Another year has come and gone..leaving me breathless at its swift departure but eager to experience all the love, laughter and surprises the New Year will bring. Although, life's moments can not always be golden, a sense of renewal..hope..fills the crisp air at this time of year and I am humbled by it and the fortune that surrounds me in my tiny, quiet life. The buds aren't visible quite yet, nor the waters warm, but the deep cold inhales on my morning run fuel me, waking me up to what just might be around the corner. Without that crystal ball, who knows...but if I've learned anything after sweating the small stuff throughout the last eleven months, it is this- there is nothing we can not handle, nothing we can not accomplish...absolutely mustn't ever begrudge and that love heals everything. Period.
I am wishing each and every one of you a New Year that unfolds itself in perfect rhythm, in the boldest of color and with the realization that your ordinary lives are really quite extraordinary. That Tiffany box is in there and that jewel in the robe is something you already carry. Have fun unwrapping it all and sharing it with others.
To the friends who have passed this year..I wish you a peaceful transition and broad wings on which to travel wherever your journey may lead you.
Until next year, friends...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
sneaky pete
People never cease to amaze me. When you give, you get. When you give without your name on plaques and building wings, then you're really somethin'. And when a fourteen year old can rustle up 25 grand by soft selling lemonade, well...that's an angel, folks.
Click here for a little holiday pick me up.
Click here for a little holiday pick me up.
Monday, December 21, 2009
a crappy christmas
Some wives get cars with big red bows and some get Tiffany. My man gave me that bathroom addition I asked for. Thanks, hon.
Monday, December 14, 2009
an app for that
It's that time of year again when we let out a collective "Duh" to the Universe and realize just how much goodness we really do have in our lives and how whiney-assed we've gotten about in the last eleven months and how vitally important it is to rev our engines against all the filibusters and flying golf clubs out there. Jeesh, I'm tellin' ya, I think one of Mama's resolutions will be nothing but HGTV and Food Network after the first of the year. I mean, if you want purity of mind, body and spirit...it doesn't get any better than bull nose granite and a good roast chicken.
As I said before, the challenge lies, at least with me anyway, in not only gunning up my rpms during this merry jingle-ball season but maintaining that darn momentum throughout the year amidst all the dirty socks and utility bills. Up until a decade ago, I was pretty much a person who erred on the side of depression. I was raised by a glass half-empty type of guy but evened it all out by marrying a glass half-full one. Don't get me wrong, my pappy was great and I love him dearly but let's just say he was, um...practical. A realist, shall we say? Or not? A stand up, hard working, honest type of guy for certain...who loved me with all his heart, spanked my rump when I needed it, but believed that the hand you got dealt in life was the hand you were stuck with. Make the best of it and no complaining. Which is good, I guess..you don't want to be an ostrich or a big ole schizo about it. But why not find your inner owl instead and see the manifestation as just that? A temporary reflection of who we are at this moment in time and one of our own creation..yep,that's the tricky part...but something we can always change for the better. We are 'Gumbi, dammit' and can twist and turn in whatever direction we choose. But going from 'why me?' to 'why not?' is easier said then done and it requires effort. A cranium shift, as it were, which wasn't so easy greasy for this girl. And it still continues to challenge me every day. But that's okay. We are all works in progress and I feel that our enlightenment is in the journey itself.
I think our answers lie within our humanity rather than outside of it. And I believe our potential for victory on every level is limitless. Yeah, I know, we all believe different things, but the commonalities of truth = love, divinity = compassion is something all of us can agree upon this sparkling holiday season, non? If we'd just keep an eagle-eye on that concept, maybe we'd stop killing each other. Oh, sure, we have our gurus and People magazine to aid us along but when it comes down to the nitty gritty- we're it. And the only way to do it is through some heavy duty cardio at the cosmic gym. We have to work toward our own joy, plain and simple. I wish someone could hand it to me like a bouquet of red roses, but Mama's gotta work off those cynical calories all by her lonesome. And underneath all the carcinogens, electro-smog and co-pays...it's in there. That lean transversal ab muscle underneath all the muffin-top fat. Somewhere. Down there. We just need to put on our mystic Magoo glasses to really see our individual Monets.
Whatever that joy may be for each of us, we really do have to put it first. And for someone who has a 17 year old leaky car, a VHS and a five tee-shirt wardrobe, it ain't easy sometimes. In fact, it can be pretty damn hard. But I keep trudging away, punching my clock in the 'daily prayer into action' department and soaking up some of the gift that keeps on giving- watching the world's beautiful jardin dans Giverny come into focus by looking beyond the dots. Its clarity is pure and timeless, its power- absolute. And it unfolds itself continually in the beauty of a frost, the smell after a good rain or in the laughter of a friend. The list is endless, and that, to me, is my heaven..in the here and now. Life itself is our truest fortune. I am beyond grateful to the man that struggles along with me at the World's Gym and has decided that finding the bliss for us Mags translates to me being at home with his children 24/7. Of course, my liver and nerves aren't so happy about it but ya can't please everybody.
Yeah, when it came to Common Sense 101, I pretty much made straight A's, but as far as the making changes for the better part, I wasn't so hot at. But then, mystically enough, the Oscar didn’t come and I ended up with two Icelandic buns in my oven and the jig was up. As I've said time and time again, my kids have taught me more about finding the magic and taking stock than anybody ever has. And I truly believe it was their angelic toe-head auras that led me to my Buddhist faith and filled up all my empty holes before I even had the little peanuts flipping around inside me! Life is all about rhythm and it's up to us to put on that gold lamé and shake what our mamas gave us. Some of us look pretty dorky doing it, but, hey, so be it. We can dance it like Baryshnikov or Ed Grimley. It doesn't matter as long as we are groovin'. I believe without a doubt, I was in the white girl overbite zone when it came to relocating five years ago to be with the aging parental units. I listened..I heeded and as difficult as it's been sometimes, it has been sooo worth it. Don't get me wrong. More often than not, that omnipresent whisper doesn't always work and the Universe has to take out its mallet and clonk us on the head a time or two. And sometimes, at its deepest revolution..it opens up a can of whoop-ass like nobodies business. Even then, though, there's always a way to the side of the ring... to stitch ourselves up, rinse out our mouths and find our Adrian.
Of course, kids aren't the answer for everyone although they are divine at deflating egos..which we really don't need that much of anyway, making us laugh our asses off and calling us out in every conceivable, wonderful way. And in my case, hopefully one day will be able to make Mama a mean martini. We all have our individual thang but what's essential is finding that peace of heart through all the chaos and doing everything in our power to water it and watch it grow. Not an easy task in today's world. And the beauty of the Universe is such that when our tanks are on empty....like when we just walked out of Wal-Mart after standing in line for 25 minutes waiting on a price check for a Polly Pocket, by a checker that looked like she just sucked on a lemon, realizing after we left that we forgot to get milk while walking behind some teenager who's yee-hawing into her blu-tooth, but not before stopping to park her cart up against your car door and then getting home to find that even after wildly tipping the wine box like a crazy person, there's not a single drop of the golden nectar in it. Yes, even then, if we do our crunchies and kettle-ball lunges, all it takes is a simple prayer for a portal and the Universe will reflect it back on ya with a glamorous klieg. Sometimes it can feel like a tiny flashlight but you get the idea.
Rhythm begets movement, movement begets change (kind of like fiber, good for ya whether we like it or not)....and in light of the holiday retail season- our life is in a sense, returnable! Well, sort of. We can't get our money back exactly but we can exchange it for something better. I mean why settle for that Chia Pet from Rite-Aid, when you can have those Tiffany studs! No need to re-gift it to some poor slob that's got one of his own but we can march right on up to that Customer Service window and say, "No thanks. This only has one speed and I want the de-lux version with all the attachments". Now sometimes we don't necessarily get exactly what we want or should I say what we think we want, but as Mr. Jagger so eloquently put it, we get what we need. That was and continues to be me..all over.
So here's wishing every one of you out there the happiest of happys and the deepest of joy this holiday season. Spend less time in the mall and more time on the meal. And keep shaking that damn bell until you hear the blasted thing ring. And if that still doesn't work for ya, then reach for the liquid bliss and your cockles will be all warmed up in no time. Like stripes on a candy cane..it just works. For myself, I can only hope that Santa has checked his list, twice over, and brings me that big red bag of estrogen I wrote to him about.
As I said before, the challenge lies, at least with me anyway, in not only gunning up my rpms during this merry jingle-ball season but maintaining that darn momentum throughout the year amidst all the dirty socks and utility bills. Up until a decade ago, I was pretty much a person who erred on the side of depression. I was raised by a glass half-empty type of guy but evened it all out by marrying a glass half-full one. Don't get me wrong, my pappy was great and I love him dearly but let's just say he was, um...practical. A realist, shall we say? Or not? A stand up, hard working, honest type of guy for certain...who loved me with all his heart, spanked my rump when I needed it, but believed that the hand you got dealt in life was the hand you were stuck with. Make the best of it and no complaining. Which is good, I guess..you don't want to be an ostrich or a big ole schizo about it. But why not find your inner owl instead and see the manifestation as just that? A temporary reflection of who we are at this moment in time and one of our own creation..yep,that's the tricky part...but something we can always change for the better. We are 'Gumbi, dammit' and can twist and turn in whatever direction we choose. But going from 'why me?' to 'why not?' is easier said then done and it requires effort. A cranium shift, as it were, which wasn't so easy greasy for this girl. And it still continues to challenge me every day. But that's okay. We are all works in progress and I feel that our enlightenment is in the journey itself.
I think our answers lie within our humanity rather than outside of it. And I believe our potential for victory on every level is limitless. Yeah, I know, we all believe different things, but the commonalities of truth = love, divinity = compassion is something all of us can agree upon this sparkling holiday season, non? If we'd just keep an eagle-eye on that concept, maybe we'd stop killing each other. Oh, sure, we have our gurus and People magazine to aid us along but when it comes down to the nitty gritty- we're it. And the only way to do it is through some heavy duty cardio at the cosmic gym. We have to work toward our own joy, plain and simple. I wish someone could hand it to me like a bouquet of red roses, but Mama's gotta work off those cynical calories all by her lonesome. And underneath all the carcinogens, electro-smog and co-pays...it's in there. That lean transversal ab muscle underneath all the muffin-top fat. Somewhere. Down there. We just need to put on our mystic Magoo glasses to really see our individual Monets.
Whatever that joy may be for each of us, we really do have to put it first. And for someone who has a 17 year old leaky car, a VHS and a five tee-shirt wardrobe, it ain't easy sometimes. In fact, it can be pretty damn hard. But I keep trudging away, punching my clock in the 'daily prayer into action' department and soaking up some of the gift that keeps on giving- watching the world's beautiful jardin dans Giverny come into focus by looking beyond the dots. Its clarity is pure and timeless, its power- absolute. And it unfolds itself continually in the beauty of a frost, the smell after a good rain or in the laughter of a friend. The list is endless, and that, to me, is my heaven..in the here and now. Life itself is our truest fortune. I am beyond grateful to the man that struggles along with me at the World's Gym and has decided that finding the bliss for us Mags translates to me being at home with his children 24/7. Of course, my liver and nerves aren't so happy about it but ya can't please everybody.
Yeah, when it came to Common Sense 101, I pretty much made straight A's, but as far as the making changes for the better part, I wasn't so hot at. But then, mystically enough, the Oscar didn’t come and I ended up with two Icelandic buns in my oven and the jig was up. As I've said time and time again, my kids have taught me more about finding the magic and taking stock than anybody ever has. And I truly believe it was their angelic toe-head auras that led me to my Buddhist faith and filled up all my empty holes before I even had the little peanuts flipping around inside me! Life is all about rhythm and it's up to us to put on that gold lamé and shake what our mamas gave us. Some of us look pretty dorky doing it, but, hey, so be it. We can dance it like Baryshnikov or Ed Grimley. It doesn't matter as long as we are groovin'. I believe without a doubt, I was in the white girl overbite zone when it came to relocating five years ago to be with the aging parental units. I listened..I heeded and as difficult as it's been sometimes, it has been sooo worth it. Don't get me wrong. More often than not, that omnipresent whisper doesn't always work and the Universe has to take out its mallet and clonk us on the head a time or two. And sometimes, at its deepest revolution..it opens up a can of whoop-ass like nobodies business. Even then, though, there's always a way to the side of the ring... to stitch ourselves up, rinse out our mouths and find our Adrian.
Of course, kids aren't the answer for everyone although they are divine at deflating egos..which we really don't need that much of anyway, making us laugh our asses off and calling us out in every conceivable, wonderful way. And in my case, hopefully one day will be able to make Mama a mean martini. We all have our individual thang but what's essential is finding that peace of heart through all the chaos and doing everything in our power to water it and watch it grow. Not an easy task in today's world. And the beauty of the Universe is such that when our tanks are on empty....like when we just walked out of Wal-Mart after standing in line for 25 minutes waiting on a price check for a Polly Pocket, by a checker that looked like she just sucked on a lemon, realizing after we left that we forgot to get milk while walking behind some teenager who's yee-hawing into her blu-tooth, but not before stopping to park her cart up against your car door and then getting home to find that even after wildly tipping the wine box like a crazy person, there's not a single drop of the golden nectar in it. Yes, even then, if we do our crunchies and kettle-ball lunges, all it takes is a simple prayer for a portal and the Universe will reflect it back on ya with a glamorous klieg. Sometimes it can feel like a tiny flashlight but you get the idea.
Rhythm begets movement, movement begets change (kind of like fiber, good for ya whether we like it or not)....and in light of the holiday retail season- our life is in a sense, returnable! Well, sort of. We can't get our money back exactly but we can exchange it for something better. I mean why settle for that Chia Pet from Rite-Aid, when you can have those Tiffany studs! No need to re-gift it to some poor slob that's got one of his own but we can march right on up to that Customer Service window and say, "No thanks. This only has one speed and I want the de-lux version with all the attachments". Now sometimes we don't necessarily get exactly what we want or should I say what we think we want, but as Mr. Jagger so eloquently put it, we get what we need. That was and continues to be me..all over.
So here's wishing every one of you out there the happiest of happys and the deepest of joy this holiday season. Spend less time in the mall and more time on the meal. And keep shaking that damn bell until you hear the blasted thing ring. And if that still doesn't work for ya, then reach for the liquid bliss and your cockles will be all warmed up in no time. Like stripes on a candy cane..it just works. For myself, I can only hope that Santa has checked his list, twice over, and brings me that big red bag of estrogen I wrote to him about.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Dear Santa,
I want a Diamond Castle Barbie and a carriage. Well, another carriage..because mine is broken. I want real toes shoes. I like you, Santa. I want a toy stove and a mailbox. And pretend glasses. A wig that's black..and a Santa hat. I am glad feeling. But sometimes I'm bad though. I really love you. You're the bestest Santa ever!
Love,
T-Mag
P.S.) Mommy wants a big new refrigerator where she doesn't have to bend over all the time.
I want a Diamond Castle Barbie and a carriage. Well, another carriage..because mine is broken. I want real toes shoes. I like you, Santa. I want a toy stove and a mailbox. And pretend glasses. A wig that's black..and a Santa hat. I am glad feeling. But sometimes I'm bad though. I really love you. You're the bestest Santa ever!
Love,
T-Mag
P.S.) Mommy wants a big new refrigerator where she doesn't have to bend over all the time.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
a prayer of thanks
Another year has come and gone and it is time again to reflect on all the fortune that fills our lives. For me, I was hoping for that granite counter top, maybe an extra coupla thousand square feet..an ass like Shakira, but I guess I will have to settle for a beautiful, healthy and vibrant family who just happen to be in the living room right now with their Chinese fans doing an impression of Mama having a hot flash. Aw..good times. It's nice that the matriarch of the Mags garners such respect.
The yummy smell of cinnamon fills the casa this morning and my dear friend is on his way south to gobble with us over the weekend. I love the jump start my battery gets from the anticipation of the holidays. It is fuel for the exciting New Year ahead and it humbles me at the rejuvenating power of love and laughter and how golden my life truly is....If this big ole world is a stage and I am a player, then I guess I'm covered head to toe in Armani and just won that Oscar I've always wanted. Not quite two years ago at this time, my husband was fighting to live and live he did. He came back to the children and wife who love him and I will never ever forget that profound experience, those who shared it with me and the shroud of protection that wrapped me and mine up like a warm Snuggie. Life is an amazing gift and I am thankful for its beautiful song. Here goes-
I am thankful for my mother and father who at almost 90 still grace us with their presence and love. They've served to inspire me with their commitment to each other, to their children, and I am who I am because of them. For my sister, who is walking a difficult journey with me right now..at my side..giving me courage when I need it, a soft shoulder to cry on and a glass of wine when I'm just looking for an excuse to self-medicate. I could not do it without you. To my niece and great-niece, I wish you all the love and sunshine your lives can hold. To my in-laws, I wish you joy always.
I am thankful for my friends. You are the jewels in my crown, the sparkle in my gold lame Samba costume if I had one..you're a light, a gift to me. We've noshed, drank, cried, prayed & laughed together and I'm grateful for every darn bit of it. You've encouraged & inspired me and told me to grow up and get a grip when I needed to hear it. If one is defined by the company they keep, then I got it goin' on 'cuz my posse rocks, ya'll!
I pray for the military men and women who are not at the dinner table today with the people who love them. I pray for their safety and their hearts to stay strong, their bodies upright and for their faith to lift them wherever they may go.
And most of all..I am thankful for my two little girls who show me how to laugh with abandon and love deeply. You are the light within me and with your love there is nothing I can not do. To my husband who busts his hump..bigtime..so that I may spend every minute I can with them, and for that teensy-weensy dose of Zoloft that keeps me from killing an innocent bystander.
I am lifting my glass to all of you readers and pray wholeheartedly that peace and happiness surround you during this holiday season. May all of the photos that will be taken of you today, occur when you're sober and have no spinach in your teeth.
The yummy smell of cinnamon fills the casa this morning and my dear friend is on his way south to gobble with us over the weekend. I love the jump start my battery gets from the anticipation of the holidays. It is fuel for the exciting New Year ahead and it humbles me at the rejuvenating power of love and laughter and how golden my life truly is....If this big ole world is a stage and I am a player, then I guess I'm covered head to toe in Armani and just won that Oscar I've always wanted. Not quite two years ago at this time, my husband was fighting to live and live he did. He came back to the children and wife who love him and I will never ever forget that profound experience, those who shared it with me and the shroud of protection that wrapped me and mine up like a warm Snuggie. Life is an amazing gift and I am thankful for its beautiful song. Here goes-
I am thankful for my mother and father who at almost 90 still grace us with their presence and love. They've served to inspire me with their commitment to each other, to their children, and I am who I am because of them. For my sister, who is walking a difficult journey with me right now..at my side..giving me courage when I need it, a soft shoulder to cry on and a glass of wine when I'm just looking for an excuse to self-medicate. I could not do it without you. To my niece and great-niece, I wish you all the love and sunshine your lives can hold. To my in-laws, I wish you joy always.
I am thankful for my friends. You are the jewels in my crown, the sparkle in my gold lame Samba costume if I had one..you're a light, a gift to me. We've noshed, drank, cried, prayed & laughed together and I'm grateful for every darn bit of it. You've encouraged & inspired me and told me to grow up and get a grip when I needed to hear it. If one is defined by the company they keep, then I got it goin' on 'cuz my posse rocks, ya'll!
I pray for the military men and women who are not at the dinner table today with the people who love them. I pray for their safety and their hearts to stay strong, their bodies upright and for their faith to lift them wherever they may go.
And most of all..I am thankful for my two little girls who show me how to laugh with abandon and love deeply. You are the light within me and with your love there is nothing I can not do. To my husband who busts his hump..bigtime..so that I may spend every minute I can with them, and for that teensy-weensy dose of Zoloft that keeps me from killing an innocent bystander.
I am lifting my glass to all of you readers and pray wholeheartedly that peace and happiness surround you during this holiday season. May all of the photos that will be taken of you today, occur when you're sober and have no spinach in your teeth.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
night of the living mags
Another one has come and gone. Hallow's Eve 2009 didn't disappoint. We had mummies, we had ghosts and we even had a hot-footed devil. Yep, horn adorned Mama decided it was high time to lay down her pitchfork and raid the liquor cabinet after a two month long gym craze detox and found out rather quickly that Yellowtail and fire just don't mix. Would being organized and stocking matches in the utility drawer be so wrong? Apparently so. After having killed off a few more brain cells with the sis and niece over a nice dry pinot, I decided to spookify the joint with some candlelight. Who needs a Zippo when ya got a gas stove and a piece of scrunched up junk mail? As my digit began to burn, the vino suggested I could safely drop the homemade lighter on my tiled floor which in turn led to even more combustion which then resulted in a rather feisty Riverdance by yours truly which in the end left a melted plastic boot which..oh, hell..you get the idea. Next thing I knew, I channeled Ann Miller and had my blazing tootsie in the kitchen sink. With very good extension might I add. I think the five day a week workouts I've been panting through have really paid off. That and the wise choice to wear my mom slacks with the mega pleats and nine inch zipper. It is pretty ironic after all the years I've spent with flamers, that I would end up being one myself.
The spooky weekend started off with a bang as the sis and I took the tykes to a school costume carnival. There were fangs and jack-o-lanterns galore and even an old fashioned cakewalk. We bowled, we skee-balled and screamed up a storm in a haunted house. We were the guinea pigs at the beginning of the line. And, unfortunately, with that advantage always comes a few little kinks that need to be worked out...and we Mags were just the peeps to do it. Freddy Kreuger missed his cue and me and my brood were left in pitch black darkness..literally..for about a minute and a half. As I was about to lose all effects from the Zoloft and the use of both of my rotater cuffs, a zombie came along with a flashlight just in the nick of time and saved the day...or should I say the night. The blackest of one. My four year old did sustain some permanent psychological damage but ended up deciding to go through a second time.
As if the two pounds of Reese's pieces weren't enough, we were at it again the next night. This time for our annual Mag Haunt party complete with cemetery cake and ghoul hand punch. Leave it Walmart to supply me some dud eyeballs that floated iris side down. Good grief. Am I ever gonna be able to buy anything from that store that works? Oy. The kids loved it though. Even the bloody mac-n-cheese that turned into a nauseating fuchsia glop had them smiling. Kids are so easy to please. And thank God, because when ya have Mama Mags creating things...well, let's just say that I'm not the super-mom-arts-and-crafts-June Cleaver type. Nope, with me, it's more like just the Cleaver and not any of the June part. Which leads me to the girls costumes.
Yeah, just when you thought it couldn't get any more frightening, right? Much to the chagrin of seamstresses everywhere, I glued, sliced and diced my way through a mummy get-up and a ghost. Poor W.'s oxygen stats were pretty low most of the weekend due to her homemade mask and there was a wee bit o' redneck trouble regarding the back side of her wrapping. 'Just say no to crack' I would mumble to myself as she bent over to play all the carnival games. Then there was my little curly-top who kept tripping on what I like to call her 'ghost flippers' all night until she finally begged me through the tears to take it off of her. It was just like last years mermaid outfits...due to my ineptitude with the needle and thread, I always seem to have a leftover hunk of fabric at the bottom of whatever I'm making. By that point, I'm several bottles of wine in and too exhausted to care, so I just wad up the excess, tie it with a ribbon and invent a reason for why it should be there. Hey, I ain't no Edith Head, folks. Just an Ozark mama trying to do the best she can.
The universe was definitely on our side this Halloween, as our trip through the neighborhood was very pleasant- gorgeous, full moon..the weather, simply devine. We lost Big Daddy to work after a few minutes of trick-or-treating but he was able to see his little munchkins amble their way down the lane a time or two before he took off. After a brisk stroll of about an hour or so, the ghost had to pee, so we all began to work our way back to the casa. My bone tired sis' feet were ice cold, so I headed to the sock drawer while my O.C.D.'d niece turned on the 500 watt overhead light and went through the candy, sifting out all of the potential razor blades and rat poison. We then filled our bellies with homemade pumpkin soup and more booze, rinsed the chocolate off the kiddos and tucked them in. We big girls finished our evening on the sofa watching the old 1976 classic, "Carrie". Traci and I laughed at William Katt's lion mane and the fact that none of the prom attendees had any cell phones. Bleary-eyed and buzzed and right in the middle of the pig blood, telekinetic breakdown, I looked over at my snoring sis, all decked out in her Winnie the Pooh blanket and psychedelic toe socks. Now that's darn scary, ladies and gents.
Happy Halloween to all! And remember, any excuse to embrace our inner child and overdose on chocolate is always a good one.
The spooky weekend started off with a bang as the sis and I took the tykes to a school costume carnival. There were fangs and jack-o-lanterns galore and even an old fashioned cakewalk. We bowled, we skee-balled and screamed up a storm in a haunted house. We were the guinea pigs at the beginning of the line. And, unfortunately, with that advantage always comes a few little kinks that need to be worked out...and we Mags were just the peeps to do it. Freddy Kreuger missed his cue and me and my brood were left in pitch black darkness..literally..for about a minute and a half. As I was about to lose all effects from the Zoloft and the use of both of my rotater cuffs, a zombie came along with a flashlight just in the nick of time and saved the day...or should I say the night. The blackest of one. My four year old did sustain some permanent psychological damage but ended up deciding to go through a second time.
As if the two pounds of Reese's pieces weren't enough, we were at it again the next night. This time for our annual Mag Haunt party complete with cemetery cake and ghoul hand punch. Leave it Walmart to supply me some dud eyeballs that floated iris side down. Good grief. Am I ever gonna be able to buy anything from that store that works? Oy. The kids loved it though. Even the bloody mac-n-cheese that turned into a nauseating fuchsia glop had them smiling. Kids are so easy to please. And thank God, because when ya have Mama Mags creating things...well, let's just say that I'm not the super-mom-arts-and-crafts-June Cleaver type. Nope, with me, it's more like just the Cleaver and not any of the June part. Which leads me to the girls costumes.
Yeah, just when you thought it couldn't get any more frightening, right? Much to the chagrin of seamstresses everywhere, I glued, sliced and diced my way through a mummy get-up and a ghost. Poor W.'s oxygen stats were pretty low most of the weekend due to her homemade mask and there was a wee bit o' redneck trouble regarding the back side of her wrapping. 'Just say no to crack' I would mumble to myself as she bent over to play all the carnival games. Then there was my little curly-top who kept tripping on what I like to call her 'ghost flippers' all night until she finally begged me through the tears to take it off of her. It was just like last years mermaid outfits...due to my ineptitude with the needle and thread, I always seem to have a leftover hunk of fabric at the bottom of whatever I'm making. By that point, I'm several bottles of wine in and too exhausted to care, so I just wad up the excess, tie it with a ribbon and invent a reason for why it should be there. Hey, I ain't no Edith Head, folks. Just an Ozark mama trying to do the best she can.
The universe was definitely on our side this Halloween, as our trip through the neighborhood was very pleasant- gorgeous, full moon..the weather, simply devine. We lost Big Daddy to work after a few minutes of trick-or-treating but he was able to see his little munchkins amble their way down the lane a time or two before he took off. After a brisk stroll of about an hour or so, the ghost had to pee, so we all began to work our way back to the casa. My bone tired sis' feet were ice cold, so I headed to the sock drawer while my O.C.D.'d niece turned on the 500 watt overhead light and went through the candy, sifting out all of the potential razor blades and rat poison. We then filled our bellies with homemade pumpkin soup and more booze, rinsed the chocolate off the kiddos and tucked them in. We big girls finished our evening on the sofa watching the old 1976 classic, "Carrie". Traci and I laughed at William Katt's lion mane and the fact that none of the prom attendees had any cell phones. Bleary-eyed and buzzed and right in the middle of the pig blood, telekinetic breakdown, I looked over at my snoring sis, all decked out in her Winnie the Pooh blanket and psychedelic toe socks. Now that's darn scary, ladies and gents.
Happy Halloween to all! And remember, any excuse to embrace our inner child and overdose on chocolate is always a good one.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
free fallin'
It is my favorite time of year. Mums, jackets and pumpkins in every shape and size. The Patch delivered again and we had a great time yesterday. The weather was absolutely gorgeous and the hay was as itchy as ever. We rolled 'em, we thumped 'em and we bought 'em. Now all Daddy has to do is perform his Edward Scissorhand magic and give his girls a Cinderella and a Dracula. With bats, of course. There were barrel rides, gourd rolling and this claustrophobe's nightmare- a hay tunnel. We even made our way through a corn maze of dead-ends and giggles. Thank goodness Big Daddy was along because I have no sense of direction and may have still been in there this morning.
The sunlight on those red maple leaves and that crisp breath of autumn air made a tiny moment- magnificent, for me. Whenever I question my place in this world, it is within these times, I find my rhythm. And with it, my way.
I forget sometimes through all the bill wrangling and tussling with the daily drag, just how lucky I've been to savor all the simple joy my kids have brought to my life. This gift has been a rebirth of sorts and in the years to come, I will look back on these times as the dearest, the deepest....fuel for what I pray will be many golden years of reflection. We all know our truest happiness aren't things, but perhaps it's secret lies simply in a whiff of wood smoke, the veins of a leaf or sitting on a hay bale with Dad.
The sunlight on those red maple leaves and that crisp breath of autumn air made a tiny moment- magnificent, for me. Whenever I question my place in this world, it is within these times, I find my rhythm. And with it, my way.
I forget sometimes through all the bill wrangling and tussling with the daily drag, just how lucky I've been to savor all the simple joy my kids have brought to my life. This gift has been a rebirth of sorts and in the years to come, I will look back on these times as the dearest, the deepest....fuel for what I pray will be many golden years of reflection. We all know our truest happiness aren't things, but perhaps it's secret lies simply in a whiff of wood smoke, the veins of a leaf or sitting on a hay bale with Dad.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
then to now
Happy 64 years together, Mom and Dad! Your love and commitment have been a testament to me and all who know you...
Friday, September 25, 2009
september grass
By John Sheldon
Vocals- James Taylor
Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed, oh darlin'..
So I'll be king and you'll be queen
Our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green
Won't you lie down with me right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stain
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? ..Oh, I don't know
Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you don't mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know?..thats you and me, baby, yes it is..
We're so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Won't you lie down with me right here
September grass
Won't you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down here now
In this september grass
Vocals- James Taylor
Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed, oh darlin'..
So I'll be king and you'll be queen
Our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green
Won't you lie down with me right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stain
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? ..Oh, I don't know
Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you don't mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know?..thats you and me, baby, yes it is..
We're so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Won't you lie down with me right here
September grass
Won't you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down here now
In this september grass
Saturday, September 19, 2009
drama mama
Well, I guess it's time to edit the ole blog header- it looks like I'm gonna need to add yet another "m" to my ongoing Mag Mama madness. Not only is yours truly bravely going beyond motherhood and mid-life, but now this poor gal has got a big sloppy helping of menopause on her saggy Dixie plate. Yep, it is official, friends. As if my granny underwear and Icy Hot patches weren't bad enough, I have been diagnosed with "the change". Lovely. And ya know..only a man would call it that. Change is something you get back when you buy a candy bar, gentlemen. Nah...this is more like the bloody jowls of Cerberus gnashing at my heels with O Fortuna on the soundtrack. In high def, blu-ray and Dolby.
Yes, Mama has paid a little visit to Six Flags Over Manic Mountain and it has nothing to do with funnel cake and good times. I've boarded a scary estrogenic roller coaster that's leaving me holding on to the t-bar for dear life, refusing to John Hancock my husband's divorce papers and hoping like hell no one will call DHS. And it could not have happened at a worse time. I am fully booked with school fundraisers, flash cards and play dates. That's what I get for for being so cocky with Mommy Nature, I guess. I thought I was sooo slick..pulling the ole reproductive switcheroo, high fiving it and doing the "dusty old eggs still got it white girls overbite" dance. Yeah, right. Little did I know. Many of my pals have wisely already been there and done that in the rug rat dept., and are now getting to reward themselves with things like the Sunday paper, mani-pedis..the Bravo channel. Or at least are able to clamor their way through the hormone hell by themselves in a peaceful empty nest. Meanwhile, I'm wiping noses, crying over Campbells commercials and having hot flashes at the Jump Zone.
Along with snarfing black cohosh and locking the liquor cabinet, I am doing everything I can to ride this elevated luteinizing wave without going postal on somebodies ass. I joined a local gym, only to have my worst nightmare realized- Fox News and ESPN on the monitors. I just can't seem to win these days. It is here I spend Monday through Friday a.m., flat on my back, puffing away, doing crunchy after crunchy with the American flag waving above me and Metallica shakin' it on the speakers. This morning, my gut was so frigging full of lactic acid, I almost had to grab Old Glory to pull myself up. But I refrained and 15 minutes later I was back up on my feet doing a set of excruciating reps on what appeared to be a love swing, but realized after watching some really hunky guy who could have been my son, that it was just for abs.
The good news is that my pig-tailed babies are both ensconced in school now, acclimating well and are as happy as clams. It's a shame that Mama's three hour stretch of time to herself has turned out to be on the painful, achy side. It sure would be nice to maybe sit back..sip a latte, have uninhibited sex with my husband or even amble around a mall. Well, now, now....I guess I can and will be able to do all the above..eventually, but first things first- I have to open up a can of whoop ass on the Pillbury Doughboy who has has seemingly stolen my identity.
Yes, Mama has paid a little visit to Six Flags Over Manic Mountain and it has nothing to do with funnel cake and good times. I've boarded a scary estrogenic roller coaster that's leaving me holding on to the t-bar for dear life, refusing to John Hancock my husband's divorce papers and hoping like hell no one will call DHS. And it could not have happened at a worse time. I am fully booked with school fundraisers, flash cards and play dates. That's what I get for for being so cocky with Mommy Nature, I guess. I thought I was sooo slick..pulling the ole reproductive switcheroo, high fiving it and doing the "dusty old eggs still got it white girls overbite" dance. Yeah, right. Little did I know. Many of my pals have wisely already been there and done that in the rug rat dept., and are now getting to reward themselves with things like the Sunday paper, mani-pedis..the Bravo channel. Or at least are able to clamor their way through the hormone hell by themselves in a peaceful empty nest. Meanwhile, I'm wiping noses, crying over Campbells commercials and having hot flashes at the Jump Zone.
Along with snarfing black cohosh and locking the liquor cabinet, I am doing everything I can to ride this elevated luteinizing wave without going postal on somebodies ass. I joined a local gym, only to have my worst nightmare realized- Fox News and ESPN on the monitors. I just can't seem to win these days. It is here I spend Monday through Friday a.m., flat on my back, puffing away, doing crunchy after crunchy with the American flag waving above me and Metallica shakin' it on the speakers. This morning, my gut was so frigging full of lactic acid, I almost had to grab Old Glory to pull myself up. But I refrained and 15 minutes later I was back up on my feet doing a set of excruciating reps on what appeared to be a love swing, but realized after watching some really hunky guy who could have been my son, that it was just for abs.
The good news is that my pig-tailed babies are both ensconced in school now, acclimating well and are as happy as clams. It's a shame that Mama's three hour stretch of time to herself has turned out to be on the painful, achy side. It sure would be nice to maybe sit back..sip a latte, have uninhibited sex with my husband or even amble around a mall. Well, now, now....I guess I can and will be able to do all the above..eventually, but first things first- I have to open up a can of whoop ass on the Pillbury Doughboy who has has seemingly stolen my identity.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
first day
Happy school beginnings, my sweet. Your radiance and laughter fill me....now my mornings go quiet. As I watch you spread your wings, even if it's just a bit, it makes me so proud and eager to see how your blossom will unfold. Love you oodles. Now, I think I'll fix myself a little martini.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Edward Kennedy's speech at the 2004
Democratic National Convention
To my fellow delegates and my fellow Democrats...
Democratic National Convention
To my fellow delegates and my fellow Democrats...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
napalm in the morning
I made it out in one piece, lades and germs. The sun is setting on another summer. Well, almost..anyway. My oldest, poised with a number two in hand, is settling into Grade One ever so nicely, 
and my youngest whipper snapper has just 21 days and nine hours until she Montessori’s herself up for half day. Can ya tell, I'm just a wee bit excited to have three whole hours completely to myself after six long years? Ahhh..numbers. Sweet numbers. It is the little things in life, folks. Well, no, not really, I guess. Ultimately, it would be a million dollar lotto win and a villa on Lake Como that would make it all complete, but I'll just have to settle for my five blissful mornings. All alone. At the gym..at Target..at a bar..hey, wait a minute..at wherever the frick I want to be! Yeehaw and Hallelujah. It's been a long time coming. Calgon is finally showing me a little love and taking me away.
Overall, the dog days of 2009 were well spent and I think my babies had a good one. We did some dollar movies, princess ballet camp, a nice Gulf Shores va-cay, some Jon and Kate reruns until they split up and turned into white trash...even had some Chinese acrobatic Branson glitz (that place may get seven million visitors a year but I still say it needs a little less Jim Stafford and a little more hooch and gambling before I'd be motivated to visit again) and quite a few sweaty, warm cheese sandwich days spent at the park. My fave season of the orange leaves is just around the corner, and I think this year-around school schedule is going to suit Mama just fine. For all us, boozy, worn out, middle-aged mommies who just can't keep up the razzle dazzle river dance of entertaining two short spastic ferret people for three long stretching months, it seems a good fit and the only way to go. Of course, it will take a while to find our rhythm, but between all the screaming, caffeine, bickering over fashion and the haulage of two rug rats, to two different schools, seven miles apart with two 8am call times....we'll find our way through the smoke, eventually. Just stay low to the floor and cover your mouth, kids.
Yes, we've laughed a little, we've cried a little and then we broke our arm. That was about the biggest ta-doo of our solstice siesta. My T. just got her cast off after an "awful long, long time of days with no swimming, Mama!"
I had promised the little tyke, I'd let her dunk in the pool right after its said removal, and that's just what we did. I'd never seen a poor kid so liberated. That newly healed summer sausage limb was flapping and splashing like a hooked eel. At the end of the day, she practically had a Sybil breakdown when I told her it was time to wrap up shop and head home. After a half bottle of Dawn, I still can't get the smell off of her arm though. Oy. The nurse asked me if I wanted to keep the cast. Uh..right. That's just what my memory box needs..a purple, lady bugged, moldy, stank machine that's gonna cost me a five hundred dollar co-pay. Good times. I realize now that the choice I made to let her play Pocahontas with her sissy in the dirt pile down the street was not a wise one.
On a more fragrant note though, my W. got her first bike this glorious ete and could not have looked cuter- all Pink Derbied up in her tutu, helmet and pads. As my old pal, Kim, says, "Precious and able to kick your ass".
A couple of good attributes for all us gals, right? And a big no thank you goes out to my clearance special, five dollar training wheels as my darling managed to careen over the sidewalk, ricochet off of the neighbor's mailbox and end up in a Barbie glam heap on the street..all within the first five minutes of mounting the thing, mind you. Okay, so maybe I won't have a sporty Lance Armstrong in my motherly future. As long as she racks up a PhD in neuro-science, that will suit me just fine.
Our wild and crazy summer is coming to a nice close on a twelve year anniversary overnighter with the hub to see my beloved Kathy Griffin. Nothing like an open air venue, foul language and Olsen twin jokes to get you chuckling just in time for Fall. This is only the second 'sleepover' for Dad and I and we couldn't be jollier about it. Of course, it is coinciding with Mama's dry-out...so that part of it's not so fun. Yes, you read it right. I am five sober weeks in and counting through my Big Cleanse. Yep, I have chosen to take the high road, friends. Not as in drunk but as in ridding my precious temple of a body of all sulphites and impurities. Only the gym, Soy Joys and Perrier for me. This old gal is tee-totally determined to get rid of the end table she's had on her backside for the last year...re-energizing both body and carb-stuffing soul. And while I'm at it, I even plan on picking myself up a Pointer Sis-ta new attitude. Oh, yeah, it's high time for some me time. This manic mama is all about re-focusing, de-stressing and armoring herself up for battle because between my hormones and the Walmart greeters, life can be pretty damn hairy. Yesiree, boys and girls, flash forward in a couple of months...the only muffin top I'm gonna have is the one I eat for breakfast.
and my youngest whipper snapper has just 21 days and nine hours until she Montessori’s herself up for half day. Can ya tell, I'm just a wee bit excited to have three whole hours completely to myself after six long years? Ahhh..numbers. Sweet numbers. It is the little things in life, folks. Well, no, not really, I guess. Ultimately, it would be a million dollar lotto win and a villa on Lake Como that would make it all complete, but I'll just have to settle for my five blissful mornings. All alone. At the gym..at Target..at a bar..hey, wait a minute..at wherever the frick I want to be! Yeehaw and Hallelujah. It's been a long time coming. Calgon is finally showing me a little love and taking me away. Overall, the dog days of 2009 were well spent and I think my babies had a good one. We did some dollar movies, princess ballet camp, a nice Gulf Shores va-cay, some Jon and Kate reruns until they split up and turned into white trash...even had some Chinese acrobatic Branson glitz (that place may get seven million visitors a year but I still say it needs a little less Jim Stafford and a little more hooch and gambling before I'd be motivated to visit again) and quite a few sweaty, warm cheese sandwich days spent at the park. My fave season of the orange leaves is just around the corner, and I think this year-around school schedule is going to suit Mama just fine. For all us, boozy, worn out, middle-aged mommies who just can't keep up the razzle dazzle river dance of entertaining two short spastic ferret people for three long stretching months, it seems a good fit and the only way to go. Of course, it will take a while to find our rhythm, but between all the screaming, caffeine, bickering over fashion and the haulage of two rug rats, to two different schools, seven miles apart with two 8am call times....we'll find our way through the smoke, eventually. Just stay low to the floor and cover your mouth, kids.
Yes, we've laughed a little, we've cried a little and then we broke our arm. That was about the biggest ta-doo of our solstice siesta. My T. just got her cast off after an "awful long, long time of days with no swimming, Mama!"
I had promised the little tyke, I'd let her dunk in the pool right after its said removal, and that's just what we did. I'd never seen a poor kid so liberated. That newly healed summer sausage limb was flapping and splashing like a hooked eel. At the end of the day, she practically had a Sybil breakdown when I told her it was time to wrap up shop and head home. After a half bottle of Dawn, I still can't get the smell off of her arm though. Oy. The nurse asked me if I wanted to keep the cast. Uh..right. That's just what my memory box needs..a purple, lady bugged, moldy, stank machine that's gonna cost me a five hundred dollar co-pay. Good times. I realize now that the choice I made to let her play Pocahontas with her sissy in the dirt pile down the street was not a wise one. On a more fragrant note though, my W. got her first bike this glorious ete and could not have looked cuter- all Pink Derbied up in her tutu, helmet and pads. As my old pal, Kim, says, "Precious and able to kick your ass".
A couple of good attributes for all us gals, right? And a big no thank you goes out to my clearance special, five dollar training wheels as my darling managed to careen over the sidewalk, ricochet off of the neighbor's mailbox and end up in a Barbie glam heap on the street..all within the first five minutes of mounting the thing, mind you. Okay, so maybe I won't have a sporty Lance Armstrong in my motherly future. As long as she racks up a PhD in neuro-science, that will suit me just fine. Our wild and crazy summer is coming to a nice close on a twelve year anniversary overnighter with the hub to see my beloved Kathy Griffin. Nothing like an open air venue, foul language and Olsen twin jokes to get you chuckling just in time for Fall. This is only the second 'sleepover' for Dad and I and we couldn't be jollier about it. Of course, it is coinciding with Mama's dry-out...so that part of it's not so fun. Yes, you read it right. I am five sober weeks in and counting through my Big Cleanse. Yep, I have chosen to take the high road, friends. Not as in drunk but as in ridding my precious temple of a body of all sulphites and impurities. Only the gym, Soy Joys and Perrier for me. This old gal is tee-totally determined to get rid of the end table she's had on her backside for the last year...re-energizing both body and carb-stuffing soul. And while I'm at it, I even plan on picking myself up a Pointer Sis-ta new attitude. Oh, yeah, it's high time for some me time. This manic mama is all about re-focusing, de-stressing and armoring herself up for battle because between my hormones and the Walmart greeters, life can be pretty damn hairy. Yesiree, boys and girls, flash forward in a couple of months...the only muffin top I'm gonna have is the one I eat for breakfast.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
a friend in faith
As you travel through into another life time, I am confident that the lantern of faith will serve to guide you safely and surely. Thank you for your wisdom, guidance and opening your home to me when I needed it most. When my little girl came into the world six years ago, she was given so many beautiful things. I would often wonder which one of them would end up being the dearest..comforting her through the tears and sharing in all her smiles. That pal became your Lady. Her ears are worn now and her collar gone..from all the love and pats. Last night after hearing of your passing, I held you in my prayers and then tucked in my sleepy child. I went to look for her favorite 'stuffie' and found it resting quietly on my pillow. It was a wink, a wave, a smile...a small part of you signing off to me. Rest well and come back with spirited boundless joy, Sandy! We will miss you.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
a clean break
Well, Dancing with the Stars has had its first tragedy, folks. No, Wozniak isn't waltzing again. It's my kid's radius and ulna. Yesiree, as if my life couldn't get another stinky layer in its chaos sandwich, my baby girl has gone and busted her forearm while doing the "tornado" with her choreographer sibling. I guess, when you have two jacked up Icelanders, a plastic dinosaur and a mommy drinking on the sofa then you know there's gonna be trouble.
It was an open and shut case really. By the time I heard the scream, it was simply too late. I jumped up from my Real Housewives of Orange County & bucket of merlot and made a beeline to the back bedroom and was intercepted mid-hallway with a hodge podge of snot, accusations and "'but, Moms!" And that's basically all I can report. The perps claim they were twirling and then ka-boom...the victim fell forward on top of a pointy T-Rex with her right extremity tucked underneath. No blood splatter or fiber analysis has led Mama to believe it was anything more than a freak accident, but still somewhere in the dark, boozy recesses of my mind, I blame the damn bunk beds. I've hated those things since I bought them on a Craig's List special over a year ago. In the last few months, I've seen T. swing like a howler monkey, dangle her Care Bear by the throat and even hoola-hoop on top of the blasted thing...all the while, being afraid a senseless crime just like this one might happen. And it did. That precious, kissable bratwurst arm has gone crunch. But when your big sister leads like Attila the Hun, what's a poor curly top to do?
Looking at the skeletal horror of it all at our Pediatrician's office, Geez and I were aghast at how both bones were snapped in two. As luck would have it, we were referred over to an Ortho- one of the best in town who just so happens to specialize in four year old bratwurst arms. He confirmed the breakage but told me he had some family coming into town and couldn't set it for another four days! And this was after I had already idiotically kept her home for two days thinking she had a sprain! Did I drop the Mom ball or what? It was a guilty verdict alright and I was ready to give myself the death penalty. Oy. I just don't get me. Double Duh..I should have known it was broken. My T. is a big wad of happiness and as tough as a boot when it comes to pain and she had cried over this particular boo-boo for a half an hour straight. They proceeded to give me the facts, ma'am and set her up at the hospital for a "reduction" first thing Monday morning. Why do they call it that? It's not like they cut off the broken part or anything. In the meanwhile, Nurse Ratched did the honors and splinted my little tyke. I almost had to have a shot, and I don't mean the kind with a needle when they immobilized her arm in a super duper shell-like gauzy thing. I left the room and my angel's wails..turning it over to Daddy as I figured he owed me one.
Over a long, gimpy weekend...awash in my peri-menopausal, rapidly failing but refusing to downsize parents, Energizer Bunny children, out of shape, blubbery, middle-aged, bummed out endocrine blahs, I decided then and there I was going to have to put a cast on Mama, if I was going to try and mend the stress fractures going on in my life right now. That's why I've decided it's high time to just say no to high time and get down with some serious cardio & up with some good on-the-wagon living...cutting out all the toxins- liquid, chocolate-filled and human. Having let my Grey Goose fly the coop for now, I'm just about close to a week into my Perrier sipping, power running phase of rebirth and would like to say I feel better, but the jury's still out on that one.
My one-armed bandit passed with flying colors..literally...and now has a shiny new bright purple plaster sleeve. Yeah, it's pretty jazzy these days. When my hubby broke the same arm, same place on his sixth birthday back in the early 1900's, they gave him a boring off-white jobbie, complete with an ether suffocation knock-out. All would be well if our munchkin would wear her sling but she refuses because "it is too boyish looking mommy". As I had sat out in the waiting room, a big ole drama queen..fretting over my baby's broken bones, I looked up at the TV and saw the frightened eyes of that young soldier the Taliban's holding. I thought of his mother and the depth of fear and uncertainty in her heart and I felt guilty. I thought of my tiny little worry and the sweet ride back home where my girl would finish up a long afternoon safe at my side, nibbling popcorn and watching The Wizard of Oz. I thought of all the fortune morsels tucked into my multi-tiered Dagwood and I felt grateful. That night when I watched mine sleep, I prayed for that boy to make it back to his mother's arms...a place where all of us truly belong.
Yep, this roller coaster ride is one that won't be pulling into the station anytime soon, so I'm just gonna have to dig like a miner to find the humor and ride the loops and dips as best I can. Since I didn't marry for money, there won't be any bio-identical hormones to gobble. We may want to call this phase of my blog, Mama- The Blue Period. No pun intended.
It was an open and shut case really. By the time I heard the scream, it was simply too late. I jumped up from my Real Housewives of Orange County & bucket of merlot and made a beeline to the back bedroom and was intercepted mid-hallway with a hodge podge of snot, accusations and "'but, Moms!" And that's basically all I can report. The perps claim they were twirling and then ka-boom...the victim fell forward on top of a pointy T-Rex with her right extremity tucked underneath. No blood splatter or fiber analysis has led Mama to believe it was anything more than a freak accident, but still somewhere in the dark, boozy recesses of my mind, I blame the damn bunk beds. I've hated those things since I bought them on a Craig's List special over a year ago. In the last few months, I've seen T. swing like a howler monkey, dangle her Care Bear by the throat and even hoola-hoop on top of the blasted thing...all the while, being afraid a senseless crime just like this one might happen. And it did. That precious, kissable bratwurst arm has gone crunch. But when your big sister leads like Attila the Hun, what's a poor curly top to do?
Looking at the skeletal horror of it all at our Pediatrician's office, Geez and I were aghast at how both bones were snapped in two. As luck would have it, we were referred over to an Ortho- one of the best in town who just so happens to specialize in four year old bratwurst arms. He confirmed the breakage but told me he had some family coming into town and couldn't set it for another four days! And this was after I had already idiotically kept her home for two days thinking she had a sprain! Did I drop the Mom ball or what? It was a guilty verdict alright and I was ready to give myself the death penalty. Oy. I just don't get me. Double Duh..I should have known it was broken. My T. is a big wad of happiness and as tough as a boot when it comes to pain and she had cried over this particular boo-boo for a half an hour straight. They proceeded to give me the facts, ma'am and set her up at the hospital for a "reduction" first thing Monday morning. Why do they call it that? It's not like they cut off the broken part or anything. In the meanwhile, Nurse Ratched did the honors and splinted my little tyke. I almost had to have a shot, and I don't mean the kind with a needle when they immobilized her arm in a super duper shell-like gauzy thing. I left the room and my angel's wails..turning it over to Daddy as I figured he owed me one.
Over a long, gimpy weekend...awash in my peri-menopausal, rapidly failing but refusing to downsize parents, Energizer Bunny children, out of shape, blubbery, middle-aged, bummed out endocrine blahs, I decided then and there I was going to have to put a cast on Mama, if I was going to try and mend the stress fractures going on in my life right now. That's why I've decided it's high time to just say no to high time and get down with some serious cardio & up with some good on-the-wagon living...cutting out all the toxins- liquid, chocolate-filled and human. Having let my Grey Goose fly the coop for now, I'm just about close to a week into my Perrier sipping, power running phase of rebirth and would like to say I feel better, but the jury's still out on that one.
My one-armed bandit passed with flying colors..literally...and now has a shiny new bright purple plaster sleeve. Yeah, it's pretty jazzy these days. When my hubby broke the same arm, same place on his sixth birthday back in the early 1900's, they gave him a boring off-white jobbie, complete with an ether suffocation knock-out. All would be well if our munchkin would wear her sling but she refuses because "it is too boyish looking mommy". As I had sat out in the waiting room, a big ole drama queen..fretting over my baby's broken bones, I looked up at the TV and saw the frightened eyes of that young soldier the Taliban's holding. I thought of his mother and the depth of fear and uncertainty in her heart and I felt guilty. I thought of my tiny little worry and the sweet ride back home where my girl would finish up a long afternoon safe at my side, nibbling popcorn and watching The Wizard of Oz. I thought of all the fortune morsels tucked into my multi-tiered Dagwood and I felt grateful. That night when I watched mine sleep, I prayed for that boy to make it back to his mother's arms...a place where all of us truly belong.
Yep, this roller coaster ride is one that won't be pulling into the station anytime soon, so I'm just gonna have to dig like a miner to find the humor and ride the loops and dips as best I can. Since I didn't marry for money, there won't be any bio-identical hormones to gobble. We may want to call this phase of my blog, Mama- The Blue Period. No pun intended.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
commentary: a giant leap from ohio
By BOB GREENE
CNN Contributor
All over the world this weekend, people are peering up into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the moon. They're thinking about the moon because of Monday's 40-year anniversary of mankind's first lunar landing. And more than a few people are undoubtedly allowing themselves to dream of traveling to the moon themselves.
It's not going to happen. For almost all of us, it can be said with certainty: We're never going to go to the moon. But there's good news: We can go to Wapakoneta.
Wapakoneta is a town of barely 9,000 people in northwestern Ohio. It may be, in its own quiet way, the most inspiring single place in the United States. I-75 runs right past it; in your car, it's there and then it's gone before you even know it. Yet if you make the decision to leave the interstate and turn onto Bellefontaine Street, which takes you into town, you will find yourself thinking about life's most glorious possibilities in a way you seldom have before.
Each time I go to Wapakoneta, I try to put into words the feeling of walking those small-town streets, and each time I fear I come up short. But the lesson of Wapakoneta remains constant. A boy from this town -- a boy born here, a boy whose father, a mid-level state employee, was required to move from city to city some twenty different times before ending up back in Wapakoneta for the boy's high school years -- looked up at the Ohio sky and decided that he would soar.
If the town at times felt cloistered and confining -- if the horizons the boy could physically view on the flat landscape of Auglaize County appeared circumscribed -- he did not let that stop him. Down through the ages, it was the one task that was almost beyond conceiving, never mind beyond doing. Until, on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong, of Wapakoneta, walked on the moon.
You want to talk about the strength of the human will -- of the American will? You want to talk about absolute proof that no matter where you're from, if you set your heart to it, you can do anything? Take a trip to Wapakoneta. Stroll through the neighborhoods, stop in at the stores, maybe catch a movie at the old Wapa Theater on Willipie Street. Try to imagine being the boy who did exactly that, when no one knew his name.
His family had to pick up and move so often, because of his dad's job, that no one could have blamed him if his only desire had been to finally cling to one place.
But he decided that if he was destined always to be in motion, then he should make the most of it. He was fifteen when, his family living back in Wapakoneta again, he signed up for lessons at the airstrip north of town. He had made up his mind: He wanted to escape the earth's bonds. The moon was not the dream. The moon was merely the eventual landing strip. The dream was to fly.
Walk around that town. If you're feeling hemmed in by life, if all your prospects seem to have dried up, if you feel stuck in place, walk around Wapakoneta. Then ask yourself: Is there anything that can stop a person whose belief in what he can accomplish is fierce and unyielding enough?
There is a little museum in town -- you can see it from I-75 -- that is dedicated to the life of the boy who once walked those same streets. The thing I have always loved best about the museum is the display of newspaper front pages from around the world on the day after the moon landing. Every front page in every city in every country on the globe ran huge headlines announcing that the impossible had become real: that a man had walked on the moon. Some of the papers said just that -- that a man had reached the moon. Some made it more parochial -- they said that an American had walked on the moon. But the Wapakoneta Daily News said it in the only good and proper way it could be said, in that town, on that day:
"Neil Steps on the Moon."
We all need to be reminded, from time to time, of just what we can do. We all, no matter where we live, have moments when we think that the odds are just too great, that life's grandest accomplishments are for someone else. And it's probably true that none of us will ever know the feeling of stepping onto the surface of the moon. But this is really not about the moon. This is about the limitless capacity of the human heart. So if there are moments when you begin to question what is out there for you, here's a suggestion:
Come to Wapakoneta sometime. And look at the sky.
CNN Contributor
All over the world this weekend, people are peering up into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the moon. They're thinking about the moon because of Monday's 40-year anniversary of mankind's first lunar landing. And more than a few people are undoubtedly allowing themselves to dream of traveling to the moon themselves.
It's not going to happen. For almost all of us, it can be said with certainty: We're never going to go to the moon. But there's good news: We can go to Wapakoneta.
Wapakoneta is a town of barely 9,000 people in northwestern Ohio. It may be, in its own quiet way, the most inspiring single place in the United States. I-75 runs right past it; in your car, it's there and then it's gone before you even know it. Yet if you make the decision to leave the interstate and turn onto Bellefontaine Street, which takes you into town, you will find yourself thinking about life's most glorious possibilities in a way you seldom have before.
Each time I go to Wapakoneta, I try to put into words the feeling of walking those small-town streets, and each time I fear I come up short. But the lesson of Wapakoneta remains constant. A boy from this town -- a boy born here, a boy whose father, a mid-level state employee, was required to move from city to city some twenty different times before ending up back in Wapakoneta for the boy's high school years -- looked up at the Ohio sky and decided that he would soar.
If the town at times felt cloistered and confining -- if the horizons the boy could physically view on the flat landscape of Auglaize County appeared circumscribed -- he did not let that stop him. Down through the ages, it was the one task that was almost beyond conceiving, never mind beyond doing. Until, on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong, of Wapakoneta, walked on the moon.
You want to talk about the strength of the human will -- of the American will? You want to talk about absolute proof that no matter where you're from, if you set your heart to it, you can do anything? Take a trip to Wapakoneta. Stroll through the neighborhoods, stop in at the stores, maybe catch a movie at the old Wapa Theater on Willipie Street. Try to imagine being the boy who did exactly that, when no one knew his name.
His family had to pick up and move so often, because of his dad's job, that no one could have blamed him if his only desire had been to finally cling to one place.
But he decided that if he was destined always to be in motion, then he should make the most of it. He was fifteen when, his family living back in Wapakoneta again, he signed up for lessons at the airstrip north of town. He had made up his mind: He wanted to escape the earth's bonds. The moon was not the dream. The moon was merely the eventual landing strip. The dream was to fly.
Walk around that town. If you're feeling hemmed in by life, if all your prospects seem to have dried up, if you feel stuck in place, walk around Wapakoneta. Then ask yourself: Is there anything that can stop a person whose belief in what he can accomplish is fierce and unyielding enough?
There is a little museum in town -- you can see it from I-75 -- that is dedicated to the life of the boy who once walked those same streets. The thing I have always loved best about the museum is the display of newspaper front pages from around the world on the day after the moon landing. Every front page in every city in every country on the globe ran huge headlines announcing that the impossible had become real: that a man had walked on the moon. Some of the papers said just that -- that a man had reached the moon. Some made it more parochial -- they said that an American had walked on the moon. But the Wapakoneta Daily News said it in the only good and proper way it could be said, in that town, on that day:
"Neil Steps on the Moon."
We all need to be reminded, from time to time, of just what we can do. We all, no matter where we live, have moments when we think that the odds are just too great, that life's grandest accomplishments are for someone else. And it's probably true that none of us will ever know the feeling of stepping onto the surface of the moon. But this is really not about the moon. This is about the limitless capacity of the human heart. So if there are moments when you begin to question what is out there for you, here's a suggestion:
Come to Wapakoneta sometime. And look at the sky.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
happy day
Happy birthday, darlin'! You are my light, my love, my inspiration. Thank you for the gifts you have given me and may your life be filled with everything beautiful! 
Pocahontas don't have nothin' on you!
Pocahontas don't have nothin' on you!
Friday, June 26, 2009
funeral blues
by W.H. AUDEN
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
a father
Happy Daddy's Day. Thank you for loving our girls deeply, devotedly..without conditions. Thank you for the song of your laughter and the way you make them smile. Thank you for your sense of fun and for filling their lives with magic and goodness. And thank you for being adept at arts and crafts because I really suck.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
atlas and the jubilee
The Mags made it back safe and sound, folks. We had a ball playing in the Gulf and I only found one Cheetos bag I had to throw away. Well, that and an empty 16 oz. bottle of Mountain Dew. Can someone explain to me the mentality of an idiot that would litter a beautiful beach? That is the one thing I absolutely do not understand about humanity and it burns me good. It's called a trash can, you hick..use it! Alrighty then, I will calm my ole self down from that little tangent and proceed to share all that was our Redneck Riviera experience with you travel bug readers.
Let me begin with the beautiful, powdery and CLEAN sand. I stress the word clean because I hail from L.A.- where syringes and dirty butts dance at your toes. It was lovely and I couldn't help from just squeezing handfuls of it. Great exfoliator for my old gams, too. However, the water wasn't the blue that Mama's used to seeing in her beloved Tahiti but green's not all that bad of a color. It wasn't as muddy & kelpy as I thought it was going to be and it was just teeming with those delightful grey torpedoes who we all know and love. No not narco subs....dolphins! One day we were gifted by 3 or 4 of them as they flipped and carried on with their mischievous selves right there before our open mouths and abundant applause. What a magnificent creature. The girls were squealing like nobodies business...and were very lucky to have a front row float with Daddy as they were out bobbing just yards from all those cute bottle noses! Tres fun. And it was made all the more yippee-doodle by the pomegranate, jet-fueled margarita I had put in my trusty water bottle. Pama's Pomarita was the drink of choice for this Gulf Shores gal and it fit the atmosphere just perfectly. Along with all that does-a-body-good, healthy beta carotene, too. I was bummed when my hubby informed me that I couldn't trademark the name because someone had already beat me to it. Bummer. I could have had a little business going.
Anyhoo, this eco-system, a proud member of what the eggheads call The Fertile Crescent is pretty darn fascinating. From it's kettle of estuaries and marshes, chock full of all kinds of interesting life all the way up to it's Pine/Oak woodlands..so tall and majestic, those trees were...It opened my eyes to just what a well-oiled machine it is for groundwater recharge, storage, flood control and shelter to 49 species of just mammals alone! From the goofy gulping of the pelican to the gorgeous carriage of the osprey, we were in bird heaven. Don't even get me going on the gazillion lizards and beautifully shelled turtles that were the girlies favorites. We visited a well put together estuarium while down there, got to ride "on a boat with cars, Mom!" and even took a gander at Britney & then boyfriend, Justin T.'s, old ocean side mansion....way before they got super-duper mega rich and discovered places like the Cape of Antibes and the Seychelles.
One of the most interesting things we learned about was the Mobile Bay phenomenon that occurs on it's eastern side whereby a bunch o' crustaceans and bottom fish..crabs, flounder, stingrays, you name it..come ashore to dance and splash about. Basically getting their fishy selves right on down, Southern style, and having themselves a bonafide beach par-tay. Not much is known about this strange occurrence. It happens in the summer months when both the wind and waters are very calm. The sky, the previous day, has to have been cloudy and overcast for it to happen. The tide comes in, forcing the marine life to move up onto the shoreline...eventually becoming trapped in the shallow water, flip-flopping around. The locals then begin to whoop and holler, put down their Busch cans and go and grab their nets...scooping up some easy din-din pickins for them and their Alabama kin. It has something to do with the decomposition of leaves, plants and wood brought into the Bay and the results of oxygen depletion from all of it in the salty layer at the bottom. I'm not a scientist, plus I was kinda toasted at the time I was listening to how it all works, so that's pretty much all I can tell ya about it. Pretty neat though, I thought. I guess one could say that Mama was having her own personal "jubilee" while educating herself on the fish kind!
Big Daddy and I wimped out on the twelve hour drive and decided it best to stay the night at the halfway point to give the girls a booster break. Well, heck, I'm gonna be honest here, people- he has a bad right leg and I have a waitressed-out lumbar region and we were just too damn old to endure it. The kids had nothing to do with it, really. Mama being the budgeted SAHM that she is, picked a lovely Days Inn in Grenada, Miss. that she thought would work out well. The Dump Inn was more like it. Nearing midnight, exhausted and jonesing from a-way-too-long-past cocktail hour we pulled into the far back room by a dirty dumpster and saw what appeared to be a pimp fighting with his be-atch. Oy. Let's just say, I kept my shoes on until the very last minute when I curled up in bed with my glass of luke warm Sutter Home. The kids were oblivious however and were out like a light after snarfing some milk and a bag of Goldfish. Good times. As we pulled out bright and early the next morning, I had a very disgruntled husband by my side and some wicked indigestion from what I do believe might have been the worst breakfast I've ever consumed. We soon passed by our first swampy looking area- complete with algae, goopy underbrush and probably an alligator or two. My oldest asked her Daddy about that weird bunch of water. "It's what the Days Inn uses to make their coffee, dear", he retorted. That became the line of the trip for me.
And speaking of the ball and chain...as if our Honda wasn't packed to the hilt already, G. decided to bring along his borrowed Rand McNally 3 by 3 foot, spiral-bound book of maps, which basically became like his big breasted mistress while on our travels. Good grief, it was love & he was obsessed with that thing. He regaled us with all kinds of upcoming exits, towns and just a lot of boring mileage counts. Yeah, right. Like I needed to be reminded of the 1520 miles I had to cover coming and going. Oy again. That thing was in my way and bugging the hell outta me the whole time...and trying to keep the coffee and ketchup from dripping on it became a full time job. What with the that thar machine that played the kids their movies (a mother's salvation by the way), ridiculously extra baggage and at least 25 snack-sized Ziplocs full of fruit leather & granola, it was a wonder I had any place at all to stretch my poor cramping legs.
As the miles passed one by one, I began to breathe a little easier though, relaxing into the tuneage. There are a few times in my life when I've felt complete and utter satisfaction. You know, those rare moments when everything just falls into place...no liquid enhancement (rare for me, I know), no conditions..just joy. The simple kind. Soft and quiet. I had such a feeling in the early hours of morning, driving down the prettiest road I think I've ever cruised. What Mississippi doesn't put into their education, they sure do their highways. Smooth, beautiful medians and tree lined..a cozy track of emerald green. With the sun's rays peeking through the clouds, I felt in some weird way that this little bitty moment in time, was just about perfect. With Ray Charles supplying some killer rhythm, my kids safe and sound behind me and a weeks discovery ahead of us..I felt good. Special good. Until I saw the flashing lights just up ahead of us, in the opposite direction..cars lined up for a mile. Someone, I do not and will not ever know had been in a horrible accident and from looking at the car being pulled out of the ravine, with no front on it whatsoever..I knew then they weren't gonna be soaking up that gorgeous morning with me anymore. As the ambulance did a slow, no siren pass on my left a couple of miles later, I felt somber and a whole helluva lot lucky. Appreciative of the air that I was breathing, the sunshine on my arm and just the happiness of being. That was my lesson for this trip. One that was somber. One that was contemplative. One to remember. That and never booking a one star hotel ever again.
Coupled with seven or so attempts of T. trying to poop in an unfamiliar john and an excruciating 2 hour, 34 mile drive in bumper to bumper congestion getting onto the peninsula, our what was supposed to be a 12 hour drive turned into a Great Wall of China one, but we finally arrived. Well, to Wal-Mart, anyway. I had thought the route would never end but my marriage was definitely going to. G. and I were at each other's throats. Facing another two hour, whole-weeks-worth-of-food grocery shopping feat while bleary-eyed with a really numb ass brought out the worst in both of us. And then with two very wiggly, hyper chilluns thrown in the cart on top of that...well, we were plum spent, as my mama used to say, throwing barbs and hurling fruit at the kids. And we hadn't even got to the condo yet! But arrive we did- all in one piece, and still hitched. Opening the door and taking a peek at that balcony with the sea laid out before us was splendid. We were very pleased, needless to say, and relaxed by about 50% in that one single sigh. That is, until Daddy Mag forgot to support Mama's liquor bag from the bottom and Mr. Cuervo hit the tile floor like a cheerleader on Jello shots. While three of my clan got to go down and enjoy a leisurely inspection of the grounds, I spent the next two hours mopping up sweet and sour. Nice.
The next week we laughed, we ate, and we nipped. Boy, howdy, did we partake. I told my husband on the drive back home that I was quite certain a 12 step program was in order. He told me he'd do two of those steps with me, but that was it. One lazy morning after returning from a very early morning escape..er, I mean, walk along the coast...soaking wet, Geez squished out onto the terrace. "What happened to you?", I asked. "I dunno', he said. 'I was just ambling along, sipping my joe and then suddenly had this overwhelming desire to jump headfirst into the sea." I told the kids, who were next to me, that we were darn lucky their daddy returned. Hey, you never really know. They have been known to go out for a pack of cigs and never come back. "That was very mid-life crisis of you", I quipped. "Yeah', he says, 'I almost did a Norman Main when I thought of that 5am breakfast shift I have to do the first day after I get back." Awww..poor guy. Yep- it's a sad state of affairs, Big Daddy, but eventually we all must return to the rigors and ugliness of reality. Except for the Jolie/Pitt family, of course.
I got a call from my sis near the end of our stay informing me that our mom had fallen and busted her head up pretty good (the last time was only 8 months ago!). My heart started racing and I felt the need to hop a plane immediately but was told by the docs to finish out the trip and all would be well until I got home three days later. Her head scan looked good but there was a serious problem that the men in white had discovered and we were going to be facing some scary decisions for treatment. I was without a computer and couldn't perform my obsessive Google-rama as I am known to do (much to the dismay of my husband)...leaving me feeling absolutely helpless. And boy, do I hate that. I took a deep inebriated breath, focused some good thoughts and tried to absorb all that rhythmic beauty of the sea to calm my nerves until I got back to the situation and could find out more. And to also 'control it all', as my loving soul mate so bluntly put it. I was hoping to escape Life for nine days but have learned you never really do. Not for a second. It keeps ya hopping, doesn't it, ladies and gents?
We finished up our stay a few days later and said a sad goodbye to our treasured alfresco breakfasts. And somewhere between Hattiesburg and a prayer I received a call telling me that what the medical pros had thought was a thoracic aneurysm was only a shadow of blockage and that my mom would be all right. As the miles of road moved beneath me, bathed once again in the precious light of morning, my appreciation ran fathoms and I felt humbled. Shortly after, I passed by a newly erected cross where that accident had taken place the week before. A long, beautiful swatch of purple cloth was blowing in the breeze and below was a bouquet of soft white orchids. I wondered who they were and where they were going that day..the music they liked, what made them happy. I reminded myself again that it isn't the destination but the journey that fuels us. My prayer was very deep that morning.
Our Yee-haw finale was spent at Graceland. And what a fun, kitschy ending it was. The El-vites were everywhere and this particular Days Inn redeemed the chain ten-fold for Mama. Our room across the street from the hallowed grounds was fab. Clean, good-sized and the guitar-shaped pool was a big hit with the munchkins. At night the neon was aglow and there were endless Presley movies on the tube. You could even call down to the front desk and ask them to put a particular one on! As I drifted off into a Dark Eyes Vodka slumber (on sale for only 6 bucks at the Piggly Wiggly!) I could hear Ann Margret shakin' it and bakin' it- 60's style. Groovy man.
The next morning while enduring a thunderstorm that would rival Andrew, I was beyond determined to get into the free one-hour admission they offer of the grave site and gardens of the King. My husband threw a fit over his bowl of fruit loops, demanding that I not venture out in the nasty weather until it passed. Well, my free sixty minutes was quickly ticking away and I have never been one to listen to a man telling me what to do....so armed with a paper-thin T-shirt and a weak cup of Folgers, I braved the F4 winds and flying beach umbrellas that had scarily been re-planted over in the back ally. The kids, not wanting to miss a moment, followed their mammy out the front door..leaving Dad to yell in vain at our insanity. When I say it took me 20 minutes just to cross the street, I'm not kidding. It was a Jungle Room out there..darn hairy. The girls were crying, the rain was falling sideways and my Walgreens umbrella was inside out. Daddy, gripped in fear for the safety of his girls, was bringing up the soaked rear, with a look of terror on his mug. But Mr. Presley's spirit carried us up to the gate- safe and sound. I'm sure the passing cars had a real doozy of a Jon and Kate moment to watch on their way to work. "Sorry, lady. We're closed due to the weather", was all this water-logged girl got out of the guard. I knew the 'But don't you know who I am?' line wasn't gonna work. And it sure wasn't going to be my over humidified hair-do that looked like fur through the whole trip that would open any gates for me either. So off we went. Elvis had definately left the building. So much for that freebie.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, minutes later...cooler drained, re-iced and ready to go, we slowly made our way down Elvis Presley Blvd., passing by his beloved casa one last time. I couldn't help but think of two things- that ole El would probably roll right on over in his grave knowing the hotels made such a big ta-doo over those silly movies he absolutely hated performing in and...just what an easy going, soft spoken, Christian boy would think of Scientology getting such a huge chunk of change off his name and legacy.
Good Lord. Talk about a Great Wall of China entry.
Let me begin with the beautiful, powdery and CLEAN sand. I stress the word clean because I hail from L.A.- where syringes and dirty butts dance at your toes. It was lovely and I couldn't help from just squeezing handfuls of it. Great exfoliator for my old gams, too. However, the water wasn't the blue that Mama's used to seeing in her beloved Tahiti but green's not all that bad of a color. It wasn't as muddy & kelpy as I thought it was going to be and it was just teeming with those delightful grey torpedoes who we all know and love. No not narco subs....dolphins! One day we were gifted by 3 or 4 of them as they flipped and carried on with their mischievous selves right there before our open mouths and abundant applause. What a magnificent creature. The girls were squealing like nobodies business...and were very lucky to have a front row float with Daddy as they were out bobbing just yards from all those cute bottle noses! Tres fun. And it was made all the more yippee-doodle by the pomegranate, jet-fueled margarita I had put in my trusty water bottle. Pama's Pomarita was the drink of choice for this Gulf Shores gal and it fit the atmosphere just perfectly. Along with all that does-a-body-good, healthy beta carotene, too. I was bummed when my hubby informed me that I couldn't trademark the name because someone had already beat me to it. Bummer. I could have had a little business going.
Anyhoo, this eco-system, a proud member of what the eggheads call The Fertile Crescent is pretty darn fascinating. From it's kettle of estuaries and marshes, chock full of all kinds of interesting life all the way up to it's Pine/Oak woodlands..so tall and majestic, those trees were...It opened my eyes to just what a well-oiled machine it is for groundwater recharge, storage, flood control and shelter to 49 species of just mammals alone! From the goofy gulping of the pelican to the gorgeous carriage of the osprey, we were in bird heaven. Don't even get me going on the gazillion lizards and beautifully shelled turtles that were the girlies favorites. We visited a well put together estuarium while down there, got to ride "on a boat with cars, Mom!" and even took a gander at Britney & then boyfriend, Justin T.'s, old ocean side mansion....way before they got super-duper mega rich and discovered places like the Cape of Antibes and the Seychelles.
One of the most interesting things we learned about was the Mobile Bay phenomenon that occurs on it's eastern side whereby a bunch o' crustaceans and bottom fish..crabs, flounder, stingrays, you name it..come ashore to dance and splash about. Basically getting their fishy selves right on down, Southern style, and having themselves a bonafide beach par-tay. Not much is known about this strange occurrence. It happens in the summer months when both the wind and waters are very calm. The sky, the previous day, has to have been cloudy and overcast for it to happen. The tide comes in, forcing the marine life to move up onto the shoreline...eventually becoming trapped in the shallow water, flip-flopping around. The locals then begin to whoop and holler, put down their Busch cans and go and grab their nets...scooping up some easy din-din pickins for them and their Alabama kin. It has something to do with the decomposition of leaves, plants and wood brought into the Bay and the results of oxygen depletion from all of it in the salty layer at the bottom. I'm not a scientist, plus I was kinda toasted at the time I was listening to how it all works, so that's pretty much all I can tell ya about it. Pretty neat though, I thought. I guess one could say that Mama was having her own personal "jubilee" while educating herself on the fish kind!
Big Daddy and I wimped out on the twelve hour drive and decided it best to stay the night at the halfway point to give the girls a booster break. Well, heck, I'm gonna be honest here, people- he has a bad right leg and I have a waitressed-out lumbar region and we were just too damn old to endure it. The kids had nothing to do with it, really. Mama being the budgeted SAHM that she is, picked a lovely Days Inn in Grenada, Miss. that she thought would work out well. The Dump Inn was more like it. Nearing midnight, exhausted and jonesing from a-way-too-long-past cocktail hour we pulled into the far back room by a dirty dumpster and saw what appeared to be a pimp fighting with his be-atch. Oy. Let's just say, I kept my shoes on until the very last minute when I curled up in bed with my glass of luke warm Sutter Home. The kids were oblivious however and were out like a light after snarfing some milk and a bag of Goldfish. Good times. As we pulled out bright and early the next morning, I had a very disgruntled husband by my side and some wicked indigestion from what I do believe might have been the worst breakfast I've ever consumed. We soon passed by our first swampy looking area- complete with algae, goopy underbrush and probably an alligator or two. My oldest asked her Daddy about that weird bunch of water. "It's what the Days Inn uses to make their coffee, dear", he retorted. That became the line of the trip for me.
And speaking of the ball and chain...as if our Honda wasn't packed to the hilt already, G. decided to bring along his borrowed Rand McNally 3 by 3 foot, spiral-bound book of maps, which basically became like his big breasted mistress while on our travels. Good grief, it was love & he was obsessed with that thing. He regaled us with all kinds of upcoming exits, towns and just a lot of boring mileage counts. Yeah, right. Like I needed to be reminded of the 1520 miles I had to cover coming and going. Oy again. That thing was in my way and bugging the hell outta me the whole time...and trying to keep the coffee and ketchup from dripping on it became a full time job. What with the that thar machine that played the kids their movies (a mother's salvation by the way), ridiculously extra baggage and at least 25 snack-sized Ziplocs full of fruit leather & granola, it was a wonder I had any place at all to stretch my poor cramping legs.
As the miles passed one by one, I began to breathe a little easier though, relaxing into the tuneage. There are a few times in my life when I've felt complete and utter satisfaction. You know, those rare moments when everything just falls into place...no liquid enhancement (rare for me, I know), no conditions..just joy. The simple kind. Soft and quiet. I had such a feeling in the early hours of morning, driving down the prettiest road I think I've ever cruised. What Mississippi doesn't put into their education, they sure do their highways. Smooth, beautiful medians and tree lined..a cozy track of emerald green. With the sun's rays peeking through the clouds, I felt in some weird way that this little bitty moment in time, was just about perfect. With Ray Charles supplying some killer rhythm, my kids safe and sound behind me and a weeks discovery ahead of us..I felt good. Special good. Until I saw the flashing lights just up ahead of us, in the opposite direction..cars lined up for a mile. Someone, I do not and will not ever know had been in a horrible accident and from looking at the car being pulled out of the ravine, with no front on it whatsoever..I knew then they weren't gonna be soaking up that gorgeous morning with me anymore. As the ambulance did a slow, no siren pass on my left a couple of miles later, I felt somber and a whole helluva lot lucky. Appreciative of the air that I was breathing, the sunshine on my arm and just the happiness of being. That was my lesson for this trip. One that was somber. One that was contemplative. One to remember. That and never booking a one star hotel ever again.
Coupled with seven or so attempts of T. trying to poop in an unfamiliar john and an excruciating 2 hour, 34 mile drive in bumper to bumper congestion getting onto the peninsula, our what was supposed to be a 12 hour drive turned into a Great Wall of China one, but we finally arrived. Well, to Wal-Mart, anyway. I had thought the route would never end but my marriage was definitely going to. G. and I were at each other's throats. Facing another two hour, whole-weeks-worth-of-food grocery shopping feat while bleary-eyed with a really numb ass brought out the worst in both of us. And then with two very wiggly, hyper chilluns thrown in the cart on top of that...well, we were plum spent, as my mama used to say, throwing barbs and hurling fruit at the kids. And we hadn't even got to the condo yet! But arrive we did- all in one piece, and still hitched. Opening the door and taking a peek at that balcony with the sea laid out before us was splendid. We were very pleased, needless to say, and relaxed by about 50% in that one single sigh. That is, until Daddy Mag forgot to support Mama's liquor bag from the bottom and Mr. Cuervo hit the tile floor like a cheerleader on Jello shots. While three of my clan got to go down and enjoy a leisurely inspection of the grounds, I spent the next two hours mopping up sweet and sour. Nice.
The next week we laughed, we ate, and we nipped. Boy, howdy, did we partake. I told my husband on the drive back home that I was quite certain a 12 step program was in order. He told me he'd do two of those steps with me, but that was it. One lazy morning after returning from a very early morning escape..er, I mean, walk along the coast...soaking wet, Geez squished out onto the terrace. "What happened to you?", I asked. "I dunno', he said. 'I was just ambling along, sipping my joe and then suddenly had this overwhelming desire to jump headfirst into the sea." I told the kids, who were next to me, that we were darn lucky their daddy returned. Hey, you never really know. They have been known to go out for a pack of cigs and never come back. "That was very mid-life crisis of you", I quipped. "Yeah', he says, 'I almost did a Norman Main when I thought of that 5am breakfast shift I have to do the first day after I get back." Awww..poor guy. Yep- it's a sad state of affairs, Big Daddy, but eventually we all must return to the rigors and ugliness of reality. Except for the Jolie/Pitt family, of course.
I got a call from my sis near the end of our stay informing me that our mom had fallen and busted her head up pretty good (the last time was only 8 months ago!). My heart started racing and I felt the need to hop a plane immediately but was told by the docs to finish out the trip and all would be well until I got home three days later. Her head scan looked good but there was a serious problem that the men in white had discovered and we were going to be facing some scary decisions for treatment. I was without a computer and couldn't perform my obsessive Google-rama as I am known to do (much to the dismay of my husband)...leaving me feeling absolutely helpless. And boy, do I hate that. I took a deep inebriated breath, focused some good thoughts and tried to absorb all that rhythmic beauty of the sea to calm my nerves until I got back to the situation and could find out more. And to also 'control it all', as my loving soul mate so bluntly put it. I was hoping to escape Life for nine days but have learned you never really do. Not for a second. It keeps ya hopping, doesn't it, ladies and gents?
We finished up our stay a few days later and said a sad goodbye to our treasured alfresco breakfasts. And somewhere between Hattiesburg and a prayer I received a call telling me that what the medical pros had thought was a thoracic aneurysm was only a shadow of blockage and that my mom would be all right. As the miles of road moved beneath me, bathed once again in the precious light of morning, my appreciation ran fathoms and I felt humbled. Shortly after, I passed by a newly erected cross where that accident had taken place the week before. A long, beautiful swatch of purple cloth was blowing in the breeze and below was a bouquet of soft white orchids. I wondered who they were and where they were going that day..the music they liked, what made them happy. I reminded myself again that it isn't the destination but the journey that fuels us. My prayer was very deep that morning.
Our Yee-haw finale was spent at Graceland. And what a fun, kitschy ending it was. The El-vites were everywhere and this particular Days Inn redeemed the chain ten-fold for Mama. Our room across the street from the hallowed grounds was fab. Clean, good-sized and the guitar-shaped pool was a big hit with the munchkins. At night the neon was aglow and there were endless Presley movies on the tube. You could even call down to the front desk and ask them to put a particular one on! As I drifted off into a Dark Eyes Vodka slumber (on sale for only 6 bucks at the Piggly Wiggly!) I could hear Ann Margret shakin' it and bakin' it- 60's style. Groovy man.
The next morning while enduring a thunderstorm that would rival Andrew, I was beyond determined to get into the free one-hour admission they offer of the grave site and gardens of the King. My husband threw a fit over his bowl of fruit loops, demanding that I not venture out in the nasty weather until it passed. Well, my free sixty minutes was quickly ticking away and I have never been one to listen to a man telling me what to do....so armed with a paper-thin T-shirt and a weak cup of Folgers, I braved the F4 winds and flying beach umbrellas that had scarily been re-planted over in the back ally. The kids, not wanting to miss a moment, followed their mammy out the front door..leaving Dad to yell in vain at our insanity. When I say it took me 20 minutes just to cross the street, I'm not kidding. It was a Jungle Room out there..darn hairy. The girls were crying, the rain was falling sideways and my Walgreens umbrella was inside out. Daddy, gripped in fear for the safety of his girls, was bringing up the soaked rear, with a look of terror on his mug. But Mr. Presley's spirit carried us up to the gate- safe and sound. I'm sure the passing cars had a real doozy of a Jon and Kate moment to watch on their way to work. "Sorry, lady. We're closed due to the weather", was all this water-logged girl got out of the guard. I knew the 'But don't you know who I am?' line wasn't gonna work. And it sure wasn't going to be my over humidified hair-do that looked like fur through the whole trip that would open any gates for me either. So off we went. Elvis had definately left the building. So much for that freebie.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, minutes later...cooler drained, re-iced and ready to go, we slowly made our way down Elvis Presley Blvd., passing by his beloved casa one last time. I couldn't help but think of two things- that ole El would probably roll right on over in his grave knowing the hotels made such a big ta-doo over those silly movies he absolutely hated performing in and...just what an easy going, soft spoken, Christian boy would think of Scientology getting such a huge chunk of change off his name and legacy.
Good Lord. Talk about a Great Wall of China entry.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
the girls of summer
June's heat is just now beginning to sizzle and we are on our way to endless lunches al fresco, s'mores, pool-noodle frivolity and just about everything else that is `ete`. I must admit though, my three months in the slammer is going to start off pretty gosh darn nicely- by the ocean, with margarita in hand. Yep, Big Daddy (and his 3 dependents!) is having his first vacation in two years. After his nasty tete-a-tete with the Grim Reaper all that time ago, I say he deserves it!
We had a wonderful opportunity arise to sneak in a visit to the Redneck Riviera, or as some call it, the Gulf Shores, and we're looking forward to some quiet family time- with dolphins added! The girlies are excited to see their very first sea turtle and I couldn’t be happier about that. It is the nesting time of year for these mystical, amazing creatures and a great op for the kids to have a dose of conservation and just an overall “wow”. I remember swimming alongside 70 year old Barnabus, the King of Honokeana Cove, on a visit to Hawaii many, many years ago and feeling the thrill. Ahhh..there’s nothing like the sea to calm a raw nerve and an aching hip flexor. I’ve really missed my every-now-and-then wind downs by the deep blue when I lived in LA all those years. Nothing like shaved ice, Muscle Beach and the antics of Angelyne in her pink corvette to pass away a hot Valley day. Or avoid one, I should say. I have a lot of good memories spent with my friends down by the water's edge...
My sweet girl has also just finished up her two years in Montessori school and will be entering into the first grade soon. I can’t believe she’s reading to me, twirling onstage and just basically growing up before Mama’s very eyes. Her sense of humor is as dry as mine and she’s as smart as a whip, my kid. She is secure and excited to begin her new adventure. She's much more confident than I was at her age..electric in both her beauty and personality. I am so proud of her and already pretty verklempt over a nasty case of Empty Nest Syndrome...and I have another 12 years years to go, for God's sake! Oh, heck, I’ll be okay. I’ll just make my martini a little bit bigger this evening.
As if the years couldn’t be more fleeting...my youngest will be starting pre-school in a couple o’ months and is on tippy-toe with excitement over the prospect of learning, making new friends and diving headfirst into all kinds of yummy discovery. She’s our little Shirley Temple on Red Bull. A one of a kind.
Yes, my sun-kissed babies are growing up on me and ready to grab another late night, jacked up, sleepover season by the horns. I hope I make it out in one piece by summer’s end. Oy. Pretty soon, it’s going to be time for Mama to get a job and bring home a strip or two of that proverbial family bacon after a very long respite out of the work force. Can anyone say, Walmart greeter? Lord forbid. Oh, but it’s okay. Again..I’ll just make that martini a teensy weensy bigger still.
We had a wonderful opportunity arise to sneak in a visit to the Redneck Riviera, or as some call it, the Gulf Shores, and we're looking forward to some quiet family time- with dolphins added! The girlies are excited to see their very first sea turtle and I couldn’t be happier about that. It is the nesting time of year for these mystical, amazing creatures and a great op for the kids to have a dose of conservation and just an overall “wow”. I remember swimming alongside 70 year old Barnabus, the King of Honokeana Cove, on a visit to Hawaii many, many years ago and feeling the thrill. Ahhh..there’s nothing like the sea to calm a raw nerve and an aching hip flexor. I’ve really missed my every-now-and-then wind downs by the deep blue when I lived in LA all those years. Nothing like shaved ice, Muscle Beach and the antics of Angelyne in her pink corvette to pass away a hot Valley day. Or avoid one, I should say. I have a lot of good memories spent with my friends down by the water's edge...
My sweet girl has also just finished up her two years in Montessori school and will be entering into the first grade soon. I can’t believe she’s reading to me, twirling onstage and just basically growing up before Mama’s very eyes. Her sense of humor is as dry as mine and she’s as smart as a whip, my kid. She is secure and excited to begin her new adventure. She's much more confident than I was at her age..electric in both her beauty and personality. I am so proud of her and already pretty verklempt over a nasty case of Empty Nest Syndrome...and I have another 12 years years to go, for God's sake! Oh, heck, I’ll be okay. I’ll just make my martini a little bit bigger this evening.
As if the years couldn’t be more fleeting...my youngest will be starting pre-school in a couple o’ months and is on tippy-toe with excitement over the prospect of learning, making new friends and diving headfirst into all kinds of yummy discovery. She’s our little Shirley Temple on Red Bull. A one of a kind.
Yes, my sun-kissed babies are growing up on me and ready to grab another late night, jacked up, sleepover season by the horns. I hope I make it out in one piece by summer’s end. Oy. Pretty soon, it’s going to be time for Mama to get a job and bring home a strip or two of that proverbial family bacon after a very long respite out of the work force. Can anyone say, Walmart greeter? Lord forbid. Oh, but it’s okay. Again..I’ll just make that martini a teensy weensy bigger still.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
l.a. dodgers
Shame, shame Chief Ron and Co. What can I say that I haven't said already?
And Rob Thomas...right on, dude!
And Rob Thomas...right on, dude!
Monday, May 25, 2009
remembered
To you. Those we knew and those we didn't. Thank you for your service and sacrifice. The tears of your loved ones continue to fall like rain on this cloudy day. I pray for courage and strength in the hearts you've left behind and that one day war will be nothing but a memory..a dog-eared page in our history book. Bloodless, quiet...and peaceful discourse, our only weapon.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
mother interrupted
My name is Mama Mags. I haven't checked my Wall in one hour and seven minutes.
Good Lord. You'd think my friends who know my obsessive-compulsive personality for what it is would steer their buddy, old pal away from Facebook, but no. They boondoggled me right on into pimping a page, poking behind my husband's back and even divulging 25 Random Things About Me. Hell, I didn't think there were more than 5 or 6, tops. Who knew I could be so deep? But here I sit, wine to the right, ignoring the offspring and left clicking myself back into my lost youth. Great. Just what my mid-life crisis needed..seeing how good everybody looks after all these years while I count my forehead furrows. But I chose to dive right on in with the masses, smearing Vaseline on the profile pic and for the past couple a weeks or so have scuba'ed myself into all that is the hum-drumery of my pal's lives...mine included. I'm using the Send a Round application like a college drop-out and spend most of my day double fisted. I figure virtual drinks are probably better for my shriveled liver than the real ones..so it's all good. And what's with this incessant need to friend everyone? I've never been the popular type that had an entourage...just a couple of good, loyal pals were all I ever needed in life..but once you cross over, it's like you're 50 Cent and can't get enough posse to post & play with.
Yes, if My Space is the slut of social networking then Facebook is the tweaked out coke-head and I'm gonna have to cool it eventually. Besides, Big Brother starts up in another month and that's all this old girl will have time for. Hey, I know where my priorities fall, okay? It's funny though, underneath all the manic commenting, tagging & What Kind of Mental Illness Are You, I see that I've been pretty darn good already at remaining in touch with the important peeps in my life and I've done it the old fashioned way- picking up the horn & then going out and getting tanked over a few....yeah, before all this new-fangled cyber tech mumbo jumbo came along. I don't think there's really anyone else out there in my leg-warmered past, undiscovered, whom it would be dire that I re-friend, but who knows? My promiscuous boyfriend who dumped me back in '85 still has my favorite pair of Levis & my Husker Du album, damn him. I've since ditched the turntable..but my kid's Mariposa Barbie could really use the jeans. And I would kinda like to see if he's lost his hair yet. Oh, I'm so bad.
Just like all rivers find the sea..my two rug rats will continue to be the reality-check mallet that I need and this lost weekend will come to a final log-out sooner or later, and I'll have to get back to cooking for them and hanging my robe up before noon. They've seen the insidious face of addiction with me and my Kashi trail mix bars, so nothin' really scares 'em. My oldest, being the feisty Gemini she is, doesn't hold back. The other day, in the quiet, dark wee hours of the morning, I was fully engrossed by the Crackbook News Feed. Like a Jaguar she crept- softly, silently..appearing ghost-like in the office doorway and scaring the bejesus right out of me. Bed-headed, with a hand on her hip, she says, "Mom, quit your brain squashing and make me some breakfast."
Good Lord. You'd think my friends who know my obsessive-compulsive personality for what it is would steer their buddy, old pal away from Facebook, but no. They boondoggled me right on into pimping a page, poking behind my husband's back and even divulging 25 Random Things About Me. Hell, I didn't think there were more than 5 or 6, tops. Who knew I could be so deep? But here I sit, wine to the right, ignoring the offspring and left clicking myself back into my lost youth. Great. Just what my mid-life crisis needed..seeing how good everybody looks after all these years while I count my forehead furrows. But I chose to dive right on in with the masses, smearing Vaseline on the profile pic and for the past couple a weeks or so have scuba'ed myself into all that is the hum-drumery of my pal's lives...mine included. I'm using the Send a Round application like a college drop-out and spend most of my day double fisted. I figure virtual drinks are probably better for my shriveled liver than the real ones..so it's all good. And what's with this incessant need to friend everyone? I've never been the popular type that had an entourage...just a couple of good, loyal pals were all I ever needed in life..but once you cross over, it's like you're 50 Cent and can't get enough posse to post & play with.
Yes, if My Space is the slut of social networking then Facebook is the tweaked out coke-head and I'm gonna have to cool it eventually. Besides, Big Brother starts up in another month and that's all this old girl will have time for. Hey, I know where my priorities fall, okay? It's funny though, underneath all the manic commenting, tagging & What Kind of Mental Illness Are You, I see that I've been pretty darn good already at remaining in touch with the important peeps in my life and I've done it the old fashioned way- picking up the horn & then going out and getting tanked over a few....yeah, before all this new-fangled cyber tech mumbo jumbo came along. I don't think there's really anyone else out there in my leg-warmered past, undiscovered, whom it would be dire that I re-friend, but who knows? My promiscuous boyfriend who dumped me back in '85 still has my favorite pair of Levis & my Husker Du album, damn him. I've since ditched the turntable..but my kid's Mariposa Barbie could really use the jeans. And I would kinda like to see if he's lost his hair yet. Oh, I'm so bad.
Just like all rivers find the sea..my two rug rats will continue to be the reality-check mallet that I need and this lost weekend will come to a final log-out sooner or later, and I'll have to get back to cooking for them and hanging my robe up before noon. They've seen the insidious face of addiction with me and my Kashi trail mix bars, so nothin' really scares 'em. My oldest, being the feisty Gemini she is, doesn't hold back. The other day, in the quiet, dark wee hours of the morning, I was fully engrossed by the Crackbook News Feed. Like a Jaguar she crept- softly, silently..appearing ghost-like in the office doorway and scaring the bejesus right out of me. Bed-headed, with a hand on her hip, she says, "Mom, quit your brain squashing and make me some breakfast."
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
toothless wonder
The days go by quickly. Our babies grow so fast, meeting their thresholds one right after the other, whether we're ready for it or not. This simple quiet joy, as cushy as a favorite throw..is my greatest treasure on this Mother's Day and always. From picnics in the park, lazy days spent reading by a sunny window or writing letters to the Tooth Fairy..it is within these tiny moments my heart is at its fullest. Thank you for the hand painted box you made me, girls, but most of all, thank you for waking up the part of me that is my best part.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
in the heazy
Oh, that Rahm, "...always has a hard time on Mother's Day. He's just not used to saying the word 'day' after 'mother'".
Kudos, Mr. Prez. It looks like your delivery & timing is right on key like everything else about ya. I had a welcome chuckle or two channel surfing onto the correspondents din-din last night, and I bet that 200 dollar petit filet never tasted better. From Bluetooths for the Pope to the right for Mrs. Obama to "bare arms"...it felt good not to think about the housing market for 21 minutes. And Wanda , you killed girl...I don't care what they say. If the heat's to hot in the kitchen, Mr. Limbaugh, then you know what to do.
Kudos, Mr. Prez. It looks like your delivery & timing is right on key like everything else about ya. I had a welcome chuckle or two channel surfing onto the correspondents din-din last night, and I bet that 200 dollar petit filet never tasted better. From Bluetooths for the Pope to the right for Mrs. Obama to "bare arms"...it felt good not to think about the housing market for 21 minutes. And Wanda , you killed girl...I don't care what they say. If the heat's to hot in the kitchen, Mr. Limbaugh, then you know what to do.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
the variables
I've studied relativistic physics my entire life. One thing emerged over and over- can't change the past. Can't do it. Whatever happened, happened..right? But then I finally realized... I had been spending so much time focused on the constants, I forgot about the variables. Do you know what the variables in these equations are, Jack? Us. We're the variables. People. We think. We reason. We make choices. We have free will. We can change our destiny.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
tally-ho
Oh, man. This is harsh. A Brit got Mama's dream job. He gets to sit on his ass in a cool pad overlooking the Great Barrier Reef and blog about it all day. I guess it would have helped had I remembered to enter the darn thing. And apparently...had ridden an ostrich at some point.
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