The Next Larry Flynt?

Since the beginning of time, parents day dream about what their children will do for a living.  Will they be a doctor, police officer, tycoon or even a preacher.  A mother can only hope.  The Babe wanted to see want this whole kindergarten thing was about that brother keeps talking about.  In an effort to placate his curiosity, The Dad took The Babe to lunch with The Kindergartner the other day.  For those that are not privy to the inner workings of the elementary school lunch room these days, it hasn't changed since you were there.  Apparently The Dad was sitting with his boys at a long narrow lunch room table with about 20 other kindergarten aged kids the other day.  On this particular day, the lunch time convo steered toward the topic of movies.  In an attempt to include The Babe in the lunch time banter, a boy asked The Babe what kind of movies he liked to watch.  The Babe, without hesitation, looked at that boy and told him "I like movies that show ladies private parts".

WHAT THE?!

The Dad seems to think The Babe forgot The Dad was present.  As the table was recovering from the response to The Babe's declaration (apparently the group thought this was quite hilarious), The Dad looked at The Babe with surprise (what the...where...who...).  The Babe knew he was busted.  As his eyes welled up with tears he placed his head in his hands.

I got a call from The Dad the night of what I now call the "incident".  Although we were able to laugh about it, and I was able to say "better you than me", I had a number of thoughts swirling in my head:

• This is not one of those funny kid stories I can retell.  Think about it; if I retell this story people will wonder what in the hell I am letting my kids watch on TV.


• Why on earth would he say that?  Has he seen movies like this.  With whom?  Where?


• Well, I guess I know what he will do for a living.  Yay me...lifetime supply of adult entertainment.  As long as he is happy I guess.

 

Everything I need to know, I learned on the first day of Kindergarten

Last week I experienced one of many firsts; the first born started Kindergarten.  As you can imagine, it was a very exciting day for all of us.  The Kindergartner didn't think it was all that big of a deal really.  After all, he had been going to "school" for some time now.  In his mind, it was just a new building and new teacher.  The kid was calm, cool and collected.

The Kindergartner and I entered the cafeteria at the school with The Dad.  We were met by the soon to be step-mom and her daughter that is in fifth grade at the same school.  This was basically command central.  The principal welcomed all the new and returning students and offered some general info.  As The Dad and I walked The Kindergartner to his classroom, The Step Mom and Step Sis walked behind us.  The Dad and I held hands with The Kindergartner, at which time he tried to get The Dad and I to hold hands.  Ugh.  I play it off with desensitizing statements like "gross, your dad has cooties", and "that is The Step Mom's hand to hold, not mine".

We enter the classroom together and begin the transition.  Pictures, hugs, "I'm so proud of you", "have a great day".  The usual.  I asked The Dad if he would like me to take a picture of the three of them together.  He accepts.  He takes one of me and my big kid.  We all say goodbye and go our separate ways.

I had heard stories about moms and dads that get emotional on the first day of school for their first born.  I understand why.  I, however, was not emotional during this transitional moment.  That is, not until I got in the car to go to work.  It wasn't like someone turned on the facet full speed.  It was more like when you turn off the facet but you still have a slow drip.  As I sat in the parking lot of the school, I realized something.  I realized I was doing something right.    The Kindergartner has a lot of people in his life that love him and want what's best for him.  Although it sucks to see him loving on another woman like he does The Step Mom, it illustrates that he knows he can love both of us.  We were all there for him on his big day.  Together. Co-parenting.  I am not sure with whom I was more proud, The Kindergartner or us.

Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.

Some of my fellow “Christians” are disappointing me. Again. This time the subject is divorced women. Why is it, when I go to church the married women treat me as if I am not invited to the party? Have any of you divorced women experienced this? You know what I am talking about. Just because I am divorced does not mean I want your husband. I literally had a woman tell me they were not comfortable hanging out anymore because I am a threat to them now. Do their husbands tell divorced dads the same thing? Do their husbands say to their divorced friends, “dude, we can’t hang out anymore because I am afraid you are going to snatch my wife from me”. Adding to my frustration is when the person throwing the stones has been DIVORCED too!

Now, for some reason when a single dad enters church, or any other place for that matter, he is treated as if he is a saint. “Oh, poor guy. He is a single dad doing his best to raise his kids the best he can”. I guess they forgot I am a single mom doing my best to raise my boys.

Is it because I was the one that “filed” for the divorce (I suppose in this case they forget that marriage includes two people that contribute to the success or demise of the relationship)? Is it because they take Mathew too literally, when it says:

“It has been said, ‘Anyone who divorces his wife must give her a certificate of divorce. But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.

I suppose if they are taking the passage literally, they would agree that men too, would be committing adultery if they remarry. Maybe it is because they are just hypocritical busy bodies that would rather throw stones at me while they live in their glass houses?

I’m gonna go with the latter and let me tell you why. After a brief hiatus from church due to traveling and the death of my mother, I returned with my boys one Sunday morning in the Spring. Upon entering the children’s room, a woman approached me and whispered she had heard about what happened and wondered how I was doing. I thanked her for her concern and added losing my mother was hands down the most difficult thing I had ever been through. With eyes as big as silver dollars guess what she said. Wait for it.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea your mom died”. I smiled at her and said "Oh, you must be talking about my divorce".

Other than seeing this woman at church, I did not socialize with this woman. I did not confide in her about my personal life. Apparently, I did not have to. The other busy bodies at church can spread my news for me. Well if you are going to talk about me, tell the whole story. While your airing my dirty laundry you might consider washing yours too.

Let's Be Honest Here

I registered for our local Making Strides against Breast Cancer walk months ago. Maybe it was weeks. Either way, I had plenty of time to raise awareness and funds. I also had time to talk to my boys about Breast Cancer, and why we walk. G-Man asked big boy questions like “what is fund raising” and “what is charity”. He also asked about Cancer and how the doctors help those that are sick. The Babe asked the exact question I expected from him; “what are breasts”. You can imagine how delighted both boys were to hear me say “boobs”. They ran around saying “breasts, breasts, breasts”. Typical boys.

The three of us talked about the walk for days before it was scheduled. The morning of, the boys gathered their toys and snacks for their “walk” in the wagon while we all donned our pink. What I did not have time for during my preparation, was to reflect. I participate in stuff like this all the time so I did not think this time was any different. However, I never stopped to think about how it would feel when the volunteer handed me a sticker that said, “I walk for ______________”, let alone when I actually filled it in. I did not think about the questions the boys would ask about Mom on the drive to the walk. I was not prepared for my oldest son to look at me as I am filling out papers and stickers and say to me “I walk for you Mommy”. Can he possibly understand what he is saying?

The walk was only a 5k so they boys took turns in the wagon while the adults took turns pulling it. When I was not making sure the boys were warm enough, or not too hot, I thought. I thought about my mom, and her mom. I thought about all of the people at the event that donated time and money. I thought about how much I wished I could have spent that morning with my mom.

These events tend to bring out the community in some that otherwise know nothing of the concept. I acknowledge many participate in these events because they are good hearted. Some do it for recognition. Everyone has his or her own agenda. With that in mind, many people I spoke with that day; whether friends, volunteers, or otherwise, thanked me for walking. It was fine the first few times I heard it but after a while, it bothered me. I did not do it for them. I did not do it for recognition. Frankly, I did not do it for my mom. There are moments I feel my mom more closely than other days. That day was one of them. I will do whatever I can to feel her presence.

So truth be told, I walked for myself.

What Others Have to Say About Me is None of My Business

I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and opened the shower curtain. I was startled by the oldest boy who was quietly sitting on the toilet, and he got a kick out of my surprised squeal.  Apparently he had been sitting there a while and I did not realize it.  This is just one of the benefits of being Mom; you are never alone.  While stepping out of the shower I teased the boy that he scared me and I didn't know he was there.  Why can't they be this quiet when I want them to be?

I am drying off as I step out of the shower and he hits me with it.  "Why do you have a tattoo on your butt Mommy?"  In an attempt to stall the answer, I remind Mr. Observant that I have another one...right there.  Like many other times I am caught off guard by a question by one of the boys, I simply fly by the seat of my pants. "Why do you ask buddy, do you not like Mommy's tattoo?".

This is one of those many times one of the boys teaches me something.  They are constantly making me stop and reflect on myself and my beliefs, making me a better person. My little man, wise beyond his years, looks at me and says "Mommy, it doesn't matter if I like it.  It only matters if you like it.".

All I could do was smile with pride.  Where does this kid get it?  I know he does not get it from me, and Daddy is less open minded than I am.  Little Man then proceeds to tell me about a picture he drew at school that one of his classmates did not like, and evidently was not shy about sharing her opinion.  The incident with the picture at school had made an impact on Little Man.  He told me he liked the picture and did not care if others felt differently. YOU GO BOY!

I am not sure how long he was sitting there, waiting for me.  After my schooling on confidence and what others have to say about  me, he got up and walked out like nothing happened.  If he only knew.

Something happened on the way to the courthouse (Part 1)

My father has always had a theory that when you reach the age of 30, you finally figure out what life is all about.  He describes it as an awakening of sorts.  I imagined myself laying in bed on the morning of  my 30th birthday watching the fog of my former self hover over me like an out of body experience.  Once the fog dissipates, I am left feeling refreshed and clear-headed, ready to tackle what had once eluded me.

Although Dad may have been a little off on the exact age, he was right about the event itself.  My “awakening” didn’t happen overnight, as I once expected though.  It seems that I like to take my time with these things, so my growth is a work in progress that has taken me a few years.

In 2005, I was 29 years old and gave birth to my first child.  As you might imagine, the next year I was 30.  In 2006 I gave birth to my second child.  As if giving birth twice in 17 months wasn’t enough, I decided to throw in some more excitement with a move from Florida to Missouri in 2006.

The second born was in a hurry to introduce himself so he decided to arrive a few weeks early.  Some four or five weeks early to be exact.  The Babe came home with us on schedule but needed to spend a few days in the hospital for a double hernia at 7 weeks of age.  At nine weeks of age he was diagnosed with RSV.  It seems big brother brought home a cold from daycare that the little man just could not kick.  During the ice storm of 2007 we found ourselves without power as we cared for our infant son on an oxygen saturation monitor.  As the second born was turning a year old, I then found myself selling a business that once defined who I was.

More change was in order as 2008 began.  I was no longer identified by the business I had owned and operated for nearly ten years.  I had two boys under the age of three and was struggling with some baby blues that I just couldn’t kick after the second born arrived.  I guess something about having a 17 month old, giving birth to a baby in the winter that was in and out of the hospital, moving back to a place where I had no family and selling a business had taken its toll on me.

I’m 32 by this time and I’m starting to wonder if I will ever realize my father’s prediction.  What the hell is going on here? Am I destined to continue on the current path?  I soon realized it was all part of the process…

To Be Continued

Like a string on a sweater that you pull but you know better/But doing what you shouldn't is half the fun

Seperation Anxiety

In the twelve years hubs and I have been together, we have spent a number of nights apart that I could count on my hands. In the twelve years hubs and I have been together, we have only had separate careers for all of a year, maybe two. Most responses I get from others hearing this for the first time is something like “wow, you must really like each other” or “I could never tolerate my spouse that much”. We will both readily admit that hubs has the patience of Job and should be sainted for dealing with my antics, so he is really the one credited with our success all this time.

Like many couples, hubs and I met at work. However, after that organization moved us around the country together for a couple of years, we started a business together. Now it just feels odd to get up and do separate projects. We have a good rhythm to our routine; he has his strengths, as do I, and they fortunately compliment each other’s weaknesses. We are a good team.

It is really odd when you temporarily lose your right hand. The left hand tries to pick up the slack but can never fully complete the task. The man has a semi-annual fishing trip with his family friends at The White River. The trip is so good for him. He bonds with his man people; doesn’t shave for days, smoke cigars, plays cards, and occasionally gets a line wet. He comes back better than when he left; with his axe sharpened. He tells me bits and pieces of stories that he feels are acceptable for my “virgin” ears and he counts the days until the next trip.

This year he threw in an extra special trip to Canada with one of his brothers and his step dad. He was gone A WHOLE WEEK. I was a little worried (read: freaking out) when I heard how long he would be absent from our daily routine. My saving grace was the fact that the boys do go to preschool a couple of days a week. I knew I would be able to get some things done, or stare off into space like a zombie while they were gone. In preparation for his departure, I cleaned the place like my mother was coming to visit, freeze some easy to reheat meals and plan lots of activities to keep us busy and make the time fly.

Funny thing happened that week though; it wasn’t bad. Sure, I missed him; and so did the boys. Much to hub’s dismay we only had one night of dramatic “I miss Daddy” theatrics; and frankly that was because they were in trouble and think Daddy will save them from Nazi Mommy. Things ran as they normally would, some days even better (don’t tell Brad). I was even able to do some things I normally wouldn’t be able to do with Brad around. Most of you that know us might ask “what on earth does he not let you do”? First thing I did was go to the store and stock up on wine; then I came home and rearranged the furniture and finally….wait for it….it is s a biggie. I let the boys play with the shaving crème in the bath tub! As far as the three of us were concerned, the week was a success.

Fast forward to my girls trip to Florida this week. I too, will be gone A WHOLE WEEK. My already high anxiety level has now doubled. I know I will have a blast in Florida even though I am missing all my friends at Blogher. I also know that I cannot wait to start counting waves while catching up on my vitamin D therapy and my stack of books. I am, however, a little worried about what I am going to come back to when I get home. I know hubs is completely capable of caring for himself and the boys and the house, but have some issues with how effective they will be trying to do all of it at the same time.

The whole idea of these trips got me thinking about that saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. Although it is the case when I am apart from Brad, it is not always true with other scenarios. Does absence truly make our hearts fonder, or does the separation just give us the opportunity to learn that we are just in a situation of convenience. I suppose that is where the saying “out of sight out of mind” originated. When I presented this idea to hubs he laughed and asked, “are you worried I will learn to like to live without you while you are gone?”. Once my nervous laughter was over, I reminded him that he may be able to do so, but he doesn’t want to.

What do you think? Is it the subject matter (people, place, or thing) for which you long, or is it the fact that you just are away from it? From what have you recently been separated and what was it like when you reunited; was it what you expected?

Get It While the Gettin's Good

If predictions by the Oxford Hair Foundation come to pass, the number of natural redheads everywhere will continue to dwindle until there are none left by the year 2100. The reason, according to scientists at the independent institute in England, which studies all sorts of hair problems, is that just 4 percent of the world's population carries the red-hair gene. The gene is recessive (and therefore diluted when carriers produce children with people who have the dominant brown-hair gene. Dr. John Gray's often publicized explanation of his foundation's findings: "The way things are going; red hair will either be extremely rare or extinct by the end of the century." The gene responsible for red hair - known as the melanocortin 1 receptor, or MC1R - was only discovered in the late 1990s. People have a good chance of being born with red hair if they have a mutation of that gene. Red hair is found in all ethnic backgrounds but is most commonly associated with people of Celtic descent.Maybe I need to have my friend the rocket scientist (ok, ok, genetic researcher) look into this…let me know your thoughts T.

I have a few thoughts about this possibility:

~Thank god I will be gone because a world without Red is no place to live!
~“Studying all sorts of hair problems”; who decides that is what they want to do with their life? ~Recessive my arse: My dad, me (obviously) my brother, and now my son. I won’t even get into my dad’s 7 siblings. (some of which are shown here)
~As I read the article about my people’s pending doom, I thought back to the ridicule I experienced as a young child and then the near celebrity I received as I reached adulthood. I have grown to love my red hair and “angle kisses” (now that I have the sharpie off my skin from my sister connecting the dots in an attempt to see how many I had as a youth; why did I let her do that?) and consider them my trademark.

Quotable and red:

A young man marrying a redhead asked his father for some marital advice. The father said, "Just remind her who wears the pants in your family." The evening arrived; the new husband tossed his pants to his bride and said, "Here put these on." She did and said "I don't fit into these." "That's right!" he said, "and don't you forget who wears the pants in this family!" With that she flipped him her panties and said, "Try these on." He looked at them and said, "I can't get into your panties!" She said, "That's right - and you won't until your attitude changes!"

Waxing Poetic

****The content below is for adults only; or for those that can handle direct language about body parts and the maintenance of said body parts.  If you are related to me, go to church with me, work with me or the hubs, come back later.****

First things first. I have never had to password protect a post. It seems, however, that the hubs thinks the content provided herein is not appropriate for all audiences. Word has it that my father in law has spread the word around town about my little piece of internet and now my damn priest reads the crap I write. I suppose the man of the house does have a valid point when he further mentions that some of his colleagues and my clients read the site too; I can only imagine what they would be thinking about at the next meeting after reading this. So in an effort to keep us both happy; we have protection. What I really wanted to tell hubs was to take off his panties and hose the sand out of his vagina.

Speaking of vaginas; well mine particularly. In all my years I have never waxed any part of my body. I am very fortunate to have not only very light hair but hair that grows very slowly. The down side to my good luck is that if I do not wear mascara, I look like a am nine years old at best. Imagine if you will, me at the age of twenty-nine with braces and no makeup; hubs felt a little awkward at times. He once came in the house to tell me the new neighbor girl had come over to ask if I could come out to play. He is so funny; just ask him, he will tell you.

Back to my vagina. For some reason I got a wild hair to get waxed. Many of you know that I am an all or nothing kind of girl though; if I am doing this I am going all the way. Brazilian baby. The first question I asked myself is whether I should go to someone I know, or a complete stranger. I determined a referral was more important than anything. I called one of my girlfriends and asked her advice. Having moved her business from a local salon to her home last year, she immediately sent me to her former place of business. She informed that the aesthetician was awesome and since I believe everything my friend/hair stylist tells me, I hung up and called the salon.

I had three days to wait after making the appointment. Your imagination can do a lot in three days. I was excited and petrified. My final thought was “how bad can it be really, you have given birth twice for god’s sake”. I wanted it to be a surprise for hubs so I did not tell him. The neurotic in me then starts thinking; “do I even want him to notice, that means I needed it”. We will get to his final reaction later.

Upon entering the salon on Friday and greet my girlfriends that work there and take some Advil; I had been told that doing so might be beneficial. This is one of those things I did to be safe and not sorry. I don’t know if I did not need it but I really did not want to find out if I needed it but didn’t take it.


The aesthetician greets me and escorts me to the servicing room. She explains the process and instructs me to disrobe from waste down and place a towel here and some paper there. I can do this. Towel here, paper there. The irony is that she leaves the room for me to undress but is about to explore places with a magnifying light the way only my gyno has done.

Upon examination and a test run it is determined my “front” hair is not long enough yet. Remember the fact that I am blessed with slow growing hair; it can suck at times. It also doesn’t help that I shave it all off anyway. No sweat. I am still a little nervous anyway and think I may back out of the back side if the front is agony. Kim proceeds to tell me to “hop up” on my hands and knees. The only way I can provide a visual for this position is to describe it as “child’s pose” in yoga but with your butt in the air. Or maybe a frog. The thing about this position is that is perfect for what she is doing, however, the wall that I am facing is all mirrors. Normally I would consider this hot, but in this scenario I do not care to watch, I lower my head.

So I have to admit that the hot wax was not bad; actually quite nice. I have the need to hold a conversation during this process in attempt to keep breathing. What I find out during the dialogue intrigues me. I live in what most would consider a conservative area of the country; otherwise known as “The Bible Belt”. My new best friend Kim moved here from Vegas five years ago and tells me she has seen things here that she never saw or even heard of in Springfield. How about that; I am not the only one in this town after all. I am not sure if that is good or bad.

Rip. Huh. Not so bad. Certainly not the vision from the 40 year old virgin I was imagining. “Blah Blah Blah”. “ Yeah I have two boys, 4 and 2.5; the picture of your girls is cute, how old?” Rip. How about that, it gets easier every time. Rip again. What the Hell! “Did you literally just rip me a new one?” She thought that was funny. Hubs is not the only funny one around here.  Like any quality aesthetician, Kim wants to be thorough, so out comes the lighted magnifying glass. Jesus; my gyno doesn’t even use a magnifying glass. She completes the examination of her work and sounding very proud says “looks great”. I have to take her word for it since I cannot see it. I am going to spare the details about how she applies the aloe in an attempt to prevent any male (or female for that matter) readers from getting entirely too excited about one woman rubbing cream all over another. That was the best part though.

I admit that I am happy I only have to do “maintain” every few months; but in end, hubs and I highly recommended this service.

As I am wrapping things up and paying, I asked Kim out to dinner; it seemed like the next step in our relationship.

*For those of you considering a Brazilian and are curious; there was little if any pain during or after the procedure!  Take off your panties and hose the sand out of your vagina and get it done!

What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

Mom was Right...Again

When I was younger, my mom would offer advice about friend or boyfriend trouble. The one statement I remember her using a lot back then was "kill them with kindness".

I thought of this the other day when "she" did "it". Again. A woman I know, and respect actually, told me she didn't have time for blogs or reading other blogs. With a snide tone she chirped, "I wish I had that much time on my hands".

So I performed a little experiment the next time I saw her. I didn't say anything about the blog, but "my journal". You could say her tune changed. "Oh, I wish I did that, that is so great, the boys will love that one day".  What's the deal? What is the difference between my former hard copy journal and it's on line replacement? I am disappointed that this friend of mine, whom is normally very open minded, is so judgmental about this topic. She and I live similarly busy lives so I am not sure how or why she thinks she is better than me.  Maybe I am just better at managing my time.
I am curious if this prejudice is aimed primarily at work from home or stay at home parents. I am also curious if dads experience it as much as moms.

For now, I will follow my mom's advice. I will be the mistress of death...with kindness.

I Am Not Your Mother

Arriving around 7am, I am first in the office in the morning.  Each day I pass this window and it's occupant and each day I think about throwing it away.  You see, at my house if you put something down and it is not in it's "proper place" for what I consider an unacceptable amount of time, you can bet it will not be there when you come back for it.  So why then, do I continue to pass what is obviously garbage and leave it in an unacceptable place?  Am I afraid, that like my husband looking in the office for his belt, someone will come back for a drink and will be distraught with dry mouth and nothing to quench their thirst?  Maybe I am performing some sort of test on the others in the office to see how long it will take one of them to throw it away.  Maybe I am just lazy.  Maybe I am too busy playing chicken with the alarm system.  Whatever it is, I am not throwing the can away.

*Disclaimer: I enter through the dock area, I just realized how dirty that window is but that is a whole other issue.

Y...Y...Y

Since I am the proud mother of two of the cutest and craziest boys ever and the wife to the most handsome and patient man on earth, I often find myself pondering genetics and hormones. No matter how much society wants to wussify boys these days, there is a clear difference between boys and girls and I believe they should be raised differently. Don't get me wrong, I think it is great that Little Man loves High School Musical and Annie, and that The Babe only talks about football, soccer, and baseball. Although they have different likes and dislikes, even at their early ages, they are both all boy all the time.

The personalities of the boys are complete opposites. Little Man, as first born, is much like his mama. Neurotic, animated, cautious, and a just a little goofy. The Babe being the second born is just like hubs. Not only is The Babe almost an identical replica of hubs in physique, he is just as laid back as Brad. If I told Little Man there was no more milk he would throw himself on the floor and wiggle around until I somehow made milk come out of the faucet. If I told The Babe we were out of milk he would shrug his shoulders and say "ok" and walk off to play. Learned behaviors or genetics? A little of both I am sure. Although they have conflicting personalities they have one thing in common; beyond their parents. These two boys will find any reason to touch, knock down, run, collide, jump, climb, wrestle or drag something or someone.

What is it about little boys that makes them so physical? I was at work the other day facilitating a field trip in the museum and I watched the kids closely. What I noticed was that the girls stood calmly and talked with their friends while waiting to board the bus while the boys were screaming, wrestling, kicking, punching, and being obnoxious. I had to tell one pair to get off of each other a number of times.

I had mixed feelings as I experienced this. I was happy to see it was not just my children. I was concerned to realize that it doesn't seem to stop after preschool. I struggled to find some sort of logical explanation for boy behavior. The only thing I came up with was there was a reason they named themale chromosome "Y".

On Being A Role Model

I try to make a conscious effort to think about what I say and do; especially when I am in front of the boys. Little Man is at the age where he repeats everything. He repeats everything. I will say or do something and I will look at Brad and think, there is only one place he learned that...you! As a parent I recognize the boys are my responsibility. What irks me is that other people, adults mind you, do not think about what they say and do in front of others. Take for instance the other day. On my drive home I pass two hospitals. We are very fortunate here to have two excellent places of health care but I am reminded daily why I choose one over the other.

Upon passing my second choice for life saving skills I see a number of men and women in scrubs. These folks are evidently on a break and want to enjoy the weather, even it is raining, while they suck on their cancer sticks. Understand that I don't care if they smoke, just don't run around all high and mighty inside that place that pays your bills telling the common folk to stop smoking because it will kill them, and then go out and smoke. Can we say hypocrite?

You could say I am a little biased about the subject of smoking. My mother smoked for up to 30 years. Although she survived breast cancer nearly 15 years ago she is now on to her sixth month of chemo for lung cancer. I know she quit smoking two years ago but what was the point?

My point is, think about what you are doing and who is watching. If you care. Everyone is a role model, with or without kids. I hate having to explain other people's behavior to my boys. Parenting is hard enough people, ease up on me.

On Being A Role Model

I try to make a conscious effort to think about what I say and do; especially when I am in front of the boys. Little Man is at the age where he repeats everything. He repeats everything. I will say or do something and I will look at Brad and think, there is only one place he learned that...you! As a parent I recognize the boys are my responsibility. What irks me is that other people, adults mind you, do not think about what they say and do in front of others. Take for instance the other day. On my drive home I pass two hospitals. We are very fortunate here to have two excellent places of health care but I am reminded daily why I choose one over the other.

Upon passing my second choice for life saving skills I see a number of men and women in scrubs. These folks are evidently on a break and want to enjoy the weather, even it is raining, while they suck on their cancer sticks. Understand that I don't care if they smoke, just don't run around all high and mighty inside that place that pays your bills telling the common folk to stop smoking because it will kill them, and then go out and smoke. Can we say hypocrite?

You could say I am a little biased about the subject of smoking. My mother smoked for up to 30 years. Although she survived breast cancer nearly 15 years ago she is now on to her sixth month of chemo for lung cancer. I know she quit smoking two years ago but what was the point?

My point is, think about what you are doing and who is watching. If you care. Everyone is a role model, with or without kids. I hate having to explain other people's behavior to my boys. Parenting is hard enough people, ease up on me.

Turn Out The Lights The Party's Over

I knew it would happen eventually but I did not realize how soon.Looking back I realize I did not know just how spoiled I was.Working from home for nearly ten years, a girl gets accustomed to a certain “lifestyle”.You know, roll out of bed when the kids come in begging for milk, take the ten step commute to the office and work in my flip flops.I took breaks at the park with the kids and had “staff” meetings at the pool.My staff being the almost two year old intern and 3 year old tenure professor.

Life at the Crooked Tree has changed.I am still Chief Officer Mom but now have other obligations; that actually pay.Hubs and I thought long and hard about whether or not I should go back to the real world. After selling our business last fall I was privileged to take some time and hang out with the boys. During that time I remember thinking how hard I had it.I would be so spent at the end of the week it was all I could do to undress myself for bed.Keeping two small, energetic boys entertained is hard work.Not to mention the other responsibilities that go along with being a stay at home mom.Hubs and I decided the boys needed more structure and stimulation that I was not providing, and I really wanted something for “myself”. So last week I started working for a great non-profit in town as their web and data specialist.I absolutely love the organization, the people, and my job!

I have not given up any of my previous responsibilities; I have merely added more.I now fight traffic that I never knew existed in this town which makes my 8-5 day really 7-6. By the time I get home, it is time to feed, bath and put the boys to bed. I end up falling asleep in Little Man’s bed before he does. I am awakened to him tapping my forehead asking me to tell him a story or talk about his favorite Higgly Town heroes.

This change in lifestyle has provided me a new perspective on things.I once felt that stay at home moms were completed underrated; and I still do. The work of a stay at home mom is never done and she gets little if any recognition.I used to think that being a working gal would be a piece of cake; you get a break every day!You get recognition for your efforts!While that may be true, for me, being a working gal is even harder than a stay at home mom.My work is still never done and not only do I get less time with my family, but much less time for myself.I am so fortunate that to have experienced both sides of motherhood.My hat goes off to all the moms out there, whether at home or the office.I hope the key for all of us will be a routine.The newness will wear off and we will not be so out of sorts.It does not help that Little Man, The Babe, and I are sick.The boys started a new school and brought home some new germs and so did I!The new school had a water pipe break this week so the boys have been home with hubs which is unusual for all of us.How do you working folk do it?How do you find time for you and your family without feeling like someone I getting neglected?

Turn Out The Lights The Party's Over

I knew it would happen eventually but I did not realize how soon.Looking back I realize I did not know just how spoiled I was.Working from home for nearly ten years, a girl gets accustomed to a certain “lifestyle”.You know, roll out of bed when the kids come in begging for milk, take the ten step commute to the office and work in my flip flops.I took breaks at the park with the kids and had “staff” meetings at the pool.My staff being the almost two year old intern and 3 year old tenure professor.

Life at the Crooked Tree has changed.I am still Chief Officer Mom but now have other obligations; that actually pay.Hubs and I thought long and hard about whether or not I should go back to the real world. After selling our business last fall I was privileged to take some time and hang out with the boys. During that time I remember thinking how hard I had it.I would be so spent at the end of the week it was all I could do to undress myself for bed.Keeping two small, energetic boys entertained is hard work.Not to mention the other responsibilities that go along with being a stay at home mom.Hubs and I decided the boys needed more structure and stimulation that I was not providing, and I really wanted something for “myself”. So last week I started working for a great non-profit in town as their web and data specialist.I absolutely love the organization, the people, and my job!

I have not given up any of my previous responsibilities; I have merely added more.I now fight traffic that I never knew existed in this town which makes my 8-5 day really 7-6. By the time I get home, it is time to feed, bath and put the boys to bed. I end up falling asleep in Little Man’s bed before he does. I am awakened to him tapping my forehead asking me to tell him a story or talk about his favorite Higgly Town heroes.

This change in lifestyle has provided me a new perspective on things.I once felt that stay at home moms were completed underrated; and I still do. The work of a stay at home mom is never done and she gets little if any recognition.I used to think that being a working gal would be a piece of cake; you get a break every day!You get recognition for your efforts!While that may be true, for me, being a working gal is even harder than a stay at home mom.My work is still never done and not only do I get less time with my family, but much less time for myself.I am so fortunate that to have experienced both sides of motherhood.My hat goes off to all the moms out there, whether at home or the office.I hope the key for all of us will be a routine.The newness will wear off and we will not be so out of sorts.It does not help that Little Man, The Babe, and I are sick.The boys started a new school and brought home some new germs and so did I!The new school had a water pipe break this week so the boys have been home with hubs which is unusual for all of us.How do you working folk do it?How do you find time for you and your family without feeling like someone I getting neglected?

Trick or Treat

Although I am fairly competitive; I really try not to get caught up in competitive parenting. You know, when one parent says "look what Johnny can do." Or better yet, "Johnny, have you showed Suzie how you can...?"; I love it when folks talk through their kids. I know we are all proud of our kids, and no one blames us for wanting to show off their new tricks. It is kind of funny though, when the kids get tired of being puppets. Take for instance, Little Man. He has a new puppy trick that I have been "practicing" with him. He loves to do it with me but has a hard time doing it for others; even Nana! The whole reason I taught him this "trick" was to (a) capitalize on his fabulous memory, (b) try to supplement the silly tricks "we" (meaning hubs) teach him like saying "pay up sucka" while pointing to his hand, and of course (c) teach him the states.

Just remember Little Man, unless you are going into organized crime, I think my trick will serve you better than "pay up sucka".




(By the way; I know he has GA and FL swapped. Give the kid a break! We still have 35 to go so I will of course add more as applicable!)

What tricks do your kids have? You know you want to tell me....