So Much Yuckiness

January 31 -- I just completed one month out of 12 and wrote in this blog every single day -- yay me.  I have to say I am not sorry to see January go but the way Feb 1st and 2nd are shaping up weatherwise, I don't hold much promise out for February either.

Writing, for me, is a way to get things off of my high body-fat chest.  So here I go.

The leak in the garage started again tonight even after my poor husband spent hours hanging out of the bathroom window yesterday chipping away at the ice.

My son, who didn't study for his exams because he thought he didn't have to (even though I kept reminding him to study but apparently he knew his skill level far better than I did), told me tonight that he failed an exam.  Well, there's a surprise.  I have to say that is an absolute first in the history of my life as a student and as a mother.  Apparently, he didn't think he had to study.  Huh.  Go figure.

I can't lose weight.  All last month I tried to increase exercise and eat less overall and make meals with healthy foods.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I get the wine and chocolate and cookie thing,  but honestly?  I am talking one cookie.  One Hershey kiss.  (Okay.  Sometimes two on a bad day.)  And the wine?  Really, not too much.  (Is a bottle a day a lot of calories??)  Just kidding.  One glass.  Maybe two on a bad day.  :)  The rest of my intake is all vegetables and fruit and mostly good, healthy stuff.  And still, I have lost like, no pounds.  Nada.

Why?  Because I am getting OLD; that's why.  (Yucky item number four btw.)

College costs too much money.  Need I say more?

Job hunting is making me very sad.  I know there are a lot of unemployed people and I should be grateful for the small part time job I have but seriously?  I am bored out of my mind.

It will all work out.  I know it will.  I just hope that in February, it stops snowing so damn much, the ice melts and goes away from my house, things look up on the job hunt trail, my kid starts to realize that school isn't going to be easy peasey and he has to ummmmm, work at it??, And maybe, maybe this gym thing will be just what I need to take a few pounds off.  Oh yeah.  And we win the lottery.  Hahaha.

So there.  I end January by laughing.  Not bad, eh??

Hey! Is that Pee on the Kitchen Ceiling?!

January 30 --And the horribleness (is that even a word??!) of this unbelievably snowy winter continues...

On Friday, (today is Sunday) the leaking started.  As I frantically put buckets in various strategic positions in the garage, I thought to myself -- at least it's not happening inside the house.  And then yesterday, I was in the kitchen consoling Riley who had somehow started to read the TIME article about the Arizona shooting.  When he turned the page and saw the picture of the little girl (his age) who was shot and killed, he started bawling.  I went into the kitchen, like, whaaaat?!  Poor thing.  So I am standing there, holding him in my arms and all of a sudden he stops crying.  "Mommy?" he says.  "What are those spots on the ceiling?"  I turn to follow his gaze and there, in the corner of the room are the disgusting brown spots that can only mean one thing.  Water leak!  Sure enough, with all of the snow still up on the roof, the ice dams were finally forcing the water into the house.  (Yes, I said "dam"?!!)  I was so bummed.  I looked up at them and my stomach turned.  They are like, the worst kind of spots -- all brownish yellow with distinctive outer rings like dried urine stains on the rim of the toilet.

Later, I told the older boys what I thought it looked like and they stood there quietly staring at the ceiling, examining the stains which  had now spread to the other side of the kitchen.  They cocked their heads sideways and I could  see them trying to figure out if it was truly possible,  if there really was a way that somebody could actually pee on the ceiling.

So today was spent trying to chip away the ice on the roof so the melting snow could take a different course.  Our roof lines are very high and very steep.  At one point, I held Brian's legs while he leaned out the bathroom window to chip at the ice which was almost 5" thick!  We poured boiling water on it and used a mallet, a hammer and a chisel to work the ice chunks free from their grasp on the shingles.  Connor went up on the roof for awhile.  Needless to say, I was terrified.

In the scheme of things, I realize this isn't too bad.  People have leaky roofs all the time.  It's just one more lesson though, how nature is so unbelievably powerful.  Our house is fairly new.  But with all of it's hip, contemporary roof lines, it's actually a really dumb design for a winter with this much snow.  But who knew?  This is the worst winter on record since before we built the house!

In the end, I am just totally glad Connor didn't fall off of the roof.

We Join a Gym

January 29 --   Brian has been calling local gyms lately, trying to get a good price at a good gym.  What is a good gym exactly?  who knows -- it's incredibly subjective.  In this case, with his blown out knee, he is looking for a place with a pool.  And he finally found one.  At a reasonable price to boot.

So we joined.  it was heady -- I felt like we were buying a new car with the "manager" who had been working there longer coming over to show us the prices on the computer.  If Brian hadn't just realized he had forgotten his phone in the rental car we had just dropped off at the car repair place, we would have probably signed on the dotted line right then and there.  But we raced out to get the phone and then went home to talk about it.

The kicker of the whole experience was this.  I found out I have a LOT of body fat.  Really.  There was this chart, this wheel thing I had to grab and, poof!!  There was my number which, yes, indicated that even though I have worn the same size pants for the last like, 6 years, (maybe more), I was definitely high in the body fat content.  Brian, in comparison, was in the friggin'  "excellent" columnn.  Am I competitive?  yes.  Did this really bother me?  Yup.  Absolutely.

Did we end up joining the gym?  Totally.

Now I just have to go there to work out.  Apparently, all of the walking and running I have been pushing myself to do is helping me gain nothing in the fat reduction department.  Nooooo.  Apparently, I have to "trick" my body into using different muscles by trying different exercises like weight lifting and cycling.  Hmmmm.

I don't know. The more I think about it?  When I consider the body fat content?  I have to wonder...lately I have noticed something.   My ummmm...(is there a polite way to say this?) chest has DEFINITELY gotten bigger.  And I am not a doctor but I think that's mostly body fat, right?  So is that a bad thing?  I don't know.  Something tells me that it is just fine, thank you very much, Mr. Body Fat Counter.  (Or, since I am the one who is getting all worked up about it -- MRS. Body Fat Counter :)

Control? What Control?

January 28  --  Today I had a staging for a couple who is in the downsizing stage of their lives.  Their two boys are in the twenties and early thirties and they decided it was time to sell their raised ranch where they had lived for the past 40 years.

I actually envied them for their clarity of vision.  There was no emotional whining -- she was quite clear about how much she hated living there, how excited she was to move on.   "The sad thing," she said, "is that we have to sell every single piece of furniture we have.  Nothing is going to fit in our new place."  She turned to me then and gave me a wide grin.  "Oh well," she said with a little shrug of her shoulder. "Oh well."

Like I said, there was a part of me that listened to her and was immensely jealous.

I arrived home from that appointment with a few minutes to spare before I had to leave to meet up with my friend Lori for an hour or so of snowshoeing.   I had already stopped on the way home to fill up the tank with gas, to pick up some grinders for the kids for tonight's snowboard excursion to the local mountain and to stop at the library to get the issue of TIME magazine article about Jonathan Franzen, the next great American novelist.  (I had just completed "Corrections" and "Freedom," his last two books.)   I did a mental fist pumping over my head as I entered my house.  I was starving and there was leftover soup in the fridge I could heat up for a quick lunch before I left to meet Lori.  All was right with the world.

Not.

When I quickly checked the voice mail, I saw that there was no phone message from the dept chair I had phoned yesterday about my possible application for employment at the school where she worked.  (I had met her in the fall and thought we hit it off -- an evening of four chicks hanging out together at a wake -- I thought she might be able to give me some insight about a position which had opened up at the school where she worked.  Silly me.  No call back.)  And the unravelling continued.  A text from my girlfriend saying she would pick up Tessa after school followed by another text saying Tessa had forgotten about the meeting,  a phone call from the garage saying Luke's car had been repaired and could I be there before 5pm to pick it up? ( No!)  Couldn't find my snowshoes, completely forgot about a task I needed to complete TODAY at work,  and finally -- my favorite part -- the ceiling in the garage drenched in water and dripping all over the bay.  Ice damage had finally struck at our home.   I was like, holy sh*t!!  20 minutes and all hell breaks loose.

So I left.  Went to meet Lori.  Water was gushing out of the electric outlet in the garage ceiling and I was like, I. Don't. Care.

I have no control.  So the least I can do is go snowshoeing.  And so I did.  And it was beautiful.

Omigod I am Raising A Princess - Not!!

January 27 --  So today was another snow day.  Again.  When the phone rang at five-thirty and Brian hung up I was certain it would be a delayed opening.  When he said school had been canceled I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.  Unbelievable.

Anyway, the one good thing is that our driveway is almost a quarter of a mile long so when the kids go out to snowblow and shovel, they are out there for a nice, long time.  So that brought it down to just me and Tessa in the house.  I put a moratorium on any screen activity and she curled up for a while with a book.  I was able to work uninterrupted.  Not bad.

After a while, I decided to see how the boys were faring and to tell Riley his father wanted him to go into work for the afternoon.  (hooray!)  I reminded Tessa that since she didn't have to go out to shovel snow, I expected her to clean up the kitchen and run a load of laundry.   When I went outside, I saw some areas where I could help the boys.  I picked up a shovel and got to work.  We scraped the ice off the car, swept the garage floor and then, grabbing a spade, I started to smash up the ice which was forming at the end of the bay.  And that's when I had my epiphany.  Banging at the ice made me remember back so many years ago, when I would break up the ice on my parents' driveway.  They had one of those half moon metal ice picks and I would stand there and just bang, bang, bang at the asphalt.  It was annoying but there was always a sense of gratification when the ice was broken and cleared away.

I stopped for a minute and thought to myself, I was always out there.  Every storm.  There was never a question how the workload would be distributed.  We bundled up, girls and boys, and headed out to shovel.  I was NEVER allowed to stay inside because I was a girl.  And, quite frankly, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.  Truly.  Girls who let boys do their dirty work annoyed me.  And yet...omigod...it occurred to me that Brian and I were raising the very kind of girl I resented.  The ones who always whined at hard labor and couldn't do "boy chores" like cut the grass or change the car oil.  A princess, through and through.

Tessa is very athletic and tough.  She could definitely be outside shoveling.  She's a peanut, for sure but she can be pretty fierce out on the lacrosse field, all 4'11" of her.  So why was I letting her stay inside, all sheltered?  I have to say, I am wary of letting this pattern continue.  I am 100% guilty of feeding the stereotype.   I want her to be strong and tough and self-reliant.  Keeping her away from shoveling while the boys head out into the cold will not help at all.

And I am not even going to discuss the state of the house when I got inside.  Needless to say, she is the quintessential, social 13 year old girl.  When I came in the keys on the computer keyboard were still warm from her touch.

So Brian just jumped up from the computer himself.  It's 8:45pm and, completely absorbed in our work/writing, we forgot all about our little princess...ballet class ended 15 minutes ago!  Ughh.  We are failing!!

Yup.  We've got some work ahead of us for sure.

Writing Ideas

January 27 -- I feel like I am running out of things to write about. I like that every day I sit in front of this blank screen and come up with a topic because one of the hardest things to do is to start writing when the screen is blank.  But truly, I feel like I am running out of things to write about.

What did Thoreau do when he was stuck (okay, he wanted to go live at the pond and leave society so I guess he wasn't "stuck") at Walden Pond?  He wrote all the time but didn't he get sick of it?   Although, he didn't know at the time that anyone else would read his words so he didn't feel any type of pressure.  I don't feel pressure either but then again, a blog by it's very definition is meant to be read by others.  So right from the get-go, there is an entirely different type of mien, a unique objective whenever I sit down and start tapping at the keys.  Pressure?  Yes and no.  There are certainly off-limit topics and, one of the most interesting things that has happened in the last few days which I would love to write about -- I can't.  Too personal.  :)

That Julie chick had a good thing going when she discussed each recipe she made.  I could do that too but I guess but I don't want to.  (Although I did make this really cool and easy recipe with potatoes and the kielbasa my dad gave Brian for shoveling the ice away from the mailbox last Saturday.  It had a cheese sauce that was seasoned with oregano and basil.   And the kids loved it.) 

Boring Blog.  I fail.  Not really; but it sure seems like that sometimes. But I am okay with that feeling.  Like I used to say when I was huffing and puffing on the running trail, at least I am out here doing something instead of sitting home doing nothing.  This too shall pass.

Snow Sucks (sounds harsh but it's not)

January 26 –  I like snow.  I really do.  It's beautiful and clean and when you look out the window at the pristine landscape whitewashed by the new-fallen snow, there is always a moment of softening, a sense of awe at the breathtaking beauty of the vista.  But then the kids start to fight and the dog barks and a plate falls onto the floor and suddenly, reality hits.  It's a snow day, a delayed opening, an early dismissal.  No matter how you slice it, my schedule for the day has been uprooted and now the kids are in my armpit.

Not cool.

I mean, a snow day here and there is not a bad thing.  Kind of nice actually.  But too many snow days, like too much candy, can leave a nasty feeling in your stomach.  At least that's what it does for me.  This morning, when the phone rang at 5:30 am with the horrible message that the schools would have a delayed opening I wanted to scream nooooooo!!  And then I would take the phone and throw it across the room. That was my impulse anyway.  Instead I just rolled over and put a pillow over my head.  It didn't work.  I was awake.  The kids, however, slept through everything.  The phone call, the tv going on with the morning weather announcements and the sound of Brian firing up the snowblower.

As I write this entry, there is yet another Nor'easter heading ominously up the Eastern seaboard tracking its way north to dump more snow on an already beleaguered region.  No rest for the weary.  Like ants at the beach who just keep digging through the sand to reach the air, we just have to brace ourselves for the barrage of snow, make some nice soup, and dig out once again.  Inevitably, nature wins.  Always.

Great Service at an Auto Repair Shop? Whaaat?!

January 24 --  I brought Luke's mini-van (yeah, the coolest car a 17 year old can drive ever) to the body shop today.  I have no idea how much the repairs will cost and I don't care because (fortunately) it was not his fault.   He actually couldn't have been farther from the car when the accident occurred, lucky for him I guess.

Anyway, this was our first experience with something like this.  And everything everybody says about how bizarre the whole insurance process can be is right on the money.  There was so much inconsistency -- we sent the report, the report's not there, but we sent it, but it's not there, oh, sometimes it gets stuck in the process, whaaatt?!  But the woman at the repair shop was amazing -- she finally found the report, got it unstuck from the bureaucratic junk it was mired in and had a rental car waiting for me when I arrived at the shop.

That part of the process went so smoothly, I have to admit, I was suspicious.  What is it about customer service in today's world that makes me question a positive customer service experience, particularly when it has to do with car repairs?  Why, I find myself wondering to myself, is the person behind the counter being so darned nice and efficient?  What is her ulterior motive?  Is there a prize?  Is she getting something, a kick-back?  Ahhhh.  The distrust, the cynical thoughts.  They can't be good!

Okay.  I'm back to my naive hope that things always work out.  Let's just say this woman is hard-working, dedicated and very efficient.  And she had this really funky purple nail polish on -- a sure win, right?  What could go wrong?!!  (We'll see.  We'll see...)

Packers Win the NFC!

January 23 -- So the Packers beat the Bears to win the NFC Championship.  Hooray!!

Nobody is more surprised than I am that I am even writing about this right now.  (Then again, hardly anybody reads this so I guess it doesn't really matter if anyone is surprised or not.)  But seriously, this isn't really my kind of topic.  I mean, I am competitive -- that is certain.  And I like sports.  A lot.  But the ups and downs of major league teams does not typically fall high on my list of things which influence my daily life.

But anyway, before I ramble on and on about nothing (ha) I have to say that I have fallen head over heels in love with this football season.  And it's not just because the Packers won the NFC and are now headed to their fifth Super Bowl game.  I am enthusiastic because I am unbelievably smitten with how much my whole family loves the Packers.  I am happy because they are happy.  I know that sounds cliché but seriously, if it weren't for their enthusiasm, their camaraderie, their bizarre little mojo moves before and during each game, I would probably barely be paying any attention to the race for the Super Bowl.  After all, it's not like we live in Wisconsin where almost everyone is a cheese head.

My boys first started to follow the Packers because Brian did.  But now they are diehard fans all on their own.  And I think that's awesome.  Tessa has even become obsessed with watching the game and she roots them on as fiercely as a 13 year old girl can.  (It cracks me up though when I cheer loudly and she is like, "Mommmm, stop it!" as if, even though I am sitting in the privacy of my family room,  by yelling at the television set I have somehow managed to embarrass her in front of all of her friends.)

In this day and age when we are all running in six different directions at once, it is a wonderful thing to have something in our lives which unites us so intensely.  And I am unbelievably grateful for the opportunity to have us all rooting for the same team.  Connor said that during mass yesterday, he asked God to help the Packers win today.  I don't know who God was rooting for.  But I know I was just hoping for one more evening with all of us sprawled across the couches and chairs high-fiving and dancing and biting our nails in mutual support for our fierce band of talented green and yellow men.

That is the blessing I am grateful for.

Go Packers!

Why I am Afraid of My Mother

Jan 22 --  I am afraid of my mother.  Okay, maybe not.  But while that isn't entirely true, I have to admit there is a little kernal of  truth in that statement.  It's not really because of anything she does  -- she's a wonderful woman who has been a very positive influence in my life.  And she does so much for my dad, caring for his every need.

It's just that right now, In a way, I guess I am afraid of her.  And I am not exactly sure why but I suspect I have a clue.  It has to do with her crying.

Last week,  after the mailbox incident, the town called me up and left a message (cowards!) about the broken mailbox.  Apparently, they decided that the plow didn't directly cause the damage, it was the snow from the plow that broke my parents' mailbox and threw their daily mail distribution world into a such a tizz.  According to town rule 87, section 4,678, that meant they wouldn't fix it for them.   When I head the message, my blood ran cold.  I was freaked.  I couldn't;  I absolutely could not call my mother with the news that the town wasn't going to fix the mailbox.  With another storm coming, I knew we wouldn't be able to do anything about the mailbox anyway, so I balked.  I just couldn't deal with hearing her disappointment and her apprehension about how she was going to keep my father calm when his beloved mailbox was stuck in a snow embankment outside.

So, I did the next best thing.  I asked Brian if he could go over there to help them.  And, after like two or three visits with repeat shopping trips to Lowes to purchase, return and purchase a new mailbox with an extra visit to his brother's to get a Sawz-All, he finally fixed the mailbox.  Throughout the whole experience, I never called.  It was weird.  It was like I didn't want to tip the karma scale.  I was afraid that if I called, there would be another issue on top of it all.  And for some very weird reason, I wasn't feeling up to hearing about it.

I know why though.  It was what Brian told me about the first day he stopped by to see what was up with the mailbox.  I guess when he got there, my dad tried to come outside.  The driveway was icy and he stubbornly wanted to come outside to look at the broken mailbox.  My mom, who lives in mortal fear that he will slip and fall (and rightly so, he is quite feeble) was inside the house, upstairs, crying.  I guess she had begged him not to go outside and (because he has Alzheimer's and truly cannot follow her logic) he stubbornly ignored her and went outside anyway.  When Brian told me that, I froze.  I felt so bad for her, for the situation, for the lifelong struggle that we have in our effort to control all only to realize we control absolutely nothing.

So I stopped calling her.  Not one of my proudest moments but it is what it is.  Brian, however, (God bless him!) called over there today to see how she and Dad were faring with the mail.  And a good thing he did, because there was lots of ice near the mailbox and the mail hadn't gotten collected since yesterday.  So Brian went over with Luke and chipped away at the ice until they had cleared a slightly less precarious path.  I guess she asked him why I hadn't called.  He told her, honestly, that I was very busy with a work deadline (which I am.)  He did not tell her that I had temporarily misplaced their phone number.

I guess I will call her tomorrow.  Because the truth is, I am not as much afraid of my mother as I am afraid to hear bad news.   It's all part of life.  I know that.  I guess, for the first time in a long time, I just needed a break.

Cheaters

January 21 --  I think that it's time I make an appointment with the eye doctor.  It's embarrassing to admit but even though I wear contact lenses, I have not been to the doctor in almost three years.  Yipes.  I know that's bad.  But my contacts last a very long time and I haven't had the need to see him.

Except now I don't think I can wait much longer.  It's time for cheaters and I know it.  Technically, I do realize that I can just go to the local CVS and pick up a pair of somewhat funky lenses (or maybe I should go to Target for funkier frames?!)  The problem is that I don't know what I am doing and, maybe even more important, I don't WANT to know what I am doing.  In other words, I am totally pissed off that it's time for cheaters.

I have been wearing glasses for distance since I was in the third grade.  And now I have to go and buy another pair for not being able to see close up?  This sucks.  I'm sorry to say it but it does.  My whole life I was the kid, teenager, young woman, and so on who ALWAYS flunked the eye exam.  I mean, by the time I was in my forties, I just would sit in the chair, cover one eye, look at the huge fuzzy letter and say, "I have no idea.  So um,  Doctor?  Let's not waste any more time --  get out the huge metal thing with the clicking eye pieces and for God's sake, just figure out how blind I am so I can go home."  (Yes, I know.  Some issues there...)

For someone who cannot stand the idea of failing or getting a poor grade in anything, I needed to get past the failing eye exam as quickly as possible.  As a result, I always loved the part when the doctor asked me to read the close-up stuff to see if I needed bifocals.  Each time, I passed with flying colors.  Yay for me.  My one bright spot in my visit to the optometrist's office.  And now, those days are gone.  I am toast in all areas of vision.

I know I am being a brat.  A total baby.  Wah, wah, wah.  It's just really weird to see (ha) myself aging.  A little scary too.  I mean, these headaches I have had all week?  I'm like, is this some menopause issue?  Or is it my eyesight?  I could be getting headaches from my eyesight couldn't I?  Either way it adds up to one thing --  I am definitely getting warmer -- and heading closer to the golden years.    (It sounds a lot nicer describing it that way doesn't it?  See?  I am growing up.)  Ha.  Never!!!

Free Pass

January 20 --   It is very late at night and I am exhausted.  Another day spent nearly non-stop at the computer, writing and now, doing layout.  I am pretty sure that I read somewhere that if you don't get enough sleep you gain weight.  And with all of this chocolate and cookies (and wine ) I am eating (and drinking) I guess I need to watch out for any other weight gain traps that might be lurking in my life.

So...I am giving myself a free pass for the night.  Not entirely though because I did log on after all and I am sitting here writing while my eyes get drier and my contact lenses get even more annoying.

It's actually kind of a nice to give myself a free pass.  I don't do that often enough.  I'm sorry kids, I am not driving you anywhere today.  Or making dinner.   And your laundry?  Ahhh, no.  Not touching it today.   I've got a free pass.  What the heck. Why not?   They get them in school don't they?  So why can't I have 'em too?

Something to think about anyway.

Words Fail Me...And My Offspring Too, Apparently

January 18 --  I just spent the last several days writing articles for the district newsletter I produce for our local school system.  The kids finally went back to school today so I was able to write for even longer periods of time without interruption.  The only time I stopped was when I got hungry (okay, that was a lot) or decided to change out of my pj's, or when the phone rang and I had to answer it.   (I can never write very well while I am talking to somebody else.)

Needless to say, I have been doing a TON of writing.  Lots and lots of words.  Some of those words aren't that bad actually. So why is it, that if I can write to earn a living (okay, a small living, like enough to raise a family of say, one ant) -- why is it that when I start to speak out loud, I make no sense at all?

Put your shoes in the refrigerator, I have to go the ah, ah, umm, uhhh, oh...screw it!  Turn off the newspaper.  Brush your towel.  It's like that non-stop, every day.   Brian, God bless his soul, seems to understand my language and simply nods as though I am making complete sense.  (Although, upon reflection, it's quite likely that he simply isn't listening to me at all.)  Nonetheless,  it's completely bizarre;  the words slip out of my mouth and so many times, it barely registers that I am making absolutely no sense at all.

It wasn't always this way.  I used to have an excellent memory!  I actually have a reputation in my family for remembering things that happened way back when I was still in Mom's uterus.   I guess the muck-ups in my verbal vocabulary started when I hit my 40's...the words, the kids, my life -- everything started to get all jumbled up.

It's kind of embarrassing actually.  Like tonight, I was talking to Brian in the office.  He mentioned that the lacrosse pancake breakfast was on Sunday.   Oops.  Suddenly, I remembered that I hadn't told Connor or Tessa that I had volunteered for them to help at the breakfast.  So I called to them in the other room to tell them about the breakfast but as I yelled, somehow the word "festival" crept into my sub-conscious mind.  Where it came from I have no idea;  it was like an invasive seed falling and sprouting unseemly vines in a flower garden.   When Connor answered, "what?!"  I yelled back, "Hey! I volunteered you guys to work at the breastival on Sunday!!"  The kids, who were watching tv, shouted, "okayyy!!"  Brian said nothing.  (Although I am nearly certain that I am correct with my theory -- I speak and his brain shuts down.  Nearly 25 years of marriage and I finally figured that out.  Impressive.)   No.  It was Luke who started to snicker in the next room.  "What?" I asked him.  "Mom," he said, laughing even louder now.    "You said breastival!  I'm sorry but that's like, helloooo, breastival? (more laughing, some gagging)... too funny!  It's sooooo...omigod!" (Suddenly mute, he leans over in front of the computer, his shoulders shaking like jello.)   I can only guess what image that word conjured up in my 17 year old son's mind.  But yeah.  Whatever.  Everyone knew what I meant, didn't they?!  Ughhh.

Like I said, it's embarrassing.  I mean, I guess I could get really freaked about it and believe me, sometimes I do.  After all, I do have a father with Alzheimer's.  But I truly think it's a by-product from mixing a busy life with hormones. Normal midlife stuff, right?

Right.  Except for the fact that tonight I realized that quite possibly, my 15 year old son might be showing signs of...his mother's word disease.   I think so anyway.  At dinner, he told us a story about what happened to him at school today during Earth Science.  I guess he was with a group of boys, studying for his mid-term tomorrow.  Suddenly, he realized he couldn't remember the definition for the word 'satellite.'  Flipping madly through his notes, he found the entry.  "URETHRA!!" he yelled, pumping his fist in the air.  For a moment nobody spoke.  Finally, one of the kids leaned over and whispered to Connor, "ummmm, you know that you mean 'eureka' right?!"  


Yah.  That's my boy :)

I Finally Beat Luke at Chess

January 18 -- With all of these holidays and snow days,  we are definitely getting cabin fever around here.  One of the things we have been doing to break up the monotony is to play chess.  Let it be said that as a child growing up I learned my lesson very, very well -- girls do not play chess.  Whenever my father or older brothers huddled around a chess game, they barely tolerated my existence near the board.  I had no idea what the pieces did and, the more I observed my dad and brothers with their fierce competitive glares and their intense efforts to annihilate each other, I wasn't too sure I wanted to find out.
  
When my older boys were little, my dad taught them how to play.  He truly was an amazing player whom my brothers, in all those years of playing, rarely were able to defeat in a game.  As the oldest, Luke received the benefit of lessons from my father the longest before Alzheimer's invaded the chess board and slowly captured his ability to move the pieces properly.  But by then, Luke and Connor were fairly adept at the game and even Riley had learned to play.  I tried to learn but was quickly beaten.  Again, I retreated.

Until this past week.  With the arrival of chess sets and clocks for the Community Chess Tourney Luke is organizing, the formidable game has been set up on our kitchen table 24/7.   With non-stop winter storms keeping the kids home from school like, constantly, it became quite easy to take a break from work and sit for a game.  Or play after dinner.  Slowly, slowly I got better.  But I still always lost.  It was demoralizing.  I actually woke up one morning and realized I had been playing chess in my dream.  And had lost.

But finally, my lucky break happened.  As it was, I beat Brian. He truly had no idea how much better I had gotten at the game and I caught him completely off guard. Amazing!  I knew it was luck but I kept practicing with the boys.  Then I beat Riley, and then Connor.  And tonight, omigod, I beat Luke, chess master of the house!!  While I realize it will be a long, long time before I beat him again, I do know that I have gone up a notch or two in his competitive eyes.

I have to say, that makes me feel rather proud.  After all those years of believing that girls can't play chess -- that it's only a game for the smarty pants boys in the house, I am realizing that I have officially debunked a myth!  I guess this ol' goose still has a couple of marbles left to play with after all.  Woo hoo.

The Snow Days are Making Me Insane

January 17 -- The kids had no school today because it was Martin Luther King Day.  An amazing situation actually because in the last two weeks, there have been no less than three snow days already.  And from the looks of it, tomorrow, with its forecast of snow and sleet and freezing rain, will be yet another snow day.

I love my kids.  I really do.  But all of this time off from school, all of this togetherness is slowly driving me to the brink of madness.   I am feeling unbelievably claustrophobic.   And because I am one of those people who has tremendous gratitude for all of the blessings I have in my life, I am very disappointed in myself.  I don't understand why I can't be more laid back, less critical, more upbeat and positive.  Something tells me I am not alone in this but honestly?  Right now I feel like I am truly a terrible mother who wants to ignore this snow/sleet/freezing rain storm and put her kids back on the bus tomorrow.   Especially the three teenagers.  But face it, in the last couple of days, the ten year old has beaten me far too many times in chess.  He gets better.  I get worse.  I feel like crap.  So yeah.  He can get on the bus too.

Migraine...

January 16 --  I woke up today with a migraine.   I don't get the completely disabling ones, just the ones where I can function but it feels like someone is sticking their finger in my eye and banging the back of my head with a heavy object.  (Head hurts right now, I am seriously lacking creative energy.)

My friend Mary Ann called me.  told me disturbing news about the Julie in Julie and Julia.  the real julie, not the actor who played her in the movie.  She said that when she was writing the blog, she actually was having an affair with someone.  And she eventually left her husband for this new person.  Apparently she spoke at a local event and Mary Ann's husband was there and he said she was totally "icky."

that makes me really sad.   hope that isn't because of her blog writing.  (I wrote this whole last paragraph with my eyes closed.  My head hurts. )

Freedom

January 15 -- I am reading a book called Freedom by this author who is being hailed as the next amazing American writer but in a moment of early onset Alzheimer's, I can't remember his name.  Ha.  So there Mr. Next Great American Writer.  Your blonde-at-birth but now highlighted blonde fan can't even remember your name.  (Franzen -- it just came to me as I was typing this. )  sigh.

Anyway, there is this part in the book where Patty, one of the main characters in the story, talks about potentially slipping into a depression because she doesn't know what to do -- have an affair with her husband's best friend, or not.  She says she knows she should go back to school or get a job but she wants to have free weeks to go the lakehouse, and she wants those long weekends to go visit her kids at college on Parent Weekend, and she wants to work in the garden and have the luxury of deciding each day what she is going to do.  So she doesn't get a job because she likes her freedom.

I know exactly what she is talking about.  Exactly.  I keep hearing this little voice these days and it says -- you will be so happy with a full-time job!  But I love my Monday morning yoga class!  I love spending hot summer days at the lake with the kids.  Walking the dog by the river in the morning.  Going away for two weeks straight to the Outer Banks!  Like Patty, I like my freedom.  But honestly?  I think too much freedom can be harmful.  Too many choices and inevitably, no choice is made.

Today I mentioned to Connor that I would love to try out for HGTV's Design Star.  Having worked part-time as a decorator, I know I could put together a fairly (note  the word "fairly") decent video exhibiting my work.  At first he was like, "Yeah!  Cool! Let's do it!"  And then he was quiet.  Finally, he looked over at me and said, "You know what?  You have an awful lot of ideas, Mom."  And I nodded in agreement.  He's right.  But none of these various ideas are like, out of the world, you know? Couldn't I just find a job where I could sell tea and scones and have a wireless hangout for teens and whomever wanted to find temporary solace, with a room in the back for teaching yoga, creative writing, whathaveyou, and time to do decorating consults as well? Maybe online?   Couldn't that all happen?  Teaching, Decorator, SafeHaven...there has to be money in something like that right?  (With time to go to the lake, of course.)

Ughh. Too much freedom  -- the price of being an American eh?!  Hmmmmm.

A Short Entry

Jan 14th -- This is officially going to be the shortest entry yet.  It's like, very late at night and I am exhausted.  What a bizarre day.  For most of the daylight hours, I ran around doing my best multi-task, wifemomprchick moves and then, poof! -- right in the middle of my chess game with Riley, I get the phone call from Luke.

"Ummmmm, Mom?" he asks with his deep drawl.  "Are you at work?"
"No, I just left the school; why?"  I look over at Riley who is hunched over the chess pieces, quietly scheming how to beat me.
"Connor and I might need a ride home."
"Why?! What happened?!"
"Ummmm, somebody smashed into the front of my car?  The police are here..and she is too.  It's not like she ran off or anything."
Secretly, I am so unbelievably relieved.  Nobody is hurt.   And the person who hit his car (while he was inside at track practice) stayed with the car and did the right thing.  She didn't "smash and dash" like so many other high school kids who have gotten into accidents in the school parking lot.

I am going to close this entry now by saying one thing.  Yes, I know this girl feels terrible.  And yes, she smashed the van up pretty badly.  But she exhibited what I am always trying to teach my kids -- true character is demonstrated by how you act when nobody is looking.  Her mother should be so proud of her. I know I am.

Why I Would Never Win a Beauty Pageant

Winner of the last beauty pageant I ever entered.  

(He totally beat me in the bathing suit competition.)

Day 13 --  Today I told someone else about this blog of mine, this crazy goal to eat chocolate and a cookie and drink a glass of wine and coffee every day this year. (I am not frightened of that part of my resolution at all -- that part is easy!) What scares the bejesus out of me is this idea that I will have something different to write about for, omigod, 352 more days, (not counting this entry. )

The person I told was my dear friend Liz who is such a darling she supports nearly everything I try to do. I could say, "hey Liz, I am going to start a new business making crochet pot holders.  For squirrels."  And she would be like, "oh, what a creative idea!  You should write about it!"  The thing is, Liz has been encouraging me to write for like as long as I have known her, long before internet blogs even existed on the world wide web.  (Actually, I am fairly certain there wasn't even a public access internet when I met Liz.)  There was, however, indoor plumbing.

So when she called out of the blue today, I made the decision to send her the link to this blog.  Including Liz, that makes three people in total who know about it above and beyond my immediate family.  Now that I have a crowd (ha) I decided I should spruce up the site a little, maybe add some comments in my profile.  But when I clicked on the edit page and got down to the topics, I froze.  I read the first topic -- personal interests.  My mind started to process the question.  A few random thoughts came out like yoga, watching raindrops make their squiggly paths down a window... and then, nothing.  Total blankness.  I mean, I like um, uhhh, lots of things!  Lots and lots!  But could I identify any of them specifically?  Absolutely not.  Favorite movie?  Random thoughts?   A random question?  Crap.  I had nothing.

And this is why I would utterly fail in a beauty pageant.  Besides the fact that I have never been able to walk in sexy, high heel shoes without looking like the Leaning Tower of Pisa in the middle of an earthquake,  I would completely suck when it came time for the personal questions.  (Or my personal favorite, the "what is your dream?" question.  I think I would puke if someone asked me that on stage.)    I don't know why, but it happens to me all the time.  (The paralysis when I am asked personal insight questions, not the beauty pageant part.)  For example, say I am reading a really good article in my Oprah magazine about how to find your inner talent.  (There are like, a million articles in Oprah determined to help you find your inner talent, social goodness, life skills, inner dreams, perfect underwear, yada yada yada.)  Usually I am reading along, nodding excitedly at relevant sentences and underlining important comments.  Then I turn the page.  And my heart drops down into my stomach.  There, before me, is the deal-breaker,  the horrible page with the questions and the lines where I am supposed to answer all of my inner, ultra-aware personality insights.  Bravely, I pick up my pen to fill out the questionnaire.  All I have to do, I tell myself, is answer these questions and, like the rising sun casting its bright light on the Mojave Desert, all mysteries will be revealed.  So what do I do?  I panic.  My palms get sweaty and my stomach flips.  And slowly, carefully, I put down my pen and turn the page again.  Another day, I tell myself.  I'll come back and fill it out when I have more time.

So what is the problem?  What am I so afraid of discovering with this effort at self-discovery?  That I am not worthy of such analysis?   That I am a boring human being with a personality as vibrant as the lone walnut left in the fruit bowl after the holiday party? Ahhhhhh. I do know that I have more personality than a walnut.  I think.  Then what is this issue of mine that keeps me from analyzing and exposing my interests in a tiny 1 by 3 inch box or on the 10 lines provided by the invisible questioner?  I honestly don't know.  I just hate doing it.  I do realize there is something utterly diagnosable about this revelation.  A psycho-therapist would probably have me nailed in seconds, peering at me over his cheater glasses and tapping his pen on the side of his clipboard.  But I am clearly not a psychotherapist and, quite frankly, I don't want to know why I don't want to know too much about myself...for the moment anyway.  When it is time for me to learn, I will know how to fill out the little boxes.  And all will be revealed.  I think.

Nor'easter

Day 12 --  We had our first real nor'ester of 2011 today.   In the middle of the night, the snow came and came and came.  When all was said and done, there was 22 inches of snow on the ground.  No car could drive through that so Brian stayed home for most of the day.  It was really weird.    I mean, not weird that he was home and yet, weird that he was home.  I mean, it felt like a weekend but it wasn't.    I was supposed to do work but, I didn't.  Weird.

So now I feel lousy about myself.  But not that lousy.  I mean what the heck.  The kids were doing no work, my husband was out snow-blowing our unbelievably long driveway for hours so I just putzed around in the house.  Worked out for awhile, played chess with the kids and then sent them outside to help their father.

So.  Day 12 and I have officially written the most boring entry ever in this official blog.  How will I ever make it till the end of the year?  I am even boring myself.  When I was a kid, I remember a snow day we had when I was about 8 years old maybe?  I got out of bed and decided that it was a perfect time for me to start writing my book -- the one that was going to be amazing and make me rich and famous.  I don't remember the story but I do remember the spiral ring notebook.  It was yellow with tiny purple and green daisy flowers all over it.  I thought it was the most beautiful notebook ever and I just knew it was the perfect vessel for the extraordinary story I was writing.

If I remember correctly, I wrote for a little while, maybe an hour or so.  And then I re-read what I wrote.  It was really cheesy.  Disappointed,  I carefully put the notebook away in the recesses of my desk drawer, hiding it under some loose notepaper.  I promised myself I would come back to it but...as I am telling this story years and years hence, I guess I took a different path.  'The one less travelled by.'  Not.  I just abandoned it, pure and simple.  Story of my life.  Sort of anyway.

So tonight I had this ridiculous encounter with Luke while I was making dinner.  I was thinking about how we are disciplining him so he will intensify his effort at school.  Earlier in the month he had promised us he would get his grade up in English.  And I KNOW he can.  But after yesterday's revelation on Parent Portal, I know he hasn't.  So now we are taking away social privileges.  As I watched him drink his huge glass of milk in one long gulp, I thought, this is a kid who just spent three hours outside helping Brian clear the driveway without complaining.  But it is what it is.  Suddenly, I burst into tears.  He looked at me with a bewildered expression on his face.  "Why do you make me discipline you?!"  I cried, sobbing over the shrimp curry I was mixing on the stove.  He said nothing.  What could he say?  It was really a very weird thing for me to come out with and I knew it.  "I know that was bizarre.  I'm sorry," I sniffled.  "I don't know where that came from."  I paused for a moment and then I added, "parenting is the hardest job I have ever had.  Ever."  And then I thought to myself, yeah.  That's about right.  And, for better or worse, I am not abandoning it.  So there.

The Parent Portal

Day 11 -- 1/11/11 - Ha.

Okay, so I am completely ticked off at my two older sons right now.  Why?  Because of the marvel of modern technology and the innovative parent tool known (at least in our town) as the parent portal.  Intellectually, I suppose it is named that because it is a portal of sorts where parents can enter the school via the web and check their children's grades.

On one hand, I can see its usefulness.  It has given us many moments of enlightenment about how the kids' grades are slipping in time to alert them so they can turn their grade around.  On the other hand, it's often a case of too much information.  Battles always ensue largely because I am weary.  Why is it my responsibility to check it?  Yes.  I can hear the voice which says, "don't check it!  Let them learn!" Yeah, that's a great logic.  But it's very, very hard not to go on that portal.  And I rarely go on.  Maybe once every couple of weeks.  More often if a kid is in the "grade danger zone."  The Parent Portal was designed as a parenting tool.  So maybe it should be re-named because I truly don't think my teenage sons can figure out how it could help them.    It's not a boy thing -- I do know other boys who check their grades.  I am not saying to do it as often as you brush your teeth but the occasional viewing would be a great way to develop responsible, independent behavior.

So what do I do?  Set a day of the week where they have to check their grades and then report back to me before I serve them dinner?  Well.  It's a thought anyway.  Again.  I just think of my years in high school.  My parents never had to work this hard.  They knew nothing and I was entirely responsible for watching my grades.  Granted, I was a good student but still.  I knew I was in trouble if I came home with a "C" and so I did my best so that it never happened.

But what annoys me the most about this Parent Portal are the stupid conversations I always end up having with my kids after I  check their grades.

Me:  Luke, I thought you were going to try to get your grade up in English?

Luke:  Yeah.

Me:  So what is with this "F"?  It's a zero!  That is not a reassuring sign showing us you are trying in class so that you can bring up your grade.  (Next to the zero it says "class" indicating it was an assignment done in class um, based on the entry date, less than a week ago.)

Luke:  I don't know what that is.  I can get it changed.

Me:  Really?  Shut UP!  Cuz that's just amazing that you can screw up a class assignment so badly that you get a ZERO and like, all you have to do is talk to your teacher and she will change it??!  Wow.  That's like, a miracle!   (I am really sad that it doesn't work like that in the office.  "Sorry boss, I guess I lost that account.  I don't know how it happened.  Um...maybe if I go to the higher ups and like, just talk to them, everything will be okay and we will make more money -- like poof! you know? -- and I won't get fired."  Hmmmm... Now there's a strategy to try out someday.)

Luke:  I can talk to her!   I'm sure she has it.

Me:  So what was the assignment?

Luke:  I don't know.

Me:  You don't know the assignment;  you can't even remember it.  And yet somehow, you believe that you can get this grade changed?!

(As we are having this silly argument, I am thinking, what if I never pointed it out to him?  He would never have seen it to have the alleged conversation with his teacher before the grades close.)

And so the conversation goes, round and round until he stalks out of the room.  I hate it.  I really do. Because if it is an entry error, then we have just expended negative energy for nothing.  Or... if it is an accurate entry, I am still in a negative state of mind because I am so disappointed that my son isn't living up to his promises.  Normal teenage stuff but exhausting and maddening nonetheless.

 It's a conundrum.  Is it better to have these conversations during the marking period or is it better to get hit with the grades at report card time?  I guess I favor having the information in time to set up situations where the kids can improve their grades.  (Or feel good about their high ones!)  My frustration as a parent is that I can't seem to teach my boys how to use this Parent Portal as a tool for their own personal development and success.   And that makes me really frustrated.  Especially with my oldest heading off to college next fall.    Deep down, I think he will figure it out.  I just have to brace for some bumps along the way.  (And I dread the bumps.)

Time to re-think this Parent Portal business.  And put more of the checking responsibilities onto the boys' laps.  With all the chocolate and cookies I've been eating, my lap is getting heavy enough.

What the Plow Did to the Mailbox

Mom and Dad at their 60th Wedding Anniversary

Day 10 --  During the last snowstorm, the town snowplow destroyed my parents' mailbox.  Snapped the sucker right in half - a bloodless decapitation of the most civilized sort.    I saw it yesterday when Connor and I stopped by the house to inspect the severity of the damage.  My mother was pretty upset and my dad was beside himself with anxiety -- how would the mail be delivered?

To most people, a broken mailbox would be an inconvenience, albeit a fairly high one on the annoyance meter.  But to my parents?  It was a catastrophe.  While the delivery of the food from Meals on Wheels clearly occupies first place, the arrival of the mail is a close runner-up in the activities which highlight my father's days.  At 88 years old, he suffers from Alzheimer's and under my mother's watchful eye, he doesn't get to go outside by himself very much.  The trip to the mailbox is a very big deal -- a brief release from the penitentiary so to speak.   Slowly, purposefully, he shuffles out to the street almost every day to retrieve the mail.   In that moment when he clasps the assortment of envelopes and junk mail flyers and carefully pulls everything out of the aluminum box, all is right with the world once again.  He is in charge.  That is, of course, until he is back in the house and my mother takes the mail from his hands, sorts out the bills, and gives the rest of it back to him to read in his chair in the corner.

"You have to call the town hall," I tell my mother yesterday after Connor and I come back inside.  "It's their fault and usually they are pretty good about fixing the mailboxes.  At least in my town they are."

She looks at me, surprised.  "Really?"

"Yeah," I answer.  "Really."

So today, I call to remind her to contact the Public Works department.  In our conversation, she doesn't make any sense and is having trouble explaining what is going on at their house.  At the moment of my call, she has just arrived home from a doctor's appointment and her friend who has stayed with my father, has just left.  When she finally settles down, my mother tells me the broken mailbox situation is clearly agitating my dad.  "He got up early today," she says, "and put on his Sunday clothes.  When I asked him why he was all dressed up, he said he wanted to go to the town hall."   As I speak to her, she cups her hand over the phone's mouthpiece.  I hear her muffled voice as she yells to my father.  "Are you going outside?!  Oh. Oh. Please don't go outside."  She comes back on the phone and in a staged whisper says, "he is going outside."

Apparently, he had already gone out several times to check if the mail deliverer had put the mail in the makeshift set-up that Connor and I had made when we were there yesterday.  It had been freezing cold outside and Connor had left his winter jacket in school so as we huddled around the broken mailbox, we had to think fast. After a few moments of brainstorming, we shoveled the snow into a large pile and then stuck the top part of the decapitated mailbox into the snowbank.   We both agreed that it was a rather brilliant solution and nearly deluded ourselves with our high level of intelligence.  But my father was never one for half-assed production jobs.  Even in his current state of dementia, he saw through our design and he knew it wasn't right.

After a few minutes of conversation, I sigh.  I tell my mother that I will call the town hall.  I can tell she is not convinced she has the ability to persuade them to help her even though I assure her she has an excellent case.   I can practically feel her relief through the phone line.

When I get home, I call the woman at the Public Town Works department. She listens patiently and then assures me that she will have someone go out and check out the damage as soon as possible.  "If they decide the mailbox was broken because of the plow, they will fix it," she says.  I am listening carefully and I begin to sort through her logic.  I am thinking, what?!!   It snowed, the plow came, and the mailbox (which my brother and dad had recently sunk into about five feet of concrete) suddenly snapped in half.  Really?  There is possibly another reason for its demise?  Like maybe my 88 year old dad, in a fit of senior citizen anger, suddenly took a whack at it with his walking cane?  Really?!  But, with great self-discipline, I keep my skepticism in check so as not to alienate the woman who is actually being quite nice on the phone.

When I call my mother back to give her the news, she is quite grateful.  I tell her that I was very clear about my dad's obsession with the mail and his current medical condition.  Always quick with the compliment she says, "thank you so much for calling them for me.  I guess this is one of those times when it's a good thing to be someone who talks alot."   I am fairly certain there is a personal dig in there but I am on a roll with keeping my thoughts to myself.  I choose to ignore her sarcasm.  I know that deep down she is happy to have information she can use to calm my father.

As for the mailbox, I remain hopeful.  Just call me Chatty Cathy Pollyanna.

How our Favorite Sledding Hill Got Smaller

Day 9 -- Today, my husband and I were talking about our sledding adventures when we were kids.  I don't know how the subject even came up.  I think it was when Connor started sharing about a health class at school.  He said that they learned how kids don't like to play outside anymore.  That got me talking about the hill where we used to go sledding when I was a kid.  It was awesome!  My parents still live at the house where I grew up so my husband is very familiar with the terrain.  He turned to look at me and said, "What?!  What hill did you have at your house?"

I was surprised at his outburst.  I mean, wasn't it obvious?  Before I answered him, I flashed back to my childhood, to the memories of how we used to go flying down the hill next to the house, carefully packing down the snow so we could go farther and farther each time.  The dream ride was when it was icy snow with a really hard crust where, if you were lucky enough to miss all of the trees, you could fly down the hill pass through the flatter section and catch the second hill.  If you were still flying down with enough speed, you could  make it all the way into the brook.  That's right.  Sliding into the icy, cold water of the brook behind my mom and dad's house was an amazing badge of honor.  "Oh my GOD!!" the fortunate sledder would scream, "I went right into the brook!"  And the rest of us would cheer him or her on with a mixture of envy and horror."  (Our parents were always furious when we showed up drenched from landing in the brook.)  I think I only achieved that status maybe two or three times in my lifetime of sledding adventures.  And we were out there all winter, every year.  There were no video games luring us into the house, no 'can't-miss' television shows.  The good shows didn't start till after 4pm or so.  Conveniently, that's around when it started to get dark anyway.  It was a good time to head back inside after playing in the snow most of the day.

When I described this scene to Brian, he nodded and smiled.  "It's weird," he said, "I am always amazed when I drive by my childhood home.  The yard seems so small but when we were kids, it was HUGE."

It makes me kind of sad to think how our surroundings shrink as we age.  You definitely lose that sense of awe, that feeling of excitement and respect when conquering a scary hill, or goal.   I don't like to think of myself as blasé or jaded.  I'm not.  But there is no denying the fact that the hill which seemed so big to me as a kid, is rather small and not so intense today.  But on the other hand, the relish which we all attacked the hill (which in proportion to our  diminutive size was still rather huge) was an amazing display of courage.

I wonder sometimes, when I talk myself out of trying new things or am fearful about maintaining goals (like this daily blog) where that exciting and fearless kid disappeared to.  Don't get me wrong, there were a lot of things I was afraid of as a kid.  For example, starting a new year always put me in a state of momentary fear of the unknown future.  But inevitably, one of the neighborhood kids would bang on the door and in a flash, I was outside again, careening down the slopes with my awesome red rider sled, jumping out of trees into piles of snow or carving out amazing forts in the snow banks.

Playing in the outdoors and living in a world of adventure was the best.  And I was one of those kids who was really, really good at it.  I miss that kid;  I really do.

Do Dogs have a Soul? And Other Things to Ponder While at the Shopping Mall

Day 8 -- So today I went with my husband and three of the kids to the shopping mall.  It's a really nice mall but I don't like to go there much because it always brings out the green eyed monster in me.  People are really skinny, have nice boots, great purses, lots of shopping bags (which indicates lots of money) and their hair always looks nicer than mine.  Okay, I am totally exaggerating.  (But not about the shopping bag part.)

Anyway, we were there because Tessa got a ton of gift cards from Abercrombie and she just HAD to go shopping because I don't know, a gremlin had come into her room and stolen all of her clothes or something.  My husband wanted to stop at the Apple Store and plus, we had to get gifts for the annual Yankee gift swap which was tonight at my sister's house.  (Don't even get me going about that.)  So I finally come back from Abercrombie and meet up with the boys.   As we are buying a gift for the Yankee swap at Harry and David's, I start talking about eating one of the bags of gourmet popcorn during the Packers game tomorrow.  And that's when the trouble began.  The older woman behind the counter fixes me with this intense stare through her black rectangle glasses.  She puts her hands on her hips and says, "you like the Packers?"  And I nod yes.  "I'm a Philadephia fan," she says.  "Ummm, good," I say, "but how can you stand Michael Vicks?"  At which point my 15 year old grimaces in pain and says under his breath, "Pssst.  Mom?  It's Michael Vick."  He turns away from us and plaintively says to his father, " I cannot even believe Mom is having a sports argument right now."  Okay.  So I am not the biggest sports follower.  But I do read the news.   And I was very disappointed when I read about Vick's illegal exploits with dogs.

So I turned back to the woman and said, "I get it.  Everybody's not perfect. I kind of even like Brett Favre.  A bit."  It was like I threw a light switch on in her brain because suddenly she went a little bonkers.  Her voice flew up a few octaves and her eyes got even bigger.  "What?!  How can you be okay with Favre?  You're a woman!"  At this point the boys are kind of pulling me out of the store.  So I turn around to zing one last comment. "Favre wasn't right with what he did but he didn't kill women.  Vick killed dogs."   But it wasn't over.  As I walked out of the store and stepped into the hallway filled with the glitz and glamour still oozing throughout the mall, she lobbed the final volley.  "Dogs have no souls!" she screeched.

At which point I looked at everyone and asked, "what just happened in there?! "   The kids were all laughing and my husband just shook his head.  "Only you," he grinned, "can end up in the middle of such a bizarre sports argument at the mall."

I don't know if I am the only one, but honestly, it got me thinking.  I never really considered it before but now that this issue has come up, I guess I can only make my opinion by relying on my faith.  That and the fact that my dog is one of the sweetest and goofiest dogs around.  Yup.  She has soul.  Lots of it.  So I am going to go with a resounding yes;  I do believe that dogs have souls.

Tell Me Again How We Pay for our Kids' College??!

Day 7 -- Today I spent an afternoon in a meeting with Andrea Oden, our Financial Aid Advisor.  I really like Andrea.  She is smart, outgoing and very helpful and she definitely seems to have our best interests (and our son's) at heart.  What I don't like about Andrea is the information she keeps giving us about our EFC or Expected Family Contribution (the formulaic amount we are expected to contribute to whatever college our son attends and the number the schools consider when they create a financial aid package.)  It's a crazy number -- crazy!!  Where is the invisible being who thinks we can pay this amount?  I want him (or her) to show their face so I can smack some sense into them.  I do realize that I am shooting the messenger;  it's not Andrea's fault.  In fact, she is great at giving us tips to try to lower the EFC.   But it's still a nauseatingly high amount of money.  Helloooo.  I have to have money left over for like, my necessary and very healthy (taken in moderation!) coffee, cookies wine and chocolate, remember?  I mean,  a middle aged mom and her middle aged husband still have to live a little don't they?!  Evidently for us, these necessities aren't included in the FAFSA formula.   Sigh.

It never occurred to me that we would have a financial advisor for this part of the college hunting process and it was kind of by accident that I even got the idea.  One day last fall when we were knee-deep in college research and infused with anxiety about the application process, I went for an early morning walk by the river with Lily.  Up along the path I ran into a woman I know from town.  We started talking about colleges (according to my son that's all I talk about these days!)  Anyway, she told me about her sister-in-law who had just started up this business to advise parents and students about the college financial application process.  So we called her.  And I am glad we did;  we have gained so many insights into the process that we would never have learned on our own.

But really, no matter how one goes through all the steps, the destination remains the same.  Somehow we still have to figure out how we will pay the college bill no matter where he ends up going.  Granted, Luke will pay some of it -- that's our family rule and with three more kids coming up the college turnpike, it's a financial necessity to expect them to contribute to their college costs.  For now though, we are still in wait and see mode.  Wait till all the colleges give Luke the green or red light and then... see the financial aid packages that will hopefully accompany the "yes" answers.

And then it comes down to picking a school and then...actually sending the check.   Ouch.

And right there is Reason Number 682 why I set this year's goal of drinking a glass of wine every day.  Come to think of it, I think there is still half a glass left on the dining room table...

I Am Overwhelmed

Day 6 -- Three Kings Day.  (Also my niece's birthday.)  In the Catholic religion, today is the day the three kings, after traveling "afar" finally make it to see the new baby, Jesus.  Hmmmmm.  I can't help but ponder how "blessedly" simple life must have been back then.   It was like,  so easy to make travel plans.  Look!  Hey Guys! A star!  omigod!  Road trip!!!...  and off they go.  To see a baby for goodness sake.  (This story always amazes me.  Today, guys travel very long distances and spend lots and lots of money to see men dressed in sports uniforms run around on various sports arenas.  So I am like, seriously?!  These three kings abandoned camp  -- and whatever important work they were in the middle of -- to see a baby??) In today's world, if you gaze at the stars and decide you want to see a baby it is so much easier.  So instantaneous.   All you have to do is go to your computer and google "babies" on the internet.  BAM!  There's your baby fix.  More pictures and videos then you can imagine.  Okay, admittedly, those babies aren't all the Son of God but still, googly eyes, sweet smiles, gobs of drool -- it still works.  And it's quick and mess free.  No packing of tents, no finding someone to take care of the dog, cat, fish, camels, chickens etc.  No canceling the paper.  No taking the kids out of school (and no stressing about whether or not the fact they are missing school makes you a bad parent.)  So easy.

So here is my question at the moment -- if life is so much easier today with the advent of technology, why is it that I am so overwhelmed?

It's all of the distractions, I think.  For example, tonight, after basketball practice and high school open house and the high school activity fair (and remembering to call my niece to wish her a happy birthday -- points for me!), I finally sat down at the computer to write this entry.  But then my husband comes in and says, very specifically, that he wants to talk.  Seeing as members of the male gender want to "talk" like once or twice per decade, I figured I should probably stop what I was doing and ummmm, talk to the guy.  After all, he did just come out of a three-day, flu-like coma -- I haven't had a prolonged conversation with him in like, forever.   So I turned away from the keyboard, spun my chair around and listened to his issues, analyzed his options and nodded at various important moments.  The conversation was lovely but now he is ready to go to bed and I still have my entry to finish.  The dishes still have to be washed, the dishwasher turned on, I still have to check if the garage door is closed, the 17 year old needs to be kicked off of Facebook and sent to bed and yes, I still have to finish this blog.  Sigh.  Yes.  I am definitely overwhelmed.

On reflection, maybe I am just a smidge like the Three Kings of the Orient.  I mean, they stopped what they were doing because -- according to the story -- they were looking for the new-born King -- the Lord of Love.  I stopped what I was doing to connect with my husband.  Okay.  He's not exactly my "Lord of Love" but I do love him.  Same thing?  Not exactly.  But theoretically?  It's on the same level.  I think.

Huh.  Suddenly, I am so inspired, I am going to stop writing right now.  And google "babies."  Chocolate anyone?!

I (strongly dislike to) Run

Day 5 -- Went for my first run in 2011.  Outside that is.  Where it was freezing and the ends of my toes grew numb and started to ache and there were all these black icy patches on the ground that could have messed up my stride and make me wipe out on the asphalt.  (it didn't, but still, it was kind of scary...okay, not really but I am going for the dramatic voice here.)  Anyway, as I was running, I made my wonderful friend and running partner Lori do all the talking about her new job.  Between the two of us, I am definitely the blabbermouth when it comes to talking while we are running but lately, I have not been running as much so I am a little out of shape.  Today, I let her talk.   The best thing for me right now is Lori's new job that she started a few months ago -- it gives her all sorts of stuff to say.  So I just kick back and save my breath and every few minutes or so I go, really?  wow, that's not right!  Or a simple, muffled "huh" usually suffices for my part in the conversation.

But overall, I actually felt pretty good today.  Even the wicked, nasty cramp I got on BOTH sides of my stomach after running up that long hill near the middle school eventually went away.

I definitely need to run more -- it burns up more calories than walking and now that I am on this goal to eat a cookie and chocolate along with my coffee and wine I am going to need the exercise.  Ever since I hit my mid-forties, my weight has been slowly creeping up despite my valiant efforts to slap it down.  And now I am getting my mother's belly -- the one that always terrified me when we went shopping together and I would end up stuck with her in the dressing room, waiting (patiently of course) while she tried on a new pair of jeans.  I would sit in amazement, unable to turn away as she carefully put them on, fastened them and looked into the mirror.  My mother was never and still isn't a large woman.  But there was always this significant portion of her belly which just folded over the top of the pants like frosting sliding down the side of a cupcake.  I would sit quietly overcome by a mixture of horror and awe as I watched her turn one way and then another in front of the dressing room mirror.   "So," I would ask gently.   "Those are a little tight, huh mom?"   And she would look at me in shock.  "Are you kidding?  They feel great!"  The amazing thing is that today, I know exactly how she felt.  It's that "baby belly" that moms often get because our skin was stretched out repeatedly from carrying those kids of ours.  And now we are stuck with this excess "baby belly" skin that really does kind of casually drape over the top of our jeans.  I am not saying I like it.  But it is what it is;  I can't take it back.  Those darn kids are here and my belly is stretched.

So back to running.  One of the things I want to say about running is this -- I do not like to do it.   I think people who run long distances are very, very odd. (No offense to certain friends, family members and um, husbands of friends.)  With both of my parents suffering from intense forms of arthritis,  I am fairly certain that I am destined for future joint pain so I know my running days are numbered.  But for now, it is something that, when I am done, I am always so amazed I did.  Mind you, I move practically at crawl speed but when we are standing near our cars afterward I always say (in my head cuz Lori is still talking), hey girl, you finished your run; good for you.  It's a nice moment in the day.  Not as good as curling up on the couch with a glass of wine but hey, it's close.

January 4

Day 4 -- Wow... four days and counting.   This is a new record for me.  Haha.  That's kind of pathetic considering I have never done this before and so every day is a record entry.  Woo.  (hoo)

So today brought a couple of new adventures into my life.  Not all positive but adventures nonetheless.  Lots of firsts.  The first first (ha) was when I drove into work at the high school and saw my son walking out of school early.  Now granted, I had signed the slip in the fall giving him permission to leave early on the days where he ended classes with a study hall.  But this was the first time I actually saw him walking to his car with the other kids who were on early release.  (jail reference intended btw.)  It just seemed so sketchy!  I was like, where are you going, you have to be back for track practice in an hour?  And the boy he was walking out with had long hair, a sloppy, untucked flannel placed haphazardly over his oversized jeans.  Please.  Everyone knows that outfit spells trouble.

Yes.  I know I am being over-dramatic and over-protective.  But still.  It was a first for me.  I kept asking myself, why couldn't I have gotten to work five minutes earlier and have missed his departure?  Why did I have to witness his rendezvous with the wild and crazy senior buddies?  (Never mind the fact that most of the boys were in his AP Physics class.  Everyone knows it's the smart kids who cause the most trouble, right?!!)  So he said he was going to see his girlfriend -- home from college on winter break.  Hmmmm.  Even though I was skeptical  (it was a feeling, you know?!) I eventually walked away and thought to myself for like the fifty millionth time how I think God might have made a mistake by making me a mother.  I am wayyyyy too uptight.

My next first was when my son (the escape boy) went to Starbucks tonight to meet "Marissa" for his first college interview.  I was not here when he stopped at the house to change after track practice.  When he came home he looked so handsome in his new khakis and black sweater -- college prep for sure.  I liked everything about how he looked (especially his smile) all except for the red sticker on  the side of his pant leg proclaiming to the world that the pants were brand new.  ughhhhh.  (It's okay though.  I think if I were interviewing a high school senior who had the new size sticker still on his pants I would find that endearing.  That's what I told him anyway.)

My next first was when I found a place  -- an open place! -- for my dream business -- a tea and coffee shop with wi-fi and a room in the back for classes like yoga and meditation and creative writing.  An awesome place to hang out and relax.  Oh I would love to run a place like that!   A place where my ultimate objective would be to have people come and leave feeling better about themselves than when they arrived.  It's a great location and our town has absolutely nothing like it!  No place for kids to hang out in the early evening or after school.  Or a place to go on Sundays with artwork on the walls and an open mike.  And chessboards on the tables and books on the shelves and fresh baked goods with awesome tea and coffee...  I think I would call it --  The Place.

My youngest son, Riley, wrote me a note after I talked about this with my kids and husband at dinner.  They were all so excited about it and were scrambling to come up with a name.  His note said, "don't forget about your idea to open a store."  I asked him why he wrote that and he said, "because you always have great ideas and then you forget about them."  Sigh.    He's right.  That's why I am drinking my daily dose of coffee and wine and eating cookies and chocolate.  So I don't lose sight of goals I can keep.  Mind you, it is not an easy task...but someone's gotta do it, right?

Onward.

Day 3 -- Do I or Don't I?

January 3rd was supposed to be a day all for me --  the holiday vacation was officially over and the kids were heading back to school.  With my husband back at work, I envisioned a quiet, empty house (save for my beloved cockapoo Lily's gentle breathing while she lay sleeping by my feet) where I could get the endless list of to-do's crossed off with amazing efficiency.  Sadly, that plan was sabotaged when my poor husband's flu illness kept him home -- with me.  Oh well, the "best laid plans..."

But I still got a lot of work done.  That is until I checked the website to see if there were any new English teaching positions open.  Of course, there was.  In a town right next to mine.  So now I don't know what to do.  I am so tired of applying for these positions only to get turned down because of my  teaching "gap" when I spent time home with the kids, writing free-lance articles and running my part-time interior decorating business.  With this current economy, there are so many applicants.  Part of me (a huge part of me) thinks I should let someone else go for this job.  With this new resolution of mine, I am finally starting to write again and even though I am not writing anything of note -- I am creating nonetheless.  The fingers are moving.

I sort of feel as though taking a full-time position right now would just knock me into über-craziness.  Or maybe it would be the necessary kick-start for re-entering a field I once loved.  But that would mean stopping the independent study effort I just coordinated for the kids at the high school.  And leaving the committee I am currently organizing a town-wide event for.  And leaving my part-time pr job.  (Although admittedly, that move wouldn't be a heartbreaker.)  And not having any time to help my husband organize and grow his business.   On the opposite side of the argument, the allure of a steady, decent paycheck with insurance benefits that a teaching position would provide would be awesome too. Ugghhhhhh.  (Why did I have to look at the listing?!)  Is it so unreasonable to wish for a specific plan in life?   Would it be so bad to just pursue these other avenues for a bit and then head into the full-time scene???  Is there anyone who can give me the map which says, yes -- this is not the right time to abandon your current route,  up ahead in like, six or nine months or so, you will have the perfect opportunity to take the on-ramp toward a full-time job which you will love and will make you happy?    (I get it.  I am the mapmaker here.  But the pen isn't working.)

Here is what I know.  When I had my morning coffee, I was relaxed.  My two youngest sat with me for a few minutes before they left to catch their bus.  I thought to myself, this moment -- the shaft of golden sunlight lighting up Tessa's beautiful black hair, her eager smile as she spoke in anticipation of her day -- this is a gift.  Remember it.

And so I will.

Day Two

January 2nd  is my brother's birthday.  I am not sure how old he is exactly and I know I can figure it out if I want to but I don't want to.  If I nail his age, my own becomes all too evident.  And I don't want to think about that.   He is doing well and I am happy for him -- he has a nice business which he runs himself (accounting -- gross, but whatever), he drives a nice car and he has a great wife whom we all adore.   Drinking my coffee this morning in my very quiet house (kids sleeping, husband sick in bed) I thought about my brother and how he always set these huge goals for himself as a kid.  And got mocked for it.

Since I have become quite goal oriented with this blog thing, I thought a lot about the time when Eric was on the track and field team in high school and made a bet with our older brother Karl, and his friend Steven  -- Eric told everyone he was going to go to the Olympics to compete in the Decathalon.   Karl and Steven said he couldn't.  And they bet him a lot of money that they were right.  (I can't remember what it was but at the time I remember thinking it was a huge amount.)  Since I was only nine years old, I thought it would be pretty cool for me to have a brother in the Olympics.  I constantly talked about it to my friends in the neighborhood. I helped him train during the summer, setting up his hurdles on the cracked sidewalk and holding the stopwatch as he ran up and down the street.  I don't know how he did it but he was even able to set up a pole vault with the huge landing cushion.  Somehow he was able to borrow one from the track team.  I thought that was pretty cool too.  But inevitably, even with all of his earnest training, deep down in the belly of childhood knowledge, I just knew he wouldn't make it.  I remember that it made me feel sad and discouraged.  And the teasing he got was relentless.  When it was finally quite obvious that Eric would not be competing in the World Olympics, I was a little embarrassed myself for picking the wrong team.  ( A sentiment which then launched feelings of guilt about my lack of loyalty which almost immediately segued into thoughts of self-anger... needless to say this dramatic fluctuation of emotions provided excellent training for my future life as an adult female and mother.)

Sometimes, I can still hear the guys laughing at my brother for not meeting his "crazy goal." And when I think of some of my goals when I was little -- to be a tennis star, a teacher, a writer, an artist -- I get nervous.  Like if I tell too many people that I want to really finish the novel I have started (and stopped) writing, they will laugh at me too.

I am constantly asking myself, why do I care so much?   When I try to answer,  I think it goes back to those experiences when we were kids and everyone walked around with these awesome life aspirations  -- there was always a pervasive sense of embarrassment about setting the bar too high and failing to reach it.  Nobody likes to look bad.  It's just that some people care less than others about being judged.  They just get up off of the ground, dust themselves off and try again.  Hmmmmm.

This morning, I had an awesome biscotti with my coffee.  As I sat there worrying about my husband (who I am pretty certain has the flu), I told myself that there was nothing else I could do better at that moment -- that the present was all I had.  So with a congratulatory nod to the successful life my older brother has right now,  I ate that biscotti and enjoyed every single crumb.   Now that was a great, achievable goal. 

Day One

I know this sounds cliche, but I have never blogged before.  I am doing this as a dare to myself in my mid-life age, a time in my life where I find myself frequently reflecting about where I have been and where I want to go.  Here is a confession.  I am not sure, but I think I might be lost.   

I watched the movie, "Julie and Julia" a while ago and something Julie said resonated with me.  She started her goal of cooking a recipe every day and writing about it because she "never finished anything in her life."  All too often, that is exactly how I feel.  And since I am much older than Julie, it frightens me a little.  Truth be told, there is a lot I finish -- the laundry, books that I read, work assignments, etc.  But the big things -- interior decorating businesses, novels, new business ideas -- those things remain ignored and discarded after a few noble attempts to get them off of the ground and running.  Why?  Fear of succeeding is a huge factor I guess but I always think that sounds so weird.  As I type this, I have been interrupted no less than three times (in fifteen minutes) by husband and kids.  I think that's a factor too for not finishing any of my goals.   Family needs beckon and I go running to help.  Again.  And again.  Yes I know.   Cliche for sure.  But true.

So as 2010 came to an end, I thought a lot about Julia and her goal.  And then I saw something on msn.com about somebody who ate a school lunch every day during the year.  I was like, ughhhh, why would anyone do that?  And then a little voice in my head said, "because they could."  Interesting.

I decided that if some person could eat a school lunch every day, I could set a goal for myself too.  I reflected upon my days and thought about something which would be idiot proof.  One that would be easy to achieve.  And I realized that every day I drink a cup of coffee and eat a cookie.  And at night, I have a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate.  (Okay, sometimes I have chocolate more than at night but still...it's every day.)  This, I thought, is something I could do!  And write about.    Even if I were the only one who checked this blog, it's something I will do every day during 2011.  There.  I officially set the goal...

I am not sure what my objective is at the moment outside of just doing something every day of the year and writing about it.  It's an adventure, I guess.  One thing I do know is that when I drink my coffee, eat my cookie, drink the wine and have my chocolate it is because in all of life's craziness, in all of it's zany ups and downs, these are things that center me.  (Plus I read in Oprah Magazine that there are health benefits connected with all four items.)

As for the blogging, I have absolutely no clue about the health benefits of that.  And I have only the vaguest idea what I will write about.  Assuming that I will be the only one who reads my words, I guess that goal is perfectly okay.