The next President of the United States of America, Barack Obama

All I have to say is that Barack Obama has to win the White House. He has to.
Besides thinking of him as just a little bit cute, I've never seen inspiration like he's induced in my lifetime. I watched as much of the Democratic National Convention as I could, and I kept feeling fired up, excited, hopeful. That is because he's a great speaker. A fantastic speaker at that. A speaker so great that I feel he really has moved people to get involved in their government. The Republicans mocked that aspect of him and it made me angry. Fiery angry. If a person, like Barack, who could have had any big time corporate dollar-pulling in job, can go to a poor area in a big city and get people mobilized to help themselves, how is that something to poke fun of? How is people working together to help each other making "more" of government?

I decided I needed to do something as well. I needed to get involved. So I volunteered last night with the Colorado Democrats at the phone bank. I sat in an office with about 10 other volunteers and made phone calls to assess support of the local and national candidates right now. It was disenheartening. But my list was one that had small, rural, Colorado towns on it. Most folks weren't home and many numbers were disconnected. I think I only spoke with about 9 people. When I asked a woman if she knew if she was going to vote for Obama or McCain she replied, "Absolutely NOT Obama." In fact, of the 9 I talked with only 1 said he would vote for Obama. Another said, "If I put them all in a big pile tonight, I'd vote for Sarah Palin." Sarah Palin? Oh man. She scares me more than McCain for sure.

This was also the week of the NRNC (Nasty Republican National Convention.) I had watched Sarah Palin make her big debut just the night before. I thought she was scary, mean, and nit picky. I didn't see any positive energy coming from her. Sure she was composed and she's a little bit cute, but come on dude. She's being investigated for fraud and she's for abstinence only sex-education with a pregnant 17year old. No one wants to touch that one, but doesn't that seem just a little CRAZY?

I left that office feeling depressed. But as I walked out I thought, they WILL win if I give in to that fear that Michelle Obama talks about. The fear that makes people not speak out, or not volunteer for what they believe in. The fear that McCain and Palin will win. The fear that I don't have control of my life as an American. I HATE making phone calls. Who wants to spend an evening calling people and getting not exactly rude replies back, but definitely harried and bothered ones? That's how I feel when people call me asking "just a few questions-it'll only take 30seconds" in the evening. And then I realized, my being in that office was Obama's doing. This is exactly what he talks about. He got me involved and inspired to do something even if it was just making phone calls. That whole thing about grass roots working from bottom to top? Well that was ME. And I was proud of it. I'm going to do it again.

The republicans are wrong. Community service is never something to mock. People who volunteer their time to reach out to other folks? Nothing to laugh about there.

Be the master...

I was beginning to wonder if I was turning into a co-dependent baby.

I thought hubby and I had this great relationship, one where we each give and take. One where we compromise and share our feelings to work out what's best for us or the family. One that is the absolute definition of love (are you picturing all of the fat red hearts that should be encircling this paragraph?)

And then he was gone last night and I had no idea what the heck to do with myself after the boys were in bed. I ALWAYS like to have time to myself. Surely I had plenty of good ideas in which to partake. But nothing was coming to me.
I started feeling sorry for myself. I felt I had no project nor undertaking that would be beneficial for just ME. Even though I've been wanting to pick up my guitar again, find time to write again, and listen to those Spanish learning Cd's again.

But let's be realistic here. It was 8:30 pm and I was ready to veg out. However no new Netflix movie had arrived. No new book had captured my attention. And there was no zoning out occurring because of the lack of cable TV. I had watched a little of the diving at the Olympics but I was in no mood that night for women's volleyball or for a gruesome murder show. Come on! I wanted to shout. It's Wednesday night! Can someone throw me a frigging bone here? (This last from Dr. Evil in Austin Powers.)

I took a shower and thought about the fact that hubby and I are going through a tremendous change in our relationship. However, not one where I am co-dependent. I hope not anyway.

He's started graduate school. He is going for a Master's of Business Administration 2nights a week for the next 2 years. This is wonderful! I'm really excited for him. Even though he may not agree because he doesn't like to think of himself as a business man, (or rather one who must dress appropriately to be in the line of business-he's just more comfortable in cargo shorts and his trademark paisley button-down) this program will suit him really well. He's a natural leader and does fabulously with communication (and he's a tech guy!) The MBA can only open more doors for him, whether at his present job or somewhere else.

Although, it's going to be tough. For Hubby, he will have to work all week, normal hours. And those 2 nights of "school" he will go straight from work to class. He will have studying to do as well. But if anyone can pull all of that off, it's him.
I know other people do this as well and come out of it with flying colors, like I know he will.

And me, well...a friend having gone through this exact scenario warned me that there was a "What about me?" feeling. She said one might question what she's doing at home when her partner is busy with both work and grad school. And the partner not in school may also feel a little left behind. And this came from a working mom! I just didn't expect that feeling to transpire the VERY FIRST night that hubby was gone, at orientation no less!

I think this will be good for both of us. We're going to have to figure out a good schedule for both of us, as well as time for both of us. I think I will need to find some good projects and some good books. And I am thinking of graduate school for me for the next year... I do think it will be important to ensure a good bloody movie has arrived on Mondays and Wednesdays from Netflix!

Small moments

It was cold, wet, foggy, and rainy this past weekend in the middle of August in Fort Collins, Colorado. The high was 53 degrees Fahrenheit. In August! We were all happy it cooled off from the upper 90's of July but this...this was a little extreme on the cold front.

Nonetheless, early on Sunday morning, I woke up and decided our husky black lab Mexican wolf mixed dog named Zorro, deserved a long and tiring walk. He hadn't been getting as much exercise as a dog of his stature should be. Of course, the weather was not making this easy and neither was the fact that I had been a bit lazy on the walking front.

I loved how it was so quiet and that no one seemed to be out at 6:30 am on a Sunday. It was as if I had this strange fall-feeling-summer-looking town all to myself. We walked the 8 blocks or so to the neighborhood dog park and found no dogs nor humans there.

The dog park is nice because there is a track that surrounds the whole of it. I began my first lap as Zorro promptly made 3 large poos all in a row. I think he was very excited to have the dog park all to himself!

I was lost in thought about that whole difference between being alone and being lonely. I was enjoying being alone so much, as if I hadn't been alone in a very long time. Come to think of it, it HAD been a very long time. Summer had been busy with kids' activities. I felt like for the first time in a long time, my quiet time outside with the dog was finally my own time.

Of course, a lady showed up with 2 dogs on the opposite side of the dog park. I was feeling unjustifiably interrupted, as if someone walked in on me in my backyard dancing around and singing at the top of my lungs. But Zorro quickly hurried off to greet her dogs and smell their bums, obviously not feeling intruded upon.

As I caught up to the lady and the dogs, she told me how beautiful Zorro was. (He is in fact, a beautiful dog!) I heard and understood her, but realized that it was difficult to do so. I wasn't sure why this was at first but then as she and I continued walking the track together, as if we were old friends, I understood.

She was a plump lady, probably in her early 40's. She had short brown-ish hair streaked with gray. She wore glasses and sweat pants. She had a kind face and gentle eyes. She talked about getting her 4 and 7 year old dogs at the humane society and how often people don't want older dogs but she felt blessed to have these 2 great companions. We talked about Zorro and how we had had him as a 7 week old pup. She couldn't pronounce the 'Z' in his name. And when she told me one of her dogs names, I couldn't understand her. I thought she said "Thathie". She didn't seem embarrassed or shamed at having to tell me 2 more times before I realized her name was Sadie.

When she turned her head and wasn't looking at me, I asked her what she thought of all the rain we'd been having. She didn't answer.

A moment later she smiled kindly and told me it was really nice chatting and that she had to go. She called her dogs and off they went.

After she left, we had the park to ourselves again but it felt a little different this time. I ended up not feeling intruded upon at all, and indeed felt like I'd had one of those short but meaningful interactions. I talked to this woman for maybe 5 minutes but I was touched by what a sincerely nice person she was. She made my quiet time on a Sunday morning even more enjoyable, more relaxing, and more lovely just because of what kind of person she was, just because she was one of those people who is easy to be with. Who cared what her hair looked like or what she did for a living, or even if she could hear well. She was a real person who brought real joy with her to that dog park.

Getting Economically Stimulated to Properly Entertain Guests

I decided, when my family was here last week, that it was time to move. Our house is too small, I tell you. 1400 square feet is just not enough space to entertain properly! For a bigger house I decided I would use more gas to heat it, take more time to clean it, and pick a more undesirable neighborhood to live in it. (Because we just can't afford to live in Old Town and have a bigger house. Even disgusting, unkempt, no yard, cracks all over the wood floors, cigarette butts ground into the black and white vinyl kitchen floors, 1600 square foot homes in Old Town cost around $279K.) So I called my old realtor with the amazingly long hair that reaches her bum, and is fabulous at what she does, to show me what the heck is out there.

I picked 7 homes, only 1 in Old Town (mentioned above) and I liked none of them. (The one mentioned above being the absolute worst of them all-but hey! It's Old Town, perhaps we can buy it, tear it down, and rebuild for another, oh, I don't know? Say...$350K? No thank you.) Most were 1970's homes that had been partially remodeled. For instance, the kitchen had warm, lovely tile floors and a sparkling new fridge with an ice dispenser. However downstairs, through the dark wood paneled hallway were 3 small bedrooms with closets the sizes of w/c's on an airplane-except you couldn't actually go inside them. They had a small window in each and one small overhead light shaped like a globe. There was a border in one with baseball gloves, basketball hoops, and football helmets (or something of the like) that reminded me of my doctor's office.

Now, I realize there is potential for making these houses mine. I realized that we could change some of the things that bothered me. These houses WERE bigger after all. Although, you can't change the neighborhood.

The thing that struck me is that I really love my house. I fell in love with it the minute I saw it (kind of like when I saw hubby for the first time-when you know, you know!) It is a bit small, in that there's not a guest bedroom, no desk for our lap-top, and a small kitchen table is right next to the TV. But I love the way it feels inside. I love the wood floors and how light and airy it is. I love that I have a huge walk-in closet that probably takes up about 9 of the 14 hundred square feet of our house! I love our neighborhood on a hidden street with houses from the 1950's. I love that we can walk to the grocery store and that there is a park right behind us. And for crying out loud, who wants to clean a bigger house anyway? I can hardly stay on top of the little house, what am I thinking?? I haven't even mentioned the market! Holy Canoli! Who wants to sell a house in this age of declining prices? Am I even being realistic about it? Why am I even thinking about moving again?

Oh yeah, the space thing. Then it hit me just like that volleyball flying over the net in the 7th grade that got me SMACK in the face. I can change some of these things that bother me about MY house! We can move the TV out of the TV room so it's NOT right next to the table. Then put a little desk in the niche where the TV was. We could buy an armoire for the TV so we can actually close the doors on it and not have to see it if we don't want to. We can extend (or buy?!) our table so it's bigger and more folks can fit around it. Because when visitors visit, we often end up visiting around the table. Then there's our nasty couch that's looking worse everyday. We can buy a new couch and put it in the other room so the room where the table is, is just the dining room with the desk! Yes, Yes, YES!!! Oh, I feel like I've had a great vision! My head is so clear it's like a swimming pool inside!

Now to get hubby up to speed....we just need to get "economically stimulated" (in the words of my bike friend who just got stimulated economically) and it's a done deal!

Bumblebee and Darth Vader

The six year old turned seven this last weekend. My lovely parents came as did my sister and her (sort-of?) boyfriend. It was super fun, had a lovely time, good conversations, and was so glad to all be together. We laughed and joked and took walks, played a new board game, ate lots of sweet things like Cinnamon rolls from Vern's (the best in the world) and drank lots of yummy alcoholic beverages like coconut rum and Cabernet-Merlot mixes.

I did, of course, get stressed before everyone came. Cleaning, baking, cooking, and party organization can take up some time for doing and space for thinking. But once everyone was here it really was great.

The kiddos went bowling and it was so cute to see 3-7 year-olds shoving a big yellow ball down a ramp to the lane with the bumpers and then get a strike! They would high-five each other and say "YEAH!"

The 3 year old (who, from now on, I have decided to re-name (only in the blog of course!) "Darth Vader" because he LOVES Star Wars and Anakin/Darth Vader so darned much. He sings little songs on bike rides about Anakin turning to the dark side to the tune of the Darth Vader music. He knows which little "lightsaver" belongs to which action figure. "Oh no, Mama, that's the green one with stripes around the handle so it belongs to Luke. The green one with just one stripe belongs to General Grievous.") did a great job with the seven year old's birthday. I think it was a little hard for him to understand that he didn't get presents too. But he just played and sang and did his little Darth Vader thing and got more than 100 points bowling!

Bumblebee (formerly-known-as-the-six/seven-year-old who is as nuts about Transformers as the 3 year old is about Star Wars. He just loves the yellow camaro autobot who is as sweet in the movie as the seven year old is in real life. Might as well call him Bumblebee, right?) seemed to have a great time and enjoyed the festivities. He even told me he was thankful to me for putting it together!

I just can't believe he's seven. Darth Vader will be four in June. I thought I was the one who had the babies. I don't understand how they grow up so fast. Everyone tells you that too. It sounds like a no-brainer. In fact, one would think that a child growing up IS a no-brainer. But it freaks me out. It seems life picks up speed everyday. I don't believe I want more babies. The baby stage is hard but wonderful--there is nothing better than holding a sweet newborn. (Speaking of, my bed-rest friend is now infant-mom-friend with a week old beautiful baby boy. I got to hold him and it felt vaguely familiar holding such a small little guy, as if I was looking at a photo of myself 3 1/2 years ago with a newborn. But it also felt strangely odd, as though my boys were never that small. I felt a little awkward. How doest that happen so fast?) I guess one must really, really try to be in the moment. That moment disappears so quickly as if it were a fleeting dream in the early morning. I feel like this is just something I'm beginning to understand.

The Gentle Warrior

I woke up before hubby this morning. He was laying on his back, his arms stretched out above him. We have these burgundy sheets on the bed and he looked so handsome and so peaceful wrapped in them. I remember years ago, also waking up beside hubby, but for one of the first times. I remember thinking, how did I find such a handsome man to sleep in my blue and yellow flowery sheets? I feel like a lucky lady today.

Today is the anniversary of the death of my uncle. He was 44, the father of 3, and was killed in a bombing in Namibia, Africa. It was 1984. My mother was 38, I was 7. Unfortunately, I don't remember him well. I know he was gentle, kind, and smart. He was my godfather. It was the first time I remember seeing my mom sobbing. She was devastated over her lost brother, who died too early. It was on the nightly news because he was in the foreign service. He was there trying to negotiate peace between Namibia and Zimbabwe, which were fighting at the time. He and his partner had stopped at a gas station to fill up. The whole station blew up as soon as they got out of the car. They think it was the act of guerrilla fighters who did not want peace in the country. My uncle and his partner were flown to a hospital in Germany. Neither made it. My cousins, who are twins, were 14 at the time. My other cousin was 11.

Soon after his death my whole family flew to Washington D.C. My mother, my aunt, my cousins, and my grandparents went to the White House and met President Reagan. He presented them with a medal of honor for my uncle's service and the American flag. Apparently, there is a wall in the State Department with his name on it, as well as his partner's, Kenneth G. Crabtree, for diplomats killed in service. His name was Dennis Whyte Keogh.

On the American Foreign Service Association memorial plaque list site my uncle is listed. http://www.afsa.org/plaquelist.cfm
I went to this site and was shocked at how many American heroes have died, been murdered, been assassinated, in other countries while trying to instill peace. It also makes me think of American soldiers, civilians and innocent folks who are killed in countries like Iraq everyday now. I feel ever so thankful that hubby and my boys were laying peacefully in their beds in our house today. I don't know what you do when you lose a father, mother, brother, sister, son, daughter, uncle, aunt, or friend, in war or peace, or anytime.

Uncle Den's kids, my cousins, had a very hard time. The twins used to go running with him. One of the twins promptly hurt her knee after his death and had a hard time with that leg for a long time. She stopped running for years. I believe she runs now though.

My other twin cousin began having epileptic seizures, soon after his death. She was involved with the theater, doing set work. But then she fell off a ladder when she had a seizure. She also fell off a bus once and got banged up badly. Friends and family began fundraising for her to have a dog who could sense when the seizures were coming. Her dog's name was Nikki, and she took that dog everywhere. She endured 15 years of seizures. She took medication, and I believe she still does. However she got married and wanted a child badly. She has a 2 year old now and hasn't had a seizure in 7 years!

I know my cousin who was 11 at the time, also had a rough time. I believe he didn't always tell the truth. He's married now too, with his own child and still lives in D.C.

I think it has always been hard for my mom. And for everyone who has lost someone close to them.

My uncle Den is buried at Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. His tombstone reads, "Gentle Warrior". This seems to be an exceptionally well suited name for him. For all of the gentle warriors out there, may peace be with you always.

The bicycle dilemma

Do you know how sometimes, when you ride a bike, you feel so happy to be outside? You can smell leaves in the air or the flowers blooming. You can smell chicken cooking or a barbecue with hot dogs roasting as you ride by a backyard. You can see the ducks in the spring creek, sometimes even a beaver. There are horses scattered about so that at times you feel you are riding along the countryside. The sky might be blue and cloudless or gray and thick with clouds, but either way, you feel closer to nature. You're pedaling on your own power. It's good for you. It's good for the environment. Whether you are idly riding about on a Saturday afternoon or pedaling quickly to get to work, there is really no better way of getting about. As gas prices keep rising,we think more about conserving, and we realize more succinctly than ever that we really do need to figure out how NOT to drive everywhere, all the time. Bikes are the perfect answer right?

But then there are those days, when you ride your bike and it is so windy, you wished it were snowing because it would be easier to ride. You can't smell anything in the air. It doesn't feel healthy or good for the environment because you're just darned grumpy that you have to ride like you're in Nebraska during the dust bowl. Your hubby smiles at you, because he'll bike in whatever weather and he truly is an environmentalist. You know he's thinking, "Oh, isn't this fun? All 4 of us together, not in a car, not using any gas." You know he has the right idea. But really, you kind of just want to hit him for being so cheerful in such crap weather. Because he's always cheerful. Some of us have to work at it right? And I'm already working hard fighting the blasted wind! So how can I use more energy to smile back and yell over the roar of wind, "Oh, honey, this is great fun! I'm so GLAD we didn't drive the car."

There are those people, similar in mood to hubby, (I had to notice, usually older folks) driving along who look at you and smile thinking, "Ohh, they're so cute, this little family riding bikes on a Saturday. It must be fun."

Or they smile rather benignly, (if they are more like me. You know who you are) and you know that the blank smile means, "What a bunch of idiots! It's so windy, it must take them 3 times as long getting anywhere. I'm so glad I'm in my comfy car with Norah Jones playing and sun shining on me without having to feel the wind push me around like an enormous bully."

So this is the dilemma, right? I know hubby is right. I know we should bike places more. He bike commutes to work quite frequently. He never complains about the weather. I think it makes him feel so good that he's changing what's expected and normal for Americans everyday. He's embraced the change and that's wonderful for him.

But I don't always enjoy it. I thought I had embraced it but perhaps I'm still in denial about the massive change that needs to take place. And it really does, right? The price of oil is only going to get higher, yes? People in every other part of the world do not own and drive cars the way Americans do. It was set up that way for Americans. It's difficult to walk to work or bike your kids to school. The weather does factor in for me when we ride. I have to put aside more time when we bike, which can be challenging, especially with 2 little guys and a dog to consider. Also, sometimes, I worry about getting funny looks from other moms, if I pull my guys in yucky weather. This is a little embarrassing to admit but I'm going to do it anyway, I enjoy being comfortable in the car, when I've worn a skirt and I spent extra time making my hair look decent. I don't think I've embraced this change yet.

I suppose the question then is, as a woman and a mom, how to embrace the bicycle as a means for commuting and not just as an option for pleasure or exercise?

The White T-shirt Club

I made it to yoga at 6:30 this morning. It's really nice that when I leave at 6:22 it's actually a little light out now. That bluish-pinkish-dawn-ish light is very pretty. It used to be so odd to leave in the dark and come out at 7:30 when the sun was shining brightly (well, sometimes. Sometimes it was just gray.)

There were 3 other ladies there, and the teacher. All 4 of us students were dressed in the same yoga uniform: white tee shirts and black loose-fitting yoga pants. Actually, one woman had tighter pants on; they looked more like jogging pants. That's okay though, I thought; I won't kick her out of the club.

I do love white tee shirts. I like to wear them throughout the summer. They can be difficult to find though, with a good neck, sleeves, and fit. I can't just buy white hane's.

I felt like there was some gas in my tummy, if you want the truth. I was a little worried I might make an unfortunate sound in the middle of some crazy pose where I'm doing a shoulder stand and my legs are above me. I lucked out however; no such noise escaped me through the whole of class!

A "zip" (as my mother has always referred to it) did escape an older gentleman once. I felt badly for him. Luckily, we're all adults and there weren't any 13 year-olds snickering. Quite honestly, it is yoga. One must expect to fall off balance, zip, or have some other unfortunate incident occur at least once or twice.

As we stood in Mountain pose, with our eyes closed, ready to start the class, I was listening to the sounds around me. Outside the yoga room, there were folks already pumping iron listening to some rhythmic thumping music. The clash of weights hitting together rang out once or twice. A stream of bright fluorescent light was seeping under the door.

Inside the yoga room, there were 2 soft lamps on. I was listening to the music playing, still with my eyes closed. I imagined a pianist, clad of course, in a white t-shirt, and soft black pants, with a yoga mat strapped to his back. Next to him, there was a flutist, also in the same uniform. Around the two of them, little bluebirds were chirping and flying around quietly. The sound of a water fountain splashing and tinkling, sat atop the piano. I think the birds were perched on the side of the fountain when they were finished flying about.

My teacher's grainy voiced announced to fall forward into "forward standing bend." Her long black curly hair cascaded down to the floor, almost looking like a dark water fountain herself.

At first, my body groaned and creaked. I felt 20 years older than I am. Then I inhaled slowly, and exhaled, and stretched. I began to feel rooted and grounded as I breathed in and out. I could smell my new vanilla chai deodorant (which hubby said smells like watermelon-my least fav smell) and I felt a sense of peace. I concentrated on that feeling throughout class.

I peeked to where I imagined the pianist, flutist, birds and fountain to be and was almost surprised to simply see the stereo. I realized that a sense of peace, well-being, and health, make me feel positive and light. I felt clarity in my head and strength in my muscles. I felt so thankful for the day and my body for being able to bring me those feelings. It's very important for me to stop for a bit and remember this. I felt I had done something well this morning.

Namaste.

Mother's Intuition

I know you're dying to know, above all, whether I was picked to have dinner with Obama. I know you're really curious, even before you find out if the 3 year old had croup, the chicken pox, or if he was just really tired. I know that you're especially interested because you just instinctively know that I DID, in fact, hit the "donate" button twice that day I donated to Obama's campaign. It seemed meant to be me, right?? I already had the dress picked out and the shoes. But not the bag. I figured I had time for that. Unfortunately, I didn't get picked. I'll have to find another way to meet him. He DID wave to my PhD friend and myself when we went to hear him speak in Laramie, Wyoming. I could tell, even among the 17,000 people packed into that basketball arena, that he was waving at the two of us. That's a start. I'm like Obama girl #2.

The 3 year old is fine. He has a cough. (As does the 6 year old at this point.) The bumps on his belly and back seemed to be of no concern to the doctor (who is this young guy who reminds me very much of Doogie Howser, M.D.) So once again I spent the co-pay just because I got paranoid he had a big fit and slept a long time. You'd think I'd have some mother's intuition by now, eh? It's just like the 2 times I was pregnant and I was absolutely positive I was having a girl--both times. Of course, there was that instance that he'd been coughing off and on for about 2 weeks, had a big fit, I took him in, and it turned out he had a sinus infection! Sometimes you have it, sometimes you don't.

Sweet on my guys

The 3 year old has started coughing in the last 24 hours in a way that sounds croupy. He was also scratching at these almost minuscule bumps on his belly and back. There are probably only 3 on each side. Finally, he had a big fit, for a reason that I don't actually recall.
He sobbed, "I cccan't stttoooop cryyyyyying."
I said, "Let's just put you in bed, buddy."
He said through a stream of tears, "Oooookaaaaaaaayyy. I looooovvvvve yooouuuuu, Mama." Oh what a poor sweetie! Then he was as quiet as a mouse and has been for almost 2 hours.
He doesn't do this often. All of this seems a little suspicious so I made a doctor's appointment.

I feel like I spend a lot of time (and money) at that particular office. Especially this year. They know me now. We're like old pals who sit and drink together in the same bar every evening. I walk in and they say, "LIZA! I haven't seen you in that striped shirt before! Oh, and you're wearing THOSE earrings again, huh? I really liked the amber ones better."

Actually, I think they do know me now, but they sort of pretend like they don't. They're always polite of course. I think the closer truth is that they whisper to each other, "Oh, it's HER again. What do you wanna bet the 6 year old has another ear infection?" And the nurse says, "No, no, I think the 3 year old has a virus again." The receptionist says, "Maybe you can give him another sample of Children's Motrin, you know, since they came all the way down here. I think you should give him the bubble gum flavor this time and not the cherry one. The 3 year old said 'wuck!' last time we gave it to him."
Then the nurse says, "No way lady, we stopped giving out samples 2 weeks ago. You know, it's a budget thing."

We'll see, we'll see.

The 6 year old has a tooth that is hanging from about 3 threads for the last 3 days. It seems to still hurt a lot. Hubby said he could tie a string around it and pull. Or we could just leave it and maybe the adult tooth will grow in and the baby tooth will still be dangling years later. I think though, that it will come out when it's ready. But it does look a little funny. Of course then you notice his big green eyes, and the freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his animated way of chatting with his hands, and he's the most handsome little guy around.

Hubby's vision impaired tandem bike ride got canceled because of this lovely snow storm we're having today. He was bummed. I was bummed for him. He'd be great at taking someone who is impaired and be able to describe the countryside in such a beautiful way that the person on back could not only imagine, but actually see, all of the beautiful spring Colorado colors. He has that gift. He is also a wonderful tour guide. I think this is so because he can eloquently point things out but he can also remember facts about the town! It's really quite astounding. Of course, I can't remember the conversation we had yesterday about why building a house out of straw bale is a good idea, so maybe I can't judge on remembering. Sometimes I think I already have mild Alzheimer's. I hope not. Because then I have that weird thing where I can remember phone numbers and people's birthdays from the 3rd grade. It might be it's own strange remembering/non-remembering sickness (which might actually translate into paying attention versus not paying attention) that is just reserved for me.

But I was talking about Hubby, wasn't I? He also does well with people that he's just met, because he has such a warm personality. The last thing I want to mention about him is that he's really taught me how to go after something I want. He does a great job of trying to make things possible, even if it doesn't always seem like it at the time, because he wants me to do it myself. He's quite a guy, my hubby.
Okay, you guessed it, I'm feeling really sweet on hubby today. On all my guys.

The blind stoker on a bike ride

Hubby's taking a blind person for a bike ride. Is it just me (please tell me it's not just me!) or was the immediate thought one of hubby riding a bike with a leash or rope attached to another bike and yelling directions at the person riding. "Left! No, no, the OTHER left!"

Actually, it's very cool. An email went around about needing "captains" who had tandem bikes to take persons from the vision impaired population for a long bike ride. Hubby volunteered which is great because he is a good captain. We actually have an old tandem (bought from Craig'slist a couple of years ago) that is a little funny looking (surprise, surprise!) Sort of like 2 very odd looking bikes welded together to make one long one. The person riding on back is called "stoker."

I've gotten to be stoker before. I have to say, I didn't really enjoy it. Firstly, the seat hurt my crotch or zhouge or private area or what have you. Secondly, hubby did give direction like a captain. "Smoooooth power," He said loudly over his shoulder as he shifted gears and we went uphill. I gathered this meant "pedal hard but like a ballerina." I tried hard and it WAS hard. It was different from just providing your own power for your own bike. And the truth is, I couldn't see all that well. Hubby's bigger than me so it was hard to see around him. I really did have to trust that he was leading me down a good path.

I realize this did not match being blind; that in fact I really have no idea what it's like to be blind (except before I had LASIK surgery, we did joke that I was on my way. My eyesight was 20/400 or something like that. I did wear glasses and contacts for most of my life. LASIK was an incredible experience. However, I digress.)

Perhaps riding a tandem bike is a good exercise in partnering; trusting and letting go. But I think I might prefer captain, so I can yell directions and be in charge.

The other day, I definitely felt like the blind stoker. And a bad mom. Here's the story:

Hubby was tossing and turning in bed. (He told me this, I wasn't aware of this fact like I would have been pre AD's.) He got up around 3 am.

I do remember this because I said something sweet like, "What's up babes?"

He said, "I can't stop thinking about work. I'm heading in."

I said, "Oh, okay, whatever you want I'll see you later be careful," very sleepily.

This was like an identity change for us. It used to be me who tossed and turned and hubby who groggily but sweetly told me, "Hey babes can't you sleep curl up on me." I was aware of all of this for about 20 seconds and went right back to sleep.

At 7 am, Hubby called. He said, "I rode my bike but I seemed to have taken your keys along with my keys. Do we have spares for the cars?"

I said, "Oh, I'm sure we do. Not a problem."

We chatted about his ride in, what he was working on, how the boys were already eating Fruit Loops. We hung up. I searched but only found a spare key for our van. I was sure we had one for the 4-runner, but couldn't find it. The 4-runner, my car of choice these days, was sitting in the driveway, locked, with my bag in it, and with the car seats as well. Oh man! I don't actually remember having a spare for it. I felt like slapping my forehead, "Idiot! IDIOT."

I could have chosen to stay home or ride my bike. But my keys had my gym membership card on them. I wanted to go to Nia, my dance/yoga class. Also, my wallet, in my bag, in the locked car, had my library card (as well as my license.) The 3 year old and I were going to do the library today.

I called hubby back, told him I would take the 6 year old to school in the van, and then the 3 year old and I would have to go to his work to get my keys. This was the best I could figure, as I didn't see hubby riding home to give me my keys. (Although in retrospect...)

Sans car seats, I took the boys. I belted them in good and tightly, as best I could. Running late for school, but making it there in time, I noticed the gas in the van was quite low. In fact, the light came on! It was just the other day it had a quarter tank of gas! Our rule was once the gas hits a quarter of a tank, someone fills it up. No one had filled it up. I swear, that last quarter doesn't really exist. It's just there for show. So it looks like a normal gas gauge.

Okay, I think. This is fine. The "you're-running-out-of-gas-please-fill-up-it's-really-low-now-idiot" light went out. That's good. We'll just drive more slowly which will conserve more gas, and help with the car seats issue (which was not having any!) I'll take the back way.

But the light came back on, brighter this time. It stayed on. I realized I had nothing. No wallet, no cell phone, not even a quarter in my pocket to make a pay-phone call. Also, in our haste to get the 6 year old to school, I didn't grab hats for the 3 year old or me. To top it off, I was dressed for Nia. Warm boots with my Capri length gaucho pants, tank top with a bulky sweater on top, and a sporty coat. I'm going to have to walk to hubby's work with the 3 year old, no hats, dressed funnily, I thought.

I started chanting a little mantra, please let us make it there. Please let us make it there. Feeling a bit like the blind stoker. Hoping, trusting, it would work out okay. At least my zhouge wasn't hurting.

We made it! Hubby came down, looking cheerful and said, "Sorry about your keys."

I said a little wild-eyed, "Do you have your credit card and a couple of dollars?"

He gave them to me, said, "Am I in trouble?"

I said, "Just a little. Do you think we'll make it to the gas station?" He thought so.

We did. I was relieved and thankful. I really didn't want to walk with my little guy, in the cold, with no hats. I felt like a bad enough mom having taken him on this misadventure.

I think I've now learned that we shall:

1. Get a spare key or 2 or 3 made for the 4-runner
2. Not leave my bag locked in the car sitting outside
3. Stick to the rule of filling up at a quarter tank
4. Always take hats with when it's winter weather outside
5. Keep a quarter (or is it 35 cents now?) in pocket at all times, even when owning a cell phone
6. Remember that I'm not perfect, that I make mistakes, but perhaps I can do better next time
7. Trust like a blind stoker on a bike ride that things work out well in the end.

Food and Drink update

I don't drink caffeinated drinks at all anymore, since I started having trouble sleeping. So I'm always up for good decaf drinks. Today, at Target, I found a Celestial Seasonings Tea that I had never seen before. It's called "Sweet coconut thai chai" (decaf.) It is so yummy! I can actually taste the coconut a little bit. I love chai, but unless you get a chai tea latte from a cafe, I've found that the regular tea bags can be a disappointment. The lattes are always all frothy, honey-y, full fat milky, and super yummy. But this stuff is quite good. I must add, however, that I did add honey and cream. Still, I jut saved $3.20 for a grande, right? I got some for my bedrest friend too, because she also doesn't do caffeine. And she's still on bedrest.

A few days ago, my family went to a cafe for breakfast. Hubby and I had chesse, egg, potato, (and for him, bacon,) breakfast burritos. As I was chatting with my Phd friend who came along, hubby bought the boys lemon cake. I was thinking, oh well, as Bill Cosby would say, it has milk, eggs, and flour. Lemon too, that's a fruit right? Got to justify cake for breakfast. That's what I get for not paying attention.

This didn't look like a normal slice of lemon cake from a coffee shop either. It looked most delicious. It had really thick lemon frosting on it. The cake was very artificial yummy looking yellow. I wanted some. But it was gone in a flash. That's what you get when you give 2 boys cake for breakfast, right? So when we came home, I looked in my trusty Betty Crocker cookbook, which is the most fabulous cookbook I have, for lemon cake. The closest thing I found was "Lemon Chiffon Cake." I had the ingredients, so with the 3 year old's help, we went to work.

This cake turned out delicious also, but it looked different than the cafe cake. It wasn't very yellow, just sort of light colored with a touch of yellow. But I was quite proud because I separated the eggs. I beat the egg whites with some cream of tartar to make fluffy white peaks. I think the 3 year old thought this looked like heaven in a bowl and wanted a taste. I told him, "I don't think it will taste like much". He didn't care. When he tried it though, he almost spit it back into the bowl. I think it's a bad surprise when you excpect fluffy white-ness to taste sweetly and instead, tasted worse than nothing! We also grated the lemon peel which smelled really wonderful. The 3 year old liked that. The whole kitchen seemed sunnier. I should grate lemon peel all the time! The 3 year old poured, mixed, and licked. (He got the spatula when we were done with the cake part.) We also made the frosting with butter, powdered sugar, lemon peel, and lemon juice. I kept squirting the lemon juice in to make it a little more smooth, but I got fearful that it would be too lemon juic-y. When the 3 year old had a taste, he said, "Wuck!" I thought I overdid it for sure. But once it was on the cake, it was very good. Even the 3 year old liked it. Hubby called the cake a "paradox cake" because it was fluffy and sweet, but also a little heavy and tart. I was most pleased.

Mom and Dad

I'm thinking about my parents tonight. They're out of town and so I didn't talk to them this weekend as is the norm. I think as a blogger you're not supposed to refer back to previous posts, but I think that's also why they are on my mind. My first entry was about them, in not such a positive light. (Don't feel like you have to go back and read it now or anything! I mean, no pressure!) I think that what I've realized lately is that the issues I have, become noticeable to me when I'm around them. Not so much that the issue IS them. It's just my stuff to figure out. Everyone has that, yeah? Anyway, I wrote about the yin and now it's time for the yang. Or is it the other way around? One is dark and one is light, right?

Mom and Dad are great folks. I have always been quite attached to them, more than most people I know at my age. I was a clingy child. The first memory I have is my mom dropping me at Mother's Morning Out (what I called Pamper School) when I was 3, I think, and screaming bloody murder for her. She promptly returned.

I think my parents have always done the very best that they can. I think both of their childhoods were not of the happiest sort. I think they grew up in a generation where parents didn't talk with their children a whole lot. And certainly parents didn't praise their kids. And really, I loved my grandparents, but they were not the warmest people.

I think both of my parents are stronger than they realize. My mother lost 2 brothers and both parents by the time I was 21. She lived around the world and ended up in teeny tiny Gallup, New Mexico. I am quite fond of it now that I don't live there anymore. But I think when she first lived there people were not all that friendly or welcoming, as small communities can be. My mother has always been one of the warmest, great smelling (she really does smell great, one of those ways she has of making you feel good just getting a whiff of her! This is to say it's her normal smell, not her perfume-y smell) most friendly persons I know. She has always supported me, listened to me, and loved me.

My dad grew up with a not-very-happy or well adjusted father. A man who drank too much and shouted a lot. His parents divorced. They didn't have much money. But Dad worked hard with the same company for over 30 years. He saved money like crazy and now they live in a beautiful home in Santa Fe. My dad has never cared what people think of him, (why didn't I get that trait? The flip side to that coin is that he can wear the same Corvette shirt for 3 days in a row, holey and faded, and not understand why you ask him to please change his shirt before going out to dinner) has never been judgemental, and has always been a great listener and problem solver. I still call him "Daddy" and he still calls me "cing" (couldn't tell you why?)

I have always felt comfortable talking to them about almost everything. Well, uh, except sex. Which is a bit ironic that, me, the Catholic-going-girl, got pregnant at 23 before I was married. This was not what I had intended. I think I was making myself literally sick when I found out. I felt dumb and ashamed and depressed. I was terrified of telling my folks. What would they think of me? I always cared what they thought. But I knew I loved hubby, long before he was my hubby. I knew we were going to be together and that we would love and care for this child. My parents seemed to know the same thing. When I told them (shaking and almost throwing up again) my mom just said, "Well we figured this would happen. And we were just waiting for the wedding announcement." Like it was no big deal. Maybe it WAS for her, but she sure pulled off the relaxed grandmother-to-be persona. She was so cool, she could have been driving down Highway 1 near San Francisco, in a convertible, scarf around her head and smoking a cigarette. I will always be grateful to her for that.

I got much sicker then. Was I doing it to myself? Maybe partially but not completely. I couldn't stop throwing up. I had just moved with hubby to Fort Collins, didn't know anyone, didn't have a job, and all I could do was hope to make it to the toilet. My mom, living in Arizona at the time, came to help for a weekend. Meanwhile, hubby's (who was at the time fiance) smell was overwhelming to me, in not a good way. I don't think he understood. I'm not sure if I did. But it was his smell, onion bagels, and bacon cooking, that just a whiff could do me in. I told my mom, "I'm coming back with you." I don't think she knew what to do and I don't think she really wanted to take care of her preggie-throwing-up daughter. But she agreed. Didn't utter a complaint.

I stayed with my folks for more than a month in my first trimester. I had to go to the hospital twice for IV fluids because I wasn't keeping water down. I lost 10 pounds. The baby seemed to be fine.

All I did at their house for that month was lay on the couch, watch re-runs of Beverly Hills, 90210, and run to the bathroom. Thank goodness for cable! I can't remember what channel it was, but they showed 90210 24/7. But the re-runs were not the good ones. They were not from when they were in high school but around the time when they graduated from college and were living in beach houses and doing different stuff with their hair that I didn't like.

The really exciting times were when there were scorpions in the sink or toilet. It was just that time of year in Arizona. Were they making fun of me? Taunting me in the toilet? "I can take you, you little punks. Wanna peice of me? Do you?" You'll get a piece! My middle name is "throw up". Ohhh, gross joke.

Believe it or not, I think I was starting to go a little nutty. But I think I knew in my heart it was the last time I could be my Mom and Daddy's little girl. It was time to grow up. I hadn't planned it this way, (well, I mean, I did make my own choices) but it sure seemed to happen fast for me. Now I think, the pregnancy was a transition time of turning from girl to woman/mother. My parents would never take care of me like that again.

I returned to Fort Collins, got married, had a fabulous honeymoon in San Diego, tolerated hubby's smell, and continued to throw up throughout the pregnancy. It got better after the first trimester but never really stopped. I started thinking, and getting worried, that maybe this was a sign that the baby was going to be a terror.

I was wrong. As soon as I had that baby, he was the most precious thing ever. A very, very, good baby. And a wonderful boy now. He is so sweet, sensitive, and empathetic. I've never seen a 6 year-old like him. He was meant to be. I'm so thankful he is in the world. I wouldn't change that for anything.

And, I liked hubby's smell again. Until I got pregnant the second time but that's a different story. Also, if he rides his bike home from work, then works on the bike, proceeds to work on the car, and then makes vomitous smelling beer (I swear I'll quit talking about vomit soon!) I just want to hit him over the head with a frying pan, 1980's cartoon style-WHAT does it take for you to get in the shower?

My good parents adore all the guys. Hubby, the 6 year old and the 3 year old. They are so good to them and they take really good care of them. The boys love them too. I'm very pleased they have such a nice relationship, especially because they don't live here. I wasn't as close with my grandparents. It's amazing how the generations change. I think we're just supposed to keep learning and do the best we can with what we have. I know that's what my parents have done. They've done a good job.

Saturday night

It's Saturday night and I'm grumpy again. What the heck? I think I could have used some alone time today but it didn't really happen. I did get to take a nap for about an hour so that was super extravagant. It's funny how naptime has really become "Mama's naptime". The 3 year old is just getting out of it. They are so good about doing quiet time though. Today, hubby was with them while I slept. Maybe I'm still tired and just need another nap, but for about 10 hours this time.

It's hard to figure out how to spend time wisely on the weekends. I tend to crave some alone time and when I do, I should just take it. On the otherhand, it's also the time when the 4 of us can be together. I really do love the bike rides, card games, reading about animals, cartoons, waffles and fruit in the morning all together. Sometimes I seem to get this calling to just sit and sulk like a little kitty though.

I wanted to go to the second hand store today, which is one of my favorite things to do. I wanted to spend a good long time looking at all the chipped china, fascinatingly colored and designed (and every now and then really awesome) tank tops, and handbags where sometimes one can find a beautiful Nine West or sporty something rather from REI. But it does take precious wandering time. I should have known when Hubby said he wanted to come to look for broken bikes to make a new folding bike and old pants to turn into capris for bike riding that it wasn't going to be relaxing. The other factor that didn't help the non-relaxing feeling was the 2 year old throwing a huge tantrum while her mother kept shopping, completely oblivious.

Ah well, I found a few good things and off we went, new/old broken bike and all. So I should just get over myself, yes? I made what I really thought was a fabulous yet slightly weird salad with avocado, tomato, and leftover pork chops in a peach preserve sauce. The 3 year old had fish sticks (his fav) and the 6 year old had a corn dog (his fav).

They then ate up their carrots and jelly beans like good little bunnies and got in the bath. Hubby said, "Go write in your blog and surf the net a little. When you come out, we'll have some shiraz and watch Micheal Clayton." He's very good about knowing (sometimes after the fact but still--wonderful that he knows) to get the heck away. Actually, I think it's a subtle and gentle way of telling me to go away! The boys are peacefully sleeping in their respective beds, I get my alone time, and I'm already feeling much better. Then maybe hubby and I can have our little date in the living room. It is Saturday night after all!

Bodily Cravings

It's funny how your mind works when it thinks you don't want something but your body seems to know that it would do you good. Like when you want to sleep in and not go to yoga at 6:30 a.m., so you don't set the alarm, but you wake up anyway, so you feel like you really should go, and let's face it, you know you'd feel better if you did. Well that happened to me this morning. I had a few small events last night that warranted me getting just minor grumpy. I was glad I wasn't heavy-duty grumpy. Yoga always helps with grumpiness (as does my medication, as is the running joke now!) The somewhat-foul mood started with my English class.

I only had one student, which can be tricky because we usually do a lot of group and pair work. This student came late enough (about 20 minutes late) that I was just beginning to think that no one was going to show up. I was getting a little excited about going home early. But my nice Mexican student came; the one with 3 kids, who works in construction in Denver all day, then comes to English class for 2 hours a night 2 times a week, sometimes straight from Denver. I thought about saying, "You know, I'm tired. I'm just going to go home because there aren't enough students here tonight and I don't feel like being here." But I didn't. In fact, I'm glad I didn't because it worked out quite well. Also, I would be such a schmuck compared to him.

This particular student speaks very well and participates easily. However, he gets frustrated and uncomfortable with writing tasks. So, I was able to say, "Would you like to work on writing?" knowing he wouldn't have to worry about any other students. We were able to work on simple sentences for over an hour. We also read a story about Pompeii, which he seemed to find interesting, and then answered questions. We were supposed to be reading about parent involvement, but what are you going to do? It was actually a nice break having a one-on-one lesson instead of a bit of pain, as I thought it might be. He smiled really nicely when he left. I felt like the writing exercise really may have helped him; with confidence, if nothing else. It turned out to be one of those nights when I was so glad to be there. Sort of like going to yoga when I don't really want to! That often happens with the things that are good and healthy for you. Why can't that ever happen with the not so healthy things? "I really don't want that chocolate cream pie and ginger ale and bourbon. It makes me absolutely groan with impatience just thinking about it."


It was leaving school that I most definitely got grumpy. I rode my bike and one of the girls who does the childcare for us said, "Be careful. My roommate got hit on her bike by a car." I get irritated when people assume it's not safe to ride your bike, in daytime or nighttime. I had a headlight and tail light. I live about 5 blocks away from the school so it makes a lot of sense for me to ride. I also had a feeling that this girl who got hit was probably riding on the wrong side of the street with no lights, coming home drunk after being at Lucky Joe's in Old Town. (The childcare girl is a college girl who seems to enjoy partying-nothing wrong with that until your roommate rides her bike home intoxicated and unsafely.) Then everyone got in their cars and drove off.

I rode home and it was SO cold! I had gloves but no hat. The wind was blowing which seemed to blow right through me. I made it home, glad it was only a few blocks of riding. When I walked in the door though, the overpowering smell of vomit struck me. I know that smell. Hubby's brewing more beer!

Hubby is always up to something. He figured out how to use the sewing machine for the first time, after just reading the manual, to sew a bag for a folding bike that he made so he could check it at the airport without getting charged extra for bike shipping. He decided he wanted a yurt so he built one with a wood frame and tent-like white top in the backyard. Somehow he doesn't seem to spend much money on this crap! I mean, uh, really, really cool stuff. I think he would like to make solar panels for our house so we could use the sun's energy for our home's energy and take the money he saved from all that solar power, to take a bike trip across Mongolia to eat Yak testicles. It's maddening and endearing at the same time.

So anyway, his first batch of amber ale was really good. So good in fact I think he could sell it. He gave it to everyone and everyone loved it! I think it's as exciting for him to make it as it is for the boys to make edible peanut butter play dough. But the smell! Oh my goodness. Our little kitchen was being overrun by this huge pot with the vomit smelling liquid in it and big buckets everywhere. The boys were running around (not yet in bed) in pj's with wet hair. The 3 year old was saying "Mama, you brush my teeth!" I went into the bathroom which had little boy clothes strewn about. At least they had had a bath. And they really were ready for bed. All shiny-faced and sweet smelling. The dog was thumping me with his tail, he was so happy. Hubby was so happy with his green chile beer, that he was as shiny faced as the bathed-boys. I'm not sure he'll be able to wait the 10 days for it to be ready. He may just have to drink it, not fermented. How could I stay a grump with all this fun chaos going on? It really wasn't bad. I think I just wanted to be grumpy.


I took a nice long hot shower, hubby gave me a shot of rum, we had lots of jelly beans, and laughed really hard at Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson in the Wedding Crashers. We went to bed late and I already decided I wasn't going to go to yoga. I didn't set the alarm. But I put out yoga clothes on my dresser just in case, and sure enough, I woke up. Yoga's at 6:30 and I woke up at 6:17. I laid there for about 30 seconds debating. I really wanted to keep sleeping but I knew I should just go. I HAD woken up after all. I kissed hubby on the shoulder, jumped up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and made it just in time.


Yoga was wonderful. I felt thankful for the day, the sun, my family, my health. Good job, inner self, in getting me there!

Priorities

It's 10:36 am and I need to pick up the 3 year old from pre-school in less than an hour. I had big plans this morning for cleaning, blogging, and preparing for my English as a Second Language class that's tonight. The only thing I've done is 1 load of laundry, email my Santa Fe friend, and chat online with my sister. Put that way, what's more important? You gotta have priorities here.

I find myself thinking about blogging all the time now. I want to write all the time! It feels so good. It's really nice to have an outlet, besides poor hubby, who is a very patient listener. Of course, now I say to him, "Did you read my blog today? Didja, didja?" He gets it from all sides.

It's 4 days after Easter and the 3 year old said to me after dinner last night, "Can I have that candy, the one that's as big as my head?" It was a Cadbury creme egg, so they are quite large. I wonder if he thought it really was as big as his head. At the same time, the 6 year old, hubby and I are having chocolate cherry chip ice cream. Have you had it? Ohmigosh, it's heaven sent from Breyer's themselves. I like mine a little melty, and not chewy. Then when you lick it off the spoon it's almost like drinking it. So I put it into the "miker" (as the 6 year old called it about 3 years ago, and one of those sayings that will always stick) for about 9 seconds. It's perfection in a little bowl! I asked the 6 year old if he would like his mikered, but he said, "Mom, I have a miker in my mouth!" Good point. I guess I could have done it his way but I like the easy way. It's too much work to have to keep it in your mouth that long without eating it and then being disappointed that it's not melty enough.

I'm going to clean now for 28 minutes. The planning for class will have to be at nap-time.

Dinner with Barack

I got an invitation from my friend Barack Obama to donate to his campaign and then I'd be entered in a drawing to have dinner with him!! Oh, the only other man that I would love to have dinner with besides my hubby (and Christian Bale and Will Smith!) So of course I donated. Only $30 but that's okay. I think I hit the "donate" button twice which means it could be $60. But Barack is worth it. He has become almost like a spiritual leader for me. The idea of being positive, having hope, and uniting with people to make change is so inspiring to me. I really feel we NEED Barack. My kids need Barack. I have been praying lately to the universe, to God, that Barack will win. I pray about other things too but lately this subject has been in the forefront of my mind.

I've already started thinking, what in the world should I wear?

pre AD's and post AD's

I have to add a thought on my previous entry. It looked so idealistic and positive. The idea of changing your thought patterns-it's really wonderful. I do believe in it. But the one little detail that I neglected to mention is that I have recently been aided by Fluoxetine. The generic drug for Prozac (20 mg.) Prozac has changed my life! I wish I could say that I've become more relaxed, less insecure and generally more happy just because I have been able to change how I think. However, I believe that Prozac has helped with enabling me to change how I think. Mother's little helper, yes? Nothing wrong with that.

I did fight against the idea for a long time. Not toward other people on them, mind you. Just against myself. I kept thinking that I should be able to figure this out on my own. What the hell is wrong with me anyway? WHY can't I be happier and more contented? I have so much in my life including a lot of love. These thoughts just made me feel worse because I couldn't figure it out. And doesn't it seem that a lot of people, mainly women, are medicated now? My feeling, and this is just a hunch, is that the more stuff we are able (and not necessarily need) to acquire in American society, the more we compare ourselves with others, the more we start feeling inadequate because we don't have the same new shiny _______(Toyota Sequoia, computer, IPOD, 4 bedroom, large basement, 2 car garage patio home, or fill in the blank with your own) as Sally does down the street. It seems it's become harder to be happier and notice the things we do have when there is so much more out there that's constantly flashed in front of our faces that will somehow fill not only our hearts but our souls. This, then, leads to depression and anxiety as well as insecurity. There are other factors, of course, as well. As I mentioned in the last post, I'm no artist, nor whale expert, and this time no scientist of any sort. But the nice thing about being 31 is that I now have a little experience to have some opinions on this sort of thing!

Pre anti-depressant, (or pre AD's) I tried a lot of other "natural" options for feeling better. I tried St. John's Wort, which seemed to just make me jittery. I stopped drinking caffeine, for the same reason plus not sleeping well. I took a jizzallion milligrams of omega 3 fatty acids/fish oil because they are supposed to help with depression. But all they helped with was having some extraordinary burps that I did not enjoy, as I don't even enjoy eating fish! I tried SAM-e, I'm not sure exactly what it is except expensive. It too, was supposed to aid depression. The only thing I noticed, and this was really weird, is that I started spotting. Needless to say, I stopped taking that. I also tried progesterone cream that I rubbed on my wrists and inner arms 2 weeks before my period started. The extra dose of hormone was supposed to help as hormones dip right before the cycle begins. I didn't notice a thing, good or bad. Just $20 every 2 months or so out of the checkbook. I used this for more than a year. I tried eating more protein, more dairy, less carbs, less sugar, then less protein, only milk, more carbs (more energy) and well, more sugar. I probably could have tried harder with the food front but gosh darnit, I love to eat. I know, who doesn't? But if one of the things that truly gives me pleasure is gone, well then, I don't see how that could help depression. I also tried more exercise which I think is the one thing that really does help. It was still inconsistent though. I turned 30 and felt worse. I had already gotten a bachelor's degree, lived and traveled in Europe, gotten married, had 2 kids, bought a house, and I was 30. What was left? I wasn't feeling suicidal, but I felt that life was starting to go downhill.

Finally, one of my good friends saved the day. She was in the same boat and even had a PhD in counseling and education. I felt we were good friends but depression was a topic that we hadn't touched. I was thinking that my PhD friend had it all. Married with 2 kids also (except that she didn't get pregnant before she got married, which is a whole other blog entry entirely.) So here I was comparing myself to her (as I figured one does in American society, right?) and she had accomplished more than I had. Then I discovered she felt the same way! It's incredible. I began to find that a lot of my friends were having similar thoughts and problems. And most of them are on some AD or anti-anxiety. Especially the ones who had kids. I went to see my PhD friend's doctor who was wonderful. She explained that after having kids (especially 2) hormones are never really the same. She said a lot of women get really depressed. I liked and trusted her immediately, so when she recommended Prozac, I said "put me on it, girlfriend."

What a difference it's made! Post Anti-depressants (from this point on: post AD's) I am happier, to say the least. I feel better about myself. I feel more motivated, in general. I feel like I am a better mom and wife. I don't obsess about how I feel, look, and sound all the freaking time. The house (believe it or not) doesn't have to be perfect. I don't feel eternally worried. I'm also not angry. I was feeling angry often at hubby, for reasons I couldn't always express. I feel like life is just starting now at age 31, instead of ending. I feel there is so much that I want to do and most of it are small things. And perhaps most importantly, I am not comparing myself to others, especially my friends (because that doesn't feel good.) I just feel more like myself. It's so much easier to be happy and thankful for the things I do have. I think I started worrying that because I had done so many major life changing events in my twenties, that there was nothing left to accomplish. But my kids are little, I'm young for crying out loud! I finally understand it. And I am just so thankful that there is something out there that has helped me.

The clean disposal

I called my friend who is on bed rest. "Do you clean out your disposal?" She is 33 weeks pregnant. She delivered her first baby at 32 weeks. Her baby was in the hospital for 8 long weeks. They're hoping the baby will keep cooking this time until at least week 35. And now, I'm asking her about her disposal. Crazy question, perhaps. But I don't care. I need the answer. It's not so much about life and death but it is about my life as an insecure woman. The answer just might change my life.

"I put a lemon down it every now and then."

"But you don't fully take it apart and clean it out as well as the inside of your sink? You know, like on a semi-annual basis or maybe even annually?"

"No. Who does that?"

"My dad." Enough said. Now you know what it's all about, don't you? I probably don't need to write any further. But I'm just warming up so I must continue.

My parents came for almost a week over Spring Break, mostly to babysit our boys. My hubby and I got to take off on 2 cheap tickets for four long days to Seattle. We stayed at a lovely hotel in downtown. We walked everywhere except when we took the city bus. In the evenings, they served complimentary Washington wine and set watercolors out on the little tables in case one became inspired. We actually did. Hubby colored a beautiful and fiery mermaid with a chili pepper for a tail. He started making his own beer and needs a name and logo for it. This is one idea. The part I like is that he said I was the model for her (small waist, big hips. I'm finally starting to dig my big hips thanks to my awesome hubby!) I painted a gray whale that looked more like a dolphin. We got to go whale watching and saw gray whales that actually looked more like dinosaurs to me. But I'm no artist, nor a whale expert. But I loved seeing them and I enjoyed sipping my chardonnay and pretending anyway.

This was just one happy part of our Seattle get-away. It was so wonderful that my parents could come and that we could do this. They really are wonderful people. With no family nearby these short but wonderful trips are a must!

They painstakingly named themselves Nana and Boppy for their role as grandparents. There was no way they were going to be called Grandma and Grandpa. Our kiddos are 6 (almost 7) and 3 (getting close to 4.)

The thing about having my parents come though, is that I feel I must get my house in perfect condition. I spent about 3 or maybe 4 weeks getting ready. I don't mean obsessive compulsive 24 hours a day re-painting and fixing drywall; but just a little obsessive compulsive re-organizing. And there is a something about this that I do enjoy. There was the linen closet, going through and getting rid of the boys' too small clothes, the 2 bathrooms, our big walk-in closet, the pantry, the one car garage, the "office" which is one small cupboard with phone books, batteries, mail and the like.

Then I felt like the hall bathroom really needed some new towels and a shower curtain. I also bought this cute clock shaped like a frog. The pendulum is his eyes going back and forth. I decided that our room, where my folks would be staying, looked a little bare on the walls. I do have this great Buddha above the bed. On either side of that are two oval mirrors. The opposite wall has the body of a woman in an ornate dress. My paternal grandmother actually did a rubbing of it in Belgium. The walls needed just a bit more. I had this great idea to fill picture frames with pretty material. I love the material of traditional Chinese dresses and also the Indian Sari material that is shiny and resplendent with gorgeous color. I went to JoAnn and bought several pieces of fabric to frame. Of course, when I filled the frames it reminded me of reading about the people who leave their portraits in the Harry Potter books. Hubby said, "Where did the photos go?" Two of them looked quite nice and are actually hanging now in our room. I have some 8x10 photos that weren't my favorite so I changed out some of the scenery pictures and put some new ones in. Makes for a nice change on the wall.

We also got our house painted about 6 weeks ago. This was something we had wanted to do for a long time. Our house is small and was painted a very cold yet bland gray color. Now it is a bright and earthy red. I love it. Not that we got our house painted for my parents, but I'm glad it was going to be ready for them to see.

I felt I had done enough preparation and we were almost ready to have Nana and Boppy come and stay. I hoped they would feel comfortable at our house. I even had Tommy, our cat, go stay with the neighbors because both of my parents are allergic. But really, I think worse than the allergies is that the last time when they stayed in our room, Tommy came into the master bath at 3 in the morning to either scratch and scratch and scratch in his litter box, or to start choking up a hairball. You really can't blame them, can you?

Of course, the day before Nana and Boppy came was going to be cleaning day (since all of the organization was done!) While the 3 year old was at pre-school, it was going to be a wash and clean fest. All of the towels, the sheets, the floors, the bathroom, etcetera. Oh yeah, did I mention we got a new vacuum? Oh WOW! It is about the most exciting thing EVER, next to going to Disneyland and going on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride with the 7 new Jack Sparrow statues that your little boys are just nuts about! This thing really vacuums, unlike our old one. What a treat. It even gets dog hair off the rug! It really is fantastic. So it's been like Christmas around here.

Unfortunately, the night before cleaning day, I began throwing up. I hate throwing up. It makes me want to cry. In fact I did cry. The 3 year old doesn't even cry when he looses it. The 6 year old who is tough and sensitive doesn't cry either. They're like Obama and I'm like Hillary. Oh well, it was no matter. Really, I am much better about these things. It only happened twice. The boys got off to school the next day and I was able to do the cleaning. Throwing up, fever, and chills are no match for a clean house. It HAD to be clean. This is the mind of the obsessive compulsive. Actually though, I was just a little tired. Which was fine.

My parents complimented the cheery red paint job. They told me I must have worked hard, the house looked so clean. This was nice of them to mention. My dad, especially, does not compliment all that easily.

It was when we came back from our trip that I noticed the kitchen sink was absolutely spotless. Not a blemish within or around it. Never before had my sink been so clean. I think I really could see my reflection in it. Then my mom, said to me, "Liza." She said my name with such seriousness, such finality that even though she has said my name like this to me before, even though I KNOW she has this way of telling me small things quite dramatically, I still think that something really terrible has happened. The cat got eaten by a raccoon at the neighbors. My sister, a terrible driver, was in a horrible car accident and it wasn't even her fault. The pipe in the crawl space burst and they had to pay a ton of money while we were gone to fix it.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"I got a spoon caught in your disposal. I'm so sorry. Do you want to see it? I kept it so you could see how beat up it got. I don't know what happened, I just didn't know it was down there." She continued to tell me more about the spoon in the disposal. She also mentioned that they put the coffee pot through the dishwasher, she thought I might like to know. Then my dad picked up where she left off and told me how he had to take the disposal apart to get the darned spoon out. How he then cleaned it out. How it was quite a project.

I said, "Wow. That must have been really gross."

My dad said, "A little. It might be a good idea to clean it out every once in a while."

My immediate thought was, Ohmigosh, I'm so lazy. I'm disgusting. I can't believe I didn't clean the disposal AND the coffee pot before they came. I thought I went over everything. I thought I did a GOOD job!

But I had to stop myself. I had to REALLY stop and think about this. These are very familiar thought patterns for me. The organizing and cleaning of the house before they came was NOT all that unusual for me. For them not to notice some of the good things and to remark on the negative things is how we bond. Because then they can say, "Oh, you should have seen what happened to the wall in our bedroom! The crack that just appeared-we had to call the builder of the house!" And we can talk like this for a long time.

What was unusual, was that after talking to my hubby, and thinking about it some more, I realized, that they really don't think I'm lazy or disgusting. That's not what they mean when they tell me these things. They really don't mean to be negative. They really are just trying to help. It's just normal for them to focus on things that need fixing. My dad IS retired after all. Life seems just a little bit different once one is retired. Having a project for my dad is key for his life! However these kinds of interactions are illustrative of times when I start thinking negatively about myself; how I get insecure about how I look, how my house looks, how my material things look. I've been insecure all of my life and I'm tired of it. Just because my parents don't tell me how proud of me they are, how I did such a great job organizing the boys' toy boxes, or whatever doesn't mean I have to focus on those negative things. I think I realized that (again, with the help of my therapist a.k.a. my my husband) it's actually a bit funny that this is how my parents communicate. My mom even mentioned this trip how HER parents never praised their kids and that they didn't want their kids to have "big" heads. But my mom is probably just as insecure as me, perhaps even more so. So isn't it a good thing to tell your kids that you're proud of them? And isn't it important that I have realized this at 31 years old? It could have taken me a lot longer. And what's most important is that I realize that my thought patterns can change. Isn't it wonderful?

The day after my parents left, the boys and I went to visit my bed rest friend. Her mom was staying to help while she had to be on bed rest. My friend told me, "I'm sorry I didn't say more when you called. I had you on speaker phone and my mom was standing right there. But that is EXACTLY something she would say. In fact she told me this morning, "You really should re-grout around the kitchen sink." This to the 33 week pregnant bed rest mom. Geez, are our moms related or what? Maybe it's a generational thing, as well as a retired thing. My friend told me she's not going to worry about it anymore. I'm not either. I'm done being insecure even if my disposal isn't clean.