Desolation Canyon

Here are a few Desolation Canyon Photos, 6 months later...

This is all of the kids in our crew crossing over the Greene River to the McPherson Ranch, where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid traded horses.

This is the McPherson Ranch, dilapidated and abandoned like someone was running from the law.



A tree at sunset on the edge of the ranch and the river.



Native American Petroglyphs

Me, after six days on river, with little sleep (accidentally left sleeping mat behind), matted hair, funky pits, and a sunblistered lip.

Asheville School Daze

Anticipating a delayed start of school because of last night's snow, we shut off our boys' alarm clocks last night so they could sleep in. At 6:27am this morning, the phone rang and rang rousing me from a saucy dream involving intoxication, the beach and a hot married man. Not surprisingly, I clumsily knocked the phone from its cradle and it skidded across the floor. Heart racing, I finally answered, assuming the news at the other end terrible, considering the time of morning. Perhaps my Dad had another mini stroke? My house was on fire? My mother-n-law fell out of bed again? No, it was our school superintendent, Robert Logan, calling with a recorded message to inform us that school had been delayed. Thanks an effing lot for waking up the whole house, Mr. Logan. And for interrupting the best dream I’ve had all year.

Fast forward to 2:30. Wednesday afternoon is the only time my boys don't regularly ride the bus. When I arrived to pick them up from school my oldest, the brainiaic, handed me a letter from the Central Office stating that because of low rider ship and lack of funding from the state, their bus route had been cut. Makes sense to me, it had maybe 20 kids on it. It's more economical to combine routes, right? So i read on to find out what bus would now be transporting them. To my shock and dismay, there was no alternative transportation planned.
Huh? Doesn't the school system have some legal obligation to transport all children to school? We are probably 5 or 6 miles from the school, so walking isn't a viable option. I just don't get it. If the state doesn't have the dough to get my kids to school, then the city needs to come up with it. Or perhaps the feds should so they can tout their slogan, "No Child Left Behind".
I have several calls into the Administrator for Transportation for the Asheville City Schools. Hmmmm, I wonder why he isn't answering his phone? When he does call back, I just have to remember not to shoot the messenger.

Wonder

If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength.
Rachel Carson

The Jack Witch Project

My youngest likes to take pictures.


Mostly of the dog.
Unconventional angles...



this one is my favorite
I like these too.

Christmas Solace

In the midst of the Christmas chaos, I found sweet solace. I spent the better part of three days largely ignoring my husband's family and watching "old" movies of my children. I hadn't cataloged any of my tapes since my youngest was born 7 years ago. It was incredibly nostalgic but somewhat depressing as some of the taped events I couldn't even recall. I had forgotten that my mother had taught my youngest to call his older brother, Bubba. How could I forget such an idiotic yet endearing name?

Most of the footage was of Christmas, Birthday parties and vacations. Oddly enough, there was an inordinate amount of footage of my boys bathing. There is something about their little, nekked, chubby, bodies I just want to preserve. It is the epitome of innocence and lack of inhibition. (They watched the tapes with me and my oldest is quite embarrassed now). In one instance, my boys are bathing together. My youngest, who is about 18 months and so chubby he's never laid eyes on his manhood because his Buddha belly is blocking his vision, reaches over to my oldest and grabs his manhood, well, because it looks like something to play with. He's right, but you have to play with your own. Of course he eventually learned that but that's a whole different post.

Christmas Ivy

Eight days before Christmas, my husband had intimate relations with the English Ivy in our back yard, cutting the insidious vines away from the tall pines. He was proud of his accomplishment until he woke in the middle of the night, itching like mad. Apparently, Poison Ivy was sleeping with English Ivy and my husband caught the itch, even though he used protection - long sleeves and pants. Before the next morning was out, he had two steroid shots to ease the burning itch that consumed his entire body, including his face. That's how the itch appeared on the inside of my thigh- from the oil on his face. Now I know what you are thinking, but it didn't happen that way. Nope, I like to sleep with a pillow between my knees, thus the the raging red patch on my thigh.

Creamy Tooth Dip

Last weekend a bunch of my neighbors got together for a progressive dinner that began at my house. Our guests included a couple in their mid eighties and a twice widowed woman who is 83. Now normally someones age wouldn't be of significance but it just so happens that in this instance it is quite relevant.

Once everyone had arrived, we settled in our living room with appetizers and drinks. The widow made a creamy dip with vegetables that was parked in front of Mary, half of the couple in their eighties. We were all enjoying each other's company so no one noticed the conversation taking place between Mary and another much younger neighbor. But we all heard about later.

Apparently, Mary dipped a vegy in the creamy dip and then produced a tooth. She pulled it out of her mouth to survey it, popped it back to suck off the excess dip, and then pulled it out again. She then fished around her mouth, checking to see if she was missing a tooth. She told my neighbor it wasn't hers. Now my neighbor said it was clearly an old person's tooth. So did it come from the dip? It's a mystery but later when the widow asked me if I'd like to keep some of the dip, I politely declined.

The Joke

My nine year old came home from school the other day and shared this joke with me.

Sweet innocent boy: Mom, every time I ask you a question, you have to answer with "ketchup and liquor"

SIB: What is your favorite food?

Me: Ketchup and liquor

SIB: What is your favorite drink?

Me: Ketchup and liquor

SIB: What would you do if you saw Brittany Spears running down the street?

Me, stupidly answering the question: Ketchup and liquor

SIB: giggling waiting for me to burst into laughter - because I don't think he really gets it

Me: frowning with disgust, stunned and stammering, "Who told you that joke?" and then "Do you even know who Brittany Spears is?" (Did he also know that she just showed her beaver to God and everybody? YIKES!)

SIB: Yes, she is a singer.

Me: And a skank (ok, I didn't say it out loud)

Now, I'd much rather be addressing this same child's question at age five - "Just exactly how does the sperm get transported to the egg?" - than trying to delicately explain why this isn't appropriate. I bailed and told him he shouldn't be sharing that with kids younger than him.

He shared it with his best friend, who also, stupidly shared it with his mother.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My six-year-old doesn't have an edit button; he utters what's on his mind. He and I were in a meeting on Monday afternoon with the Event Planner at a swanky resort in town. It's where the non-profit I volunteer with held our fundraiser last Saturday. My co-chair and I needed to meet with the planner to discuss a few bumps in the event's evening and since my son's surgery was happening in a day, I had to take her first opening and bring him with.

This event planner was quite condescending and busy blaming us for the snafus that happened despite the fact we were asking to come back for the next two years. It was considerably perplexing but I hadn't done this gig before so perhaps this is how people in this position behave.

My son was quite bored and behaving so, until he spied something interesting on the Planner's desk. I glanced and saw a cute Teddy Bear and said "That's a cute bear", but he shook his head, rose from his chair and pointed to the picture frame next to the Teddy. He pointed at the picture and blurted out,"I hate Charles Taylor (Hmm, I wonder where in the world he conceived that sentiment?)." I took a look and saw our planner standing next to our (now) former Congressman, eyes beaming with delight. I didn't know what to say, but luckily (for her) it didn't seem to break her arrogant stride.

We left, bewildered, but after processing it all, I couldn't help but draw some conclusions about her behavior based on her fondness for our corrupt Congressman.

Little Black Dress

For four months I've been volunteering with an organization in town, helping chair their fundraiser that happened on Saturday. The time spent organizing the event wasn't near as agonizing as trying to dress for it.

I have been receiving invitations for events like these for years, always opting to make a donation and skip the event. It's the way I save money - I don't have to spend money on a dress, shoes, and babysitter. And, oh, I don't have to stand around in high heels that are wrenching my toes while my back screams,"Sit down, please."

I abhor the whole dress up thing so much, that I just ignored it, hoping the dress up fairy would visit my closet and leave me something (not stunning, just something) decent to wear. Oh fairy, she came, but not with a dress. She sat on my shoulder on Monday morning, 5 days before the event, while I checked news on MSN. She directed me to click on an article, "How to dress like the stars", something I would normally sneer at. But I clicked. Then I clicked again to Overstock.com. Ten minutes later, I had a silk empire waist dress on it's way. But would it look like it did on the mannequin? Hell no - I knew the answer to the that question! But the bigger question, would it arrive on time? I had to leave that in my fairy's hands.

My fairy, came through, somewhat to my disappointment, and the dress hit my porch on Friday. Now I had to give it a try. If it looked crummy I could always send it back, right? I slipped into the sassy number and surveyed the look in the mirror. Immediately, I thought, too much belly not enough boobs. But that's a song I know well, I sing it almost daily.

Since the dress passed inspection, I had to address the accessories situation. For most girls, this would involve jewelry, perhaps make-up. For me it meant a bra and panty hose.

Since my DH was as work all weekend,I bribed my boys to hit Target on Saturday, hours before the event, and I bought a "corset bra", of course without trying it on - who has time for that with two boys in tow?- and some thigh high hose. I have to say the thigh high hose are pretty sexy. I was quite turned on myself, but I digress.

I hastily threw my accessories in the cart and made a stop in the Lego section before finding some eye shadow and nail polish to finish out the look.

I arrived home with hours to spare but farted them away and before I knew it was 4:00 and my oldest wanted to play Battleship. I have an hour, I thought, which is more than I need to get ready. Besides, I can play battleship and paint my nails at the same time. Never mind that this game requires one to pick up tiny pieces and place them in miniscule holes. At 4:30, I arose from my Battle and hit the shower, proud that my polish was still in tact. The shower wasn't as friendly as the battle ground and when I emerged from the steamy bathroom, I had three nails that needed to be re-done. I removed the polish, and continued to get ready, noting I could polish the mistakes before I left. But alas, my husband, then my sitter arrived and we had to bolt out the door at break neck speed. I swiped the polish and slammed the door. I'll just put it on in the car - there are only three nails.

Yes, and in hindsight, I should have just gone naked - as far as my nails go - but I tried to tidy up my mistakes and ended up dumping polish on my brand new silk dress. "F***",I griped when I realized my clumsiness. I quickly grabbed an empty envelope (what, that's not what you'd grab?) to dab up the polish. No luck. DH stopped the car (what else are you going to do with your wife screaming, f***, f***?) and grabbed a bottled water and blanket out of the trunk. Too late, the damage was done. Pink polish was dry on black silk. NIIIICE!!

Lucky for me that the event was sold out and so crowded that no one had a chance to notice my grace, or lack there of.

I guess there's no sending the dress back now?

Sleep Apnea

Dealing with my youngest son's behavior had depressed me, yet I didn't realize it, until his recent diagnosis. He had a handful of "meltdowns" at school in the last year. Totally losing control and becoming physical with the teachers and other adults in his vicinity.

I dread to hear my mobile ring. I race to answer it or listen to the message after I am too late. Perhaps it is school, asking me to come to get my angry, out of control child. It happened a month ago. I was in the shower. When I picked up my mobile, 10 minutes later, I had three messages; two from school, one from DH, who unfortunately had to leave work to go retrieve my raucous child because I had decided to take a shower for the first time in 4 days (perhaps another sign of depression, but hey, I do live in Asheville).

This summer, while in our travels to our trip out West, I slept next to my beautiful child, noticing the pause in his breathing pattern. When I returned, I contacted his Pediatrician, inquiring about this. Three months, two doctors visits, and one sleep study later, he has a name for his quick temper and constant fatigue - sleep apnea.

It's a relief to have a disorder to hang our hat on. He will have his tonsils and adenoids removed on Wednesday. The Ear Nose and Throat Doctor that we consulted this week said that 98% of children with sleep apnea have it resolved with this surgery. I sure as hell hope so. He was waking from deep sleep to light sleep 22/hour - the average is 2 to 3/hour! No freakin wonder he is tired and irritable.

Anyway, once he was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea last Friday, I realize what a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. There is an explanation for his behavior. I was in an incredible mood on Sunday - haven't felt like that in a while. But we saw the ENT on Wednesday, and even though I have scheduled the surgical resolution to his problem, it still weighs on me. It's hard to give your flesh and blood up to someone else's care, no matter how qualified he is. The weight is back. I hope it recedes on Thursday.

WTH?

I take leave for almost three months and what does my precious blog have to say about it. Nothing, you say? That's what I thought but I was WRONG. I came back and my bloggie has decide to announce my aging out of the 4th decade and into the 5th. YIKES! ...

On Thursday, I caught the beginning of the local news here in Asheville. The reporter was live where there had been two accidents in the last week at an intersection near a school. She reported that there were folks who thought there should be a "red light" placed at that intersection. Huh? Aren't they called traffic lights? Don't they have more than one color? But before I could finish dissing her, she said it again. Listen, sugar, those of us raised in the south, myself included, say these things in conversation, but don't you think you sound a little less intelligent when you choose that kind of language? Before I could finish my thought, she threw her gig back to the anchor who repeated "red light" in her synopsis. Did they really write that down?

I'll be back before I turn 41.

Full Monty

I'm back from Desolation Canyon, UT- the most incredible trip of my life. Ok, it is all relative in comparison to the places I have been, or should I say haven't been, BUT still it was an amazing trip.

For now, I'm still in recovery mode. We returned three nights ago, but I am still unpacking, cleaning, doing laundry and catching up on the "every day".

I will tell you this. In the spirit of the trip I thought it would be fun to have river names for everyone. It never really caught on, but I will say that my DH's river name was perhaps the best. We named him Monty- as in the "full Monty" because he unintentionally exposed himself to the one of our fellow campers, a teacher at our sons' school. She claimed she was "blind" after the incident. I'm just not sure which came first - the blindness or the full Monty.

Memories

My boys and I are about to embark on a trip out West. We leave Monday for UT, with stops/adventures along the way, where we will then spend 6 days on the Greene River in Desolation Canyon. Apparently, only 600 people per year raft this area.

I was speaking with some friends yesterday, who remarked that the memories from this trip will be something to last my boys a life time. When I was 12 and 14, my three brothers, parents and I made similar pilgrimages in an RV. One summer we went up North and one summer out West. I have vivid memories of these family vacations but most that I conjure up don't include appreciation for the landscape or history we encountered. Here are a few of my most memorable ones.

These were my formidable curling iron years. I never left the RV without my hair perfectly coifed and sprayed into my best Farah Faucett even if we were headed to the pool where my curls and spray would fall out the second my do touched the water. Once, I left my hot curling iron laying on the bench in the RV and my youngest brother unwittingly fried his bare foot on it. I don't want to go into family dynamics here, but let's just say I didn't win any points with my carelessness, however, my hair regiment was not shaken.

Once, we stopped at a Burger King to eat where I ate a milk shake and onion rings for dinner. A couple of hours later, the rings repeated themselves, over and over and my brothers couldn't pile out of the RV fast enough to gulp in some fresh air. Hey, a girl has to do whatever it takes to get a little solitude time.

Once, in the Grand Canyon, my Dad tried to wake us all at some ungodly hour, like 4 am, to see the sunrise. I didn't budge and I regret it.

From our Northward travels, I can only recall one city- Bar Harbor, Maine - and then that's all I remember, just the name. The highlight of this adventure was a stop at the Bass Outlet store. I was in preppie heaven. Discount Bass penny loafers and boat shoes. Honestly, that is ALL I remember from a two week trip. Discount shoes.

It is all ahead of us now, but I hope our trip makes for better memories for my boys. Barring anything terribly tragic, it will for me.

My Friday Night

My family was to play tennis tonight but a thunderstorm thwarted our plans and instead we perused Charter cable for a movie to watch. We settled on Super Baby Genius Two. After watching this incredibly stupid movie, I wondered how they could have ever decided to make a sequel.

Scott Baio starred as the Dad in this lame flick. I had a crush on him when I was twelve. I remember writing to his fan club and getting a pin up picture of him, along with a photo book in which I wrote silly things on each page like "My kind of guy". I know, I'm gagging too. Poor guy. This is what is left of his career.

At least he is still getting work and doesn't have to rob the cleaners because his career is in the toilet.

Letter From President Bush

President Bush wrote me on official White House letterhead.

Congratulations on receiving the President's Volunteer Service Award from the President's Council on Service and Civic Participation. Through service to others, you demonstrate the outstanding character of America and help strengthen our country.

In January 2002, I called on all Americans to dedicate at least two years- or 4,000 hours- over the course of their lives to serve others at home or abroad. I congratulate you and all Americans who have answered this call and have earned a bronze Award from the President's Council. Americans of all ages can serve others in countless ways, such as mentoring a child, caring for an elderly neighbor, teaching someone to read, cleaning parks, and creating safer neighborhoods.

My Administration encourages every American to help their communities and our country. Through the USA Freedom Corps and the President's Council, we are building a culture of service, citizenship, and responsibility in American that will last for decades to come. Americans continue to serve and are part of the changing America, one heart and one soul at a time. Your actions are part of this change. I urge you to continue serving your neighbors and earn a Silver or Gold Award. I also hope that you will ask your friends, family, and colleagues to join you in serving your community and our Nation.

May God bless you, and my God continue to bless America.

Sincerely,
George Bush

There are several things to note about this letter.

First, it reeks. Bush is taking credit for my volunteer work, because I "answered this call". He is so unbelievably full of himself. I have volunteered all of my adult life, as do most folks I know. C'mon Prez, we do it because we were caring, compassionate people before you became King. Really. We aren't motivated by a tiny, stinking, metal pin. Really.

Second, had I known that my hours were being tallied by the White House, I wouldn't have signed "in", which I only did about half the time, when I volunteered at my son's school.

Third, WTH? How much money is being wasted on this program? Do they really think they are motivating folks who weren't already volunteering, or do they just want to take credit for it? Never mind, I know the answer. I think our money could be better spent elsewhere.

Fourth, Bush sounds a bit like a feminist, or at least politically correct, in not attaching a gender to God. It would really be p.c. if he said "God bless the people of every nation." Really.

Sweet Solitude

My DH has taken my boys out of town. The house is mine for the weekend.

This just materialized in the last week, so I have felt a bit pressured to make the most of it because this has never happened. I have had girls' weekends away and vacations away from my house but I've never stayed home by myself.

There was a day, some twenty plus years ago, that I would have planned a raucous party, to take advantage of my parent's empty home.

This weekend I just want to enjoy the relative quiet with no agenda and know that I am in not in charge of anyone else.

Sweet Jesus, I deserve it.

Vonage Hell

Last Fall, I took the bait and joined "the revolution" at Vonage, an internet phone company. At $25/month for unlimited local and long distance, it was half the price of the big boys over at BellSouth. Since BS doesn't know a thing about customer service, I took Vonage's line and boy did they take me for a spin.

I wasn't able to keep my old phone number- that should have been the first red flag- but I didn't mind inconveniencing all my friends and family because I was teaching BellSouth a lesson for their unscrupulous business practice of slamming me over to their long distance without my permission - not that they cared until I took it up with the NC Attorney General.

Guess what? My new number was long distance to everyone in Asheville because Vonage didn't "have a contract" here and my exchange was out of Boone. At the time they had contracts in 90% of the markets in the US. It now stands at 99%, but Asheville still doesn't make it. I spent some time talking with the nice folks at Vonage who fell all over themselves to try to make it right, even giving me a toll free, but totally different number, free for 3 months. Of course, I didn't give it out to anyone; who wants to dial 10 digits to ask your neighbor for a cup of sugar? Still, I stayed with Vonage for 9 months,trying to wait out the contract.

Finally fed up, my DH signed us on with Charter's new phone service, which conveniently included an upgrade in cable just in time for The World Cup. So I called to set up cancellation of our Vonage service. After holding for (and I'm not joking) an hour and half, the polite representative on the end of the phone said I had to call on the day I wanted the service canceled. YIKES. So I called back a couple of weeks later. This time only a 55 minute wait. Woo hoo! The courteous rep told me since I was canceling within a year of my contract, that I had to pay a disconnect fee of forty bucks.

Surely, someone can waive that fee considering no one bothered to tell me I wouldn't have a local number?

No. I can't do it nor is there anyone else here who can.

I asked to speak to her supervisor. There wasn't one there.

Then give me his/her name and I call back.

I'm not allowed to do that. Company policy.

I have to hand it to her. She remained calm and polite, despite my increasing agitation with her inane answers.

What do you suggest I do?

She couldn't answer that.

I finally got her to give me the CEO's name and corporate address. A lot of good that will do.

I'm feeling a little deja vu. I had the same experience with BS, only their phone agents were nasty about it. I even wrote to their "escalation department" with no reply.

Guess I'll have to ask the Attorney General to intervene again. What a freaking pain in the ass. I have to do hours of work to get back what is rightfully mine. It absolutely isn't worth the time it takes to get back $40 ($34 from BS) but it is the principal of the issue. How many others don't have time, or just aren't capable of fighting these battles? How many seniors are out there getting fleeced?

Here's the thing. If Vonage had fair business practices, then I would be happy to give them another chance somewhere down the line, as eventually they will get a contract here. But it doesn't matter. I'm just one customer and my absence won't break the bank. It won't even make a little dent.

Doin' The Donald

I had a dream I was getting it on with Donald Trump AND I was enjoying it. Yeah, that's right. That's what I said. He was charming and a great kisser. But just as things were heating up on his double king bed, my boys interrupted by bursting in the room. I reluctantly left the Donald's side to show them their rooms which of course were up three flights and down two hallways. Before I could make it back down to finish things with Hottie Donnie, I moved on to another dream, but not before I caught myself thinking that all my past comments about his bad hair/comb over were going to be hard to explain to my new lover.

This is going nowhere so I'll move on to a drink and my book. Maybe tonight's dream lover will be attractive OR my age. Is that too much to ask the dream fairies?

Lefty Lost It

Dare I risk posting about something I know little about, again? Ahh what the hell. It always gets the most action, even if it is at my expense. Besides, golf isn't that difficult to understand. Playing the game well, at least for me, is a different story. Way too much time to think - a thinking man's (um women's) sport, although that could be called into question given some of the comments past and present players have made - Fuzzy Zoeller's racially charged comments about Tiger Woods and VJ Singh's sexist blurb about Annika Sorenstam come to mind. They could not have been thinking.

I dig watching Golf on a Sunday afternoon. I hate playing it. It's torture. Paying a hefty some of money for 5 hours of dragging your bag around, all the while sweating like a horse, and swatting away gnats like one too. Shelling out more money to the cart princess peddling beer, wearing a low cut number (hmmm, wonder who she's marketing to?) because beer enhances my bowling game, maybe it will help this. At the very least it will dull the boredom. Ok, maybe frustration is a better word because I suck at golf. The only count I've ever had on a hole that came close to par was the number of balls I lost. At the end of my round of "exercise" as my husband likes to sell it, after accounting for my beer intake, I've burned a net of 10 calories, smell like a wet dog, "out" 20 bucks in lost balls and exhausted because I took three times as many strokes as my comrades.

Sorry but I'd much rather spend that 5 hours playing a couple of tennis matches, where sweating is an indication of actual exercise.

Face it, you just don't see a lot golfers, especially Americans, who appear to be physically fit. In fact, many of them have man boobs, including Phil Mickelson and Colin Montgomery, who were in the running for the US Open trophy yesterday. I can't think of any sport, besides Sumo wrestling, where man jugs appear to be an indication of success. Phil has had an incredibly successful year, bringing with it a big payroll, which apparently, judging by the size of his expanding bust, enabled him to eat a little more.

Maybe that plays into his "likeable" factor - he seems like golf's favorite son. He looks like an average guy, lest you stand him by his gorgeous wife and beautiful children, who enjoys hotdogs and beer (and perhaps a few ho-hos?) like most other Americans. He wears his heart on his sleeve, looks like he might cry on the 18th after falling apart yesterday, and calls himself an "idiot" in the post game conference.

He lost it yesterday. I felt bad for him, but he sure makes that boring, frustrating game worth watching.

Exhale

Last night, at BlogAsheville's birthday gig at friend Edgymama's warm and lively home, I was crowned Biggest Slacker at BlogAsheville. Well deserved, I might add, but I've been called worse, and sadly it was by my beautiful six year old -STUPID IDIOT (redundant, I know, but considering his age, not bad. I rue the day when he replaces IDIOT with another 5 letter word).

Thus my absence from the blogger pages, at least I think it is the most probable cause. I've been consumed with managing my strong-willed child's antics at school. My consumption mostly consisted of helplessly holding my breath until school ended as I had difficulty finding a therapist who was "taking new patients". School ended two weeks ago and we have found a new therapist that understands him and assures me he won't grow up to be an ax murderer. In fact, she said kid's like him - bright, articulate, perceptive, sensitive and let's not forget strong willed - grow up to change the world. Big Exhale. It's good to breathe.....

The End

The lunch boxes are dying, their plastic flesh reeking of peanut butter, yogurt, grapes, sour milk and juice. I have done everything within my power to prolong their lives - they only need to hold out for four more weeks. Just hold on, I think, then you can go peacefully to the trash, knowing you helped nourish my kids for their school year.

Perhaps if had taken better care of them, they wouldn't be dying. Damn. Maybe if I didn't forget to unpack them at the end of the day, instead waiting until the next morning, when things had time to ferment.

I really meant to be better this year. I even got the boxes with the hard, plastic removable trays that were easy to wash. But still the leftover milk and honey found their way into the cracks and crevices of the interior, eating away at the boxes' guts.

Its only a matter of time. I hope they can hold out for just a little longer.

Jesus Emails

Forwarded emails don't normally bother me. It takes just a few seconds to discern the content and either delete or read. But I have a few friends, mostly my brothers, who fall victim to the "religious" email bully. The emails normally have some benign, sweet content to make you feel good, or lovely pictures of nature. But at the end of email is a not-so-cleverly written threat/ message that if you can't take the time to send this out then you must be ashamed of Jesus. It goes on the use a bible quote to support this.

I received one today that said "if you are not ashamed, send this message but only if you believe". Just in case you're stupid and didn't understand, it goes on to say, two lines later- "This is a simple test. If you love God and all the great things He has done for you, send this to everyone you know."

First of all God's not a he. Second, this is simple and I can't believe folks actually are bullied by this - it has to be the reason they send it, right? God's gonna be pissed if you don't send it, right? Surely, you'll go to Hell for being "ashamed".

UGH!

If only spirituality were as simple as pressing the forward button.

I find it curious that the friend that sent me this one (my brothers too), also sent an urban legend one about how evil Target is. She shops at Walmart. Don't you think God would be more pissed off that you support a company who saves you $3 while discriminating against women and minorities, bullying folks to work off the clock so they can keep their low paying job "with benefits" they can't afford?

Train

is coming to headline Belle Chere.

Is that better, Edgy?

Shit!

My youngest holds it forever. You can hear him farting across the house. It sounds like someone is shooting off a round from an automatic weapon. This an indication that he needs to "go", but he heeds no nudging from me.

Tonight when I ducked into the bathroom to check his bath progress, I was greeted by a pungent stank. Youngest was sitting in the tub, half cocked on one buttock, like he was trying to let one "go". "Get out of the tub and go to the bathroom," I pleaded, my nose watering from the smell. "Ok, Ok," he whined.

A few minutes later, he was yelling from the tub, "I'm all itchy."

"You probably used too much soap again. Stand up and turn on the shower."

"Nooooo," objected my strong willed child.

"Ok, then, get out!"

I proceeded to slather him with lotion to quell the itching and then helped him to bed.

When I returned to the scene of the crime, the smell was still quite acute. I took a couple of steps closer to find bits, MANY bits, of poop in the bathtub.

"****ing gross," I snarled. Then I hit the cleaning closet. Times like these call for drastic measures: Clorox.

This wouldn't be so dramatic if youngest was say, 3 years old. But he is 6. Six years old!!

I did give him a choice: Either you clean it up or you lose 10 compliments (our reward system for doing things right). He's no dummy. Earning 10 compliments is a lot easier than cleaning up shit. He went to bed.

It was only later I realized why he was itching. Shit!

Top 10 Reasons Not to have an Affair

1. might harm the kids
2. screw up your career (esp if you're a minister)
3. might catch an infectious disease
4. might get pregnant
5. can't fart at will any more
6. have to bathe everyday
7. have to shave legs and pits more often
8. would hate to break up Keith Urban and Nicole
9. could go against the grain of being a person of integrity
10. problem of where to hide all the new lingerie from hubby

(This list was generated by Restless Mama and Running Rio during the night of escape at Asheville Brew and View. We had to do something after Duke lost.)

Meet Patch

Destroyer of prescription glasses, my mobile phone, and Legos. Chewer of shoes, yoga blocks, solar yard lights, many piece of furniture, match box cars and anything in the recycling bin. Burier of 50 rawhide bones given so he won't chew on the above. Jewel Jumper - as in family jewels - to anyone who comes to our door.

It's like having a toddler added to the household, only we can lock him away without anyone calling DSS.

Now That's Showing Your Ass

Last month, while skiing in Colorado, we met some incredibly bright and interesting folks which was conducive to good conversation. And good conversation always includes interesting stories. Here is one I really enjoyed:

This particular story was told by Laura, a warm and genuine southern woman in her late fifties.

Years ago, Laura was skiing with a group led by a ski instructor. Her group included a woman who was significantly older than the rest, but was trying to keep up with the younger, more agile skiers.

After several days of ski instruction, the instructor decided the group was ready for the top of the mountain. After successfully negotiating the ride off the lift, the group gathered together before they tackled the mountain. The older woman, pulled the instructor aside and asked how long before they reached the bottom. Forty five minutes, he told her. She wouldn't last, she told him. She needed to use the facilities. He directed her to the trees between the slopes, and the rest of the group waited patiently. After a few moments, there was an audible yelp from the trees. Everyone looked up to see the woman, skiing backwards, with her ski pants bunched up around her ankles, her buttocks exposed to the elements and the entire skiing population within eye shot.

Eventually she regained control and was able to cover her chapped assets but was, of course, tremendously embarrassed. So much so, that the next day she was too horrified to face the slopes and skiers again; she opted for a quiet day of anonymity by the lodge fire, hoping to forget the previous day's events. There was a young man relaxing by the fire too. He bore a fresh cast from an apparent ski accident. Curious she struck up a conversation with him. What happened to your leg?, she asked.

Much to her chagrin, he relayed the events of the previous day. It seems that he was having a fantastic time skiing when he looked up to see a woman skiing backward and half naked down the ski slope. He was so shocked that he lost his focus and balance and fell to break his leg.

I'm not sure if she remained anonymous but forgetting the show of assets was impossible.

Your Business

Most men can't multi-task, but my amazing husband can. He can talk on the phone while, um, doing his business. As a matter of fact, I'd venture to say that its uncommon if he's doesn't "go" while having a phone conversation longer than 10 minutes. I have always thought this one of the lowest forms of multitasking, (right down there with clipping your fingernails or flossing your teeth while watching tv). Gross. Hang up and go. Some things aren't meant to be tasked together.

I remember reading years ago, before the mobile phone became common, that 17% of people will use the bathroom while talking on the phone. Recently, after an airport bathroom encounter with a woman on her mobile phone, multi-tasking in the next stall, I became curious; has that percentage changed?

I ran across this website on a google search.

www.quiltednorthern.com/fun/bathsecrets.html

If you thought the bathroom was used for just one purpose, think again! In addition to the bathroom reading done by 74 percent of respondents, the survey found 47 percent of people talk on the phone, 23 percent watch TV and 11 percent even eat in the bathroom. Ty Pennington plays the guitar on occasion while Aida Turtono is known to meditate.

Eating while in the bathroom? Double gross. And who is Aida Turtono, anyway?

What do you do while doing your business?

The Last Fall

Basketball wins. I mean the NCAA tournament wins. I could live without basketball until the tournament comes 'round. So my bid to give up alcohol, coffee and T.V. for Lent, skids into hell. But I'm in Heaven for the moment- basketball Heaven.

Check out this link that expresses my sentiments:



So I set myself up for a fall. I hope God understands. Its a humble, glaring reminder that I am not the one in control.

Got to go. Its time for tip off.

Four Dollars

Getting ready to go on vacation is a major event in my household. I always want to leave the house clean, laundry done, bills paid, and list done so I can relax while I'm gone. Leaving the kids behind, as my DH and I did last month to ski in CO, requires more. I spent weeks trying to nail down all the details, big and small, so I could feel good about leaving town. I created elaborate lists with contacts, phone numbers, instructions for meals, where the kids would land if school was canceled or they became sick, directions to martial arts, etc.

We left on a Wednesday morning, our boys farmed out to our many gracious friends and a capable babysitter. My parents arrived on Friday afternoon for the weekend shift. I left them local park directions, children's museum pass and directions, as well as directions to a few restaurants they may like. At least two years had passed since my Dad visited, so I wanted their visit, especially his, to be effortless.

When we returned, exhausted but rejuvenated from a "real" vacation, I was pleased to hear all my extra effort paid off. Even the directions to school, just in case, were beneficial; my youngest missed the bus once. Before I could finish patting myself on the back, my Dad broke in.

"Next time you go out of town, remember to leave your Ingles savings card. It could have saved me 4 dollars."

Sure thing, Dad. I'd be happy to spend the one minute it takes to get you your own card. I've two years to accomplish that, I thought. But before I could speak, Dad added.

"Luckily someone behind me let me use their card."

Some things are better left unsaid.

Thanks Dad. See you in a couple of years.

Fall From Grace

It hasn't even been two weeks since the beginning of Lent and I've fallen off the wagon. Or maybe I climbed on - the sin wagon.

Everyone has someone, something to blame. I'm no different.

On Thursday, I had a rather persistent sciatica problem affecting the left side of my body. Added to that, I hadn't slept much all week - I'd like to call it insomnia but it's not that dramatic. I decided there was only one thing that could cure what was ailing me, but since it was 9:00 am, I didn't think a pint of Gaelic Ale suitable, so I drove 'round to Port City Java a drink of a different sort. I swear the caffeine zapped my sciatica. I couldn't feel a thing. Nor could I speak. I called my friend, Edgymama, and zipped through a conversation at the speed of light, all the while sitting in the Mall parking lot. I sat in my van, in the parking lot, for an hour, caffeine coursing through my veins. I was digging life, in the mall parking lot. That's good stuff. I've got to get some more.

.......

On Monday, I went to see my physical therapist for my sciatica, which had subsided as long as I kept the C close by, but I needed to be sure. He's Eastern medicine mixed with Western medicine, so much of his treatment is non-conventional. He took one look at me and asked, "What happened?" I don't know, I said. After a quick once over, he found the problem: my colon was tight. He moved it around while asking, "Have you changed your diet?" "A bit", I replied, "but it's healthier." He couldn't figure it out, but he made his adjustments and I left feeling much lighter on my feet.

Later, I realized that something else had changed in my diet - no alcohol for Lent. That must be my problem, I thought. My colon is missing it's red wine. That's all it took.

Now, along with caffeine, I'm back on the wine wagon.

TV remains off, however, with the tournament starting this weekend, I'm going to have to give in, just for the basketball.

Top Ten Things I Learned About Being A Mom (That the Books Didn't Tell Me)

Obviously I am speaking from heterosexual point of view.

10. You become a full-fledged parent when you are baptized by your babe while changing her/his diaper.

9. Most new dads don't take charge, so when he asks, "How can I help?" Give him a list. If he doesn't ask, give it to him anyway. If he DOES take charge, be grateful. Thank God AND your man, because it is rare.

8. Take people up on their offers to help. Give them the list too. Hey, they asked, didn't they?

7. Forgetfulness comes with sleep deprivation which comes with parenthood. Don't worry it doesn't last forever, at least that's what they tell me. (But I can't remember who they are.)

6. Wine is not only good for milk letdown, it is also good for your sanity.

5. Leave the laundry and dishes, or better yet, put them on the list and get some sleep. Just be sure to brush your teeth by noon.

4. You WILL, no matter how foul you think it is now, eventually use the sniff test to check you baby's diaper for a poop deposit.

3. Being a parent is the most challenging, important and rewarding job you will ever have. The challenges never stop; they change in nature, so you can't spend a lot of time patting yourself on the back, as your babe will have already moved to the next chapter.

2. Privacy and modesty have left the building. Babies and children come with bathroom (and privacy) radar; they know you are trying to have a "private moment" and they will hunt you down with their piercing screams or with their incessant pleading at the bathroom door. This radar can sometimes interrupt intimate moments between you and your mate, but most new parents don't have to worry about that for the first 6 months as sleeps trumps intimacy. Sorry mates.

1. People like to say, "Once you have a kid, your life will never be the same", but what they often forget to tell you is - that is absolutely the best part about it!

March Madness

The big game, UNC v Duke, is now in progress and I am listening to it on a weak am radio signal. I like listening to Woody and the gang and have done so for many games this season as we don't have expanded cable, but sometimes you just want to see it on the big screen.

Not to be- today or for the next 5 & 1/2 weeks. I gave up T.V. for Lent. And Coffee. AND alcohol. My friends, including my friend in ministry, think I'm nuts. So far, I'm sane. Coffee has been my challenge so far but the withdrawal headaches have subsided.

Of course, I miss my daily glass of wine, but I figure I can make like my Catholic friends and have a drink on Sundays, if it comes to that.

As anticipated, I haven't missed TV - until now. What was I thinking? March Madness is just around the corner. I love March Madness. It is basketball at its best. Underdogs making stunning upsets. The favorite pulling off a victory with a last second shot. It's unpredictable, as it is COLLEGE basketball. The players are still kids, making kid's mistakes. I LOVE it. But I've cut myself off.

What have I done?

I think I need a drink. Is it Sunday yet?

To My Adoring Fan(s)

I'm in detox but I'll be back...

Apolo

Last night I watched Apolo Ohno win the Bronze medal in the Olympic 1000 meter short track.

Man does he have grace and poise. After a tough and fair race, one in which he appeared to have raced to the best of his ability, Andrea Joyce of NBC, cornered him to find out why he had failed to win the gold. She didn't come right out and ask it but she implied it over and over again in her short interview with Apollo.

What amazing grace this young man displayed in this woman's continuous peppering of questions to find out - what happened? Why didn't you win the Gold medal?

Apolo was clearly thrilled to have won the Bronze medal and concede the Gold and Silver to the Korean pair that beat him. He never wavered in his enthusiasm and wasn't apologetic for third place.

Good for him. You don't have to be first place to be a winner.

Now Chad Hedrick's comments about Shani Davis' win was another story. The man could take some tact lessons from Ohno.

Valentine Riddle

What do you get when you cross a menstruating woman in the middle of a kitchen renovation with two boxes of chocolates from the Chocolate Fetish?

hint: the answer is NOT Terri Hatcher

Grammys

Did you see Gwen Stefani? What was she thinking in that Bam-Bam get up? Or is it Pebbles?

My spouse said, "Looks like she met a man", referring to her blossoming mid section. I'm totally out of it here. Is she pregnant? Who's the daddy/ mommy?

Ok, I just got a peak, ok more like a view, of Terri Hatcher's bosoms on live television. She doesn't do it for me. Not enough meat on her the rest of her bones.

Kelly Clarkson--cute and really blonde. And a real woman with curves and flesh.

Keith Urban--Hot, sweaty and hoarse. Sing it baby!

When did Faith Hill learn to play the guitar? She doesn't sound good. Maybe too many things to think about with the guitar and all. I saw her on some (taped) special over the hoidays and she actually sounded really good. Oh well, as long as she's performing, Tim McGraw has to be close by. He rocks.

JC

Jimmy Carter, 81, did ski, and snow shoed, and ice fished. Amazing.

Duke v UNC

My boys looked good last night, especially the Freshman.

JJ Redick is unbelievable but I don't like his drama act. Falling down when no one has touched him, trying to draw the foul. No Oscar for him. Wonder where he gets his dramatic flare? There always seems to be one Duke player who likes to "act". Do they have special classes for the players? Or are they just taking a cue from the their dramatic coach K? When he is bitching about a "call", which is pretty much the entire game, he looks like a Chihuahua.

Feeling baited, Rio?

Bubble Burst

Five days with Jimmy, Rosalynn, and so many interesting, fun people.
Four nights without the kids.
Three days of skiing.
Two days of snow adventures - snowshoes and snowmobile.
One day of travel - without the kids.
8 hours of sleep every night.
2 hours of napping.
30 minutes of a joyful reunion with my children.
2 minutes to read the letter from my youngest's teacher that burst my vacation bubble.

Now today its off to:
30 minutes with the teacher and principal
1 hour with his pediatrician
countless hours with a psychiatrist to manage his impulse control.

Its good to be home.

JC & Me

Sorry I haven't been 'round lately. This business of preparing to go on vacation without the kids is a full time job. Rides, sitters, meals, not to mention all the many things on my list that I feel compelled to do before I leave - things that I haven't bothered with for six months. Something about going on vacation inspires me to clean my plate so I can start anew when I return.

So I am off to ski with Jimmy Carter. Well, I'm guessing at 81 he won't be skiing, but we'll see.

I tried watching the state of the Bush Union tonight, so JC and I can have something to talk about. However, after 30 minutes of retoric from the Bush, I had to turn it off before I became ill. That's just not cool before vacation.

At least he paid tribute to Coretta Scott King. Now I can say that I applauded him.

Well This Is It Now

Rob keeps waking me.

He has become my alarm clock, of sorts. For the past week,without fail, he has roused me from the fog of dreamland, crooning his moving lyrics.

It is deeply flattering to have this amazing, gifted, hot singer some ten years my junior lavish me with his sultry - dripping with sex appeal, voice. (Didn't I mention he is hot?) Normally I wouldn't complain, but out of all the dittys in his repertoire, he keeps singing the same one over and over.

Well this is it now
Everybody get down
This is all I can take
This is how a heart breaks

It's starting to make me feel a little insecure about our relationship.

Guess I'll have to put my son's CD player on shuffle. Then maybe RT can stir me with:

Call on me
I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
Forever it's you
Forever in me
Ever the same

Covergirl

"What are you doing?", my friend Susan asked as I paraded through the rounders at K-Mart trying not to broadcast my entire phone conversation.

"Just Christmas shopping", I replied.

"Do you have some time before you pick up the boys from school?"

Hmmm, a loaded question. Not very quick on my feet, I replied "Yes". What am I getting into?

"We just need to just take a few pictures of you trying on pants."

Huh? Susan's husband is a photographer but I didn't know anything about his work. This image came to my mind - me wriggling my bum into a pair of jeans while the camera clicked furiously focusing on my better half. Kind of erotic and sexy, so I headed right over to the studio.

Boy was I disappointed. They needed someone to model old lady jeans. You know the kind. Elastic waist, and full legs. Comfort over fashion. Check that. Comfort, no fashion. I even had to hike them up right underneath my breasts, just like my grandma did, to get them to look right. My only consolation was they had to pin the material back from my legs as they were swimming in old lady hell. And, oh yeah, these were only waist down photos, so I'd be incognito.

This is humiliating. My first and last modeling job, I thought. Then they handed me a check. I thought this was just a favor for a friend. I had no idea I would get paid.

"Call me, on the line. Call me, call me, any, anytime" I sang, in my best Blondie impersonation, skipping out the door.

Look for my "work" in the Sunday sales flyers. I'll be the one with the forty year old legs in the gunny sack pants. I'm sure you'll be able to tell the difference.

Computer Whores

My boys live to play on the computer, so much so that they ask incessantly until they are given permission. I have long realized the carrot value of this privilege. They can easily lose the privilege for bad behavior, which my youngest frequently does. I can also get them to perform chores- whether it be homework, piano practice or getting ready for bed - before they get a shot at their favorite "eye candy", cartoon network games.

But this week a light went on and I had a brilliant idea; Add some real chores. It's working like a charm so far. My oldest has been cleaning the bathroom sink, unloading the dishwasher, etc. My youngest has yet to lift a finger. He's been suspended from the computer since I started this.

Next week I'm adding a new chore- cleaning the toilet. The honeymoon could be over soon.

Mustache Quandary

I don't have a problem with some extra hair. I frequently let my arm pit and leg hair grow "out", mostly out of laziness. I wouldn't consider myself vain. I don't wear make-up that often but I prefer to keep the facial hair to minimum. Mustaches aren't generally considered attractive on women.

I used to bleach my mustache but dark or light, a mustache is still a mustache, so I began plucking, occasionally. Chalk it up to hormones but over the last several years the intervals between plucks have shortened; now the mustache hairs are coming on like Homer Simpson's beard. I pluck them. They reappear, quickly. And more coarse. At this rate, I will soon be tickling my husband with my stubble instead of my tongue.(If you just took a dive into the gutter, come back up because I'm talking about kissing.)

Guess I'm going to have to go the waxing route until I can cough up some money for electrolysis and get this permanently removed.

Crimson Waves

Excited about his visit I scurried around trying to pick-up the mess in the house. I didn't want him to think we lived like slobs. Yesterday he called, finally, after a week of waiting; he was ready to meet.

The door bell rang. I glanced at my watch. Ugh! He's fifteen minutes early! I felt a warm sensation in my pants. Damn, I ran through my tampon - again. Superb timing.

I opened the door breathless and flustered; I couldn't even remember his name. I tried to keep the dog from jumping on his jewels while simultaneously trying to Kaegel back the flow of things. He graciously saved me and introduced himself. As I extended my hand, the dog jumped again. He winced. His jewels were hit. Great first impression.

Embarrassed, I showed him in and we began to talk about what I needed from him. But it's hard to concentrate when your blood flow is elsewhere. Damn, I really need him, but I need the bathroom too. His phone rang and he answered. Saved by the bell, I excused myself.

Upon returning, I was better able to focus on my needs and we had a lovely conversation about the demolition and renovation of my kitchen.

C-I-L

There is an Eddie Murphy skit from SNL that keeps ringing through my head. I think he was making fun of Mr. Rogers neighborhood. He's saying "Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord. C-I-L my landlord."

My MIL has decided that she has "too much to do" and isn't coming today, even though she had plans to make bread and buckeyes (peanut butter balls dipped in chocolate) with my two children today. They are disappointed as well as wired and tired. My DH, on the heels of 5 day out-of-town convention that included last weekend, has to work all weekend. Wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't the one who makes the schedule AND he scheduled himself to work last Christmas day too.

The house is a mess, there's baking to be done, gifts to wrap, grocery list to make, dog to wash AND me to bathe. Where's the joy?

C-I-L my family.

At least the Christmas cards are in the mail.

B4B - My Sunshine, JG

This was a post that was inspired by a post at www.Edgymama.com a couple of weeks ago. I am way past the deadline (and hardly articulate enough to compete) but I wanted to post it anyway. The contest was to write about someone you have chosen to be a part of your family....

She showed up at my door,zucchini bread in hand, shortly after we moved in. Several months later, she was back again to welcome our newest son home from the hospital. It wasn't long before I was at her door holding my offering of soup and condolences for the death of her husband - good southerners always bring food for the grieving.

Those were difficult days for me: new town, new baby, few friends, absent husband, and it was winter. Plus I had a two year old experiencing the same. I was grieving my old life. Multiply that by a thousand and that is what she must have been feeling.

She became a favorite of my 2 year-old. He loved going to visit her and I was so drawn to her, I encouraged frequent visits. I can't even imagine the unbearable pain she carried, her partner gone from this life, but she always welcomed us, no matter what she was doing or feeling. She literally was my sunshine during that first winter, as I was depressed. She offered to keep my son occasionally, but I usually declined as I didn't want to burden her, even though she was the one offering. I couldn't just take her offer at face value, a product of my relationship with my passive mother. My mom would make such gestures out of obligation or pity and then complain about them later. I have spent a lot of my life trying to read between the lines, enabling this behavior.

She later joked with me, that I was afraid to leave my son with her; she knows the truth now. The first time I left my boys with her I attended a mom's get together across town. When I returned, she informed me that she had fed my 7 month old peanut butter and honey, two no-no's before the first birthday. He was fine, but she was so embarrassed that she swore me to secrecy. However, it wasn't long before she was joking about the time she tried to kill my son. I trust her implicitly with my children, despite the murder attempt. She has rescued me, countless times, when I needed child care, not the least of which was a midnight call to watch one son while we took the other to the emergency room. She was at our house within 5 minutes.

Beyond loving and caring for my boys, she has become a dear friend, although I often feel it is one sided - she listening to my less than succinct monologues of religion and spirituality woes, child rearing issues, broken friendships, mother-in-law angst, dealing with death- the list goes on and on. She never fails to really listen, without judgment. She always has so much to offer, especially in acceptance and advice, but she never gives me the impression that she feels burdened to "solve" my problem. It is a gift she has and I have asked her to share it often.

Over the last six years we have enjoyed lots together, just as girlfriends should - pedicures, concerts, lunches, laughs, hikes, games night, etc. It didn't seem like a normal week if I didn't see her several times. We always felt at ease to drop in on one another, unannounced, although I was at her door more often. I would be treated to a beer or glass of wine, while my boys were treated to bubble gum. Sometimes I would bring her dinner, one my family refused to eat, and she would rave about how wonderful it was. I'm not convinced she was that enamored of my cooking skills; she knew how much I needed affirmation.

We moved across town 8 months ago, and we don't see each other as often. We both are busy with our "work". She spends countless hours doing community work but she just added something else to her plate: her first grandchild. Now she is traveling 500 miles one way, to share her love with the babe. Its beautiful to hear the joy in her voice, see the glow on her face, during this stage of her life.

I'm glad she has shared her life and love with us. We are better for it.

Meet John Edwards

This weekend we visited some friends in Chapel Hill. My DH had a conference in the area on Friday so I yanked the kids from school and took them with. I thought the Moorehead Planetarium would be a good gig for our Friday education, only when I decided to leave I discovered that my DH had take off with the keys to the van. So we hung out and the kids played with our friends Xbox or something like it. They thought that a better gig anyway, and I was able to catch up with my friend Vanessa.

DH showed up in the late afternoon and we geared up for the neighborhood Christmas Caroling event. I can sing fairly well, so I was looking forward to this. Vanessa put me in charge of the singing. Hardly difficult - we just have to sing a few tunes from this Caroling book.

Our first stop? John Edwards' house. No joke. He is living in this community in CH as he has a position at UNC-CH. The lights were on, and i mean EVERY light, and no one was home. We moved on to the next house, noting as we passed JE's house that his garage doors were even up. Maybe he thought our singing less that desirable?

We didn't care. We had a few drinks on board and we were happy. Oh, wait, that was later. Anyway, we went to the next house and proceeded to sing as we rang the bell. A family trickled to the door to hear our humble tunes. I kept my head down watching the children sing. When I looked up there was John Edwards, smile as big as Texas, joining our caroling, along with his wife and small children. Rock on Senator Edwards. I wish i could call you Vice President.

We finished our diddys and moved on as we sang "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". I soooooo wanted to sing, "We wish you were Vice President. We wish you were Vice President. We wish you were Vice President but Dick Vader is".... Oh, and by the way Mr. Edwards, your wasting eletricity next door.

Guilty Pleasures

1. Chips and sour cream and onion dip.
2. The Apprentice. I'm just waiting for someone to ask the Donald "What the hell are you thinking with that ridiculous comb over?"
3. Naps
4. Seeing my son's friend E get hit by another friend for his smart mouth. I know, I know - this is BAD.
5. Reading ASHVEGAS' lewd comments to other bloggers. OMG!
6. Sam's club. Loved going there, despite my disdain for Walmart. The guilt outweighs the pleasure here, so I haven't been in some time.
7. Massages - only the ones i pay for.

There are more so I'll be back. And Yours?

1985

My just turned six year old likes the song 1985. I'm not sure who sings it but I'm guessing that some day 10 years from now they'll have a segment on VH1's one hit wonder groups. Anyway, it's hilarious to hear his him sing his interpretation of the song.

He sings "Cici, Madonna, way before your mama there was tu tu and Blondie and shu shu shu shu she TV" when actually it's "Springsteen, Madonna, way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie and music still on MTV."

He's been asking me what does cici sing? It's Springsteen, i say. Pink Cadillac.

When I was in high school I had a girlfriend who thought Billy Idol's song, Eyes Without A Face, was Hows About A Date? No joke.

Everyone gets the words mixed up on a song at some point in their singing to the radio career. What was yours?

Hospitality?

My neighbors were over yesterday for a wonderfully fun Thanksgiving gathering that included 5 adults and seven kids. Near the end of our enchanted evening my neighbor, Trent, diapers and wipes in hand, asked "Where can I change Liv's diaper?".

"Your house", I replied.

At this moment...

Favorite sounds are:
1. Legos being foraged through in the lego drawers; my kids are being quiet and engaging their minds at the same time.
2. The puppy running through the house.
3. My sons' feet as they hit the floor first thing in the morning.
4. My boys telling me "I love you, Mom".
5. My Jack making up songs while he playing.
6. Hearty, uninhibited laughter, especially from children; it's contagious
7. My Graham, practicing the Piano
8. The Dixie Chicks singing "God Speed"
9. Silence

Favorite smells:
1. Fresh cut Christmas tree
2. Hot Apple Cider
3. The summer air just before a thunderstorm
4. Burning wood emanating from a chimney in the winter

Favorite touches:
1. My boys' hands inside mine.
2. Hugs, from anyone i know and love.
3. Back rubs
4. Foot rubs
5. From my DH - but i won't go there.

Favorite tastes:
1. Chocolate Sin from the Chocolate Fetish
2. Open face portobello Mushroom sandwich from The Corner Kitchen
3. Tofu Scramble from The Early Girl Eatery
4. Vegetable Plate (with a biscuit of course) from Tupelo Honey
5. Highland Gaelic Ale, draught of course, from Barleys Taproom

Favorite sights:
1. My children's smiles
2. The trees that line Kimberly Ave during Autumn
3. Old friends at my door
4. Old friends at their door
5. A starry sky on a clear night
6. The blue ridge mountains at sunset

I'm grateful
1. To be alive
2. For my voice, no matter it's lack of articulation
3. For my family
4. For my friends, who have had to endure me droning on about MIL. There is ALWAYS a story!
5. For Asheville. I can't imagine living anywhere else.
6. For my bum. Thanks to tennis it looks pretty good in my jeans:)

She Brought Flowers

"Congratulations!" my new friend, Karen, said as she handed me a dozen pink roses. She droppng her son at my son's 6th birthday party; I didn't understand. "It's Lili's idea" she said. I was confused. The only Lili, I knew - barely, had died of pancreatic cancer almost two weeks ago. She recognized that I was lost and went on to say that at Lili's memorial service last week (the one that I missed because I was out of town for a team tennis tournament) someone stood up to tell of Lili giving flowers to the mom when she dropped her son at a birthday party. How beautiful, I thought. Her legacy lives on. It brought tears to my eyes. I was celebrating my son's birthday, one that Lili's own son couldn't attend as he was away for an out of town memorial service. It just didn't seem right. But then I moved on. I "stayed in the moment" of the birthday celebration, soaking it all in. Her husband, just weeks ago, had sent out an email encouraging us all to do the same. So I did.

After the memorial service, we (all of us who volunteered to help this family) received this email from a hospice worker:

Dear Tiffiny and Lili's Team,
You all are magnificent! It was very moving to hear your tributes to Lili..and to see your demonstration of love in action. I only got to know her near the very end and once the team had formed, chose to remain in the background and not overwhelm the family with another stranger. When I met her, I was (of course) struck by her enormous eyes and great physical beauty. When I heard you speak of her, I realized what a remarkable spirit she was/is and why so many of you came together to help her and to celebrate her. It is apparent what a shocking loss you are all experiencing and it is also very clear what a gift Lili was to each of you.
Your team moved with such coordinated grace, making sure that all of her needs were met... and that the boys were lovingly cared for throughout this time. You formed a community that nurtured each of you as well as the family. That was apparent during the service on Saturday...your tenderness toward each other is a wonderful legacy. Throughout your lives, you will remember this journey - walking with each other, holding Lili. Even though it was very difficult and painful, you held her through her dark nights and stayed faithful to the end. You have amazing courage and deep abiding love.
I thank you for coming together. It was so inspiring to walk in the room for our first meeting and see 30 people there! You all are GREAT!! You did this as if you have always done it, as if you have always known how to come together as a community to care for one of your own. You have much to teach the world.
If there is ever anything I can do to support you all, please call me.
Thanks for being on the journey with me, too.
Bright blessings,
Lynn

She was only 34 years old but so many learned so much from her and her illness, including me. I'm grateful our paths crossed, even though ever so briefly. I am better for it.

Gouchos and Prairie Skirts and Ruffles, Oh My!

Last night I attended a dinner/auction to benefit a local AIDS organization in town. I always skip these events as the cost of the tickets, babysitter plus buying "something to wear" is prohibitive - to me anyway because I'm cheap. However, some good friends treated us to the event, so I only had to shoulder two out of three expenses.

On Thursday I hit an upscale department store for an outfit. I'm not a fashion Diva by any means. I prefer my jeans, button up shirt and my mules to just about anything else, however somewhere between entering the store and taking my next breath it hit me. Oh Todo, I thought, we're not in Asheville anymore. Gouchos and prairie Skirts and Ruffles, oh my! Gouchos and prairie and Ruffles, OH MY!!

Off to see the Wizard, and quick, before the wicked department store turns me into Laura Ingles Wilder or Grandma.

I decided to wear what was in my closet instead, so I only had to pay for the sitter. Told you I was cheap.

My First Bra

I was 11, in sixth grade, when my mom bought me first bra, a training bra. Why the word training? Not sure, it's not as if wearing a bra could actually cause your body to wake up and say "Hey, there's a bra out there. Time to grow some breasts to fill it!" Believe me, this did NOT happen. As a matter of fact, I was the southeastern president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee until I had my first child, and then they kicked me out. Mammary madness.

To be sure I didn't need a bra yet but I was at an age where I was trying to shake my tomboy image - I wanted to stop looking like a boy. Yes, I did look like a boy. My mom cut my hair in the same bowl cut she gave my three brothers. I wore mostly Toughskins - remember those from Sears? - and only wore a skirt, not a dress, to church.

I wore that bra right out of the store, like most would only wear a new pair of shoes. Cue Donna Summer because I thought I was hot stuff in my Toughskins and new bra that showed through my cowboy scene t-shirt. My mom and I got into her car at the strip mall. Our next door neighbor walked by with her 14 year old son and my mom got out to speak to them. Here's my chance to be noticed, I thought. I hopped right out and puffed out my chest like a peacock. I don't know why I thought he would notice and even if he did, surely I didn't want him to say, "Hey kid, nice bra", because there were clearly no boobs behind it.

I wore that bra for sixth months straight. It never occurred to me that it should be washed occasionally. Besides, it was evident that my breasts needed more training.

Halloween's Haunt

It was our first Halloween in our "new" home. My neighbors told me to expect 20 or so children. I ran out of my 40 (bags of popcorn) treats within 30 minutes. Luckily, a new(er than me) neighbor came to the rescue with some candy.

My 5 year old almost lost his trick-or-treating privileges, actually he did lose them - for about 15 minutes. He was hitting his older brother and I told him "If it happens again, you will lose your trick-or-treating privileges and I'm not kidding." Didn't take him long to cross that boundary and then he was off to his room yelling and crying. After the crying stopped, I let up, and told him he was just going to miss the first 30 minutes. So he did, with much protest. But finally he relaxed and became a "door man" for the visitors yelling "Popcorn, get your popcorn here". I left him alone on the porch while I finished cleaning the kitchen, still pitching "Popcorn", like he was a baseball stadium vendor. When I returned, I found him telling a couple of kids "only one per family" to which I gently pointed out,"Everyone can have one". No telling how many families he had already rationed. Bet they are thinking,"Great, the new neighbors are cheap." Guess I have him to thank that my treats lasted 30 minutes.

My oldest once lost Easter Egg hunting privileges for hitting his brother. Today my friend, LeeAnne, told me when her daughter was 5, she lost her trick-or-treating privileges for 30 minutes too. It's good to know that I'm not alone here (ie misery loves company). What is it about the Holidays that brings out the worst in (most) kid's behavior?

Honey, Grab the Vacuum, I'm in the Mood!

Last night, I zoned out on a reality TV show, Wife Swap. Sadly it's not the first time. This show, along with the Nanny show make my kids and Husband (and, ah hem, me:)) look like dreams, so I actually enjoy watching them occasionally.

This particular episode had the farm mom from Kentucky swap with the city girl from I don't know where, but it didn't matter, as ABC, no doubt picked a woman who personifies the stereotypical city girl -she dresses hip, parties and has fun. The Kentucky mom was a stereotype too- dowdy, selfless, conservative and boring. I realize the networks are doing all of us girls an injustice by perpetuating these stereotypes, including this southern, liberal, loud, halter top wearing, not so selfless girl. However, I was reading between the lines in this episode, so hear me out.

They portrayed the city girl as a "diva" whose husband did all the chores and the farm girl as the selfless one who worked her bottom off, along with her children, keeping the farm in order while the husband was absent.

Of course, the VERY UPTIGHT farm girl couldn't believe that the city husband did most of the chores and didn't "have control" of his woman. I've got a news flash for you sister: City Husband "Gets More" From Doing Chores. He WAS in control and getting EXACTLY what he wanted: Good lovin.

It's no secret that men who do more household chores "get more" in return. There is scientific proof - somewhere, that says it's true. But me and my girlfriends don't need science; we have our own proof. So boys, grab the toilet brushes and vacuums and get to work. We think it is SOOO sexy.

Good Life

It's a nasty, cold, windy, rainy day here; something we haven't had in quite some time. But it has been so unbelievably gorgeous and warm here that when days like these blow in, it's good to embrace them. Time to get some indoor chores done, ones I just couldn't bring myself to do, not while the Indian Summer was still glowing outside my door.

We are just minutes from the Blue Ridge Parkway and a plethora of hiking choices. Outside of the parkway, there are many other hiking, biking, rafting, camping, festival, museum, craft, music, restaurant (insert your passion here) choices within an hour's drive, if not closer.

Honestly, although I haven't had the opportunity to travel much in my life, I can't believe there is a better place to live. One could make a compelling argument that my opinion is skewed by where I come from. I grew up in a small military town of around 100,000 people, the commerce driven by 19 and 20 year old males. It is anchored by chain restaurants, bars, movie theatres, and a big mall. Nothing wrong with it, if that's what you like. Certainly, there are many, many towns and cities like it across the U.S. But once I tasted the originality of this eclectic town, I knew I was "home".

It's the first place I have lived where being a vegetarian not only is common (and not a side freak show at the circus), but accepted. Many of the (original) restaurants have vegy choices beyond a salad and soup with chicken stock (yes, I have had many people ask of my vegetarian lifestyle "Do you eat chicken?" "No, you bone head, chicken IS meat" - at least that what I said on the inside).

My sons go to the most amazing (to me) public elementary school. There are plenty in town with (those damn) test scores as good (or better) as this school. The draw is way beyond that. There is an palpable energy there that just can't be contrived. The student population is economically and culturally diverse. The school community is deeply involved in the welfare of each child. Most impressive is that students learn by "hands on" experience. Certainly, I would have benefited greatly from learning this way, instead of having my butt in a seat for 6 hours.

Well, it's stopped raining, no chores have been tackled and the puppy is whining (another blog) to get outside. I can file tomorrow (it's been on the list for six months anyway, what's another day?). C'mon Patch, let's go find the sun.

Pocket Treasures

In the past couple of days the temperature here has dipped into the 30's overnight, initiating the clothes exchange in the closet: shorts away, fall is here to stay. Each fall as I make the clothes transition, I discover little forgotten treasures in my various coat pockets. Messages, if you will, from my life six months ago.

I suppose that I am giving my self away, in that I'm not one who washes all my winter wears before "putting them away" for the spring. In this southern mountain town, Spring doesn't grace us with her warmth, at least consitently, until Mid May. By then, though, i just want to soak up the sun, and leave winter, dirty, in the closet.

So far my treasures have been: a pair of sunglasses (hmmm, I lose them so often that I'm sure I didn't miss them long), five dollar bill (woo hoo! I always like a little unexpected cash windfall), candy trash (this must of been from my boys, handing off their trash to me as if I am the trash can), and a receipt from The Early Girl Eatery (favorite lunch spot in town).

What pocket treasures have you discovered this fall?

School Pictures

About a month ago, I left my children in my DH's capable hands to visit my friend Ann, in Atlanta. The catch? It was during the school week. As I was preparing to leave, I realized that picture day would happen while I was gone. I quickly perused the boy's closets for something suitable to wear. Damn, only t-shirts; exactly what they wear ALL the time. There has to be a nice button down shirt here somewhere, one someone handed down to them, I thought. I gave up. I told, ok asked, my DH to make the 3 minute trip to Steinmart and hit the sale racks for a decent shirt, ignoring that fact that all they wear are Pok-e-mon, Sponge-Bob, and various event/camp/charity t-shirts. There's something about my upbringing that screams "DON'T WEAR A T-SHIRT WITH WRITING FOR YOUR SCHOOL PICTURE"

The pictures arrived recently. I have to hand it to DH. He didn't spend any money on new shirts; he used what was in the closets. Of course, they DESPERATELY needed ironing. The pockets, collars and button holes were ALL turned up, dying for a little water and some heat to tame them.

Oh well. It will be a funny story. Some day, anyway.

Rhyming

My Kindergartener was writing rhyming words last night. (Stop rolling your eyes; this isn't a bragging blog.) DH was doing all the spelling then he would write them down. He first wrote the word "truck" then "stuck", and then (yes you guessed it) *uck. Of course, he didn't get a chance to write that one. DH quickly pointed out "That isn't a word."

Reminded me of the time I took my oldest to his 4 year old well appointment. He was on the floor playing with some legos while his pediatrician asked the typical developmental questions. Can you count to 10, do you know what color this is? I was thinking "Buddy, that's old hat" but instead I said, "G knows how to rhyme. Hey G, what rhymes with door?" Without hesitation, he said "Whore".(Of course he didn't know what it meant, he just added a different beginning sound to "or") Ah, I didn't teach him that, I thought, feeling the blood burning up into my face. I looked up at the pediatrician who smirked and said "I guess I shouldn't ask him about duck then should I?" No sir. Little did I know, that his brother would eventually have that one covered.

Paralyzed

I met her about 18 months ago. She came to a neighbor's house to teach our preschool children Spanish. I never spent time chatting with her; I just observed the lesson and then always had to jet off to get my other son from school. She is definitely gifted. The lessons were always engaging and she had a gentle, calm, spirit that kept the children's attention.

When she told us, it literally took my breathe away. She needed to take the summer "off" to focus on her health. Pancreatic cancer. I can still remember the look on her face. That can't be, I thought. She couldn't be more than 30 years old and she has two young kids. It just can't be. But it was.

Pancreatic cancer has no cure. They gave her three months. I wanted to help, but I was paralyzed. Of course, I prayed but it didn't seem enough. I wanted to call her, but I didn't want to be intrusive. After all, I didn't really know her. So, my son and I wrote her. He drew her a picture and I wrote his get well message. I offered "help in any way" but I didn't hear from her. I didn't really expect it, after all she knew less of me than I of her. Since I had her address, I thought of sending money, even showing up at her door, but I didn't. Paralyzed.

My neighbor was persistent in calling her until she was able to speak to her. She spoke of trying alternative therapies, her faith, and that in a way she thought of her illness as "a gift" that brought her family closer. Amazing, I thought. I can't imagine getting to that place, thinking of a terminal illness as a gift. I could only discern that it was faith that brought her there.

Life happens and I let her slip from my mind. It's easy to do as who wants to think of something so tragic? Shortly after Kindergarten started this year, I realized that her son was in my son's class. His teacher said that she wasn't well.I spoke with Jack about remembering her. We played the Spanish tape with her voice on it and then took it into school to share with her son and the class. She has already beaten the "odds" but what consolation is that?

Today I learned that Hospice is now involved. The end must be feared near. I cried. For her. For her children. For her husband. I dried my tears. They came back. I projected her situation into my life and cried, again. I'm not sure why I'm so deeply affected. She's not my friend. But she's my contemporary. A young mom of two small boys, making her mark in this world, never imagining she wouldn't live to see her son graduate from high school, much less Kindergarten. I think about all that she will miss, her kids will miss, with her gone. It's tragic, unfair, frightening and deeply saddening. It sucks.

Today, I also learned of a young mom, a stranger to this woman, who apparently just "showed up on her doorstep" to offer her assistance and she took her up on it. She organized a meeting today of those who want to help. Why couldn't I have done that, I thought? In the beginning I did think about it but I was paralyzed. It would have been awkward, for her and me, to just show up. I should have just checked my insecurities. I'm thankful someone else could and has been able to help. You live and you learn.

I can't help but think that it's Divine intervention that has reconnected our families. We were meant to help; in what way, remains to be seen, but my paralyses abated, I'll be ready to move.

Brilliant!

Most parents like to think their children are blessed with intelligence, right? Well this week my two, 5 and 8, demonstrated theirs. My DH told me that the boys didn't have a hand towel in their bathroom, so instead of walking to the linen closet, which is all of 15 feet, to get one, they "made do" with what they had. The path of least resistance? Their clothes? No,their mama raised them better than that! They used the shower curtain. Hey, it's pretty darn close right? What's the difference? I'll tell you. The shower curtain is white,was white. Turns out, washing your hands doesn't guarantee the dirt will come off. Brilliant, kids.

Sisters

My friend, Ann, was recently very ill. In intensive care for 10 days. She feel ill as she was about to go on vacation to Holden Beach. We were already there. We had planned our vacation at the same beach, same time, so we could spend time with her and her husband Michael while they were there with her family.

We first met them in Atlanta, 15 years ago. Since moving away 12 years ago, we have been on vacation with them just about every year, if not every. It's one of those rare couples relationships where the chemistry works for all of us. When we are together we always enjoy good food, wine, conversation, but most of all hearty, uninhibited laughter.

Certainly when you move away from one city to a new one, friendships fade. Its just impossible to maintain them all when you are making new ones. But ours with Mike and Ann has grown, deepened. Perhaps it is the distance that makes it work better. There's much to catch up on when you haven't seen each other in many months. We don't really do email or phone calls. It's just better to save it for when we meet. There's always been security in that. We will meet again, it's just a matter of time.

Ann lives with an AVM, a malformation of her brain that can bleed at any time and cause excruciating pain not to mention threaten her existence. She had her first bleed in 1984 just after she met her husband, Michael. In the last year she has had two bleeds, the most recent being this past July.

Three days into our beach trip we got word from Michael that Ann was in intensive care. Michael seemed upbeat and positive about her condition, but there was something that he wasn't saying that bothered me. I hung up and cried. DH encouraged me to leave him there with the kids and fly down to see her. But I couldn't get in touch with Michael until we returned home on Sunday. By this time she had been in the ICU a week. "Don't come" he said. "She's miserable, in a lot of pain, on morphine and really doesn't want to see anyone. Come when she is out of the hospital. She'll have a lot of convalescing to do and she'll need someone to do it with her". Later, when she was home, he sent an email that said,"It was touch and go" while she was in the hospital. I knew there was something he wasn't divulging.

I felt guilty asking my mom to drive the five hours to help with my boys while I went to convalesce with Ann. I wasn't sure I could even be helpful, but I felt like it needed to see her and taking the family with me wouldn't be helpful.

I did help a bit here and there, but in the end, it was me who benefited most. I got to see my dear friend, alive and mostly well. Since she is still recovering, we had to time to catch up. She's different, understandably, and she recognizes it. It's something she will no doubt learn to embrace, you can't live through that kind of trauma without changing. "I thought I was dying" she said, just before I was to leave for home. Heavy, stuff. I didn't know how to respond. It's inconceivable to imagine.

I drove her to her doctor's appointment on my way out of town. As she got out she looked at me, tears in her eyes, "Thank you" she said. "You are like a sister." Since I don't have a sister and she has three, I was a bit stunned and took it as a deep compliment. I've always wanted a sister, but this has to be better- no family baggage.

Bloody Katrina

It's not good for, Bush, a man who wears his Christian "ethics and morals" on his sleeve, to have blood on his hands. Again. HELLO? Whatever happened to the basic Christian tenant, Do this "unto the least of these?" Could the man at least have gotten off his vacationing a** to actually do something more than a photo op in LA.?

And now that the WH realizes that their inaction has caused possibly thousands of deaths, what do they do? Admit it and get to work? No, they are shoring up the PR and pushing the blame on state and local governments. C'mon!! Most of the US has wised up to the lying and spinning that comes from the WH. The rest are just blinded by the "Christian" president, cause by God, democrats can't have any morals. They support "baby killers" (pro-choice). Never mind thousands upon thousands have died in this ridiculous war. Never mind that most of those who oppose abortion are proponents of adoption but never actually adopt themselves because they are too busy having 5 birth children of their own. Then they have to buy a polluting SUV to cart them around in. Where's the global thinking here? We are NOT the only nation in this universe. Indeed not the only one blessed by God. But I digress..

It makes me SOOO sick to think of the devastation on the gulf coast. It is hard to fathom that two days after the hurricane hit, one day after New Orleans was 80% under water, Bush returned to Crawford for his last day of vacation. While looting and violence was rampant in the Big Easy, Bush was kicking back on his ranch. (Even if he was there doing work, he and his staff are dense not to realize how the public would perceive it. Ever heard that perception is reality? Apparently not) But not to worry, his FEMA chief was "on it". Once the city finally began to fill with water, something they knew was inevitable, he THEN dispatched his team to take action. Immediately? No. They had two days to get there. I'm sorry but if Palm Springs or Beverly Hills were in crisis, do you think we would have waited until things were dire before we made a move?

If it weren't for the individuals, churches, non- profits taking action, the US would be a lost cause. It's an absolute travesty that we have a government who can get away with this and we aren't totally outraged. Maybe the rage will come later as I like to think that at this moment in time, we as individuals have more important things to do. We have disaster victims to care for. The WH could take a moral cue from it's citizens.