clickmom

time

We went to see grandma today and the kids were busy with each other. Grandma can't really hear unless she is half lip reading and you are talking directly to her and keeping it s.l.o.w. so she was just watching them. I asked them to please try to engage grandma.

Josh leaned in nice and close to grandma and said "So, uh, what are you in for?"

I was very happy when we left because grandma did not want to go to bed for a change (she was probably too hopped up on sugar- yup, we took her for ice cream again) so I put her in front of the television. But as we left I saw her scooting her wheelchair across the room to where there was a group of old ladies gathered around and chatting. Grandma is not usually so social. It was a good thing.

Also, I am going to the Eagles concert tonight at Madison Square Garden!! Woo Hoo!!! Yay husband and his ticket scalper! And I am going to know every single word of every pre-year 2000 song! Watch me sing-a-long! Woo Hoo!

Hhhhhello

Okay, here comes the post about the detox.

Are you still with me? Wow, I am impressed by your dedication.

When I went to good doc last fall and told him how crappy I felt and he started running tests he also recommended that I read Ultra-Metabolism by Mark Hyman MD. Good doc said that it was the diet that he lived by. Which pretty impressed me since good doc is a fit and trim older than me guy and also judging by the photo on his shelf in his office his wife is quite the fox. I'd like to be a fox too. So I bought the book. And it sat there gathering dust on my shelf for a few months. But I had mentioned it to Bubbles. And in February when it was my birthday and the book was good and dusty on my shelf Bubbles, who did not know that I had already bought the book, only remembered that good doc had recommended the book to me, gave me another copy of the book. Wow, I was totally guilt ridden. So I started to read the book that Bubbles gave me and gave the dusty one away.

And I told myself that I was going to read all the background and then understand the reasoning behind the diet and then do the diet. Which was a great idea. Add then I read the book painfully slow. But the first 200 or so pages is all about why we end up fat and all the imbalances and toxic causes of a slowed metabolism and I pretty much read the book and shouted "OMG that is SO ME!" all the way through. Because now that I have had every single bodily fluid and bio hazardous waste of mine examined and I know how many alarming issues I am harboring I can confidently say that I am chemically messed up. And this program claims it can turn my metabolism around. And clean me up and restore my health, and polish the scrapes out of my bumper, ...oh wait, that was my dream last night.

Pretty much the diet part of the book is the same old Mediterranean Diet that every one is all worked up about these days. But the two week detox before the rest of the diet is where I am now. Today is day 4 for me. The one huge draw back I am finding is that every meal and the two snacks a day all require some serious in the kitchen time. I don't normally do kitchen time for lunch and snacks. (Because why cook when I can simply unwrap?) And also, waiting a whole hour to cook some brown rice for breakfast is pushing it for my somewhat crazed morning routine. But I am doing it. And that is what counts. And truthfully, there isn't a drastic difference yet (so impatient grasshopper) except that I am less bloated (not sure anyone else can tell). I have no energy at all but who knows if that is stress related (1 more day to finish cleaning out grandma's apartment) or health related. I should be having a nice yeast die off right about now. That could make me feel poorly. Also, if all those heavy metals are on their way out that could drag me down too. Or I could have my own personal stressful life and then get rear ended by some Mario Andretti who thinks he can drive 50 MPH in a parking lot and ..... never mind. You get the idea.

But the upside of this diet is that the weight is melting off already. I am sure much of it is water weight (hence the less bloated feeling) since yesterday, on day 3, I dashed off to the bathroom about every 45 minutes. I hope all that pee contained arsenic! The food is palatable though (with the exception of the banana soy smoothie that made me nauseous for a good hour and a half this morning-never eating that again!) and the kids are even eating and enjoying some of the dinner dishes. Some of the dinners are vegetarian and I have to make an additional meat for the boys because around here if no animal has been sacrificed then it doesn't actually count as a real meal. Maybe a snack. And they want their meals real at meal time.

And as far as appetite is concerned I have none. It's nothing short of a miracle. Or maybe the stench of my own breath. I think that the reason I have no appetite is that everything except breakfast is heavy on garlic, onions and herbs and right about now I am smelling like a garlic flavored gum chewing middle eastern restaurant cook after a long night's work. How's that for foxy?! Hhhhhhhey Hhhhhandsoooohhmme. I am hoping that after a week I can hop on the scale and see Biggest Loser type results, (with less than 4 hours a day in the gym) and if the first 4 days are an indication of things to come, then I am going to be very happy next Tuesday! As far as I am concerned, water counts. And if trim (FOXY) has to equal stinky then let it be so. Bring on the garlic. I figure I will get used to it.

So that is my exciting detox news. I will have the second set of follow up blood tests in June, so hopefully something good will be the result.

crying

The salvation Army came to day to pick up the bulk of grandma's stuff. I was sad, and sitting around in the apartment that grandma is not healthy and strong enough to live in anymore waiting for them was so painful that I took a nap on what is now a for sale at a Salvation Army somewhere in the garden state very comfortable sofa. It was a good sofa. Have I told you about it? Back in the old days when grandma was a mere 88 years old her then sofa's cushions turned to cement. At the time her old sofa was already almost 40 years old. So lil sis and I called my mother and scumcle and told them that grandma needed a new sofa. And they told us that 88 year olds do not get new furniture. And lil sis and I looked at each other and we knew that we couldn't just leave that cement for cushions sofa in grandma's apartment so we took grandma to a sofa store and bought her a new sofa and a new recliner too because her old one was getting pretty darned ratty. It was a fun day because Evan was 2, Matt was 6 and my little nephew was a crawling baby all over the store and we were quite the kiddie circus in there trying to explain to the sales guy that an 88 year old can not wait 10 weeks for delivery! We told ourselves that if grandma had a nice soft comfortable sofa for even 6 months that it would have been worth the price. Ha! That was 8 years ago!

We were so right about that one.

Anyway, giving all of grandma's stuff away was just too hard for me. It's like closing the door on grandma. It's like I am really giving up on her. It's like admitting that she is never going to wake up one day determined to walk again and start pacing the hallways and getting stronger and be able to go back to the OFH. Because the OFH was so much better than I realized when she was there. And I secretly hoped that she would wake up one day and decide to be strong again and work her way back to walking around. But then yesterday the nurse at the nursing home told me that grandma's disorientation was serious and that grandma would scoot her wheelchair into any old room and go to sleep on any old bed. Which I totally believe since when I got there I found grandma sitting all alone in some other person's room. She was probably psyching herself up to make the transfer from chair to bed.

Once the guys came it wasn't so bad, because at least then I had someone to talk to. Also, the younger (cuter) of the two Salvation Army guys was totally flirting with me and I ate it up. Actually I totally needed it and I got down on my knees and begged for more. No I didn't! But I did play along, shamelessly. Come on now! You know you would too! He was shocked (!) that I have three kids! He couldn't believe my real age! For real! And he was all smiley and nice. Just what the doctor ordered.

But then sweet flirty flattering guy drove off with the grumpy salvation army guy and I was all alone (ALONE) driving my way to the middle school to hand in forms where my sweet baby Evan is going next year (OMG he is growing up too faaaast!) and I had this overwhelming urge to pick all my kids up from their respective schools and get them to hug me. Simultaneously. And then maybe I wouldn't collapse to the ground like I felt like I might. I started to cry. I really just needed to see my reasons for being brave, standing up straight and carrying on but they had 2 more hours of school to go. I would have to wait.

Also, you should know that I cried in the diner last weekend when the waiter brought my eggs to me and the cook had put some toast (glutenous enemy of mine) on them. I'm fragile these days. On a scale of 1 to 10 I'd say that emotionally I am running about 14.7. Maybe a little higher.

By the time I was on my way home from the grocery store (my next stop) I was completely distracted by imagining what kind of politically correct thing a cop could say to the muslim woman I saw driving with her cell phone tucked securely half way into her hijab. I mean technically, that did make her cell phone hands free, but it was still a cell phone on her ear. I gave this much thought.

I also want to tell you about the detox I am doing (day 3 and still fat!!) and also, I know I have to write that letter I said I wanted to write to scumcle. I am going to mail scumcle a package of stuff like grandma's golf trophy from 1967. Also, his diplomas and some other funky crap. You know just in case he is sitting around remembering that it all exists. I am going to tell him how out of line he was accusing me of stealing some earrings. Maybe I will work on these things this weekend. See folks! I am giving you something to look forward to!

game

Let's play a little game. The game is called "Make a list of the last things clickmom needs!" Okay.... GO!

Now, how many of you put car accident on that list?

Wow, you guys are good! So here is my day in a nut shell-

1. Wake feeling quite sure I must be thin after an industrious 24 hours of detox diet. WHoops! It's gonna take more than a day!
2. Posh Club for super hard workout. (Go me! Go (away) my fat!)
3. Blissful cranial sacral therapy for myriad of skeletal issues.
4. Happy visit with grandma where I wheeled her to an ice cream shop and got her a sundae.

Sounds good right?

5. Leave nursing home just in time to run into grocery store for missing dinner ingredient before school pick up.
6. Pull backwards out of parking space and get rear ended by some little speed demon maybe trying to
a. reach 50mph into the parking lot and
b. could have possibly (judging by the angle of his car after impact) been trying to speed past behind my truck as I pulled out of the spot.

After the jolt and the crash I was so angry I was shaking. And the guy WHO HIT ME was throwing his arms up in the air like it was my fault! So I dialed 911 and the cops were there in about 2 minutes, so I guess they weren't all ticketing unseat belted drivers today, and he took our info and a brief statement from each of us, sat in his bar lined crook containment car filling out forms, came back and told us to call the station in 5 to 8 business days for the report. And then he looked at me and asked me if I had any questions and I asked him if there was fault assigned in his report (because I will be damned if I am going to pay for this guy's damage!) and he said "I haven't decided yet." And folks, I managed to restrain myself, you would have been so proud. And I didn't tell the youngster cop, (yes I could have been his youthful mother) to stop chewing gum like a pig or people were going to start making pig jokes, or that if he keeps up the tanning he's going to look like a leather chair by the time he is my age, or even what dreamy big green eyes he had, I just said okay and got into my truck and counted to a zillion waiting for him to move his vehicle out of my way so that I could go pick up the kiddies from school.

And now I am sore. In more ways than one.

shopped

This is totally the best shirt summer I have lived through for a while. I mean this summer is even better than the tunic summer. I can't even imagine a better shirt summer than this, unless everyone else was forced to gain 50 pounds or something. I mean, really, it's kind of hilarious (but in a good good very good way) that plain old women are all wearing maternity clothes with nice comfy loose floaty mid sections and all the preggers out there are wearing tight form fitting navel clinging tube tops. Yay for fashion! There is nothing that a double jelly rolled full figured gal like myself appreciates more than a slack roomy oversized and yet still in style shirt. I'm so happy I could just leap and prance about through a field of wild flowers with a crown of daisies in my hair. I got me some new shirts! Get the picture?

bloomfield

Grandma has been asking to go home lately. I can't bring myself to tell her she is permanently living at the nursing home now. I tell her she will go home as soon as she starts walking again even though I know she won't be walking around again. If she did somehow decide to get strong again one day I would totally send her back to the OFH. It looks better every single day. It's not that the nursing home is bad per se, it's just that some of the old people at the nursing home are kind of scary. Some of them are totally checked out and I don't like to see that for grandma or for myself. And the kids get a little freaked out seeing it too.

Mostly the care over there seems pretty good, though there is definitely a hierarchy of duties there that the people will and will not do. The lowest job on the hierarchy is assisting the bathroom. Today I walked in to see grandma being wheeled by the lunch lady over to the nurses station. The nurse doesn't do bathroom duty so she had to fetch an aide and poor grandma just sat in her chair softly saying saying "Help me, oh please won't someone help me." I was afraid to help her myself, I didn't know what to do, so I just watched. The whole wait was two minutes but it seemed forever. And witnessing grandma's pitiful cry for help didn't sit well with me.

They have some kind of laundry problem over there at the nursinghome and despite the fact that I have cleaned Sears out twice of their size 10 black polyester elastic waist pants every time I go over she is wearing someone else's clothes. Mostly she is wearing borrowed pants, but every once in a while she has on someone else's shirt, and sometimes, the shirts do not match grandma's wise with age level of sophistication. See example below:

Grandma still has her social graces about her. When she knows a picture is being taken she can smile with the best of them. It makes it a little easier to bear.

This week I face the always less than pleasant task of cleaning out grandma's apartment. Again. We are paid up on the rent until the end of the month and I have the salvation army coming on the 29th for her furniture, but I have to do another cleansing of the bric-a-brac. I figured what ever was left there was pretty much worthless since the scumcle and his witch of a wife had long ago absconded with anything of obvious monetary value. But then I was surprised to see the very same little ring holder she had on her dresser in a Waterford display at the department store. Now I wonder. I'd love to know if there are any stories behind the bowls and little statuettes. Are any of them from my great grandparents? Special anniversary gifts? Anything with a good story? I just don't know. I feel bad giving her history away. So I am going to pack it up and take it to an antique dealer and see what there is. I know the dealer won't be able to tell me the stories I imagine make these pieces worth while, but she will at least be able to tell me if the things are old and where they come from so I can guess for myself.

sharp

I am pretty bad at giving the kids chores and making them responsible for stuff around the house. Which really isn't working for me since I end up doing everything all alone and getting all resentful about it. The one chore I have been making Evan and Matt do themselves is packing their own stuff for trips. At first I gave them lists to refer to for packing thoroughness but somewhere along the line, I just gave the boys a whole lot of credit and started saying something vague like "pack for three days and two nights". How's that working for us? Yeah, uh... that's been what I have been asking myself these past couple of days.

You be the judge.

Three things Evan did pack for utopia:

1. the wood carving knife lil sis got him for hanukah
2. his swiss army knife
3. the fisherman's utility blade I found on the side of the street while walking the devil one day last April. I brought it home and gave it to Evan.

Three things Evan did not pack for utopia:

1. pajamas
2. socks
3. underwear

I'm thinking I might have to revert back to the detailed list method here.

made

me: (with lots of over dramatic frustration) Josh! I just made your bed!! Why are your blankets on the floor?!?! (Josh can't hear me. He is on the basement)

Evan: I'll make his bed.

In my head: ALARM BELLS

Me: Evan, how did Josh's bed get unmade 20 minutes after I made it?

Evan: (eyes wide with total fakery innocence) I have no idea but I would be happy to help out here.

In my head: I smell a rat.

So I call up Josh from the basement. I ask him why his blankets are on the floor.

Josh: its not my fault! Evan said I should put them on the floor so he could wrap himself up like a burrito.

Evan can not make eye contact with me. He tries to skink away but I offer his bed making expertise to Josh and Evan, despite his pleas of innocence, accepts his assignment and makes Josh's bed because he is Guilty and not because he is a easy going helpful kind of guy.

sing

Evan and Josh made up a song. There is one word in their song. They sang it high, low, loud and soft. The one and only word in their song is diarrhea.

We are in utopia. So that makes their song beautiful. As a matter of fact, I am going to encourage them to sing another round.....as soon as we leave the restaurant.

right?

Too chicken to write that letter today l but I will. Maybe after the weekend. I can't spoil a holiday weekend can I? Okay, maybe I will work up a rough draft over the weekend. Too bad it isn't letter month on NaBlo. What a letter! Really, I am working on it in my head (which I can do, a whole letters worth pre written and just waiting for my fingers to do the dancing.)

Took Josh and Ev to see the new Indiana Jones movie tonight. Harrison Ford is my type. Except unlike Callista I only the dig the version of him that is my age. Did you guys know that I am a total age-ist? I just hate having to take people younger than myself seriously and do not ever see older men sexually, except for some reason I can see older women sexually, maybe I am secretly an old gay woman! In the mean time we all know that I adore the really old folks and would mow down a class full of kindergardeners just to help an octogenarian across the street. And I just love to look at their old soft faces and try to see the young person inside.

Speaking of faces I saw Lonnie Anderson on tv and she is marrying some guy she dated when she was 17. Which is totally sweet, right? But Lonnie has fucked up her face and she had these nauseating dead fat slug lips and the rest was mostly frozen, plus the artificial bleached out hair helmet she has had since the 80's and I thought to myself that she must be in her mid 70's with all the totally obvious facial work going on but NO! She is in her late 50's. I was shocked. I can't wait until Hollywood figures out how scary they are starting to look. Also, am I right here? Does a lady (or effeminate man, because how girly is it for a man to have work done on his face? Are you listening Arnold? Sly?) look older than her actual years when she has very obviously had tons of face work done? Anyone notice how I keep specifying FACE? Anyone recalling my tummy tuck/breast reduction fantasy? Hey, I am the first to admit that I am checking in for my own plastic surgery as soon as I find myself weighing something normal again. But I am leaving my face alone. I draw the line at overpriced promising the world creams, lotions and potions. No knives (or needles) above the chin. That's my motto. At least for now.

Also, no hair cuts above the chin. Which brings me to another tid bit of information .... I got a haircut for the first time since September. Once, BTB (before the blog), I grew my hair real long and then chopped it off and donated it to locks of love. And I thought that maybe I would do it again before I got too gray. They don't want the kinky gray straws that I am rapidly sprouting, only the colored stuff. One day last fall grandma mentioned how long my hair was getting and I told her my plans. She was very worried and did not want me to cut off my hair. So grandma found something she could remember and every time I saw her she would check my hair and make sure it was still all there. So I decided I would not cut the ten inches off while she would still notice it. And I just didn't cut my hair all winter. And got real long. And it bugged the crap out of me. And every day I would get giant rats nest knots in the back and rip out hair trying to brush it. And the front parts would end up lying down either side of my neck covering my boobs like a big hot hair shawl. And worst off all everything I ate all day and other small objects would get caught in my long hair shawl/collar which laid across my breast shelf like the crumb magnet it was, and by the time I went to bed at night I cold pick through my hair for things like sushi rice, legos, spiders, pencil erasers, gluten free crackers, and other assorted house hold odds and ends. (Sorry didn't mean to turn you on like that...) Plus, as lil sis likes to point out, the longer my hair gets, the more the top of part of it tends to (cling like saran wrap to the top of my head) lie flat and that is a less than flattering look on my fat face. Tuesday I marched into my favorite hair dresser said "make it look healthy again" and walked out with about 4 inches less hair. Whew. What a relief. Then I went to see grandma and she did not even mention my hair, so I asked her if she liked my haircut and she said my hair was long and didn't look like it was just cut.

And oh yeah, about that phone call and follow up letter, I think I might actually have those earrings scumcle spoke of! Can't easily check because my safe is broken and unable to open. But here is the thing, if I do have them, I am pretty sure grandma gave them to me when I was still in High School which means pre-1982. But definitely before Matt was born because I haven't worn earrings in that long. I am still going to pretend that I have no idea what he is talking about. Cause I am pissed. I can't believe he is sitting around today remembering jewelry he last saw maybe 25 years ago and feeling the need to find it. And give to the ice queen. And lie that they actually belong to the ice queen and that she lent them to grandma and just now happens to want them back. As if!! I know... I know... it's all so sick. Crazy right?

Stay away from the botox. Okay?

bargain

Scumcle called me yesterday and pretty much accused me of taking a pair of pearl earrings from grandma. This is at least the third time in the 15 months since I assumed all financial, health care, and physical responsibility of grandma that he has suddenly recalled some article of jewelry or house hold bric a brac that he believes should be at grandma's apartment and has very accusingly asked me if I have taken it. Because he wants it.

Like there might be something he hasn't already plundered from her in the past 20 years.

Tomorrow, after I allow another full day for the anger to subside I plan on crafting a carefully written "fuck off" letter to him. I am so over the drama, the conflict, the insanity. I am shutting him out. I feel this is something I have to do for my own sanity. He is not healthy. His wife is worse. Deep down inside I am a very sad girl with a rapidly shrinking family. I want to put myself up for adoption.

needanewname

I hate my cable company. HATE THEM!! Because they sold out and now I have to change my email address. Which totally sucks. And worse even, I can't keep the redfrog part of it either. Some email name stealing person (and I have been using redfrog since I was 10 people!) already has MY name. I could cry. And I'm gonna shoot someone at the cable company! So I can get my email moniker back! Damn it!

My real name, (this is the girliest thing I will ever say, so prepare) sucks. I hate my real name. It isn't me. Never was. My mother chose it because she thought I needed a short first name because my original (long story) last name was long and she was worried about how many letters I would have to remember when the time came for me to learn to write! And my current last name, well my husband guilted me into changing to his name and the meanest mother I ever knew had this name, so I make all the kids call me by first name instead of Mrs. Mean Lady name. Besides, together, they are an incredibly typical combination and there are many others with this name combo out there (though we seem to be a gifted bunch according to a google search anyways. Lots of white collar professionals) and surely their names and my still 17 years later protested married name are already taken too. And if I had my actual name on my email then it would be utterly not creative. feh.

Here are some email names I am mulling over.....

someonestolemyname@comcast.net
givemynameback@comcast.net
ihaditfirst@comcast.net
thereisathief@comcast.net

or on a more personal note....

ihavebadteeth@comcast.net
takemydog@comcast.net
mykidsarebetterthanyours@comcast.net
stillwhiningaboutchanging@comcast.net

or just to be funny

yousmellbad@comcast.net
mybuttitches@comcast.net
toejam@comcast.net
disco4ever@comcast.net

Suggestions needed and welcomed.
(Obviously)

meat

We took the kids to Chilis the other day. Eating out is a DRAG when you are an adult with food allergies (I actually cried one day at the diner when the waiter brought my carefully ordered gluten free meal with toast lying on it and I had to send it back) but if you are a kid and your choices are pretty restricted then it REALLY SUCKS. I get that.

One thing I can order at Chilis are the lettuce wraps. The sauces bother me, but if I totally minimize them I am okay. When we opened our menus Evan shot me a nasty "I am more than on my way to being a teenager and everything that makes me unhappy is your fault" look. Trying not to let his testosterone rush bother me, I cheerfully recommended the lettuce wraps to him. He lowered the menu, visibly suppressed a snarl, took a deep breath feigning some kind of parental patience and said "Well, you're...... (pause for special kind of intelligent looking facial expression)...... (breathe in) okay......(pause to look like a deep thinker).....I'm going to point out both our gender difference and our age difference here...."

He ordered a steak.

banner

One of the many many reasons I love Bubbles is that she is on top of all the latest exercise techniques. She never shows up for a training session without a new idea (way to torture me) or news of some relevant ground breaking research on some of my food and health issues.

Recently I have begun interval training. Bubbles tried to get me into it a year ago, but I was reluctant. It was so hard! But I am doing it now, and the results were almost immediate. My stamina and endurance are incredibly improved.

Last week Bubbles let me know that one of my weight workouts each week was going to change. She told me that we I was going to lift some super heavy weights (wasn't I doing that already?!?!) and do less reps. We chose Mondays for this new heavier (wah wah), more difficult workout since on Mondays I am less likely to do an exhausting cardio before hand and be less tired for the owrkout. Today was my first try out with the new technique.

When I first started to work out with Bubbles last year I soon self-observed that I did quite a bit of whining when she announced what I would be doing. I would do the exercise anyway, but I realized pretty soon that my whining could be a bit of a drag for Bubbles to hear every week. So I stopped whining. And now when Bubbles informs me that I am going to do more reps of something or heavier reps of something or some new move that seems like something only a very strong person (which I have become but am not always confident of being) should be attempting I make a self-deprecating joke or remark on Bubbles over confidence in me. She is probably getting tired of hearing that from me too. But I tell myself that at least I'm not whining.

Today when Bubbles kept sliding all of the weight plugs into weights heavier and heavier than the ones I have become comfortable with I took the challenge and grunted (so masculine) and groaned (very embarrassing) and lifted every single increased weight for the full 12 reps. Next time Bubbles is going to raise the weights again. And next time I am going to try my hardest. This better be good for me.

As far as tonight goes, I already took a mineral salt bath and might (limp) go back downstairs for some pain killers, not cause I am a wimp or anything, ahem, just as a preventative measure. Cause cough cough, it's not like I'm sore or anything. cough cough. All I know is that all this extra muscle better contribute to some kind of revved up metabolism. Cause I joke about this but, I fear that one day I will shed the excess weight only to discover that underneath I have unknowingly turned myself into The Incredible Hulk.

poke

Last spring my nephew accidentally poked himself in the forehead with a pen. He got a little purple bruise there. He has been wearing his hair longer for the past year, so no one was really thinking about it. Until this week when my nephew got his summer hair cut. And that little purple bruise was still there a whole year later. Nephew just happened to have his yearly check up scheduled this week so lil sis mentioned the ever lasting bruise to the doctor. The doc asked nephew exactly how he got the bruise and announced with doctor like authority "It's not a bruise. It's a tattoo!" It seems that when my nephew poked himself in the forehead with his pen he gave himself a little dot purple tattoo. At first, upon hearing the doctor's declaration nephew's eyes opened wide in horror and then a slow smile spread across his face as it sunk in. My nine year old nephew has a prison tattoo. Lil sis quickly informed him that he should enjoy it since it would be his one and only.

I'm trying to conjure up some sort of bad taste father/son joke here, but since I just end up crying when I think about my poor brother in law in prison, it's not coming to me.

edible

Matt remarked how all of Josh's (and Josh's friends too) 7 year old energy and focus had shifted away from all things Star Wars and was now aimed at all things Indiana Jones. Josh informed us that this was the way he did things. As an example of his steadfast loyalty to what it is that he really likes Josh referenced his ability to go from one book series to another as long as the books are written by Dav Pilkey. "And therefore" Josh went on in his very adult like and matter of fact kind of way "It's only natural for me to have an interest in Indiana Jones, because after all, (lifts his finger in the air in intellectual emphasis) Hans Solo is played by Indiana Jones."

I could just eat him. Seriously, I could.

manly

Matt kept me company when I went to the pet food store the other day. After I paid for the 28 pound of diet dog food I pointed to the friendly dog food bag toting clerk and let him know that my strapping young son would be carrying the dog food bag for me. Matt awkwardly grasped the 28 pounds of dead weight dog food, carried it the short distance to the car in his special kind of ungainly way, and tossed it through the rear window. When we got home Matt, like the future good husband I am trying to train him to be, went back to the back of the car to fetch the anvil/dog food. I ran for the door since it was drizzling, and stood inside listening as Matt grunted and groaned as he struggled to lift the leaden parcel up and through the open hatch window. I thought to myself that Matt was sounding rather weakish and maybe even wimpy-ish.

Eventually Matt got a hold of the bag and made his way into the house. I gave him the "I heard your cries of distress look" as he breezed by me and then with out skipping a beat he very casually said in his smooth baritone voice "Did you enjoy all of my very manly sound effects?"

tease

The best thing about it not being fuh(reakin)reezing out is I am back with my BBQ. I love the BBQ, mostly because there is less clean up involved, but truly because of Steven Raichlen. He is my fantasy man. Well, only if he does the dishes after too. Seriously, if you want to be impressive on the BBQ get his books! The one I live by is How To Grill and I live with it tucked under one arm all summer. It will not disappoint! That being said, the reason I do not grill in the winter is because it's cold outside and that screws up the warmth factor of the grill and it's cold outside. So every spring, I have to get reacquainted with my grill and sometimes it takes me a meal or two (aka: disaster or two) to get my timing right. Here is the proof:
And in case you are wondering, I made them eat it. The insides were still good! (Twice!)

I managed to slip away to utopia for the night last night. I had to meet with the landscaper this morning. Here is more proof:

Somehow slipping away for the night just made the insufferable handful of weeks until the end of school seem longer. My kids don't believe me when I tell them I want school to be over more than they do, but you know it's true, don't you internet?

high!

Josh's class was doing some thing on Colombia today. All I could think about regarding Colombia is that 1. that is where my house cleaner guy is from 2. Cocaine and 3. COCAINE and lastly 4. cocaine. It was right after we got home and Josh were having some small talk, and I asked him what he done in school to learn about Colombia (cocaine) today.

me: So what kind of Colombia things did you do?
(thinking: cocaine)

Josh: All we did was a word search.

me: What kind of words? (thinking cocaine)

Josh: Well, first we had to find Colombia.

me: That makes sense, what else? (thinking cocaine)

Josh: Then we had to get high.

me: ........... ga............
(can't talk because I am trying to hard to stifle the laughter)

Josh: Yeah, that's the only two I remember.

me: (........ giggle....giggle... )High??

Josh: Oh yeah, and then we found the spanish word for high.

me: gasp......choke...... giggle

Evan aka: Star of the police run drug abuse prevention program (from the other room)
Did he just say "We had to get High??"

me: HAHA haha HAHA haha!!!!!!!!!!!
Evan, I can't take it!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Josh: What's so funny.

me: (stop rolling on floor to speak) Josh, how do you spell "high"?

Josh: H-I You know, like saying Hello....

me: Got it. (roll on the floor some more)

ticked

The good news is that grandma was in good spirits today when I went to see her at the nursing home. The bad news is that scumcle drove up and went in himself while I was parked and chatting on the phone with lil sis. When I made my over to the entrance and had to sign in I saw his John Hancock on the line above mine. I cried "Shit!" and gave the nice young woman behind the desk quite the startle. Now they know about my potty mouth. I tell you folks, I am an open book, (yeah duh, I blog) even my potty mouth.

I had therapy with the new new undead therapist before hand and during that therapy I performed a little rant. You see, I drive by the g-d foresaken rehab almost every single day and yesterday I noticed a big banner outside declaring the week after Mother's day "Nursing Home Week" And I almost drove off the road just so I could hit that banner. Really. I was that pissed off. There may have been an obscenity or 4 rolling around my tongue there. Good thing I was cruising alone. Good thing.

Now, back to "Nursing Home Week",

WTF???? WTF-INGF??? F me!

I can't take it people. Can not take it. First of all, what the F is wrong with us as a society that we have to have a week/month/day to legitimize ourselves? Take, for example, grandparents day. Aren't these people included in Mothers/Fathers day? Mine are. Do they really need their own day? Or how about secretaries day. I don't have a personal secretary, but the husband does, and she is a doll! I love her. I really do. She knows it too. And I am hoping that the husband tells her every once in a while how lost he would be with out her. But now he has to buy a card or maybe some candy or what????????? WTF does one do to celebrate the one single special day of the person who you ask to type and file things? Shouldn't he just be nice to her all the time?

Or (do not hate me for this one) think about it, think about it..... first.. Black History Month. What about the other 11 months of the year? Does it not trivialize black history to relegate it to one month a year? Should black history not be infused with all the other histories we learn? Can't we just do it all in chronological order no matter what color or ethnicity we are? Seriously, history is confusing to learn as it is, why piece it up like that? So, we have Black History month once a year, and then we can go back to the history that what? The "real" history? The "important" history? See, having a month is so dismissive. Yuch.

How about (fill in the blank with your choice) pride day? Aren't we proud to be gay or Puerto Rican or what ever we are the other 364 days? Does wearing a costume or a flag and seeing your comrads in a parade on that one day make you more proud the rest of the year? Shouldn't pride in who we are and where we are from and what we represent be a daily thing? The kind of thing that makes you try to live a good clean life, be virtuous and contribute to society so at the end of your life, on your last breath you can look back and say "This is who I am and look what a great representative I was. I am a fine (fill in the blank). I am a good person." And then you can rest in peace. No?

Whatever you think, I will not be celebrating Nursing Home Week. ppfftttt.

And PS mother's day can stay. We should make it a whole week. (Kitten calls it Mother's Day Weekend and I have admit I stole that from her this year just so I could weasel out of doing dishes for the whole weekend) The other holidays can go.

Represent who you are with peace, love, and kindness. Week/Month/Day or not. Okay?

born free

Totally uninspired posting from tonight. It took me almost 4 1/2 months but I have finally, on this daily posting odyssey, come up completely dry. Stuff happened today, I did some deep thinking, just nothing I can spin into something entertaining. I think. Here I sit, anyway, because I said I would do it, so much like Suess's Horton, I am committed.

Bubbles told me this whole theory that if you tell yourself you can do something then you can, but if you tell yourself you are weak then you will be weak. Personally, when I feel like I might be weak, I just think anything recent about the scumcle and that gets me all irritated and then my adrenaline starts flowing and I can bench press, squat, press, etc... any weight I want. In the last year I have often turned my thoughts over the scumcle while at the gym. I am very strong.

I gave myself the day off from seeing grandma today. I just felt to sad and anxious about going over there. So I decided to not go today. I literally had to talk to myself (I told you I talk to myself) like I was my own friend and tell myself that not going for one day was just fine. Grandma would be fine, I could use the break and no one could ever think I was anything less than a wonderful grand daughter. And as soon as I made the decision not to go over there, I felt this huge pressure lift off me and the rest of the day felt easily manageable.

Last week I sent my editor a card for mothers day. I didn't go looking for a card for her but spotted one that said something very nice about being mom-like and I added my own little appreciative thoughts and sent it off. She got it on Saturday and was very grateful. Then she called me around noon today and I ended up going out to lunch with her and it was very nice. I wish she was my family, I really do. We are so similar.

Then I went to grandma's apartment in the OFH to pick up some of her blankets for her to use at the nursing home. I have until the end of the month to clean the apartment out. I know making the time to do that will be rough. Just being there is rough. And seeing all the nice clothes that grandma couldn't be bothered wearing is just another stab at my heart. Going through her things will be worse. It's going to like giving her life to charity. The salvation army is coming to pick it all up on the 29th. The deadline will help. I just hope I am not sitting there on the night on the 28th trying to get it all done. Procrastination is my middle name.

Josh's buddy came over after school and his face was all scratched up. I asked him what happened and he told me that his other friend did it. I wanted to find the so called other friend and establish some justice. I'm kind of on my last straw with kids who are not civil. I really need the summer to come so I can head up to utopia. I need a break from this whole place.

Even though I had that good warm fuzzy feeling from the mothers day trip to the amusement park Matt came home injured from one of the rides. His bruise began to rise to the surface this afternoon and it's gonna be a doozy. I took him to the chiro who, aside from the obvious arm injury, pronounced Matt's shoulder being out of joint, his ribs off kilter and something else too. Matt got a work over. He hated it. He was afraid the chiro would touch his sore arm.

I surprised my guitar teacher today. He always wants me to memorize everything and as I was demonstrating my (haha) mastery of last week's assignment he slowly slipped the music away from me and I continued playing. I did have it memorized. I shocked myself too, if I have to be honest about. But when it comes to guitar I am starting to wonder if I am ever going to get it. I fell like a total uncoordinated spaz. And I can barely tell one hand what to let alone both at the same time. I often compare myself to Steve Martin's character in the Jerk while sitting there in front of my guitar teacher. And I also tell him "baby steps for me, baby steps". Also, he doesn't get that a big part of why I want to lay the guitar is so I can sing along with myself, and he keeps giving me these great musical pieces, but all I want to do is some slow motion songs. (finger spaz) Left to my own devices I am astonished to find out that I have quite the penchant for John Denver songs. Also, The Sound of Music and anything Beatles, but the John Denver stuff is the music I tell myself not to play in front of just anyone. Like I would ever play in front of most people!

bad ass ride

It was hard for me to decide what I wanted to do today. I am really trying not to sink into a depression.

Maybe it's not a depression exactly, more like a I am completely overwhelmed and paralyzed from thinking about what the next year or two will bring. I secretly keep thinking that eventually I will be going to 3 funerals in a very short period of time. But maybe it won't be so soon, and I would hate to spend the next year holding my breath and not being as engaged as I could be if nothing horrible is going to happen "soon."

Right now I am walking around feeling like I can just obey orders. If someone asks me to be somewhere and do something at a certain time I can do it. But asking me to be as creative as coming up with my own thing to do feels impossible. We didn't have anything special planned for today (ahem husband) and I really wanted Matt to go to the gym. So I went to the gym with Matt. And it was completely weird to be next to him on the elliptical machine. Usually I tune out the whole room, but today he kept tapping me on the shoulder to share my water bottle. Which was fine, just weird.

Then we came home and showered and didn't know what to do for the rest of the day. So I thought and thought, and I had been secretly hoping for rain so we could go to the movies. That is always such an easy choice, but it wasn't rainy, and these days it is a bit of a challenge to find stuff to do that all ages of our family find agreeable, and then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. We took the kids to the near-by cheesy rinky dink amusement park.

And I got to watch my kids laugh and giggle for a couple of hours. Other than the not so proud 3 minutes of me laughing my hysterical hyena laugh of terror on the free fall ride, I had a lovely time watching my kids enjoying themselves. It was totally what I needed. Imagine the expression of pure heaven on Evan's face as he rammed his bumper car into strangers, or the tenderness of Matt as he rode the little kiddy roller coaster for Josh's sake, or the bittersweet (my baby is SO growing up) uttering of Josh, my baby, on that same kiddee roller coaster when just before the ride began he leaned in to Evan, who he was sharing his seat with and said "Evan, dude, this is going to be one bad ass ride. Am I right?"

Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers out there.

faker voice

I really hate that tomorrow is Mother's Day. I hate Mother's Day. Really want to climb into a cave and miss it.

My mother told me once that the biggest regret she had was that she didn't drop out of college to pursue a career with a big New York PR firm she had gotten a summer job with. She said she thought she would have preferred to have been a career person and lived an exciting life. Those are not comforting words coming from your stay at home mother.

It was at the moment (I was a teenager) those words left my mother's mouth that I knew in my heart that it wasn't that she merely appeared to have no interest in being my mother, but she actually truly did have no interest in being my mother. The cold hard truth was that business suits, high heels, and corporate lunches were things that I could not give her and apparently what she had always desired. Sometimes I wish that we could just stop pretending here, and part ways. Really, I do. Pretending is hard.

Boops, in an email to me, said that even the people who were never parented by their parents grieve when their parents die. I told her that was because they had to let go of the dream that their parents would one day wake up and value being a parent and the child they brought into the world and decide to step up to being a really good parent. My dream is a shriveled black char of fireplace dust right now. One good wind and it's gone forever. Which means that here I sit at 43 years old still tasting that spicy bitter after taste of not having the parents that I needed/wanted/deserved/try to be in my own personal parenting journey. Cancer is going to end that waste of time and energy dream away from me. And it will end it sooner rather than later. There will be much suffering before the end, I imagine, and I will stand tall and do the right thing, like I do, because I try to parent by example. But my heart won't be in it. Because there is no traffic coming the other way down that two way street. You can only love someone you believe loves you back. I live by that.

My kids birthday's are in February, March and April and on all of their birthdays this year I had to call my mother and pretend that it was her calling us and wanting to speak to the kids. In my animated FAKER VOICE I would say "Yes, mom the birthday boy is right here!" and give her an exaggerated moment to figure out which kid I was talking about before handing the kids the receiver. I am not about to get my kids excited about doing anything for her. She sucks. She sucked as my mother. She sucks as a daughter and she she sucks as a grandmother. She sucked when she healthy too, so the cancer doesn't account for anything. Except part of me simply cannot believe that even today as she might be sitting around wondering when her time will be up that she can't manage a phone call, a card, a little gift or anything. If I thought my time was coming to an end soon I would try to be a better person.

Next May when mother's day rolls around I hope to be thinking about me being a mother and not about the mothering I never got from mine.

wishing it was Jen's guess

Lil sis's husband went to federal prison on Monday.

Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.

Or two.

The short version goes like this: a mobster coordinated a dinner with small business owners. During that dinner the mobster tells the other business men (husband of lil sis included) who his clients are and then tells the other business men that he won't pursue their clients if they stay away from his. Kapeesh? Does the husband of lil sis have a choice here? We think not. He says okay. Because really, are you going to fuck with the mob? We think not again.

Well....

Guess what, the mobster was under investigation, the dinner was tape recorded and the FBI charged lil sis's husband (along with all the other small business owners who had no other choice but to go along with the mobster's request) with racketeering. PPfffftttttt!! Because obviously lil sis's husband had a choice in the matter, right? Did I mention that one guy was stupid enough to say No (initially) and his car mysteriously blew up a week later? (He got 12 months and 1 day so he can't get early release) My car blows up all the time, so I don't know why that would strike me as odd, but these coincidences... well, that's life for ya!

I always say "When someone who does not live by the law "suggests" you stay away from his clients say NO and watch your car blow up and your business burn down." Right? Let's hope that the guy who lives by his own rules doesn't hurt your wife and kids in the process, because hey, he has no rules! Or consequences! Cause he isn't in jail! Now lil sis's husband was sentenced to 15 months in federal prison. The judge wanted to make an example of him. Your tax dollars at work people, they're keeping the coach of the little league team off of the streets so we can all rest easier at night. Yeah, uh... about that....I'm not sure that's gonna be enough for me.

glare

We went and took grandma out to eat last night. There is a chain restaurant near the new nursing home and I thought that this could be our weekly venture. (disclaimer: the food was so inedible that we might have to just take her over for some ice cream and not the whole meal, I am not at all kidding) Anyways, turns out Wednesday night is clown night. (And a very sarcastic....) Woo Hoo to that. Not. There was a 4 year old birthday party. Talk about VOICES! It's a wonder I didn't bolt.

As a seasoned parent that I am, I know going in that clowns just bring out the (crazy) naughty in mostly the naughtiest of kids, and other people's naughty kids are not what I had in mind when as I wheeled my still quite confused and totally weak grandmother down the street. Nothing like tons of background noise to confuse the hearing impaired! So, we get seated, and having the wheelchair bound grandma, we did not have any choice regarding seat location as the place was pretty full and we were an always awkward amount of people, a party of 5.

Eventually the clown works his way to our end of the crowded little "restaurant" (because, the food? Yech. Did I mention the "food"?) And wouldn't you know the little raised by wolves/lives in a barn/in need of some actual parenting young boy at the table next to us goes into sensory overload and just loses any resemblance of composure. The kid approaches and kicks the clown, he hits the clown, he tries to swat, using the balloon animal from the clown, at the balls the clown is juggling. The mother barely sees the kid. This goes on and on. I am saying a silent prayer that the clown snaps and gives the kid the punch in the face he deserves. The mother occasionally looks over her shoulder and casually says "Stephenopolous don't" and then turns away from the kid and goes right back to her conversation. FInally, the young future criminal grabs a crayon off of the table and tries to scribble on the clowns big clown shoes. The damned clown still won't drop kick the kid! The mother makes a move to drag him away from the clown. He then takes his balloon animal, stands behind Evan, and begins balloon tapping Evan on the shoulder. Obviously his biggest mistake of the evening.

We have made a half hearted attempt to ignore the brat this whole time, but at the curious balloon tapping Evan makes eye contact with me. I whisper "It's the kid". Evan slowly rotates around in his chair and locks eyes with the boy. They stare. After a long minute the boy cautiously takes a few steps back. After another minute the boy steps sideways towards his own table. After another long minute the boy slides into his seat and appropriately hangs his head. He does not move. Evan turns back to our table, demonstrates his glare technique (learned from the master, ahem) and we polish off our banana splits with out fear. Both the clown and my family are naughty boy free for the rest of the meal. Evan gets even more of my undying gratitude.

Also, you should know that when he wasn't visually disciplining the way ward youth of a neighboring town, he was doting on grandma, encouraging her to eat, making her smile, and being as awesome as he could possibly be. (I am pretty sure he did it to make me happy) Score Evan.

command

I talk to myself. All the time. Pretty much non stop. As a matter of fact, when I am not singing out loud in the car, I am often engaging in a lively chat with (pause for effect) myself. But these days I can wear a head phone and people peering through my wind shield will think I am connected via cell phone to another person. I like it that way. This way I agree with most of my own suggestions, am nearly always supportive, and know when to shut up too.

Sometimes I catch myself doing the talking aloud thing with the kids nearby and I pretend that my chatter was directed towards whoever happened to be in the room, but the truth is that I mostly do not expect an answer. So, you might wonder where I am going with this, the other day when I happened upon Josh's corrected spelling homework I did not like the comment that his teacher wrote on the top of the page.

And I actually (yes, I am brain dead) forgot that the husband was sitting at the table with me. And I said something like, "In my day "Spin me." and "Slap me." were considered complete sentences. It used to be called a command before they changed everything to confuse the parents." And I said it with the bad girl a.t.t.i.t.u.d.e. that I save for private conversations with myself. And I was pretty shocked/surprised to hear A VOICE (hello husband) present me with a suggestion. I now present to you, dear readers, the corrected with the suggestion version of Josh's more complete spelling sentences. Ta da..

PS Come on folks, I know you are out there, I checked my stats. Scroll down to yesterday's post and play along! The new game can be called "Top Jen's suggestion!" Please...

guess

me: Evan you have to change from the raunchy stand up comedy channel on the satellite radio before your friend gets in the car. His mom is strict. He doesn't even get to see PG13 movies.

Evan: N.O. W.A.Y.

me: Yup, it is true. She feels very strongly about that and I don't want us to be the bad influence. (Naturally I forgot that we might have let him see an R rated movie once at our house -whistle - whistle - look casual and gaze off into space)

Evan: Wait. Is that even HEALTHY?

Speaking of satellite radio, they have ads!! Ads which I find incredibly disappointing (aren't I paying for ad free radio?) and annoying and most of all. Those ads are giving me quite the complex. It seems that the target audience for satellite radio has bad credit, can't get their penises up, have tiny penises anyway and isn't good in bed anyway, has excess weight around the middle (wait, that is me....) and something like spackle in their intestines (oh no!), can't bother traveling to a business meeting, can't do their own taxes, or manage their money, actually believe that they can make money selling goods over the internet that they never have to see, and live in fear of becoming an identity theft victim. How could someone (who is hopefully spackle-less) such as myself, my meetingless, penisless, not interested in sales, set with an accountant, and secure in my own identity stand listening to these ads? I can't. Someone tell XM they aren't sticking to their part of the bargain and folks like me (cause you all feel the same, right?) are thinking of jumping ship. At least when I listen to lame ads on FM it's free.

PS You know up there in the header it suggests that I have been lying by omission and you guys are all probably wondering if that could be true. Could it all actually be worse than what I have been telling you? Doesn't seem it could get worse right? Can one family take another hit? I mean, maybe in the fictional television soap opera world, but in reality? Nah... Wrong! You better sit down, cause there is more. But I am just taunting you here, because I am still working on that tell-more (as opposed to tell-all) post in my head. You guys are going to need to gear up for that one. Hopefully I'll get my act together for tomorrow or the next day. Yeah, I am going to promise to have it to you by Friday. In the mean time, please guess! Let me have some fun in these trying times! (and if you are a real life friend and you know what I am talking about - don't guess!) I'll give you two hints: it does not involve an alien abduction or another fatal disease.

PPS For the grandma fan club- she was transferred to my first choice rehab/nursing home today. I have high hopes. Cross your fingers for good decent care.

primordial

That sound you heard, that voice? The tortured cry that sounded out loud enough for all of the garden state to hear Sunday morning? That was me. It started out simply enough. Evan and I set out to walk the devil. And we went on a street we had never walked before. And we saw a path off the street. And I took the devil off of the leash, not only for her pleasure but for to assist in the never ending battle to keep my leash holding hand's shoulder grounded safely within it's socket. And as Evan and I ventured deeper into this previously unchartered by my territory, it got wetter and wetter.
And honestly more into the woods meant more beautiful. I asked Evan if he could imagine when our entire neighborhood looked like that photo. And dinosaurs roamed the landscape. And four legged devils decided to stop, drop and roll in the primordial ooze. Oh yes she did. Several times. And then a few more. Despite my ground shaking (<- voice ->) soul shredding piercing wail of protest. And then she would drop down and rub around on some deer shit to dry off.

Guess how ineffective dog claws are in attempt to stop your 78 pound stinking self from being dragged across a tile floor and into a stall shower. Yup. They are worthless. Now the devil has the frizzies. And honestly, my conditioner turns out to be a wee bit fruity smelling, (who knew?) but at least the kids assure me that it smells better on my head than on her fur.

not paint

I first figured out that Matt had a milk allergy when he was about 20 months old. After taking him completely off of milk we had a blissful excema free year of sleeping through the night. Then I broke down from societal pressure and let him have milk again. And he still still slept through the night. So I kept letting him have milk until he ate milk all the time and was 9 years old and covered with excema and an emotional wreck and something inside of me thought that maybe I should get him off the milk again and when I did not only did the excema clear right up, but his emotions settled into a nice normal range. And that was the end of Matt's milk eating days. Today he is 15 so it has been a long run without.

This morning I was toasting bagels for Matt and the husband and the husband said he wanted cream cheese on his. Matt was trying to be helpful, so he at first put his margarine on the husband's bagel. But he realized quickly that this was not what the husband wanted, so he asked. And the husband said "cream cheese" and Matt did not hear me when I said he should take care of his own and I would handle the rest. And Matt, he who has no experience with all things dairy, took out the sour cream and attempted to spread it on the husband's bagel. Matt said "Oh wait, I think this is sour cream" and I jumped up to do some bagel scraping (and maybe snapped at Matt just a little bit). But I had to admit, that it was kind of amusing that the dairy free kid hadn't the foggiest of clues how to handle a request for cream cheese. Kind of like how my house cleaners sometimes appear to be from another planet when they do things like put the cordless phone into a bowl of fruit or toss the kids way ward socks into the toy bin.

Speaking of socks, Don't you hate it when you go on a laundry washing binge (because it's only been forever since your last load) and you are standing at the dryewr waiting for it to finish, but you don't have the patience to wait for the energy wasting anyway cool down to be over, so you try to reach in and grab all the hot dry clothes and you burn yourself on a metal jeans waistband button? Me too.

Also, someone needs to help me explain to the kids that there is a difference between "I need clean underwear" and "I want clean underwear because I am not flexible enough to go without for a day or four". My kids, as perfect as they are, can be so demanding sometimes.

And for my grand finale tonight..... also, to fulfill my "voices" NaBlaBla quota for the day I present to you me and Matt chatting in the car.

me: I see you had art today.
Matt: No
me: Are you sure?
Matt: Yup, no art today.
me: Then ..... why is there paint on your jeans?
Matt: Paint? That's not paint.
me: Looks like paint to me.
Matt: ........
me: (gulp)What is on your jeans?
Matt: Oh, that, yeah, ah that... yeah.... that's not paint. That's a funny story if you think about it. You see, I bought lunch in school today and I got some mustard up here (points to small stain near crotch) so I figured "Well, that might bring some unwanted attention to the wrong area of me." So I took some more mustard and some ketchup and I rubbed all over myself over here. Then he smiles, looking quite pleased at his keen 15 year old reasoning.
me: u...aa......m.... What?!?

other people songs

Went back to the two nursing homes to get the husband's impression.
We got a tour.
At the end we stood in the lobby. She turned to me.

she said: You look like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

I could only nod. I was HOLDING BACK THE TEARS.

she said: You are a good person. I can tell. You care.

TEARS ROLL DOWN. TEARS, TEARS AND MORE TEARS.

she said: You are responsible. You are doing the right thing.

HORSE TEARS..

she said: She will be happy here. We will take good care of her.
She took my arm.
She smiled at me.
She was tearing too.

96 TEARS. BITTER TEARS.

she said: Go home, be with your husband, you are doing a wonderful job. You deserve some time off. You are a very caring person.

LAST TEARS.

We get into the car.
I ask the husband: Am I bad person for putting her there?
the husband says: No. You are not a bad person for putting her there. You are a good person for caring enough to go look at so many places.

I try to convince myself.

TEARS DRY ON THEIR OWN.

rocked

The x-rays on grandma came back okay. They said her finger and ankle are not broken. I don't believe that about the finger though, because when she broke her finger in the hospital during her toe amputation they said the same thing and then when I had it re-x-rayed 2 weeks later there was a break as clear as day. So, I will believe it only in two weeks if grandma is not in pain.

And that voice inside my head said: SHIT!SHIT!SHIT! shitshitshit S H I T !

I really did see this next one coming from a mile away. My phone rang this morning and Natasha was on the other end saying that she would like my grandmother to have a 24 hour a day private (as in paid for by me) aide because of her obvious risk of falling. I told Natasha we could not afford the all day and night private duty nurse on top of the oodles of the money we already pay for grandma to live at the OFH and then I hung my head and cried.

And that voice inside my head said: I really miss my grandma. My grandma is gone. I am taking care of the shell of grandma.

But the truth is that I knew it would come to this when I rescued grandma from the rehab. I knew that she wasn't going to be able to live in the OFH for long. I just hoped that she could go back there for two more kind of good months. I don't know where I got the two months number from. I just made it up. It seemed like if she could be at the OFH for two months then that would be long enough to make it a reasonable stay. I don't know what I was thinking. I was overly optimistic. I only want grandma to have some happiness, even though grandma is gone and the frightened empty shell of grandma can't really be happy any more.

And that voice inside my head just started crying again.

So, not knowing what to do because grandma, who hasn't got a penny to her name, doesn't have medicaid in the garden state, so I called grandma's doctor and I asked her what to do and she said that grandma needed to go to the hospital to get into another rehab and that she could get her hospitalized since she had been acting freaky and swatting the nurses and threatening to punch them and throwing her medicines back at them and other combative stuff like that. I imagine that the doctor is having grandma go in for a psych evaluation, but I was too nauseous at the thought to ask. I just said it would be okay.

And that voice inside my head stopped crying so it could roar. This pains me to the core.

Grandma is in the emergency room right now and soon she'll be admitted for a few days. I am afraid they will give her the same anti psychotic medicine that they gave her the last time and grandma will hallucinate again. That was really scary. Even grandma was scared over that.

And that voice inside my head started praying and begging and bargaining because in a civilized world this can not be the way to age.

Because it seems inhumane to sit around and watch my spunky fresh grandma fade into this frightened angry combative woman. And there is nothing I can do to help her. Comforting her is useless. Meaningless. Done to make me feel like I am helping. There is nothing I can really do.

And that voice inside my head said: Grandma will be fine. She is beyond this world already. And somewhere way deep inside, where I am very quiet and still I know I can get through this. It won't be easy or pretty but it can be done. I can do it. I have to. It is up to me.

And that is my truth.

Matt says: "Mom, you really need to write a song about what you are going through." Guess who wants to be a composer when he grows up.

remaining calm

Allright, what can I say, I am a people pleaser, so I am going to give the NaBullShit "Voices" thing a test run here. No promises this month, I am not rewriting any posts if I forget about the "voices". Which, really, don't we medicate people who hear "voices"? It just seems so cruel or something to mock the psychologically challenged.

Here goes:

The phone rang at 7:40 this morning.

me: Hello?

voice: Hi, clickmom, it's Ding-Dong, the nurse from the OFH. Grandma's okay, but she did fall. Her pinky finger is bruised, it is swollen and purple, so we are going to have an x-ray taken but other than that she seems fine. We checked on her at 6:20 and she was on the floor and the private aide was not in the room.

me: (fighting back the tears of fear, frustration and grief) She's okay?

voice: (reassuringly) She is okay.

me: (trying to breath) and you are going to take a hand x-ray....

voice: And the doctor will be here later today and she will see her and check her out.

me: ..... and she's okay?

voice: She is okay.

me: I'll be there later today too.

voice: Okay, we just wanted to let you know.

me: thanks.

voice: See you later.

They didn't notice this right away, but did x-ray it along with the finger. Results tomorrow-

And the private duty night nurse, well, she was in a car accident on the highway and sent to the hospital when she was on her way to grandma. We can not get a break here. No break for you!