clickmom

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.

fuh reaky

Dear boys and girls,

Sit down right here and I will tell you the tale of freaky Frank. Be warned, this tale is not for the easily creeped out or the already stalked or paranoid.

Once upon a time there was a regular old family who got lucky and managed to scoop this totally awesome chunk of land (which is actually an island in a lake) called utopia. The family loved utopia and started spending all their summers in utopia. But one unfortunate aspect of utopia was the previous owner did not take very good care of his house. It was a sweet old house with lots of history and a fabulous vibe, but it also had toxic mold and was structurally unstable after all the years of neglect, so it had to come down. And down it went in November 2006.

But before the house came down the family got a call from a "neighbor", which seems hard to have when you have an island, but this "neighbor" lived close to the causeway that attached the island to the main road. His name was Frank. And the neighbor Frank asked the family if he could have the shutters from the old fabulous vibe house, and the family was happy to give Frank the shutters because they were happy to know that the sweet old house would live on in bits and pieces somewhere nearby. And then Frank asked for the paneling. And the family said ..."Uh, sure"

And then someone gave Frank the phone number of the family and he started calling them in their regular old home. And Frank started talking about documenting the construction and how the family might want his photos. And Frank even called himself a photographer and when the family mom said she was a photographer too, Frank got freakier and when the family mom asked freaky Frank what else he photographed besides her house he said "Nothing". And the family got officially creeped out. The mom asked him to please not go onto their property as she could not guarantee his safety during the construction. And the kids were told to run away if they ever saw a guy with a camera coming down the causeway.

So the family asked freaky Frank not to go on their property and the family went around posting "No Trespassing" signs that they bought at the hardware store on all their trees. But the freak didn't listen, only he was sneaky and he was watching the construction guys so freaky Frank knew when no one was at the house and that is when he snuck over and took pictures. He also circled the house in his boat and took pictures from the water and he also took pictures from different places on the shore. But it was freaky Frank's little secret. And then the family went back to Utopia even though the new house wasn't finished. And the family rented a nice old guy's (with horrific housekeeping abilities) place because he was broken hearted and didn't think he wanted to be in such a happy place when he felt so sad. See the old guy's girlfriend of 7 years dumped him.

And after another blissful utopian summer in a rental, freaky Frank stopped the family mom one day and whipped out a photo album. The freak said he thought the family might want it. And the mom grabbed some garlic and a cross and waved her arms frantically while she backed into her car and managed to call out a friendly "Thanks" as she peeled away for the safety of her kids. Once safely in the nice old guy's place the mom locked all the doors and windows and opened the photo album. Guess what she saw! There were photos of the family's house from after they bought it and before they got furniture. From the inside. The freak had been in the house. gulp. There were photos of the demolition of the old house and the raising of the new house. Each photo was dated and captioned. And the mom got all goose bumpy and went directly to (her neighbor who usually looks out for them) the sentry and asked what the deal was with freaky Frank and the sentry advised the family mom to stay away, far far away from F. Frank because of his eccentricities (which the family mom suspects just might be related to a border line IQ, but I'm not a pro, so draw your own conclusion)

It was a very quiet winter as far as freaky Frank was concerned. Which was a good thing because the family had their plate full of older family members with health issues.

Spring rolled around and all the little birdies returned to their summer homes. Even the cuckoos.

"Oh fuck" the mom was heard saying "freaky Frank is flouncing around our flora again and now it's more than photos, it's the phone!"

Can you believe it? We can't either!

The family mom's cell phone rang and she answered because she recognized the utopian area code and it ended up being freaky Frank. Are you wondering how freaky got the mom's cell phone number? Well, since all the old people in the family's family are sick and dying the answering machine says something like (we don't call ourselves very often) "If this is a doctor, hospital or emergency please call this cell number..." And freaky Frank decided he was as important as a docotor hospital or other medical emergency!

It was so horrible to hear the freakster's voice the mom almost had to swerve into a tree and end it all!. Except she couldn't because then who would make dinner? Are the crazy people of the world ever going to leave her alone? It's a proven fact, the mom attracts the crazy like shit attracts the flies. I know, I know, obviously the freakster is a fly and that makes the mom the shit. Let's not dwell on that. The mom doesn't think a crazy person break is ever going to come her way. So the mom, who did not want to talk to freaky Frank said in her firmest of firm voices "(freaky) Frank, I can't talk right now because I am driving so I'll have to call you later."

Then it was later and the mom made the dad be on the phone at the same time when she called freaky Frank back. Except he wasn't home. So the mom left a short message and vowed to not pick up the phone without consulting the (freak) caller ID. Which is precisely what she should have done but forgot to do an hour later when the phone rang and it was the freak himself. The freak wanted to know if the family was going to be in utopia because, he said, fishing season had begun and something about low water levels and he wanted to sit on the rock at one edge of the family property. And the mom said he could not. And the mom told freaky Frank that no one is allowed on their property because it is still technically a construction site and the contractor will not be liable for trespassers. And the mom told the freak to please stay off the property and the freak said "What about my photos?"

And now the family mom has a new saying. When ever something does not make sense, the family mom is going to say "what about my photos?" until the family has her committed. But the mom figures it is only a matter of time before the freakster ends up in the looney bin too, so she already packed his photo album of her house so they can while away the hours chatting about the good 'ol days.

And now boys and girls, a question for you. What is the moral of this story?

blowing the whistle

Dear Dr. Putz,

Now that I have gotten grandma back into the OFH (cue the horns and throw the confetti!!) and away from the neglectful rehab (shivers) I had a meeting with Natasha (Na-nausea) to go over grandma's "care plan". (Otherwise known as the plan in which the OFH plans on charging me more money for providing even less service) During that meeting we discussed grandma's medications. I requested that topic because I had noticed that you had taken grandma off her blood thinner. Which I thought was an interesting (ie: Do No Harm doc, sound familiar?) choice for a 96 year old with a current Deep Vein Thrombosis. Upon review I see that you had also stopped giving grandma her cholesterol medication and her therapeutic antibiotic which was keeping her recurring urinary tract infections at bay.

You know, Dr. Putz, I am going back and forth, back and forth in my head about deciding if I want to call up what ever watch dog organization keeps an eye on nursing homes, I mean, after the not bandaging grandma's amputation site slip, and the night nurse taking grandma for walks before she was cleared for walking on her amputated foot slip, and all the other little neglectful potentially dangerous oversights I just don't see how I can go on with a clear conscience if I don't report you and your rehab. There are other unsuspecting families trusting you are your organization to attend to the medical needs of their beloved parents and family members. I can't let any other of those innocent poor old people suffer.

Honestly, I am right now sitting here shocked, that after a six week sentence in your rehab grandma got off so easy with only another frigging UTI. Because while sitting in that meeting at the OFH discussing grandma's current state of elevated confusion, and then finding that the very same medicine that I had on at least 4 separate occasions informed the nurses that grandma must remain on due to her pre-existing rectal prolapse and tendency to UTI had been removed from her pharmaceutical routine. Dr. Putz, do you even know how confused an older person becomes when suffering from a urinary tract infection?

Dr. Putz, I only hope you live to 103 and are treated with the same callous disregard you have shown my grandmother.

See you from the witness stand,
Clickmom

Update: Just got off the phone with NJ Dept of he@lth & hum@n services. (Don't want any google hits) The rehab and the doctor have been reported. I did this for all the other sweet old men and old ladies who are still there. They deserve better.

too many Wife sightings

I had several Stepford situations on Friday. It was weird.

First one was walking into spin class. I have to tell you that once the small group of normal folks found out I was exercising at the posh club I was often asked out the Stepford wives and how they were about me infiltrating their territory. I thought I was doing just fine since I wasn't attending too many of their classes, and I suspect that the true Stepford girl is more likely to go to hip hop aerobics than lift weights and maybe even spin. Spinning just seemed to collect a varied bunch of outsiders and I was good and safe in spin until Friday. I walked in to spin and my Stepford radar went completely wild. My eyes fell on two Wives who were whispering to each other.

As I tried to angle past one of them towards the back row of bikes she very familiarly and overly cheerfully said "Hi!" to me. I'm pretty sure I have never seen her before. So I gave her a polite (don't bite me) smile back and said a reserved (It is best not to excite a Wife) "Hello" and the Wife dismounted her bike and followed me to my bike and started to telling me how she met Matt at the (now ex-girlfriends Jew hating) country club and how Matt was so sweet to everyone there, and how he was engaging and charming and even found time to have chit chat with the mothers like her and some very nice stuff about Matt. I told her I was so happy to hear these things and thanked her and asked about the now ex-girlfriend whose mother sent her to (jail) an all girls boarding school where she doesn't even get to go home for weekends. The wife told me her name and asked me to tell Matt that she said "Hello."

But I know I had never met this overly familiar with me Wife before (but I did kind of know her whisper buddy) and I am sure they were either talking talking about me when I walked into the room or had merely whispered something along the lines of "That's the one we were talking about last night at Bunnie's botox party!" when I appeared and I am totally creeped out that the Wives have me on their radar. So I watched them (never turn our back on a Wife!) and their bad form and their inappropriate clothes (I mean, who wears a cami with a thin strapped underwire bra to the gym?) for the whole spin class.

Then on the way out of spin class, which happened to be a fairly vigorous class (at least for those of us commomers who did things like stand on our bikes when the instructor said stand and turn up the resistance when the instructor said turn it up) the Wife I had actually spoken to a time before was walking right behind me and she said "You did really great for your first spin class, you finished and everything."

Uh.

Ah.

thought in my head: FUCK YOU BITCH!!

words out of my mouth: "Oh, this was not my first spin class. I haven't been around since the spring because I was at my house on a lake all summer."

So, score two for the Wives, I left the gym totally creeped out knowing I had been their recent topic of discussion, and that tall skinny bitch managed a biting insult on the way out.

Then when I asked Matt about the Wife who had the kind of words about him he didn't know what I was talking about. Then (because I raised him right and he is the best!) he said "Wait, was she one of those overly tan bleached blonde women?" Thinking he remembered her and I could find out all the details of their encounter I said "Yes! That's her!" Matt looked at me and came back with "Mom, you know I can't tell those kind of ladies apart!"

Score one for my team.

Then Friday night I had an assignment to cover a party in the next town over, which just might have a more serious infestation of Wives than my current town of residence. Luckily a writer from our paper came to the party too, and she is not one of them, she is very normal. We walked into this party, and oh my lord, I have never seen so many Wives all drunk and all gathered in the same place at one time. I was scared people. I may or may not have had an allergic reaction to silicone while there because good lord, I have never even imagined so many undernourished skeletal ladies packing big DD's in one room before. It was ... shocking. And as an added twist these wives were predominately very very tan. And also pretty darned wrinkled. Hand me some sun screen please. Being around all those Wives was nerve racking simply because I was so outnumbered. I mean, what if they wanted me, and then they would lock me on a tanning bed and not feed me until I was all brown and skinny. shivers.

Then the Wife throwing party introduced me to her best friend, a scrawny yet magically busty older looking bleached blonde in a baby doll dress who has obviously spent the summer on a lounge chair at the beach (leather chair skin!). It was a terrifying sight.

But, true to form, I bumped into the best friend (okay I thought it was her) by the buffet table an hour later and said something which seemed to confuse the best friend, until the actual best friend came over and I realized that I couldn't tell overly tanned bleached blondes apart either!

Luckily, we got out of there alive. We were in shock. On the ride home the writer and I kept saying Oh My God over and over.

ouch and ouch

I haven't been posting lately because there is bad news.

Dad's prostate cancer, which he originally battled about 11 years ago, is back. We don't know much yet because dad hasn't sat down with the doctor to discuss test results. He did however get a look at the test results and from what he could tell the cancer spread to his spine and rib cage. On the day that they got the bad news mom was understandably beside herself. Dad is acting pretty confident and cavalier about the whole thing.

Mom left the room periodically to cry all by herself on that first night, and when I followed her to offer some comfort she told me that the only reason she even wanted to live and was suffering through the treatment for her own cancer is to be here for dad.

Knowing that this is the absolute truth I have once again, as is so common in my life, been reduced to the status of chopped liver bringing my kids, her grandkids, along with me (since apparently having half a dozen grandkids between me and lil sis does not give my mother inspiration to carry on) and I have to admit that hearing those words come out of her mouth, and knowing in my heart that it was very much her being honest and that it is her reality, has hurt me deeply.

And the woman, who happens to have given me life, who does not count me or my babies in as a reason to go on living is not only residing under my roof but I have been and still am fully prepared to do what ever it takes to do the right thing by her through this illness. Only now there is a little dead spot in my heart where the knife went in.

I am a repeat offender

I am totally bumming here. Totally bumming. First I unknowingly alienate Peanut's husband thereby alienating Peanut and disrupting the whole babe love fest. I apologized to Peanut and thought I had eaten the biggest possible piece of humble pie (and we all know I can pack in the deserts) but Peanut never came around and said "Let's be friends again". Now it has been forever, too long, and I see that it just ain't gonna happen.

Now I have managed to alienate Boop's new man-friend. Boops was here, they were text messaging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth (get the picture?) and I took her phone and texted him "Go away. Love, clickmom" and now he is all insulted and thinks I was RUDE. I, on the other hand was half-way serious, cause I mean, c'mon man, I rarely get to hang with my pal, leave her alone when you know she is with me, or at least keep it short, and half way trying to be cute hence the LOVE part. As in LOVE wink wink just take the hint, but don't get all bent out of shape. But bottom line is the guy is offended. He thinks I hate him and other things that aren't true because he isn't getting his info from me he is getting it from Boops, who .... who .... who.... I dunno what the $%^&* she is telling him but now things are just bad. Bad bad bad.

So I am upset for many reasons:
1. Yet another man/husband of a friend thinks I hate him-when I don't. This is bullshit.
2. Lack of harmony between friends and man friends is the last thing Boops needs on her already full plate. What Boops needs a break.
3. And last but not least, in the back of my mind I am thinking "Maybe I am the man hating socially inept sloth Peanut, Peanut's husband, and now Boops' man friend think I am."

I mean, look, we all know stupid people who have no idea they are stupid, and people who dress like clowns that have no idea they look silly. What if my whole reality is just a lie and I suck with people? Maybe my perception is skewed and I am the freak, every one else is normal?

It all kinda came home for me today when Boops came with me to the chiropractor. (Torn rotator cuff- long story) I have been to this chiropractor a few times and we talked, but not much. I just thought the chiropractor was the serious quiet type. Today the chiropractor was torturing me, and when I cried out in pain he and Boops started to make fun of me and say they were going to use my sounds of suffering in a kung foo movie, then they started to tease me about being high maintenance. I was like "HIGH MAINTENANCE?? I am not high maintenance!!" But it was useless, they had completely ganged up on me so I gave up.

I was thinking "How did Boops befriend this guy in two seconds, get him to completely lighten up, and then turn on me??" I mean, I was the one whipping out the co-pay!

SO, maybe I am not good with people, men in particular, I dunno, I don't need this, I don't understand this, I don't want this in my life. I want to binge and go to bed. (I know, I know, skip the binge)

South Beach day 4/Peanut's problem/my problem

At least I woke up today with my real-colored glasses on. I opened my eyes and knew I was still going to be fat.

I woke up and knew that I would once again "do the diet" and keep myself on the right track. I gazed at the bathroom scale, which I have been trying to stay off of, and managed to avoid getting on. I just don't know for sure it would be good news, I would jump right on that scale if I knew for sure it would be an amazing 4 pound weight loss, nothing like losing the water weight, which judging by the lengthy morning pees I am experiencing I have already lost. If I got on the scale and I didn't see that scale register a loss, well, it would really diminish my morale, which is already sagging. The food on this diet, tasty but doesn't pack the carbohydrate sugar rush that the dried fruit and white rice I have been binging on (Who am I kidding? For a week before this diet I was all over the Ben and Jerry's) I am sucking down tea for caffeine's sake, but it isn't doing the trick. I want to whine "I wanna cookie." But, hey, I have committed myself for these first two weeks (AT LEAST), and then some, because we all know I am not that close to my goal (weight or clothes) and then for however long it takes for me to lose the 30 more that I have made my next short term goal.

I am so going to throw myself a little party when I hit that goal.
Can't wait.

In the mean time, there is something that I have been walking around with for a while here, and I just need to get it off my chest. It is the whole ordeal I have been going through Peanut. Remember I told you that she was breaking up with me? This is the readers digest version what went down: I am thinking that she has been thinking that I am maybe too hard on the husband, or not thankful enough of what I have, with my 20/20 hindsight, I see the signs (remember the remarks). She is a big fan of a husband in general and thinks that we women should cater our men a bit. Then we were both at a local event. I was working and she was participating. I knew she'd be there, so I before I started shooting I went over to say "Hello" to Peanut and her husband. They were all dressed up, I took a photo of them, then I went to work. When I was ready to leave I looked for them to say goodbye, but they had already left without saying goodbye to me. Peanut and her husband felt that I had been dismissive and rude to him, not answering a question that he had asked me, and their collective feelings were hurt. Afterwards Peanut emailed me to ask me what was going on between me and husband and did I really hate him. I had no idea what she was talking about and also no idea that she was even serious, so I emailed her back "Don't be paranoid, I hate all men." You can always count on me to join in on a man bash. Thinking I was a hahaha funny girl, which obviously was the wrong thing to think since Peanut replied, that she couldn't be friends with someone who hated her husband. I was like..."HUH?!?" and emailed her back that I do not hate husband, but the damage had already been done. Since then we have had a couple of conversations in which I swear to her that I did not intentionally behave rudely to her husband and I apologize over and over. I don't know what else to do.

The last time we spoke about it I asked her what she would expect me to do around her husband and she said I should have a conversation with him, I should show an interest in what he has going on and that I should "flatter" him (her word, not mine), she said "Give him a compliment."

I was pretty surprised at that answer, since me doing all those things would mean that I was hot for her husband. It sounded a lot like me flirting, which I kinda sorta don't do any more since I am married and all. I can not even remember when I was that nice to a guy, but if I had to guess it would be 1989, the year I met the husband. And honestly, I was probably only that nice to him until I finally got him into bed with me and knew that he was now hooked. (kidding!)

Anyways, I haven't been around her husband since that conversation, and would like to put all this behind us, but I just don't know if I can do what she wants me too. I have been painfully aware of what I say and how I act around other peoples husbands and it is wearing me down. I'm not typically so self conscious. I do realize however that I chat differently with different people, depending on how engaged they are with me. I can tell you that when talking to a guy no compliment has passed my lips, other than something along the lines of "You have the greatest wife.", but that probably doesn't qualify. Seriously, I am very generous with the compliments to the women in my life but do not feel comfortable "flattering" anyone who carries a wallet in the back pocket. As the days pass, I just feel like the whole situation is getting more and more ridiculous. If we were friends that didn't belong to a group it would be the sad ending to a friendship, but we are both babes, and this just has to be resolved.

I'm frustrated.

So, now I listen to every word I say to other people and what they say to me. As we speak I think, "Am I sending signals? Am I flirting? Are they?" Oy vey! This sucks. As it would happen, my neighbors kid graduated college and his parents had a party. I know this kid fairly well, he has baby sat for the boys, house sat for the dog, come to our computer rescue on more than one occasion, and sometimes borrows my camera lenses. Sometimes we chat, like I said, I think he is a nice kid, I feel bad for him though because he doesn't seem to have any luck with the girls. Last weekend I was at his party, in the kitchen, chatting with the other parents. He came into the kitchen and leaned up on the kitchen counter next to me and said "Your hair looks pretty. Did you do something new? Did you get highlights?"

I almost peed my pants.

No singing Mrs. Robinson!! I know what you are thinking!! Do you think I should be totally creeped out? I said, "No, I just brushed it." and the husband said "It's the gray, you are seeing all the gray." Ha! Isn't he funny? Guess who didn't get lucky that night... the neighbor kid (at least with me) or the husband.

So, as you can see, I have to get this whole ordeal in my past before I go crazy assuming that anyone who tosses a compliment my way wants to sleep with me. With all my other hang ups I have no room left for paranoia. My hotel is completely booked, and paranoia needs a whole suite anyways.

PS When we saw Peanut at a party (she was there solo) she marched right up to my husband and complimented his lavender shirt.

shaking my head

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

Could it be true?

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

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

omigod poop

When your first kid starts talking with meaning it is a beautiful thing. It means that you, the mom connect with this person who has redefined love and the meaning of life for you in a whole new way. I'll never forget the first time I knew that Matt was communicating with me. One of his first words was "KEYS", which made sense since we were still living in Brooklyn at the time and we needed keys to get into our building, open our mail box, and enter our apartment. One evening I was trying to feed Matt and he kept saying "keys...keys" and eventually I realized that my keys were lying near by and he was gesturing towards them. I burst into tears at this meaningful communication saying "Yes, mommy's keys, those are keys!" I remember it warmly.

The other beautiful thing is when your kid begins to entertain himself. Josh has recently discovered that he can play video games, maybe all those times that Matt, not wanting to share, had Josh convinced was controlling the game using his mind powers helped to somehow sharpen Josh's skills. The first day he played all afternoon I got a kick out of Josh playing video games for hours on end. The second day he played all afternoon I got annoyed that he cried every time I tried to make him eat. The third day I began to get worried. My kid is hooked. We were going to have a problem.

Back to the talking thing, once the talking thing really settles in, a mom uses her specially designed mom hearing to isolate the warning words. The warning words come early and often. We moms automatically snap to attention at words like "uh oh" "poop" and "whoops" all these worse and other similar ones depending on your particular family's vocabulary habits require further investigation. As the children develop, siblings arrive, or playdates become more casual and less supervised, a moms special hearing powers adjusts to compensate for play screams, imaginary play and other potentially frightening sounds. Now, each family will have their own unique warning words and/or phrases but some of the more universal ones are "don't tell mom.." whisper/giggle combinations, silence (oh, beware the silence), "omigod" combined with crashing noises, "omigod" combined with guilty giggles, and the one that sends terror through my own personal heart "omigod" combined with "poop". Any one or all of the forementioned word/sound combinations can serve as a red flag for a number of potentially mischievious situations.

This morning, I thought I had our routine running smooothly. Evan was already at school, Josh was fed, dressed and sneakered up, and Matt had pried himself off the couch and was sullenly heading towards the door ready to be driven to school himself. There was a small amount of confusion because the house cleaners were here running a vacuum, but when I heard the "omigod" and "poop" combination I knew it was going to be trouble. The words came from Matt's mouth, and he was standing in the playroom doorway looking towards Josh and the devil dog. What he actually said was "Omigod, Devil Dog just pooped in the playroom and now she's eating it!!" My first thought was "Yeah! A poop eating dog is a deal breaker now we can ditch her!" but then I realized that the Devil Dog had never before in her life eaten her own poop was unlikely to be eating her own poop now. Then I got my hopes again that maybe she was sick and we could ditch her, I shoved the odiferous Devil Dog into her crate. Then I peeked into the play room, and my mother super senses told me that there was more to this story than met the inexperienced big brother eye.

First thing I noticed was the odor. It didn't smell like Devil Dog poop. Since I am the only one who bags that delicacy up, I am unfortunately intimate with her individual scent. It smelled suspiciously like Josh poop, which I am hoping to be less familiar with sometime soon, as he gets old enough to attend to wipe duty by himself. In an instant I noticed two more clues. It was all so CSI, and I must say, I am good! The first was that Josh had taken his sneaks off and the second was a flash of white peeking out from under the couch, that looked alarmingly like discarded underwear. Now I did quick peek into Josh's pants and discovered no underwear. I knew in an instant what happened. I tossed the kid into the car, since his brother was already late for school, and grabbed a clean pair of pants for Josh. After we dropped Matt off at school we headed for the Y where Josh ahd a long shower BEFORE his swim class.

OK, my concern is: This child, who has not had any accidents at all, awake or sleeping, since he was 2 1/2 is so taken with the video game that this is the result. I was hoping I had by passed the "things in life are so exciting I am going to ignore my physical urges" stage with Josh. I should have known, no one is perfect. Up until now he has been too easy. I must pay the price somewhere. Here we go. I had to give Josh the "You can hit the pause button when nature calls" speech. Although, I should understand, I mean how often am I doing dishes or cooking when the need arrives and I try to hold off until I can finish and I end up screaming "Out of my way!" while running knees locked together for the ladies room?? He gets it from me! Oh the guilt!

Anyway, you can imagine how the rest of my day has been. First there was the "mess" in the playroom, to attend to. Then there was the bottom of Josh's sneaker, yup, he stepped in it, and then there is the matter of his clothes. Now as soon as I post this entry I am going to attempt to drag the Devil Dog into the shower, because guess what. Dogs not only think human poop is a tasty treat, but they also think it smells so pretty they try to perfume themselves with it. Yup, not only did she snack on it; she rolled in it too.

It just doesn't get any better than this. I am so glad we communicate.

Just realized what may have happened to my missing birth certificate

I am wondering what the fascination with scissors that runs through this family means.

Matt, the perfect child he was, never cut anything that wasn't supposed to be cut, he did love love to cut, but being a rule follower he cut paper. And he would ask me for the paper, so it was always mother approved paper he was cutting.

But Evan, OHMYGOD!! For a while there (you know, 3 years or so) I had to hide the scissors. He would cut his hair, his clothes, the dogs fur, the piping on the couch, shoelaces, anything. The winter he was 3 he cut the tip off his mitten thunb. I was so mad I made him wear a tipless mitten all winter. Each day when I pulled those mittens on, I commented how sad his mitten seemed all cut up and I hoped his little thumb didn't freeze. Did that work? NO, I still had to hide the scissors, and then when he was in first grade, where there were scissors available to him he came home from school with chunks of hair missing, suspicious marks on his pants and even a big old hole right in the middle of his brand new shirt. I sewed it up and made him wear the shirt with a sew bump all winter. Revived the commenting approach too. Did that work? NO, the boy just likes to cut things. I have to watch him like a hawk. Now Evan is 8 and I sometimes find little piles of scraps of cut up paper that he has created. A human paper shredder he is. He just has to cut.

So, today I was busy working on a little project in the kitchen and it was too quiet in the den. That always with out exception means trouble here, since I have the nosiest kids ever. I turn around and there sits Josh, sweet angelic Josh, sitting cross legged on the couch all hunched over with a freaking scissors in his hand cutting up the pants leg of his brand new- still room to grow in the waist-Lands End-not cheap- pants! Aaaaaagggghhhhh!!! Not again, oh mercy, not another one! When does it end internet??? When??

racism

I never go out. The husband and I rarely go out on a date. Since the baby-sitter that the kids actually prefer to me is home from college, we arranged a night. It was Friday, and I wasn’t particularly feeling well, but I forced myself to keep the bra on, (normally off by 7) and go, since I was the one who was dying to see the movie Crash any ways.

It was a really good movie. It was good from all standpoints. I took lots of lots of film classes in college and love to pick apart a good film. This one was very good. But SOOO sad, I am the girl who cries at commercials. I still get choked up when reading “Are you My Mother?” for the 125th time. I mean, the poor little bird could have abandonment issues!

Any ways, the movie is good , but sad, because so many folks are living this kind of angry hateful, disconnected life, and I cried for the entire running time of the movie, but when the Persian shop owner lifts that gun towards the hispanic locksmith while his daughter runs over to protect him, well, the whole audience heard me sobbing. I had a headache when the movie was done.

I admit to being a bit naive about the ways of the world as a kid growing up, and one of the benefits of my personal cluelessness was not realizing that people were just hating each other all over the place. Now, I am not filled with hate. It’s just not there. I remember my first realization of prejudice, my racist 6th grade teacher, just hating the minorities, and the poor little Turkish boy who moved in the middle of the year and didn’t speak a word of english. I remember trying to figure out why she was so cruel and sharp with them. It just didn’t make sense. They hadn’t done anything wrong.

At the time of the OJ Simpson trial I was still living in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Every morning I used to walk the 3 1/2 mile loop around the park, along with many other people of various backgrounds. Since I was a daily regular, I got to know the faces of the other regulars, light and dark, male and female, rich and poor. We would smile and nod to each other, and occasionally offer a compliment, “Looking good!” “Good Morning”, “Nice Day” or something like that. I loved my daily walk and looked forward to connecting with my group of familiars each day. The morning after the OJ verdict was announced I was walking listening to the radio and the DJs discussing race relations and all the assumptions people make, and all the interracial hatred that exists, and it occurred to me that the other walkers may think something about me because of the way I look, and they may assume I have some feeling about them based on their looks, and it just depressed me. I was down for days, because I had felt this bond and camaraderie with the other walkers that was about doing the same thing as them in any weather, day in and out and didn’t care what color or religion they were. It just stank.

The movie presents us with a reality of what is happening in so many homes and to so many people. Everyone should be required to see it , discuss it and learn from it. I’d show ot to every high school kid in the states. Maybe it can change a life.

What is art?

Yes there are some things I just don't understand. Today I photographed a towns Artist Studio Tour. Individual artists open their studios the public for the day, and the public can purchase maps with the artists locations and a brief description of each artists work on them. Then the map holders are free to spend a few hours travelling around visiting the studios. I met many intersting artists, who work to create real intellectual art and celebrate the beauty of the human form or nature, or even just have fun with color and design. It was a wonderful way to spend the day and I had a great time felt fabulous about the whole thing until my last stop. Tell me is this art? Are there redeeming qualities here?

more from medieval times

One aspect of Medieval Times that I neglected to mention to you, dear readers, was the “Museum”, which was a hallway filled with all sorts of medieval torture devices. They ask you when you enter if you want to go in the Museum, after they’ve told you to get there over an hour early, and you do because you are a rule follower, but then you realize you need something to do for over an hour until you are seated. Of course, the adults there that were not accompanied by children could imbibe in a variety of less than authentic libations, served in less than authentic cups. Then they sell you “museum” tickets for your whole family, including your four year old, and you get to the “museum” only to read the warning sign by the front door that the museum may not be appropriate for those under 18. Thanks, wenches.

There were things we know about in the “museum”, like chastity belts, stockades, and the stretching tables, and then there were other things that led me to believe that the whole entire population was on some sort of mind-altering substance. It was freaky. It was scary too, the thought that the folks who thought of these things were the ones responsible for upholding the laws, and not the criminals is disturbing. There is a fine line folks, a real fine line. In my opinion it was crossed, but hey that is just my 21st century point of view. Here is a sample of a mask that women were forced to wear when it was decided they needed to be humbled. Ummm.. Happy Halloween.

breast augmentation

Breast Augmentation. This is what I do not understand the most. I am not talking about women who get reconstructive surgery after cancer, or even those with none who want some. I am talking about those with perfectly attractive normal bodies who get those really disturbing looking, too round, mountainous,never move or jiggle, FAKE ones, that scream “I HAVE ARTIFICIAL BREASTS!!”

That being said I have tremendous breasts. BUT they are that way because my grandmothers both had ‘em too. Mine came in fast and early. I was a B cup in 6th grade, a C cup in 7th grade and by the time I got to High School I was busting out of the DD’s. Yes, the boys spoke primarily to my shirts, and plenty of guys who probably couldn’t ID my FACE in a line up offered to go out with me. The girls make jogging impossible. Unless jogging while trying to hold the girls down is your idea of fun. They also make buying bathing suits tricky, and all shirts tend to appear about three inches shorter on my front than on than on my back.

My graduation gift from college was going to be a breast reduction, but the surgeon informed me that I would likely be back for another surgery after having kids, and that he couldn’t guarantee I would be able to nurse. Thinking that children were around the corner for me, I thought I’d wait. And that is what I am still doing.

There the girls stayed, hanging out their DD’s, until my first pregnancy, 6 years after the visit with the surgeon, when at only 3 months pregnant I discovered that they actually manufacture bras that start with the same letter as the word Gigantic. It was an eye opening revelation. I recall standing in front of the bathroom mirror, in my new shockingly white G cups, and asking my husband if I still looked human. (No)

Then came years of nursing and two more babies, with more years of nursing, all of which kept them in G cups. I looked forward to the day when there would be no more pregnancies or nursing, and I could reclaim my girls, and see how far back down they would go, and much to my disappointment, they didn’t. They stayed the same, I was still packing G’s. So, no matter what the fashion, I continue to seek out tunic shirts.

Now, as you know I am 40, and a curious thing happened. All my favorite bras shrank at the exact same time, so I had to order more. And nightmare of nightmare, the girls are growing!! Aaaaagggghhhhh!! Sob, sob, sob. I’ll never see my toes again! OK, I am lying, they are growing, but they are kinda growing down as opposed to out. What? I breast fed three kids!

Seriously, the girls are annoying! It’s like getting tattoos when you are young, and then looking foolish when you are old. They were fun for a short while, but they bore me now. I have no use for them. I never stand up extra straight and push them out to attract a guy. I never unbutton a shirt to show a little cleavage. If I do that then crumbs just get trapped in the bra and fall out all over the bathroom at night.

They do so get in the way. For example, if I eat sloppily, nothing makes it past the nipple ridge of my shirt. It is like the shelf a pregnant woman gets with her big belly except higher. I actually bump into things with them, and like I said running is out. So is crossing my arms and so is lying on my stomach. So is lying on my back, because unlike the fake ones, these girls head straight down my sides towards my underarms, and that is not pleasant. Sometimes I even need to rearrange them when I roll over at night. And now that they have found new homes in bras that start with the same letter as the word Humongous I am starting to think about that surgeon again. So, I don’t get breast augmentations.