Namaste By Day

God-incidences

2012-02-28T18:31:00.003-08:00

As my relationship with God grows, I feel His nudges a little more. I also start to notice things that just a year or so ago, I'd have written off as coincidences, albeit really cool ones. I've heard people refer to these as God-incidences, and I've adopted that term lovingly. I see more God-incidences in my life as well.

This weekend was no exception.

I serve at my church every other Sunday, shadowing a little girl who has special needs, but is very high-functioning. This week, she was sick. Unfortunately, her family isn't able to attend fairly often, and typically when I get the e-mail saying my services aren't needed, I quickly find other things to do with that time.

When the e-mail came through this week, though, I felt a big ole nudge from God, telling me to ask the kids' ministry if I could serve in any other way.

About ten minutes after I sent the e-mail, asking, I got an enthusiastic one back, asking me to please come in to work with another little boy in the 2-3 year old room with developmental delays. He had far more special needs than my other little girl, but I had such a good feeling about it that I read the email to B, smiling.

I showed up to church on Sunday and was greeted by the family, as well as by some very cool God-incidences. In a five minute conversation, we realized that the similarities between our families was eerie.

Our boys have the same dietary restrictions.

We live just minutes apart.

Two of our boys have the same name.

Two of our boys share the same exact birthday.

Two of our boys go to preschool on the same days, at the same school, in classrooms right next door to one another.

The other mom looked at me, teary, mouth open. She was clearly speechless, and I just smiled.

"Don't get me wrong," I told her, "I have huge goosebumps right now. But I've learned that stuff like this happens constantly around here. When you're open to it, you get to see it."

She told me that she and her husband hadn't been able to attend church together due to the very special needs of her little boy. However, she said that this week, they'd decided to go to church together and they'd figure it out somehow. The next day, they got the phone call that someone qualified to work with her son was available.

God-incidences are amazing.

Working with her son was a holy experience. At one point, he became overstimulated, but using my experience and some fervent prayers, I was able to calm him. I listened to God and used my knowledge to know when to push him to interact and when to let him hold back.

By the end of the service, we were holding hands, worshiping with all of the other kids in the room. The goosebumps on my arms were back, but I couldn't help but wink back at God, knowing that He is up to something.

The other interesting part is that because of some other personal conflicts, I'd been finding it increasingly difficult to continue the commitment I'd made with the first family. After a talk with the woman in charge of the kids' ministry, we were able to come up with a solution. I'm thrilled that both families will be covered and I'll get to serve with the little boy from now on.

Call it what you want. Say that the planets were aligned, that it was all just an awesome coincidence. I know the truth.

Namaste'.

'Da Coowest Game in 'da Whole Wide World

2012-02-25T14:04:00.003-08:00

Have any of you heard of the game Lego Racers? If you have a little boy or know a little boy and you want to be their biggest hero, go search eBay now and buy it.

It's a super lame game, consisting of puzzle pieces that enable you to design your own track! And Legos to make your own cars! And dumb little 1st/2nd/3rd place cardboard squares! And apparently, kiddie crack sprinkled all over the box because kids go nuts over it!

All of my male students are obsessed with this game. I let my kids pick their speech activity fairly often, and without fail, they look at each other, say, "Lego Racers!" and rush to my metal wardrobe cabinet to find it.

The problem is though, that the kiddie crack is so powerful that they get mesmerized by this stupid game. When I ask them to repeat sentences to work on their targeted sounds, sometimes they are so into Lego Racers that they literally don't hear me.

So when my officemate suggested that maybe L would enjoy playing the game for a while, I stashed it under my desk until I could bring it home that afternoon.

And I kid you not, the kids came in and sniffed that game out.

When I finally brought it home, L was just as sucked in. He promptly forgot about his daily Scooby Doo episode (jinkies!) and got to work building the cars and asking me what all the words said on the pit stop and the oil spill pieces. We played a few games together, and he played about 12 more games alone.

For the first time in as long as we can remember, he didn't run to B upon his arrival that evening. He did, however, call his daddy over to check out his new game.

He went to bed clutching two of the Lego cars, one in each little hand.

He insisted on bringing the Legos to the eye doctor this morning.

My kid likes his Hot Wheels but isn't one of those kids who gets attached to a certain toy, bringing it everywhere with him. He doesn't have any lovies or stuffed animals, even though I've tried. But these cars? Ob. Sessed.

I wish I could tell you where to find the game. I saw one on eBay but they don't make it anymore. I couldn't even find a usable picture of the game box.

But if you see one at a garage sale or a consignment shop, buy it and give it to a little boy, but only if you want him to adore you.

You can thank me later.

Namaste'.

a light bulb moment

2012-02-25T06:52:00.004-08:00

Last week, I took L to a science event at my school. I watched him struggle with some of the experiments. And struggle he did.

This week, I had my own set of struggles, both there at work and beyond. At one point, between the nonstop tears, the high blood pressure, the dizziness, and stomach issues, I ended up taking a pregnancy test. I'm happy to report I saw a negative sign that day.

But my bad week turned worse, including trusted people twisting my words, sending me spiraling into self-doubt about my skills as a speech therapist, a mother, a friend. There were many times I actually considered walking out of the building and hibernating in my bed. I took a cue from L, though, and kept on keepin' on.

And then, last night, as I was starting my second rum and Coke, B came in and said, "Wanna hear something cool?" He played part of a podcast from our church that he had been listening to earlier. I don't think he played it because of the fact that I was drowning my sorrows, but to say I needed it was an understatement. The whole five minutes were extremely powerful, but one quote by G.K. Chesterton made me stop in my tracks.

“Here ends another day, during which I have had eyes, ears, hands and the great world around me. Tomorrow begins another day. Why am I allowed two?”

Talk about a light bulb moment.

Now if I can just get this tattooed to my forehead, perhaps I can remember it come Monday morning.

Namaste'.

Hoping for a Realty Miracle

2012-02-23T08:39:00.001-08:00

My little first-born baby is going to be in kindergarten next year.

Kindergarten.

Before I know it, he's going to be asking for the keys to my car.

Between the fact that I work at the best school in the history of the universe and I'm petrified to send him to big-boy school because of his food allergies, I have come to the conclusion that he needs to come to my school.

End. Of. Story.

(Plus, if he doesn't, we'll have to figure out before and after care, and I may have to at least consider a different job, which is another post for another day. Nothing like two different jobs being dangled in front of my face this week with that big decision looming. But I digress.)

Our district does not allow teachers to bring their own children to school with them unless they live in the boundaries. Trust me, I think that is ridiculous. Don't get me started.

So last night, we filled out the paperwork to get our house on the market. And I consequently had a panic attack. Don't get me wrong. It needs to happen. We've outgrown our teeny tiny space and I'm ready for a fresh start. We've replaced our roof, our windows, our stove, dishwasher, and hot water heater. We've painted. We've updated. It's time.

And although, sight-unseen, our friend and realtor swears he can get our house sold by August, I am so scared. I am completely aware that getting our house sold and finding a house we can afford in the mostly-ritzy area where we need to will be nothing short of a miracle. We have a worst-case scenario, which would be renting our house out and getting an apartment for a year. B is okay with that scenario, because we'd save so much money and there'd be no grass to cut. But renting an apartment with two little monkeys and all our crap is the stuff of nightmares, if you ask me.

Add all this craziness to the fact that I have a few other big personal and professional stressors right now, and you'll understand why I'm reaching for the anti-anxiety meds and finding myself taking deep breaths 392058023 times a day.

Oh, and please excuse any typos or grammatical errors in this post. It's hard to type while your head is spinning.

Namaste'.

Wordless Wednesday: They have my heart in their little hands.

2012-02-22T07:23:00.000-08:00

President's Day Lessons

2012-02-21T06:10:00.000-08:00

I was off work yesterday (thanks, Presidents!) and I decided to keep the boys home for a little quality time. I learned a few lessons:

* when both boys sleep in until 7:30, providing an extra hour of sleep, one feels like a new woman.

* seeing an almost-18-month-old look at his new-to-him Mickey shirt and exclaim gleefully, "Oh, Toodles!" will make you smile all day.

* taking two little wildmen to Kohl's and the grocery store, even when they behave extraordinarily well, requires more than one small cup of coffee in preparation.

* hearing your four-year-old say, while trying to zip his jacket, with the exact intonation of your husband, "I don't know what's wrong with this freaking zipper," will result in simultaneous hilarity and horror.

* finding another momma of a gluten-free family will result in a fifteen minute convo in the frozen food section, sharing life stories, favorite products and silver linings to food allergies.

* taking a little boy who is between sizes of underwear and loves Scooby and Batman equally makes for a hard decision in Kohl's.

* Buy one, get one 1/2 off sales luckily make hard decisions a moot point.

* hearing your baby squeal with delight, "Hot Dog!!" upon spotting a Mickey sippy cup ensures that you will take said cup home to add to your already too-big collection.

* Organic, almond milk chocolate pudding cups are a find more precious than diamonds.

* When both boys take naps long enough for momma to blog, clean, and take a nap too, angels sing.

* Some days, showers are overrated.

* Snuggling with a freshly bathed four-year-old makes one hope that time can slow just a tad.

* Family prayers lead to heart-bursting moments.

* Really good days off make the bad ones disappear and wish long weekends weren't so few and far between.

Namaste'.

Strike a {yoga} pose

2012-02-20T04:13:00.000-08:00

(I'm sorry about the formatting in this post. Blogger was being wiggy. Luckily, thanks to my recent yoga practice, I was calm and centered enough to let it go, and only cursed at my computer a few times. But I refuse to salute the light within Blogger. Harumph.)

Last week, I was walking into the yoga room and two girls about my age were looking at the class schedule posted outside the door. I smiled at them and they asked how long the class was. I honestly don't remember if I answered them...I just started rambling about how awesome!yoga!is!

I talked about the fact that it's a great workout, and that they'd be sore the next day. I told them that it's downright addicting because of the way it makes you feel. And I even explained that it's good for your insides...your digestive system, kidneys, adrenals, immune system. I encouraged them just to try it. To come in right now.

And I totally scared them away. For real. They actually scampered off, afraid.

They don't know what they are missing.

I have been working on this post for a while. I've had several people email me and ask me to talk about yoga more. I've tried... I write, I delete. I try again, I erase. It's hard to explain yoga.

(Scattered through this post are some of my favorite poses, just to give a visual if you are clueless regarding my favorite workout.)

{tree pose}

I can tell you what it's not. It's not a bunch of dirty women eating granola sitting around chanting "ommmm." It's a tough workout that may make you sweat, but is easy on your joints and feels amazing while you are doing it. Feeling a stretch the whole way up one side of your body...there's nothing like it.

{camel pose}

It's not competitive. A big rule of yoga is to refrain from comparing yourself to anyone else. Reminders are frequently given that some days, your balance/strength/focus is better than others, which is totally normal and okay. I hear so many words of encouragement given to and from newbies and advanced yogis alike. The energy in a yoga room is truly filled with peace and calm.

{wheel pose}

It's not the same in every class. From restorative yoga to power yoga, there's a type for everyone. I personally like power yoga, but a good, slow, restorative class feels phenomenal from time to time.It's not easy. Well, unless you want to make it easy. It's as hard as you want to make it. I've been sore after a gentle yoga class and have seen amazing changes in my body since practicing yoga on a consistent basis.div>{plow pose}

It's not hard on your body, though...inside or out. I'm healthier, happier, and endure less headaches when I practice yoga a few times a week. I'm happier, more centered, and less apt to go into fight or flight mode when I get upset.

{triangle pose}

It's not for everyone. I've seen people try the class and walk out in the middle several times. I've brought guests who never returned. The light in me salutes theirs and all, but I can't say I get it. It's so good for you! It feels amazing! Your whole body will change! But I (reluctantly) understand that some people need something different.

But if you're curious and have an open mind, clearly, I urge you to try it. I've seen men, women, and children of all ages, shapes, sizes, and flexibilities try and love yoga. One day, I'll get my teacher certification and hopefully open my own studio. Until then, I'll keep practicing and raving about the pure awesomeness of yoga to anyone who will listen...or read.

If you have questions, please comment or email me at namastebyday@gmail.com.

Namaste'.

An open letter that needed to be written

2012-02-19T17:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Anyone Who Knows Me IRL and Reads My Blog,

(First of all, IRL means In Real Life. It's blog-speak, which I do from time to time in my little corner of the internet here. I realize that if you don't have a blog, you probably now think I'm even weirder than you initially thought, and that's cool. I know you don't get it, and I'm not asking you to. )

Due to a series of unfortunate events and a very innocent mistake by one of my closest friends, I have a new group of blog readers. And I know you don't understand why that bothers me. It is out there on the web, after all. It can't get much more public. However, my last name isn't connected here, so it would have been tougher than you think to find it. But find it you did. So here we are.

I've already cleaned up my blog to put a few choice posts back into draft mode. No, I didn't talk about you, or you, or even you. I may have mentioned students or work drama without breaking confidentiality rules, but suffice it to say that I will be extra careful from now on. Honestly, it's probably a good thing that I tidied up around here. Silver lining, yo.

But here's the thing. I haven't blogged in several days because it does wig me out a bit to have non-blogger, IRL friends and acquaintances read my blog. However, I have decided not to delete this blog, start a new blog from scratch, or completely censor myself. (I carefully considered all of those options.) I blog to vent, to remember, to process, to document. And I'm not going to stop doing any of those things, even though in the past year, people from my work, my church, and my family have stumbled upon some posts.

Just know, though, that sometimes I'm silly. Sometimes I'm raw. Always, I'm honest. And you'll see sides of me that you haven't before now. I'll blog about my struggles with parenting. I'll write about the scars I have from being physically and emotionally abused. I'll talk about my church and my relationship with God. I'll post about my love of my blog and Twitter friends. Yep, I have friends I've met online who I adore. I even talk to/text/HeyTell with them. You think it's bizarre. That's cool.

So go ahead. Read away. Gossip about my posts if you must. But print them out to show other people, and you'll see yet another side of me that you won't enjoy. Give this address out to other people who know me IRL, and I'll be furious. And don't even bother sending me a Twitter request. Not gonna happen.

I am oddly private about something that is ultimately, as public as you can get. I know that's hard to understand. But since you're along for the ride, buckle your seatbelt. It gets bumpy around here sometimes.

Sincerely,

Gina

P.S. I turned word verification off so feel free to comment again now that I've taken the PITA-ness out of it. Namaste'.

"Scars are souvenirs you never lose." -Goo Goo Dolls

2012-02-12T20:34:00.000-08:00

It's no secret that I love my church. Even after fourteen months, it sounds weird for me to say that. Because fifteen months ago, I was as anti-church as they come. But I do. I am convinced that I go to the coolest church in the world, and I secretly like when people come and get a bit weirded out by the edginess and casualness and outside-the-box-ness. The creativity blows my mind. The attention to detail awes me. The pastor is actually phenomenal. I hang on his every word and he literally makes me want to be a better person.

Today, though, I started to shift nervously in my seat about 2/3 of the way through his message. Something was making me uncomfortable. I was completely conflicted, because I was loving it. He was talking about sticking together when marriage gets hard. A few of our friends are considering or going through divorce right now, so it was hitting close to home. And although B and I are quite solid, maritally, the advice he was giving out was amazing and needed. Just how to treat each other and really love one another.

And what not to do. And the more he talked about what not to do, how not to talk to your wife, I started remembering how it felt when someone talked to me with disrespect. In fact, I started remembering details of the way my ex-husband treated me.

He started telling a story about a couple who had some serious struggles. Something flipped a switch in me. The tears were already in my eyes, but they fell down my face as he delved into this story. For the first time, the tears that I had in church weren't from my heart bursting from the music or the message, but from my heart hurting.

Badly.

I looked around, thinking that I'd bet my last dime that there was a woman in the auditorium who was living through what I lived through ten years ago. It happens more than you think, because abusers are typically the most talented wool-pullers around. And it scared me to think that she was thinking that the abuse was her fault, and that this amazing pastor urging her to stay was probably right.

So I started praying. Hard. I started praying that our pastor would give a disclaimer. Because I've been there. I've lived through it. And although I'm sure not everyone reading this would agree, I believe with all my heart that God wouldn't have wanted me to stay in that marriage. That God hates abuse as much as He hates divorce. (And for the record, that fabulous pastor agrees with me. I asked him.)

The problem is that women don't leave because they hear day in and day out that they are crazy. That they wouldn't need to be held down, kicked around, disrepected, screamed at, humiliated if they would just chill out, do the laundry, lose 10 pounds, keep the house cleaner, have sex with their husband more. They know that they are broken, but don't understand that we all are. They think that they should stay and after they hear it more times than they can count, they believe it.

I found myself talking to a wonderful associate pastor at the end of the service. (We were in a satellite location, so the lead pastor wasn't available.) And when I say talking, I mean rambling incessantly, because that's how I roll when I'm in any way emotional, which is far too often. I asked him if he could bring this to the lead pastor's attention because he has such a reach. And that I am absolutely positive that a woman who is being abused heard that message this week.

It occurred to me that while my voice doesn't reach as far as my pastor's, I have a bit of a reach too. I have a voice and every time I have posted about this, I get incredible emails. So I'm putting it out there again. Today I was reminded that if your marriage is hanging on by a thread, you should act lovingly, without unfair expectations, and God will meet you there to help you fall back in love. I give the preacher an "amen" on that.

But if you are being abused, or suspect that perhaps what you are enduring might qualify as abuse, you shouldn't stay. God wouldn't want you to be treated like that. He cries with you and hurts when you hurt. I'm sure of it. My brother, who is a police officer, tells me to this day that what I was going through was textbook abuse and he was sure the ending would have been quite frightening had I not left so quickly.

I know it's hard. And it's scary. And you think that no one will ever want a divorcee. I thought it too. I remember post-counseling appointments, sitting on my apartment floor sobbing my eyes out, not knowing what to do. Even after a mixing bowl was thrown at my head and I was told I was worthless, fat, and lazy in front of my neighborhood, I waffled on the decision.

But I left. And not one of the tears I shed today was wondering if I did the wrong thing in leaving; if I needed to ask for forgiveness for ending a marriage. It was worry for other women hearing the message.

The pastor I spoke to today was kind and loving. He complimented my heart and explained that there is only so much time in a message. I get that. But every day I stayed in that marriage chipped a little confidence out of me. And I learned that the scars of those days don't fade as quickly or as completely as I'd thought. But dealing with the scars is better than those open wounds.

Namaste'.

**************

As always, if you have questions or comments and you'd like to stay anonymous, you can email me instead of commenting at namastebyday@gmail.com.

That's a Winner!

2012-02-08T13:28:00.000-08:00

When I got the entries for the contest, there were a few people I was pulling for. Of course I wanted those cute earrings, and several people promised them to me. I wanted to give them an extra entry, but I played fair and square, using a random number generator.

Congratulations to....

Laura from Wringing Out My Sponge!

Even though she wants to keep the earrings all to herself, at least I don't have to pay shipping since she's my IRL friend. Perhaps I'll use the money I saved to by myself earrings.

Laura, hit me up and I'll come rub your belly and give you your goodies!

Sensitive, sweet, and still all-boy.

2012-02-05T13:42:00.000-08:00

L is the most sensitive, old-soul, almost five-year-old I've ever met. I don't deserve him, and as crazy as he drives me when he throws his tantrums, I couldn't adore him more. I get hugs, kisses, and compliments daily from him, and everyone who meets him, whether 4 or 44, is pleased by his friendly, precocious nature.

I volunteered in his class at church today, and when his teacher asked, "Who do you love with all your heart?" he answered, without the slightest hesitation, "God." I pretty much melted directly into my shoes.

He just started playing indoor soccer, and has had two games. While his constant jumping-dancing-skipping is pretty darn cute, the part that warms my heart is the fact that in both games, he completely stopped chasing the ball to pick up a teammate who has gotten knocked down.

Apparently, I'm not the only one swooning over his big-heartedness. He told me last week that his girlfriend took his hand and patted her hair with it. "And Mommy," he continued, wide-eyed, "I was so surprised!"

And so it begins.

Namaste', L. Your light is so bright...let it shine, little dude.

The one where I almost broke my baby's leg

2012-02-03T11:53:00.000-08:00

It's been gorgeous here. I guess it's super pretty in most places, but for St. Louis to have even one pretty day in the winter is unheard of. So days in the high 50's, early 60's have made me giddy.

A new park was just built directly across the street from the boys' school, so each day when I pick them up, we head over for a while. Both boys absolutely love it and I keep telling myself it's not going to be this pretty for forever, so I'd better enjoy it while I can.

Yesterday, we went back to the park and were joined by my friend (hi, Jen!) and her little man, who is about G's age. Jen is pregnant, so I told her I'd take both boys down the ginormous slide together. Great idea, right? Well, the first few times were full of giggles and squeals, signing "more" and yelling, "go!"

And then there was a third time, during which G's shoe got caught between my hip and the slide. We kept going, but his leg didn't. When we got to the bottom, he let out the saddest, most painful scream I've ever heard. I pulled off his shoe, and didn't notice anything. But when I set him down, he clearly couldn't put any weight on it.

And my heart broke into a million guilt-ridden pieces.

I called B, scooped L up, and we headed home. B, who has had more than his fair share of broken bones, checked it out, deemed it "probably not broken," but thought I should call the doctor's office just to get their opinion. (Like this nurse line frequent-flyer wouldn't call. Ha. Ha. Hahahaha.)

Fortunately, our pediatrician's office has just begun a pilot program which includes hours until 8 pm on weeknights. They told me to bring him in, and they'd x-ray him.

90 minutes later, after G wowed the nurses with his signs and shy smiles, I found myself holding him down on the x-ray table, softly singing "The Hot Dog Song" and "Tiny Tim," while wiping his tears. It was about as much fun as it sounded.

The good news is that I didn't break my kid's leg. The bad news is that I sprained it, and there's nothing I can do about it. The worse news was that he was up, crying, from 2 am to 5 am, and now, about 22 hours later, still isn't walking much. Cue the momma guilt. Needless to say, I stayed home with him today and we spent lots and lots of time cuddling.

I know full well that this won't be the last playground/swingset/skateboard/tree-climbing/etc accident, especially considering what a fearless little monkey this little guy is. And I'm sure even if I'm nowhere in the vicinity, the momma guilt will still kick in. I'm gonna need lots of wine to get through the next 20 years. Sigh...

Etsy Giveaway: In Olivia's Closet

2012-02-01T20:07:00.000-08:00

Remember that one time when I got tipsy from two drinks and convinced my girl Laura to cut my bangs? And remember how I had to let them grow?

Well, because of that very wise choice, I had to search for cute bobby pins that were not made for kindergarteners. And that is no small feat.

And then I stumbled across In Olivia's Closet. So! Many! Adorable! Bobby pins! Seriously. Her stuff? Super cute. I adore Etsy, but we have all had the experience of ordering something that was disappointing when it arrives. So I only ordered a few pins, because I wanted to check out the quality.

How were they? Well, the short answer is that I ordered more within days of receiving them. Not only were they even cuter than I expected, they were more well-made. They were also high-quality and tight enough to hold my hair. Considering I have the hair texture of a 2-year-old, this thrilled me to no end.

I messaged Michelle through Etsy, and she couldn't be sweeter. So sweet, in fact, that she's sponsoring a giveaway here.

If you're the winner, you'll get:

some cute earrings about which I literally just told B, "I wish I could keep these for myself."

a ring, which I think is so unique and gorgeous.....

...and one of those awesome bobby pins that I was raving about.

I know, right? Good stuff. How do you enter? It's easy.

1. Leave me a comment telling me what you'd do with these adorable items. Would you keep them all to yourself? Give me the earrings? Gift them?

Optional entry:
2. Buy me those adorable red owl earrings in her shop. What? It's my blog! Okay, fine. I'm kidding. But go look at them. Could they be cuter?

I'll choose a winner a week from today; Wednesday the 8th. Good luck, and namaste'.

*************

It's not you...it's me.

2012-01-30T20:11:00.000-08:00

Last night, one of our best friends was hanging out at our house. We kept chuckling about how anytime we wondered something (my wondering: how old Salma Hayek is because she is smokin') we could just use our phones or our laptop. No waiting. No pondering. No tip-of-the-tongue frustration.

The internet is awesome. Actually awe-some though. Awe-inspiring.

I can get answers (or at least an opinion to put me at ease) when I have one of my weekly health concerns. The amount in copays alone that it's saved me...wow.

I have been able to figure out this huge food allergy thing...and help others on their journey.

And the girls I have met through the blogosphere/Twitterverse? Well, even though when I talk about them (oh, yes, I love them enough to talk about them IRL), I get that look. The "Ohhh, I didn't realize you have friends that live in your computer. Never saw that comin.' " And although I have only heard a handful of their voices through my phone, I feel more connected to some of them then to friends who I see, in person, regularly. I've met people who "get" me. Girls who are my friends. Not my blogfriends or my Twitter friends. Just my friends.

It's an awesome thing.

But? Sometimes the internet sucks. you. in. Or maybe it's just me. So it sucks. me. in. And I wanna know what my friends are up to. And I need to play in one of my 3095033 games of Words with Friends. And yes, I want to spit these words out onto a blog post before I forget them. And that drama going on around Twitter? Well, of course I want to get the dirt!

And because I am a working momma, my evenings are precious and short and frenzied. I'm trying to fit in time to read The Foot Book to G for the 7th time that day. Trying to give L my undivided attention so that he can tell me the new exciting story. Trying to fit in workouts. A conversation with B. Making lunches. Checking backpacks.

And that whole balance thing that I said I wanted to work on? Well, evidently it's a good goal, because I have not reached it. I am so unsteady that I don't know if I'll ever be able to juggle Twitter-mommyhood-SLP-exercise-marriage like some of my girls. These days are deliciously crazy, and I want to remember them that way.

So I've decided to just step back and breathe a little. I'm not throwing my computer out the window ... when you gotta blog, you gotta blog. I'll check in on Twitter but not feel the need to go a while back in the timeline to see what I missed. I know I've never been good at responding to comments, but I can't respond to all of them for the time being anyway.

I'm thinking all this time on the yoga mat - and, yes, a nudge from God - are giving me a craving for presence and balance and zen everywhere.

Which reminds me, I have a yoga love post rolling around in my head. I need to get on that. I kid, I kid. Well, kinda. Anyway.

Hopefully with this life shift, I'll get the chance to sing a few more rounds of "the Hot Dog Song" with G, or play Wii with L, or just sit on my couch and breathe. Or think of 29059 reasons why I love the internet.

Namaste'.

school days

2012-01-30T05:41:00.000-08:00

Many mornings, it hurts my momma heart to drop my boys off at "school.
G cries a few mornings a week and it takes everything I have to smile brightly and wave as I walk away from him, sobbing in his teacher's arms. He is quick to turn them off...when I peek back through the window on my way back from L's room, he's always dancing or smiling at the infants or dressing up in a funny hat. L is so happy to get to school that I have to remind him to give me a hug and a kiss some days. But it still hurts to leave my sweet boys all day long.

I gotta admit, though, that there are some things about their school that fills my same momma heart to bursting status. Seeing them reunite with a hug after spending the day apart.

Taking 20 minutes to get out of the building because they have to get hugs and high-fives from half the staff before they leave.

Reading the board in G's room that says they "explored feathers," "went on a buggy ride together," " splashed in warm soapy water," "painted with Q-tips."

Peeking into L's room seeing him balancing a bean bag on his little tennis shoes, after learning how penguin daddies carry their eggs on their feet. And even though he always insists, "No pictures," so I have to go all paparazzi-sneaky to get a shot of him, those images are burned into my brain forever.

Three weeks ago, I carried G to his room. Last week, he insisted on not only walking, but carrying his lunch to his room. Boyfriend took that blue lunch box, sauntered to his room, walked straight to his teacher, handed her his lunch, and pushed her aside so that he could go bid the infants good morning.

G's teachers chuckle at me because the dirtier G is at the end of the day, the happier I am. I know he was engaged, interacting, learning, if he has green paint in his hair and shaving cream on his sleeve. I get ideas for the glorious summer when I do get to stay home with them...especially art activities, which I've been waiting patiently for him to be old enough to participate. I make mental notes at 4 pm each day...glue/shaving cream; glitter on contact paper; bingo dobbers.

And then I thank my lucky stars that I have a few more months until all those mess-making supplies are in my house.

And watching my boys with their friends? Well, that makes the warm fuzzies multiply. L comes home telling me exciting tidbits of information about his friends who were wearing matching!shirts! or that he finally was faster than his best friend on the playground today. I've seen him "use his words" to work out an issue on more than one occasion. Even G can name his friends, and I'm always floored at how much interaction actually goes on between him and other kids, all of whom are under two.

Learning to get along with different kinds of kids, work out problems, and work side-by-side peacefully? As far as I'm concerned, that's as important as the pre-academics. L's teacher told me this week that he has made huge progress on walking away from kids who aren't doing the right thing. I couldn't help but do a silent fist pump upon receiving that nugget of information.

Would I love to spend more time with my precious boys? Of course. Would I love to have leisurely mornings? Absolutely. Would I miss the frantic make-the-lunches-pack-the-backpacks evening rush? Hell no.

But do I think, all things considered, that they are exactly where they should be during the day?

Without a doubt.

Namaste'.

my reflection

2012-01-27T19:50:00.000-08:00

L has a baby book that lasts to about 11 months. G's only lasts to about five months. One thing I want to do this year is use this blog, among other things, to remember. I want to print the posts about my boys so they can read them one day and laugh. So from time to time, you'll see a post like this...a detailed post about how they are at this age. Feel free to read them...or not.
********************

I started wanting two boys back in high school. I was the worst teenager ever and knew that if I ever had a girl, she'd end up just like me. After all, my mom wished that upon me enough times that it'd surely come true.

So I figured as long as I had boys, I was golden.

It never occurred to me that I could create a boy just like me.

The older L gets, I look at him and see my reflection.

He doesn't know a stranger. We go to the grocery store and he strikes up a conversation with the checker about his upcoming first soccer game. He insists that I ask the drive-thru girl's name at Sonic when we go through for a drink he's earned. He likes people and he likes to talk to them. It takes most people aback, but I was the same way. (B would tell you that I still am. It's debatable. )

Tonight, he was telling me about his teacher working one on one with him at school. I asked how he felt when he is called over to her table; if he likes it. He bashfully shook his head. I asked him why not and he shrugged. The kid excels at school. I asked if it makes him nervous and he nodded, a bit embarrassed. The next ten minutes, I found myself giving him a pep talk about how he needs to think of that time as a time to show her how good he is; so Miss Mitzi knows what he knows. It appears that he's also inherited my lack of confidence...perfectionism. Mama's going to have to work on breaking that cycle.

L lost his temper a couple of days ago and hit G in the head with his new Cars matchbox car. He lost it for four days and it's killing him. The first day, the very first thing he said to me upon picking him up from preschool was, "It's only been one day." The kid has over 100 cars but he can't stop obsessing over it. Tonight, he asked us if he could "just wook at it." We stuck to our guns and said no. He ran to the counter, where it's put away, then sauntered back, and said, "If I pushed my stool to the counter, I could look at it."

Giving him the look, I asked what he thought would happen. "You'd get mad," he answered, quietly.

"But what would happen?" I asked. "You think you might lose it for more days? Then it would be even longer without your car?"

"Yeah," he quietly pouted, slowly walking away.

Me. That kid is me. I'd threaten to do the wrong thing, knowing I'd back down as soon as my parents told me I'd better not. I'd throw the world's hugest tantrums when I got sent to my room, slamming my door and screaming at the top of my lungs. I'd befriend the new neighbor. I'd talk so much that my parents would beg me to just stop talking for a few minutes. I'd sob if a teacher redirected me too harshly. I'd worry. I'd snuggle up under a blanket, absolutely drinking in a book that was read to me. I'd have to check out every public restroom. I'd cry at movies.

They say it's hell raising yourself. But I'm going to try to rock this. L deserves nothing less.

Two for Tuesday Wednesday: Conversations with L

2012-01-25T11:14:00.001-08:00

Scene: Upon waking up with a cough yesterday morning; on the car ride to school.

L: Mommy, I'm pretty sick. My cough, it's pretty bad.

Me: L, I think you're going to be okay. (Empathetic parenting is not my forte. So sue me.)

L: No, I don't feel good. I'm sick 'cuz I got a cough.

Me: You don't have a fever. If you don't feel well at school, tell your teacher and she can call me.

L: (brightening) Oh! Okay! I am very sick, you know.

Me: Now you need to know, though, that if you come home, you'll have to lie on the couch and watch tv.

L: (brightening more) Okaaay!

Me: And you won't get to play the Wii because you'll be too sick.

***dramatic pause***

L: I fink I'll be okay.

************************

Scene: Car ride on the way to school

L: Mommy. Hey Mommy. Did you know I have two heads?

Me: (stifles inappropriate giggles) Oh, really?

L: Yeah. (points to forehead) I got my forehead, and .... (pats the top of his head) I got a fivehead.

Namaste', L. Namaste'.

Messy Mom Mondays: Dirty dishes, messy drawers, and clean laundry, oh my!

2012-01-23T06:42:00.000-08:00

"Why are you taking pictures of our dirty house??" B asked, incredulously, as I snapped a few pics on my way out the door today.

I wanted to explain that some of us were showing solidarity and not pretending that we were perfectly neat, tidy, and put-together moms on Messy Mom Mondays.

I wanted to rave about how much I already loved Jess and Brittany but now I adore them even more because of Messy Mom Mondays.

I wanted to tell him a million more things. But, as you can see from the time on the clock, I was running late, as usual. So I told him I'd explain later, even though, let's be honest, I probably won't. He won't get it.

Behold, first and foremost, my kitchen. Honest to goodness, this is the way I left it. I literally snapped these pics with my phone as I was walking out the door.

I'm not sure what my favorite part of this picture is. Maybe the textbooks, waiting to come to work with me? Or the pj's that my mom bought G, that not only have not been washed yet but have also not even made it into the hamper? Or the freeze-dried strawberries and box of coconut milk which needed to go in the pantry, just a few feet away? Or the plethora of other crap? It's a tough choice.

Ahhhh, the dishes in the sink. These are a result of clean dishes in the dishwasher, and the fact that with two children, we go through that many dishes. The dishwasher is busting at the seams with clean dishes. And of course I didn't have time to empty it and/or refill it this morning. Superwoman I am not.

So that's the sight that awaits me when I walk in the door this afternoon. Awesome. Only not so much.

******

And if the messy kitchen wasn't enough, how about two bonus shots of my bedroom? You in?

This is the inside of my top nightstand drawer. I've almost turned into my grandma...her drawer was filled with meds too. I'm just missing the candy but if I'm being honest (and I should...it is MMM), there were gummy Lifesavers in there just last week. Call me Joan.

But that's not all....

Our bed never gets made. The laundry never gets truly caught up. This picture was taken last night, but those baskets of clothes are currently just sitting on the floor. They didn't get done. There's a possibility that they might, tonight, since I'll be sitting in there watching The Bachelor (oh yes, I just admitted that too) but then again, they may not.

Thanks, Jess, and Britt, for letting me air my ~~dirty~~ clean laundry and helping me make hundreds of other women feel better about their own houses. I'm not perfect. I'm not even close. I'm kind and I'm creative and I'm intelligent, but I'm human. And I love being able to proclaim that that's okay.

Namas-freakin'-te'.

Easy Peasy Amazing Chili

2012-01-22T17:29:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I made The Best Chili in the History of the Universe. I took a recipe from my father-in-law and tweaked it a bit for our taste. We love spicy (G ate two bowls of it), and it has a bit of a kick. I had a few Twitter requests for the recipe...and like your fairy godmother, I'm here to make your wishes come true.

1 lb ground beef (do yourself a favor and just try 100% grass-fed beef. It's amazing.)
1 tube of "hot" pork sausage of your choice

Brown, remove grease, and throw in a crock pot with:

3 cans of kidney beans (we love Trader Joe's organic beans)
2 cans of organic diced and fire roasted tomatoes with organic chiles
1 small can of tomato paste
1 tablespoon chili powder
cumin to taste (I think I used about a tablespoon)
pepper to taste
onion salt to taste

Cook on low for at least 3 hours...the longer the better. Enjoy!

Food Allergy Fridays: Going out to eat

2012-01-20T05:00:00.000-08:00

One question that I get asked on a consistent basis regarding the boys' food allergies is "How do you go out to eat?"

The answer: Very carefully.

We have two restaurants that we frequent pretty consistently: Jason's Deli (which I believe is a chain and I highly recommend it) and Chipotle (who doesn't love them some Chipotle, right?). I did my research ahead of time. Most restaurants (even fast food restaurants) have allergen information on their websites. But don't assume anything is safe...for instance, McDonald's frozen lemonade contains milk! Allergyeats.com is another good website for searching too.

I know what we can get at Jason's Deli and Chipotle, and as importantly, I trust them. I know how they prepare food and I don't have to worry about cross-contamination. (Much. I always worry about cross-contamination, but that's what allergy mommas do.)

But when we get invited to a restaurant or birthday party, we have a system. I used to worry about matching L's food as closely as possible to what everyone else would be eating. But I learned that L has a few old faithfuls that he would prefer to eat over anything anyone else is eating. Our biggest go-to is a peanut (or almond) butter and jelly. I feel zero guilt about it because we get the peanut butter with two ingredients (peanuts and sea salt) and all natural fruit spread.

Sometimes I've tried to make L pizza for pizza parties, etc., but he typically requests a PB&J. The best thing we did was find something that he loves that gives us no guilt. Seriously...L eats those almost every single day for lunch.

We have a fabulous gluten-free bakery not too far from us that we stock up on pre-made cupcakes. We keep one or two in the freezer at school for impromptu class parties and always bring one of those (or a homemade cupcake or brownie) to family celebrations in restaurants so when desserts are served, L doesn't feel left out.

And we bring food everywhere we go. I mean everywhere. And when I say food, I mean lots of it. Snacks are as important additions to the diaper bag as wipes. Maybe more so. I try to keep lots on hand so he can have a choice, and include things like individually wrapped fruit leathers, Pure protein bars, individual bags of potato chips, gluten-free cereal in baggies, trail mix.

Is it all sunshine and roses all the time? No. Fairly often, L will look at me and say, "When I get bigger I won't be allergic to anything and I can eat _____________, right, Mommy?" And every time he says that, I feel that dagger twist in my heart a bit. But it could be so much worse. I know this. And L is amazingly understanding that those foods will make him very sick. He knows just how bad they make him feel. So he knows it isn't even worth it. Wise beyond his years, that one.

I remember feeling so much negativity regarding packing up the food and making the lunches and always throwing food together. But it's gotten easier and easier. These days, I can get lunches made in a matter of minutes. I can throw a diaper bag together without even thinking about it. We know where to go to get "special treats," as we call them, for L.

The other important thing to note is that once you start researching foods (and you will, with a child with food allergies), you might want to adopt their diet. I used to say I'd never go gluten-free, until I did it. Knowing what I know about food, I can say with honesty that I don't miss my beloved McDonald's cheeseburgers or Taco Bell meximelts. Now the pasta and Italian bread, however...sigh.

If you have any specific questions, don't hesitate to e-mail me at namastebyday@gmail.com

Namaste!

The Key to Life

2012-01-19T06:37:00.000-08:00

I really like the Word of 2012 Train. I don't usually follow the internet/bloggy trends, but I'm a word nerd (hello, speech-language pathologist) here and I love the idea of something to focus on. God knows anything to help my distractability is a good thing.

But as I read other people's eloquent posts on their Words of 2012, I wasn't sure what mine should be. I'd love to say it's focus. Or calm. Or something along those lines.

However, I am one of those people whose minds never.turns.off. Ever. I prefer to go to sleep listening to mindless chatter on television because otherwise my mind races, scanning my to-do list, coming up with new worries, and just thinking-thinking-thinking.

So as much as I'd like to say I'm going to have a quiet mind; a focused life...let's be honest. It's not gonna happen. Yet. We'll shoot for that in 2013.

But as I struggled with every single balance pose in my Power Yoga class the other night, it hit me. Balance.

That's exactly what I struggle with but what I think is a reachable goal. While balance is the hardest part of yoga for me, it isn't just me holding a perfect dancer pose. As Kim reminded me the other night, "real yoga happens on the street, not just in the studio." And that is true. Reason #206980236 why I love yoga.

Like most other people, when I make a resolution, I break it. Because I feel like I fail the first time l lose my temper or don't stay organized or religiously keep up with my workouts or floss my teeth every single day. I tend to be impulsive and dramatic, so once I screw up, I throw my goal out the window. After all, I've already failed.

But balance? That's something to strive for. It lends itself to success, because if I'm starting to get lazy, I'll allow myself those five more minutes of ridiculous reality tv, then get my butt to the gym. And I still am rocking it out, even though I sat on the couch for an hour. (And five minutes.)

Being present with my kids is something I want to work on, but I feel like the balance thing helps with that. I'm going to probably get a few judgies thrown my way for saying this, but sometimes I just need to escape to the internet for a while, while G eats a snack or L watches an episode of Curious George. I need my down time too, especially on the days when the whining is epic and I'm PMS-ing and dealing with a trying day at work. But balancing that with the presence is what seems healthiest to me.

I can apply this to everything in my life. Balance cooking with bringing home Chipotle once a week. Balance frustration with gratitude. Balance keeping my house neater with not stressing when it looks like a tornado ripped through it.

And if I make progress on the mat as well, and I learn to rock out the standing split/revolved half moon/warrior III poses? Bonus.

After all...

Namaste'.

(Not really) Wordless Wednesday: Ask and you shall receive.

2012-01-18T06:59:00.000-08:00

I'm granting your wish. Voila...my two pictures from my movie that I posted about HERE. Sorry about the quality. They are pictures of pictures taken on my phone.

Me with Zachery Ty Bryan (yes, the oldest son from Home Improvement) and two of the actual soccer players (who played different parts in the movie).

Swooning over Louis Mandylor. Did I tell you that he told me that I was beautiful? And blew me kisses (unscripted, thankyouverymuch, during the wedding scene)? Sigh.

When I get discovered, you can say you read my blog way back when. Namaste.

Like nails on a chalkboard

2012-01-17T06:43:00.000-08:00

I tend to be a bit sensory defensive (as well as sensory seeking). And lately, I've noticed that my sensory issues have been extra crazy lately. I have theories on why; I've wondered if it's due to hormone changes from ending breastfeeding or slowly introducing gluten/dairy back into my diet to prepare for our trip.

Regardless, I've felt like my sensory system is completely whacked out as of late. I've always hated touching cotton balls and last night, after some dental work, I was whining to B about the fact that I had to bite!cotton!ew!! and it turned into a discussion about my sensory issues.

I told him that I recently have developed a hate of construction paper. I don't like even touching it but folding it or cutting it...ugh...just the thought of it gives me the heebie jeebies. B just couldn't understand it. He claims he has no sensory issues. When I asked him if there was really nothing that is like nails on a chalkboard to him, he replied, "Oh, yeah, I don't like nails on a chalkboard."

Sigh. Men. So I turned to my trusty Twitter and asked for empathy. And goodness, did I get it. Girls told me of their hate for chalk, brown paper towels, glass, cotton balls. In addition to the construction paper, I have all those too. Oh, and anything gritty... water chestnuts, watermelon, pears...blech. I'm also don't like many ball-point pens. *shudder*

The only things I didn't relate to was the sound of someone brushing their teeth, styrofoam, and elevator buttons.

However, this discussion was fascinating to me, although I got so shivery that I couldn't even keep track of who I replied to on Twitter. Just thinking about those things not only made my skin crawl, but clearly affected my mental capacity. Like I said, sensory issues. Big ones.

So tell me: what makes your skin crawl? I really want to know.

Namaste.

Messy Mom Mondays Take One

2012-01-16T17:04:00.000-08:00

I saw the Messy Mom Monday posts hosted by my girls Jess and Brittany today and I thought that I could ROCK this linkup. If they thought their houses were messy, I'd help a sister out and show them the disgustingness that was my crib.

And cringing, I took some pics. Nervously, sure I'd lose followers if I posted them, I e-mailed them to myself.

By some stroke of (good?) (bad?) luck, when I checked my email, they didn't send correctly. And I deleted them as I sent them. But I promise you they were doozies.

I'm talking pics of the highchair in our bedroom because I stuck G in there so I could get a shower.

And a big bag of toys that have been sitting on a kitchen chair for a month, waiting to donate them to our church's nursery.

There was a picture of our unmade bed with two baskets of unfolded laundry on it.

Dishes in the sink. An applesauce container on the counter. A cluttered kitchen table. While I'm not dirty, I am supah messy. Always have been, always will be. It does get to the point that it bothers me, like today. But I am just so stinkin' disorganized that I can't even pretend to be one of those bloggers with a perfect house, even for a day. Sigh.

Fortunately for you I got a few pictures to prove it....

This is my dresser. These books have been sitting there for a week because I keep forgetting to bring them to work. The water bottle should have made its way to the kitchen but I guarantee I got distracted by something shiny. The makeup has its own story behind it, also ADD-related.

***

My bathroom sink. I have the ever present bobby pins, a foot file that G stole out of my shower, an overflowing trash can, my favorite necklace that I took off last night, and more. Lucky for you, this shot doesn't show the dirty clothes on the floor.

Ah, the piece de resistance. My lovely, pretending to be organized space saver. Nice, huh? Oh yes, we live like that.

Well, LIVED. I was off work today and I completed four huge organizational tasks. I cleaned out my craft corner in the basement. That would have been a shocking before/after photo post. Holy cow, was that a mess. I am very grateful to the kind stranger at Hobby Lobby who gave me a 40% off coupon, enabling me to buy an organization system. My husband told me he got all tingly when he saw it. The man is a sucker for organization.

I also cleaned out and reorganized our hall closet, as well as my top nightstand drawer, which each deserve their own posts.

And before you start thinking I'm knocked up again, just don't. I know for sure that I'm not. I am here to tell you that having three weeks to get your house on the market will send you into an even more powerful nesting mode than when you have a giant belly. Trust me.

But the biggest organization I did today? Remember that nasty space saver that I cannot believe I posted? Check it out now.

Voila!

If this didn't make you feel good enough about your own home, just wait till next week when I plan to blog my classroom/desk/workspace. Messy doesn't begin to describe it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have more organizing to do.

Namaste.

I Met Gerard. Yes, that one. And it didn't go well.

2012-01-15T19:56:00.001-08:00

I am the most starstruck person I know.

You know those people who see a celebrity and jump up and down and cry? That's me. There's a couple things about myself that embarrass me, and this is one of them. It's ridiculous how starstruck I am.

Want to know a secret? It's because I swear I could have been an actress. I seriously think I narrowly missed being discovered and my acting skills are equal to that of some of those Hollywood starlets.

And it's quite possibly because my 8th grade speech team skills were stellar. Because clearly, that's a logical link between speech meet trophy winner and movie star.

Like I said, it's ridiculous.

Have I ever blogged about the year my neighbor was a local newscaster? That I went out to meet him in a BIKINI to get his attention because he was ON TV?

Oh, you read that right. While the weatherman isn't going to make me pee my pants like, say, Ellen DeGeneres would, I still have a bit of starstruckness for him.

Pathetic. Right here.

This starstruckness started early. Once, as a kid, I saw John Goodnman at a church picnic. I stared at him for hours. He waved to me, and lots of people were approaching him, having casual conversations with him. I just stared.

Another time, I met Keanu Reeves. I blogged about what an idiot I was a while back (if you didn't read my post about that, my eloquent one-liner was "Can I hug you?").

I also met Gerard Butler. And that is more embarrassing than my other two encounters put together. He was an extra in my movie. My movie is The Game of Their Lives, which unfortunately went straight to DVD. When I found out a movie was coming to my town when I was 24, looking for ethnic-looking Italian girls and was being filmed in the summer when I had absolutely no responsibilities (I had just gotten divorced), I was first in line.

Literally. I rounded up two of my friends and we got to the casting call that began at 8 am at 5 am. You better believe we were first in line, armed with snacks and bottled water and magazines and snapshots of ourselves and lots of coffee.

After waiting impatiently all day and wondering aloud if there would be a celebrity surprise appearance (a girl can dream), I made my way to the front of the auditorium. I filled out the sheet with my basic information, enthusiastically noting I'd cut or dye my hair if requested.

A couple weeks later, I got a phone call. Although my friends weren't going to be joining me, I! Was! Going! To! Be! A! MOVIE STAR!!!

The first night we filmed a wedding scene. I got hair and makeup done, and in the dress that I had previously scored in the wardrobe department. I thanked my lucky stars that this was set in 1950 and the hair, makeup, and bright red lipstick was beyond adorable. And the strapless, red-flowered a-line dress? I may have asked if I could keep it.

As I type this, I shed a tear over the fact that I only have two photos from that day. At one point, I had a whole album and I would pay to know where it is. Even more sadly, I didn't get a picture of the one person I should have. Sigh. I'm skipping ahead.

I met Louis Mandylor as he was exiting his trailer and I got a picture with him. I hadn't even seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding but the excitement regarding him from the women who were exras was palpable and contagious. He had that movie star way about him, and he told me I was beautiful, so obviously I fell instantly in love with him.

He also blew me kisses during filming. Sigh.

(Yes. I am serious. Like I said. Embarrassing.)

Filming the movie was fun. There was a lot of dancing in heels. I don't wear heels and I can't dance to save my life but I danced my ass off to stay in that scene. And it worked.

During one of the many, many breaks during filming, a man walked up to me. Although he was a good 30 years older than me, it wasn't weird that he just wanted to chat. Hanging out with that group of extras was like an Italian family's wedding reception. Everyone is loud and funny and affectionate. It makes for easy conversations with anyone, regardless of gender or age.

So this man approached me and said, "You havin' fun?"

And I started jabbering on about how amazing this was, and that this was my dream!come!true! And that I was just so, so happy that I got this opportunity.

The Man Who Could Have Been My Uncle chuckled and told me to follow him, where we'd go meet the casting director, who was his good friend. As we walked her way, he explained that they were looking for Sicilian-looking girls for another day of filming and he thought I might fit the bill.

As we walked toward the tall, blonde, sharp-looking director, she was already sizing me up. The man introduced her to me, she looked me up and down, and then said, "What're you doing Wednesday night?" Nothing would have been important enough to even pretend my schedule wasn't open. She invited me back and I giddily accepted.

Wednesday evening, filming was scheduled to be in a local grade school cafe-gym-atorium. I entered, this time, was dressed in a much more plain, albeit cute, gray cotton dress. Still ecstatic, I got my makeup done, begging for gossip from the makeup artists. Conspiratorially, they whispered that Gerard Butler was going to make an appearance tonight.

"Who?" I asked. At the time, his biggest films were Tomb Raider and Phantom of the Opera, neither of which I'd seen, so I hadn't heard of him.

Sure enough, when he walked in the door, I had to ask what all the buzz was about. When he approached MY table, I wasn't in danger of crying, fainting, or wetting myself since I wasn't familiar with him. Yet when he sat down and started a conversation with me, I still managed to make an ass out of myself even though I didn't realize it until years later.

He asked about me, and I asked about Angelina Jolie. (In my defense, this was in the pre-Jennifer era.)

He asked what I did for a living, and I answered that I was a speech-language pathologist, but that he should really tell me about Hollywood. And Angelina.

He insisted that my life was more interesting; that my job was rewarding and his was not; that he wanted to know about me.

And? I BLEW HIM OFF. AGAIN.

And then it was time for the extras to take our sets and I walked away from that beautiful man who now makes my heart beat a little faster, who B refers to as my "boyfriend." I walked away from him, accent and all.

And then? And then??

Months after we got one of the few sneak previews of the movie in the theater, and I waited and waited for it to come to the theaters (it never did), B had a special surprise one night when I came over to his apartment to hang out.

The Miracle Match. Oh, it was the same movie but with a different title. That should have been my first hint that it had some major changes.

You know, like completely cutting out both scenes that I saw myself in in the theater.

Womp, womp, womp.

I think I deserve a second chance at being an extra. I only have room for improvement.