie won't be reading it so I can say ANYTHING I want about her as long as I bury it in the text) and rambling post and may digress in tangent after tangent, but really, I need to lighten my brain load.

First, let me just say that I miss my husband. Terribly. My dad called last weekend and needed some help (my dad sells and services outboard engines and boats) working on an inboard, which is essentially an automotive engine built into a boat; my husband is an auto tech. So, Monday I booked the ticket and Rob flew up to Juneau that night. He was supposed to come home yesterday but Alaska being Alaska doesn't get next day air and the part he needed and ordered on Tuesday didn't arrive until Thursday afternoon, blah, blah, blah, didn't have it ready to make his flight on Saturday so now he's coming home on Wednesday. *sigh* I just miss him walking in the door. I miss his patience with the kids. I miss being held and the relief that comes from another human's touch.

Happily, Rob's sister called their dad and Grandpa took the kids all day Saturday and even made us french fries and hamburgers (his specialty) for dinner that night. What a gift! I so needed that. Not only because Robert is gone but the kids and I are going north less than one week after Rob gets home and we'll be gone for a month. Single parents - my heart so goes out to you! I keep telling Robert that in August I will be disappearing for a weekend. I'm thinking lots of rich chocolate and lying somewhere in the sun.

Church was hard today. The last few days here have been muggy and warm and overcast. The church building, we are the afternoon session, was 10 degrees warmer than outside (which was fairly cool with the breeze). I was so uncomfortably hot the whole time, I barely heard a word spoken. I felt the spirit and talked a bit with God but anything else was a wash. Then, Quinn got stuck. He was reading our Book of Mormon comic books and decided he would rather lie down on the floor, despite my urgings to join us on the pew. Well, he swung his feet up (man, I suck as a story teller) and he got stuck. The soles of his shoes are that non-skid stuff and the length from his knee to his sole perfectly matches the height of the pew. He was screaming and crying (probably not that loud but it felt loud to me) and would get more distraught whenever I touched his leg. I untied his shoe (I don't think that did a darn thing) and then ended up using the "man technique" - push hard. I gave his heel a sharp push and he was free! I scooped him up and loved on him telling Maryann, who was sitting in front of me, "Robert is never going to leave me again." But the whole time I kept thinking, "No, I'm going to leave him and jet off to Juneau for a whole month and I am willingly choosing to be a single mom for a month and what the hell was I thinking?!?!" But we survived Sacrament Meeting without further incident and then my children dashed off to their respective classes. Big. Sigh. of Relief.

Gospel Doctrine was better; I really enjoy our teacher, but I was frustrated by some of the content and didn't really know what to say. Today we studied Mosiah 29 - Alma 4 and discussed, a great deal, the government of Nephite judges versus our modern government (our teacher is a city manager) and all the parallels between then and now. My mind has been twirling in circular arguments ever since.

Our teacher specifically pointed out the new California law allowing homosexual marriage as an example of wicked people having a wicked government (not his words, but the gist). Okay, I can't hide the fact that the LDS church teaches that homosexuality is an abomination before the Lord and is specifically preached against. So, accepting that tenet, I still don't arrive at the same conclusions as everyone else. Am I defective? Do I just not see some part of the bigger whole? I just get so tired of all the lines in the sand, all the distinctions, all the "your wrong and I'm right," all of the pissing contests, all manner of "ites." Someone in class mentioned how it was interesting that so many conflicts came up in just their first year of the reign of the judges and a bit more freedoms than the previous monarchy.

I replied, "Isn't that the problem with freedom? That's the seductiveness of Satan's plan. We knew coming here that some would be lost and that we would sin and Satan tried to persuade us to follow his plan where we could all be saved. There is something inherently desirable about that plan. And now we're here and we're all trying to live our own lives as we understand them. This world is imperfect and we don't all believe the same but I cannot begin to intrude on someone else's liberties without risking my own. So how do we do it? How do we live our lives according to our standards, protecting our worlds and our children, and yet give the person next door the same opportunity?" I didn't hear any interesting responses. More of the same. But I get so sick of the party line.

Aren't we all God's children? Shouldn't we love each other as Jesus loves us? Shouldn't we have unconditional love for every other human being on the planet, simply because they exist? To which, I'm sure, someone would argue, "Yes we should but we only have to connect with them on certain levels if they choose not to follow God's laws." Okay, but how isolating should we be? Jesus went out among the people and sat down with the vilest (according to the Sanhedrin) sinners of the day. Who are the vilest sinners of the day? I think they are the people whom it is hardest for us to love - the gay man down the street, the homeless woman on the corner, the family of a different race down the block; whomever we see as a challenge, a person to whom our initial reaction is to run away. How do we love them? By being genuine friends. I find it very telling that the only people Jesus ever condemned were the Jewish rulers of the day and their self-righteous judgment of others; to the prostitute, the publicans and all manner of people He offered love, compassion and healing. What am I offering? Maybe right now I need to start being more compassionate to those I attend church with.... :)

I'm tired. I've been arguing both sides of this discussion in my head; I've been going back and forth and wondering if I'm drawing my own lines in the right place. Am I truly doing what Jesus would want me to do? If homosexuality is truly an abomination, what does that mean for me? Whenever I try to think of an answer, I try to think how I would react if one of my children came home and told me he/she was gay or wanted a sex change or any taboo subject. Wouldn't my first priority be to remain in some contact with that child and maintain a loving, supportive relationship?

But then I wonder about making righteous judgments. Am I doing that? Or am I just failing to judge at all? Am I really standing up for the gospel and what it means to be Christian?

But I always go back to that, "Love one another as I have loved you," and I just can't draw a line. And so, I support gay marriage. I would let my children play at their houses and have them over to dinner. I support the idea that drug addicts can reform and should be given second chances. I support the idea that Evangelicals and Mormons have more in common than not and should stop fighting. I support the idea that there is truth in every religion. I just want to know people. I want to be able to look at a homeless person and a PhD with the same eye. I just want to stop hating and separating and seeking ways to different from each other.

I'm tired. All of this is exhausting me. I can't help but think that this is more body memory stuff. I'm still on edge. My head whirrs like crazy - not that my voices are back but my own thoughts are getting more and more frantic. I left Relief Society today (I was too hot) and just walked outside in my bare feet, lifted my face to the sky, closed my eyes and received wind kisses from God. I'm sure I looked like a nut. Sometimes I just want to go home.

Least Favorite Day of the Year

Perhaps this forever brands me as a pessimist but today is my least favorite day of the year for the simple reason that the days will from this moment on grow ever shorter until December 21st (which, coincidentally is my favorite day of the year) when they grow longer again. I love the long days and I miss them in the winter. I suppose it doesn't matter quite as much now but growing up in Alaska it was always comforting to know that even if my plane home from college didn't get in until 10:30pm, it would still be light enough to see everything that had changed or remained the same in my absence. Conversely, in the winter, I couldn't turn on enough lights.

I have always wanted to travel to Barrow, Alaska, or somewhere above the Arctic Circle, and live there through three months of undying sun. I don't care if it rained or not, just the daylight is enough. Someday. However, today I mourn (just a bit) as I watch the day slowly die one minute at a time for the next six months.

1 Down, 32 Left To Go

I'm Invited

I just received an invitation:

You are invited to JDHS Class of '93, 15 Year Reunion.

In 1993, Jurassic Park and Nirvana ruled, Beanie Babies were launched and Intel introduced the Pentium Processor. A gallon of gas cost $1.16 and you graduated from JDHS!

Yes, can you believe it's been 15 years? It seems like just yesterday we were cramming for finals, writing our Senior wills and posting photos on Koelsch's wall. Come find out what everyone's been up to, meet their spouses and kids and reminisce about the days as a Crimson Bear.

Please RSVP by Mon June 30. Food will be provided (Burgers, Garden Burgers, Brats and sides) along with soda and water.

Hope to see you there!

So yes, I'm invited back to visit with all my friends from JDHS, home of the Crimson Bears and the infamous "Bong Hits 4 Jesus" episode and law suit (though all that was well after my day) and I'm a bit nervous about accepting. The problem is that I am actually going to be in town on July 5th and I could go. But do I want to? Looking at the list of those who have already RSVP'd, there are some people I would like to see but what would the conversations be like:

"Oh HIIIIiiiii!! So good to see you."

"How are you doing?"

"Oh really? That sounds great!!"

"Oh yeah, me too."

"I've been well. Yeah. Went to college, got a BA, got married, got preggo and now I'm a SAHM. I have three kids. Yeah, they're brilliant......(Looong explanation about my fabulous children)."

"Yeah, um, okay, that's it."

"Yeah, nice to see you again too."

"Okay. Yeah, you have a great day too."

"Bye."

Replay about 20 times.

Is this supposed to be fun?

The other thing, I know that I'm supposed to be working on being brave and sticking my neck out and all that but seeing these people again - no, wait - the thought of seeing these people again is raising so much anxiety and self-doubt. I was voted "Most Likely To Succeed" and while I've been trying to convince myself that I am successful and that I have accomplished great things, I still don't quite believe it. I feel a bit like a failure in my own eyes and I can't bear to have that mirrored in theirs. *Sigh*

I may still go. I need to contact two dear friends who actually still live in Juneau and see if they are going to attend in which case I will go with them and they can help hold me up. If not, well, we'll see. I'm still pondering.

Sad Tonight

I grew up with computers. You'd think I would know better but apparently not. My laptop bit the dust. It's dead, "Whoohoo, see ya, gone, bye-bye." That computer, while it was technically for all my work for my dad's shop, was also my personal computer. It has all my mother's journal entries that I transcribed. It has all my digital photos for the last three years. It has all my journal entries for the last three years. It has everything. I was assured that even though the computer doesn't work, we should be able to retrieve all the data off the hard drive. No problem. Yeah, they lied. The first attempt rendered nothing other than the verdict that my hard drive is deader than a doornail. I cried. I sobbed. I blubbered all over my little brother and then my husband (blubbering long distance is not nearly as effective as the real thing). Every one is telling me that I should remain optimistic, but really? I'm not.

Moral of the story: save to an external drive. Be like Jesus - Jesus saves.

*sigh* God willing this is a lesson learned.

God willing this is just a small bump and (since this is my year of miracles) I will get everything restored to me in pristine condition.

I wouldn't reject any prayers on behalf of me and my dead computer data.

Body Memory

I seriously wonder how much my body has a memory all it's own. When I was 9, my family and I went to Hawaii to visit my dad's family. My uncle was watching all three of us kids and took us to a friend's house with a pool. My older brother jumped into the deep end of the pool taunting me, "I can swim and you can't." Well, I couldn't. But it didn't look that hard and the pool was only 6' deep (never mind that I wasn't even 5') and I leaped into the water. All I remember from that moment was sheer panic; I bobbed up and down trying to gasp air, trying to reach the side (which was maybe an inch or two beyond my reach). It felt like eternity. It was probably only a few seconds. My uncle reached in and whipped me out of the water. Such a short moment. But it seems indelibly burned into the cells of my body. Now, whenever I am in water where my feet do not touch bottom, I panic. I have to forcibly calm my body down and almost chant, mentally, "I am okay. I can swim to shore. I can float. I am okay." It is a very conscious effort to stay calm whereas the intense anxiety seems to be involuntary; a moment where my body becomes a living entity unto itself while my spirit tries to supersede that base reaction.

I bring this up because I wonder about my body now in response to the months of June and July. I have been feeling so anxious of late; you know when you just want to crawl out of your skin. I have been eating and eating and eating unsure why I feel so unsettled. I thought that this was just caused by Robert being absent but, while I miss him, it just doesn't feel true to blame all of this anxiety on him. Tonight I was driving home and pondering life, as I am want to do, and I realized, "This is June." A year ago I was going nuts and was irritable and cranky; nothing made me happy, I was on edge and couldn't figure out why. It was the brilliant and beautiful Lizzie who pointed out, "When did your mom die?" Everything clicked together in that blinding moment of ephiphany.

I had the same moment on my drive and as I realized it, my body sighed. The anxiety comes from it being June. Three years ago, my mother came home from a trip to Seattle in May; everything seemed to be fine and dandy. We had plans to go north for the summer and help her sort out her house. Once she got home, though, she began having "episodes" which were initially declared not to be strokes and finally declared to be strokes - medicine being such an exact science. She was in and out of the hospital. She signed a DNR. I cried at that. It seemed so final, as if the end were just around the corner. Things were going downhill, the shop desperately needed help as Mom hadn't been to work since April, before her trip to Seattle. I used my dad's mileage and flew up on June 28th, two days after we decided to go. My kids' first visit with Nana in I think a year and a half was in the ICU. She had all these tubes coming out of her and Quinn wouldn't go near her. She yoyo'd in and out of the hospital for a couple weeks before they decided they couldn't really do anything for her. She finally passed away on July 26, 2005.

The funny thing is, I'm finally getting to a good place in my grief. I acknowledge that there will always be a hole in my heart; I will always miss her. But, for the most part, I'm not crying until I can't breathe. I finally found my comforting image of her in the afterlife. Really, it's very simple. It's just a picture of her, all in white, with her beautiful smile. She is standing next to Jesus, one arm around His waist and He with one arm around hers. They are both watching me, helping me and smiling over me. It is an image full of love and peace. And yet, even with this new phase in the grieving process, my body still aches this June. My body still remembers the pain, the worries, the anxieties, the stress and the overwhelming sorrow and it acts as if I were passing through a shadow of that moment right now. It's odd to see myself as two separate beings but in this I feel that way; my body is instructing my spirit how to feel and my spirit is following suit. I imagine for the next two months that I am going to feel as if I were suddenly dropped in the deep end of the ocean; that my spirit will be consciously and constantly telling my body, " I am okay. I can still talk to her. I can remember her. She's in a better place. I can float. I am okay."

Old-Fashioned Garage Hunting

I've checked the garage multiple times and everything still looks clean with no sign of the wee beastie. Robert brought some rat traps back from his dad's and, after much snapping on his poor fingers (I actually had to leave because I couldn't watch it anymore), he had one loaded and tucked away.


Oh and that funky food stuff - poison. If the slap on the spine don't kill him, the poison will slowly rot away his insides, turning his brain and organs to liquid and his fur will....I think I'm a little to excited about the prospects of killing this animal. Does this make me a future serial killer?

Robert's Day

I thought, after my homage to my father, that I needed a word or two about my husband. Nothing too sappy. I think his day was, overall, good. I let him sleep in until 12:45pm. How is this possible? We were complete heathens and completely skipped church. Yup. That's us. I'm sure my friends are worried about my activity level. Me? As I always tell them, I'm holding out for cheesecake and friend chicken (I really like the barbecued wings from KFC) as gifts of fellowship on our doorstep; despite my many jokes, no one has ever actually brought some. Still, hope springs eternal....And yes, I know he gave up any opportunity to shamelessly steal 8 cookies from some unsuspecting young man or woman but for him, the sleep was worth it.

I did wake him up briefly at 10:30am to give him his card with a picture of our new grill - our old one is so bad that he took off the last bit of grill that hadn't rusted through and was using it over a fire pit in the back yard to cook steaks - but no actual grill as I didn't want to lift it, wanted to surprise him and thought he'd prefer not having to assemble it. It should be ready for pickup on Thursday but I think he's going to pick it up tomorrow as he'd rather have the grill NOW than wait.

Back to the point of this post - me and all my hard work. I tended the kids (read: I let the kids watch TV all morning - hey it was good stuff, Liken, Living Scriptures and no Zathura no matter how many times they asked), I fed them breakfast (Read: I let the kids eat all the cereal and Poptarts their little hearts fancied.), while I watched Sense and Sensibility, the BBC version. Kids happy, Mom happy, Dad happy, it's a win/win/win; Stephen Covey would be so proud! I did get motivated around noon to make lunch, which was actually breakfast - eggs, bacon and pancakes.

Lulu cracked the eggs (I should have gotten a picture). I had egg gook and shells all over the counter, a dozen eggs and countless bits of shell in a glass bowl. I whirled it all up and let it sit and I think most of the shells drifted toward the bottom. The eggs had a bit more texture but nothing large enough as to actually crunch on my teeth.

Quinn tended the bacon. I, however, forgot to put a plate under the grease hole (our dripping pan is broken) and was left with this:

Mmm...mmm...good! But the bacon was fabulous. The only bad thing is I don't believe in paper towels. I mean, I know they exist and all but I'm cheap. My SIL Julie says I'm value oriented but I think I'm just actually cheap, to the point that I probably squeak when I walk, and I can't see the point of spending money on paper towels that are just thrown away when I can use a regular towel just as well and wash it for pennies. This was one of those moments, however, when I regretted not following my spontaneous shopping desires for paper towels (dare I say inspired desire?) and had nothing with which to mop up this mess. Toilet paper to the rescue!

So Robert woke up to a plateful of two over easy eggs ("They weren't over easy, they were over HARD!" interjects Robert whilst I type. Okay, they were a little overcooked but I was trying to read blogs and cook at the same time; why waste time when you can multi-task?), two pieces of toast, and all but 4 pieces of bacon out of the 1 lb. package (not including, of course, the bacon I ate while cooking).

Robert spent a few hours with his dad while the kids and I stayed home and thought about cleaning up a bit. I think we finally did at about 4pm, coincidentally just moments before Robert walked in the door; I've got this SAHM thing down to a science! We watched the Jimmy Neutron Movie as a family (read: we sat together on a couch while everyone watched this movie for the umpteenth time and I slept. My daughter actually patted my cheek because I started to snore) and then went to Liz's house for ice cream floats. And yes, we still hadn't eaten dinner. (The kids had been snacking on pancakes all afternoon - they were fine.)

The kids played outside; Rob, Liz and I watched a show about ice truckers, meaning men who drive semi-trucks on roads made out of ice overlaying rivers and the Arctic Ocean. Soo a job I do not want! We came home and made PBJs for the kids and now here I sit.

I think the day went well, but let's hear it from the horse's mouth.

"Rob, how was your day?"

"Eh....itz okay." *sigh*

"Was there anything you liked about the day?"

"I gotta sleep....I like the other poptarts better. I threw the box up here hoping I'd have some...."

("Oops," thinks Maraiya, "I guess I shouldn't have fed them to the wolves this morning.")

"Anything else you'd like to say to my adoring fans?"

"No, I don't do blogs. I don't talk to a computer." Rustle, opening of poptarts. Silence.

Well, I guess that's that.

Seriously, my husband is fabulous. He puts up with me going slightly insane; he will wash dishes and tend the garden (even my flowers). He even loves my cat. He scares off pigeons and voluntarily hunts down nesting rats. He adds innuendo to the simplest phrases. Really. That one about me squeaking when I walked, yeah, he made a comment on that. I love him. I'm so smitten. I think I'll keep him. I'd post a picture of my handsome lover but, again with the paranoia.

Happy Father's Day!

I said a few words about my dead mother a month ago; I feel urged to say a few words about my very much alive and fabulous father today. (And yes, that's me on my dad's lap, Christmas 1975. Do you see what a sugar addict I was, right from the beginning?)

Thank you for teaching me that ice cream is an important food group.

Thank you for passing on your love of puns and word play. [Did you hear about the man who's spaceship crash landed on a purple planet with purple seas and purple rocks and purple aliens. I think he may have even turned purple himself. You could say he was marooned. -- Sorry, I only really remember the punchline.] I loved the letter you sent me when I was in college (a cut-out vinyl letter M) as well as the preparation kit for my oral exam (lipstick, toothpaste, toothbrush and dental floss).

Thank you for letting me stop shoveling the roof before either of the boys and going inside for hot cocoa.

Thank you for treating me like a princess and for loving me. Thank you for all those snuggles on nights when I had nightmares and couldn't sleep, even when I was a teenager. Thank you for learning to endure my affectionate self despite your more reserved tendencies. You always gives me hugs and loves and I appreciate that and love that so much.

Thank you for the ongoing saga of Penelope and Dastardly Dan and the many voices of this one man show. You have made me smile on days when I didn't think I could and made me so grateful to have a father who would make my roommate say, "Your dad called. At least, I think it was your dad."

Thank you for working so hard to provide for all of us these many years and for teaching me, by your actions, that my children will always be my children, no matter how old they are, and I will always wonder where they are, how they are doing and what I can do to help.

Thank you for all you have been and done since Mom died. Thank you for loving my mother and for giving me an amazing example of what a marriage should be and what a good husband is like. Thank you for grieving her passing and rejoicing in it as well as a birth into somewhere better.

Thank you for respecting me and allowing me to speak my mind and be an independent woman and for not ever making me feel bad about those opinions and insights, whether they were right or wrong.

Thank you for letting me go to NYC, on my own, when I was 19. I can't imagine how hard that was for you. For me, it was a tremendous opportunity.

Thank you for loving my friends and my husband and for having a heart big enough to accept those who come into your life.

Thank you for changing Quinn's diaper. Once. And for not destroying the photographic evidence. I still have it. Somewhere.

Thank you for being a good poppa and for loving my children.

Thank you for your testimony and faith in Jesus. You don't speak of it often but I find I see it in how you live, particularly in those moments when you think no one is watching or that no one will know that you have the heart of a marshmallow.

Thank you for teaching me that even children must pay taxes in the form of losing the curly-q from their ice cream cones or the first bit of some sweet; I didn't appreciate it then, but I do now! Thank you, as well, for being willing to take the bullet for me and always taste testing my food to make sure it wasn't poisoned. Such selflessness! Such sacrifice!

I love you, Dad. I love your heart. I love your sense of humor. I love your thoughtfulness. I love the way you struggle to do what is right. I am grateful you are my father. God has blessed me so much in giving me you. Happy Father's Day.

Redneck Garage Hunting

Last night Robert and I were fed up with the pigeons roosting on the wires above our drive. We have an extraordinary amount of pigeon poop next to our mailbox and while I don't think I'm missish, I really don't want to go tracting through dung. Rob got out his pellet gun and proceeded to shoot the little buggers. He tagged a couple off them (not one died darnit!) and they flew away. He then walked into the garage and swore. I came to investigate. He said he either stepped on something or saw something large and furry run past him (I can't remember which).

We quickly tucked the children into bed and proceeded to tear apart the garage. We have an extra fridge next to an upright freezer. Robert pulled these away from the wall and there were oodles of rat droppings and shredded insulation. Eew. Suddenly pigeon droppings aren't quite so bad. We got a broom and started sweeping and then Rob whipped out the shop vac and started cleaning out the underside of the freezer. He could see beady eyes.

Pictures this, if you will, my husband on the cement floor, brandishing a vacuum hose while I stood above him, BB gun cocked and loaded and aimed at the back end of the freezer. I felt I needed to black out some teeth and hand a piece of hay from my lips.

Robert kept trying to get the animal but couldn't so he grabbed the gun and fired under the freezer. He said it stopped twitching and I'm worried our garage will be stinking soon as we couldn't get it out from under the freezer.

We started pulling more things out of the garage. The large bags of dog food and kitty food were all unmolested as was all of our food storage (which is mostly cans). But when we pulled out some shelving, there was more poop, more insulation and a large pile of dog food - no idea where that came from. We swept it all up, boarded up the holes (hoping they will starve before they can gnaw their way free) and debated leaving our kitty out there but I was too afraid she'd get injured!

We came back in the house feeling loathsome and the dust of rat leavings in our noses. I whipped out the Dial (I'm normally against anti-bacterial soap for bathing but thought this was an important exception) and scoured our skin. Yuck.

I'm still afraid to go out the garage. Maybe I'll take to packing heat -- BB's at least.

I. Am. In. Love.

I probably shouldn't post this after my fat girl post, but it's just too true and I have to share in my delight. I volunteer for my sons' school notifying the reading specialist when students have enough read-at-home (RAH) minutes to qualify for the 1,000/5,000/10,000 minute clubs. In thanks for all this easy work, the reading specialist gave me Ghirardelli chocolates for Christmas and these for an end of the year gift:
They are uh. maze. ing. Mmmmmm...mouth so happy. For any dark chocolate lovers, I fully recommend these.

And...

I told the reading specialist that I would continue in my position for the next 7 years that I have a child at that school. I'm such a chocolate whore. It could be worse. I could be a crack whore. (Okay, so that really wasn't a pertinent link, but it made me laugh and a good laugh is always a good thing.)

You Know You're Fat When...

No, I don't have a list like my "You Know You're Old When..." but I just had a conversation this morning and felt the need to share. This may be TMI.

I am a fat girl. I've stated it before and no matter how much my friends try to argue otherwise, what do you call someone who is 5'4" and weighs 225? Yeah. Not much to say is there? Well, I'm also a well-endowed girl. The Lord gaveth and kept on givingeth. After nursing they lost any illusion of perkiness and I think they now touch my belly button. (The one fact no one in La Leche League passes on.) The consequence of which is that I have had an on-again/off-again yeast/fungal infection underneath my breasts for about 9 years now. I think I'm finally winning the battle. A friend, who's an RN, told me that I should use deodorant under there. Wow. Strike one.

Then today, outside my sons' school (did I mention today is the last day of school? Sniff. Sob. Could I pay them to keep my children?) I had a conversation with another mom about shorts and inner thighs touching. Let's just say that I'm not sure there will be daylight between my inner thighs even after the resurrection. This mom told me that I should use deodorant there as it helps everything slide along better. Wow. Strike two.

I think when you have to place deodorant in 6 places as opposed to the normal 2, it's official; you are now in fat girl land. Heaven help me if I ever have to start using deodorant under my "love pillow" or other fat roll.