clickmom

shoot me when I say "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt."

On a nice day I pick Josh up from preschool and let him run around with his little buddies until I have to pick up Matt. Today, as the boys whizzed past the Moms Josh heard (eaves dropped) me mentioning to another mother that I had just come from Starbucks. Once in the car on the way to Matt, Josh questioned (interrogated) who it was that I went to Starbucks with. When I told him it was Boops, he got visibly upset (weepy) and requested (demanded) that we find Boops and go to Starbucks with her together. I finally realized that it wasn't the thought of missing a caramel frappachino (even though he never says NO to one of those) that was upsetting him, it was the jealousy of me having my own little private play date. So, I called Boops on the cell phone and put her on speaker to tell her in front of Josh that (wink wink) we wouldn't be able to meet at Starbucks anymore unless Josh was available to join us. She went along with it, and asked Josh just what he was missing, and with all the sweetness that he is about he said "Well, I said I said I wanted to go to Starbucks, but what I really wanted was to see you." Then he invited her over.

Since her kids were with her soon-to-be-ex she came over solo and watched me in the kitchen as I began to clean the dishes I have been piling up for the last 3 or 4 days. Then Josh and Evan both came over to play with Boops, and while I washed and scrubbed the three of them ran in circles around the house playing a high speed and furious game of keep-away with Josh's stick pony. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Boops come flying into the kitchen doing a ninja kind of kick in the air pose that anyone genetically related to me couldn't possibly even think of performing and also all sorts of leaps and defensive moves and really macho battle yells that totally had Evan thinking she was a martial arts expert. I could hear them peeling with laughter as they fought hand to hand combat and also monitor their whereabouts by listening to the thumping of their feet as they sped around the house. I washed and scrubbed and rinsed and all sorts of lame-o fun killing things kept creeping out of mouth like "Don't hurt her!" or "Watch out." or the worst "Someone is going to have an accident." and really I knew then what I suspected all along. Evan would be a much happier kid if I had a couple of brothers growing up.

But the game never ended, they broke briefly to scarf down a bit of dinner and then even after Boops got a splinter (and then tried to have an earnest talk with Evan over what amount he would have to pay for her pain and suffering, not to mention the emotional damages) trying to hold onto the horse stick, and Evan was forced to fake an arm injury, in an attempt to recover the stick pony, and in retaliation after Boops lifted his legs out from underneath him, and still they kept going and going. And I, in my own naturally wimpy way, kept saying "Oooh, not there." "Watch out for that." and other old lady party squashing stick in the mud stuff. Eventually Evan was panting and covered in sweat and Boops totally crashed out on the couch.

Now I get to assume my role of nail clipper, bath giver, book reader, bed tucker inner and good night snuggler, but you know Evan is still wishing that I had grown up with a couple of brothers.

he said it first

This morning when Josh woke up the husband jumped onto the bed and gave him a "smush hug." Josh was less than pleased, so I gently approached him and demonstrated the proper way to greet him with my patented "gentle kiss". Josh smiled at me as I ran off to get dressed and turned to the husband and said "Mom is my one true love." The husband asked "What am I chopped liver?" and Josh answered "Well ... yes, but you are my one true chopped liver."

glaring with recognition

You'll need background for this next little life-victory of mine so here it is: In the spring of 2000 I opened my big mouth at a PTA meeting and complained about the lame art curriculum at the elementary school. To make a long story short, 2 weeks later three other mouth openers and I completed a grant application for a $1,000 grant for a parent volunteer run art appreciation curriculum. We got the grant and the next school year we introduced a program that we designed based on suggestions from the principal and one of the other mouth openers karate teacher's kid's school. We worked our butts off, but we researched artists, put together binders of information, trained parent volunteers to teach the kids and coordinated it all with the new art teacher. It was a huge success. I would spend the next 5 years expanding and refining this program.

During the third year of this program, I was training a group of parent volunteers when Josh, then a year and a half old, needed to nurse. I picked up, discreetly nursed him to sleep, while I continued and completed the parent orientation with out skipping a beat. I felt especially good when one of the mothers came to me after the orientation and gave me a pat on the back saying she knew I was "one of those Moms" and she meant it as a compliment.

A full year later, I get a call from one of my friends, she didn't know how to tell me this, but one of the other parent volunteers present that day had issues with me nursing Josh at that meeting and because of her, people had been talking about me for a full year! This OTHER woman was going around telling the women of our town that I was unprofessional (hello? PTA is an unpaid volunteer no glory kind of job) and inappropriate. She told the rest of the rest of the neighborhood that I was nursing my 3 year old (get your facts straight lady!) in public and that she thought it was just appalling. Me nursing my kid had apparently been a hot topic of discussion at neighborhood block parties, tennis parties, cocktail hours, book groups, etc... all winter long. I was just scandalous. Give me a mother fucking break!

I was just devastated when I heard this news. I couldn't believe that after all I had done for the community (I was also in charge of the school's publicity that year, and had gotten them into the two local papers almost every week) that what people were talking about was me nursing my kid. I had to go pick up Evan at school then, and when I walked out the door, I shared this story with the first two neighbors I bumped into going to pick up their kids at school. One of them said that they too had heard the story about me, but she added, she knew Josh's age and had defended me. I went around telling people what I had heard and about half of them had been approached by somebody over the past year who had related the story to them. Now this was getting even worse- because not one person had had the guts to tell me for an entire year. I would look around at pick-up and wonder how many other people were smiling at me and chatting with me, but had been gossiping about me too. It is a bad feeling, trust me. And nursing gossip? Is this town so lame that they couldn't find an affair or a plastic surgery to gossip about?

Time after time people told me that this OTHER woman is just a mean gossip, and that no one takes her seriously. This didn't make me feel better. The thought that this OTHER woman went around saying mean things about lots of people all the time just made me even sadder, I mean, look at all the people who were actually listening to her.

I see the OTHER woman all the time, she is active in the PTA, I am active too, and she always smiles at me and says "Hi! How are you?" and I always want to freeze time around me so I can kick her in the gut and get away with it. But of course, I can't, so I don't, I just mumble and turn away. Until this morning. This morning I went into the laundromat to drop off some sheets and she was there. She said her thing, I mumbled "Fine." and slunk out of the laundromat. Once on the sidewalk I stopped myself. I took Josh's hand and told him Mommy was about to be mean to the lady coming out so he had to just stand there and listen and not interrupt. When she came out I told her that I wasn't talking to her and that she had to know why. I told her that I knew she had been talking about me and that I was shocked that she chose to discuss my private business after all the good things I had done for the benefit of all of our children. I told her that what I did with my kids was my business, and that even though Josh was only a year and a half when she started this false rumor, I would have nursed him when he was three if that is what he needed, but that wasn't the point. I reminded her that I had created that program and worked that art committee for 5 years. I repeated that of all the things a person could say about me, it was just shocking that this is what she chose to discuss. And she said "I didn't tell that many people." I told her she told enough people that it was still being discussed a year later, and that telling anyone was telling too many. She apologized and I waved her off and said "That's not good enough, you need to think about this before you open your mouth next time." She stood there, shell shocked. I turned and walked away. It may have taken me 3 years to stand up for myself, but I did, and it felt great. And best of all, now when I see her I can glare at her from across the room and she'll know why.

Guess who is on the rag?

There are so many things that I could spin into post material today, exceppt that I am tired and CUH-RANKY as usual, so I am just going to give you, dear reader, the abbreviated version.

First of all, we took the kids to see Bodies The Exhibition today.  If you can see this: do so.  It was awesome.  I had heard what to expect from a few friends, so my kids were prepared for what there was.  Most people thought the worst part was the one small room with fetus and newborns in it (this room is intentionally by passable for anyone who does not wish to see it) but my kids thought that the scariest part was that the ppreserved bodies were not boxed up in a glass case.  They thought it was freaky that they could have touched them.  And don't think for one minute that Evan didn't try.  He continuously gestured and swung his hands just a little too close, forcing me to be the nagging mother warning him time after time that all the signs said we weren't allowed to touch.  I thought the grossest part was that some of the bodies were a little dusty and it wasn't the nice soft kind of television screen dust, it was the sticky looking range hood kitchen cooking kind of dust. I so wanted to touch it too. All three kids thought the room with the babies was fascinating.  They never questioned where the adults came from, but they did need reassurance that the babies had died of some other cause before their bodies were used for the exhibit.

Evan did make one priceless comment though.  My darling culinary adventurist, who will try anything at least once, noted the visual similarity between the human muscles on the people in the exhibit, and beef jerky. 

Afterwards we had some lunch, and then came home.  Since both Evan and Josh konked out in the car, we decided to go to the movies tonight.

We saw Over The Hedge. It was OK. Five minutes into the movie a family came in and sat in front of us. You gotta love an adult who thoughtlessly sits in front of a five year old, when there are other easily available options. Then you gotta love her even more when she puts her feet up on the seat in front of her, as if she is fifteen years old and doesn't realize there are other people in this world, so no one in their right mind would sit there. Then you gotta want to hug her until she turns blue when you realize that her kid is so sick that she is shooting lugers all over the theater every three minutes when she explodes into fits of coughing, and then you look at your husband every 3 minutes when the kid explodes to plead with your eyes "Can I slap her upside the head? Please?? Will you come to my defense?" And you cry a little inside because your husband's eyes say "NO." I feel like I have fulfilled my quota of G rated movies, and just can't excited about them any more. At least I didn't fall asleep. The hacking of the kid in front of us kept me conscious. After the movies we went to dinner at a chain Italian restaurant. We were seated next to another family of 5. That is about all we had in common with these people. The kids were misbehaving, the parents were loud mouthed, and then the Mom, in her over the top Tony Soprano accent started berating the waiter for less than adequet food, and insisted on seeing a manager. I couldn't help staring because, well, I am rude and have been known to stare, but also because she had sideburns, a big brow ridge and an underbite and all I could think of is that Geico commercial with the insulted cavemen in the restaurant and one orders the roast duck and the other lost his appetite. All the while, I am also thinking, "Lady, you are not in a fine dining situation here, and from the looks of things, and I can say this because you are about my size, you don't turn your nose up at too many entrees, so just shut your pie hole and eat!" But the manager came over, and I watched this freshly scrubbed 22 year old guy sweet talk and placate this woman until she was satisisfied, and did shut her pie hole. That is until she had checked out the desert menu, and decided to get hers to go.

NYC vs The Burbs

it is all a matter of perception

Evan had a great time at a friend's Memorial Day Barbeque tonight. He ran with the other kids for over 4 hours until I had to lead him into the car to go home. He was so happy and tired when we got home that he was all chatty and kept going on and on about the games they had played, the teams they made, who did what and of course which kids got into trouble. Then he said "Oh yeah, and I will never tell anyone that you abuse me again."

backseat Evan strikes again

Josh is getting interested in phonics. He is being introduced to the concept at his Montessori preschool and it intrigues him. In the car today he asked me if a certain word began with the letter "A". This inspired me to list a few examples of kid friendly A words. I came up with lively examples like apple, ankle, and ape. Evan, from the back seat catches phonics fever and spews forth of a few of his own special Evan inspired examples of "A." Evan's choices include assassination, assault, atomic, A-bomb, and his all time favorite word of his 8th year: antidisestablishmentarianism.

what not to say

husband: Hey, you wanna......you know...
clickmom: What?!? Are you kidding me? Do you see how stressed out I am? I have photos to edit, an article to write, dishes, laundry....
husband: well it just seems to me that you had your ..y'know .... about a month ago, and .. I ... Um... thought, well .... I had ... better ... get it in now.....

2 days -4 dentist appointments and 3 chiroprator appointments a swim and a pilates later...

Here is how  "Dental Hell 2006" went down for the last two days:

Monday:
Wake up crying because the whatever pain I was in over the weekend was nothing compared to the new and improved pain I was experiencing.  Call the chiro to schedule earliest appointment, and since he said he said I should come after I saw the dentist so I made two appointments, one for 9:20 and one for 11:40.  Get the once over from the chiro, cry while describing the pain.

Show up at the periodontist to get the bridge recemented in, and try to explain to her the very unique and changing pain odyssey I have been on.  She looks at me like I am crazy, mentions the word NEURALGIA and sends me off to the regular dentist (along with the removed bridge in an envelope and a new prescription for a muscle relaxer) who is finally back from vacation.  

The regular dentist gives me more of a confused than a "you're crazy" look, and when his assistant comes back with my bridge in two pieces from the air pressure of the cleaner, I put two and two together and realize that the periodontist must have cracked it when she was reinserting it after my surgery last month and we heard the crack but didn't see anything at the time.  This would explain the TMJ.  The bridge had been misaligned for a month.  I told the dentist that in the meanwhile my rear molar was starting to have it's own heart beat, and he was concerned.

The regular dentist repaired and reinserted the bridge and I could feel the difference.  It was finally right.  He diplomatically told me to come see him right away the next time some other professional put it in wrong.  Meanwhile he took molds for a temporary night guard for me to wear to stop me from clenching so hard when I sleep.  He said we had to "watch" the tooth with the heart beat and that I should call him right away if there were any changes.

By the time I left the regular dentist I could tell the chiro had really found what was bothering me because all the pain had begun to drain away.  I went back for another treatment.  Then I went home and built a shrine to the gods of bone alignment and got on my knees and prayed for the chiro to have a long healthy life and always be geographically convenient to me.  

Then I spent the afternoon with Boops getting her biopsy.  She was so scared and tried to hide it.  I'm scared too.

I took the muscle relaxer and went to bed.

Tuesday:
Tried to wake up.  Then I tried to wake up again.  Then I got up and peed and got back into bed.  Make myself wake up despite the total muscle relaxed brain fog and feel the heart beat in my tooth.  Say "Shit!"  Get dressed, get the two kids who have school  to school and go the the regular dentist with Josh in tow to pick up the night guard.  

Tell the regular dentist that I still feel the heart beat and that the tooth is maybe a little more tender.  He gave me a worried look and asked me to go to the endodontist because he suspected I needed a root canal. sigh.  They made me an appointment for 12.  

I went to the Y for my standard Tuesday swim, I was a bit worried I might fall asleep face down in the water, but I actually had a good swim, because I was the only one in the lone lap lane for at least 8 laps and it was the best 8 laps ever.  Then this really super fast and kinda rude swimmer came in and I got all out of my swimming zen.  I got out of breath and realized that my tooth no longer had a simple heart beat but had progressed to an all out throb.  I was glad I had the next appointment lined up.  I got out of the pool after a measly 25 minutes, but figured that I had swam for at least the 1/2 mile that will be the triathlon.  I went in the whirlpool and tried to dunk my throbbing cheek area under the water my floating on my stomach, then the teenaged lifeguard started to chat with me, and what the hell does a 19 year old know about the aches and pains of someone who could be his mother?!?

I took Josh to a store to grab some crayons and other kid time-occupying knick knacks, since I suspected the endodontist wasn't going to be a kid friendly place.   I grabbed him a (strike me down) Happy Meal, and headed over to the endo's office.  He listened to my endless tale of dental woes and took a couple of x-rays.  He said "I am pretty sure I see the beginning of an absess on that tooth."  I leaned back and made myself comfortable for the ROOT CANAL that was coming next.  8 injections of aesthetic and three minutes into the root canal I got a whiff of the most vile decay odor and knew he had hit pay dirt.  I knew that the procedure was justified.  He had put a dental dam on my mouth and my only two thoughts during the procedure were "I am so glad none of this is getting on my tongue." and "I was so smart to schedule a 4:20 chiro appointment for today."  Afterwards I asked the endo how bad it had been inside my tooth and after tales of spraying pus he declared "That root was NECROTIC." great.

I picked up Matt 10 minutes late, got to pilates 10 minutes late, convinced my instructor that I was fine for a work out despite that fact that I still had muscle relaxed thinking, half my face was completely paralyzed with novacaine and I had to talk with my teeth clenched to avoid biting off my tongue.  She was reluctant and took it easy on me, but we did do a light workout.

Then it was chiro time again.  I got another once over from him, he declared my night guard worthy of my mouth and here I am now.

Moral of the story:  Brush. floss and avoid sugary snacks.

my passionate speech of the day

Bear with me for a few seconds while I get up on my little podium here.

I really do think that money makes the world go around, to a certain extent. At least money is what motivates most people. This is why I believe in the power of the BOYCOTT. Personally, I have a few of my own quiet little boycotts going on.

If you are a washed out 80's pop star who mutilated your own face in an attempt to erase all traces of your ethnic background- then I boycott you. Your message is frightening. I do not buy your music or watch you on tv. I also change the radio station when one of your songs comes on. When you are accused of child molestation I feel my boycott is doubly justified.

If you are an action film star who who dismisses the very serious medical condition that I myself suffered from after my own first pregnancy/delivery and many other women suffer from too, then I boycott you. Not only will I not see your films in the theater but I won't rent them or even read the book once I find out you are starring in the movie version. Your industry has to take a stand and the almighty dollar speaks. Mine says you are out.

If you are the Garden State's homosexual ex-governor and in some kind of delusional state you decide to write a book detailing your sexual promiscuity with both women and men while you search for your true sexual identity during your two marriages to two unsuspecting wives then I will boycott that book. And I will beg everyone I know to boycott it too. I do not boycott your book because of differing political views, although getting your unqualified lover a high security job was a really ballsy move, comma, but because once upon a time you were a lying cheating adulterous husband who betrayed your wife and children, and I will not support that kind of behavior. You have a lot of nerve, scumbag.

I am stepping off the podium now.

I hate these letters - TMJ

I have TMJ. I first heard the horrid intitials I was a college sutudent visiting my mother. Mom had arranged for us to get massages and the massager toughed my face and said "Oh, I see you have TMJ." I didn't know what she was talking about. That was then.

Since then I have been to the doctor sure I had an earache, and told my ears were fine. Then I went to the dentist to be told my teeth were fine. Now 20 something years later I thought I was getting the knack of telling the difference between the agony of a toothache, an earche and a TMJ attack. Until this weekend when I was blessed with the mother of all TMJ attacks. Anyone out there ever have sciatica? It feels like sciatica in my face. Yes my whole face is seizing up. The pain wraps around my jaw bone, up to my eyebrow and back around my ear. It's like the big Y of torture. It all started Friday night. The whole right side of my face began to ache. I suffered all might long and then called the dentist in the AM. She said she didn't think it was my teeth, but noticed the gums under my bridge were inflamed. So she removed the bridge and asked me to wait until Monday to see if it was getting better. She thought the inflamation might have set off a nerve reaction. Now I am walking around with two snaggle teeth and a hole in the middle where my other teeth used to be. Are ya wondering how atractive I must feel? There is no smiling for me. At least on the right side.

The dentist gave me percosets to make it through. I only had one, and waited til I was going to sleep, I just took it so that I could make it through the night. I have been tolerating this episode of unrelenting pain with mega doses of over the counter painkiller. I know it must be a nerve related issue because not only is the pain moving around my face, but now I am enjoying numbness in my upper lip too. Chronic pain is so fun, I just want to cry.

Tomorrow morning I go back to the dentist. Cross your fingers for me.

does the news caster super size?

Matt and I were watching television together tonight. I went into the kitchen to get something and I heard Matt yell "Omigod, it's huge! Mom, you have got to come over here and see this- IT IS HUGE!" Worried what could possibly be huge and praying that is was neither on Matt's person nor of the rodent family, I quickly returned to the den where Matt had pused the 10 o'clock news. I asked what was huge and Matt gestured and said "Look at this guys mouth! It spreads all the way across his face!" I considered the news caster and remarked that he did resemble Bert from Sesame Street (apparantly the topic of the week for me) I said, "Yeah Matt, he looks like a muppet, with half his face on top and half on the bottom."

We sat and stared silently and in awe as the guy went on and on about something, just watching the top and bottom half of his face separate into two completely separate entities every time he made a long e sound until Matt muttered "I wonder how many french fries he can fit into his mouth."

shaking my head

Tonight during a dinner with Boops family, I compared Matthew eating cookie to the Cookie Monster. Matthew and Boops' kid informed me that Cookie Monster is now Celery Monster and he gobbles vegetables instead of cookies.

Could it be true?

The boys said that they had heard it at school. Ofcourse, Matt also mentioned a scenario where Cookie goes to rehab and merely trades one addiction for another.

Is this another sign of the apocolypse, cause I am thinking my mother's well stocked cookie drawer was way more responsible for my own personal childhood obesity than Cookie ever could have been. I can't even imagine blaming Cookie! He's fuzzy and blue!! If anything he represented a kindred spirit, a charming, yet wider puppet who understood the power of the cookie and never ever judged. Cookie had a good heart. Besides, since he had no hole in his puppet mouth we all knew he never actually injested the cookies. He just enjoyed their sweet aroma.

my pal

My fingers are crossed.  It is tough to type like this.

Boops has her own website now, and for her I am trying to figure out how to link. 

Here goes.

I hope this works.

getting tough with me

Like most people I see myself a certain way when I look in the mirror. I mean when I look in the bathroom mirror, and I look at my reflection in the most flattering way possible. I have run into a little problem during pilates though. The pilates studio is mirrored on all four sides, and most of the time I can either avoid my reflection or am looking at myself straight on, which works for me. But lately the instructor has me doing a new movement that involves twisting around with my arms held out straight to the sides. This means I get a great look at my bat wings and my twisting torso jelly roll belly. I do not typically look at my bat wings. Or my belly. They trouble me. They are a symbol of how far into the abyss I have allowed myself to slide. My skin can't go all the way back.

For a while now, I have been feeding on my partial victory in the battle of the bulge. But it isn't good enough. I am still morbidly obese, and I am not going to grow old at this weight no matter how much I pretend that I am okay because I go to the gym. I am not even half way to where I need to be, and I have stalled for too long. I haven't stalled because of some metabolic blip that necessitates me plateauing at this weight. I have stalled in my progress because I am eating too much. Despite the rigid limitations I have put on myself I am still managing to eat too much. I know it. I just wasn't ready to admit it. I mean, I have been saying it for a while, but somewhere in the back of my head, I still thought that maybe the weight loss would resume of I just kept going to the gym. I kid myself by thinking that even skinny people have fries sometimes. But having to see what I really look like in the mirror has made it all too clear to me. That and the photo of me floating on my back in the Dead Sea with my bubble belly bulge all sticking out of the water was a big kick in my reality pants. Typically I only post photos that are flattering of me, but to tell the truth I am tired of having to take too many photos to get the right shot where my double chin isn't showing, or my jelly rolls aren't too obvious. I just want to be able to see me how I look and feel like I look like how I feel. I feel like I should be healthy looking.

I was going to get a breast reduction surgery as a college graduation gift. My mom took me to a plastic surgeon who told me that if I was going to have kids I would probably want another one after they got all stretched out during the pregnancy and that he couldn't guarantee I would be able to nurse. I knew I wanted to nurse, so I put it off. I never thought I'd be still waiting around for it 19 years later! In the mean time, I decided that I would have a tummy tuck with my breast reduction. I am pretty sure that both surgeries can be performed at the same time and then I would be brand new and HOT! But now I am looking at the damage I have done and think, I also need a bat wing reduction and maybe even an inner thigh lift. And just when does it end? And how severely scarred can I make myself and still tell myself that I am looking healthier? I mean, after all the surgeries that I would like to have to put me back into skin that fits I would look like a road map. I would have to wear turtlenecks and long pants for the rest of my life. Also, fear of dying from surgical complications does throw a hypothetical monkey wrench into my hypothetical plans. All of which are moot if I never loose the rest of this weight because no surgeon in his right mind would nip and tuck me at this weight. And if I did find one who would, I wouldn't trust him to bandage a paper cut. He'd be unethical. I am still obese.

I guess my point is that I am undergoing a little reality therapy in my head. I am trying to be Dr. Phil tough with myself. I have goals that are never going to be met until I start eating better- eating like someone who wants to live, bat wings or no bat wings.

FEAR: defined

Opening the back door to call the dog into the house and getting a whiff of skunk

Joshisms

Josh looked at the fire pit the husband recently purchased and asked if we could have a blonde fire. Hmmm....

While driving out of a multilevel garage Josh peered out the window and exclaimed "Look! Rafoondi Marx!" (graffitti marks- I know this only because Matt was there to interpret)

why I won't watch Inspector Clausseau or use the sauna at the Y

As if grunting through strength training yesterday didn't already make my week, as if I wasn't still pondering the mystery of why the grunter wears two sports bras at the same time, you can't even guess who entered the locker room just as I was finishing up drying my hair. Turban Lady!! And I am never going into the nasty sauna at the Y again. First, on my way to the pool, I stopped to use the potty and through the crack in the door I noticed another lady in the sauna. She was wrapping her towel around her hair and laid her naked privates down on the bare wood. ~shiver~ Then after swimming, T.L. came in and while she was in the potty I peeked at all her sauna paraphernalia already stashed in the sauna and I saw a pair of toe nails scissors sitting on the bottom bench. Now,a s far as I am concerned, there is no place in the sauna I can sit. The top bench has girlie juice on it and the bottom bench and maybe even the floor most likely has toe nail clippings scattered about. Oh the horror! It's like one of those news show filler stories, except it is the Y that I pay good money for! GROSS!! I am never using that sauna ever!

Anyways, T.L. came into the locker room wearing nothing above her ankles but her trademark turban and a trench coat. When she whipped that baby off I almost fainted. Seriously people, she was walking out in the street with nothing but a trench coat on. Folks, she looks like she is pushing 70. I just couldn't make this up! But it did remind me of an event from my teens. When I was in 7th grade there were rumors that there was a flasher in the neighborhood. We all thought it was the funniest thing. One day, while wandering the streets surrounding our school, like we always did, my friend Stacy and I were approached by a middle aged man in a trench coat who flashed us. We quickly realized what was happening and we cracked up, pointing and laughing. By the time we recovered from our hysterics, he had scampered away. Obviously I wasn't scarred by this incident.

But now I'll really never look at a trench coat in the same way.

not dis-grunt-led any more

Last Friday I photographed a tennis match. I was photographing the singles names and noticed that one of the players was a grunter. I smiled to myself, made a Steffie Graf joke inside my head and continued with my work. When two of the other players met by the net I heard the grunters teammate whisper to his opponent "I warned you."
 
Today I went to posh club for spinning and for strength training.  Spin was pretty good.  Afterward I went into the locker room with Boops to change into my sneakers. On the way out she claimed to have seen a silicone drone.  I coldn't believe it, I missed the opportunity to stare at a silicone drone.  As if missing that didn't suck enough, the silicone drone was also, according to Boops, wearing a thong when she should not have been.  I knew missing out on this childish thrill was a bad omen and decided I had to turn my day around.  I just didn't know how I was going to do it.

I am still sticking with the strength training with the wussy instructor, even though she continues not only to insult the most excellent strength training instructor, Moose, but to incorporate dance moves into her program despite the fact that I actually ~ahem~ "mentioned" to the director how many regulars had dropped the class because they are interested in straight strength training and not fancy 7 step moves that are too sophisticated for  spaz types like me and the ones who have already fled the class.  Anyways, one of the newer participants is a grunter.  And she is the only one who is a grunter.  Most of us are more in the heavy exhaling category.  After about a dozen or so grunts in the first 20 minutes, she thought it was an especially challenging class, I could barely contain my laughter, so I decided to join her.  I became a grunter.  And I grunted (and smirked) the rest of the class away.  I get such a kick out of me.  I am so grown up.  And not to mention easily amused.

I also started responding to the wuss.  For some reason she likes to ask the class "How many more?"  And someone always "Two."  I have no idea what this about, why the wuss can't just count, or why two is the magic number, so I started answering.  Except I would say "Three."   And then we would do three more repetitions.  What fun!  When the wuss asked the class, after a new and painful move, "Can you do another set?" I grunted out  "Oh yeah!"  HA!    I looked over my shoulder in the locker room just to make sure no one was trying to jump me and who should I be stationed near?  The grunter!  Thank goodness the day turned around for me.

Happy Mothers Day Grandma

The husband got me lots of great stuff for Mother's Day. I got jewelry, a vacuum (I asked for it!), a safe (I asked for it), and a DVD projector so I can give Evan a backyard movie party for his belated birthday party (and have outdoor movies all summer) and most thrilling- a macro lens for my camera (I have wanted one forever). All those things are great, I am psyched.

What I liked most about this Mother's Day, was the two nice things I got to do for other people. I knew it was going to be a particularly difficult day for my friend Boops. It was last Mother's Day that she first discovered her husband was having inappropriate "friendships" ~cough cough~ with other women. I managed to gat Boops to send both of her kids over here for playdates with my guys and while they were here I did a little photo shoot with them. I did a portrait of each alone and one of them together. Then I framed them in a frame that her son had picked out earlier when I took him to the mall, and gave it to the boys to give to her. I know any Mom would love photos of her kids but the thing here is that in their family the husband was the one who always took all the photos. There are photos all over the place, walls, dressers, mantels, and every once in a while Boops would comment that all the pictures in her house were taken by HIM. I thought Boops might like to see some photos taken by someone who supports her.

So, this morning Boops left me a very pleasant phone message, then she received her gift and 20 minutes later she left me a weepy thank you message. She liked the gift.

The other nice thing I did was visit my Grandma. It was hard to drag myself to her house, she is so sad, and the kids are always so bored and unhappy there. But Grandma was so happy to see me. When we got there she was all dressed in her sweatshirt best with a ton of rouge and even some perfume. But best of all she had a huge grin across her face, and she was so thrilled that we were there. What I was thinking to myself this morning when I made myself go to see her was that I don't even know if Grandma will be around next Mother's Day and if she is still here, I am not so sure she'll even have enough memory to know what is going on. She is fading. During lunch I asked her if my Mom had spoken with her and Grandma had no idea. She tried to give Josh a Teddy Bear and when he suggested she save it for my sister's daughter Grandma couldn't remember who she was. She even had trouble recognizing my sisters name. I am worried. I know that by tonight she won't even be sure that we were there. But we left her with a bouquet of flowers, so at least for the next few days I'll be able to call her and ask how the flowers are doing and she'll see them and know that we were just there.

Even though I didn't get the traditional breakfast in bed, or a dinner out, today was kind of sad, and I am typing this alone because the husband is fast asleep in bed with Josh, and Matt and Evan are watching TV in the other room, I end this Mother's Day with a warm feeling in my heart knowing that I made the day nicer for two people who really do deserve to have a nice day.

searching for blog fodder

The great thing, for me, about being a blogger is that it can really help keep things in perspective for me.  I go about my day as usual, but always in the back of my mind I am thinking "Is this bloggable?"  Somehow,  a bloggable situation is always worth it and never as bad as it could have been if there was no internet audience to share with.  

Today, I had one of those crazy days where I was literally pushing the kids out the door of the car to get to my series of appointments.  After I dropped off the last of them, I stopped by the periodontist so she could see if I was all healed from her little surgical tooth removal a few weeks ago and to discuss putting an implant into the other extremely attractive gaping hole in my mouth.  I wondered if I could rant a little on my blog about the sheer rottenness of my teeth and unfairness of it all.  I brushed as a kid!  After every tenth piece of bazooka I brushed!

Then I ran to a photo assignment where, naturally I was 30 minutes late and started to shoot before I realized there was no memory card in the camera.  I told the lady in charge, since I often forget the memory card in my camera when going to this particular town, that I had to run to the photo store down the street and that I would return in 20 minutes.,  She insisted that I use the memory card from her camera, which happened to be the same as mine and so I did.  Except now I have to return it tomorrow, and this town is 20 minutes away from me.  Bumming over that.  Then of course, I get into my car to leave and realize that I have my point and shoot in my purse which has a nice compatible empty memory card in it.  Bumming times two.  Thought about blogging over the fact that I forget my memory card every time (and only when) I go to a certain town.  Could it mean something?

On my way to pilates I called THE editor, as in, not MY editor, but her boss, to let him know that I had accomplished this task for him and he asked me to stop by a construction site to photograph the progress they were making.  I agreed, thinking I would just skip the cardio I typically do before pilates and find some time to walk on the completely unused treadmmill  (as in unused since Matt's little video game/treadmill incident last December)  in the kids playroom later.  I went to the site and was happy to see someone milling about.  The editor didn't want photos unless there were workers there.  There were warning signs everywhere and hard hat zone signs too, so I motioned to the guy to see if it was okay that I approach.  He signaled me to come towards and I told him I was from the local paper and he couldn't have been happier to see me.  Mostly, he was adorable, and had really big strong arms, and couldn't have been friendlier.  He showed me where the other masons were working and even helped me find the least slippery route up a giant hill of mud to get their photo.  The whole site was muddy due to the excessive rain we had last night.  Can you see where this is leading yet?  I was thinking, "OMG he is so cute.  Should I blog about the completely adorable hunk of a mason man who befriended me today?"

But, no, when confronted with a really cute mason, what smooth thing do I go and do next?  Yup.  I snap a few photos and I totally fall on my ass in the wet slippery mud.  Last night it thunderstormed here all night long.  Everything was wet and slippery.  There was only way to fall since the crazy lady voice in my head was screaming "Keep the camera up!!!"  as I fell.  I fell good, it was all butt, no camera.  No equipment was hurt in the fall.  Being a true professional, the camera was safe in my hand over my head, while everything on me from the waist down was less good ie: covered in mud.    The mud made a delightful suck/squish sound as my lycra wrapped (I was on my way to pilates, remember?)  butt came down hard on it.  As if the sound of my heft hitting the mud wasn't enough music to my ears, there was also a  girly squeal of terror which somehow escaped from my very own mouth.  (Did I mention that it rained 4 inches here last night?)   First I had an instantaneous mud bath flashback to Israel, in less than a second I felt the WET mud seeping through my pants and underwear into my butt crack, then I just knew what part of my day would be the most bloggable, as young handsome stud mason man, complete gentleman that he must be, reached over and gently lifted me out of the mud.  It was like a Harlequin romance, I was the pretty damsel in distress and he was the dashing guy from the other side of the tracks who would save me.  His shirt was even a little ripped.  sigh.

There was only problem after that, I so wanted a photo of my mud covered butt, I knew I had to have a photo of my mud covered butt, but I was too shy to ask my knight in shining hard hat, mason man, to use my camera and photograph my butt.   But, because I am a blogger, I dashed home and carefully removed and preserved my muddy pants before I changed and ran off to pilates, so that I could put them on again later and share with my readers, cause every day, I ask myself "Is this bloggable?"

He got all upset when every one behind him kept laughing

I smiled though it nearly killed me

I was in the CVS with Evan today when I heard the pharmacist announce Boops' last name for a prescription pick up. Evan and I got all excited about seeing our friends and we skipped over to the pharmacy hoping to see Boops with her son. When we got to the back of the store we saw HIM. The soon-to-be ex-husband, alleged adulterer, but definite participant in inappropriate friendships with married female neighbors - that is who we saw. And if he were alone, I would have just given him the icy stare of sheer hatred, trying to burst his evil heart with the strength of my psychic powers, but his sweet and innocent (playmate of Evan's) son was with him, so I pretended to be friendly, even down right smiley and nice, for the children's sake. Naturally I had to work into the chit chat how fabulous Boops is looking and how incredible she is at the gym, referring to her as "your wife". (Have I mentioned what a wide load the neighbor which he has the inappropriate relationship with has?) And also, I was totally psyched that all I had in my hands was a kids toothbrush and not the athlete's foot spray I was about to buy FOR THE HUSBAND and NOT for myself. Because, you know how it is, when you see some one you know in the pharmacy, you never want to be buying anything stronger than a Chap Stick.

So, I was friendly, concerned about the ear infection that the innocent sweet child was suffering from, and even said HIS name, when I cheerily called out my goodbyes.

It nearly killed me.

In a People's House

I haven't gotten my official brain back yet. My brain is still not quite functioning. I feel something like I do during the first week of school when I forget that I have a calendar, and I can't seem to remember all of the meetings I end up missing. I had already scheduled some routine appointments for this week, like the dentist, pilates, and Josh's Kindergarten screening. I was doing all I could to remember those, and the Y classes, when I learned Evan had a baseball game. At the baseball game I learned there was a meeting for all the kids going into fourth grade next year. TONIGHT. Great...

I wanted to be on time for the school meeting, so I asked the coach if he could drop Evan off at home after the game. I figured I was doing well Evan had a way home.

From the baseball field, I called a babysitter, she said she could come. Two problems solved. I dashed home to fill her in and run off to the meeting. I zipped into my bedroom to make sure the shampoo and soap were beside the tub for Josh's bath and heard a strange thump. I ignored the mysterious thump the first time, but turned around to look the second time I heard it. And naturally there was a little bird throwing itself at the inside of my bedroom windows trying to return to the great outdoors. Didn't you have one in your room tonight? What could be more perfect, right?

So, I wrench the screen out of one of the windows and open it as wide as possible. I went down stairs to tell the sitter we had a "situation" upstairs. When Matt overheard what I said to the sitter he said "Oh yeah, earlier I heard Evan say there was a bird in your room, but you didn't answer him." Uh, yeah Matt, maybe because I didn't hear him???? (Why was Evan in my room?!?!)

By the time I got back to my bedroom the obviously intelligent bird had found the open window and when I peered outside the little bird was sitting on the kids wagon in the backyard looking up at me chirping away. I swear he was thanking me for opening the window. This would seem like the perfect ending to the story except now of course, I was late to the parent's meeting but I jumped into the truck and headed over to school to hear the same exact speeches I heard four years ago when Matt was about to enter fourth grade.

I skipped out on the school tour though.

And the bird left at least one little souvenier for me to clean up. I fear there are others but haven't had the courage to do a more thorough check.

some photos from israel

I don't feel comfortable posting photos of the rabbi's family or Matt's tutor without permission and since I am not going to tell the rabbi about this site for OBVIOUS reasons, you dear readers will only get to see a small selection of my favorite photos. Yes, I know most don't look like postcards, but hey, that's my own personal photographic vision. When I see these photos I can practically feel the temperature of the air and smell the flowers I enjoyed so much while we were there.

Enjoy.

me (with kids) on a camel- a teaser

Someow I took 364 photos while in Israel. I have to sort.

some posts are just too hard to title

I photographed a 10K race today and was disturbed by the obstacles in the path of the runners. There were rude people walking dogs, biking, even trying to drive right in the path of the runners. But perhaps the worst obstacle of all was the road kill that no one thought to clean up before the race.

on vacation with the parents

So, bringing my parents to Israel for Matt's bar mitzvah was very nice for Matt and his brothers. They loved having their grandparents there.

I on the other hand was disturbed by their fragility. My mom couldn't walk up any stairs or even the slightest inclines without getting chest pains. She has a blockage in her heart. She knows that it is there. She is supposed to be following a special diet, in addition to medication, in hopes of reducing the blockage. She ate everything in sight. She never said "No" to desert and couldn't fit into some of her pants by the end of the trip. It made me mad.

My dad has some kind of vascular condition that gives him pain in his legs when he walks a lot. He is supposed to walk through the pain, and that will help his legs develop more circulation, but every time he felt pain he sat out what ever activity came next. It made me mad.

Mom carried a veritable drug store worth of prescription drugs. She conquered the jet lag by taking sleeping pills when she wanted to sleep. When the husband complained of back pain she offered up her prescription pain killers. When Dad got a cold towards the end of the trip she produced Tamiflu and made him take it. Apparantly they feared Avian Flu and got the prescriptions for Tamiflu from their doctor "just in case." I asked her if she could tell Bird Flu from any other sickness and she admitted she couldn't. I told her she shouldn't make him take it for a regular cold, but she did. She let us know she was packing Valium too and was willing to share. (Hmmm, Some of us must have seemed tightly wound.) I'm not sure what exactly else she had in her bag, but I can tell you that when I got a peek, I saw many little brown plastic pharmacy jars.

It made me sad.

breaking up is hard to do

I think Peanut is breaking up with me. It is tough to say because I am kind of retarded at knowing when people are trying to wean me out of their lives, but I bumped into her this morning, I was walking alone (after emailing her an invitation to walk that went unanswered) and she was walking with another babe. The other babe stopped and asked me about my trip and Peanut wandered off. When I approached her she walked away from me a second time. As I write this I realize that even a retard can tell this time. At least this retard can. I am not sure how this all is going to play out since we are part of the same social group.

What really gets to me is that I am not sure what I did, but I think that the reason she is doing this is something she thinks I feel that I don't. I told her I didn't feel the way she thinks I do, but I don't think she believes me.

This sucks. I feel like it belongs in High School.

it is best to know your audience

Josh accidentally called the husband "Mom" tonight and the husband teased Josh. The husband said "Mom! Does Mom have a hairy belly like this?" The husband lifts his shirt. Josh says "Nooooo." The husband says "Does Mom have hairy legs like this?" as he hokey pokeys his right foot in. Josh says "Noooo." Then the husband says "Does Mom have a hairy butt like me?" And Josh says "Yeah." Which makes me shout "Josh!" and immediately moon Josh to prove the relative hairlessness of my butt. But then I realize that Matt is sitting next to Josh and I hang my head in shame and go throw another lump of cash into Matt's future therapy jar, as I realize I have just given him the gift of more to discuss one future day while lying on the therapists couch.

sung to the tune of the first verse of Bily Joel's Piano Man

It's three o'clock in the morning
and my eyes flew open wide
my brain thinks I should be getting
on the tour bus to go for a ride

We're home now, it's different,
the time is, and so will the food be as well,
no more cheescake I'm eating for breakfast
my diet it just went to hell

Oh la la la dee dee da
da da da da da dum da

My stomach is crazy the humus
I ate every day gave me gas
or maybe it was all the eggplant
it all went right straight through my ass

I loved every minute of eating
you'll see when you measure my waist
if you don't have a tape measure handy
just look for the chins on my face

Isreal is such a warm country
the people they care about life
they fight for their freedom in the army
and then they go on with their lives

The window the landscape breathtaking
my eyes couldn't take in enough
the green hills, the desert, the dead sea,
I tried to memorize all that stuff

I finally got jewelry to adorn me
I'll think of this beautiful place
and when I wear one certain necklace
I know I will grin on my face

It was special, and lovely and perfect
my oldest he came home a man
at least in the eyes of religion
I'll keep him young long as I can

Ooooh la da da dee da dum da dee dee da dum da

I know that I should face the pillow
cause I'm not going to make it all day
the time change is such a real bitch now
if I stay up today I'll just fade away

home again haiku

too tired to write
shower bed fall asleep dream
home now so happy

last full day in Israel

It is the morning of our last day full here. Our fabulous tour guide who made the trip come alive, and feels like an old friend to me at the end of our 10 days together, has the day off and we are on our own. Normally I am not sure I would have the courage to wander away from my hotel in a country where I don’t speak a word of the language, but today I won’t be alone, I’ll be with the Rabbi (ick), Matt’s tutor, and my mom. We’ll wander over to a nearby shopping mall to complete our quest for jewelry here. I am not sure why jewelry is necessary to commemorate the trip, but it sure has given the trip unity. Every where we go the females of the group scavenger for rings, necklaces, bracelets, etc.. as if we won’t be allowed back into the states without some. Every one of us has picked up a thing or two along the way, but I guess we need more, since the men are going scuba diving and we are heading for the store.

This afternoon will be spent relaxing at the hotel pool or wandering the beach. We are too tired to do anything else.

Before we left one of my oldest friends, Bob, told he me thought this trip would change my life. He thought I would somehow be inspired and have some sort of revelation and come home a changed person. The one aspect of this trip that has the ability of changing me is the thought that so many people have impacted the lives of every single Jew. We have heard story after story of people who risked every thing to create and maintain this country. We have seen photos and films of men and women who dedicated their lives for Jews to have a country of their own, the country where Judaism was born. We have heard tale after tale of our persecution and enslavement. We see young men and women on the streets in their army uniforms everyday. While Evan gets a thrill over seeing all the weaponry they carry, my mother-heart breaks thinking how young and innocent they all are to be taking in such an immense and serious responsibility. Yet, every Israeli, participates. We even spent time with Amir, a Druze, an entire different religion, whose community enlists in the army when they turn 18 because they are here for the same reason the Jews are- Freedom. Isn’t that what it is all about? Isn’t that why we live in the USA? My own home country was founded on the same exact same principles that this country was. (Except at home we destroyed the native communities to claim their land and the Jews actually belong here)

I am just wondering if there is some greater good I should be part of.

Maybe I am going home a changed person.

Israel Day 8

Yesterday we went to Masada.  Masada is where a Jewish settlement of about 1,000 people lived on top of a huge mountain about 2,000 years ago.  We got to ride a cable car up to the top, but back then the only way up was on foot, and it is a big mountain.  At the time, the Romans were all about enslaving the Jews and making sure we had no power or pleasureable life to speak of, and eventually the Romans surrounded the mountain and the Jews were able to hole up there for 7 months before the Romans prepared to attack, so all the Jews killed their families and themselves rather than allow the Romans to rape, pillage and enslave them.  We walked around these ruins, and I tried to imagine what it was like to live up there so long ago.  Every day we hear another story of sacrifice and bravery and I have to admit that I am a little bit overwhelmed by how courageous, strong and brave my forefathers were. 

Then we went to the Ahava factory and bought all kinds of Dead Sea pproducts.  They better work.  I thought it was all so touristy until I saw the tour guide and the bus driver pick up some pproducts for themselves (He claimed it was for his wife)

Then we went to the Dead Sea.  I got to go to the spa there with the other women on the trip.  WHile walking by the Dead Sea water pool, I noticed that the average spa goer there was about 70 years old and 70 pounds overweight.  And didn't shave their underarms.  So I said "I feel young and beautiful" which made Matt's tutor crack up, which is why I love her so much.  She gets all my jokes and has a great laugh. 

We all had massages and mud baths before we took a float in the Dead Sea.  Since the massage therapists didn't speak English, we just went off with any of them. I was hoping for a Tibetan massage, but ended upp with a standard one.  I thought my massage was so-so, but I was in for a surprise, because apppparantly in Israel, the breasts are part of the massage package and I haven't had that kind of massage before.  It was interesting, truthfully she used so much oil, I found it tough to relax.  I was just wondering how long it would take for me to slide off the table.

The mud bath was an all new adventure for me.  I was led into a less than sanitary looking room.  There was mud smudges every where and I worried that it resembled something I thought I had seen in "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest."  The lady gestured for me to put my clothes on a chair and gave me a shower cap to put on my hair.  This is the part where it gets really funny if you are a visual person.  I took off my clothes, and noticed what looked like a tiny little hand coming over the back of the chair.   It was a lizard!  Damn, I had given the husband the camera to take photos of the kids frolicking in the pool.  I got naked, put on the plastic shower bonnet and realized I had my cell phone in my purse.   So, picture this, me naked and still greasy from the massage, with a plastic bonnet on my head, cell phone in hand, in a dark and muddy room, trying to manuever my phone behind the chair to get the perfect shot of the rather sizeable lizard that wanted a mud bath too.  And what happens, the non-english speaking lady comes marching back in with a big bucket of mud. She gave me a weird look, so I moved the chair which sent the lizard scurrying across the room and made her scream.  Ha!!

The mud, it was interesting.  I'll have to do a mud bath somewhere else so I can compare them.  It doesn't go all over like they lead you to belive in the movies.  It helps the joints and goes on mostly feet hands knees shoulders and down the spine, with a streak of mud connecting them all.   The only thing I wish I knew before hand was how much mud could get crammed into my butt crack (spinal mud) and how hard it would be to get out.  (More visuals for the strong stomached out there)

Then I went into the Dead Sea, which tastes GROSS and stings the eyes like a bitch.  Can you all tell what a smooth operator I must have been in the Dead Sea?  I was just a little bit pitiful trying to manuever in the water when it felt it was baby oil trying to eject me.  You should have seen my boobage trying to float right out of my suit!!  Very floaty water.  I have pictures. Afterwards- I was soft as could be.  I am still soft today.

Can't keep my eyes open here, I am honestly looking forward to being back on my own time in a few days. I am not good at changing time zones.  Day light savings time messes with me for weeks, you can imagine what a seven hour change does.   Also, I miss my bed, but I am trying to figure out how long I can leave the devil dog with the dog sitter for.  I don't miss her.