The final chapter in San Francisco

After we got back to the hotel from our outing on the wharf we met up with Passionfruit and hurried to the BART station. We were going to Daly City for our dinner at the best Chinese restaurant in the San Francisco area. My cousin took us to her Mom's house and then we hurried off to the restaurant. This was going to be a late dinner.

We walked into this restaurant and the first thing you see are all the seafood swimming around in large tanks. Some of the fish don't look to lively. Perhaps they knew their days were numbered. There were other sea creatures that are not symetrical and don't have faces.

When we got seated I could see the kitchen from where I was sitting. They had three meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. Two had cooked chickens hanging off them and the other had the back end of a piglet. I tried very hard not to look at those carcasses. At one point I turned around to look behind me and the folks at the table behind me had a squid staring at me as it waited it's turned to be cooked in the pot on the table.

My mother's cousin and I were sitting next to each other trying to choose things that the kids might eat. I knew that Storyteller wasn't going to eat and since MI was not feeling good I figured she wasn't going to eat much, either. So I ordered a couple of noodle dishes to make DQ happy.

As I mentioned before this was a late dinner. The restaurant closes at 9:30 or 10:00PM. My mother's cousin got so tickled because it became obivious that they wanted us to leave. Waiters started moving tables. Walls that were moveable were moved. I got a cold blast of air on my back. All the while Passionfruit kept eating. The rest of us were finished but he kept on eating, and my mother's cousin kept giggling. She thought it was so funny that Passionfruit seemed totally oblivious to the closing activities around him.

We were all totally exhausted by the time we got back to the BART station. But despite that fact the girls were up again in the morning. This time I knew how the buses worked. I had my passes ready. We were off to see the Exploritorium. We took the cable car. Then a small walk to the bus stop and then to another small walk to the Exploritorium. The girls had a blast. I was worried that it might be too old for them to appreciate but we found lots of stuff that kept their interest. We spent about 3 hours there.

Then it was lunch time. The girls wanted to go back to RainForest Cafe. So we took a couple of bus rides back to the Wharf. We had a fun late lunch just me and the girls. We even had dessert. I had the Margilla again.

We were running late again and had to wait forever for the cable car. MI melted down and even though the line for the cable car was still long very few people got on with us because of the temper tantrum. Which in the end was all well and good because the cable car in front of us was involved in an accident. So we ended up walking in the rain for miles into the Downtown area. I got them worn out real well.

By the time we got back to the hotel Passionfruit was there as was my cousin. She had come into town to give us a date night in San Francisco. Once I got the kids all medicated Passionfruit and I rushed out to the cable car line in hopes that the accident was all cleared by then and that they were running again. They were and we head to the restaurant I saw that said it served South Indian food.

As we walked back to the restaurant from the cable car stop we noticed the mural painted on the side of the building. It said Kennedy's Irish pub and Indian restaurant! It had an elephant painted on the side, too. Passionfruit asked me if I really wanted to go. I said sure. I wasn't real hungery since I had just eaten at the Rainforest Cafe. Well we walked into the joint and it was definitely a bar. No doubt about it. It had video games, pool tables, air hockey tables, loud music played. It was dark and hadn't yet gotten smoky but the potential was there. There was a section where the tables were covered with white table clothes covered with glass. The chairs were painted white cafe chairs. This part of the room was decorated with Indian paintings and other Indian type decorations. The wait staff was interesting, too. They were all South East Asians, maybe from Thailand. Our waitress spoke not a lick of English. We ordered by pointing at the numbers on the menu. When I pointed to the wine list she pointed to the bar and said "You go there." So after a few minutes of soaking in the atmosphere of this eclectic place I sent Passionfruit over to buy me a glass of wine. He came back empty handed. Passionfruit said the bartender told him that our waitress would take our order. So I pretty much expected that I won't have a drink that night. But wait here comes this guy from the kitchen. He's an Indian. Passionfruit asks him where he's from in India. Passionfruit asked him if he knew Tamil and he said that he did. Passionfruit started talking to him in Tamil but the guy didn't understand a word he said. Well that was an uncomfortable moment for us. How does one save face? Well we ignore it and move on with the order for a glass of wine in English.

Soon we leave because the place is beginning to smoke up. I no longer can tolerate being around smoke. My asthma gets started when I inhale smoke. We went back to the hotel and arranged for transportation to the airport for the next day.

In the morning I got everyone up and dressed and packed. We went down stairs to wait on the car. Our driver's name was Freddy and I had seen him during the week. He had a Fumanchu beard and mustache. When he arrived we walked outside and to our surprise a white, stretch limo awaited us. That was a big surprise for us. The girls were all excited. Passionfruit and I couldn't believe it.

Our flights home were in the normal economy seats. We landed in Dallas with just 10 minutes or so to get to our connecting flight. I raced the three girls down the terminal. I kept my eye on the screens. Once the flight number disappeared from the screen I started to slow down. To my surprise they still had the door open and I hussled the girls up to the door. I turned around and there was no Passionfruit. So I handed the gate person his boarding pass and told him he was coming. She asked how soon and I said I didn't know. I figured he could get the next flight out but I was ready to go home. As I started down the chute to the airplane I hear the girls shout "Daddy" and there was Passionfruit. He had made it after all.

So ends our San Francisco saga.

San Fransicko... No that's San Francisco Part 2

Miss Independence pronounced San Francisco as San Fransicko. Pretty cute huh? Well she took it to heart while we were there. MI developed a fever, runny nose, a cough and goopy eyes. It all came together when she tossed up her lunch from "the transportation day" all over the hotel bed.

Passionfruit and I debated whether we should take her immediately to the doctor or wait for tomorrow. I wanted to wait. Since Passionfruit was still dressed I told him if he wanted to go he could. I wrote down all her symptoms and sent him and MI on their merry little way.

Two hundred dollars later Passionfruit comes in with MI. He doses her up and puts her to bed. Might, I add that this is a bed where Passionfruit and I were sharing with MI. When she tossed her cookies, we lost one of the pillows. I spent the night trying to share two pillows with two other individuals. I was left in the crack quite literally.

In the morning my cousin who lives somewhere in South San Francisco caught up with us. We had plans to go down to Fisherman's Wharf. Getting there turned into an adventure because MI threw a huge temper tantrum. It was pretty bad. MI threw herself on the sidewalk and cried and screamed. A group of Japanese people came along. They were so concerned for her and were ready to send out a search party for the parents. The neat part of this was everyone of them were dressed in Kimonos! I let them know that the mommy was near by.

Finally we get down to Fisherman's Wharf. It was down at the wharf where the girls really got to see the interesting people of San Francisco. There were people dressed up and painted in silver. I gave what few coins that I had to DQ to put in the cup of one man acting like a robot. Once she dropped the coins in the "robot" checked out what was put in and he made a tsk tsk noise and shook the cup. I don't think DQ knew what to make of this character. The man dressed in silver won't let people take pictures of him unless you gave him money.

We decided to go to the aquarium and do a cruise of the bay. To quote DQ, "Let me tell ya! The Oklahoma aquarium is far nicer than the one on pier 39." Still I think the girls enjoyed running around and looking at the animals.

Then we were off to the boat for the cruise around the bay. The wind was really cold so the girls cuddled up close and listened to the cheesy narrative. It was fun. DQ perked up when we were passing by Alcatraz. She had lots of questions about what a prison was and how did one end up in prison. DQ also asked questions about the Native American take over of the island. I was really surprised by her question.

While we had wandered around the pier 39 Storyteller saw a bungee jumb swing. She begged me to let her go on it. I was done spending money for the day so I told them that she would have to use her own money. She agreed and the next thing I know she is bouncing up and down and spinning around. DQ surprised me to death when she wanted to do it. She did it. DQ did try the spin/turn and she didn't like it. But she seemed okay with the bouncing up and down. I was so proud of her. Normally she is so timid about things like that. MI wanted to do it too. She was amazing. Her feet went passed the frame of the rigging. MI drew a big crowd. People were amazed that she was doing it and having so much fun.

We ended this outing with lunch at the Rain Forest Cafe. The girls loved it and I enjoyed it, too. I had a drink there. It was called a Margarilla. Orange sherbet and tequila. I wasn't sure about it at first but it was pretty good.

I will continue the saga of San Francisco because I have to tell ya all about our date night.

A San Francisco Saga-- Part 1

Our first day in San Francisco(or would that be 1/2 day) was spent walking around getting a sense for the neighborhood. Our hotel, the Maxwell, was very close to the Hilton where the geography conference was held. The Hilton was about a block down and a block over from our hotel. The cable car line was at the end of the block.

We walked up a steep hill and turned. We went to China Town. Passionfruit took pictures of the girls on the lions where the gate marks the beginning of China Town. I saw something that I hadn't noticed the first time to China Town. There is real jade carvings on the roof of the gate. I was amazed that these pieces hadn't been stolen. They must be worth a mint or two.

By the time we got back to our hotel I just wanted to lay down and sleep. I had been up for over 11 hours by that time. The kids were still raring to go. So Passionfruit took them out for some more sightseeing and dinner. They went to the Yerba Bueno gardens and playscape. After that Passionfruit took them back to the hotel for dinner. Miss Independence fell asleep in her seat at the restaurant. Storyteller quickly followed suit. The only one still wide awake was DQ. Passionfruit had a dielemma. He couldn't carry two children and DQ was still eating her dinner.

Well some nice ladies at the next table told Passionfruit they would watch two of them while he took one upstairs to the room. Once depositing MI with me. Passionfruit returned to pick-up the other two. It became a running joke at the hotel restuarant that the food puts our children to sleep because the same thing happened to me the next day when I took the girls to dinner. Luckily Passionfruit was expected to join us there at the restaurant so a sleeping child wasn't such a burden.

I wanted this trip to be a learning experience for our girls. So the second full day in SF I took the girls for a relatively long walk. My idea was to hook up with a bus; however, the bus was a lot cheaper than I expected it to be. I didn't have exact change... only a $5 bill. So we continued to walk until we got back into another business area. This made it an extremely long walk. We finally made it to a restaurant where we had lunch and recopirated from the forced march. MI fell asleep in my arms. DQ and ST needed to go to the bathroom. I had to send the waitress in to look for them because they took forever. I think they were in there for 20 minutes.

We then walked a half a block to the bus stop. I had made change at the restaurant so I could pay the fare. I didn't realize that the bus was announcing the next stop. I thought it was telling us where it was going. Anyway it wouldn't have mattered because a school group got on and I don't think anyone got off. They couldn't because you couldn't battle a group of 50 to 60 kids getting on the bus. I thought we could get off on the opposite side of the road when it looped around in the parking lot of the Golden Gate bridge. Boy was I wrong!! As I sat there trying to figure out where we were going and where we could get off to get near the Exploratorium I finally realized that we weren't ever going to be able to do this because 1) we would have to battle the school group just to get near the door 2) the bus wasn't going anywhere near the Exploratorium. We finally got off somewhere in South San Fransisco.(We were almost into Daly City) Getting back to down town was quite an experience too! The ticket machine was kind of broken. It could except dollar bills but that part was broken so I could only purchase tickets with quarters! We had to recross the freeway and go into one of the stores in the shopping mall. Then we had to recross the freeway for the third time. We got the tickets and waited for the the next tram to take us back to downtown. I met a nice guy on the tram who helped me figure out where I needed to get off.

We were all exhausted by the time we got back to the hotel so we ate at the hotel restuarant. I made everyone stay awake. We quickly ate dinner and went to bed. Which is what I think I need to do with this post. So I would have to say that I taught my girls about public transportation that day. We walked, rode a bus, rode a tram and rode a cable car (back to the hotel).

Whaddya do with three very disappointed girls?

I meant to write this blog about a week ago but the main problem was trying to keep three very disappointed girls. We tried to catch our flights to San Fransisco, April 14th. We waited in line for 3 hours. We waited at the ticket agent's desk for 30 minutes only to find out that we won't be leaving for San Fransisco until Tuesday. The flights were all messed up from the tornado down in the Dallas area.

So we arrive home all packed with no where to go. So we went to breakfast. Then we tried to find something fun to do on a horribly cold, damp day. We found ourselves at the local mall. Okay. Saturday finished.

Now Sunday. What to do. We go to Mass and participate in the the Easter egg hunt and the pancake breakfast. I ended up going home with two extra little girls. Guess that will become a ritual for us. Invite the family of the two extra girls to an impromtu dinner with us. They bring the pizza and I provived the salad and dessert. Did I mention this family is a rather large family? 11 kids and 2 parents. Luckily the older kids are pretty much on their own these days and don't hang with the family that much. At one point I walked through my living room where 8 children were playing in small groups. I have to say I really enjoyed watching them. I wonder if my mother ever felt that way about us. There were 5 of us.

Monday drags around. What to do!~ Kids are beginning to melt down. I don't send them to school because I figure that would mess the school up. I had already told the school the girls would be gone a week. We played outside. I planted a gallon of Maiden grass. The girls rode bikes during the day and played outside. Finally I resorted to the television. We had a Scooby Doo marathon and ate dinner while watching the shows.

Finally Tuesday rolls around. We are up long before the dawn cracks. The only thing that makes this worthwhile is that we are flying First Class all the way to San Fransisco. I've never flown 1st class before but there is a difference. I was amazed how the hot, moist towel can really refreshen you. The food was amazing. It was great.

When a professional meeting turns into a circus

I attended the OLA conference. I attended both days. I had to. I was elected as secretary to one of the roundtables and that roundtable always has a meeting at the conference.

Our new chair is an interesting fellow. I happen to know that on his first day of work he had an anxiety attack that sent him to the local medical clinic with an assumed heart attack. He impressed me today because he got up in front of 300 some folks and sang a song, and he did a nice job, too.

On the other hand, the business meeting was a different story. The chair brought comfort items (stuffed animals & puppets) for folks should they so desire/need such items. There was a cougar, a bobcat, a hairy spider, a wizard owl, and Mr. & Mrs. Owl in attendance. The Chair created a ritual of passing the cougar, named Cutter, from the out-going chair to the in-coming chair. The chair-elect was not to be forgotten... He got to hold the bobcat, named Sanborn. I can only say that I'm grateful that The Chair wanted this moment preserved in the minutes; thus leaving the secretary silently grateful for the pen and pad of paper in her hands.

As the day progressed more and more people got into the spirit. At the conference ball small groups of performers got up and entertained those of us less ambitious folks. We do have several talented folks in the group but more importantly we have more hams, too. This was a great conference.

A glimpse of the future

Well to continue the non-saga of the Sexy Neighbor I have a new twist to the running story. It has now become apparent that DQ has a crush on the neighbor's middle son. He is in first grade too but in a different classroom. Her feelings seem to be returned. Over the year I've found little love notes. At Valentines there was a note from Middle Son. It read something like this: Roses are red, violets are blue, your really sweet and I love you. Love Middle Son. I've also found notes that DQ has written to Middle Son.

Now DQ feels more secure and has confided in me that Middle Son and she are often confused for boyfriend and girl friend. DQ tells me that the other kids say that "they are going together". I do not encourage my children to get involved in these early attachments nor do I think that this is cute and should be giggled about by adults. Okay, it's cute but I'm not going to encourage it. I work very hard at raising feminists. I want my daughters to be self sufficient. I promote the idea of education, and that they better be ready to raise their children because I'm not raising grandchildren. I figure the earlier they hear the message the sooner it will seep into their brains.

On the other hand, I have a very active imagination of my own. Here is the scenario that I see happening about 18 to 20 years from now. DQ and MS (Middle Son) will come home to announce their engagement to each other. I will then have to plan a wedding with my neighbors down the street. Over the years I've been to many weddings. One thing I've noticed in this cultural event are the mothers of the bride and groom. One of the mothers is svelt, and sexy while the other is a motherly matron.

So here I am realizing that I don't have a chance to be the svelt mother. Sexy Neighbor will out shine me in the mother of category. She will wear the slinky sequin dress and the sexy strappy sandles. I, on the other hand, will wear a flowing dress that doesn't get caught on my curves and my shoes will be very conservative.

I fear that the engagement party will be held at our neighborhood clubhouse. Sexy Neighbor will wear a striking bikini around the pool, and I won't even attempt to wear any swim wear at the bequest of my distressed daughter. I will have to wear long pants and a large flowing top that will cover my by then extremely large bum.

Of course I don't know if the above scenario will happen. I don't know who my children will marry but this proves I do have an active imagination.

Out of the mouth's of babes

Miss Independence has struck again! Sunday we had a large family gathering to celebrate a couple of birthdays. This is an important ritual and no one is allowed to beg off. I know... I've tried!

Anyway near the end of the evening my niece who is pregnant got up to leave because she was tired. This prompted MI to jump off the lap she had been sitting on for several minutes and announce in a loud voice that "Babies come from your privates." This pronouncement sent several adults into fits of giggles.

Then as though MI wasn't pleased with the response of the embarassed adults. MI runs to her cousin and starts stroking her swollen belly. This is a belly where the belly button has started to "pop". I made the mistake of telling MI that that wasn't my niece's privates.

Now for the final embarrassing situation. MI reaches down and grabs my niece's privates. My niece's husband, young man that he is, had already turned red with the early episode now he was a brillant red. I just put down my head and shook it.

When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? Passionfruit wanted me to chronicle this event. I had the hardest time wanting to put this down. Yes. It is amusing but I'm also slightly embarassed by the impulsiveness of my child.

A hairy situation

Saturday, Passionfruit and I got a rare treat! We got to go out to dinner and a contra dance! I was so excited for week and a half. Really my whole weekend was great. It started with lunch with Adj. Queen. It was fun swapping stories of our families.

Saturday was busy. I was up before my normal time to get my hair-cut. I wanted to look nice for my date with my honey. Then I went home and did the laundry. Later as the time for the date approached I started to prepare for my evening. Earlier in the day I had bought this really hip halter tunic. It has beads and polished stones as the straps instead of cloth. I called DQ into my bedroom to see the new piece of clothing. Next thing I know all 3 of them are in my room giving me a fashion consultation. They had so much fun. And honestly I did to.

Now for the real reason of this entry. As some of you may remember I have a certain feeling about the world we live in, and its expectations it places on women. So after donning the high heeled suede pumps to finish the outfit constructed by my daughters, DQ pipes up with, "Mom, your legs don't look right. They don't look like other moms' legs. Can't you do something?"

So here is my dilemma. Should I go ahead and shave my legs? Legs that haven't seen a razor in 20 years so I don't embarass my daughters? Or do I take a stand and quietly demostrate to my daughters that being different from the crowd takes courage and strength?

Oh, I asked the girls questions. I asked the girls whether they thought it was okay for me to have these hairy legs of mine. I questioned them whether to shave my legs just to fit in with other mothers would be the best choice for me. Of course, Miss Independence really didn't have a clue as to what the issue was. And I really don't think that Storyteller felt much embarassment. But it is DQ that is all into the way one looks.

It's actually quite remarkable. DQ is as shallow as I was when I was a young girl. It's rather funny because having her as a daughter I am reminded of all the shallow, self-absorbed thoughts and behavior I had. It even makes me realize that I still tend to be self-absorbed. Luckily I'm not quite as shallow as I once was. I thank God for that.

And along came a spider... or was that librarian?

Took off early yesterday so I could take my two older daughters to their school's bookfair. I got them out of their classes and we walked in wonderful Spring weather to the building where the fair was being held.

Each girl was allowed to choose 2 paperback books. Then I realized that that would be unfair to Miss Independence since she wasn't there to choose. So I picked out 2 for her. One about Spiderman (which she adores) and the other was Miss Spider's Wedding. I only now realized that there seems to be a theme going here.

When I handed the books to the PTA mothers supervising the store. One grabbed Miss Spider's wedding and paged through it quickly. She said, "READ THAT PAGE... To yourself." I asked was there something wrong with the book, and she said that another mother had pointed out that page, and I really needed to read it myself. So I read the book (to myself) and read again. I read it one more time. I'm still unsure what was so offensive about the page. The author used the word cad but I don't see how that could be offensive. The mean spider talked about grinding his rival into dust. Really, I'm usually much better at seeing the offensive stuff. As many know my mind resides frequently in the gutter.

Well deciding that if that was the most offensive page in the book I was going to take it. I handed the book back to the woman and told her, "I'm going to take it." Her reaction was quite comical for she gave me permission to buy the book! Her remark was, "It's okay to buy the book. I wanted you to know about that section." Inside I laughed thinking this woman felt like she needed to tell me or was it herself that it was okay to buy the book. I don't know. But I did tell the woman that I am a librarian. So I suppose she went home and told her husband about that liberal librarian who bought the off colored book.

Later last night I showed the book to Passionfruit. He looked through the book and didn't see anything risque. He did read me the little poem that was quoted at the beginning page before the story, that talked of love and had the word penetrates in it. Now that, I could see might be offensive if one lived in the gutter and had a dirty mind. Passionfruit thought the story was kinda scarry but felt that it was a wonderful precautionary tale.

I'm really not worried about what this chick feels about me. I'm rather proud that I stood my ground in front of my children. I think I showed them that it is okay to differ with people, and you don't have to be rude about it either. So as librarians not only do we fight the censors professionally but we must fight in our personal lives as well. So rock on librarians, we're here for each other.

Wind, wind, wind

Wind! It's windy here. Went to the grocery store. Saw lots of old ladies being blown about the parking lot. Windy days provide chances for random acts of kindness.

Blossoming in the air

Not only are the Spring flowers showing signs of arriving and blessing us with their radiant colors, our Miss Independence is blossoming too. MI is suddenly aware of being a social creature. Most of her 4 years on this Earth have been in her own little world. It was almost like she viewed us as some sort of extra-terrestrial encounters when we would impose ourselves on her. NO. MI is not autistic. She just wasn't interested in the rest of us. She existed in her own little world.

Now suddenly MI wants to have friends. MI wants to have playdates. MI wants to talk to us. Even her preschool teachers are amazed at the change in MI. They say it's like a switch turned on all of a sudden. At first MI's road into the social world was a rocky one. When she wanted attention she was sometimes pretty physical in getting it. But she's doing better and uses her words more. Really is quite cute to hear her say to another child, "Excuse me, I want..." I had been drumming it in to her head that manners will get her far in the world.

I don't know why this development should surprise me since MI didn't start talking until she was 22 months old. Far later than the other 2 girls. However, MI talked in sentences when she did start talking. She's remained pretty quiet for several years but I doubt that continues now with this new socialness in her. Apparently it is MI's nature to take her time in doing something but once she decides to do it there is no stopping her. Her birth was like that. She was late by a week but once the labor started she didn't waste anytime in coming!

Making sense out of senses

There are more senses than the big four (sight, sound, smell and feeling). We are totally unaware of all the senses that we use just to move through our environment. Several of these senses are related to the organ we use for hearing but it isn't hearing. Remember the inner ear? Well that is an amazing organ that does quite a bit of work for us all the time. It not only collects the stimuli that is translated into meaningful sounds but it also tells us whether we are upright, lying down, sitting, etc.

Why am I writing about this? Because I never knew how many senses we have. I never knew that things could go wrong with the intrepretation of the stimuli. I do now because after many years of thinking that something wasn't quite right with Storyteller I finally found out what it is. She has Sensory Processing Disorder. It tends to be mild but things can set off temper tantrums that others find uncomfortable.

Starting in January Storyteller began her therapy sessions. It is rather amazing that things are settling down. Storyteller's temper tantrums are fewer. We actually respond differently to her now. Now we stop and try to evaluate the environment to figure out what is bothering her. We try to lessen those things we can not change and change those we can.

Take this morning. First Storyteller is recovering from something. Two, she didn't get to bed early enough last night. Three, this morning the sun was out in full force. After calming her rage and figuring out what was bothering her I gave her a pair of sun glasses to wear. Sounds corny to wear sunglasses in the house but it did make a change to her responses to her environment.

So I suppose the world will think of me as a mother to a special needs child but I don't. I'm a mother to a child. She is bright, sweet, and loving. Storyteller is filled with compassion. She is intelligent. There is nothing wrong with her other than how her brain interprets the stimuli around her. Don't get me wrong. I will do everything in my power to get her the help she needs but I don't think of her any differently.

Lenten Thoughts

As a practicing Catholic I enter into the coming Lenten season with much confusion and indecision. Almost every year I struggle to find something to give up in preparation for Easter. This year is no different. What should I give up? I suggested to Passionfruit that perhaps I should give up pleasure reading. He said I ought to give up my new addiction. Ever hear of Alchemy? It's a computer game from Pop cap games. I've become somewhat addicted to it. My older sister, Sister Sister, introduced me to it indirectly. She gave our daughters her cast-off computer. It's on that computer. I finally learned to play the game and now I'm hooked. I even dream about it.

So now I sit here trying to decide what I should do for Lent. Will it be pleasure reading or Alchemy?

Bourne Supremacy

I finished watching the Bourne Supremacy. It was rather fun in a thrilling way. But it left me with some new thoughts about my father. This weekend my mother let it out of the bag that the CIA tried to recruit my father after he retired from the Air Force. You have to understand my father at that point in time was over 50 years old. Not your stereotype age of a spy.

So now I'm left pondering what did my father do in the service. When I think back on things I realize that maybe my father did not have exactly the normal experience in the military. When my father retired he had served his country for 30 years. In that time he fought in 2 wars (Korea and Vietnam). Had three different tours in foreign countries (Italy, Germany and Iran). At one point in the '60s my dad was detailed to the Secret Service. He worked on Lyndon Johnson's ranch.

In our many talks my father told me about the times he had contact with Military Intelligence. One of those times was during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Military Intelligence had acquired some documents listing several hundred Americans. My father's name appeared on that list. The MI wanted to know why my father's name was on that list. Apparently they interrogated my father at length. My father had no clue why his name was on the list. Apparently every other individual on that list didn't know why their names were on that list. The best that the MI could come up with was it was a list of probable leaders of insurgency should the U.S. government fall and an invasion occurred. In other words it was a list of those who were to be found and executed.

While we lived in Iran my father was again on a list. This time the Savak found a hide out for terrorists. They had a map with all the routes the bus my father and brother took to work. They had pictures of every man who rode that bus. I mean it must have been like what you see in the movies. Only this time it was real. The terrorists were planning to hit the bus sometime. It's a sobering thought. We don't know what they were planning to do but I'm sure it wasn't to ask them to tea.

Also, while we lived in Iran my father would leave. He would be gone for unspecified periods of time. We never knew where he was or what he was doing. I do remember my mom. I remember how she would jump when the phone rang or the door bell pealed. Later in life I remember my mom talking about never knowing whether Dad would come back. She talked of the fear of not knowing what happened to Dad.

So now I ponder... was there more to my Dad than Chief Master Sergeant. In fact it makes me wonder about a couple of incidents that happened to me in India. I was approached by a woman. She had a thick accent. She wanted to know where I was from. After I told her, I asked her where she was from. She didn't want to answer but I pressed her for one. She told me she was from Soviet Union. It was a rather puzzling episode on an elevator. It stuck with me. I mentioned it to my father. He made a rather odd comment. I remember him saying, "If I were still in the military I would have to report this incident." Which now makes me wonder about another situation that developed in the same place. All of this happened in New Dehli. While I was there I had caught some sort of virus. I went out with my group of Girl Scouts but eventually I didn't have the strength to continue shopping and sight-seeing. So I told everyone in my group I was going back to the hotel. Breaking every rule in Girl Scouting I went back by myself. I felt confident that nothing would happen to me in India. I was more travel savvy than my chaperon was, and I knew I could handle any situation that I might face.

As I traveled back to the hotel I became aware that I was being followed. He was a very handsome man dressed as a Sikh. I started to feel a bit alarmed. I tried shaking him off. But to no avail. I finally approached him and asked him if I could help him. He said that he thought I might need help. He offered to escort me back to the hotel. I decide that he was following me anyway so I might as well have him by my side. I said good-bye to him at the entrance of the hotel. I thought that would be the last I saw of him.

A couple of days later my group was returning from dinner. We got stopped by a wedding procession. A groom was going off to pick-up his bride on the back of a horse. There were all these people dancing and singing. They were having a most excellent time. So good that a friend and I got carried away from our group (literally). Some man had grabbed me up and was carrying me away. I could see my friend. She had the same type of feelings about this development as I did. We were being molested by all these men. Our breasts and buttocks were pinched and squeezed. Things were truly out of control. We were terrified. Suddenly out of no where the Sikh shows up and manages to detach us from this wild group. He escorts us back up the street where our dumb struck travel companions stood. I thanked him for his help. He kept asking whether we were okay. We assured him we were fine. We weren't about to tell him about the indignities we suffered. Too embarassing. We continued to see him here and there as we wandered the streets of New Dehli. I was curious then why he attached himself to us but now I wonder even more. Was there some sort of clandestine stuff going on around us? Were we being protected officially?

At one time I wanted to write a biography of my father. I never started. I've thought about writing requesting his military record. Now I wonder whether it would really be worth it. In one way I fear that it might only lead to more questions that would have to remain unanswered. Did my father really only work on the president's ranch? Or did he do things that we will never know about? What did he do in his absences from Tehran, Iran? Why did my mother worry so? More importantly, why did she worry about never knowing what might have happened to Dad if he never came back?

Memory? What memory?

Once again I've sat down in front of the computer to write about something. Only to forget whatever it is that I was planning on writing. So I'm going to write about my memory... Or I should say my lack of memory.

Lately I can't remember what I've done the rest of the day. Ask me about yesterday and I'll give you a vague stare. Yesterday? There was a yesterday? Those are the questions running through my mind to that question.

People think I'm joking when I say that I think I'll get tested for Alzeheimers but I'm not, not really. With how forgetful I am it is showing up in my work. I think this next appraisal will not be quite so glowing... and with good reason. So I'm kinda wondering whether I will be asked to leave. In one way it would be a relief but I've grown accustom to the extra pin money, and it would be hard to cut back. But I suppose I would be able to do it.

This is so difficult for me because I use to have such an excellent memory. When I was younger I could remember the slightest detail of a day. Now all I have is the old memories. Nothing of recent time is there. For example I think I asked Passionfruit several times what it was he was eating this afternoon. I'm surprised he didn't get really upset with me. What's even more terrifing is I knew that I had recently asked him what he was eating I just couldn't remember what the answer was. One of those times I didn't remember I had asked him until he told me what he was eating.

I have a friend with early onset Alzeheimers. He is only in his fifties. I saw him at a party a couple of months ago. He looked good. I think I might have approached him too fast, and too familiarly but he covered rather well. But about 10 minutes later he came to me and gave me a hug and asked me how I was. My heart breaks when I think about this man. I always enjoyed dancing with him but he can't now because he can't remember the steps. He is a really great dancer. It really bums me out. But the worst part is I hate knowing that he may only get worse. I hate the idea that he won't remember his children at some point and my heart breaks for his wife because there may come a time when she will only be an intimate stranger.

What's worse is being scared that I may be heading down that road myself. My grandfather and grandmother (paternal) died from Alzeheimers. I think my father may have been developing Alzeheimers but he was struck down with cancer before things really, really got obivious. Thank God. But I could see things in my father in the last years of his life where he was confused at times. He would frequently confuse me for one of my sisters. But I can't remember the other examples of his confusion.

Alzeheimers is such a terrible disease. It touches so many lives. Of course the individual with Alzeheimers but also the care takers and family members. I don't have much first hand experience with the disease for my grandfather died at 54, and I lived half a continent away from my grandmother. I do have a distinct memory of visiting my grandmother the summer after I got married. I took Passionfruit to meet my grandmother. By this time my grandmother was at the state of just sitting and not interacting with the world around her. I remember going in and kissing her forehead. She didn't show any sign of recognition. It was like she wasn't my grandmother. Worse than that it was like she wasn't living anymore. Alive but not living. We took her outside for some sunshine. While we were out there my grandmother looked at Passionfruit and asked him, "Have you done your good deed for the day?" Passionfruit wasn't sure how to answer that one. So he asked her what she wanted. Because my grandmother had forgotten how to walk and wasn't able to move around much the nursing home had put boots on her feet to keep them from developing bedsores. She wanted Passionfruit to remove them from her feet. How this made me cry. For just a few seconds my grandmother had come back to us.

That is the horrors of this disease. Alive but not living.

Toothfairy's acomin'

Well my babies are growing up. I knew it was happening but today I had the shock of my life. Storyteller lost her tooth during lunch at school today. She was so excited! I was so shocked. ST bit into an apple at lunch. Her tooth got stuck in the flesh of the apple. When she pulled at the apple the tooth came out. ST said that she cried and that her friend, Amari tried to comfort her. I knew she had a loose tooth. We went to the dentist the 1st Friday in January, and the dental hygenist told me that Storyteller had a loose tooth. I didn't know about it until then. I certainly wasn't expecting her to lose a tooth first. Neither did DQ, I suppose.

Drama Queen has 2 loose teeth. They are far more loose than Storyteller's you can see them wiggle. But DQ seems relunctant to force the issue. Same dentist visit, I asked what DQ could do to loose teeth. The answer? ... WIGGLE THEM! She won't wiggle them.

Storyteller was so cute. The tooth has some blood on it. ST wanted to rinse the blood off. She was really worried that the tooth fairy would find it distasteful. My last words to her tonight were to assure her that the tooth fairy won't be bothered by the blood.

What amazes me so much is how small it looks in its little plastic bag. It looks way smaller than when it was in her mouth.

You may be wondering what my response to ST losing her teeth is. I started to cry. My baby lost her first tooth, and I had tears rolling out of my eyes. I was so happy for her but I also felt something else. There was a twinge of something, and I'm not sure what it is.

All the posts that aren't

Well over the past weeks and days somethings have happened that Passionfruit felt ought to go in my blog.

For instance, during the week of children with no school Sexy Neighbor came by to give us a bag of Ice Melt. Their drive way is prefectly level unlike their old house. I went to the door and spoke to her with my new fashion statement hair do. I tried bringing back the Pebbles look but it didn't work. Passionfruit grimaced each time he looked at me. I have to give it to Sexy Neighbor she managed to keep the laughter from surfacing. I don't think I want to play poker with that chick.

I know that there were others. But I've forgotten them. I have my own I want to tell. The other night I had a nightmare. I mean a nightmare! I had aliens, vampires, Frankenstein monsters. You get the picture. Well the dream ended with the screaming banshee. This banshee was terribly loud... so loud it woke me up... and Passionfruit, too. In fact Passionfruit (who sleeps very lightly) was thrashing about attempting to stay in bed. I had been screaming like a banshee in my sleep. I even heard myself as I was woke up to the thrashing. Once he managed to stay in bed he frantically reached over to console me. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your point of view I suppose, I was quite well awake by then. In fact I was giggling with mirth because of Passionfruit's antics. Passionfruit asked me what was wrong. I told him I had a nightmare. Puzzled he kept asking me why I was laughing. I didn't have the heart to tell him why at that moment.

In fact I'm still lol. I didn't see any of the antics they were just perceived through my other senses but it is still hilarious. I was really, really loud. No wonder Passionfruit acted like we were being invaded. I'm going to have to stop writing. I'm disturbing the library customers with my chuckles.

My weekend

One would think that being stuck in a house with three little girls for the whole weekend would have driven me bonkers. Well it didn't. In fact, it was one of my best weekends in recent times.

I know that some family members found me rather dull when I was a stay-at-home mom. I think Passionfruit thought I was a bore. However, I would have to say that I really did enjoy being a professional mommy. I loved being able to run around doing what I wanted to do most of the time. Yes. I was a mother centered on my children. They were my world and my companions. Yes. There were times when I was lonely and bored. But overall I had fun with them.

But this weekend was a return to what it was like with the kids on a full-time bases. I allowed them to crawl all over me. I allowed them to jump on me. We played games. We read books. They made hot chocolate for themselves. I did the laundry. We baked pies. My house is a wreck but we had a good time together.

Now I have to admit that I can not say that I would have had such a good time if Passionfruit hadn't been here to spell me at times. I actually got to go to the bathroom alone a few times. This weekend should be remembered by all as a good weekend... a good memory. I'm glad we had this time together.

When I reflect on being a working mother I realize that I won't be "loyal" to the outside work. I want to be loyal to my children. I want to be involved with them. It was this weekend that I found out that DQ is teased at school for being Chinese. What can one say? It hurts to be teased but I told her that children always tease others for their differences. I asked her to think about all the kids in her school. I asked her whether all the children are a like? Their not. So I asked her whether she thought everyone of the students has been teased at one time or another. DQ didn't seem too upset after that.

There is a book at my library that is relatively new. The title is More than just a mother. I find this title offensive. I never stopped to look at it because I bristle everytime I look at it. Being a mother is one of the most difficult jobs a woman could ever take on in her life. Her charges are the most critical of her and are the ones that love her. I cherish my children. They are my life in the most profound way. I think the title should be More than just a woman. Any female born can be a woman but not all women can be a mother. I have a friend that I share the challenges of mothering. We often discuss our fears. Fears of whether we are mothering well. We fear that we are hurting our children. At that particular lunch we realized that those that do abuse children don't really worry about hurting their children. Yes, my friend, parenting is one of the most difficult, challenging, exhausting roles we live but I think we are doing the best we can. And I think our best is above average. Our Christian life is challenged by our children but think what our role model puts up with for thousands of years. Errant children frustrate God, don't you think? One can almost look at the New Testament as God looking for a positive way to deal with his challenging offspring. Think about it. The New Testament is all positive and loving but I don't think it is one hundred percent effective in getting God's children to follow Him. So God still finds us a challenge but I think he takes a lot of time outs.

I want to end with this thought: I am a mother. I am a human. I have failings. But everyday I try very hard to start the day a new. Work at one point made me loose my focus. I work to keep my focus on what is important... my children. I refuse to apologize for being mother focused. I am a mother. Accept me for who I am. I am not just a woman. I am a mother.

On ice

Well I've not been very faithful to this blog. So I have an afternoon off due to a major winter storm. We are covered in ice.

Since I last blogged, we moved Miss Independence's bed in with her two older sisters. She seems to have less of an issue with frustration. I rather like the set up myself. I put the babymonitor in that room so know I can hear all three of them. This has come in handy when trying to get them to go to sleep. Also I can now hear DQ. She swears that she calls for me but she doesn't.

Another update that I need to make is that we made contact with ST's old friend. We were going to have a playdate tomorrow but I called up and explained I wasn't about to drive on ice. It seems that the little girl has been missing ST too.

Sounds like I need to go. I got the girls home with me. They didn't cancel school for them so I took them out while making my way home from work. They let us out at Noon today due to hazardous road conditions.

The times they are a changing!

We had a nice Christmas. This year it was Miss Independence who got upset with Santa. She had asked for a real horse. Santa failed to supply. With tears glistening in her eyes and her nightgown in hand MI comes to me and says "I don't want this nightgown!" Tossing the offending garment away with flourish MI starts to cry. Of course it was interesting that she tossed my gift that I gave her and not the red wagon that Santa gave her. By the way she enjoys her red wagon. I'm looking forward to the summer and walking to the pool in the neighborhood. No longer will I be doing my impression of a donkey!

Sweet Storyteller continues to be happy with whatever she is given. Drama Queen got exactly what she wanted from Santa (THANK GOD! I can't imagine having to deal with two crying divas at one time) All in all a good Christmas!

MI has been having problems lately. I've come to the decision that she feels ostracized. She sleeps in her own room. Her seat in the mini-van is all alone while the two older girls ride in the back together and sleep in a room together. So last night she wandered into her sisters' bedroom and went to sleep in DQ's bed.

After this I've decided after measuring the beds and the space left in the older girls' bedroom that we can fit 3 twin beds in there. It will just be a room with beds and dressers. MI's room will be the play room. While falling to sleep last night I realized that I could move our sleeper sofa into the play room to accomadate overnight guests! Of course this would mean that I would need to buy a sofa for the living room but hey I'm willing to scarifice! Other plans/thoughts for the "sleeping room" is to remove the closet door so that it won't matter too much if the beds block that space by mere inches. Oh I'm rather excited by the whole concept. I can't wait to implement it!

Before I do any of the "major changes" (ie, removing the closet door, moving the sofa) I will give the arrangement a test drive. Stay tuned for I will keep you posted.

Storyteller's broken heart

I need help. Storyteller has a friend from the old private school. We tried to keep in contact with the girl but her family never return our calls. I didn't want to make a nuisance of ourselves so I finally stopped allowing Storyteller to call her friend. I thought that Storyteller would eventually forget her but it's been 6 months now.

Yesterday Storyteller told me that "Ami" is her best friend in all the world but "She's like an ice cube. Once she was here but now she's all melted. There's nothing left." OH MY GOSH! HOW SAD IS THAT? My heart broke for this child. All Storyteller wants to do is go and play with this little girl.

I don't understand why they won't return phone calls. I thought that perhaps they didn't want to continue the friendship because we live in a different town from them. We are always in that other town. I don't know if they realize this.

Anyway, now I wonder whether I should write the other family a note asking whether we could get together for a playdate. Should I explain that we spend a lot of time in their town? We're there at least 2 days a week. I really don't know what to do. I'm as lost and confused as my little Storyteller.

All I know is that my little Storyteller is mourning the lose of her friend. My heart breaks for Storyteller. I just want to find those people and beg them to keep in contact with us. So any words of wisdom would be welcomed. If you have some insight this situation I would be more than happy to entertain all suggestions.

Christmas conspiracy!

There is a Christmas conspiracy! I kid you not. And it is in the store near you. I don't mean the over-commericialization of Christmas. I mean the candy that is available for Christmas is completely limited to chocolate. I've started noticing over the last two years that Christmas candy variety is being taken over by chocolate! Don't get me wrong I love chocolate as any good American woman does. But does every available candy option need to be chocolate?

Some of my favorite Christmas candy is chocolate. Who couldn't resist a chocolate Santa? What about a marshmellow chocolate covered snowman or a Santa? I love chocolate bells, especially if they have peanut butter in the centers. Of course there are plenty of candy canes but after that there really isn't much left these days.

I miss those mallow creme candies shaped like Santas, reindeer, and bells. (They were made from the same stuff as candy corn.) What about all those hard tack candies that are traditional candy at Christmas. I found a small container of those in Walgreens on the shelf just above the floor. So you know how they rate.

Why has chocolate taken over? Did some rabid investors in the cocao bean see falling prices and found away to make a market? Or has the American taste bud become so unadventerous? Why do we as a culture always dumb down to the common denominator?

Ask me what I want for Christmas-- All I want for Christmas is some candy variety!

More sexy neighbor tales

Well, I finally got all the icicle lights up on the house last week. To do this we had to borrow an extention ladder from the "perfect family" down the street. By the way their house and yard had been decorated for a couple of weeks. Let's just say Santa shouldn't have trouble finding their house on Christmas eve. All their trees have lights; their sidewalk leading up to the front door is lit like a runway; the house roof is outlined in lights. I think they even have those reindeer made from lights in their front yard.

After completing the task of the lights I returned the ladder. This was on Saturday early afternoon. Sexy neighbor comes to the door, her hair perfect brushed and wavy, cute jeans and a red blouse with one of those sweater things that glitter (I think they're called shrugs?). She had been vacuuming her living room. All of the rooms that I could see into were decorated for the holiday. So I told her I had left the ladder in her garage (they leave it open most the time) and I asked whether they were having a party. The older boy (who I think DQ has a crush on) was dressed rather smartly himself. Sexy neighbor said they were having a few guest this week but not today. So I looked at her and asked, "Do you always dress up to clean house?" "I mean do you do yard work in evening wear?"

Of course she denied dressing up to clean house. They had been to the oldest son's recital. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask what he played. I was simply amazed that the woman could clean house and still look so damn put together. Truly aggravating!

Now I have to explain that I like this woman. She has a great sense of humor. But for some reason she makes me feel inadequate. I don't think she even intends to do that. (You guys know what I mean we all know at least one woman who works hard at making you feel inferior to her.) She is really a down to earth kind a person and is fun to be around. I just wish I had some of her style.

Manic Mass of Christ!

I really marvel at my parents. If we were anything like my children at Christmas time my parents deserve a medal! Especially for not killing us in our manic state. Yes! A manic state has creeped into our lives. The girls are all pumped up with visions of gifts, and gifts, and gifts.

I contemplate not celebrating Christmas. I think about telling the kids to forget Christmas morning because Santa called and said you all are too wild. Of course we do the normal threatening... "You better behave because Santa's watching!" Yet this doesn't even seem to phase them. It's like they know they'll get the goods no matter how bad they behave.

I don't know, Christmas is somehow different than when I was a kid. I was always excited about Santa coming. I wondered what I would get. I asked Santa for stuff and usually didn't get it. But you know I was never truly heart-broken, or disappointed. It was just great to run out to the living room and see all the presents under the tree. To wake Mom and Dad up early. To turn the tree on and watch the twinkling lights. To smell ginger bread men and other goodies hanging in the air-- it was all a promise. A promise that it was going to be the best day of the year. And you know I can't think of a single Christmas that wasn't wonderful.

What surprises me is how I have to go wake up the kids in the morning. I have already turned on the tree lights; had a cup of hot chocolate or coffee; and sat enjoying the quiet peaceful morning. I savor that brief moment in the morning, and then I can't stand it any longer and I go wake up those little darlings. I watch their faces as they see what Santa brought them.

Last year I had to explain to a disappointed DQ that a bike is a good thing. Better than the thing she asked Santa for-- a suitcase. Oh the drama of the morning. I really lost my cool. It was during the shower I took that I understood/realized what DQ must of thought when she didn't find what she asked for from Santa. I'm still kicking myself for the decision I made last year. I should have bought her the bag and gave Storyteller the bike. ST uses it more than DQ does any old day. Don't worry Storyteller's getting a bike this year. The best part is it's all put together already!

I've noticed this mania seems to increase with their age. Of course I suppose at some point this will end too. Especially after they realize that there isn't a real Santa Claus. If they turn into materialistic grubby monsters at that point I may just go ahead and skip Christmas presents all together. I'll use the money that I would spend on a charity that does excellent work. I'd much rather build a home half way around the world than buy some spoiled child an X-box or a Wii or what ever will be in fashion then. But that's the future. Right now they are the sweetest little girls. They're excited, sweet little girls that I love dearly.

Miss Sunshine

When I look at Miss Independence I see a doll that I use to play with as a child. It's one of those toys that no one else seems to remember. It was actually a set of dolls. They were called the Sunshine family. They were the hippie family. In fact with each doll and accessory you bought came with a little yellow card that told you how to recycle common things into furniture and other items for the family. I remember one card showed how you could cut an oatmeal container down to create a table and chair. Another had a bunch of ideas for egg cartons.

Mom was a cute little blonde doll. She had the cutiest button nose. The baby was as blonde as the mommy doll. Dad doll was dark haired and wore comfortable clothes. No suits and ties for this man. In fact I doubt he ever saw a tux. Not even on the wedding day. It's rather funny that my very conservative, Republican mother would have bought these dolls for me. Life's ironic, isn't it?

Well I was playing with Miss Independence today and I could see a resemblance to the mom doll. Miss Independence has the cutiest nose. It has freckles on it. Of course her smile ranges from impish to angelic. I call her Morning Glory because she wakes up with a smile and a giggle. MI is certainly going to make an impression on the world.

Wonder if she'll be a hippie?

The power curve.

Just this morning I said something that I heard all my life. It was something my father always said. I think he said it to drive my mother crazy. My Mom is not the most punctual individual you will ever meet. My father was a punctual man. I think he hated to be late.

When travelling with my mother anywhere she knew exactly how long it took to get there on a good day when the travel gods are with you. You know you hit all the green lights; you're not stuck behind an old codger doing 20 miles below the speed limit, etc. If it took 5 minutes to get there under those conditions then Mom would leave exactly 5 minutes before the appointment/event.

Dad, on the other hand, planned an extra 10 to 15 minutes into the travel time. If it looked like your actions made some of those extra minutes disappear, my father would bellow, "We're 4 minutes behind the power curve!" I remember once when my mother told my father that she hated "his power curve".

This morning I heard myself telling my children that if we didn't hurry we would be behind the power curve. So my father lives on. He lives on by what I do and say. By my teaching my children the things he taught me. I suppose that is why some people are so insistent that their children procreate. They want some measure of immortality.

At this point I don't want grandchildren. My father always said that if he had known how much fun grandchildren were he would have skipped us. I have no idea whether this was an original thought or whether he stole it from someone else. It really doesn't matter because to me he owns those words. He took such great delight in them.

So here's to you Dad! You did your best with all of us. We know you loved us. I thank God we had time to settle our differences and find in each other great joy.

I have a talisman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I know is that I need a talisman.

Booby gun

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

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

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

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

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

"What Lola wants-- Lola gets"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How books take over my life

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sock induced insanity

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

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

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

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

The wedding of fools

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fever

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to be catty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five? Ten? Who's counting?

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

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

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

Halloween on my street

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts just before Halloween

I'm going to be a great aunt in July. Oh, this isn't the first time I'm going to be a great aunt. It is the first time I'll see the little creature more frequently than the others. This made me think about life and the cycle of life we Americans work so hard to forget. See I view this child as a nail in my coffin or maybe just the lid setting down on the casket. You get my drift anyway. Here is the replacement generation. My brother is old enough to be a grandfather! I can hardly believe it. He just turned 50 this year, this month to be precise.

Then I think, 50! Oh my gosh! Even if he lives to be 100 he is half way through his life. I'm well over a quarter of the way through mine. (Using the 100 marker) Reconsidering 100 I realize I am closer to being half way through this life myself.

Please, don't misunderstand. I don't want to live forever. In fact, if medical science somehow figures out the trick to eternal life I'll be among the first to slit my own wrists but even that event would be years from now anyway.

No, what I'm trying to get at is how life cycles through. For example, I'm often struck by the fact that my two oldest daughters are born in the corresponding dates of the paternal grandmother and great aunt. My great aunt was born in 1900 and my grandmother was born 1901. Drama Queen 2000 and Storyteller 2001. The preceding ladies were close. So close that my grandmother chose her sister over her daughter in a family argument that ripped the family apart for 20 some years. I'm only now getting to know that estranged daughter and I resent that I didn't have a chance to know her all those years prior.

Anyway, I've lived my life looking for parallels. I love history because I always would figure out how old I would be if I had been born during that time. Confused? What I mean would be if it was an event happening in the 1800s I would then have been born in 1868. I would spend a large amount of my imagination figuring out what I would have felt and believed if I had lived in those times. Of course some would say that that is a futile waste of time but it amused me and it still does.

So now my children are looking forward to a baby. I'm grateful because Miss Independence recently asked for a baby. She meant a real live baby. Oh speaking of marking time, Miss Independence turned four yesterday. We had the family party. I know my brother and his family forgot about it but they did finally show. Miss Independence had a ball. Most of her gifts were horses. She got to pick out the present from Aunt I don't get mad/I get even. It is a beautiful quarter horse figure that stands about two hands high. Miss Independence and Storyteller each try sitting on the thing. It is not built for that. Aunt Sister Sister gave her a stick pony (with accompanying horsey noises) and my brother gave her a My Pretty Pony. Passionfruit and I gave her a Cabbage Patch Horse. (They are much much cuter than the dolls.) Her chosen theme was Spiderman. We had a woman make her cake and we had the balloon bouquet.

Tomorrow is Halloween and the girls are looking forward to it. I'm not I've been sick for over a week now. I went on a trip during this illness. I ended up with an asthma attack. Found out today that it is not a good idea to fly with an asthma attack. Don't really know why although the way the PA kept shaking her head led me to believe I was courting a near death experience. She advised that I get an inhaler. My comment to her was gee I thought I grew out of the damn things. So many things I was suppose to grow out of... ecezema, asthma, acne. I guess I did grow out of the first two but lately I've apparently grown back into them. Let me tell ya growing up sucks. But back to Halloween, Passionfruit seems to have this idea that I'm going to be running all over town to take the girls places boy is he in for a big surprise. I'm considering not taking Drama Queen to tap tomorrow because I still feel like death warmed over. Looked at myself in the mirror today. I won't be needing any costume tomorrow if I still look like this.

Miss Independence and the wedding

Earlier this week Miss Independence packed her own backpack for school. One must remember what I've nicked-named her here to understand that I don't go through her personal bag. MI carried this bag, and I pretty much didn't pay any attention.

That is until we got to preschool. MI rushes off leaving me in her wake. I walk into the classroom and I can't find her. The other children tell me she's in the bathroom changing. I walk in and sure enough the little monkey is stark naked. It looks to me like she's changing into a nightgown on my first glance. Then I realize that it is her Cinderella costume. She's even brought matching shoes!

So I go tell her teachers that I leave them to deal with her because she won't listen to me. I then kiss my daughter good-bye and sincerely hope she has a good day.

Later that day when I came to pick up my little darlin' the teacher told me the rest of the story. Her teacher attempted to explain why Miss Independence ought not wear her costume. Well this line of reasoning did not work. MI raced to the "house center" and sat down on the little person sized couch. The teacher went over to her and asked her what was up. MI responded with, "I want to marry Luke!" So the teacher replied with, "Luke's not here, so the wedding's off." This seemed to placate her, and she took off the dress.

Now I wonder what would have happened if Luke had been there. Would he have been a willing bridegroom? Would they have gotten MI out of the costume? Please believe me that I in no way shape or form encourage this fixation MI has on marrying Luke. I do not react at all. I figure if I ignore it it will go away. So when will this end? And won't it be funny if she came home with Luke in the future?

Cleaning, organizing a child's room

This morning Storyteller was supposed to help me clean and organize her room. We spent a couple of hours just getting things out from under the bed (two twin beds for Storyteller and Drama Queen pushed together) and going through the disorganized boxes their father once bought out of frustration with no real plan to organize.

Last weekend we bought a kit of 9 cubicles that you can add little baskets to. Passionfruit and I were all pumped. Another project for us to put together. We absolutely look forward to these items we have to put together. We work well with one another. When I think of all the things we've put together the list goes on and on. Things like our hall tree, his desks (we've done 2 in 12 years of marriage), closet components, tables (coffee and side) are the types of stuff I'm talking about. Items that have numbered or lettered parts and accompanying hardware. We broke the box open and started going through things. Passionfruit was the typical male. He started putting it together. I assumed my female role of going through the hardware to make sure we have all the little things we need to assemble it. Drama Queen was aiding me. Suddenly, Passionfruit stops and says it's not going to work. We had four identical boards and not the two of one type and two of another that we needed.

Now we are waiting for the two missing panels to come to us. We have at least another week to wait. But in the meantime what truly inspired the cleaning spree was the missing items in the house. To date we are missing the children's light jackets, our Scotch Tape dispenser, a library book from school, and a case for a video from the public library. The last two items are really what I am interested in finding. I hate losing library stuff. Not just because I"m a librarian of sorts but because it means money to pay for these things.

So I am taking a break from the arduous task of cleaning and organizing children's rooms. What I've come to decide is that the children have grown out of several of the toys, and they should be given to others less fortune than my children. I've also decided that these kids have waaaaay too much stuff. And most of this stuff is tiny pieces of things that are guaranteed to hurt in the middle of the night should you have the misfortune of stepping on them. Our children are not at all inspired by or like expensive fancy toys. Instead, they like those little toys you get from Happy Meals and stuff like that. So I suppose I want to say that if you want to give our children a gift please go buy a happy meal and send them the "prize". You get a meal and they get happy.

Now I really ought to get back to this major project. OH, MY GOD! THEY'VE FOUND THE RECORDER FLUTES! So much for a quiet peaceful afternoon...

Mommy and the Biker Babe

Today at the library we saw a Biker Babe with a Harley. Miss Independence was completely taken by it. I approached the woman to ask questions about it. It wasn't your normal Harley. It looked like a tricycle. So I asked her if she had a side car that went with it. It turns out that Biker Babe had had an accident several months back and was not strong enough to hold the motorcycle up on her own. So essentially she had training wheels. It was a pretty clever contraption.

Anyway the woman offerred the girls a chance to sit on the Harley. Amazingly Drama Queen hopped right on, followed by Miss Independence. It was cool because the saddle had a fold down back. Storyteller had to wait her turn. As soon as Drama Queen and Miss Independence got down, up went Storyteller.

Then I herded my girls into our tame mini-van. While I was getting them put into their booster seats the Biker Babe came up behind me and asked if "Mommy" wanted to get on it. Well I was rather surprised. This was the first time in a long time another woman had flirted with me. Okay in writing it seems rather innocent but my mother always said, "It ain't what you say-- it's how you say it." And that is true in this case. So I kindly declined her offer and chuckled to myself.

After the girls were in their appropriate seats, Miss Independence pushed me away. She wanted to watch the woman rev up the motorcycle. Like I said the lady was paying us a lot of attention. Biker Babe asks what's up and I explained that Miss Independence wanted to watch her start up. Miss Independence's eyes were all a glow. She was having a thrill of her life. Miss Independence didn't even cringe at the roar of the Harley's engine. I wasn't allowed to close the door of the mini-van until the Biker Babe had left the parking lot.

So you see folks that my premonition of Miss Independence getting off a Harley ain't too far off the mark. Of late I've been realizing how much my children aren't me. Oh sure, Storyteller looks like me, and Drama Queen may act like me but they really aren't like me at all. Miss Independence is nothing at all like me: not in looks, acts or tastes. She is a wild child. But like I told her this morning that she is one unique child and how much I appreciate her uniqueness.

Farewell to tap

Yesterday, Storyteller made her final decision. She won't be tapping anymore. This so surprised me how Storyteller disliked tap classes. I thought she would love the noise making.

The owner of the studio came up with a theory that Storyteller doesn't like it because all the girls in the class are in the ballet class right before. There aren't any other girls that join in for just the tap like Storyteller. So in essense Storyteller is walking into the class cold and alliances and friendships are made already. Storyteller is the outsider.

Well I would have believed that except yesterday two different girls grabbed Storyteller by the hand to take her into class. Storyteller kept escaping and they kept coming back to bring her back to the studio. So I really think the girls in the class like her. Who knows what goes on in that child's mind; or any child's mind for that matter.

Personally, I don't mind that I won't have to rush around on Thursday. It will make it slightly cheaper on the pocketbook, too.