I have a talisman

I have a talisman. I hang on to it with dear life. Anytime that I think about getting rid of it or at least some of it I can't bring myself to do it.

What is this talisman? It is the baby clothes my three little girls have worn. It's also every piece of baby equipment-- things like crib mattress covers, the bassinet, bibs and bottles.

Anytime I think about passing these things on to the next woman with children I freeze. I become irrationally scared. I know as soon as I give these things away I will become pregnant again. These things are keeping us from growing our family. I just know it.

Where am I keeping these things? Well right now they are in plastic bins in my closet. This is where my problems begin. I know have at least 5 bins of baby clothes in my closet.

Recently I've started moving these bins out. They are going up into the attic. Now I have to deal with my feelings of guilt. I keep thinking that there is someone that could really use the clothes. All of these things are going to waste because I have an irrational fear.

Every once in a while I work up my courage and I think, "This is it. I'm going to pack up all these things and give them away." Then the fear sets in. I just can't make myself give it away. I would lose my talisman.

Family has tried to help. My sister-in-law tells me that my next child will be a boy. Then she goes on and tells me that it will be twin boys! That's when I know she hates me. Me! A mother of 5!@! No way! Her rational. All the clothes are for girls; therefore, I would need different stuff.

Ah! Now that's a thought. Perhaps I can go through the clothes and pull out the things that would work well for any gender. Keep those things and toss the rest. Well not toss but circulate the rest. I think I might just work on that idea.

All I know is that I need a talisman.

Booby gun

At dinner tonight DQ told us about 21 windows at the school that were shot by a booby gun. Storyteller interrupted with "No DQ! Not booby gun-- Beebee gun!" Which then sparked this rather hair raising story about how ST and a friend at school were shot at. I'm thinking that this must be a tale.

What I mean is the I believe the windows were shot out but I hope with all my heart that no one shot at any child at that school. And if it did happen I'm going to be one angry mother that the school officials didn't inform us.

Then the girls told us that someone started a fire near one of the entrances to the school. They said the police caught the perps. Again. I'm not sure whether this happened or not. If it did I hope it was while no one was at school. I am getting worried.

In today's world life is so scarry. If there were two incidents of vandalism at the school I worry about whether this is a pattern starting. If so it could mean that there is more to come? I hope the police certainly caught the perps. The girls said that it was a couple of 15 year olds.

I just want to close with the fact that I managed to not smile or laugh at DQ's booby gun. But I have to admit that I had all sorts of visions of what a booby gun might look like. Puts a whole different meaning on the lactating stripper. Get out of hand with me and I'll shot you with my booby gun. OH MY GOSH! Didn't one of the Mike Meyer's Austin Powers movies have female androids that had booby guns? I mean their breasts were machine guns? This certainly tickled my funny bone.

"What Lola wants-- Lola gets"

Once again despite my earliest promises to myself that I won't allow a certain individual get to me I allowed that person to get to me. It actually all started before I even saw her. Wednesday night I got to thinking of her. Thursday morning I was girding up my loins to do battle with her. By Thursday night we engaged in our first skirmish over the food.

I've done a lot of soul searching since returning from Texas Camp. Here is why I dislike this person so irrationally. Let's call her Lola. (Lola because of the character in "Damn Yankees".) Lola is an individual who appears to be very popular. People fawn all over her. Lola dances the best. Lola sings so well. Lola plays the fiddle the best. So you think I'm jealous of her? Perhaps. But I don't think it's in the traditional way. I don't want to be like her. See, if I were to treat people the way she treats people I would have long ago been lynched from the nearest tree. No. I don't want to be like her. Just once, I would like to deal her a wound. Not physically but emotionally, psychologically. I sound terrible but let me describe Lola's behavior and character.

When Lola is forced to dance with a person that she thinks is inferior, her face turns and her nose goes up in the air. If they are truly a clod in dancing Lola will lecture them and demean them until they slink away. Should you dare to opine against Lola-- you better have a thick skin for she will tear into you and shred you. Thereafter you have marked yourself for future set downs. You are now an ignorant being totally unworthy of anything.

Now I question, "How do people like this get to be so damn popular?" I always thought that popularity equated an individual that has compassion and goodwill towards others. But of course as we all know from our school experience that popularity has nothing to do with one's compassion or goodwill. There is something else that makes these people attractive. I don't know what it is. If you think it is looks I would have to disagree. Because then Lola ought to be out of the running for popularity especially because she's recently picked up about 30 pounds; much to my delight.

I continue my grievances with newly discovered fodder. This year I discovered that Lola pretty much runs the camp despite who might really be the camp director. The schedule is design to suit the tastes of Lola. Lola doesn't like it when she has to choose between activities. So the activities are planned so our little darling can go to everything that she wants to. The camp band came up with a nice idea to include the dancers in on a song. Lola threw a fit and things were changed because Lola didn't like the idea.

But this year things changed for me. I found allies. I discovered this after the camp was forced to sing happy birthday to Lola for the second time around. (Not everyone in the camp was there for the first time because they chose different activities.) This was at dinner. I was sharing a table with another family of small children. After the song I stood up and asked, "Hey Lola, is it the big 50?" Let's face it folks, that was nice compared to another impulse I had to ask about her weight gain. Well, this other couple looks at me and lets loose with all of their dislikes of Lola and her crowd. They also told me about the silent war they were waging against her this year. The woman was bidding against Lola on all of the silent auction items. Oh how this tickled me!

Finally I know that I am not alone in my dislike of this individual. I've always known there were others but they never seemed willing to take the bull by the horns. It's just nice to know that there are others giving her a zap and a sting from time to time. Perhaps now that I know that someone else is out there thinking up ways to vex Lola I can let go just a bit.

How books take over my life

I love to read. I read practically anything. Before I had kids I read non-fiction. I tried to continue reading non-fiction but it is hopeless. I find that I really need to have long periods of uninterrupted peace and quiet to do justice to non-fiction. With small children I simply don't have that time.

So then I moved on to sappy romances. They were easy because it really didn't matter if you read the whole thing. In reading these romances I finally found some authors that offered a bit more meat to their stories. Instead of the conflict being between the man and the woman the conflict was external and usually involved murder, theft or espionage.

Now I am completely worn out with romances. I think if I read one more I will melt into a puddle of goo. While at my Mom's house I noticed a book. The Messenger by Daniel Silva. Cool. I borrowed the book from my mom. I had read the Prince of Fire a couple of years ago. So it wasn't a totally new item for me.

After finishing the book I went to the library and checked out all the books they had on the shelf of Daniel Silva. There were six in all. I'm about to finish the last one. Usually I leave my books at home but at that point now where I am compelled, even driven to finish the book. In my car I have a stash of children's books that I use to entertain children while we wait for siblings at the various activities in our lives.

Everytime I pick up a book I tell myself to savor it like a fine wine. I do pretty well in the beginning but then it hits. Something catches me and I become driven. I can't get too far from the book. I'm a sucker for the climax. I'm a climax junkie. I hate to put the book down until it is resolved even if I figured out what the end is most likely going to be. It happens with almost every book even the non-fiction.

At this point I find myself bringing the book in the car. I read it at stop lights. I read it in a queue of rush hour traffic where we are stopped dead on the road. I read it waiting to pick up the kids. When I finish it I get such a feeling of remorse. It's like I've lost a good friend. I feel empty. Lost even. So I move on to the next book and make the same promise to myself.

Sock induced insanity

There are two chores that are specifically mine. I stuff the dishwasher and I do the laundry. I don’t mind doing the laundry. Sorting is rather cathartic and mind numbing. Throwing the clothes in the washer isn’t anything; transferring it to the dryer is some sort of exercise I’m sure. Folding clothes and stacking them in the appropriate piles is a daunting task but I do it with a smile on my face most days.

No there is one thing that I believe is a soul sucking chore in doing the laundry and that is matching socks! I absolutely abhor matching socks. I can feel the very life of me being sucked away by some unseen entity. It is a lesson in frustration. I always have a pile of mismatched socks left. I no longer expect the kids to have socks in their dresser. No, out in the hall way I have a drawer where I put the matched socks and all the orphans. The kids are expected to find a rolled paired of socks in the morning and put them on their feet.

Eventually the stack of orphans threatens to take over the drawer, and I sit down and sort through them again in hopes of finding a matched pair. Usually I come up with at least 3 or 4 matches but the rest continue their existence as orphans.

Now I’ve done everything that I possibly can to assure that I won’t have orphan socks but the problem continues to haunt me. I only pray that I won’t go insane while sorting socks. I can imagine it happening. I can see myself racing out of the house tossing mismatched socks into the air like confetti. Once they are all gone I pull my hair out by the roots. All the while screaming and shouting incoherent rants about socks. I don’t think it is any surprise that socks are just one letter different from suck. Socks suck. I can’t wait for Spring and Summer. Then the kids are going in sandals.

The wedding of fools

Unlike Adj. Queen I do not abhor weddings. In fact I rather like going to them because of the cake. Well, I recently went to a wedding, and Adj. Queen has been after me to tell the story of the wedding.

When I think of this wedding I remember how I did not want to go to it at all; however, I was under a directive from an individual that has some power over me to go. Now I don't believe this individual would made things difficult for me but I hated the thought of disappointing her.

Let me explain. This individual is someone I get together with occassionally to be catty. I suppose it's called gossipping but it's really so much more than that. It's gossipping and being judge and jury all rolled into one event.

Now that I've explained my motiviation for going to this wedding, I must explain the couple involved. Both work in the really "glamorous" world of libraries. She is a manager sort and he is... Well let's just call him a worker bee. Oh yes, they do not work together in the same institution. Neither are exactly what one would call gifted with social graces. In fact the Matron of Honor said to me, "Groom actually made it without falling down!" Yep. This guy has the co-ordination of a sloth. I was going to say monkey but I respect monkeys too much. As for the Bride, I've known her longer than the Groom. For the longest time I tried to be nice and think nice things about Bride but about 4 months ago she did something that thoroughly embarassed in front of our peers. So I've taken a new stance. The gloves have come off and I no longer tell people that allowances should be made for this individual. So now that you understand that the Bride has a way of saying the most inappropriate things and lacks empathy of any kind we shall move on to the ceremony.

First was the entrance of the groom and minister and best man. Nothing there. Then the mother of the bride is walked to her seat. Next comes the Matron of Honor. Finally the Bride comes in. Plastered on her face is this huge Cheshire grin. She makes sure to shine those pearly whites on everyone.

Fast forward, now the minister is doing her ceremony. The two people in front of the minister talk and giggle throughout the ceremony. Kinda made you want to get up and slap the backs of their heads to settle them down. Moving on to what Passionfruit found the most painful--the lighting of the unity candle. The couple make their own vows. I can only remember two of them. I will love you to the best of my abilities and I will love you as hard as I can. So I wonder what in the world hard love means. But what Passionfruit found particularly painful was the 3 minute song where we watched them gaze into each others eyes. Now for the best part? The kiss was a big old French kiss. I don't necessarily like French kissing but I definitely don't like it in public. I don't care to see tongues poking out of another's cheeks-- It's just plain disgusting.

One would think the next logical progression would be the reception. However, we must sit and witness the pictures. Photographers at weddings are the goofiest things. They run the wedding and the reception unless of course there is a DJ. Then the DJs and the photographers engage in a small war trying to out do one another. Oh the silly poses these two people allowed themselves to be put into. It would be one thing if they were young people I suppose but give me a break the Bride is edging towards 50 years of age and the Groom is 30 something, and they both were married before!

Now I guess I'm doing a great disservice in not describing the dress. The Bride wore a white gown edged in red along the hem of the skirt and the fake bustle with a matching veil also edged in red. The dress was a strapless gown more appropriate for a 20 something than an obese woman of near 50. The Groom surprised me by looking pretty good in a tux.

So after all the silly pictures were taken we went in to the reception. It was the normal Southern fair of bride's cake, groom cake, punch and coffee. I was surprised the punch wasn't the kind with sherbet floating in it. I could have sworn that's the Bride's favorite punch. It was a really nice gathering of people. The Bride and Groom treated us to a dance accompanied with more tonsil hockey.

Then came more pictures of the traditional cake cutting, hooked arm drinking. These photographers were something else again. I mean they thought up more kooky poses than I ever thought possible. Back to back. Bride leaning back onto Groom. Pure silliness. Soon the part I was waiting on came along. Unfortunately they did the removing the garter thing. Again the photographers thought up something really stupid. Bride gets to sit on the back of the Best Man while he kneels. I wonder if he would have agreed to being Best Man if he knew that it would entail him getting on his hands and knees in front of 75 to 100 people and getting sat on by a rotund woman? So the garter goes flying off and the Best Man catches it. He is a forty something year old man who speaks Klingon. A real prize for someone special.

Next they line up the single ladies. They had to fight with several of them to get them out on the floor. I sent DQ and ST out immediately. While all those relunctant ladies were being cajoled into playing the game. DQ comes up to me and says she doesn't want to do it. I told her to get out there and catch the bouquet because I wanted to take it home! DQ dutifully returns to the fold of single ladies and stands next to ST. Finally all the single ladies are up and the bouquet is launched. I watch the women. Many of them have their purses with them. They cling to the straps of their purses for dear life. ST reaches up and suddenly the bouquet hits the ground. ST managed to tip the bouquet down to the ground where two flower heads pop off their stems. DQ immediately grabs up the forlorn flowers, and ST goes for the bouquet. It was one of my proudest moments. I feel as though I averted a more embarassing scene. With small children catching the bouquet the photographers couldn't possibly put them into some suggestive pose with the Best Man. Instead they had the Bride pose with my two girls. Thank GOD!

Fever

At 10:30 this morning I got a call from the child care place. "Miss Independence is running a fever, please come and collect her." So I turn to my co-worker and tell him I'm gone for the day and tomorrow doesn't look good either.

I hurry over to the center. Miss Independence is in the office. She is really hot. She wasn't hot this morning when I held her in my arms. But I thought she was getting sick because she's been rather cranky lately. So I look at this as an opportunity to run some errands. I deposit some checks that have been hanging around in my purse for a while. Then I go to the downtown post office to mail out a contract that is tardy. While I'm there I decide to head down to the headquarters for the public library I work at part-time. They have a loyalty oath I need to sign.

In the time that it takes me to drive to those various places Miss Independence falls asleep. Now I know she's not feeling well. I find a parking space downtown and get MI out of the car. We walk the half of a block to the library. MI is excited because we are going to ride an elevator. She's as good as gold for me while I conduct the business at hand.

Then we head home. MI lays on the couch and doesn't move. Her eyes are all glassy looking. She looks like death warmed over. I take her to meet up with grandma and her sisters. My mom thinks I ought to take her to the doctor's. My experience is they just look at me say, "She has a fever. Nothing we can do about fevers except to give a Tylenol or Motrin." So I consider it a waste of time. Sure MI looks horrible but she isn't convulsing so I'm not worried. By 3 o'clock MI's temperature was 103.something. I give her a Motrin. I arrange for DQ and ST to get picked up by their father and head on home.

When we get home, MI makes her way to the couch. We proceed to have a marathon movie session. We end with Shrek 2. Through all the movies MI doesn't move. At the end of Shrek 2 MI gets up and sits on me. Next thing I know I'm soaking wet. MI is erupting. Lucky for me all she's had all day long are fluids. We clean up and get ready for bed. Now MI is raring to go. MI tells me that I forgot to feed her dinner. I told her she just threw up and I'm not about to put anything in her. MI looks so much better. It's like a miracle. One second she's barely alive and moving and the next second she's ready to play. Amazing.

I'm going to be catty

Alright, the other night Passionfruit asked me why I hates cats so when I do such a good impression of one. I don't know? Maybe it's some form of self loathing.

Anyway, Miss Independence has a new classmate at school. She's an adorable little girl but I can't stand the mother. The mother looks all of 12 years old. She is pencil thin. She smokes Marlboros and drives a fancy red sports car. I'm figuring that the woman is actually in her early twenties. Apparently she is going to school in some sort of health capacity for she often wears a white doctor's coat.

Now I know it's none of my business but I happened to hear her discussion with one of the office workers today. Every parent has to fill out this form for the federal food program. Our family doesn't qualify because we make too much money. Now this mom asked for help with filling out the form. (I did to. It is some what confusing to fill out.) What I heard next pretty much made me mad. This chick asked how does one qualify. Answer-- based on your income. Chick said, "Oh! Then I'm sure we qualify." I just about butted in at that point. My question is how the hell do you qualify when you drive a foreign sports car of a recent vintage? Her clothes aren't cheap either. So this is where I turn into a raving red state person. How do these people get on to these programs? I really doubt she qualifies. I mean the insurance on the car alone is quite a handsome sum. Oh! I get it! She can't afford food because she's got a car she really can't afford. And she wastes a large portion of her income on cancer sticks! (Don't tell me this chick doesn't know the dangers of smoking. Anyone my age or younger has been bombarded with the anti-smoking campaigns. So, you see I don't believe anyone younger than me can say they didn't know what smoking can do to you.)

Often I've imagined what this little girl's life must be like. They are constantly late. We have to drop the kids off before 9:00AM. I got special permission to come in after 9:00 because I've got others that I have to get to school. I happen to know this Mama doesn't have this permission. This Mama also expects them to feed her child. Breakfast is already over by the time she makes it in with her baby. So I can only wonder whether this Mama spends late nights doing drugs and turning tricks. Harsh, I know but I just don't like this woman. There is something about her that makes my skin crawl. I can't abide young people who smoke. Mainly because I can hear them 20 or 30 years from now saying, "I didn't know these things were going to kill me. I didn't know that they could injure my lungs and every part of my body." I guess another reason why this chick bothers me so is she is working in the health profession! Talk about being a hypocrite. That's it! I look at her and I see a hypocrite.

I'd like to finish with some thoughts about myself. I am not a perfect person. I have huge character faults. But I don't think I'm a phoney. You pretty much know where you stand with me. I have very strong opinions and I express them. I'm not going to make any apologies for myself. I do not like hypocrites and I especially hate yes people. I mean what's the point of living if your going to be wishy-washy. Have an opinion and stand up for it.

Well it's getting to be that time of year where everyone is gearing up for the holidays. I don't know, maybe because I'm still not feeling well, I'm just not feeling up to the holiday bustle. I'm not saying I hate the holidays; I'm just not in it.

It's only the beginning of November and already I've seen Santa Claus strutting across the TV screen once too often. The advertisers have jumped into high gear stressing the materialistic side of the seasons. Best Buy has annoyed me to no end, and all I did was watch one show on the History channel last night.

So I suppose I shall just turn off the TV. Limit the kids TV watching to movies and videos. I will curl up with my terrorist books. I've started reading Daniel Silva books. They are a pretty fast read with a lot of action. I've read all the romance books I can take. Adjective Queen and I often giggled over these romances. We both felt that we could write stories that are just as good. Although, neither of us could write the sappy lines like, "Come and sit upon my oak branch." Sheeesh. I can't believe people read these books without cracking up. I spent a fair amount of my time laughing while reading these romances. Passionfruit still doesn't understand why I was reading them. There are two romance writers that I like because they don't take themselves so seriously. They write with wit and good humor Lynsay Sands and Celeste Bradley. I love it-- romance with humor.

Well, I've got to run. Maybe in December I'll feel more in the mood for the holidays. I know that the kids get all excited. Their excitement is contagious. My favorite thing is to be up on Christmas morning before the kids with a cup of coffee and the tree lights on. It is one of the most peaceful settings. Predawn light and Christmas tree lights it is all so very relaxing.

Five? Ten? Who's counting?

Got a big surprise last night. The library system decided to recognize me as having 10 years of service. What a pleasant surprise! So I'm not totally certain what's going to happen. I suppose I'll get the pin with a stone in it. Looking forward to seeing it.

It was fun to see a lot of folks that I haven't seen in sometime. Everyone looked so nice all dressed up.

Looking at my employment at the college it won't be long before I get 5 years in there. 2009 it will be 5 years at the community college. They have a nice luncheon but nothing like what the public library does for its employees.

Halloween on my street

This year I stayed home to hand out candy. Actually I refused to hand out the candy. I was still sickly and I didn't want to touch anything. I just told folks to grab a few pieces for themselves.

My first group of trick-or-treaters were the older boys in the neighborhood. They were all decked out in a variety of black costumes and scary masks. They were having fun, and boy did they grab huge handfulls of the goods. I did worry after they left that I might not have enough candy if everyone went after the bowl like they did.

The next group was mother and son. Sexy neighbor was all duded out like Elvira minus the big boobs. Her youngest was dressed up as a Ninja. He needed to go potty so a stop into our house was a necessity. He was quickly followed by the most adorable skunk. So this skunk ran all through the public areas of my house looking for the goods. I couldn't believe the mother just stayed on the front porch. What in the world was she thinking? Apparently she knew Sexy neighbor and figured if Sexy neighbor would let her little Ninja whiz in my house then little skunk ought to be safe, too.

Finally, got the little skunk out of the house and led him to the goods on the table on the front porch. They quickly moved on after his candy seeking was satisfied. Things finally got moving after that. I loved the little ones that were pushed in their strollers. Several of them were so imperious, like little emperors reviewing their subjects.

Later we got a visit from Tinker Bell. By this time my own little trick-or-treaters were home; maybe they were what caught Tink's eye. All I know is that Tink pushed passed me and was pressing her nose against the side panel windows of my front door. Tink had absolutely no interest in the candy offering. She wanted to check out my house. I really felt for the mortified parents who kept calling to her. Nice to know that other children don't listen to their parents.

I rather enjoyed staying home and manning the candy bowl. Trick-or-treating certainly is a great opportunity for people watching. Oh! I suppose I ought to tell you what each girl was for Halloween. Drama Queen was an Asian princess, a la Barbie style; Storyteller, went as a fairy (a last minute change); and Miss Independence was a devil. They all looked so cute. They came home with a ton of candy and today they spent sometime devouring it after returning from school today.