tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-312133662024-03-07T19:26:38.131-05:00Eucalyptus PillowA Place To Rest My Thoughts on Being a Working MomKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-88678368029329776032009-05-20T13:29:00.003-05:002009-05-20T13:34:11.392-05:00There came a timeThere comes a time when the lights are dimming, the shop is closing up and everyone loses interest in the scene. A shop owner knows when he's bleeding money and losing customers. That is when it's time to put up the CLOSED sign permanently.<br /><br />Here's the time, my friends, when Eucalyptus Pillow has completed its job. It started a couple years ago as an outlet for me about my kids, about nursing, about my job, about home life, etc. Now there's more I need to write about. More than just about the kids. It's about evolving into someone else right now, discovering more about what I can offer to the world. So, this blog has outlived its purpose that way.<br /><br />From now on, you can find me <a href="http://revelrypress.blogspot.com">here</a>. I hope you'll follow me.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-41488566499409897102009-05-10T10:58:00.002-05:002009-05-10T11:02:01.880-05:00Happy Mother's DayBecause I just don't know what else to say about my complicated, messy, loving, codependent relationship I have with my own mother, I had to post this video instead. A friend shared with us, and I'm passing it on. It's hilarious!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HAxfh8ukosQ&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HAxfh8ukosQ&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Happy Mother's Day to all my blogging mamas! May everyone do whatever the hell they want today.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-1406645888170871862009-05-08T09:38:00.005-05:002009-05-08T09:51:42.115-05:00Summer breeze, makes me feel fineI'm sitting here typing away at the computer and simultaneously staring out at another gray, gloomy day. When the hell is it going to be nice outside? I'm sick of long sleeves and long pants, slickers and raincoats, umbrellas and running through raindrops. I've just about worn out all indoor play options for Andrew and he is starting to talk to the wall. Or worse, incessantly saying "mama" over and over again. And is beginning to get this weird tick on the side of his face.<br /><br />Anyway, my point is, I need a day in the backyard! I need a long, hot day in the garden while the kids are running through the sprinkler and getting their hands dirty in the sandbox. I need a tan. A day at the park. A day at the pool. I love summer. It's my most favorite season. I'm so ready. So bring it on already.<br /><br />*****************************************************************************<br />So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I must congratulate the winner of the Rick Springfield CD giveaway contest! I had a totally official, drawing of the names ceremony with Andrew, and he drew the name: <a href="http://coolzebras.com">Heather</a>! Heather, congratulations on winning the CD. You will receive it in the mail. Hope your little one will enjoy the new tunes.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-54172633377334162412009-04-30T17:24:00.000-05:002009-04-30T17:25:16.893-05:00Pressure peopleHow well do you work under pressure? <a href="http://revelrypress.blogspot.com">Do tell.</a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-82776721182248550062009-04-24T19:56:00.003-05:002009-04-24T20:25:37.293-05:00The WAHM: Pro vs Con editionNow that I've established my new getting-a-business-up-and-running-from-home-in-less-than-3-months gig since I got laid off (can you say <span style="font-style:italic;">crazy?</span>), quality time with the kids has taken on a whole new meaning. Now you must know that I have been working outside the home before and after my first son was born and thereafter still. So go run and get the smelling salts, k?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pros:</span><br />You get to see your child all day long.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />Your child thinks you are the big toy that he/she can play with all day. And why not? You're <span style="font-style:italic;">home</span> aren't you? Hooray, mommy's home!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pros:</span><br />I no longer sit a few steps from a vending machine full of candy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cons:</span><br />I now live and work in the same home with a whole pantry full of food.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pro:</span><br />I can sleep in if I want to.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />No paid sick day for "sleeping in".<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pro:</span><br />I can facebook anytime I want.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />I can facebook anytime I want.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pro:</span><br />I no longer have to suffer fools in the office and during Christmas parties.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />No more free booze at the Christmas parties.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pro:</span><br />I no longer have to wear makeup or shower during the day if I don't want to.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />I will smell. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pro:</span><br />I no longer have to fight traffic in the car during rush hours.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Con:</span><br />Will somebody get me out of this effin' house!!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">OK, so I actually like the work at home gig. But most of the day today had no rhythm, no mojo, no nothing. Just one incomplete task after another because a particular 3 year old was either constantly hungry, needed me to play with him, was tired, wanted to go outside, wanted to come inside, wanted to type on the computer, or just plain needed. Thank God for my friend Barb or I would not have completed anything today.</span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-89700230027610755342009-04-20T10:45:00.002-05:002009-04-20T10:52:16.709-05:00A precious little post: the new Rick Springfield CD<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKznqQhaXTvqNWmowW0cyBQIqSQICNy4ZQCUADnt7Oc2a3OZJ6nGgHi2X_SKm87jLbr92UmbpqzYkoWvQyRvCyS3ry80VgML-N4skw1ByIED8OiyKiiAICcI_V45gydk7GEcR4/s1600-h/lullabies2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKznqQhaXTvqNWmowW0cyBQIqSQICNy4ZQCUADnt7Oc2a3OZJ6nGgHi2X_SKm87jLbr92UmbpqzYkoWvQyRvCyS3ry80VgML-N4skw1ByIED8OiyKiiAICcI_V45gydk7GEcR4/s320/lullabies2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326800531880624082" /></a> I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but when the folks from Rocket Science contacted me about reviewing Rick Springfield’s new CD full of lullaby’s I thought it sounded kind of neat. I mean, anyone growing up in the 80s knows Rick Springfield, right?<br /><br />So you’re like, Rick Springfield? Jessie’s Girl? A lullaby CD? Yep. And it’s good! What’s good about it is that it is soft, soothing, and when you’re done with the classics like Rock-a-bye baby (and why is the kid in the treetops?), it is a nice diversion. The first track, “Don’t Keep the Sandman Waiting” is the best, followed by a close second to the last song, “Up the Wooden Hills to Bedfordshire”, and track 3, “Another Rainy Night”. What’s also interesting about this CD is that these are all original songs. Yes, original. While most artists will re-do the classics, Rick Springfield’s new CD is full of all original songs written by him while his children were babies over 20 years ago. (Rick Springfield has kids over the age of 20? Man, we are all getting old.)<br /><br />I must admit, these songs are also pretty adult-friendly, too. Regardless of the fact that the lyrics are for babies, they are likeable. The melodies are peaceful and warm, and the songs flow one right into another for a relaxing trip into dreamland. We all know how hard it can be to get a baby to calm down after a long day of stimulation, any soothing thing you can find helps! And you might just get relaxed, too! <br /><br />The new CD is called “My Precious Little One” by Rick Springfield and is not in stores until May 5. So, I have one copy of this new CD to be given away to a lucky reader. Even if you don’t have a newborn or one on the way, perhaps there’s someone you know who would like it? Just leave your name and email in the comments. Contest will be going on for 2 weeks. Your name will be chosen at random. Good luck!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-16847907873006075302009-04-15T16:34:00.005-05:002009-04-15T16:56:09.186-05:00Celebrating the unknown and the infinite possibilitiesThanks to everyone for such encouraging words both here, on facebook, email and in person for the recent turn of events. As I read over my post, it seemed a little dark, and I want to assure everyone that I'm doing OK, and while I know there will be challenging days ahead, as this week has progressed I've been feeling better and better about it. I think it's just a matter of moving forward sometimes without truly thinking hard enough about the current situation. When I think hard enough that's when I have the panic attacks. While I never was one of those incurable optimistic types, the time is now to adopt that kind of attitude. When you're starting your own business in an economy that has been dubbed a "depression" I think you need to be. <br /><br />Quote for today (from woopidoo.com):<br />When you live your life with an appreciation of coincidences and their meanings, you connect with the underlying field of infinite possibilities.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Deepak Chopra</span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-91017239222549210052009-04-13T21:33:00.005-05:002009-04-14T09:55:06.245-05:00Rebirth, reinvention...take your pick of "re's". It's time for me to have one.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18hkaVjuhBwPffHCEtFNT9ZT2PKvYZ4afPQX-2erfStVQchsIJg1JJLHkvjp5NjbN_L89UkgvLTojG01Kzjp2e8rSuVPRsfeISN8A8PHez__kz2_lip2gBykaB1Q3JyxHPibu/s1600-h/rebirth.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18hkaVjuhBwPffHCEtFNT9ZT2PKvYZ4afPQX-2erfStVQchsIJg1JJLHkvjp5NjbN_L89UkgvLTojG01Kzjp2e8rSuVPRsfeISN8A8PHez__kz2_lip2gBykaB1Q3JyxHPibu/s320/rebirth.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324379599697679410" /></a> You know that saying, "This is the first day of the rest of your life"? Well, Friday was that day for me.<br /><br />The day was cold and dank. Slightly sprinkling, it was a dreary spring day. In and out of the office most of the day, I walked back in the building in the afternoon with my sons and my husband to retrieve the last bit of my belongings from my cube. My boys helped me carry out the boxes, and I cried when we got into the car. But as we drove away and my husband put a gentle hand on my knee, we both knew they were tears for fear of the unknown, rather than for what was lost. I was happy to be leaving "corporate America". I am just scared for what is ahead. This had never happened to me before. He looked over at me and said, "Well Beez, look at this as the first day of the rest of your life."<br /><br />Last month I was told at work that my position here in Columbus was eliminated. I worked as a production specialist for a marketing team. What that means is, I worked on collateral materials. Not brain surgery, but it put food on the table.<br /><br />But I don't want to get into the job itself. This whole wretched experience of losing a job is about more than the job itself. It can feel like a failure of sorts. And a loss of identity. Evoking moments of imagining what a loser your kids and your husband must think you are that you can't provide for them anymore. It's like vacillating between moments of sheer panic and serenity. Moments of accepting what has happened and moving forward, to literally puking my guts out.<br /><br />I notice that my oldest son, in times of change or crisis, gets very concerned about sustaining normalcy, with things like meals and laundry and who is dropping him off at school. When my husband was really sick last fall, he looked at me like I was an alien in the kitchen who couldn't muster up the where-with-all to put together a plate of mac 'n' cheese. Granted, I don't do the cooking, but I have noticed there is a deeply rooted relationship with his dad that represents a sense of security that I have no business treading into. My husband has been the stay at home dad for almost 3 years now, and with my job situation, it's likely going to change.<br /><br />So where do I go from here? Stay at home mom? I wouldn't hesitate to say that the role of full time caregiver may be a ship that has sailed for me, but I would bet it will be one that will be fulfilled in some form or another over the coming months. <br /><br />My husband is looking for work, and he said to me that he almost welcomes the thought of getting out of the house. Part of me thinks it may have been to assuage my feelings of hopelessness at the moment we were discussing the "next steps" of our situation. He'll be turning 50 years old next month, and I can't imagine someone who has been out of the active workforce for a while could be enthusiastic about the kind of prospects that are out there for employment. But, we continue to remain optimistic. <br /><br />One thing I do know, is that I'm going to seize the opportunity to develop my new business, Revelry Press.<br /><br />(**Shameless plug: http://revelry.etsy.com**)<br /><br />I am going to give this business a try. It's something I've done before, and so it can certainly be something I can do again. It's just a little odd to be thrust into having to change things when you didn't ask for them to change. Even though a large part of me wanted change, wanted to get out of the daily rut of an unfulfilling job, the change can be scary. Like someone kicking you out of a nice comfy bed, even though you know sleeping your life away is bad for your health.<br /><br />Ten years ago I would have thrived on this fear. Now, with a mortgage and 2 kids later, the fear is really that... fear. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />(*Note: Photo above was taken by me in 1993 and the layered effect was done in camera... before Photoshop! I worked on this in college and printed it myself.<br />Specs: Ricoh manual camera, 52mm lens, Kodak T-Max 100 speed black and white film.*) </span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-74863203891144759712009-04-04T17:17:00.003-05:002009-04-04T19:38:21.620-05:00Grandma's Memories<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qJRMptjcEKlEr7PmV6IvLEH5tGWOEWK7Fzj0b-2P5StJYEUgPwdDHk7t2yY7ZzKyYHYEGfNgaYlpoVnLNkl-WbxvxknLUrN5D8yyqzLyUhnNsizgRKtv8KJtGpJ_lmqG5Hzi/s1600-h/grandmabook.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qJRMptjcEKlEr7PmV6IvLEH5tGWOEWK7Fzj0b-2P5StJYEUgPwdDHk7t2yY7ZzKyYHYEGfNgaYlpoVnLNkl-WbxvxknLUrN5D8yyqzLyUhnNsizgRKtv8KJtGpJ_lmqG5Hzi/s320/grandmabook.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320999744685505906" /></a> I was rummaging through my closet for something this morning, and found something completely unrelated to what I was actually looking for. Have you ever been looking for one thing, and found something else, and then you get so wrapped up in the thing you actually found that you totally forget the original thing? Following? Yeah it's called Adult-ADD.<br /><br />Anyway, onto the point of my story.<br /><br />In my closet this morning, buried deep in a box, I found this little book that my maternal grandmother had given me in 1995. It is a Q&A type of book about her life. It is so goddam fascinating. I hadn't read it in years. It's both an irreplaceable family heirloom, as well as a wonderful time capsule.<br /><br />It's amazing to me that in a relatively short period of time in the earth's history, we have come from no running water and electricity to the major technological breakthroughs we experience, like right now, enjoying the internet. Other things that seem to be common experience right now for us all are overblown kids' birthday parties, too many cars, enormous houses, overpaid CEOs, greenhouse gases and texting. And I can't say these advances are something we can be proud about. (Except for the texting thing. That is pretty cool.)<br /><br />Reading something like her memories can't help but make you long for the simpler times. Without the lack of running water part. But seriously, would your kid look at you like you were stark raving mad if you told him to go outside and shoot marbles? Only if it had a turbo-blast, electronically infused shooting tube that glowed in the dark would kids these days even give it a second thought. OK. I just used the phrase "kids these days." How sad is that.<br /><br />Anyway, here's a sampling of some of the questions and her answers verbatim.<br /><br />Q: Describe the best birthday you ever had. Why?<br />A: I don't remember celebrating birthdays, except my 16th. I met your grandfather.<br /><br />Q: When you were given money, what did you spend it on? What could you buy for a quarter?<br />A: You could go to the movies for a quarter, but I never had any money of my own until I went to work.<br /><br />Q: What was the naughtiest thing you ever did?<br />A: Smoked corn silk with some of the other neighborhood kids.<br /><br />Q: What was the worst spanking or punishment you received and why did you deserve it?<br />A: My father threw me on the bed probably for getting in his way.<br /><br />Q: What was your favorite outdoor activities?<br />A: Playing on the street corners with the other neighborhood kids and shooting marbles with my younger brothers and roller skating<br /><br />Q: Did the kids ever tease you? What about? Why?<br />A: Yes they used to tease me because my parents were foreigners.<br /><br />Q: What kind of appliances did you have to cook with, wash clothes and light the house?<br />A: We had oil lamps then we got electricity. We cooked on a coal stove in the winter and gas in the summer. We used a wash board then had a water power washer.<br /><br />Q: Were you ever on a school team?<br />A: We didn't have sports for girls.<br /><br />Q: What do you remember most about being a teenager?<br />A: Meeting my friends on Main Street and walking up and down while the boys were on the other side of Main Street.<br /><br />Q: What attracted you to Grandpa the most?<br />A: He was always a lot of fun. And I guess I just needed someone to like me.<br /><br />Q: What did you want to be when you grew up?<br />A: I always wanted to go on to school and be a teacher, but I didn't get to go to only 2 years of high school. (I was told by my mom later that when my grandmother was in school, she was pulled out by her parents so that she could help her mother out at home with the rest of the younger children.)<br /><br />All of these answers were written by Rose Agnes Matty Cooper, 1913-2002. The 7th child out of 10, born to John and Anna Mattey in Zanesville, Ohio.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-75265123609089488042009-03-29T21:12:00.002-05:002009-03-29T21:14:38.559-05:00Craftastic!Guess what?? The craft fair is done! <a href="http://revelrypress.blogspot.com">Read how much money we raised for the arts program at the school</a>. Oh, and there's a bit about me, too.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-49763367845571809472009-03-20T13:02:00.002-05:002009-03-20T13:07:00.071-05:00Stress? Me? Nevah!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R9dy7jBrAqJPWa8ScBWjALpd5jVbjIWtqUrF29IYKx6fW0spBBkqtIEJ2srz-sPM5NLUS-T1_cRMOtR03u3z_t592a-D6PrtldXpq0t8QclvxVVz_Jo2j8zRLya8FZzkP9pX/s1600-h/toilet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R9dy7jBrAqJPWa8ScBWjALpd5jVbjIWtqUrF29IYKx6fW0spBBkqtIEJ2srz-sPM5NLUS-T1_cRMOtR03u3z_t592a-D6PrtldXpq0t8QclvxVVz_Jo2j8zRLya8FZzkP9pX/s320/toilet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315332100556915714" /></a> I’d like to think of myself as someone who has a high capacity for stress. I try to keep a sense of humor, I try to constrain my knee-jerk reactions, I don’t crawl under the bedsheets for days and wallow in my own misery. I say this, because I think we all know someone who is like that. And we may all be a bit like that during PMS, but that’s <a href="http://eucalyptuspillow.blogspot.com/2009/01/pms-life-dont-mix.html">another post</a>.<br /><br />Anyway, we know we can run circles around “those people”. But what happens when you think you’ve been become that part of the group of “those people”? Let me say first that I think we all have delusions of grandeur in ourselves that probably helps us function during times of crisis. Those times in life when we are literally about to burst, but through clenched teeth we’re like, “I’m fine, really I’m fine. Oh, the twitching? It’s a new form of exercise for me.”<br /><br />It’s easy for us moms to put on that game face. We all know motherhood is not for wimps, so we’re seasoned stress-fighters. Work is not for wimps either, and if you’re a mom working outside the home or in the home, we need the game face for that business stuff, too. So what I’m leading up to here is that last time I looked in the mirror my game face was getting a little haggard. It’s looking angry and tired. It’s forgetting what play is next in the book; whether it’s a man-to-man defense or a fast break for the basket. I feel outnumbered on the court and with no coach on the sidelines telling me what to do. <br /><br />I’m juggling a bit too many things right now with volunteer work, craft projects, job searching, a full-time day job, mothering; you know, same old same old I suppose. Usually I handle it with at least a little bit of aplomb, but this past week I’m stumbling. And people are getting affected in ways I didn’t want them to be. I’m not blogging much, not reading much, I’m kind of getting semi-paralyzed. It’s like multi-tasking on crack. So much to do, and don’t know where to start. <br /><br />So can I please have some laughter? The air is heavy around me lately. I need that I-can-do-it attitude back. It’s necessary for my survival because crashing would just be so detrimental. So I’m asking you please, direct me to something funny soon before I lose all grip with reality.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-49127012145055955852009-03-15T19:20:00.002-05:002009-03-15T19:21:32.677-05:00Why Andrew is now "Owen"<a href="http://revelrypress.blogspot.com">We attended a great workshop today</a>! And met a great <a href="http://doobleh-vay.blogspot.com">blogger</a> in real-life, too.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-71155464377195458522009-03-11T11:28:00.002-05:002009-03-11T11:35:09.476-05:00Plane Funk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCE2mv8CLL5NVNXSJhrcWc4ZUPNiVxtDXwyAyEWLE8yAVxJ2ay1m1ScDGQ8DcP6Pfl5IScQoC5f26O0D-aSD8ZvMogm93XM2F62p37UBvYMYffDgj4GVYwLYvO-RxaDSlGWIG/s1600-h/Andrew-beach.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCE2mv8CLL5NVNXSJhrcWc4ZUPNiVxtDXwyAyEWLE8yAVxJ2ay1m1ScDGQ8DcP6Pfl5IScQoC5f26O0D-aSD8ZvMogm93XM2F62p37UBvYMYffDgj4GVYwLYvO-RxaDSlGWIG/s320/Andrew-beach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311968111375971922" /></a> Considering all that re-circulated air, close quarters with strangers and dirty seats, does anyone NOT get sick from a plane ride? About 99.9% of the time I have flown in a plane I get sick. It never seemed to bother me when I was a kid, with all those superbly youthful immunity genes dancing around in my system. Now, for me a plane ride is a certain equation for impending viruses. What I’d like to call, “plane funk.” (There's also a disturbing amount of "Jersey Shore Funk" gathering around the sand, as seen in the picture above!)<br /><br />The wedding in NJ was great and my friend looked beautiful. But by 10pm I was ready for my pajamas and a hot cup of tea. Before the wedding, I couldn’t breathe through my nose, so I took a daytime Claritin. Note to readers: do NOT take a daytime Claritin if you plan to indulge in sleep anytime over the course of the next 24-36 hours. Forgive me if this seemed obvious to others. Apparently my desire for breathing caused a momentary lapse of logical brain synapses when it came to decision making.<br /><br />Andrew was also dragging a bit during the trip until the very last day when he was all sprite and back to his normal self. He did great on both the plane rides, however was fairly homesick the entire time. Kept asking for Dada and CJ. Chopped liver (ahem) who he was with, apparently didn’t make the ranks of adequate comforting.<br /><br />All I can say is home sweet home. We’re all closing in on normal in our house for now. And I’m so behind on blogging! Forgive me anyone who still reads this for my lack of commenting. My craft fair that I am coordinating at my son’s school is getting close: March 28th. There are about 99 things left to do in preparation for it, and I only have about 2 other volunteers to help me, no babysitter for the kids on that day, and an overflowing amount of vendors to make happy. I envision myself on March 29th sitting in the corner with an IV attached to a very large bottle of cabernet.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-20718375139946276012009-03-06T09:29:00.001-05:002009-03-06T09:31:25.268-05:00Safe at 30,000 feet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLpTI-glOoLZba7hslaSk5aj0z6CLuPJSjC-SNI2RRFzzrOOZSF7aX_5ZvKEH_vJN59Pd-krQ-FLv75fV9aPvbIEHUeCoUEQdB6BLZuPHj7WrmX81M8FhPfvJT0h_8W0b4IVM/s1600-h/elmo.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLpTI-glOoLZba7hslaSk5aj0z6CLuPJSjC-SNI2RRFzzrOOZSF7aX_5ZvKEH_vJN59Pd-krQ-FLv75fV9aPvbIEHUeCoUEQdB6BLZuPHj7WrmX81M8FhPfvJT0h_8W0b4IVM/s320/elmo.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310082074806666290" /></a><br />We had a safe flight to NJ!<br /><br />So did Elmo.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-3460514052040973062009-03-03T11:22:00.001-05:002009-03-03T11:22:51.333-05:00Quality time at 30,000 feetMy fear of flying revealed. <a href="http://kidseventscolumbus.blogspot.com">Take a peek</a>.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-83935137377120341692009-02-27T20:19:00.003-05:002009-02-27T21:15:39.812-05:00Interview with CJ - 7 years oldA real-life friend of mine, <a href="http://alissasorenson.blogspot.com">Alissa</a> posted these questions to her sons and posted it on her facebook page. I thought it was such a great idea and loved the questions so much, that I had to copy the idea. <br /><br />So here are the questions and his god-honest, verbatim answers. My observations are in the paragraphs. <br /><br />1. What is something mom always says to you?<br />Hi<br /><br />2. What makes mom happy?<br />When she gets home from work early<br /><br />3. What makes mom sad?<br />When she gets fired (hmm, that's interesting for those of you who know the truth)<br /><br />4. How does your mom make you laugh?<br />Tickling me<br /><br />5. What was your mom like as a child?<br />She was an artist and a photographer (definitely a stretch)<br /><br />6. How old is your mom?<br />37 (close, 38)<br /><br />7. How tall is your mom?<br />Above five feet (5'5")<br /><br />8. What is her favorite thing to do?<br />Spend time with me <br /><br />9. What does your mom do when you're not around?<br />work<br /><br />10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?<br />Doing 100 tasks in a half hour (I think I do that already)<br /><br />11. What is your mom really good at?<br />Organizing the craft fair and tickling me<br /><br />12. What is your mom not very good at?<br />Saying blah blah to her boss (I think the blah blah stands for cuss words)<br /><br />13. What does your mom do for a job?<br />Goes to Chase<br /><br />14.What is your mom's favorite food?<br />apple (clearly he is not aware of my obsession with french fries)<br /><br />15. What makes you proud of your mom <br />that she makes money for our house<br /><br />16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?<br />Jerry from Tom & Jerry<br /><br />17. What do you and your mom do together?<br />everything <br /><br />18. How are you and your mom the same?<br />hazel eyes and brown hair<br /><br />19. How are you and your mom different?<br />She’s older and has weird teeth (I would beg to differ on this one considering he has some missing right now)<br /><br />20. How do you know your mom loves you?<br />She says it<br /><br />21. What does your mom like most about your dad?<br />That he kisses her a lot<br /><br />22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?<br />home (true)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dZ2Qa_Sw_s64YMLBD_CCFhXW4WM3a9hby8QejZ2gSw8E045gZLLdGC7iNlMSJ2oeTo-1lMUD-dwjzFLNuIthyphenhyphenptk0tbSN0_wyHWJ2TaqNKJH-a3F405Cf_T8JLosk0tdCSkK/s1600-h/cj-cosi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dZ2Qa_Sw_s64YMLBD_CCFhXW4WM3a9hby8QejZ2gSw8E045gZLLdGC7iNlMSJ2oeTo-1lMUD-dwjzFLNuIthyphenhyphenptk0tbSN0_wyHWJ2TaqNKJH-a3F405Cf_T8JLosk0tdCSkK/s320/cj-cosi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307665178413238978" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-86048985347146451562009-02-26T13:24:00.004-05:002009-02-26T13:28:45.318-05:00When gas passesI have just found my most favorite way to describe farting.<br /><br />Yesterday, when Andrew was eating a cup of pudding, apparently it set off some gas bombs in his stomach which then promptly exited. He was telling me the tale when I got home from work and said:<br /><br />"My belly go boom."Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-65223662255984023372009-02-23T19:45:00.008-05:002009-02-23T21:22:27.342-05:00The Big Boy Bed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPphv0x7Dttn8nGIyyvCRRRRpjDEG7Cx8v8QPJHzbI-xIx6ph0KdMXA82gFd12vKcaLtM0KXfDSI2ZfnPNvF3LY2P2dT49Pq0KiuYHnFV3W3FyxGKZVWpioPAlztS7ujJf1xP9/s1600-h/P1130546.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPphv0x7Dttn8nGIyyvCRRRRpjDEG7Cx8v8QPJHzbI-xIx6ph0KdMXA82gFd12vKcaLtM0KXfDSI2ZfnPNvF3LY2P2dT49Pq0KiuYHnFV3W3FyxGKZVWpioPAlztS7ujJf1xP9/s320/P1130546.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306161223749475922" /></a><br />This weekend we reached another milestone for a little toddler's life. We took down the crib. No real reason for choosing this weekend, or this moment or this actual time to move him from crib to big-boy bed, just a feeling that he was ready. Maybe I was more ready than him. Either way, the crib is down. And not one tear was shed. Nada. Zilch. In fact, it validated that I'm absolutely satisfied with 2 kids and ready to keep moving forward. While I was a little nostalgic, it was fun to see his excitement for getting his own big bed. But in no way will I ever miss assembling that sucker ever again.<br /><br />Next stop (hopefully!): using the potty like a big boy. I am MORE than ready for that.<br /><br />The proud 3 year old posing with his new bed:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoDXIIY0uZT15dg-uMa-RZoqyYLkZxJymKse5Uc87xAY-q3Si2pEzb8sLa00Obq9JgCmg5QZMiFmkyqZm6FuCQJFxTg7Dd_By-Z1wZ3XekaAEleNe2IB622PlIE-ctAFXMu2_/s1600-h/P1130547.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoDXIIY0uZT15dg-uMa-RZoqyYLkZxJymKse5Uc87xAY-q3Si2pEzb8sLa00Obq9JgCmg5QZMiFmkyqZm6FuCQJFxTg7Dd_By-Z1wZ3XekaAEleNe2IB622PlIE-ctAFXMu2_/s320/P1130547.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306161495366434482" /></a><br /><br />******************************<br />On another note, check out the <a href="http://revelrypress.blogspot.com">House of Revelry</a> for a great project I did over the weekend with a cool group of ladies.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-78835541009273334612009-02-18T14:46:00.003-05:002009-02-18T14:57:42.539-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWMjTy3OxVVJtzRi__zVI5IajnMzAviurQlJtalurEwMlTTn1-X6G4oFDxjkudk0bZMCHokijzFW625LEIUOCPxsXe8fvXjcNMr1W6yBd7JvvFl-g8zXQWIIHGTmQeB3E1HxH/s1600-h/brothers+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWMjTy3OxVVJtzRi__zVI5IajnMzAviurQlJtalurEwMlTTn1-X6G4oFDxjkudk0bZMCHokijzFW625LEIUOCPxsXe8fvXjcNMr1W6yBd7JvvFl-g8zXQWIIHGTmQeB3E1HxH/s320/brothers+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304228846640308610" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://wordlesswednesday.com">Wordless Wednesday</a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-55916928512376423572009-02-17T14:42:00.000-05:002009-02-17T14:43:07.869-05:00SoundsWhile lost in thought walking back to the office building after a hurried lunchtime full of errands, there was a sound that stopped me in my tracks. It brought me back to a place from a long time ago.<br /><br />It’s very windy this afternoon. The type of wind that seems to clear out all the funky smells in the air to give it a crisp, fresh aroma. In front of the building, there is a very tall flagpole, and the flag fiercely snapped back and forth as if being caught in a tug of war. Between the snapping of the flag, there was also the rat-tat-tatting of the rope banging against the metal pole. It was this sound that stopped me. Rat-tat-tat-t-tat-tat-t-tat.<br /><br />When I was a kid, I grew up in a town near the Jersey shore. There was a river that spilled into the Atlantic on one side of our boundaries. On this river, there was a marina with an adjacent park, where in the summer it would host fireworks on the fourth of July and in the winter host ice boaters if it was cold enough. I spent many hours at this park when I was a kid. A place to hang out for endless hours with friends, a place to sneak cigarettes, watch the boats go by, dream of owning one of the mansions across the river, and dangling over the edge of the pier counting all the white jellyfish in August. Being that the park is on the water, there is usually some wind blowing things around. And so usually I could always count on a familiar rat-tat-tat of the flag pole in the park to know where I was: Marine Park. I can’t help but think of boring days mulling around a park as a kid when I hear that sound. Ah, the be “bored” again.<br /><br />Usually smells are what bring back the most memories for me. The smell of pencils makes me think of my dad’s basement office, the smell of coconut reminds me of being at the beach with mom in the summer (from the Coppertone), and fresh cut grass reminds me of times spent at my grandparents house in the country. But there are also sounds that seem to alter the mood for briefs periods:<br /><br />• Any song by The Doors brings me right back to high school<br />• Ocean waves calm me<br />• The pop of a cork brings happiness<br />• Waterfalls make me think of my grandparents house<br />• The dribble of a basketball on a court in a gym brings me back to 8th grade in an instant<br />• The opera Turandot makes me cry<br /><br />I was once asked if, given the horrible possibility of losing either your sight or your hearing, which would it be. When I really thought about it, the answer surprised me. As much of a visual person that I am, I don’t think I could live without sound around me. Of course, maybe I could get a hearing aid, which seems more plausible than new eyes to see. But what do I know. The debate is nonsensical. Thank God I have both. All I know, is that I could not live without these sounds, both grand and small, rhythmic and irregular.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-25144302803955562172009-02-11T17:09:00.004-05:002009-02-11T17:21:56.840-05:00A little bragging never hurt anybodyI’ve been feeling a bit of writer’s block lately, constricted by the daily grind and a little anxiety about things I have on my slate. But there’s always time to brag about your kids, so here goes.<br /><br />WARNING: GRATUITOUS BRAGGING AHEAD<br /><br />We received a letter from my child’s school district that based on recent test scores he is going to be considered for the gifted program within his school for his aptitude with reading. So he will still be tested again over the course of the next few months, at which time they will assess his abilities and decide whether they will place him in the program, which starts next year in 2nd grade. We told him about the letter and he was genuinely excited. More accurately, about as excited for something he has very little knowledge of, which is understandable. He loves reading so much. Can’t get enough of it. He may like it as much as TV. Or playing computer games. Or… well, it doesn’t sound like he does too much reading does it? But he really does. But my true feelings on this news is that I’m so proud of him that he even was considered for the program. While I hope he gets in, it almost doesn’t matter in the long run. Just the fact that he was considered seems to be pleasing in itself. Clearly, he has inherited his father’s genes for giftedness in school as he was also in a gifted program at his elementary school. Me, well, I wasn’t exactly gifted in school. Success in school work was clearly not my destiny. Let’s just say some favorite words my teachers used to describe me were, <br /><br />“Really bright, but careless…”<br />“Charming, but underachieving…”<br />“Talented, but talks too much in class…”<br /><br />Well, you get the picture. I could usually charm my way into at least a “C+” when the teacher would give me that look like, “You know damn well you don’t deserve this, but you’re a good kid, so…”. My grades were usually B’s and C’s. I guess I had other priorities. I was good at other things. Like sports. Art. Bike riding. Daydreaming. Ice skating. And talking in class. My seventh grade teacher, Sister Eleanor, divided up the class in rows by conduct. The “A” kids started in the left row until you got all the way over to the “F” row of kids on the right. I sat in the last seat of the “F” row. Catholic school does wonders for your self-esteem. <br /><br />So back to my son. What’s exciting to me about him being considered for this program is that he is equally talented in so many other things, too. Like building things. Joke telling. Being safe. Completing puzzles. Taking pictures. Admiring old artifacts and appreciating history. At the latest parent-teacher conference, his teacher glowed with excitement on telling us how much she enjoys having him class, how much she enjoys his sense of humor, how attentive he is and how obedient. And we told her how much he loves school. He loves it so much he wishes school was on the weekends. This is why I’m writing this post. I must get this recorded in some form for future use, “I love school so much I wish it were on the weekends.” Yes. A good bribe for later on.<br /><br />I love hearing about the simple wants and pleasures of his little life. Wouldn’t it be nice if this age with our kids lasted forever?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-47562847976332593832009-02-06T09:30:00.003-05:002009-02-06T10:24:00.258-05:00Denim, Converse and PleatherSo I asked a colleague one day, who always wears a suit to work, “Why do you bother?” The management team is in New York and we never have any in-person meetings with anybody important. Her response was, “Well, it’s the only clothes I’ve got, so it's just easier.” <em>Only clothes I’ve got. Easier? Hmmmmm.</em> So here I am, at the end of our conversation, imagining a long rack of woven wool and polyester, in black, tan and grey organized by color with matching shirts and shells in a long walk-in closet lined with cedar walls. (I know, my imagination goes on overdrive sometimes.)<br /> <br />And so I got to thinking how I would hate if suits were my daily uniform. On days that I work from home I hardly shower. While I’m supposed to maintain a corporate presence in my day job at the office, I don’t wear suits. I only wear suits when I have important meetings, or when an important manager is coming to town. I have 3 to choose from in my closet that are right now collecting dust. On a daily basis, I dress as minimally corporate as possible. Pants and button-down shirt combos. In my closet there are jeans, and lots of them. The best fitting ones, of course, which take years to track down. Every woman knows that, even if you don’t have the extra money to spend, if you come across a pair of jeans that fit right, you will go into debt to pay for them. You may even sell a kidney. And other things that are in my closet have elastic waistbands. And fleece. And cotton. A few pieces of wool for those 7 degree days, and then a shoe rack hanging on the closet door with about 10 pairs of shoes all ranging from my black converse sneakers to my pleather work shoes. <br /><br />I’ve never been a fashion trendsetter, although I appreciate a really stylish outfit on someone else. But I lack the ability to make it happen for myself. I usually look at the mannequin to guide me. I am not daring at all with my clothes. And my taste seems to vary with the wind. One day I feel preppy, the next I feel punk. I can’t seem to nail down a real fashion sense that represents me. But perhaps that IS who I am. Undecided. Multiple layers. A veritable contradiction. But for the sake of not wasting money, I really do wish I could just nail down a personal image. But there’s a lot of different “people” that make up my day: the employee, the suburbanite mother, the crafter, the writer. They all seem to require a different uniform for some reason. I guess there's a part of me that feels like I can't dress the same way I dress when I go to the White Stripes concert, as when I take the kids to the park. Is this stupid?<br /><br />But there was a moment in the 80s when I seemed to absolutely have my permanent personal image nailed down to be one of the characters on Miami Vice:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UpnONTMjq0ybPzq9c3HUS9OsDsb7kOyMQlXbVwLtFunIu2IkndzUJvl9d9_l0_3DVdJBw2GjyLgW3a2CI5NVinADXuY2urBKNJqlj2fobJSw6OBIx-JY65nAr8jj5iMDCZ4X/s1600-h/me-85.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UpnONTMjq0ybPzq9c3HUS9OsDsb7kOyMQlXbVwLtFunIu2IkndzUJvl9d9_l0_3DVdJBw2GjyLgW3a2CI5NVinADXuY2urBKNJqlj2fobJSw6OBIx-JY65nAr8jj5iMDCZ4X/s320/me-85.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299705349734506706" /></a><br /><br />So....back to 2009. Of all the clothing in my closet, though, there is always the most comforting and most frequent piece of clothing worn daily as a mother, employee, crafter and writer: my thermal pants. They are my pajamas. They are my lounge pants. They are starting to fray and turn a darker shade of the grey they already are on the bottom cuffs, but I don’t care. I love them. They even have pockets for easy storage of ponytail holders, cell phones, and chapstick tubes. The ultimate favorite piece of clothing that no one outside the house sees.<br /><br />Ahhhhh. Me loves the thermal pants. <br /><br />What's <em>your</em> personal style? Or better yet, do you think you have one?<em></em>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-22341877670676765152009-02-04T14:00:00.003-05:002009-02-04T14:13:02.179-05:00Paper craftsFeeling crafty? Well I have found a couple super EASY crafts to get your creative juices flowing, and I just <em>have </em>to share. You can make these with your kids, too, so it will be some fun family time in the grips of winter.<br /><br />First one: Making a paper house. Never wanted to make a house out of paper? You will once you see how cute and fun these little houses are. Some ideas to do with them? String them over lights, make a little paper house village, increase and decrease the size of the template to make multiple sized houses, paint them, glitter them, stamp them. And love them! Here's the <a href="http://www.whisperingwind.co.uk/houses/howto.html">link</a>.<br /><br />Second one: With Valentine's Day coming up--oh wait, maybe you weren't paying attention to the calendar. There is exactly T-minus 9 days to the Valentine's party at your children's school, so either get to the store soon to buy a boatload of Scooby-Doo cards, or make these fun and sure-to-please butterfly valentine's. And <a href="http://skiptomylou.org">the site </a>they are located on is pretty awesome, too! Here's the <a href="http://www.skiptomylou.org/2009/02/03/printable-valentines/">link</a>.<br /><br />Happy crafting!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-78834471951023232462009-02-02T13:21:00.003-05:002009-02-02T13:43:13.046-05:00Where I'm FromLast week was apparently the week everyone wanted to know something about me. So what did I do? Run and hide. Between facebook and this blog, I was tagged to write 25 random things, facts, goals about me, answer 45 questions about me, take an interview that seemed to go on and on, complete a “bucket list”, and write a poem about me.<br /><br />I am so sick of me.<br /><br />While I've been successfully caving under such pressure by being "offline" for a week now, I do have to say that this task is at least a little creatively challenging. Much more interesting than someone knowing my favorite food is french fries.<br /><br /><a href="http://coolzebras.com">Heather</a> tagged me to share “Where I’m From”. A poem started <a href="http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm">here</a>, and posted by Binky <a href="http://24hours7daysaweek.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-can-write-poem.html">here</a>. Since this week’s trend is self-reflection, here goes on completing one more of these “me” tasks.<br /><br />WHERE I’M FROM<br /><br />I am from underneath the downy loveliness of the blanket on my bed, from my Pentax SLR camera and old Polaroid stills.<br /><br />I am from an old colonial white home with the orange door and 2 bay windows, near the corner of a busy street from where everyone would honk to say hello.<br /><br />I am from the lilac bush, the honeysuckle and the forsythia of my childhood backyard.<br /><br />I am from the loud and loquacious Cooper clan, the Minears I never knew, and the generations of Czechoslovakian, English and Dutch ancestors before me.<br /> <br />I am from a generation of fighters and lovers, lazy workers and hard workers, artists and engineers; a multiplicity of oxymorons.<br /><br />I am from underachieving, careless, talented, and MVP.<br /><br />I am from the Roman Catholic church that spawned many a guilty conscience.<br /><br />I’m from the Jersey shore, the countryside of Southeastern Ohio, and homemade ketchup and jelly.<br /><br />From an overbearing immigrant, from cold Ohio mornings when urine in the bucket inside the house would freeze, from a radio always on in the kitchen with my mother singing and the sweet smell of pipe smoke wafting up from the basement.<br /><br />I am from streaks of ink across a drafting table, from warm bread in the back of a truck, from the tattered, faded remnants and sepia-toned photographs found in trunks and old diaries absorbing the odor of time moving forward. I am from a place I would gladly return.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0Pi6sfGyt4brle3gRfQkFxmVjdqVlGYE5vE2slLYfBeuuJArNZZWFd3Q3opWvcRzA7LM3qYlaFZhTe_k3uK3YCGJm6llihlLRw1yUv6rervIzSNMeu470DKqEK9EuoNyBb4U/s1600-h/me-12-22-71.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0Pi6sfGyt4brle3gRfQkFxmVjdqVlGYE5vE2slLYfBeuuJArNZZWFd3Q3opWvcRzA7LM3qYlaFZhTe_k3uK3YCGJm6llihlLRw1yUv6rervIzSNMeu470DKqEK9EuoNyBb4U/s320/me-12-22-71.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298271442959974818" /></a><br /><br /><br />I tag <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com">SMID</a>, <a href="http://libertyhandknits.blogspot.com">Alissa</a> and <a href="http://mayberrymom.blogspot.com">Mayberry</a>. No pressure MM, if you're not feeling all inner reflective right now.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31213366.post-64275747820595558872009-01-27T21:29:00.010-05:002009-01-27T22:43:28.042-05:00The beast of honorRecently, while doing some housekeeping on EP and going through some very old posts that either needed deleted or transferred to the vault, I noticed that there were no complete posts about my first "baby".<br /><br />Back in 2006 when I started this blog, I needed an outlet to kvetch about breastfeeding and my agony over whether to stop pumping at work, being a working mother to 2 kids, a wife to a stay at home dad, and well, just to kvetch in general. (Boy, things haven't changed much have they?) And it just occurred to me that there's a member of this family that has yet to receive an entire post: my cat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtgekx8f1lq-C1AZTP_prATZp95ODa0qBQcwLtqPmYzf3R-PJ_O9y64LY_-izaJWa45QiEY3hHM2sEnNEYv05QU83cKt78YpjZ-SvhVQcU3xzSxKs7FeiUWkLNvHO5Mu7NgBS/s1600-h/romantic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtgekx8f1lq-C1AZTP_prATZp95ODa0qBQcwLtqPmYzf3R-PJ_O9y64LY_-izaJWa45QiEY3hHM2sEnNEYv05QU83cKt78YpjZ-SvhVQcU3xzSxKs7FeiUWkLNvHO5Mu7NgBS/s320/romantic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296181541433880706" /></a><br />Her name is Cleo. Or now, affectionately coined by my oldest son a few years back, Coco-B (B is the first letter of my last name, but the kids really call her that with the "B", I'm not editing for anonymity). I first got Cleo, as she was named by me, back in December of 1994 with my ex-husband in NJ. She was a feisty member of an orange and white clan of kitties, and was equally feisty when I brought her home, scarring me up and down my legs and arms with playful, albeit painful, scratches. Even though she was like a sniper on my ankles, she was hard to resist, as she was really cute and had that deep, trembling purr that made your legs vibrate when she curled up next to you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yGfVPvwupLiLDByq7OAGJ1aRkUjAb5AoM-IwuYNOe965WbOMNusSjM37KfBC8UCuehB8chSEPGWFVM_3N7ICLKVVPy6eSz0QSPpynkbNRLQNdHIqGiDSM2e49EhFjgEPWrDy/s1600-h/Cleo_96.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yGfVPvwupLiLDByq7OAGJ1aRkUjAb5AoM-IwuYNOe965WbOMNusSjM37KfBC8UCuehB8chSEPGWFVM_3N7ICLKVVPy6eSz0QSPpynkbNRLQNdHIqGiDSM2e49EhFjgEPWrDy/s320/Cleo_96.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296181366218052162" /></a><br />And so life went on with a divorce, a new apartment, then a new husband and another new apartment. Throughout the mobility, she was a consistent presence; a being that always represented familiarity even though she couldn't trade conversation. She always pissed me off, and yet I wasn't complete without her around. Anywhere we moved, home wasn't complete until the litter box and the food dishes found their designated spots. And she always found them. 10 times since 1994.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vGJn5408Rf-llo0u3vnvm3ZTw21cw5Cqm5B710z7VdS76YQEXmUTwqLWCQ5-nTOnBVjfKh0pld6IeEb1NA82j47WEaDeERDsXC0AV_D7sAJUgfXx64azx1QVw80tYRrx9MQx/s1600-h/Cleo_98.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vGJn5408Rf-llo0u3vnvm3ZTw21cw5Cqm5B710z7VdS76YQEXmUTwqLWCQ5-nTOnBVjfKh0pld6IeEb1NA82j47WEaDeERDsXC0AV_D7sAJUgfXx64azx1QVw80tYRrx9MQx/s320/Cleo_98.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296181761750281858" /></a><br />And then came the kids, and while she used to be a frequent subject of the camera, she isn't so much anymore. While organizing photographs recently I noticed, just like the youngest kid never has any childhood pictures, she, too has been ignored. And then again, as I leaf through the photographs over time, she's become less and less of the generous subject. These days, I can hardly get her to look at the camera. I wonder why that is.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ61otvHTin8_jnasROm6xW2iQcuf6LJaybKHMvlhO428NqxvyenbWlGVDmx327meXlpsP8fME9ViPG4HhbctvD8NrF6R18DcgncKnb2D7F7sPV8omPrH5T-mTaI3nZRTmUUO/s1600-h/alert.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ61otvHTin8_jnasROm6xW2iQcuf6LJaybKHMvlhO428NqxvyenbWlGVDmx327meXlpsP8fME9ViPG4HhbctvD8NrF6R18DcgncKnb2D7F7sPV8omPrH5T-mTaI3nZRTmUUO/s320/alert.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296183191106854082" /></a><br />During the summer months, she enjoys the warm sunshine on the porch during the middle part of the day, and then hovers close when I'm gardening. And like a dog, she follows the kids and I down the street to our local park, while our neighbors marvel at "that cat that follows her family down the street." <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHjupXkH5x6ouOXA4UjACIm8ZUUd54YMTG5w_WLJs7Ah7FWBy8jMgWQ6HdKIna_OK8I0-plWyniAStfrssCvfrEhQP-wgUXQJCCnVn0upu6nm1TnX5ruIZLt6JW5Zcqvx4ST_/s1600-h/Cleo_sink.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHjupXkH5x6ouOXA4UjACIm8ZUUd54YMTG5w_WLJs7Ah7FWBy8jMgWQ6HdKIna_OK8I0-plWyniAStfrssCvfrEhQP-wgUXQJCCnVn0upu6nm1TnX5ruIZLt6JW5Zcqvx4ST_/s320/Cleo_sink.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296182582367501186" /></a><br />She's so light these days I can lift her with one arm. She used to be a burly, butch of a cat, with thick, bristly, bright orange hair. And her personality was equally bristly. Now, the fur on her back is thin, scarce and dull. Her eyes are more tired. Her gait is less frisky. Her attitude less confrontational. She is certainly in the autumn of life at 14. Although she still longs for my lap, like a child needing to be cradled in his mother's arms for comfort. Just one more time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYcPY6D9qHsJsTGzTUSe9vJTaW89SddNbDgAT9W1k46Mc_gK-cscZGGc66UoWVdcO9wbRRgJy-ECAZZqoVdNDRU3CTXGzThS3lWINidy6qv7LaYDBOM2VoozfQxZOcbT_52gL/s1600-h/Cleo_06.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYcPY6D9qHsJsTGzTUSe9vJTaW89SddNbDgAT9W1k46Mc_gK-cscZGGc66UoWVdcO9wbRRgJy-ECAZZqoVdNDRU3CTXGzThS3lWINidy6qv7LaYDBOM2VoozfQxZOcbT_52gL/s320/Cleo_06.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296183479349559378" /></a><br />So she is 14 now. She has most definitely seen it all. Heard it all. Lived it all. If only she could talk, I fear the words that would spill out of her mouth. It is a blessing and sometimes a burden how much a pet can become a part of you, a part of the family. A completely dependent being with unrelenting needs and wants. A blessing that they can give so much joy; a burden that they pass so quickly. I would bet Cleo has a few more years in her to stick around. Just to piss me off. And just to break to my heart when she goes.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15080488909182074526noreply@blogger.com3