clickmom

if you think 2007 sucked just tune in for 2008!

Knowing that the new year is only a few hours away is a pretty scary prospect from where I am sitting. In 2007 I assumed complete responsibility for my then 95 year old grandmother. She isn't getting any younger. And you all know about the butt issue. It remains unresolved. In 2007 I found out that my both my mother and my father had advanced incurable cancers. They are both treating their (different) cancers in an attempt to buy more time because each is desperate to be here for the other one. Dad's prognosis looks promising, he might have more than the possible two years they gave him last summer, mom is about a teaspoon of salt away from total kidney failure. Her treatment is suspended for now until some future time if and when her kidney function improves from it's current entirely death defying frighteningly low level.

Needless to say in 2007, we won't go into details, but I gained enough weight to require an entirely new wardrobe.

So, I prepare to greet the new year, sitting in front of my almost full hard drive (where is that damned external hard drive?) with my always full belly wondering just how hard the next year can possibly turn out to be and where I am going to get the strength to plow through it.

Folks, I am scared! Wow. I do not want time to keep on marching here, no, no, no.

Resolutions seem like such a stupid useless meaningless waste of time right now, but I am finding that what I need to keep in my life are the stupid meaningless things. They seem to be the glue that is keeping my sanity around. I'm clinging to them. Normally, I don't bother making resolutions, but this year I came up with a boat load. I had to pare down the list. This is what I have been thinking, resolution wise:

1. Pay more attention to my own work. I am most likely going to sign up for an independent study at a local art center. I am vowing to put aside at least one chunk of time per week for landscape photographing.

2. Keep way less junk foods in the house. The kids are soft and I really don't want to set them up for a life time of weight issues. I'm so screwed when it comes to food, I have to break that cycle.

3. Make the kids move more. That dog will be walked!!

4. Find a way to deal with my own weight issues, whether they turn out to be psychological, medical, or a combination of both. I have to start taking care of my health too.

That's it. And oh yeah, one more thing. I might be (or quickly make myself) crazy, but I signed up for the blog365 thing. I just promised to blog every day (except 2/29) for the next year. I know it seems like a lot, but like I said, it's the little things that are keeping me going right now.

a photo by any other name... is it still my photo?

The friends we went to Alaska with (1 1/2 years ago) were here today and I sat down at my computer to burn some of the Alaska photos I took on that vacation for them. I was so inspired by my awesome shots that I decided I have to push myself to do more landscape stuff. I'm good. I think I'm really good, (okay, really, I think I am awesome) and part of our conversation with the friends today was how artists tend to be really bad at business and need some kind of manager to push them along. My hand was raised. Guilty. I can not promote myself. Nor can I seem to put my own private photography (aside from the occasional portrait work that falls into my lap) anywhere on my priority list. Hopefully that will work itself out as my folks resettle them selves back in Florida. I was looking at the class list from a local art center and am toying with the idea of signing up for an advanced study photo class. I think I need that kind of kick in the butt. If I have to attend a critique each week, then I will have to produce some work to be critiqued. Logical, right?

After the visiting family left, I was so inspired by my own work that I took two of the shots that I had printed out a long time ago, framed them and hung them up in my studio. (They look great, if I do say so myself. As a matter of fact, the whole wall, which has an small assortment of other stuff on it too, looks pretty damned great, and now I really want to get to work.) But here is the thing. I couldn't bring myself to write my married name on the mat for the photo. So I wrote my maiden name. And I feel totally guilty about it. Except the truth is that I have a huge hang up about my married name. Huge.

First I can tell you that my third grade best friend had my married surname and her mother was the meanest nastiest mother I could ever imagine. As a kid I feared her. I'd shake if she made eye contact with me. Seriously, you can not imagine a mother openly despising her kid more than the mother of my 3rd grade best friend (who had my husband's surname) hated her own kid. This mother made every single Disney step-mother look like Mother Theresa. Seriously. Even my mother admits it, and they were kind of friends back then. So, I have a bad association with the name. It's like calling me Mrs. Evil.

And then there is this other aspect of the hang up: When I became a photographer I was still me with my maiden name. And choosing photography was not an easy breezy choice for me to declare having my parents for parents. They just didn't know how I could possibly make a living if I didn't graduate college with a Dr., a J.D, or an Mrs. I had to defend my choice every step of the way. It was part of me finally standing up for a tiny bit of myself (that previously unrecognized by anyone but grandma creative part) for the very first time. But I gotta tell you, once I took that first photo 101 class I was declaring myself a photo major before we even got to midterm exams. That was how sure I was. That is how photography touched me. Once I had gotten my feet wet there was nothing else I was going to study.

So I was very active, photographically, all through college and then not afterwards. You see I worked so hard and for so many publications during school that I just wanted to take a little time off ina mindless (head banging boring) job before jumping back into the trenches. And then just as I got my self back into photography (working for a local paper in Brooklyn and freelancing for the Botanical Gardens there too) I met the husband, moved in with him in Manhattan (and away from the two freelance positions I had just accepted) and lost touch with photography again. The year was 1989. Then I became a teacher, got married, I was guilted into changing my last name by the husband (he is so going to deny that one!), then the husband left my beloved trusty all metal body perfect Nikon FE2 camera on a train in Italy (he can't believe that I can not let go of that! But I say why not just leave my left foot on the train!), I had Matt, had Evan, moved to the burbs, had Josh, and then finally re-sparked my love of all things photo in 2001 when I volunteered to be the publicity volunteer for Matt's school. I was hired by the paper 9 months later, and the rest just fell into place.

But here is the thing, me as my married name is many things, but not a photographer in my own mind. Me as my maiden name is the me who is a photographer. And not only is me as my maiden name a photographer, me as my maiden is a photographer who can take a stand for herself. Me as my married name is never putting myself first. Me as my married name is actually hardly her own person at all. Me as my married name is someone's wife, someone's mom and some other me-ish but not totally me stuff like the class party snack maker. So I think I need to be me as my maiden name (I miss that me) when it comes to my photos. Or maybe I am just being ridiculous.

What do you think? (About the name thing.) Here are the two photos I put up on my wall today.

obligated

You may have noticed a lack of mention of the dreaded S & BIL lately. This is because I have been avoiding them. (Like the plague, a big angry negative hateful plague) It is definitely mutual, although I'm not sure exactly what their beef with me is, I imagine it has something to do with me being judgmental (since I have heard that one before) and maybe, just maybe, I'm thinking they happened upon this little tid bit of blog anti-love because I'm sure that could happen too.

The only problem with avoiding them and being avoided by them is that I really would like to be a part of my niece's lives. I would like to be the happy sunshine person in their life who doesn't tell them to go away they have no parents, and that they have shit brown eyes or got the ugly hair.

Sometime last November the husband got a (nasty according to me) email from the SIL asking what the boys wanted for Hanukkah also stating that they would not buy Evan any weapons. Well guess what Evan had on his Hanukkah list! Weapons, video games with weapons, and more weapons. When the husband forwarded that email he got from them to me I never replied. Why bother? The whole sentiment behind it just made me nauseous. I felt like writing back that I wouldn't get her girls any gifts that are pink or are degrading and oppressive to women. You know what I mean! I'd be the first one to take down some old lady vying for some new sold out Barbie if I knew it was going to make my niece the happiest kid on the block. Jeez.

So, I finally swallowed my pride and suggested to the husband that he phone his sister and make arrangements for a little gift exchange/get together. He remembered that his sis and family went somewhere on vacation (The next time she tells me how broke they are I am so going to say something judgmental!) so I have a few more days to work up another ulcer over the whole painful ordeal, because really, in the scheme of my life right now, I don't need to be hanging around with lying game playing people, but dammit, they are related to me.

cash and checks only

This morning the kids and I were discussing what errands we would be doing today. One errand was Matt's weekly comic book run to the comic book store to see if this week's new comics were out yet. (I consider that research for future career) Josh got very excited and asked if he could buy something for himself. I said he could with his own money. Within seconds Josh was back with the reclaimed dressing jar that he has been using to stash his hard earned (swiped from the laundry machine) cash. I got worried about Josh thinking he could spend every last dollar on the actions figures so I said he could only spend up to $10, thinking that he could get two packs of (still wasteful but less painful when stepped on) trading cards for just under $10.

Josh was crushed. He wanted to blow his whole wad. He didn't want to me try and reason with him so Matt, always the helpful (and entertaining and hilarious) one that he is told Josh he would explain it to him in a song. I kind of focused on the dishes at hand for a moment but came back to reality just in time to hear Matt enthusiastically singing "and when you are old ... and wearing adult diapers ..... action figures won't pay the rent."

moon hugs for me

First: Spelling mistakes piss me off.

Whew- I had to get that off my chest! Secondly, I have been all over the moon these excruciating short days of winter. I see it in the morning, I see it in the evening. I am seeing (an noticing and appreciating) it all over the place. My kids think I'm all bat shit crazy when I have to stop the car and take a shot or 17 of the moon.

I mean, could you just pass this by? Don't even think about saying you could, I won't ever look at you the same. Anyway, the whole moon spotting thing makes me feel very zen. And as we all know, zen is what I need right now. The other thing that makes me feel very zen is swimming in the ocean. Yup, even though there was that incident, I still get into that salt water and feel like I am one with nature.

Today was a rough day for me because Matt was undergoing a minor surgical procedure. I am not at liberty to say what it was, I can say it was outpatient and did involve general anesthesia. (I know! Enough with surgery in this family right?) On our way into the city this morning, the sky brightened with that cloudless northeastern sky yellow and pink band of light. It was beautiful to see. And then I noticed the almost full moon still out and shining away. It was a thrill and I hoped a good omen. (Okay, there I go with the omens again.) Once we got into the city and turned west the moon was directly in front of us hanging low in the sky. I cursed myself for not having a real camera with me and desperately tried to record it with the sucking camera iphone:
Matt had his surgery and everything went smoothly. He is home and resting not so comfortably.

Then tonight the husband mentioned that mars is close to the moon. He was able to spot it for me and the kids from inside the house so I grabbed my camera and headed outside. I was too late for any light in the sky and that was a disappointment, because you can't get a good shot of the moon without it, but I used the moon glare off of some clouds, and here you can see the moon right above the tree tops, some flying saucer thing I haven't figured out yet, and mars off to the right just above the saucer.

I am feeling very tied into the family, my family, the one that I created not the one I was born into tonight, which is good because I am also trying real hard not to dwell on that not a single friend or family remembered that Matt's surgery was today and if I didn't have my family, the one I made for myself, right in here in this house I'd be the absolute most alone person on the face of the planet right now.

"holiday" concert

Josh performed in his grade's holiday concert last week. For some reason the kids came into the gym-atorium as dogs. I'm not totally up on your holidays but I didn't know puppies were a christmas thing too.
Josh , breaking with his two older brother's tradition of not singing at all and standing there wide eyed and frozen, and using special Josh highly refined skills of completely over acting gazes longly at his star. (Note: not a Star of David)

Also, during the hand motion song towards the end Josh was really feeling the passion of something.
But what I haven't mentioned yet is that Josh has a cold with one of those really nasty sounding wet coughs going on and I probably should not have sent him to school that day, except his little heart would have been crushed if he missed the concert, so I sent him anyway. And now I fear that there are (or will shortly be) a few mothers nursing their coughing first grader kids through christmas who are raising their fists in the air and cursing my name every time their kid hocks out a big green louie just to be a good boy for santa and I will end up hiding in the shadows every day at pick up until someone else gives Josh a nice case of the chicken pox over spring vacation or something.

lotioning

The other day in the locker room at the posh club I happened to (stare right at in a possibly creepy kid of way) noticed a lady applying lotion after her shower. This lady applied lotion to every single skin cell not considered a mucous membrane on her entire body. And I thought "Hmm, I only apply lotion to the areas of skin that are typically not covered my very matronly bathing suits. Maybe I have missed something (yet again) in the "How to be a girl" handbook." So I went home and investigated the need for moisturizer on my tushy.

To be honest with you folks, my bottom did not appear (no snake skin like on my legs) and did not feel (yup, it was already nice and soft despite the lack of body lotion) to need any additional hydration, but after my shower the next morning I went ahead and lotioned it right up just to see what I have been missing out on all these years of creaming neglect. Well, to say that I was less than impressed is an understatement. Maybe it is because all my creams are serious heavy duty kind of creams, or maybe it is because I am some kind of freak who doesn't like yanking my granny panties up over a moist/tacky/lotioned up butt all morning, but what ever the reason, after that experiment I figured I was done with creaming my bottom for ever.

Then I happened to buy (don't hate me!) an O magazine. Usually if I am going to read something that far below my reading level it is going to have some really good celebrity gossip in it (and pictures of those scandalous celebs too!), but O lured me in with a promise of higher energy (4 hidden causes of fatigue) and I tossed it up there right on top of my kale (leafy greens=fountain of youth) and brought it home. Well, according to someone who was interviewed for O magazine, there is such a thing as LOTION THERAPY and in lotion therapy you have to lotion up every inch of yourself every day so that your previously fat self can reconnect with the newly trimmer self you have become. And I thought "Oh No! Now I will be psychologically fat forever!" But I thought it was interesting in a sponsored by vaseline intensive care kind of way. I'm still not lotioning my butt again.

In the mean time all 4 of those hidden causes require a trip to the doctor and some tests to diagnose but the one I am seriously thinking just might be a cause for me is the thyroid one. In a surprise move which shocked even myself, yesterday , instead of basking in the new coolness that is my folks aren't here to run the electric fireplace 13 hours a day, I turned the thermostat up. And worse, I didn't notice it had gotten a bit um... hot in the house. Then the husband came home and nearly fainted before he managed to strip down into his boxers and an undershirt. And I had admit that I have not been the usual hot potato I have been most of my life. Also, all this exercise I have been doing is paying off in more muscle tone, but the scales have not budged despite the fact that I have been off sugar since the week before Thanksgiving.

So, me and my naturally smooth butt will be heading off to the doctors soon. I think a nice round of tests is in order.

Energy come home. I miss you.

With all this stress in my life I have the overwhelming desire to sleep. Seriously, at any given moment I could literally fall fast asleep. I even think about sleeping on the eliptical. I look around at my cluttered chaotic home and I wonder if it would be a good time for a quick little doze. I drive into the parking lot 12 minutes before I need to be somewhere and think "12 minutes would make a nice little nap-etizer." My alarm goes off in the morning and the only thought that gets me out of bed is the one that goes like "I should be able to close my eyes for 40 whole minutes before picking up the kids this afternoon!"

But the truth is I never really do get that time to nap. All day long one activity seems to blend into the next one, and by the time evening rolls around I am unable to move my limbs enough to do all the housekeeping that needs to be done, I can't fall asleep for fear that I wil wake up refreshed at 4 AM (hahaha) and I don't care one bit about the mess or the unfolded laundry or the holiday cards that have yet to be sent. Usually I end up sitting at the computer trolling around my favorite blogs hoping someone will make me laugh hard enough to forget for a few seconds until I can drag the unwilling kids into their own beds and then I can finally collapse into my own bed for another 7 hour reprive of my life troubles.

And other people's troubles are seeming pretty trivial to me right now. I know, I know, harsh. I'm so harsh. I realize that this admission is likely to alienate a person or two, but with all that is going on here, as long you and your kids are healthy, your problems pale. At least according to me. Because sick kids is the only thing I can think of that might be worse than this. There might be others. I'm not in those shoes. Because I know you can never know until you are walking in these shoes, and I wouldn't wish these shoes on anyone, you have no idea how tricky it is to walk in three shoes at a time.

So I try not to talk too much to the people who can't possibly understand, unless I am feeling mischeivious, like I was today when the landscaper called about wrapping my hydrangeas and made the crucial mistake of asking how my family was and I cheerfully told him every painful detail in a chatty lilty kind of way, even though I could hear him squirming through the phone lines, before I politely set him free. It actually gave me some kind of sick sadistic satisfaction.

And when it comes to the people I talk to all the all the time, I just don't feel like burdening them. I guess it would be different if there was something they could do, but there isn't. That's what makes this so hard. There is nothing anyone can really do.

My point is (oh yeah, point) that I am dreadfully unbelievably tired. So tired I can barely move. So tired I want to wear pajamas all day long. In bed. Under the covers. For as many days as it takes. Until it's safe to come out again. So tired.

I wake up happy

Matt: My bagel smells like a banana.
Me: Oh really? Evan's laundry smelled like shit. I put it in the dryer anyway.

this and that

I'm thinking of starting a new category here. I'm going to call it "Is it just me or..??" Like this: Is it just me or are people going absolutely crazy on the highways lately. What is with all the passing on the right? Do cops not catch you speeding if you are on the right? Do you get there faster if you pass on the right? Can we call a truce on the passing on the right? It is really getting on my nerves.

Today a lady hopped onto the eliptical machine right to the one I was exercising on. The first thing I noticed was her carefully sculpted teased crown of hair all up in a pony tail. She must really hate the natural shape of her head to tease up the top of her head before tying on a pony tail and going to the gym. Now I wonder if maybe she isn't deformed on the top of her head. Maybe she has a big crater head she is trying to hide. Also, there was much makeup in use on the hair teased eliptical lady at the gym today. And perfume. So, the lady with the crater head, the bad skin and the B.O. (I assume) hopped onto the machine next to mine and if you think I can tell you any more about what she looked like you are wrong. I imagine if I saw her coming out of the shower it would be quite the frightful sight. But I couldn't stick around, her perfume was making me ill.

I had an interesting chat with Bubbles about my weight today. I have decided that I eat like someone who should be 30 pounds over weight. Not 30 x 4 pounds over weight. I am going to have my thyroid tested. The symptoms fit. And as Bubbles so cheerfully reminded me, I am over 40! Woo Hoo!

You won't believe this tid-bit folks. My parents went home. They went home Friday and I didn't mention it because I am still processing it. They have made more medically sound decisions in their lives. Hopefully mom won't go into kidney failure while down there. It's a possibility. Mostly I am angry. Every one pretended like this would be a good thing because I would get a break. Now my worry has just been multiplied by about 17 (hundred). It is nice to fall asleep without the downstairs tv shaking my windows though. I still have not been alone in the house, but I never give up hope. There is always tomorrow!

Grandma won't do anything any more. She wants to die. I have been calling the one surgeon who might be able to do this out dated procedure that might not even work, but can not get through to him. Seems he doesn't spend much time in the office. Grandma has taken to throwing her pills at the nurses. They are used to that but my eyebrows are raised. Very interesting. She says she wants to die. I don't blame her.

This corner of the garden state is buried under a layer of ice. Evan wanted to slide around on a patch of ice this afternoon. I told him it wasn't a good idea, I did not approve, it wasn't safe and not to come crying to me if he got hurt. He got hurt. He cried for 4 1/2 hours right up until the moment I put him to bed. Men.

Tomorrow is Josh's school "holiday" (Christmas) concert. I might have to medicate not to die from his unadulterated enthusiasm and overall adorableness. He wanted to wear a black turtle neck for some reason. I'll take photos.

proud in a rebellious kind of way

I got an email from Matt's math teacher on Friday. (Uh oh) It said Matt isn't doing so well in math. (UH OH!) It says there are a few factors contributing to his poor performance. (U-H!! O-H!!!) and the primary reason he isn't doing so well is that he is socializing too much. S.T.O.P. WHAT?!? My kid (Hello? ASPERGERS) is not doing so well because being tooTOO tooToo social??? ummm ...wow.... what to do about that...

Dear High School Teacher of The Special Math Class,
I am sure to the very core of my being that you are completely overwhelmed with too many needy special math students and most likely have a huge stack of tired worn out manilla folders filled with long winded prolific never quite get to the point assessments of your 187 unique and different kinds of special needs special math students. I imagine that if you tried real hard you could finish plowing your way through these 187 assessments sometime around June.

If you should happen to locate and breeze through Matt's never ending assessment, (you know, cause he isn't doing so well in special math according to you) you will see that Matt has been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. Asperger's is a great big wonderful world of social deficit. You should also know that our family takes Matt's diagnosis with Asperger's Syndrome very seriously. And you should know that we have had a long, serious, and thorough family discussion about Matt's over socializing in class being the primary contributing reason for his poor performance this marking period.

Anyway, we have spoken with Matt and feel confident that he will be more focused in special math in the future, but in the mean time, please enjoy the attached picnic basket. The caviar needs to be kept cool, the doves should be released around noon, I won't tell anyone about the champagne during school hours, and the cake is a real buttercream, so you might want to eat it right away.

Good News is always welcome here.

Signed,
with love and appreciation,
keep up the good work,
Clickmom

my teeth might be fake but my batting average is legit

Sit down this might shock you.

I spent the afternoon at the oral surgeon.

It seems that while my mouth rejects (and ultimately ejects) anything made of tooth enamel, it is just hunkey dorey fine with titanium and the two titanium posts that went in last June are rock solid and ready for their permanent (I'll believe that when I experience it) fake teeth. If I weren't born in this time and place I'd be one seriously frightening looking dental disaster. As it is I am quite the shocking dental disaster with lots of good looking fakes, and for that I am grateful. (You didn't think I had forgotten about all that gratitude stuff did you?)

Anyway, the short (stout) kind of over all thick looking but gentle as can be oral surgeon was doing his thing inside my mouth and I was actually lying there thinking about how short and thick the guy is and trying to decide if he was always like that or if he was a regular looking guy and only thickened up as he aged. Then he needed to (oxymoron ahoy!) delicately ratchet (no such thing inside a mouth!) some little post topping device on top of the titanium post he had just cut through my delicate gum tissue to expose. Since this was being performed inside my mouth, where the post is hopefully permanently adhered, and there is not all that much free space in there with which to work in, the gentle surgeon must have felt a bit oafish performing this last indignity upon my face. He who is so incredibly visibly thick (And since we are adults here, I wonder, don't you wonder too?) said "In my next life I want to come back with - slender ------- fingers." oh. no. he. did. not. YES HE DID! You know I went into overdrive with all the witty inappropriate things I could have said, I let them all speed through my mind. I let every single one of them make a brief appearance. And then I ushered them away. Cause the guy had his big broad fist in my mouth and I am not a fool.

bah hum bug

Now that (whew - again) I am past my people’s holiday and feeling like the Grinch who permanently stained and darkened the celebration of light, Hanukkah, (I prefer the C spelling but it seems I am in the minority about that) forever in the minds of my impressionable young children I will admit that traditionally we just seem to miss the 5th night. It's just that the thrill has worn off by the 5Th night and even the kids mostly just go about their business and do their own thing only remembering about the night before the following night when they remember that it is the 6th night and hey there might be more presents squirreled away some where. It is for this reason that we always have plenty of Hanukkah candles left over once Hanukkah is said and done for the year and I even have a little collection of unburned candles of the past going on in the junk drawer right next to the unused birthday candles of the past.

Today I tossed our pretty colorful unburned hand dipped candles of this year into the worn out baggie right along with last years unburned yummy smelling beeswax candles and the over abundance of stark white minimalist candles from a few years ago when each kid got to light their own menorah every night and all those left over 5th night candles added up to a substantial amount. (I suspect there was another late in the game missing night that year too, there were an abundance of stark white candles lurking at the bottom of that bag). Every once in a while when the birthday cake is large and in need of a more prominent candle I will dig into the wayward Hanukkah candle bag and we will forgo the more popular self re-lighting candles for a larger long lasting Hanukkah candle. But I am not the only one who forgets! Another blogger not only forgets, but admits for all to read too! See, the internet keeps me warm and fuzzy.

Now that I am on the safe side of my holiday gift giving I am relieved to learn that I am not the only one in my little circle of friends who just wasn’t in the groove this year. In the beginning of the season when all the catalogs were coming my way and I was still patient enough to look at them, (especially the ones with jewelry sections) I saw gifts that I’d get for my babes. Not wanting to put anyone in an uncomfortable position of receiving a gift when they had not thought of gifting me, I sent out a group email asking the babes if they wanted to do something like a gift exchange. Not one babe responded with a single word so I figured it was too much (but I kept seeing that hand blown green glass pickle ornament and oh how I wanted to give it someone!) for every one to worry about. Then last night one brave ecologically responsible babe sent out another email and the responses that followed cracked me up and gave me the warm fuzzies again.

"Clickmom inquired about a gift exchange, but I don't think we ever resolved it. I recently read a suggestion that friends exchange things they already own rather than buying new things as a way of reducing consumption/waste. So how about an official re-gift exchange on Friday?"

My holidays are over! Bwah hahahahah!!!! Woo Hoo!! (wrote I, the token Jew)

Thank you lord! Because if I have to go out and buy one more damn thing I think I will explode. How’s that for Holiday cheer?

Sounds like it could be fun. I'm in. (I read doubt into this response, how about you?)

I so completely agree. So much so that I am not buying either kid ANYTHING for Christmas. They are ungrateful selfish little shits and we made them that way. (must find out exactly what her kids did!)

Ho Ho! My holidays are over! Yippee! (me again)

fin

I have never been so glad to get to the end of a holiday before. It is the end of Hanukkah and I say "Good riddance!" with an emphasis on riddance. I never ever wanted to celebrate less and never felt more put out by having to participate in this overly commercialized consumerist frenzy than I did this year. Yuck poo and glad to see you go, Hanukkah.

In the mean time, I've been shooting lovely, excellent and beautiful portraits for all sorts of friends and strangers and thought (hahahaha on me) that maybe tonight I would shoot my own kids. (The shoemaker's kids never have shoes, right?) To say that it didn't work out well for my kids would be the understatement of all understatements. I'll skip the torturous beginning and middle and skip to the end where Josh kept asking if anyone was mad at him or not (not), Matt was sobbing on his bed with guilt over both punching Evan in the stomach (shocking) and also about having everything a kid could want and more and being disappointed that one item off of his well thought out Hanukkah list was not ordered, and Evan was crying in the shower (where I sent him to calm down) because he was the one who cruelly (yet not entirely intentionally) brought Matt to this ugly and uncharacteristic place of violence (and don't forget the greed), and I was crying and apologizing to both of them for totally ruining this entire Hanukkah with my lack of enthusiasm and bad "I can't take the pressure attitude."

Needless to say, we are going to try again tomorrow! And if that doesn't work, there is a mediocre photo from vacation I'll use. In the mean time, I am looking for a chill pill and maybe even something a bit more effective, but am unsure wether or not I'd be able to lift my favorite lens after a bottle (or case) of wine.

who am I?

Yesterday I stopped by the OFH to see grandma. I found her snuggled up in bed with the blanket pulled all the way up to her chin. She didn't hear me come in. She was moving her head from side to side and making uncomfortable noises. I couldn't tell if she was asleep and having a bad dream or lying there in pain with her eyes closed.

me: Are you in pain? (gently rubbing grandma's bathrobe clad arm so as not to startle her in case she is having a bad dream)
grandma: (Very clearly but without opening her eyes) Oh, you're here. Yes, my tummy hurts. Why are you here?
me: I just came to see how you are and to tell you how much I love you.
grandma: Oh, I love you too. I love you to the ends of the earth and beyond. You're the best.
(forces her eye lids to open and sees me sitting on the edge of her bed)
Oh, it's you.

moon and star

My kids think they are funny

gazing

One day while discussing my folks with wildmom, wildmom asked in that just checking way "Your folks are close right?" I said they were and she added "I mean like CREEPY close right?" I laughed and told her that that was exactly what they are.

Dad got more good news. He took another PSA test and his levels fell again. Upon hearing this good news Dad kept off the couch and yelled out what he had just heard. Mom ran over to dad and they hugged and kissed. They both seemed so incredibly happy. I couldn't help wondering what was going through mom's mind, because I imagine that if I were in her place there would be a little ice cold part of my heart that was wondering why you were getting a break and everything was so painstakingly hard for me. But we all know I have big heart of ice anyway.

This morning I knew the two of them were awake when the scumcle called. I went onto the room and they were lying in bed facing each other with their hands propped up because their fingers were intertwined as they gazed into each other's eyes. All me and my stone cold heart could think was " Wow, mom can stare him right in the face and he doesn't even have his teeth in yet."

jumping into the frying pan

I am sitting outside my paper's new offices trying to summon up the courage to go in there and have a chat with my boss's boss about the shifty ( iphone doesn't want me to curse) photos they accept from the not professional photographers and also that I have (cowardly on my part up until now) never asked for a raise. Hopefully I will walk out of this meeting with a few more cents per photo and a class on the schedule so I can teach the novices a thing or two. I have been offering my services to my editor for a while now but she is afraid of offending people. I guessvthey dont know how terrible their work is. I know how bad it is and I'm not afraid of anyone taking offense. Especially when our competition isn't stellar in the photo department either. I'd like to see my paper be recognized for some quality work. Even if it is a group effort. Besides I'd be proud to be the change or the good teacher who raised the standards.