clickmom

Dear Managing Editor

Dear Managing Editor,

Did I do an awesome presentation or what? I mean really, at the end when that reporter said (and I am really verbatum quoting here) "Wow, so much of what you said was so obvious yet I would have never thought of it!" I knew I had done good. See? Aren't you happy that we went through with this little talk of mine? Aren't you hoping that the non professional photographers get on the photographic ball now? Did I do a stellar job of breaking it all down to understandable bite sized non threatening pieces or what? You should listen to me more often!

And, in case you weren't listening, the female non professional photographer came up to me right before we broke and said (more exact quoting) "Thank you so much. I was really nervous, but you are as cool as -insert local editor's name here- said you are. I learned a lot." Just so you know. It seems that in the adult world of small weekly newspapers, I am one of the cool people. Wow. I am cool. Who knew?

Just so you know, when I bumped into the camera phobic editor that did not come to my presentation because she had a tennis game this morning, and she was still wearing her tennis skirt 6 hours later when I saw her out and about, (ouch! salt in the wound) I might have said something along the lines of shame, missing out and stellar talk. So if she asks you about it, back me up. Okay? Then make her feel bad.

Next week let's get together, you and me, and discuss my new per-assignment fee schedule demands. Quality like this isn't cheap you know.

So the fond memories can linger for you too, because I know you will want to remember this morning forever, here is a shot of me (and my chins), your new hero(es), that the local editor took during my talk. And just so you keep this in mind too, my pad is turned to the page of photos that demonstrated the rule of thirds. See all the lines I drew on those photos? Visual aides! I rock.

See you by the water cooler,
Clickmom

dear novices

Dear non professional photographers who are dragging the quality of my news paper down,

Well, tomorrow is my big day. Or maybe I should say my big mouth day. Because I opened my big mouth to the managing editor about how if is going to pay for photos from you other people the photos should be better and now I am going to teach a little lesson to the non professionals in photo basics. I can't tell you how much sleep I have lost worrying over this. I don't want to go in there seeming as pompous as I pretend to be. It's just that your photos suck and if I can at least get them in focus (cough cough I am totally lying here) I will be happy. Okay the truth is, your photos leave much to be desired and they make me embarrassed to work at the same paper as you so you better listen to me and shape up fast.

Okay? Just don't think I am all full of attitude or anything like that. We are all in the same boat. Really, you have so much potential. Let's tap it.

signed,
I can't decide how much I am willing to lie about what I think about your work.
clicky

P.S. You'll still love me after the lesson, right?

dear f*** me

Dear F*** me,

I suck at organization and now my start up disk is so full that I can't burn a CD or download any more photos and when I tired to order some on line I got some kind of disconnect after 1/2 an hour and then I accidentally un-chose all the photos I had chosen. And wah wah wah. I wish some nice type A person would come in here one day a week and sit down and do all the ordering and downloading and then make nice photo albums, and go sell my better stuff..... and just let me the dizzy free spirit artist that I seem to be. Cause us artistic types are like this, right? (Just say YES, I'm in a moment here)

And now it is 11:18 and I have to post for today (damn you blog365!) but I won't have time to do the weekly winners, even though I have non shitty good quality shots for this week. wah wah wah. and it is LETTERS! Cause the good shots take for frigging ever to download.

I have to go figure out what I can erase in order to download the rest of my baseball photos. And oh yeah, tomorrow I get to take some more baseball photos. HELP!

Love, I have got to get a grip on this.
clicky

PS My southern fried ear is still totally crispy. I had no idea how much I lean on the south side of my face.

over easy

Not being a celebrator of easter, I know nothing of easter egg hunts. I have never been to one. Once, on the day after easter, I came across a very pretty hand dyed egg that someone must have hidden for someone else in prospect park. But it was an actual hard boiled egg and not a plastic candy filled egg, so after I embraced it's simple beauty I tossed it in the trash figuring it was already on it's way to spoiling. Also, one day after we had made the move to the burbs, I walked past someone's yard on easter sunday where her three dressed for church little angelic angel children were laughing and giggling and prancing around their own back yard finding their little easter egg treats. And it was all so nice and charming.

Today I showed up at a town library easter egg hunt to photograph for the paper (For the first time in weeks! It felt great!). I brought Josh along with me figuring he might enjoy it. Except we don't have easter baskets, so I gave him an organically grown cotton eco-conscientious bag that I use to tote my groceries in. I walked around trying to grab a few shots before the hunt began. As the moment approached the library lawn was simply pulsating with people. When the organizer gave the shout out to begin parents dropped to their knees, dragging their toddlers behind them, grabbing eggs, hot in the pursuit of more eggs than any one toddler needs, scurrying for eggs, filling their kid's baskets with sometimes maybe 25 or 30 eggs. It was a big blur to me. I had no idea where Josh was. It was all over in about 12 seconds, because damn! the parents of those bewildered kids sure were fast. And in the end, there was poor big 'ol Josh crying his eyes out because he didn't realize it was time to get the eggs until after all the parents snatched up every single one of the eggs. I looked around and every kid there had baskets brimming with parent snagged eggs.

So I took Josh to the coordinator because she told me she had put eggs aside in case their were any late comers. And the very same coordinator who told me she had put eggs aside told Josh she did not have any eggs. But a little girl standing nearby overheard Josh's story and she gave Josh two of her basket of eggs. And Josh being Josh, he was so happy to get those two eggs, that some lady standing nearby who did not have any kids with her, kneeled down and retrieved one of the many (over a dozen) eggs that she had for some reason stuffed into her own now bulging purse. She dropped it into Josh's reusable grocery bag. So in the end Josh ended up with three charity eggs. And he was excited. Leaving the library, hand in hand with my sweet little bad at egg snatching baby, I saw a mom and her two kids running with their colorful baskets towards the lawn where the eggs had been. I couldn't bring myself to warn them.

blogiversary

I started this blog 3 years ago after an unsettling assignment I did for the paper. Go check out my very first post. so, happy three years to me. Back then I had to cover the funeral of an 18 year old. His story was as tragic as a super nice everybody's friend kid every body loved 18 year old dying of some previously undetected heart defect coud be. And he was an only child. Even worse.

I had just read about mommy bloggers (but I don't we were called that yet) in a NY Times article. Needing an outlet for what I had just experienced at the funeral I fished out the article to figure out what to do/how to do it and started my blog. At the time I thought this funeral was the beginning of more and more sad heart breaking stories for me and I wanted an outlet to write about my life as a full time mom and part time photojournalist. Which is pretty funny if you ever see my paper because besides a whole lot of high school sports it's all pretty much babies and kittens for me to photograph. So my idea of this blog being an outlet for me as a working mom went by the way side and the blog just became my outlet for every day life. I mention work occasionally, but honesty, I love my job, my real editor is like a second mother/friend to me, (no comment on the sports editor who keeps sending me to cancelled games) and the only funeral I shot after that boy's one was an unremarkable older guy that just didn't bother me.

Tonight however, I shot the first meeting of the group that is organizing a local Relay For Life event here. In case you don't know it is a fund raiser for the American Cancer Society. I kept thinking about my parents. I was fine for a while, shooting photos and thinking that people were there mostly in support of old people who had cancer, but as I shot the people and asked them their names and some background for the photo caption I have to submit with my photo, I realized that most of the people there were in fact survivors. And they all looked like they could be me. Or at least they looked like they could be sititng in the next SUV in the pick up line at any of my kids school's. And then I remembered that I still have that procedure scheduled for the 25th.

Now I am not sure where I fit in in this world. Obviously I am a supporter of my parents. But am I a survivor? Or will I be a survivor? It seems like an exageration to say "me too" to cancer. I mean, one more small procedure and I assume I am going to be just fine. No hospital stay, no seriously long and painful recovery, no dreadful chemo, no hair loss. Just a slice and a boo boo and the only after effect of this for me is going to be obsessive mirror looking. Because I am always going to be worried and looking. So even though I had to run out of there crying when the middle school kid started telling about her mother's fight with cancer, I am not sure if I am just the daughter of people with cancer or if I could possibly be or if I really am one of them.

hematoma watch I 2008

It's really very kind of exciting. Last night (about 3 hours after realizing that I had indeed lived through hellacious stomach bug 2008) I had my first work related injury. It's more than exciting, it's pretty amazing, I mean, they actually let me, with all my super powers of spaz-ability and my magnetism for all things accident do shit like stand on football fields during football games (still blows my mishap prone mind every single time) and it has taken almost 5 years for me to actually get injured. Some in the know folks might use the word miracle here. (Because it is, I mean I would have bet against myself people.) And speaking of miracle, here it is: Ta da..... presenting, hematoma I 2008!

Here is what happened. I was shooting a basketball game and white team was trying to shoot when guy from green team slapped the shit out of the ball just to prevent white team guy from shooting even though he was going to slap the ball off the court and guess who was right in the firing line of said ball? Yup, me and my jelly rolls. I was only maybe 6 feet away from the slapper and that ball just shot straight into me, made a gross kind of thwump noise and then because it hit so hard it bounced (or maybe it hit my rock hard 8 pack. pfftt!) right back towards the court. I took it like a woman though, I was majorly tough. I turned, took a few steps toward the side of the court where my sports editor happened to be, took a deep breath and turned right back to doing my job. Green team guy did jog up to me mouthing he was so sorry, and I just said "I'm okay!" and motioned for him to get back to the game. Little hemo burned all night and only began to show his colors when I woke up this morning. I'm thinking that this kind of internal bleeding probably needs another day to really reach it's full potential, so don't be surprised if you meet up with little hemo again! You know what they say: Have iphone, will record injuries!

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!

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.

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.

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 and saying a prayer. I'll still find it rough to be around the SIL and BIl and still surely have much guilt about that. Lil sis's kids will continue to grow up without much of me in their lives too, not because I choose to have it that way but because of living 3 hours away is like living on a different planet when she and I are both being pulled in 18 different directions on any given day and never do those directions meet.

Will I be fit in 208? Will I shed this other person worth of weight I am lugging around in 2008? (Hey, my new theme LOSE THE WEIGHT IN 20008!) Will I rediscover my creative self in 2008? Will I be a better parent in 2008? Will I hold it together through all the messy life sucks trauma of 2008? I dunno the answers to those questions. Hopefully all my resolutions will hold true. Hopefully I'll conquer all my demons. But maybe not. Hey I'm only human. I might end up still fat a year from now, I may not have a big glorious portfolio of work to show you, and my kids might still watch too much tv and eat too much crap, but what ever ends up happening I'll have to tell myself that I gave it my best (because maybe I just didn't have that much to give in 2008). Or maybe I do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jumping into the frying pan

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

NaBloPoNobodyLikesTheirBossAsMuchAsILikeMine

I love my editor. I really do. I wish she was my cool aunt or something else related. I'd like to claim her. She'd be that relative that really truly understood me even when I was a hormonal sobbing most of the time, misunderstood by all of humanity (except for her!) teenager. She is that cool, yes, she is.

And she is interesting too. For instance, she told me all about chem trails from planes and all the conspiracy theories related to their appearance. I'm not going to tell you, dear reader, just in case you tend on the side of paranoia. Don't go searching the internet now! You like sleeping at night right? Yeah, forget I ever said anythign about chem trails and just look at the pretty picture. Isn't it cool the way those long stringy clouds line up almost like like stripes through the twilight sky?

still sucking

Regarding family: Grandma did not have a heart attack. Her heart enzymes were just fine. However, she did have a small UTI as well as pancreatitis which both might be due to her constant state of dehydration. (Not into beverages, she prefers to pee less) This would happen to be the very same state of dehydration that I have told anyone and everyone at the OFH about every chance I get, pleading with them to encourage her to drink.

The unreasonable asshole physical therapist at the hospital decided that grandma needed some physical therapy before returning to the OFH and the "I have to cover my ass no matter how disruptive it is to the resident" head of nursing the OFH decided it was necessary as well. They have me over a barrel and now poor grandma, in all her general confusion was transferred to another facility where she who hates everything resembling exercise will endure not one but two one hour sessions of physical therapy a day in order to earn her ticket back into the OFH. I'm ready to rip some OFH administrators into shreds. If I didn't need them so damned much I'd consider hiring a lawyer since this is grandma's 3rd unwarranted trip to the ER. Everytime a new nurse comes on board she takes one look at grandma freaking over something and dials 911. It's getting pretty old.

Mom endured another round of chemo today, but there is bad news. The one functioning port that they have been struggling to use is blocked and now Mom has to have a little surgery to untwist the other as of now unusable port for the rest of her treatment. The woman can not catch a break. We met three other patients with her rare cancer today. They all just happened to show up at the specialist on the same day. One in particular touched my heart. She is only 30 and was originally misdiagnosed in 2000. Because of all the wasted time, she is only a few weeks ahead of my mom in this surgery/chemo process. I think I am going to try to find her on the internet. Thank goodness for the internet.

Dad is generally weak and pretty much sleeps 20 hours a day. He says he is nauseous in the mornings and also suffering from reflux, which he refuses to take anything for. No one around here is eating much of anything but I keep buying it all just in case. I don't know how he does it, all the sleeping, but I do get jealous from time to time. I am tired right down to my bones.

My sports editor gave it to me again today. He sent me to a tennis game that was postponed until next week. I am fit to be tied. I can't take the guy. I was so angry that I avoided him at a subsequent soccer game. Also, he smells and life is too short, I see, to stand next to smelly people.

I'm losing patience with the entire world right around now and would like to wear a big sign with all my troubles on it. This way, I imagine, everyone else would just step aside and let me do what I have to do. Also, people won't stop asking me "How are things going?" and questions like that, even though I keep crying and asking them not to ask me that.

So once and for all, for the record: THINGS STILL SUCK!!!!

hope

The Award for best grandparent related question goes to Josh, who very casually asked "Mom? Why are there teeth on my bathroom sink?"

So, Mom arrived here wearing the wig she immediately ran out and purchased upon hearing the (C word) bad news.

That was interesting.

And a warning would have been nice.

I think I was very diplomatic when I said, "Wow mom, if I didn't know you I'd totally think that was your hair!" Except the part where it wasn't really the same color, style, cut, or thickness as her real hair. It did look like someone else's hair, I have seen that hair before, and now I am wondering if those people are wearing wigs too. I guess I have been so obsessed with spotting other people's plastic surgery that I forgot to notice their hair. Wow, a new arena for my judgmental self to obsess about.

When it comes to hair, my mom has such an interesting philosophy. First you should know that despite bleaching her hair for the past 50 years, and allowing grandma to comb peroxide through it for years before that my mom still insists that she is a "dirty" blonde in reality. snicker. Second you should know that mom does not now nor has she ever had very much hair. And lately she is very into teasing. It's hard not to look at her scalp. And when the light shines through her hair, you can see the outline of her head. Also, there is the color, I think of it as yellow cotton candy. I've never seen yellow cotton candy, but if someone whipped some up, my money says you could conceal it on mom's head if say, you wanted to sneak it into the movies or something. So in lieu of her hair reality seeing her with real looking hair which was in reality a wig was really a bit of a shock.

And we have been hanging out with grandma, who HATED the wig and had no problem saying so. She either waved hostilely towards it, glared up at it, or insulted it at every turn and I was silently (evilly) hoping she'd snatch it off of mom's head, cause I just knew she was considering doing such a thing. But she didn't.

Grandma has been more disoriented than usual lately, and during one car ride she questioned exactly who the scum-cle was to her. She suspects he is her brother, and was shocked to learn that she has a son. Mentioning that her brother passed away only seemed to confuse her more because she couldn't figure out why in the world a son would want to visit her. It was so tempting to say stuff to really throw her off. I did throw back some of her more outrageous comments of the past to her. Like how her son, the scum-cle, had such a beautiful nose until he went off to college and then he came home home with a big honker. I totally wanted to make up a new family history for her too. I thought maybe I'd make up a sister who married into royalty or something. Eventually grandma wanted to know why if scum-cle was her son did she have an image of a man in a red suit in her head. Mom said "That would be Santa Claus, and he's not related to us." Grandma didn't appreciate the laughter which ensued.

I photographed a beautiful pregnant woman today. I did some gorgeous belly shots for her. I did some belly and older children shots too. I was envious of her perfectly round nicely shaped belly, but didn't feel the pang of longing I thought I might. I think I'm getting too old for that.

My folks are here too see doctors for my mom and my mother went to two different specialists today. One was very negative and didn't believe in the latest chemo techniques for her kind of mesothelioma. He said they hadn't been proven yet. He gave my mother two years.

The other doctor was enthusiastic, friendly, and hopeful. His patients all reach out to each other and give each other support on line. He says his patients average 7 years using this newer chemo technique.

It's pretty obvious which doctor she plans on using.

I hope they dance

When I was in fourth grade some square dancing guy came to our elementary school to teach us square dancing. All us fourth graders were brought down to the cafeteria, the tables had been folded and pushed aside and the guy told us to get partners. Being somewhat slow and clueless before I knew it I was the only girl left and the only boy left was the boy they called David Garbage. They called him this cause, well, to be blunt, he always looked dirty. He was kind of like Pig Pen, only more outspoken and with a real gravelly voice. I resigned myself to whiling away the hour with David Garbage (made plans to wash my hands after the dancing) took his sticky hands in mine and listened to the caller tell us what to do. Before I knew it, I was having a fabulous fun time dancing away with David who was enthusiastic and a pretty good dancer as far as this totally uncoordinated 10 year old could tell. I remember having such a good time that my face began to ache from all the smiling. Then I looked around at the other kids and realized that David Garbage was the only boy who was really dancing and every other kid, tortured boys and humiliated girls alike, in the cafeteria had that unhappy look of "they are making me do this" on their faces. I wanted to square dance every week, the other kids unanimously hated it. The next week came and I looked for David Garbage to be my partner, but he been quickly nabbed by some other girl. The third and final week came and our dance class got cancelled. I was crushed while the others cheered.

I tell my boys about David Garbage all the time because I want them to know that being the kid that dances (takes a chance/let's his hair down/isn't afraid of being his own person) is a great thing. I tell my boys all the time "Chicks love guys who dance." And I really hope they get the bigger picture.

Today I photographed a sixth grade class being taught to Waltz. The 6th grade boys were freaking out about touching the 6th grade girls. Everyone was uncomfortable. There were only 2 boys who sincerely danced. One was the class clown (You know, the class clowns turned out to be great guys didn't they?) and the other was the studious quiet type. As I made my way around the room trying not to interrupt the lesson while photographing the kids, I did manage to whisper to both the clown and the quiet type. I told them both "Chicks love guys who dance." and they both smiled back at me like they knew exactly what I was talking about.

i love my job

They asked me at the temple if I would take some photos of a famous ex-NYC politician visiting our congregation. (name with held for fear of google searches) I said "Yes." after all it is what I do. So, I go over there, and it is quite a challenge because the room is packed, the lighting dim, and well, Ruth (on the left) is not as young as she used to be, and I want to make my photos flattering. I was concentrating on her so much I missed this guy in background, who is either so bored he is fantasizing about blowing his brains out or he is about to go searching for a big one. You decide.

in your face

I shot a basketball game yesterday before the "bug" hit me. My timing was way off. I didn't understand it at the time, I thought I was being distracted by the other photographer who looks a lot like Gerard DePardu (or how ever you spell it) Just so you know, a good picture sports is not only in focus, but it also has a face in it. Those picky picky editors really like to see some face. This is what happens when my timing is way off.

shooting high school sports

Had the chance to photograph some high school sports this week. First I want everyone to know, that without exception I root for the team with the chubby cheerleader.

I just love images like this. I should save them in a special sports bloopers folder and make a collection. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I am going to do.

I also got to photograph wrestling, and I thought about the movie which makes men nervous (Brokeback Mountain) the whole time. Wrestling is a very intense and intimate sport. I love photographing it. If you look at where the one guy has his hand then you'll understand the agony on the other guys face.

the other thing I do and how I got there

I floundered in college for a while, and then happened upon a photography class. I was immediately hooked and knew by the time my second assignment was handed in that this is what I wanted to major in. I went to a small liberal art college, okay, party school, that only required the 12 photography related classes and everything else was an elective. I minored in advertising and could have minored in fine arts, except you could only declare one minor and I thought advertising sounded more official. I worked my butt off in college, apprenticing with a local photgrapher who was a great big fish in a small pond, who I adore to this day, contributing to all the campus publications, I was editor of the year book, and even did some freelance stuff for actor/singer friends who needed head shots. I worked a lot.

When I got home from school I got some offers from NYC photographers as an assistant, but I was tired and they work you to the bone, and I thought I would like a little time off to just do the 9 to 5 thing for a little while. Also, I had a boyfriend that I wanted to spend more time with. So I got a job as an assistant to a guy who sold advertising time for television stations. I was bored out of my head after three weeks. There wasn't enough work for me to keep busy for an entire hour each day. I went to my supervisor and she assigned me to a more established rep. and I was busy for about 1 1/2 hours a day. I couldn't take it. I asked of it was possible to work for more than one person but they said "No" so I got a job as a head hunter. My friend Robin was working as a head hunter, and they can make lots of money. Except they lie all day long to all the people on both ends, and I was not a natural. When my company replaced my boss, she gradually brought on all her own people and all of us who were there already either quit or got fired. I was so clever that I managed to quit with proof that they were harassing me and managed to qualify for unemployment.

I decided it was time to get back into photography, I got an assistant job with a guy who photographed plates for catalogues, but my boyfriend left me the day before I started, so every time the guy sent me into the darkroom to load and unload film I ended up a sobbing heap, and he wsn't cool with that. I did a couple of freelance jobs for the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, and got an assignment from a local paper in Brooklyn, but then I couldn't pay the rent by myself and had to move back to Manhattan into my folks apartment and that was the end of Brooklyn.

I took a break, and tried to volunteer on the set of The Equalizer for a while, in hopes of getting a job there, but was once again bored to tears, and decided that TV wasn't my thing afterall. I got another job working for an Impressario and her agents. I got to speak to many influential music people, from the Harlem Boys Choir to major opera singers. That was interesting because she also had a gallery, but man she was a bitch and yelled at anyone she saw all day long. Also, she had a thick Japanese accent and got furious when no one could understand her. Noone lasted in that office too long. It was miserable.

Then I met a teacher who convinced me that I was teacher material. Since I was doing nothing and had nowhere to go, I applied to the NYC board of Ed., got a temporary license, and began my teaching career. At that point NYC would any person with a bachelors in anything (even photography) a license. I got my Masters at night and taught for almost 4 years until Matt was born.

Then I became a SAHM. When Matt was in third grade I volunteered for the Third Grade Yearbook. I had so much fun taking photos of the kids that the following year I became the school's Publicity volunteer. I took photos and wrote stories about our school and students for the two local papers. One day in May, as I was dropping off some photos at the paper where the people were always really nice to me, I mentioned to the secretary how I was going to miss taking photos for the paper over the summer and she suggested I write a note to the editor. I jotted off a note on a scrap of paper she handed me from the recycle bin, and a couple of weeks later got a call asking me if I would be around for Memorial Day Weekend. I have been shooting for the paper ever since. That was 2 1/2 years ago, and I have loved working for them the whole time. Since it is a small paper, I sometimes get to write a story too. The editor I get to deal with is like a family member that I treasure. We genuinly care about each other and she has really been a welcome addition to my life.

When I started this blog, if you go back to my very first entry, it was because I was very upset after photographing the funeral of an 18 year old boy. I needed to talk about it. I thought my blog would be about being a part-time working mommy, but I thankfully have not had any heart wrenching assignments lately. I get fun, kid and puppy type stuff or HS sports, which I love doing. I don't mention my job too much for two reasons, one is because I haven't been working too much. I am not sure why, I think my editor is nervous about my health since two winters ago I had pneumonia twice, and because there has been some belt tightening at the paper. I have been reluctant to post many photos of kids that I do not know. I take their photos for the paper, but not for internet, and it isn't like I am going to ask them if they mind me putting them on the world wide web! Nothing like scaring the community! Also, my computer is totally overloaded and I am afraid to download any photos, so that is not good either.

But, in any case, that is why I have an editor, and why I haven't been posting photos. I might drop by the genius bar this weekend with my lap top and see if we can clear things up. Then I'll be up and running again. In the mean time, writing for clickmom does not take up any of my hard drive, so I'll just have to stick with the writing. Oh, seriously, I did download some things onto Matt's computer, I'll post some photos later.

famous person spotting

I spotted my fourth famous person of the year. It was........
copyright 2005

Do you recognize her with out the blonde curly hair? Yes it is none other than the famous Sarah Jessica Parker of Sex in The City Fame , now filming a movie titled "Spinning Into Butter" in one of the 9 towns that my paper covers. I have another shot of her gazing directly at me, the one I took before she hid her face and said "Who are these people with cameras?" to one of her staff members, but I filed that shot with the paper, so you dear readers get to see this one. Okay, here is the "I am going to hide from a person who could be one of those maniacal papparrazzi's." series minus the direct gaze photo...............

OK next would come the shot where she is fully facing me and gazing straight down the lens of my camera. (Thank you SJ!)

So, the funny thing is that I know I am going to get lots of google hits off of this post, but I would rather see that my regulars are checking in. But hey- if you are an SJP fan and you want to share these photos with your pals, just link me, no cutting and pasting please. All photos on this site are property of the site and may not be copied. Sorry, no exceptions.

a girl after my heart

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

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

Spastic.

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

the pumpkin soup

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

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

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

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

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

my sad, angry, disappointed day

I am having a day where if I talk I cry. I am just so sad today. The four major reasons are:

1. First I find out that Evan’s teacher isn’t being rehired for next year because a couple of mothers have been complaining about her. I know one of them is, diplomatically speaking, crackers. The woman is total bat-shit, and her kid is looney tunes. Evan comes home every day with a list of all the inappropriate things this child has said and done. He hates kids that can’t behave, and I’m going to put myself out there and say that “inclusion” is not always the best choice. Evan’s teacher is a real doll, and a great teacher. The issue is with the kid, and the principal will surely see that next year, when he is with another teacher, and Mrs. Bat-shit- crackers-for-brains comes in with the same complaints. So, this makes me sad, cause Evan’s teacher was crying, and I was crying, and I even went and wrote a letter to the principal letting him know how I feel. She was really a good teacher.

2. This morning I had to photograph a funeral for a local guy, who was too young to die (in his 60’s), a life long resident, and politically active, very well loved. As if that was not bad enough the “photographer” (I am totally being nice by calling her that) from the paper that competes with my paper was there and she kept following me around practically taking photos over my shoulder. GRRRRR.... She knows I am a better photographer than her, and always teases me about working for the NY Times, and one day I am totally going to elbow her if she doesn’t quit trying to get the same shot as me!!

3. Then, I get a letter from the kids pediatrician saying that he is moving to a remote part of Hawaii so that he can participate more in his kids lives. (Just can’t make this shit up!) While this is a great thing for his kids, it totally sucks for me, because I have ISSUES with doctors and can not imagine trusting anyone as much as I trust him, I mean, I would totally do what ever he said because he is as WEIRD and smart at the same time as I am, and people like me just don’t come around very often, and now I may have to untangle this web of deceit I have spun for myself, brave a new frontier, and take the road less traveled, even though I can’t imagine loving or trusting any other doctor as much as I do him. Boo Hoo.

4. I have to photograph HS graduation tonight, and the kids favorite baby sitter is graduating and going away to college and that means , no more baby sitting. I could be more enthusiastic about going to this graduation.

Even this fabulous photo of another patriotic butt cannot get me to smile tonight, but I thought I’d share it with you anyway.

I FOUND WALDO!

I was so excited the other day at the farmers market because I found Waldo! I haven't seen him since the 80's and he sure has aged a lot. I remember when he was lean and tall, but hey, who hasn't put on a few pounds since then, right? And as far the gray hair goes, I am sporting a few myself too. It was good to reconnect after all these years, and I just have one question for him, "After all those washings how has he kept the stripes in his shirt from fading?"

new veggies

Took Matt and Josh to shoot the opening or the farmers market in a near by town yesterday. It was a big deal for this town because the market changed days from Friday to Tuesday and the locals were less than pleased. Very controversial.

Matt and Josh looked around for some snacks they could choose, which is always a challenge for Matt because 1. he is picky and 2. he is on a restricted diet due to his milk allergy. He managed to find some dairy free baked goods, so I bought myself a little more time, and when they came found me again to beg me to leave, Matt spotted this very interesting sign, for an apparent vegetable/lawn covering hybrid. I get a kick out of those who cannot spell.
We didn't have to look too far to find another interesting sign, it seems like the vegetables at this stand are modest and don't hang out at the same nudist colony as all the other veggies, they prefer cover up just a little bit as they don their bikinis, hence the name.....

just wondering

My temperament is better suited for boys. I have always wanted boys and got what I wished for. Sometimes I look at the little girls I see and think, “Oh, I am so happy I ended up with boys.” But every once in a while I see something like thisand I wonder what it would be like to bask in such sweetness and femininity day in and day out. Just wondering....

getting the shot

I have been feeling so American, as I photograph game after game of baseball. What a freaking boring game to watch!! Man, give me a nice action packed lacrosse game any day over the agonizing pace of baseball. And in baseball, I never know where to look! If I am focused on the batter, don’t you know the guy on first gets caught trying to steal second. In the other sports it is much easier, I just try to shoot the guy with the ball. Baseball is happening all over. I am pretty sure that other photographers go there and decide before hand the one plate or position they are going to follow. It could drive me insane, especially since I am out right ignorant of the game and all the strategies, and am really only capable of shooting the guy with the ball. My Canon 10D, which I LOVE. Is 1 1/2 years old, which pretty much makes it a dinosaur into he digi camera world. I secretly lust after the newer versions with their super fast shutters that sound like old movie cameras spinning on and on, or the (gulp) 16 mega pixel version that I can shoot poster size landscapes with, but I LOVE my baby, the camera that brought me into the light and introduced me to the filmless world of I have a 1 gigabyte memory card and never run out of film, digital ecstasy. The world of, I can crop it at home and e-mail it into the office. I am so never going back.

Anyway, even with out the super fast camera body I have been successful at catching the ball. Check it out.

little town politics

The truth is that I am not sure if I live in a little town, medium town, or large town, because my reference point is Manhattan, and it is all little to me. But, my town feels little enough, at least it is little enough for an awful lot of people to know my name, and that feels weird to me since I am an absolute name retard. I know every one feels like they are bad with names, but I can actually forget the name of my established friends. I think it is genetic, my grandfather used to cycle through the whole family before he would get to my name. As a young child I thought he was hilarious.

It is strange to me when I walk into a meeting and all these people smile at me call out my name, and I am thinking "Uh, looks vaguely familiar....."

Last night I covered a meeting of people who formed a group to help pass the school referendum. In this town, the budgets used to pass by a safe margin, and then people got older, their kids moved away, less involved non-voters moved in and the votes became closer and closer. Now they can really go either way. The seniors joined forces, organizing, writing all sorts of misleading letters to the local papers. So finally the parents had to organize a grass roots sort of organization to reach the undecided and unaware voters. It was successful two years ago, and is trying for a repeat victory. Noone really wants to admit that the budget has come down to Seniors vs. Families with Kids, but that appears to be the sad truth.

I went to this meeting to cover it for the paper and all these women were so glad the paper was covering the meeting and that I was there to photograph, they came up and told me how happy they were to see me and then I did my thing, and also listened to the meeting and thought ..Why do the same group of people run everything? Why are so few active in all the different community arenas? Where the heck is everyone else?

I Met Donald Trump Today

Barbara called last night and asked if I could photograph an event that Donald Trump would be at tonight. I went, admittedly, not being the world's biggest Trump fan. I am a New Yorker and therefore know his real estate history, I have seen a couple of Apprentice episodes, and hear of his love life while waiting for the weather portion of the news. Honestly, I didn't understand the attraction.

Tonight I was milling around the entrance with the other photographers and reporters, waiting for him to arrive. When Trump walked in he and I made immediate eye contact. He held his gaze and walked straight towards me, paused, leaned forward and asked me who I was shooting for. Very intense. Now I get the charm, Trump can look at you and make you feel like you are the only person in a room of 250 people. When he stood for a photo, he stared right through me each time. I have some shots where no one in the group is looking my direction except for Trump who is staring right through the center of the lens. He gave a great speech too. Very warm, intimate, and funny.

swimming & self image

I got to photograph a swim meet. I don’t often do swimming, and it is a shame, because I think swimmers tend to be some serious athletes. I was pretty psyched when I got the chance. When I go to any sport for the first time in a while it takes me a bit to get back in sync with the rhythms of that sport. I can absolutely get into a trance just looking through the camera and trying to snap the shutter at the exact moment.

When I got home I reviewed the photos with Matt and we enjoyed the ones with the great water action. You can really see the water being pushed aside, and dragged, and dripping in the stills. I’m sure it could be a great tool to help the swimmers improve their times, I could tell who had their head in too deep, and who wasn’t clearing the water enough with their arms from the photos.

Watching the girls act self conscious and hiding behind their towels when they weren’t in the water reminded me of my self conscious High School years. I wore an ankle length coat all the time through the winter (indoors too), and I remember the panic of feeling naked in the spring when I had to take it off. We women spend a lot of our time hiding. I am still hiding under many extra pounds, and hiding those under baggy clothes. So, my question is what exactly am I hiding? Is it my sexuality? Vulnerability? True Identity? All of the above?

I’ve been off of wheat for a couple of weeks, and sugar has to go now, how will I handle the inevitable weight loss? Will I panic and succumb to my addictions again? Will I find that is so pleasant not be overweight that the issues will disappear? (doubt it) Perhaps yet another round of therapy is in order. Maybe I can find someone who specializes in eating disorders or body image. I really don’t want to do the whole therapy thing now, it just seems too draining. I want to get physical results and not have to do the emotional housekeeping. See, I suck at all housekeeping!

Day 3 of Detox

Day 3 of detox- Still rough, I have been having these weird dreams where there is all this snow. though I am not worried because I know my truck can just ride right over it, I wonder why the school hasn’t called to say it is canceled. I realize I am late to pick up the kids from school. In my dreams I look under my robe to discover that I am wearing real clothes, although my hair is wet, and I can just dash out the door. Of course there is a catch, and that is that something disastrous is about to happen here, and I have to leave for 2 weeks, which I know because I keep seeing the number 2 in all sorts of colors and different prints. I know that when I pick up the kids I will have to keep driving until I get to my sisters in Connecticut. I have to leave with no suitcase since I am already late.

Needless to say I am not waking up refreshed. Today, as if detox wasn’t fun enough, I woke up with a head cold and cough. I was going to quit sugar today, I feel like I might as well get the inevitable over with, but I picked up some cough drops so I’ll begin tomorrow.

Today I asked Rich to take the kids out so I could clean. For three glorious hours I got to listen to my own music and not have to talk to anyone. It wasn’t so bad when no one was here, and I didn’t have to talk, but as soon as they came in Evan immediately had to report every single behavior violation of each family member, except himself, and I nearly took him out. Seriously, I told him to shut up.

But I took him with me on a photo assignment I had accepted earlier in the week, it was an easy one, “Moths in Winter” at the local wildlife preserve. Even though my head was buzzing and it feels like every hair on my head is being pulled on. I could practically see the photos in my mind before we even got there. It was going to be easy. Al I had to do was wait for the photo to happen. There would be little creativity happening. I walk into the place, am chatting with one of the coordinators, spot a woman walking around with a camera, and realize that I had not replaced the CF card in camera. My heart lurches into my mouth. I quickly look for the point-n-shoot I have been carrying as back up and it isn’t with my gear either. Panic sets in. I can no longer think straight. Fortunately B has met me there, and she has a point-n-shoot in her purse. So there I am taking photos with this tiny little cheap camera. I didn’t feel professional. Also, I didn’t take as many photos as I normally would have, knowing that they were going home with B. It is weird not possessing my own photos. On my way home, I am noticing that my seat belt isn’t fitting and I dig into my jacket pocket to find....my point-n-shoot. So I start taking photos of myself in the car while I am driving. I am in a fog. At least I was able to laugh at myself.

When I got home I started to realize that I wasn’t just sick, I was going to be really really sick... It is tough to differentiate the detox from the whopper of a head cold I am getting. Matt’s friend Liz was here. She is so sweet . Imagine a girl who not only reads super hero comics, but also plays hero clicks game! All this rolled up into a girlie package. I almost fainted when she walked into the room because she suddenly has breasts, not even the little pointy baby breasts, but womanly round breasts. That means that someone with woman breasts was lying on my sons bed with him reading comics books. Someone he has more in common with than me, who owns breasts(!!!!) was lying on his bed. Omigosh, if they weren’t moving away, I ‘d be freaking even more than I already am. I had a vision of being confronted my Liz’s mom because Matt had gotten her pregnant, and I hadn’t realized that Matt had grown up.

We all ended up going out to dinner together since I had already promised my guys Indian Buffet, and I realized I was so sorry to see them go. I love Liz, and I like her Dad too. I like to think about Matt spending time with them and being around her dad who is so involved with her, sharing his interests without being overbearing, and always trying to expand her mind, and bring up all kinds of thought provoking topics. He would be a nice role model for Matt.

By the time we got home, I knew I was toast. I couldn’t get warm, was covered head to toe with goose bumps. I just needed to get to bed, but dreaded that feeling of lying in my cozy bad and being so unwell that I couldn’t appreciate the coziness.