clickmom

i swear, i had no idea

If you've been reading for a while, you'll know that the husband sends flowers when he has done something...ummm...insensitive. Yeah, that's a good word for it. I hate the flowers he sends. They are always ugly and contain roses WHICH I DETEST and I think that flowers don't count as an apology unless you have picked them out yourself. In my strange little pin head world, apology flowers have to be picked out by and hand delivered by, complete with hanging head and sincere hand written note of apology written from the depths of remorse by the committer of the "insensitivity." Therefore in my pin head world, the husband has never actually apologized to me.

Anyways, about three flower deliveries back the delivery guy showed up with some flowers in a really gorgeous vase. I liked the vase a lot. It totally matched my glass tile backsplash, and truthfully, I am not a decorator - the vase and the backsplash were probably the only two items around here that matched! Anyways, a few days later when I successfully killed and disposed of the ugly flowers, I stashed the vase. The next time the husband did something...insensitive, he sent flowers in the identical vase. I thought, "OK, like I need two of these?" And after I killed those flowers I asked one of my kids to stash the vase for me.

The third time flowers showed up in that same looking vase, I just threw the vase away. I had killed the flowers long ago. The vase had been sitting around the kitchen, it was in the way, I was too lazy to go into the basement, which I have a secret fear of, and who needs three matching vases, right?

The other day the husband came to me to ask where the beautiful vase was. I told him that two were in the basement and that I had thrown the third one away. He shook his head "No", I put my hands on my hips and replied with attitude "Did you look in the basement?" Then he told me that there was only ever one, kind of expensive, vase and that he kept bringing it back to the florist to be refilled.

Whoooops!

weather appreciated

Well, it was a wonderful day here in the NE. The sun was out, the temps were warmer, all in all, a glorious day by my standards. In order to take full advantage of this day we decided on a little nature hike because we are such

tree hugggers. (Unfortuantely in our town there developers trying to clear cut the place. It is necessary to take sides here.) So, off we go, on our little walk, Evan is happy because he can share some of what he learned on his boy scout hike, I am happy because there are no dishes or laundry on a nature hike, Josh is happy because Matt is chatting with him, Matt is happy because he is chatting to an audience, and the husband is happy because no one is talking to him, and we are all happy. I try to take some artsy pictures with my little point and shoot, telling myself that I am just practicing for my big future career as an abstract artsy photographer

and I find more fungus! An omen maybe? Or perhaps just a damp fall to follow our damp early summer.

Eventually we've been doing the natural thing for a while and nature calls to the boys

With our hike behind us we go out to lunch, and come home to carve the 8 pumpkins we have collected this year. Evan and I are furiously stabbing and scooping in preparation for tomorrow, when Josh enters the room saying the words I live in fear of hearing "Mom, look at my new tatoo!"

Hopefully not an omen. But I am okay, because thankfully, it is both non-toxic and not permanent. It was a very nice day.

so guilty

I ordered a vase off the internet and it came in a box packaged with foam peanuts. The box containing the vase was then packaged ina larger box containing even more peanuts. That means we have a pretty large box of peanuts sitting in the front hall. Evan wanted very badly to play with the boxes and peanuts. I told him he couldn't play with them three times. This morning I walked past the box and noticed that it moved. Upon further inspection I discovered

Can you say guilty?
clickmom: Evan! I told you could not play in those boxes!
Evan: I had to Matt needed me to be in here for a movie he is making. MATT TOLD ME TO.
clickmom: Matt! Come down here I need to ask you a question!
(Matt comes downstairs)
Matt, did you ask Evan to get into this box of foam peanuts?
Matt: No, I saw Evan in the box and got my video camera to film it.
Evan: THAT'S ENCOURAGEMENT!

a girl after my heart

For my job I get to spend a nice amount of time at the area High Schools and really like seeing what my boys are going to turn into and who will be giggling on the phone line while asking for them one day. Sometimes I am there to photograph an act of benevolence, such as blood drives or fund raisers for charity, and sometimes I am there to photograph sports.

Last week I was there to photograph tennis. I aproached the first court and immediately noticed the striking young lady who was playing. Walking around collecting balls she was poised and graceful. She had beautifully shaped legs and long shiny hair. She was cute too. I thought to myself that she would make a lovely picture. Normally the most difficult part of photographing tennis is getting off a shot with the ball in it. That would not be the case here. There was only word to describe this graceful fawn while returning a ball.

Spastic.

It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. I could have photographed her all day. Her legs would shoot out in all different directions, her arms would jerk around, her head was never pointing towards the ball, and in every single photo I took-her eyes were closed!! She could be mine! I think I am in love!! I wonder if this beautiful spaz would wait for my boys to grow up.

you need three laughs a day

Matt was in a good mood after school today. He got into the car laughing and giggling. He laughed through a story about a ridiculous sounding film they saw in Science, tears streaming down his face as he described himself laughing so hard in Science that tears streamed down his face. He was so satisfied from all the laughing that he commented on how great it was to get his RDA of laughter today.

This brought us into a discussion about laughter and how a person should laugh every day. I told Matt that I love the sound of his laughing. Matt responded with "Yeah, well sure, it drowns out the sound of Dad's laugh."

Let me tell you about the husbands laugh. It used to normal, I guess, because I never gave it a minutes thought until one day he cracked up over something and he did this creepy air sucking noise thing through his teeth. It was like something from a mad scientists lisping drooling heavily accented assistant. I looked at him, stunned speechless. Finally I asked "What the hell was that?" He said he laughed. I was like, "Um....I don't think so, in the last 17 years you haven't ever made that sound before." HE sulked. I dropped it.

As if hearing it once wasn't bad enough, he continued to air suck-laugh like that. Now the big guy really isn't the laughing type, so I had to suffer through the air sucking all by myself a couple of times, quietly grinding my teeth and wishing for a knitting needle with which I could gouge out my ear drums, until one day he laughed in front of Matt and Matt said "Dad, what was that? It's creepy!!" Oh, sweet validation, how I love it so. Well, apparantly the new laugh is not a conscious decision because the husband does it when he actually laughs, but now Matt and I can give each other the sideways glance, that says "Wonder if that'll go over big in the looney bin?"

So, after Matt said in the car today that I liked his laugh because it drowned out the laugh of his father, he added "Yeah I can just imagine Dad sitting in bed awake at night thinking 'I need a new laugh, something that says 'Hi! I'm Dad and I don't care how annoying I am.'"

I laughed so hard I peed a little.

my grandma

About a month ago my grandmother fell in her house. It was pretty serious. No one is really sure what or how it happened since she lives alone, but I suspect that she got up in the middle of the night, fell, and went back to sleep on the floor because she likes pain killers. When she awoke sometime later she had the wits to press the button on the special necklace she wears and ask for help. An ambulance took her to the hospital.

She was very bruised and sore, but nothing broke. They kept her in the hospital for a week running all sorts of tests, but they couldn't find anything. She is not bouncing back at all. She is in rough shape. She can not get out of a chair without significant help, then she does the old lady shuffle slide for a walk. She used to have this great cocky jaunty kind of saunter, and the shuffle slide really rips at my heart.

Her memory is going pretty fast too. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation she will suddenly stop and demand "Who is this?" When I say it is me she acts all surprised. If I call her earlier than my usual time, she forgets. On Monday she forgot that we saw her Sunday. She thought I was lying. I also noticed that grandma tends to cycle her routine questions more and more. If I tell her something new she doesn't understand it. It always makes me cry when we hang up.

Now she has an aide for 10 hours a day, but the biggest danger to her is the middle if the night. She has been falling in the middle of the night for years. If my phone rings in the morning I hold my breath.

The poor aide takes so much abuse from my grandma. Grandma pushes her away when she offers assistance on an uneven sidewalk and grandma fights over all the dumb little things. They fight over the temperature of the apartment, grandma prefers it in the high 90's. One day the aide called me in tears because grandma wouldn't eat. The aide tried to give her a nutrition drink and grandma acted like she was offering poison. Grandma is mean. Grandma doesn't like depending on a stranger for help. She doesn't want to have this little shadow following her, waiting for her to fall. She has been alone too long.

They make a pretty interesting pair, grandma and the aide. Two bickering old ladies, just slowly shuffling down the street.

stamp comics

This is a thing I do with my kids when they reach the age when I can pry a little story out of them. Today I figued that Josh had gotten to the age. I already have a pile of stamps since I am just a big kid with lots of fun toys (kidding, they are left over from my teaching days) The kids always love doing this, and I think it helps to teach them how to tell a good story. It also gives them something new to read, and if I have to read Dora again tonight, it just might be the end of me.

The sribbler and super kid are two characters that Matt made up and tells Josh stories about. Consider them copywrited.

swinging time in CVS

I stopped by my local drug store today for some foot cream. A while back, I had a real problem with cracked skin on my foot so I have a prescription. When I went to pick it up I had to sign for it. I said to the kid behind the counter "I thought you only had to sign for the good stuff. Foot cream has no street value, y'know." He kind of made a couple of excuses, and I wouldn't let him off the hook until he admitted that they make every one sign for everything because sometimes seniors forget that they picked up their stuff and the store needs proof. I had made him squirm. I was satisfied.

Then I went to see if maybe there was a razor that appealed to me and I saw this.....

A battery operated razor. Now I can't imagne what a battery could do for a razor except make it vibrate, and I know that if for some reason I don't have a steady hand, just about the last thing I am going to do is pop in a fresh blade and go at myself with it. No, Ma'am, I am not shaving that way, uh uh. I could make some tasteless bikini area jokes here, but I am thinking you got the jist of it.

On my way out I walked through the halloween aisle, and not being able to decorate for x-mas (Chanukah decorations just don't compare) I have to overcompensate with halloween decorations. Yes, this family does halloween in a big way, decorations, costumes, and best of all full-size candy bars. If you come late enough, you get two. We so want to be loved, and not toilet papered. Since we are also the motion/sound activated decoration type, I am always on the lookout for more. The kids just love the scary noises. There I was just kinda purusing the aisle and what do you know? ......Well, you can imagine the wheels in my head spinning when I saw this.....

Yes, it is true. Chap Stick thinks we should give out some Chap Stick for halloween. I thought I would buy a bunch just to see the faces on the kids before I took it back and offered up the real deal but, alas, upon further inspection I discovered that the Chap Stick packaging was just regular old Chap Stick. Now, that is no fun!! Had they stuck a ghoul or ghost on the picture, I would have been all over it. Hahaha. Can you imagine getting Chap Stick in your treat bag???

what not to be scared of

Yesterday I met a few book club friends for an impromptu coffee in honor of one of the ladies birthdays. I am thrilled to be involved with this book club, and have such a good time chatting with the other ladies. We have so many laughs just gossiping and sharing, that I can't even imagine what I would be sitting here feeling like if it weren't for them. They bring so much to my life.

This is the book club in which 5 of the 8 of us did the triathlon. We triathletes don't want the ones who didn't participate to feel bad so we are trying not to rub it in their face or anything. It was such a big deal for us that we just want to talk about it all the time, still! I am not the only one who has been bitten by the exercise bug, and us triathlon doers are all so anxious to get together for swims, walks, and biking. Ofcourse, anyone can come, we love the women who sat it out. It is just that all of us tri-doers seem to be just a little over the top at this moment. It is very nice for me, who is enjoying being a born again exerciser (and you know how the converts can be!) to have others just as enthusiastic.

The Birthday Girl, who did not participate in the tri, mentioned that she was thinking of changing her Y membership to the Y that more of use. The coversation turned to exercise and who was doing what, when the Birthday Girl, in the most serious tone of voice said "Girls, I have to warn you about something." Ooooh, a warning! The hairs on my arms stood up, this looked like it was going to get juicy! BG continued in her most serious tone, "I used to hang out with a group of women who got really into exercise, I mean they exercised every day and ..." My mind began to race, would it be worn out knees? eating disorders? cheating on hubby with the tennis pro? I was on the edge of my seat... "Well," she continued "They just loved exercising so much that a year later they all..." I couldn't even guess, left their families for a more active lifestyle? died of heart attacks? got a disease???? "Well..." she hesitated, surely this was going to be good. "Well..... they all turned into these buff manly looking women." I laughed. They laughed. "No!" My friend protested. "They were really manly, they all had these 6 pack stomachs, and big broad shoulders..." We chuckled on. Obviously this was not a concern for our little group.

Then, as if my boots were extra tasty that day, I pointed to another woman and said "You are closer to buff than me are you worried?" There I go again. Yum, boots.

Today I was thinking that my comment could have easily been misconstrued. I did not mean to insinuate that my pal was in any way shape or form a manly looking chick, only that the the thought of a six pack on me was still many work outs and a good surgeon away, while on her it was an actual possibility. So, I know she reads my blog and I just wanted her to know it meant nothing. Love me still?

i've got crush on you sweetie pie

Matt informs me that he suspects one of the girls in his class has a crush on him. Apparantly she has been requesting he draw pictures for her, so many that he is suspicious. She has also said some flirty things to him. She has given him a nickname.

This thrills me to no end for several reasons. The first reason is that my child is recognizing a peer showing interest in him. Not always an easy task for a kid on the spectrum. Secondly, having a child who doesn't always go through the developmental stages at the same time as his peeers, is rough on him and me, so I am grateful that he is being introduced to a typical middle school milestone. And mostly I am thankful that some 12 year old female vixon, has such good taste that she is able to see past Matt's burgundy high water sweat pants and fall for his charm, intelligence and fine wit. Well I am just about speechless over that.

moms in the closet, but dad was hungry

My folks live in Boca Raton, FL, and are at this moment getting slammed by Wilma. My mom is hanging out in her closet (no windows in the closet) with the necessary hurricane supplies, right down to the battery operated television, but Dad will not go into the closet. He prefers to wander around the house as if nothing is going on. Mom says that in the middle of the whole ordeal he knocked on her closet door and asked "Want to have breakfast?"

They can tell already that the big tree in front of their house is down, thankfully in the direction of the lawn and not the house, another biggie in the back is down too, and that the screening and metal frame around their back yard pool is down. It is mostly in the pool right now. Now that the storm is not as fierce her sense of humor is returned. She says she can really appreciate their good view now. She says her area looks like a war zone, it is calm there for a now, but they are still waiting for the back end of the storm to pass now. She can't tell from the news reports how bad the wave might be. Personally I don't care what happens around the house as long as their house remains intact, since they are in it. I wish they had gone somewhere safer. Their neighbor had a window blow in. I would be less nervous if my parents had roll-down storm windows.

sometimes they make up words. They don't mean it, really...

The setting: just out side of local Chili's restaurant. Family of five walks out into the rain, towards their family vehicle, Mother attempts to zip her new green rain slicker, when 12 year old son notices the red fuzz from yesterdays sweater stuck all over the hooked side of the velcro closure......

son 1: What is that on your jacket?
clickmom: That is the fuzz from yesterdays sweater
son 1: You mean your jacket is a fuzz magnet??
clickmom: Yeah, something like that that.
son 1: Wow, that's great! It's fuzz, it's a magnet it's a (shouting) FAG-NET!! (Throws arms into the air) Hey world we have invented the FAG-Net!!
clickmom: (Muttered between clenched teeth) Don't say that word. That is not a nice word.
son 1: What word?
clickmom: (whispers) fag.
son 1: What's a FAG?
son 2: (In utter disbelief) FAG is a bad word?
clickmom:(silently praying...give me the strength, give me the strength/why me? why now?)
Fag is a mean thing to call someone who is gay.
son 2: I thought FAG was a good thing. It means you are cool.
clickmom: Uh.....
son 1: Brother, What exactly do you think it means?
son 2: It is a fashion style that appears out of nowhere.
clickmom: Huh? Wha....? stutter.....
son 1: Brother, I think you are confused you mean FAD not FAG.
clickmom:(silently to herself- let it go- let it go-let it go)
Family is all seated in car.
The last door slams shut.
the husband: Well, that was bloggable.
clickmom: Yup.

Just realized what may have happened to my missing birth certificate

I am wondering what the fascination with scissors that runs through this family means.

Matt, the perfect child he was, never cut anything that wasn't supposed to be cut, he did love love to cut, but being a rule follower he cut paper. And he would ask me for the paper, so it was always mother approved paper he was cutting.

But Evan, OHMYGOD!! For a while there (you know, 3 years or so) I had to hide the scissors. He would cut his hair, his clothes, the dogs fur, the piping on the couch, shoelaces, anything. The winter he was 3 he cut the tip off his mitten thunb. I was so mad I made him wear a tipless mitten all winter. Each day when I pulled those mittens on, I commented how sad his mitten seemed all cut up and I hoped his little thumb didn't freeze. Did that work? NO, I still had to hide the scissors, and then when he was in first grade, where there were scissors available to him he came home from school with chunks of hair missing, suspicious marks on his pants and even a big old hole right in the middle of his brand new shirt. I sewed it up and made him wear the shirt with a sew bump all winter. Revived the commenting approach too. Did that work? NO, the boy just likes to cut things. I have to watch him like a hawk. Now Evan is 8 and I sometimes find little piles of scraps of cut up paper that he has created. A human paper shredder he is. He just has to cut.

So, today I was busy working on a little project in the kitchen and it was too quiet in the den. That always with out exception means trouble here, since I have the nosiest kids ever. I turn around and there sits Josh, sweet angelic Josh, sitting cross legged on the couch all hunched over with a freaking scissors in his hand cutting up the pants leg of his brand new- still room to grow in the waist-Lands End-not cheap- pants! Aaaaaagggghhhhh!!! Not again, oh mercy, not another one! When does it end internet??? When??

under my skin

I am the most patient person. Really, I am. People get annoyed at my patience.

When I was a fifteen year old Counselor In Training at sleep away camp, I had to wait tables, all the 15 year olds did. But this silly camp foolishly assigned me to my little sister's table. All summer long the girls at the table tried to see just how far they could push me. Every time I would return to their table with something for them they would make another request. I'd run back and forth to the kitchen the whole time the kids were in the dining hall. I did see the other waitresses sitting around and watching their tables eat but never thought much about it. At the end of the summer there was an award ceremony. Never expecting anything was up, they gave me the worn out shoe award, because I had gone 7 1/2 of the 8 weeks of the summer totally unaware of what was going on. I just ran back and forth, back and forth, and I never said a word. I almost didn't get the joke. But the last three days of being a waitress were awfully easy.

This patience of mine just comes naturally. I don't do anything intentional to seem patient, I just am. I must have been born that way.

However- there is one sure fire way to bring me to the end of my rope. Whine. It is probably the only little thing in this world, that I have absolutely no patience for. As a matter of fact the sound of whining makes me some what homicidal. I hear it and want to destroy the source. When I taught school I had a big "No Whining" sign up in my classroom. My students didn't whine. My own children were taught early on that they get nothing by whining. They don't whine.

Devil Dog has a new habit. You guessed it- whining. She whines when we eat. She whines to go out. She whines for a pet. She whines to play fetch. Whine whine whine. I just do not like her enough to put up with all this whining. It is worse than the ankle biting. Any one want a whiny dog?

my dignity remains intact

I always feared that I wore old lady underwear. I mean, the ones I wear are not thongs or bikinis, that is for sure. My undies offer more coverage, and the question I have always had in the back of my mind was, "Just how much coverage can you get before you are classified?" I just didn't know. I am not fashion conscious or underwear savy. Today, an old lady began to dress in my aisle at the locker room and now I am so happy because I can hold my head high high high and say without a doubt, that I DO NOT WEAR OLD LADY UNDERWEAR! Man, I should have gotten a picture.

happy day

At the elementary school pick up today my neighbor did a hand signal to me while mouthing "so skinny" to me. Yesterday the art teacher used the s word to me too. Now, I am still far from skinny, but what has happened lately is that my hips which were padded, because I am an equal opportunity weight gainer, but never my worst problem, have just narrowed. They're going, as in not gone yet, but on their way out. I noticed it in my reflection one morning, even the husband noticed, but it does feel weird to know that the other mothers are checking me out, looking for signs of success. Normally that would bother me a lot, and make me want to hide behind a nice big fluffy jacket all winter in my baggy pants and tunic length tops. Not this time, this time I just say "I'm trying!" and do a mental pat on my own back because it is all good. I no longer need to be invisible, I have reached this stage where I truly believe that how I look is just how I look and nothing more than that. On some level I don't care how I look, not that I don't want to look good, it is just that looking good in this culture is synonomous with being healthy. I want to be healthy. I want to physically feel good, and also not put myself at risk for all the weight related diseases. I want to be able to move, run, keep up with the kids, and not sit around feeling like the old lady I felt myself turning into last winter. So, that is what I am doing and it is making me very happy.

say what?

This afternoon we were reflecting on the different show and video choices that the boys have made in their lives. You should know that none of them watched any television before they were two. Matt being the first born watched lots of little kid stuff. He watched Barney, Sesame Street, Spot, Dr. Seuss, and he especially liked to watch himself in home videos. Evan and Josh being not the first born wanted to fit in with their older siblings and immediately went for the hard core stuff. Evan's first favorite video was The Wizard of Oz and Josh's first favorite show was Sponge Bob. The kids will sometimes watch anything, and it concerns me that it isn't always age appropriate. I have made some rules, which they are good about following, but sometimes they discover a new show while I am busy cooking or on the internet, y'know how it goes.

Josh, the little sweetie, will just talk-talk-talk your head off telling you every detail of Scooby -Doo or some other stale re-run he has enjoyed if you make eye contact with him, which I unintentionally did this afternoon. He was going on and on about something he watched on tv and honestly, it had all become white noise in my head until I heard the words "pixel-dick", which I assumed was something else since it sounds an awfully lot like .......y'know. My mind began to race..Was Matt watching Comedy Channel in front of Josh? Would they say that on the Simpsons? Was I talking in my sleep about that 2 night stand in college? How bad a mother have I become that my 4 year old has heard that expression?

Upon questioning he repeated it clear as day for me "pixel-dick, no mom, pixel-dick" Until I called Matt down for the interpretation. I held my breath as I asked Josh to repeat what he had said for Matt, and waited with my heart in my mouth for Matt to solve the mystery for me. What a relief when Matt said "No, Josh not 'pixel-dick' it is 'pixel-chick' and it is a girl video game so stop thinking about it."

the pumpkin soup

Last winter I got the assignment to photograph a soup contest. Participants bring in a big pot of soup and paying people walking around with small bowls tasting all the different entries. It ends being a big meal, proceeds from the tasters go to charity, everyone there is super nice and it is just an overall feel good kind of event. Therefore I brought Evan with me. He loves to eat, will sample away at all the different soups and can be independent enough to let me work.

Last night there was another soup contest. But this time Evan really really wanted to enter a soup. We searched the internet for a unique soup, went to the market and couldn't find all the ingredients. Without a back up recipe we headed to the book section, grabbed a cookbook and checked out the soup recipes. We decided to make a pumpkin soup.

We gathered up the ingredients, headed home and began to chop and dice. The soup turned out pretty good, and we went to the soup contest. Once there Evan was so worried, he tasted away to check out the competition, but mostly lurked around his own entry, watching the responses of people tasting his masterpiece. Folks were so taken by him, all worried and nervous hovering around his soup that I think they were voting for him just because he was so damned concerned-and so sweet about it too.

They gave "awards" to the top 6 entries, they started the announcements with #6 and worked their way to #1. Evan's pumpkin soup placed placed 4th and he was so happy when they announced his name that he started pumping his arms up and down and smiling like the cheshire cat. The crowd cracked up and gave him a nice round of applause. I am so glad he won, we'll be experimenting with lots of soup recipes winter, getting ready for the next contest.

PS I warned Evan that the prizes were surely meant for adults. He got a little spice rack. Not a thrill for an 8 year old boy. The first prize winner received an envelope, which Evan suspects was cash so next time we are totally aiming for first place. He wants the (hopefully) cash!

there is one every crowd

OK, something that someone said to me 4 days ago has just been niggling me and niggling me, and I just have to get it off of my chest.

First you need to know that I had a very traumatic labor, unanesthetized c-section, and hospital stay with Matt. Afterwards I silently suffered from both post partum depression and post traumatic stress disorder. Neither of which were ever diagnosed until I was pregnant with Evan because when my mom caught me bawling in the bathroom when Matt was 6 weeks old she told me to "Get over it." I never spoke about the crying, flashbacks, thoughts again. They did vanish own their own after a couple of years. When I was pregnant with Evan I told my midwife my concerns over feeling like that again and she reffered me to a therapist. She gave it a name. That is when I realized just how bad it had been.

So, I had a home birth for Evan and Josh. It was really the option for me at that point. I would have ended up crazy if I had to go to the hospital again. Now this was not an easy decision, the first time someone suggested a home birth to me I thought, "Oh, why do I always attract the crazies?" But the more I learned the more reasonable it sounded. It became the safest alternative for me.

So, I had the "Parent Coffee" at my house for Evan's class last week. The moms were asking me about the renovation we did to this house, and I have tons of amusing renovation stories with which to entertain a crowd of people. One of them involves me kicking the contractor and the trim guy out just a mere hour and a half before giving birth to Josh upstairs in my bathtub. So, I told the story, knowing full well that it was risky to divulge my home birth secret to the ultra conservative conformist crowd. Noone appeared to squirm too much, they asked how a home birth worked etc... I wasn't reciting Silent Knife or anything, y'know just trying to keep it all casual and light, (I am very conscious of not trying to push my views on others) when one mom says she has a friend who had a uterine rupture after an attempted VBAC and almost died, almost lost her baby and had to have a hysterectomy.

Thanks bitch.

I didn't want to start spouting statistics because then I feel like I am defending myself. I do not believe having a home birth is something that warrants defending. All choices have risks associated with them, and this was my very educated choice. I didn't say that my husbands cousins wife died in the hospital after giving birth for the first time while no one knew she was hemorraging to death. I didn't strangle this party pooper, like I wanted to. I just stared at her. Then I said , "Well, it sure was good thing SHE was in the hospital."

Add another name to my blacklist.

weight loss

I feel like I just plateau and lose, plateau and lose, and this week I felt like it was a lose week so this morning I weighed myself, and the good news is that I have lost a total of 40 pounds. So, I am happy except then I do dumb things like watch the weigh-ins on The Biggest Loser and see people who lose 4 or 5 or more pounds a week, and then I realize that they lose in 6 weeks the same weight as I have lost in 6 months. That is a bummer. But, I also know that if I was forced to exercise with Jillian, she'd piss me off so much I would sit on her until her last breath, and then I'd have to eat prison food for the rest of my life, and that would suck. I could totally get into Bob, though, but I would keep saying "Omigod what did you do to your arm?" proving that in the end I would be the only one to be able to turn Bob into an angry screaming trainer. He would hate me.

The good news about not losing weight as fast as the folks on The Biggest Loser is that my skin gets a little time to unstretch, so even though I have begun to fantasize about all the plastic surgery I will be getting to turn me back into a 16 year old, (from the neck down) I won't end up with as much hanging skin as someone who lost it really quick.

So, I am about to retire another pair of jeans that keep slipping off me today, which means I'll have to go shopping to replace them. Oh well, if I have to!!

One thing that has thrown off my exercise routine lately is all this rain we have been getting in the Northeast. I started this program right after the rainy period in July and only had one rainy day the whole summer, it was the day I did the trial triathlon, which I did in the rain just to be prepared for anything, so it has been raining non stop here, and I guess I'll have to go on the treadmill, but my whole routine is just off my not walking the dog, or even getting to leave the house to exercise. I was dying to have a long bike ride last week, and know the path I want to do, but will have to wait for the weather to improve. It looks like that is going to be the case next week anyways, so I'll just have to sit tight. I was thinking about adding some Y class to my regime. P wants me to take a spin class with her and L. I was thinking that Pilates might be a good thing for me, and one of our writers is doing it, I would love to spend more time with her. But, in my reality I think that I might be better suited to hire a trainer and work out a core muscle routine I could do on my own at the gym. I am not much of a group exercise person.

So, things to do. They are all good.

feelin guilty

Last spring we had too many critters in our house. We had a bird that we had been bird sitting for 10 months, a goldfish that was won at a carnival 3 years ago, the devil dog, Matt's hamster and two albino grow-a-frogs. Every morning I had a whole feeding routine going on. We were about to leave for summer and we needed to eliminate some of the critters. Taking them all back and forth to the island was going to be too much, so we called the bird's owner and arranged for her to hop a plane to California. That was easy.

Then the husband came up with the idea for a "Freedom Ceremony" for the grow-a-frogs. Now, since it was me who had read the literature, raised the tad poles, fed them and cleaned the water, I knew these lab frogs were not going to make it in the wild. I hated them. I resented every moment of their existence. In a million years I would never buy those frogs for my kids. It was a birthday gift for Evan when he was 4. Hello!! A four year old can not take care of pets! Mommies do not want frogs! Jeez. I never liked that mom in the first place, but the grow a frogs just cemented that one for me. So, for 4 long years I took care of these most useless pets that are nocturnal! Yes, they would lie there motionless all day and then start bumping around in the aquarium the second I turned the lights out at night. It was like owning an owl.

So, a day before we left for the island, Evan and I took the frogs down to a little nature area near his school, for the "Freedom Ceremony" and released them into the tiny body of water there. Evan was teary for the little critters that he never even seemed to know were even there. I knew the frogs would soon be history, but for Evan's sake chatted about how much room they would have, and how happy they would be in the little nature area.

All summer long Evan would bring up the frogs and wonder how they were doing, and if they stayed where we released them or swam away to another spot. He often mentioned that he'd like to visit them. Inside I was screaming "What? You didn't know they were alive when they were on the kitchen counter for the last 4 years?!?!". but outside I would just try to distract him and I totally ended up feeling ever more guilty every time.

So, this is my confession. I raised those frogs for 4 years and then I killed them. I killed my sons pet frogs. I feel so guilty.

one more lesbian story

When I was 23 I was living in Park Slope with my boyfriend of three years. One day I got fired from my job and then he left me a few weeks later. (unrelated) All my friends had jobs. They were busy all day long. I had no money, but I had prepaid my year at the gym. I had nothing to do so I started spending major time at the gym. Since my time was so available it wouldn't be unusual to find me spending an hour on the stationary bike, and then doing a round of weights. I'd linger in the locker room, not having any where else to go. All the ladies there were so supportive. Every day at least one lady would stop me and tell me how good I was looking. The gym became my new favorite place. The friendly ladies there would comment on my all my hard work, knew how much time I had been putting in at the gym and were just the most out going, supportive, warmest, kindest group of women ever. I really felt loved. Spending all that time at the gym exercising and chatting really helped me to feel good about myself again, positive, and ready to take on the world and re-enter the dating scene.

Later I realized it was the gay gym.

The after photo.

This is the kitchen island that I had to spend half a day unearthing. Big isn't it? Notice, not much on the counter behind it either. (Patting myself on the back now...) The kitchen has been immaculate for an entire 48 hours now- a new record. (Another pat) See?? I have reformed.

just don't slobber on me

My parents had this "thing" about my sister and I getting out of the city when we were kids. Personally I think they just didn't want to be bothered with being responsible for us. For the longest time we were shipped off to sleep away camp. We'd go for 8 weeks and be home for a couple of days and then we would take a family vacation to the Amish Country in Pennsylvania. We stayed at a hotel that had babysitting all day long, and that is where we kids got to while away the hours. By the time we got home again we would barely have time for back to school shopping and then BOOM- we were back in school and Mom was free all day again.

By the time I was 16 I was totally over camp and pleaded with my parents not to send me. Instead I got sent on a teen tour, an 8 week long bus trip that started in New Orleans went west, north, back towards the east and ended in Chicago. It was the most boring 8 weeks of my life. The tour company guaranteed us that we wouldn't spend more than 3 hours a day on the bus, we were often on the bus for 6 or 7. We quickly formed our alliances, and I hung out with a girl named Trace. We did everything together, we roomed together, ate together, toured, sat on the bus together. We became fast friends. As the tour went on and on and on, we realized that we were better off staying up as late as we could so that we could sleep on the bus. What is there to do in the middle of the night? Talk. Ofcourse we talked about boys, a lot, and Trace had more experience than I had. This was not a difficult accomplishment however, but still, I was jealous. One night, all the girls, except Trace, in our room fell asleep before the adult chaperone had done his rounds. In the morning Trace proudly announced that she and the chaperone had fooled around during the check in while the rest of us snoozed away. Was I ever going to be in the loop? Anyways, eventually the tour ended and we all went home.

Trace and I began writing and as time went by I noticed she was getting...weird. I was a year ahead of her in school, and she started talking about graduating early and giving up her dreams of going to Harvard to be in college with me. I was like, really?? Why?? Why would any one give up a life long dream to go to Harvard to go to college with me? A few months later one of the other tour girls invited us to her birthday party. At the party I expressed those feelings to Trace and she began to cry. She was choking, sputtering, tears were rolling out of her, and boogers were covering her whole lower face. She told me that she didn't know what was going on and that she didn't just love me like a friend but like a boyfriend. I don't remember exactly what I did afterwards, but I am pretty sure it went something like this: I said I didn't feel that way and I never spoke to her again.

I shared that story at my women's weekend, and now I am all wondering ever happened to Trace. I think I'll google her. I bet she is a brilliant research scientist, or prize winning writer. I hope I didn't mess her up, because really, it was the raw emotions and excessive boogerage that scared me away. (Well, mostly)

P.S. I googled, and yahooed and to my disappointment, but not suprising, it is a very common name. There was one writing for Harvard though.......

me and my chaos

My usual chaos can so easily be kept a secret from the rest of the world. I just can't invite them into my house. Yup, it is all in the house and all over the house. When I tell you that 36 hours ago there was not a single horizontal surface in my kitchen, den or living room that wasn't covered with piles of things I needed to throw away, file away , give away, mail back, but mostly throw away, I am really not kidding. Over the summer I found it so much easier to be on top of the mess and the clutter, at the island, but now I am thinking that maybe something in me or about me has changed, and it just happened to coincide with escaping my life and going to the lake. What I mean is I am thinking it is me and not the place I was that ended the rein of chaos for me.

When I came home on labor day I was floored by the amount of stuff all over the house. I have a 10 foot long, (yes, it is completely ridiculous) island in my kitchen and I couldn't see a single pach of granite on it. The mess was suffocating me. I noticed I was cranky in the kitchen, avoiding cooking, snapping at the kids, dinner was late every night, we were eating out too much, and something needed to be done.

I am one of the class parents in Evans class this year. Our first responsibility is to host a "Parents Coffee" for the other class parents. Every one always hangs out in the kitchen at the class coffee. I told the other mom I would like to do it at my house because I needed the incentive to clean up. She was happy to hear that since she is currently renovating her bathrooms. So, it was down to the wire, the coffee was scheduled for this morning and yesterday Rich took Evan and Josh to the city to the Museum of Natural History so that I could hunker down and clean. They were gone for almost 6 hours and when they came back I had two huge contractor bags of trash lined up, a foot and a half of mixed paper recycles, and the island was clear. So was the counter by the sink, the top of the room dividers and the half walls near the front door. I felt like I could breath. I took a break to dinner with the family, had to watch Desperate Housewives, and then put in another good hour of cleaning before I went to bed at 11. This morning it was raining so I cleaned instead of walking the dog, and when the 10 moms who came for the coffee showed up they "oooohed" and "aaaaahhed" over the house. Four of them took down the name of the architect who helped us renovate, and I felt so good to be in such a peaceful welcoming space. The architect did do a nice job in here, and without the clutter it was evident.

Later, my friend Kris stopped by with her dog. We are friends because she hangs out here with her dog, and I realized that she had never been in the house. I invited her in, I told her I had been cleaning so she should have her first look today. On her way home she bumped into another neighbor and friend and told her about my clean house. Well, this friend has been in here and she immediately came over to see for herself and said "I am here to see the kitchen." I led her in and she was, well, politely shocked. She said she had never seen my back splash before and I realized it had been quite some time since I had seen it as well.

This has been a real wake up call for me. I am feeling like this is going to be part of the new me too. The new me, is in control of her food, control of her chaos, and hopefully control of her life. Somehow I just know these things are connected. I am feeling very zen these days and I like it. I look out at the nice clean kitchen and I feel like it just has to stay that way. This is how I want to live. I am going to make a conscious effort to live in a space that makes me feel good and not a space that frays my nerves. Each time I look at the room now, I notice that I can inhale all the way down.

Now I need another day to tackle the play room, garage and the back entrance.

the good ship went down...almost

Remember the boat? The totally cool looking boat that a work friend of the husband lent us for the summer? The boat that we hate now because a piece of it broke off and crushed my little sisters arm-breaking it? Well, the boat almost sank today. I got a call from the neighbor, who said it was sinking and that the water was up to the steering wheel. My first thought was how cool it would be to have our own private sunken ship off the dock! Then I decided that the environmentalists would probably make us take it out after all. As tempting as it was to say "Good, I hate that boat let it sink." I didn't and I called the guy at the boat store who went over to the island with a couple of his guys and somehow got it out of the lake, but it doesn't look good for the boat. It was almost submerged when they got there, and well, motors don't like being under water. Dumb motors.

Now, the boat wasn't working last weekend when I wanted take the girls around the lake for a ride. I am wondering if it had anything to do with this current situation. Now I am thinking maybe it was a good thing it wouldn't start and that I didn't try all that hard. As the driver I would have had to have been sober, and I was ready for a drink. So, I gave up pretty easy. Can you imagine if it started to sink with all 7 of us on it when we were far from the shore? drinking? All that good wine would have been lost. The cheese would have been fish food. The crackers, duck snacks. Oh, the horror.

So now, we will most likely have to pay for a boat we hate, and then buy a new one anyways. Sucks. I looked to see if I had taken photos of the boat, but not being a vehicle type-boat person there was only one. I took it on my girls weekend in the fog. Really it is a picture of fog, not the boat. So, goodbye evil arm breaking boat. We hated you anyways, nyah!

Matt does school-Mom gets break

So, Matt made it through three partial days of school this week. This is a big thing for him. He also did homework, I was shocked. It was little itty bitty homework, but homework all the less. The master plan even had a big monkey wrench tossed into it, and Matt survived. The educational consultant was supposed to be there for all three days to help fine tune whatever needed fine tuning, but on the first day he received an emergency call from home saying that his father in law was in a car accident and in intensive care- he had to leave. Matt did fine on day 2 and 3 without him. He did tear up on the way in Friday morning, but I calmly told him that the ed. consultant would be back on Tuesday to smooth out any wrinkles in the plan. He accepted it and went in. I wonder if he was just seeing if I would buckle. I am not underestimating how hard this is for him, but am wondering if he is thinking that maybe he can get a little more time off.

The one upsetting aspect of school for Matt has been his science class. There are two kids in there that are "wise guys" and Matt hates the wise guys. I think this is familial rather than neurological since Evan can't stand this type either, it is just that it is all always harder for Matt to cope with. The teacher has paired Matt with one for projects, and that is the first thing that will need to be changed, and Matt isn't in love with the teacher, but we can't do anything about that. I think they may want to add a couple of more classes right away, and I am good with that. 3 classes a day is pretty light and I would love for him to get in a social studies class too, since this is the kind of information, knowledge and understanding that he will most likely need to have and be able to build on in a future career in writing or entertainment.

SO, I had my couple of hours kid free, on Wednesday I hung around the house goofing on the internet, took a really long shower, and tossed some long over due clutter into the trash, on Thursday I had Josh with me, but went to the Y to swim and did a couple of errands and on Friday I did a coffee run, went to the office and hung out (gossipped) with the editors at my paper, then read my book in the car while waiting for Matt to come out. It was a great 3 days for me. I totally needed the short, but enjoyable, break.

the rambling post that never gets to the point

OK. I am going to do something that I have never ever done before. I am going to give away my biggest too big for me now clothes. I have been on this ridiculous roller coaster of weight gain and loss since Matt was a toddler, and now, I really think I am totally over it. I just don't have the energy to be so big anymore. Seriously, it is hard to haul around all that extra weight, avoid mirrors, live in denial, pretend I look like everyone else in here in Stepford, and also eat non stop.

Oh my goodness, I am heavy because I eat (or should I say used to eat...) like four people so why shouldn't I weigh enough for four people? And that my friends takes a great deal of effort. Yup, I know you genetically skinny, who struggle with a whopping 4 pounds of excess baggage think that lazy folks get huge, but NO my friends, no, no, no, no, no, it is just the opposite. Huge=Hard. Much much effort it takes to get huge and stay huge, so the next time you see a really huge girl, remember she has worked like a dog to get that way.

Back to the clothes-I have this strange habit of gaining, oh, say, I dunno, 60 or 70 pounds every time each one of my children reach about 1. It usually takes about 9 months to pack it in, then I carry it around for a while, lose a good portion of it, and ta da become pregnant again! Then I vow not to do the same thing, but the next child turns 1 and before I know it-the weight is back. This time it is going to be different because:

1. There shall be no more children!

2. I am too old and too tired to be fat anymore

3. There will be no more stretch waistband size 22 pants lurking in the dark corners of my closet waitiing for me.

4. I dunno, this time just feels different from all the other times before. It feels more like "lifestyle change" the annoying experts always talked about when divulging the secrets to permanent weight loss.

5. Cause I said so. That's why.

SO, I actually tossed some of the ridiculously huge for me now pants into a shopping bag the other night, (first time ever- which you know for sure since a couple of those pants are older than Evan-who is 8) even the nice dress up ones from Bloomingdales that were so big I could pull them up Erckle style and I was tempted to safety pin them to my bra when we went to the SIL's for the holidays. Only I didn't incase I had to go real bad, and then it could have gotten messy, so instead I just wore them, moved real slow, and kinda held them up all night. I know, I know, I looked like an itchy monkey, but honestly, I didn't realize they would be so big until I tried them on. I think all the exercise going on here has screwed up the numbers a bit, cause the numbers say the clothes should be roomy not tent like, and really, even the new Ralph Lauren shirt I got for my birthday party felt like I was a little kid wearing my Dad's big shirt, (but I tossed it in the dryer-cross your fingers), and I am surely glad, I just am not sure how. Well, okay I know how, after all I have worn out 2 pairs of sneakers and a bathing suit since July, but still, this somehow, I find this all somewhat shocking. Damn the scale, I have to get of that thing!

OK, so the trouble I have with giving all the clothes comes down to the good stuff. For example. Last winter I had to go to a wedding. I had nothing to wear. I went shopping with my mom. Now, mom did this mean thing to us growing up- it was a department store called Alexanders. I shudder with the memories. Then we would have to bargain for anything extra. When I was a junior in high school, wearing those team jackets with the leather sleeves was in style. I wanted one and knew were to get it, and best of all it came in my signature color-purple. With white leather sleeves. (and yes, it had an inside pocket for my Preppy Handbook) I drooled in front of the store gazing at the window. I lusted for it. I brought my mom to the store and she made me grovel. I pleaded. Then she made me swear on my life that I wouldn't gain tons of weight and out grow it. Eventually she bought it for me, but not before she sucked as much joy out the jacket as possible. Even so, I wore it for three years straight, but it just wasn't the same. SO now that I am paying with my credit card I get some sort of vicious thrill over making big puchases in front of her like it was nothing, even though I would never spend that kind of money on myself if I was alone. SO, I have this extremely nice overpriced worn once designer outfit, just hanging there in my closet, with no one to wear it.

SO, I can bid farewell to my old sweats with a minimum of tears, but my nicer stuff is harder to part with. Now, I can't wear them, they are hanging off of me, I even think they have become to big to take to the taylor, but I feel like I need to find them a good home. Kinda like if you marry someone allergic to your cat, and then you have to find a new home for them, but it has to be a home that is a good match for your cat and your cat will be appreciated for it's true personality. Here in Stepford the women tend to run a bit on the scrawny side, so finding a full figured girl to adopt my clothes can be a challenge. Also, how can I say to someone "Hey do you want my good really fat clothes? You're pretty fat and I figure you can wear them now that I am not as fat as you anymore." See the dilemma here?

Anyone want a really nice outfit in size 2x bottoms and 3x tops? Drop me a line.

a little feel goodie

I am as insecure as the next person so I have wondered on occasion what first impression I tend to give people. Over the weekend one of my girlfriends asked me if I remembered the first time we met. I knew our oldest sons had been in kindergarten together and remember seeing her on the school playground before we became friends but couldn't remember the first time we had met. She did, and it was at the kid's kindergarten orientation. In my own defense I recall being there and being preoccupied with keeping a then crawling Evan as quiet as possible so as to not distract the kids in the classroom. Also, I was still nursing him at the time, so I was under the influence of prolactin. One of the other women asked this friend what her first impression of me was and she said "I felt like I had known her my whole life, I just knew we were going to be friends." Aaaawwww......

me and the board of ed

Something I have never mentioned before-

My oldest son has Aspergers Syndrome. Not the biggest deal to me- since he wasn't diagnosed til 9 and he is essentially the same kid after diagnosis as he was before, and I really really like that kid. Having a diagnosis has been helpful in two ways. The first is that sometimes kids with Aspergers just kind of hit a wall. There are places they just can't bear the thought of going to or things that they have tremendous difficulty doing. Knowing that there is a syndrome contributing to this helps me be understanding to his needs. The second helpful thing that having a diagnosis does is it gives me to the ability to tell the school system what they have to do. Not that they listen. The administration in this area is incompetent, but I can still run around shooting my mouth off if that is how I feel. A kid with a diagnosis has rights that a typical kid doesn't have. (For example: No one is allowed to yell at my kid. Don't you want a diagnosis for your kid now?)

Last fall Matt started Middle School. I had requested they assign a friend of his the same schedule, as I knew that managing the hallways and all the class changes was going to be a huge deal for my kid. The guidance counselor said "sure", wrote down a friends name and made me feel like this was totally doable. Then a week before school we got the letters from the school with homerooms and "houses" (groups of students which share the same groups of teachers) Not only did they NOT give my son and his friend the same schedule, the kids weren't even in the same house, so that meant they wouldn't have a single class together or even see each other at lunch. As I predicted the first week of school was a disaster. My son was beside himself. I thought he was headed for a breakdown by the end of the second day and on the third day arranged for a meeting. The only option the school would offer was to put my child in the "self contained" classroom. For the most part these are kids with really severe learning disorders, which my child does not have. I was reassured that the teacher could individualize his curriculum, and knew it was not the answer. I said we weren't comfortable with that option, they put him in any ways, and after a whopping 6 days of classes, which seemed like 6 months, I just stopped sending him to school. He hadn't slept since the first day and was crying 24/7. He was withdrawing into his room, and I could see that he wasn't going to be OK at the Middle School.

I wanted to just register with the state as a homeschooler, but the husband insisted we hire a lawyer, the school has a lawyer, there were meetings, there was a lame attempt at sending a lame tutor to the house, there was a half hearted attempt by me to homeschool during the lapses, and really the child just got to take the year off. A search of all the private schools in the area was a waste since he wouldn't do well at a high pressure prep school or a school for learning disabilities/behavior disorders and that is what this area has to offer.

But, in hindsight, it was a good year for him. He really bonded with his younger brother, was so relaxed that he took more responsibility around the house, and just has a much more cheerful attitude than he has in a long time. I really enjoyed my time with him. He has become a really funny guy, and he makes me laugh all the time. I think he was able to do that because he was happy.

Our lawyer met an educational consultant on another case and suggested we hire him. The school district hired him over the summer, and he is like a miracle. He knows what my kid needs, he knows how to talk to him, and he knows what the schools have to do to accomodate him. Truly the biggest part of being successful with Matt is having a positive attitude. He doesn't do well with drill sargent -my way or the high way- teachers. All the teachers that Matt will have had to spend a morning with the consultant and be coached in dealing with Matt. Today Matt is at the Middle School for his first day back. He left the house this morning without any fears or tears. The consultant is there with him. They have worked out a set of hand signals they will use to communicate with each other. Matt will be pretending he doesn't know the adult lurking in the shadows. Matt is starting with three classes and lunch and will work his way up from there.

I am in my house alone for the first time in over a year. I am going to take a bath.

I eat people like you

Last night we went my SILs for dinner. The kids were not happy about going because they don't like their 6 year old cousins behavior, it can be alarmingly awful, or their 1 year old cousins crying, she cries a lot. So, my kids were, to put it nicely, lacking in enthusiasm. To make matters worse I made them wear nice shirts. Josh and Evan were OK with the wardrobe requirements, but Matt is totally into comfort. He wasn't relaxed in his dress shirt, even though I let him wear the dress shirt with sweat pants and flip flops. (Hey- I like to choose my battles.) At first the baby was crying, then a two year old guest was crying, then my SIL was snapping at her 6 year old. It was tough for my kids, especially Matt. As soon as he could Matt slipped away, at first he hid in a bedroom, but as soon as he came out of hiding the six year old and her pal found him and began to pester him. Nothing he said would get them to leave him alone, until he shuffled over to the dining room with the two kids literally hanging on his untucked shirt. He gave the chatting adults a look that said "Help", slowly turned to the two annoying youths and said in an absolute dead pan voice "The reason I am twice as big as you is because I eat people like you." They ran away screaming and Matt finally found some peace. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.

western medicine meets eastern medicine

I have really crappy teeth. I had root canals in my baby teeth. I had teeth that broke skin needing fillings. By the time I got out of High School I probably had 12 root canals in my permanent teeth. So if I tell you that I have an intimate relationship with my dentist- you will understand. Luckily the guy who did all my childhood work must have been the DaVinci of dental work, because by some miracle it all lasted from my teens into my late thirties. When I moved to the burbs is when things started going down hill fast. At first I went to a dentist who I just didn't like so I switched. I always trust my instincts-they are never wrong. My new dentist is wonderful. He takes me seriously, respects me, and lets me do things like nurse my babies while he does a cleaning. Now that the kids are older, his staff will play with them while I am occupied. They are actually disappointed if I show up solo.

Anyways, the tooth that was tooth-aching me (the old dentist root canaled a mere 7 years ago) last week is one that was bothering me last spring. Last spring I took anti biotics for it and they didn't work. They took the edge off, but I recall calling the new dentist and saying that I felt only 90% cured. He told me to wait and see what happened. Over the summer I took a ton of herbal supplements that all have antibiotic properties to help that last 10% clear up, but to no avail. When I went in last week, the dentist opened the root canal and cleaned it up, and the toothache got worse, he begged me to take antibiotics again. I was ready to just take the tooth out. I walked out of there with another prescription for the same antibiotics I had taken last spring. I knew they weren't the answer but didn't know what was.

The next day I happened to have a chiropracter appt. My chiro does all sorts of alternantive other things too. I brought the antibiotics with me and told him I had resigned myself to taking antibiotics, but didn't think these were going to help. I suspected that the toothache was somehow related to the Strep Throat I had last spring. When the chiro tested my mouth for strep it came back positive, and when he tested to see if these antibiotics would work they failed.

I called the dentist and asked him if he would call in a different prescription, one that was good at fighting strep. I asked him to just trust my gut feeling, not wanting to go into a whole explanation of the chiropracter and Eastern Medicine. He said "YES" with no questions asked, and guess what? The freaking toothache is finally gone. I am telling you, I love this dentist.

Girls weekend stories

Just got back from my girls weekend at the island. It was heavenly. The seven of us laughed and giggled nonstop for the entire 36 hours we were there.

The first night, even though we didn't get there til after 10 we laid out a big spread and then got massages. One of our friends had been holding out-and she was so good! It was hard to go to sleep. I was so excited just to be there, and to be there with these women who I consider to be so amazing was unbelieveable. I couldn't wait for dawn so I could really just see this beloved place and know that it was for real.

The first morning 4 of us got up early to walk the 6 1/2 miles around the lake. It was completely fogged over and beautiful to see. I had to bring my little point and shoot and snap some photos. We started off all walking together sometimes pairing off and then all four conversing but for the first four or so miles we were a group. Then Bonnie and me started to lag behing at that point. We were getting tired and longing to be back at the island. By this point the fog had lifted and we could see the island from the opposite shore and knew we had still had quite a distance to go. We stumbled on a water stand for a marathon that was happening later in the day, and had some water, but we needed more than water. We could see the other friends up in the distance jogging and I said that's it, the next car that comes along I am sticking my thumb. Two seconds later I heard a car, turned around and stuck out my thumb. He stopped! Bonnie, in her best authoritative mothering voice yelled "You hitched??" I just ran up to the car and she followed. And let me tell you he was adorable! Not only that he had the coolest Jazz playing softly and his car actually smelled nice. He was going about a mile in our direction, and we grabbed the chance. We got in giggling like children, managed to tell him that we were walking and hoping to pass our friends. We saw them up the road and he tells us "Duck!" We do, and it only brings on a whole new round of giggling. He lives on the lake (probably with his parents) and I told him through my giggling he was welcome at the island any time. When Bonnie and I got out of the car, a mere 8/10 of a mile away from the driveway we were so happy we started to jog, until I said "I can hear him telling his buddies about the two cackling old ladies he picked up this morning.." We looked at each other, and started laughing so hard I wet my pants.

We got back to the island before the other two and they guessed as soon as they heard we were there that we had gotten a ride. I still can't believe they didn't notice the laughter coming out of his car as we passed them on the road. We affectionately named the generous ride giving young man "Lake Boy".

We all had breakfast and lounged around on the hammock or the giant boulder for a while.

I though we would be heading straight out after relaxing, but some of the other women decided that it would be better to swim early than have to rush back later in the day. I got my suit on, because I just couldn't pass up a swim in my beloved lake, and we headed out to the dock. I jumped in first, and it was COLD. I thought I only let out some kind of cowboy whooping scream of shock and pain as I resurfaced after my dive but apparantly I let loose a few profanities too. The others bravely climbed down the ladder for a photo, and then we actually started off on a swim. One intelligent member of our polar bear club turned back, but the rest of us swam on. As we swam the cold was less noticeable, probably because we were numb to the pain already, and we did the entire 1/2 mile course I had been doing over the summer. By the time we got back to the dock The smart one who had bailed had removed her top and was flashing us swimmers in the water, I am never one to pass up an opportunity to skinny dip so my suit was off in about two seconds and I skinny dipped the last 100 feet or so of the swim. Once I got back to the dock, one of the girls asked me if there were any good rocks in the water for a fire pit we wanted to have that night, so me and my birthday suit went diving for rocks. From the grassy area adjacent to the dock one of my friends watched amazed at 1. the realization that really big breasts float and 2. my complete lack of modesty. I accomplished the task, and didn't notice the fishing boat floating towards us as I emerged naked from the lake. OOoops.

After the swim, we hit the town, went for lunch, enjoyed an antique car show that just happened to be there and did a little antique shopping. I got a funky odd pair of candle stick holders, and I love them.

The best time of the day was had after about 4 oclock. We went and hung out near the dock, and tried to go for a boat ride, except the boat wouldn't start. So we just took the chairs from all over the place, made a circle, set up the fire pit with the rocks I had retrieved earlier during the swim and lit the fire. We chatted, joked told stories and before we knew it it was 6:30 so we ran inside grabbed all the wine, vodka, cheese, dips, crackers, and fruit we had in the house and kept chatting through the night. Around 9:30 we heard male voices coming from the lake, but couldn't see a thing in the dark. We flashed our flashlight over towards them and found three 21 year old boys in a canoe who had seen our fire from the opposite side of the lake and were coming over to investigate. We invited them up,with a warning. My friend Betsy yells "I just need you to know that we are all old. We are all married and have children- you should know what you are getting into!" They came up anyways. I was hoping it was Lake Boy coming to have a visit, but no it was 3 other cute young men, and they were just as adorable too. Two of our group fled into the house. After quizzing the boys on their age, we gave the hopefully legal boys some wine, since their jug of Carlo Rossi was empty (Ha! We used to buy CR by the jug back in college too!) They politely chatted with us for a few minutes, and I took them up to the house to meet my shy friends. One boy spotted the guitar I was supposed to learn to play this summer in the corner and mentioned that he plays. I took the guitar and the boys back down to the dock and he began to play-DUST IN THE WIND! What a nice kid! I could have eaten these nice young men! They didn't call us Ma'am, seemed genuinely impressed when we told them that we had all done a triathlon 2 weeks ago, listening to our sage advice, and as they got back into their canoe, they referred to us as girls. I hope they all have happy fulfilling lives.

It was so sad to leave all the laughter and stories and wonderful warm feelings of the weekend. I already thinking that maybe we could do it again in the spring. I feel so much closer to my close friends and like I have really discovered more about the ones that I didn't go knowing as well. Coming back in the car I thought how much I like them all.

PS I left the laptop at home and did not discuss the blog.

Self Inflicted Canine Bondage