clickmom

candy

Josh Candy: Josh is incredibly happy when he returns from an hour and a half of trick or treating with Matt who can make anything in the world fun. (But seriously, snagging candy from the neighbors? Josh's idea of heaven (minus all the walking)) Josh is prepared to now be the giver outer of all the rest of our candy stash. The first time the bell rings after Josh gets home someone else distributes the tooth decay candy. Josh remedies this by grabbing a stack of books and plunking himself down right in front of the door to wait for more late night die hards trick or treaters. After Josh tries to make chit chat about our decorations with the hordes of candy seeking children he closes the door and exclaims "This is the best job in the world!"

Eye Candy: Probably doesn't need an explanation, but you should know that last week I had to bring my camera in for professional cleaning after a huge chunk of something ended up on my sensor, so when I saw what I thought looked like another huge chunk in this image my heart sank. But then I realized it was an airplane. Whew!

tp

Typically on mischief night we "do" Boops' house and she does ours. It all started one year when she half heartedly sighed that she wished someone would paper her house on mischief night. This year, however, we both (and the kids too) agreed to take a break. Good thing because I am beat tonight.

However, Matt participated in a high school fright house thing for charity tonight and when driving around to and from we saw tons of kid packs wandering the streets armed with rolls of TP. Evan got jealous and wanted to TP someone's house. The husband, upstanding citizen, thought Evan was being ridiculous, but I, the more lenient and flexible parent handed Evan two jumbo rolls, a flashlight and told him how many houses down the "Sarah!" is from us. Evan does not disappoint as he was quite thorough and those fine young republicans are going to be pissed in the morning!

After tp-ing "Sarah!" Evan accompanied me on the pick up for Matt. You will be glad to know that Matt had a great time. As we pulled down the street to our own home we saw 4 boys in the midst of doing a bang up job tp-ing our house, Evan screamed "Let me out" and proceeded to leap from the moving car, devil dog hot on his tail and chase the young vandals down the block. Then Evan, in a manly attempt to protect his castle, tore all the paper down and sat in the dark for 20 minutes just in case another pack of kids came down our block. I pointed out to Evan that he himself had just tp-ed the trees of a perfect stranger, that it was some good clean fun, bla bla bla, but he was not going to be swayed.

I have no idea where I am going with this.

trying, cry, bored, and bumming

Dragging my ass at the end of blog365. Can't believe I have made it for 10 months.

We still don't have our halloween decorations up, dishes are stacked over the edge of my kitchen sink, and the dog hasn't been walked since last Thursday, but I will blog every day for the next two months!! It's trying.

A great big box showed up on our doorstep today. In it was an almost $200 dollar reproduction (yeah, well DUH!) Eragon sword. Evan admitted to checking them out on the Amazon web site and the husband admitted to possibly carelessly buying one by accident when perhaps maybe ordering another book he won't read or DVD he won't watch from Amazon right after Evan was checking the sword out, but the husband won't actually own up to the whole ordering thing since I give him a hard time because of the bookshelf full of unread books and the media shelves of unwatched DVDs. We are drowning in stuff. I could just cry.

Tomorrow night is mischief night and we have to do our duty on Boops' house. We do her house every year. It's a tradition. I wish someone would come up with something newer and more exciting than toilet paper in the trees. If you have any ideas, feel free to share. I'm bored.

I went to the big week two weigh in this morning. I did weigh myself on my home scale this morning and found myself doing some kind of ridiculous happy dance when I realized that I might have another 6 pound loss week. But when I got to the gym it seems I only had a two pound weight loss week. I am incredibly disappointed. Bummed really. And later I ate my healthy dinner and then I stole some fried rice from the husband. Carbs are not my friend people. I am bumming.

Ereziztable

Typically I drive Matt to high school, return home and then the husband leaves for work and drops Evan off at middle school on his way out of town. This morning we switched and I took Evan. On my over to the middle school I realized that I was going to miss my Matt morning routine where I pull into the school driveway and Matt turns to me and with all the sincerity in the world (I thought) bids me farewell, tells me he loves me, and to have a nice day and I tell him the same and that I will see him after school. Sometimes Matt even makes smoochy kiss sounds and then I love him extra. Then Matt opens the door and hops out of the car.

I asked Evan if he could find it in his preteen testosterone driven heart to recreate this scenario (I know, the biggest parenting mistake ever) and pretty much the way it went after that was first he snarled me, then he hopped out of the car, gave me another look of (LOSER) disgust and slammed the door. I was telling Matt this story this afternoon, in hopes of Matt being flabbergasted at his young brothers cold cold heart and I wanted him to defend my delicate emotional honor. Matt listened carefully, nodded and asked me if I had said anything to Evan with the car door open. When I supposed that I might have shouted something desperate out of the open car door, Matt informed me that the reason why he engages in his little love festival every morning before he disembarks from the vehicle is so that I do not humiliate him by actually speaking when the door is open and any nearby fellow student is within hearing range.

And that my friends is why I donned this get up to pick Matt up from his workout at the posh gym later on in the day.

You see, I couldn't stop laughing (or scratching) the whole drive to the gym. I wondered if one of the stepford cops was going to racially profile my wig and pull me over. Seriously, when I drove by one hiding in his usual place behind a bush I burst out laughing so hard I almost drove off the road. I even considered pretending to toke a lollipop stick. Matt wasn't embarrassed though, he just smiled at me. And then he posed for this picture.

The titles I am considering for this shot are:
a: Matt and Whoopie Goldberg
b: Twins
c: Vanilla Millie Vanilli

Also, if you need a dose of adorable, check out the work Josh brought home from school. I just love when kids can't spell!

abominable

I woke up in a vile and disgusting mood today.
Vile, I tell you , unsavory, loathsome, evil and abominable.
(Also, homicidal, But I don't want to incriminate myself, just in case...)

I need my sleep folks, and being the sole breast feeding parent to three kids who saw no reason to sleep through the night until 2 1/2 years old each, I feel that I have fulfilled my sleepless night quota for the rest of my life. And now the husband, who is much to my sincere sadness, is not aging gracefully, (sorry there babe, but let's be real, ok?) has developed this foot tremor and every single night about 3 or 13 times, his foot or feet begin to shake and I dream that someone has their hand on my shoulder and is shaking me awake. So I wake up. But he manages to sleep through it. Last night, the husband woke me up A LOT. This morning I gritted a full millimeter of tooth enamel off my teeth while trying not to retaliate by smothering him with a pillow. But that is not my first choice. Click to experience my fantasy (about the 11 or 12 second mark).

Then the husband, not a minute too soon, drove away with Evan and called me from his car phone to tell me to look out on our front lawn. Someone stole my little Obama sign off my front lawn last night.

I am angry.

I really hate my town today.

And when I am out and about I will sneer at everyone I see.
Everyone is suspect.
Especially the young.
And the very old.
And anyone in between.
Especially my neighbor with the "Sarah!" sign on her yard.

Yeah.
Right.

I might just go to the hardware store and buy some spray paint.

And when I come home I am going to make the biggest Obama sign this town has ever seen.

And then (thanks Wildmom!) I am going to pick up every single piece of devil dog poo lying around the yard and place it all right where a sign thief might step.

All because they stole my first little Obama sign.

But I couldn't do any of that because the school nurse called my cell phone. It was the dreaded call that goes like this : "Hi, Mrs. Click, it's the school nurse and I have Josh in my office. He is vomiting all over the school." So I sped over to the school and picked up my baby. My poor poor pale as a sheet of paper baby, who probably would have enjoyed spray painting a big old Obama sign for me, but I hadn't picked up the spray paint yet. Also, Josh's vomiting episode happened to be preceded by a nurse visit for a different reason. It seems that Josh, who often runs twisted while looking behind him, was running around the playground during recess without a care in the world when he ran into the side of the double slide, fell forward over the sides of the slide, banged his head, chest and knees. I hear the wind really got knocked out of him.

So I brought Josh to the chiro who declared Josh's gut ridden with bacteria, his skull bones to be off, as well as his shoulder, ribs, and ankles. In any case, Josh's chest hurts, and that is not something any mom ever wants to hear from her kid.

Especially the kid who just read over shoulder and wants me to tell you that he did not vomit all over the school, only once in the doorway to his classroom, once in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, and three times in the bathroom sink. Also, how could you not love a kid who thinks that the janitor putting kitty litter on his puke was about as amazing as it gets?

you, I, all me

I'm right now reading this book. Which was recommended by this blogger who lost a tremendous amount of weight and kept it off.

Now that I have gotten my linkage out of the way here goes. I am reading the book, and the book has a nine week program for me to do. This would be my first week since I just read the intro and first chapter this morning. So, for the first week I am supposed to learn how to meditate. The book tells me what to do, you know, how to do it for the sake of the book. I can do what the book says, though I am pretty sure that when it comes to my personal mind and it's constant activity there will much static and buzzing to eliminate and that will harder than finding the time or assuming the correct posture or anything else. I'm going to do the meditation and anything else the book says though, the whole theory behind the book makes sense to me.

There are writing assignments in the book too, and this week, my first week's assignment is to think about myself: where I am in my life physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I'm supposed to write a mere paragraph or two (ppfffftt! They don't know me!! Prepare for a novel or two) explaining who I am and where I find myself. Here goes.......

My secret desire today,and even back when I was a kid, is wanting to be "an artist." I know, I am a semi- working photojournalist occasional portrait taker, but the kind of photographer I really want to be is a gallery photographer, the kind that shoots her own visions and makes her own projects and stands around dressed chicly all in black sipping white wine at the celebratory soiree while appreciative people file through and applaud her vision and creativity. (I'm being honest here- no laughing! It's my dream!)

The problem with being the creative type with two incredibly pragmatic type thinking not at all creative parents is that they tell you your hobbies are cute and nice and good for children, but one day you will have to make a living and you should think about engineering because you are so good in math or maybe science research because it comes so naturally to you. They don't bother to send you to any art classes or really acknowledge your talent, because it doesn't pay out in the long run. Luckily though, your grandma is a creative spirit and she baby sits all the time when you are little and then she moves into your apartment building in NYC when you are twelve, so grandma being the best grandma in the world and loving the person you are, instead of the one she wants you to be, brings you art stuff all the time, gives you art challenges and takes you to museums where you soak it all in and secretly from your parents (who don't get you at all) fuel your art fire.

Then, because you aren't ready for college at the tender age of 17, you foolishly listen to your parents and find yourself at an engineering school. Once your foolish but well intentioned parents dump you there and run giggling and high five-ing each other leave the campus you frantically try to find out how to sign yourself up for an art class and you discover that the only people who can take an art class are the architecture majors so you declare yourself an architecture major and try to get creative that way but it totally isn't you. And then you have a crisis over some earlier childhood crap that hasn't ever been mentioned on your blog, and you drop out.

And a year later, when you have gotten some of your shit together, you go back to a different school and you find out they offer classes in photography and your heart begins to sing and you sign up for photo 1 because you have brought your most treasured possession to this new school, and that is your precious 35mm camera, the one you had to beg for for three years before your parents would gift you one for your birthday in your senior year in high school.

Two weeks later you declare yourself a photography major and you never look back.

But then when you graduate, you have no idea how to be the photographer you want to be and make some money, (because your mother has told you in no uncertain terns that the gravy train has left the station) and you get offers as assistants to commercial photographers, but they tell you off the bat how demanding they will be and you are tired after working your butt off for every campus publication and that incredible local guy during college and you really want to have some fun with your boyfriend so you take a secretarial type job in the advertising sales field, since you were an advertising minor instead of a painting minor (even though you filled the requirements for both) because your mom insisted you needed to declare something that could get you a job one day. And the job was so easy and boring you wanted to bang your head against the wall. So you went from job to job to job and they all sucked because they weren't what you really wanted to do.

Then you got married and went on a fancy european vacation where you brought your 35mm camera and felt those creative urges coming back and for the first time in years your mind started to spin with new possibilities until your husband left your camera on a subway in Rome. He never understood the big deal since he went out and bought you a brand new camera as soon as you got home and the new camera had a thousand times more bells and whistles than your beloved old camera. You mourned that lost camera (and everything it represented for you) for years.

And then you had a baby, and took regular snap shots with a point and shoot. You did nothing photographically special again for 8 more years until you volunteered to photograph for a third grade yearbook when your first baby was in third grade. And your passion was reborn. So the next year you volunteered to be the publicity photographer for the school, and that spring you got a job at the paper. That was over 5 years ago, and sometimes you worked a lot and sometimes you barely worked, but working was fun and challenging for a while until you had pretty much successfully photographed everything a local paper could photograph and you started to want more again.

And now you are at today, kind of bored of the sports shots and the kids at the street fair or farmer's market shots. And you got a second place in a place that really inspires you , so you have started to shoot every now and then what you always wanted to shoot, landscapes, and it makes you feel good and you think they are great shots, but you aren't quite sure because it's different for you to look at your own photos. You experience your own photos like you are there. Just looking at one of your own shots is a multi sensory experience, so you find a place where you can show your shots to some other photographers and the other photographers are speechless. They love your stuff! And you can't believe it.

It all seems like your dreams could be a reality now, and all you want to do is shoot shoot shoot (or maybe it is search search search) and find what it is that you want to immortalize onto your memory cards (a few cameras later) but you realize that you can't because the times when you need to be searching are the times when you need to taking care of this extraordinary family you have built and you are totally torn and sometimes resentful and wish you could be everything to them and be true to yourself as well, but you can't do your own stuff when you are living on their schedule and they have to go to school and they have to have dinner every night and they have to do a lot of things that all interfere with the times you want to, need to, be out looking to see if that moment is going to happen so you can capture it with your camera the special way you do.

Physically, you are stronger than you have ever been. Your resting heart rate is in the 50's. You can kick ass in a cardio workout and lift push and pull weights that astound even yourself. But your weight is out of control. You are 100 pounds or more overweight and frightened that the decent health (asides from the frustrating food allergies) you have lucked out with so far is going to evaporate and leave you with all sorts of obesity related disorders. You have to do something before you get sick. Wait, you are doing some thing. You have accepted that there is a way you have to eat, a low carb way you have to eat, for your own health and well being. The weight will come off.

Mentally. That's a hard one. Who ever knows they are weird or strange or crazy? I think I am okay. At least I am not voting republican.

Emotionally... hahahahahahahahaha wah wah wah wah, oh sorry, emotionally, yeah, I am a mess, but I own it!

Spiritually, even though the stuff I am teaching in religious school is not religious I have some conflict about teaching there. I am not a fan of or believer in organized religion. I am however a deeply spiritual person, always have been, and am in a good place with myself, aside from my religious school teaching hypocrisy.

I feel like if only I could figure out how to carve out some time for me to shoot and some time for me to find places to go to to potentially shoot, and maybe just maybe if my family was encouraging and happy for me, and I didn't have to feel guilty about shooting instead of doing something for the kids, then I would be in a better place. Mentally. Time to have a talk with the family.

images

We have a disgusting amount of computers in this house, most of them in need of repair, but all still kind of holding on, some barely. The computer that I typically do my photo work on is a real desk top computer, so it isn't portable. But I do have a laptop, and I have been putting my pictures onto the lap top all summer and into this fall until now. Evan very unintentionally innocently dropped the lap top. I brought it in to be repaired. I will be lap top-less for a week.

And now I am back using the big desk top. Only there are years of pictures I haven't seen all summer on the big desk top. Including pictures of mom and grandma. Every time I sit down to work or blog or internet browse, I can't help myself from looking back at those old photos. There are photos of mom from before she even knew she was sick, photos of her in that ridiculous wig that she ran out to buy the second she heard the word cancer. There are photos of grandma when she was happy and still kind of with it and even shots of the wound which eventually killed her. There are photos of grandma in tremendous pain those last few weeks because she was too deep into the pain to acknowledge me and my camera. I don't know why I took those pictures, I just did. It's what I do. I take pictures.

I don't quite know what to think when I see those old pictures. I study them, as if looking for some of clue or sign of what is to come. Signs are easier to find in grandma's pictures. She had that nasty black eye after falling because of her painful infected foot at her 96th birthday party. It was just weeks before the toe amputation, the miserable rehab, and the downward spiral of her last 6 months here on earth. Mom lost a lot of weight in those pictures, so there is that to see. Also, that hideous wig she didn't need but wanted to wear anyway. And tired. Mom was so very tired the whole last year. I can see it in the photos. It looks hard for her to force a smile.

I also find myself studying dad's images. But without the 20/20 hind sight it isn't possible for me to garner much. I am glad I can't see his future yet.

mini towel

Seriously, would you get your nails done at a place with this name?

Here is a post written completely in the hopes that maybe one day adult Evan will be reading through this blog and get a little guilt trip reminder of his 11 year old ability to drive his poor goddess of a mother to the brink of insanity.

Back last spring when we went to Lake Placid to buy a table from the guy that I suspect was some kind of deviant criminal (I am totally serious, he had that look in his beady little eyes!) I got the cutest little bottle of Tabasco sauce with my eggs. I fell in love with that cute little bottle and I took it when I left the restaurant. I loved that tiny little Tabasco so much I photographed it throughout the day.

Breakfast Tabasco

Nothing makes me want to whip out my cell phone and make a call more than this!

Fudge, oh sweet chocolately goodness from heaven, how I love fudge... (wonder who is on a diet?)

Tabasco is fundamental! We went to a book store.

Heading home....

Since last April I have kept my little Tabasco buddy in the cup holder in the front of my car because all I have to do is look at it's cuteness and all is right with the world. Until last week when I let Evan hang out in the car while I ran into the store. When I came back the Tabasco was sitting on the car console and it's safety wrap had been removed and the actual tabasco sauce had been poured out. Evan claimed it wasn't him. And he wouldn't admit to doing it. Even though, ah, HELLO?? I am not an idiot Evan.

I hope your kids pull the same crap on you and I will sit in my own kitchen laughing my head off while dying my all gray (thanks to you of course) hair back to brown.

Speaking of hair, I had a great hair day today. And not only is my extremely fast growing hair rocking today, but I wore make up because it was Kitten's birthday and we going to lunch with our babes, and I thought, well, I might smell a bit ethnic, but at least I can look foxy, so I whipped out my iphone and looky looky here.... It's the promised mini towel picture!!

Unfortunately I was wearing boob compressing minimizer bra, but you get the idea. I won't be doing this weekly, but I'll do it often enough so that maybe a change is noticeable. See ya!

stench

One kind of problem with this diet I am on is that every single meal is designed for optimum metabolic rev. And this means every single meal is chock full of onion and/or garlic plus a load of nutrient dense spice. There are lots of good heart healthy oils like flax, olive and coconut in this diet too. What this means to me (and why I am bitchng about it) is that I smell/feel like a greasy spice drawer. It aint pretty folks, (can a scent be pretty?) and to make matters worse top thing off I can't use deodorant right now because of an annoying itch problem that may or may not have anything to do with the currently vilified deodorant. All stinkin day long today I lifted my sweater and inhaled just to gross mysef out because I couldn't fathom that the stench I was whiffing was actually coming from me, except it was. And as if garlicky , oniony, greasy, spicy me wasn't aromatic enough I nuked an herbal heating pad for my neck and for most of the afterrnoon I smelled like yesterday's indian buffet lunch going bad in a potpourri shop.

weigh in results

Went to the posh gym this morning and the very nice fattie contest director offered to weigh me right then and there instead of an eternity hour later at the designated weigh in time. We went upstairs, I eliminated every last drop of water weight peed, naturally, and then I reluctantly and with much difficulty took the big hard step onto hopped right onto the scale. The good news: 6 pounds!

Also, I don't forget my promises and right now at this very moment a freshly laundered sub-sized posh gym towel is in my gym bag downstairs, just wishing I had remembered to photograph it not even coming close to wrapping around me before I went upstairs and got naked and into bed, but I didn't remember, so you guys will have to wait another day. Don't cry, tomorrow will be here before you know it!

My kids have half days this week and it is throwing me off! I want my 6 hours of freedom back! I had Josh's parent teacher conference and Josh's teacher sad Josh was the most brilliant ball of sunshine and love she ever saw and that she might just have to retire in June since after Josh the rest of her teaching years could only bring dismay and disappointment. Oh wait, that's what I think of Josh, Josh's teacher thinks he is pretty damned smart but she doesn't want him to get to comfortable because there is always somewhere higher to reach for. It's all good.