Well, it's more like I'm giving YOU a break :).

Instead of writing anything new (since obviously my last few posts have been explosively riveting and randomly engaging), I think any time spent blogging will be used to read and comment y'all (leave a comment here with a link back to ya, and if I haven't read you before, why, I think I'll include visiting new peeps in this little exercise). With kids buzzing around and squillions of things to do, coupled with the blogosphere operating at a snail's pace, I think this idea is simply marvey :).

The one thing that I'd ask of you (newbies AND not-so-newbies) before I go, is to please stop by Kelly's place, tell her I sent you and leave a comment. Her corporate sponsor is contributing $1 per comment to St. Jude's Hospital up to $500. She has until Saturday night to make this goal. If you have a blog of your own, it would be nice if you linked back to her as well. Thanks to those of you who have already visited and to those of you who will; you can comment both today and tomorrow.

UPDATE: Kelly got her 500+ comments, St. Jude's got $500...sounds like everyone's a winner to me :). Thanks to those of you who popped over there from here. I think this might just be the most clever way I've ever seen ANYONE pimp their blog!

More fun with Blogthings :)

Your New Year's Resolutions

1) Get a pet pony 2) Eat more cheese 3) Travel to Holland 4) Study rare insects 5) Get in shape with dodgeball

Don't many resolutions have to do with "getting, eating (or NOT eating), traveling, studying and more getting"? I'm just sayin :/.... I'm posting these pretend ones because I don't wanna be accountable I'm too shy to post my real ones ;).

Y e a h...me... s h y...THAT thought is enough reason to put a smile on MY face!

HT: Pamela

Note: If you don't read anything else in this post, please read #6, you'll be extending a "random act of kindness" and helping others in the process :).

[1] 60 seconds in the car with our family:

Thom: "Does anyone have any sodium chloride?" (this, after driving through McDonalds for a nutritious french fry snack--of course, with diet Coke)

Rach: "Are you learning about that in school?"

Thom: "Nope, 'Jimmy Neutron'." (Educational tv at its finest :/)

Steph: "Know why I don't like eating at O'Charley's anymore?"

(No one answers because they're all talking at once, I'm reaching for the laptop to transcribe this conversation since they've had me giggling for a while now).

Steph (undaunted, in spite of the fact no one responds): "Because ever since I found a bug in my roll there, it grosses me out." (Who knows why in the world he thought of that at this moment--it happened THREE years ago!)

Rach: "What does 'mooch' mean?"

Me: "Bummin' something off of somebody else." (DON'T YOU KNOW THIS WORD???!)

Thom: "Oh, I thought it meant you eat somebody's food without them knowing about it." (weelll, that would kind of make you a thief!)

Me: "Why are you asking?"

Rach (reading off the McDonald's bag): "No dog of your own? Go 'head and mooch. Ask a friend if you could help walk her pooch." (no wonder she was confused, psycho-trite poetry at its finest...I should apply for a job)

[2] This was my favorite Christmas gift (from my husband:) ). I will drink hot beverages while reading good books and if anyone disturbs me, I will not raise my eyes from the page, but shall instead, raise my mug to speak for me.

[3] For our Christmas dinner with Tad's family, we had a smörgåsbord of Italian dishes (no, they aren't Italian). At my sister's, we enjoyed a standing rib roast, potatoes, salad and the like. While everything was delicious, and truly, I was thankful for both, I missed turkey and/or ham, dressing, cranberry sauce, etc., I guess what I consider a more traditional holiday meal. When we got home, I bought both a dead bird and a dead pig while they were dirt-cheap-loss-leaders, and we'll be feasting soon. Funny how I usually prepare either of these only around a holiday....

[4] Meet Hailey and Roxie, Tad's brother's & our S-I-L's "girls". We enjoyed a Christmas visit with them, too. They greeted us with happy snorts and fluids flying from mouth and nose. Janice (their mom) is the youngest "sister" on Tad's side of the family--we have tons o' fun when we're together.

This is from a package of cocktail napkins someone gave her. I've seen it before, but it cracks me up every time! Mary Phillips never fails to get a grin, she has a delightfully acerbic tongue.

[5] Today my husband renewed his driver's license. What would ordinarily be a mundane task, instead, carried great significance. "Why?" you ask...because we've lived in Tennefreakinsee THREE and a half years!! He still had a SC license. Until today. I think that means we might be here a while after all.

And so the last "tie that binds" is neatly clipped.....

[6] PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Go visit Kelly at Pass the Torch. Then, PRETTY-PLEASE comment! For every comment she receives (one per blogger), she's donating $1 to St. Jude Medical Research Hospital (up to $500). CAN YOU IMAGINE 500 comments? Not me, flea! Sooo, no matter "what" kind of reader you are, a regular or someone who hits the Blogger nav bar, please visit Kelly and let her know you popped over from PENSIEVE. Thanks mes amies!

While back in the Carolinas for a family Christmas gathering, I tried something I've never done before...and I'm afraid I liked it just a little too much! I shot skeet. Although not very good at it--I hit about 20%--it sure was fun. Cocked and loaded, from shotguns we progressed to pistols, and my itchy sure and steady trigger finger got to know a .22, a .38 and a .45--nice to meet cha! The .45 knocked me backwards.
Just l o o k at that gleam in my eye (well, there IS one behind my sunglasses) as I was getting used to the feel of the .22 and .38 (I think). Why did everyone run for cover when they saw a gun in my hands?

My form was ridiculous. There I was thinking how cool I was, and then I saw these pictures. Something tells me that assuming a stance with feet shoulder length apart with a swayback arch isn't exactly good form. Then again, who's gonna tell a woman with a loaded gun she doesn't "look quite right"? (hehe)

I had recycling on the brain, our targets were water-filled 2-liter bottles. On the ground. That part didn't thrill me, but since there were cows in the pasture...high dollar registered cattle--I didn't balk. For some reason, my hit ratio improved with a stationery target.

Later that day my shoulder was sore and it slowly dawned on me: I was bruised from the shotgun kicking back. That just made my day. It was kind of a pathetic "badge of honor", a cheap thrill, for a middle-aged mom.

My appetite has been whetted...I'm ready to play again....anyone game??

He gave....

May you delight in the beauty, generosity and expectancy of Christmas throughout this season.

Merry Christmas, friends :).

(Note: I wrote this post early this week because I knew my weekend was going to spin about 1,000 rpm.....and it is ;)....PLUS, what I didn't know, I am VERY computer impaired, and pretty doggone thankful I wrote this post in advance, because it's a very important one and I probably wouldn't have been able to link everything I wanted and post pictures otherwise.

In follow-up to yesterday's post, I have a million replies, just not able to think anything though right now :)...still, thank each of you for your kind words, thoughts and prayers. Figured I should post this...disclaimer??? explanation??? so y'all wouldn't think I was totally manic and bi-polar....I prefer to call it...hmmmm...ah, yes, as my husband says..."I'm a complicated woman." Gotta run, this borrowed computer has to go back to its rightful owner. Toodles!)


All you wanted to know and then some, right here :) Festivus is my favorite fake holiday of them all!

Get your own Festivus Pole here.

You can order Festivus Wine here.

Ah, yes, capitalism at its best--only in America can you make money off a show about nothing!

Before I begin writing, you have the courtesy of a warning. There are squillions of warm and fuzzy, festive and funny, light and nostalgic, spiritual and thought-provoking blog posts waiting to be read. This is not one of them. This is one of those times I long for a real pensieve, so I could empty my mind...and heart...of heavy thoughts; not to forget them, just to store them away for a time when there weren't so many of them.

For over a week, I've been painfully reminded that Christmas is not a happy time for many people. Perhaps in their own childhood, there was abuse or neglect, or maybe it was a simple case of parents so caught up in the trappings of the season, it held no meaning or circumstance apart from excessive materialism, which ultimiately breeds discontent. For others, perhaps loss of a loved one leaves them feeling lonely and in grief. There are a million scenarios with just as many sad circumstances, and several of these have hit very close to home.

My former pastor lost his wife this Spring to leukemia. She was also a good friend to me. Married for over 30 years, she LOVED Christmas, her home was decorated from roof to, I imagine, basement. Think Griswolds, lol. There wasn't a room in their house that didn't have some kind of Christmas icon, a gazillion Santa Clauses, which I always thought funny. She hosted parties for anyone and everyone because that fed her soul; and a tradition for me and my children was to visit them each season, mainly to look at her Christmas village. Because they had pastored for years, they had many friends in many places; everyone knew Anne loved Christmas, and whenever they were looking for a gift to give her, they'd choose a piece of this village for her. Her family must've done the same. It was the most extensive city I've ever seen before, she had more pieces than most stores who sell the stuff--MOVING pieces, too. Carousels and ice skating rinks and I think Santa with a sleigh flying around. My kids loved it, and their Christmas train, too. This will be Shelton's (and their adult children and grandchildren) first Christmas without her. He's been on my mind a lot. They were more than pastor and wife to our family, they invited us into their lives.

Then, there's Sandy and Alice. Their husbands left them last week. LAST WEEK! :( These are not close friends of mine, but they are in my "sphere" and they are friends. Between the two of them, they have six children. In one case, it's been coming for a long time; but in the other, total shock (at least publically). My heart BREAKS for these women who are dying on the inside, who don't want this to be happening, who are helpless to stop it. I'm sure they are shell-shocked and going through the motions for the sake of their children. Their children...their babies...who most certainly are not having a "merry Christmas" and will possibly be over-indulged with "things" to compensate for this loss of daddy. Maybe not, but I could see it. How could these husbands--FATHERS--leave their families NOW? Whatever happened last weekend, didn't just happen then, why couldn't they suck it up for the sake of their kids? It infuriates me and grieves me.

Similarly, we received a Christmas card from one of my dearest friends this week. It was she and her two children. Her divorce is in the final stages, and the absence of her husband in the picture was a visual reminder that her marriage is almost dead. I know my friend, I KNOW what she was thinking when that photograph was taken; I can imagine what was going through her children's minds. Their eyes bespoke sadness, I wonder if anyone else sees that.

Then there's my friend, Teresa. I've written about her before, one of my earliest posts. I wish I could say I've spent more time with her the past year than I have; it's easy not to make time for her. Recently, she's been back in the hospital, twice in the past three weeks. They're poor. They're renting a home and have the bare essentials. We've been in touch lately because I can't bear the thought of her daughter not having gifts for Christmas (she's 14). What Teresa wants to get for her daughter is not excessive; it's not socks and underwear, but it's not too far removed from that. The Christmas money she had was stolen when she was admitted to the hospital last week. Barely able to speak, she called me, frantic. That part can be fixed; what can't be is Teresa's health. She's been given--her "best" case scenario--a two-year life sentence. While she was in the hospital this time, I asked her if they had a Christmas tree. Again, I'm looking at what we have, and I'm reminded of what they don't. Her reply? She had splurged on a $29 pre-lit tree (a 60% off bargain), and she was pleased--"We've come a long way from last year, last year we didn't even have one" (they were in a motel at the time). When I asked her what we could do for her, she just asked for my friendship, she needed a friend to help encourage her when she was down; she's also trying to stop smoking and asked me to hold her accountable. She's held onto that because it's the one thing in her life she can control, it's her way of "giving the finger" to her plight. I'd probably smoke, too, if I was her.

These are some of the biggies, there are other "lesser" things going on around me, lesser only in comparison, not because they aren't significant.

I'm a positive person, always looking for the good in people and circumstance. It's my modus operandi. I believe Romans 8:28 with all my heart. I believe there's an ebb and flow to life described beautifully and familiarly in Ecclesiastes 3.

But this week, I started "sinking". I figured it was due from the weight of the above, but then it occurred to me it was more than that. One year ago today, while I was visiting my father in the hospital, the doctor unexpectedly told us he was in his dying hours...that "this" was it...that he wouldn't make it to Christmas. Daddy was in good physical health, but having been diagnosed with Alzheimer's summer before last, his mental health was not good. That being said, he was fully functioning, even driving (yikes!), prior to the hospital ER giving him a dose of seroquel that his body had an adverse reaction to, leading to a chain of events that almost killed him. It appears he actually has Lewy Bodies Disease, the second most common form of dementia behind Alzheimers, but an important distinction because of the patient's likely adverse reaction to "typical" drugs used to treat the symptoms of Alzheimers.

We reeled under the news of my father's impending death, it was a shock. My sister and brother drove to meet me and his wife at the hospital, and we all had the opportunity to tell him "good-bye". Looking back, I can't help but smile, I swear we looked like a bad made-for-tv-movie, each one of us telling him the cliche things you're supposed to tell someone in these circumstances, for us, they fit (and of course, it was very personal). As the night progressed, Daddy began to improve. By improve, I mean gaining consciousness and talking out of his mind, trying desperately to carry on conversation with us, but making no sense, eventually entertaining us with his insanity and inappropriateness. We cried oceans that day; first from grief, eventually, from hilarity. A surreal day from start to finish.

That was a year ago today. He didn't die, not physically, anyway. But that would have been a much kinder fate than the year we all have endured. He has had to have 24-hour care for a year. For ten months, we had caregivers with him and his wife in their home, with my siblings and I helping as often as we could. As I've written before, I thought it a rather noble and romantic notion for parent and child to reverse roles until I lived it, but there is nothing romantic about a daughter caring for her father. I hope with all my heart he isn't aware of the indiginities he's had to suffer; at times he expressed embarrassment, but you never know how much he understands.

It has become to much for him to remain at home, even with 24-hour care. For the past two months he's been in a specialized senior mental health facility, for the purpose of regulating his behavior with meds so he would be stable enough for nursing home admittance. I can barely type that, hate doesn't begin to express how I feel about this, despising him having to do this. He would hate this. It's a horrible end of life. The mercy for him...and us...would have been for him to have died a year ago today. Death is not the worst thing that can happen sometimes.

Last night I received a despondent call from sister, then later his wife. It seems the facility wants him out TODAY and they've given us no notice. They're saying they found a place that will take him, but it's over five hours from his family, eight from me. All of a sudden everything is in fast gear and feels like it's spinning out of control and I can't do a thing about it. Their social worker told us he had been declined over a dozen times due to his behavior (he's agitated and acts out at times) or lack of beds, but his wife discovered at least two places had either not processed his paperwork, or didn't have it at all (she called to inquire herself). So either this social worker isn't doing her job or she's lying. I wish I knew the whole story, something is not adding up. In spite of a post I wrote a long, long time ago, there remains no good answer for his situation.

There are positives, at least he can afford to pay for his healthcare, something most people, I imagine, in his circumstances are not able to do. I've tried to seek God through the circumstance; I've prayed that as I come into contact with people that I wouldn't normally apart from Daddy's illness, I would reflect Christ in how I respond to them (sometimes that means I might be the only "Jesus" they ever see...). I've prayed God would continue to shape and transform ME through these crappy circumstances....

Anyway, I was already sinking before I got those calls.... I've found it "better" to be concerned about others, than to slow down and think about myself, but it catches up eventually I suppose. I've been in one of my insomnia phases, that's gotta be a contributer to my altered state of mind, too--every night for maybe a week I wake up at 3 and can't fall back asleep.... I envy those who sleep all night, lol, one of those things I've come to appreciate in my 40s, that I never knew you SHOULD appreciate...:).

It's early...still dark outside. And raining, I do love a good rain, but this morning it personifies my spirit.

Stephen will be up soon, and we're off to see Santa, creepy or not. It'll do me good, that kid is STILL so excited in spite of his new-found knowledge this year. I don't get it, but I love it.

If you read this far, and honestly, I can't imagine anyone doing so, I'm fine...I'll be fine. I don't sink long and writing it has already made me feel better. If you are a person of faith, I would appreciate your prayers for Shelton...and Sandy...and Alice...and Teresa...and their families. And, oh, yeah...for me. :)

As a Christmas procrastinator extraordinaire, I am most thankful for little-girl-Robin, who wrote today's post over three decades ago. She must have known that in the future, I would put off whatever I could until the last minute, and then cram as much in as possible in a single day. I wish I had found her buried treasure in college; it might've helped me out a time or two when I was on a deadline.

This is vintage me: I waited until this week to photograph my children for a picture to send out with Christmas cards (which one of y'all had hers addressed in freakin' NOVEMBER and was worried about sending them out too soon?? smack, smack! ;) ). Murphey's Law is raging in these parts...BOTH our digital cameras are on the blitz :( (I really NEEDED to win Ree's little competition) and although I tried to take pictures, Rachel AND Thomas are sick, add in two sick cameras, and I got nothin'. Nada. Blurry, red-eyed nightmares, kids AND photographs themselves (lol). Soooo, I scrolled through some beach pictures and chose one where they're all genuinely happy, even though it's not what I'd really like to send out (you know, the "perfect" perfectly-staged fake-smile-so-mom-will-hurry-up-when-they're-annoying-the-snot- outta- each-other-between-clicks shot). I had copies made today, the cards hopefully will go out BEFORE Christmas, but most won't likely make it until after. Have I mentioned I haven't even begun addressing them?

You might ask, "Why bother?". Tad did. This is one of those things I'm SURE drive him crazy about me (it drives ME crazy about me!). But....I LOVE to receive cards from old friends, especially those who live out of town--it's our way of seeing their children grow up. A lot changes in a year. And I really don't care if they arrive in December or in time for Groundhog Day.

So, once I post, you'll know what I'm up to--some of which I bet y'all are up to, some of which you've already done...wrapping presents, cooking goodies, completing Christmas cards and maybe cleaning (ha! now THAT'S likely...about as much as a white Christmas in the Tennefreakinsee Valley!).

So, without further pontification about the minutia of my life, here are a few excerpts from my little book. Obviously, we were to write stories with a moral; just as obvious, I didn't mind plagiarizing. These might be funny only to me, but if you're looking for at least a smile (as you remember your own elementary creative writing assignments), I hope you find one.

...Thomas cried for the hour following his visit to Santa's lap, totally traumatized by the fat scary man with white hair, long beard, and strange clothes. Although Thomas WAS a character from the womb-to-this-day, he did not LIKE characters of any sort. At Chuck E Cheese, he closed his eyes when Chuck E appeared; Thomas very much believed "If I can't see you, you don't exist". At amusement parks, if strolling characters came within 20 feet invaded his "personal bubble", he clung to me like white on rice, closed his eyes and wailed like a banshee. So, it only makes sense he'd react to Santa Claus the same way, right?

So, keenly aware of his aversion to pretend people or beasts, why would I put this poor child through this ordeal?

Because I'm a mother, that's why, and we have certain rights...like photo opportunities. And because at this same age, Rachel cried at the sight of Santa and I didn't MAKE HER SUCK IT UP have her picture taken with him that year--to this day, I regret it. I wasn't about to let another Santa photo opp pass me by, regardless of the consequence. I'm sure Santa was thrilled, of course I had to snap several pictures.

This remains one of my favorite pictures of them...just look at the expression on Rachel's face, lol. Wonder what she was thinking?

Here's another favorite Christmas photo. Rachel's lips are pursed and juicy because she was kissing the angels in her arms. Rachel got away with murder when she was little, her way around "not" touching breakable things was to kiss them. Who could say "no" when she'd toddle-speak, "But I juss wanna tiss dem"?? Those are very nice Lee Middleton dolls...I bought the girl angel before Rachel was born, the companion boy version after. I've never played with or collected dolls (I loved stuffed animals as a child, not dollies, except for the Barbie phase....), but when I saw that doll, I had to have it. HAD TO! $130 later, it was mine, and I still can't believe I plunked down that chunk of change for a doll......not just once, but TWICE!

Anyway, that's beside the point, lol. I captured that look in between kisses, she always handled special things with tenderness and affection....because she wanted to make daggum sure she'd get to "tiss" the next pretty thing she wanted to get her chubby little girl hands on. I don't think I ever said "no" and remarkably, she never broke a thing.

....but I got to play her in my preschool nursery program. It's interesting to me now that I wasn't cast as an angel; even at the tender age of four, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. They sang "Silent Night"...I was silent.

I had forgotten about this, but when I got bogged down with my doing anything...EVERYTHING BUT cleaning, I found this clipping. And it brought back some of my earliest childhood memories. I REMEMBER throwing hay at "Joseph". The short wise man to my right was my high school sweetie. We didn't realize we had known each other as preschoolers when we began dating in high school, I'm not sure at what point we discovered we were destined for each other from our earliest years. Which reminds me, we were supposed to get married September 17, 1985. It was on a Tuesday, but I didn't care, I chose it because I "liked" the date....whatever THAT means. Sounds "so high school".

Wanna hear something really....odd? As much as it touches my heart to see this, in spite of the fact my heart EXPLODED when my own daughter was cast to play Mary a few years ago, I think these re-enactments profane the truth. They sanitize it and make it a "cute", one-dimensional event, rather than the amazing, painful, smelly, uncertain, bloody, lonely, time-defining, incomparable, life-giving MIRACLE it was.

And still is.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. The Gospel of Luke 2:4~20

Of all the posts I've written, I cannot believe these "comments" were left at this one :(! It INFURIATES me that I HAVE to re-enable word verification. Hate is not within me, but if it was, vermin like these people who troll blogs (or create bots to do their dirty work for them) and comment TRASH would be at the top of my list. They are among the lowest of life forms, barely above men who abuse their wives and children, and pedophiles.

Just in case any additional pondscum find their way to my blog, I've broken all the links.

101 free s$x positions

an$l g$rl le$b$an s$x

as$an g$rls get f$#%ed

thank
Bjorn Steinhauer

This....grieves me.

I've written several posts in the past about how our actions affect others, the power of influence, sometimes, when we don't even know it. Here's a quickie, that if it motivates one person to do something differently, I would be thrilled. If two people respond, well then, I'll turn a cartwheel. Three? I'll make something very chocolicious! AND SHARE :).

For her birthday, Karmyn asked her readers to extend a random act of kindness to others. Recently, Mary/Mert did something for me, in spite of the fact she's recovering from surgery and she's had sick babies:(. She designed a blinkie for me and Swampwitch for our recycling challenge, aka S.P.E.A.R. 2007. Lookie here:



Isn't it the dandiest? If you're taking part in our challenge, please feel free to pick it up to bling your sidebar with a little green :). (Email me if cutting and pasting doesn't work...). And for heaven's sake, whether or not you're "participating", Just do SOMETHING!! One thing is better than NOTHING, right? Baby steps, not giant leaps (for us recycling newbies). We're not trying to solve world hunger...it's more like feeding your neighbor.

And your actions WILL affect others, maybe ever-so-slightly, but at least positively.

THANKS TO MERT for her generosity of time...SHE ROCKS!

...please, pretty-please "please", with chocolate and whipped cream and cherries and what-ever-cranks- your-motor PLEASE click over to Karmyn's and tell her "Happy Not-40th Birthday"? And then give her the present she asks for?

"For my Birthday Present, I am asking EVERYONE to please go out and perform a Random Act of Kindness....Even if that means giving your extra change to the Salvation Army Bucket - DO IT! Then tell me what you did. That would mean a lot to me."

Seems like lots of people would receive a present if you do what she asks :).

Then, pop over to the Blogging Chicks Carnival at OwlHaven, click and leave the girls a comment.

Merci, mes amies!

...I have suspended WV for the time being. Commenting is difficult enough these days. I'm taking a queue from Susan and I guess if spammers or freaky people start posting, it'll be re-enabled. Blogger is TICKING me off because it keeps saying my Beta is "ready" for me, but when I tried to switch, it won't let me, I'm guessing because of my fabulouso design :/.

I've gotta do something...soon. It's not fun when blogging becomes a hassle.

And, thanks to Pam for emailing to tell me she TRIED to comment, and to Pamela who put into practice, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try, try, try, try....again."

Miss y'all. Mean it. ;)

Although this does not follow the syllabic "formula" for cinquain, it does follow the general form:

First Line: (2 syllables) One word, giving title
Second Line: (4 syllables) Two words, describing title
Third Line: (6 syllables) Three words, expressing action
Fourth Line: (8 syllables) Four words, expressing a feeling
Fifth Line: (2 syllables) Another word for the title.

What intrigues me is my choice of subject as a fourth grader--all four represent sources of inspiration for me now: creation, people, creatures & beasts, spirituality.

The "Karen" mentioned in the second poem was a student teacher; she was the "brain" behind this writing project. I had a crush on her, I still remember how SWEET she was, and for the longest time, I wanted to be a teacher so I could be like her. Gosh, I wish I knew where she was so I could thank her for this book of mine.

Next up, we'll look at some stories with morals.

When we go to France and eat in little bistros, and sample local wines, this is what you must call me. I will answer.

Your French Name is:

Audrey Charette

~ Merci :)

You are

Under the category of ENTIRELY TMI, this is so freaking true it's not even funny. Except, to me, it was hilarious! The only question asked is what color underwear you're wearing.

Someone at Blogthings is three shades of messed up. Maybe I'll apply for a job ;).

While I was sucking time looking for some very important pictures when I was supposed to be cleaning and decorating my house, these are some gems I mined, priceless treasures from my youth.

Fine Art: A lovely yarn-moulded, tin foil relief














I am rather certain I got the picture of this bird off some kind of "ladies product", but for the life of me, I can't remember what now. It was not Dove soap, it was something more personal, like maxi pads or birth control or something. I remember hoping no one would recognize where I got it.

This is one of my FAVORITE childhood pictures...most of them aren't nearly this stinkin' adorable, and because this one is, I'm not at all above stating the obvious. That cutie-patootie could have sold doll babies or Easy Bakes or something. This is when chubby really IS cute.


Ahhh, but this...THIS...is chock FULL of blog fodder. Apparently, I was quite "touched" gifted as a precocious nine-year-old. Too bad the original cover art disintegrated. I'm sure it was spectacular judging from what lies beneath.


Stay tuned...reading this stuff, I realize my drama-queeness-exhibitionism came very early in life. My mama was sick...I was a middle child. I had to do something for attention. Reading it again, I laughed until I cried. Love it when that happens.

My husband has commented to my blog a total of two times --anonymously-- since I gave him "permission" to read it, which was over six months AFTER I began writing. Until that time, I wrote in complete obscurity. I always wrote as if I were being read, but no one had my URL (except for Blogger bloggers who hit the scroll when I updated, clearly, an accident). I think I lurked around the blogosphere, lacking confidence to throw in my two cents anywhere, but honestly, it's hard to remember now. The first comment I ever received was from an Irish blogger, which I thought was pretty cool. Still do.

I know he reads me and he's tried to post a few more times, but that pesky word verification sends him back into hiding, scampering for cover. Word verifications can be vewry scawry for blogger neophytes that way. I've removed it a few times, but every time I do THAT, vewry scawry comments find their way to the ol' Pensieve, so, I'd rather do without a few comments then invite spammers.

The other thing I know about my husband is he bores easily when it comes to reading. If he sees a long post, he moves along. So, you see? I'm trying to make this post long before I get to the point of it, in the hopes that he'll stop before he finds out what I've been up to since he's been gone. Conniving, aren't I?

#1) I stay up waaaaay too late. This makes perfect sense: I'll be so dead-dog- tired when finally snuggling under the covers, when the robbers and axe murderers break in, I'll be house-ransacked, broke and dead before I know what hit me. Relatively painless. That is, if they get past our trained pet rottweiller, MaimMe, video surveillance, and the .45 parked by my bed. Did I mention before kids I worked as a police officer and was repeatedly recognized for my razor-sharp reflexes and shooting skill? Nothing left of the bullseye when my smokin' pistol twirled back into its holster.

#2) I seem to blog more...writing, not reading. Must be tied to #1 somehow.

#3) I create MORE work by cleaning my house. In all things related to weather, it's the "calm before the storm"; in all things related to my housekeeping skills--which are quite the opposite of my firearm skills--it's the "storm before the calm". It gets worse before it gets better. Don't believe me? Take a look.

These are most of the bags and boxes our Christmas decorations are stored in. This is what you might call a "staging" area. In about an hour, all of this junk will be tucked away in the attic, and Tad will never know it sat here for two days. It doesn't bother me a bit, nor the children, but the cat is getting kind of twitchy. She naps on this sofa. But don't tell Tad. (She's was behind the big red bag on the right when I snapped this shot.)Our upstairs is not decorated, except for Stephen's room...he has a two-foot Christmas tree and various Christmas statues. I love this about him.

Next, this basket of laundry has sat here since Monday as well. Apparently we have enough clean underwear and towels without putting it away. That will be done after the above-mentioned boxes are in the attic. The way I see it, at least the laundry is FOLDED! At least it hasn't sat in the dryer--or heaven forbid, the washer, cultivating a nice mildew crop!

I saved the best/worst for last--a picture of pictures. THIS is where I got bogged down. THIS little exercise sucked more time than me blogging.

Why? you ask. Because I'm looking for a specific picture, no, make that two pictures. And can't find them. BECAUSE ALL MY PICTURES ARE IN BOXES INSTEAD OF PHOTO ALBUMS OR SCRAPBOOKS BECAUSE I WAS BORN WITHOUT THE GENE THAT COMPELS ME TO ORGANIZE THEM NEATLY, ORDERLY AND IN A MANNER WHICH NOT ONLY RECORDS HISTORY, BUT ALLOWS ME TO FIND WHAT I'M FREAKIN' LOOKING FOR IN MINUTES, NOT HOURS...OR DAYS...OR NEVAH! I was BORN with this affliction. It most certainly is NOT my fault!

Whew! Give the girl some more COFFEE! She's twitchier than the cat!!

I did not find the pictures; if/when I do, they will be blogged, and as you know, linked back to this post. I hope I can find them, although it's probably "better" in my memory than it is in actuality. Whatever, it'll make some fun stories to write. The John-Lennon-look-alike pic perhaps less so than the painted-up-hussy one.

The GOOD thing, for me, is I found some fabuloso material for future posts. In fact, I'm gonna go take care of those boxes and laundry, and possibly write some more today.

Because, tonight Tad comes home. And I'll get back to "normal". And not blog binge...or stay up so late...or "clean" like a tornado;) (for you, Pete)(CLARIFICATION: I am NOT cleaning for Willowtree, the reference to "cleaning like a tornado" was a nod to an earlier rant post of his this week!!!!). I'll stop being so self absorbed in writing and actually read some! (And for the record, I haven't been able to post comments to Beta bloggers--not for lack of trying and then trying again--so I finally gave up reading anybody! Too durn frustrating.)

If I'm lucky, Tad glazed over after reading the first two paragraphs and he'll never know that a train's been through our house :).

I constantly channel surf the radio in my car. Why listen to commercials or crapola, when 12 pre-sets and six CDs eagerly await their turn with a press of a button? Goodness knows, I'm lyrics impaired--outside of "The Alphabet Song" and "Happy Birthday", I'm sure to butcher the words to just about every song I know. This is why I bow to Cheeky's prowess. That girl knows the word to every song written since 1970- something. Or at least she sounds like she does, the way she shucks & jives all the time (ha!). The ability to Google lyrics is something I should record in our Thankful Box. Then, again, what I usually come up with is much more imaginative :).

This morning I was hip-hoppin' with Toby Mac in "Made to Love", spinning from "Night Fever" with the Bee Gees, and head-banging with "Mr. Brightside".

And I still contend I am the most sane insane person you will ever meet. I just have eclectic music tastes.

Tad made a quick trip to GOD'S COUNTRY South Carolina this week, and we contemplated my tagging along. His days would be occupied with work, and I would've been cut loose to visit family, lunch with friends, Christmas shop, and basically be released from the demands of home, freed from the bondage of what "needed" to get done. Nights would be ours;).

Historically, childcare has been an issue, we have no family nearby. Perhaps one of the things for which we are most thankful are a few friends here who gladly care for our children, allowing us occasional getaways. We love our babies, but we love our time away. Personally, I think it allows us to love our babies even better (not "more", just better).

At the last minute, we decided for me to stay home. There's work still to be completed on the bathroom renovation (did you forget about it? How could I?? I'm still living out of an overnight bag!), I have some fun things planned later in the week, we're hosting a Christmas party Saturday night, and I STILL have to finish putting out our Christmas decorations. I'm as slow as a snail when it comes to this, I decorate like I clean: start. stop. here. there....an ADHA child when it comes to matters of housekeeping and decorating (and probably a host of other things "to do").

Tad had been gone less than four hours when the first "crisis" occurred, and I could not have been more thankful for remaining home. There have been two so far, and I'm praying there's not a third.

This goes with "Providence" in the post title. Once I began writing, this got so long, I needed a break. I'll come back later to write the "Irony" part... for now, read this and weep, I am.

[1] Shortly after we arrived home from school yesterday, Thomas rushed into the house with a panicked look on his face. "Mom! Help! Stephen just asked if Santa Claus was real!"

This is when I despise the "honesty police" that lives within me; when asked a direct question, I'll give you a direct answer, and it might not be the one you want to hear--I sooo wish I could just give you the one you want to hear sometimes. But if I think you "look fat in those pants" or your haircut looks ridiculous, or I don't wanna eat at the restaurant you suggested, you'll know it. Don't ask if you don't wanna hear Robin's version of the truth. I'm kind in response, I try to spin it nicely, but if you listen, you'll hear what I'm saying. I've been accused of being brutal (which, to me, is both a curse and a compliment).

So, my advice to Thomas was to throw the question back to Stephen, to ask him what HE thought. Thomas had already done that. I told him if Stephen persisted, to encourage him to ask me or Tad and we'd handle it.

Sometimes Thomas' sweetness balms my soul. He was aching for Stephen himself, realizing that his little brother was "growing up", and even he wanted him to still believe in Santa Claus. "I just feel so bad for him, I don't want him to know," and he meant it. I asked Thomas if Stephen mentioned kids talking about it at school, but he said Stephen had simply concluded "there was no way Santa could live forever...." I don't know why I thought Thomas might be waiting for opportunity to bust Stephen's bubble about this, I guess as one of four siblings, I know kids can be cruel for sport. I had a great friendship with my siblings, but when I was that age, I messed with their minds when given the chance.

Thomas returned to shooting hoops, and not two minutes later, Stephen was in the house. He looked like he had seen a ghost. "Mom, I have kind of a random question. Is Santa Clause...." before he could finish his sentence, as he saw the solemness of my expression, he knew the answer before I could respond. He collapsed into my lap, unable to hold back his tears, my mommy-heart crying in silent unison. I was rendered speechless...every thought I had was trite, cliché, pointless. The only comfort I could give was to smother him in my arms and let him cry...let him be a little boy who mourned this coming-of-age moment...my child who, out of everyone in our family, most delighted in the MAGIC of Christmas...HE was the first to retrieve his ornaments from the attic, HE was the one who helped me unpack our decorations, HE is the one who dug through another storage area to pull out our collection of Christmas books, HE prided in arranging our crèches, HE's the one who waters the tree...are you getting a picture of why this breaks my heart? This MATTERED to him. He's nine, which is kind of old to still believe (especially with an older brother and sister), yet he wasn't embarrassed or self conscious to ask when we were going to visit Santa.

I wasn't about to pontificate "the true meaning of Christmas" to him, or stress the spiritual dimensions of the holiday. To me, that would be cruel...manipulative...a guilt inducer for something for which he had no reason to feel guilty. He knows all that, he didn't need a reminder.

I imagine there will be those who google how to respond to this question. Sadly, no pearls of wisdom from me, no wise and masterfully articulated, "Yes,Virginia,there is a Santa Claus". Just the freedom for him to cry it out while he came to terms with the truth, in the safety and security of an embrace that quietly--but most assuredly--ministered "love". I am beyond thankful I was home to field this question.

Which, even Stephen knows, matters more than Santa.

After he said his prayers and I kissed him good night last night, as I was leaving his room, he asked, "Can we still go see Santa Claus?" You betcha:)!


If you're visiting from a Jenny's "Naked & Free" post, I'd love to hear your thoughts, too. And thanks for letting me "get naked" with you....

Okay, okay, my apologies to David Sedaris...although I've never read him, I like the title of that book, and from reviews I HAVE read, I'd probably enjoy it. With all Swampy's inferences to "trash talkin'", it's the phrase that kept running through my mind for a post title for my next entry in our recycling series. So, there ya go, it's how I think.

Through a blogger chain of events, we've begun SPEAR 2007, a challenge to begin recylcing in our own homes, with an invitation for YOU to join us. Thanks for your feedback so far; it's encouraging to hear your thoughts.

Beginning can be daunting. I've begun researching information and statistics related to recycling, and you can imagine the zillions and zillions of sites out there! Too much to process, too much to read. It's best to remember Rome wasn't built in a day. We're having to establish NEW habits, and rather than trying to "build a city", we're simply "redecorating a home".

I thought it interesting that at EXATLY the same time Swampwitch and I were exchanging thoughts about this challenge, I noticed a recycle logo on a Target bag. These are simple tips for reusing grocery bags, the type suggestion that will keep this challenge manageable. They're all common sense, but sometimes it helps to have it s-p-e-l-l-e-d out for ya. If you aren't already doing these, why not put some of these into practice today?
1) Tiny trashcan liner
2) Doggy duty
3) Water balloon (yikes!)
4) Roadtrip Rubbish (might I add barf bag??)
5) Soggy laundry
6) Ice pack for head lump
7) Toiletry Tote (who needs a cute little Vera Bradley or Kate Spade case for such?)
8) Kitty litter liner
9) Tomorrow's lunchbag
10) Care package padding (I know, I know, it's not the same as Marnie's air-filled bags...!)

I've always thought I had LOTS of personality (very self-aware, you know), but never realized I had LOTS of personalitIES--of all the hilarious ways people managed to google and find my blog, this one takes the cake, it's even better than "pink leopard suitcases" or "what do bloody boogers mean?":

December 12th 2006

09:44:26 AM

openconversation.blogspot.com/2006/11/you-move-you-lose.html www.google.com/search?hl=en&lr=&q=multiple personalities cybil&btnG=Search

I don't need to read blogs. I don't need to write posts. For entertainment, I just need to read my stat checker!

Do I really sound like three shades of crazy when I write???? Wait...don't answer that! But do tell me your wackiest referral :).

P.S. Great...just GREAT! Now, I'm drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Look at this one (YIKES!)...and the search brought them HERE???

December 12th 2006

10:27:39 AM

openconversation.blogspot.com/2006/09/limerick-or-two.html search.msn.com/results.aspx?q=What are the words to the lymerick%2C There once was a man from Nantucket%3F&FORM=MSNH

For the record, the post they hit was one of the most fun ones I've ever enjoyed, and no, no mention of the man from Nantucket. Check it out here--you will NOT want to skip the comments:)!

Man, I need to walk away from the light.......!

It's not about Kermit the Frog.
And it's not about Kermit the Frog hawking Ford Escape Hybrids (although the latter is closer than the former).

A few weeks ago, I wrote one of those Five Things You Probably Don't Know About Me posts. In it, I confessed with my tail between my legs admitted to not being a re-cycler and feeling guilty about it. We don't have curbside pick-up, anything we did would require effort, and although I'm not proud to admit it, the path of least resistance won out. We've done nothing...outside of me helping each one of my children construct some type of re-cycling class project over the past five years, which produced more mother-guilt, and I think, did more harm than good.

What do I mean by this? Lip service...hypocrisy...not reinforcing at home what was taught in the classroom. In matters of faith, this breeds a false and shallow religion which serves neither God nor man. In matters of life, this breeds a dangerous sort of duplicity, expousing a set of values where there's no substance or action to support them. If I agree with or believe what's being taught in the classroom, it's my role as a parent to reinforce it, to support it; I guess if I don't agree with it, to explain an alternate point of view and why I think differently. As my older children have entered middle school, I've encouraged their freedom to challenge and question subjective material; not to accept opinion as fact. It's family lore that my grandfather used to say "Don't believe anything you read or hear and only half of what you see" and my children are beginning to understand what I (he) mean by that.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the beauty of creation...the better I understand my role in its stewardship...the more clearly I see the ripple effect of my actions, not just relative to environment, but also to people. For the next 4-8 years, my best opportunity for changing the world is through my influence on my own children. If I "change" them, I'm changing the world. And I think this change begins with ME.

In the comments section of my "Five Things..." post, Swampwitch had this to say:

"I don't recycle either and I have great guilt about that. I think that will be my new project for 2007. If you'll do it, I'll do it... a challenge?"

Doing anything with the illustrious Swampwitch will be an adventure...just learning to translate her globberisms has been daunting. Here's her first post about our challenge; be sure to read this to get a better idea of who I'm in cahoots with! She's a hoot!

We're starting SPEAR 2007 early, because heaven forbid if it was a New Year's Resolution--THOSE are made to be BROKEN! Our goal is longer-term, lifestyle change, to become more aware of our action AND inaction, and to understand how both affect others. If you're already "green", thanks for doing your part to take care of Planet Earth. Share your tips and ideas (here and at Swampy's). Encourage us. Hold us accountable, and if necessary, smack us around;) If you've not yet hopped on the bandwagon, there's plenty of room to join us! Recycling is kind of like dieting or exercise--much more fun with a friend :).

So what are you waiting for? Prizes will be awarded. And there will be LOTS of winners :D.

The Blogging Chicks Carnival is being hosted this week by Rebecca at Of Making Many Books. The theme is Holiday Laughter/Laughter in General. I chose the latter because I didn't have to write anything new, and re-reading this post cracks me up every time.

My daughter told me there WAS much "lost in translation" :/. Maybe if you read it out loud, it'll be funnier. Either way, check out the other gals...it's something fun to do on a Sunday afternoon :).

...Instead, it was a STAY - AWAKE - ALL - NIGHT - OVER. For fourth graders.

The POSSESSED BEAST FOUL AND SURLY GARGOYLE grump that returns home is the host-mommy's payback for what she endured the previous evening. Why, it's the least she can do after filling your kid up with pizza and cake and ice cream (oh, my!). And overdosing on video games and air hockey and pool. Thanks. A lot.

Re-entry to humanity takes about 12 hours. After multiple naps (if you're lucky enough...today, we were).

Does the above look comfortable to YOU? Stephen crashed in Rachel's room and I'm certain he ended up in her chair because that is Callie's favorite napping spot. When we found him, Callie had escaped his snare and was sleeping comfortably on Rachel's bed. Stretched out, plenty of room, unlike her boy-owner.

I went back to check on him later, and he had disappeared from Rachel's room. I found him down the hall in his own, and at first, I thought he must have left his arms back at Rachel's. You'd think if the kid was trying to get more comfortable, he would've taken advantage of the fact he was on a BED. Maybe he sleepwalked (sleptwalked?) back to his room. Look closely at his face, he got creases in his cheek from the wrinkles in the fabric of the chair. At least he's fortunate enough NOT to have been drooling. He'd be super mad if I photographed that.

I was decorating our mantel while Christmas music decorated the air, when I saw him vertical again. Mr. Grump stomped into our den, with a not-so-happy look on his face. "Can you PLEASE cut that music DOWN? I can hear it all the way in my ROOM!" Actually, I don't think he asked that nicely. "What time did you say you went to sleep?" I asked. His tight-lipped reply? "I told you we didn't...maybe 5 minutes, I DON'T REMEMBER." As if that was in doubt.

Just like a mother, I patronizingly lovingly told him a shower would make him feel MUCH better, and brushing his teeth for the first time in 24 hours would make ME feel MUCH better; in return for my hug, he head-butted me.

By 8:00 p.m., showered, fed and watered, he was back to normal. Just in time for bed.

...so sue me.

In between a dozen loads of laundry today, I'm decorating my house. In between decorating my house, I'm reading blogs. In between reading blogs, I'm cleaning my house. In between cleaning house, I'm reading emails...and even responding to a few (the real ones, not the offers for fabulous stocks and cures for E-D, since I don't seem to have the latter problem). Since it is 18 degrees outside, I am drinking coffee while doing all of the above...wearing a cozy sweater and long-sleeved silky Cuddleduds and colorful wool socks. Mmmmmm on both of those last two accounts.

Great and talented multi-tasker. Perhaps one of them will ACTUALLY be completed .

When you give birth, I think God should sprout you another pair of arms (or at least hands!) for every kid you spawn. The imagery of an Octopus-handed Mother rivals Medusa's snakey hair. At least He gives us eyes in the back of our heads, that's something, I suppose.

Wowza....I sound like I'm smokin' pencil shavings (a wink and a nod to Julie and Ree for THAT one) or licking toads or something--NOT drinking coffee with absolutely no questionable add-ins!

"I'm a thief, I'm a thief"...WHAT was I getting ready to write??? PUH-LEASE, get on with it, Robin!

Here's a little samplin' of what I ran across this week from some of my favoritest peeps (and one I'm just getting to know). Some will make you laugh, I don't think any will make you cry, and some will give you pause to say "Hmmmmm." Enjoy :).

First, a quiz from Heather. I ended up in the same category as she did, but I KNOW she's much headier than I could ever hope to be. She plays the flute, for heaven's sake.

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Dedicated Reader You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more.
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

What is it with me and "obsessive-compulsive" these days? I am NOT o-c! Hmmmph >:-(

Want a guaranteed LAUGH OUT LOUD? Click this NOW! I saw it at Marnie's first, but she got it from Shauna. You'll be schooled in how to mess with the telemarketers who get through your "Do Not Call" registry defense.

Carol always draws me in with her writing. Here she does a good job of articulating why I'm so conflicted this time of year. She writes beautifully and invitingly about her faith...she never sounds "religious", she always sounds REAL.

I haven't read a whole lot of Jenny's blog, but she's sassy and a hilarious blog commenter (should that be "an" hilarious?). This sure looks like a great cause. It just costs you 30 seconds to click to make a difference in someone else's life. Take the time, someone(s) will be grateful.

Last, but definitely not least, you have GOT TO read this from Real Live Preacher. GOT TO! Whether or not you're a Christian or a seeker or a pagan or a wiccan or WHATEVER. If you think church is staid and stuffy, you need to go to Texas to have that stereotype BUSTED! He'll be happy to oblige, I think. I've pimped for Gordon before...he STILL doesn't know me...and now I have a vested interest. Click this, scroll about 3/4 of the way down, and see if you can figure out why I'm pimpin' him now;).

Off to re-fill the coffee mug...and transform my house into something bright and shiny :).

The Swampwitch from Anecdotes, Antidotes & Anodes tagged me, and since she might have mystical powers, I thought I'd better post it quickly. It's shorter than the A-Z meme Carol (She Lives) hit me with, so it "wins" my attention first. Six things is 20 times easier than 26 things about me, even weird ones. I probably could've gotten away with re-posting my "Five Things You Probably Don't Know About Me" --they're all rather weird, but in the spirit of fun (and for a quick post), here goes this one:

1) I do not drive wearing shoes if at all possible. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, doesn't matter. Pouring down rain, who cares? Snow...wait a second, I don't live where that is, only the perpetual grocery store-conspiratorial FAKE forecast the meteorological "much-ado-about-nothing-and-apparently- I-don't-know-how-to-do-my-job" forecast blizzard warnings which amount to 12 flakes a "storm", and even if it was 12 inches deep, I still wouldn't wear shoes (but then again, I wouldn't be driving...). I have arrived at my destination without shoes because of this. I tied up one of my kids, removed his shoes, and left him in the trunk (thank goodness all my children have feet close enough to the size of mine now). Groovy look. I haven't forgotten since.

2) When dining out, I HAVE to have lemon for ice water. That's not so weird, but once I squeeze out the juice, the slice CANNOT touch the water. Who knows whose hands have touched those lemons? And what "those hands" were doing before they sliced it? Ick Ick Ick! If they bring the water out with the lemon already in it, I usually drink it, but worry about what disease I might be introducing into my body. So far there doesn't appear to be any parasitic activity. The crazy thing is I'm not a germiphobe otherwise...my inconsistencies could be a "weird" post all on their own :/.

3) According to my husband, I spend more time taking care of my feet, than he does on his entire body. This involves daily pumicing and the regular application of lotion most days...and the irregular use of Bath & Body concentrated foot lotion and oh-so-cute booties. If I didn't do this, my feet would look like the picture at the right, and if that don't make ya gag, I don't know what will!

4) Self-delusion and denial are wonderful coping mechanisms. Do we ever see ourselves the way others do? Impossible, I think. Why do I begin #4 this way? In yesterday's post, I explained how my closet is organized when I finally get around to doing so. I also explained this did not demonstrate obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In comments, Willowtree deftly noted:

If read the wrong way these sentences seem to be contradictory.

"Note, I draw the line at alphabetizing my clothes, so this is not an O-C act. My sweaters seem happier living with sweaters, my pants delight in hanging around with their two-legged counterparts..."

What part of putting sweaters with sweaters and pants with pants is not alphabetizing? I would never suggest that this is an O-C act, as it is quite clearly an act of insanity.

Then Swampy herself said:

Alphabetizing clothes? Why haven't I thought of that? My spices are in ABC order, my catalogs are in ABC order, and now...my clothes?

OH! MY!! WORD!!! I alphabetize my spices, first according to brand, too! Crapola! I DO have O-C tendencies! Do I bless you or curse you for pointing out what I was oblivious to, but was (sadly) obvious to others?

5) With all my heart, with every fiber of my being, I BELIEVE I could go on Survivor AND WIN! In spite of the facts I am not athletic, well-traveled, or well-educated; I'm fearful of flying, scared of spiders, snakes and bugs (oh, my!), terrified of heights, and in addition to being extremely modest, I have an excruciatingly shy bladder and an even more performance-anxiety-riddled bowel. I can swim, however (you would not want to go into the ocean with me, for the afore-mentioned confession), and because of the above, I would not appear to be a threat. But with my cunning skills of deceit "spin" (I was a marketing professional in my other life), my engaging wit, and ability to play well with others, I'd be the one under the radar that they kept aboard until it was too late to unload me.

6) Give me any circumstance and I WILL find the good (and the God) in it. Maybe not right away, but always eventually. (I am thankful for this piece of "weird".)

I have no idea who to tag. I have been so negligent in reading my blogline-nistas, I have no idea who has done this and who has not. If it looks like fun to you and you have some WEIRD skeletons who are DYING to get outta the closet, PLEASE play along and comment back to me that yours is up--I promise to come over and leave some comment proving that I've read your list ;).

Geezaree, talk about a loaded question! Ask Answer it, and depending on what you say and how you say it, you might just earn a smack upside the head.

Let's talk "fat jeans", not "phat" jeans. The first one is not good. The second one is v e r y good.

This weekend I was on a tear and totally cleaned out our closet, my part, anyway. It's a decent sized walk-in, clothes can hang on three sides. To the right and left, there are two rows for hanging, dead ahead just one for full-length clothing, to accommodate my evening gowns and fur coats (ha!).

While I loathe this chore, the result is always worth it. Everything is sorted by Season first, then type, and I go so far as to arrange color, too. Note, I draw the line at alphabetizing my clothes, so this is not an O-C act. My sweaters seem happier living with sweaters, my pants delight in hanging around with their two-legged counterparts, and so on. Ahhh, yes...order to the universe, AND...I can actually find what I'm looking for.

The most difficult part of this exercise is purging. I feel like I owe my clothes some debt of gratitude or something, like I'm obligated to keep them until they wear out. This is both a stewardship issue (for me) and for some items, I've developed a weird relationship with them--I CAN'T get rid of them because of the emotional attachment.

Sometimes I'm a freak that way.

Yesterday morning, it was COLD for these parts, the lowest of the season. I needed heavy jeans, not a pair of some of my lighter weights. So, I grabbed a pair I knew I hadn't worn in a long time.

Apparently a VERY long time.

I pulled them on and almost immediately knew something was wrong. They were "heavy", yes, but my first thought was I had accidentally hung a pair of Tad's pants with my pants. I am used to a tighter fit, because, for the most part, they're DESIGNED to fit that way (and it doesn't hurt to have added 5 pounds, either). Not this pair, the legs were HUGE, there was room in the rear, and although the waistline was below my belly button, they felt like they were nearing my chin.

And then I realized what was going on.

I had on my "fat jeans", jeans that fit the first winter I lived in Tennessee, jeans that fit the last winter in South Carolina, JEANS THAT IN SPITE OF MY ADDED FIVE POUNDS DON'T FIT ANYMORE! WAAAHOOOO!!!

I almost took them off. But you know what? I kept 'em on. All day. They might not have looked good, but they felt good. It reminded me of where I was "then" and where I am "now"...not just literally, but figuratively as well. (Hmmm, now I'm punning all over the place! Call me a Pamela wannabe). Maybe fat jeans ARE the better choice. Everyone needs a pair that can cheer ya up like this :).

Hmmmm. Yessiree, I might not've looked phat on the outside, but I was all that--and more--on the inside!

Today I understood how Chuck Yeager must've felt when he broke the speed of sound, when no one knew it would result in what we now know and easily explain with a casual "Oh. A sonic boom." Except this had nothing to do with aircrafts or super-duper speeds or record-breaking flights or loud noises.

But it DID have to do with a moving vehicle, 25-30 mph speeds, a "first time" experience and an uproar from my family.

My baby...first born...only daughter...miiiieeee baaaay-beeeee --released from my womb just five minutes ago, but somehow now morphed into an inside-and-out beautiful 14-year-old young lady drove a car (well, a truck) for the first time today.

December 2, 2006. The day Napoleon was crowned emperor of France (1804)...and the U.S. Senate voted to condemn Republican senator Joseph R. McCarthy of Wisconsin for "conduct that tends to bring the Senate into dishonor and disrepute."(1954) ...and The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was established (1970)...and perhaps, most notorious, the day Britney Spears was born (1981).

I'm thankful to have been present for every milestone in her life, although it horrors me to realize I can't remember all of them now. I remember being amazed at how well she nursed; so many of my friends and family had trouble with it they quickly gave up, but this tiny creature knew what she was doing as soon as given opportunity. I was certain she was a bona fide baby Einstein, the way EVERY first-time mom (and new dad!) deludes herself (barring complication); THIS for doing what comes as naturally as breathing and sleeping and peeing and pooping.

When she smiled ON PURPOSE at four weeks, in a moment's turn, I knew I had a new vocation and would not be returning to my former dream job. I wasn't one of those women who "just loved children" and counted the days until I could be home with them...this was a slow evolution for me. I recall a good friend offering a wise word of encouragement when I was struggling with insignificance...a scourge for the "professional" turned-stay-at-home mom--she simply reminded me I had been working in some capacity since high school, and this was a new phase of life...that I would actually have to learn how to be home with her. Somehow her matter-of-fact manner and assurance that it was o k a y to have to settle into this, made a huge difference.

I remember her first step at eight months--and her first stomp not long after. Obviously, an early walker, she was conversely a late talker. I worried, probably more about what other moms with children the same age thought, than about Rachel herself. That kind of thing just makes me sick now. I almost wince when I recall trying to coerce her (on more than one occasion) to "pray to receive Jesus in her heart" which I think now is neither scriptural nor what Jesus modeled himself. Her response? "Mom, I'm not ready...when I'm ready, I'll pray on my own." This wasn't a tween speaking, this was a five year old. And one day she told me she had prayed, and that was about all there was to it...imagine that, without my "help". :/

Jumping...riding a bike...learning to tie her shoes...turn a cartwheel...swim on swim team--and "win only the blue and red ribbons, not the pretty pink and green ones" (ha!)...brush her own hair, choose her own clothes, WIPE HER OWN BEHIND (a big "wahoo" and "amen" to that!). And read. And write. And WHATEVER! Gosh, if you have children, know some children, WERE a child, you KNOW all the milestones...I guess for me to reminisce is little more than a blogging Ambien to you.

But, if you have OLDER children, you know that as your children grow up, the milestones come fewer and farther between. Puberty. Driving. Dating. Voting. College. Legally drinking a glass of wine. A first "real" job. Marriage. Having a baby. Because there are fewer, their significance is magnified, perhaps even legitimately blown out of proportion.

But today. Today....

I wasn't with her. I missed it. She was with Tad. He mentioned he might let her try it (she won't be 15 til August, the legal driving age for a learner's permit in TN), but it really wasn't planned. I had a frustrating day of running the boys different places, frustrating more so because TWICE we got lost, and prior to that, were running late because the stuff we did early took longer than anticipated >:(. Minor, but annoying, and when it happens, I intimately understand "road rage"; if I'm not mistaken, my eyes turn red, my face turns green, horns sprout, and the thunderous, unrecognizable voice that bellows is not my own. My children become very, very quiet, I think they might even become invisible, they know it's best to let my fire burn itself out. They're all smart that way.

When Rachel called to tell me, the mother inside was shattered with a piercing sonic boom; I could feel the reverberations as every nerve in my body resisted this rite of passage. Time was spinning out of control, a familiar vertigo that knocked me off balance, unable to see into the future, only looking back. As I explained earlier, she WAS just born five minutes ago, I don't care if we've celebrated 14 birthdays. How in the world did we get "here" in 12 blinks of an eye? Of course, the mother on the outside squealed with delight wanting to know every detail. I could hear her flushed with excitement, usually reserved for the eyes, but this time "seen" through my ears. She had to repeat it three times, once for me, then Stephen, then Thomas. Interestingly, they both wanted to know if she drove "over the bridge" at the front of our neighborhood; the next thing they asked was what it was like to go over the speed bumps. Funny, the things they wanted to know. They're looking at her a bit differently now, with a reverence reserved for those lucky enough to have "d r i v e n a c a r". If I'm not mistaken, I see a bit of sister worship going on. I think she just progressed on Thomas' coolness radar, too.

And me? I'm writing about it so I can remember. The possibility of forgetting is enough to keep me up past midnight.