I’m not sure when I first saw someone standing at a small farmers road side stand inspecting and shucking ears of corn. I’m sure I was shocked. When I was a kid we use to get corn from Farmer Brown. His name was actually Mr. Wilkins but for some reason I called him Farmer Brown. I’m not sure why. He didn’t mind. Thirteen ears of corn went into a brown grocery bag from the A&P we paid and went home. There was no shucking. No inspecting his corn to make sure it was good enough. You got what you got and most of the time it was good. If it wasn’t there was always an extra ear to make up for it.

That was his corn from his family farm. It was his hard work, his lively hood, and his reputation. You don’t shuck something like that. I don’t know for sure but I suspect that had I been rude enough to start shucking his corn right there at his stand I would have been picking myself up off the ground rubbing the red hand-print on the side of my face. It would have been for my own good because you just wouldn’t do something like that back then.

I guess times change. Now corn is shipped in huge boxes on tractor trailers from farms so large that no one knows or cares who planted it or where it came from. You can stand in your giant grocery store and shuck until your hearts content. It doesn’t mean a thing. The corn is so far removed from responsibility maybe shucking is a good thing. Maybe it’s even necessary.

However, when you decide to go to a small farmers road side stand and buy corn for just a little more than a quarter an ear you should not shuck. That’s just rude. You can if you want. I’m sure the farmer will let you. But when you do, expect the contempt in my eyes. Expect my kids to watch you like you are an animal a the zoo while they wonder about your manners. Expect me to laugh as you drive away. Also expect me to get 13 unshucked ears for the same price you paid for your six carefully inspected shucked ears. Damn city people.

I should probably go grocery shopping but there’s a box of spaghetti in the pantry.

Probably should vacuum the floor but there are Legos everywhere and they make a terrible noise when you suck them up in the vacuum

Might be a good idea to weed the other half of my garden but the weeds will be there tomorrow.

I haven’t throw a ball for the dogs in awhile but they just keep bringing the durn thing back. They’re never satisfied.

I cooked some wheat berries for a loaf of bread last night but they’ll keep for a few days in the fridge.

I did get dressed today, around noon.

I did get a new high score on bejeweled blitz.

I did tell my kids they could have popcorn for lunch.

A few minutes ago I opened my new pack of fine point markers that I bought yesterday. Then I found my tiny little sketch book with the black cover. I’m going to draw all kinds of little things, naughty secret things in it. Then I’m gonna hide it back where no one will ever find it. (In the oatmeal container)

But I’m not going to do that right now. First I’m going to take my youngest to the skate shop so she’ll stop coming in every thirty minutes and reminding me she needs to get grip tape. Then I’ll stop at the grocery store on the way home and pick up something for dinner. Then I’ll finish weeding the garden while dinner is cooking. On the way back in I’ll throw the ball for the dogs so they’ll stop acting stupid. The bread dough will get mixed up while I’m cleaning up the kitchen. It can rise overnight in the fridge.

I am not gonna vacuum though. I’m just not going to do it. It’s my day off!

I realized my approach was wrong one day when when my youngest was about three. We were standing around while my brother said grace and when it was finished, just as everyone was about to say amen, she sat up real straight and shouted “I’m mad!” If you say that with a slight southern accent you’ll get why she said that. She thought that was what everyone was saying. It was funny and we all laughed but I knew ignoring religion wasn’t going to be the best approach.

I wasn’t an educational anarchist yet, but I was well on my way. We started with Greek Mythology, threw in some Native American Myths, rounded it out with Celtic and Norse Gods. I think we threw in a bit of Egyptian beliefs. By the time we got to Christian fables a few years later, they had no problem understanding exactly what I wanted them to understand. I felt a lot better about my choices as well.

One of Oldest’s friends was over last week and she told her that her mom said not to talk about religion with her friends because everyone doesn’t believe in the same thing. I’ve told my kids almost the same thing. I think that sucks. I tell my kids that everyone has right to believe in whatever they feel is best for them, unfortunately so many people around here don’t feel the same way. My resentfulness and anger is returning.

My youngest told me that she just pretends she believes what her friends believe because she doesn’t want to fight with them. My oldest gets in arguments because people get frustrated when she matter-of-factly states that she doesn’t believe that. I’m just sitting here alternating between “Fuck ‘em all”, “Why, oh, why can’t we just get along”, and “Let it be. They’re smart kids and they’ll work it out”.

I’m not sure what to do, if anything. In the mean time, I have some books about evolution and world religions on hold at the library. I’ll pick them up Friday.

Then I clicked through to the next picture. That’s when I realized I wouldn’t be embarrassing anyone with my revelation. His birthmark was still right there where I remembered it and it seems he has upgraded in other areas since the last time I saw him.

I closed the page. I know there is no way to unsee that, but I’m trying. God damn, I’m trying.

That’s what my daughter told me a few nights ago. I was expecting her to be sad. Her tender and loving heart hurt by the thought of someone with so little that they had to stand in front of the mall and beg passing cars for change.

You see, she’s the kid that picks worms up out of the road and puts them back in the garden after it rains because she doesn’t want them to die in the sun. She checks the SPCA page every few months to make sure the pets have been adopted. I buy icee pops in bulk because she makes sure everyone in the neighborhood has an icee pop on hot days. She doesn’t want anyone to feel left out. She’s my baby and I love her ability to look at a situation and decide what needs to be done to make it better.

“Absolutely pathetic!” she continued with a hint of contempt in her voice. Myhusband and I looked at each other questioningly as she continued.

Does he really think I’m going to fall for that?

First: He has a printed sign. It was printed on a computer and it’s in a plastic report cover. Hobos have to scrounge through the restaurant trash and find a crayon then write a handwritten sign on a piece of cardboard.

Second: He has a brand new backpack. It’s nicer than mine.

Third : You never see hobos walking on this road he must drive from somewhere and park in the parking lot. How did he buy a car if he’s a hobo?

Fourth : He has new shoes.

Fifth: He’s not hungry because he’s fat!

I was a little stunned and instead of looking in the other direction I looked at the man she was so harshly judging. I must say, I think she’s right.

I’ve wondered about the men that stand at the light in front of the mall. They are always there. I’ve wondered if they have a schedule to determine who works when.

We put money in the tip jars even if we only got a lemonade. We drop bills in the hat of street musicians. We give food and money to local food banks. I once threw a $20 bill behind an old man that couldn’t pay for his groceries at the checkout and insisted that I had seen it fall out of his pocket. But I’ve never given a dime to the hobos in front of the mall. I doubt I will.

Today my daughter told me she had seen the hobo from the mall texting someone on his cell phone. He had a Starbucks cup sitting beside him. I had to giggle. She shook her head.

Pathetic! I said and she giggled back.

Come on guys. If you want our money you need to do better than that! Get an old hat. Maybe a harmonica or somethin’. Buy your coffee from 7-11. Stop carrying around $100 backpacks. You have a reputation to uphold and you are making my child jaded. I expect better!

Wasn’t Born to Follow by Social Distortion

When I grow up, gonna be a star
Gonna sing my songs and play my guitar, I’m ready
Gonna change the world, gonna turn the page
Gonna say what I feel, let out this rage, get ready
We’re going down, down to the streets below

Gonna sing the songs of the streets again
Gonna knock me off my feet, so get ready
I’ll sing a song for the fallen angels
This one goes to all the unsung heroes

Chorus:
We’re going down, down to the streets below
Cause don’t you know, I wasn’t born to follow

I realize that in your eyes you got ideas
But I got mine, get ready
Here comes the new generation
Hope they feel and fight the same way as we did

Chorus:
We’re going down, down to the streets below
Cause I wasn’t born, I wasn’t born to follow noo

When I grow up, gonna be a star
Gonna sing my songs and play my guitar, I’m ready
Gonna change the world, gonna turn the page
Gonna say what I feel, let out this rage, get ready
We’re going down, down to the streets below
Cause don’t you know, I wasn’t born to follow
We’re going down, down to the streets below
Cause don’t you know, I wasn’t born to follow

We’re going down, down, down, down
We’re going down, down, down
I said goodbye to the masses, I wasn’t born to follow

“I just don’t know what to say. I grew up in the 70’s and things like this didn’t happen.”

I sat straight up on the couch and shouted, “Bullshit!”

MyHusband startled awake from his pre-bed nodding off and looked around wildly trying to figure out what he’d done.

Back in the good old days things like that didn’t happen. It makes me angry every time I hear it. Yes, it did happen. Believe it or not teenage boys have been fighting since the beginning of time and sometimes people get hurt. When I grew up people were killed, and there were gangs, and children were molested, and girls got pregnant, and we dressed like idiots, and we listened to inappropriate music, and we drank and did drugs, and…

I’ve tried for some time to figure out why it makes me so mad. It’s very complicated and it bothers me in many different ways. I’m still trying to figure it out so I decided to make a list

1. “It wasn’t like that when I was kid.” The person that says something like that is in denial. Instead of facing the problem they are hiding behind a wall.
2. It stops any legitimate conversations so people can glorify an idealized lie. People, the past has gone. Lets talk about the here and now. Lets make plans for the future.
3. They incorrectly attribute moral superiority to an entire decade instead of the people that lived in it.“Ohh yeah, I grew up in a little slice of heaven. Back then everyone always did what was right because that’s the way it was.” Whatever.
4. The difference between my childhood and my children’s childhood is in the good ol’ days no one knew the guy down road went to jail because he liked little boys. Knowing and talking about a problem doesn’t make the problem worse. It just make it visible and that makes it seem scarier. In reality it makes the world safer.
5. You aren’t accepting responsibility. “They” are the problem. No, they are children and they are responding to the world that we have built for them. If they are messed up then you need to point your finger at yourself.
6. It makes it seem like my children, your children, and all the wonderful little people I have cared for over the past years are screwed. That they are inheriting a world that’s devoid of goodness.

Number five makes me mad but I think number six may be the largest source of my anger because it is the ultimate bullshit. Anyone that thinks the kids that are growing up today are any less wonderful than past generations haven’t spent much time with the kids. Or if they have, they have been judging them on outdated standards and viewing the world through mass media blinders.

As a whole these kids are amazing. They are so intelligent and have a world view that is so much larger than we could have ever hoped to have had. If we’d stop harming them with all our doomsday prophecising and give them tools so they can succeed instead of assaulting the character of an entire generation because we’re afraid, they’ll do amazing things. Actually, I think they’ll do amazing things either way. You just wait and see.

I’m too old for heroes. The people you look up to, not the tasty sandwich. Sandwiches fill your belly with tasty goodness and heroes fill your head with dreams. They leave trails in the sand that you can follow until you find your own way. But eventually they will let you down, break your heart because heroes aren’t real people. They just aren’t real and I wanted you to be real but I didn’t trust you enough to allow you that opportunity. I didn’t want to be disappointed.  I was also afraid that you would reject me. Maybe you’d see that I’m not what I try so hard to be. Sometimes it’s better to keep it safe than keep it real. So I walked on.

I think it’s good that I have sense of humor because I was studying pictures of heroes when I saw you again. You walked past me for a closer look at a display. I watched you and when you turned toward me I smiled. You frowned back at me. I had expected that. It was a thoughtful, contemplative frown. I have the same one. It’s very off-putting to people that don’t understand but it thrilled me. I tried to think of something to say but I couldn’t. That one girl kinda scared me. Her frown wasn’t contemplative. I worried that she misunderstood my intentions. I turned and listened to someone else and let my heart ache just a little as I made my way down another hallway and into a noisier more active place. I berated myself for being so inept. Then I walked out the door.

A train went overhead as I waited outside. It was loud and fast and urgent. I understood that feeling but refused to acknowledge it. I waved at a man fishing in the river. I looked at the graffiti. I listened to “that” song on my iPod. Then I went home and spent the rest of the evening in my garden.

Maybe another day. Maybe not. I suppose time will tell. Maybe we could have lunch down by the river… I could bring hero sandwiches. You could bring your girls I could bring my girls and we could all smile until the mosquitos came out.

Her dad bought her Green Day concert tickets for her birthday. She started screaming and hopping around. She’s so excited. We haven’t decided who’s going to take her yet. I think I’ll ask her uncle. He seemed as excited as she was about it – without as much hopping. He was more excited when she told him that an old guy liking Green Day didn’t make it any less cool. I had a few reservations about the concert but I guess 12 isn’t too young to get your first contact high. To be honest, I prefer her liking Green Day to some of the racist, misogynistic, redneck, or slutty airhead themed bands that are out there now. “Silence is your enemy” There’s nothing wrong with that message.

Next up MyHusband and I celebrated our Fritos and Mountain Dew anniversary. Damn, we’ve been together a really long time. I still remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I didn’t think we had anything in common and was sure we’d never hit off. Looking back I think that’s why we hit it off. Two very different types of people make for many opportunities to try different things. Plus he’s really awesome. That never hurts.

I spent most of today with Verizon guys in my backyard installing fiber optic cables. I’m use to being the only person, except the drunk old lady a few houses down, to be around during the day. All the excitement kinda aggravated me. Not being able to let the dogs out back aggravated me more. But the guys were very polite and didn’t mess up my trees too much so I shouldn’t complain. At least I managed to channel my aggravation into cleaning up the house so it all worked out.

I’m not sure if you guys are nerdy enough to understand why this is our Frito and Mountain Dew anniversary so I’ll add this video. He’s not a code monkey but this song always reminds me of him and how we met.

So what do you say MyHusband? We might not have everything but we’re doing alright, yes? Happy anniversary. Damn, I’m glad I didn’t fall asleep by 10pm last night like I threatened.

Standing in front of the mirror I started with a little light bouncing. All seemed well but I’ve been fooled before. I did the trusty side to side shoulder shake. There was considerable movement but no side poppage. I was feeling a little more confident in my bra choice when I grabbed the shoulder straps and wiggled them up and down. No leakage from the bottom. This was a good bra. I was very excited about my new bra and I was all hopped up on caffeine. It was time for the final test, the Flash Dance test. Oh what a feeling! You never know when you’ll suddenly be caught in a musical and it’s good to be prepared. Thats when I looked up and noticed MyHusband standing in the doorway with a peculiar look on his face.

“I’m…uhh…testing my bra. I’m testing my bra!”

He told me I didn’t need to stop.

I was a little embarrassed and decided to hug him. That’s when I noticed it. If you are or are married to a man over the age of 35 there are certain things that aren’t as spontaneous as they use to be especially if you’ve been spontaneous in the last 12 hours. With age come patience. Lets just say there wasn’t a need for patience.

“What the heck. Do you think you’re a 20yo or something?” I asked.

“Apparently,” he said.

Finally, after all these years, I figured out Victoria’s secret. It was well worth the wait.

We named him eater because he ate a bug when we walked up to see him. Then he sat there and posed for us while we took pictures.

I’m back from my trip. It was so much fun. All our flights were on time, no bags lost, and the kids were wonderful. They really are growing up. I was so proud watching my youngest finding our gates and marching around the airport like she knew exactly what she was doing. Our last plane trip she could hardly read and stayed attached to my side.  Now she’s full of confidence and reading every sign along the way. It’s amazing how things change in just a short time.

My oldest was determined to be too cool to get excited about anything but with my itinerary she didn’t have a chance. She put up a good fight but when we saw the guy in Sedona with a long gray beard, playing a pan flute and wearing fairy wings, she knew her mom wasn’t pulling punches.

In case you were wondering, Phoenix is freakin’ hot. Seriously freakin’ hot and people are cranky. I think they’re cranky from the heat or maybe because our pale skin was blinding them. I’m not sure which.

The Desert Botanical Gardens, Chihuly displays, and butterfly house were great. Would have been greater if it wasn’t so freakin’ hot. We went early and it wasn’t too bad. It was very different from the oceans of green we see around here.

Glass scultures by Chihuly

A butterfly at the Desert Botanical Gardens

Little bird eating bugs in a catus flower

He looks sweet but he was cranky. Don't get too close.

The Zoo was so-so. I was spoiled by the San Diego Zoo so I judge harshly. I will say I’ve never been to a zoo that has a petting zoo area, with a baby calf, sponsored by the beef counsel. That’s just sick!

Speaking of beef, I’m proud to announce that I managed to eat vegetarian dishes the whole trip. It wasn’t easy and I almost got a turkey sandwich when we stopped to pick up lunches to take to the Grand Canyon but I held out and managed to get the deli guy at Safeway to fix me a cheese sandwich. It was good. Thank you deli guy at the Safeway in Flagstaff, you make a good cheese sandwich.

The Science museum was one of the best I’ve visited so far. I kept thinking, I wish our science museum was this nice. They have a Lego exhibit opening later this month. If you go please tell me if it was worth the little bit of pouting I did because it wasn’t open yet.

So many cool petroglyphs

The petroglyphs in Deer Valley were so cool. I told the kids we were going to see really old graffiti. They were impressed. My youngest sat and drew all the designs she found on the back of a piece of paper. My oldest has really good eyes for spotting the designs, she must have found around 100 of them.

Red rocks, hippies, and Indians what else do you need?

What the hell are they smoking in Sedona? Can I get some? It was quite beautiful. I’d like to go back sometime.

The Grand Canyon was freakin’ grand. I’ve seen movies and pictures but, wow. It’s definitely one of those things you have to see in person. Amazing. Even my oldest said so.

Since we got back I’ve been doing laundry, catching up with my garden, and trying to get rid of a cold. My youngest keeps teasing me that I have a hot because I caught it in Arizona. There was no cold in Arizona.

I hope everyone is doing well.  I’m going to try some of the fresh picked lettuce I just got out of my garden.  I’ll miss having so much free time with my family but it’s good to be home.

My youngest is at grandmas and having a blast.  My oldest is in bed – probably listening to her iPod instead of going to sleep.  My husband is in Arizona testing things in the desert.  Good things.  Things that will save lives.  I can’t hold that against him.  I’m finishing up a few things around here and getting ready for a field trip tomorrow.  It’ll be the second of three times I’ll be in Richmond this week.  The first to wave goodbye.  The second to learn about the holocaust and on Thursday the girls and I catch a plane so we can go see a big crack in the ground and some sculptured glass.  Should be fun.  I’m looking forward to it even if it is using up a few of those pennies I’ve been saving.  I’ve been hanging out around this town too much this year.  I’m so sick of looking at it I could scream.  Except when I saw the irises in front of the old stone warehouse.  Those were quite beautiful this afternoon.  I wish I had a picture. 

I’m missing my husband so much this evening.  I’m not sure when I got so used to having him here that it became uncomfortable for him to be away.  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  I just know I miss him.  A lot.  It’s funny how our relationship has changed over the past decade or two.  I thought we were in love when we first got married.  The feeling I had for him were so overwhelming and intense.  I loved everything about him.  Now those feelings seem insubstantial.  I don’t love everything about him anymore, I just love him. I’m not sure that makes any sense.  But it’s been a very long day, I didn’t sleep well last night, and I almost burst a blood vessel in my head because a hippie bitch pissed me off.  Under those circumstances I guess I’m allowed to not make any sense. 

Anyway, I won’t be around much for the next few days and I’d say I’ll be thinking of you but I don’t want to lie.  I will catch up with everyone when I get back provided I don’t die from a heat stroke or a scorpion bite.

Thanks to Lisa at What the heck was she thinking? for posting this.  I love these type of quizzes.  It was almost as fun as the Dante’s Inferno Quiz even though we already knew I was destined to hell as a lustful heretic.  But who knew I was also a Quaker? A lustful, heritical, Quaker.  Well, God Damn!

The top score on the list below represents the faith that Belief-O-Matic, in its less than infinite wisdom, thinks most closely matches your beliefs. However, even a score of 100% does not mean that your views are all shared by this faith, or vice versa.

Belief-O-Matic then lists another 26 faiths in order of how much they have in common with your professed beliefs. The higher a faith appears on this list, the more closely it aligns with your thinking.

On a good night, or maybe a bad night depending on your perspective, I see many things. Flashes of a past that I forced my way through and didn’t push against any of you hard enough to find my own way. I don’t regret it. I just sometimes wish it was different. That’s not regret, right?

A few of the more ridiculous flashes from the past:

Trucks in the mud and sailor caps
Corn chips, hot dogs, and beer
An abandoned home made our playground
A sink ripped off the wall
What the hell were we thinking?

Spinning bottles after tasting wine
Bouncing quarters
Smoke in the air
Wet sloppy kisses after I tackled you on the floor
I loved how you begged me for more
I loved how the others were jealous
I loved you too much to fuck you
That’s just the way it was.

Interrupted by sirens and lights.
Running fast, then faster
I fell and scraped my knee
They never caught us
We’d meet again
I think I heard them laughing.
Damn cops.

Bulldozers making new roads
lots where soon there’d be homes
A pickup parked at the end
I painted a picture for you
Then I threw it away
I should have burned it

I thought I was, but I wasn’t the bad guy
Everyone but you and me knew that.
I finally figured it out
Too bad you never did

Stupid fucking bastard!
I hated you when I shoved you into the wall
How’d we end up doing that?
Why’d you keep coming back?
Why did you stop?
More importantly, why’d you break my monkey lamp?

There’s more but I won’t torture you guys anymore. Anyone want to flash me? I haven’t been flashed in awhile. I haven’t been asked to flash anyone lately either. What’s up with that?

I don’t know what the hell has happened to public schools since I was a kid but they need to get their act together. Maybe it’s all the hippyish teaching philosophies or some new educational technique but they are not on the ball. What happened to the boring classrooms with desks all in a row and mind numbing posters on the walls? What’s up with the tables and chairs. Why are these kids working together in groups? You should not have basketball playoff charts hanging on the wall! That’s what I do. I’m an educational anarchist. You are not. You are a school and you should try and look like one.

And aren’t teachers supposed to be old and have moles with hair sticking out of them. What’s up with hiring 24yo cuties to teach history. JFC! He even looks sweet in a sweater vest. Good thing my oldest isn’t into boys yet. She’d never learn a thing. The other teachers aren’t any better. Walking around smiling and interacting with the kids. I even saw one of them telling the kids jokes. You are supposed to be in the teachers lounge smoking cigarettes and complaining. This is unacceptable.

Don’t even get me started on the homework. My oldest spends about 30-40 minutes a week working on homework and she likes the projects and assignments. Creating book jackets, making her own math reference book, and building model airplanes are my territory. Your assignments need to take this form : Complete all the odd problems on page 256. Read pages 192-365 and answer the review question in complete sentences. I don’t think my oldest has even opened her Math book. Freakin’ slackers! Creative assignments have no place in a school. Get back to the books.

Don’t get me started on the extra credit projects, enrichment activities, or fun Friday. You don’t show kids movies and call it school. Educational anarchists do that. Cut it out and also stop letting them use the internet for research. Technology is not for schools. Eleven year old school children shouldn’t be making power point presentations. Playing Dance Dance Revolution in PE class is just wrong! Push-ups and running laps in the heat. Sit-ups and kick ball in the mud. Get with the program.

Then there is the bullying and violence. You guys need to step it up. She heard there was a fight one day in the cafeteria but she didn’t see it. She thinks the eigth graders sometimes fight but she’s not sure. No one has stolen any lunch money either. A fat kid did steal her snack cake out of her lunch but she left her lunchbox out in the hall and she figured it was fair game. He did leave the Cheez-its so she was okay with it. Public schools are breeding grounds for violence and bullying. I expect better!

But mostly, you need to stop making her like school. School is not fun. Get it straight. You bunch of asses. I let her go school so she would appreciate what she already had. You went and took it, then made it better. Screw you!

My only hope now is that she’ll get bored with her classes and want to come back home. Maybe take some classes at the community college in a few years. So cut out the advanced classes and that differentiated instruction crap. You want to make a mother cry, you jerks?

I stood just inside the door. My eyes scanning the room but not really seeing. Faces I wouldn’t remember in the morning looking at me. Strangers that at one time could have been friends are now obstacles that I must make my way through to get to where I was going. I felt vulnerable and alone, on display in a room of friends and I was a stranger.

You greeted me and I gave you a quick hug. There was no affection, I didn’t want to hug you. I just wanted the feelings to go away and they did, briefly. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to pretend. Other times, it does.

We talked for awhile. I felt the gazes move off of me and on to more interesting things. I started to relax. You were busy drinking. Then in one short sentence you hurt me.

I don’t think you meant what you said. I think you were just teasing me. But doubt and insecurity snapped tight around me and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. You tried to take it back, to make it less hurtful but it was too late. For a minute I saw the person you use to be then he was gone. I stepped back and wanted to get away from you. Their eyes were watching me again. Seeing how I’d react. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling and headed for the door. Pretended to be fine as I said goodbye. I smiled and waved as I walked out acting like I didn’t care. Pretending I had better things to do.

The tears didn’t come as I drove home alone. I hid them from myself just as securely as I hid them from you. I wasn’t in the mood to cry but I would be later. And I did. MyHusband held me as I tried to explain. He tried to understand but he just doesn’t get it and that’s alright. It doesn’t matter if he understands. It just matters that he wants to.

The weird thing is I think I like mentally abusing myself because I’ve been pretty happy the last couple of days. It seems that if you think your a total loser there isn’t any pressure. Just getting up in the morning is an achievement. If a total loser cleans the kitchen then they are doing a good thing. When a loser mom goes to lunch with her kids it’s meaningful. When a loser wife makes her husband fall back on the bed gasping for breath and proclaim, “God Damn! That was so very good” she’s accomplished something. The best part is losers don’t have to feel guilty about spending time on the computer and losers don’t have to shave their legs unless they want to. So what I’m saying is that I’m glad I’m a loser.

If I wasn’t such a loser I’d write one of those stupid motivation books. I’d title it, “Fuck it. Your a Loser and It Just Doesn’t Mater.” Millions, no, billions of copies would be sold and I’d become rich and famous. Then I’d retire to a small farm somewhere and live the rest of my life as a rich and famous loser. It would be a good life. Being a loser just might work out for me. We’ll see.

I was already having a good day and this made it just a little better.  I have no idea when this was drawn but it was definitely done by my youngest.  Aren’t surprises great.

Josh Small – “Waterwings” from TCSG on Vimeo.

Josh Small – “15/20″ from TCSG on Vimeo.

Being over weight is bad for your health. I almost had a freakin’ heart attack when I stepped on the scales this morning. Once I regained my composure and made my way down the hall I knew one thing for certain. There would be no moderation. No sensible. No slow but steady. I could loose a pound or two per week but I’ll have to step on the scales again next week and this time it might be the big one. I could die from moderation and I’m not much of a risk taker.

I’m going on the green diet. Cucumbers, celery, and green tea to be exact. That’s all I’m eating until I have lost at least 5 pounds. I chose this diet because those were the only vegetables that didn’t look like crap in the grocery store. It’s a bad time of year for produce. The advantage of cucumbers and celery is they are supposed to be tasteless so I won’t be disappointed when they are tasteless. The advantage of green tea is I already drink green tea. If I’m feeling really rebellious I might throw in an occasional apple or banana. We’ll have to see.

It’s been going good so far. I’m four hours into the diet and I haven’t cheated once, unless you counted the handful of frosted mini wheats I grabbed and ate before I remembered I was on a diet. I promised the kids homemade pizza for dinner tonight and I might have a slice of that but nothing else. Except maybe a SMALL bowl of the cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. That would be a one or two time thing. And isn’t there some chipotle chedder in the fridge. I haven’t had a grilled cheese in awhile…

“But what if I do?” she asked. I realized she was fast approaching the age when mom saying so no longer made it so. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said the only thing I could think of,

“Then you tell them you aren’t going”

“But what if they make me?”

Then I’ll hide you. We’ll move away where they can’t find you. That’s what I told her and I meant every word of it.

She looked at me and I knew she wanted to believe me and my demeanor would decide it for her. I sneered and told her no one was going to mess with my babies. Never! They better not even try. I stomped my foot on the floor for effect.

She nodded yes and the crisis was over…for her…for now.

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain. – John Adams

When my uncle went to Iraq I told the girls that George Bush needed some big tough guys to go catch some bad guys. They had no problem with that. He was a big tough guy and he would straighten them out. War was easy then. They were babies. They aren’t babies anymore and we have been sending big tough guys to catch the bad guys for six years. Six years.

When those towers fell I sat in a rocking chair with a toddler in my lap and watched my tears fall on her hair. Today I realized my baby has never know a time when we weren’t fighting the bad guys and I hid my tears in a dish towel as I pretended to wash the dishes. War to her is no different than the sun coming up in the morning. It’s just the way it’s always been. I want it to be different. I want her to have a future. I want her to study art, music, and poetry. I don’t want her standing in my kitchen and worrying that all the big tough guys are getting killed and she’ll have to go and fight in a war. That’s just wrong.

It's an orange that looks like a pear.

Today my youngest made me stop in the middle of the grocery store and take a picture of this.  It’s an orange, but it’s shaped like a pear.  This is apparently really funny if you are nine.  Just thought you should know.

It’s weird. I don’t know why but lately I’ve been wanting to smoke. It’s very disturbing for me. I haven’t smoked in years. I don’t want to smoke but I almost got in car and went to the convenience store for a pack of Marlboros the other day. It just comes out of nowhere. It doesn’t last long and it doesn’t happen often but I just can’t figure out why it happens at all.

The other day I walked by a man sitting on a bench and he was smoking. I almost stopped and asked him for a cigarette. I’m not sure what the implications of bumming a cigarette from a bum would be, but they can’t be good.

I’m not going to start smoking again. That’s a given. I like to be able to walk for hours without getting winded. I like not smelling like an ashtray. I like not running out late at night because I ran out cigarettes. I like increasing my chances of watching my future grandkids grow up. I like being a self righteous non-smoker. But right now, I would like a cigarette. I hope it passes quickly.

As is tradition my youngest built a leprechaun trap in hopes of catching a leprechaun. This is the after picture.

We waited all day for that durn leprechaun to stop by.  He comes ever year on St. Patricks day and causes a lot of mischief.  We always try and catch him but have been unsuccessful.  He’s managed to escape every trap we designed.  This year we though it would be different.  This year we designed an exceptionally tricky trap.  My youngest was the designer and she used an old trash can with in hole in the bottom.  She placed a thin piece of paper over the hole and covered it with shiny things.  Leprechauns like shiny things.  He would hop up on the trap and fall in.  Then he wouldn’t be able to climb out because the sides were too slippery.  She was worried he might get hurt falling in so she padded the bottom with left-over birthday streamers and feathers.  In case he was caught while we were gone and got hungry, she left him a snack, some raisins.  We weren’t home most of the day but we were hopeful we’d have a leprechaun when we got home.  We checked everywhere but there wasn’t a single sign of leprechaun activity anywhere around our home.  We were very disappointed. 

When MyHusband got home he decided he wanted take-out for dinner and he and the kids left to pick it up.  I was exhausted from a busy day and fell asleep on the couch.  Little did I know the leprechaun was about to visit. 

 I was snoring loudly on the couch when I heard my youngest squeel.  “There’s toilet paper all over our house!  The leprechaun TP’d our house!”

There was toilet paper all over our house!

 I immediately woke up and we raced to check the trap.  No leprechaun.  But he did leave us each a pack of gummy lifesavers and a note.

Nice Try. I can Fly! Ha Ha! -O'M.

“Holy cow!” my youngest yelled.  “Who knew leprechauns could fly!” 

I realised that I had never heard of a flying leprechaun, but who knows? 

We went to survey the damage and it was extensive. 

He knocked over chairs.

He knocked over lamps and puzzles

Toilet paper was everywhere!

He even peed in the toilet and didn't flush!

I walked around around the house and “complained at” the leprechaun while the kids ran around and tidied everything up. I wish we had caught that leprechaun. I’ve never had a real pot of gold but there is always next year. We have to figure out a trap that can hold a leprechaun that can fly. I think we’re up to the challenge. We’ll see.

When in the courfe of human events it becomes neceffary for one people to diffolve...

Last night I decided if I were to be a revolutionary I’d be more of a Thomas Jefferson than a John Adams. Except I wouldn’t have slaves and I wouldn’t chase away the Indians. I would also use S’s where they belong instead of F’s when I printed my declaration, but that’s just me. I mean seriously, why didn’t the freakin’ printers just make more S’s? Common sense tells you if you don’t have a S but have way to many F’s then you need to order more S’s. It’s not that hard people.

Maybe they had mercury poisoning. I think a lot of things that happened in history are the direct result of mercury poisoning. Either that or syphilis. That would explain a lot. Don’tcha think?

Good news. The second batch of muffins appear to have nooks and quite possibly crannies. Life is good. Where’s my apple butter?

Myhusband said this a few hours ago as he massaged the charley horse out of my neck. I giggled and tried to act embarrassed but I wasn’t.

The pain started last night. My pectoral muscles were a little sore. No fears everything else was fine. I couldn’t figure out why they were hurting until I pushed my shoulders back and looked up. That was the muscle and it was tight. I immediately knew what I had done. I did a little light stretching and hoped for the best. I told my husband how it happened and he just laughed and shook his head.

I woke up this morning and things weren’t too bad. A little stiffness but nothing major. I thought I was recovering until I reached to scratch my back. That’s when the muscle in my neck decided to clench itself into a tight little knot. Now that was some serious pain. MyHusband was kind enough to massage it for me until it loosened up again.

I should be embarrassed about what happened but I’m not. The fact of the matter was that yesterday I had an empty house for thirty minutes, some unwatched files, and a fresh set of batteries. I had plans for those thirty minutes and I was gonna use them. And I did. Six times.

Six times. I was impressed with myself. I still am. You can be impressed or jealous. Whatever works for you. Lets just say this (NSFW) is worth every penny and next time I’ll be sure to warm up first.

Marshmallowey Goodness

“Mom! Youngest isn’t compromising!”

Oldest was screaming this as she came up the stairs. They were downstairs playing rock star Polly. They dress up their dolls like rock stars and then stage a performance. Every detail is mapped out. Lighting, the stage, the songs. Every detail. Every single one. They spend weeks on just one show.

Oldest was shouting out her problem. I told her to stop yelling at me. I couldn’t understand what she was saying and it made me angry when she shouted at me. She lowered her voice about half a notch and repeated herself.

It seems Youngest’s plan to have a dump truck crash through the wall and deliver the rock stars wasn’t feasible. 1. It would cost too much. You’d have to buy a dump truck and then you’d have to pay for the repairs to the wall you crashed through. 2. Flying cinderblocks could injure innocent bystanders. 3. It was stupid.

Youngest came running up the stairs to make her point. I sat on the floor with my knitting needles and yarn. I was trying to listen to my iPod and knit a sock. I didn’t expect a sudden Rock Star Polly crisis but you can’t always plan these things. I mediated as they proceeded to negotiate with so much passion and purpose that I considered filming it as a training film for world leaders.

The grand entrance went through many different scenarios. Dump trucks, trash trucks, candy, chocolate, marshmallows, banana peels. I was feeling a little dizzy. Finally it was decided. A rented dump truck would dump banana peels on the stage. The rock stars would enter the stage and slip on the banana peels. They would then crash into a huge pile of marshmallows. This would send the marshmallows flying out into the audience and the show would begin, all the better for it’s marshmallowey goodness.

I was happy the crisis had ended. I went back to knit my sock. Except now I was giggling the whole time. I sat and wondered what I did for entertainment before I had kids. My life must have been very very boring.

This must be done while sitting on the floor and wearing wool socks. I think it's a law. Aren't my socks cute? They're the first (and only) pair I ever made for myself. I made them right after Christmas and I think I was unduly influenced by a candy cane.

I already started the seeds. There are peppers, broccoli, and of course tomatoes. They are being guarded by a penguin and a Steelers jersey. I think they'll be safe.

A whole tray of tomato seedlings. They look so sweet and innocent now. Just wait until they grow up.

Anyone else getting their garden plans together?

I’m writing another post about a birthday party. I didn’t start this blog to talk about going to birthday parties. But it seems that birthday parties are taking up a good deal of my time right now. Bonne Anniversaire! So be it. Who am I to judge? Yet, judge I will.

I didn’t like him when I saw him but that happens sometimes. Not very often but it does happen. I put a “watch him closely around the kids” note in the back of my head and went on with socializing. The kids and the instructor went into another room to play games and I slipped into the back to watch. I don’t think he knew I was there. It wasn’t long before the incident occurred.

The game was like tag. The instructor had a set of foam noodles like kids use to float in a pool. He chased the kids around. If he hit them with it they were out. Simple enough until one little boy, about 11, walked up to the instructor during a break. The instructor took the noodle and smacked him on the side of his head. It wasn’t a playful smack. The sound echoed off the walls and the little boy started to cry.

“I was trying to hit you on your head, not your face” he said.

I waited for him to ask him if he was okay. I expected him to tell him he was sorry but that didn’t happen. He hovered over the kid like the big tough guy he was and told him to stop being a drama queen. He said he had already told him he was sorry. When the boy didn’t stop crying he made him go sit out on the side. That’s when he noticed me off to the side watching.

I guess he wanted to teach him a lesson, make a man out of him, teach him to respect authority. The emotions and thoughts that went shooting through my brain were not fit for polite society. He was a bully. The worst kind of bully and I despised him. I knew I couldn’t do much harm to him but it didn’t stop me from wanting to. I pursed my lips squinted my eyes and made sure he knew exactly what I was thinking. Every bit of anger and outrage I could gather came shooting out of my eyes at him. He went back to the “game” and I went to the little boy. I don’t think he liked me questioning his authority. I didn’t care.

I knew it was for my benefit when the instructor reminded the boy that he had knocked another child into a heater a few days ago. He mentioned a few more things. They all sounded like normal kid things to me. I knew the instructor wanted me to know that the sweet little boy with dark thoughtful eyes and blond curls that danced on top of his head when he ran was a bad kid. The child deserved it. That was what he was trying to tell me by listing the childs faults in front of the class. I glanced at the instructor then turned my head to dismiss him. There was nothing he could say to make me see things any differently.

I asked the little boy if he was okay and looked at his ear where the bully had hit him. It was red and looked tender. He stopped crying and I asked if he wanted me to get him a tissue. He said no then wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. I leaned in close so no one would hear.

“I don’t care if you knocked someone into a heater. He shouldn’t have hit you like that. He should have said he was sorry. I know you’re a good kid…Aren’t you?” I looked at him quizzically.

He grinned a bad boy grin and nodded his head. I winked at him when the bully called him back over. If I had a son I’d want one just like him I thought. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for those “bad boys”. They’re the best. But I hate bullies. I really, really hate bullies.

I stood between two men. One had a “Jesus is my rock star” shirt and the other had a huntin’ shirt. I was wearing a teal shirt. It was just teal, dark teal, and it looked good with my eyes. I wasn’t advertising anything but pretty eyes. There’s no crime in that.

I backed out slowly and sat down alone. I had placed myself carefully in the back of the room near the door. I felt safe there. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize. I was in the mood to observe. More realistically, I was in the mood to judge. It didn’t take me long to start. I started with judging them; I ended with judging myself. Then I put Hayes Carll on repeat and texted observations to MyHusband. They weren’t very nice.

I watched as fat people gorged themselves with pizza that was covered in more meat than I’ve eaten in the last year. They offered me a slice. I thanked them, then politely declined. I didn’t make excuses. I didn’t tell them why. I didn’t feel the need to explain myself to a fat man wearing a US flag T-shirt. It was obvious those colors didn’t run, he had sausage grease on his double chin. I started to feel lonely. I started to wish I fit in. I wanted to be able to shove my beliefs away and pretend. Like I use to. I use to pretend all the time. It used to be easy. But now, I look at my children and I can’t. Or maybe, I won’t.

The racist comment came while the kids played musical chairs. I guess hip-hop wasn’t a good choice for music. I stopped myself from suggesting that Jesus loves both gangsters and rock stars. I considered explaining that the devil plays a fiddle when he’s looking for souls to steal. But that kind of talk could have gotten me into some serious trouble. I was in the mood to judge, not cause problems for my daughter. So I judged them silently and I judged them harshly. They deserved it.

I was happy when they ate the cake. Almost giddy as the presents were opened. My patience was wearing thin and my fight or flight response was kicking into overdrive. A woman handed out the goody bags and I was finally free. I had my daughter tell them thank you, and then we left. We walked slowly to the door then our pace picked up. By the time we made it to our car we were running and giggling. “Let’s go listen to some music.” I told her. She cheered.

I took the corner out of the parking lot with the mommy equivalent of “on two wheels” (just a little faster than necessary). Then we raced downtown. I sat down beside MyHusband and propped my feet up on an empty chair. We listened to the blues and we listened to a multi-racial group of teenage boys play “We’re not going to take” on their electric guitars.

“We’re not gonna take it anymooooore” my youngest sang.

“And don’t you forget it” I mouthed to her and smiled. She sat on my lap and she stuck her fist in the air as she sang. We drank some Hi-C punch and ate a few Oreo’s. Everything seemed just a little better. Then I went home and ate bacon. I’m not sure why I did that. Perhaps it was an inappropriate reaction to stress. I may have a bacon related eating disorder. Or maybe being surrounded by archaic belief systems forced me to re-evaluate my own. Either way, it was good. Very very good. I’d do it again, some day. It’s good to break through self-imposed boundaries. If you don’t, you’ll end up like the people you’re trying to get away from. I’ve come too far to end up like them.

You may or may have not figured out by now that I tend to go off on tangents. About a month ago I realized that I really missed my sourdough starter. This was when it all started. I use to have the most awesome sourdough starter ever. I started it with a cup of white flour, some water, and some yeast. As time passed I fed it and stirred it. A little bit of buckwheat. A little bit of rice flour. Maybe a little cornmeal. One day I added some left over pumpkin puree. It began to take on a life of it’s own. I nurtured it and it bubbled. It was good stuff. I used it to make bread. Really good bread. But time passed and I began to take it for granted. After a few weeks of neglect I found it stinky and molding in the back of the refrigerator. I buried it in my compost pile. It deserved a proper burial.

Time passed and I had almost forgotten my sourdough starter. I focused my time on growing tomatoes and baking plain ole bread. I thought I was happy, but I wasn’t. I was lying to myself.

So, I started a new batch of sourdough starter. I was determined to rekindle the passion. It took a few days but before long I was once again baking scrumptious rolls and tasty loafs. The joy of baking was mine. I was a fully satisfied woman once again. Life was good.

But then, I started to want more. The yeast in my fridge was teasing me with its fermentation possibilities. I knew it could take me to new height of culinary bliss. It started out simply enough. I did a quick Internet search and my screen was filled with possibilities. I began to download recipes and read page after page of suggestions and advice. I wanted more. I needed more. It became almost an obsession.

Before I knew what was happening to me, I started to look at other fermentation possibilities. The sourdough starter I once loved just wasn’t enough. I spent every free minute with one hand on the keyboard and the other on my yeast container. I did things in my kitchen I am not proud of. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.

It was a twisted crooked road I traveled. When it was all said and done I ended up with a gallon of mead fermenting on my kitchen counter. I like to watch it as the little raisins float to the surface then fall back to the bottom. It’s like a little dance. A mead fermentation dance. It makes me happy.

If it all works out, this time next year I’ll have some fine mead to celebrate the New Year. I’m looking forward to it. I’m also looking forward to catching up with you. I hope you had a happy holiday and I send you my best wishes for the New Year. Bring on 2009.

My Comments need what?

I decided to try Wordle.net with my blog front page and it was Okay.  You can go look at it.  For the record, Zucchini turned up more than tomato.  Then I decided to try my comment feed.  Ummm, yeah.  I took out everyones username to protect the guilty.  BTW, I heart you guys.  Just thought you should know.

[Note: I didn't position the words like that.  That's how they turned up when I pasted my comment feed into the program.  Thought I should clarify that because MyHusband didn't get why it was so funny.]