Married in red, wish you were dead

I heard "Married in red, wish you were dead" so often from my grandmother. Anytime my grandmother visited us or we visited her we would hear her say this phrase and tell the story of her wedding. It wasn't until I was a teenager that more of the story came out for me to ponder.

All my life I knew my grandmother had married in a burgundy colored suit. She married my grandfather in the 1920s. Even though they were called the roaring twenties things were tight for my grandmother and her family.

When it came time to marry, my grandmother chose to wear her newest suit. That suit just so happened to be a shade of red. A dark shade of red but never the less red. Her mother was appalled by this. Apparently my great grandmother was a Gibson girl. We have a photo of her and she looks exactly like Charles Dana Gibson drawings. She loved to be dressed well. She was a beautiful woman, too. Being mightily offend by the choice, my great grandmother apparently recited part of a Victorian saying about the colors one would wear to be married. Perhaps she said it over and over again. But my grandmother was a stubborn woman and would not back down.

So later, apparently my grandmother started to believe this. When I was a teenager my grandmother told me she wished she had listened to her mother. My grandmother truly began to believe that her life was messed up because of not wearing the proper color. I couldn't believe this because I had spent most of my life thinking that my grandmother found it amusing. When she spoke of that phrase in the past she was never mournful or bitter. Grandma just would tell us that that is what her mother thought of her choice.

I know that my grandmother had a hard life. She had five children. Her sister didn't have any. One time her sister asked my grandmother for my father since my grandmother had so many. I know that that caused a bit of a break in their relationship for awhile. Also my grandmother ended up having to support the family.

Back before anyone really knew anything about Alzheimer's my grandfather most likely had it. It started with him not bringing home his paychecks. Then after awhile he would not come home. Finally things climaxed to the point that my grandfather was admited to the state hospital. You know the state hospital, the insane assylum. My grandfather died at the age of 54. He couldn't remember his children and rarely remembered his wife. This devasted the family. I also know that my grandmother was sickly. I don't know exactly what ailed her but I know she was considered fragile. So these are the difficulties she dealt with throughout her life.

The woman I knew was admirable. She became a LPN at the age of 50. She learned to drive a car at an older age than most. I think it was around 50 or 60 years of age. After she retired from nursing she volunteered at the hospital. She made afghans, booties, hats and sweaters for patients. She made Rosaries for the missions. Most fascinating was her praying. My grandmother prayed at Noon every day of her life until she was taken down by the ravages of the very same disease her husband died of. No one and I mean no one ever interrupted her. The Infant of Prague was dear to her heart. She had a statue of him. And true to traditions she would change his vestments with the seasons. She was truly a dynamic person.

Perhaps the sorrow and bitterness I witnessed in my late teens and early twenties was the result of the Alzheimer's. Alzheimer's research suggests that people with the disease start displaying much earlier than we realize. Little things like the use of simpler grammar and syntax these are the things we don't notice at first. I know that the disease robbed our family of a very delightful woman. As the disease advanced my grandmother got mean. We all were so surprised. We couldn't believe that this sour, dour individual was the woman we all knew and loved.

After I got married I took Passionfruit to visit my grandmother. While we were visiting her, she looked at my husband and smiled her sweetest smile and asked him whether he had done is good deed for the day. Passionfruit was rather surprised by this and wasn't sure how to answer. I told him to go ahead and ask her what she wanted. What I failed to mention is my grandmother at this point couldn't recognize anyone and pretty much sat in her wheelchair doing nothing. I mean nothing. No interaction just sitting there. So when she asked that I was so happy because that was a common phrase my grandmother used throughout her life. Of course what she wanted was the boots to be removed from her feet. They were there to keep her from getting bedsores. Watching her like this was one of the saddest things in my life. We never went back and visited.

In 1998 my grandmother finally passed away. She was 97 years. My grandmother had out lived most of her friends and her generation. Her funeral was small-- only the next two generations were there. The third generation couldn't find the time to show up to their great grandmother's funeral. Sad.

"The deed is done. The game is up..."

To quote my favorite line from Mary Martin's Peter Pan-- "The deed is done. The game is up." I went and had my biopsy today... sort of. Sort of you wonder? How can it be sort of?

Well let me tell you that I may just become part of a textbook. See the calcifications they found are in the skin!!! Which means that they aren't cancerous! The problem is they don't look like normal skin calcifications. I spent close to two hours on the table today while they attempted to locate the little suckers. The first time they positioned me-- the tech. called in the radiologist to perform the biopsy. Radiologist makes the first incision. I don't feel the bee sting that they told me I would feel. I don't feel anything. Then she goes in deeper. I feel the pressure but it isn't bad.

Then the radiologist stops and tells the tech to verify the coordinates. The radiologist says that isn't right. They muck around a bit. Then they come to me and tell me they have to go for a different angle. Now the tech spends alot of time zapping my breast. They can't find them from this angle!

Then the radiologist comes up to me and tells me they are pretty sure that the calcifications are in the skin. She tells me the good news is these are never cancerous. I already knew that from my research. She goes on to tell me she wants to be absolutely certain. So they are going to put a bee bee on me breast to prove it.

Now I'm sat up and the nurse puts on steri-strips. A bee bee glued to a piece of tape is taped on the steri-strips. I'm moved to a regular mammogram machine. More time is taken to find the stupid, elusive things. More consultations with other techs. Finally, they get a pic of them. The radiologist comes back and I ask if I can see the film. Which it isn't film but a digital pic in the computer. The radiologist tells me that I'm an anomally because skin calcifications usually look like donuts. My calcifications look like little rods and dots. Because of this oddity I will be going back for a check up mammogram on February 6, 2007.

Now to report on the radiologist. She is cool. I really liked her. Our taste in music is similar and she is down to earth. Female but not froo-frooie. She took time to explain what I was looking at and how the procedure was going to go. She didn't talk to me like I was stupid. When she told me that skin calcifications are not cancerous I told her that I knew that. "How did you know that?" I researched all of this stuff. I know you used a 14 gauge needle for the biopsy. Although I have to admit she did a better job of explaining how the biopsy would take tissue out of me than anything I read. She looked at me again and I explained that I am a librarian. After all my motto is knowledge is power; study hard be evil.

Now I'm feeling rather drained. I have a headache. My chest hurts. I probably over did it. After the ordeal I went to lunch with Passionfruit. Then I did school supply shopping. Shopping by the way was on the do not do list but I was feeling good and wanted to get it done. So supplies are bought except for the package of white construction paper. No one in town had white construction paper. So I'll look for this another time.

Right now I'm waiting on the pizza I ordered. I just didn't have it in me to do any cooking or reheating. That was the pizza guy just now. So I better go.

Waiting

Have you noticed that life is mainly composed of waiting? When you are a child you are waiting to grow up. Didn't we all say at one point or another in childhood, "I can't wait to grow up and do what I want to do!"?

Then we all moved in to the teen years. This time we were waiting for the keys to the family car. Or some of the lucky kids were hoping for keys of their own car. I was probably more dweeby than most I was looking forward to voting. In fact the day I turned 18 I went and registered to vote.

Now we are adults and we spend time waiting. Waiting on the boss to make a decision. Waiting in doctor's offices. Waiting for children to pull their backpacks together.

What ever happened to growing up and doing what we wanted to do? Now as a parent when I hear my children say those very words I smile a knowing smile. Looking back I realize I had a lot more freedom as a child than I do as an adult.

As an adult I have a family; a couple of jobs; a husband; an extended family; my children's school activities; financial responsibilities; and society in general that place demands, expectations, and limits on my actvities. As children we preceived our parents attempts to protect and care for us as limitations. Looking back as an adult I see that my real freedom was in childhood.

When I really consider the best times in my life I would have to say that those were the colleges years. I was still a child but had the independence of adulthood. Man those years ROCKED! I loved college. I had friends with the same interests as me for the first time in my life. I pretty much came and went as I pleased.

At that time my sister, I don't get mad; I get even, lived in Dallas. I would decide I wanted to go visit her and I did. I would just tell Mom and Dad; hop in my car and go! Near the end of my college experience I took up Contra dancing. Dallas had a great Contra scene. Their dances were the first and third Saturdays with an extra one on those months with a fifth. They had so many dancers that danced well that it was heaven to be there. To me dancing was a prayer. I loved to twirl and swing around and around. I danced every set. If a guy wasn't available I would dance as the guy. I was good. I had women that preferred me over some dudes.

While I was in graduate school I couldn't wait for the weekends so I could dance. Because I danced every weekend in a month. Twice at home and two or three times in Dallas. I couldn't wait for the exhilaration I would find in the Contras. I loved to feel the sweat pouring off my body. Really if I didn't work up a sweat I felt dissappointed. I know people find sweat offensive but I wore it like a badge.

Now I am a mother of three small children. I find myself waiting for the time when I can return to the dance floor. Waiting for the sweat to pour off my body. Waiting for the music to swell and carry me to another world where I am gifted and talented.

I'm also waiting as I write this blog. Waiting for a procedure that will help to give more information. Next I'll be waiting for the results of the pathology. Waiting on results that will tell me whether life will go on as I know it, or whether my life will change in a fundamental way. Again I am strangely calm but pensive.

AHHHHHH! They're soo cute!

Mornings really aren't so good in my family. I am constantly having to keep the kids on track. Things like: No you can't watch TV; No you can't play; Have you brushed your teeth?; Have you washed your face?; Will you please get dressed!

Every morning I say the above things like a thousand times to each of my children. Most mornings one of them melts down. It seems like they take turns. Do they agree with one another at some point? Do they get together on Mondays and say, "Okay, I'll take Monday, you can have Tuesday and Miss Independence you can choose Wednesday or Thursday."?

Anyway, the amazing thing this morning is no one melted down! We had a relatively nice morning. Sure I still said all those things to the kids but no one melted down. No one screamed or cried (this includes me).

I did want to share one thing that happened which had Passionfruit and me in stitches. Drama Queen came out to the kitchen while Passionfruit and I were inhaling our breakfast. I asked her whether she had brushed her teeth. DQ replied that she not only brushed her teeth but she did the bubbly thing. Passionfruit and I looked at each other with questions in our eyes. Both hoping the other had more information. Realizing that we were clueless as to this bubbly thing, we caught DQ with another question, "What's the bubbly thing?"

DQ, sighs, and exclaims, "You know! I brushed my teeth, and then I put water in my mouth." At this point she puffs out her cheeks bends a bit at the waist and swishes her little bottom back and forth. I know, I know, I'm her mother but this really is the cutest little display. It was one of those moments that Passionfruit and I wish we could have caught on video tape.

Then I thought of the blog. I decided to enter these cute things here to record their cuteness.

A couple of years ago Storyteller was stark naked crouching on the kitchen floor sucking her thumb. She and her sippy cup of milk next to her. It was a quiet morning moment. Just hanging out minding her own business.

Then she passed gas. She looks up at me and says in a matter of fact tone, "That was my bottom burping." How quaint is that?

I know that Miss Independence has said some funny things but I can't think of them right now. One time she wanted more milk so she violently slide her sippy cup at me. I returned it to her and told her to try again. Next thing I know she repeats her action. She did exactly what I told her to do. It really was quite funny. It also taught me a lesson that Miss Independence is very literal.

My baby sister

I always wished for a younger sibling. I remember I used to harass my mother for one. I told my mother that I wanted a friend to play with that was my age.

[See all of my siblings were much older than me. Try on 16 years older, 13 years older, 8 years older and 6 or 7 years older.]

I really expected my Mom to produce one. She always told me that that was in God's hands. Of course I didn't understand that my mother was an old mom. I mean she was my Mom. Now I want one so she/he would babysit for me.

Why do I write now about this subject? Well Adjective Queen finally put up a new post. I thought I was going to have to hunt her down and take her out. Anyway, Adjective Queen just got her sons back after a long vacaction with some of her siblings. Now she's plotting for next summer calling for volunteers to take on these two young men. They're like 12 and 7 years old.

When I started my post today I was actually complaining about the lack of babysitters in general and the fact my siblings frequently cop out with "I'm to old and tired to babysit." Already, right now my two sisters are in pain and really can't take on my monster but there've been other times when they've weaseled out of this torture. Okay, I'm feeling magnanamous here-- to be honest they've also taken the kids. But really, none of them really go out and enjoy themselves. Not like Passionfruit and I use to do. We use to go go go. We would dance ourselves silly. We would go to concerts. We went to big people parties.

Now we're just a couple of sticks in the mud. We rarely get out on dates. I've read where couples should go out once a month to keep the home fires burning, so to speak. We are lucky if we get out 2 or 3 times a year without the kids.

Enough complaining! I'm sorry, but not sorry that I've complained. It feels good just to get it off my chest. Maybe in the future I won't have quite as big chest as I do now. ;-) Maybe then I won't carry around such a big chip.

PS: If you wonder why I don't hire a babysitter here's the explanation on that. First if you have more than the expected 1.5 children babysitters will not call you back. Second there is a facility around here where you can dump your kids for a little while. I've investigated. For a 5 hour night out from say 6 to 11 PM the cost for 3 rug rats is $60. Right now we don't have that kind of money to throw around. So I guess we are just stuck with the kids for the next say 10 years. That's okay they are good kids.

Being positive is difficult

Being positive is difficult when you are naturally pessimistic. I mean it, when I say my motto is to expect the worse. I developed this philosophy back in Iran.

We lived two years in Iran. I was a very young girl. Only seven and eight years old. While living there I can't tell you how many times I had my heart broken.

My parents would plan these outings to various places. Then something would happen that would put off those plans. I remember learning in a vague way about the 24 hour clock. We were going to go up to the mountains for a picnic. I was so excited. Then my mom came down with a migraine. I remember telling my dad that we could just go when it was 12 o'clock again. I remember my dad's smile. He told me that that wasn't 12 o'clock again but midnight.

There were other times when we had plans to do something but couldn't because there was unrest out there. I don't think I completely grasped the idea that the unrest was directed at us, Americans. I just knew we didn't get to go where ever it was we had plans to go.

When I tell people about living in Iran many people couldn't believe the tales. There I was a seven year old girl witnessing a woman being stoned to death. Or looking out the window and watching the camels passing by on their way into the city. I remember how mean the boys were. They use to push me down, and they would say mean things to me. The girls weren't necessarily better. They were older than me. They would come to play with my toys but not with me. I had Barbies, real Barbies and they loved them. Imagine being pushed away from your toys; unable to play with them. Not an easy thing to deal with for a child.

The most bazaar things that happened to me were perpetrated by our land-lady. She got mad one time; I'm not even sure who or why she was mad but I became her victim. I was playing in the cellar. She threw my favorite riding toy, a yellow bunny rabbit with the pink ears, down the stairs. It smashed into pieces, and then she locked me in the cellar in the dark. I still have nightmares of being locked in a place that is dark.

So, I learned at a small age that things do not work out all the time. So why get your hopes up? Expect the worse and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised.

My yesterday

Well I failed to blog yesterday but if I had to sum up yesterday I would have to use the cliche that it was A MONDAY! Storyteller kept melting down and not co-operating.

As if that wasn't enough when I called the surgeon's office they asked me what type of biopsy I was suppose to have. Well needless to say this did not inspire confidence. I told the woman that no one's told me anything very much; nor, has anyone answered any of my questions. I told her before anything happened to me I wanted to meet the surgeon. The woman told me that she would call for my films and have a nurse call me to tell me how it is done. Well that struck me as a big blow off and kinda arrogant to boot.

Now I'm upset. I call my OB only to find out that she is unavailable until the middle of this month. Not good enough. I then call the Radiologist office. I complain that my questions have not been answered. They asked, "Didn't you talk to your doctor office?" DUH! YES, I did and they could not answer my questions. I explain the main question and the woman said, "Well, that information was on the bottom left-hand side." I told her that apparently the individual did not know how to read the report because she told me that that information wasn't on the report.

So, I'm thinking, "NO BODY IS TOUCHING ME UNTIL I AM CONFIDENT THAT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. AND I GET MY QUESTIONS ANSWERED."

Around 2:00 PM a nurse calls from the surgeon's office. She tells me she's been told that I am scared and anxious. I told her that she would be too if she had called trying to make an appointment only to be asked questions about the procedure you were to have and no one had given you that information. On top of the fact that no one appeared willing or able to give you answers to your questions. I told her that this doesn't instill confidence.

Well she asks me what my questions are. She is able to answer them. My BI-RAD category is a category 4. The calcifications are located in the 12 o'clock to 1 o'clock position near my sternum. When I asked her what kind of calcifications these were-- she explained that they were indeterminate. She said that there were couple of kinds of calcifications and that was why it was called indeterminate. She also explained that there are two types of findings that are possible with these types of calcifications. First is atypical cells. The second are non-invasive cancer cells. She goes on to explain that this means that the cancer is restricted to the milk ducts and has not broken through to surrounding tissue. This answer actually answers one of my other questions about whether they are in the skin or elsewhere. Obviously not in the skin.

Now are you wondering how I'm feeling? I'm feeling just fine. I have no more information to go on so there is no reason to fear anything. Friday is my biopsy. The woman I spoke to told me that I will receive a call on Saturday with the results. I promise to get on here on Saturday to tell everyone what the findings are. It's funny; I am oddly calm about all of this. I have to admit I wasn't so calm last month about the ovary thing. But I feel strangely serene. Like, I know it's out of my control so there is no point in getting all worked up over the situation.

I need to tell you that I am going in for a stereotactic guided core needle biopsy. The link here has a pretty good description of what is going to happen. Basically I lay on a table that has a hole in it. Underneath is a miniature mammography machine. I have to lay still for an hour and I go home with a sore arm. She did tell me that they don't compress quite so much as in a regular mammogram. Don't know if I should be grateful for this or not. I'll let you know on Friday. I don't think I'll go back to work. I think I'm going to play it by ear. If I feel fine I'll go because I am already behind where I want to be at work as far as hours go.

I'm a voyeur

I watch my children play. I watch them when they have no idea that I am watching. This weekend I watched Storyteller dance. I had turned on some Jazz. My kinda music.

Then I sat down to read a book while waiting on my laundry to cycle through the washer. I looked up from my book and saw Storyteller dancing. She was imagining an audience. Storyteller would dance all through a song. She danced with inhibitions thrown to the wind. At the end of a song she would curtsy. Then she would turn her back and wait for the next track. As soon as the first notes sounded Storyteller would whirl around and begin dancing again. She brought me such joy. I loved watching her but at one point I was struck with the thought that I was intruding on her privacy. Did that make me a voyeur?

Of course not in the strict sense of the word. But observing my daughter dancing while she was unaware did that make me an intruder? Was I somehow breaking some sort of social rule?

After awhile I really didn't care. I loved watching my child dance. Storyteller really was enjoying herself. Which in turn meant I enjoyed watching her. It even brought back memories for me. I remember doing the same exact thing. Only I would have died with mortification if my parents had ever watched. I always thought I was unobserved. Now I wonder whether my parents ever watched while I danced uninhibitedly. Of course now I wouldn't die of embarassment because out of all the people in the world I would rather my parents watch the wild dances I would create than anyone else. I hope Storyteller doesn't mind that I snuck a peek at her private dance. I hope she knows that that is a cherished memory if she ever finds out.

To lop or not to lop-- That is the question

Okay, that really isn't the question. It's more like to biopsy or not to biopsy?

I had my spot magnification mammogram yesterday. I got to see the first mammogram. The two calcifications glowed a bright white. They looked kinda like a snake bite. The technician used that to line up the magnification mammogram. The head on view was a piece of cake. Next came the side view. OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had a pain all the way to my back. My armpit had an agonizing pain deep in the center. The technician asked me if I was okay, and I said sure. Duh! Apparently that answer meant I could with stand a few more pounds of pressure placed on my breast! I must have been as flat as a pancake! Which many of you who know me knows that that must have been quite an accomplishment. I'm no Dolly Parton but I'm not small either.

Then the technician develops them and tells me she is taking them to the radiologist. Last time I didn't wait too long before the technician came back and told me I could go. This time I sat. And sat. And sat. I sat long enough to begin to worry that perhaps there really was something wrong. Shortly after that thought went through my head the technician reappeared. She told me that the radiologist feels that the calcifications are probably benign but highly recommends a biopsy. If I choose not to biospy then I must come in every six months for a year to watch them.

Now, I've gone and done some research on calcifications and mammograms. If you scroll down on the last web site there are actual mammograms for your viewing pleasure. Look for the "Knotted suture calcifications". They are the closest looking to what mine looked like on the first screening. I did not have an opportunity to see the spot magnification films. So I might be missing some details.

As you can tell, I've done my research. I'm ready for when my doctor calls me. I've got several questions for her. Like what BI-RADS category did the radiologist assign to my calcifications. If she answers with a 0 or 1 or even 2 category I am simply not going to go in for a biopsy and really question the necessity of semi-annual mammograms. If it is rated a 3 then I will go dutifully every six months for a mammogram. I reserve the biopsy for a rating of 4. I also want to know what kind of calcification it is and the distribution modifier used to describe them.

I'm feeling rather empowered right now. I am not fearful. Since I don't have a whole lot of information on this I am amazingly calm. My sister I/I told me to call the doc's office no later than Friday if I haven't heard from them. She also told me not to take any gruff from them. Simply explain to the individual I'm talking to that I would like to discuss with the doctor the attitude of the individual. Though this may not be a big deal for her it is my health and well being not hers. I love my sister I/I. She's helped me through so much in my life.

More memories

The day I gave birth to Storyteller was a beautiful February day. I had just started my maternity from work. I wanted a few days with Drama Queen before the new baby came.

It was Monday. I had been up most of the night visiting the toilet. My bladder appeared to have weakened overnight, and I was actually worried that I might have a bladder infection. When I got out of bed that morning I just didn't feel right. Passionfruit was home working on his thesis. I remember walking into his cluttered office telling him how sorry I was but I think I was going to need his help today. I know he was frustrated; he wanted to get the accursed thesis done.

Then I wandered back out to the living room. DQ was there tearing up the newspaper. That was a favorite activity. I read to her and played with her. Soon she got hungry. It was time for lunch. I remember thinking that I really didn't feel right. Nothing that I could explain. I just didn't feel right. I got us lunch. I ate a sandwich with Miracle Whip on it. Which I later regreted as I lost my stomache contents a few hours later.

Soon I really didn't feel right. I called the nurses and told them that I really didn't feel right and that I was urinating frequently. They told me to go to the hospital and get checked. So I started gathering up DQ and making calls to my siblings that had a role to play. My brother and his wife were going to take DQ, and my sister was my coach along with Passionfruit.

While we were driving into town I watched the beautiful blue sky. There were those streaky white clouds. As we neared town I decided I must be in labor because I had developed a bad crampy backache. It was like a bad menstrual cycle.

When we got to the parking lot it was so warm I didn't need a jacket. Passionfruit parked the car and I got out and started walking into the hospital. (I know that sounds awful but at the time I thought I could make it. And I did, too.) During that walk into the hospital I got so emotional that I was crying by the time I got to the elevator. I remember walking up to the desk crying. I said, "I think I'm in labor." The nurse looked at me and said, "Honey, didn't you go to the classes?" I said, "Of course."

"Then why are you crying?"

I'm thinking, "How the hell should I know? Do you think it just might be all the stupid hormonal changes that goes on during labor?" But instead, I just said, "I'm scared."

The next thing I know I'm in a room the size of a walk-in closet. They have a stupid TV going. The nurse touches my tummy and says, "How long have you had this contraction?"

"What contraction?" I asked.

Nurse puts my hand on my tummy and says this is a contraction. How long has it lasted. I answered with "I don't know. I didn't feel anything." Her next question, how long has the labor been going on? "I don't know. I didn't realize I was in labor. I didn't realize I was having contractions. I just know I haven't been feeling right all day."

Then she asks, "What does not feeling right mean?" "Duh, I just didn't feel right. Nothing I could put my finger on; that's why I'm here." Nurse told me, "Well your in labor."

So I'm stuck in this tiny room. Waiting for the labor to pick-up the pace. It seems like I'm there along time. Finally the nurse tells me I can go to the labor room. They get me up and walk me over there. Usually I have a pretty good stride but not now. Now I am barely able to put one foot in front of the other. The walk to the room is one of the longest I've taken in my life.

Now I'm laboring in one of their fancy birthing rooms. Time moves slowly it seems. Finally I'm told I can push. I ask for the birthing bar. They have to run around looking for it. Seems no one ever uses it so they can't seem to remember where it is. I was doing all of this without drugs. Around 6 PM, I had had a half a shot of morphine. I didn't think it helped anything so I thought, "Screw it! No more."

At some point my sister says, "Look up!" I did. There in the door way is a bunch of hospital folks. They are all standing around watching. Not only was I doing a natural birth I apparently was quiet about the whole thing. They had never seen someone labor quietly.

Finally, little Storyteller's head comes out and the doctor suctions her. Then Passionfruit moves between my legs and catches Storyteller as she finishes her journey. Next Passionfruit gets to cut the umbilical cord. He messes up his first attempt. I remind him that there is no way he can hurt me or the baby because there are no nerves there. Passionfruit tries again and cuts the cord perfectly. He looks at Storyteller and tells me she is beautiful which she is. She is perfect. Her head is perfect her face is a pretty color of pink. Her nails are perfect-- topped with rounded half moons. Her hair is intriguing-- dark brown with the tips being blond. Her nose is perfect. Storyteller came into the world at 10:37 PM. To this today she continues to be a night owl. Wandering nocturnally through our house but the most amazing thing of all is she is a morning girl, too!

The past crashing down

This morning while walking Miss Independence to preschool there was something about the morning that threw me back into the past. I so vividly remembered walking along the road in my housing development. I had my brand new shoes on that had rubber soles. The heel on those soles looked like a horseshoe.

So, I started walking on my heels with my toes pointed high in the air. That way I left only a horseshoe impression in the soft sand that collected along the curb of the street. I really thought I was so clever. I remember I had so much fun walking that way.

Soon I was thinking about Drama Queen because the shoes I remembered had a couple of inches to the heel. DQ so loves high heels and anything girly but she is still a little girl, and I could see her walking the very same way.

Later that morning I read Adjective Queen’s blog. She was reminiscing about visiting family, and once again I had vivid memories crashing over me. I remember our annual vacation as a child. We went and visited our grandparents. We would spend three miserable days in the car. This was before minivans. Even if they existed I don’t think my parents would have bought one. I think they took great satisfaction in seeing how many children and suitcases they could cram into a four door sedan. My most vivid memories are of the Chevy Nova we had for twenty some years.

Anyway we would drive half way across the continent to see our parent’s parents and their siblings. We would stay at my Grandpap’s for a few days and then we would pack up and stay with my Grandma. Then we would pack up and stay with my Grandpap and then back to my Grandma’s. In between we would go to different uncles and aunts’ houses to have dinner. My father’s family was relatively okay. The main problem there was our cousins thought we were all a bunch of country bumpkins. They lived all their lives in a big city and had tough city mannerisms. We were a bunch of Air Force brats that behaved in a regimented way. We had to. Our father’s very livelihood depended on our behavior. Most civilians don’t know this but your Dad could loose his stripes based on your behavior. Walk on the grass… RIIIIIIPP! There goes a stripe. There goes the money that fed you. Dare to TP a house... RIIIIIIIPP! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIP! There goes a couple of stripes and the money that fed you.

But I digress. The real big memory that came back to me reading Adjective Queen’s entry is my mother’s family. I remember sitting in the car watching my mother’s older sister chew her out. My mom hadn’t done a thing to earn this treatment other than to be alive. I remember watching the scene and being scared. The livid red face, the spittle flying, the hands gesturing erratically. My mom’s face turning pale, crest-fallen. I remember wondering why we kept going there because none of us ever had a good time. I think my older brother was the only one that did have a good time but he was old enough to blow off the family and go his own way, and my oldest brother didn’t even have to go on these annual summer sojourns.

Now with my own family I don’t torture the children with endless visits to family. When we go on vacation… we go on vacation and visit family along the way. We spend an afternoon with this aunt and uncle. We spend an evening visiting that uncle and aunt. But we always have a destination in mind and rarely do we spend an overnighter with family. Although, we do have a few family members that we enjoy visiting longer and we do go and see them.

No, what amazes me today is how the past can be replayed in your head like the days, weeks, months and years that seperate you from the event never happened. It all was just yesterday. I opened with a memory of something that was about 25 years ago. The other was even older (31 yrs.) but despite those years I was still sitting in that car watching my mother getting attacked. Amazing.

land lines and over lines

Three days ago our phone line was cut by a neighbor. Yesterday we got use of our phone back but only through terribly primitive method: a cable run from the box across the street, up to our box on the house. This in turn caused other neighbors to complain about the cable crossing the street where anyone could pick it up... most notably a small child. Our neighborhood happens to have lots of children, several of them are small.

I understand their concern, I, afterall, have three small girls. But it's one of those damned if you do and damned if you don't situations. I have small children ergo the cable lying on the ground sucks big time. I have three small children ergo I need a land line to call for emergency help should the need arise.

The damnested part of the whole fiasco is: I'm not responsible for the whole situation! I came home from work on Monday and witnessed my neighbor cut my lines. When I confronted him he told me that he thought it was trash stuck in the asphalt. Why was he even concerned about the asphalt? Well his semi-trailer truck gouged a hole in the asphalt. He was trying to fix the hole. Wire got in the way. Whack! It's gone! So is my phone service!

The only relatively good thing that came out of all of this is Passionfruit finally got to tell the neighbors all the things we don't like about their behavior. The small sun left on all week end. "Makes nights miserable." The cans of chemicals found in our yard. "Yeah, we aren't too happy about our children being poisoned." Loud noises at night. "Again, makes nights miserable." You planted a tree in our yard. "Ever hear of encroachment? How about we plant poison ivy in your yard?" Man, Passionfruit had other things, I just can't think of what they are. I really couldn't believe Passionfruit. He really took the neighbor to task.

But I really don't know why this surprises me. Passionfruit has always been my knight in shining armour. I don't like conflict so I keep my mouth shut. Until I loose my temper and can't take anymore, then I explode like a land mine. But Passionfruit, who also doesn't like conflict, will calmly approach those that transgress against us and respectfully address our concerns. He is truly gifted in mediation.

When the house was being built and they laid the wrong carpet down, I was going to accept it and move on... not Passionfruit. He talked to the builder and got the proper carpet put in before we moved. Unfortunately, I haven't learned this skill from him. I'm too emotional. I get all upset. I shake with fury. I end up in TEARS! What a weanie I am!

So if anyone has been trying to get a hold of us and the phone kept on ringing? Now you know. Why didn't I write sooner? Well the stupid line was cut!@!

Maudlin- easily moved to tears

I am maudlin. It sounds so horrible to be maudlin. But it is true. It is horrible to be maudlin. No one respects you when you are maudlin. You are viewed as weak.

I don't listen to the news; alright, I try not to listen to the news. I definitely don't watch TV news. If I do I often find myself bawling my eyes out at other peoples misfortunes. I work hard at insulating myself so I am not a blubber machine.

Recently NPR covered the anniversary of the London bombings. I remember that day so clearly. I took the girls to breakfast at a little cafe in Boulder. They happened to have a TV going. I saw the reports coming in about the terrorist attacks. Suddenly I'm hit with a flashback to 9/11. I was away from home for that one, too. My girls looked at me while I silently bawled my eyes out at this cafe. I just couldn't believe that this happened.

Anyway, the reporter talked about the kinds of things that were left at the sight of the bus bombing. The one that reduced me to a blubbering idiot was the teddy bear or was it a picture with a note saying, "I miss you, Mommy." My heart ached for that child; for the father; for the mother; for the grandparents. For everyone who aches because they no longer have that individual in their life.

Maudlin? Empathy? Call it what you will. I just know that I've spent a life time in tears. Tears for myself and tears for others. If only my tears could be of some benefit to something...

My kitchen table

This is the day Bethany comes! Bethany is a young college girl working her little heart out to get through school. Personally I think she is over extending herself. She's working like three or four jobs now. I hired her to clean my house once a week. She's been coming to our house for two years now.

Anyway, I'm always excited by this event. See, I have a kitchen table. It is an oval top on top of a pedastool bottom. Passionfruit bought this for me for our fifth anniversary. I love this table but that's not why I'm excited. What's really exciting is Bethany cleaning. Everytime she comes the table moves to a different orientation in the room or a different location. I look forward to see where it might be in the room or how she aligns it under the light fixture. She has done somethings I never even thought of but I truly liked the results.

I'm pretty certain I'm the only one that feels this way. In fact, I know that Drama Queen is frequently put out because Bethany doesn't get the seating back properly. Usually it is DQ's chair that isn't in the proper place. The other three family members don't seem to react at all to the moving table.

So I sit here wondering, "where will the kitchen table be today?" Hmmmm? Will it tick off Drama Queen? Just a little bit of joy in an ordinary day.

Everything's sagging

Well sorry I've been gone so long but life takes over. I am not a computer/internet phile so I'm not totally addicted to signing on and losing time. Last week I took the week off. Drama Queen and Storyteller had ballet camp. Instead of rushing around I took time off and had a leisurely vacation for myself. Originally I was going to work on our house we never sold but Passionfruit got whiff of my plan and went control freak on me. So after all that I told the man he could sell the house all by himself. I was quite pissed off so I went out and bought myself a couple of shorts and some blouses. Then I went out and bought DQ and ST twin beds. That'll teach Passionfruit not to piss me off! Which by the way I wished I had gotten the beds earlier because ST is staying in bed through the night. (Knock on wood!) Passionfruit is on a "we are too poor kick to buy anything big". So I just went with the bare bones mattress/foundation and frame set up.

The beds arrived on a Thursday. I spent most of Thursday cleaning the girls bedroom. While I cleaned the room I got a call from the doctor's office. They had the results for both of the procedures. My mammogram should some calcification growing on my right side. So I'm heading for more procedures on that front. The pelvic ultrasound should that my left ovary is low lying. Essentially not only are my breasts and ass sagging from age but apparently my ovary sags with age as well. This idea came from my very supportive sister-in-law, Bananna. (See I finally named you!)

So for all those who may have been worried, never fear, I'm still out here! I'm alive and kicking. Life in our house has pretty much settled down. Miss Independence is not getting in trouble daily at school. MI must have picked up on the undercurrents going on at the time. Amazingly ST didn't seem to pick up on the charged environment or she is just old enough to have coping mechanisms.

Oh by the way, Passionfruit took the beds very well. I really expected him to throw a fit. On Thursday I encouraged him to stay late at work. Which he did because there are lots of deadlines coming up for him; I love information, so many times you can use it to your advantage all under the guise of supportive spouse. I don't know when Passionfruit came home Thursday but Friday morning his comment to me was, "I'm going to go fix myself breakfast. I'll try not to trip over the beds out there." See I left the toddler beds in the front room, you have to walk through that room to get to our bedroom. I asked him if he was mad, and Passionfruit said, "Quite frankly I'm relieved not to have to make a decision." So in the end I didn't even get the satisfaction of upsetting Passionfruit. That's okay. I love him very much, and I really didn't want too much fracas in our life anyway.

I'm mad!

Yesterday, I called the doctor's office to find out whether they received the results of the ultrasound. This was two days after the radiology place said that the results would be in at the doctor's office.

Well the nurse called me back and said that they did not have the report and that they would either call me or send me something in the mail. Her tone of voice pretty much told me not to call back you freak. So I ended up turning into a freak. I wondered where in the world the report is? Did it get lost somewhere? Was it so unusual that the radiologist needed to call in to get some consultation?

So this morning I called the radiology place up and asked about where the report is because the doctor's office says they don't have it. They told me that my doctor has the report but that they would fax over another report to the doctor's. Okay. Now I'm pissed.

Okay, I realize that they may view my life as inconsequential. Fine. However, I love my family. If there are things I need to work on to prepare for whatever then I want that information, and I want it NOW. I don't believe that I am asking too much here. Plus I don't believe I've been too demanding. It's not like I've been calling every hour on the hour. I mean I waited two whole days before I called. I know there are far more aggressive individuals out there. I just don't like being treated as though I was behaving like one of them.

Now I plan to write my doctor to tell her about her general office staff and how her nurse treated me. Since my doctor built her new office things have changed and they are not for the better. Her office staff are generally rude and abrasive. Her nurse is not at all caring. I love my doctor but I am thinking about changing doctors because I really am not happy with her staff. Doctors don't really know what's going on in their office so when things are off you must let them know. I learned this from another doctor I've seen since I was a little girl. Once he had an employee that treated me quite rudely and disrepectfully one time. When I went to him to tell him what happened he thanked me. He told me that he loses patients and sometimes never knows why. So he told me that I must always let him know when his staff is not acting appropriately. I feel that this is the same situation. I am not a complainer. I do not expect extraordinary service but I do demand that you treat me with respect and care. If my doctor doesn't like what I have to say... Well I at least feel better knowing that I attempted to help her.

Why are women such bitches?

I work in a female dominated world. I am a female. So I feel quite qualified to discuss the topic of women as bitches. I can be a bitch. And if you are reading this and are a woman then you know you can be a bitch too. That is, if you are mortally honest with yourself.

When I was growing up I did not have many girl friends. Actually, girls always seemed to hate me. They seemed to take such joy out of making my life difficult. They would taunt me and make fun of me. So I turned to the little boys. Boys are such simple folk. They are relatively easy to get along with. You play by the rules and on occassion understand that the rules may change but not too frequently and you got along just fine. Little girls on the other hand are all cloak and dagger stuff. Alliances shift quickly. Play never has set and steady rules. They are just plain mean. I hate to say this but little girls haven't changed much since I was one.

Well, what do you suppose happens when all those little girls grow up? It's all the same thing just the stakes are often higher. Which is really sad because women really need other women. Yet, we just can't do it. We can't get over the petty little girl crap. We still have the popular girls who get all the "good" stuff. (Although, they can have it, I certainly don't want any of it.) But then we've got the other packs that coalesce. Women of like minds find each other. They create these really great bonds together. Then there are the snipers. Man they are a mean group. They go after you. You might not even know why it's happening. I would place my self with the loners. I have friends but they are few and far between.

So I've lost the train of my thoughts because I don't really want to get too specific here about the catalyst for this tirade because I am being targeted by a sniper. She is trying to take me down. I really don't want to fight. I don't have any energy left for this crap. I/I told me to not forget I'm the professional but yet I/I doesn't know that I have bigger things on my plate right now. Well I don't know where I'm going but I suppose I'm on my way.

Waiting sucks!

It's now afternoon. They said the report would get to my doctor within 24 hours. So I'm waiting. In one hour it will be exactly 24 hours from yesterday. Will I get a call today? Will I be forced to wait another day? Or have they already called today? Did they leave a message on my voicemail at work?

Why am I worried? Well the technician spent a longer amount of time on the left side. That is the side in question. Did she spend the time because of it being the questionable side or did she actually find something? Did did not say a thing. Nothing. The mammogram chick said all looked fine but they were comparing to the old one. So why did one chick say anything and the other didn't?

So I'm waiting and blowing off my training session. I'm not freaking out folks I just want to know what was found, or what wasn't found.

I sit at work realizing I need to work but yet I'm here instead. I just want to quickly review life.

As many of you know my mother is at the end of her life. When you are in my position you end up evaluating your own life to a certain extent, of course what helps is an overly cautious doctor who sends you in for more tests after your yearly examine, too.

Now after taking my mother to the doctors's well over a year now, I've learned that doctors doctor to their personalities. For example. Cautious people make cautious doctors. Today, I had to field my siblings worries and concerns for a simple test that the oncologist ordered. One sister turned into a mass of nerves as has been the case since Mom's got sick. The other sister turned into Rambo. Ready to take out the oncologist for ordering up a superflous test. Test in question? A simple chest X-Ray! My God you would have thought the doctor ordered up some sort of exotic painful test with the way my two siblings reacted.

So here is the way I view the X-Ray. Oncologist sees body fluids that are in places where it doesn't belong as a danger because it can cause infections and other complications. Surgeon views body fluids as a normal reaction of the body to surgery. Two different types of doctors two different perspectives on body fluids. Not to dis surgeons, but they pretty much seem to know how to cut people open and take things out or repair things but maybe don't get the big picture of the whole body working together as a unit. I've already explained that in my limited experience oncologists view fluid in the body as potential infection sites. Other doctors probably have different view points, too. But I can tell you that I certainly did not think that a simple chest X-Ray warranted the types of reactions from my two female siblings.

You would have thought that Mom was dying! I mean, I know that I just said Mom is at the end of her life, but I don't mean she's on death's doorstep. Mom's got a lot of life in her, yet. And for a 75 year old woman she is the model patient and mother. Bless her heart. Yes, Mom felt a certain amount of frustration over this "development" but she took it like a trooper.

As far as my whacked out sisters... no one hears me complain that I'm left off the list of people on the computer as her emergency contact person. No on hears me complain that they're all whacked. (OKAY, I'm complaining right now, but I don't complain to them.)

I guess what I'm trying to say here, is that I'm amazed that the spoiled, rotten, lazy baby sister is holding it all together for the rest of the family. I've had to calm down Aunts, and siblings. Luckily for me our cousins don't give a damn because I don't know how many more people I can take care of right now.

And then my own personal shit going on that I dare not share with my family. Can you imagine how they would take the possible cancer scare in my life right now? Man, I just can't do that to them. They would completely fall apart. So I'm looking forward to getting the fact finding mission over with tomorrow. Tomorrow, I've got to drink a ton of water. Not looking forward to that since lately I can't seem to hold a lot in my bladder. I'll just walk gingerly into the radiology clinic and demand they take me immedtiately. Of course, I know I'm just dreaming. Part of their amusement is to see how long you can hold it!! Luckily they scheduled the pelvic ultrasound as the first and then the mammogram. For those not in the know I'm not worried about the mammogram. Had one 5 or 6 years ago, nothing to it. No sweat. Not really worried about the pelvic ultrasound either. Had several of those while on fertility pills. No, just worried about what it may find. Being relatively educated I went out and read up on ovarian cancer. I do have some of the symptoms but that doesn't mean a thing because the symptoms could be anything. Hence, that is why ovarian cancer is so deadly. No real symptoms.

Again, this is a case where the personality of the doctor plays a big part in the diagnoses, care and therapy. My OB happens to be a very careful person. I like that in her. My OB is also a very caring person. So I feel pretty good overall. Once I told Passionfruit I calmed down very quickly. Passionfruit took me in his arms and held me, and things just got better immediately. So don't worry for me. I'm okay. This is just a fact finding mission and probably nothing will come of it.

Tuesday I took the girls for ice cream sundaes. I just wanted to give them a nice treat. Well all went well until we tried to leave Braums. Then Miss Independence and Drama Queen fought over the bag with the ham in it. They fought from the store all the way to the car. I didn't do anything to stop the fracas. Each girl thought she was right. I just wanted a peaceful event but that didn't happen.

Storyteller was quite pleased with herself because I told her she was the only one behaving well. To this day she clings to this praise. Yesterday, something happen and Storyteller said, "I was the only one good at Braum's".

Drama Queen got so upset with me over the ham debacle that she screamed, "I won't ever, ever talk to you again, today; unless I want a drink or something." I laughed. Doesn't the legal profession seem to be calling her? DQ is such a little attorney. She looks for the loopholes all the time.

When I think about what the future might hold for my girls I get two different thoughts. One is the pessimisstic reality of the world. The other is pure hope. I hope my girls don't ever have anything happen to them that will destroy their innocence, joy, and happiness. I hope that they grow into productive, kind individuals. I hope that they don't attract the wrong kind of people.

I've got this friend

I've got a friend. She's somebody that is dynamic and charismatic. I first met her at the workplace from hell. We dodge together the irrational bullets that flew at us. When things were coming to a climax there She jumped ship first and apologized for that move. Me, I was just grateful one of us got out of it.

As the days, weeks and months advanced I was left to deal with the situation as best I could. And I have to say I don't think I did the best but you have no idea what it was like in that building. The situation could have driven you crazy. The Cause of the situation dragged me in her office to tell me that my friendship with She would die. The Cause said that work friendships die. Years later I read an article claiming just that about work friendships. But in our case it didn't end the relationship. For in 7 long months I joined She at her new work site. What I failed to mention was that we originally applied for the same position... She got it; I didn't; hence the apology. Seven months later they had another position on said work site come open. I got it that time.

We worked in the new jobs together for several years before I upped and quit to be a mommy fulltime. I remained friends with She. We would get together for lunch. She would give me an opportunity for some adult conversation. I would bore her with my adventures with babies.

Well it's been ten years now since She and I developed a relationship. We continue to visit with one another as much as possible. Our main limitation is geography. She lives way, way on the Northwest side of the city and I live in a suburb way, way to the southeast side of the city. What helps our relationship is I still work very part time at the old job.

That's what I'm doing right now. There are no materials on the shelves needing to be cataloged. I just wanted to report that without She around this place is like a morgue. Silent and dull. She is always good to have some sort of interesting "What if..." scenario. Her favorite is, "Would you kill baby Hitler?"

She, I just want you to know that I think you are the heart and soul of this place. Without you here the spark of life is gone. I don't know how these people can work without you. You know who doesn't know what she would lose if she lost you.

Picnics and cell phones

This weekend was the weekend of picnics. Of course the weather co-operated in that the weather was sunny and hot. I mean HOT. Hot like you could feel your eyeballs melting. Hot like the heat from the asphalt cooks the hair off your legs. It was just plain HOTTTTTTTT!!!!

The first picnic was Friday evening. We had to bring our own food. Since I did not have time to be the "perfect" mother and wife I found a Little Ceasar's along the way and bought two large pizzas. Passionfruit was not delighted. They didn't have anything with veggies on it. The reformed vegetarian was jonesing for some veggie flesh.

When we got there off went the girls. I plopped myself down under a tree where I could watch the girls as they ran around with all the other children. It was a great to see folks I hadn't seen for a few months. Storyteller got overheated as did Miss Independence. I made them sit with e for awhile while the unnatural red, flushed cheeks faded. Amazingly Drama Queen did not get overheated. Normally she is the first to fall to the heat.

Our second picnic was Saturday. Last year we missed this annual picnic, and I really didn't miss it. But this year the folks that were still there when we got there around 5:00PM were normal folks. This is a picnic for Passionfruit's work group. It's an eclectic combination of blue collar workers with a bunch of eggheads. So the blue collars were still hanging on when we got there and the stuffy eggheads were gone.

This picnic was at the lake. So the girls played in the water with the other children. Needless to say the kids had a blast. Drama queen received the most attentions of the older boys (about 8 to 12 years old). DQ was covered in sandy, muddy dirt. I have never seen her so filthy in all her life. Passionfruit told me that the boys really found her attractive. Needless to say we are pretty darn scared. DQ is only 6 years old and drawing attention from older boys!

Next was the Sunday picnic. It was a church picnic. We got there about thirty minutes after the start time and all the shade provided by the tents set up was occupied. Now I wasn't necessarily looking forward to this picnic. I'm not a churchgoer in the sense that my life revolves around church activities. In fact I deliberately stay way from church activities. I go to Mass. That is it, nothing more. I made a pact with myself over 12 years ago that I would not get involved and I haven't. I plan to stay that way, also. But my husband enjoys social events. Always have always will. That's why I married him. I ride on his coat tails in social situations. He was the one who wanted to go.

Now as I said earlier, I was not looking forward this event. So perhaps this next vignette reflects my mood at that time. First thing I want to do when we got there is to feed the kids and myself. So I find myself standing in line. We are not going anywhere. I'm wondering to myself, "What's up?" Finally people start moving around this guy. He's the problem. There he was attempting to fix himself a plate with a freaking cell phone to his ear. He won't budge. I go around him. When he is in my way I'm as rude as I can be without being completely rude like pushing him away from the table. Which is something that I might have done if the thought had crossed my mind at the time. Which it didn't. So here's what I'm thinking: "Why the hell are you at stinking picnic if you're going to walk around talking on a stinking cell phone." I watch this guy, he remains on the phone the whole time I am getting food for my children and me. This takes like 30 minutes because ST doesn't like anything she sees but the sweet stuff. It takes that long to wear me down before I submit to the thought, "What the hell; it's a picnic after all." Back to the idiot on the cell phone I can only say that if this had been my husband I would have grabbed the phone and hit him over the head with it. Cell phones. They don't do anything but drive common decency out the door. Yes I own a cell phone but I always apologize for the damn thing going off. I'm also known not to answer the stupid thing. Passionfruit gets angry with me for not answering. So what!? This way he doesn't have to hunt so hard to find something to be angry with me.

So, next time, your on your cell phone holding up the food line you better watch out, someone may just push you out of the line and step on you.

Schadenfreude

Schadefreude. Of course it would be the Germans that came up with a word that describes that moment when we feel a certainly glee at someone else's misfortunes. German's seem to enjoy creating new words for practically everything. I once spoke to an acquaintance who happens to be from Germany and she said they sit around coming up with the longest words. I never study German so I truly am in the dark but apparently new words are created by combining a word with another word.

You don't see people in the United States of America playing with words. I mean, when was the last time you had a friend say, "Come on by so we can think up new words." We don't view language building as a recreational activity.

Of course there are those out there who are avid Scrabble players or even Boggle. But these games don't invite us to make new words up. Otherwise I would have won many Scrabble games in the past. I often had definitions for those words I made up but no one in the cut throat games of Scrabble supported my attempts at language building.

While I was in college I sort of minored in linguistics. It was in these classes that I learned that we are at risk of our language dying. Everytime we utter a cliche, it is another nail in the coffin of English. Okay. I admit that I haven't studied linguistics in quite sometime but I remember hearing that. I thought, "How in the world could the language I speak die?" It was an awesome thought. But this morning while talking with a co-worker we discussed just how much the language has changed. I mean he didn't even know that pimping has totally different conotations than when he was younger. What about the thongs we use to wear? Folks, they went on the feet not the derriere.

So, when, where will it all end? I don't know but how I've been feeling lately, I just pray that I'm dead and gone before it comes.

Forgive me...

I write this because I am a mother to a child who loves to poop in her pants. Back when I was a mother to two small girls I saw another mother give her small son, about 3 years old, a brow beating that broke my heart. I wanted to go up to her and tell her to lay off the poor boy. This was before my girls were starting to potty train. At the time I was only starting to read books on the subject. All the specialist said not to be harsh and punishing.

Well I am no longer a judgemental mother. At least, I'm working at not being judgemental. For I have learned the frustration of an anger pooper. Talk about passive aggressive behavior. MI drives me crazy. As of May 25 MI has started pooping and wetting her pants again. We aren't sure why. MI didn't have preschool that week so we think perhaps it was that break in schedule caused it. My mom agrees that this might be the case. MI's thinking, "Preschool is over. Therefore, I don't need to use the potty." Mommy's thinking, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! Why the hell won't you use the toilet!????????!!!!!!"

Last night MI got to stay with me while I worked some more. At one point she came over to me and I saw this look on her face. I asked her what's wrong while I ran my hand down her back to her rump. When my hand landed on the rump area it was just beginning to get wet. I looked at her and said, "MI, you need to tell me when you need to go potty. We could have ridden the 'alligator' to the upstairs bathroom." Suddenly, the flow stopped, and MI was out the door. I followed as quickly as possible. We rode the alligator up to the second floor, and she finished her peeing session. Tell me that kid can't control it, and I'll tell you about a bridge I would like to sale you.

What I just wanted to say with this blog is please forgive me. If I've ever shot you a dirty look for yelling and scolding your child about not using the potty please forgive me.

PS: alligator is how MI says elevator.

Not dead yet; or, at least still appealing

Well I spent a rather frantic morning trying to gather up all the pieces for the girls first day at camp. If I were a better mother and better organized I would have had their little backpacks all packed and ready for them the night before. Unfortunately, I am just a pooped, self absorbed mother. Instead of concentrating on the needs of my little rug rats last night I watched a movie. I had run out of my reading supplies. I also did the dishes. But to get back on track it was one of the those mornings where I didn't get any breakfast. I also had an eye doctor's appointment this morning.

After dropping MI off at preschool, I headed to the doctor's office. Spotting a McDonalds up ahead where I won't have to make a left turn; I stop for some bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit combo. I simply must have ketchup on hashbrowns. I walk up and see that they have one of those pump things for the ketchup. Remembering back to that fateful day twenty years ago in high school as a sophomore, I approach the monster with caution. I know that I am risking the clothing on my back to a spray of ketchup. Carefully I press down. Whoooooooooooshh! Yes the damn thing sprayed me like a frightened skunk. I am covered! Oh my gosh! I look down fearing the worse. I must not have pissed off the ketchup or Monday gods for I have been spared the ketchup disaster! I had been sprayed with the clear juice that sometimes builds up on the top of ketchup. I wipe myself off, while I am busy with this job I become aware of the the dude who took my order. He's right beside me apologizing for this incident. I look at him and tell him it's no problem for I had been sprayed far worse in the past. As a sophomore I had a ketchup all over my white blouse. Actually I was quite drenched. I called my mom up and begged her to bring me a change of clothes. Bless her heart she came to my rescue! I even told her that I loved her in front of fellow students. As you know I risked everything by doing such an uncool thing. I didn't care, she left work so I could go through the day with some dignity.

I move on to sit down and eat my breakfast in peace. I enjoyed this solitary venture. Then along comes McDonald dude. He asks me whether I live on the southside of the city. I told him yes and explained that I worked at the local community college library. I figured he had seen me at the reference desk and was trying to place me.

I finish and move to the door. I stop and ask McDonald dude where he is from. He's got an unusual accent that I can't quite place. Madagascar is home. I leave thinking that our little friendly interaction is over but no wait there he is beside me in the parking lot. Now I realized when I asked him where he was from that he thought I was an attractive woman. For the appreciation gleaming in his eyes was quite frank and obivious. So I roll down the window thinking that perhaps he's noticed something wrong with the minivan. Boy was I in for a surprise! McDonald dude wanted to know whether I was married or not!!!! Yes, yes I am. Quite happily at that. I kid you not he did a full body "Ahhhhh, shucks!" Leg up; head down kinda thing.

Now I suppose I should be offended but I'm not. In fact he rather helped make the day go better. Here I am facing the new 30 in a couple of years and someone still finds me attractive! I'm a mother of 3 young girls. I haven't lost the baby fat from MI's gestation and I am still attractive! Please don't get me wrong McDonald dude was not nasty in the least in his appreciation. I certainly would have been truly offended if he had leered at me. I got the impression that perhaps I was a rare friendly face and he just thought he had to try.

So I arrive at my doctor's appointment and when I see Eye Doc he settles down for a session in reminiscing. We decide that he's been seeing me for 25 years. Eye Doc tells me how much he's enjoyed watching me grow into this wonderful woman who is bright and intelligent and a good mom. He then asks for a hug, and we hug a great big hug. I just love this man. He is so sweet. It's hard for me to believe that he was once a Marine. I learned that little nugget when he left me too long in his office once. I found his certificate of Honorable discharge from the Marines. I'm pretty sure that he spent time in Vietnam but I'm always hestitant to ask to confirm.

Looking back at the day I think it wasn't such a bad Monday after all.

Mom's medical situation

Since May of 2005 my mom's health has been failing. It's like the doctor's touch one thing and the next thing you know another thing goes wrong in her poor body. May 19th she under went gall bladder surgery to remove that stone filled organ. We all thought that this was going to be easy. Boy were we wrong.

Instead Mom ended up in more pain than ever before. It was awful to watch her. Mom was in agony. So Monday she had blood tests. Tuesday she had an MRI. Wednesday Mom had two tests run: Hyde-a-scan and a CT (Cat scan); Thursday brought another round of blood tests. I failed to mention that Mom was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday. Friday Mom went back into the operating room. Hopefully this will be the end to all the troubles.

A week ago I was hoping that the surgeon could take the gall bladder out by way of laproscopy. Now I wish I never hoped such a thing. Funny, the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for.", certainly resonates around here. Now, I wish that they had just opened up the old girl and taken care of everything all at once. OH WELL, hindsight's twenty/twenty.

I remember back to when Passionfruit's mother started getting sick. Passionfruit kept a detailed log of everything that happened. When my Dad got sick I remember I marked things down on the calendar. I kept that calendar. I'm not doing that with Mom. I don't know why. I've pondered this. Could it be that I don't want to acknowledge my mother's mortality? Do I think if I don't record all this Mom won't get worse? Then again I seem to be logging it here. Hmmm.

Well I'm happy to report that Mom has moved from the Intermediate Care to a regular surgical floor. I don't like the Intermediate Care. It's noisy and smells bad. I/I reported that Mom is in a private room. I hope this helps Mom. I know she dreads room mates after the one she had during the colon surgery episode. For those that don't know Mom had a room mate that was crazy. The woman kept ripping the IVs out of her hands, and Mom felt threatened by her.

So let us hope that this is the end of Mom's medical adventures for awhile.

My manifesto

Years ago I stopped shaving my legs. I have never regreted this action. In fact I feel a sense of liberation, I also do not wear make-up. This leads to a sense of liberation. It also sets me apart from the majority of women in this part of the country.

To give you an example, for the past 6 months, I've been taking my mother to get her hair done weekly at what is the local "Clip an' Curl". Last week I went with my small daughters to give their grandma her Mother's day gift a few days late. Well it is darn hot here of late I and I think summer has set in early this year. I was dressed in a pair slacks that came down to just below my knees. Cowgirl says to me, "GIRL! I thought my legs were bad. You need to shave them legs!"

Now, perhaps my response wasn't what it should have been. Since my girls were with me perhaps I should have demonstrated constraint and grace. But no, this did not happen, instead I regaled the ladies with my manifesto. I believe that our society is a pedaphile society. I mean we expect women to maintain the weight of young girls. We demand that the legs and arm pits of women should look like the limbs of girls. I went on to explain to the ladies present that real women have curves. Real women have a certain amount of body fat, if not then the body doesn't work right. Real women have hair on their legs and arm pits.

Well needless to say that the room was silent in shock and horror. I had put a name on society, an ugly, nasty name. I had shocked the sensiblities of these women. What's worse I accused them indirectly of participating in this ugliness. But I'm sorry, you rude enough to mention my legs which haven't seen a razor in a couple of decades you can hear and deal with my manifesto.

Arrogant:

I've had a difficult time thinking of something to write in this blog. I did a really great one about my family but I felt that the sentiments expressed were far too personal to allow just anyone to read. But you really have to believe it was one of my best pieces.

Now I have a topic: arrogant behavior. According to American Heritage dictionary arrogant is an adjective meaning: Overly convinced of one's own importance; overbearingly proud; haughty.

Why?, you might ask do I write about this topic. Well let me tell you about what I saw this weekend that pretty much made me determine that this was the problem with our world today. WE all SUFFER from arrogance. My evidence is in the three seperate vehicle accidents I saw on Friday. The first was a scene where most of the accident was cleared off the road but the last vehicle that remained was a black pickup truck. It was inmovable due to the fact the engine was gone! Smashed to smeethereens! Now this accident happened on a road that the speed limit is fairly fast (4omile an hour) but for this amount of destruction I seriously believe that they had to have been going far more than that. My second exhibit for my case was a double accident on the interstate. Posted speed limit is 60 miles an hour. Several vehicles involved in each accident. Two were pickup trucks. One truck was bent into a check mark; the other was bent in a converse fashion to the other. The cause of this accident I'm sure was a couple of things. It is plain just a bad spot. Traffic converges there. People are entering the interstate. Folks are trying to exist the interstate to meet up with another, and others are just plain trying to get through the mess. But see this is where arrogance comes into play. No one wants to yield to the next guy. Everyone thinks that they are so important that to allow someone to go in front of them is a terrible inconvience. We are not a nation that knows how to yield.

Look at how we view our world. We cannot concieve that other people do not think like us. We value, respect and demand individuality and independence out of our citizentry. When we run across cultures that do not value these things we think them backwards and odd. Often these very cultures that are so different from our own see individuality and independence as abhorrent to society. They are actually viewed as a deteriment to society. Who's to say we're right and their wrong or vice a versa.

After the last few days, I think, I'm willing to say that there should be a limit to our individuality and independence. Becoming a mother has changed my perspective on the world so profoundly that I am far more humble than I used to be. For example, I would far prefer allowing you to go ahead of me. I no longer speed and feel impatient most of the time I'm in my car. (I will admit that there are still times I'm impatient. It is a character flaw.) My safety and the safety of my children are the most important thing to me. I've got to be there for them.

So I am appealing to you! Please practice a bit of humbleness the next time you are in your car. Your life is a precious thing; protect it. Needless to say that the next person's life is just as valuable. They maybe racing to work to write down the formula that is going to develop the cure for AIDS or cancer so make allowances for the next guy.

Driving and Walt Disney

Lately my children get into the car with me. Nothing strange there, right? As we progress closer to our destination out of the back I hear strains of a song that sounds vaguely familiar yet totally foreign.

Wracking my brain I realize my children are singing a whacked out version of "Staying alive" from the Bee Gees. Something like this, "Staying ala, staying ala. Ahh. Ahh. Ahh. Staying ala." No matter how many times I try to correct them they gleefully continue with the former manifestation. Now I'll admit I like the Bee Gees, I'm either dating myself or revealing my nerdiness. I don't care, either way I like them. However, despite the fact that I like them I do not own any CDs, LPs or audiocassettes by the Bee Gees. I don't know where they've picked it up. I don't like what my children have done to this song.

Once again I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out where they possibly picked up this little nugget of the late 70s, early 80s. Ohh!!!!!!!!!! Chicken Little. Walt Disney animation has the insanely shaped pig, Runt, singing it while he is running around space ship scared out of his mind. Now I'm sure they stuck it in there to appeal to the parents of the wee ones they are marketing to to keep their interest in this silly movie but I'm not sure I like the end results. Why do they have to go and ruin a song for me. I'm sure I will be lying on my death bed hearing the sweet voices of my children singing, "Staying ala, staying ala...". God save me!!!!!!!!!!

Sisters

I have some of the best sisters in the world. Each of them have been there for me at various times. Sister sister is the calming force in my life. She's also the doom and gloom sister. Sister sister is also silly and funny.

But my sister, I don't get mad; I get even, is the rock. I gave birth twice and I don't know how I would have done it with out her by my side. Our mother certainly wasn't going to be there. If I had to characterize I/I, I would have to say that she is my knight in shining armour. She has always come forward and fought for me.

When I was staying at home with the girls it was I/I that made the tough days easier. I/I always supported my choice to stay home and care for my children. I remember when Storyteller was just an infant and she would start to cry for no reason. ST would cry and cry without letting up. Noo, she wasn't colicy. Storyteller was plain cranky. I would call I/I up grasping for some adult interaction before I went crazy. It was I/I that came up with the solution-- take her outside. It always worked. Storyteller would calm down and stop crying for a while no matter the weather.

Another time that I/I was there for me was getting the nursery ready for Drama Queen. There I was all alone in that house waiting for Passionfruit to come home with DQ. All I had to do was pull the nursery together. Easy huh? No, not when you are pregnant, scared and worried. In rides, I/I to save the day. I/I brought over Tex. Between the three of us we pulled that nursery together one Saturday. I/I even made the curtains for that room. Even though we've moved to a new house I simply can't get rid of those curtains.

Looking back, I remember when I/I married Cowboy. I wasn't happy but it turns out the Cowboy is a good guy afterall. Plus he makes a mean margarita. Thanksgiving last year I/I, Cowboy and Tex came to my house early; they helped out alot. Then I/I took mom back over to her house for the procedure that needs done about once a week, Cowboy was left behind. Cowboy helped out in the kitchen and I really enjoyed working with him. He can cook in my kitchen anytime. What a joy to ask for something be done without having to go into detail about how to accomplish the task.

When I was in college I had a professor that tried to get "to know" me better by flunking me and encouraging me to visit with him after hours. Well I decided that I would try to drop the class. I needed his signature to do that so I had to go to his office. I/I went with me. She coached me on what to do and what not to do. Turns out that he tried to do every one of the things she warned about. I/I not only coached but she was there to support me.

I admire my sister, I/I. She is so much I will never be. Though we may at times see things differently I know that I/I will always be there for me no matter what. I thank God for my sisters.

Mother's day... It must have been a man

It must have been a man who thought up mother's day. I'm not even going to honor it with the correct capitalization. See, I'm a relatively new mom (I've only celebrated 5 of them). I'm rethinking the use of the word celebrate. I think the appropriate word would be SUFFERED. For the first few years Passionfruit would leave me in the evenings to go off to work. In that time I suffered temper tantrums that lasted for hours non-stop and constant bickering among the children every year.

I remember my first mother's day. Drama Queen spent the evening hours crying inconsolably for hours on end. She would drag her face across the floor. If I tried to pick her up and hold her it only made it worse. She would struggle and flail until I finally put her down. These were times that got me so worried. Was I missing something? Did DQ have problems with attachment disorder? I really didn't think so but this particular night I certainly wondered about it.

Finally, after trying everything I could think of, I joined her in the crying. I just sat down and bawled myself silly. I have no memory what Storyteller was doing that night but she would have been small enough not to have any memories of it. DQ doesn't remember it either.

After yesterday, my naive dream of mother's day getting better after the kids are older died. I got to witness my sister, "I don't get mad; I get even", tear my ailing mother down last night. I worry about "I don't get mad; I get even". She sooo projected all of her fears on to Sister, Sister last night. She really hurt Sister, Sister's feelings. Not to mention the fact that when I asked mom if I could borrow one of her cars I/I went and threw a temper tantrum because mom told her to give back the car they were borrowing. They've had it for half a year now. And, of course, my own kids spent the day fighting among themselves.

So instead of having a restive, peaceful weekend I am totally drained. I am not physically tired but I am exhausted. I feel like a wash rag all wrung out.

Late in the evening Passionfruit came to me and asked me if we could post pone mother's day. The kids apparently never got a chance to finish signing my card and of course, whatever he planned to give me did not happen either due to all the activity of the weekend. Like I've told my friends before mother's day is not for mothers it is for the kids.

Oh yes, "Happy mother's day everyone!" NOT!

:-) "Hi!!! How are you?!!? :-)

Two phone calls today! Two phone calls today started pretty much like the above. The people on the end were falsely cheerful which of course in my pessimistic mind means trouble. Of course I am right... there is trouble.

First my sister calls and tells me that everthing is alright with mom but... Sister Sister then goes on to tell me she had just spent the morning with mom in the emergency room. Mom's okay except that she's doped up on morphine to kill the stomache pains caused by the bad gall bladder. Mom's gall bladder apparently contains more stones than a rock garden. So Mom has to call on Monday to arrange for a surgery.

So here is another thing that keeps slapping us in the face to remind us that our mother is at the end of her life. I'm not really upset about my mom. In the two years since my father's passing mom has had a stroke, colon cancer, dehydration from the chemo and now the gall bladder. I just don't like the thought of her leaving so soon after my dad. I really like my mom. We differ on things but overall she's my buddy and I love her. I would be lonely with out her around. A woman needs her mom. I've even toyed with the idea of getting pregnant to entice her to live longer but then I come to my senses. This is thought I'm having as I walk through Foley's looking for new dishes. They were having a great sale on dishes! Miss Independence had broken a dish recently. It was one of Passionfruit's dishes from before we were married, yeah!

Now I'm standing in front of the cashier waiting to get checked out and the phone rang a second time. Passionfruit says, "I don't know how to say this so I'll just come out and say it." Now I didn't really think that this phone call was going to be quite so emotionally shocking as the other so I was totally unprepared for, "Honey, I destroyed the Volvo but I'm okay and so is Miss Independence."

Suddenly I find myself crying and shaking. I just couldn't believe my careful, safe spouse had an accident that would be so violent as to total a car, a Volvo at that! I mean Volvo cars (the older models) are tanks! I told him I would be there as fast as I could since I was at a metro shopping mall about 25 miles away.

When I finally get to Passionfruit I'm grateful to see him standing and watching the police officers cleaning up the road. Apparently the Volvo lost all of it's vital fluids on the road! How to describe the Volvo? Hmmm... Well let's just say that the hood of the car was bent in half and hanging open. The engine area was squashed into an area half the space that is normal for the car.

Is it any wonder then that I feel like I've been dragged through hell and back? I'm feeling totally guilty because Passionfruit is bruised and burned from the airbag. Yet he seems to be okay other than thinking himself an ass. He totally thinks he's messed up things for us. I don't care about things. Things are replacable. Maybe we can't replace things immediately so what? Passionfruit is alive. MI is alive. Neither is injured seriously. Which is amazing considering the force at work on the Volvo.

We have a family party to go tonight. I told Passionfruit that I totally understood if he didn't want to go. He said, "I eat with my left hand." His right hand has a sprained thumb. Go figure. Passionfruit gets his energy from people not himself.

It was a cold, wet, rainy morning

I woke up this morning to the beautiful sound of rain. Since the Fall rain has been scarce around here. So many days went by where there were clouds in the sky promising to send the main ingredient of life on this planet. These weren't the large puffy white clouds of blue sky days; no, these were dark brooding clouds filled with water. They would hang the sky teasing us for days.

How I hated those days. I could see the essential water hanging over our heads but never once dropping life's essence on us. No, it would wait for hundreds of miles before it would finally reach that stage where it would release the precious commodity. Unfortunately, where that life sustaining force fell to Earth those folks were not in need of it. In fact floods were the result of that gift from heaven.

How I would rail against the whimsy of the creator. Why the cruel games? Why deprive those so in need? Why cause others to be overwhelmed?

Now we've been getting our rains. I'm so grateful for these storms. I laid in bed this morning giving glory for the rain. Oh what a wonderful sound on the roof! The greenish aquarium light of a rainy morning makes one realize what a fish might feel swimming in a tank. Thank you for this wonderful gift.

Stage mothers

To continue my weekend story: Sunday was the recital for my 3 daughters. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this event. Last year, Storyteller's class stole the show. For three, little 3 year olds, they used up that great big stage. Of course Storyteller was one of the main characters in that dance. She direct the other two girls with great appeal. I cherish that memory.

This year Storyteller and DQ are in a class together. Their costumes made them look like a great big confectionary dream, eleven little girls in all. Everyone of them looking sweet and endearing. Again this year Storyteller directed a few of the clueless dancers in the group. Oh, how Storyteller looked like she was enjoying herself! She was even graceful! For those that don't know, Storyteller tends to be a little power house. She just moves with a chugging fashion. DQ was as serious as ever-- wanting to get everything "right". I have to say that DQ was absolutely beautiful. There was such an ethereal quality to her. She was graceful and serene.

Now onto Miss Independence's role in the day. Her teacher had asked for volunteers to move the girls from the stage to the audience where the parents would pick them up. They were desperate. So, I went ahead and volunteered to do this job. Well I was rather surprised by this because so many of these mothers are your typical stage mothers. I mean I took to sitting in my car to wait for class to be over because of all the elbows I would get. I wasn't even trying to view the class but they made it perfectly clear I was in their way.

So I've spent the whole year not watching the class for that reason and because I wanted to be surprised on recital day. Dress rehearsal was Saturday while I was in Denver. So I missed this opportunity to see the dance. Finally, it is Sunday, the day I've been looking forward to all year. The day my baby was going to dance on the big stage! I get my girls back stage. I started putting the puffs on heads that needed puffs. Crowns on heads that needed crowns. I help line up the little Sugar Plum Frairies. Miss Independence is hanging on my hand. Walk them to the stage wings: Miss Independence continues to hang on my hand and my leg.

Suddenly I start getting an eery feeling. This was a bad idea. NOO! Certainly Miss Independence will want to dance. Ohhh! Look MI, the big girls are done! It's your turn. Go on... Ohh!! Don't you want to dance? Dance for mommy? Get out there and dance!!!!!!! If you don't get out there and dance you won't get another chance for a long time!@! THAT'S IT!! I'M LEAVING!!!

And I did do just that I left. I hunted down Storyteller who was exhibiting signs of going the same way as MI. I told Storyteller in no uncertain terms that if she pulled the same stunt that life at home would not be enjoyable tonight. Looking back I suppose I did get a big surprise in the end. I still don't know what MI's dance looked like.

Now, I'm sure there are folks out there that would think I'm a bit harsh... Guess what, I am! I'm a mean mommy. I let my children know that I am not terribly happy with their choices. But I keep telling myself that I am raising the next crop of writers. Think of all the stories my children will be able to entertain you with in the future. Think about it some of the best writers out there had wacko moms. They are the fodder for those creative little minds.

On the other hand, I feel totally bad about what happened. I worry about how my reaction to this will affect their psyche. Am I totally warping these little children? I hate that I lost it. I hate that I didn't get to see my baby's dance. I really, really wanted to see her up on that stage.

So lessons learned: Don't go out of town the few days before your children's recital. Don't volunteer to be a stage mom. Try to realize that perhaps MI was not feeling good. My sister said that MI might have thought the dress rehearsal was IT. When someone told MI that she was going to dance the next day, MI replied, "I already did." So I guess I was a bad mommy for not being involved. I went out of town and abandoned MI to her aunty. Who by the way spoiled her to no end. Doughnuts and Dora in the morning. That never happens at home. Aunty also bought her several items of clothing. Maybe Aunty should take my children. Except that I happen to know that Aunty doesn't really like to be around children. Makes her nervous. I have an older brother who has a similar reaction. They both have children of their own. Wonder if it's something to do with aging? Will I feel the same way in ten to twelve years from now? Right now, I happen to thing babies are sweet and young children are fun. Okay, I've never done well with 3 year olds. I still believe that someone needs to make a boarding school for 3 year olds. I don't know why the phrase is terrible twos because 3 has always, always been the absolute worse in my experience. Remember mommy, MI is 3 years old, another lesson learned.

Adventures or misadventures?

Well, I've returned from my conference. This was one of the best conferences I've been to lately. There were so many sessions that sounded good. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time to get to them all.

Thursday I went to the Red Rocks park. Nature's beauty always takes my breath away but these are really impressive rock formations. I didn't have to buy very many meals because they really fed you at this conference. We had dinner at the Red Rocks park. There were so many interesting conversations! Anything went... politics, conspiracy theories!

Now things really don't get interesting until Saturday. While going up an escalator, I tripped and fell up them. I thought perhaps I might have broken a few toes on my left foot. But why worry, there is nothing they can do for broken digits, right?

When I finished with the last session I left the hotel with my two bags. One was a book bag holding my purse and the other was a small overnight bag. While I walked down the street in Denver, Colorado I was enjoying the weather. I was really enjoying walking briskly along. Much to my misfortune my brisk walk ended up projecting me about two feet as I fell. I had tripped on the side walk. The side walk came up about one and one half to two inches above the other section.

Now I've never been hit by a truck but I gotta say that it certainly felt like I was. In the mean time, I apparently knocked myself out because the poor terrified man sweeping the sidewalk told me that's what happened in broken English. He told me that I was sleeping. Well I have to confess it took me awhile to sit up and several more minutes before I actually got to my feet. In that time there were at least four Anglos who passed by and never once asked if I was okay. In the mean time I had to deal with this poor man who was freaking out over my accident.

So now that I'm home my dear mother told me that perhaps I ought to stay away from conferences. The last time I went to a national conference I was 5 months pregnant. I was in Seattle, Washington. There I managed to fall down a half of a flight of stairs. Luckily I didn't land on my tummy that night. Get this folks that was Friday the 13th. No such reason for this fall.

Well I made it to the bus station to catch the bus in plenty of time. I had plenty of time to check in at the airport. The flight I was on wasn't full so I was able to find a row all to myself to prop up my aching left knee. I'm enjoying my book until I realize that we are not make any progress to pushing away from the portal. Realizing there is some activity at the back of the plane I try to figure out what is going on back there. Is someone sick? Did someone vandalize the plane? WHAT? To cut a long story short the captain finally gets on intercom and tells us our flight has been cancelled. We all need to deboard and rush down ten gates to the next flight. When all is said and done I got home at 11:30 PM not the 9:30 PM.

There is more to my weekend but that will have to wait for another time.

Setting out on a new adventure

Okay, I've been harassed enough to update this blog. My dear friend the Adjective Queen apparently looks at this site often. After seeing nothing change she nags for something new.

Unlike the Adjective Queen, I never found writing as the source to release my creativity. No, my creativity finds release in physical movement. I dance when I need to express myself. I do not come from a very physical family. In fact my mother absolutely hates to excercise. On the other hand I really do like to move my body. Stretching, lengthening my muscles just feels good. I even like watching my body move. I like creating lines that are asthetically pleasing.

Movement is the essential part of my being. Earlier in life all I wanted to do was to travel. Go to places that are not the most popular tourist spots. Like, I prefer Northern California to the more frequented Southern California. I mean Eureka and Trinidad are absolutely beautiful. I love the cliffs and the rocky shores. For our honeymoon we went to Greece; later we followed that up with a trip to Lithuania. Think about it, most folks when they go to Europe hit France, Great Britain, Italy and Spain. Greece is more on the beaten path but still fewer Americans go there than the main core European countries.

Now, I find myself longing for anything that takes me away from my family. I'm tired of Passionfruit getting all the time away. I want some of that freedom. Luckily the new job offers an opportunity for away time.

The first time I went, I have to admit I felt rather lost without my identity of mother. No one needed their nose wiped. No sibling squabbles that required my attention. But after a glass of wine and watching another lonely woman make an ass out of herself I finally found my groove. I realized that I didn't need anyone to make me feel anything or do anything. So up to the hotel room. I got ready for bed. I turned on the television. This in itself amazed me because I don't watch television since having the kids. So I delighted in the stolen moment to actually watch programs that other adults are watching and talking about.

After about 30 minutes of this TV watching I realized that I was not missing a thing. Reality programming strikes me as being terribly un- real. So I laid in bed with the TV on not paying any attention to it. Actually I eventually went to sleep with the eerie blue light emminating from the television. Somehow this replicated Passionfruit's various lighted gadgets in our bedroom at home.

Now I'm looking forward to another time away. This time I'm beginning to worry because Miss Independence seems to be heading towards the sick bed. Her nose is runny. Her little eyes look glassy, and her emotions are running high. But no fever or any other symptoms to cause alarm I just come from an alarmed family in general. Aunty I don't get mad I get even volunteered to take her while I'm away. Hope said aunty can deal with illness. I've called the Toddler whisperer to alert her to possible switch over during that week.

This time the trip is to somewhere more interesting than the last place. Looking forward to the mountain air. Passionfruit alerted his old college buddy/best friend that I'm coming to town. Now I'm obligated to spending sometime with his family.

A thought on Miss Independence

With the passing of my dear friend, Digger Dude, I am often struck now by how malignant the modern world is to our relationships. I get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the world.

Everyday since Alan's passing I try to not rush. Unfortunately I don't always make it. I've been taking my daughter, Miss Independence, to her preschool and picking her up. Because of her stubborness I have recently grounded her from her fun activities. No more ballet classes. No more gymnastics. With this edict, we've been given time to "smell" the proverbial flowers. I allow her to range all over the grounds of the campus. I work at the local community college.

Miss Independence's favorite place is the drainage ditch that I jump every morning to go to work. Right now there is just the slightest amount of water in it, not even an inch. Miss Independence talks about the "ducks" that live in the ditch. They are not ducks but they are geese. The geese do not live in the ditch. The ditch drains into a pond where the geese live.

I wonder at Miss Independence and her tendence to call all avarian creatures ducks. Does she just like the word? I really don't think she can't tell the difference between birds and ducks. Miss Independence seems so very intelligent. Miss Independence loves thinking. Her little forehead is frequently furled in effort to think about things. Screw drivers are her favorite toy. Once she gets enough force behind her... I guess I'll have to approach everything very carefully.

What a tangent I got off on with Miss Independence. Unfortunately, Miss Independence, who is three years old, has gotten the best of me. Sometimes she totally cows me.

Why do I allow this little being frazzle me to no end?