We are losing our youth one after another to hate. My heart breaks for the moms who are left behind to tend the empty bedrooms. More profoundly for these diamond lives who had yet to even really begin. We must fix this epic fail in every way we can- all the way from dinner table to legislation, whatever it takes. I pray my girls will continue to live and breathe with absolute freedom in both spirit and song. My youngest left for class the other day with one-part side ponytail, one-part fuchsia hairpiece, mismatched stripes and dots and two different socks. In the rear view and very close to the moment of fizzling that fire, I caught myself. As I watched that special show make her way to through the students, I wished that I'd had that confident sparkle, that spunk...that me. Here's to all our babies- big, small, pom pom'd, pensive, straight, gay and transgendered.
As their buoys, let us feed their souls along with their tummies toward embracing all 25 in the class, including themselves...as sometimes that is the hardest. To have the fortitude to stand ground when they need to, the courage to applaud the different...practicing tolerance and compassion each and every day- from jungle gym to cap and gown and beyond. Sweet dreams in your travels, Jamey, boy.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
StoryCorps' September 11 shorts, animated by the Rauch Brothers, feature stories collected through its September 11th Initiative. These works were created with the assistance and blessing of the families of the victims memorialized.
For the past five years, StoryCorps has worked to record one story to honor each life lost on September 11, 2011. To date, survivors, families, friends, and rescue workers have memorialized nearly 600 individual victims of the attacks through the StoryCorps interview process.
Monday, September 5, 2011
the american plunge
What with a husband who's been MIA for over a month now and a casa with its plummeting price tag hanging around my neck like an anvil, this temporary single mom has been feeling the heat and grumps. Big time. My Audrey Rose 1 and 2 informed me that what I needed was to lose the Debbie Downer attitude and have a little Labor Day fun. And since the summer of my discontent hadn't yielded much tah-doo for them, they thought a weekend hotel trip was in order. I agreed, figuring that life has been such a proverbial roller coaster lately, why not ride the real kind? Besides, it gives a mother a chance to scream the stress out in front of hundreds of people and not be carted off to the loony bin.
So Mama and her Maglets ♪...loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly ♫... Well, not exactly. Our travels led us to the area's local amusement park- Silver Dollar City. Nestled in the mountains of Branson Missouri, this Appalachian playground offers up the olden days of hillbilly yore. From salt-water taffy to blacksmithing- the place has it all. It is here you will find hand-made rugs, belts, dolls, knives...plum near everything. Including a Monday morning trip to the doc for a statin script. I think I gained five pounds just by smelling all those greasy funnel cakes and great big skillets of what appeared to be succotash. There were quite a few squirrels running around on the property, so who knows? The park's latest culinary delight would make Paula Deen proud. It was a portable tator of a sort. A big ole Idaho cut into a spiral, deep-fried to a per usual golden brown, with a long skewer running up through it. By pre-loading each layer with ketchup and salt, you were pretty much good to go. At least as far as your heart could take ya anyway.
After a Warren Jeffs look-alike unhooked the chain to the main drag, it took my girls all of two seconds to yank my already aching rotator cuffs, and off we flew, with at least 80 people racing down them thar hills behind me. I accidentally dropped my park map and was bending over to retrieve it and almost got wiped out by some wide-eyed chick in a prairie dress. My kiddos are all about water rides, so I spent the rest of a really bad hair day squishing around in sopping wet tennis shoes. I did have the forethought of bringing an emergency dry tee in my backpack but after a quick restroom break to switch it out, realized that my bra was so wet it made me look like my milk had come down and I needed to nurse. We must have ridden that blasted log ride eight times that day. The girls couldn't seem to get enough of that watery wonder. The Ozark River Raft was another fave- a swirling, soaking 6-person floatie on steroids that had them squealing up a storm and me looking forward to the evening's moonshine. By the long day's end, I felt like Katrina had held me while Irene beat my ass. I slept like a baby that night. But only after two more agonizing hours in the hotel pool. Thank goodness, for my trusty "water bottle".
The next morning, over Cheerios and through an allergenic haze, I realized the two day park pass I'd purchased ended up being one day too many. My two Bald-Knobbers clamored aboard the shuttle with as much energy as the day before as I sniffled and braced myself for another sneezy one. I've discovered there's not a Zyrtec big enough to fight those Missouri oaks. Three soft pretzels and a six dollar lemonade later, we decided to give my snoot a break and went down into Marvel Cave. It is located on the property and prides itself as one of the largest caves in North America. And with its massive Cathedral Room, it did deliver and was quite impressive. That is, until I got down about 750 feet or so with two burning quads and no Xanax, then it was just an anxious, breathy climb to find the light again.
Surprisingly, I actually managed to have a few enjoyable big girl moments- riding the train that circles the park, watching the artistic hand of a glass-blower and listening to a darn good Zydeco set. You would have thought by the look of agony on the girl's faces that I was Mommie Dearest or something..."Good grief, Mom! Ugh...we came here to have fun!!"
Much to my kin's chagrin, we wrapped up the weekend, by skipping the late show and departing a couple of hours before sunset so that I could get us home safe, sound...alive. I have absolutely no sense of direction and was really sweating it through all the forested switchbacks as the sun began falling from the sky. The hills have eyes alright and even after being back here all these years I still can not get used to the dark, country roads. It just creeps me out. I guess I need the lights, honks and road rage of the 405 to help me feel settled.
So there you have it...our fam's summer blow-out. We yee-hawed it up right and made a memory or two. We even drove through a rainbow on our way back...literally! We kept admiring its beautiful, shiny arch, and the next thing you know, the windshield got all prism'd out and Will said, "Mommy, we drove right into it!" I immediately pulled over and searched for the pot of gold but only saw a cow chewing its cud and some road kill. The three of us decided to commemorate this grand event, by buying three fake silver charm bracelets at a gas station that said Hope, Strength and Believe. Sans Daddy..it wasn't quite the same. But by manifesting plenty of those three virtues, the four of us can hook back up soon and the master mag-plan will have all worked out. That, or it's looking like a Hazelden Christmas.
So Mama and her Maglets ♪...loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly ♫... Well, not exactly. Our travels led us to the area's local amusement park- Silver Dollar City. Nestled in the mountains of Branson Missouri, this Appalachian playground offers up the olden days of hillbilly yore. From salt-water taffy to blacksmithing- the place has it all. It is here you will find hand-made rugs, belts, dolls, knives...plum near everything. Including a Monday morning trip to the doc for a statin script. I think I gained five pounds just by smelling all those greasy funnel cakes and great big skillets of what appeared to be succotash. There were quite a few squirrels running around on the property, so who knows? The park's latest culinary delight would make Paula Deen proud. It was a portable tator of a sort. A big ole Idaho cut into a spiral, deep-fried to a per usual golden brown, with a long skewer running up through it. By pre-loading each layer with ketchup and salt, you were pretty much good to go. At least as far as your heart could take ya anyway.
After a Warren Jeffs look-alike unhooked the chain to the main drag, it took my girls all of two seconds to yank my already aching rotator cuffs, and off we flew, with at least 80 people racing down them thar hills behind me. I accidentally dropped my park map and was bending over to retrieve it and almost got wiped out by some wide-eyed chick in a prairie dress. My kiddos are all about water rides, so I spent the rest of a really bad hair day squishing around in sopping wet tennis shoes. I did have the forethought of bringing an emergency dry tee in my backpack but after a quick restroom break to switch it out, realized that my bra was so wet it made me look like my milk had come down and I needed to nurse. We must have ridden that blasted log ride eight times that day. The girls couldn't seem to get enough of that watery wonder. The Ozark River Raft was another fave- a swirling, soaking 6-person floatie on steroids that had them squealing up a storm and me looking forward to the evening's moonshine. By the long day's end, I felt like Katrina had held me while Irene beat my ass. I slept like a baby that night. But only after two more agonizing hours in the hotel pool. Thank goodness, for my trusty "water bottle".
The next morning, over Cheerios and through an allergenic haze, I realized the two day park pass I'd purchased ended up being one day too many. My two Bald-Knobbers clamored aboard the shuttle with as much energy as the day before as I sniffled and braced myself for another sneezy one. I've discovered there's not a Zyrtec big enough to fight those Missouri oaks. Three soft pretzels and a six dollar lemonade later, we decided to give my snoot a break and went down into Marvel Cave. It is located on the property and prides itself as one of the largest caves in North America. And with its massive Cathedral Room, it did deliver and was quite impressive. That is, until I got down about 750 feet or so with two burning quads and no Xanax, then it was just an anxious, breathy climb to find the light again.
Surprisingly, I actually managed to have a few enjoyable big girl moments- riding the train that circles the park, watching the artistic hand of a glass-blower and listening to a darn good Zydeco set. You would have thought by the look of agony on the girl's faces that I was Mommie Dearest or something..."Good grief, Mom! Ugh...we came here to have fun!!"
Much to my kin's chagrin, we wrapped up the weekend, by skipping the late show and departing a couple of hours before sunset so that I could get us home safe, sound...alive. I have absolutely no sense of direction and was really sweating it through all the forested switchbacks as the sun began falling from the sky. The hills have eyes alright and even after being back here all these years I still can not get used to the dark, country roads. It just creeps me out. I guess I need the lights, honks and road rage of the 405 to help me feel settled.
So there you have it...our fam's summer blow-out. We yee-hawed it up right and made a memory or two. We even drove through a rainbow on our way back...literally! We kept admiring its beautiful, shiny arch, and the next thing you know, the windshield got all prism'd out and Will said, "Mommy, we drove right into it!" I immediately pulled over and searched for the pot of gold but only saw a cow chewing its cud and some road kill. The three of us decided to commemorate this grand event, by buying three fake silver charm bracelets at a gas station that said Hope, Strength and Believe. Sans Daddy..it wasn't quite the same. But by manifesting plenty of those three virtues, the four of us can hook back up soon and the master mag-plan will have all worked out. That, or it's looking like a Hazelden Christmas.
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