I Spider

This blog's not dead yet

2008-03-17T18:44:00.002-04:00

Hey, look! I'm posting something in my blog! Yes, it has been since NOVEMBER that I last posted. But hey, it's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to. Hmm, that reference doesn't really work here, does it? Anyway.

So why now? What earth-shattering news has prompted me to spill my guts to the Internet after such a long absence? Uh, nothing. I just, uh, well, I'm just sitting at an airport alone with free wi-fi. There you go. Last November was when things started to get really busy for me at home and work. And then my home PC had some work done - a little nip there, a couple of tucks there. Ever since then, our wireless at home has been on the fritz. I have reinstalled the router, called tech support (yes, I was that desperate), bought a new router, contacted tech support again (!!!!)... It is STILL not working right. So, combine busy with unable to sit on the couch and access the Internet and you get well, nothing. No blogging. Which is really a shame. Until the holidays and the payroll year-end crises were through I didn't have time to miss it too much, but now I really do. I miss writing, even if it's just in this odd public journal format. So while I have a few minutes...here are a couple of observations from Las Vegas (where I am currently waiting for a plane to take me home):

In Vegas, it is always night time inside.
But always daytime outside.
If you're not wearing sequins, you're not appropriately dressed for the bars. Unless you're wearing a backless string bikini. Then you can be a bartender.
No matter what you wear, you will not be the strangest looking person you will see. Unless you wear a tuxedo with a beat up backpack and flame tattoos around your neck. Then you might tie.
Vegas is where you can see the world's largest Hooters. There's a ginormous Hooters casino/hotel, too.
When the hostess at Mon Ami Gabi tells you not to go past the white bridge while you wait for your table buzzer to go off, she really means it. And she will NOT be happy if you disobey and miss her page. Trust me on this.
Only in Vegas would I pay $90 to watch people stomp around and make noise with the same things I tell my kids not to bang at home. But if the kids were as good as the Stomp Out Loud show, maybe I'd consider letting them get away with it.
Walking to the hotel "right next to" yours takes 20 minutes. At least.
The "If-You-Can-See-It-You-Can-Walk-To-It" rule did not originate in Las Vegas.
Always take the bartender's advice on what to order for dinner, especially the appetizers!

Just for you

2007-11-17T23:00:00.000-05:00

I've been a little behind with my photos lately. Not to point fingers (Steve) but someone (Steve) has been a bit of a laptop hog recently (Steve). He - I mean SOMEONE - seems to think that I should be able to use my work laptop and leave him to play Spider Solitaire and view sports-related content in peace. The only problem with that is that all of my pictures and music are on our family laptop. The laptop which we purchased specifically for ME. Oh, sure, that was when I needed it for school, but whatever. It's all about me. Remember that.

Anyway.

I finally got new pictures downloaded and organized this evening and I came across a few photos that I thought you might enjoy. Because I'm here for you. You know, except when someone (Steve) is hogging the laptop.

A flower girl who stole all of the attention from the bride (1977)

Top: Butterball - good thing I got a little taller
Botton: First grade picture

Now, where did I leave my high heels and pearls?

2007-11-08T23:13:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a good day. The kids had dentist appointments in the morning and, since they decided to squeeze Steve in to work on his cavitites (Two! He's such a bad boy!), I had to go, too. Andrew only had a half-day of school, so we decided to make a family play-hookey-day of it. Steve and I both took the day off work and after we finished with the dentist, we went to eat and saw The Bee Movie. It was Abby's very first movie, and she did pretty well. I think she liked it, even if she didn't recognize Kramer's voice half-way through it or get some of the jokes.

After the movie, Andrew actually convinced Steve to stop at a store I had pointed out on our way to the theater. It was a cute little antique store with a bunch of fun stuff set up outside. I'm pretty sure if it had been just me asking, we wouldn't have gone, but Andrew wheedled (that's a cross between whining and needling, with a dash of begging for good measure) our way there. Gotta love that boy. The store was very fun. Lots of things that I would love to have at my house. Or at least at the house I have in my head - the one where kids don't color on tables, spill drinks on couches, or break things with their energy force fields. Steve's reply anytime I suggest purchasing new furniture is, "What's the point of buying anything nice now?" Good point. But I had fun looking around and the kids also had a good time. The store was in the midst of reorganizing, so walking through it to look at things was a little like exploring your grandma's attic (WAY fun!). And as a bonus, not only was there a small Abby-sized playmate (the owners' daughter, Erica) and two adorable kittens who liked - or at least tolerated well - being carried around by three-year-olds, they had a play room upstairs, where Erica was more than happy to host some company. I think Steve was the only one who wanted to leave. And even HE liked many of the items we saw. I know this will be hard to believe, but he actually said he was surprised at how reasonably priced things were and was longingly eyeing a beautiful cabinet with an attached leaded-glass display case. I know! I had to check and make sure he hadn't been replaced by a pod person!

So we left the store without most of the things I wanted to pack up and tuck in my pocket, like the old rescued barn feed bin, which would have made a fantastic addition to our mud room, except for the fact that our house doesn't have a mud room, or even a spare wall long enough and empty enough beside which to place it. Sigh. But! I did not leave empty handed. I found two lovely soup bowl and saucers that came home with me. I question the actual antiqueness of them, but I love them even if they aren't that old, and I didn't pay more for them than I would have at Target. Also, I bought an apron. You heard me. Actually, I bought two. Because if I have an apron, you know that Abby needs an apron. Both of our aprons are quite lovely and have already been put to good use, except that Andrew was the first one to wear Abby's apron. I promised him I wouldn't take his picture, so I don't have proof, but I do have photos of our lovely aprons.

Mine:

Abby's (& Andrew's) :

Just wearing it makes me feel more domestic already!

Told You So

2007-11-06T22:55:00.000-05:00

See? I didn't do it. That blogging every day thing. I mean, seriously. Every. Day. Does it count that I THINK about blogging every day? I do, I swear! There is at least one moment every day when I think to myself, "Oh, right. Blog that." And then I actually write a few lines in my head. Because I'm just that much of a nerd. The problem comes in where I try to get that stuff from my head to my fingers at such a time and place when I a) have a computer in front of me with time to type and b) remember what was so great that I wanted to tell the Internet about it. Let me tell you, a and b? They don't cross paths too often.

But I did have a little flash of insight recently that I thought I'd share. Because I clearly have not yet publicly flogged myself and my neuroses enough...

Recently, I went out to eat with several of my co-workers when the conversation turned to discussion about a particular person, who I did not know. There was some venting going on. And then someone made a comment about this person taking Prozac. And there were some comments like, "That explains things." or "Well, I guess I'd better be nicer to her so she doesn't lose it on me." And I said nothing. I don't know this person. I have no idea how annoying she might be to deal with. And I obviously know nothing about her health issues. However, it finally occurred to me (in a big light bulb DUH moment) that the reason I was not and am still not entirely comfortable with my current prescription is that I make judgements about people who need to take medicine for depression. And clearly I'm not alone. I would feel pretty terrible if some of the people I work with thought about me the things they think about this other person, simply because they were to find out that I take Zoloft. A better version of myself would have said something to them. I would have defended this unknown person, at least from the perspective of her mental health, and explained that it is not her fault. It's a chemical issue. It is medically necessary and does not mean she is weak. But I didn't.

Because I don't believe that, either. I need to get off of this drug or come out of the depression closet and start getting over the stigma I've attached to myself. And I need to quit being a hypocritical jerk, even if I'm only doing that in my head.

Nablopomo

2007-11-01T23:00:00.000-04:00

There's this thing. I am not joining it. I want to. But I'm not going to. Because I am a sucky blogger and I don't think I can do it. Yes, this makes me the kind of person who is avoiding participation because I think I will fail. I know. Please, don't point it out to me, or otherwise I'll have to tell Steven Tyler about it. And you know, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with me, so that would really mess with him. He would have to write a song about it and sing it while he wears very tight striped spandex pants and plays with scarves. And no one wants that.

Ratted out

2007-10-21T22:33:00.000-04:00

When I started writing here, in this very public, yet still somehow anonymous forum, I knew that it could be found. Honestly, I could have done far more to make this unfindable by my family, friends, whoever, but I didn't. I have also been conscious not to write things here that I would be embarrassed for my family to read. You know, just in case. I haven't lied, but I have pushed myself to see the positive side a little more often before I start typing. ;-)

Even so, I've been pretty open. I write things here that I don't talk about in conversation. Talking is hard for me. Writing is SO much easier. So. What the Hell am I talking about?

Well, my grandma called tonight. Actually, she called this morning while I was at church (wrong number!), but then she called back tonight. I missed it the first time - we couldn't get to the phone in time, and I didn't call back. Probably because I'm a really horrible granddaughter, but I am fighting a cold and was coming down off of my cold medicine grogginess and I didn't think it was probably a big deal. But then she called back.

First, she wanted to apologize for the wrong number this morning. But then, she wanted to check on me. Because my uncle John told her that I'm depressed. And cleaning closets or something. I of course assured Grandma that I'm fine and I'm getting help. It's just life. And, as Grandma said, it's hard to try doing and having it all.

Before I go any further, I want to say for the record, I love my uncle. He has always been my "cool" uncle - young, and fun, and just awesome. Oh, the stories I could tell about him!! Things are a little different now, because we're all older and crankier and stuff. The last time we were all together, my kids were...uh...a little loud. Like usual. We were outside, but they were pretty loud. And I tend to forget that their particular volume of loud is even louder for people (like John) who don't deal with it every. blessed. day. He does like kids. He just wants them to behave. Hey, me, too!

Anyway, so now my family knows about 1) the blog and 2) the depression. I say family because if John told Grandma, I would be willing to bet good money that my Grandma has also told my Aunt Jill, it's possible that my Uncle John has told my Uncle Sam...and basically, my mom is going to be calling and/or e-mailing me tomorrow. (Luckily, she already knows about all of this!) I am not concerned that John or even my Grandma knows about what I write here. What really is a little disturbing is that I got tattled on! By Cool Uncle John! Seriously!

Ah, well, that's life. It's good to be loved. Hi, Edwards Family! Welcome to the show!

God forgive me, I think I've become one of THOSE people

2007-10-19T20:15:00.001-04:00

I go to church. Lutheran, in case you're interested. I believe in God and Jesus and salvation and all that other stuff. I feel pretty strongly about it all, but I know other people don't. And normally, that's okay with me. Even if I don't agree with someone else's beliefs or opinions, well, it's just not my place to judge or tell them they are wrong.

However.

In the last two days, a couple things have struck me, and I have been surprised at how strong my reaction has been. First, was this quote in my daily quote calendar (I love quotes):

"Can't nothin' make your life work if you ain't the architect." --Terry McMillan

My immediate thought when I read that quote: Bullshit. I had to take a second to figure out why I reacted that way. Then I realized - it's because I don't think I'm the architect of my own life, nor should I try to be. I have always believed in "meant to be" things. After all, I met my husband because God sent a flood. Seriously. I'm not saying I don't have any choice or responsibility for my life, but I really believe that there is a Greater Plan, and that all of the circumstances, obstacles, and choices I am presented with are leading me along that path.

I feel strongly. But I very rarely talk about this, even with my "church friends." I have read articles about attempts to remove God from congressional proceedings and bills, and of course I know about the church-state battle. I have opinions about those things, too, and sometimes my husband and I discuss them. And I shake my head sometimes and wonder what this world is coming to and how/why people have come to the conclusions they have. But I think what I read earlier might have officially sent me over the edge. Radio Disney is now objecting to including the words "chosen by God." In a movie about

The Ten Commandments

For those of you who are not familiar, those are the ten big rules given to Moses. By GOD. Basically, God is one of the main characters of the story. But Radio Disney doesn't think He should be part of the commercials they air. Seriously.

I'm officially angry. Outraged, even, at the stupidity of this. How far do we really need to go to avoid offending someone? Does it honestly offend someone who does not believe in my God to even hear His name? And if that's the case, does anyone really not see that there might be bigger problem there? And by the way, why is it okay to offend ME by neutralizing my God in order to avoid offending someone else? How does that make sense?

I want to share my anger with everyone. I would love to send it to some women bloggers who are way more popular than me, maybe someone who writes about political issues, current events, etc. to spread the word even more. The only problem with that is that most of the ones I've found are overwhelmingly liberal/Democrat-leaning/anti-Bush. And somehow, I'm not sure that they will share in my outrage. I may have to start my own. I could call it A Liberal Republican Christian Mommy Speaks Out. Watch out, next I'm getting one of those fish emblems and am going to put a bumper sticker on my van that says "I'm Christian. And I VOTE!"

Taking it too far

2007-10-10T21:30:00.000-04:00

So I may have a case of making my own bed and being forced to lie in it. Yes, the name of this blog is I, Spider. Yes, there is a very cute little spider crawling around at the top. And, yes, I have been known to display spider cling-stickers year-round. I take pride in my spiderness. And this

is indeed the little friend who keeps me company on my work laptop.

However.

I do not like the kind of spiders that crawl across my living room floor at midnight when I am very innocently sitting on my couch trying to watch Jay Leno and Steve is already fast asleep. I do not enjoy begging my husband to get up and kill the monster only to be turned down with a grunt and a muffled "Just use a shoe!" from under the pillow while a giant arachnid is attacking Flash.

Please note that the monster's legs were actually twice the length they appear. This photo was taken after I drowned it in Ant/Roach spray (the only thing I had that didn't require me to touch anything that was touching the spider) and it shriveled up it's creepy crawly legs and DIED already! Woo hoo! And yes, those are indeed puddles you see on the floor around it. I told you, it drowned. I didn't want to take any chances.

We had one spider of similar size and monstrosity in the kids' rooms (it ran from one to the other and they had to chase it) earlier in the night. We've also had another one make an appearance in the living room since then. Luckily, Steve was awake to deal with that one. I'm out of Ant/Roach spray.

I just want to make it clear - The only spiders I like are fake and cute! These ginormous cat-eating jumping wolf spider beasts do NOT qualify in either category. So. If I have somehow developed a following out in the spider community, I want to tell them all right now: Don't come to my house. You are not invited. Perhaps I have gotten carried away with the spider thing. My bad. But don't come here. I will kill you. If not by cat attack (because they get a little scared when the spiders jump back at them - no lie!), then by drowning, or I'll call in The Husband. You know, .38, .39, whatever it takes.

The Mom's Overture

2007-10-05T09:24:00.000-04:00

This is one of the funniest things I have seen in a while. And so, so true. Also, I heard today how healthy laughter really is, so consider this your workout for the day!

F.I.N.E.

2007-10-03T23:28:00.000-04:00

Today was my first session with a counselor. I have to say, I kind of hated it. Yes, I am the one who called and made the appointment. I felt like it was time for me to go. But yesterday, I decided I was crazy for making the appointment. And thinking you are crazy is usually what leads people to go to see a counselor. So that was a bit of a dilemma. Can we all scream together now?

So I went. And it was fine. Just. Fine. Except I really hate telling other people about my weird issues. You know, other than you, Internet. With you, I can comfortably hide behind my laptop screen. Ha ha, you can’t see me now!

Anyway, have I mentioned the best/worst part? My counselor’s name (and by the way, what exactly do I call this person? therapist? counselor? Dr. Feelgood? What’s the proper term?) is Steve Tyler. Seriously. Thankfully, he does not look like this:

Which is a good thing, because I’m already freaked out enough. Thankfully, he also did not sing “Dream On” or “Sweet Emotion” when I started to tell him my issues. Basically, I think I confused The Demon of Screamin’ about why I was even there. Clearly, I was not making my craziness apparent enough. I’ve been working at faking normal for a while now, so I might be getting pretty good at it. Or maybe I was subconsciously trying to deny or hide my craziness. He kept asking if there was something else. What had happened to cause me to come in now? Have there been any problems? Do I love my husband? (Yes, by the way). By the time we were finished, he had come just short of calling me a hypochondriac. He said I’m neurotic. But you know, I’m sure he meant it in the nicest possible way. And he does want me to come back. Woo hoo! I’m crazy enough for a 2nd date! With Steve Tyler! My lips feel so inadequate.

I've been turning, tuning, and drop drop dropping...*

2007-09-20T00:49:00.000-04:00

So I've been feeling mentally AWOL lately. This has been going on for a while now. I'm back to doing some serious introspection. Oh, there's some fun stuff going on in the deep dark recesses of my little brain. And what do you know, there are some corners in there that I have neglected. Neglected for far too long. God, I hate looking in there.

You know, sometimes I cook something for dinner and it's just okay. Or maybe even a little less than okay. But for some reason, I store the leftovers in the refrigerator anyway. You know, just because. I made them, I should keep them, right? And they get pushed to the back of the refrigerator. And neglected. Have you ever seen what happens to neglected leftovers in the back of a refrigerator? It is not pretty, my friends. Not. Pretty.

So, this is my brain. And this is my brain with moldy leftovers. What to do? How do I get rid of the moldy leftovers? I thought I had dumped them in the trash, but somehow, the stench has remained. Or maybe there are still more leftovers that I missed before. I dunno. I've been looking by myself and I can't figure it out.

Okay, I'm not making much sense. I know, I'm rambling...give me a break - it's 1:00 am and I've been keeping this stuff bottled up for a while. Have I mentioned how utterly sick I am of worrying that I'm sick? The problem with being sick in the head is that you have to wonder if the thoughts you are having about being sick in the head are being altered because you might be sick in the head. Know what I mean? Ha ha! Hee hee! Ho ho!

Here's the deal. I have issues. To paraphrase a friend, I've got an entire subscription (she actually was not talking about me, but it fits). I like to think I'm pretty independent and smart and capable. And I don't like to ask for help. That's just a sign of weakness or stupidity or naivete. You know, for me. Other people can ask for help, that's cool. They can even ask me for help. They aren't stupid. Just me. If I ask for help. No, it doesn't make sense. Remember? Issues. However, I'm asking for help now. It took me having a minor breakdown after reading a book to bring up some of those issues. It took several weeks of trying to work through these issues in my head to bring me to the conclusion that they just aren't going to go away on their own and it's time to ask for help. It took two more weeks to bring myself to tell my husband that I want to ask for help. It took one more week after that to make the first call to get some help. It took three more days before I tried again (you would think that when you call to ask for help that the people whose job it is to help you would be a little more understanding about how hard it is to call and ask for help one time and would respond appropriately without making you call and ask a SECOND TIME). That was a week ago. I have two more weeks until I actually get to meet with someone in person and start purging the moldy leftovers. I hope they have some really strong cleaner.
*

And pay and pay...and pay

2007-09-07T20:26:00.000-04:00

Well, if I needed some clear indication that life as a consultant who travels most of the time is not for me, I've got it now. I have been in Chicago for the last couple of days at a conference. The conference was great. Hotel room awesome (Seriously - a television built into the mirror in the bathroom. My amazement at that made me feel like a total hick.), comfy bed, wonderful pillows...and today I came home.

Let's think back to when I went to San Diego back in April...remember? Yep, they all got sick and I had the guilt and then I had to take care of them and baby them and not complain about it because I had been enjoying myself in sunny Cali-forn-i-a while they were feverish and achy and sweating and feeling crappy - and Steve also had to take care of the sickly kids. So guess what happened while I was in Chicago...

Yup. Again.

Apparently, this time the guilt and the nursemaiding is going to be payment for the cool iPod and $600 gift certificate I won at the conference. I suppose that's fair. If Abby has to have tonsillitis (according to WebMD.com) in order for me to have have an iPod, I guess that's a sacrifice I'll just have to make.

Seriously, is it really so wrong?

2007-08-21T22:42:00.000-04:00

They say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. And I would. Really. But I don't have one.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with this picture.

Yes, they are Post-It Notes. Sorted. Lined up in tidy little columns. And yes, those are more Post-Its, color-coordinated, at the top of each column to label the Post-It columns. What? This isn't how everyone does it?

So this is love

2007-08-19T22:01:00.000-04:00

Eleven years. As of Friday, that's how long Steve and I have been married. Somehow, eleven finds me in a more reflective mood than ten did. Maybe because last year I was too busy planning and anticipating a trip to Niagara Falls to think much about why. But eleven. Wow. I told Steve I thought for sure he'd have left me by now. I'm not sure if he thought I was kidding or not. I wasn't. I find it a daily miracle that this man continues to put up with my crap. And sometimes he actually acts like he likes it! Yes, he comes with his own unique blend of crap - things like making up bizarre and inappropriate lyrics to songs he can't sing the tune to. But for every "Awesome Pseudical" (that would be "Pour Some Sugar On Me") of his, there seems to be a "Five Hundred Children" (umm...."five hungry children" - that's from that one Kenny Rogers song) of mine. Maybe we fit together pretty well, after all.

And as further proof of that, it seems we've started a tradition for our anniversary. For the last few years, we have each given the other two cards. One a tender, romantic, sappy, wordy one. And then the real one. This year, I think we've finally reached the pinnacle. We gave each other the mushy cards on Friday - the actual anniversary. We didn't plan it that way, but there were two cards and we each picked that one to give. Saturday we had our official night out (a babysitter, dinner AND a movie - we were living on the edge!). Before bed that night (because we forgot to take them with us when we sprinted from the house screaming "FREEDOM!!!"), we exchanged the other cards. I'm actually a little scared. Because the next step is that we're going to start looking like each other, and I don't think he's going to look good with my boobs.

Mine to him:

And his to me:

The best part? We each bought the card that we should have received. Seriously. Have you SEEN his butt? Okay, but back off. He's mine.

From a Yellow Brick Road to a Red Light

2007-08-02T22:45:00.000-04:00

Well, today was Day 3 back to school. I can start to feel the presence of a more normal routine and pace around my house. We actually picked up around the house a little tonight. That alone is a big step forward from the last five or six weeks. Seriously, this summer has been almost overwhelming. I'm glad we did it all, but man, am I wiped out!

And really, we aren't quite done. We're going to Chicago this weekend for a Cubs game - where we will be sitting in a suite with my mom's family. This is the second time we've made this trip, and I think it will be pretty fun. As long as I keep the little ones away from my uncle John, who has turned into the the old guy who comes out on his front porch yelling, "Hey, you kids, get outta my yard!" But he's holding a glass of wine when he does it.

Then the following weekend, we'll be going home to Illinois for my Grandpa Noller's 80th birthday and some family fun with my Dad's family. Hmm...I wonder if my dad will be there. Funny that it only just now occured to me that he might. Oh well, that's a story for another time!

Finally, at the end of the month, we're going to Kings Island. The VP of Org Development takes the entire department and their families every year. The whole family, a chartered bus, entry to the park, and a meal. Free. I have never imagined working in a place that actually liked having me as an employee. It's kind of intoxicating. And you KNOW I like being intoxicated!

Anyway, as fun as all of that will be and all of everything else has been, there will be a couple of top highlights that I will remember about this summer. For one, I got to go to Beef & Boards for the first time way back at the beginning of June to see the Wizard of Oz. Do you know me? Do you know my love for this movie? If not, you should probably count your blessings. The people around me who do know about my thing with the Wizard probably wish that they didn't. I loved the whole thing. It was my birthday present from Steve, and I have to say, one of the best ones ever. I bought myself a couple of souveniers to commemorate the occasion: a wind-up music box that plays 'Over the Rainbow' and a witchy door hanger. The music box has already been claimed by Abby. I sing that song to her as a lullaby and when I had to be in Waco for almost two weeks, I told her that whenever she missed me, she could use my "special music box" to hear our song. So now that's Abby's "special music box." Oh well, it worked and helped my guilt while I was gone. As for the door hanger, that has become one of my favorite decorations on my cube wall at work. One side is pink and says Good Witch. The other side, the side that is showing most often, is green (!) and says Bad Witch. Hee hee. I just love it.

And then there's the other highlight of my summer. Oh, who am I kidding, probably one of the highlights of my life. You know, umm, after marrying Steve and having my kids. Right, that's what I meant. A couple of weeks ago, I took a road trip with some friends to Detroit. Woo hoo! That's it, man! Detroit! Awesome! Oh, and while we were there, we just popped in to the Palace and saw

Yes, with Sting and his little Tantric self. I know I should care a little more about the other two guys, Andy and Stuart, and they were great and all, but they're no Sting. Plus, they are really OLD! My fellow travelers were some of my friends from church. There were two men and two women, we're all married, but none of us to each other.

Here's our one group photo, taken by a guy who really wanted our wine, but didn't have his own glass - seriously, how unprepared is that?!

Weird? You might think so, but it was terrific. And I learned a very important lesson: Much like calling Shotgun early, you must also state clearly before the trip commences that "What Happens on the Road Trip, Stays on the Road Trip." Otherwise you might come home being called Pot Head, and not for the reasons you might think. There were lots of interesting conversations on the way to and from Detroit, but I don't think I can share them all here. Not because the What Happens rule was invoked, but because I would laugh too hard to be able to continue to type. Sting should feel good that the intricacies of Tantra were discussed in such detail, though. And we seriously think he could get a killer endorsement deal with K-Y if he'd push that seven-hour angle.

I leave you with a little Sting:

Busted, literally - signs from God

2007-07-31T19:00:00.000-04:00

I'm back. I know I haven't been around much. We have been soooo busy, it's unreal. It seems to me that we tried to squeeze an entire summer's worth of activity into the last five weeks, starting with the last week of June and ending today. Wow, I'm exhausted. Since I've been away for a while, I hope you're settled in for a long post...

First, a quick recap. When last I left you, I had managed to make it through vacation bible school week relatively unscathed. In fact, it was one of the best years of VBS that I can remember. And I think the kids had fun, too. There were horses and pig kissing and WAY cool decorations. And yes, I am already annoying people by starting to talk about next year. Anyone who complains is going to go on God's shit list for sure, so watch it! The month of July has been filled with, among other miscellaneous things, the carnival in town, trips to Kokomo Beach (not a real beach, but an awesome - small, un-crowded, clean, cheap - water park, Steve's week off, a Police concert (more on that tomorrow), Camp Anderson, the new Harry Potter book, the county fair, Abby's last dance class until September (I am proud to report that we were on time!), an Indianapolis Indians game with people from church (which I coordinated, thank you very much), the Brickyard (for Steve and Andrew) and Abby's first trip to Club Libby Lu for a Libby Du both on this past Sunday (I don't want to hear any comments about makeup on my three-year-old - it was a special Girls' Day Out), and finally, today, Andrew's first day back to school. This is honestly the first year I can say that I feel relief at having that boy go back to school. Probably because this is the first summer where I have consciously worked to make Andrew feel like there is a difference between the school year and his summer vacation. I have been late to work (9 or 9:30 am late) almost every day the month of July so that he and Abby could sleep in a little more (okay, and so I could sleep in a little, too!); we've let them stay up late (hah, as if implying we actually have any kind of control when it comes to bedtime); we have not turned down any opportunity for parties or swimming or trips to the park or anything else. Like I said, I'm exhausted.

With everything else going on, I've slipped off of my diet plan over the last couple of weeks. I was holding on pretty well for a while, but then...well, let me say that I've learned some things about myself: 1. I am most certainly a stress-eater. I always thought this about myself, but getting myself to a pretty good place with food choices and then having stress rear its ugly head has cemented it. Work has picked up a LOT this month. Some of the stress that I eliminated when I left the Evil Empire and that I didn't have here in Eden while working in Finance has returned now that I am back in HRIS and working with Payroll again. And when I start to feel anxious and stressed, the first thing I want to do is grab a snack. You know, like when Payroll sends me tax balance reconciliation files Thursday afternoon and then follows up with a near-belligerent e-mail on Friday afternoon telling me that anything less than a perfect file by noon on Monday is completely unacceptable because they have to file by Tuesday and they have other things to do to the reports and never mind that they waited until THREE business days before that to look at the balances on a system they JUST WENT LIVE ON. Ahem. Let's move on, before I feel the need to look for some cookies. 2. I also learned concretely that when things with work and family get hectic and something has to give, what gives is me. I'm not saying that because I'm some kind of martyr or want sympathy points (though I wouldn't turn down a medal, you know, if you've got one you've been wanting to give me). It's just the truth. My stuff (tracking my food, exercising, sleeping, etc.) is the easiest to modify, reduce, or give up altogether. For the last few weeks, that's what has happened. And I have missed the little all-about-me life I had started to build: my blogging here and on the kids' site; tracking and (only slightly anally) monitoring my food, exercise, and weight on SparkPeople; walking alone or with Leslie, for no one but me. Sadly, though I didn't know it at the time, the day that marked the beginning of my tumble from the healthy lifestyle wagon was the day that I went for my best walk ever. We visited friends who live in the Illinois countryside, in what we now fondly refer to as Camp Anderson, and I walked about 2 3/4 mile in the middle of nowhere with just me and my thoughts. It was awesome. I did not want to come home. They have peaceful surroundings, five acres of land that is theirs, an inground -heated- pool, and three big dogs, one of which is a yellow lab who wanted to come home with me.

That was a week and a half ago. I had been faltering a bit before that, but since we got back, I'm not sure I've logged anything at all, and I'm pretty sure I haven't done any purposeful walking. I say purposeful because you know there has been plenty of walking, but no Walking, where I strap on my shoes and walk with the intent of walking a certain distance in a certain time frame at a certain speed. In other words, my walking has been running around after my kids, stepping over clutter and laundry and toys and crap in my house, or walking through the Wal-Mart or the grocery trying to remember exactly what it was I was supposed to be buying. The normal stuff.

But then, God looked down upon me and must have thought I needed some help pretty badly - and that I am pretty dense (He's smart like that) - because He started sending me some very clear signs pointing me in big flashing neon to get myself back to where I was before July happened. First, on Sunday, I tried to talk my daughter out of going to church. Yes, it's true. I know! God is going to be doing some serious smiting on my ass. Well, all that time my daughter spends in daycare - away from my horrible heathen influence - must be doing some kind of good because she wouldn't let me out of it. Steve and Andrew had already left for the race and we were running about 15 minutes late and I tried to say we just couldn't go and be that late because the service had already started and she cried. Tears. Because she wanted to go to church. Or maybe because she was sad because she had just realized that her Mommy is going to go to Hell, I'm not sure. So I took the oh-so-subtle hint from the Big Man that I should be getting myself some salvation and we went. And we stayed in the nursery the entire service, except for Children's Sermon and Communion, because she wouldn't sit in the pew and wouldn't let me leave her side. At least I got communion, so my soul should be safe for most of the week...

Then, Steve started running again. He's decided that he needs to lose 15 pounds between now and the Tuesday after Labor Day. That's 15 pounds in 35 days. So he hopped on the treadmill yesterday and again this morning. And he's now decided that the food he's been pushing on me for the last two or three months while I steadfastly (most of the time) resisted is now - now that I've given in to the chocolate chip ice cream calling my name from the freezer - evil. He reads labels. He reviews calorie and fat content. Not that he really needs to. He's a man, after all. He thinks about losing weight, and Poof!, it's gone. I asked if he'd think about me losing some weight, too, so we'll see if that works.

Finally, today, the light went on in my head. I wore my favorite blue pants to work. They've been snug for quite some time, and frankly, snug is being kind. It hurts to button them. But, I haven't worn them for a while, and I have lost some weight. Not much, true, but even over these last few weeks when I haven't been walking and haven't been logging, I haven't gone completely over the deep end. I haven't made especially terrific food choices, but I've still been having a SlimFast shake for breakfast (I actually like them), been behaving relatively well when it comes to portion sizes, and have still managed to lose about 1/2 pound each week. Not great, but at least the number is still going in the right direction. I didn't get my work laundry washed this weekend, so my selection was limited and I thought I could get away with wearing the blue pants. The pants were still rather tight in the waistband (they fit everywhere else, I swear!), but I managed. I brought my lunch today - being goodish with homemade lasagna and cottage cheese with pineapple - but it was our technical consultant's last day, so some of the guys here were taking him out and invited me. Now, I don't get many chances to hang with "the boys" here at work, so I accepted. We went to Bellacino's where I gave in to my longing for their baked ziti. Oh, it is quite delicious. And I forgot to ask them to bring one dry breadstick instead of the two pieces of delicious garlic bread, so I just went ahead and ate them anyway. But their portion of ziti isn't enormous - at least not by my standards - and I thought I would be fine. When we got back, I headed to the restroom (two Diet Cokes with lunch) and that's when it happened. My third - and trust me on this, FINAL - sign from God pointing me back to my path. My zipper busted. Broke. Unzippable. And I was headed back in to training class. Lovely. So I managed to find two safety pins and a rubber band and I put my pants back together so I could make it through the day. Luckily, I wore a relatively long shirt today, so no one noticed. Or at least, no one pointed and laughed when I walked by. Well, okay, maybe they did point and laugh, but that's kind of a normal occurrence when I walk by anyway. Point is, I get it. I'm there. I understand. I do not need to be hit on the head. Or popped in the eye with a(nother) flying zipper to get the hint. Tonight, I'm going home to a salad and a walk around the neighborhood.

Oh, and I know this was all God's doing. Because if it had just been life screwing with me, the zipper would have broken at lunch. In front of all the boys. God is holding off on that level of smiting until I do something really terrible, like have sex in the living room.

Doughnuts and noodles, back pain, Leslie, and me

2007-07-10T11:39:00.000-04:00

I have this friend. Um, I really do have more than one friend, but right now, we're just talking about this one. She is pretty awesome. In the last several months, she has been working hard to change her habits and attitudes toward eating, exercising, and herself. And OMG, am I impressed! She, who was once snotty and hard to work with, is now one of the most positive people I know. Recently, she had some trouble at the airport. Not all that long ago, this would have been a MAJOR disruption to her happiness. Now, it's barely a blip - she mentions it, acknowledges the frustration, and then says, "Oh, well..." Wow. And her attitude toward diet and exercise should really qualify her for Super Woman status. I am completely in awe and incredibly proud of the work she's doing for her health. Now she'll live a nice long, healthy life so I can whine to her whenever I need to! If you didn't know that it's all about me by now, people, you should seriously have been paying better attention.

Anyway, because I like to just copy what other people do (increasing the all-about-me-ness), I'm trying to be just like her. I am struggling a bit here in the beginning. But I have signed up for SparkPeople - which I LOVE. I am tracking my food, exercising more than I was, and have started walking with an actual commitment to it. I feel better, not so much in the physical sense yet (I haven't actually lost much weight yet since I just started), but just because I have taken steps in the right direction. However...

...even with all of this good vibe energy, I have this problem. It's called Food. More specifically, my all-or-nothing-I-may-never-eat-again approach to it. I'm better. Really. Yesterday, for example, I refused a refill (a FREE refill) on my Diet Coke at lunch. Because I didn't need it. I can't even tell you how amazing it is to read that sentence and believe it. Right now, I have a Diet Coke sitting RIGHT NEXT TO ME on my desk. And it's unopened; I'm drinking flavored water. Seriously. But I still have issues. Issues with names like Mel-O-Cream Chocolate Long John. If you don't know Mel-O-Cream, that's because you've probably never lived in Springfield, Illinois. It's Springfield's version of Dunkin Donuts, but more homemadey. I visited my mom this weekend, who, after watching me struggle with food decisions all weekend, decided it would be a great idea to go pick up a dozen doughnuts for us all on Sunday morning. She left while the kids and I were still sleeping, so I didn't have a chance to beg her not to bring them back. She mentioned they were there and I thought "I can have one doughnut. It's not the best breakfast, but I'll eat well for lunch. It will be okay." And so I ate four of them. Yes. Four. As in three more than one. When I went to put them in my daily log, it made my stomach hurt to type it. I looked up the calories - over 1100 calories for my breakfast. My goal range for the day is 1200-1550. So that's bad. And combined with what I did on Saturday, that's REALLY bad.

We went to my grandma's for dinner on Saturday. Where she made all my favorites: barbecued chicken (I ate 1 leg without the skin, not bad), fresh green beans - with bacon (two big spoonfuls, no bacon), German potato salad (1 small scoop), and the "cherry" on top, chicken and noodles. Oh, when I die, I hope it's death by noodles. If I could wrap myself up in them, I would, except then I'd eat them, and be naked, and that would be bad. But you get my point. I love love LOVE them. Probably more than the Mel-O-Cream Chocolate Long John, if that's possible. And I'm not the only one. We fight over who gets the last of them. We gobble our servings so we can be first back for seconds (and thirds...). Yes, I ate THREE helpings. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should resist. I thought about it and tried, really TRIED not to, but the siren song of the Kluski egg noodle was too strong. I succumb. And apparently, relinquished any sense of will power I had been managing up to that point. Hence the three pieces of Angel Food Cake later that evening and the doughnut incident the next morning.

Even with that um, not-so-strong weekend, I'm not doing too badly. I'm making (most of the time) better decisions, and am least more conscious about what I eat. And there's the exercising! I'm walking, and liking it. I sent a daily 11am walking invite to a group of women I work with, and am excited about it. The heat right now is a bit of a bummer, but I think if I can find a conference room, we could just use my Leslie Sansone 1 mile DVD. Yesterday was Day 1 with Leslie, and she is so cute. Happy and perky, but not in that syrupy Denise Austin kind of way. Don't get me wrong, Denise is great. I'm just not as happy to be doing what she's doing as she is. Leslie is cool though. Very laid back in a, 'Hey, I'm walking, why don't you walk with me' kind of way that makes you feel like it's no big deal, it's just walking. And my favorite line from the DVD: "Woo! It's okay to say 'Woo' sometimes!" That just makes me happy for reasons I don't understand. My only issue is that I have developed severe lower back pain. I'm sitting here now with a WellPatch strapped to my back and Alleve coursing through my veins. The great thing about it (yes, great. about back pain. stick with me.) is that it doesn't matter. More than wallowing and whining about the pain (although there is still plenty of wallowing and whining, trust me), I'm kind of pissed off. I want to walk. Did you catch that? I WANT to walk. In the 90 degree, 90 percent humidity weather. I brought my shoes and t-shirt to work today, even though I didn't get here until 11am because I was having a hard time maneuvering this morning. If I can, I'm still going to walk later. Maybe just once around the building instead of twice. Maybe a lot slower than I'd like. But I am going to go out there and try. Or at least find an empty conference room and have my pal Leslie walk with me.

You'll probably be hearing a lot more about this journey. I'd like to tell you that my goal is to post here every day, diet related or not. But let's not lie. My real goal - and this is pretty sad - is to get more than six hours of sleep each night this week. Um, right. I realize that six hours is less than the recommended amount. I'm starting small. With a goal that I actually have a small chance of accomplishing. If that works, we'll up it to six and a half for next week. But for this week, I'm aiming for six. And as sad as that is, posting every day might interfere with that. Either that or posting will interfere with working (like right now). So odds are good that I won't make it here every day this week. But I will be around. Don't you worry. I haven't told you about Vacation Bible School yet!!

Prayers

2007-07-06T00:03:00.000-04:00

I got some bad news on Tuesday. A friend has been diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. I consider this friend a surrogate mother of sorts. She and my mom have so much in common, and are still so different. My friend has moved far away, so I don't get to see her much, but that doesn't make her less close in my heart. I haven't called her yet - I was told this news by another friend. I want to, and I will. But right now, I'm sad and worried. And I'm not sure what to say, or how to say it. She means so much to me and I want to say the right thing.

And I also got some good news to balance the bad on Tuesday. Another friend - who also lives far away - had her baby. A beautiful baby girl. She is so precious and cute and has soft squishy cheeks like all new babies should have. I wish I could be there to hold her and smell that sweet baby smell. Of course, that might create discussions at home that Steve is not ready to have...

Happy and sad. Good news and bad. It's the way of the world, isn't it? That whole God-works-in-mysterious-ways thing. Either way, if you say prayers, please include both of my friends. Both for thanksgiving for life and for hope for the future. The needs are the same, no matter the situation.

Sorry, I'm not here right now, I'm at the Ranch...leave a message at the beep...

2007-06-27T23:52:00.000-04:00

If you don't know me, you might not know that I have a tendency to get just a teeny bit obsessed about things. You know, just a little.

If you DO know me, I do not want any editorial comments about the above statement.

So this week is VBS week. VBS is vacation bible school. For the second year, I'm the director. To say that I'm completely VBS-focused would be putting it ever so mildly. The people at work know about VBS. Cashiers at every store I've been in over the last several weeks (and there have been plenty) know about VBS. I'm pretty sure if there were a VBS version of the Arby's hat, it would be perpetually hovering over my head. In fact, I'm already thinking about next year's VBS. Like I said, the obsession thing is just a small problem.

And that, my friends, is why I haven't been here. I've been there. At Avalanche Ranch. Oh, yes, there will be pictures. I'm creating a whole new Flickr account just for this. But that probably won't be ready for another week or so. My schedule this week is INSANE. Andrew is in Cub Scout day camp. They leave at 7:15am each morning. That means we all have to actually be ready to leave the house by then. Holy crap! I'm working until 3pm each day this week, then leaving to pick up Abby from day care and Andrew when he gets back from camp at 4pm (although they haven't actually made it back before 4:20 yet this week), then dash home, pick up our VBS stuff, and it's off to church. Monday night, Andrew also had a baseball game (at some point, I'll have a post up on Just The Mommy with more dirt on THAT...). Tomorrow night Abby has dance class at 5pm (VBS starts at 6pm). OH, and did I mention that Steve was in Kentucky yesterday and left at 6:30 this morning for an overnight in CANADA? Yes, during VBS week!! That's a good story too, and I really will try to get it posted soon, but if you notice, I am posting this after midnight. Abby didn't fall asleep until about 11:30, and that was laying here on the couch next to me. We're all pretty worn out, and we still have two nights of fun left to go!

I've got to get to bed. Besides, there's a chance I'll be kissing a pig on Friday (yes, more VBS stuff I'll have to explain to you later). I need to get some beauty rest so that people can tell the diffence between the two of us!

Lost and Found. And lost again?

2007-06-19T09:38:00.001-04:00

I have so many things that I want to write about...I've been in Texas for another week, there are more parenting fiascos to discuss, I've been reminded how much I really love my husband (there is apparently some truth to that asbence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder thing)...but right now, I have to talk about something else that's been troubling me.

Once upon a time...not in a galaxy far, far away...in Austin, Texas, I had a friend. And then I moved away, went to college, and well, I lost my friend. It happens sometimes. Things are said and done, people change, and then they just drift apart. For whatever reason. My freshman year of college was pretty hard, and I'm not talking about schoolwork. That's a story for a whole different time - or never - but the point is, I lost my friend, and I thought it was a forever loss.

But then! My friend found me!! And, miracle of miracles, my friend still wanted to be my friend! It was awesome! I was so thrilled to be back in touch with this person who had meant so much to me when I really needed good friends - my time in Texas was also tumultuous. I guess we could just say my teenage years in general kind of sucked in a lot of different ways, but then again, don't everyone's? Anyway...for a while, my friend and I were back in touch. Hooray! Jubilee! My friend is funny and reminds me of the happy times I had in Texas. Happy, happy. Joy, joy. Life was good.

But then. Now. I think my friend may be lost again. I don't know where my friend has gone. Or why. And because I'm me and am apparently not happy unless it's all about me, I am beginning to obsess about this. Was it something I said? Was it the subject of my last email? Did I bring up memories better left alone? Was it that I asked my friend about meeting me while I was in Waco? I don't know. It could be that my friend's Internet connection has been down for a few weeks. It could be that my friend has more important things going on in real non-Internet life than replying to my email or posting a hello. It could be a million things. But I obsess that it's about me. Because I don't like losing things. Especially friends. And I've lost my share - and it's usually been my fault in at least some way. But this friend that I lost, had been found. And now that my friend may be lost again, I'm starting to feel like an insecure high school girl all over again.

That's the problem with the Internet. It can be an awesome place where you can find anyone or anything - if those people and things want to be found. But in other ways, it's like this giant black hole. You can throw things out there that may never come back to you. Maybe you are writing a blog and there are dozens or hundreds or thousands of people reading it (or maybe just the two or three important ones!). Or maybe no one is reading. Who knows? Maybe the silence that comes back is just a factor of real-world issues that have nothing to do with Internet life, or maybe the Internet hates you. It's hard to read non-verbal cues from the Internet. The Internet has a very good poker face.

Don't hate me, Internet. Because I really like you. Help me find my friend again.

Friend, are you out there? Are you reading? Don't lose me.

Don't mess with Texas - they will put you on a bus to nowhere

2007-06-05T22:53:00.000-04:00

Howdy y'all! Guess where I am!! By the way, that's Hi! in Texan.

I've been in Waco, Texas, for a few days and it has been pretty great. I have missed Texas. I used to live here, you know. My family lived in Austin from the summer before my freshman year of high school until November of my junior year of high school. I won't go into all the gory details here about how that all came to be. Let's just say that trouble can follow a marriage, even if the marriage relocates. More on that another day.

But Texas - oh, it's so beautiful. And the people are friendly. No, I am not being sarcastic! And I LOVE to listen to southerners talk. In fact, in just my few days here, I've already picked up a slight twang to my voice. I'll be back next week for five whole days - I can't wait to see how southern I'll go then!

But I do have one small complaint about Dallas. Specifically, about the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. I realize that Texas does not do small. Ever. But seriously. Can we talk for a minute about the size of this airport? It goes on and on. And on. And then around a bend and on some more. And then? Try to rent a car. I dare you. No, TEXAS dares you. DFW double dog dares you. First, find your way to the little sign that says Rental Cars This Way (not really, there's an arrow). Does the arrow direct you to the rental car office? Don't be ridiculous. There's this bus stop. It's not exactly clear when you're standing there what you're really waiting for, but eventually a big bus pulls up and you and the rest of your herd will stumble on with your baggage. Then you ride. Get comfortable, you'll be there a while. A really long while. The trip out to the rental car building will take you down an access road (some of you may call these frontage roads - that is WRONG in Texas), past rolling fields of green, onto a highway, more fields, and then back off. When you reach the point where you wonder to yourself or someone sitting next to you whether the bus driver might actually be a car-jacker of some kind who is kidnapping everyone on the bus and their luggage in the hopes that someone is carrying some seriously cool contraband, well that's the point when you have about five more minutes until you reach your destination.

When you're there, make sure you ask for directions on how to get back to civilization. Seriously. Even if you are of the male persuasion. Please, for the love of all that is good, trust me on this. If you are not from Texas, I will give you a couple of pieces of advice that my traveling buddy and I learned the hard way:

1) Just because a particular road is named X where you are right now does not mean that it will continue to be named X for any further distance. In fact, it may be named both X and Y right where you are. Any map you view or person you ask will likely use both X and Y interchangeably. It's a test. That's how they know y'all ain't from 'round here.

2) Everyone - except for the rental car agents, and even that's not guaranteed - who you might ask for directions will be lovely and kind and know exactly how to get to where you want to go. They just won't be able to tell you. They will want to. And they will try their best - women will try to give you landmarks to go by. Unfortunately, telling you to turn at the Whataburger is about the same as trying to identify your blind date by looking for the one with the cell phone. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that no one could decide on one name for a road, I don't know. If you are lucky, like we were, you might find someone who is actually on their way toward your destination and they will let you follow them there. Yes, that is exactly what we did. Thanks, Ellie!

But all in all, I have really loved my few days here and I can't wait to come back next week. I haven't had my Whataburger yet, after all. But next time, I'm flying straight to Waco and skipping the DFW rental "oasis." Take that, bus-jacking luggage thieves!

Yep, I'm faking it

2007-05-22T12:51:00.000-04:00

Confession time. I'm not putting this here to freak anyone out - I just need to tell it. I need it to leave me. And I don't think I can actually bring myself to say it out loud to anyone. Especially not in person where they can see me and I can see their reaction. Here goes.

Today, as I exited the interstate, just for a second, I considered not steering. I considered what would happen if I didn't. If I just crashed. On purpose. Into cement barricades that were left on the shoulder of the ramp for some construction going on. I considered really, how bad would it be? I considered that I wouldn't have to worry about the guilt of leaving my family - I wouldn't be around to know. But then, happily in this case, I also considered what that would really mean for my children. How they wouldn't understand. How they would grow up thinking that Mommy didn't love them enough to stick around. Funny, I never considered any pain that might be involved, and to be honest, I didn't much consider how Steve would be affected. I think on some level, I kind of believe there would be a little relief for him. I'm sure I'm not exactly the most fun person to be around these days. Our tiff this morning and the small bickering flare-ups over the last few weeks would be some evidence of that.

So in a way, I think my brief consideration of options and outcomes this morning was a good thing. It scared me. And you know, I know those are not the kind of thoughts I should be having on my way to work in the morning. Okay, maybe on a Monday, but, hey, there are better ways to get out of working - calling in sick may not be permanent, but it does get you out of work for a day or two. My doctor's office opens at 9:00. I called at 9:01. Amazingly (or not, God and I did have quite the one-sided conversation this morning after that), they have an appointment tomorrow. I will be discussing my level of prescripted help at 10:00 tomorrow morning. I will be asking if perhaps we can consider the possibility that a stronger dose might be of some assistance to me. In other words, I will do all I can to resist begging him to give me more drugs in the desperate hope that I can go back to feeling "normal." And by normal, I mean fighting with my husband, yelling at my kids, getting cranky when I am hungry, but managing to drive to work while keeping the van and myself in one piece.

So now, today, I sit here at work in my new cube in my new department in my new job (all of which I love, love, LOVE), and I am faking it. Every time someone stops by or calls or I have to go to a meeting, I am all smiles and happiness and laughing with the world. And then as soon as I am by myself again, I struggle not to just put my head down on my desk and let it all out. Back when I was normal, sometimes, a good cry would make me feel better. Yes, it's weird, but I think it's a girl thing. I realized today that a good cry would leave me feeling exactly the way I feel right now. So really, why bother?

Seriously, I think men need to give women a little more credit about this whole faking it thing. It is done to preserve their ego, after all, and it is not as easy as it seems! It's hard and it's exhausting to make other people think everything is just hunky dory. Politicians must be tired all the time!

Overheard in the cube farm

2007-05-17T09:04:00.000-04:00

"Oh, my God, I was in the gas station last night and Wilt Chamberlain was in there! He was signing autographs and stuff for all these people. I called all my friends last night to tell them and then I called Millie and she did a Google and Wilt Chamberlain DIED in 1999! All these people were getting autographs from this man and I called all my friends to tell them that I held the door for someone famous and he's dead!"

"Hey, Shauna, Elvis is dead, too."

I'd have time if I quit my new job, just not the money to pay for the Internet

2007-05-14T23:03:00.000-04:00

I just hate not having time to spend here in my little blog world. The 'real' world intrudes. New job. Little league. VBS. Oh, VBS. Vacation Bible School. I am SO obsessed. People around me roll their eyes when they catch me drooling over a demolished building, thinking of all the pieces I could scavenge. You see a dumpster, I see the broken pallet leaning against it that I could turn into a fence. It's a serious affliction. And it will be with me until the end of June. Let me just apologize now. There will be posting about it. And probably pictures. Don't hate me.

But back to the blogging. I also have this problem. I am a shy blogger. And Steve is a watcher. I don't know why, but as soon as I pick up the laptop and start typing, he gets nosy. Perhaps he thinks he needs to keep an eye on me, after certain other posts. I can't imagine why...So I'm left waiting until he goes to bed and you know, that's when I want to go to bed, too! But I miss writing out here. I miss finding things to share with my little audience.

And I do have things I need to get off my chest. I've hit a little bit of a rough patch. I'm not sure yet if it's just a bump in the road or if it's the beginning of another dark tunnel, but I'm trying to keep an eye on myself - again with the constant self-absorption. Coming to terms with my sub-par parenting is not helping. I've found that when you tell people you're a bad mother, they feel the need to assure you you're not. That you're doing just fine, that it's tough, blah blah. But they don't know. They just. don't. know.

Finally, things are right with the world

2007-05-07T18:53:00.000-04:00

Look:

They fixed it! I still have not idea what its purpose is or who might have thought that hideous thing adds any aesthetic value, but whatever. This new tidy design is good for me and my ~issues~ and also for the other drivers on the road. I don't think they were too happy with my efforts to avoid looking at the monstrosity on my daily commute. It's hard to stay in your lane when your eyes are closed. Who knew?

In other aligning-my-world news, I am finally where I belong and where I know that I know stuff. Yes, the local Dairy Queen has opened for the season, but that's not what I was talking about! I started in my new job today. HRIS instead of Finance. It is so nice to be in a work environment where I actually understand the words being used in meetings. AND! Not only do I understand them, I HAVE SOMETHING TO CONTRIBUTE!!! Can you hear those angels singing, or is that just in my head? I'm sure the euphoria will wear off soon - unless I keep taking the drugs - but for now, I'm going to bask in my little honeymoon period. Soon enough I will face the reality that I have taken on a job where my boss already has given me a list of her top five projects for me to work on (FIVE. PROJECTS - not tasks or assignments - PROJECTS), none of which I know how to do yet, I also still have a project and training commitment to my former department and boss, oh, and I'm in charge of my church's Vacation Bible School again this year and Andrew is playing baseball and Abby starts dance class next month...hmm...perhaps this will the summer of my meltdown. Yay! I am giddy with anticipation!!

It must have been husband snatchers

2007-05-05T15:49:00.000-04:00

If you know my husband, I don't need to explain his feelings on spending money. If you don't know my husband, I will summarize: Spending Money Bad. B double A D. Have I mentioned he's an accountant? Yeah...one of THOSE. You know, not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just a lifestyle I don't understand or choose to follow...

So, imagine my surprise when he came home the other day with this:

Yes, he PAID MONEY for it. What is it, you ask? Well, my friends, this is the Cross Cruncher. A set of 12 crunches on this is like doing ONE HUNDRED regular crunches!!! AND!! No more BACK PAIN from old-fashioned crunches!!!!! Why crunch on the floor when you can CROSS CRUNCH sitting upright in comfort!!!!!!! How much would YOU pay for this item?!

Umm...this is the kind of thing I would point out to my husband and he would roll his eyes and tell me what a waste of money it is. And he bought it. When I asked him about this unusual purchase, he replied (seriously, you won't believe this)

"It was on sale!"

Seriously. What happened to my husband? And can I swing a new digital SLR camera out of this deal before we switch him back, please?

Seriously, I don't even need the little gold statue

2007-05-01T15:09:00.000-04:00

I'm in training this week, and feeling a little in the shadow again. I have been living in someone's shadow for many years now. The creator of the shadow changes, but my place within it does not.

Most of the time I'm mostly okay with it. But sometimes I have to fight the feelings harder. When I'm feeling unliked, especially in comparison to another, it gets harder. Okay so maybe Steve is not wrong when he calls me competitive. Anyway, this is one of those times. Training. Stacy is just so good. And it's not that I think I'm not good. Okay, sometimes I do think that. But I try not to. But there is someone here who I think does think I'm not good. Especially in comparison to Stacy. Well, maybe that's natural. But it has become a situation in which I am nervous around this person, and worried I will say or do something to further confirm her beliefs about my abilities. LACK of abilities. And of course, being nervous and on edge and uncomfortable about saying or doing something stupid in front of someone is a sure-fire way to guarantee that I'll do exactly that. I have a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease when it comes to this person. I tend to have this disease quite often, actually. It is just much, MUCH, more severe around certain people.

I do not like that she does not like me. Maybe it's not even that she doesn't like me, but I think I annoy her. And I have come a long, long way in my paranoia about wanting people to like me. But mostly, my recovery works best with people who I don't like back. And I like Carol - oh, I mean, "this person."

I just want her to like me back and to think I'm smart, like Stacy. She doesn't have to think I'm AS smart as Stacy, just kind of smart. About anything. Or at least not as dumb and annoying as I think she thinks I am.

In truth, part of what causes my nervousness around her is that she reminds me of my mother-in-law. I'm not going to get in to details about my relationship with Dot here. She and I have come a long way. I enjoy spending time with her and I think she tolerates me most of the time. But I am often still worried that I am going to say or do something that will draw comment on my stupidity.

You know, truthfully, I think I do stupid stuff around most people. I do and say a lot of dumb things (so maybe I AM as dumb and annoying as Carol makes me think she thinks I am!!). The difference is that most people are kind enough or self-conscious enough themselves or maybe just too oblivious to comment on my stupidity. But some people - such as this person in training with me this week and my mother-in-law - have a way of always pointing out and commenting on the things I have just said and/or done that I know are stupid, but it's too late, they're already done. By commenting, I just feel more dumb than I already did, and am suddenly embarrassed and more likely to continue the stupidity by trying to talk myself out of the stupidity. Boy, is THAT a dumb idea!

I just want to feel like Sally Field when she won her Oscar - affirmed that everyone in the entire world loves her and thinks she is brilliant. Every. One. Is that really so much to ask?

I warned her there would be blogging about this

2007-04-28T14:45:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm back. And I've promised you a story. Of course, I've told a couple of you the story already now...but I'll tell the rest of you anyway. I don't want to be labeled a tease forever, after all.

So where were we...oh right, last Friday. I got a phone call a little after 5pm from one of my best friends, Jody. She asked if I had plans. That usually means she has plans in mind for me, so I answered vaguely. And then she said "Do you want to go to the Hank Williams, Jr. concert with me?!!" Yes, she said it with two exclamation points. And my answer...Uhhh...sure. I mean, Sure! Has anyone ever asked you to go with them to do something when you know they really really want to and probably won't if you don't say yes...well, that's what this was like. I said she's one of my best friends. I wouldn't do this for just anyone. It is Hank. Williams. Junior. Oh. My. Goodness. Really? Seriously? Okay, so we went. And wow. WOW. It was so awesome! The people-watching. Not the concert. I mean, Jody had a GREAT time - she loved the show.

The tickets were free (thanks to connections from her boss' wife) and we were in the 9th row to the side of the stage - VERY close. This is how close:

Yes, I could almost smell Hank. Of course, that could be more of a reflection on Hank than on our tickets. Now, you may know, I used to live in Texas. And there was a lot of country music there. But Hank is the countriest of all the country music and I have never been a big fan. So I wasn't there for the music. But I was so excited by the crowd. I never imagined it to be such a diverse group. You know, not as in diversity of COLOR, but in just about every thing else. There was the party girl, who I tried to take a covert picture of:

The true cowboy:

And this couple:

They had tickets on the floor, but never stood. The gentleman watched the large television screen more than he watched the stage. He could have been at home in his living room. You know, except for the thousands of screaming people. And the smell of Hank Jr.

There was also a guy who was wearing a very unique cowboy hat made from a Milwaukee's Best case. I tried to get a picture for you, but it just didn't come out very well. I am so sorry.

There were "suits" and people who had probably never been in a suit, maybe not even for their wedding. And there were manners. There are a lot of rude people in the world, but not many of them were in attendance at the Hank concert. Except for maybe the woman in line at the t-shirt stand. Or maybe she was just drunk. Drunk and Hank Jr. seem to kind of go together, don't you think?

38 Special also played before we got there to see Hank Jr. and the headliner was Lynrd Skynrd. But my friend Jody was not interested in Lynrd. We watched our Hank, bought a t-shirt, and left. It was a great time. And I even have proof:

Oh, and the hint - That's How They Do It In Oikie. That's the name of the tour. Except it's not really Oikie. It's Dixie. I think I need my eyes checked:

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

2007-04-26T07:17:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted here in EIGHT DAYS! I am suffering withdrawls. I have stuff to tell you, I promise. I just...can't right now. I have to go to work (after I dry my hair and take the kids to day care) and then I have to go to Chicago...but I PROMISE I will post soon. How could I not? I have to tell you what happened to me last Friday night! Oh, I'm such a tease, aren't I? That's spider to you.

Okay, I'll give you one hint...

That's how they do it in Oikie.

Really, that's a hint. If you live in my head, it's a hint. Oh, all right. ONE more hint.

Yup. It's THAT good.

Yes, this is what Steve puts up with every day

2007-04-21T00:20:00.000-04:00

I am not a neat freak. I am not fastidiously clean. Never have been, probably never will be. I am perfectly content to allow dirty dishes to accumulate in the sink until my spouse gives in and washes them. I hate doing dishes more than I hate looking at them in the sink. It works out well for me that Steve hates doing the dishes far less than I do. And that I'm spider. Heh heh.

However. I do have a few quirks about keeping things...tidy. I like symmetry and balance. I like things to be even. Honestly, one of the reasons I think I'm (almost) ready to accept that we are done having children is that right now, I have one boy and one girl. Tidy. Unless I were to have boy-girl twins the next time, there will be unevenness. Three means there is no tidy division. There will be a two-one split. I don't like it.

Okay, so maybe some would accuse me of being a little anal retentive. I prefer "detail-orientated."

But seriously. Sometimes it's just wrong. WRONG. When people leave things in an untidy and uneven state. Like this:Do you see the wrongness of this?! No, it's not a trick of the angle of the shot. This weird, pointless structure actually looks like this. Seriously. And I have to drive by it twice a day, on my way to and from work. I think INDOT (that's the Indiana Department of Transportation) might be trying to kill me.

Like dropping acid, but without the fun

2007-04-17T22:18:00.000-04:00

So for the last two days, I've been having flashbacks. Flash-way-backs to eight years ago when I was home with my newborn baby - my first baby. I was exhausted, hopped up on haywire hormones, having trouble breastfeeding, alone; and then it got worse. In Colorado, two teenagers walked into their high school in Columbine, and started shooting their classmates.

The news coverage went on and on. It was on every channel, all day long. I tried to turn it off, but I was drawn to it. I was horrified and mesmerized. I cried. I sobbed. I wondered what kind of a world I had brought my new son into. I held him close to me and we cried together. His crying was more related to wet diapers and hungry tummies, and mine was overwhelming grief. I grieved for those kids, but even more, I grieved for our world and what it had come to.

And now here we are. Eight years later, I have an eight year old boy and a three year old girl. And a student walked into his classrooms at Virginia Tech yesterday and started shooting his classmates. It is deja vu, an acid flashback, a recurring nightmare. Luckily, work kept me from watching the coverage all day yesterday, but the news feeds kept me well-informed. I have no more tears. I am astounded at the capacity for evil in this world. I just. don't. understand. Why? God, why? It is heart-wrenching to watch the students and families. I want to hug them and cry with them and somehow tell them it will be okay. But it's not. It's not okay that this young man had no other way to show his frustration, distaste, anger, whatever except by shooting people. And himself.

Events like this remind me of the dangers in this world. Dangers which I am normally able to pretend to ignore. If I couldn't, I'm not sure I would have the courage to live my life, or the strength to allow my children to leave the house. I hate that my children will never be safe anywhere they go. I hate that the world has become a place in which this kind of horror exists. We live in a nice neighborhood in a nice, normal, small Mid-Western town. But it's not enough. Something could happen. And it doesn't have to be at the hands of terrorists who fly planes into buildings. Or even at the hands of a troubled young loner at a college campus.

When I was in high school, my younger brothers played with the boys who lived across the street. We also lived in a nice small Mid-Western town. One summer day, while I was their babysitter, they planned to go over and play video games with Kenny and Jonathan. But our uncle surprised us and stopped by to take us for ice cream instead. When we got home, police sirens and fire trucks followed us. We had just pulled into the driveway when they pulled up across the street at Kenny and Jonathan's house. Other boys had been over playing video games and apparently there had been an argument. Kenny had gone to get his dad's shotgun to scare one of the boys, not knowing it was loaded. He accidentally shot the boy in the face. He died. He was sitting in an easy chair when it happened and the family put the chair out for the trash the next day. It sat there for two days until the trash picked it up. I looked at that blood-stained chair and cried. It could have been one of my brothers.

Something could happen to my kids. Anywhere. I live in terror that something awful will happen to them and I will not be able to save them or go on without them. I want to go back to pretending it will be okay. But I don't think I'll be able to for a while. There are new images burned into my memory. They sit along side others: what happened across the street in 1988, Jonesboro, Columbine, Oklahoma City, 9/11; and countless others, images gathered from stories about horrific crimes committed against children.

My flashbacks go on. Eventually, they will ease. Until then, I pretend I'm not afraid every time my children leave my sight. I pretend. And I lie. I do have more tears.

In honor of Easter last Sunday, a bunny story

2007-04-12T16:25:00.000-04:00

I know I shouldn't, but this story made me laugh.

What? You mean rabbits get EATEN in the wild? By coyotes and hawks and owls? Especially these cute little bite-sized ones? NO! Gosh, I wonder why they are ENDANGERED??? And I love the end where the state pygmy rabbit coordinator (that's a great job title, btw) basically said they are going to keep putting more owl food out there because, you know, it's "valuable learning."

Can you imagine what the little bunnies are thinking?

Oh, thank you, large human people, for rescuing us from the wild where we have no hope of survival.

Wait. What? You mean you're putting us back? What, we aren't cute enough? No! We'll be good little bunnies, we promise!

Poor little bunnies. They can come live in my neighborhood. Based on how many bunnies we see in our backyard, it's a bunny safe haven around here! Maybe I'd better give that pygmy rabbit coordinator a call...for the bunnies' sake!

Updated to add:

And in other news...T. Rex: tastes like chicken!

Maybe we could share clothes, too!

2007-04-05T22:31:00.000-04:00

You know, I love my husband. You hear people talk about their spouse being their best friend and all, and I've always thought that was weird. I don't know why, but I don't think I'd call Steve my BFF. That's a title I give to my girlfriends who I get together and chat with and who I have fun with. I've never put Steve in that role, but really, he kind of is my BFF. He is the person who I tell everything to. Every. Thing. Yes, that includes things I don't tell the girls I consider my BFF's (and no, I'm not going to discuss the contradiction that I have multiple BESTs...let's move on). It isn't much, but yes, sometimes, there's stuff I don't tell the girls. But poor Stevie, he knows everything about me (and he's STILL married to me, can you believe it?!). I know some married people and some people who USED to be married who say that you should have separate checking accounts. Take separate vacations. Have multiple televisions so you can each watch your own shows in different rooms (yes, Internet, we only have ONE television in our house - we are THAT old school. Plus, our house is smallish.). But we don't do any of that stuff. And OH MY GAWD we sometimes get on each others' last nerves. But I really like it this way. We talk. We are really good at talking. No, not just me! Steve talks, too, I swear! If something ever happens and we actually divorce, it won't be because we never talked about our problems. No, it will definitely be because of his porn star side job. I just get so jealous when he doesn't include me!

But having said all that mushy gushy I-love-my-porn-star-Sweetie stuff, sometimes I need him to be a girl for a minute. I went shopping last night. Yes, again, it was to the crappy Wal-Mart. Don't judge me - it's all I have. While I was there, I found some clothes on big time sale for Abby. For all the clothes-shopping I feel like I do for that girl, she STILL doesn't have enough clothes for the Spring/Summer. And honestly, why would I spend crazy money to buy the really cute clothes I want from Gymboree and Baby Gap and Lands End when she is just going to get paint/marker/food/snot on them and then grow out of them before I even have time to wash them? So anyway, I ended up with ten items for $30. TEN. For THIRTY. Can you even believe that math?!? I was so excited! And? They are all color coordinated in reds and blues and khakis. NO PINK. OR PURPLE. Not that I have anything against pink or purple, but she really has the market cornered on those colors and it would be nice to have some variety. So I had found these amazing deals and I had no one to tell. It's like hitting a hole in one with no witnesses. Or catching that huge fish and then lose it to a broken line. Or...some other sports analogy that I don't have any actual experience with...with NO WITNESSES. It was a moment when I really missed my mom. She would totally get me on this. But Illinois to Indiana is a heck of a drive just to go to the Wal-Mart (and, by the way, you have to pronounce that Wawl-Maurt and with "the" in front, it's a small town rule, I think).

When I got home and we were getting ready to go to bed, I asked Steve if I could show him the clothes (I had already told him about my awesome buying super-power, but he was unimpressed). He agreed, but was clearly not committed. I showed him anyway. And made him PRETEND to be excited. Sigh. It was really just too much work that way. I needed my husband to be a girl. Seriously. And don't get all excited, I mean that in a very boring, non-sexual kind of way. Although I'm pretty sure if I mentioned this idea to Steve, his thoughts would lead him down a different - and not non-sexual - path...I said I love him, I didn't say he was perfect.

There's a reason why people hate Mondays

2007-04-02T19:13:00.000-04:00

After realizing that I was becoming a catty junior high Heather/Mean Girl, I made a Lenten commitment to make less fun of others and more of myself. Weeelllll...have I got a story for you! I should warn you, those of you without children, who are less exposed to various disgusting bodily functions and fluids as a part of your everyday routine - you may want to stop reading right now. Seriously. I've got some new pics over at Flickr. You could go look at those instead.

Today started out fine. It's a gorgeous day in central Indiana - 74 degrees and sunny. I got up on time. Did my push-ups and crunches. Yes! No, darn! The scale gave me the bad news that I now weigh more than I did at the beginning of the year...sigh. But okay. Game is on and I am re-focused! Rah! We got to day care at the right time so I would make it to my meeting on time. Woo hoo! Uh-oh! I forgot today was Spring Picture Day. And of course, my children are not only not dressed like the little cutie pies they are, they certainly are not color-coordinated with each other for their nice sibling shot...sigh. But...okay. We'll make due. And we'll plan on making an appointment with our nearest Sears/JCPenney's for some REAL portraits. You know, since I don't have my rock star paparazzi camera yet.

Morning meeting was fine (I was almost on time). Work was fine. Lunch was fine. I had a salad and some leftover Sausage Skillet Sensation (with broccoli this time - yum!). Healthy! We even walked! Hoo rah!! Life is good. Game on! I am having a generally good day! And it's Monday! And I'm already considering what healthy dish I can prepare for dinner. Maybe we'll grill! Outside! And walk! Yes! Oh, what's this? A little twingle in my belly? Why, I think I'll walk myself to the restroom and...uh, wait.

Ummm....what just happened? I didn't just do what I think I might have just done, did I?! Oh. My. GAWD. I had an accident. Of the number two variety. In my pants. At work. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?! I don't feel sick. Well, okay, I kinda feel sick NOW, but that's probably more a result of being absolutely disgusted with my own body. Okay, this can't be salvaged. I have to leave. Immediately. Crap. LITERALLY. Going commando for the rest of the day is not an option. For one, eww. For two, I also have other issues which prevent me from leaving an unprotected barrier between me and my pants. For three, EWW! And OMG, what if it happens AGAIN?! Because now my stomach is not feeling quite right at all.

Okay. Stay calm. Breathe. Clean things up as best you can (and, yes, now we are going to talk to ourselves in third plural person - it distances us from what is going on. Because EWW!). Wait for the other people to leave the bathroom. Let's stay anonymous. Okay. Remember, calm. Don't raise suspicion. Back to our desk. Must tell Stacy. She's on a conference call. Good - because we don't really want to explain this in person. Will send e-mail. Very vague e-mail. Maybe we can come back after we change. We're not sick. Right? Just what? Not potty trained? Don't think about it now. Type e-mail standing up. Because. EWW! Out the door. Okay. Calm. Don't freak. Oh, driving. Requires sitting. Okay. Brace yourself wth your thighs. Limited contact between seat and pants. You can do this. Drive very quickly. Seriously, if we get pulled over, there's no way we're getting a ticket. Drive 90. Because. EWW! Home. Van in garage. Driveway close enough. Run. Not THE runs...we've apparently already done that (EWW!).

Whew. Clean. Still disgusted. Stomach gurggly. We'll wait ten minutes and see if we're going to be okay. Oh! Not okay. NOT OKAY. Staying home. Thank God for wireless and a laptop.

Shameless tease for the other blog

2007-03-29T00:23:00.000-04:00

Something occurred to me the other day. It was a moment when something happened and my first thought was - Oh, I'll have to blog that! Because yes, I'm turning into THAT kind of freak. But anyway. I finally realized that I have been blogging over here a lot more recently than I have been blogging over in the kids' blog. When I first started a diary for the kids, I was so excited and had SO many things to write about that I didn't know where to start. I felt like I was there all the time. Then I started this little blog of mine so I had a place to write down some things that I wouldn't necessarily want to share with the kids.

At first, I thought this wasn't going to go so well and I was starting to worry that I really had become the mom who had nothing else interesting to talk about besides her kids. Okay, so maybe interesting is a stretch, but lately, I'm finding it so much easier to hang out over here and 'chat'. It's harder to talk to the kids, you know?

Maybe it's because I'm amongst friends here. I know you - well, I think I know all of you. I suppose it's possible there are some lurkers out there. But it's fairly unlikely. The lurker I just learned about (Hi, Brian! No, girls, not THAT Brian.) doesn't really count as a lurker - he's a friend, too. So when I'm here, I'm chatting about life and stuff and it's comfortable. When I'm talking to the kids over in their world, there's a little more pressure. I've realized that, while I'm not lying to them, I am trying to put a little better spin on some of the stuff going on, even when I'm talking about hellacious bedtimes and torrential tantrums. I don't really know when or even if they will read what I have over there, so it's hard to gauge what age group I'm talking to. Maybe I should be brutally honest and really tell it like it is. But I gotta tell you, if I wrote only the stark and nasty truth, there are days when they would think I regretted ever having them. And I really don't - I promise! You know, not every day. But oh, sometimes, I dream of the days when coming home from work meant dinner of whatever we wanted - or out to eat on a whim. Or even better, maybe a movie. ON A WEEKNIGHT. And without any planning ahead WHATSOEVER. Oh, and sex. Because we weren't tired. Ever. Those were good times.

These are good times, too, they are just very different times. Days are full of things like daycare, homework, Disney channel, baseball, screaming, macaroni, peeing the bed, and on and on. Oh, good times, my friends. Good times.

What's a twelve-letter word for disruptive?*

2007-03-27T22:11:00.000-04:00

So the big news in parent guilt - THIS week - is the new study that says kids who spend more than two years in day care are more disruptive in school through the sixth grade. Great. Because I wasn't quite feeling like a bad enough mother yet. So it's good, really, that we just took care of that last bit of parental self-worth.

At least it's not all bad. The study also found higher vocabulary scores in kids who receive high quality care when they were young - even if it was outside day care. So, all I have to do is find a "high quality" day care. Then at least my kids will be able to use really big words when they disrupt the class.

*obstreperous - my kids will totally know what this word means!

Where there's smoke, I might start a fire

2007-03-26T23:08:00.000-04:00

You know you're a mom when...you are seeing freaky preschool characters in the strangest places. Last Friday, on my way back to work after lunch, I pulled up behind a car at a red light. The driver's hand was hanging out the window and was holding a cigarette. Not an uncommon site, but when I glanced back, I saw Oobi. Oobi is the freaky character of a kids' show on Noggin made from a HAND.

Oh, yes, that's right - Oobi is a hand. A hand with an eyeball ring. And the fingers. Of the hand. They are Oobi's nose, mouth, and HAND. So when Oobi picks something up, Oobi uses his hand which is also his mouth which is also his hand. Ironic since Oobi IS a hand... And Oobi has a bunch of other hand friends and family. Freaky. I don't let the kids watch Oobi. Because it's stupid and freaky, that's why! But if you watch Noggin, you can't avoid the promos. And now I'm seeing Oobi in my everyday life and Oobi is SMOKING. Seriously. Those kids are watching too much t.v.

So that was Friday at lunch. Friday night, we showed the new Veggie Tale movie at church. (Do you see how my life revolves around those kids and their t.v. characters? Ack!) I thought it would be a good idea to pop some popcorn. I took up my stovetop popper, the popcorn, popcorn salt...I had everything, except I forgot the oil. Oh, no problem, there was some olive oil left over at church from our spaghetti dinner. Great! Did you know that olive oil has a lower burn point than regular cooking oil? Funny. I knew that. It's amazing what facts can slip your mind when you are answering the clammering cries of two small children. But that fact did come racing back to my mind when I heard a strange "POOF!" from the church kitchen. Smoke. Flames. Burning. IN THE CHURCH! Did I mention there was a wedding scheduled the next day?

I think it might be true about your life flashing before your eyes when you die because I saw a future flash before my eyes as I slammed the popper lid shut and carried the smoking pot outside. And that bride was pissed.

The Internet has eyes

2007-03-26T22:18:00.000-04:00

So I think I'm being watched by a new pair of eyes. And perhaps discussed. By a pair of eyes I did not expect to look here. Maybe being made the butt of some jokes. It's entirely possible. I am suspicious. And I'm considering how this feeling of being watched might make me feel I should restrain myself a little. What will he think of all that I put out here? I'm sure he thinks this is pointless and stupid. But I love being here. So I think I'll stay.

I only have one more thing to say: Game on!

I can quit anytime I want. I just don't. want. to.

2007-03-25T21:58:00.000-04:00

Oh no. I think my husband tried to have an intervention. Apparently, my recent increased attachment to the laptop has not gone unnoticed. He went to a movie by himself today (oh, I have so many thoughts on THAT, but another time...). When I tried to protest - from behind the laptop screen - he said it wouldn't be any different if he stayed because I'd just be at the computer the whole time. But at least we'd be together, right?! He accused me of being attached to the computer 24-7 lately. And then? Then he said something nearly unforgivable. He said...it hurts to even type it...he suggested that I go ALL WEEK without the computer. Clearly, he was trying to kill me. When I told him as much, he backed off and only tried to maim me with a one day abstention. Monday. No computer when I get home. What?! Why?? What have I done to him? Does he hate me that much?

Okay, so maybe I need to lay off the VBS forum, Google homepage, blog surfing...a little...

Moving on, back to 1993

2007-03-21T16:49:00.000-04:00

Today, I left work at noon. I am running pretty low on PTO (thanks to a few too many "I think I'll take a day off" days and way too many "my kids are sick and want Mommy" days), so I went to work this morning trying to convince myself that I did not have a fever and that I could make it through the day. But by noon the cold sweats and desire to use my keyboard as a pillow convinced me it was time to pack it in. Okay, so I'm still sick and it would be best to avoid earning a new nickname around the office. Because I'm pretty sure that if I'm introduced to the new guy as Typhoid Cheri, that's going to be something that he remembers for a while.

On my way home, it was time for the WTTS Time Capsule. Today's year: 1993. And the first song played to transport me back to that milestone year: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers (if I was as cool as Taunie HTML-book Smartypants, maybe I could embed the video right here, but since I'm not, you'll just have to follow the link). Ahh, the memories. The timing! It was Fate. It was Love. 1993, the Summer of 1993, more specifically, is when the Mississippi River introduced me to my future husband. It's just a romantic that way. And then the Proclaimers helped me fall in love with him. They're quite the match-making duo.

It's actually a little bit of a long and twisty story, and I am nothing if not long-winded, so if I try to relate the whole story here, you'll be reading a book. I'll do my best to summarize, I'll even use bullet points to see if that helps! Here goes:

The Mississippi River floods Des Moines, where I had stayed on campus at Drake University.
Grandpa kindly rescues me from the city without properly functioning toilets and three feet of water where downtown used to be.
I visit my best friend in her college town, Charleston, Illinois.
She introduces me to the guy she has a big ol' crush on.
He almost backs over me with his car.
I decide he's kinda cute. (My best friend moved on to other crushes, and yes, there was some other stuff between him trying to kill me and me deciding he's cute - don't look at me like that!)
He drives me and my best friend 500 miles - JUST LIKE in the song (okay, it was more like 400 miles, but go with me here) - back to Des Moines to rescue my things from the abandoned campus.
He gets REALLY drunk the night before we leave Des Moines, but still has to drive the entire way back because he is the only one who could drive a stick shift. (That's not all that important to the story, but it's funny, so I like to remind him of it any chance I get.)
Yada yada yada
We fall in love.

Okay, I had to cheat and use the yada yada...what can I say, it's a nice little story and I could go on for a while. I can't wait until the kids are old enough so I can tell it to them (of course, I'll have to take a little creative license here and there since we met at a bar and a lot of the funny stories start with "Steve was really drunk and..."). And as angry as I was at him a couple of days ago, I've moved on now. He has been more considerate of my sickliness and, truthfully, I'm whiny when I'm sick. Worse, I don't like to admit that I'm whiny, so I just take it out on him. Poor sap. If he'd known this is what he was in for, he might have tried harder to run me over that first night we met. Or maybe been less of a hottie. With those glasses, was that possible?

Nope, I'm not over it yet.

2007-03-19T11:14:00.000-04:00

Last night's rant continued.

This morning, Andrew informed me that his homework - the homework from when he was out sick on Thursday that Steve picked up on Friday afternoon - is not completely done. This, after last night I found the homework laying on the table and he told me it wasn't done. So I told him to finish it - and Steve was involved in this conversation. And then I lapsed into delirium again. Apparently, Steve didn't follow up on the homework situation and Andrew didn't feel the need to actually finish it. This morning, he said he didn't want to finish it. Maybe they've changed things since I was in elementary school, but I don't remember homework being optional. When I told Steve, he said "That's all my fault. I didn't keep on him." I said I agreed.

Needless to say, there were a bunch of unhappy people in my house this morning. Pretty much everyone was fairly miserable with life in general by the time we left. And Andrew was working on his homework when I left him at day care. He gave me a little practicing-for-adolescence attitude when I told him I would be checking with his teacher today to make sure he turned it in. He said it wouldn't be. Because he just enjoys being in trouble both at school and home, I guess.

It should be a fun evening. If I can stay awake that long.

Sick. And tired. And very very bitchy.

2007-03-18T21:07:00.000-04:00

I had a topic. It was good. A catchy title and everything. But it will have to wait, because I need to vent. And what good is a blog if you can't use it to complain about your husband?

Okay, so I went to San Diego. It as for work, but yes, I had a good time. Okay. And while I was away, he got sick - very sick. 102 degree fever, very raw very sore throat, chills, body aches. The whole thing. And while he was there, dealing with being sick, he was responsible for taking care of the kids. He didn't call his mommy or anyone else for help, he just sucked it up and dealt with it. Okay. It sucked. I get it. I felt terrible about it while I was gone, I really did. And when I got back, I took over. Completely. I put the house back in order - because it looked worse than I could have ever imagined. I waited on him - and the kids, who acted starved for attention - hand and ever loving foot. Seriously. Food brought to him while he laid on the couch, kids kept as quiet as possible. I even did the DISHES for crying out loud, and anyone who really knows me knows that is a major event. And even more than that, I didn't complain. I know it's hard to believe of me, but really, I didn't. Not once all day Thursday, Friday (when I took an EXTRA day off from work, using more of my quickly dwindling PTO bucket because Abby was running a fever), and Saturday, and I made it to Sunday night before I let loose a little. Sunday night, when I got myself a bowl of ice cream and brought it in to the living room, he said "Oh, that's real nice. Thanks for bringing me some." Seriously?!? So I kinda went off a little. But just that once. Really.

He has taken a long time to get over this virus, and when he came home from work Monday, Tuesday (my birthday - he was asleep when we got home, but he did wake up and take me out to dinner), and Wednesday, he took a nap. And I took care of the kids. And made dinner. And put the kids to bed. He did help out some, but he was on fairly light duty. And I understood. He was still feeling puny. I got it. But I was tired, too, and was having trouble shifting my internal clock back from California time and then from the time change. And I was getting a little cranky.

Thursday, Andrew was sick. We pulled a split shift - Steve worked in the morning, I went in for the afternoon. Friday, Andrew and Abby were both sick. We split the shift again. And by the time I got home Friday night, I had it. Oh, crap. No sore throat, but maybe one of the worst colds I ever remember having. I was wiped out, butt kicked. Head cold, coughing, sneezing, nose that is both runny and stuffy at the same time, fever, lost my voice, general bleachness. Saturday, I laid around a lot. Didn't do too much. And I did get a nap. But I also took care of kids, picked up around the house, made the kids lunch, made dinner, and answered almost every one of the approximately 4,000 times one of the kids said "Mom." I didn't do it all, but I did enough. I was nearly delirious.

And then today. OMG, today. Wait, first let me back up a little. I need to point out that it is March. If you don't know anything about basketball, let me tell you that there is a reason they call it March Madness. My husband is a big fan of college basketball. And when he is using all of his visual sense to watch college basketball, he often loses function in his other senses - especially hearing. So while the tournament is going on, it's a hit or miss proposition as to whether he's aware of what is going on around him. I only wish I was exaggerating. So even on Saturday, there were many times when he would wait until I prompted him before he would react to whatever needed reacting. Things that I didn't have the energy to give the proper amount of authority. Like kids hitting each other, throwing Legos, spilling food, etc., etc.

So last night, I got some things ready that needed to go to church - prepared them for Steve to take since I obviously wouldn't be going. I also helped to finish the church directory so the church secretary and her husband could finish printing it for today's service. All of this while I couldn't breathe - it was really quite an accomplishment. He took the things to church today, but only did half of what I had asked - because he didn't have time. Uh, that's because you didn't get your ass up out of bed when I told you to (since I was already up taking care of the kids, still sick), Jack Ass! Okay. Moving on.

He kept talking about going to see a movie. Alone. A movie I didn't want to see. Today. While I'm SICK and the kids are getting over being sick and are whiny because they've been basically cooped up in the house since Thursday. I just let him talk. Surely he didn't really intend to go. On his way home from church, he stopped to pick up groceries to make this special cheesy tomato rice dish that his mother used to make. I hate it. Can barely stand the smell of it. And he knows this. We've had many discussions about it. So he clearly didn't intend on including me in this lunch he was planning to make. Just as well, I had already fed the children and planned on eating some of the soup I had made the day before. You know, when I was also sick. Fine. Okay. The cheesy tomato rice preparation took long enough that he missed the starting time of the movie. So I still don't know if he really intended to go or not. But he looked at the listings for a long time. And he made plans with Andrew to take him to the TMNT movie next weekend. So I'm pretty sure he at least considered it.

I mentioned that we were going to need more Kleenexes - we're going through quite a few of them around here right now - and we were getting low on bottled water. And I asked what the chance was of him going to Wal-Mart. He said "Not," but that's a pretty typical response for him. Smart ass, all the time. Then we ran out of bottled water. And I don't drink Indiana tap water - it's gross. If you don't live here, just trust me on this. And I'm sick (have I mentioned?), so I really need to drink a lot of water. At 7:30, I got up to MAKE MYSELF DINNER - he ate cheesy tomato rice leftovers at 5:30. Didn't offer to make me anything (but to be fair, I was half-asleep), didn't feed the kids. The kids asked ME to get them some dinner. So I did. And he sat on the couch. And then I ate while the kids yelled and ran and fought and did not go to bed. And he sat on the couch. So at 8:30, I tried to make myself presentable enough as to not scare the innocent public, made a list, put on my shoes, and prepared to go to Wal-Mart. And he sat on the couch. When he finally asked what I was doing and I told him, he actually asked me if I wanted him to go. Seriously? YES! So he said I should give him the list. I told him to forget it and just take care of getting the kids to bed (because honestly, going to Wal-Mart takes a lot less energy and I knew I was going to be stuck with one or the other). And I went to Wal-Mart.

When I got home, and UNLOADED EVERYTHING, INCLUDING TWO CASES OF WATER, I came inside to find the kids in the back of the house, but most certainly not laying in bed. And he was sitting on the couch. They were yelling and giggling and very clearly together in one room, not each in their own, they were up and playing in the bathroom, they were playing in the hall. And he SAT ON THE COUCH. Finally, at 9:30 (NINE FRIPPING THIRTY), I got up and asked if he was actually going to sit there and do nothing and make me be the bitch. You'll just never guess what he did. Jerk. So I went and yelled at the children, put them back in their own beds, threatened them as any proper Mommy Ogre does, and came out here to type all this streaming vent in one massive bitch-a-thon.

And he's now laying on the couch.

God, he's hot. Or maybe that's the cold medicine I just chugged talking.

Don't mess with me and my karma

2007-03-15T18:35:00.000-04:00

So what happened in San Diego, you ask? I've been back for a week and haven't posted any summary of the vast amounts of knowledge I gained from my conference, you say? Well, I've been a little distracted. There's been some jet lag to deal with and then there's been the family lag - one being where your body is trying to catch up with the difference on the clock, and the other being where your family tries to make you pay (and pay and pay) for abandoning them, even if only temporarily.

But there are a few things I remember from my moments in the sun.

Okay, first, you should know that karma is real. And I had to pay for enjoying myself in sunny San Diego with some impish karma happenings. Yes, I enjoyed a conference in which I was able to professionally refresh myself, get re-energized about our upcoming projects, learn a few new things, and do a bit of networking. And true, I had a beautiful hotel room with: a giant King-size bed, upon which I slept cross-wise - just because I could; a balcony upon which I could sit in absolute silence and enjoy completing an entire thought without being interrupted by "Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom!"; a spectacular view of the Coronado bay, bridge, and island, where I witnessed a couple of breath-taking sunsets; a bathroom I did not have to share and where - similar to the balcony - I could complete my thoughts without interruption or audience; and, a television that wasn't tuned to ESPN even ONCE. I also had fabulous food, which was either provided by the conference or for which my company will be kind enough to reimburse me, and though I had my share of adult beverages, I didn't pay for any of them with my own money. And unlike my college days, I didn't owe any other kind of non-monetary payment for said beverages at the end of the evening. Although I think the consultants who bought most of those drinks probably would like a little something from me, I'm pretty sure it involves contracts and advice, not dark dorm rooms and next morning walks of shame. Of course, with some of these consultants, you really can't be too sure. Oh! And I got to hear another very energetic and motivational speech from Dean Hager, of whom I admit I am a bit of a Lawson groupie.

And for these wonderful benefits, what did I have to endure? Well, there was the attack of the killer sodas. Every - and I am NOT exaggerating - can or bottle of carbonated soda I opened immediately fizzed over making a mess on me, my clothes, and the floor. The worst attack came when I tried to save a can of Diet Coke for later. I had it in my conference complimentary messenger bag to take back to my hotel room so I could have it the next morning (for some reason, conferences have not caught on to the fact that there is a segment of the population who get their morning caffeine in a colder and more carbonated form than the gallons of coffee they provide for everyone else). I stopped to use the restroom, hanging my bag on the cute little hook. You know, I didn't want to set my bag on the floor and risk becoming infected with e.coli. Unfortunately, right after I sat down, the bag fell. And then I heard an odd noise. Had a snake, now angered by its jolt, somehow snuck into my bag? Oh, no. I frantically grabbed for the bag, throwing things out of the way of the exploding can. I grabbed the can and put it in the nearest receptacle I could reach from my sitting position - and no, I couldn't get up, yet - which was the handy container for feminine product disposal. I pulled my notebook, papers, electronic essentials, and vendor giveaway trinkets (aka souveniers for the kids) from the bag and laid them on the floor (I'm still waiting for the e.coli to set in) until I could safely get up. Then I took the bag to the sink to dump its cola contents. The good news is that I now know that if I ever need to use that bag as a portable cooler, it is certainly water-tight. When I went back to the stall, I noticed that the can had continued to exude its contents, which were now dripping from the stall receptacle. I don't know about you, but I never want to see something dripping from there when I enter a stall, so I removed the can and put it in the larger trash can by the door. As I was going back to finish wiping up the mess on the floor, another woman came in. I'm not sure what she thought I had done in there that I needed to be wiping things up off the floor, but luckily, I didn't see her again for the rest of the conference. Needless to say, I was caffeine-less the next morning.

I also had a karma clash with my camera, though on this one, I think the good karma won out over the bad. I have only had a digital camera since early December and I have loved every minute of being in the digital world. I took the camera with me and I took a LOT of pictures. I was also so excited to run into two women I worked with in my early Lawson days. We all worked together when I was new to the team and very pregnant, Sara was a consultant, and Hannah was our Lawson expert. I haven't seen either of them in several years, and we hadn't all been together in about seven or eight years. Wednesday morning, the last day of the conference, we were all in the breakfast area so I wanted a picture. My excitement got the better of me, and as I pulled out the camera - the camera I had worked so hard to protect during the conference for fear of something happening to damage it, my current favorite material possession - I dropped it. On the concrete floor. It didn't look too bad, but part of the battery cover was broken off and the casing had popped apart on one corner. I snapped it back together and turned it on. I could still see the pictures that I had already taken, but the display screen was black when I switched it to camera mode. I told my friend that she would have to look through the viewfinder because something was wrong with the display. They were all very concerned for how I would handle the disaster. Inside I was a screaming, crying, hysterical mess. Outside, I tried very hard to keep it together and not feel like I had just dropped my newborn on the floor instead of a camera. I found clenching my fists and clasping my hands helped. As I examined the camera later - after Sara and Hannah had both left to catch planes - I realized that it was not the display that was broken (duh - I could see the pictures from the night before!), it was the lens. The picture of the three of us - it's a black square. So sad. Later, we were in the exhibition hall and the sales guy from our favorite consultant company called Stacy and I over. I was still in a bit of a shell-shocked state, trying not to think about my lovely, broken camera. Tom had gifts for Stacy and I. For Stacy, he handed her an oversized version of their 2007 mascot, Jett - a black panther - he is way cute. He handed me a box. With a camera in it. The camera I broke is a Canon PowerShot A540. He gave me a Canon PowerShot A530. Stacy had to explain to him why I was so overcome with emotion I couldn't speak - he thought I was unhappy with my gift. If that's not the triumph of karma, I don't know what is. And it also proves that someone somewhere really WANTS me to take pictures of the CIBER consultants drinking and partying it up. And maybe, just maybe, I honor the good karma mojo and not use those pictures as future blackmail. But I may still post the videos to YouTube.

When my love for food meets my love for clothes that fit

2007-03-12T15:15:00.000-04:00

Dear cookie-leaver (may I assume cookie-baker, as well?),

I hate you (I love you. Marry me?). You left evil (yummy) cookies on the Food Table, which is right next to my cubicle. Those (delicate, pretty) pink cookies called my name until I could no longer resist. I ate one and it was (wonderful, perfect, strawberry/cherry-flavored heaven) terrible! And still the plate of cookies remained, calling to me as I walked past to and from my cube; drifting into the corner of my vision even as I looked away. And so I ate them. Most of them. I would have taken a picture of one - because, yes, I bring my camera to work - had I not devoured it before I thought to do so.

Please (don't) stop bringing cookies to work! It is not in keeping with our corporate values of respect to all people - you clearly do not respect my lack of will power and my efforts to maintain a more healthy eating lifestyle. It's almost as if you knew that I have consumed four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the last five days and are attacking (consoling) me while I am at my weakest. What have I done to deserve this treatment (I'll do it again!)?

Yes, I was in California enjoying warm weather and sunshine for five days, but I worked, I swear! It was work! Hard, hard work! I drove the golf cart, for crying out loud - is that not effort enough? I had to drink free beer. With consultants - the horror! And all the sunshine - it hurt my eyes! And watching Dean Hager - these are the lengths I go to in order to bring back new Lawson knowledge for you. And still you torment me...Please, no (yes, yes!) more cookies. Maybe some carrot sticks (better yet, potato sticks) or a nice (chocolate-covered) fruit plate.

Begging for (more treats, like a lap dog) your understanding,

Me

Dude, it's totally way sweet. Seriously.

2007-03-04T20:31:00.000-05:00

Stuff:

Pens that are missing the caps should not be allowed. I was in a meeting this afternoon at the hotel and they had pens and paper at every seat. The pens were the kind with the removeable cap, except the caps were missing. Maybe the hotel staff thought we would all revert back to junior high and start throwing them at each other? They should have taken the pen tubes and just left us the ink stick because we had one HELL of a spit ball fight.

***

We have all moved to the valley and have selected our approved lingo. I have a pet word that some people know about. Two, really. But it's only one that I've apparently taught my daughter to use. My word made it in, and so did a couple of other people's. The official words of CUE are: Dude, sweet, totally, way, and seriously. Dude, I totally love San Diego, seriously. Way.

***

Did you know California has an official dog? Must be. Within the first two hours I was here, I saw four people with the same kind of dog. Small, white, fluffy - Bichon Frise-ish. Cute, don't get me wrong, but Dude, seriously? One dog was being walked like a normal dog. One dog was riding in a car. One dog was riding in a bicycle basket (I would have totally taken a picture if I wouldn't have gotten busted - it was too cute), and the last one was being carried while its owner (I assume, but maybe they were just friends) walked. So, I guess she was taking her dog for a carry instead of a walk...Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. Or Indiana either.

***

Have I mentioned that I LOVE palm trees? I would marry them if they would relocate so I could be closer to my family. And if they promised to do all the laundry and most of the dishes. I went on a round of golf with Stacy and Tom and Tom's BFF, Kelly, yesterday. I shot 64. Pictures. You didn't really think I GOLFED, did you? Dude, I drove the cart! I loaded the pics to Flickr - check them out! I have movies, too...I may have to set up YouTube...but I might accept bribes of Cool Kid Beer...

Oscar is watching the kids

2007-03-03T12:03:00.000-05:00

Steve called just after the plane landed in Denver for our lay-over and I had turned the phone on (to take a picture, what else). He wanted to discuss where I had left the van and point out to me - one more time - just how stupid I am.

Stacy and I rode together to the airport. We are on the same flights. We work together. She is my boss and very good friend. We are going to be together a LOT while we're at this conference. Why not ride together to the airport? Save the hassle and the cost (yes, to the company, but still) of parking for both of us. Trouble is, I live about 30 - 40 minutes out of the way for Stacy to come pick up. And our flight left at 7am this morning, so that's pretty early in the morning to be tacking on an extra half-hour when you could spend that time sleeping instead. So I asked one of my other friends, Jody, if she or her husband would be willing to help Steve drive down to get the van this weekend so I could meet Stacy a little closer to the driving route. She agreed and so I met Stacy at a Bob Evans right off the interstate, close to our office, which is about a 20 minute drive from my house. And everything was hunky dory. I thought. But I forget that I can't think. See? Stupid.

Steve's call was to tell me that Jody can't go with him until Sunday. And what if the van gets towed? And why did I leave it there? Why didn't we just leave it at work? Or why didn't I just drive to the airport - easier for everyone? (umm, except STACY who would have had to get up before 3am instead of 3:30am!) While I was being scolded on the phone, I was trying to get someone to actually let me out into the aisle of the plane so I could exit, find the gate for my connecting flight (leaving in 30 minutes from when we landed), work my way through the throngs of people, acknowledge the compliment on my new laptop bag (it is very cute!), and find my traveling companions. So I was a little distracted. And all I could say in response to Steve’s questions was, "Well, I just did it wrong. Bye." I should seriously just record myself saying "I did it wrong" and have it ready for whenever I need it. It would save time.

He called back as my plane was taxiing out (I forgot to turn the phone off! - major scolding from the flight attendant!!!) to tell me that he's been informed that he's grouchy today. By the kids. Oh, should be a fun day at my house. Gosh, I feel bad that I'm going to be in San Diego enjoying 70 degrees and sunshine...when do I have to go back?

Leaving on a jet plane...

2007-03-03T11:35:00.000-05:00

I am on a plane, and I think we just flew over the Grand Canyon. It was big and looked deep and I think we're in the right general area. But it's kind of hard to judge for sure because a) I've never been to the Grand Canyon, b) I'm not sure of the perspective from whatever height we're flying and c), I'm kinda dumb.

I'm on my way to San Diego for a conferece - Lawson CUE. CUE was in San Diego two years ago and it might be one of the most beautiful places these sheltered Mid-Western eyes have ever seen. Last time, Steve flew out on the last day of the conference and we stayed through the weeked for a quick vacation. He won't be doing that this year, so there will be no leisurely drives up the coast for me this time.

But it should be a fun time anyway, and I'll get to catch up with some friends. Oh, and you know, learn some stuff, too. I brought the camera and the cord (go me for remembering!) and I have web load ready on the camera phone. There could be some interesting photos posted to Flickr soon!

Graduating, even though I missed Prom

2007-03-01T16:29:00.000-05:00

So I have this cube neighbor...let's call him Gilbert. I have posted once here about Gilbert, though I hesitated even to post that. I have had many, MANY, other things I considered posting here about Gilbert. But I resisted. Though I don't think my little blog is very heavily trafficked, and those who are reading - as far as I know - are my friends, who all know about Gilbert anyway, it didn't seem right to post somewhat unkind (but FUNNY, oh, I'm telling you, that Gilbert is prime material, my friends!) stories about him. The first blog I ever started reading was Dooce. Heather Armstrong is a wonderful writer. And when she first started writing her blog, she worked as a web designer and she posted things about the people she worked with and for. Eventually, they found it, and she was fired for it. I tucked that away as Lesson #1 in Blog-Writing - don't blog about work! So I don't blog too much about work, and I don't blog anything about work that I would be overly embarrassed for my boss and/or co-workers to read. Except for that entry about Gilbert. I'm not entirely sure how he would feel if he read that entry and recognized himself, or what I would say if he confronted me about it.

Over the last week or so, there have been a couple of very entertaining (to me and my friends) stories about Gilbert, and I have sent them via e-mail to a group of people with whom I normally share these kinds of things. Some of them are co-workers of both mine and Gilbert's. Others are outside of our company. I sent one earlier this week, as a matter of fact, and as I was typing and sending it, there was something troubling me, though I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I almost didn't send it. But it was really funny, dammit! And I am nothing if not a laugh-whore, so I did send it. I love to be able to tell a story - SELL a story - to someone and get them to laugh. And they did. But then one of my co-workers and friends pulled me aside to very delicately tell me that maybe I really shouldn't be sending that kind of stuff in e-mail. It isn't in accordance with our corporate value of respecting all people. And she is right. That's what was bothering me. I knew it was wrong. Yes, it's funny, because he's different and he farts (OUT LOUD) at his desk and he talks about the books being cooked every day and he obsessively watches the happenings of his stock market portfolio. But here's the trouble: we're laughing at someone else. We - and in particular me - are being catty high school girls who are laughing at the kid who's not part of our cool club, who dresses a little differently and looks and acts a little odd. Ouch. When did I turn into THAT?

I wasn't that girl when I was in middle school or high school. If anything, at times, I was the object of those discussions. So what happened to me?!? I turned into a laugh-whore, that's what happened. If they're laughing WITH me, they aren't laughing AT me...wow, I guess some of those high school insecurities have lingered, haven't they? And knowing that I have these lingering insecurities, I have to stop myself and put myself -back- in Gilbert's shoes. It doesn't feel good to be excluded. To be laughed at. Especially in a place you can not avoid, like work or school. It makes a sometimes unpleasant experience all that much worse. And one of the the traits I want most in the world for my children to posses is politeness. Kindness. I really do believe that many problems of the world could be avoided or corrected if people were just a little more polite. So what am I doing?!? This isn't the person I want to be and it certainly isn't the person I want my kids to be. This is the laugh-whore, begging for people to like her.

So, though I'm a little late in getting started, and I feel a little sheepish about making my Lenten sacrifice be something I should already be doing/not doing, I've decided to use the season of Lent to try to put myself back on the right path. Sometimes, everyone needs to vent, and there are always people who we won't get along with. So I'm not going to say that I'm never going to say anything negative about another person. I'm human, c'mon. But I'm going back to the wisdom that if you can't say it TO someone, you shouldn't say (or write) it ABOUT someone. Simple. Obvious. But apparently, my brain is trying to re-write junior high and I've forgotten. So now I'll just have to go back to laughing at my own stupidity. And believe me, there is plenty of material to work with there. We could start with all the ways in which I have successfully embarrassed myself...oh, those are good times...and then of course there are my expert parenting skills. If only the SuperNanny knew about me, she could fill a whole season!

And before I forget, thank you, my friend, for saying the words that I didn't know were in my head and pulling me back out of junior high. Apparently, the bad hair styles and questionable clothing choices just weren't enough to keep me away.

Ode to Krinkle Fries

2007-02-28T11:14:00.000-05:00

Oh, crinkle fries, how I do love thee, let me count you as I shove you into my mouth...

Hi, my name is Cheri, and I'm a fry-aholic. Specifically, the thick crinkle cut fries. Just thinking about them makes my mouth water.

I used to work downtown and happily fed my crinkle fry cravings at the Loading Dock. Oh, Dock, how I miss you. Your smoke-filled atmosphere, tables right outside the restroom door, decor of antique cars - IN side the building...ahh...and the best greasy grilled cheese sandwiches EVER. And the fries. Oh, the fries that filled me with a special crinkly kind of joy. There were days when the fries were all I needed. No need to bother with the sandwich - it was just a justification for the fries, anyway. Just knowing that the crinkle fries were always there for me helped to make the bad days just a little bit better.

Now I work further north. For a while, my fry cravings went unsatisfied. And I was cranky. I longed for my fries and wondered if my decision to leave my employer was the right one - after all, what had I given up - how would I live without my crinkle fries (yes, yes, and most certainly YES it was the right decision to leave - but that's a story for another time). And then, a miracle. An angel appeared in the form of a co-worker who said she had found a new place to eat that had just opened: the Boathouse Grill. We went to try it and discovered - yes, they had Krinkle fries. Oh, yes, these Krinkle fries are spelled with a 'K' and capitalized, my friend. They are THAT good. They are perfectly crinkled and beautiful and delicious. And even better, at the Boathouse, we can watch the Price is Right during lunch. This might be what Heaven is like.

What makes my husband cry

2007-02-23T09:07:00.000-05:00

Most people who know me know that I cry easily. Sappy romantic comedies, commercials, country songs, seeing someone on t.v. cry, radio telethons...they all make me cry.

My husband, on the other hand, is a MAN. He doesn't cry. It's a Man Rule or something. Boys don't cry. I have only seen him cry a couple of times since I've known him - at the funerals of his grandparents - and to be honest, it freaks me out a little because I don't know what to do when it happens. Now, he does get a little emotional about weird boy-movies. Like the one where Joaquin Phoenix is a firefighter and John Travolta is trying to save him and then he dies in the end anyway...he doesn't exactly cry, but it gets him a little verklempt, if you will (I on the other hand, cry - someone in a movie DIES, people, c'mon!). And also, Days of Thunder. When Tom Cruise has to drive through the accident and he can't see and the other guy tells him that he can do it, "I know it in my heart, Cole." Yeah, that line gets him every time. Oddly, that is one of the few things that does NOT make me cry. Strange.

But yesterday, my husband showed me something he found on YouTube and he was pretty choked up. First of all, my husband was on YouTube - this is momentous! I asked how he found this video and it came from something I signed him up for (I will pull him kicking and screaming into the 21st century yet!). A while back, I heard an ad for an All-Pro Dads event. I Googled them to see what it was all about and was very impressed. They have a newsletter they send out to men with snippets of info and motivational/inspirational advice on being a better dad. I signed Steve up, not because I think he is not a good father, but because I thought it might give him some thought points and he would like that is was kind of sports-related (The Colts' coach, Tony Dungy is very heavily involved in the organization). He didn't say anything for a while, but finally he mentioned something in one of the e-mails and I was happy to hear he was getting the e-mails, reading them, and enjoying them. The e-mail this week had a story about a father and son, Dick and Rick Hoyt. Their story is here and here and it is amazing. And it will make you cry, unless you are a robot or your heart is made of stone. And if your heart is made of some kind of metal or stone, try this video and make sure you have a Kleenex or two handy. Your heart will be a big pool of goo by the end. We watched both of the videos and my husband - my big, strong, manly-man husband - was very teary-eyed. It is in moments like these that I know I married the right one.

I'm going to call it froz

2007-02-21T21:51:00.001-05:00

originally uploaded by Cheri13.

Today started like many other days - with me in a fog. The difference today was that the fog was outside instead of just in my head. It was one of the foggiest days I can remember. The radio called it freezing fog, which sounded stupid to me, until I drove through it and watched my windows ice up. As I drove down the interstate on my way to work, trying to pay attention to the cars I could barely see, I got distracted by glimpses through the fog of how beautiful the frozen grass and bushes were on the side of the road. All I could think about was how much I wanted to take a picture...or two...or twenty. Every minute or so, I would think, "Ooo. THAT would be a great picture! Oh! Or THAT! Oh, look how pretty THAT is!" Unfortunately, you can't exactly take pictures while you're driving down the interstate trying to avoid cars in near zero visibility driving conditions. And pulling over to the side of the road in order to get out of the car and take some pictures isn't really a good idea, either. You know, there are stupid people on the interstate in the fog.

So I did the only smart thing I could do. I got off the interstate and drove on the even foggier side road so that I could drive twenty mph and stop if I wanted to. And I did stop and take a few pictures, but then the fog got so bad that I really couldn't see enough to even do that. So I got the idea to take a small diversion on my way to work and drive a few hundred yards into the state park where I KNEW I could get some cool pics. And boy, did I. I pulled just inside the front gate and took several pictures. Then I drove a little further in just to see what was there and to turn around. I saw a small road that led to the Nature Center and thought that would be a good place to turn around. This may sound a little cheesy, but I really think it was some kind of Divine intervention - it IS Ash Wednesday, after all. As I turned onto the road, a deer walked across in front of me. I watched where the deer walked to and saw another one, then two, and then I realized there were FIVE deer in all. Wow! It was truly amazing.

So I was of course late to work. Again. I got there at 9am, for the third day in a row. Thank God my boss is also my friend, and that she understands - and is okay for now with the fact - that I barely have enough work to fill my days. So being a little late isn't a huge issue right now. And I did show her my amazing deer pictures. As I told another friend today - as my friend, she was totally cool with my side trip. But as my boss, at some point she's going to have to start frowning upon this kind of behavior from me.

So it was really a great way to start my morning. And it made me think, yet again, how much I wish I could just take pictures for a living. And write blogs. If I could find someone to pay me what I make now to do that...well, that might just be heaven.

Sigh.

Okay, back to the real world. But in the mean time, take a look at my frozzy pictures!

It's so romantic

2007-02-14T22:30:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

Today is day two of being snowed in. Here is a picture of our front yard today after 15 inches of drifting snow:

The drift by the front door is almost four feet tall at its peak. We all stayed home today for the second day. Since it's Valentine's Day, I gave Steve a gift any husband would love - I helped him shovel our driveway and sidewalks. I found his gift after I got out of the shower.

A hickie.

Oh, yes, that's right. A HICKIE. Am I in high school? No, I most certainly am not. Are we some drunk college kids getting it on in a dark dorm room while a roommate sleeps in the top bunk? Nope. We've been married for ten years for crying out loud. And we have two kids - we're not even supposed to be having sex at this point, let alone leaving EVIDENCE of the crime. Oh sure, I could tell you it was just the hickie, but you wouldn't really believe me, now would you? So yes, we had sex. And don't worry - that's all the details I feel the need to provide. You know, I wouldn't want to make anyone jealous with tales of my wild, cavorting, let's-hurry-up-and-do-it-now-that-the-kids-are-asleep-so-we-can-go-to-sleep, married sex. It's pretty hot and steamy. Seriously.

School is closed again tomorrow, but work is on and day care is open, so life is almost back to normal. We'll all be leaving the house tomorrow and maybe that's a good thing. You know, maybe the hickie is a result of us being cooped up in the house all day. We need to go to work to expend some energy in order to avoid any more incriminating evidence showing up on my neck.

Well, I think Steve is asleep. I think it's safe for me to head off to bed. After I lay out that lovely turtleneck sweater I'll be wearing tomorrow.

Saved by the snow

2007-02-14T08:53:00.000-05:00

While watching a news report about our record snowfall (12 -15 inches - most places shut down due to Snow Emergency) - they were discussing the difficulty of florists delivering their Valentine's Day orders:

Steve: This is probably killing their business from all those last minute people.

Me: Yeah, and with everything shut down, do you think they'll just wait and deliver my flowers tomorrow?

Steve: No, they'll probably just say 'Forget it,' and give me my money back.

Me: You're hilarious.

Steve: I better call Troyer and tell him to use that one on Michelle!

Don't sign me up for the Boston Marathon yet

2007-02-11T23:26:00.000-05:00

I realize my posts are fairly random. I post about writing batch file programs, my kids, work, depression, Momtinis...I know. But, seriously? That's how my life is. It is random and nonlinear and full of lots of different things. So...today I've got a new random subject: my treadmill. More appropriately, my LOVE for my new treadmill.

I never believed I would be a runner or a treadmill owner. And I don't think I'm going to go so far as to call myself a runner now, either. But I think I have more potential to become a runner now than I ever thought I would. My friend (also my boss - yes, it's awesome) had a treadmill she was looking to sell and Steve and I have talked about getting a treadmill. Yes, we have made the same goal that millions of other people make every January - to lose weight/get in shape. But I feel more serious about this than just a diet. In fact, I don't really think about this as a diet. We are trying to make a change in how we live. I am actually very consciously trying NOT to use the word diet or talk about losing weight. I don't want to start those images and ideas in the kids' heads already. I know it's never too early to start lifelong problems with food and self-image. So anyway, we got the treadmill. We've had it for a couple of weeks now, and I really really like it. I don't really like the fact that it's in the living room, but since we don't have an extra room to put it in or a basement, the living room is the best option.

I have not been on it every day, but I have been on it more days than I have not. And I have even started running on it. I read somewhere that beginners should start out alternating walking for 3 minutes and running for 2 to ease in to running. I did that all this week for a mile or so each time. Today I did that for a mile and walked another 2 miles. I know, I'm a wuss. Please, don't tell me. I KNOW! But for me, this is a big step away from my sedentary lifestyle. I want to be healthy. I want to be a good model for my kids. We're all eating a little better - but we aren't going crazy. I love food. Get that right - I LOVE food. And if I try to eliminate all the things I love the best (that would be French fries, for starters), I know it won't stick. But if we add in more fruit and vegetables, switch to brown rice, eat more fiber, reduce the fat and sugar...blah blah blah...I just might be able to do it. And my kids might not become one more statistic about obese children. Though, to be honest, I don't see Andrew having trouble with that any time soon. For him, I want him to learn how to eat healthy. With the history of heart trouble on his dad's side, he needs to start early.

So the treadmill. Have I mentioned that I love it? Yes, I did. Really, if I'm being honest here, I don't love running, or even walking that much. While I'm doing it, I have a very strong hatred of the effort it takes to make my body go. I don't like being sweaty. It's gross. And I am not cute when I sweat. But at the same time, I love the way I feel. I love that the sweat means I am working and the working means I am burning calories and the burning of calories means I am healthier! They aren't lying when they talk about those endorphins. I feel them. I take pride in the (yes, wussy) fact that I can run. No, I can't run far - yet - and I don't run for very long - yet. But I am already getting stronger. I feel confident that I am going to make the goals I've set. Where I am weak in the face of food, I am strong when I am on my treadmill. Maybe it's because the treadmill is pointed right toward the kitchen and I have direct line view of the refrigerator....it's the old carrot on the stick trick!! Ha!

The Momtini* heard round the blogosphere

2007-02-09T13:16:00.000-05:00

*The Momtini was invented and (I think) soon-to-be trademarked by Melissa Summers of Suburban Bliss.

So the whole mommy blogosphere seems to be talking about this. And I feel a little disconnected because, while I read several blogs that have discussed this, I haven't commented. And no one here in my "real" world is even aware of the debate. It's almost as if the entire ~scandal~ exists only in the virtual Internet world. So I have no one to talk to about this. And I need to talk about it. I don't know what exactly I have to say that hasn't already been said, but this whole thing bothers me on several levels and I can't stop thinking about it.

First, a re-cap: Melissa Summers, a mother who writes a blog (see links above), has written posts about enjoying adult alcoholic beverages with other parents while the children play. The other parents are also mothers (usually no dads) and the get-togethers are referred to as playdates. The Today Show picked up on the story from Melissa and from another woman, Stefanie Wilder-Taylor, who wrote a book about just such playdates and other mothering adventures. They aired a spot a couple of weeks ago with Melissa and Dr. Janet Taylor discussing the issue, which they referred to as a "new trend."

Because of the strong response they got from this piece, I think primarily negative, they aired a follow-up piece this week with Dr. Taylor and Stefanie Wilder-Taylor. This piece seemed to be a little softer on the issue than the first piece, but it is still generating a lot of buzz (no pun intended!) on a lot of blogs.

I have so many thoughts on this, but mostly, I am just sad. Sad that we've all come to this. Sad that we're so concerned with what other people are doing that we have to find new names for old things so we can gasp in horror at the "new trends." Sad that, unfortunately, there are parents in the world who make the rest of us look bad and cause the so-called experts to look for any sign of bad parenting in an effort to save the children from the results of our behavior. Sad because some parents NEED someone else to call them on their irresponsible behavior.

Sometimes parents are just ignorant of the proper way to care for children - and ignorant is okay, as long as they get help (would someone PLEASE help Britney?!). Ignorance is just a lack of knowing. Most of the time, ignorance can be corrected. Stupid, on the other hand, might just be permanent. These parents probably do need someone like Dr. Taylor to tell them that even one drink could impact them and impair their ability to be a good parent. Because the difference between one and plastered to these parents might not be clear. They may be struggling to be a good parent even without anything that would alter their thoughts - whether that be beer, wine, cough medicine, American Idol, etc. And by struggling, I don't mean that they don't have all the beds made by 7am, that they work 50 hours a week and have to rely on day care too much, or even that they fight with their spouse about money in front of the kids. I'm talking about the kind of parents whose toddlers are walking down busy interstates in January wearing nothing but a diaper and a t-shirt, parents who don't know any other way to get their children to be quiet other than to knock them unconscious and leave them outside in the cold to die.

Most (God, I hope we're the majority in this) of the rest of us, who are not perfect and whose children are not perfect, but who are healthy, functioning, warm, fed, and have a bed to sleep in...we're doing okay. Of course, we are probably messing up our kids in millions of little ways. How could we not, being the imperfect beings that we are? My mom ruined me on grape jelly when I was a kid by putting my medicine in it (I couldn't swallow pills). Does that mean that someone should have put her on TV and pointed out what a crappy job she was doing in the jelly area? Of course not. It just means that we now only have strawberry jelly in my house. If we're going to start pointing fingers about parenting styles that others see as wrong, everyone is going to come out the loser. Do you work outside the home? Do you stay home all the time? Do you formula feed? Do you co-sleep? Do you practice cry-it-out? Do you eat meat? Do you not eat meat? Do you eat fast food? Do you watch violent TV programs (and yes, the nightly news counts)? Do you listen to a radio station that plays some songs with suggestive lyrics? Do you live a mostly sedentary lifestyle? If you do any of those things, I guarantee there is another parent out there who thinks you are not being responsible with your children. Show me a parent, and I'll show you someone who has done something in front of or to their kids that would absolutely appall another parent.

I know I sound like I'm pretty worked up about this, but the truth is, I am not as worked up as I think I should be. Like I said, I'm mostly just sad. Of course, I understand why other people are very worked up about it, Melissa Summers in particular. I can't even begin to imagine how pissed I'd be in her position. However, I also understand that there is another side, and I know she does, too. I know there are some people who are not okay with drinking. Ever. Anywhere. In front of anyone. Especially not children. They have their reasons. They are entitled to their opinions. And for them, drinking in front of children is the same as teaching them to steal cars or kill someone. I don't agree with them, but I feel for them. I think for many people with that view point, they are desperately trying to protect their children from a world that at times seems to have gone crazy. Kids bring weapons to school, we hear about drug problems in elementary school kids, there are adults pretending to be kids on the Internet so they can lure our children for their twisted fantasies. It is terrifying the many many ways in which our children can be hurt. If you stop to let all of that in, it would be paralyzing. You wouldn't let your children out of the house or anywhere near a television, radio, or computer. But to live life that way, in my opinion, is not really living. It is attempting to create a bubble that has no hope of surviving the pins and needles of this world. I would also assert that preventing children from seeing a parent drink really won't keep them from drinking in the future. I know lots of people whose parents never smoked pot in front of them, and yet...

I don't drink often, but when I do, it is usually in front of my children. We get together with our friends from church, the kids play, we might have a few drinks. It's normally pretty low-key. The purpose of the get-together is not the drink. Drinking is not a way in which any of the adults deal with their stress. I do find a glass of wine to be relaxing, but it's not my first option when I'm stressed. Mostly, I am enjoying time with my friends, which is also relaxing, and sometimes I feel like having a glass of wine while we do that. And then it's even more relaxing. However, to be fair again to the other side, at times I've also seen some grown ups get pretty wasted in front of the kids. The kids were never in any kind of danger from being neglected - there are always 6, 8, 10, or more adults around, and almost always there is at least one who has had one or no drinks. But I know that it has sometimes bothered some of the kids to see their parent or their friend's parent drunk. And that makes me sad, too. I don't think less of my friend for getting drunk. I don't think she is a bad mother. I think she gets carried away sometimes. But I also know that she would never do that in a setting where she was solely responsible for her kids.

And that again, is the difference between people teetering on the edge of neglectful parenting, and the rest of us living in the middle, who are not perfect, but are doing the best we can, even while the voices on the TV, in the magazines, and even on the Internet tell us we're doing it wrong.

All I need is a glue gun and an umbrella

2007-02-08T14:14:00.001-05:00

A new CubeLand exclusive feature!

So apparently, my cube neighbor has overheard enough of the conversations from my side of the cube wall to determine that I am worthless when it comes to work-related subjects. I am, however, at least in his mind, some kind of domestic goddess when it comes to random life skill trivia. A few weeks ago, he came over to ask me what it means on sweaters when it says "Lay flat to dry." Do they mean that literally? Uh, yes.

Today, he came a-knocking to ask about the refrigerator life-span of cilantro so he can plan when to make his Bean Dip Surprise. How long will it last if I buy it today? He seemed assured once I told him that the parsley in my refrigerator has lasted a week or two at this point and his cilantro should enjoy a similar lengthy life in the coolness of his crisper drawer.

I'll be submitting my name change application shortly. You can start referring to me as Martha Poppins...

Super Bowl

2007-02-04T22:55:00.000-05:00

Colts win!!

Woo Hoo! Go Colts!

The King says Zoloft is good for business

2007-02-01T19:34:00.000-05:00

Wow, so yesterday's post was pretty long. Rereading it today, I'm almost embarrassed to have written it. But once I got started, I guess I just couldn't stop. It felt good to get it all out of my head, even if it is out into cyberspace. In all reality, I'm guessing that no one has found this blog yet, which is just fine with me.

Yesterday was a bad day. Today was better. Actually, today offered another indication that the medicine might be working. This morning, I had a big-time snuggle with my kids. We snuggled and giggled and tickled and laughed. They sat on me to keep me from getting up and taking my shower. We were late getting out of the house and off to work and school.

Even when I was at my worst, I would have enjoyed those fun little snuggly moments with the kids. I was never that far gone. The difference is that then, I would have been quicker to end it and as soon as I left the moment, any happiness I felt during the moment disappeared as if it had never been. Now, the happy stays with me. It stayed with me all morning. It kept me from losing my cool even though we were getting later and later. It allowed me to be the "cool" mom this morning who offered to pick up Burger King breakfast because we were out of waffles.

And that Croissan'wich tasted much better on a happy stomach.

The stars sure are bright out here in space

2007-01-31T13:53:00.000-05:00

I'm a worrier. I get an idea and I put it in my head and let it gnaw away at my thoughts. I worry about other people's thoughts and feelings. It sounds nice in theory, to be concerned for others, but I do it too much. I do it to the point of my own self-centered paralysis. What will they think (of me), what will they say (about me), what will they do (to me), will they like me...

Coupled with the worry is apparently a profound lack of physical ability to handle stress. For years now, stress has manifested itself physically in different ways. Sometimes it's headaches, other times it's been vertigo, nausea, a lingering cough. Most recently, my internalized stress triggered (not caused - my doctor was very firm that there isn't necessarily a causal relationship; this is a chemical problem that elevated stress levels may have aggravated but that was already lurking in my brain. Because that was supposed to make me feel better?) depression that I dealt with for almost nine months before finding the right professional help. It wasn't debilitating depression, but it had gotten bad enough that I was crying more days than I wasn't, I snapped at my husband and my kids ALL the time, and I was just never happy. I felt like there was a huge weight on my chest and I constantly let out deep, heavy sighs to try and relieve the pressure. When the symptoms finally became too obvious to ignore, I attributed them to really bad PMS and talked to my OBGYN about birth control pills to regulate my hormones. After three more months, it was obvious that wasn't the problem. She asked if I could be depressed. I shrugged. Well, after leaving a horrible job in April and just finishing (finally!) my bachelor's degree in December, what would I be depressed about in January - and what would I have been depressed about since oh, I dunno, May? She suggested we try Zoloft, so I agreed because I was ready to stop feeling the way I felt.

I have been taking Zoloft now for just over two weeks. I've been hesitant to tell many people about what's going on with me for a couple of reasons. First, I am not sure even now that I completely know how I feel about this situation. I'm not ready for too many other opinions on the matter until I have my own opinion, and that alone tells me this is serious. Second, any opinions I get now need to be able to be objective, and as I've found, there aren't many objective opinions in the depression and drugs discussion. Most people I know have a pretty strong opinion, based on the fact that they work in healthcare, are currently taking depression medication, know someone who has taken depression medication, or their beliefs about the true cause and nature of depression. None of these opinions help me, because I already know those sides of the story.

I know that drugs have helped and continue to help a lot of people. I know that depression can be a horrible chronic curse that ruins families and lives. I also know that sometimes when people say they are "depressed," they are just sad, down, stressed, or unhappy about a particular event or circumstance. To me, that is not the same as the person who is depressed in a way that prevents them from seeing color in their lives or enjoying a single moment of any day or even functioning. My struggle is that I fall into neither of those groups. My bad days were bad, but I still got up, showered, cared for my children (sort of and with lots of yelling), went to work, prepared dinner, helped with homework, did my own homework, etc...Until the end, I was even still having sex with my husband, though of course, not as much as he would have liked. But that's a whole different topic. The problem was that even while I was doing those things, I was miserable and sad and felt dead inside for no apparent reason. Things that should have been completely benign set me off into uncontrolled tears. A couple of times I sobbed in the bathroom, unable to stop, worried that my husband or children would hear and would ask for an explanation I did not have. I have struggled with and reached a point of acceptance with the fact that, while my depression is mild and liveable, and even unnoticeable to most people I know, it is true depression and I need help to treat it.

A few days ago, I think I reached a turning point where the medication started to have some effect and the difference in the days since that point and those before has helped me to finally accept what is happening to me and the fact that it is not something I can either control or fix on my own. I do not want to be dependent upon a drug to live my life, though I don't have any practical reasons why. I never thought I looked poorly upon people who take drugs to function, but maybe I secretly did. I don't think so, but why else would it be okay for them and not for me. I think it all comes back to control, and for me, depending upon the drug is losing control. In all truthfulness, I am pissed off that I can't get better on my own - just suck it up and be happy. And so I struggle to be okay with taking the drug, even while I continue to take the drug, and believe the drug is helping me.

So, all of that to say all of this...

Now, I'm worried. What triggered this disease for me was a job change. I don't like that, but I believe it. I am not sorry I left my old job. I am not sorry I took this new job. While the new job is still, ten months later, not yet challenging me in the ways I had hoped or providing the opportunities I thought it would, I am learning new things. I feel appreciated and, most of the time, that I am able (or will be able) to contribute something of value to the department and the company. One of my dear friends is my boss, and she is terrific. The corporate culture here is everything I could hope for. I can't explain enough how happy I am to work for this company, and how thrilled I am to no longer be an employee of the other. However, I worked for that company for nine years. It was my first 'real' career job. The decision to leave was agonizing, even through the misery. I was sick to my stomach for a week. I didn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate. The first month I was at the new job was much of the same. Looking back now, I see that is when I first started showing signs of the depression that was growing.

Now, things are better. The stress of school is gone (though finishing school was another big change that rocked my system), the "new job" feel has settled. I have work to fill my day, but am not so busy that I don't have time to breathe. When I leave work in the evening, I truly leave work. I am able to enjoy being at home with my family.

But there's a problem: I am in Finance. I don't like finance and I am not now, nor will I ever be, an accountant. My husband is an accountant, and that is as close as I need to get. I work with the system that runs our financials. I have worked on this system for over seven years (first at the old company and now at the new), but until I took this job, my main focus was first HR and after that, Payroll. I miss HR and even (God help me) Payroll. It is my comfort zone and - to me - so much more interesting than debits and credits. Recently, I referred a former co-worker for an open position in the HRIS group. It was my perfect dream job, and I helped him get it instead. Why? Well, Silly, because I felt guilty. And I worried.

What would my friend/boss think if I jumped ship so soon after she rescued me from the other sinking ship? I felt, and still feel, that I owe her at least a year of my time. So finally, we're to the current problem. The year will be up at the beginning of April. The HRIS department is discussing the probability that they will need another position similar to the one my friend took. You know, my dream job. And they are throwing my name around as a likely candidate for the opening. So what's the problem, you ask? Silly, haven't you been paying attention? Guilt. Worry. Stress. Depression.

First, have I really repaid my friend enough for hiring me? The projects she hired me to work on were delayed or cancelled. The big projects coming now are due to start this spring - right when I would be leaving. The guilt. What will she think? Will she be upset or angry with me for leaving Finance to go back to HR? Will I be taking the easy way out instead of sticking it out here and learning the Finance game? The worry. If I were to take the job and switch, will the stress of this job change do to me what the last job change did? Will it cause the depression that I am just beginning to grapple with to worsen? I feel like I am crawling up out of a dark hole and the thought of going back down there to the dark is terrifying.

I am trying to remind myself that I can't even see this bridge yet, let alone do I have to decide whether or not to cross it. But that's where the worrier in me comes in. The thought is in my head, festering, digging tunnels in my brain. It sits on my shoulder and whispers things in my ear. Unintelligible, worrysome things, full of dread and dark, caused by something I want desperately.

And there's the sigh. It's here this afternoon. The pressure is back on my chest, though it's not as heavy as it might have been a week ago. I worry that the very worry I am worrying will become a self-fulfilling prophecy, causing me to slip back into the dark. Again, I am self-absorbed with the internal workings of my brain and body. It's hard to concentrate on a job or contribute to a family with the constant checking of my sanity.

I spoke briefly with a friend this afternoon and explained the situation, though I didn't go into elaborate details about all the angst and she doesn't know about the depression. She told me not to be an astronaut floating in space with just the cord to keep me attached to the ship. I should pull myself back in and wait until the asteroid hits before I start to panic. I love her analogies. One day, I'll record them in a book and make millions. Until then, I'm checking my oxygen tank and trying to head back to the ship and not think about the asteroid that may or may not be headed my way.

We can't all be Dooce

2007-01-21T01:04:00.000-05:00

I am new here. I'm new to blogging in general. I have played a little over the last few months, but have only just decided that I really like this. In fact, I just re-posted my other entries from a little "play" blog I was messing with. I really didn't like the setup over there and, so far at least, Blogger looks great - very friendly for us newbie, only semi-techie types. But really, I'm hoping I can figure out how to edit and write in HTML pretty soon because I think I will eventually get bored with just the basics.

At any rate, if you're here, I might as well tell you a little about me. I'm not young and not cool. I'm pretty average, in fact. I am in my mid-thirties, I live in the middle of the Midwest (Indiana), I'm married with two young kids, a boy and a girl. Pretty much, all I'm missing is the dog to be about the most average woman around, yeah? Sorry, no dog, just two cats.

I read Dooce and Suburban Bliss pretty regularly and I think Heather Armstrong and Melissa Summers are funny, brilliant, and incredibly brave to share some of the things they do on their sites. I'm not sure I'll live up to their examples, but I love to write and sometimes my life cracks me up, so I'm going to document some of that here for my own pleasure. If anyone else reads it, cool, I hope you enjoy it.

Coming round again

2007-01-21T00:53:00.000-05:00

Note: reposted from January 10, 2007

So I posted once and then I just stopped. What kind of loser am I?!? Well, I had to test the waters, think it over, decide how committed I wanted to be to this. Plus, I did actually start a new diary/blog for my kids (Just the Mommy). I wanted to write down some of the things that they do that seem so memorable right now, but that I will forget in a week. I'm forgetful that way. And I'm discovering that the things I remember from my childhood are drastically different than the things my mom remembers. So I'm documenting it now while there's a better shot at getting the truth. I hope to use it to resolve arguments when they're older. And of course use it against them as blackmail.

But I just found out that a good friend of mine is blogging on Yahoo 360 (My Fabulous Life). And she didn't tell me!! And another friend has a secret blog that she doesn't share. Bitches, both of them! Not really. I didn't tell them about mine, either. We're spider that way. Don't worry, if you're reading and you don't get that, you're not supposed to. And I'm not explaining it to you. Hee hee. I spider.

So anyway, now I've got a whole "if she can do it, it's okay for me to do it, too!" attitude and I'm back here posting all the stuff that I'm not putting in my kids' diary. Oh, I'm sure there will be entries about the kids. I mean, c'mon, what else do I really have to talk about?

Channeling my inner Stuart Smalley

2007-01-21T00:12:00.000-05:00

Note: reposted from November 17, 2006

I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And gosh darn it - I wrote a cool .bat file today!

I'm not a programmer and I don't even consider myself all that techie/geeky. But I do aspire to geekness, and sometimes I manage a geek moment here and there. Today was totally one of those moments. Now, if there are any real geeks reading this - of course that assumes ANYONE is reading this - don't go bursting my bubble and tell me how simple it is to write a batch file. Nobody else I work with can do it, and that's good enough for me. After being at a new company since last April in a department where I know next to nothing, I finally felt smart about something!

OH...and I think I have finally found the one thing in this world that I do better than my husband and it's ballroom dancing. He has actually agreed to take ballroom dancing lessons with me, six altogether. Tonight was our second class. He is just so cute when he scrunches his face to concentrate on the steps. He's brilliant, but he is an awful dancer! Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow...

Ahh, affirmation! I'm not the dumbest person on the planet. And sadly, there are days when I have to wonder...of course, I could probably cure those feelings pretty quickly if I'd just watch a little more Jerry Spinger or Judge Judy.