Where is the video camera when you need one?

Yesterday, we sat down to dinner as a family. This is not all that odd. I work very hard to have this family time together. Before every meal we say a grace to thank God for his blessings.

Well our youngest has taken an active role in saying grace. In fact, Miss Independence demands that she leads the prayer. Which I think is rather cute. It is also something that I am not very familiar with since my family of origin said the prayer together without any one individual standing out... other than my father who would lead off the pray.

So, just before dinner Miss Independence and Storyteller get into this huge dramatic fight. Lots of screaming and crying. I manage to break it up before anyone sustains any physical damage. It end with me giving each girl a balloon. Storyteller apparently did not get the one she wanted. So she throws the balloon down shakes her hands up and down while she is jumping up and down. Also her scream is apparently loud enough to call in Passionfruit from the garage. The next thing I know Storyteller runs to a corner and stands there facing into it. I am totally shocked and amazed because I realize that Storyteller really wants to hit Miss Independence.

During this lull I manage to get dinner ready. Miss Independence continues to nurse her grievances. I go to Storyteller and tell her how proud I am of her for handling the situation as she did, and I ask her if she is ready to join us for dinner. Storyteller agrees to come to dinner.

When we all get there Miss Independence starts the prayer. Her voice is sad. As the prayer progresses she sounds sadder and sadder. Tears start wellling in her eyes. Finally the dam breaks and the tears course down her cheeks. Her voice is one step before a sob. Passionfruit starts to laugh. Drama Queen starts to laugh. Then Storyteller and I are laughing. Most amazingly this makes Miss Independence laugh, too!

Passionfruit and I both wish we had a video camera going. So many great and funny things happen and we never get it recorded. It makes you realize just how wonderful those videos on American Funniest Home Videos are. Those folks just got lucky. That or they walk around with a camcorder taped to their foreheads.

Just another funny day in our lives. Oh yes, Passionfruit went on to make a funny faux pas. Drama Queen wanted a drink of his juice. When Passionfruit brought it to the table he started to pour the juice into Drama Queen's soup bowl. Passionfruit offered to pour it into her cup but I agreed with Drama Queen that was just too yucky.

The evolutionary God

A rather devout Christian co-worker of mine gave me a handbill advertising a man. This man uses Dr. in his name. Now, I know next to nothing about this individual but I can tell you that he is most definitely a creationist.

My knee jerk reaction to this handbill is to scoff at it. I bristle with contempt because this man is going to use the Bible to explain away dinosaurs. He calls them "God's lizards."

Well this post has sat in my draft file for days now. I never seem to get to because my life is influx most of the time. In the time that I've had I've finally researched G. Thomas Sharp. Mr./Dr. Sharp is educated. He has a master's from OU and a PhD. from a Baptist college in Florida. I've been to his website. I've read his philosophy and his mission statement. Superficially it all sounds somewhat benevalent. Unfortunately like most fundamentalists of any religion there is a malevalent undercurrent. Basically it all boils down to the fact that if you believe in evolution you are embracing the devil and his ways.

Now, I would just like to make a few observations about evolution. To believe in evolution does not preclude God from creation. God is the Creator. If anyone has children they will know that a child will often "rework" their art work, over and over again. I see evolution as God reworking His creations.

Why do I liken God to children? Well there are several places in the Bible where Jesus infers that children are closer to God than adults. You know, where Jesus says that we must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven. That is my main evidence for evolution.

Second, my God is not a narrow God. My God has a sense of humor and is unlimited in his vision for the world. I think it is demeaning to think God works in such a narrow field as many of the rabid creationists place God and his works. God is unlimited and all knowing. We as mere mortals cannot fathom the depths of God.

Also, I would like to enter my second piece of evidence that evolution is God's work. Are we all not a testament to evolution? None of us are the same as we were when we were born. None of us are the same as when we were toddlers. We are not the same as when we were teenagers. The pattern continues throughout our lives. Every decade points to evolution. We evolve as humans.

Plus, I would like to go even further and point out the fact that every generation has evolved beyond what previous generations were. Look at old photographs of people. There are subtle differences in our forebearers. No one looks like anyone in the 1800s. It is difficult to describe what it is that marks them as being from another century. Our culture has certainly changed. If someone from the 1800s or even the early 1900s were dropped into our day they would be mortified at the lack of civility our culture has undertaken.

So I urge everyone to consider my evidence that evolution is not only a fact but an active force in our lives. I for one continue to evolve. And I hope that I evolve into a better human being with faith in God and His works.

In honor of Halloween

The other day while driving to work I had to keep looking at my hand. It felt as though there was a bug crawling across my hand. One of those phantom feelings. Maybe I'm alone in these feelings? As a child I would frequently get a feeling on my shoulder. It felt like someone with long, sharp finger nails grabbed me and held on to me with all their might. It was quite painful. It would happen anytime. It didn't matter if I was active or playing quietly. I use to think I was haunted.

Another thing that happened to me was a large, black spider that haunted me. This spider would drop out of no where. It would totally freak me out. I would shreak and jump back only to watch the thing disappear like it never existed in the first place. Sometimes I really thought I was going crazy because it would disappear and I don't mean that it would slip between cracks. I mean it simply vanished into thin air. One time I was playing with a Barbie Dream house. Not mine. But I remember I was alone. That black spider dropped from the ceiling of the second story down to the first. I screeched and jumped back. Then it simply vanished. It didn't race out of the windows or any of the doors. IT JUST VANISHED!

Now I just get the creepy crawly feelings in my skin. Maybe it's that stupid spider slinking around. Isn't the mind freaky? Who needs drugs when you've got a mind that can conjure up all these weird experiences?

I just tried to find a picture to link to for the Barbie dream house. I couldn't find one, Does anyone remember the rather large pink houses with elevators and veranda or deck type? They were expansive. They took up so much room. That was the reasons why my parents, a.k.a Santa, never got me one. That and the price. They simply couldn't afford it. Modern Barbie dream houses are not quite so large. They weren't as tall as this one but spread out.

It's waaaaaaay too early; and waaaaaaaay too late!

I am so ready to ditch the public schools. I realize that eventually I would have to deal with the pubescent mating rituals but I think that at six years old it is ridiculous for boys to be calling girls at 9:18PM.

Perhaps this would not be happening at all if the older brother wasn't egging the boy on this course. I personally fear that the Big Brother has a thing for Drama Queen. Confused? I know I am.

Last night we got a phone call at 9:15. The boy asked to speak to Drama Queen. I informed him that Drama Queen was in bed. I also explained to him that Drama Queen would not be allowed to take phone calls after 7:00PM.

Then the prank calls started. Luckily I had gone in to scold Passionfruit for picking up the phone before the caller id could register the number. The next time they called one boy asked if I had ordered a pizza and the other talked about wanting to talk to his girlfriend. They immediately hung up and I called their number. For the first few times the boys kept answering and telling me I had the wrong number and hanging up on me. What they didn't know was I am a very stubborn and determined individual. I knew right then and there that I was going to continue calling all night long if that was what it was going to take to speak to an adult.

Finally on the fourth phone call I got the father. I explained the situation, and told him that I was quite frankly a little afraid that his older son had his eye on my daughter. Of course, the man poo pooed me. Told me I had nothing to fear. I then told him that he needed to put himself in my position. I told him that my daughter is a very pretty girl who is very sweet, too. I asked him wouldn't he be a bit worried that boys were calling her at 9:00PM?

These things never happened in the private school I sent the girls to. In fact no boy ever called Drama Queen while she attended there. Last night I was ready to walk in to the school and pull my children out of there. Of course, I know that I can't just act rashly. Those boys are probably harmless but still I am her mother. Is it not my job to do the best I can in protecting my children? Oh well, I'm probably just over-reacting.

Monday evening antics

Well it's finally happened. Drama Queen got hurt. I mean a hurt worthy of all her normal hysterics. Usually Drama Queen screams and cries like she has a mortal injury no matter the severity of the injury. I'm serious. Drama Queen, one day not too long ago, ran into the house screaming as though she had been stung by a bee/wasp or perhaps found an intruder in the garage. Both Passionfruit and I explained to her that that response was inappropriate and should never be done again unless her entrails were hanging out of her. (Okay, we didn't quite put it in those words but that was what we meant.) Oh by the way the offending creature was a cricket. I feel like a failure as a mother to a child of China because Drama Queen hates crickets and will get them killed for her. I sat one day watching her encourage a large black bird to eat a cricket. The poor thing never had a chance with Drama Queen pointing out the cricket's latest hiding place.

But I digress. Last night I was living my life as a single mother of three small children. I was in the bathroom with the youngest who was enjoying a bath. Drama Queen and Storyteller were running about playing. As any mother knows the volume of the play indicates whether or not the children are horseplaying. Well they were loud last night. First, Drama Queen came into the bathroom crying. She'd been kicked. I reminded them that horseplay precipitates injury. I asked them to stop playing so roughly. They denounced my statement and ran out of the bathroom. Not more than two minutes later Drama Queen was back in the bathroom screaming like she was dying. Hardening my heart against such a display. I calmly told her that she would live and that horseplay does indeed end with someone getting hurt.

After a few minutes Miss Independence was out of the bath. Maybe she wanted in on the action, I really don't know. I then went in to tell Drama Queen to get a hold of herself. She came out of her bathroom and the light hit her face just right. My heart sank to my feet. Drama Queen had every right to be crying and whimpering. The poor thing had what would be a black eye! The corner of her eye was already swelling. I ran and put ice in a wash cloth. Still I knew Drama Queen was going to have a shiner. I felt so heartless. I found Storyteller and told her that she must not ever throw anything. EVER. I made Storyteller go to her room. I hurried to put ice on Drama Queen's eye. I held her and gave her kisses.

Finally I got Drama Queen calmed down. Got all of them ready for bed. I read stories to them in the mach king size bed in Drama Queen and Storyteller's bedroom. I even laid down and slept in the middle for a little while. After awhile they drifted off to sleep. I got up to do some house work.

Passionfruit had stayed at work to finish some big project. Never once did I call him to tell him of our activities. He came home around 9:00PM. All the while he was fixing his dinner I looked at him trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the black eye. Passionfruit knew something was up. He kept asking "What?" I kept putting him off. Finally I decided that it would be best if I told him. Passionfruit was shocked. So that was the end of my evening.

Do you recognize this...

I don't know about anyone else but when I am addressed with the following question fear traces a line down my spine. The question? "Do you recognize this..." I sieze, thinking, "Why do you want to know?" What are the consequences if I answer?

Why am I this way? I don't know. It seems like such an extreme question. Like would I recognize the perp? Perhaps it can be linked to the fact that crime has touched my life in a variety of ways that aren't all that pleasant. Of course crime is never pleasant is it?

But this morning my immediate supervisor wanted to know if I could recognize my old computer. About two weeks ago I received a new computer at work. I told her I wasn't sure. So she led me to the computer in question. It looked just like my old one.

Now I'm standing there thinking I'm about to disappoint my Supervisor. I don't want to. So I reach out to touch the side of the CPU because I always stuck notes to the side of my computer. I thought perhaps I could feel some residue stickiness. Instead I felt a bump and somehow I immediately processed that the CPU was not mine! I had no doubts. I provided the required information!

They say that smells stay with you through out your life. I have a co-worker who grew up in India, southern India. He spent a lot of time at his grandfather's and attended a mission camp in the summers. Recently he told me about how those missionaries use to make something for lunch that smelled so repulsively to him and his friends. They could never place the smell.

Then over twenty years later this man met up with the smell again. It was when he was in this country and someone fixed him a tuna sandwich. Once that can came open he recognized the smell. I don't think he ate the sandwich.

Recently Queen wrote about a book she was reading. It had something to do with sounds. She had a really nice blog about the sounds of her childhood. I thought about the sounds that make up my childhood and I wrote about them in my comments to her blog. Later, I realized that all my sounds that seem significant to me were rather scary sounds. Jet planes. I lived on a military base as a small girl and there were fighter planes. They were loud. I remember going to visit my dad at the control tower and hearing those fighters. I remember I didn't like them when they were on the ground. They were just too painfully loud but when they were soaring over head it was great. They were so majestic, so awe inspiring. I use to watch them and long to fly in one. That is the most vivid sound I remember and the one that still instills those same feelings. The other two are from Iran. Helicopters landing at the end of our street. The green grocer down the street exploding. The first is scary because we were always told that if anything ever went wrong, and they (USA) need to evacuate us from the country they would send helicopters to our neighborhoods. The second one was just plain scary. I remember how the house shook from the aftershocks of the explosion. I remember the great big plume of black smoke rising in the air.

I wonder if anyone has studied touch. It seems that touching things can invoke the same responses. Like my CPU or rather my co-worker's CPU. Once I touched it I knew it wasn't mine. Or is it just some sort of bazaar behavior limited to my family? See I have a grandmother, a sister, and a brother and a child who each dislike the feel of certain things. Take the peach. My grandmother, my sister and Miss Independence absolute abhor the feel of peach skin. How I found out about Miss Independence is rather funny. We were visiting Uncle Wolfie's house and they had a lovely bowl of fruit all cut up and ready to eat. Miss Independence was enjoying the bowl very much until she found a peach. The next thing we knew she let out a screech and threw it over her shoulder. Everyone but me sat there stunned. They had no idea what had happened. I just sat there and laughed my head off. They were all looking at me. Wondering what was up with my reaction to this behavior. Once I got control of myself I explained the long heritage of anti-peach fuzz in my family. The other textures that are offensive are velvet, velveteen and cordoroy. I on the other hand do not have those. I can't stand newsprint and chalky substances. No for me touch is a very strong sense. I love satin. I had a baby blanket with satin edging. I still have that blanket. I love to touch things. In my career as a cataloger I have run into so many different books that used tactile elements to them. Perhaps that is why I love my job. Apparently touch has the ability to bring up memories like smell does for most others.

The future Miss Independence

I recently saw Miss Independence standing in my kitchen. I suddenly had a flash into the future-- there was Miss Independence as a young woman. She is dressed in black leather pants and jacket. Her blond hair flows down her back in waves. I realize Miss Independence just dismounted from a Harley. What a picture!

Another time while I played with Miss Independence I had a sense that she might be the one who will leave home first. Only to return for the micro visits that her Texas uncle has perfected. I remember telling Passionfruit about this feeling. I think he agreed.

However, this morning while lying on the ground Miss Independence saw me hug her older sister, and she called to me, "I haven't gotten my mommy hugs this morning." I got down and scooped her up and hugged her for all she's worth. Then Miss Independence said, "Hug me forever, Mommy!" Oh wow! What a wonderful feeling that was!

Lost entries

It never ceases to amaze me that on my drive to work I think of all kinds of things to address in my blog only to forget them as soon as I sit down to write. It's happened to me again, today. I'm sitting here, and I am sure that whatever I was going post would be "the piece". The thing that would get me noticed.

Alas, I must admit that I am a writer wannabe. For years now I've thought that there is a book inside of me longing to get out; however, I am paralized by the knowledge that I can't write. All through grade school and high school teachers beat it into my head that I could not write.

Now I have a wonderful support group. These folks massage my ego with their comments here on the blog. It's nice to be appreciated. So thank you for your kind words. While I was in college I discovered I could write some pretty good comical observations. In fact at one point I wanted to be the next Erma Bombeck.

As I mature I find that I write better every year. I know I'll never get published in the traditional sense, and I don't think I really want to anyway. Sister Sister knows a sister of an author who recently got a book not only published but someone in Hollywood wants to make it into a movie. Sister, Sister got to read the original manuscript and then read the published book. Sister, Sister made an observation that the two were not the same story. She said she liked the manuscript better. And of course we all know that the movie will most likely only make a nod to the novel.

So the other value of blogs is the ability to publish oneself without the meddling editor and publisher. Please, don't misunderstand, I understand that editors do great jobs of helping authors publish polished works but there is a trend too to take a story and remake the whole thing for what is believed will sell. It's a business and you have to protect the bottom line. That is cool. After Queen went on the rampage about people dissing blogs, I went out there and did some surfing around. I found that there are people who are self publishing fiction. There are also photographers publishing their photos in blogs. My sister-in-law does just that. It will be interesting to see the development of the blog world.

Cat blogs, etc.

Adjective Queen recently wrote a blog. She was HOT! It's funny to think how the opinions of others effect us so. Basically Adjective Queen was offended by what a lot of people think about blogs. Many of the opinions she noted basically said they are a waste of time. Boring drivel about walking their dogs and what they ate litter the world of blogging.

I come from a social science background so I don't really think that in the end these blogs are going to be viewed as inconsequential to mankind. In fact I'm surprised that more sociologists and anthropologists aren't studying this media. Also I think that historians will find some value in them, too.

NPR has done a lot of reports lamenting the email situation. People are corresponding with emails instead of letters. Historians were bemoaning the fact that people don't save their email but delete it! Can you imagine!?! They wanted to know how they were going to be able to write about history in the future if this trend continued. Well, may I suggest that blogs are going to take the place of the old fashion letter and diaries. As long as someone maintains these sites to preserve the material, historians will be able to study what we are doing now. What I see as a problem is who is going to maintain the technology so access will be indefinite.

So never fear Adjective Queen-- Your blog will someday pique the interest of some sociologist, or historian. As for mine? A lot of the really good stuff hasn't been published. They remain as drafts. They are either too personal or too rambling to put out there for viewing. I wonder if my children would benefit from some of these entries but then again maybe not. So I figure I will either delete them or copy them to a more controlled venue.

My nearest and dearest

In October Passionfruit and I will celebrate 12 years of marriage. It's strange how time moves. Sometimes it's like it isn't moving at all and other times it's going so fast I'm left reeling. Our years together have been wonderful. There is time when I feel as though I've always been married to Passionfruit. And I don't meant that in a bad way. I mean there is a sense of rightness to this relationship. We fit together perfectly. We compliment each other. Where one is weak the other is strong. What one likes the other dislikes; although, we have plenty in common, too.

When I think about all the things our marriage has been through it astounds me. I mean this is the 10 year anniversary of my destroying a car. Passionfruit marked this year by-- destroying a car. In each case neither of us ever got angry with the other. In fact both of us were just extremely grateful that the other wasn't hurt. In the last few years we've each lost a parent. Passionfruit spent 18 months consoling me while I struggled with an impossible work situation. I've dealt with Passionfruit's rotating shift work on a 24 hour clock for most of my married life. Both of us endured seperations when work has sent us away. We've struggled with infertility and the feelings surrounding that issue. I'm trying to be there for Passionfruit when the stresses of his new job strike. We went through an adoption together. We gave birth to two children together. Yes, I give him credit for the birth experience because he was there walking with me; rubbing my back and holding what ever part needed holding.

As I continue to think about our time together I think that we really haven't been together long at all. Passionfruit still surprises me from time to time. Like his football obession. I wasn't aware of it at all during the time we dated and most of our married life. In fact it's just been the last two years that I've discovered it! I guess the shift work really hid this facet in my man. Also, I still don't get how Passionfruit can be such a messy person but be so immaculate about food and dish cleanliness. Passionfruit gets upset when I let the kids eat off the floor in our house. I'm thinking, "We don't have any dogs, cats or any other animals in the house. So why not?" He'll even peer closely at forks, knives and spoons. I'm thinking that someone so bothered by such things would be immaculate everywhere in his life but he's not.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that I'm dissing my man because I'm not. I love Passionfruit something fierce. It's strange the code in my family of origin is, "It's okay for us to mess with each other but it's not okay for an outsider to mess with one of us." I've carried this into my marriage. I hate it when someone is mean to my honey. I fume and think, "I'm going to talk to so-in-so". Luckily the more mature side steps in and stops any rash behavior but I don't think too kindly about that person for a while. There are times when I'm not so nice to Passionfruit but that's different. Plus, don't worry, I whip myself enough for those times when I'm lacking in my tenderness to my sweetie.

I'm writing this because lately I've been having such strong feelings for my man. It's been a real roller coaster ride. I'm mainly struck by the realization that I LOVE MY HUSBAND. I'm also struck by the realization I'm not always in love with my husband. But I also realize that's okay because I do end up falling in love with him all over again. Those times when I fall back in love with him are some really sweet, wonderful times. They are like frosting on the cake. It makes the cake look so pretty, and when you eat it it's really sweet. It's pure yumminess. The rest of the time you're just getting the cake. It's good but it's all the same. I wish more people would realize that a loving relationship is not static and remains the same. That love actually grows and matures, and if you're lucky it strengthens. Passionfruit and I love. It is one thing that I know is true in this world. We are totally committed to one another and our children.

Let me share what makes me fall in love with Passionfruit. I absolutely adore him when he is playing with our children. I think one of the sexiest things Passionfruit can do is take care of our children. Like washing and putting a bandaid on a boo boo. Those kinds of things are just really heart warming for me.

Passionfruit is a good father. But more importantly, Passionfruit is a good husband. I never go with out. I'm cared for beyond what my parents provided. I feel totally cherished (most of the times). I know I'm loved. I am thankful for this man. I am totally glad I chose him to be my husband. I thank God for this husband of mine.

Mom, I'm a hottie. Like sexy.

Seven years ago I worked full-time. I was also in the process of an adoption. The office I worked in often had discussions that were philosophical and silly.

While I was waiting on news of our child, I remember telling people that there are people that the world considers beautiful and wonderful. You know those folks who are outgoing, popular, athletic, etc. Well if you know Passionfruit and I, you would know that we don't fit that image. We are the other type of people. We are the clutzy, awkward, nerdy people. (Although, Passionfruit is very personable.) Of course there are still many different types of people in between those types.

So I remember telling the folks in the office-- "Wouldn't it be funny if Passionfruit and I were assigned a child from those graceful, popular people in the world?" I mean it would be some sort of weird cosmos comedy. Nerdy parents with a "beautiful child".

Well folks I'm here to tell you it happened. Drama Queen is one of the beautiful people. Last week, Drama Queen told me that a boy in her class told her that she is a hottie. Ya know like sexy. I was totally freaked out! I can't believe that first graders were talking like this. Oh well, they hear things and just repeat them. It never occurred to me to go to the teacher about this.

This afternoon I got a phone call from the teacher. She wanted to know when this happened. Apparently another little girl in class heard the remark and told the teacher. The teacher told me that Drama Queen is a very personable child and that is why she is so popular in class. I know that Drama Queen is a poised individual. I know that she has friends. I've been marvelling at how well liked she is. It's a whole different world for her. It is something I have no experience with.

So I figure there is someone out there in the cosmos who is laughing his head off. I just hope this child who so obviously belongs to those beautiful, graceful people will find the humor behind the situation, and will laugh along with the cosmos at this little kink in the cosmic fabric.

So you see somewhere out there in the cosmos is laughing at this kink in the fate of our eldest daughter.

I am matron. I am an inept matron.

I went to a kid party over the weekend. I didn't really want to go because the hosting family lives down the street from us. They are your perfect family. Three boys. Slender, sexy mom. Good looking dad with the family dog to boot. They drive a mini-van and a SUV. And this was going to be a pool party at our neighborhood club house.

Now, I knew even though Passionfruit didn't that I would be required to get in the pool. I'm not obese, at least not in my mind, but I am overweight. I've seen this neighbor at the pool, and she wears bikinis. She looks good in them too. I'm a beached whale in comparison. So you can already see where my mind is taking me.

Well, we went. The kids had a great time. Sexy neighbor didn't wear a bathing suit and didn't get in the water. How gracious is that? Meow. However Sexy neighbor was wearing a cute pair of hip huggers, a green halter top, and these sexy little strappy sandals with just a touch of a heel. Her hair was all fluffed up and looked nice without being tedious. I'd say the chick is about 5 to 6 years older than me.

At one point one of my girls needed to go to the potty. We went and flushed the toilet. The water in the bowl kept rising and rising. I open the door in hopes of catching my darling's eye. No such luck. No, in fact the only person who noticed me was Sexy neighbor. Sexy neighbor comes in looks the situation over; grabs a plunger and plunges that toilet until it goes down. I'm standing there watching this woman in these impossibly cute, sexy sandals, a coke can in her hand plunging the hell out of the toilet, and I realize that I am not only matronly but inept.

I'm suddenly plunged back into the past. I'm a senior in high school and Eric Johnson is telling me that I'm the kinda of girl guys want to marry-- not date! I think it's really cool that this guy I've known since third grade is trying to console me and make me feel better. But really deep down does any woman really only want to be a matron? I remember my dad trying to console me, too. His line was every man wants a lady in the parlor and a whore in bed. Hmmmm. Makes ya think, doesn't it.

Well, one thing I know, I will never be able to make plunging a toilet look sexy. I guess I will continue to live my life as a matronly woman. I apparently was matronly even in high school. But inside I think I'll still be yearning to be just a tad bit sexy to the opposite sex.

Goose tape! No, No duck tape!

Recently a co-worker, who is a mother of two girls, told me about the public school programs that your children are expect to participate to the fullest level. These are the science fair projects and invention project. Apparently they alternate between the two events every year.

Well I thought the science fair sounded like a doable thing but I really bulked at the thought of forcing children to invent something. I remembered fifth grade where we were forced to write poetry. Seems stupid to me because not everyone is gifted in the language arts. I mean poetry is art. You need a muse! I think invention is along the same line. To invent one must be creative. Not everyone is creative.

Well, yesterday morning Storyteller made me rethink my hesitation about the invention event. We recently watched the movie, Mouse Hunt with Nathan Lane and Lee Evans. Storyteller asked me what we would do if our mouse traps were broken. This is Sunday morning. I don't do well on Sunday mornings. I'm getting all psyched about getting to church on time because our priest is a frustrated teacher. He demands that people be on time.

But I digress. So Storyteller then goes into this very involved idea she has for a mouse trap. It sounds a little messy at first. At first she wants to use glue to catch the mouse. Something about a lid with glue. I guess she thought it would walk through the glue to get to the bait and then get stuck. So when I called her on the messiness of her idea and that I didn't think a mouse would walk through a glue pond, she re-evaluated and re-worked her invention. Instead of glue it was going to be goose tape! Passionfruit looked at me. I looked at Passionfruit. Neither of us are very clear with what goose tape is. I can only imagine she meant duct tape. Storyteller sees the confusion running across our faces and bursts out with, "Not goose tape! Duck tape! Duck tape!"

Later that day Passionfruit and I were trying to remember what Storyteller had said that had sent us into a laughing fit. We couldn't remember for the life of us. Finally while driving past the Duck pond at the local university we saw a flock of geese and at the same time Passionfruit and I said, "Goose tape!" Which of course sent us into laughter again. We had a nice Sunday, which is pretty significant because normally they aren't too fun.

Under the rainbow

Remember when you learned that there really wasn't an end to the rainbow. Probably something you learned in elementary school. That it was just an illusion that the rainbow ended somewhere? Well, Friday evening, the rainbow ended in my backyard!

Passionfruit came home from work. I was getting dinner ready. He says, "I'm watering the yard." I look out and say, "Okay." What I saw was lots of wind blowing at the trees and water spraying everywhere. Passionfruit quickly realized that I didn't realize that it was raining. So he drew my attention to the backyard again. The sun was shining. Wind was blowing. It was raining pretty good. Then I looked up and saw the rainbow. I always follow the arc of the rainbow looking for the end. After years of looking I finally found the end! I was thrilled! I was excited! I was mystified! There was the end of the rainbow in my backyard. It sat on top of my grass just a few feet from my willow trees.

I found a very wordy explanation of rainbows. I don't have time to read all of it but I didn't find anything saying that the end of the rainbow is impossible. In fact one of the paragraphs led me to believe that the end is possible under certain conditions which don't often get met.

Then I did a little research looking for information on the end of the rainbow and discovered that at least 30 other people have seen the end of the rainbow, too. Most everyone who experienced this found great joy. Some even felt a spiritual connection-- like they were blessed.

A new year

Classes are back in session. We have a new crop of students. The vast majority of them seem so young. They all are so green like the grass that is finally coming back because we've had a few days of rain. The field I walk through no longer crunches under foot; nor does it look mostly yellow. And in an odd way the students are fresh and green, too.

Some of them walk through campus with a refreshing sense of hope and excitement. They are excited to be there and they are hoping that this moves them forward to a better future. The anticipation is palpable from these young people. I walk across the campus, and I can feel, actually feel this anticipation and excite. It's wonderful to feel this atmosphere. It reminds me of my first walk through a campus as a freshman. I was eager, excited and ready to learn.

All too soon these very same students will have experiences that define their time with us. Some of them will find their niche in this part of their life. They'll discover kindred spirits and learn that they weren't so odd after all. Others will find the process of learning a drudge. They'll think nothing has changed in their lives. Professors react to them the same way that high school teachers reacted to them. Classmates will react to them the same way as they did all through school. Never once will it occur to them that perhaps it is all in their perception and attitude that things remain the same. Still others will find that they are good students and can excel beyond their imagination. These are the folks that will go far in their lives because they know what it is like to work hard to get what you want. Hard work doesn't phase them. By Spring semester we just may get some of those brightly burning stars from the previous high school year that went to large universities. They got to these institutions with fantastic reputations only to learn that professors there don't hold their hands and stroke their egos. They discover that they are one of many fish and are no longer the big fish. They can't cope with the anonymity. They come to us seeking the caring hand of a compassionate professor. They'll usually find it. Eventually their immaturity passes, and they are able to cope without the ego massages.

Yes, it's a new academic year. It is so fresh. I love this time. A time of possibilities. A time of hope.

First day of school

Tuesday was the first day of school for Drama Queen and Storyteller. The night before we went to the "Back to school" night. This is where we meet the teachers and the kids get to scope out the school.

Well, Monday night was nothing but chaos. It wasn't even organized chaos. You walk through the doors of the school. No one greeted you. No one directed you to where classes rooms are. It was a free-for-all. Also that school is huge. There are tons of kids!

Finally, we fine the classes rooms for 1st grade. We fine Drama Queen's room. She has Mrs. Sims. Mrs. Sims looks like she must be in her early 50s. Her voice indicates that she must have smoked for a portion of her life. It's that raspy throat sound smokers develop. But she is delightful and tons of older kids are coming to greet her.

Then we go hunting for the Kindergarten rooms. After looking at all of the rooms we find Storyteller's room. Her teacher is in her early to mid-40s and is a mother of 3. She looks like the girl next-door. Straight, long, blond hair hangs down her back. Her name is Mrs. Trotter. She seems very pleasant.

On Tuesday morning we deliver our darlings to the school. Passionfruit decided to join us, too. We take Drama Queen to her class and give her a hug and a kiss good-bye. She runs to her desk and never looks back. Now we're off to Storyteller's room. She too goes without any hesitation. I leave the school feeling confident that all will go well.

Fast-forward to 3:00PM. I'm standing outside with a bunch of other parents. I don't realize that we can actually go in. It's now 3:20 kids are pouring out of the school. Soon the oldest kids in school are coming out. Drama Queen still hasn't appeared. I make my way in as I battle the traffic coming out. I feel like a Salmon swimming upstream battling a fierce current. I'm scanning all the little faces. As I get through the first set of doors I see Drama Queen standing by the second pair of doors bawling her eyes out! Now I'm terrified. Did some one hurt my baby? If so they better watch out! I race to DQ and scoop her up. I ask her what's wrong. It takes a while before DQ composes herself to tell me that she was afraid I wasn't going to come and get her.

Now I'm truly devastated. I caused her anguish! I'm the cause of the tears. I also suddenly realized that DQ was being a very, very good girl. I've always told the girls that they aren't to ever leave a building without me. DQ wasn't about to go out of the building without me! So I sit her down and apologize to her. I explained that there were tons of parents and grandparents outside. I thought we weren't allowed to go in. I explain to her that all of this is new to her and me. I told her we were both learning together and that it was going to take sometime to get a routine down.

By this time, I realize that the all day Kindergarten class still hasn't left the building. I take DQ to go find out what's happening with that class. Storyteller sees us and races out of the classroom. I told her she needed to go back and tell her teacher that I am here.

Then we head out of the building. Storyteller starts telling me that she is thirsty and hasn't had a drink all day. I find this hard to believe because they have a water fountain right there in the classroom. Anyway we have to go back to pick-up MI because she was still sleeping when I went to go get her earlier.

When we arrived at the lab Storyteller melts down big time. I try the hold out in the minivan. We're out there for 15, maybe 20 minutes. I'm getting hot and tired. I got worried that we all might end up sick if we stay out in the minivan even with the door open in 100+ weather. So I pick her up and cart her into the lab. She fights me tooth and nail. Again I put her in the hold and that lasts another 30 min. After along while Storyteller settles down. We move on to pick-up MI. Storyteller finds the water fountain and stays there the whole time I'm collecting MI. So I wonder whether the poor child actually got anything to drink.

By the time we are ready to leave the lab, I am so done in I can barely control my temper. I explain to the girls that they best do exactly what I ask them and do it immediately. Getting them back into the car is another lesson in frustration. I lost my temper. But I controlled it and only took it out on the minivan. It now has a large dent in the fender from where my fist struck.

Later that evening Storyteller told someone that she wanted to go back to Trinity. My poor baby. Storyteller is finding it hard to adjust to the huge school. There is a crush of kids and the building itself is huge.

Storyteller

Yesterday we went to the local children's museum. I happen to love this museum. I think I enjoy it more than the kids. With three little ones, each with different tastes, we are soon seperated but occasionally we would reconnect with one or the other.

While Miss Independence and I were playing at the firestation exhibit, she calls out to Storyteller to come over. Storyteller sees the fire truck and races over. They climb on the truck for awhile and then head up the stairs to get to the pole but that is locked up. They slid down the slide. Storyteller leaps up from the mat and races to the pole. She proceeds to climb that pole from the ground up. Storyteller climbs and climbs. She makes it all the way up to the locked gate. I AM FLABBERGASTED!

When I was in junior high we were expected to climb a rope and ring a bell hung from the ceiling. Most of the guys were able to do this. They would race each other. We had two ropes. As far as us girls, several girls could climb 1/4 to 1/2 way up the rope. Maybe we had one or two girls that were able to climb all the way to the ceiling. I on the other hand had absolutely no skill, strength or desire to climb that rope. I tried a few times and could never make it a foot off the ground. Finally our coach got so frustrated he let me climb the rope using his hands. He'd put his hands around the rope and I would put my feet on his hands and pull myself up. I got as far as he could reach over his head. I don't remember how I got down. I probably just fell. Although, that sounds a little scary, maybe I just slid down and gave myself rope burn.

Now I've witnessed my child climb like a pro. I was so proud of her as she ascended. I don't know why that should surprise me for Storyteller often pick-ups close to her weight. She loves to pick-up her 30 pound baby sister. Storyteller is only 40 to 45 pounds herself. She'll even pick-up Drama Queen. DQ is 40 pounds.

Like I've said before Storyteller isn't fat-- she's dense. It's mostly all muscle.

Making memories

Last night we took the girls on a long walk. We walked from our house to the local frozen custard parlor. Passionfruit guesstimated that it was one mile and one half. We started out a little after 7:00PM. We walked through our neighborhood. We took a short cut through the blocked off construction entrance for the housing addition. Most of our neighbors used this entrance as the primary entrance. I found this ironic since we live in a gated community. What's the point of the gates if your not going to use that entrance? I personally hate the gates but I didn't drive through that entrance. Passionfruit would from time to time and end up with flat tires frequently.

Well the walk to Rustie's was great. Storyteller froliced like a puppy. Unfortunately she paid the price for such abandon. A scraped knee. Drama Queen complained once about being too hot. That ended when I said we could go home and forget the custard. Miss Independence was a little trooper. She marched along holding my hand. Nary a whimper or complaint.

When we got to Rustie's the place was quiet, only one other couple was there and they already had the goods. As we ordered things started jumping. Passionfruit has a difficult time making his mind up. We sat down to await our treats. The line continued to build. Soon it was going out the door. Passionfruit looked at me and said we made it just in time.

Soon we realize that one concrete would have been enough for the three girls. I took the girls to the restroom for a bathroom break and a clean up. Passionfruit gathered up the cups, and was waiting for us. I looked at him and told him that if he wanted to carry them that was fine but expect no help from me.

Our walk took us past my high school. The marching band was there practicing. We made a detour to watch. There was this loud clicking sound. Passionfruit wanted to know what that was. I looked at him and said, "It sounds like a giant metronome to me." He gave me the look. This look is one I get when I tell him about my high school experience. I went to a large suburbian high school that was fairly wealthy. Passionfruit went to a rural high school that was small. His whole school population was less than my graduating class. My class was the first class in several years that was under 1000. We only had 976. While we're holding this conversation the girls keep creeping closer and closer to the parking lot where the band is practicing. The girls are enchanted.

When I call for them. Storyteller comes back with a gleem in her eyes. "I want to do that!" So perhaps I'll end up being a Band Booster afterall. Around here that consumes the whole family. You live, eat and breath band. Fundraisers, costume decisions, competitions, games, more fundraisers. I've watched my friends as they do this thing. I have no idea what to call the phenomenon-- other than mass mind control. My friend's son is not in band this year but she is still involved. She's on the sewing comittee. I have no talents like that. Perhaps, I will be viewed as non-valuable and only expected to help suds cars up at the bi-annual car wash.

As we start back to the house Passionfruit is freaking out about the time. I mean he's getting rather tense and grumpy. I walk up to him and I said, "Honey, you're looking at it wrong. We are making memories here. Hopefully, they'll be happy ones." Passionfruit looked at me and he said that he never even thought of that. It was exactly what he needed. He started calmming down.

Now at some point Miss Independence starts complaining that her legs hurt. She suffers so from charlie horses. I remember how painful they were. Unlike my mother I do tend to these pains. Usually I give her one children's Motrin. So I pick her up and carry her on my back the rest of the way home. Then she becomes aware of the stars. I don't know if she's ever seen stars before. She certainly seemed entranced by them. Storyteller when she sees Miss Independence on my back wants me to carry her. OH MY GOSH! That child is packed. She isn't fat but she is heavy. I mean I think she's all muscle. Drama Queen weighs as much as Storyteller but she's taller than Storyteller. So I denied her a ride.

All in all it was a good experience. The girls thought it was a long walk. But they enjoyed eating the custard. I just hope they remember this in a good way. What it taught me was we needed to walk more as a family. At one point Drama Queen told her daddy that she was a fast walker. He smiled and told her, "You ain't nothing like your Mommy. If she were alone she would already be to Rusties." Years back in 1998 and 1999 I got into walking. I walked every morning during the Spring and Summer and part of the Fall. We lived in a neighborhood at the time that had a 1 1/2 mile loop. I walked that loop twice in the mornings. It only took me 30 minutes to finish. I lost a lot of weight and that might be the reason why I got pregnant with Storyteller. Won't it be great if I got the girls into the walking thing? Although, they really don't need to loose weight I do.

One year

Well, tomorrow it will be a year since my best friend died. How can I describe this year. It passed like any other year. I had good days and bad days. Happy days and sad days. But I have to say that there were many days that I would think of Alan Wormser. I've been so amazed how many times I would be struck by his death in this year.

Some situations just seem to bring on the tears and the memories. Several times this year I've had to drive to meetings and workshops. On the open interstate with nothing to do but drive and think. More times than not I would start thinking about Alan. Think about how I had a crush on him when I was a young teenager. Think about how we continued to be friends after he moved away. I remember Alan introducing me to the woman who would be his wife. I really liked Kerynn. She was really sweet. I remember that I was so glad Alan found someone that would be so good for him. Someone that didn't have a strange background.

Then I would be sent to the depths of remorse. Regret that somehow we lost contact with each other. Five years went by without contact. In that time he moved to the East coast. Kerynn passed away and then he passed away.

Death is so final. Not just for the individual it happens to but to the friends and family. In this year I learned and understand why people of the past spent a year in mourning. It's taken about a year to be able to think of Alan without breaking down and sobbing or hitting a blue funk.

So, Alan, my friend, I wish you well in the here after. I think of you once in a while. It doesn't hurt so much. I just hope you are at peace. God bless you.

Green vs Yellow, faint green and brown

When my mother-in-law visited the state that I've lived in for over 20 years, almost 30, she really had nothing good to say about it. She didn't like the lack of trees. She thought it was all very boring. Esther had lived in New Jersey most of her life. She liked the tall trees and the green grass. Esther liked gardening, too.

Well, I must confess that I don't like gardening. I despise house plants, and I like living in this semi-arid state. My parents come from back East and we would make these yearly trips to go visit grandparents. Once we crossed the Mississippi river the land would start getting lush. Even as we approached the Mississippi the land was getting lush. Looking out the windows all you could see was green. Green trees. Green grass. Green plants. Green. Green. Green. All that green was oppressive. As we travelled further East things closed in around us. We went through forests and the trees made canopies over our heads.

Then we got into Pittsburgh. Hills after hills sprouted up all around us. On the hills were buildings and houses perched on the edges. Everywhere you wanted to go was UP. To get to my grandfather's house you had to go up the hill. A very steep hill that my mother remembers riding sleighs down in the winter. My grandmother's house was right at the end of one hill. We went down that hill to get to the house. We only came from one direction only because the other direction the hill is so steep that our cars could never make it up the incline, and I can't imagine what the down hill ride might have been like. My father said that in the winter they would ride their sleighs down that hill and would have enough momentum to go half way up the next hill. They would ride the sleigh like a pendulum until the initial force had subsided.

Now this all sounds like great fun but we're talking about winter. We were always there in the summer. No matter when we went-- early Spring, early Summer, middle of Summer; late Summer-- there was always something green. No, wait, I mean everything was green. There was no variation to peoples yards. Here where I live things start changing in July. We always are in drought situations in the summer. We can always count on the grass to fade to a yellowish green. True there are those folks who spit on the waterring banns and their yards are that "beautiful green color". But I look at those yards and think how foolish and wasteful they are.

Today while I walked across campus to pick up Miss Independence I noticed the nice crunching noise under my feet. I started looking at the grass/weeds very closely. It was amazing. Some areas were a very pale yellow color; other places the grass was plain yellow, and as you got closer to the streets and sidewalks the grass got a little green around the edges. So much variation. So very interesting.

Oh, I do want to refute one impression my mother-in-law had of my state. We do have trees. Okay, they don't soar up to the sky; although, some cottonwood trees do. I think it's pretty amazing that we have trees at all. They may be small but they survive through two drought periods a year and high winds most the year. Amazing.

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.