On the weekends, I love to get up early (before my busy little family awakens), make a cup of coffee, go out to my porch swing in my pi's, wrap up in my blanket, and watch the world slowly catching up to me...Love watching the robins start to hunt bugs on my lawn, cocking a cautious eye in my direction every 2 or 3 steps, just to make sure I'm not a predator, love the sounds of the other birds waking up to their day and going about the business of doing whatever it is birds do, love the smell of the fresh, early morning air, before cars start spewing exhaust into the air, before various smells start to float out of windows and doors, and before my neighbor comes out for his early morning hit of marijuana, (which is followed by his mid-morning hit, lunchtime hit, lunch dessert hit, mid-afternoon hit, and so on and so on and so on, until he goes to bed...No wonder he lives at home with his mother). I love watching the sway of the trees and the movement of the clouds across the early morning sky as it brightens...Maybe it's a little romantic and cheesy of me, but I do love it anyway.
And, while I enjoy the serenity of the very early morning hours, I also love to hear the sounds of my neighborhood coming to life. By the end of each day, I usually feel pretty disgusted with people in general. The rudeness and selfishness that pervades our society in so many ways, both large and small, frustrates and confuses me. But, in the morning, my optimism flourishes. It feels like a fresh start each time. A chance for everyone to be better, to do better...
There's my elderly neighbor walking down to buy his morning paper around the corner. We always wave and smile, but we never speak, maybe because neither one of us wants to be the one to break the morning silence. There's the sound of the little girls across the street, 3 houses down, starting to giggle and argue and play. There's the increase in traffic on the street perpendicular to our quiet little cul-de-sac, joggers and cyclists passing by, people walking their dogs.....Ahhhhh, there it is -- the smell of bacon. Someone's always cooking bacon. There's my friend across the street, bringing her new puppy out to "go potty." She looks sleepy, still in her pajamas, rumpled from the night before, not yet ready to really begin her day. The puppy looks like she's ready to roll and probably has been since 4am. That is, after all, how little ones of all ages and species tend to be, isn't it? Speaking of little ones, I can hear the high-pitched voices of my boys, mixed with the rumbling baritone of my husband inside my cozy little house. They're up. It's only a matter of time before the chorus of "Where's Mom?" begins. And, here come the wafts of my neighbor's morning marijuana breakfast drifting over the bushes....Time to go in. Optimism intact.
Cheers! Beth
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Old Friends
I am a big fan of books. Y'know, books? They're roughly rectangular-shaped, usually come with colorful covers, and have pages that you actually turn by hand. They have a unique papery, inky smell that improves and deepens with time. Sound familiar? By the time my kids are reading this, I'm afraid that books may be a thing of the past, like LP's and floppy discs. Everyone will just be glued to his or her electronic device, be it Kindle or iPad or, more likely, something brand new that hasn't been invented yet...People won't be able to hand off a well-loved book with coffee stains on the cover and dog-eared pages to a friend. We won't be able to buy a book from a musty, dusty secondhand book store, smell that uniquely "book-y" odor, read the personal dedication written on the inside cover and wonder about the backstory..... Who is "Aunt Marge" and is "Veronica" her favorite niece? Is that why she sent her this particular book? Are "Liz and Amy" still "Best friends forever"? Do they still share favorite books back and forth with one another? Is "Cheryl" still "Mark's one true love, always and truly"? (I get a kick out of imagining the stories behind the dedications!) You just don't get any of that from an e-book.
Now, in the spirit of brutal honesty, I have to admit that I have read a couple of books on my husband's Kindle and a couple more on my iPod. The convenience is nice, I'm not gonna lie. The back-lighting that means you don't have to turn the light on in the middle of the night when you're up with insomnia is kind of a sweet perk. And, at my age, being able to make the font bigger, so I don't have to find my elusive glasses or do that telescoping thing, where you're constantly moving the book towards you and away from you in little increments until your eyes can focus, is also kind of a sweet perk. Sigh. And, eBooks do save trees. It's hard to argue with that one.
But, it's just not the same... If you're escaping from life with a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book, and the book falls in the tub....No worries. It'll dry out, and the pages will have that nice, wrinkly, bumpy thing that will remind you, forevermore, of that relaxing time when you dropped it in the tub. You can't do that with your Kindle! And, as mentioned, above, you can't hand off a copy to a friend or leave it in the coffee shop or hotel for the next person to enjoy, which is one of my favorite things about books! You can't put it on a bookshelf with other well-loved tomes, where you can take a glance at your collection and immediately be transported back in time to the memories associated with the first time you read each one. Look, there's Watership Down, snuggled in between The Stainless Steel Rat Saves the World and The Stand. And, there's The Far Arena, right next to The Lord of the Rings and Outlander. (Ahhh, my heart still flutters when I think of red-haired, Scottish Jamie...)
So, I guess I'm a hybrid. I will occasionally go the eBook route, but my heart will always belong to solid, old-fashioned, paper books. And, with that in mind, on this early Saturday morning, I'm going to put away my laptop, grab another cup of coffee, and curl up on the porch swing with my well-worn copy of Misery, which I'm reading for the umpteenth time, because Stephen King's writing just gets better the more you read it, as I watch my sleepy neighborhood (and my sleepy family) wake up and come to life...
Cheers!
Beth
Now, in the spirit of brutal honesty, I have to admit that I have read a couple of books on my husband's Kindle and a couple more on my iPod. The convenience is nice, I'm not gonna lie. The back-lighting that means you don't have to turn the light on in the middle of the night when you're up with insomnia is kind of a sweet perk. And, at my age, being able to make the font bigger, so I don't have to find my elusive glasses or do that telescoping thing, where you're constantly moving the book towards you and away from you in little increments until your eyes can focus, is also kind of a sweet perk. Sigh. And, eBooks do save trees. It's hard to argue with that one.
But, it's just not the same... If you're escaping from life with a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book, and the book falls in the tub....No worries. It'll dry out, and the pages will have that nice, wrinkly, bumpy thing that will remind you, forevermore, of that relaxing time when you dropped it in the tub. You can't do that with your Kindle! And, as mentioned, above, you can't hand off a copy to a friend or leave it in the coffee shop or hotel for the next person to enjoy, which is one of my favorite things about books! You can't put it on a bookshelf with other well-loved tomes, where you can take a glance at your collection and immediately be transported back in time to the memories associated with the first time you read each one. Look, there's Watership Down, snuggled in between The Stainless Steel Rat Saves the World and The Stand. And, there's The Far Arena, right next to The Lord of the Rings and Outlander. (Ahhh, my heart still flutters when I think of red-haired, Scottish Jamie...)
So, I guess I'm a hybrid. I will occasionally go the eBook route, but my heart will always belong to solid, old-fashioned, paper books. And, with that in mind, on this early Saturday morning, I'm going to put away my laptop, grab another cup of coffee, and curl up on the porch swing with my well-worn copy of Misery, which I'm reading for the umpteenth time, because Stephen King's writing just gets better the more you read it, as I watch my sleepy neighborhood (and my sleepy family) wake up and come to life...
Cheers!
Beth
Saturday, May 31, 2014
A few new ones for the Bill of Rights...
Americans talk a lot about rights. Right to free speech, right to vote, right to bear arms (don't get me started on that one -- Guns in playgrounds, libraries, and bars? Really? A rant for another time...), etc. I think, in this new age of selfishness and narcissism, we should all have some new rights. Rights that help to protect us from the rudeness, insensitivity, and stupidity of those around us. (Or, at least make us feel a whole lot better!)
For example:
Shouldn't I have the right to run over the idiot who walked right out in front of my car, without even looking up from the cell phone on which she was furiously texting? Seriously, shouldn't I? It wasn't even a crosswalk, people. Just a curb on a busy street. I had to SLAM on my breaks, scaring the hell out of myself and my little guys. She didn't even look up from her phone. C'mon, should I really be blamed? Really? My fault, or hers?
If a guy throws his disgusting, smelly, smoking cigarette butt onto the sidewalk right in front of me and my little boys as we're walking into Crazy Mike's to rent a movie (Yes, we still do that sometimes...support local business right? It's not ALL about Netflix, people! Engage with the world! I digress....), do I have the right to pick it up, run up to him, say, "Hey, buddy, you must have accidentally dropped this litter on the planet we all share. I'm sure you actually meant to throw it away, 'cuz you couldn't possibly be that selfish and self-centered....here you go!" and hand it back to him, preferably burning ember side first??? Or, better yet, follow him to his house and dump my trash on the floor of his living room?
If I'm waiting in line behind a young woman at the grocery store, after a long, hard day at work, and her turn comes up, but she continues to just stand there yakking on her cell phone about the "fat, hairy, OMG, you have no idea how disgusting he was!" guy she went out with last night while the checker and I just stare blankly at her, waiting for her to pull her head out of her a** (yeah, true story), shouldn't it be within my rights to just walk around her and take my turn? Or, "accidentally" just slam into the back of her legs with my shopping cart? A slightly more violent alternative...
If a neighbor stands in his front yard, talking and laughing with his buddies, while his dog runs into our front yard and drops a big, heaping, steaming pile of poo in the middle of it -- while he stands there and watches -- and then he just goes back inside his house, do I have the right to pick up that steaming pile of poo with a shovel and spread it around on his front doorstep, so that HE can be the one to step in it, instead of one of my kids?
I'm thinking that I might be on to something here. Reasonable, courteous people of the world unite! Let's demand our right to live in a world where people actually give a rip about those around them, or at least suffer some consequences if they don't, eh? Who's with me???
Cheers! Beth
For example:
Shouldn't I have the right to run over the idiot who walked right out in front of my car, without even looking up from the cell phone on which she was furiously texting? Seriously, shouldn't I? It wasn't even a crosswalk, people. Just a curb on a busy street. I had to SLAM on my breaks, scaring the hell out of myself and my little guys. She didn't even look up from her phone. C'mon, should I really be blamed? Really? My fault, or hers?
If a guy throws his disgusting, smelly, smoking cigarette butt onto the sidewalk right in front of me and my little boys as we're walking into Crazy Mike's to rent a movie (Yes, we still do that sometimes...support local business right? It's not ALL about Netflix, people! Engage with the world! I digress....), do I have the right to pick it up, run up to him, say, "Hey, buddy, you must have accidentally dropped this litter on the planet we all share. I'm sure you actually meant to throw it away, 'cuz you couldn't possibly be that selfish and self-centered....here you go!" and hand it back to him, preferably burning ember side first??? Or, better yet, follow him to his house and dump my trash on the floor of his living room?
If I'm waiting in line behind a young woman at the grocery store, after a long, hard day at work, and her turn comes up, but she continues to just stand there yakking on her cell phone about the "fat, hairy, OMG, you have no idea how disgusting he was!" guy she went out with last night while the checker and I just stare blankly at her, waiting for her to pull her head out of her a** (yeah, true story), shouldn't it be within my rights to just walk around her and take my turn? Or, "accidentally" just slam into the back of her legs with my shopping cart? A slightly more violent alternative...
If a neighbor stands in his front yard, talking and laughing with his buddies, while his dog runs into our front yard and drops a big, heaping, steaming pile of poo in the middle of it -- while he stands there and watches -- and then he just goes back inside his house, do I have the right to pick up that steaming pile of poo with a shovel and spread it around on his front doorstep, so that HE can be the one to step in it, instead of one of my kids?
I'm thinking that I might be on to something here. Reasonable, courteous people of the world unite! Let's demand our right to live in a world where people actually give a rip about those around them, or at least suffer some consequences if they don't, eh? Who's with me???
Cheers! Beth
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Totally Self-Serving Post!
I have noticed that writing is sometimes a really great outlet for pent-up frustration. And, it's a lot quieter than yelling, cussing, and screaming, eh? With that in mind, this post will be short and sweet....
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Clueless Husbands!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Negative Co-Workers!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Parents enabling their kids!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Children who complain when you put a nice dinner in front of them!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Dog diarrhea on the carpet!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Working full-time while trying to raise little kids!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! I can't fit into my pants anymore!
As Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I have to say about that!"
I actually feel a little bit better.
Sweet.
Cheers!
Beth
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Clueless Husbands!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Negative Co-Workers!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Parents enabling their kids!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Children who complain when you put a nice dinner in front of them!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Dog diarrhea on the carpet!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Working full-time while trying to raise little kids!
AAAAAAARGH!!!!!! I can't fit into my pants anymore!
As Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I have to say about that!"
I actually feel a little bit better.
Sweet.
Cheers!
Beth
Friday, May 23, 2014
A harsh dose of reality...
So, last night I went to a conference with a group of my students. The crowd was mixed -- Students from 6th - 12th grade, college kids, young adults, and a few older folks as well. Among the crowd were members of the Nooksack Tribe, representing several generations. They played traditional ceremonial music for us to open the conference and then welcomed us to visit the buffet. As we moved along the tables, one of the tribe members got on the microphone and asked the younger generation to step aside and invite "the elders" to fill their plates first. I paused, thinking to myself, "What a lovely thing to do." Until the 20-something, perky little blonde in front of me, turned around with a big smile and said, "Would you like to go ahead of me?"
Good lord, I'm an "elder!"
Sigh.
Cheers!
Beth
Good lord, I'm an "elder!"
Sigh.
Cheers!
Beth
Thursday, May 22, 2014
OMG. Sometimes dads are so clueless!
So, Father's Day is coming up, right? As moms around the world shop for something special to give as a gift to the father of their children and help their kids work on cute art projects and cards and such to celebrate his special day, all while also planning something special for their own fathers (and fathers-in-law), I can't help but reflect back to another recent special day....Mother's Day. Personally, I can't complain one bit about the treatment I received this year. My hubby and kids rocked it! Early morning donuts, super-cute cards hand-made by my little guys, late morning brunch, hanging flower baskets for the front and back decks, and a relaxed, geeky evening spent all curled up in bed together watching Star Trek Next Generation reruns...I felt very loved, appreciated, and special. Which is the way it should be for all moms. Which brings me back to the point of this whole diatribe.
The week following Mother's Day, I found myself talking with a neighbor, a very nice man with two small boys and a lovely, hard-working wife. As we made small talk, I asked him if he had spoiled his wife for Mother's Day. His response? Wait for it..... "Well, she's not MY mom!" The moment the words spilled out of his mouth and he saw the look on my face, he knew he had spoken them to the wrong woman. I could see him mentally trying to rewind what had just happened, even as I took a deep breath and prepared to give him the verbal beating he had earned for making that comment. Poor guy. He deserved it, but still...I feel a little bit sorry for him. We're still friends, but the "Wrath of Beth" isn't pretty. Following is a rough, reconstructed transcript of the conversation that occurred:
Me: "What did you just say?!!!"
Him: "Umm....what?"
Me: "Did you just say 'She's not MY mom?'"
Him (In a defensive, whiny little boy tone of voice): "Well, she isn't my mom."
Me: "Is she the mother of your children?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Does she take good care of your little boys and nurture them and cook healthy meals for them and take them to the doctor and teach them how to be good people and have a happy life?"
Him (Miserably): "Um, yes."
Me: "And, does she take good care of you as well? Does she make you feel good and support you and have your back? Does she do something special for you every Father's Day and get the kids to do something special too?"
Him: (Almost inaudibly): "Yes."
Me: "And, do your little boys need to appreciate and respect her for all that she does? Do they need to show her how much they love her and take time out to thank her for being their mom? Hmmmm? How are they supposed to learn that, if you're not modeling it for them?!!"
Him: "Um..."
Me: "And, here's another thing! There are 5 days minimum where you need to make an extra effort to show love and appreciation to your wife."
Him: "Five?"
Me: "One -- Her birthday. Two -- Your anniversary. Three, Mother's Day. Four, Christmas or Hannukah, if you celebrate it. Five, Valentine's Day."
Him: "But those are just--"
Me: "If you are even thinking of saying that those are just holidays invented by greeting card companies to make money, you'd just better zip it right now! Doesn't your wife deserve to be celebrated and appreciated on at least 5 days every year? Shouldn't she be able to count on a little extra love and effort on just 5 days? 5 days out of the 365 days she spends taking care of you and your family? And, so what if greeting card companies are making money on it? They make it easy for you -- You get reminders, gift ideas, and you can even buy a card that says all the loving things she deserves to hear but you don't ever say! Seriously! There's NO excuse!"
Him: "Uh --"
Me: "And, one more thing....You'd better not stop celebrating her on Mother's Day when the kids are grown up and gone. She is still the mother of your children, and you owe her love and gratitude for the rest of your life for all of the blood, sweat, and tears she has poured into helping you raise them!"
Him: "I feel really bad. I used to be more romantic."
Me (No mercy!): "You should feel bad. Fix it! Take her out for a nice dinner or something. Better yet, you and the boys clean the house, do all of the laundry and empty the dishwasher. Then, hire a sitter and take her out to her favorite restaurant. And, start being romantic and appreciative on those 5 days, at least. You'll end up reaping the benefit in the long run. You know it's true."
Him: "I know. I'm gonna do it."
Me: "Good! You'll feel better too."
He sort of slinked away, shoulders down, looking like a guilty little kid, while I stood there full of righteous frustration for moms everywhere. Later, he came and told me that he did take her out to dinner and apologized for not celebrating her on Mother's Day. Baby steps...
So, I fight the fight for moms around the world! (And, by the way, it's just as important for us to celebrate and acknowledge our partners on those 5 days, at least. So, before you go getting all cocky, none of us are off the hook...)
Happy Romancing!
Cheers!
-Beth
The week following Mother's Day, I found myself talking with a neighbor, a very nice man with two small boys and a lovely, hard-working wife. As we made small talk, I asked him if he had spoiled his wife for Mother's Day. His response? Wait for it..... "Well, she's not MY mom!" The moment the words spilled out of his mouth and he saw the look on my face, he knew he had spoken them to the wrong woman. I could see him mentally trying to rewind what had just happened, even as I took a deep breath and prepared to give him the verbal beating he had earned for making that comment. Poor guy. He deserved it, but still...I feel a little bit sorry for him. We're still friends, but the "Wrath of Beth" isn't pretty. Following is a rough, reconstructed transcript of the conversation that occurred:
Me: "What did you just say?!!!"
Him: "Umm....what?"
Me: "Did you just say 'She's not MY mom?'"
Him (In a defensive, whiny little boy tone of voice): "Well, she isn't my mom."
Me: "Is she the mother of your children?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Does she take good care of your little boys and nurture them and cook healthy meals for them and take them to the doctor and teach them how to be good people and have a happy life?"
Him (Miserably): "Um, yes."
Me: "And, does she take good care of you as well? Does she make you feel good and support you and have your back? Does she do something special for you every Father's Day and get the kids to do something special too?"
Him: (Almost inaudibly): "Yes."
Me: "And, do your little boys need to appreciate and respect her for all that she does? Do they need to show her how much they love her and take time out to thank her for being their mom? Hmmmm? How are they supposed to learn that, if you're not modeling it for them?!!"
Him: "Um..."
Me: "And, here's another thing! There are 5 days minimum where you need to make an extra effort to show love and appreciation to your wife."
Him: "Five?"
Me: "One -- Her birthday. Two -- Your anniversary. Three, Mother's Day. Four, Christmas or Hannukah, if you celebrate it. Five, Valentine's Day."
Him: "But those are just--"
Me: "If you are even thinking of saying that those are just holidays invented by greeting card companies to make money, you'd just better zip it right now! Doesn't your wife deserve to be celebrated and appreciated on at least 5 days every year? Shouldn't she be able to count on a little extra love and effort on just 5 days? 5 days out of the 365 days she spends taking care of you and your family? And, so what if greeting card companies are making money on it? They make it easy for you -- You get reminders, gift ideas, and you can even buy a card that says all the loving things she deserves to hear but you don't ever say! Seriously! There's NO excuse!"
Him: "Uh --"
Me: "And, one more thing....You'd better not stop celebrating her on Mother's Day when the kids are grown up and gone. She is still the mother of your children, and you owe her love and gratitude for the rest of your life for all of the blood, sweat, and tears she has poured into helping you raise them!"
Him: "I feel really bad. I used to be more romantic."
Me (No mercy!): "You should feel bad. Fix it! Take her out for a nice dinner or something. Better yet, you and the boys clean the house, do all of the laundry and empty the dishwasher. Then, hire a sitter and take her out to her favorite restaurant. And, start being romantic and appreciative on those 5 days, at least. You'll end up reaping the benefit in the long run. You know it's true."
Him: "I know. I'm gonna do it."
Me: "Good! You'll feel better too."
He sort of slinked away, shoulders down, looking like a guilty little kid, while I stood there full of righteous frustration for moms everywhere. Later, he came and told me that he did take her out to dinner and apologized for not celebrating her on Mother's Day. Baby steps...
So, I fight the fight for moms around the world! (And, by the way, it's just as important for us to celebrate and acknowledge our partners on those 5 days, at least. So, before you go getting all cocky, none of us are off the hook...)
Happy Romancing!
Cheers!
-Beth
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
You Say It's Your Birthday, da dum dum dum dee doooo....It's my birthday too!
So, it's my 46th birthday. Happy birthday to meeeeee......Happy birthday to meeee.......Happy birthday dear meeeeeeeee......Happy birthday to meeeeee...... I have to admit that I am a little tipsy as I write this. Thank you to my lovely blonde amazon friend, who took me out for a post-work glass of wine (or two -- I'll never tell) and a big birthday dose of healthy belly laughing (burns calories and lowers your body's production of cortisol). I decided that our waiter looked like he should be from Scotland, shared this piece of information with him, and he then did his darndest to speak in a Scottish brogue the whole time he served us. He even did a little semi-strip tease with his apron, as we chuckled about what he might wear under a kilt.... Lucky me, after this bout of friendship and laughter, I then came home to a family who covered me in hugs and kisses, a husband who handed me thai food and a glass of champagne, a tail-wagging doggy, and a shed that is NOT going to be worked on tonight, in spite of best intentions several hours ago at work, when I loudly proclaimed, "Even though it's my birthday, I'm going to work on building the shed tonight. Have to take advantage of the sunny weather, you know!" Whatever! Seemed reasonable at the time...
I sit, now, at my kitchen table, glass of champagne to my right (not too close to my laptop, brother mine, don't worry! I am aware of your rule: "NO FOOD OR DRINK NEAR THE NEW LAPTOP!"), looking out onto my back deck at the pieces of the shed we are constructing scattered throughout the backyard as if to say, accusingly, "Why haven't you painted me yet? Why haven't you put me together yet?", while the boys get ready for bed and hubby cleans up the dinner mess. (!) Just got off the phone with the most amazing Dad in the world, who never shies away from calling me out on my crap, but continues to love me unconditionally, in spite of my myriad flaws. Missing my Mom like crazy and wishing I could hold her hand and hear her laugh, but feeling incredibly lucky to be living the life I live. Did I mention that HUBBY is cleaning up the dinner mess??? Birthdays are great!
Seriously, birthdays ARE great! I have friends who hate birthdays, bemoan the passing years, lie about their ages, and just want to hide until the day is over. Not me, man! I say, "Bring it!" Most days, I embrace the philosophy that every single year we have is a gift. I'm not "46 years old." Instead, "I have the gift of 46 years!" Now, maybe I won't feel this way at 50, I dunno. And, there are times where I look in the mirror and feel a bit sad about the ravages of gravity.....But, I hope that I continue to view aging with an overarching attitude of gratitude. Maybe it's losing my Mom to cancer that has me feeling so appreciative of every year, maybe it's having little kids at my "Advanced Maternal Age" keeping me young, who knows? (By the way, A.M.A is a real thing. When I was pregnant at the age of 37, my OBGYN said, "Do you know what A.M.A. stands for?" "American Medical Association?" I asked innocently. "No, Advanced Maternal Age." Seriously? How is that good for an expectant Mom to hear, I ask you? You're an old fart who shouldn't be having kids at your age???
That's helpful, doc. Anyway, I digress...and blame it on the champagne.)
Here's the thing, though. I embrace each year, because I have a wonderful life. I am the luckiest person I know! In spite of my frequent whining and complaining, I have a husband who happens to be my best friend, a genuinely nice person, and easy on the eyes, two fascinating little boys who keep me guessing and inspire me to be a better person, a career that fills me and feeds me and makes me feel like I'm giving back to the world, a small group of wonderful friends who keep me laughing through the tears, family members who'll be there for me in a pinch, a big brother who looks out for me and respects me and sees the best in me, and parents who taught me to be resilient and optimistic and fearless! Yes, I have strange health conditions that give life some extra challenges, but they also make me stronger. Yes, I lost my wonderful mother to that bitch, "Cancer", but how lucky I was to have been raised by someone so special. And, while my job sometimes makes me want to chuck it all and move to an island, especially this year, it helps me to make a difference in the world, and at least I'm not cleaning toilets for a living. My house is so small that the walls start to close in from time to time, but it's full of love and singing and giggles. And, yes, I would like to have buckets of money, but we have enough to keep a roof over our heads, pay the bills, go on dates from time-to-time, and even go on the occasional family vacation. That's more than most people have.
So, lucky, lucky, lucky 46-year-old me. Happy birthday to me, and may the rest of you have a year as full of love and laughter as I'm going to have...
Cheers! Beth
I sit, now, at my kitchen table, glass of champagne to my right (not too close to my laptop, brother mine, don't worry! I am aware of your rule: "NO FOOD OR DRINK NEAR THE NEW LAPTOP!"), looking out onto my back deck at the pieces of the shed we are constructing scattered throughout the backyard as if to say, accusingly, "Why haven't you painted me yet? Why haven't you put me together yet?", while the boys get ready for bed and hubby cleans up the dinner mess. (!) Just got off the phone with the most amazing Dad in the world, who never shies away from calling me out on my crap, but continues to love me unconditionally, in spite of my myriad flaws. Missing my Mom like crazy and wishing I could hold her hand and hear her laugh, but feeling incredibly lucky to be living the life I live. Did I mention that HUBBY is cleaning up the dinner mess??? Birthdays are great!
Seriously, birthdays ARE great! I have friends who hate birthdays, bemoan the passing years, lie about their ages, and just want to hide until the day is over. Not me, man! I say, "Bring it!" Most days, I embrace the philosophy that every single year we have is a gift. I'm not "46 years old." Instead, "I have the gift of 46 years!" Now, maybe I won't feel this way at 50, I dunno. And, there are times where I look in the mirror and feel a bit sad about the ravages of gravity.....But, I hope that I continue to view aging with an overarching attitude of gratitude. Maybe it's losing my Mom to cancer that has me feeling so appreciative of every year, maybe it's having little kids at my "Advanced Maternal Age" keeping me young, who knows? (By the way, A.M.A is a real thing. When I was pregnant at the age of 37, my OBGYN said, "Do you know what A.M.A. stands for?" "American Medical Association?" I asked innocently. "No, Advanced Maternal Age." Seriously? How is that good for an expectant Mom to hear, I ask you? You're an old fart who shouldn't be having kids at your age???
That's helpful, doc. Anyway, I digress...and blame it on the champagne.)
Here's the thing, though. I embrace each year, because I have a wonderful life. I am the luckiest person I know! In spite of my frequent whining and complaining, I have a husband who happens to be my best friend, a genuinely nice person, and easy on the eyes, two fascinating little boys who keep me guessing and inspire me to be a better person, a career that fills me and feeds me and makes me feel like I'm giving back to the world, a small group of wonderful friends who keep me laughing through the tears, family members who'll be there for me in a pinch, a big brother who looks out for me and respects me and sees the best in me, and parents who taught me to be resilient and optimistic and fearless! Yes, I have strange health conditions that give life some extra challenges, but they also make me stronger. Yes, I lost my wonderful mother to that bitch, "Cancer", but how lucky I was to have been raised by someone so special. And, while my job sometimes makes me want to chuck it all and move to an island, especially this year, it helps me to make a difference in the world, and at least I'm not cleaning toilets for a living. My house is so small that the walls start to close in from time to time, but it's full of love and singing and giggles. And, yes, I would like to have buckets of money, but we have enough to keep a roof over our heads, pay the bills, go on dates from time-to-time, and even go on the occasional family vacation. That's more than most people have.
So, lucky, lucky, lucky 46-year-old me. Happy birthday to me, and may the rest of you have a year as full of love and laughter as I'm going to have...
Cheers! Beth
Saturday, May 10, 2014
When Animals Attack!
Have you ever seen that show, "When Animals Attack!"??? It's full of stories about people being bitten by sharks or attacked by cougars...shocking, super-gruesome stories! I know you're gonna think I'm one sick puppy for saying this, but I think it's awesome! So, do my boys. Chips off the old block...It's all very exciting, but nobody usually dies. They just get horribly maimed. Plus, it's usually someone doing something ridiculously stupid, like walking up to a bison after ignoring all of the signs that say, "Stay away from the bison! DANGER! DANGER!"So, you're kinda rooting for the animals...Nature cleaning up the human gene pool by weeding out some of the stupid, y'know?
Anyway, we have our own version of the show going on in our backyard. Not too gruesome, though, and the humans really aren't doing anything stupid. Our chapter of the show would be called, "When Hummingbirds Attack!" Stop giggling! Seriously! Have YOU ever been dive-bombed by an irate male hummingbird defending "his" food supply? Ever felt the brush of buzzing hummingbird wings against the side of your head and heard a terrifying sound, like the buzz of a miniature chainsaw or some giant, mutant mosquito, mere millimeters from your tender, exposed earlobe? Ever had to dodge and weave, narrowly missing dangerous backyard deck hazards, like BBQ's, cheap patio furniture and a variety of potted plants, as a small, sharp-beaked jet plane, glowing red like Katniss in "Girl On Fire", attempts to drive you away, while your black lab mix cowers in fear of the terror from above? (So much for defending your masters, dog!) No? Well, it's traumatizing. And, sort of hilarious at the same time. Especially when the damn bird is attacking you while you're trying to get to its feeder to fill it with more nectar!
Wait just a minute...We keep feeding it, even while it attacks us? Now that I think about it, maybe the humans are being sort of stupid in this scenario...Go Nature!
Cheers! -Beth
Anyway, we have our own version of the show going on in our backyard. Not too gruesome, though, and the humans really aren't doing anything stupid. Our chapter of the show would be called, "When Hummingbirds Attack!" Stop giggling! Seriously! Have YOU ever been dive-bombed by an irate male hummingbird defending "his" food supply? Ever felt the brush of buzzing hummingbird wings against the side of your head and heard a terrifying sound, like the buzz of a miniature chainsaw or some giant, mutant mosquito, mere millimeters from your tender, exposed earlobe? Ever had to dodge and weave, narrowly missing dangerous backyard deck hazards, like BBQ's, cheap patio furniture and a variety of potted plants, as a small, sharp-beaked jet plane, glowing red like Katniss in "Girl On Fire", attempts to drive you away, while your black lab mix cowers in fear of the terror from above? (So much for defending your masters, dog!) No? Well, it's traumatizing. And, sort of hilarious at the same time. Especially when the damn bird is attacking you while you're trying to get to its feeder to fill it with more nectar!
Wait just a minute...We keep feeding it, even while it attacks us? Now that I think about it, maybe the humans are being sort of stupid in this scenario...Go Nature!
Cheers! -Beth
Thursday, May 8, 2014
"What happened to Chicken Nugget Mama?" or "Where the hell have I been the last 2 years?"
Hi there! I've been gone awhile. Just logged back on and realized it's actually been a LONG while - much longer than I thought. Why, you may ask? Did I leave blogging to write a best-selling novel? Did I win the lottery and move to a tropical island to live out my life in a constant state of zen? Did my big mouth and opinionated, obstinate personality finally get me punched, resulting in a serious concussion and a long battle with temporary amnesia? None of the above. But, things got a little hairy there for a bit. I was feeling really negative, and I was getting sick of the sound of my own whining. So, I thought I needed to take a break from writing until I had something positive to say. Had to go find my optimism and get reacquainted!!! I am happy and relieved to say that I did find it. My optimism, that is. It was way, way, way back in the bottom of my closet, underneath the cowboy boots I just had to have, but almost never really wear, and the shirts that won't ever stay on their damn hangers and slip off into the bottom of the closet so many times that you finally just give up and leave them down there. Anyway, I dusted it off, reattached it, and I will never allow myself to lose it again. Fact: Life is just easier when you can look at it through an optimistic lens. Doesn't change that s**t happens, but it makes it a little less smelly!
Some good things have happened. Like, hubby finally got a new job. An 8 to 5, normal job, with weekends and even some holidays off. The boys and I (aka "the three musketeers") finally got him back! It has been absolutely amazing having my partner & best buddy around again. Those nights, weekends, and holiday hours were really hard on us. And, let's face it, part of the reason I was so stoked, was simply because I needed some help around here! I did the "single parenting while working full-time" thing for 4 long years, and I was full-on, sob-in-the-kitchen-while-trying-to-put-away-groceries, sleep-with-your-clothes-and-make-up-on, pass-out-while-in-mid-sentence-with-your-friend-on-the-phone, exhausted! And, frankly, way too tired for any sort of - ahem - intimacy...if you know what I mean. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, "Say no more!" (That last comment, was for all the other Monty Python fans out there....you know who you are!) Seriously, though, y'know how you get so friggin' wiped out and so sick of taking care of everybody else's needs that sex starts to feel like just another responsibility to check off your to-do list? Pick up groceries - check, make kids' dentist appointment - check, throw laundry in the dryer - check, have sex with hubby before he explodes - check.....No? You honestly haven't ever felt that way? Then, you are either blessed with the sex drive of a 17 year old, testosterone-fueled teenage boy, are in a new relationship, are under the age of 35, or have no children!!! Bless your little heart! Hope it stays that way for you.....Anyway, after a fairly bumpy adjustment period, during which we had to figure out how to operate as partners again without committing spouse-icide (is that a word?) we muddled our way through and got back to being best friends, who also happen to be in love. Awwwwwwww....cue the sappy music. Anyhoo, all good there. We are a walking advertisement for sticking together through those tough times where you don't really like each other all that much but are committed enough to trust that things will get better over time. Woot woot! Yay, us!
Other good things? My boys are amazing. Now, almost 9 and 10, they are so much friggin' fun at this stage! They're at that age where they still need me, still love on me and hug me and snuggle with me, still give me a smooch in the car and flash me the "I love you" sign when I drop them off at school (Well, only Foster does that last part. Thanks, Fos. Makes my day every time!), BUT they can also entertain themselves for long periods of time without destroying the house, the dog, or each other, get themselves a snack, and even help out -- without being ASKED -- once in a while. I actually had a full 30 minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time last weekend! No one saying, "Mooooommmmmmm......he touched me!", "Moooooooooommmmmm.....I'm bored!", "Mooooooooommmmmmmmmm.....I'm hungry!" So, even though I didn't NEED a full 30 minutes in the bathroom, I stayed in there anyway, just 'cuz I could, reading all about George Clooney's new fiancé in peace and quiet. Shut up. Trashy entertainment magazines are one of my coping mechanisms. It's a guilty pleasure. Don't judge me!
My job is going......well, it's going. I can honestly say that this has been the worst professional year for me in 14 years of being a school counselor. I'm hanging in there, though, 'cuz even though I kind've hate my job this year, due to lots of circumstances and events that would bore you to tears, I also know, in my heart-of-hearts, that I really do love what I do, overall. Maybe not this year, but overall. It fills me, it feeds me, it makes me feel like I'm giving back to the world and helping guide some really precious young folks along the way to adulthood. So, I will not let one truly crappy year drive me away! We'll see what I'm saying at this time next year, eh?
But, here's the other reason I didn't write for so long. My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer (pancreatic, in case you're wondering), and I lost my mojo. As I struggled to guide and support this wonderful, gentle, kind, funny woman through her last months of life, I tried to turn to writing to cope...but I couldn't make the words come out. Simply couldn't do it. When she gave up her valiant fight on February 15, 2013, I sat down again to write about her. I wanted to pour my heart out in homage to the most important woman in my life. I wanted to tell the world about how she never really enjoyed a meal, because she was so busy watching to make sure everyone else was enjoying theirs, how she put everyone else's needs above her own, how she could talk endlessly to a complete stranger and make them feel like they were her most important priority, how she unconditionally loved - and truly understood - my challenging younger son, patiently teaching him how to crochet, never giving up on him, ferociously loving him, even when he was at his most challenging and unlovable, how she would tell me that I'm a good mom, when I was bawling my eyes out and feeling like I didn't know what the hell I was doing and was probably wrecking my children for life, how much I loved her twinkly blue eyes and her hands -- thin, delicate, fingers that were almost always freezing cold but could make me feel so comforted and safe... I wanted to say all of that and more. But the words wouldn't come...So I stopped trying.
Now, here I am -- Two years after my last post, three days before my second Mother's Day without my own mom, still missing her every single day, but finding myself suddenly ready to write again. So, watch out world, 'cuz Chicken Nugget Mama is back, to record my stubborn opinions, random thoughts, and the events of my life -- the exciting and, more frequently, the mundane -- for my boys to read someday. When they're older. A lot, lot, lot older. And, for friends and random strangers to read, if they feel like it. 'Cuz there's something kind've cool about throwing your thoughts out into the universe, knowing that maybe somewhere there's another exhausted, flustered, stubbornly optimistic mom or dad, who's just trying to muddle through the best they can, same as me...
Cheers! -Beth
Some good things have happened. Like, hubby finally got a new job. An 8 to 5, normal job, with weekends and even some holidays off. The boys and I (aka "the three musketeers") finally got him back! It has been absolutely amazing having my partner & best buddy around again. Those nights, weekends, and holiday hours were really hard on us. And, let's face it, part of the reason I was so stoked, was simply because I needed some help around here! I did the "single parenting while working full-time" thing for 4 long years, and I was full-on, sob-in-the-kitchen-while-trying-to-put-away-groceries, sleep-with-your-clothes-and-make-up-on, pass-out-while-in-mid-sentence-with-your-friend-on-the-phone, exhausted! And, frankly, way too tired for any sort of - ahem - intimacy...if you know what I mean. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, "Say no more!" (That last comment, was for all the other Monty Python fans out there....you know who you are!) Seriously, though, y'know how you get so friggin' wiped out and so sick of taking care of everybody else's needs that sex starts to feel like just another responsibility to check off your to-do list? Pick up groceries - check, make kids' dentist appointment - check, throw laundry in the dryer - check, have sex with hubby before he explodes - check.....No? You honestly haven't ever felt that way? Then, you are either blessed with the sex drive of a 17 year old, testosterone-fueled teenage boy, are in a new relationship, are under the age of 35, or have no children!!! Bless your little heart! Hope it stays that way for you.....Anyway, after a fairly bumpy adjustment period, during which we had to figure out how to operate as partners again without committing spouse-icide (is that a word?) we muddled our way through and got back to being best friends, who also happen to be in love. Awwwwwwww....cue the sappy music. Anyhoo, all good there. We are a walking advertisement for sticking together through those tough times where you don't really like each other all that much but are committed enough to trust that things will get better over time. Woot woot! Yay, us!
Other good things? My boys are amazing. Now, almost 9 and 10, they are so much friggin' fun at this stage! They're at that age where they still need me, still love on me and hug me and snuggle with me, still give me a smooch in the car and flash me the "I love you" sign when I drop them off at school (Well, only Foster does that last part. Thanks, Fos. Makes my day every time!), BUT they can also entertain themselves for long periods of time without destroying the house, the dog, or each other, get themselves a snack, and even help out -- without being ASKED -- once in a while. I actually had a full 30 minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time last weekend! No one saying, "Mooooommmmmmm......he touched me!", "Moooooooooommmmmm.....I'm bored!", "Mooooooooommmmmmmmmm.....I'm hungry!" So, even though I didn't NEED a full 30 minutes in the bathroom, I stayed in there anyway, just 'cuz I could, reading all about George Clooney's new fiancé in peace and quiet. Shut up. Trashy entertainment magazines are one of my coping mechanisms. It's a guilty pleasure. Don't judge me!
My job is going......well, it's going. I can honestly say that this has been the worst professional year for me in 14 years of being a school counselor. I'm hanging in there, though, 'cuz even though I kind've hate my job this year, due to lots of circumstances and events that would bore you to tears, I also know, in my heart-of-hearts, that I really do love what I do, overall. Maybe not this year, but overall. It fills me, it feeds me, it makes me feel like I'm giving back to the world and helping guide some really precious young folks along the way to adulthood. So, I will not let one truly crappy year drive me away! We'll see what I'm saying at this time next year, eh?
But, here's the other reason I didn't write for so long. My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer (pancreatic, in case you're wondering), and I lost my mojo. As I struggled to guide and support this wonderful, gentle, kind, funny woman through her last months of life, I tried to turn to writing to cope...but I couldn't make the words come out. Simply couldn't do it. When she gave up her valiant fight on February 15, 2013, I sat down again to write about her. I wanted to pour my heart out in homage to the most important woman in my life. I wanted to tell the world about how she never really enjoyed a meal, because she was so busy watching to make sure everyone else was enjoying theirs, how she put everyone else's needs above her own, how she could talk endlessly to a complete stranger and make them feel like they were her most important priority, how she unconditionally loved - and truly understood - my challenging younger son, patiently teaching him how to crochet, never giving up on him, ferociously loving him, even when he was at his most challenging and unlovable, how she would tell me that I'm a good mom, when I was bawling my eyes out and feeling like I didn't know what the hell I was doing and was probably wrecking my children for life, how much I loved her twinkly blue eyes and her hands -- thin, delicate, fingers that were almost always freezing cold but could make me feel so comforted and safe... I wanted to say all of that and more. But the words wouldn't come...So I stopped trying.
Now, here I am -- Two years after my last post, three days before my second Mother's Day without my own mom, still missing her every single day, but finding myself suddenly ready to write again. So, watch out world, 'cuz Chicken Nugget Mama is back, to record my stubborn opinions, random thoughts, and the events of my life -- the exciting and, more frequently, the mundane -- for my boys to read someday. When they're older. A lot, lot, lot older. And, for friends and random strangers to read, if they feel like it. 'Cuz there's something kind've cool about throwing your thoughts out into the universe, knowing that maybe somewhere there's another exhausted, flustered, stubbornly optimistic mom or dad, who's just trying to muddle through the best they can, same as me...
Cheers! -Beth
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Hey Universe? Quit crapping on my head!
You know how sometimes in life, it just feels like the universe is taking a big, fat, smelly, crap all over your head? And, sometimes, it feels like it's been crapping on your head for, say.....the last four years? Just one thing after another? Now I know that other people have WAY bigger piles of crap on their heads than mine. But, this is my blog, so I get to vent about my own little pile. 'Cuz it still stinks!
First pile of crap: Hubby gets laid off. A week after Christmas.
Second pile of crap: Surgery resulting in 7 months on crutches or in a wheelchair. (While hubby is now working weekends and evenings, so you are left to single parent a 2 and 3-year old by yourself. In a wheelchair.)
Third pile of crap: Hot water heater literally explodes, while you are home alone, on crutches, with the two little boys. Floods kitchen.
Fourth pile of crap: Surgery doesn't work, resulting in second surgery the following year. 3 more months on crutches. At least the boys are a year older now. Hubby still working weekends and evenings. Oh, and most holidays as well.
Fifth pile of crap: You escape a round of education layoffs, only to have a disgruntled co-worker try to get you fired from a job you love and for which you work your butt off every day. Big, stressful, horrible investigation. Of course, you keep your job, but it really wasn't extra stress you needed.
Sixth pile of crap: Good friend dies after battling breast cancer for 3 years. She had just turned 40.
Seventh pile of crap: Heart-attack-like symptoms at work result in a rush to the hospital. You think you might finally get some rest, being in the hospital for that long, but they wake you up every hour or so to monitor your heart and other vitals. No sleep for two full days and nights. Turns out to be infection of the pericardium. (Have I mentioned that hubby still has that job that guarantees I am alone with my boys, without help, every weekend, after working a full-time job all week? I am a hermit. With two little hermits trailing behind me.) Cardiologist strongly recommends that I minimize my stress. I'll get right on that!
Eighth pile of crap: Hubby gets a lead on a great job, Monday through Friday. He's really perfect for it. Even has connections at the company. He makes it through the first round. I start to fantasize about what it would be like to be able to do things as a family again. He makes it through the second round. I start to fantasize about actually being able to make plans with friends and occasionally get a little time by myself to re-charge my battery. A week goes by. An email comes, letting him know the decision still hasn't been made. Then the call yesterday. Yes, of course, the universe crapped again. Someone else got the job.
So, while I know I have many wonderful things in my life, including two amazing little boys, and while I know that I have it so, so, SO much better than millions (probably billions) of other people in the world...I'm feeling sorry for myself. And, I'd like the universe to crap somewhere else for a while. Is that too much to ask?
By the way, if you're ever feeling like the universe is crapping all over your head, I highly recommend saying lots of bad words in the company of good friends. It helps immensely. Especially, if there's alcohol involved.
Cheers!
First pile of crap: Hubby gets laid off. A week after Christmas.
Second pile of crap: Surgery resulting in 7 months on crutches or in a wheelchair. (While hubby is now working weekends and evenings, so you are left to single parent a 2 and 3-year old by yourself. In a wheelchair.)
Third pile of crap: Hot water heater literally explodes, while you are home alone, on crutches, with the two little boys. Floods kitchen.
Fourth pile of crap: Surgery doesn't work, resulting in second surgery the following year. 3 more months on crutches. At least the boys are a year older now. Hubby still working weekends and evenings. Oh, and most holidays as well.
Fifth pile of crap: You escape a round of education layoffs, only to have a disgruntled co-worker try to get you fired from a job you love and for which you work your butt off every day. Big, stressful, horrible investigation. Of course, you keep your job, but it really wasn't extra stress you needed.
Sixth pile of crap: Good friend dies after battling breast cancer for 3 years. She had just turned 40.
Seventh pile of crap: Heart-attack-like symptoms at work result in a rush to the hospital. You think you might finally get some rest, being in the hospital for that long, but they wake you up every hour or so to monitor your heart and other vitals. No sleep for two full days and nights. Turns out to be infection of the pericardium. (Have I mentioned that hubby still has that job that guarantees I am alone with my boys, without help, every weekend, after working a full-time job all week? I am a hermit. With two little hermits trailing behind me.) Cardiologist strongly recommends that I minimize my stress. I'll get right on that!
Eighth pile of crap: Hubby gets a lead on a great job, Monday through Friday. He's really perfect for it. Even has connections at the company. He makes it through the first round. I start to fantasize about what it would be like to be able to do things as a family again. He makes it through the second round. I start to fantasize about actually being able to make plans with friends and occasionally get a little time by myself to re-charge my battery. A week goes by. An email comes, letting him know the decision still hasn't been made. Then the call yesterday. Yes, of course, the universe crapped again. Someone else got the job.
So, while I know I have many wonderful things in my life, including two amazing little boys, and while I know that I have it so, so, SO much better than millions (probably billions) of other people in the world...I'm feeling sorry for myself. And, I'd like the universe to crap somewhere else for a while. Is that too much to ask?
By the way, if you're ever feeling like the universe is crapping all over your head, I highly recommend saying lots of bad words in the company of good friends. It helps immensely. Especially, if there's alcohol involved.
Cheers!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Real Situation
Ohhhhh noooooo.....Everyone weep. Everyone mourn. Everyone feel pity and empathy for "The Situation", because he's going into rehab for drug addiction. Geez, I know I've been sounding incredibly cynical lately (more so than usual), but are we seriously supposed to feel SORRY for this guy? He made a fortune by being a party guy on Jersey Shore, flaunting his abs, making out with hot girls, being paid to show up at parties and behave badly, and basically being the kind of smarmy, classless, disgusting guy our mothers warned us about. No, I haven't actually seen Jersey Shore, but I've seen enough little clips on Entertainment Tonight and other shows to have a pretty good feel for it. So, now, shockingly, this guy is heading to rehab. Didn't see that one coming. And, today, on Good Morning America, which actually used to be a show that had real news on it, they were saying how sorry they felt for this guy, how it's so hard for reality stars to live up to the characters they create on the screen, the pressures of it all, blah, blah, blah..... Are you kidding me? You want pressure? Work for a living. At a real job. Like teaching a class of 34 8th graders, all crammed into one room, because we keep cutting funding to education, while paying millions of dollars to idiots like this guy.
Sorry, dude, not feeling sorry for you. Not. One. Bit.
Cheers!
Sorry, dude, not feeling sorry for you. Not. One. Bit.
Cheers!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Marriage Equality in MY STATE!! Woo hoo!!!
I'm so excited to live in a state where it's now legal for EVERYBODY of legal age to get married! It's about damn time!!! Of course, it was just signed into law, and there will be a huge effort to overturn it by people who are apparently so insecure in their own belief systems and fragile unions that they find a loving marriage between two committed gay people somehow threatening or undermining...BUT, I am optimistic that the people in my state are far too accepting, progressive, compassionate, and yes, even logical (there is, afterall, a huge financial boon to the state economy that comes along with supporting marriage equality as well) to allow any sort of repeal of this wonderful, long-overdue legislation to occur.
I suddenly feel very proud to be a Washingtonian! (Now, if we can just get the legislature to fully fund education in our state, we'd really be off and running...)
Congratulations to all of the beautiful couples who are now planning to wed openly, in their home state, surrounded by the people who love them and secure in the knowledge that their marriage is finally considered legitimate in the eyes of the law, as it has always been in their hearts and in the hearts of open-minded and loving people everywhere.
Cheers!
I suddenly feel very proud to be a Washingtonian! (Now, if we can just get the legislature to fully fund education in our state, we'd really be off and running...)
Congratulations to all of the beautiful couples who are now planning to wed openly, in their home state, surrounded by the people who love them and secure in the knowledge that their marriage is finally considered legitimate in the eyes of the law, as it has always been in their hearts and in the hearts of open-minded and loving people everywhere.
Cheers!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Are celebrities more worthy than the rest of us? Really?
Whitney Houston has died. You can't help but know this, because it's everywhere you look right now. On the news, on the entertainment shows, on the political shows, in the magazines, in the newspaper, all over the internet...Another incredibly talented, incredibly wealthy, incredibly famous (and infamous), celebrity, whose life was cut prematurely short due to using drugs and alcohol as a way to cope with the stresses and challenges of the very fame and fortune she coveted. Something many people, celebrity and non-celebrity, choose to do. Turn to drugs or alcohol or sex or bulimia or gambling or "sex addiction" (whatever!) or some other unhealthy coping mechanism to deal with life.
Only, when you're a massive celebrity, like Ms. Houston, you are somehow held in higher regard than others. Your death is blamed on the pressures of fame and fortune, not the choices you have made in your life. People say things like, "Let's just remember the legacy of this incredible singer, the incomprable voice, and not dwell on her demons." Demons? Why aren't we talking more about the choices, not "demons", that led to her death and the deaths of so many other rich, famous people. There are plenty of ordinary people, all over the world, facing challenges like poverty, disease, broken marriages, hunger, illiteracy, harassment and abuse, grief, you-name-it, without turning to drugs and alcohol and blaming it on their circumstances. Where is the news coverage of these people? And, why is that so many "ordinary" people are blamed and reviled when drug use leads to tragedy, but we let celebrities off the hook?
Don't get me wrong. I know that addiction is a very real, very daunting, and very difficult obstacle to overcome. I have seen genuine addiction tear apart families and ruin lives. (Although I have some healthy cynicism every time I hear some male politician or cheating celebrity claim that "sex addiction" was the reason for their infidelity....) And, I feel no joy or satisfaction that Ms. Houston has died. It's a senseless waste. I still hold memories of her soaring rendition of "I Will Always Love You" in my heart. Her voice was amazing. Her smile, infectious. Her choices, terrible. But, it bothers me that tributes and fanfare and passionate emoting about the wonder of Whitney are flooding the airwaves, everywhere you look, with very little discussion of the decisions she made that led to her death.
This kind of thing happens all the time. We are celebrity-obsessed in the United States. We seem to hold famous people in higher-regard, no matter how eroded their morality, how horrible their decisions, or how reprehensible or foolish their behavior. So, why is this bothering me so much today?
Because, just a few days ago, two little boys were blown up by their deranged father. Charlie and Braden Powell, two completely innocent young boys, were murdered in an act so selfish, so horrific, so unbelievable, that it should be at the top of the discussion boards. It should be everywhere we look in the media, because it should be the kind of thing we are mobilized as a society to combat. Instead of massive, ongoing tributes to a woman who had every advantage life had to offer -- beauty, talent, wealth, recognition... Where are the tributes in support of children like Charlie and Braden? Where is the media coverage of the masses clamoring for more funding for programs like Child Protective Services? Was there media coverage of this horrible event and the funeral of these two little boys? A little. A drop in the bucket, compared to what we've already seen about Whitney Houston.
That's not right. It's just not right.
Only, when you're a massive celebrity, like Ms. Houston, you are somehow held in higher regard than others. Your death is blamed on the pressures of fame and fortune, not the choices you have made in your life. People say things like, "Let's just remember the legacy of this incredible singer, the incomprable voice, and not dwell on her demons." Demons? Why aren't we talking more about the choices, not "demons", that led to her death and the deaths of so many other rich, famous people. There are plenty of ordinary people, all over the world, facing challenges like poverty, disease, broken marriages, hunger, illiteracy, harassment and abuse, grief, you-name-it, without turning to drugs and alcohol and blaming it on their circumstances. Where is the news coverage of these people? And, why is that so many "ordinary" people are blamed and reviled when drug use leads to tragedy, but we let celebrities off the hook?
Don't get me wrong. I know that addiction is a very real, very daunting, and very difficult obstacle to overcome. I have seen genuine addiction tear apart families and ruin lives. (Although I have some healthy cynicism every time I hear some male politician or cheating celebrity claim that "sex addiction" was the reason for their infidelity....) And, I feel no joy or satisfaction that Ms. Houston has died. It's a senseless waste. I still hold memories of her soaring rendition of "I Will Always Love You" in my heart. Her voice was amazing. Her smile, infectious. Her choices, terrible. But, it bothers me that tributes and fanfare and passionate emoting about the wonder of Whitney are flooding the airwaves, everywhere you look, with very little discussion of the decisions she made that led to her death.
This kind of thing happens all the time. We are celebrity-obsessed in the United States. We seem to hold famous people in higher-regard, no matter how eroded their morality, how horrible their decisions, or how reprehensible or foolish their behavior. So, why is this bothering me so much today?
Because, just a few days ago, two little boys were blown up by their deranged father. Charlie and Braden Powell, two completely innocent young boys, were murdered in an act so selfish, so horrific, so unbelievable, that it should be at the top of the discussion boards. It should be everywhere we look in the media, because it should be the kind of thing we are mobilized as a society to combat. Instead of massive, ongoing tributes to a woman who had every advantage life had to offer -- beauty, talent, wealth, recognition... Where are the tributes in support of children like Charlie and Braden? Where is the media coverage of the masses clamoring for more funding for programs like Child Protective Services? Was there media coverage of this horrible event and the funeral of these two little boys? A little. A drop in the bucket, compared to what we've already seen about Whitney Houston.
That's not right. It's just not right.
Friday, January 20, 2012
McDonalds Rescue Heroes!!!
First of all, I have to admit that the boys and I spend a lot of time at McDonalds. A lot. Before you judge, keep in mind that I've been primarily single-parenting my two little guys for the past 3 1/2 years, given hubby's work schedule. Every weekend. By myself. In an area of the country where it rains pretty much all the time. With two little boys, who are only 1 year and 2 1/2 weeks apart and no involved family anywhere nearby to give me a break. Ever. OK, I'm done justifying, because here's the thing about McDonalds restaurants...
They have TUBES! Bright-colored, loopy tubes and slides and climby-ramps. Bouncy tunnels and little rooms with soft mats where kids can wrestle and jump around. See-through bubble compartments that look like spaceships with steering wheels.
In other words, McD's provides a space where two little boys can completely exhaust themselves, while their always-exhausted mother can drink coffee and restore her sanity.
Yes, they're disgustingly dirty. I've seen the T.V. shows. And, there are far too few parents who enforce the sock rule, which sometimes makes me gag a little bit. But, I pack around the hand sanitizer, insist that we always take a bath or shower on the days we hit a McD's, and cross my fingers. Besides, isn't exposure to germs supposed to help kids build up their immune systems? I read that somewhere, and I'm going with that one.
So, my little guys have been coming to McDonalds since the first one started walking. At the ripe old age of 9 months. Sigh. We even have nicknames for the different McD's around town. There's "The Wet McDonalds", because the roof used to leak when it rained. Then, there's "The Mall McDonalds", which has the coolest rope net to climb on, but is usually way too busy to provide any sort of Mommy recovery time. This brings us to "The Ferndale McDonalds", which is just up the highway a bit, and has the best ramp tower. Finally, The Dirty McDonalds", because once we went there, and every single table was dirty. I swore I'd never go back, but the boys talked me into it, and everything was clean that time. Must've been under new management. Plus, it has the coolest tubes, bar none. I know how cool they are, because I once had to climb up in there to save my 3-year-old, who had gotten lost and stuck and was crying to be rescued.
Which brings me to the "Rescue Heroes" topic. Finally. Any parent, who has spent as much time as I have at McDonalds, has probably had to climb up the tubes to rescue her child at one time or another. I have had to perform 3 rescues over the years. The afore-mentioned one, which occurred at "The Dirty McDonalds", as well as 2 rescues at "The Mall McDonalds." Which is why, until my boys reached the ages at which they would no longer need rescuing, I always wore comfortable clothes for our McD's visits.
Today at McDonalds, it all came full circle. My boys were playing like maniacs, as usual, when I heard a pathetic little voice calling out, "Mama? Mama? Can't find you, Mama!" I looked up and saw a cute little boy, about 3 years old, waaaaay up on one of the ramps, tears streaming down his cheeks. About a minute later, a harried-looking Mom showed up, looking up anxiously and calling to her little boy, "Come on down, honey. Can't you come down?" "I can't, Mama. I lost up here." (By the way, this Mom must've been a McD's newbie, because she was NOT wearing comfortable clothes. Not even close. There was no way she was going to be climbing up those tubes in her cute little skirt. No way.)
At that, I hollered for Spencer and Foster and told the worried Mom that my boys would climb up and help her little guy find his way back down. (I actually had no idea if they'd do it or not, at least not without some complaining about it first, but I hoped they'd grab onto the opportunity to do something heroic. Fingers crossed.) As it turned out, they were incredibly excited to help out the little guy. My heart was bursting with pride as they grinned at me and said, "Sure, Mom. We'll get him down!" and streaked up the tubes to the rescue. They were awesome. They led him through the tubes, helping him climb up the ramps by pulling on one end and pushing on the other, and they even slid down the slide with him, saying encouraging things all along the way. I'd like to say that the grateful Mom squatted down to thank my boys for their kindness, but she just stalked away with her kid. Sigh. It didn't seem to faze either of my boys, though. They were so proud and excited, in fact, that they led a second little lost kid out of the maze of tubes about 30 minutes later. And, that little boy's worried grandparents thanked them effusively. I just beamed.
My boys. Rescue heroes, indeed!
Cheers!
They have TUBES! Bright-colored, loopy tubes and slides and climby-ramps. Bouncy tunnels and little rooms with soft mats where kids can wrestle and jump around. See-through bubble compartments that look like spaceships with steering wheels.
In other words, McD's provides a space where two little boys can completely exhaust themselves, while their always-exhausted mother can drink coffee and restore her sanity.
Yes, they're disgustingly dirty. I've seen the T.V. shows. And, there are far too few parents who enforce the sock rule, which sometimes makes me gag a little bit. But, I pack around the hand sanitizer, insist that we always take a bath or shower on the days we hit a McD's, and cross my fingers. Besides, isn't exposure to germs supposed to help kids build up their immune systems? I read that somewhere, and I'm going with that one.
So, my little guys have been coming to McDonalds since the first one started walking. At the ripe old age of 9 months. Sigh. We even have nicknames for the different McD's around town. There's "The Wet McDonalds", because the roof used to leak when it rained. Then, there's "The Mall McDonalds", which has the coolest rope net to climb on, but is usually way too busy to provide any sort of Mommy recovery time. This brings us to "The Ferndale McDonalds", which is just up the highway a bit, and has the best ramp tower. Finally, The Dirty McDonalds", because once we went there, and every single table was dirty. I swore I'd never go back, but the boys talked me into it, and everything was clean that time. Must've been under new management. Plus, it has the coolest tubes, bar none. I know how cool they are, because I once had to climb up in there to save my 3-year-old, who had gotten lost and stuck and was crying to be rescued.
Which brings me to the "Rescue Heroes" topic. Finally. Any parent, who has spent as much time as I have at McDonalds, has probably had to climb up the tubes to rescue her child at one time or another. I have had to perform 3 rescues over the years. The afore-mentioned one, which occurred at "The Dirty McDonalds", as well as 2 rescues at "The Mall McDonalds." Which is why, until my boys reached the ages at which they would no longer need rescuing, I always wore comfortable clothes for our McD's visits.
Today at McDonalds, it all came full circle. My boys were playing like maniacs, as usual, when I heard a pathetic little voice calling out, "Mama? Mama? Can't find you, Mama!" I looked up and saw a cute little boy, about 3 years old, waaaaay up on one of the ramps, tears streaming down his cheeks. About a minute later, a harried-looking Mom showed up, looking up anxiously and calling to her little boy, "Come on down, honey. Can't you come down?" "I can't, Mama. I lost up here." (By the way, this Mom must've been a McD's newbie, because she was NOT wearing comfortable clothes. Not even close. There was no way she was going to be climbing up those tubes in her cute little skirt. No way.)
At that, I hollered for Spencer and Foster and told the worried Mom that my boys would climb up and help her little guy find his way back down. (I actually had no idea if they'd do it or not, at least not without some complaining about it first, but I hoped they'd grab onto the opportunity to do something heroic. Fingers crossed.) As it turned out, they were incredibly excited to help out the little guy. My heart was bursting with pride as they grinned at me and said, "Sure, Mom. We'll get him down!" and streaked up the tubes to the rescue. They were awesome. They led him through the tubes, helping him climb up the ramps by pulling on one end and pushing on the other, and they even slid down the slide with him, saying encouraging things all along the way. I'd like to say that the grateful Mom squatted down to thank my boys for their kindness, but she just stalked away with her kid. Sigh. It didn't seem to faze either of my boys, though. They were so proud and excited, in fact, that they led a second little lost kid out of the maze of tubes about 30 minutes later. And, that little boy's worried grandparents thanked them effusively. I just beamed.
My boys. Rescue heroes, indeed!
Cheers!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Life is fleeting. Don't forget to live it.
Last week, an amazing, creative, charismatic little 10-year-old boy in my community suffered a critical injury while practicing acrobatics in his bedroom. He lived for only 2 days, before his family had to make the impossible decision to shut off the machines which were keeping him alive. I can't even imagine the depths of the grief his parents must be feeling...I just can't even go there.
So, when we woke up to the first real snow of the season, yesterday, and my boys wanted to go sledding, we dropped everything and went. I whooped it up with those little guys for 2 1/2 straight hours. My bad ankle throbbed so badly it had its own heartbeat, but I didn't care. We must have made 40 trips up that hill! Ouch.
And, when my little guys wanted to build a snow alien, we made an awesome snow alien, with crazy sticks for hair and pine cones for eyes. A little creepy, actually, but quite cool.
Then, when they wanted to gang up against me in a snowball fight, even though I had pulled some sort of tendon in my wrist snowshovelling the driveway, I was all over it. Tired and in pain, but nothing could have stopped me. (By the way, I can still take them both in a snowball fight, even with a messed-up wrist. Two against one....doesn't matter. Oh, yeah.)
And, when we woke up to even more snow and a bonus day off from school, today, we did it all over again. This time, hubby was able to join us on our adventure. With his work schedule, our family days are few and far between, so it made the hours we all spent together that much more precious. And, since we spent most of those hours flying down a hill, covered in snow, laughing our asses off, it was time spent well. Living life to the fullest. Appreciating every moment. My cheeks still hurt from laughing. (As for my wrist and ankle...that's a whole different kind of hurt. But, I wouldn't take it back for a moment.)
So now, as my little ones are drifting off to sleep, I will sip my glass of cabernet, elevate my throbbing, swollen ankle, put a brace on my throbbing, swollen wrist, and snuggle into bed next to my hubby to watch something silly on T.V. And, I will thank my lucky stars that I was able to spend such glorious days with the people I love most in the world, and that I can wake up tomorrow and hug them and kiss them and appreciate them and continue to make beautiful memories with them.
Because, heartbreakingly, some people aren't able to do that with the ones they love...
So, when we woke up to the first real snow of the season, yesterday, and my boys wanted to go sledding, we dropped everything and went. I whooped it up with those little guys for 2 1/2 straight hours. My bad ankle throbbed so badly it had its own heartbeat, but I didn't care. We must have made 40 trips up that hill! Ouch.
And, when my little guys wanted to build a snow alien, we made an awesome snow alien, with crazy sticks for hair and pine cones for eyes. A little creepy, actually, but quite cool.
Then, when they wanted to gang up against me in a snowball fight, even though I had pulled some sort of tendon in my wrist snowshovelling the driveway, I was all over it. Tired and in pain, but nothing could have stopped me. (By the way, I can still take them both in a snowball fight, even with a messed-up wrist. Two against one....doesn't matter. Oh, yeah.)
And, when we woke up to even more snow and a bonus day off from school, today, we did it all over again. This time, hubby was able to join us on our adventure. With his work schedule, our family days are few and far between, so it made the hours we all spent together that much more precious. And, since we spent most of those hours flying down a hill, covered in snow, laughing our asses off, it was time spent well. Living life to the fullest. Appreciating every moment. My cheeks still hurt from laughing. (As for my wrist and ankle...that's a whole different kind of hurt. But, I wouldn't take it back for a moment.)
So now, as my little ones are drifting off to sleep, I will sip my glass of cabernet, elevate my throbbing, swollen ankle, put a brace on my throbbing, swollen wrist, and snuggle into bed next to my hubby to watch something silly on T.V. And, I will thank my lucky stars that I was able to spend such glorious days with the people I love most in the world, and that I can wake up tomorrow and hug them and kiss them and appreciate them and continue to make beautiful memories with them.
Because, heartbreakingly, some people aren't able to do that with the ones they love...
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The cure for a crying fit is...math?
It's almost 9pm on a Tuesday. Normally, both of my boys would be sound asleep in their own rooms right now, and I would be: 1) Passed out from exhaustion, or 2) Enjoying a nice glass of cabernet while watching something brain-numbing on T.V. As it turns out, I was planning on option #2 this evening, because the hubster went over to his buddy's house for a little male bonding, and the new season of The Biggest Loser started tonite. But, as I relaxed on the couch, sipping some red and munching on Orville Redenbacher's Smart Pop popcorn, I heard little footsteps and sniffling noises approaching down the hall. There was Foster. He looked up at me, miserably, bottom lip trembling, and then burst into tears and flung himself onto my lap.
"Mommy, I feel so, so sad." (sob, sob)
"What's wrong, honey? Why do you feel sad?"
"Because you gave away some of our stuffed animals! I love ALL of my stuffed animals, and you gave some awaaaaay......" (louder sobbing)
"Well, honey, we gave away some of our stuffed animals at Christmastime, so that kids who don't have any can have some animals to snuggle up with at night. You have a lot of stuffed animals to snuggle up with. You're really lucky."
"I know, but I really, really miss my stuffed animals." (renewed fits of sobbing)
Now, before you think I'm a terrible mother who cruelly snatched beloved toys from the arms of my devastated little boys...I donated maybe 10 stuffed animals that neither boy ever even looks at any more, let alone plays with. I doubt that Foster could even come up the identities of any of these donated stuffed animals that are now the cause of so much drama... Still, I felt a twinge of guilt at his sadness, I'll admit.
Then, the sound of new footsteps came down the hallway.....Spencer, of course.
"What's wrong with Fos? Why is he crying?"
"BECAUSE MOMMY GAVE AWAY OUR STUFFED ANIMALS!!!" (wailing now)
"Well, sweetie, I know that you're sad, but it's a school night and time for bed. So, let's go snuggle up with some of your other stuffed animals, OK? Spence, it's sweet that you're thinking about Fos, but time for bed for you too."
Off we went down the hallway...
By the time I got Fos to his bed, he was crying even harder than before.
"Now I'm really, really sad about TWO things. I'm sad about my stuffed animals AND I'm sad about Cosmo dying last Christmas. I'm SO SAD!!!" (bwaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....)
Oy.
So, we went through some deep breaths to calm things down, but he had himself really worked up, and I just didn't feel right walking out and leaving him in such a state. Was I being manipulated? Highly likely. I'm sure it happens every day. However, this is really unusual behavior from him, especially at bedtime, so I just wasn't sure what was really going on with my little guy.
Next thing I knew, Spence appeared at my side.
"Mom? I know I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I'm really, really worried about Foster, and I think he needs me." (How precious is that, I ask you? I almost pee'd my pants with joy at big brother being so sweet to little brother, especially since that's pretty unusual behavior around here as well.)
"Honey, that's really nice of you, but I think you need to head back to bed." (louder wailing from Fos)
"Well, you see Mom, I really think you should let me sleep in here with Foster for a little bit. I think I can make him feel better. You know we used to share a room." At this, Fos sits up and hugs his brother, and, for a change, his brother hugs him back.
"Mommy," said Fos through his sobs, "You always say that the most important and wonderful thing is our family, right? Please let Spence sleep with me."
So, I let Spence grab his blanket and pillow, and I said he could stay in there for a little while to cheer up Fos.
"Can we do quiet talking, Mommy? PLEEEEEASE?????"
"OK, but if it sounds like you guys are getting crazy in there, I'm going to send Spence back to his own bed right away. And, only 10 minutes of talking. Then, it's sleepy time for you both."
"Thank you so much, Mommy. You're the best Mommy in the universe!!!" (accompanied by more sniffing and sobbing from my youngest, of course)
"Yeah," I thought to myself, "I don't think your teachers are going to be thinking I'm such a terrific Mommy tomorrow, when you're both so tired that you lose your minds all day at school..."
Anyhoo...I headed back to the living room to finish my glass of wine, and I immediately heard giggling from the room. So, I did what any self-respecting parent would do...I tippy toed down the hallway and eavesdropped outside the door.
What was making my little guy, who had been sobbing his heart out only moments before, giggle with happiness, you ask? Math. Yes, math. Spencer was firing addition problems at him, and Fos was adding them as quickly as he could, laughing like crazy every time he got them wrong. Which was a lot. He's only a first grader, afterall.
So, Fos didn't need Mommy hugs and deep breathing to get over his bout of sadness. He just needed his big brother to do some math with him. Who knew?
Now, I need to go get Spence and tuck him into his own bed, with extra kisses for his kindness to Fos. And maybe I should write a nice little note to the boys' teachers for tomorrow, just in case...
Cheers!
"Mommy, I feel so, so sad." (sob, sob)
"What's wrong, honey? Why do you feel sad?"
"Because you gave away some of our stuffed animals! I love ALL of my stuffed animals, and you gave some awaaaaay......" (louder sobbing)
"Well, honey, we gave away some of our stuffed animals at Christmastime, so that kids who don't have any can have some animals to snuggle up with at night. You have a lot of stuffed animals to snuggle up with. You're really lucky."
"I know, but I really, really miss my stuffed animals." (renewed fits of sobbing)
Now, before you think I'm a terrible mother who cruelly snatched beloved toys from the arms of my devastated little boys...I donated maybe 10 stuffed animals that neither boy ever even looks at any more, let alone plays with. I doubt that Foster could even come up the identities of any of these donated stuffed animals that are now the cause of so much drama... Still, I felt a twinge of guilt at his sadness, I'll admit.
Then, the sound of new footsteps came down the hallway.....Spencer, of course.
"What's wrong with Fos? Why is he crying?"
"BECAUSE MOMMY GAVE AWAY OUR STUFFED ANIMALS!!!" (wailing now)
"Well, sweetie, I know that you're sad, but it's a school night and time for bed. So, let's go snuggle up with some of your other stuffed animals, OK? Spence, it's sweet that you're thinking about Fos, but time for bed for you too."
Off we went down the hallway...
By the time I got Fos to his bed, he was crying even harder than before.
"Now I'm really, really sad about TWO things. I'm sad about my stuffed animals AND I'm sad about Cosmo dying last Christmas. I'm SO SAD!!!" (bwaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....)
Oy.
So, we went through some deep breaths to calm things down, but he had himself really worked up, and I just didn't feel right walking out and leaving him in such a state. Was I being manipulated? Highly likely. I'm sure it happens every day. However, this is really unusual behavior from him, especially at bedtime, so I just wasn't sure what was really going on with my little guy.
Next thing I knew, Spence appeared at my side.
"Mom? I know I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I'm really, really worried about Foster, and I think he needs me." (How precious is that, I ask you? I almost pee'd my pants with joy at big brother being so sweet to little brother, especially since that's pretty unusual behavior around here as well.)
"Honey, that's really nice of you, but I think you need to head back to bed." (louder wailing from Fos)
"Well, you see Mom, I really think you should let me sleep in here with Foster for a little bit. I think I can make him feel better. You know we used to share a room." At this, Fos sits up and hugs his brother, and, for a change, his brother hugs him back.
"Mommy," said Fos through his sobs, "You always say that the most important and wonderful thing is our family, right? Please let Spence sleep with me."
So, I let Spence grab his blanket and pillow, and I said he could stay in there for a little while to cheer up Fos.
"Can we do quiet talking, Mommy? PLEEEEEASE?????"
"OK, but if it sounds like you guys are getting crazy in there, I'm going to send Spence back to his own bed right away. And, only 10 minutes of talking. Then, it's sleepy time for you both."
"Thank you so much, Mommy. You're the best Mommy in the universe!!!" (accompanied by more sniffing and sobbing from my youngest, of course)
"Yeah," I thought to myself, "I don't think your teachers are going to be thinking I'm such a terrific Mommy tomorrow, when you're both so tired that you lose your minds all day at school..."
Anyhoo...I headed back to the living room to finish my glass of wine, and I immediately heard giggling from the room. So, I did what any self-respecting parent would do...I tippy toed down the hallway and eavesdropped outside the door.
What was making my little guy, who had been sobbing his heart out only moments before, giggle with happiness, you ask? Math. Yes, math. Spencer was firing addition problems at him, and Fos was adding them as quickly as he could, laughing like crazy every time he got them wrong. Which was a lot. He's only a first grader, afterall.
So, Fos didn't need Mommy hugs and deep breathing to get over his bout of sadness. He just needed his big brother to do some math with him. Who knew?
Now, I need to go get Spence and tuck him into his own bed, with extra kisses for his kindness to Fos. And maybe I should write a nice little note to the boys' teachers for tomorrow, just in case...
Cheers!
Monday, December 26, 2011
For all the ladies, as we begin a new year...
As I sit here, the day after a wonderful Christmas, listening to all of the New Year’s commercials selling the message to all women that we need to lose weight or change our hair or invest a small fortune to hide all signs of aging (because, apparently, getting older is a BAD thing – I personally feel lucky for every minute I get!) or use products that will grow our wimpy eyelashes or grow our wimpy fingernails or get rid of our cellulite or hide our spider veins and then turn us into super women who can bring home the bacon, raise perfect children without ever resorting to putting them in front of the T.V. once in a while (where my kids are right now, as a matter of fact), make a nutritious, well-balanced dinner every night (not to mention breakfast and lunches) and be ready to leap enthusiastically into bed with our partners at a moment’s notice (without first needing a glass of wine or even a full night’s sleep)... I am reminded of all the wonderful women I have been lucky enough to know...
Women who occasionally feed their kids oatmeal for dinner, just ‘cuz they’re too dog-tired to whip up a balanced meal after working all day... Women who sometimes slip between the sheets at 8:30 pm, wearing comfy sweatpants, not silky lingerie, without (gasp!) washing off their make-up and applying wrinkle-reducing night cream first... Women who hang onto their clothes that are one size up, so they can be comfortable after a holiday spent indulging in every delicious food or drink they desire, rather than denying themselves and starving themselves to fit some advertiser’s definition of “beauty”...Women who are ballsy enough to say what’s on their mind and to stand up for what’s right, even if it’s not the most “feminine” thing to do...Women who have faced incredible challenges and losses in their lives with humor and chutzpah...Women who get up every day and get on with the business of living and working and caring for the people they love, even when they’d rather hide under the covers...Women who have made me laugh, made me cry, debated me, supported me, inspired me to appreciate my life with all of its hurdles and rewards, and women who care about me enough to always tell me when I have broccoli in my teeth.
Imperfectly perfect women!
Thanks for all the richness you have added to my life. You are beautiful, worthy, hilarious, stubborn, gifted, and unbelievably strong. Wishing you a happy, healthy, peaceful New Year!!!
2012...here we come!
2012...here we come!
Cheers!
Love,
Beth
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Stop It...Santa Knows We're Being Naughty!!!
My kids are finally at the age where they remind EACH OTHER that Santa is watching. It's GREAT! We had a glorious Christmas Eve Day today, largely due to the fact that if either boy was starting to do anything even remotely "naughty", his brother would quickly remind him to knock it off. Maybe it helped that we tracked Santa's progress on NORAD all morning....Maybe it helped that Santa actually called this morning to let the boys know he'd be here later on tonight...Maybe it helped that Santa sent each boy a personal video email message...I dunno. Overkill you say? Maybe. But, let's just say that technology does come with a few advantages, and I had a wonderful, peaceful, joyful Christmas Eve Day. So, whatever works.
Hubby dearest had to work as usual, so the boys and I did laundry first, just to get it out of the way (I've never had such eager laundry helpers, let me tell ya), then began our day of fun. (We spent yesterday afternoon buying last-minute groceries, picking out some toys for Toys for Tots, and letting each boy put some of his own money in the Salvation Army jar. Today, was devoted solely to fun. After the laundry, of course.) Anyway, then we Elfed-Ourselves, our cousins and our grandma and grandpy online, laughing hysterically the entire time. There is nothing funnier than watching my Dad break-dancing to "Jingle Bells", dressed in an elf outfit. If you haven't ever Elfed-Yourself, I highly recommend it. It's free, it's funny, and it's fabulous! Then, we started out a day of healthy eating (not!) with donuts and the candy I snuck in to a movie. Which movie? Well, we tried to go to "The Muppets", but we accidentally got pointed into the wrong theater and ended up watching "Alvin and The Chipmunks" instead. I have to say, that little Theodore chipmunk is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. Not kidding. I wanted to take him home in my pocket. And, the movie had the right blend of adult humor and kid humor to keep us all highly entertained. We got home and baked cookies and, for the first time, meringues. Okay, have you ever baked meringues? It took me 35 minutes to get the batter to "form stiff peaks." 35 minutes! With a hand mixer, 'cuz I don't have the other kind. And, then, they take 2 hours to bake. If these little suckers don't come out tasting absolutely wonderful, I might have to have a mini-temper tantrum. Oh, better not...Santa's watching!
Now, we are settling in for our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti feast. (Gotta carb-load for tomorrow's present-opening marathon, y'know.) Hubby dear just walked in the front door and is about to pour us a glass of something red and delicious. But, before I go, I have to document the wonderfully creative and unique letters my little boys wrote to Santa, yesterday. (They just couldn't wait until today.) All spelling and puntuation is exactly as written by the boys...
Spencer's letter:
To: Santa
From: Spencer
Marry Christmas! open me!
PLEASE Tell me How you Get into my House with out a chimny on it?
thanks! marry Ho! Ho!
Foster's letter:
to SAntA
from Foster
to SAntA from Fostee
I hope you heve a good ChristMas. And lots uv good cookys. And milc. you are a good raper. (Translation: "wrapper")
Happy holidays to you all. And, here's wishing us all a peaceful, healthy, and more prosperous new year.
Cheers!
Hubby dearest had to work as usual, so the boys and I did laundry first, just to get it out of the way (I've never had such eager laundry helpers, let me tell ya), then began our day of fun. (We spent yesterday afternoon buying last-minute groceries, picking out some toys for Toys for Tots, and letting each boy put some of his own money in the Salvation Army jar. Today, was devoted solely to fun. After the laundry, of course.) Anyway, then we Elfed-Ourselves, our cousins and our grandma and grandpy online, laughing hysterically the entire time. There is nothing funnier than watching my Dad break-dancing to "Jingle Bells", dressed in an elf outfit. If you haven't ever Elfed-Yourself, I highly recommend it. It's free, it's funny, and it's fabulous! Then, we started out a day of healthy eating (not!) with donuts and the candy I snuck in to a movie. Which movie? Well, we tried to go to "The Muppets", but we accidentally got pointed into the wrong theater and ended up watching "Alvin and The Chipmunks" instead. I have to say, that little Theodore chipmunk is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. Not kidding. I wanted to take him home in my pocket. And, the movie had the right blend of adult humor and kid humor to keep us all highly entertained. We got home and baked cookies and, for the first time, meringues. Okay, have you ever baked meringues? It took me 35 minutes to get the batter to "form stiff peaks." 35 minutes! With a hand mixer, 'cuz I don't have the other kind. And, then, they take 2 hours to bake. If these little suckers don't come out tasting absolutely wonderful, I might have to have a mini-temper tantrum. Oh, better not...Santa's watching!
Now, we are settling in for our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti feast. (Gotta carb-load for tomorrow's present-opening marathon, y'know.) Hubby dear just walked in the front door and is about to pour us a glass of something red and delicious. But, before I go, I have to document the wonderfully creative and unique letters my little boys wrote to Santa, yesterday. (They just couldn't wait until today.) All spelling and puntuation is exactly as written by the boys...
Spencer's letter:
To: Santa
From: Spencer
Marry Christmas! open me!
PLEASE Tell me How you Get into my House with out a chimny on it?
thanks! marry Ho! Ho!
Foster's letter:
to SAntA
from Foster
to SAntA from Fostee
I hope you heve a good ChristMas. And lots uv good cookys. And milc. you are a good raper. (Translation: "wrapper")
Happy holidays to you all. And, here's wishing us all a peaceful, healthy, and more prosperous new year.
Cheers!
Friday, November 25, 2011
Old wounds...
Last Christmas morning, my beloved little dog, Cosmo, suddenly and tragically died. It was an awful Christmas, and I couldn't wait for it to be over. I miss his fuzzy little presence, but I've adjusted to life without him over the last year. I've been doing just fine. Until today, when I opened up the bins of Christmas decorations to begin my annual day-after-Thanksgiving decorating bonanza. Foster was "helping" me. Translation: taking everything out of the bins in no particular order, and tossing them around the room, creating total chaos and confusion. After a while, he came to the bin that had our family's Christmas stockings.
"Here's Daddy's stocking!"
"Here's Spencer's!"
"Ooooh, here's MINE! And, yours too, Mommy."
"Here's Lucy's stocking!"
"Oh, here's Cosmo's stocking, Mommy. Where are we going to hang it?"
Next thing I knew, I was bawling my eyes out...
It's amazing how quickly old wounds can re-open, isn't it? And I've been crying off and on all day long.
By the way...I hung Cosmo's stocking right next to his picture.
I wish he was here.
"Here's Daddy's stocking!"
"Here's Spencer's!"
"Ooooh, here's MINE! And, yours too, Mommy."
"Here's Lucy's stocking!"
"Oh, here's Cosmo's stocking, Mommy. Where are we going to hang it?"
Next thing I knew, I was bawling my eyes out...
It's amazing how quickly old wounds can re-open, isn't it? And I've been crying off and on all day long.
By the way...I hung Cosmo's stocking right next to his picture.
I wish he was here.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Ahhh..the irony.
Coming home from work just now, I was behind an SUV at a red light. A HUGE bumper sticker across the back of the car stated "Remember Anna. Keep your eyes on the road!" Great sentiment, right? Except for the fact that the driver was texting and didn't even notice when the light changed. I had to honk my horn to get her attention. Sigh.
Cheers!
Cheers!
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