The human spirit is alive and well. Within the darkest of times, we are able to lift ourselves up and over obstacles we never thought we had the capability of doing. Hope lives under any circumstance. And it bubble-wrapped this amazing young man...for eleven long days, under tons of cement, with no light and no one beside him. Seeing him squeeze his shoulders past the rock and rubble, crawling on his belly to freedom, took my breath away. It filled me with emotion, fueled me with its gift, scared the holy hell right out of me and embarrassed me at the thought of my own puny everyday fears that hold no comparison whatsoever to all this brave boy had to endure in a horrifyingly claustrophobic hole of almost certain death. This 24 year old Haitian store clerk defied the odds and was very fortunate to have the stones fall where they did. But it's so much more than just cookies and soda.
His tenacity inspires me and the beauty of his single tiny life holds a light so bright..so precious..that within the grave of a 111,000 dear lives lost...it serves as a reminder of just who we are and the majesty within, the strong fabric of which we are made of as people, the difference we can make in each others lives and it cradles us at those times when we fear our hearts will break.
Cheers to this gentleman's brother who heard the taps and would not stop believing until he got the miracle he needed. And may we all surface through the worst of times like Wismond Exantus did...with remarkable resolve, a smile, by our own strength and unshakable faith and into the arms of someone who cares.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
over-joyed
Well, the Mags had a pretty darn good holiday. We listened to some tunes, watched some of our favorite flicks, ate a boatload of peppermint bark and were quite fortunate that Santy not only shimmied his porky butt down the chimney, but he personally called the girls. It was a squeal fest. Thanks, Tommy. ;-)
As far as 2010 goes...um, not so much. Yeah, yeah, I know. From my last posting, I ought to be pumped up and energized for all the "good things to unfold" in the New Year. After all, a Pointer Sistas new attitude was one of my resolutions, but... Hey, it's not my fault. I tried. I really did. I just didn't know then that my kids would be up my snoot and out of school for a whole week of snow days, immediately following a two week Christmas vacay! That's 22 days, people. 22 long ones. Oy. It’s as if my nerves have been bounced on 'til every speck of pulp is gone. Leaving Mama like an empty tube of toothpaste..a hollow, limp, unbreaded calamari. I tried to pull out some of my best vaudeville..dance a jig...entertain them as well as I could, but with 8 degree temps and ice as slick as snot on a doorknob, what's a poor parental unit to do? It went from the Walton’s to the Gosselin’s pretty damn fast.
A poor woman can only hear Cinderella's carriage theme for so long....can Easy-Bake only so many cakes...can struggle just so many times to put on those rubbery little doll clothes they have now that are an absolute killer for middle-aged arthritic hands. If it wasn't for raiding the liquor cabinet, this ole gal would have never made it through the whole snowy SyFy experience. Naw..our holidays were very nice but they just went on a l-i-i-ttle too long for Mama's liking. I'm all for touchy-feely, yuletide fun but when it's over- it's over. You should have seen me putting up the holiday decorations. I was pulling the lights off the roof like Crispin Glover. Ornaments, Christmas c.d.s, Frosty salt and pepper shakers..it was getting drop-kicked right on into the bins. Meanwhile, both girls whining, clutching their stockings, "Mommy, we don't want it to be over! You're mean! We're telling Daddy!".
You know, I'm torn. I really am. Sometimes I think I was better in the old cat lady days. Yes, they were in bed with me every night, too, but at least they slept at the foot of it and not across my carotid. Sure, I had to vacuum every single day but no laundry to really speak of. The litter box wasn't pretty, but I have to pick up the girls room every evening and it's basically the same thing. Especially since T-Mag is still in a nighttime Pull-up and insists on putting them under the bed after she takes them off in the morning.
Now, finally...written with a super-big exhale, we flash forward....and it's been almost a week after drafting this post and I have them both back in school. My oldest has forgotten how to add and write. Literally. Her penmanship has gone to chicken scratch and last night, she was using her toes to get through her math assignment. Big Daddy has the breakfast shifts now, so he's out of here by 5am...and that means I have to deliver both kids front and center to two different schools and at the same exact time. A feat that is not possible when you live in a town that has absolutely no infrastructure and two girlie-girls who like nothing better than to stare at their own faces in the mirror- smiling, like something out of Toddlers and Tiaras. Oy, God. It takes Fay Wray screams and wire hanger threats every a.m. just to get them to brush their teeth. This morning while frantically trying to make the deadline, I almost wrecked the car because I had a hot flash and couldn't get out of my sweatshirt and muffler fast enough. And all that goofy flailing was performed to the tune of not one but six rattling coffee mugs on my armrest tray and T-Mag yelling at me to get Jiminy as he had fallen top-hat first into a greasy, empty McNugget box. Good times.
I give up. What's the secret, all you super-moms out there? Huh? Is your karma so good that you can do all the above, and Pilates, make homemade brulee, hold down a full-time job, satisfy the husband and fry it up in a pan, all the while looking like a hottie in your Juicy Couture and blu-tooth?
Well, I can not. I think I need a Life Coach...the Super Nanny..something. I mean, Roseanne got picked up for syndication. Why can't I, dammit?? But I'll hang in there. I always do as my claws have sunk themselves into a pretty good grip by now. When it comes down to it though, I really do like my job. I've made a decent living at it, I suppose....have a roof over my head, dependable wheels to drive, hugs and some very sweet Eskimo kisses along the way...a hubby who didn't go out for cigarettes and never come back. No 401K to speak of. I don't know what I'll get in the end for it all...probably a Krispy Kreme do-nut and a sack or two of Depends every month when they come to visit me and their dad at our senior living facility. But that's still a couple of years away. I need to focus on the here and now. And the joyous fact that Happy Hour starts in only 180 minutes.
After waltzing into the office and over to mommy at the computer just minutes ago, with a handout sheet from her school folder, it was brought to my attention by a grinning four year old with hummus on her face that all of the county's schools are going to be closed for staff meetings on Monday.
I think today that the bar may be opening for business just a wee bit earlier than usual.
As far as 2010 goes...um, not so much. Yeah, yeah, I know. From my last posting, I ought to be pumped up and energized for all the "good things to unfold" in the New Year. After all, a Pointer Sistas new attitude was one of my resolutions, but... Hey, it's not my fault. I tried. I really did. I just didn't know then that my kids would be up my snoot and out of school for a whole week of snow days, immediately following a two week Christmas vacay! That's 22 days, people. 22 long ones. Oy. It’s as if my nerves have been bounced on 'til every speck of pulp is gone. Leaving Mama like an empty tube of toothpaste..a hollow, limp, unbreaded calamari. I tried to pull out some of my best vaudeville..dance a jig...entertain them as well as I could, but with 8 degree temps and ice as slick as snot on a doorknob, what's a poor parental unit to do? It went from the Walton’s to the Gosselin’s pretty damn fast.
A poor woman can only hear Cinderella's carriage theme for so long....can Easy-Bake only so many cakes...can struggle just so many times to put on those rubbery little doll clothes they have now that are an absolute killer for middle-aged arthritic hands. If it wasn't for raiding the liquor cabinet, this ole gal would have never made it through the whole snowy SyFy experience. Naw..our holidays were very nice but they just went on a l-i-i-ttle too long for Mama's liking. I'm all for touchy-feely, yuletide fun but when it's over- it's over. You should have seen me putting up the holiday decorations. I was pulling the lights off the roof like Crispin Glover. Ornaments, Christmas c.d.s, Frosty salt and pepper shakers..it was getting drop-kicked right on into the bins. Meanwhile, both girls whining, clutching their stockings, "Mommy, we don't want it to be over! You're mean! We're telling Daddy!".
You know, I'm torn. I really am. Sometimes I think I was better in the old cat lady days. Yes, they were in bed with me every night, too, but at least they slept at the foot of it and not across my carotid. Sure, I had to vacuum every single day but no laundry to really speak of. The litter box wasn't pretty, but I have to pick up the girls room every evening and it's basically the same thing. Especially since T-Mag is still in a nighttime Pull-up and insists on putting them under the bed after she takes them off in the morning.
Now, finally...written with a super-big exhale, we flash forward....and it's been almost a week after drafting this post and I have them both back in school. My oldest has forgotten how to add and write. Literally. Her penmanship has gone to chicken scratch and last night, she was using her toes to get through her math assignment. Big Daddy has the breakfast shifts now, so he's out of here by 5am...and that means I have to deliver both kids front and center to two different schools and at the same exact time. A feat that is not possible when you live in a town that has absolutely no infrastructure and two girlie-girls who like nothing better than to stare at their own faces in the mirror- smiling, like something out of Toddlers and Tiaras. Oy, God. It takes Fay Wray screams and wire hanger threats every a.m. just to get them to brush their teeth. This morning while frantically trying to make the deadline, I almost wrecked the car because I had a hot flash and couldn't get out of my sweatshirt and muffler fast enough. And all that goofy flailing was performed to the tune of not one but six rattling coffee mugs on my armrest tray and T-Mag yelling at me to get Jiminy as he had fallen top-hat first into a greasy, empty McNugget box. Good times.
I give up. What's the secret, all you super-moms out there? Huh? Is your karma so good that you can do all the above, and Pilates, make homemade brulee, hold down a full-time job, satisfy the husband and fry it up in a pan, all the while looking like a hottie in your Juicy Couture and blu-tooth?
Well, I can not. I think I need a Life Coach...the Super Nanny..something. I mean, Roseanne got picked up for syndication. Why can't I, dammit?? But I'll hang in there. I always do as my claws have sunk themselves into a pretty good grip by now. When it comes down to it though, I really do like my job. I've made a decent living at it, I suppose....have a roof over my head, dependable wheels to drive, hugs and some very sweet Eskimo kisses along the way...a hubby who didn't go out for cigarettes and never come back. No 401K to speak of. I don't know what I'll get in the end for it all...probably a Krispy Kreme do-nut and a sack or two of Depends every month when they come to visit me and their dad at our senior living facility. But that's still a couple of years away. I need to focus on the here and now. And the joyous fact that Happy Hour starts in only 180 minutes.
After waltzing into the office and over to mommy at the computer just minutes ago, with a handout sheet from her school folder, it was brought to my attention by a grinning four year old with hummus on her face that all of the county's schools are going to be closed for staff meetings on Monday.
I think today that the bar may be opening for business just a wee bit earlier than usual.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Her name is Beth Crosby, she is a Groundling in L.A. and I think she is da bomb. (don't miss her as Rachel Zoe...you'll laugh your ass off).
Watch more funny videos on Funny or Die
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