itsme.

I've moved....

2011-06-15T19:37:00.001-05:00

You can now find itsme. here.

I am still working on setting that up over there.

Please let me know what you think.

Old People Say the Darndest Things

2011-06-11T11:02:00.005-05:00

For those of you that don't know, I work at an independent/assisted living facility. I work with the assisted living residents. Most of them have some form of memory loss. Every Friday here on my blog I am sharing some of the funny things they say. I am a day late this week because I participated in Blog Boycott Day (which was tons o' fun!)

And it improved my Klout score.

But I digress.

Here is one of the funnies from my week at work. Enjoy!

Evidence suggests that your brain is like a muscle and benefits from exercise. Many of the brain exercises I do with my residents involve short term memory practice. I try and test their short term memory every day. Some days are better than others.

This week we played a game I used to play with my children when they were younger. Actually, we play this game still. Here's how it works. The first person in the game starts with "We are going to the beach (on a trip, camping, whatever) and I am bringing..."

In the game the first person has to bring something that starts with the letter A. The next person has to bring something that starts with the letter B and they have to repeat the letter A item. The third person has to bring something that starts with a C, has to repeat B and A and so on down through the alphabet. When you get to Z you have to repeat every single thing that has been brought, starting with the letter A.

It is a great brain workout and I encourage everyone to try it. The kids love it because quite often, they are better at it than the parents. All our children are in their teens or older and on the rare times that we play they still enjoy it...it's great on long car trips.

Working your brain now can slow down memory loss later. For the love of your brain, play this game today. (That's my soapbox stand. I'm done.)

The residents and I have been talking about family vacations because it's June and lots of people go on vacation in June AND there's a bonus, reminiscing is an excellent brain exercise. I decide to use this same theme in the alphabet remembering game. Sans the alphabet part. I start off with "We are all going on a beach vacation and we have to pack our suitcase. Madge, what will you bring?"

Madge will bring a blanket.

I go over with everyone that Madge is bringing a blanket for us to sit on.

"Doris, we are going on a beach vacation, Madge is bringing a blanket, what are you bringing?"

Doris is going to bring a bathing suit. In order to make the remembering easier I turn it into an 'itsy bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow polka dot bikini.' Because unique items are easier to remember...sometimes. "Doris, you are bringing an itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow polka dot bikini, what is Madge bringing?" Doris can't remember, someone else helps her remember and we continue, repeating the whole routine with each item as it is added.

Adding to the list. Remembering. Adding to the list. Remembering.

My addition of the itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny? No, it did not help. But we sang the answer every time and they enjoyed that.

More often than not it is the group remembering rather than each individual, but slowly more and more residents can recall items we started with because they have been repeated enough times.

And the game goes on.

Barry is bringing booze.

Marty is bringing snacks.

Each time I have the group start over at what Madge brought. I also begin with "We are going on a beach vacation and we need to pack a suitcase, what will you bring to the beach?" I use clues, hand gestures and anything I can think of to make the game successful for all participants.

It is a tedious game for me. Internally I am disbelieving that they can so quickly forget things and I get frustrated. Externally I play the eternally patient teacher. Then, when they do remember, and recognize that they remember, the look of success on their faces makes me ashamed of my impatience.

The game has progressed and I have asked about seven people what they are bringing. We are experiencing more and more successful recall. I see Hermione in the back waving her hand at me. "Hermione, we are going on a beach vacation, what are you bringing?" I think she is excited because she has something great to contribute. She waves me over, indicating she wants to speak privately.

As I lean in to hear what she has to say she whispers "I hate to tell you this but, I am not going to be able to go on this trip, I have family coming into town. You all are going to have to go without me."

About three hours later Hermione pulls me aside again and asks, "Are you all packed for the trip?"

Be Popular

2011-06-10T07:29:00.005-05:00

I am joining the popular people. (They are also smart, funny and good looking.) You can be popular too. Head on over to a bell, a bean and a chicago dog for fun and frolic on Twitter! (also some great info on Klout...what is it, do you have it, how do you get more?)

And there's a rumor that you can get free wine!

Enjoy your blogboycottday!

The Brain in Rehab

2011-06-07T20:53:00.005-05:00

Yesterday we learned about the downward spiral of eating carbs.

Today we discover there is a way out.

The first step towards recovery is admitting there is a problem.

I admit there is a problem. (ie you haven't seen your toes in over a year, you can't bend over to tie your own shoes, the dryer continually shrinks your favorite shorts, your wedding band is getting smaller or the scale accidentally fell into the garage and got crushed.)

The second step requires overpowering the brain. My theory is that we tend to do the same thing over and over because it is comfortable. We tend to stay in our comfort zone. If carbohydrates have been our food of choice we automatically think 'carbs' when we think of eating. We have to change our way of thinking. This requires a conscious decision to stop. think. and choose to do something different. Quite often we are so tired or busy or rushed, that this simple act is too much.

If you want to beat the carb spiral you must change the way you look at carbs. (ie duct tape pound cake to your fanny and see what that looks like. Ask someone to videotape you as you walk away. Pound cake fanny ain't pretty. Attach Oreo cookies, in stacks of threes, around your midsection, put on your favorite t-shirt and tell me that looks good. Fill a large ziploc bag (make sure it is sealed tightly) with jelly. Attach it to your midsection then have someone videotape you while you do some jumping jacks. Play it back in slow motion, concentrating on the movement of the jelly. Remind you of Santa? That's hot....not.)

The change starts at the grocer. Do not buy the stuff you really want. I don't care if it is on sale. I don't care if they are giving it away. I don't care if someone is paying you to take it home. No cookies. No ice cream. No white bread. No white potatoes. No corn. No doughnuts. No candy. No cake. If the outside of the box says Little Debbie, don't buy it.

If it's not in the house, you can't eat it. And I hear you saying 'But the children'...horse manure! You are not thinking of the children, you are using them to get that food in the house. YOU ARE AN ADDICT. Don't listen to yourself. I practice tuning myself out all the time, it works. Besides the children don't need it either, if they want it, they can eat it at a friends house (this works two fold. One, you don't have it in the house. Two, since the children ONLY eat that crap, they will be at a friends house ALOT, which means you have gotten rid of the children too!)

I don't like this any better than you do. It hurts me more than it hurts you. I am doing this for your own good.

So what can you buy? Whole grain bread. It actually has nutrients in it. Your body does not convert it into sugar AND it will actually keep you fuller longer. It is delicious toasted. Slap on some all fruit jelly and you have yourself a snack that satisfies a sweet craving. Better yet, top it with some natural peanut butter and you have a filling afternoon snack that curbs your hunger, gets you through to the next meal and you just decreased your risk for heart disease.

Get this, soluble fiber has an attraction to fat. Yes, it likes to date the fat that is in your intestines. As the soluble fiber (found in whole grains) scoots on through your intestines it is picking up every loose (as in floozy) fat cell it can and carries it right out with it. Fat is an easy pick up. It has nothing better to do, it gladly hooks up with the fiber and out they go. Bonus right? Eating whole grains gets rid of fat. In medical terms this is lowering your LDL (bad cholesterol).

We can still have pasta, but now it's whole wheat pasta. Yes it's different than regular pasta, but if you eat it with the idea that it IS different, that it won't taste like white pasta; if you admire it for its nutty, al dente feel, you will find it is quite acceptable. And it too is carrying those fat cells right on out the exit ramp of your body.

The highway to well if you will.

Again, I am not a doctor but based on what I've read and experienced, this could work. My plan is to eat five to eight servings of veggies and fruits (not all fruits!) a day. Not to eat anything white. And, if I have made healthy choices all. day. long. If I am honest with myself and I have truly been good, I can have a cookie, or some ice cream or some other treat at the end of the day. Half a serving size. This way, I can still have my goodies and not feel deprived. Deprivation is death to any diet. By the way, this is not a diet, it's a lifestyle change.

It is empowering. I have control over what I eat now. My brain is no longer the boss of me...wait, does that make sense?

I know what you are thinking. This plan is brilliant right? Simple right? Anyone can do this, right? You want to pay me lots of money to help you do this right? No? Okay, skip that one but to continue, you are asking 'Why didn't someone come up with this already?' They did!

It's the food pyramid.

And it's free. All you need is a wife that is on board with it and willing to prepare all your meals for you. Let's get started....

Wait...

The Downward Spiral of Carb Use

2011-06-07T05:32:00.004-05:00

This household needs a dietary shake up. Bob and I are always talking about, FOREVER talking about getting healthy. We both have body issues. One of us is gaining (has gained) some weight. One or both of us is getting older, which leads to softer.

Our original plan included buying loads of exercise equipment, reading up on exercising and getting a couple of exercise videos. Unfortunately just owning them has not benefited us. Apparently you have to use the stuff you buy. Hence the garage sale we had two weeks ago...that stuff took up a lot of room.

Meanwhile there is very little weight loss going on. As the head chef in the household my job is to prepare healthful meals. Being vegetable challenged makes this job difficult enough. Add to that the fact that Bob and our youngest daughter have decided carbs are the enemy and it is pert near impossible. (Yes, I said pert near.)

Currently, anything you read these days will support the 'carbs are bad' theory. I am no doctor but will attempt to explain the vicious cycle of eating carbs. This is a realistic dramatization. It is not pretty. Graphic details may be involved. You have been warned.

Carbs act as a sugar in your body. They give you energy, but if you don't use all that energy then the leftover sugar is stored as fat. If you eat cereal for breakfast, potato chips or white bread for lunch and pasta for dinner (and who doesnt'?) chances are carbs could be contributing to your weight gain and general poor health.

The reality is carbs are like cocaine for your body. You ingest a high carbohydrate meal, your body gloms on to all that sugar (insulin) your organs get a rush of energy and they are pretty dang excited for this. They are revved and ready to go. But, the brain is the ultimate control freak. It says to your organs we are not going anywhere, I have to work behind my desk. Or sit in class. Or spend two hours on Facebook. Or lay in bed and watch horribly sad movies on Lifestyle channel. Most often this latter activity is done while consuming more carbs.

Not that I know from personal experience.

The brain is like a sick drug pusher. It lives to control. It encourages the eating of more carbs. It loves the taste of ice cream. It adores a delectable loaf of garlic bread. And pasta? The brain is convinced it is Italian and must consume pasta daily or its old Italian grandmother is going to come over and box it around the ears. (The brain is a big talker, but throw an itty bitty Italian grandmother in the mix and it changes it's tune.)

Meanwhile, the poor organs are suffering. The constant up and down rush that carbs is handing out is taking it's toll. Heart disease, diabetes and death are their future. But the selfish brain doesn't care man, it says "More cookies please!" The hand is a helpless middleman. Eventually the organs are addicted. They now signal the brain for the need of more, more and more carbs.

The brain has created a monster.

What the brain fails to realize is without the organs it will not survive.

Sadly, most brains don't realize this until one of the organs is hospitalized.

Once hospitalization occurs the brain is full of remorse. Apologies are offered up to all the organs, not just the injured one. Promises are made. A new resolve is found. In lieu of flowers, the brain brings fresh vegetables, the organs laugh and see the desire to change is there, eventually they all go home. The brain discovers there are Good carbs and Bad carbs and starts to reform.

And after a few blissful days the brain says, "We've been good for a whole month! Let's celebrate with cake."

Problem is, there isn't enough cake in Texas to satisfy the craving the brain has. Sadly, the organs have been going through some tough withdrawal symptoms, they too, want the cake.

And there you have it. Promises made are long forgotten. Jokes are made. "Remember that time we had vanilla yogurt with a little chocolate syrup on it and pretended it was dessert?"

Intervention is needed.

Tomorrow "The Brain in Rehab" will chronicle the life changes needed in order for the organs to survive. Will the brain succeed? Is it too late already? DOES THIS MEAN WE CAN NO LONGER HAVE COOKIES?

Old People Say the Darndest Things

2011-06-03T07:33:00.003-05:00

This week on 'Old People Say the Darndest Things'.

Mr. Myerson* has a great sense of humor. Whenever we chat he always leaves me with a smile on my face.

Yesterday Mr. Myerson was leaving the dining room after lunch and as he walked by something fell on the floor. It was a sock. As I turn to call him I am taking an inventory, he has both shoes on and both socks, I have no idea where this sock could have come from and am trying to stop my brain from thinking about this too much.

Just as I say his name, he is turning, looking at the floor, feeling around his midsection apparently he noticed the sock was missing.

I have picked it up and am holding it out to him and before I can say "Did you drop this?" He takes it from me and says, "Yes, it's mine, I am not going to explain." He turns and continues up to his room. Leaving me looking blankly at him before I scurry in to the bathroom to wash my hands.

Old people say the darndest things.

*Names have been changed for job security.

My Hairdresser

2011-06-02T06:46:00.008-05:00

What is it with women and their loyalty to their hairdresser?

I have been going to my hairdresser for about ten years. I met Leslie when she was working as a teacher at a nearby beauty school. I went to the beauty school because my friend George needed a guinea pig. He did not say he needed a guinea pig, he said he needed a model. To be asked to be a model put stars in my eyes and I said yes.

George was fifty when he decided to go to beauty school. He is a happily married Catholic man. Totally not what one would envision when one hears 'male hairdresser'. It was kind of comical to see George cutting hair amongst all his fellow classmates. All twenty something women with wild hairdos and wilder hair colors and George. George is a bit over weight and six feet tall with a buzz cut. Like a giant among the fairies. (Fairies-again, not talking about your typical male hairdresser.)

As I sat down it was apparent that George was a little nervous. He helped calm me right down by confessing that he had no intention of ever cutting a woman's hair once he had his license and he was only doing this because it was required to get his certificate. He also appeased my fears by saying the owner of the school was in today and she was especially hard on him and he was so nervous he was shaking a little bit. Thanks George.

Much to my relief Leslie realized all this about George and kept close during the entire ordeal...er...cut. As a matter of fact, she did most of it. It was a great cut. George got kudos from all the little fairies and the wicked school owner was also impressed. He got his license and has happily been doing men's hair in a little shed in his backyard for the last ten years. He converted the shed into a small shop, by himself, except for the plumbing. Again, breaking the 'male hairdresser' mold.

I got Leslie's card before I left and have been going to her for cut and color for the same ten years.

But.

Leslie is good. She opened her own shop. Her new shop was closer to a larger town which meant I had to drive about thirty minutes to get there. As a successful and in demand hairdresser she is allowed to charge outrageous prices. Cut and color was over one hundred bucks. But I couldn't leave because I was pretty sure a new girl would never ever be able to do my hair the way I liked it. The way Leslie did it.

About three months ago Leslie moved her shop even further away. It was too far for me. I could not go back, the cost of gas plus the cut and color, it's money I couldn't justify spending anymore. I was going to have to buck up and find a new hairdresser.

It had been three months since my last hair cut. I have very short hair, I started to look like a ragamuffin. A girlfriend suggested I try a shop right in town. She goes there. She has cute hair. I'll try it. The sign says walk ins welcome. They could take me right away and I won't have time to chicken out and will have a new hair cut for better or worse in an hour or less.

I walk in. There are two hairdressers, both older than me. There are three customers...all much older than me. I have a sinking feeling. This is an old lady salon! Fortunately they don't have an opening right now. So I make the appointment for a week later . Cut and color because I have no intention of coming back. But she asks for my phone number. I cannot think fast enough to give her the wrong number.

I leave with a feeling of doom hanging over my head. I am going to have to get my hair cut at the old lady salon. Everyone knows old lady stylists only know how to cut old lady hair, I did not want an old lady haircut!

I spent the entire week in various states of panic but my out of control hair got the best of me. People were starting to wonder if I was going back to my natural color (brown with a lot of gray). I have to try someone new sooner or later. When I show up it is the same two hairdressers and no one else. It was 1:30 in the afternoon for crying out loud, where are the other customers? I am now thinking this place is so bad they don't have customers. But I suck it up and go sit in the chair. I show her pictures of me from three months earlier so she could see how my hair is supposed to look.

We do color first. I am okay with this. I can deal with bad color, you just color over it. As I am under the dryer I have my eyes closed. My new stylist checks the color and says 'I see you are enjoying some nice quiet time.' I did not tell her I had my eyes closed because I was earnestly praying that my hair wouldn't be horrible when I left there.

She pulls me out from under the dryer and as I sit in the chair again I see the color is fabulous. She put in more high lights than I normally get but I really liked them. She also added a bit more red...which I had been thinking about doing for the last three months. Hmmm...this might be okay.

I only had one moment of panic, she took off about three inches of hair, she was cutting the back REALLY short and I realized there was no going back now. I had visions of old lady hair on my head. I couldn't breathe for a minute. My heart was racing. I thought about bolting to the front door. My legs don't work. I am stuck in the chair. Frozen with fear.

I got through it.

She finished. I loved it. It's a wee bit shorter than I usually wear it, but a good cut. I left paying about fifty dollars less than I would have spent with Leslie. I am very relieved. I even scheduled my next appointment.

Sitting in the chair with Leslie we didn't talk too much. After the normal pleasantries were exchanged it was mostly her talking to the other young stylists in the salon about their partying weekends. They had no children, they had puppies. They had long weekends in a hotel in Chicago with a bunch of friends. Their banter often made me feel uncool and old.

I realized as I sat comfortably chatting away with my new stylist that I had calmed down and was enjoying our conversation. This woman and I had children around the same age, life experiences that were similar and we both loved the food network. We had a lot in common.

Earlier I wrote that I feared this was an 'old lady salon'. I think it is a ' happy, satisfied, lived life with gusto, food network watching, glad the kids are older, mature woman' salon.

And I fit right in.

Thank You

2011-05-30T10:01:00.004-05:00

Ahhh yes, it's finally a three day weekend. Everyone can plan picnics, break out the grill, do some yard work and enjoy the fact that Sunday night isn't really Sunday night because we get Monday off.

But why do we have the day off? Did the government decide that after a long winter we all need a three day weekend to officially kick off summer?

No.

Maybe some 'higher up type' owns a boat. He realized it is impossible to prepare your vessel for voyage in two days. You need two days just to get the dang thing seaworthy after its long winter's nap. You need the third day to be able venture out on the open seas. And drink beer.

No, that's not it either.

It wasn't a banker that needed a day off or a way for stores to empty the last bits of winter wear.

It wasn't an uprising in the mail room for a two day weekend. Those people never get a two day weekend, postal workers go postal for a reason. Where most people only have five days to get all their work done, postal workers have six. This allows them to move at the speed of molasses in January and still get their job done. Since they have a monopoly on the letter delivering business they can make us wait as long as they want because really, where else are we going to go?

But I digress.

Memorial Day was made to commemorate all the soldiers that died while in military service. All the Service Members who sacrificed their lives for their country.

I know, I bring it up and it's quite a buzz killer isn't it? It was much more fun to rip the post office.

It's easier to enjoy the barbecue, the friends and family and a game of bag-o than to take a moment to honor those that were killed giving us our many freedoms because it's a downer. But do it. Stop for one moment and give them the thoughts they deserve. The men and women who served of course, but don't forget the mothers, wives, sons and daughters that will be visiting a grave site today.

Remembering a man or woman.

A man or woman that spent Memorial Day weekends with them once upon a time.

A man or woman that danced, laughed, barbecued, boated, loved and stood in line at the post office. A man or woman who now leaves an empty space at dinner, in bed, at a wedding, at a graduation or at a party.

Thank you to all the families who have to remember today and thank you to all the military men and women who gave their lives for my continued freedoms.

Old People Say the Darndest Things

2011-05-27T20:22:00.002-05:00

I work with the elderly. Most of them have some form of dementia or memory loss. I have blogged about this before here. These people make me laugh everyday. Sometimes on purpose. Sometimes not. I tell stories about my day at work to friends and family and they continually say I should compile all these stories and make a book.

Instead I thought I would try a regular feature here on itsme. and once a week have a post "Old People Say the Darndest Things." I'm going to try and do this every Friday.

All names will be changed to protect the innocent. And for job security.

Hermione falls asleep in her chair for all activities. I am constantly trying to figure out ways to keep her awake. Poking, rubbing, prodding and making her participate in exercise. If she sleeps all morning she has trouble sleeping at night. If she can's sleep at night, she sleeps all morning. It's a vicious circle.

The other day she complained of being cold so I said if we exercise it will warm her up.

We started marching . This is seated marching. Most of these people need assistance to walk so our exercise is done sitting.

I said "Hermione, your feet aren't moving. You've got to move your feet to warm up."

H: "They are moving."

Me: "I'm looking right at your two feet and they are not moving."

H: "Well where are me feet then? The ones I'm looking at are moving."

Old people say the darndest things.

ABC 123

2011-05-26T20:52:00.003-05:00

I keep jumping from thought to thought tonight but I am going to go with it.

I wanted this post to be about my math skills...or lack of math skills. But when I wrote ABC 123 to title it all I could think about was the Michael Jackson song. I even sang it and googled the lyrics. I wondered if other people also thought of Michael when they read the title or if my thinking is just 'special'. I really am curious. Did anyone else think of Michael Jackson when they saw that title?

Next thought.

I used that title because my inability to do math had to do with learning styles, which took me to school. I pictured ABC 123 written in chalk on a black board. I saw it as a border around a grade school classroom, with a ruler, a pencil and an apple thrown in. Sometimes the apple had a happy little worm in it wearing glasses. Now I am thinking this is confusing for young children. Later in our education we learn worms don't even have eyes. It would be more realistic if the worm were reading braille. No wonder students question everything a teacher tells them once they get to high school.

Next thought.

Back to the present, I then moved on to how to begin this post...Readin', 'Ritin', 'Rithmetic came to mind. This too is found in grade school classrooms. What the teacher SAYS is three R's all in a row are aesthetically pleasing. What I hear is it is okay to get artsy with your spelling if it looks good. But when I spell writing on my test as 'riting' it gets marked rong. I am rought with distress already and I am only in third grade.

Next thought.

When I spelled 'rithmetic above, my thoughts went to my fourth grade math teacher. She told us that a good way to always remember how to spell arithmetic was to use the first letter of each word in the sentence A Rat In The House May Eat The Ice Cream. Weird that I would remember that isn't it? To this day, I cannot see arithmetic without saying a rat in the house may eat the ice cream. I told her I thought rats were lactose intolerant. She says they don't really eat ice cream. I am thinking she should stick to math and leave the spelling to the English teacher.

Also in fourth grade we could not go outside for recess if the weather was inclement. On the bad weather days we were forced to play indoors. We often played peg leg tag.

In peg leg tag you have to pretend one of your legs can't bend. You had to limp around with a stiff leg...a peg leg. This prevented anyone from running too fast inside but allowed us to feel like we were on the edge of breaking the rules by still playing tag indoors.

I was it. I was chasing someone and tried to cut them off by squeezing through a tight little spot between the desk and a wire bookcase. The wire bookcase had two little prongs sticking out (totally would not be allowed in a classroom today but back in my day there was danger all around.) As I squeezed through, I raked my leg against the metal prong. It bled. A lot. I had to go to the nurse and when I came back from the nurses office all bandaged up I really was a peg leg. Isn't that ironic? I still have the scar.

I told you my thoughts were all over the place tonight.

Next thought.

My favorite math teacher was Mr. Kincaid. All the kids thought he was a robot. He had very few facial expressions and because he taught math he was very methodical. He never smiled. The kids logic was that robots don't have personalities, therefore he is definitely a robot.

They often joked that if someone stabbed him in the back with scissors green goo and sparks would fly out because he wasn't human. (Do you think the violent thoughts started with being tricked into thinking that worms had eyes? Me too.)

No one liked Mr. Kincaid. I adored him.I had a hard time with algebra. He worked out every single algebra problem on the board to help me understand. Because of his patience I got A's on my math tests that year. This had never happened before Mr. Kincaid and never happened after.

Next thought.

Which brings me to my original subject. I am not good with numbers. Bob, on the other hand, is. If I need some quick adding or subtracting done I just ask him and he answers. It is much quicker to ask him to do the math than to pull out my phone and use the calculator.

I made the mistake of telling Bob that doing math in your head is a good way to aid in the prevention of dementia. When I ask him a math question now, he walks me through it, like Mr. Kincaid. Because of his good motives (keeping my brain healthy) I humor him.

We were in Walgreen's the other day and Bob purchased two bottles of Niacin. Being the frugal shopper he is he was calculating the cost per day to make sure he was getting the best deal. There were 120 pills in each bottle, he takes two a day. How many months would the two bottles last him? I blurted out some number, not thinking but hoping it would be a lucky guess. He looks at me with disdain because he knows darn well I was guessing.

So now he has to 'learn' me the math. And he of course has to talk slowly so I can keep up. I am in no mood for math, I have M & M's to open, the sooner we get out of here the sooner chocolate can melt in my mouth and not in my hand. Before he can finish his 'lesson' I interrupt "Bob, 120 divided by 6 means the niacin would last you four months." He finishes his mental math and says "Wow! You did it!"I like that he is happy for my math skills but something about his tone made me think he was shocked that I could figure this out. Should I be offended?

Now with the math problem solved we continue our merry way to the check out when he stops and says "How did you divide 120 by six and come up with four?"

I quickly answer "Because of the 240." And I look at him with disdain because it was so obvious. But in my head I am panicked. He's not letting this go and I am madly trying to figure in my head how did I get four??? Now he is going to press the issue and in all honesty, I really don't know how I got the four. All happy thoughts of chocolate eating are dissipating.

He is now dissecting my logic. He is saying 120 divided by three might give me four somehow, but not six. Why did I divide anything by six?

Finally I've had enough learnin'. I stop and say "I got the right answer, does the method really matter? Why are you making me continue to think about this, the answer is four, I got it right, I passed the test, I don't have to have logic."

He says, "You have no idea how you got to four do you?"

We are so close to the register. I cannot figure out how I got four. I need to get out of this. I am so irritated by this line of questioning that chocolate is losing its appeal. So I am trying to think of a way to change the subject.

"Why do they show worms wearing glasses? Worms don't have eyes. And why would you call a really smart person a book worm? Worms don't even have brains."

Bob is easily distracted, I can see my plan is working. I throw in one last comment. "You are like a little book worm with your math skills. You are so smart. I am lucky to have a mini calculator with me all the time." I top that off with a hug.

Bait and switch. Change the subject, add a little flattery, show some love with a hug and you are in the car sharing M&M's. Math class is over.

And isn't ironic that I was used a "worm" in a "bait" and switch sting?

iPhone Apps Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

2011-05-24T06:09:00.005-05:00

I have an iPhone. I love it. I love it in a sick kind of way. Last night as I was getting ready for bed I was looking for my phone (to tuck it in before bed.) I couldn't find it. Then I realized, I had left it in the car. Egad! My first thought was theft. I often forget to lock the car. What if someone stole my phone. Panic. I rush out the door to check. Forget my keys. (Just in case I remembered to lock the car.) Don't want Bob to know I am panicked about the phone so I calmly grab them and walk, unhurriedly, out the door to the car. Impending doom looming over me. I can feel the tears building.

Once outside I race to the car door and there it is. Right where I left it. In the cup holder. Looking forlorn. No, really, it looked forlorn. Did you ever turn around in a crowded place and can't find your two year old? The panic, the fear of losing your child. But then, when you turn around to start looking and there she is, right in front of you? You know that relief that floods your body? Yes, that's what it felt like when I saw my phone.

Now you know.

Part of the reason I have such an attachment to my phone are all the great apps I have. I have several camera apps. I can do all sorts of fancy things with my photos. I can make them look old, I can color them, I can blur the edges, I can crop and I can frame. I take pictures of everything these days. Mostly the cat. I have a lot of pictures of my cat on my phone.

I also have several games. I am not going to talk too much about the games because my family thinks I may have become obsessed with some of the them. Just for the record I can go a whole day without playing Pocket Frogs.

Words with Friends is one of my favorite apps. It keeps my mind sharp. Doctors say in order to ward off dementia you should play word games. So, playing this is like filling a prescription from my doctor. Yeah, I'm going with that.

Words with Friends is just like scrabble. Only on my phone. My sister, all the way in Florida and I play. I always have a game going with her and with my sister in law. My sister in law randomly puts letters out there and uses words I have never heard of that are worth about a million points and it really irritates me. I try and make up words using high scoring letters and it just never works for me. Not sure why I play with her.

But, what I really wanted to tell you about is iMapMyRun. This little app will log my walks, runs and even my bike rides (bike rides I am gonna do, eventually). It has a GPS so it very accurately tells me how many miles I have gone. It keeps track of the miles, how long it took and what my average pace is. Then it keeps a log of all the workouts I have done.

Before this app I would walk for an hour and be certain that I had done at least six miles. I mean, my body cannot possibly feel this sore and tired unless I had done six miles.

After this app I start recording at the beginning of my walk, walk for the hour and it tells me I have gone 3.23 miles in 55:01 minutes and yes, your body CAN feel that bad despite the fact that you were crawling along at 18 minute miles.

Apparently I was getting a better exercise before this app.

I like iMapMyRun because it keeps a real record. I used to keep a written record and would often round up to the next mile (as in 3.23 miles rounds up to six miles). I would also round down to the nearest minute (as in 55:01 minutes would round down to about 40 minutes because I stopped to let the dog pee and since I wasn't moving then I could legally shave off a couple of minutes-for accuracy.)

Because it keeps a log it will list all the workouts by date. It was hard for me to look at the log and realize that my last workout was in October of 2010. Arguably, I did work out on the elliptical a few times and those workouts are not listed in the log. Both of those workouts could be entered manually but as it has been awhile I am not certain of how many workouts there were and as you can tell I am all about precision and I don't want to guesstimate. We'll just say it's been a couple few weeks since my last workout.

You might say "Teri, only serious athletes need this kind of log." And I would say, meet a serious athlete. I could even toss out something like, "I need it because I am in training for the Disney Half Marathon in January of 2012."

It would be true. Crazy but true.

Let me say it again. I signed up for the Disney Half Marathon in January of 2012. Sounds funny coming out of my mouth doesn't it?

I thought it would be a great way to force myself to get in shape. Obviously I didn't think about this long enough.

Do you know what else I thought? I thought, wouldn't it be fun to blog about this? I am telling you, this blog is causing quite an upheaval in my normally calm life.

Oh and by the way, I am not getting monetary compensation for tooting this apps horn but I am not opposed to that idea so if any of you can hook me up with someone that could get me some money for this I'd really appreciate it.

Why do I Blog?

2011-05-23T07:57:00.003-05:00

I keep coming back to why do I want to blog. So bear with me as I work this out.

I want to blog so that I can be rich and famous.

Not so rich that it takes the fun out of blogging and not so famous that my personal life is no longer mine.

Okay, okay, I realize I am not going to become rich and famous, just kidding about that. Sort of. I think everyone wants their fifteen minutes in some way shape or form. If blogging took me down the road to fame I'd be okay with that.

I want to blog as a way to journal.

Typing is so much faster for me than hand writing that the idea of a journal online was very inviting. But, I don't really want to put my internal messed up- ness out there for all the world to read.

Well, not really.

I'd gladly put all my internal chaos out there for everyone to enjoy. Judge away, that's what I say. It might make you feel better about yourself as in "Sheesh! I am not THAT screwy." Or "Whoa, talk about a whacadu." Or even. "Is this chick for real?"

But, in my journals, I am complaining. There is someone or some thing (something that someone is doing) that is eating away at me. I wouldn't be able to gripe about it or them without them knowing and inevitably someone's (several someones) feelings would be hurt. A public blog cannot be my journal.

I blog because I like to write.

Yes. That's a good one. One leetle problemo. I feel I have to come up with something interesting every single fricken day of the week! For example. I write one good blog, get a lot of positive feedback and then the next day am stymied at the key board because there is no way I am ever going to be able to write anything that good again today (maybe not ever!) and then people will know I am not that interesting and well, that is too much for my fragile self esteem to bear.

I blog because I want to be a better writer. Practice makes perfect so writing everyday is the best practice. I blog because I think there may be a book in me...if I don't ever write a book pretend I didn't say that.

I blog because I have a good sense of humor.

I am funny... LOOKING! I can find the humor in most things and I was once told that humor worked well for me as a way to deflect from what is really going on. Actually, I was told that more than once. Like that's a problem? Besides, I make you laugh, we forget we were talking about me and we can move on to you. (So tell me, what do you think about me?)

I blog because I am going through life by the seat of my pants and wonder if any others out there feel the same way. Maybe we can help each other.

I struggle with wrong and right. I struggle with God and my faith. I struggle with my children, my step children and that blended family thing. I struggle with eating vegetables. I struggle with gravity and the effect it has on my aging body. I struggle with procrastination. I struggle with alcoholism. I struggle with divorce. I struggle with my husband. I struggle with low self esteem. I struggle with depression. I struggle with money. I struggle with how many pictures of the cat on my iPhone are too many.

No, I don't struggle everyday. But stuff comes up on the radar. There are other things too but I think I will make that another blog: "101 Things I Struggle With". In bullet point.

Like everyone, I have good days and bad days. Don't get me wrong here, I know I am blessed, I don't really have any major complaints, I know there are people out there that have much greater things to struggle with. I mostly have it under control. I am mostly fine. But sometimes I hear others talking about their day to day stuff and they are struggling too.

So, I blog because of a combination of all the above. I suppose if I blog and it helps just one person get through just one bad day it will be worth it. Even if that someone is me.

(Oh, and I blog because Bob provides excellent fodder. Bob is funny....SMELLING!)

Captain Jack Sparrow

2011-05-17T21:39:00.006-05:00

Friday at Midnight. Pirates of the Caribbean Four. I. Can't. Wait.

I am Johnny Depp's biggest fan.

Well, not Johnny, I am Captain Jack Sparrows biggest fan.

I think it is the dark eyeliner.

My girls know I love Jack. My girls friends know I love Jack. My coworkers, my family and the random person at the Jewel check out line, all know, I love Captain Jack Sparrow.

I have a T-shirt that says I love him. It has little hearts on it. For emphasis.

I had my Facebook converted to pirate language for a while.

I celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day with fervor. (September 19th every year!)

I have been known to play the movie with no sound and I pretend that Jack and I are spending some time together. It makes my housework feel less like drudgery. Don't judge me.

I got a poster of Jack for my birthday one year and tacked it on the ceiling above my bed. I was in my forties. My oldest daughter walked by as as I was standing on the bed trying to hold the poster and pin it to the ceiling. She stopped, stared and said, "You are soooooo paying for my therapy."

Bob knows if he wants to woo me, all he has to do is say "Arrrrrgggggg", in his pirate accent. I melt.

One day I was walking along the beach and lo and behold who should be sitting on the beach forlornly drinking rum? Yep, it was Jack himself. He'd had a spot of bad luck and was regrouping. He asked me to join him and I couldn't say no. We spent a lovely couple of hours shootin' the breeze and drinking rum right out of the bottle. I have a picture.

Three more days.

Still Crazy After All These Years

2011-05-14T06:41:00.003-05:00

I really haven't blogged since Mother's Day. I can legally blame blogger for the last two days, as they were down. But the days before that...writer's block?

I think that my post on last Sunday was too emotionally draining. It was a bit scary to put something so personal out there. For complete strangers to see is one thing, you guys don't know me so I am sorta okay with that one but I put it out there for 'casual acquaintances' to see. You know, people I might run into at the grocery, or at work, or at my daughter's Lacrosse game. Now they know a deep dark secret about me. What if they judge?

But really, as I think about that, I am okay with that too. I realize I am not as important in other peoples lives as my ego would like to think.

I forget how emotional and squirrely I get around this time of year. They say that your life runs in a cycle. If you had an emotional trauma at one point your body will cycle through it every year around the same time. Your subconscious keeps it hidden until the anniversary . Then it surprises you with a little memory. If you are anything like me, you take that memory out and play with it until it is a full blown reliving of the event.

Not really sure if that is healthy, but that's what I do. As time goes by, I don't dance with the memory like I used to. It's no longer a month long event. It has even shrunk to less than a week, in most cases. But it is still there. Time heals all wounds but it doesn't erase them. That memory is my scar. Most scars have a story. You remember where you got your physical scars, can retell them with flourish. Of course you would remember the emotional scars too.

That blog was the first time I had ever written all that out. It's a lot. Why in a blog? I don't know, but all day it pulled at me to be written there. I wanted to write a joyous little story about a mom and her children, but that was not the story that was in me. Cathartic for me? Most definitely. But maybe my need to write it wasn't all about me. Maybe it was put in the blogosphere because someone else needed to know they weren't alone.

I blog because I have a need to write. I blog about my life because I am certain there are others out there plodding along in a similar pattern that maybe need a sign that there is another person out there crazier than them.

Nice to meet you.

That Darn Cat (again)

2011-05-14T06:34:00.003-05:00

I spent the day on Twitter yesterday.

With all the twittering and tweeting going on I think the cat was disappointed when he finally got to look at what I was doing.

Boycott

2011-05-13T17:05:00.002-05:00

Blogger was down for two days.

I could not blog.

I did the best thing I could think of.

Yes, I tweeted allllllll day. And opened a wordpress account. I will keep you posted on that one.

Meanwhile, if you want the information on #BlogBoycottDay, head on over to a belle, a bean & a chicago dog.

It's Not Just Another Mother's Day

2011-05-08T15:21:00.006-05:00

It's Mother's Day. But it is also May 8th. Let me tell you about May 8th.

Ten years ago I was riding in the front of an ambulance, speeding to the hospital with my son being worked on in the back.

The driver kept saying "Don't look back there. Face forward. They are doing everything they can."

So I was forced to watch the reflection of red and blue lights as they bounced off the side of the road. Red and blue road garbage. Red, McDonalds cup. Blue, Jewel bag. Red, clump of fallen branches. Blue, dead raccoon. Red....stop looking out the window and stare at my tear stained face reflecting back. Wondering if he will live or die.

"Don't look back there."

Escorted to the waiting room. "They are doing everything they can, it won't be pretty, you stay out here. I will be back to let you know how he's doing."

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. My God! Why can't someone come and tell me what is going on!

"They are doing the best they can. These things take time." Useless words. GET UP AND GO ASK, YOU STUPID WOMAN! I want to shake her and say "It's my son! I don't even know if he's going to live or die!" I wanted to snap her little neck and run back there myself. "Tell me something please." I am not pleading with her now. I'm pleading with the universe. Someone please hear me. Save my son, save my son, save my son.

Thirty minutes.

Forty minutes.

A lifetime.

I can't stand it here. I wander the halls. Crying. Pleading. Sending my pleas to...what? I don't know...just something. I am begging for an answer. My wandering led me to the hospital chapel. I don't belong here! God doesn't listen to me. I am an unworthy human being. God doesn't have time for people like me. In desperation, I think maybe, just maybe, He will look over my many faults, my many sins and help the child. Maybe He will save my son.

I shamelessly throw myself on the floor of the dark chapel and my lungs burst with a sob and I tell God, I can't save him. I can't do it. He is yours. He is yours if he lives, he is yours if he dies. But I can't do it anymore. I am not a good mother. I am not a good person. I want to be good. I want to be a good mother. I love my children. It's me I hate. But Lord, if you save him, just do this one thing for me, I promise, I will never drink again. And He answered. "My dear child, I have been waiting for you to find me. We will get through this together."

And I believed.

The nurse found me. Chastised me for not telling her I was going to the chapel. I didn't intend to go to the chapel, I just wandered here. "What?" she said incredulously, "No one can find the chapel here it's tucked away so well. How strange you just wandered in."

Yes, how strange.

Then she said, "Your son is asking for you."

He's alive. The doctor said he'd be fine. The pills he took wouldn't cause any lasting physical damage. "Tylenol is bad", he said, "and can cause liver damage, you can thank God he didn't take that."

My son attempted suicide. I was drunk, on the phone with my mother. "I know I have to quit drinking. I know I am an alcoholic, but I really can't get through Mother's day without a celebratory drink. I will stop after Mother's day."

God decided one more week of drinking would have been one week too many. When God wants you, He does what it takes to get you.

It's Mother's Day. It just happens to fall on May 8th this year. To have the two days on the same date is bittersweet. I'm sober and I'm a mother. Without one, there wouldn't be the other.

You Learn Something New Everyday

2011-05-07T08:49:00.000-05:00

Size matters.

When it comes to the hippocampus. (Yeah, you should feel naughty regarding your thoughts after reading that!)

The hippocampus and the limbic system in a womans brain is generally bigger than a mans. This explains why women are more capable of processing emotions into talk. Believe it or not, due to a mans smallness in that area, it takes him seven (7) hours to process complex emotional information. That's practically the whole day!

Let's say (hypothetical situation here, really, this never actually happened) a man and woman have made plans to go to the flea market for the day. Like a date. After walking hand in hand throughout the market, enjoying the warmth of the sun, laughing at little children in wagons and purchasing a new chatski for their home man and woman will stop for a nice dinner and some easy conversation. All this wooing is putting the woman in the mood and the day ends well for both.

But...

The day before said loveliness the man comes in and says "The boys are short on their foursome for tomorrow. I told them I could fill in. Is that okay?"

What?!? Hypothetical man has once again set her and her needs aside to go and play with his friends. Hypothetical woman thinks all the romance is gone from their lives, he obviously doesn't care to spend time with her, he has chosen them over her, THEY HAD A DATE. The night will not end well. Ihopeheishappynow. (Roger that!)

The woman has clearly explained why she is so upset but the man has this stupified look on his face. (Been there, seen that.)

But...

The woman is armed with the knowledge concerning his small hippocampus. And she knows.

He really is stupid.

For the next seven hours anyway.

Blogging Hazards

2011-05-05T06:33:00.004-05:00

I have only been blogging for a short while. I have been devouring blogs left and right (literally). I have found so many that I love, but find I am mostly drawn to food blogs. Most have gorgeous pictures that make me drool. I had no intention of writing a food blog and I'm still pretty certain I have no intention of writing a food blog but I can't stop thinking about food. Cooking food. Taking photos of food. Taking photos of the beautiful ingredients before making food. Writing down lists of recipes of the food I want to make. (So far I have 5439 recipes saved!)

What started as research regarding the ingredients (cooking pun intended) for a good blog has turned into a gastronomical adventure. (I think that is a combination of gastronomy and comical.) Because it is funny how I can't wait to see what the Pioneer Woman is posting today. I find it hilarious that when I go to sleep at night I can only see the beautiful picture of that darn cookie on Vanilla Sugar's blog. And isn't it a riot that I have gone to the grocery store almost every day this week to purchase ingredients for another recipe I have found and must try.

Must try right now.

The funniest part is that I now have a brownie recipe that I am creating. Yes, I am tweaking the ingredients of a recipe I found to make it mine. Like a real chef! (I need one of those tall white hats I think...no, I will stick with the tiara.) It started with these Knock you Naked Brownies. Which looked perfect the way it was, but Bob doesn't like caramel. I can't make a batch of brownies that Bob won't eat because then I am destined to eat them all by myself. (I am woman enough to take that challenge on, but my pants are feeling a little tight and I don't think they are shrinking in the wash).

I spent the better part of the morning trying to figure out what I could use instead of caramel when it hit me...sweetened condensed milk is similar in consistency to melted caramels. Sweetened condensed milk makes me think of Seven Layer Cookies. Seven layer cookies make me think of coconut. Bob loves coconut. Wouldn't it be great if I could make Seven Layer Cookie Brownies?

They came out delicious. Gooey-I like gooey. But they need a bit of work. I didn't like the way the brownie part turned out, maybe not chocolate enough? There were not enough chocolate chips or coconut. My brownies did not look photograph ready. I need to make some cosmetic changes and will retry with more chips, more coconut and a better brownie.

Until my brownies are perfected I suggest you go back up to the link to the Knock You Naked Brownies and make them. Then let me know how they were. Or better yet, mail me one.

All Thumbs

2011-05-02T10:58:00.004-05:00

Every morning I make my coffee and then sit down at the computer to see what's going on in my various social networks. Chillin' with my peeps you could say.

Today one of my friends on Facebook had a birthday (yes, a real friend, that I actually know). I headed on over to her page and wished her a great day and decided while I was there to look around and see what she was up to. She had one post that made me laugh, so I thought I would share it with Bob while he was getting ready for work.

"Hey pumpkin, listen to this."

Did you know it takes seven seconds for your food to reach your stomach? (There is no response from the bedroom, I know he is listening so I keep going.)

A human hair can hold three kilograms....(still quiet).

The length of a penis is three times the length of the thumb. I attempt to keep reading...The femur-"Wait, what did you say about a penis?" (As if on cue.)

I talk right over him...The femur is as strong as concrete.

Bob is now in the kitchen with his hand in front of his face looking at his thumb.

I continue....A woman's heart beats faster than a mans. Women blink twice as much as men. (He attempts to interrupt me, waving his hand but I just want to get to the finish.)

We use 300 muscles just to keep our balance. (Bob is now puffing out his chest and going on about "Did you see my thumb? Honey, stop reading and look at this." I expect any minute for him to start thumping his chest.) A woman has read this entire post.

I pause for effect here and look at Bob, he is smiling broadly...waggling his thumb back and forth at me.

I repeat...A woman has read this entire post.

A man is still looking at his thumb.

Bob says where's my tape measure? As he walks out the door for work he waves his big ole hand at me with a goofy grin on his face. Boys.

It's Cool and That's Cool With Me

2011-05-01T18:14:00.005-05:00

Now that warm weather is finally on it's way I have found a couple of reasons why I am okay if it doesn't show up for a few more days. And I am going to deliver them to you ala David Letterman Top Ten.

Number 10. I don't have to unpack all my summer clothes and go through the pain of trying them on. And sadly come to the realization that they don't quite fit like they did last summer when I was run/walking every day.

Number 9. I don't have to shave my legs every single morning.

Number 8. I can keep on wearing my favorite broken in brown cowboy boots...with everything.

Number 7. Unpainted toenails cannot be seen when wearing said boots.

Number 6. Three words. Heated mattress pad. Two words. Dual Controls. One word. LOVE.

Number 5. My arms are white as snow.

Number 4. My legs are whiter. (also hairy, see Number 9)

Number 3. I can still enjoy the heat the oven puts forth when turning on the oven to bake.

Number 2. Spooning with my man for body heat.

And, my number one reason for why I would be okay if warm weather was delayed a few more days....

My soft, comfy, torn, stained, extra large, worn, hunter orange hoody.

It's a sweatshirt, it has to be worn in cooler temps. I will miss it over the summer. It is thee best thing to put on at the end of the day and the first thing I think of when I get a little chill. It is large enough that I can be uber lazy and not even have to take off what I am wearing because it slides right over everything. It also acts as an apron, because I really don't care if it gets stains on it (more stains on it).

I do not wear it out of the house. Well, I do wear it in the car if I am dropping off children at school and there is no need for me to get out.

Did I mention it is HUNTER orange. You know that obnoxious orange color hunters wear so all the animals can see them coming for miles? And it comes with a story.

I have never been much of an outdoor camper type. But, about ten years ago I decided to go camping with a bunch of other women. The whole week before leaving I nervously joked about all the things I didn't like about camping. Bugs. Numerous bugs. Mosquitoes to bite me, ants in the food and spiders in my sleeping bag.

Dirt. No heated showers, how do you sanitize dishes with no hot water, dirt in my sleeping bag.

Weather. Please God, don't let it rain. Please God, don't let it frost. Please God, just let me be warm in my sleeping bag.

And bears. With all my whining, this was the only fear my two daughters picked up on. They were six and nine at the time. They knew I was only sort of joking about everything but the bear conversation came up a lot. Are there bears there? Do they attack people for no reason? What would you do if a bear found you....on and on. I assured them that there really were no bears around and that the biggest danger was going to be hunters. This calmed them right down. (FYI I never researched where bears live. I did not want to know if there were bears around or any other wild animals for that matter. I prefer ignorance over inability to leave the car.)

The day I was leaving the girls presented me with a gift. It was sure to scare any bears away and would also alert hunters to my presence. A bright orange hoody.

I have loved it ever since.

Hoody seen here lounging on my bed with a favorite slipper.

Weather or Not

2011-04-30T09:34:00.002-05:00

You can knock the weather as much as you want but without it half of the people we meet would be unable to start a conversation.

Everybody can look outside and see the weather. So why is it we are all in such a rush to tell each other what each of us must already know?

Are we really that unimaginative that we can't think of anything more creative to talk about?

Yes.

Or, could it be that the weather is a safe topic. You can start talking about the weather and know that you immediately have something to bond over.

"When are we ever going to see warm weather?"

Is easily picked up and followed with,

"Yes, I was just discussing this over coffee with my husband this morning. It's been a miserable April hasn't it?"

The conversation volleys back and forth in a sing song comfortable way and no one is threatened and you even feel a sense of camaraderie with this complete stranger because you are both surviving another April in Chicago.

It takes little effort to talk about the weather, it builds immediate connections and it is safe. No one is offended by your rants about how awful this weather has been, as a matter of fact, more often than not, they climb on board and are more than willing to add their two cents worth.

Then you enter the blogging world.

Conversations are never as conservative as the weather. Bloggers boldly go where no man has gone before.

Dooce is one of my favorite bloggers. She's funny, honest, writes well and takes great pictures. (I have visions of being the baby boomer version of her) One of her blogs talked about her dog devouring a corn dog. Stick and all. They are concerned but as the stick never appears, they think they must have been wrong, he didn't really swallow the stick. But then six months later on a walk at the park the dog deposits the stick. I won't go into the gory details, but they even posted a picture.

Can you imagine that conversation at the banana stand in Jewel with a complete stranger?

Me, looking for the perfect bunch of bananas to the woman next to me, "I was reading Dooce this morning and she was talking about her dog. You see, six months ago he had eaten a corn dog, stick and all."

"Oh my." She's polite but she is sorta looking at me with that, do-I-know-you-from-somwhere-because-this-seems-like-an-inappropriate-conversation-to-have-with-a-stranger look.

I continue, "They never found the stick and had pretty much forgotten about it. Until today, when they were taking him out for a walk."

With great relief my new found friend says " They walked their dog in this weather? Can you believe we are having such cold temperatures still?" She is putting her bananas in the cart and strolling away because as you know, weather questions are usually rhetorical.

I put my bananas in my cart and follow her over to the potatoes.

I continue, "She notices that the dog has attempted to poo about three times but can't seem to produce anything, so she is starting to wonder if something is wrong." (my friend jumps at the sound of my voice and is now avoiding eye contact.)

I take her silence as anticipatory so I proceed with my fascinating story.

"The dog is finally successful and as her hubby is scooping it up he notices an odd thing...he starts to push the poo aside and do you know what was in there?"

My shopping buddy is now moving quickly away, obviously not a dog owner.

As she whizzes through the rest of produce and into the bakery section I shout out "Yes! It was the corn dog stick AND SHE POSTED A PICTURE! Can you believe that?"

I think I fit right in with the blogging world and can hardly wait until one of my dogs eats something that should really have not been eaten so I can blog about it. Oh and I am going to start having my groceries delivered. (As was so kindly suggested by the manager at Jewel.)

Bob's Leaving on a Jet Plane and There Will Be One Less Man to Pick Up After

2011-04-28T06:24:00.005-05:00

Bob is leaving today to go on his BB golf weekend with his buds. One time when Bob was leaving he started singing I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane. I told him I was already so sad about his leaving that to hear that song almost makes me cry. (We were newly married.) Now it's tradition. About three days prior to his departure the song starts a playing. He sings in the shower, as he's walking out the door for work, when he is climbing into bed...it never gets old. Last night he starts playing this on his computer.

This time, instead of my usual sad refrain I played this.

Perhaps as our marriage progresses and he leaves for his golfing weekends, I will play this.

I am a Rock

2011-04-27T16:51:00.008-05:00

I heard that song by Simon and Garfunkel on my way home from work the other day. I think sometimes that song may describe me better than I am willing to admit.

My older daughter relocated to Florida. She hated the winter's here. I give her a lot of credit. Granted, she is living on my sisters property in an apartment that used to be the garage, so she is not totally alone. Because of family being there it is an easier transition. But I remember living in new places and not knowing a soul, it can be scary and overwhelming, depressing and lonely. I moved just about every two years growing up. Every year from third grade to twelfth was a new school for me. I know scary, I know lonely.

It hurts too much to leave something you love. And love I did. There were best friends, good friends, fun friends and boy friends. All left behind. Again and again and again. On the positive side. Because of this constant moving I make friends very easily. On the negative side...I don't get too close, I keep you at arms length and I don't commit too deeply, because eventually there will be parting. And quite frankly I have had enough bites of that sweet sorrow to have a toothache. Me equals rock.

And a rock feels no pain.

My girl spent the weekend with her father and step mother so they got to see her more than me. (he paid for her to fly home, so I really didn't have any footing in demanding she stay here.) She was busy all weekend and I really didn't get any time with her but I did secure the taking her to the airport part in advance to ensure some mother daughter time.

As we were dropping her off at the airport my other daughter asked if I was going to cry? Why is she asking that? Because the stepmother cried. Yes, I am repeating that in my 'bratty little kid mimicking you' voice! No, I wasn't going to cry. People leave. You can't cry every time. I did cry when I pulled away, leaving her in Florida. I could cry now, if I worked on it. I am not going to cry but that doesn't mean I am not sad (no I am not being defensive).

If you really must know I cried when she was here because it was a rude awakening for me to find out that she wanted to spend her time home with her friends and. not. me. No, it wasn't a sobbing pathetic crying about how much I miss my baby girl. It was a deeper leaving. She was really going. And as a mother you are never quite ready for the leaving part. I know, I know, it's what we raise them to do blah, blah, blah.

As we say our good byes I am thinking that the older daughter thinks the stepmother must love her more because she cried when she left AND she had to add that Daddy didn't cry and barely even hugged her, like it was no big deal that she was leaving. She was clearly hurt by his lack of apparent disregard for her leaving which is making me think she is REALLY thinking similar thoughts about me and my love for her because I am not crying. (you can be darn sure that I broke a couple of her ribs hugging her good bye, it's been three days, I bet she is STILL sore! Damn straight I love you and will miss you!)

Now on the drive home I feel the need to discuss this with the younger daughter, trying to act like the stepmother is just a silly woman in menopause with unmanageable emotions. If that is the case then I am off the hook for being so together and IN control and very cleverly allows me to avoid addressing what could possibly be one of my issues. Yes, yes I am ashamed to say I need justification as to why the stepmother can cry and not me and I am hoping Ellen gives it to me.

But no, Ellen thinks it's okay that she cried. Practically normal even. Her explanation for this is that the stepmother really enjoys having all the children around so when they do leave she feels the loss and is very sad. She further explains that I on the other hand am not like other people or the stepmother (I am trying really hard not to be snide when typing that word), because I don't seem to like having people around. I tend to like to be alone more...

Wait. What? What's she saying? She thinks I like to be alone? Really? Me equals island?

And an island never cries.

Where is my therapist?

Here is the song.

Seedling Miracle?

2011-04-27T15:58:00.010-05:00

Kalanchoe is supposed to be a beautiful houseplant. This is what is supposed to look like. As you can almost see from the picture mine is a bit leggier than it should be. Bob has been at me to get rid of it because it is ugly.

But I got it at church for mother's day when we went to this church before we were married and for some strange reason I feel a sentimental attachment to it. And besides, it's still alive. I can't throw away a living breathing sentimental thing. Yeah, I know my orange sweatshirt with the ripped collar, footprint stain on the back and all sorts of dribble stains on the front from eating ice cream in a slothful position when I am not feeling my best is not living or breathing but it's got that sentimental tag attached to it! And it's comfy! (Sniffing haughtily.)

Back to my less than perfect plant. I was watering it today and noticed these two tall stringy little seedlings growing in the pot. I'm like Wow! How cool is that? Two little seedlings growing! How the heck did they get in there? What could they possibly be? Am I that reckless in my cooking that I inadvertently flung a seed about and it amazingly landed in the pot AND took root! Can you imagine?

Bob is barely out of bed and I am running over to show him my discovery. " Pumpkin!" I say. "Look!" And before I can elaborate on the wonder of two random seedlings just popping up in the container...he says "Cantaloupe, didn't you see me shoving those seeds in there?"