clickmom

negativity

I have been actively trying to pursue a denial reaction while avoiding thinking about THE SPOT. Clearly this has been my (pre-determined and genetically programmed/familial) M.O. from before the beginning when I did no pre-dermatologist appointment SPOT area grooming. I had practically convinced myself that the derm would take one glance at THE SPOT and brush it off, just like she does for every other spot I go running in to show her. Surprise on me!

So, the healing process has been less than ideal/comfortable due to THE SPOT's precarious location in the place where everything comes (rubs) together- including undergarments and sanitary napkins. Needless to say, it's been a trying week (even with out the dental hell aspect) and my mental health/psychological reserve hit 0 about a day and a half ago. Today I tool care of some early morning business, crawled into bed until some afternoon business, picked the kids up from school and am now counting the minutes until I can crawl back into bed. Cheers!

In the mean time I got it into my head that THE SPOT wasn't healing fast enough and that maybe it was infected and when I went back to the chiro for more post dentist jaw realigning today I asked him to see if I tested positive for any bacteria floating around in that area. I hadn't told him about THE SPOT previously and filled him in on it's existence and it's removal. Chiro did his kinesiology voo doo magic testing on me and THE SPOT. I sat there (emotionless) as he tested his vials and then his remedies. It was pretty clear that there was one vial that was showing up as "positive" and once one remedy was indicating it would strengthen me I asked if the vial was bacteria and he told me it was cancer. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, but I tried to keep it together since Evan (aka" the big over reacting to every pain and twinge faker) was in the room getting all of his quirky fakingness tested after mine, and I didn't want him to see me freaking out.

The chiro however did see me almost losing my cool and then, he who (has testicles and therefore can not handle the sight of my big emotional girlie "feelings ahoy!" tears) lives by the power of the vial said "The biopsy could come back negative you have to wait and see." which I thought was just great and now I like totally want all my money back for years of living by the vial if I'm going to think that way! So, I don't really know what to think. Except I do deep down inside think the biopsy will come back positive for cancer. But I am a well known worrier. And I am a part time hypochondriac, that is, when I take a break from my own personal style of denial. Obviously I do have to wait for the more definitive actual biopsy to come back to say cancer or no cancer and also what stage before I can (exhale/really freak out) decide what my next move is going to be.

It's going to be a loooooong mother fucking week. Even longer now thanks to the vile vial.

Also, because cancer alone isn't enough to hold me under, the scumcle called and, fool that I am, I answered the phone without consulting the caller ID. He wanted to know if I was planning anything for grandma on Sunday, her birthday, and really, I couldn't lie, so I told him. And now he thinks he should show up during her "party." Now me and my emotionally fragile self have to deal with him and his cold bitch wife during my waiting period before I get the biopsy results. Not what I need, not what I need at all. I've got your forecast: It's raining shit here.

new teeth

Evan went back to school today despite his academy award winning performance of a child who had not managed to sleep a single minute last night due to imagined waves of nausea and stomach pains which inspired mad clawing at said stomach. He even squeezed out a few crocodile tears, but when push came to shove, I shoved him right out the door. I had things to do.

On Monday I couldn't smile big or laugh with my mouth open for fear of exposing my less than attractive titanium rods with out having a convenient corn cob pipe, whiskey jug and banjo handy to explain them away. Today I could have smiled big or laughed mouth wide open if only the nerves on the right side of my cheek would stop shrieking in revolt and the feeling would return to the rest of my right face. But when I cry in pain, at least I appear to have a full set of chompers. Yup, the permanently fake teeth are in! It hurts like a son of a bitch but damn, do they look real.

I found out from the ever chatty desk person at the OFH that scumcle showed up the other day and mentioned he'd be back on Sunday. Sunday is grandma's real birthday. I already had plans for a little in house celebration. She is going to be 96. Wah! I just want to cry. I don't want scumcle to be there. Since he didn't show for her 95th I figured he wouldn't bother for 96 either. Dammit! I polled wise people today (mostly bubbles) and the consensus is that I should take the high road and be cordial and polite to him. Since I am still in the throws of my Dexter mania and know intuitively that this is what Harry would recommend, I am going to have to see it through. I can do cordial. Except, I have been told that under no uncertain terms am I to accidentally or otherwise trip the scumcle if he walks past me. And that is a major disappointment too. High road, high road, this is my mantra for now.

You are not going to believe this one, but the sports editor sent me to another cancelled swim meet today. I'd make a big stink if the guy didn't look like death was dragging him halfway out the door already. I don't want that on my conscience should he actually spontaneously go any minute now. I did email the publisher and remind him that in my contract I get paid for going to sporting events even if they are cancelled. Thank goodness too, because the $1.37 they are going to pay me should cover the amount of gas it took me to drive around this private school's grand circular driveway in search of the school busses full of young athletes that weren't actually even there.

That's all I got, so now and my numb face are off to find the fast working yet not completely effective advil gel caps I will need in order to relieve enough pain to be able to drift off to sleep, albeit temporarily, because for some reason those lame OTC pain killers are only lasting an average of 3 hours. Yay, pain! I'm not dead yet if it still hurts!

couched

When Matt gets sick I know precisely what to do. When Josh gets sick I can tell exactly how he is feeling. When Evan gets sick the only I can tell for sure is that Evan is actually not feeling well. What I have no idea about is how bad he feels or even what he is feeling because Evan, while not being a liar, because if he says he isn't feeling well then he isn't feeling well, is an exaggerator extraordinaire. I do have (many many) recollections of my parents holding their forearms up their forheads and feining swoons and calling me Sandra Bernhardt, so I can only assume that he picked up the flair for the dramatic from me. However, this being said, I have absolutely no patience what so ever for Evan's embellished illness routine.

Pretty much the last two days went down like this:

1. Evan says he doesn't feel well.
2. I cringe inside and look at his glazed over eyes. His eyes are the first thing to show and if they aren't big-n-sparkly I know I am in trouble. Monday- no sparkle.
3. I begin to weep softly inside, cancel all my appointments and check Evan's forehead. Nada. He's cool as a cucumber, but the eyes are truly dull so I call him in sick to the school.
4. With the other two out the way at their schools for the day Evan and I commence the all day rental dvd marathon. It's not that bad because I am making my way through Dexter and Evan is cool with that choice.
5. Evan periodically whimpers and moans. It's fake and I try to ignore it. He moans louder and I fein checking his forehead for temperature that is not there again and again.
6. Evan refuses to eat, thinking lack of appetite will buy him more sympathy. It wouldn't kill him to loose a couple of pounds. I just remind to drink plenty of fluids. When I look away, however, he scarfs down (in record time) half of a loaf of dry challah.
7. More Dexter.
8. The days have blended into each other and day two finds us still stationed in front of the tv watching Dexter. I'm hoping Evan picks up some social tips from Harry.
9. Evan still performs the lack of appetite schtick but when I lure him into the Starbucks on false pretenses he admits to wanting one of their new breakfast sandwiches and devours the entire thing.
10. The school nurse phones me because she hasn't received my message from the office lady. She tells me how many kids from Evan's class have been out with strep, colds, and stomach bugs.
11. Evan gets a 4 o'clock appointment with the chiro to check for virus and bacterial infections. He doesn't want to go because we have to say goodbye to Dexter for a little bit. Evan checks clean for bugs. But the chiro does find that Evan has a spasming diaphragm which can cause the stomach pain and nausea Evan has been complaining about for two days. The chiro asks if the gym teacher has been making Evan do a lot of sit ups and I immediately wonder if Evan has been trying too hard to impress the very adorable pilates teacher on Saturdays.
11. Matt asks how Evan is when we get home and I say something about "ready to go back to school". Evan hears this and runs to the bathroom. The next thing I know Evan is exiting the bathroom and tells me he just vomited. I say I will go up to see and Evan tells me he flushed it all away because "I didn't want to leave a mess for you mommy"

12. HA HA HA HA HA

13. And I know that Evan (the big faker) is completely fine, has watched about 17 hours of too much tv and that tomorrow Evan will be going back to school.

making a contribution

Since I don't hang too much with the younger crowd any more, I don't personally know too many people who are expecting. I really loved taking all those new baby shots last summer and feel like I could really use some new baby shots right now to just kind of fill me up with that new baby wonderment. I tried accosting a couple of pregnant women at pick up at the school, (okay, I have to admit that one was covered with tatoos-such a rare sight around here- and I was all like OMG! What an awesome photo shoot that would make!) but I have to face it that I am one of those "older" mothers and those younger mothers (like I most likely did when Matt was in 1st grade) look at me like I am, well, an older mother. I am not imagining this. They all look about 20 to me!

The other night, when it is entirely possible that I was teasing Matt about his hair style and the dilemma he will likely face one day once he realizes he is getting bald, Matt declared "Ben Franklin had awesome hair!". After I got over the shock and disbelief one might feel when hearing that statement declared in such a heartfelt manner and also with such a straight face, I thought perhaps I would google image old Ben's styling hair. You know, for a post that Danelle would sure to comment on!

And, as I am sure you know you very well, one link led to another to another and so on and so on and so on until I somehow I ended up on a sight that sends volunteer photographers to hospitals to take free portraits for families who have for any reason lost a newborn baby. There were beautifully crafted photos of both the babies alone as well as the parents holding their newborn deceased babies.

When Matt was in Kindergarten a new family moved to town. The kid of the family could not behave himself and Matt made it his personal 5 year old mission to try to explain the ins and outs of good behavior to this kid. I got friendly with the mom who had lost a baby (stillborn) just before moving to our town. She had some of those cheesy hospital portraits on the multi-color pastel background of the baby and very time we visited their house, those pictures were prominently displayed on a different surface. I just knew in my heart that that mourning mom was carrying those photos around with her all evening every night. They disappeared after 4 or 5 months (witness protection program- I kid you not) and I never heard from her again.

I started this blog after photographing a young boys funeral (for the paper) and feeling unsure about it. What do you think I did? I volunteered to do these photo portraits at our local hospital. I'm not sure how it will affect me, (if they even contact me) but if there is a need for this and it will help someone in their healing process, then I'm all over it. If it is too hard I can always quit, but at least I can ease some pain for someone along the way.

still frozen in NJ

And now another installment of sarcasticmom's....

Evan and I took a nature walk today and here is some of the dead of winter we observed.

2 questions

Evan, inorder to complete his homework, had to call a (friend-type) classmate for the spelling words the other night. While they were on the phone, Evan asked the boy if he would like to come over Friday for a play date. The mom, with whom I have had some very nice pleasant chats and am interested in getting to know better, called me back an hour or so later to tell me that the son could not come to our house he had a scouts related activity that day. And then she said, with some kind of uncomfortable that I just couldn't place in her voice, "Can I ask you a couple of questions?" And my heart kind of twisted into a knot (because Oh No What Did Evan Say/Do? What kind of Freak Family does this woman think I am part of now?Oh! Evan!) and then I, despite the fright stomping on my chest, (deep breath) casually said "Sure!"

She hesitates.

Then finally.

"Were you .... bit by a shark?"

"Yes I was!" (relief!) Whew, I'm sure that seems unbelievable to the average suburban garden state house wife. Okay, that was easy, chit chat a little, share a little, is there something (gulp) else?

pause

more pause

I begin to sweat.

tick tick tick

"Were... Were.....Were you a Hooters waitress .... and did you wear a studded dog collar?"

??????????????????

WTF??

Thinking.....

Still thinking .......

Wheels turning....hmmm that does sound familiar.....

"Oh No! That wasn't me! That was Evan's Aunt, my little sister! Yes! But not at the same time! Hahahaha!"

haiku about grandma

tumbling thoughts can
not understand help
touch frightens frustrates

Okay, I know the haiku is supposed to be the whole post but I can't just leave it at that. I went to see grandma today hoping to see her in the dining room for lunch. As I rounded the corner towards the dining room one of the aides told me that grandma had just been brought up to her room by another aide. I asked if she had eaten lunch and the aide said that the aide who brought grandma upstairs was going to bring her back down. I went upstairs to see just what was going on and I found a very confused grandma. Grandma had come down on her own for lunch except she was not appropriately dressed (nothing naked, so don't go there) and hadn't been washed down by the aide for the day. The aide had taken her back upstairs to change her into clean clothes and wash her. Grandma did not want to be washed and gave the aide a very hard time. The aide said she always does that. every. day. I could not be an aide.

Evan wrote a poem

Evan's assignnment last night was to write a poem using 10 of his 25 spelling words. He wrote this completely on his own and came to me with the finished product. The idea was his own and the words are all his too. I always thought he was secretly a grown up in a kids body. I love the way he writes.

Postcards oh postcards. Those little delights. They take you away from your boring old lives. Working on essays maintaining companies and massaging the everlasting headache. A glimpse of paradise is all you need to let your mind loose to set it free! As the excitement bubbles inside yourselves you examine the features of the postcard. You see a forest, lush with plant life, alive, moving, but most of all you see paradise. As the backgrounds sink into your head you are jerked from behind. You look up from your newly found paradise to see businessmen with Rolex watches. You see people bumping in to each other and yelling out hallow apologies. All this time you were still in the city experiencing the hustle and bustle of daily commute. But in your mind you were white water rafting in the Amazon, and panning for gold in California. You might even have been riding a scooter around Greek ruins. You’ll remember where you want to be more than where you are.

Moral of the story: It doesn’t matter where you are. All you need to do to go away is set your mind free.

say what?

Here is a question for you to ponder if you happen to find yourself lying in bed awake and unable to sleep at some point tonight: How many times can clickmom possibly rub her eyes in the 40 minutes after she chops up a nice strong jalapeno pepper?*

Speaking of lying in bed. For a few nights now I have been having more than my typical unusually vivid dreams and also (much to my utter frustration) waking up about 5-7 times a night recalling the dreams only to forget all but the last dream come morning. (I am living in some other than my real life house with my kid, except it isn't one of my real life kids because the dream kid is teeny tiny and my dream kid insists that we put leopard wallpaper up in it's bedroom. I am resisting because WTF? Leopard wallpaper? But end up giving in and the room turns out to look wonderful and I tell myself I have to 1. trust my kids and 2. learn to take more chances)

So, I ask Matt if I can borrow his little digital recorder and he shows me how to use it and I put it next to my bed. I wake up only three times that night and try twice to record my dreams. In the morning I grab the recorder, virtually drooling with the anticipation of it all, only to discover that in my very unsexy half asleep voice I have left two absolutely incoherent messages to myself. Matt thinks they are hilarious. The next night, I put the recorder back next to my bed and sleep through the night (or rather I sleep until Josh appears at the foot of my bed at 6am and declares himself "lonely") Tonight I am going to try again because what I really want to do is wake up and discover something so freaky, so bizarre and so hilarious that I feel I must join utterz and let the world listen in too.

* the answer is three. Yes people, three times tonight I rubbed jalapeno juice from my own contaminated finger tips into my own eyes. (the third time wasn't actually that bad, I must have been still numb from rub #2)

Walking with knees pressed together

Today I pulled into the dermatologist parking lot to find not one but two hard to find parking spots available. Yay, right? One spot was partially blocked by a rude mal-parked honda odyssey driver who parked over the line dividing his space from the next space. I slid into the clearly defined other spot thinking I would more than likely find an empty partial spot next to my truck when I returned if the odyssey was still there. But I was wrong. I sat in the car for a moment because I had arrived un-fashionably early when some chick pulls in right next to me and makes a mad dash for the building. I open my door and realize that not even a slender three year old could make it out of that door crack, let alone me, and I call to the lady and say "Hey, I assume you don't want me to slam my door into your car! Am I right? Cause you parked in my spot and now I can not get out!" So she dashed back, got into her car and drove away. The I went in for my appointment and crossed my fingers for either an empty space or a mini cooper .

I sat in the dermatologist's office waiting room getting more and more nervous as I watched the people all walking through the out door with their heavily bandaged noses, chins, and foreheads. Finally, a torturous (mostly because Rachael Ray was on the waiting room television and no matter where I sat in the waiting room, I could still hear her) 20 minutes later, they called me, brought me into a room, and gave me a paper mini vest to put on (opening to the rear) and a bigger flat sheet of paper to lay across my lap. Yeah, nice. Right out of the "How to completely annoy a fat chick" handbook. I took one look at the paper mini vest, which didn't even come down to my waist, stripped my nice warm real clothes off, papered myself up and put my down coat back on. It was undeniably freezing in there. And when the dermatologist came in she laughed when she saw me half papered half down coat covered and turned off the AC. (Yes, it's in the 30's today and she had the AC blowing) She said something about her last patient being in menopause. Hahaha. I don't care.

Anyways, to make a long (gruesome) story short, I should have suffered through the brazilian and will not be taking spin class this week. Dermatologist said she couldn't tell for sure, it had all the markers of a melanoma, and it was either nothing or something I caught very early. Biopsy results will be back in about 2 weeks. Ouch.

When I got to my truck I discovered an astro van, and not the hoped for mini cooper, beside my truck. The astro van, while still in my parking spot, left me slightly more room than the odyssey. I figured I could crawl over the passenger seat, but then I remembered what had happened in the dermatologist office and instead opted for chancing the astro's door (would they really notice another dent?) while I (not carefully for the van at all) but carefully not to move my nether regions any more than absolutely necessary stepped into my truck and slowly lowered myself into my seat.

Home again, home again jiggety jig.

guessing game

So, I am still not feeling like myself these days. Once my parents left in December (mom's kidney function is still hovering at a dangerously low about 9%ish and no doctor in his right mind (do no harm) will touch her- so no more treatment until if and when those kidney's decide to perk up and she has no intention of flying up to this frozen tundra just to chat about life with her oncologist) and the house cooled down to a more typical for us 70ish degrees I realized that I was freezing cold just about all of the time. And it got much worse. I began to cringe at the sensation of air moving through my pajamas as I walked across the room because my legs were cooled by the breeze. So I started taking my temperature and it was typically in between 97.2 and 97.7. Which, as we all know, is a full degree+ lower than what it should be. So, duh. Go figure.

The blood tests showed nothing remarkable (except that my thyroid was in the low end of normal as predicted by me, the one true expert on me and my sluggish metabolism) and the good doc says he does not want to make me hyperthyroid (but I'd be willing to give it a try until I weighed about 140 or so) so I get to take more tests! Now that we have exhausted all of the standard tests I get to do some more wacky sending of my bio-hazardous waste to far away labs using express carriers type tests. And check this out- The last two days my temps have been running 99.2-99.8. Hullo? And I am still cold! Also, because I am a medical wonder freak, I seem to have developed this aggravating hypersensitivity to about every garment of clothing I own and the feeling of clothes on my skin (especially my arms) feels like being trapped in a claustrophobic over grown christmas tree forest all day long.

All I want to do is sit in the sauna and watch myself glisten, because folks, I don't even sweat like a normal person. The other women emerge from the sauna dripping, I emerge merely dewey.

And to top off all that nonsense I found a questionable spot on my person which looks to me like the nasty melanoma they carved out of grandma's nose last spring. So I called up THE (as in the one to see) dermatologist and waited a month or so until her first available appointment rolled around and tomorrow is the day I get to have my little spot examined. "Where is this spot?", you might ask. Well, when I showed it to the good doc to see what he thought about it the first thing he said was "How did you ever see it down there?" to which I meekly answered "in the mirror". So if you see me walking like a cowboy and avoiding spin class for a while you'll know they thought it looked suspicious and did some removing of said spot. (Out damned spot!) I thought about getting a brazilian to make it easier for the dermatologist to navigate down there, but then I decided she made me wait a month for my exam and wasn't worth the pain of hot body wax. Wish me luck folks. And there will be no photos!

tired and discombobulated

Way too tired to post- but here goes...

I miss music videos that leave something to the imagination. I like to watch them while on the lying elliptical machine at the posh gym and am always turned off by the clown, little people in juke boxes, and pop up book imagery that is sticky sweet (is your target audience here 3 years old?) crammed (okay, that might be an exaggeration) down my throat. While I might enjoy the song on the radio with out images, thinking about making out with a clown isn't going to inspire me to actually shell out the bucks for a download or especially for the actual CD. Are there other people besides middle aged housewives at the gym looking for music videos at 8:30 in the morning? Just saying.

I am not comfortable on my acoustic guitar right now (started taking lessons in September) because my neck/shoulders are (not a surprise) acting up again. I tried an electric guitar tonight and it was just the right size that it didn't bother me at all. Am contemplating making the switch. I do like the acoustic sound better though...

Decided to ditch the original substitute (you know, for the dead one) therapist for a try with one who does do hynotherapy. I just want to be hypnotized and not have to drag everything back up into the open. Is that really asking too much? Can't I choose not to deal? It's like quitting smoking or dieting. Who cares why I do the wrong thing, just make me stop. (I don't smoke by the way, ick) I know he is going to make me spew all the garbage first. I gotta figure out a way to get through 42 years of it fast.

Saw a most disturbing story in the Times magazine yesterday about female circumcision. There were a few photos that tore right through me. One was a 9 month tear stained girl wide eyed and shocked looking right after her circumcision. I went to bed last night and dreamed about saving a 9 month old girl from drowning (?) and I raised her (with the blessing of Samantha from Sex in The City, naturally) up and she became a fabulous person. I was so happy for her. I do realize it's all just more fodder for therapy.

Am photographing wrestling later this week. Can't wait.

weeks worth of thoughts in (mostly low quality iphone) pictures

This lying bastard machine is trying to tell me that I am burning 838.8 calories in a single workout. Liar! Liar!

I say "Evan when did you draw on yourself?" and Evan responds "What?!? I would never draw on myself! That?? Oh, that was an accident!" And he's not even in puberty yet. Send reinforcements. For the safety of the child, please. Think of the child.

So I am waiting for the kids to get out of music class and this little boy comes in with a HUGE guitar case called The Coffin (for such obvious reasons) and then he pulls out this ridiculously big (and I assume expensive) electric guitar out of it and all I want to do is move somewhere where my kids will have to fashion their own instruments out of wood and twine or cast off whiskey jugs or something like that. God help this neighborhood.

I've been stuck behind trucks filled with cars before but when you get stuck behind one filled with golf carts it is a sure sign of spring, right? Please say right. Today's high was 24.

There is only one person I really want to share a sushi boat with even if he does eat all the soft pieces and leaves me with the chewy ones.

Shadows

When I was a little girl I used to fantasize about having a big brother who was kind and gentle and would be the responsible person in my life who would guide me and keep me safe. I think I might have been thinking about someone who I would know in my own future. I adore how incredible he is.

I am easy to please, really I am. I can't tell you how much seeing this on the table pleases me.

The best of friends.

Paying it Forward Blog Style

Presenting the totally ripped off from another blogger post:

Who wants to play a game?

Thanks to Sweetisu, I am participating in Pay it Forward - The Blog Edition. The official rule is, send homemade gifts to the first 3 people who leave a comment and say they are interested in playing.

In order to play, you must have your own blog and you MUST continue to pay it forward by promising the same thing to your readers on your own blog - and then deliver on the promise! Be sure to leave a valid email address so I can contact you for mailing info. And say BOO in your comment if you intend on joining in the fun.

I am offering an 8 x 12 landscape, matted and signed. (That counts as home made right? I can do some wickedly good broownies if you aren't visually inclined) You'll get to choose from anything I have already posted and maybe I'll go and put up a few more. Don't be a fool now, one day these might be collectors items! Get them while you can!

new project for me

My sports editor sent me to a swim meet that had been cancelled today. Grrr. But the upside was that the kids were being taken care of and I had the time free so I stopped by to visit grandma. I walked her down to the dining room and sat down with grandma and that woman from Argentina that grandma can not understand. The woman from Argentina began telling me how every year her father would make his own homemade wine from concord grapes and every night everyone (kids included) at the table would get a glass. And when the wine ran out her mom would make her own beer every week. My imagination was running wild. I wished I could have been there. And it made me love the old Argentinian woman even more. And I decided that I am going to do a photo series on the people of the OFH. They (the OFH) had previously asked me if I could come in and take some photos for them to put around the place since the ones they have now have been around a while and many of those residents are no longer there so I figure I'll have some carte blanch to walk around with my camera. What is going to be interesting is when I keep coming back time after time with my camera and become a fixture in the corner with my camera and they all begin to wonder just what I could possibly be photographing again and again. So I figure I'll tell them I am doing a little book for them (and naturally I will print up a book or two for them) but what I will be doing is trying to create a body of work that is a study, that tells a story and describes the people. But what I am really wondering is if I can take photos that tell the story that I see feel and hear there every time I visit. I want to show all the sadness and the hope and the little victories of being that old and still carrying on with some pride and dignity.

coming back for more

My job pays next to nothing and unless I am willing to take a much more time consuming job with a daily paper I'm not going anywhere ever. There is no where to go at my paper. Pretty much the exact job I have now is a dead end and I know it. But I love what I do and it's just right for me and my schedule. I can work when I want and always have the option of saying No to any assignment. Also, there is this other reason why I stay around. The people. They are so happy when I do what I do. And there is noting like being the big treat that walks into the room.

Last week the OFH asked me to come in and take some photos. So of course I did. They had one of their special lecturers, bla bla bla. And I did great job, especially considering the old folks don't smile much and their set up is about as disastrous of a set up and you can imagine for taking photos. Afterwards one of the administrators asked me if I could come back in a few weeks for another one of their programs in which the old folks are going to present some written work. When one of the old folks got wind of the chance of there being a newspaper photographer at the presentation she was going to take par tin she started to flip out. Then the administrator told her, "Don't worry, it's clickmom!" and the frightened old lady was right with the world again. Then the administrator sent me the nicest of thank you note about how everyone at the OFH feels all comfortable with me and really, it made my day.

Today I went to shoot a swim meet. I had some names of some key swimmers but was instantly overwhelmed by the masses of swimmers (3 schools-both genders) crammed into a very small pool deck and didn't know if I was going to be able to make heads or tails of the event. I asked a swimmer if she knew who Jane Doe was and she happened to be Jane Doe. I was set, Jane pointed out her team mates and made my day much easier. The same thing happened with the guys team. I think swimmers might be my new favorite athletes. Anyway, on my way out of the pool area after had gotten my shots (and I was pumped because it turned out to be much easier than I initially thought) I walked past Jane and her mom and I heard a very happy and excited Jane retelling the story about how I asked her if she knew who Jane Doe was and the thrill in her voice over knowing I was sent to shoot her was fulfilling to say the least. Also, I got an awesome shot of her. So I am going to press the paper to choose that one. I especially love making kids happy.

I am totally staying with my job.

old utopian photo mask

I understand the need for companies, wether they are ours or theirs, to have translators that are not only fluent in the target market's language but also with their slang and lingo, so they know which slang expression to avoid. We got some (legal in utopia) fireworks last summer and since I was only in the presence of minors I could not fully enjoy the awkwardness of their label.
Speaking of utopia, it can be a bit of a time warp-culture shock up there sometimes, and seeing this totally took me back, like all the way to second grade! Remember him? Remember practicing to get the nose perfect and the fingers just right? And experimenting with eyes that looked straight and sideways and were full circles or half circles or even had eyebrows? Wow, life before cable and internet sure was good!

Speaking of utopia and creativity, the guys who worked on our house up there were quite the creative bunch too. ALl the supporting structures were doodled and scribbled on and it makes me so warm and cozy knowing that if we ever have to pull a wall off for some reason we can find happy joyful fun loving construction guy stuff like this underneath:

And in case you are wondering, this little attempt to blog while diverting current up to date reality is brought to you by the once again wounded me who was pretty much told by her dying of cancer mother yesterday that my feelings would have to take a back seat (story of my entire life) yet again (shocking it is not) because right now she needed her brother, scumcle. You remember scumcle, the one who has been lifting any and everything of monetary and sentimental value out of grandma's apartment for the last 38 years, the one who has had virtually no relationship with my immediate family for, oh, the last 30 years or so years? The one who stole my sculpture? The one who did not come to grandma's 95th birthday party? The one who thought mother's day dinner was no longer convenient for him since his tennis game that morning was cancelled? The one who my mother didn't even tell she had cancer to for a few months because she just didn't want to have to actually talk to him? Yeah, that bastard. Ever since he found out his little sister is dying he's been calling her every day. I figure either he thinks her cancer is familial and he is trying to pump her for information or he has a secret life insurance policy out on her and he is the sole beneficiary. Probably the latter. I can just picture him rubbing his greedy little hands together and laughing maniacally while making his way through the piles and piles of stuff that he has absconded with over the years.

I am angry and bitter and I don't feel like swallowing my feelings for once. So there.

foxy

The devil dog has been barking non stop for abot, oh 40 minutes now. I called, screamed and yelled and may have even uttered few death threarts at her. Finally I went out to see what could possibly be freaking her out so much and there is FOX running back and forth between my two rear neighbors yards. A FOX! Oy vey.

they were wrong

Last night they predicted snow. And not just any kind of snow either. They issued a winter storm warning and depending on which meteor(guess)ologist you listened to the top range for possible accumulation in Stepford was between 8 and 10 inches. Now, to be honest, at the beginning of this season, with my folks here, and grandma self-inflicted bed ridden-ness, and driving everyone every where all of the time I made those silent kind of deals with mother nature. The kind of deal that goes, "Look, mother nature, if you lay off the snow this winter, I promise from both the bottom of my heart and with every ounce of zoom lens power I have left that I will never take the beauty of a two foot snow fall for granted ever again!"

But last night, feeling somewhat more myself these days, with the worry part still high on my daily downer list, but the physical effort of taking care of mom and done since they high tailed it back to Florida, I thought a little (lot of) bit of snow might be nice. So I (fool that I am) believed them when they said SNOW! And because I was such a dupe I made all these plans in my head. I thought I would wake up and take photos! and make a warm hearty breakfast for the kids, and roll up a nice big snow man and maybe go sledding with hot chocolate afterwards too. It was going to be a grand snow day!

So I said BRING IT ON! Mother Nature! HIT ME! as a matter of fact, I was much like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump atop the shrimp boat's crow's nest hollering and gesturing and just daring mother nature to take him down during the hurricane which destroyed every boat except his, which I would love to show you with a video but I cannot find it on youtube, (though I have to admit that I suck at finding things on the internet)

Imagine my shock when I rolled over this morning and opened my eyes. My thoughts went like this...

"Hmm, (yawn stretch) it's 6:18 and the school hasn't called yet to say they are closing school. (not registering) That's last minute. Wonder when they'll call. I guess I'll roll over and behold the splendor of the snow. How funny! There is no snow on the tree branches! I'd better sit up and have a better look. Hmmm! (still not registering) No snow on the roofs? How did all the glorious snow not fall on all the roofs? (registered!) Hey, where the #$%^&* is all the snow?!?!? Folks, not a single shiny snow flake fell on my lawn. Not even a teeny tiny shiny dusting of whiteness. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

So I packed the kids up, sent them off to school and took care of business as usual. Friggin weathermen.

I wore the ugneakers (see previous post) to walk the dog and at first I thought I was in trouble because I felt it all in my already sizable calves. But 20 speed walking minutes later, I felt it all the way up to my asslessness, so I was happy. Hopefully I'll have enough time tomorrow to feel it all the way up through the jelly rolls. I am told you are supposed to ease into these ugneakers. They are so (ahhhh!) amazing you have to go gently (snicker) at first so as not to over do it. Yeah, I'm sure! But walking in my converse high tops seemed like a breeze when I switched back after the ugneaker walk.

Anyway, today Evan was rambling on about how not creative all the early explorer settlers were when naming our great country. Evan doesn't like rivers and towns named after people (example: Henry Hudson named a lot after himself) also, Evan has some kind of disdain for all the New names like New York, New Amsterdam, New England, New Hamster. Bwah ha ha ha! He cracks me up. It killed me to have to correct him. New Hamster! Oh the gay jokes, oh the rodent remarks... it's endless. Too much.

show me your...

So I am trying something new here. It's sarcasticmom's weekly photo display where you post our favorite photos of the week. I have had a pretty dry week- I had two assignments from the paper, both basketball games which I am not entirely fond of due to the indoor lighting and my resistance to purchasing strobes that I could mount for good lighting, and would if my heart's desire was to be a high school basketball photographer, but it isn't so I either make due with my on camera flash or occasionally can do without flash, but only in gyms with real funky lighting and when shooting girls, because they move just a little slower than the guys. So, not in keeping with the rules of the game I am going to show you some photos I had put aside for an old pst that never got posted. I am going to share with you some of the hundreds of holiday card rejects that I rejected this time around. Here we go.....

Now do you have an idea why it took me four different sittings to get a shot to send out?

Anyway, here are some shots from those basketball games. I like a stranger dorky guy in dorkier hat and also I love the blooper shots.

Okay, if you think I need to focus a bit more on taking some of the good stuff this week show me your jazz hands!

Okay then, the basketball players have spoken. My head is bowed in shame and I promise there will be better quality here next week.

ugneakers

I have been trolling around the internet looking for inspiration for tonight's post and I gotta tell you, I think I got nothing.

Okay maybe I got almost nothing so I'll just embarrass myself.

Today I purchased probably the most ridiculous purchase I have ever made since that one and only bout of insomnia inspired Richard Simmons' exercise videos. (And if I am going to be completely honest, there may have been a previously purchased Thigh Master too.) But today, oh today, (exactly where did my senses go today?) today I purchased Masai Barefoot Technology sneakers. Otherwise known as some freaking ugly weird looking (are you into moon boots) shoes, but the company is trying out a snazzy new logo and they want you to think of them as MBT shoes. Whatever you call them they are still fugly funeakers or maybe they are ugneakers.

The theory (according to my 20 second glance at the propaganda display) is that with the rounded bottoms of these ugneakers being an unstable surface you change your gait or something and get a workout with virtually every step you take. As one of the assless people in this world I have been trying very hard to do all sorts of ass firming exercise in order to create anything that even resembles an ass beneath my back and above my legs. All my hard work is paying off. When I look at my sideways view in the mirror there is now a bump where my asslessness used to be. I'm so excited! And naturally the propaganda in the shoe store had a drawing of a lady wearing ugneakers with all the exercised muscle groups painted red and don't you know that not only was the drawing lady's well defined ass painted red but so was her abdominal region. And I am all about maintaining the imaginary 8 pack I tell myself is hiding under the jelly rolls.

The one downside of these ugneakers besides their orthopedic/michelin man appearance is that they also purport to work the calves. If my calves get any bigger they'll out measure my thighs, but it's a risk I am willing to take for the butt/abs combo. If by chance these ugneakers do happen to work my target areas and I think they are the greatest thing in the world you'll be relived to know that I won't have to suffer in closed in hot sweaty ugneakers once summer rolls back around. As if the ugneakers weren't so awful on their own they also make ugandals too.

Looks like I'm in (serious need of) therapy

I did make it to meet the new (not dead) shrink yesterday morning. Just as I assumed I would, I dragged my over abundance of life's baggage (My suitcase would definitely exceed FAA size limitations) into the room with me and proceeded to sift through many of the larger parcels, just to give her background. I didn't make it to the end of the hour before I couldn't hold the giant ball of wet teary snot filled tissue anymore and had to put the softball sized wad of paper mache bodily fluids into the waste can not once but twice before the final toss on my way out the door. My sinuses were remarkably clear for the rest of the day and I am wondering if maybe just crying for a solid hour each week is therapy enough for me.

After an entire hour (how bizarre it was to bla-bla-bla one sided for an entire hour) of outlining my almost every misery and explaining over and over again each stressful situation and how I need to stop feeling so responsible for every (freaking) thing (and I do very much see how pathetic this was of me which is why I am sharing with you) I started to feel like maybe I had laid too much on the therapist all at once. Seriously, I actually worried for a minute that she would go home and be depressed after hearing all of my personal life battles in the very first hour and I kind of apologized for any distress I might be causing her with my difficult history and trying present. Oh yes I did. L for loser right? How clear is it that I need therapy when I worry about over burdening the therapist? No wonder I find myself back in therapy.

Then I showed up all (cry much?) puffy to grab grandma out of the OFH and take her to yet another colon rectal surgeon. To make a LONG story less painful it was an hour drive, nearly two hours in the waiting room (during which, out of utter frustration and anger like I haven't experienced since I was still speaking the scumcle, I entertained multiple weapon and bombing the nurse's desk fantasies) The late running doctor (who did not apologize for being 2 hours late) thinks we should do "the procedure" now because she is absolutely gonna prolapse again and this way she can do it with a scheduled appointment and be in and out in a day. If we let it get bad we'll have to take her to the ER and she'll end up being hospitalized for a few days. Made sense. I got it. Then I had an hour drive back home, grabbed the kids from school, dropped grandma back off at the OFH and spent the afternoon with my babies.

You should know that Evan must have witnessed someone spraining their ankle recently because he claims to do so daily these days. He does some kind of movement which is remarkably similar to Elaine (minus the clapping),

but only when he knows I am watching. When he doesn't know I am watching he's fine. So if you happen to see Evan and he looks as if he is having neurological problems, it is (as long as I am present) another one of Evan's bizarre attempts to get more attention. He doesn't believe me that he can accomplish this long standing goal by being helpful and sweet even though I inform him of this miraculous method every other day. It's going to be a very long puberty folks. L for long. Luckily I am back in therapy!

The last thing I did before posting that lame excuse for a post last night was photograph a basketball game for the paper. For some reason, maybe it was all the AM crying, or maybe it because my spinal fluid was flowing from the previous days cranial sacral therapy, or maybe I was still on an adrenalin high from all the weapon fantasies in the waiting room, but when the nasty ref who kept frigging standing in front of me (probably because I am so desirable- they don't do that to men-but the man I am often photographing near is 6'5" and looks like Gerard Depardieu, so I wouldn't mess with him either) turned around and gave me attitude I gave it right back to him. While chewing gum with my mouth open. Then I gave him the slightest tiny little truce head nod and he turned his attention back to the game but he didn't stand in front of me again! Some days I have a whole collection of photos of the back of a ref's head. One day I am going to smack one. I'm close to the edge folks. Ahhh therapy.

curious

I made Matt snap this through the car one window while parked at a red light one day. It leaves me pretty speechless (as in: If you don't have anything nice to say...) and it did not belong to a drag queen as I suspected it might. Upon further inspection (I rolled my truck perilously close to the car in front of me because I just had to know) it was a daring part of an otherwise ordinary looking get up. I'm hoping it doesn't catch on.

All about me and blog365 is 2.4657% done!

I'm thinking that I will loose some credibility with the MD if I tell him that my thyroid can not possibly be normal (despite the normal blood test results) because both my chiropractor and my psychic said that my problems were coming from my thyroid. I mean, really, who is the guy going to trust? A (slip shod) lab or the loving people I (pay) surround myself with for a (whole lot of) little validation? Jeez. Freaking western medicine. Blood tests. I have to find out what he thinks normal is because what I suspect is that my normal is not in the low end of normal and what the blood tests show is I am in the low end of normal. And if I am not in the low end of normal then he better figure out why I am freezing cold all (the damned time) day and night every day and night. So annoying. It better not be iron because I had to take that once and it turned my teeth a not so lovely shade of gray. I feel like my grandma. Where is my sweater?

Speaking of grandma, guess who has been shuffling around the OFH, and going to all her meals, and hanging out (as in not in her room) looking for company? Un(I-never-thought-I'd-see-it-again)believable. I gotta give her credit. The old broad is trying. Maybe depression isn't her thing. Maybe I don't have a clue, but maybe putting her in the OFH was the best thing. Go me! (I think)

And speaking of me, I followed through with that "I have to get my head together and stop taking responsibility for (global warming) every (toxic mold) thing (tsunami) rant. Guess who has an appointment with a therapist tomorrow! As a person who has previously in her life several times over committed herself to more than her fair share of time on the couch, I have to say that the prospect of beginning this process all over again isn't. thrilling. me. at. all.. But my old therapist died. (I know, the nerve, right?!?! As if I was done!) and haven't been to see anyone for a head tune up in forever. I was hoping to keep it that way (as in real forever) for a little while longer because I kind of enjoyed the freedom of (screaming without blame) not examining everything I say and do and think and feel until I ended up where I am today, a stressed out, apparent hypochondriac, wreck of a care giver, so tomorrow I will spend some time getting (telling her the way it is) to know (cluing her in on what I have decided my problem is) a new therapist and hopefully she'll have a (magic trick) suggestion or two that will (keep my head from exploding) help me (and covering the house with blood) move through (because I can't very clean up the bloody head mess while being all headless) this (nightmare) difficult time with a little (drugs, I really want prescription/recreational/any kind of) more grace. Whew.

Also, speaking of me, cause I have a blog and it's all about ME if that's what I want it to be... I went to a new cranial sacral therapist today. I know, you are thinking "What?!?! The original cranial sacral gal was THE BEST Are you out of your mind!?!?" and You are right, but you are not going to believe what I found out, the original gal is very very sick and they don't know when she'll be back, and this makes me very sad because she was a real healer and the world needs good people like her and she should never have to suffer and instead live to be 100 while maintaining all her health and dignity, but life is not fair. And a-duh. I sure as hell know that.

So I went to this new guy, because my neck is still f'ed up from this summer and Yes a guy. And I let him touch my cranium and my sacrum. And it was kind of weird for a few reasons. And here they are!

1. He made a quite a bit of mouth noises and I, being incredibly sensitive to such things, had to suppress the urge to vomit like just about the whole time
2. He smelled like people who only eat things like marinated tofu and kimchee smell. (more urge to vomit suppressing)
3. His hands were big and hot (as in temperature not attractiveness)
4. His hands that are not married to me were on my body.
5. Did I mention the strange odor? The odor that was touching my freshly showered delightfully (over priced hair and body product) scented straight from the gym shower self.

But, I hopped off the table at the end of the (what I thought was a very long and hard to relax cause some guy was touching me) hour and lo and behold I felt fabulous. Really, I felt like my back was 2 inches longer that when I walked in. And so relaxed (even though I had to try to pep talk myself into relaxing when some guy had his hands all over my cranium and my sacrum) that I was bendy in back related places that I am never ever bendy in. I felt like a ballerina, and if you ever saw me move (Like a mammoth through the snow banks) you'd know just how bizarre that seems. So, I guess I'll try him out again, but next time I got an earlier appointment and hopefully he will not have time to eat his tofu veggie dog and saurkraut with stale white bread rolls before he touches me and my heavenly scented with plenty of high end product self.

Okay, and now this will conclude post #9 for blog 365. Woo Hoo only 356 more to go!

hang out hang up

I've been thinking a lot lately about friends and how what a friend is and how intense the relationship is and how it plays out has changed so much over the years.

Growing up in NYC most of my friends lived right in my tremendous apartment building. Since we were all pretty much on our own most of the time, we just ran from one friends apartment to the other and all made it home for dinner eventually. The great thing about it was that the weather never mattered since we didn't have to go outside. Also, back then we kids were allowed to go places on our own. In 5th grade I became good friends with a girl who lived with a single working mom. We'd hang out at her house every time because, duh! No mom! With such a limited amount parental influence my entire life was about friends.

It pretty much stayed through high school, going to school and hanging with my friends was my life. After school my friends and I would have all sorts of adventures exploring the city with our good until 5pm train passes and then we'd go home for dinner. Then in college I was surrounded by peers, I had the best roommate ever (pal) and when I graduated I had my work buddies. Then I became a teacher and worked with women who wanted nothing more than to get into my business, which was fine with me because that is how I operated anyway.

Even after Matt was born, I was surrounded by other new first time moms who wanted to hang out. Since we were living in Brooklyn at the time and all my mom buddies all lived in similar small spaces we often hung out at each other's houses when we weren't at the playground or the coffee shop together. But since our apartments were so small we really knew each other and our spaces. It wasn't a question of sitting in the formal living room or the dining room or the kitchen table, in those tiny apartments there was basically one room and the bedroom (or bedrooms of you count the kid's room). So I can tell you what the bedrooms of all my friends were like, I even spent time lounging on their beds, cause the kids were making a racquet in the other room and we were all casual like that. In any case, it was also a very intense kind of friendship. I spent a lot of time with my friends. If I was on my way to the store or to walk the dog I always checked with a friend or two to see if they wanted to tag along or ask me to pick something up or take their dog too. It is just what we did and how we did it. I liked it that way. I need to be involved with people.

Then I moved to the burbs. And no one hangs out anymore. At least in my corner of the burbs. We moved in the summer so I joined the town pool and tried to make a friend or two with my chit chat powers but the most I ever got back was "Oh, you're new here, I hated it for the first year, then it got better." Nice right? I pretty much shut down for that first year. I waited. I waited for it to get good.

So, now I have friends, and I adore my friends, but I have to say there is little hanging out. I long to just hang out. We live in these big houses that we don't have to leave hardly ever. We drive cars instead of walk. There is always too much to do and I know it's just easier to do things alone. No one ever grocery shops with me, or calls me to walk the dog, or says "Let's have breakfast after the kids go to school." and I'm not sure why. So I tried to do that this morning and only got a couple of answering machines. But I am going to keep on trying. I just want to hang. I want to keep it loose,relaxed and unstructured. I only hope I don't have to do something really radical like schedule my unstructured time in advance.

getting sleepy, sleeeeepy

I spoke with a wise and wonderful woman about my physical and mental health this weekend. One point that she made to me which really hit home was that I feel like I am responsible for (everyone and everything on the planet or maybe even in the universe) my parents and that this feeling of responsibility is causing me great stress. I know she is right. She tried to explain that caring about them doesn't mean assuming responsibility for their health and I keep on knowing she is right. What I don't know is how to surgically slice those two things apart in my head and stay caring while discarding the heavy duty stress inducing feeling responsible part. I was telling the chiropractor about my assisted revelation this weekend and how I was going to work on not feeling responsible and he came back with a quick and bitingly sarcastic "Pfft! Good Luck!"

Hm.

Since I am not married to nor have I given birth to the chiro I was able to remain cool,calm and collected after such a surprising outburst. I quickly assessed the situation. Obviously we are feeling quite comfortable with each other these days, and obviously he is a male and therefore less likely than most to say something in the least bit compassionate. So I just came back with an equally sarcastic "Wow, that's some kind of supportive you've managed to muster up there!" And naturally, realizing that not only had he recently cancelled his contract with my insurance company but also that I had not yet paid for today's session he explained that because I am such a "care giver personality", which he of course respects so much about me and also holds in such high regard, that it would be tremendously difficult for a loving care giver like me who loves and cares so extraordinarily much to not feel responsible.

Hm. Nice try doc.

I see what is going on here. I have been challenged. And dammit! I AM going to find a way to stop carrying around the weight of the world on my shoulders (while still caring) if it kills me! Next stop in this odyssey- I think hypnosis. I'm thinking I need to find a therapist who uses hypnosis. Maybe it will and maybe it won't help with the responsibility part but the therapy part where I get to talk about me for a whole hour at a time and never have to stop and ask the other person about them always seems so decadent. And hopefully I won't end up quacking like a duck every time I hear a car horn .

still my baby not for long

Josh was just the absolute easiest bestest sweetest dream come true kid in the world today. And when he wasn't being only that (as if it isn't enough) he was being too freaking adorable. We spent the day with Boops' kids (who are Matt's and Evan's age) and I kept waiting to hear them call out for Josh's removal. They didn't have a single issue with him all day.

Then when we sat down to dinner (chinese takeout) Josh asked for a stallion pancake. I just love when kids do that. Then, a few bites later, Josh turned to me and used TV speak when he said "Mom, do you want to know what you get for me? Well, coming this summer from the award winning folks who brought you Lego Star Wars...." As horrifying (exactly how much tv does he see?) and annoying (talk like a kid kid!) as the TV speak is, I just want to wrap him in a tortilla (gluten free) and start munching every time he does it.

Maybe it is just him. I dunno.

Then tonight I needed to do some portraits if the boys. But I wanted to do it individually. First I grabbed Evan, then I called Matt up and then I called Josh, except Josh thought I was calling him for his bath so he shows up in my studio 2 minutes later in his birthday suit. And being as comfortable as a 6 year old can be in his birthday suit he plops right down on the stool and can't wipe the big grin off his face. But here is the one thing, I (for some reason) want to take a serious portrait and Josh can not stop laughing and giggling.
So, he's trying as hard as he can to hold the happiness in but he can't. And it is all so sweet and so naked and so this very moment and it won't last forever that my heart feels like it will just explode all over the room with all the love and happiness. And finally Josh manages to hold a serious face for a few seconds and I am in shock because WHERE DID MY BABY GO?

And who put this similar looking grown up-ish guy in his place? But it was only for a frame or two because before I knew it the giggles broke through and my baby was back and I am so incredibly grateful that I got that little bit of today on .. well I was going to say film but I guess I technically I got it on .... memory card and now through this modern miracle of 21st century technology I can put it here for you to see too.

startling

Ever since I noticed the moon outside my bedroom window and what a great sunrise view of it I could possibly have I can not stop myself from snapping wide awake as soon as the first light filters through my thin see-thru window shades. Truthfully, two shades are completely up giving my neighbors a nice nudie show each night, but I have to be able to locate that sometimes visible moon as soon as my eyes burst open and my neck snaps my head towards the window every crack of dawn. Hopefully my neighbors are actual star gazers and those troubling telescopes in their windows do not have infrared capabilities. Yesterday I had a little victory with some pink clouds and everything.

surprise surprise

Until today Grandma had not left the OFH since before Thanksgiving. She hasn't even been leaving her room, instead having her meals (which she may or may not even touch) brought up to her. Most of the time when I go to the OFH for a visit she is happy to see me (and there haven't been any more personality shifts since she was put on a daily antibiotic regime- thank you western medicine- OMG those UTI's can mess a senior citizen up!) and we chat and I tell her how much I love her and how special she is to me while she stays in bed and we hold hands and hug and kiss and then I leave. Lately I have walked in and occasionally found her dressed. I heard a rumor that she had been convinced to leave her room by one of the kinder gentler aides. Sometimes I even found relaxing in her recliner watching television. Then last week during a visit that I dragged Josh along for I suggested to grandma that Josh and I could walk her down to the dining room for dinner. She got up and let us walk her down to the dining room. Just like that! I thought the aides would faint when they saw her coming down the hallway and out of her room.

Then I went back a couple of days later and I found grandma making her way down to the dining room with out having any one prod her along. Then today I went to see her and found her lying in bed in her pajamas again. I was disappointed. I told her I thought that maybe she might like to come over to my house for a visit. She asked me if she would get to see the kids and when I said she would see all of my kids she sat up threw the blanket off, got dressed, hobbled down stairs and hopped right up into my truck. The kids and me spent the afternoon hanging out with her and it was just like nothing ever hurt her or made her feel bad, really, because her bottom seems to have un-prolapsed (miracle as far as I am concerned) and grandma has no idea what kind of torture she went through there for a while. She doesn't even know she spent the last 6 weeks in bed. I'm guessing that sometimes memory loss can be a good thing. I don't understand exactly what happened or even how it all got okay again but you know I appreciated it and you also know that I grabbed my camera and documented it!

mystery history

We bought this house, the one we live in, in 1997. The older couple we bought from seemed nice enough. They were cute in a cheap "everything we did to the house came from Sears in 1977" kind of way. Like any new home owner there were some odd "things" that we sometimes wondered about before and after we had purchased the house.

For example, the previous owners were very concerned about their safety. They had the house burglar alarmed. We had that (not at all) lovely silver foil tape on all the windows. Also, the previous owners installed a little tiny red light next to the front door that looked like an alarm, except it was a fake and had nothing to do with the real alarm system and the little red light never went off. There were panic buttons in most of the rooms, including right over the head board of the master bed. All the fire/smoke alarms were not just inside each bedroom doorway like you have to have if you are being inspected by the town but instead installed just inside each bedroom window. (Molatov cocktail anyone?)

The previous owners had pushed out the back of the house because it was important for them to seat 30 for dinners. They had the longest dining room table I have ever seen. They let us know they entertained like this often. Our initial dining room (before we remodeled it) was 24 feet long and had crazy looking and oh so slippery Portugese tile for a floor. There was (and still is) a bank safe in the basement. It weighs about a ton and will most likely be in the basement until someone tears this place down and removes it with an excavator. Guess who lost the combination for it! And finally when the previous home owner was giving me one last tour of the house to show me how things worked he showed me where to hide all my cash. Huh?

Needless to say I have decided (about twelve seconds after we closed on the house) that the previous owners were actually mobsters. Cute adorable mobsters, but mobsters none the less. We (I) often joke about them and the potential bodies buried in the concrete basement floor. Or other mobster type jokes. And here is something I have never told anyone, before we renovated the house I was sure I could hear ghost voices in the kitchen.

Imagine my shock the other day when I retrieved my phone messages and there was a message from Mrs. previous owner asking me to call her. She didn't say what she wanted. Gulp. I was worried. I started to sweat. I was sure they had to come back for something. I wondered what (or who!) they could have possibly left here that they needed to come back for. I imagined them bringing in their people to dig up the basement, search the cash hiding place for stolen jewels, revealing all the laundered money they had been storing beneath the floor boards, or even setting up shop in our now purified non-crime-family-related domicile. I imagined having to shield my kids from all the illegal activity they were going to bring into my home. It is my home now dammit, I wasn't going to let them corrupt it! Let what ever it is stay buried. But I had to know what it was she wanted. I just had to cal her back.

So, I took a deep breath and called her back and she said (here it comes) she had been going through her address book and wondered how we were. I had sent her a holiday card the first few years after we moved here and it seems she really liked getting them. She asked about the kids and then she. told. me. everything. I know how cold it is in her part of Florida, how she had to take her orange tree down a few years ago because there was a fungus problem in their area but now it should be time for them to be able to plant new ones and she really does love having fresh oranges. Honeybells are in season right now. Also Mr. previous owner hasn't had the best health, he had a triple bypass surgery but just won't watch his diet. Their daughter gave them two grandkids but their son is still enjoying the swinging bachelor life... isn't it a shame how men don't feel like they need to settle down these days? Their big house seems so empty now that their kids have their own homes but Mr. previous just doesn't want to give it up. And much much more.

I'm going to send her our holiday card. I'll include a nice note.

Maybe I'll never know what happened in this house before we moved in. Me and my imagination like it better that way.

he's killin me

Matt and I were in the city (home!) for the afternoon and we decided to go out to dinner before coming back to the garden state. We selected a nice little casual yet trendy upper east side place just in time to beat the regular folks who work crowd and were seated in a cute and cozy window seat. I was very happy. We could watch the traffic on the avenue and if we were lucky we might even get to see a taxi induced accident! (home!)

Our waitress was a slender graceful cheerful young lady of maybe 20ish. Since the place was still pretty empty I did spot her doing a little dance move as she stood thoughtfully far enough away from us to give us dining privacy yet close enough that we could flag her down should we have a need for her excellent waiting service. I pegged her as a dancer. If you are 20ish and waitressing in NYC then chances are you are not a career waitress but someone who has to pay the bills between auditions or art classes or voice lessons. She was definitely a dancer.

Anyway, when Matt got up to use the bathroom and I was alone at our table for a second she came over to ask if I needed anything. Then she said "I just love his hair! His hair is so great!" And I thought in this order:
1. Danelle is going to hate this! I can't wait to post!
2. Stay away from my boy, you hussy! and
3. Wow, she is so pretty and has excellent taste in men too!

Then I told her that he wants to let it get long enough to make a big braid down the middle of his back.

When Matt got from the bathroom I told him what the waitress had said about his hair and he gave me his "So? Like I care?" look and I thought "Well, maybe he isn't ready for girl attention yet" but the next question out of Matt's mouth was "Are we busy Friday night?". I said we were not busy Friday night and asked why he wanted to know and Matt said he'd like to go to the movies which I naively thought meant he wanted to go with a big group of friends like he did last month, but noooooo Matt wanted to go with a single friend. "Who?" I asked and naturally Matt replied with the name of the girl who lives around the corner who every day wears all black with her flat bottomed sneakers and skateboards for hours a day. So I, the naturally curious one, asked Matt if it was a friend or a date movie and Matt said DATE! And I came home and told the husband I wasn't sure if the skateboarding girl was into boys and the husband said at least we didn't have to worry about Matt's safety. If anyone tried anything with him on their date the skateboarding girl would take the guy down. And so begins another chapter in the saga of clickmom's "I can't believe my kid is growing up."

I showed up and the gay men fled

Went on a little photo excursion to a highway scenic overlook with my editor tonight. We made the gay guys in search of action pretty uncomfortable at the highway scenic overlook, but they just moved their vehicles to the other end of the scenic overlook while us two middle aged (*gasp*) fat ladies stood there snapping away at the pretty scenery on the end with the better view of the sunset. I know (knew) these things happened but was embarrassingly surprised to see that people are still doing stuff like this in places like that. When I still lived in Manhattan I used to take my dogs for early morning walks with out their leashes on in Central Park. One day my big scary looking black shepherd dog ran into the reeds by the lake and scared quite a few young gay men who were right in the middle of something I try not to think about happening in what I imagine to be fun family oriented recreational areas like Central Park. Seriously guys. Just seriously. Get a room.

Anyway, I had my little melt down last night (farewell 2007! sniff sniff) and finally realized that I had been handling my stressful life in tiny little day to day-hour to hour-appointment to assignment-meal to meal segments and that this ability to only see a few hours into the future was what was helping me through these difficult times. Last night reflecting on the enormity of a whole 366 days (leap year) of future before me was no better than drowning in quick sand. When I imagine myself a year from now I may very well have had to bury a relative or even two. And who even knows what the next year holds for the kids. This year seems to good to ever be duplicated. There will be more new teachers, Evan (my baby!) will be in Middle School, Matt will be more of a man, Josh less of a baby and Evan .. who knows. I'm not stupid enough to ever guess what he has in store for me. When it comes to Evan I am just crossing my fingers