pink pink pink

I can't believe we're having a girl. What's more, I can't believe how excited I am.

Wow.

excuse du jour

I was just thinking that if I could figure out how to get more sleep, I would write more. I really do still have stories.

three things

I've decided to focus on things that make me happy. My strategy over the next few weeks is doing whatever it takes to make myself more open to finding joy and discovering bliss and experiencing happiness in my life.

But, I'm not exactly sure what really makes me happy.

I know what makes me sad.

I can articulate quite easily what makes me angry.

I can even make a fairly on target stab at what makes me laugh.

But happy?

I've just never really put much thought in happy. I just am. Right?

But, if I were going to narrow it down to three things for me to focus on in order to take advantage of bliss they would be (off the top of my head):

1. Spending more time with the boys. Snuggling and playing and just watching them be kids.
2. Cooking. Trying new things. Being more daring with recipes. Thinking more about what we eat.
3. Going on adventures. Even in my backyard. Taking full advantage of all adventures that present themselves without over thinking.

Is it just me, or does it seem a bit strange that organizing and cleaning and general shaping my world up didn't make the list. I think my priorities have been a little bit wonked.

smiles

Have you ever had one of those weeks that just make you smile when you look back on it. Everything from Z's chocolate festival dance to kid's valentines parties.

It seems like I only write about dilemmas and confusion and struggle, which just happens to be only a very tiny part of my life.

Things are good.

And I am happy.

decisions

I never intended this blog to turn into a chronicle of how my advanced maternal age affects my pregnancy. For that matter, I never really intended this blog to turn into any sort of periodic update on how this sweet little human is growing inside of me.

But this is all I've got right now.

We decided not to have amniocentesis. And it feels like there is so much more in that decision than is implied in those six words. They are heavy and they are strong and they don't come easily. I am under no illusions that our decision would be the right one for anyone else. Ever.

After thinking and talking and soul searching, we realized that we wouldn't terminate this pregnancy if we discovered that this baby has down's syndrome. I feel so shallow for even wrestling with the decision, but I did. I put such a premium on cognitive interaction. I love to debate and to think and to explore. What if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail this child just because of some chromosomal subtraction? How superficial is that?

In the end it just came down to the fact that we love this baby and every single second is a gift.

No matter what.

And when we decided that, the risks, however slight, were just too much.

moments

There are fleeting moments that I forget that I'm pregnant. The constant nauseousness is, for the most part, gone. The overwhelming smells are fading into background noise. And, when I'm perfectly still and just breathing, there is still plenty of room for all of me.

But then, I have to move and feel the tightness in my clothes and all the new aches and stretching and it all makes me smile.

I'm falling in love with this baby, and I can't wait to be this baby's mommy.

I love my boy

Moon: Z, how many cats do you have?

Z: Hmmmm. Two.

Moon: Are they nice cats?

Z: Hmmmm. They are on the nice list.

Moon: What are their names?

Z: Hmmmm. (See a trend, here?) Neo Fight Cat and Liberty Bad Evil Cat

help me

Excuse me while I throw a massive fit.

I am completely overwhelmed.

I am so behind on laundry that I don't know how to get caught up.

This kitchen is too trashed to cook in.

There is dust everywhere.

The bathrooms are an embarrassment.

The kids need to have all their clothes put up in their closets.

I don't have any idea what to cook for a family that has such a different idea of nutrition than I do.

When my children misbehave, it is apparently because I spoil them.

I have so much paperwork to do that I don't even know where to start.

My clothes don't fit.

My car has an oil leak.

I am not prepared for my Thursday board meeting.

I am not prepared for all of my other obligations.

I am tired of paying for my past.

I'm not sleeping.

I'm not exercising.

I'm not thinking.

I don't have time to fix this.

bullets again

• I need new clothes. I have this silly aversion to shopping, which means that all of my black sweaters are flirting with gray and too short to cover my growing belly.
• I'm not crazy about abstinence t-shirts on 13-year-old girls. I think it objectifies them.
• Does this make me an old prude?
• I think that girls don't get to be kids long enough anymore.
• What if I have a girl?
• But I was a very late bloomer. Maybe she would be, too.
• I want to build an airstrip/marina at the lake.
• Maybe it will get me closer to being able to fly.
• I keep reading cocktail recipes.
• Just to be prepared.
• Last night, I would have killed for a smoothie.
• Tonight, I will have all the ingredients I need on hand.
• Turns out, blender is key.
• Who knew?
• I don't like churches in strip centers or metal buildings.
• I feel the same way about banks.
• Some institutions need to have the illusion of permanence.
• Z had a tough morning.
• I hope he has a good day.
• The Griff declared that he's naming the next baby.
• He also declared that it should be a boy because he want triple nerf guns.
• Most of my friends think it's a girl.
• Except for Franky.
• He just laughs and reminds me of the curse.
• Which he said he would lift after this boy.

relief

I still remember the empty sadness that I felt when I had my first miscarriage. I was sixteen weeks pregnant, which was far enough along that miscarriage was the farthest thing from my mind. I remember relaxing after the first trimester. I remember reading all the pregnancy books and dreaming about names and falling in love with the potential of that baby. I remember when my due date came and went and it was just another day. I remember the dreams that I had about impossible to save babies. And I remember when it didn't hurt so bad anymore.

I remember how shocked I was when I found out I was having a second miscarriage. I was using a supposedly fool proof method of birth control, and I didn't even know I was pregnant until I started losing that baby. I didn't have the same kind of sadness or emptiness or despair. I didn't mourn the potential of that child.

And I remember thinking how strange it all was when I lost my third pregnancy. It was so early that everything just felt clinical.

I needed something tangible to show me that this baby is fine. That it is growing and developing and tumbling through life. I needed to see the flutter of its heart and watch its body move inside of me. Now I believe that everything will be alright.

on my mind

I have this one Lucinda Williams song stuck on repeat in my head. And since I can't seem to put together a coherent post even though I have so many random stories right on the edge of being able to tackle, I'm leaving you with the lyrics. It really is a pretty song.

Are You Alright

Are you alright?
All the sudden you went away.
Are you alright?
I hope you come back around someday.
Are you alright?
I haven't seen you in a real long time.
Are you alright?
Could you give me some kind of sign.
Are you alright?
I looked around me and you were gone.
Are you alright?
I feel like there must be something wrong.
Are you alright?
'Cause it seems like you disappeared.
Are you alright?
'Cause I been feeling a little scared.
Are you alright?

Chorus:
Are you sleeping through the night?
Do you have someone to hold you tight?
Do you have someone to hang out with?
Do you have someone to hug and kiss you,
Hug and kiss you,Hug and kiss you?
Are you alright?

Are you alright?
Is there something been bothering you?
Are you alright?
I wish you'd give me a little clue.
Are you alright?
Is there something you wanna say?
Are you alright?
Just tell me that you're okay.
Are you alright?
'Cause you took off without a word.
Are you alright?
You flew away like a little bird.
Are you alright?
Is there anything I can do?
Are you alright?
'Cause I need to hear from you.
Are you alright?

Chorus

Are you alright?
Are you alright?
Hey...

naughty list

This year was the first year that Z really got Christmas. He loved the lights and tree and the presents and, really, everything about the holidays.

He even embraced the idea of a nice list and a naughty list.

The whole Santa thing isn't something that gets stressed in my house. There is no omnipotent, jolly old man who gets to be the harbinger of discipline. There is no blatant threat of withholding presents if the boys don't behave. Even if there might have been ONE night that I mentioned that I would take back all of the presents if the boys didn't stop with their bickering. But only one.

One night, Z asked me if he was on the nice list. I told him he was, and he said, "Thank you, thank you, Mommy."

Right then and there, I should have known something was up. (It always is with Z.)

Fast forward to last night.

The boys were supposed to be cleaning their rooms. Instead, they were arguing about who really dumped out all of the action figures - - not dolls, mind you. I heard Z screech. A few seconds later, he stomped into the living room and exclaimed that Griff was on the naughty list. He even gave me a thumbs down sign just to take away any question that I might have.

Griff rolled his eyes and launched into a diatribe about why that was not actually the case.

When he was done, Griff looked over at Z. Z didn't say a word. He just slowly made a thumbs up sign with his fist and turned it down punctuating the movement with silent tears.

fanatic

For some reason, I had a really hard time explaining myself yesterday to my best friend. Usually, I'm not at a loss for words, but I was tired and stressed and, really, not that hacked off. All that combined for me coming off like a complete crank.

So, here is attempt number two.

I live in Oklahoma, so football is apparently life. It's everywhere. All.The.Time. There are days that I feel like I went to a university attached to a football team instead of the other way around. I don't like that football becomes so all consuming. I don't like that football trumps the academic successes of the students. And I don't like negative fandom. For that matter, I'm not crazy about anything being defined by what they are not. For the record, I am perfectly fine with rivalry. And with bedlam. And with trash talk when those teams are playing each other.

But when they're not...SHUT UP.

What is accomplished by the whole my friend is my enemy's enemy? What superficial tripe.

When I see fans from the University of Oklahoma degrading Texas any other time than during the OU/Texas game, I think it makes them look stupid. I saw this super cute girl in a shirt walking through the park on an amazing Spring day that said something like, "Beat the Rush, hate Texas early." It wasn't even football season. I just rolled my eyes AGAIN.

It just seems to me that much more is accomplished by rooting for your conference to do well which gives that much more credibility to the football teams in that conference. Even after typing all of this, it sounds so superficial. I honestly don't care about the football part of this discussion. I think that there is too much negativity in sports in general, and I think die hard fanatics perpetuate that negativity exponentially.

I know that somewhere in here is my real issue. I also know that it has nothing to do with football.

ten weeks

I'm sitting here in a daze. The only thing I want is to hear my baby's heartbeat. I want something tangible to prove to myself that this baby is alive. That I'm not imagining things. That my body hasn't betrayed me again and I am just harboring a twisted mass of cellular trash instead of a baby. I have to wait one more week for an ultrasound.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty-two hours.

I am trying to be positive. I am trying to believe. But I am really, really scared.

When I first considered that I might be pregnant, I silently wished that it wouldn't be true. I wished for my life to stay just like it was. I didn't want to introduce anything new. I wasn't sure that I was cut out to be someone else's mom. I didn't think that I had enough in me to give to anyone else. I didn't want to do anything else to rock the boat.

Then I took a pregnancy test.

And another.

And another.

And everything changed. All that uncertainty went away.

I want this baby. I want this baby to grow and develop and be.

I am trying to stay positive. I am trying to believe. But, I am still really, really scared.

dressing for the ocassion

I think I need to find more reasons to wear dresses in '09. Maybe even dresses with crinoline.

2009 booklist

I have so much work and relative nonsense to get done before this Christmas thing happens. I still haven't finished Christmas present shopping or house cleaning or even thought about cooking. And don't even get me started on how much work I need to get done by the end of the year.

I'm thinking our San Antonio holiday adventure is going to consist of me spending a whole lot of time in the hotel room working.

Ho ho ho!

So, since I've been procrastinating (something I do not wear like a badge, for the record), here is my 2009 reading list. I ended up reading much more off the list than I planned last year, so there are lots of repeats.

Here is to a year of reading.

A Chicago Tavern: A Goat, a Curse, and the American Dream by Rick Kogan
A Crime So Monsterous: Face to Face with Modern Day Slavery by E. Benjamin Skinner
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
Blood River by Tim Butcher
Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
In the Country of Men by Hisham Matar
Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones
Ray by Barry Hannah
Song of My Fathers: A New Orleans Story in Black and White by Tom Sancton
The Adventures of Augi March by Saul Bellow
The Birth House: A Novel by Ami McKay
The Gathering by Annie Enright
The Grass Dancer by Susan Power
The Hummingbird's Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea
The Loss of Leon Meed: A Novel by Josh Emmons
The Making of a Southerner by Katharine Du Pre Lumpkin
The Secret River by Kate Grenville
The Visible World by Mark Slouka
The Year of Pleasures: A Novel by Elizabeth Berg
They Call Me Red by Orhan Pamuk
Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden
Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

sterilized wrath

I was talking to my mother a couple of days ago, and just mentioned that one of my friends is getting married very soon. She also mentioned that his mother told her that she expected that they would try to have a baby right away.

And that seriously pissed me off. Just in theory, though.

Because in practice, I am absolutely thrilled for them and the possibilities.

But back to why I am hacked. I am quite aware of the slippery slope I'm peering down.

See, he has two beautiful babies with his first wife. Granted, both babies were a bit of a surprise. And, granted, lovely ex-wife might have said something like she wished she'd never had children with him. Wench. After surprise baby number two, they, together, decided that they did not want to have any more children. They, together, decided that their family was complete, And, they, together, decided that SHE would have a tubal ligation to prevent further surprise babies.

HE wasn't the one who took his baby making options off the shelf even though he was part of the decision about being done. And she was very young.

So now. New bride. New life. Voila babies.

There is just something in this that seems inequitable. I know that sterilization procedures aren't permanent, and I don't know if she ever regrets having the tubal ligation, but it just feels wrong that he has no consequences from backing out on his decision not to have more children.

There is just something about this that absolutely infuriates me when this happens with the second/third/fourth trophy wife. Just because men can get their partner pregnant when they are in their seventies, it does not make them a father.

I know that I haven't fully articulated why I reacted so strongly. But I did. And I still do. I wish I understood why.

and what with all the crying

Last night, I was snuggled in my bed watching a sappy movie with both of my boys asleep in my arms. We were so warm and comfortable and it was all just about perfect. Then I got to thinking about this baby. I don't have three arms. I don't know if I have a big enough heart to love another kid like I do the boys.

I'm a little bit scared.

t and a

My clothes are TIGHT. This is ridiculous.

I'm turning into one of those girls that people look at and say, "She'd be cute if she ate some salad."

Dang.

hardy prairie stock

I am terrible at being pregnant. Terrible. So bad, that one of my cousins was freaked out afraid when she finally decided to have a baby because she figured her body would react like mine. It didn't. Lucky wench.

The first time I was pregnant, I had debilitating morning sickness. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think. I just cried and cried and cried. And then I had a miscarriage at 16 weeks. I thought that wasn't supposed to happen after you made it through the first trimester. But it did. Looking back on it, I was much too young to have a baby and I was definitely married to the wrong guy. We separated less than a month after I lost that baby. Whew.

The second time I was pregnant. I found out when I miscarried. I was even on birth control. That is when I decided that I would take absolute responsibility for my body. I just believed that I knew myself much better than any pill or shot or patch ever could.

When I got pregnant with the Griff, I knew almost immediately. Then I convinced myself that it was all in my head. It is supposed to be difficult to get pregnant, and I couldn't have possibly gotten pregnant the first time we tried. But then I went to the Mont and ordered a swirl. I. Love. Swirls. They are this frozen sangria/margarita combination that is to die for. The one I ordered tasted like ass. I couldn't drink it. That night, I took a pregnancy test. It was positive.

The first trimester was nasty. I was miserable and was on bed rest twice by the time I was twelve weeks pregnant. Goodness. It sucked. Big hammered donkey balls. Things sailed along nicely for most of the rest of my pregnancy until my blood pressure skyrocketed about three weeks before he was due. So, more bed rest.

I went into labor at midnight on his due date. And he was perfect. My goodness I love that kid.

Fast forward six years later and one more miscarriage and voila Z.

I thought that we were done.

observations abbreviated

I just got back into town from a week spent between Washington DC and New York City. I'm still a little shell shocked from the traveling. While I recover my wits, here is a first impression bullet post.

• DC Metro is by far cleaner and much more user friendly than the NYC subway system.
• I realized that I didn't really see people when I was walking in NYC. I do when I walk down the sidewalks here. Weird.
• Speaking of not seeing people, at the MoMA, there was this exhibition that you took off your shoes and lounged in this big carpeted room with a giant round "couch" in the center. There were hundreds of people basically alone together watching massive morphtastic montages of flowers and wild boars and strawberries and people.
• I was surprised at how small the skating rink at Rockefeller Center was. I think that I expected bigger than life. Not that I was at all disappointed. Not even a little bit.
• I loved the Top of the Rock. Especially since we could see the Empire State Building. And the lines were much, much shorter.
• I loved Bryant Park.
• I wasn't so enamored by Times Square, but I am glad we walked through. It felt like the Disney Land of New York City. Bubba Gump? Applebees? That really wasn't what I came to see.
• I did love Murray Hill and walking through Soho and Little Italy.
• And I am so glad that we got to go to the theatre. August: Osage County. It was amazing. And we had absolutely perfect seats.
• The Oyster Bar was an experience
• Junior's cheesecake was amazing
• And we even got to watch the pizza's being made at Grimaldi's. I'm still a little shocked that the guy pulling the pizzas out of the brick oven never tossed one of those pies completely off the counter.
• I expected it to be much colder walking back to Manhattan over the Brooklyn Bridge.
• The crowds at Macy's were overwhelming, but I had to have gloves. It was dang cold.
• And I loved the snow.

changes afoot

Just when I think I'm getting things into some sort of calm, sustainable rhythm, the universe giggles loudly and shakes my world up.

The next year is going to be a wild ride, folks.

And I'm going to try to chronicle all the messy details.

thankfully: a list

I can't believe that it's already Thanksgiving. This year has certainly been a whirlwind, and I have lots and lots of things to be thankful for.

1. Anniversary. Ten years. Wow. Not that there haven't been days that I would've place even money odds on us not making here, I am so thankful that we made it. I'm looking forward to running away to New York City next week to celebrate.

2. The Griff. That boy teaches me more about life and love and compassion than I could possibly ever imagine. I still remember the first day I brought him home and watched him sleeping on my legs. He taught me how to be still. I am thankful every single day for him.

3. Z. What is there to say? His eyes sparkle with mischief and life. He approaches the world with complete gusto. Everything he does is larger than life. And his sense of humor is amazing. He loves completely. I am so very blessed to get to be his mother.

4. Job. I don't talk about my job much here except to occasionally make allusions to some of the random chaos. What I don't say is how thankful I am to work in a place that makes a difference in peoples lives. My job challenges me and forces me to stand up and be out there. And I get to work with some pretty amazing people. How cool is that?

5. Oklahoma. I am blessed to live in such a young state. I get to be part of creating who we are and how the world sees us. Our past is still so intertwined with our present that we have to deal with it every single day. We have stories that need to be told. We can't ignore the violence and depravity that brought so many of our people here, but we aren't a dumping ground. We are creative and industrious and intelligent and worthy of being defined on our own terms instead of looking at the rest of the county to figure out who we really are.

6. Flying. I love to fly. I love airplanes and airports and airport people. I am thankful that I got to go to ground school this year. Next year, I'm flying.

7. Friends. I have the most amazing friends ever. I can't even begin to explain how rich my friends make my life. They are my sounding board, and they make me laugh every single day. I am so very lucky.

Really, this list doesn't scratch the surface. I live a charmed life, and when I get frustrated or overwhelmed or just down, I need to remember how very lucky I am.

ungrateful wench

As a disclaimer: I already know that this post makes me sound like an unappreciative hag. I. Know.

I'll be packing tonight for a whirlwind trip to Kansas to hang out with my in-laws whom I adore. Really. And, for the record, I am completely done with my husband hinting, insinuating, flat out remarking that I don't want to be there. I do. Now, stop it!

But I am already all holidayed out.

What I'm not completely thrilled about is Christmas gifts just for the sake of buying a damn gift. I am done with the over commercialization of the holidays. I don't want another candle/frame/bath product. I don't want it something else to stick in the back of the closet or a shelf or worse. But I am thankful that I have a family that wants to give me presents. It just feels like they still don't really know me at all.

Here is some of what I would love to have for Christmas:

1. Cookbooks. About anything. Pies. Vintage Junior League. Local dishes. Sushi. Anything. I love to cook, and I love to read. Perfect.
2. Prohibition cocktail books. Do you sense a theme?
3. Bond. James Bond. I really want the entire James Bond DVD set.
4. Inappropriate shoes from JCrew.
5. Chunky cocktail rings. Some days I need that extra boost of bling.
5. Weekend in Marfa, Texas.
6. Sushi lessons so I can make my own.
7. Swimming lessons. I want to get back to competitive form.
8. Fancy bottle opener.
9. Flower pots and potting soil and seeds and flowers and shrubs.
10. Donation to a worthy cause.

chaos theroy

What is it about the holidays that kicks chaos into overdrive? Shouldn't this be the time for relaxation and being with the fam?

No?

Oy!

Between right this very second and packing us into the car for the drive north on Wednesday evening, I have sixteen jillion things that have to be done. And they are all very important. And none of them can slide.

And......

Since we decided not to come back until Sunday, I only have one day at the house before I'm off on the DC/NYC adventure.

Then, a breather before Christmas and the family trip to San Antonio that I really need to get in a better place about. I love love love San Antonio, but I'm not looking forward to a week in a hotel room with a three-year-old.

Sleep is for wusses.

muted expression

I've been feeling a bit mute lately. It certainly isn't that I lack stories. I'm just having difficulty figuring out how to write them down. How to articulate what I'm thinking and feeling and mulling.

Z however isn't having any sort of crisis of expression. He is at that stage where he is renegotiating his boundaries. He wants more independence. He wants more justice. He wants more candy. And I'm not sure he's ready. (I am quite sure about the candy.)

What I am absolutely positive about is that I'm not ready.

He's my baby. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

A couple of nights ago he was so completely done with me that he said with a quite a steely glare that he would get his good brother to take him trick or treating without me.

How's that for not needing his mommy?

quotes du jour

Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option. - Unknown

Be who you are and say what you feel because those who matter won't mind and those who mind don't matter. - Dr. Seuss

Don't compromise yourself. You're all you've got. Janis Joplin

I fetish disasters. David Ramsey

sunday morning list

I had the laziest Saturday known to man. LAZY. I finally got around to washing my hair just to be semi-presentable for going to see Bond. James Bond at the theatre. Today, there is some serious making up to do.

So, for now, I'm procrastinating:

1. The state of overparenting (via kotte). Call it what you want: spoiling, helicopter parenting, etc... As a working mother, I absolutely cherish the time that I do have with my boys, and I enjoy spending time with them. I enjoy watching them grow and explore and think. Part of this review places some of the blame of overparenting on the shift to working mothers. That guilt led to spoiling which led to reigning in which led to fixing everything which led to buying a house outside of your child's college town.

While I do think it's time to rethink our emphasis on structured enrichment and the perfect toy and the perfect preschool and encourage exploration and imagination and discovery. I'm just having a problem with linking parenting failure to working moms.

2. iPhone applications. People there is an app for EVERYTHING. I can get a database of cocktails, download a drum kit, get filters for my iPhone camera, find places to eat, places to visit, FARs, meal planning help, tip calculators, trail guides, fake callers, and music guessers. Things that I never even knew I needed. But now I have it all at my fingertips. Who knew?

3. Food blogs. I love love love food blogs. Like smitten kitchen and posie gets cozy and chocolate and zucchini and the pioneer woman and 101 cookbooks and orangette. I love to cook, and I really love to cook together. I keep thinking that someday I will convince my family to be a little more open with what they eat.

and finally.

4. What would it take to get creative entrepreneurial type people of any age to move to rural Oklahoma? What would be a deal breaker? What would people be willing to give up? Where could we find people who are willing to take a chance?

periphery

I just made it home from a whirlwind tour of Enid. Cliff Note version: Arts as Economic Development. Perspective. Quality of Life. Coming to terms with the whole of Oklahoma history.

Hotel Sucked. Food didn't. Conversations rocked.

advantageous monters

The older boy and I have been having some interesting discussions on the way to pick up the baby brother from day care. Last night just happened to be a day that was more over the top than some others. First, Griff and I reached an agreement about his middle name. He hates it. I happen to love it. We picked out his middle name almost immediately after we found out that we were getting a he instead of a she. It's from these books that my husband and I both adore. One reason I still consider having another baby is that just so I could have a girl that we could saddle with the rest of that story as a middle name.

Anyway, back to the boy. I told him that he could change his name when he got to be 18 if he still didn't like it. And I said that I would try not to mention the middle name in public again. It's pretty much an empty promise, but don't mention that to him.

Then we talked a bit about spelling. He wasn't really feeling the need to study. He said that he would much rather ride his bike over to play with one of the neighbors.

And I pointed out tonight just happens to be a full moon.

He looked at me skeptically. (Not unusual for that kid. Promise.)

I told him that it was very close to dark and that crazies come out during a full moon and he probably wouldn't want to be out on his bike after dark.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

A few seconds later, he asked what I meant by crazies.

I just said, "I don't know, maybe warewolves?"

He laughed and told me that I don't even believe in warewolves.

"Ah ha," I said, "But I do believe in crazies like warewolves, but I don't have to worry about them because I can spell."

He wasn't at all concerned, but then he started to consider inherent danger of being a poor speller out in the world. Alone. On his bike. Then his damned memory got the best of me.

"That's a good one, Mom. Much better than last year when you told me that there was a candy monster hiding out when we trick or treated that would steal all of my candy if I didn't say thank you."

goldschlager

I can't do shots. I just don't have the necessary skills to make that whole shot thing happen. I am so much more of a sipper. And, really, most shots just aren't tasty enough to even consider sipping. Granted, I had my 21st birthday commemorative shot/photo op at Brother's on Campus Corner. I even found my picture on the wall the last time I was in there, and it's been a hell of a long time since I turned 21. And Jules seriously believes, in her heart, that we really ought to do a shot of Jack Daniels when we are out on the town. (She is quite WRONG, though.) Other than that, no shots.

And this isn't a new rule for me. Back when I was much younger and living in New Orleans, I would go out with my friends to a place called Senor Frogs which just happened to be 900km north of Cancun. I know because I read the sign. It was in Metairie and exactly the kind of cheesy early 90s bar/dance club you imagine. I'm sure I have pictures somewhere. And I didn't do shots.

I was young enough that I would wake up for classes, then drag myself to work, then I would go back home to sleep and set my alarm for 2am so I could get up and go out to the bars with my friends until daylight. Most of the tourists were leaving right about the time we would get around to going out. Ridiculous, huh.

I remember this one guy that we would run into quite often at the bars. He was a such complete jerk. He was so not my type. He wasn't tall enough for me. His hair was much too dark for me. He was going to one of the community colleges on the west bank, and he thought was smooth. I don't even remember his name, but, for some reason, I thought about him today.

We never did get along very well; I really wasn't his type, either. But he was a great dancer. I had so much fun dancing with him when we ran into each at the bar. He would buy me drinks. No pressure. Very little talking. And no expectation of anything ever happening between us. Just dancing.

Like I said, he was such a jerk. One night, he decided that I needed a shot. When I finally gave into him, he bought me a shot of goldschlager. Ugh. There is nothing good about that stuff. It tastes sickeningly sweet hot and burns your entire mouth and throat and doesn't stop burning. And it has freaky flakes of gold. Supposedly, that's the selling point. Who knew? It's just horrible. I was so completely done with him after that.

To this day, I associate goldschlager with that stereotypical New Orleans man. Not the ones in the movies. Not the ones with any semblance of a southern accent. But the more greasy, more Jersey sounding, black hair slicked back kind of New Orleans man. They had this swagger and this cadence, and there are still days that I miss that background noise.

details

I still remember the day I finally convinced my first husband that our marriage was really over. He wasn't ever right for me, but it was so much easier just to go along with him than to stop things. And I was so young.

I met him my sophomore year in college, and he decided very quickly that I was the one for him. He asked me to marry him on our second date, and being with someone who was so crazy about me was intoxicating. We got married a little over a year later.

He was abusive and possessive and a very mean drunk. There were a couple time when we were dating that he actually hurt me. And I left, but he apologized and begged and pleaded, and I went back. The night before our wedding, he punched the wall right beside my head. I freaked out, but I thought things were too far along to stop. I look completely stunned in our pictures, and our heads were cut off in the wedding video. Like I said, it just wasn't right. I was so young. And dumb.

We moved to New Orleans right after we got married, and, for that, I will always be grateful to him. We lived together for a little over a year before I figured out that I didn't have to live that way. So, I left him. I had incredibly supportive friends. And I was completely done. We didn't have any assets or, luckily, children, so I refused to fight with him. I was just done. But still, obviously, married. Details, right?

After a couple of years, he finally started talking to me civilly about getting a divorce. He still scared me, but I needed to talk to him. One night, he actually agreed to discuss how we would go about dissolving our marriage. He took me for a drive over by the Industrial Canal, and I remember mentally making note of exactly where I was so I could get out of there if he decided to leave me. He didn't. When he took me back to my car, he got out and stormed over to a telephone pole, and punched it as hard as he could.

He shattered some of the bones in his hand. I think it's called something like a brawler's fracture or a boxer's fracture or just asshat fracture. He asked me to drive him to the hospital, and I did. I called my parent's from the emergency room and told them everything.

The next morning, I stopped by his office to tell him that there was no possible way we could work things out. I told him that I was going back to Oklahoma for a few weeks. And, I asked him to finalize things with his attorney. While I was in his office, he got a call from his brother. It was April 19, 1995, the Murrah building had just been blown up. His mother worked downtown not far from the bombing site, and his family wanted him to know she wasn't hurt.

When I walked out that door, the entire world was different.

verklempt

I think I've mentioned a number of times that I am not sentimental at all. My sister even commented on my hard exterior a couple of days ago. But, it's all an act. Don't tell. K? I learned a long, long time ago to guard my feelings very tightly.

Usually, I do a bang up job, but then I have days like today, and it turns out I'm not so good at keeping things close to my chest.

Z screamed and cried when I dropped him off at his school this morning. I finally got him calmed down with about 10 extra hugs and kisses. He told me that his day isn't actually pear shaped. I think he'll be fine. But the tough drop off threw me for a bit of a loop.

Then, I turned on the radio. I'm a such a sucker for a soldier. I cried listening to Veterans Day stories. I don't even have the words...

Then, I cried when I dropped my dry cleaning off. They told me that there was no way to get same day service. I am leaving town in the morning, and I must have looked completely panicky. They are working my stuff in. Whew.

Then, I read the Washington Post article about Eugene Allen. And I cried, again.

It isn't even noon.

pity party

I should know by now that whenever I believe I'm in control the universe quickly shows me otherwise.

And it's not fair.

I had grand plans to be all productive yesterday, but I woke up with a nasty stomach virus. Nasty. I couldn't even stomach sprite. The boys had to fend for themselves while I spent the day shivering under a pile of covers.

I'm still not convinced that food is my friend.

I would much rather be home all curled up in bed today, but I have so much that needs my attention that I just don't have that option.

Being a grownup sometimes sucks giant hairy donkey balls.

Seriously.

chicken run

I was just thinking that weekends are supposed to be a time for resting and relaxing and general hanging out? Not for running around like crazy trying to fit in EVERYTHING that I didn't get done during the week all at once.

I really don't think I have unrealistic expectations. Right?

I just walked in the door after breakfast out with the boys, the very last soccer game (including 45 minute warm up in the cold wind) of the season, one trophy presentation, sixteen picture takings, pizza party where Z decided it would be wicked cool to run outside without telling me and Griff asked me with indignant tears why one of the girls kept pinching him, a trip to buy birthday presents for a last minute birthday party where Z had a screaming melt down fit in the middle of the store, a birthday party way out in the county, a much needed car wash, and filling up with gas since I was way past empty.

And now the fun at home starts with the hungry over sugared children and the dirty house and the laundry and......

I'm officially putting tomorrow on notice: calmness and rainbows and bunnies, please.

back where I come from

My niece is working on a school project about her ancestors. So, she did what any thinking kind of six-year-old would do; she asked her mother. And, since her mother is my baby sister, my baby sister did what any thinking kind of baby sister would do; she asked her big sister (me) to fix it.

Turns out, we don't know much about where we came from other than we are from a very long line of story tellers. (I believe I've mentioned that before.)

And the problem with being from said story tellers is that I have no clue if the stories they've told are true. (Remind me to tell about my uncle convincing my cousin to change the air in her tires.)

Here is some of what I was able to cobble together for my adorable niece:

One of my great uncles told me a story about my great-grandfather. He was one of those larger than life men who was much more comfortable on the back of a horse than driving in a car. In fact, the only time he ever drove he ended up crashing into a tree. Cars don't stop by pulling back on the steering wheel. Who knew?

Anyway, Grandpa's parent's families participated in the Oklahoma land run that kicked off on the Canadian River. After they had been on the homestead for a few weeks, they started to hear rumors about cattle rustling going on all around them from some of their neighbors. One afternoon, my great-grandfather was out working the land, and he came across a group of families who had stolen a cow. They were all starving and had taken the cow to fee the whole group. They weren't cattle rustlers at all. They were just poor and hungry and desperate. He told them they they were all in lots of danger and that some of the other ranchers were putting together a lynching party and that they were coming that very night to find the people who had been stealing their cattle. He told them that they would be hung if they were caught

He suggested that they leave right away. My great-grandfather then turned his horse and rode back to the house.

The group gathered up everything they had and quickly left.

The very next day, a brand new town popped up across the river, and my great-grandfather never told they lynching party who it was that had been stealing their cattle. He did, however, take his horses across the river to the new town to get shod

And there is this story that my grandmother used to tell me about one of her ancestors who was a very small girl when she came over to the US with her family. She was on the top deck of the boat and was so very excited to finally get close to land that she leaned out as far as she could to catch a glimpse of Ellis Island. Unfortunately, she tumbled over the railing. Her mother screamed, and one of the men traveling on a lower deck reached out and grabbed her.

See what I mean. These stories sound more like urban legend. How can I know if they are true? And, does it really matter where you come from? At some point, everyone's stories start to converge and become part of our collective history.

Doesn't everyone have a story of a tornado or a flood or random Native American ancestor or some guy that missed an opportunity or some lucky soul who was able to be at the right place at the right time. And doesn't everyone have a story about love and loss and honor?

Our stories become parables, and, because of that, facts and truth aren't necessarily the same thing.

party people

Today is my 38th birthday, and I was thinking that if I somehow had the chance to redo the last 20 years how many things would I do differently.

Knowing what I know now, maybe I would have made different choices.

But, I wouldn't be me. Right?

insult to injury: a list

I can't think of a worse insult than to be called a coward. Nothing. And, for a man to be called a coward...it just doesn't get much worse. Especially if everything you're supposed to be is wrapped up in that stereotypical notion of being a Man.

It isn't any less biting for women.

So, to avoid being a coward, I put together a very short list. It is absolutely not all inclusive.

1. Do what you say. Even if it's hard. Don't give lip service, and don't let people believe in you when you aren't willing to go all the way.

2. Stand up for people. Don't give power to gossip and pettiness. Don't let the status quo continue just because it's easier to be silent. Be a good friend.

3. Be tolerant. It is scary to see the world through someone else's eyes. Especially if they are completely different than you. Listen. Breathe. Think.

4. Take responsibility. Don't expect somebody to come along behind you to pick up the pieces. Don't hide. Admit when you are wrong. Keep your house clean.

5. Take care of yourself. Believe that you are worth it. Don't let people take advantage of you. Think about your choices. Don't be afraid to live the life you deserve.

Thoughts? Anyone?

vote, vote, vote, vote

I just got back from voting, and I waited in the longest line that I can ever remember to get to cast my vote. That makes me giddy happy.

I still remember how thrilled I was when I was finally old enough to vote in my very first election. I turned 18 the day before the 1988 presidential election and voting was the very first official grown-up decision that I made.

I don't remember being as excited about the whole process of voting like I am today since that very first election.

I'm thrilled that people are taking their right to vote seriously. I'm impressed that so many people are actually getting out to vote. And I hope and pray that people will continue to stay engaged.

We, the people, make a difference.

This is going to come off considerably more cynical than I mean it to be, but I don't believe the promises that our candidates make. I don't even think the president makes a difference in my every day life. I do, however, believe that the president is the personification of our county. The president is a metaphor of our nation to the rest of the world.

The only way the president has any sort of credibility is for we, the people, to care enough to participate. If only the traditionally active voters participate, we don't put who we really are as a country out there.

Please vote.

body conscious

I'm meeting my husband in New York City for a long weekend in one month. One. Month. And I can't wait, but I'm a little bit nervous.

See, I've watched TV, and I know that NYC is filled with shockingly beautiful people. People who are lithe and know how to wear makeup and fix their hair and have a sophisticated sense of humor. They probably even know what to do with their coat once they are inside.

Which just happens to be one of the mysteries of life as far as I'm concerned.

How can I whip my increasingly curvy body into shape over the next four weeks? Especially when I don't believe in dieting. I'm halfway surprised that I could even spell diet. And I love cheese. And bread. And beer. None of which are on any of the latest diets.

Maybe it's time I move from the theory of running into the actual practice of running. I can't think of a better time than now.

sunday morning list

Sometimes, I get lost in all the chaos in my life and get completely bogged down in tedium, and I forget how lucky I really am.

Here is a short list of some of the things that I am thankful for.

1. Naps with my cuddly three-year-old. He seriously believes that he's eight. And thinks that he is getting much too old to be snuggled and cuddled and held. He's wrong. I still get to hold my baby tightly and drown him in kisses during our weekend nap time.

2. Gingerbread pancakes. Nothing says fall like the smell of warm gingerbread pancakes. Someday the rest of my family will believe.

3. Yellow and red and orange leaves. Our backyard looks like a fall carnival with all of the colors. I was out on the porch this morning reading the paper and drinking my coffee and just smiled.

4. Liberty is beginning to warm up to Neo. Liberty isn't a nice cat. And she was completely put out with us that Neo got to stay. Usually, she hisses and boxes his nose whenever he gets close to her. Last night, they were actually curled up next to each other sleeping. I'm not sure she would have stayed if she knew I saw her being nice to him.

5 Conversations with my nine-year-old. I'm not a baby person. That isn't to say that one of my litmus tests for men is whether or not that notice a baby in the room. They don't have to gush, but if they don't acknowledge the baby, they aren't my people. Anyway...I love the conversations that I get to have with Griff. He thinks about his world and he constantly challenges me. I. Love. That. Boy.

6. Clean house. When my house is chaotic, I feel completely frazzled. I hate having people drop by, and I can't think. Walking into a clean house relaxes me. I just need to get the rest of the household to buy into that concept.

7. Election Day. I am absolutely honored that I get to vote on Tuesday. We bring the boys with us so that they will know how important it is, and that they will never take it all for granted. I still remember the first time I voted. I turned 18 right before election day, and I was thrilled that I could actually participate. I still don't understand why people don't care enough to vote.

pressure cooker

I signed up for that nablopomo thing on a whim this year. Yes, I am completely aware of the concept, and I believe in my heart that I can come up with something to post about every day for a month. But the pressure. And the expectations. And what about this JOINING?

Wha?

I am so not a joiner.....

Oh well, I did it.

We are already getting everything ready to go trick or treat tonight. And, we know that this is, in fact, All Saints Day and not Halloween. But there was football last night. When you are from the home of one of the winningest high school football programs in the state, holidays get moved.

Seriously.

I'm hoping that Z will be willing to wear his costume this year. Last year, he carried his costume through the neighborhood, which worked out quite well for me since he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. That boy practically glowed in the sea of black costumed boys and sparkly girls running all around us.

Griff is dressing up as the Grim Reaper. I think he just wanted the scythe.

Here is to a whole month of blog posting. Wish me luck.

birthday resolutions

My birthday is next week. And, my goodness, this has been one heck of a year. I, for one, am quite thrilled for this one to be done. DONE!

Here's to hoping for learning and growing with at least 64% less pain and suffering.

Can I get an AMEN?

Anyway....

I don't like New Year's Resolutions. It seems to generic and commercialized and co-opted by the masses. Why is it that I should reflect and consider and goal set on a random first day of the year just because it is what we do.

It isn't MY first day of the year, which is why birthday resolutions make so much more sense to me.

So, here is my list.

1. laugh more.
2. cry more.
3. worry less about perfect.
4. add cocktail diversity.
5. train to run a 10K.
6. take more pictures.
7. watch less television.
8. travel.
9. tell my family that I love them every single day.
10. write thank you cards.
11. cook more at home.
12. read. read. read.
13. be proactive.
14. carry a tiny notebook.

thank you for making me laugh

"I'm going to do a song of great social and political import." - Janis Joplin

superficial guidance

I'm not a dedicated horoscope reader. I have a tendency to be swayed by well written sentences. For that matter, I'm easily impressed by a beautifully constructed phrase. And I have been known to linger much too long with funny. Sigh...

Wait. Back to the whole horoscope thing. I like that being a Scorpio intimidates some people. I like that I can hide behind their assumptions of me. I like the Scorpio associations. I like the passion and the loyalty and all the red.

And, when I am in the mood for a horoscope, I read freewillastrology.com I am impressed by the imagery and the positive energy Rob Brezney puts out in the world even if some of the things he projects put a whole lot of pressure on me.

This is my horoscope for the week:

In the coming week, you can generate a lot of good karma for yourself by being an initiator. That's why I advise you to never sit back passively and merely watch what's unfolding, but rather formulate a vision of what you'd like to see happen, set your intention to make it happen, and then plunge into action with brisk aplomb. Halloween costume suggestions: fire-starter, seed-planter, fertility god or goddess.

To think, I had planned to be a passive observer this week.

what if.....

Holy shit, people. I'm not sure that I'm smart enough to fix this one.

academic nostalgia

There are days that I miss the pretentiousness of academia. I miss sitting around drinking wine and talking about post modern feminist theory punctuated by deathly important discussion on some economic paradigm. You know, all that sound and fury and whatnot.

Since I decided just to go with this random case of academic nostalgia, I created a wordle from one of my very old Vico papers. I feel almost giddy.

happy place

I had the most amazing weekend. Seriously. I was lucky enough to spend the weekend about a dozen talented, funny, silly, kind, caring, drunken women who laughed and laughed and laughed.

I just wish I had my camera so I could post pictures of the deer and the fox and the suicidal butterflies and the robot off and the food and the drinks and the absolute silliness.

But I don't, so you'll just have to trust me on this one.