Tagged

OK. I was tagged by Laurita to tell five things that nobody knows about me. I'm a little nervous about this because I cannot think of one juicy or interesting thing. Nada. So, if you're already bored out of your mind, read on. Your mind-numbing groove is safe.

1. I hate getting calls on my cell phone.

2. I recently pulled my prettiest panties out of the dryer only to discover that they are covered with melted green crayon. I told my son, "Never put crayons in your pocket again" and yes, I'm keeping the panties.

3. I'm not intellectual enough for Oprah magazine.

4. If beer came in a calorie-free version, I would probably be an alcoholic.

5. I cancel out my husband's vote in almost every election, or he cancels mine, however you want to look at it.

Oh MY! Was that depressing or what? I'm going to make up a new game and it goes like this: Reveal five things that you WISH were your deepest, darkest secrets. I'll go first.

1. George Clooney is totally hot for me; unfortunately for him, I'm completely devoted to my husband.

2. Sometimes I have trouble squeezing into my size 2 jeans.

3. I prefer raw vegetables to any dessert...is that normal?

4. My favorite author is Fyodor Dostoevsky. Sometimes I hide my copy of "Crime & Punishment" inside a well-worn Barbara Cartland cover so the other mothers at the pool don't get all intimidated.

5. The reason my house is always so clean is because I have a full time staff.

Ahhhhh! That felt good. Your turn Laurita, Cookie, and Kira.

Hi Guys.

Thanks for your kind thoughts and your patience about my dream post. Sorry I can't provide more details about the incident until the trial is over, although I'm sure it's pretty easy to figure out. I wish I could believe that the trial will be the end of it, but somewhere in my heart I know I will carry this with me forever. Anyhoo...

So...I worked today. I had a fun patient, he was a special agent from the ATF. In doing this job, I've come to realize that many of the good guys go to great lengths to look like the bad guys. If you saw some of my patients, you would probably be afraid. Especially if you realized they carry concealed weapons. They have long hair, tatoos, goatees, piercings, etc. They ride Harleys. They have biceps as big around as my thigh. Just goes to show you can't always go by appearances. Here's something interesting I found out today. One of the ATF agents took a job at the gun department of Bass Pro. I don't know if it's a side job, or if he bailed out of the ATF. But I found that amusing for some reason. Would you ever guess your salesman at Bass Pro is an ATF agent? Probably not.

I'm working again tomorrow and Friday. I get to draw a bunch of blood tomorrow. I love drawing blood. Is that sick or what? I hate giving shots, but I love drawing blood for some reason. Go figure.

New subject: Anna had a modeling job today. Have I told you how pretty she is? She'll never be a fashion model because she's only 5'2", however, she had a photo shoot for Crest toothpaste today. I think I can take a little credit for this, because she owes her beautiful teeth to me and the big bucks I paid for her orthodontia. She made $150 for 90 minutes work. Not bad for a 15-year-old.

And on the diet front: Lately I have had no trouble whatsoever staying within my allotted Weight Watcher points. What's up with that? Just a week or two ago I was dying! DYING to eat, eat, eat, and now I'm fine. In fact, I can stay well under my points, no problem. May it always be so!

Another Dream

I feel as though I blog about my dreams quite a bit. Probably boring, isn't it? Oh well, here we go again.

I had a long, scary dream last night. It was about my friend who is in prison, awaiting trial for murder, let's call him "D." I dreamed that my mom called me and said that she thought someone was hiding in her shrubs and she was afraid it might be D. I thought she was being paranoid since D was in jail, but I told her to call 911 anyway. She did, and sure enough, D had escaped from prison and was hiding in her shrubs. Somehow I knew that he was waiting there for me. In real life, I'm not afraid of D, but in my dream, it was really frightening to realize he was lying in wait for me.

Next, I was at my office. In real life, as well as my dream, my office overlooks the police headquarters. I dreamed that I could see D standing on top of the headquarters, surrounded by police. It was as if they had cornered him there. He had a gun, as did all the cops. I knew he was going to raise the gun in order to force the police to kill him, "suicide by cop" I think it's called. I had a perfect view, but I couldn't watch him do it.

Then I received word that D was dead. He had been shot by the cops, just as I knew he would be. I was sad, and at the same time I had the sense that his death had been inevitable. My overwhelming feeling was that I had been wrong to refuse to speak to him until after the trial. (In real life, I have been advised to have no contact with him until after the trial.) I felt I had much unfinished business with him, which was now to remain unfinished forever. It was a very disturbing dream.

I've had several dreams about D, dreams in which I've been afraid of him, knowing that I was his next intended victim. I think this comes from my identification with his ex-wife, who was his real-life victim. She and I were friends, and we had some things in common, as do all friends. Or it could be because I feel that I've been victimized by this crime as well. In any case, I've never had recurring nightmares about something in particular before. It's not exactly pleasant.

OK, well, thanks for letting me ramble on.

Notes from my weekend

Well, here we go. Starting a blog post with no idea whatsoever what I'm going to write.

For starters, my keyboard is sticky. Could it have anything to do with the fact that three boys have been playing computer games and eating popsicles for the past couple of hours? How does one clean a keyboard anyway?

Soccer season started today. It was a beautiful day for soccer, a bit overcast and 75 degrees. I must brag on my youngest for a moment and say that he really is a stellar player. Unfortunately, he left the game in tears. The new coach is a yeller. Poor little MJ thought he was mad at the players. I'm not sure what to do. Do I tell the coach that his technique might be a little harsh for a bunch of first-graders? Little MJ, who normally loves soccer, said he doesn't want to go to practice now. Sigh. I'll never really understand why people get so worked up over sports. For godsakes, it's a ball. It's a net. It's a bunch of little boys kicking it around. I can hardly bring myself to pay attention, much less work myself into a lather over it.

I got to work out in the garden today. Nothing makes me happier. It's the closest I'll ever come to a sense of zen contentment... just mindlessly pruning and tidying up, fertilizing and surveying the land for tiny shoots. I love it.

David's recovery is going well. Unfortunately, he does such a grimace every time he swallows. I had to take him off the narcotics because they were making him puke. All he gets is plain Tylenol. My bias is this: Tylenol is shit. I hate it, it doesn't work. But he can't have anything better, (like Motrin) because it could make him bleed. My little David claims his throat doesn't hurt, but it's hard to understand the grimace situation. Each and every swallow elicits such a face. It's very sad.

And on a completely different subject, the trial may be delayed again. I don't know for sure. But you know what? I don't even care. Whatever! I'm sick of it and I refuse to let it eat me alive. It'll happen when it happens.

And now I see it: My life is boring! Young People: This is What Happens to You When You Get OLD! Your notes from the weekend end up looking like this. And that's if you're lucky and turn out to be a happily married middle-aged woman with four cute kids, a good job and a nice home. (Although I'm not really middle-aged. I only said that for effect. Seriously. I'm not.)

The Trials of Being the Mother of a Teenager, Continued

Sigh.

Please. Just tell me I did the right thing. Here's what happened. My teenage daughter bounces downstairs at noon, dressed in a very skimpy tank top with spaghetti straps, a mini skirt and sequined high heels. (As a side note, this child has very cute figure which is also very, very adult.) She says, "Bobby, Matt and I are going to deliver lunch to Jake at school."

Jake is an 8th grader who is not on spring break this week. Jake goes to a private, Catholic school.

So I look at my daugher. Picture Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman" before the Pygmalion makeover. I do not know Matt, the teenage driver. I do know Bobby, and I don't trust him completely for a myriad of reasons. But against my better judgement, I say that she can go if she changes clothes and I meet Matt. She is not happy, but she agrees.

I meet Matt. He seems nice enough. He's a junior. I give him the third-degree. I agree to let Anna go, but I tell her she can't wear that outfit.

At ths point my daughter launches into a tyrade which includes the phrase, "why the fuck not?" In front of her younger siblings and guest. In front of her 7-year-old brother who, only yesterday asked me, "Mom, why do Anna and her friends say F-U-C-K all the time?"

And suddenly, my better judgement returns, and I tell her she can't go. She swears she didn't say "fuck." I know she did. Even if she didn't, it sure sounded like she did, and since she has a habit of saying it, it probably sounded like "fuck" to her younger brother and his guest. (His guest who is extraordinarily polite, and in addition, is the grandson an extremely famous and high ranking United States government official. A government official you would recognize instantly, even if you were not American.)

Anyway. This is hard, and it's only just begun.

Tonsillectomy Day

My poor, sweet baby David had his tonsils out today.

Back in nursing school, I observed a tonsillectomy. It was as close as I ever came to tossing my cookies. It was godawful, disgusting and barbaric. And I sent my little lamb into a cold O.R. to have one today. It wasn't easy. He was only gone for an hour, but I spent the entire time consciously zoning out so as to avoid thinking about what was happening.

Afterwards, he was positively green in the gills. But he did great. Amazing what a little IV fentanyl can do for ya. Surgery was at 7:30 AM and we were home by a little after noon. We've had a full day of eating popcicles and sherbet, playing video games and watching TV. Just when he was getting sad and tearful because he couldn't have spaghetti with the family tonight, his grandparents showed up with a pretty little plant in a soccer-ball vase. It says "Most Valuable Player" and has a little soccer shoe as well. That put a big smile on his face.

Tonight I received an email from a friend. Her nephew has brain cancer and we thought it was in remission. Turns out it wasn't. They're down to palliative measures and praying for another miracle. And all I had to endure was my baby's tonsillectomy today. How lucky, lucky, lucky I am.

The Crab is Back

He's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.

We found the escapee, in the middle of the living room floor. Unfortunately, he lives. He's been returned to the habitat and there's a little rock on the lid, weighing it down. Too bad. I'd like to show him the shortcut to the toilet and give him the big flusheroo, but I'm not really that mean.

Tonight is the big St. Ann's fish fry. Should be a good time. We love St. Ann's. It's in this small town within KC; a tiny enclave of working class people who are just plain nice. They always go to the effort of welcoming us, topping off our beer, and making us feel a part of the community. We don't know a soul in the place, and yet we come away feeling welcome and wanted. Maybe that's why we've been loyal customers for almost 15 years. Not to mention the catfish, which is magnifique.

The kids are on spring break. Let the fighting begin! Actually, they are playing nicely right now. Kathleen has "hired" Little MJ to be her servant for the next two days for 50 cents. Little MJ is taking the job seriously. So far he's made her a piece of toast, and is furiously searching the toy box for a bell so he can be summoned at her whim and fancy. He has been instructed to address her as "Ma'am" or "Your Majesty." Good times.

The Great Escape

I think...no, I'm sure that our hermit crab has escaped. I know this because he is not in his habitat.

We got the horrible little creature for David last Christmas. Unfortunately, it was too cold up in his bedroom and we had to bring the habitat downstairs to our bathroom off the kitchen. It's the warmest room in the house, with a nice southern window and its own little heating vent. Consequently, when the rest of the house is 65 degrees, it's at least 85 degrees in there.

Hermit crabs are tropical animals, they like the heat. Or so I'm told.

It was supposed to be a temporary measure. Hermit crabs don't go with my bathroom decor. They are hideous creatures. They remind me of scorpions. Or an overgrown sea roach. But somehow that horrid hermit crab made a home atop the toilet tank. Although the warm weather made it possible for him to return to David's room, somehow that never happened.

One night I was sitting here at my computer and I could hear the awful "scrich, scrich" noise that was the hermit crab. He was busy doing whatever nocturnal thing it is that hermit crabs do. Then suddenly I heard a "plop." The hermit crab had escaped. It was on the bathroom floor. Fortunately, my teenage daughter was still awake. I called her to return the nasty little bugger to its habitat. I couldn't bear to touch it. No way.

Then one day, it was gone.

I noticed that the top of the habitat was slightly askew, but I didn't see the slimy sea bug on the floor, so I figured someone had knocked the lid ajar while flushing.

I thought no more of it until today, when my husband asked me if I got rid of the hermit crab.

What? ME? Get rid of the hermit crab? I can't imagine why he would suspect me.

The truth is, It didn't occur to me to rid of the disgusting thing. Even if it did, how would I do it without touching or seeing it? No...I am innocent.

But the nauseating little crab is gone nonetheless. We think he probably jumped out of his habitat, straight into the toilet. Right where he belongs, if you ask me. Strangely, nobody noticed it before they flushed. That's what I choose to believe. I only hope our theory is correct, otherwise I have a creepy, awful sea creature roaming free in my house.

Eeeewwwww.

Lazy Blogger: Not Guilty

It has happened. I've been accused. Accused of being a lazy blogger. I am not guilty. The truth (in case you're interested Laurita) is that I have nothing new or interesting to say.

I considered posting about my dream last night. I dreamed that I had to climb a mountain. It was a fairy-tale mountain, made of glass or ice, which would be impossible to scale. Somehow I made it to the top, and there I saw an old friend. This friend was nobody I recognized, but in my dream I knew him and I was very happy to see him. He was a bald dude with sunglasses. Seemed like a nice guy.

Then I dreamed I was on a submarine. The sub, however, was not enclosed. As we submerged, I wondered how I was going to breathe. I learned that I would be OK, that I could breathe, as long as I let go of my anxiety. Analysis, anybody?

Or I could blog about the assinine email I received from the iTunes store today. They were kind enough to remind me that I have money in my iTunes account. DUH! I know I have money in my stinking account. But I can no longer access that account for reasons unfathomable. I thought that maybe, just maybe they had fixed it, and that was the reason for the email... Nope. Still can't access it. Thanks for nothing, Apple.

I could blog about spring, but I've done that already. Although I did see a daffodil in bloom on Sunday. That was quite exciting.

I could blog about my book club meeting tomorrow night. We're reading "The Thirteenth Tale" by Diane Setterfield. Unfortunately, I had to order the book from Amazon and I didn't receive it until today. Somehow I don't think I'll get it read by tomorrow, but so far I really like it. It reminds me of you, Kairu. (As do most of the really good books I read.)

I could blog about the fact that there are only 77 days until the trial. Each time I check my calendar I can't believe so many days have passed.

Then there's the diet. I've lost 16 pounds. Yay. Go me. Geez, at this rate I might reach my goal weight by 2025.

I could blog about my crappy cold. I have a crappy cold. I haven't had a cold in ages. I even tried a saline sinus rinse. Now I know why my little David hated those things.

Anyway, like I said...I'm not lazy, there's just not much going on right now.

I spent the night in Paris

It was only a dream, but I had such a fine night in Paris! I was so happy to be there, even for such a short time. It was winter, but I knew we were in a hotel that has thousands of tulips in the spring. The Eiffel Tower was brightly lit and showed up so well in the leafless landscape.

Then we took the Chunnel to England. Why? Because I realized I was so close to London and why should I waste any more time in Paris when I could be in London? The Chunnel was scary. I kept thinking of all that water atop me and wondering how such a tunnel could possibly hold up? In my dream, the Chunnel was a direct link from Paris to London.

London was similar to the Mary Poppins version, not very true to life, but wonderful nonetheless. It felt so good to be there. I saw the Tower Bridge and some old library. All the while, I knew I would only be there for an evening, so I was trying to savor every little bit.

Strangely, I can't help but feel that this dream was somehow related to the trial. I can't put my finger on it, so I'll just enjoy it for what it was. A tiny, lovely, far-too-short trip to Europe.

My Husband is a Superhero

To Little MJ, Dad is the ultimate superhero.

I realized this on Sunday, when my husband and my youngest, Little MJ, were engaged in their manly-bonding activities. The garage door opener was broken, and the men (ages 7 and 43) decided to fix it.

During this time of year, my husband is working around the clock. He might as well be out of town from Monday through Saturday. The poor guy gets up and works all day, all evening, and sometimes all night. He's a CPA, (which is a fine alter ego for a Superhero, isn't it?) Until the tax deadline, we will see very little of him, except for Sundays. He takes Sunday off until April 1st, at which point it's a marathon until the the final tax deadline on April 15.

On Sundays, my little MJ sticks close to his Dad. Normally they start the day with a nice breakfast, then we go to mass. Then Dad and the kids play some video games. Sometimes this takes several hours. Throughout the process, Little MJ stays within 12" of his Dad. No matter what Dad is doing, Little MJ is at his side.

This past Sunday, after a rousing video game fest, it was time to fix the garage door opener. Dad and the three youngest kids had been playing and having a great time when the announcement was made: "It's time to fix the garage door opener. Who wants to help?" Needless to say, David & Kathleen decided to pursue other activities. It was Sunday, a fine day to play. But not Little MJ. If Dad was fixing the garage door opener, then there could be no better activity.

First they went to lunch. Dad said, "I'm going to go get a refill on my drink." Little MJ replied, "I'm right behind you, Buddy."

(Is that hilarious or what?)

After lunch, the men came home and took down the old garage door opener and installed the new. It was a long and dirty job, and Little MJ had the black greasy hands to prove it. Although it took a couple of hours, and the weather was lovely, my little MJ preferred to wield the screwdriver and hammer with Super Dad.

Later, as I was putting the boys to bed, I noticed that Little MJ had taken off his pajama shirt and was sleeping in PJ bottoms only. I don't think it's coincidental that Super Dad sleeps the same way.

Pride & Prejudice

It was a Pride & Prejudice festival here last night. My Anna wanted to rent the five hour version with Colin Firth, so we did. We started watching at 8:45... you do the math! It was a late night. I saw the new Pride & Prejudice with Keira Knightly (2005) and it was good. Good, not great. The five-hour version with Colin is much, much better. Maybe, just maybe the full five hours is needed to translate the complexity of this book into film. Anyway, you know it's a good movie when it captivates everybody in the family, including my 7- and 9-year old sons, my pre-teen and teenage daughters and my husband as well.

Part of the reason I was eager to rent the movie last night was because my teenager wanted to see it. My Mommy Mind said, "a five hour movie means that Anna will be staying home tonight." And why was this so attractive? Anna has a certain friend. I do not like this friend. I do not like her at all. I'm sorry to say, but this friend has problems, problems which are way too far gone for anyone but a professional to address. This friend lied to her mother and said she was spending the night with Anna so that she could sneak off and stay out all night. This friend meets men on the internet, men in their 20s, and married men. This friend has failed her freshman year at my daughter's school and will be repeating it at another school. Yesterday Anna told me that this friend started a fire in her own house to create a diversion so she could sneak out. This friend appeared to be "tripping" on drugs that same night. This friend smokes pot. This friend of my daughter's has a relationship with a boy that she calls, "friends with benefits" and I have every reason to believe she is using that term in the most adult sense.

About a week ago, I told my daughter that this friend "is a loser." Although I don't believe I can dictate my daugher's friends, I said I was not happy to have her hanging around with this person. It doesn't take a rocket-scientist to know that this "friend" is bad news. I was relieved when my daughter said she will be avoiding this "friend" from now on. I hope she does.

Food Excitement!

I don't know what's happening to me, but today I'm craving some excitement. Food excitement, that is. I'm tired of the same ol', same ol'. I get into a little rut with dieting, eating the same thing over and over again because I know how many points it has, and I'm too lazy to calculate something new.

Not today!

I went to the store to get some fish. I'm making talipia tonight. I don't know how, yet, but I'm making it. I'm also making "Wild Blend Rice." Yum! I'm going to have it with a salad with walnuts and a cranberry viniagrette. Can you tell I'm looking forward to it?

While I was at the store I saw a new product. It's called chocolate peanut butter! I don't know how I failed to notice this item before. Ofcourse I bought it, and it comes to 2 points per tablespoon. That's not half bad. So for lunch I had a Thompson's 100 Calorie English Muffin with 1 Tbsp. Chocolate peanut butter. That little treat only cost 3 points! Count 'em, THREE POINTS! That, plus an apple and some skim milk, and I'm a happy camper.

Why the food talk, you ask? Because I have nothing else to do, and nothing else to think about! It's a beautiful sunny day here, but cold. My kids are all here, playing with friends, and the husband is at work. I'd love to be out walking, (i.e., earning some more points so I can EAT), but I'm not. I could be cleaning, but I'm not. Unless you count laundry. I'm doing laundry. I'm always doing laundry.

What I really, really should be doing is cleaning my room. Laurita saw my room last night and I said, "What a mess!" She didn't even bother to contradict me. I can't even get close to my closet because of all the crap that's falling out of it.

Pathetic.

Friday Again

Here it is, Friday again. The days are racing by. The kids are home from school today and already it's a festival of cartoons, video games, waffles, fighting, and playing.

My boys can fight and play, play and fight endlessly. They are the best of friends, which is why an insult or a teasing comment has the power to cut so deeply.

Tonight is another fish fry, at least I assume so. I think we'll go to a place that has steamed shrimp, so I won't have to deal with the caloric aspect of fried fish. That'll be nice. The kids groan and grumble about going to these fish fries sometimes, but I think they secretly love them. And if they don't, they'll love the memory of them someday. Growing up Catholic. That's what it's all about.

I had lunch with my friend Mike yesterday. Mike is another witness in the upcoming trial. I need to see him from time to time. Even if we don't talk about the trial, it helps me to stay connected to him because he is in a similar position as I. He is a friend of the defendant, and he understands the horror, frustration and sadness of having a friend do the stupidest possible thing a person can do. He also happens to be a lawyer, so he helps me understand the process and is able to speculate on the legal aspects of the upcoming trial.

Mike told me that his brother was at the World Trade Center on September 11. This came up as we were discussing post traumatic stress. Mike's brother was in the lobby of the tower that was hit first, and when he evacuated the building, he saw the second plane hit the other tower. He said that people started jumping almost immediately. He saw people holding hands and jumping. He watched the buildings collapse. And now, over five years later, he's still seeing a psychiatrist and he's still taking medication. His life fell apart and he's still struggling to put it back together.

Sadly, I can imagine what that's like.

Life is such a struggle sometimes. Everybody struggles, it's universal. Everybody encounters trauma and loss and stress. Bad things happen to people, it doesn't matter who you are, if you're "good" or "bad." The most fortunate of us have the mental health and support and faith to work through the trauma. And the rest? Let's be honest. They're on their own. Good luck. There is virtually no understanding of mental illness, PTSD, depression, ED, addiction, and
the myriad of other mental disorders. In my opinion, all psych drugs are experimental. Someday we'll look back at this era and realize that we're in the dark ages of mental health. Maybe I'm jaded. I've been burned. But I digress. Don't I always?

It's Friday again. And I'm among the fortunate.