Thriving in Chaos

A Question and an Answer

2011-07-18T12:49:00.000-07:00

When I was a child in a Catholic Church and school, there was a part of our liturgy that piqued my curiosity. The congregation said to the Lord,
“Just say the word and I shall be healed.”
I wanted to know what the word was. I pondered it for weeks. Father White came to our classroom for his weekly visit, to teach us the finer points of Catholicism. He was a joyful man whose faith set him apart in a church full of grumpy nuns and musty priests.
As he always did at the end of his puppet presentation, he asked if there were any questions.
I was ready. I asked him what the word was that the Lord said to heal us. Father White looked at me for a long time from behind his square glasses. Finally he said,
“Love. Love is the word that Jesus says to heals us.”
At eight years old I had no idea of the deeper truth of what Father White had said to me. My curiosity was satisfied, and I felt a bit smug about knowing the secret word.
Today, many, many years later I understand. God’s love for me heals me. God’s love for humanity sent Jesus to the cross. God’s love for me calls me to Himself, where all wholeness and healing is. And, perhaps most importantly, God’s love for me compels me to love others, and to heal relationships.
Truly, the Word is Love.
There was another time when I needed to know, not the answer, but the question.
My beloved aunt had a stained glass window on the restroom leading out to the pool. It was beautiful with reds and greens, and it said, “Love is the answer”
Of course, I had to know the question. What was the question that was asked that was so important, my aunt had the answer set in a window.
So I asked her. I got more wisdom that it has taken me a lifetime to appreciate.
“Auntie, your window says ‘Love is the answer’, what is the question?
My aunt looked down at me and said,
“Sweetie, love is the answer to every question.”
I walked away dissatisfied, feeling as though she wanted to keep the true question a secret.
And now I know, she told the truth. Love is the answer to every question. The answer to every hurt, every pain, every sin, every offense is love; patient, kind, tender, forgiving Love.
Love is the answer.

Thoughts on Grace and Parenting

2011-06-25T15:28:00.000-07:00

I read an amazing article on how the grace of God pushes us toward righteousness. I have ruminated on the thoughts presented in this article for several days. Today, it hit me like a bolt out of the blue, that I saw that exact principle played out by my aunt and uncle when I was a child.
I grew up, like many of us, in dysfunctional home. The grownups in my house had too much heartbreak and disappointment to affectively love the little motherless mess that I was when I came to live with them at three years old.
As I grew, my own pain and sense of rejection manifested itself in all sorts of anger, rebellion and sneaky behaviors. This caused my adoptive mother to try to tighten the reins by controlling every aspect of my life. This did not achieve a desirable result.
Something very different was happening right up the street. My aunt and uncle were raising four kids of their own, and one very damaged nephew. For a long time the small, three bedroom house had four teenage boys, and one slightly high maintenance little girl. It occasionally included the wild nephew’s alcoholic mother. Logic would dictate that chaos would reign supreme in that tiny house. One would think that four teenage boys, large, loud and athletic, would overrun one loving mother and one funny father. But that house radiated peace and joy. There was a complete absence of tyranny and control on the part of the parents.
The rules in that house were not set in stone, but rather, carved in sand. There was no curfew; instead there was “Call if you’ll be much later than midnight.” There was no “You must get straight A’s” instead there was, “Do your best and we’ll be proud.” There were never commands given. It was “Would you mind?” instead of “Do it now!” The amazing thing? The kids did it. Dishwashers got emptied, rooms got cleaned, and homework was done. The tremendous love that was poured out on these kids made them want to obey. Oh, there were consequences for bad behavior, but they were appropriate, and short-lived. My aunt corrected and moved on with lightening fast speed. “What do you think you’re doing?” bellowed at full volume could be followed within seconds with, “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you a sandwich?” If I were to ask my aunt what someone got in trouble for the day before, she would say, very believably, “I don’t remember, it wasn’t important.” When the kids made mistakes, as kids do, she was careful not to punish them more than they punished themselves. She never heaped shame on a child who was ashamed, wrath on a child that was angry at himself, or judgment on a child who already saw the error of his ways.

As an adult with four kids of my own, and the occasional wild teenaged relative thrown into the mix, I have thought often of how my amazingly aunt and uncle parented. I have called my aunt for advice more times than I can count. My cousin and I have spent hours on the phone discussing their brilliant parenting style. In fact, my cousin wrote a book about it.
In spite of all of that thought, today is the first time that I realized that my aunt and uncle parented their kids the way God desires to parent us. They bathed their children in love and acceptance. They let their children know what was right and what was wrong, and let the child choose for himself.
It worked. The four children grew up to be four faithful, loving generous beyond reason adults. My four cousins are four of the greatest people I know. The wild nephew took a little longer, but he too is living a life of love and peace. The grace poured out on those five children was not wasted, even though at the time it seemed so abundant, and so wasteful.
I now strive to wastefully pour out grace on my own four kids. Now that I am beginning to see God’s grace so wastefully poured out on me.

This World is Not Our Home

2011-06-25T10:05:00.000-07:00

This world is not our home. We would not go to a stranger’s home and rearrange the furniture to make ourselves more comfortable. We would hesitate to suggest that the wall colors should be changed, or that the carpet should be pulled out in favor of hardwood. If you were a guest with a very important life or death mission, I’m sure you would be even less likely to comment on the state of the person’s home.
This world is not our home. This is a fallen world, waiting to be redeemed by a savior. As Christians, we are to be a fragrance of Jesus to this world. We should not be surprised when the country at large turns away from our value system. Of course they will.
It is my belief that Christians should not try to force everyone to conform to our values and sense of morality unless lives are at stake. I am not sure how we can simultaneously love people and protest them.
I have heard many people say that gay marriage will somehow harm traditional marriage. I believe divorce is what harms traditional marriage, as does adultery, abuse, and addiction.
For reasons unknown to me, some Christians think that homosexuality is the ultimate sin. That is not how God sees it. In fact, Sodom, oft referenced to point out God’s disgust with homosexuality, was in fact destroyed because of their lack of care for the poor, and for rampant greed and arrogance. As followers of Christ, can we say with certainty that we care for the poor, and that we lack arrogance?
Instead of focusing on political issues, perhaps we should remember that people see Jesus when we are like Him. Instead of trying so hard to legislate morality, maybe we should model it. How do we expect to reach a world that needs grace? Do we reach it holding picket signs condemning entire groups of people, or with humility, and grace? The same grace that was poured out on us, regardless of our sins. Have we collectively forgotten who we are? We are salt, and light. But I fear we may be a bit bland and dim.
My prayer is that we Christians would remember the mercy that was so abundantly poured over our sins. We should remember that God never tires of forgiving us. We should remember that the whole world needs the grace that God gave us. And we should stop trying to make ourselves comfortable here. This is not our home.

The Very Best! Chocolate Chip Cookies! (So far)

2011-05-24T11:57:00.000-07:00

I love to bake and cook. It makes me feel like a good old-fashioned frontier mama. I am ok with my kids eating loads of sugar and fat, as long as I made it from scratch. Lately it is also a great way to keep our grocery budget down.

Oddly, for someone who is as knowledgable and experienced

as I am with cooking, (more a reference to my age than an opportunity to brag) I have had a surprisingly hard time making really good chocolate chip cookies. I know, chocolate chip cookies are like pizza, or sex, or the B-52s, even when they are bad, they are good. but I wanted them great. Mine tend to spread and get to soft and gooey or to crispy. I even tried (gasp) butter-flavor Crisco. The texture was great, but the flavor was artificial and off-putting.

All of this, however, was not what led me to try whole wheat chocolate cookies, it was just normal, everyday guilt. I wanted to make cookies, and I wanted them healthy. I thought if I looked up a recipes, I might find one that toned down the "too healthy" flavor that whole wheat baking products sometimes brings to baked goods.

I found a food blog that apparently everyone else in the world knew about but me, and a recipe for whole wheat chocolate chip cookies that this girl positively raved about. I proceeded to follow the recipe to a T, including, using cold butter, which I have never done for cookies. I also chilled them before I baked them, another thing I never do for chocolate chip cookies. But, I was resigned, and a little defeated with my near misses in chocolate chip cookie greatness, so I was extra compliant.

Wow! OhMyGoodness!!

Amazing Chocolate Chip Cookies!!

(I have to go get one to eat right now, so I can describe them correctly.)

Great shape. Crispy, giving way to a chewy center, but not too soft. The slight graininess of the whole wheat perfectly offsets the creamy chocolate chips. The taste of butter comes through, but doesn't overpower. They are sturdy but not too much. They are perfect!

Please try this recipe and tell me what you think.

Is love passive?

2010-06-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

1 Cor 13:4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy, love does not parade itself, it is not puffed up; 5) does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; 6) does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7) bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8a) Love never fails.

1 Cor 13:13 And now, abide faith, hope love, these three, but the greatest of these is love.

Most people know these verses. They are read at Christian and secular weddings alike. They are written on plaques, and stitched into pillows. Many can quote them, in part or in full. I wonder, though, if we really know what they means. Verses four through six are somewhat self-explanatory. It is verse seven that caught my attention today, particularly the latter part of verse 7 where it says “(love) endures all things.” I saw love as a small blond child patiently waiting out a rainstorm, completely inactive, but present. She was enduring the worst storms of life. My view of love was a thing, being acted upon by outside influences, but quietly withstanding, continuing to exist. Somehow, this morning, I saw it completely differently.

Love is an active participant of daily life. It is there, available for me as I go through my day. I thought about how hard it is for me to act lovingly sometimes, particularly while driving, or impatiently shopping, or when my kids dare to reveal their true nature, as sinners dependent on the grace of God. I realized that the enduring nature of love is an active endurance. I believe what that verse means is that the activity of love (long suffering, kindness, lack of envy, lack of pride, putting others first, all the things mentioned in the preceding verses) endures the daily difficulties of life, not just the storms. Love is not something that should only exist, quietly, deep within us, it is something that should be seen, its unselfish character unique in the trials it endures. This verse says if I have love, I can be patient when my kids talk back. If I have love, I do not have to envy, but I can be content, even happy for those who have been blessed more than I have. If I have love, it will be seen, it will be active, it will change the way I respond to life’s challenges. Where does love come from? 1 John 4:16 And we have known and believed the love that God has for us. God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him.

Christians, let’s love with a love that is visible to all. Let’s take God up on His promise that love will endure all, not just the great catastrophes, but the daily inconveniences.

Putting together the What to dos, with the How it's dones

2010-06-16T10:38:00.000-07:00

I began a personal study for, at best, mixed motives. I ended a relationship with a family member who called himself a Christian. In my zeal to call him into account, I began studying the New Testament looking for what a Christian life looked like. I wanted to prove that this person was not a Christian. I was doing a good thing, studying the New Testament, for a bad reason, not my own sanctification, but to shine light on someone else’s sin.

God did a work in my heart. First, I started reading a book called “Because He Loves Me” by Elise Fitzpatrick. Second, He supernaturally took away my anger and thirst for vengeance, and replaced it with forgiveness. This completely changed my study of what a Christian life looks like. Now I realize that keeping God’s commandments is evidence of the Christian walk. It is not what we have to do to be saved, it is what we are empowered to do once we are saved.

The Scripture that started it all was 1Cor 15:50b “nor does corruption inherit incorruption."

I wondered if you could tell a Christian by their actions. I still do. I copied all the scriptures I saw that addressed, not a believer’s heart, but their behavior. I will try to bring in the surrounding scriptures so I can learn why and how a Christian behaves like a Christian.

My prayer is that God would apply this to my heart so I would know why I should live a Christian life, and where the power to do so comes from.

1Pet 2:24 (21-24) 21) For to this you were called, because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that you should follow His steps: 22 )Who committed no sin, nor was deceit found in His mouth, 23)who, when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but committed Himself to Him who judges righteously; 24)who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness- by whose stripes you were healed.

I think the above verses are the linchpin of what I am trying to learn. Verse 24 tells how we can follow the example of verses 22 and 23

This is the What to do:

Gal 5:19-24 19) Now the works of the flesh are evident, which are: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lewdness, 20) idolatry, sorcery, hatred, contentions, jealousies, heresies, 21) envy, murders, drunkenness, revelries, and the like, of which I tell you beforehand, just as I also told you in time past, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

22)But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23) gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law.

This is the How it's done:

Gal 5:24-26 24) And those who are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25) If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit. 26) Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.

I think the above verse is saying that if we try to produce the fruit of the spirit by our own work, we will become conceited. The work of the flesh is “work” things we do. The fruit of the spirit is “fruit” something that spontaneously appears and grows.

I have a feeling that as I go through this very extensive study, I will find all the "hows" right along with the "whats".

Amazing Grace, again

2010-06-13T19:50:00.001-07:00

I have been struggling with anger and unforgiveness for about three weeks. I recently ended a relationship with a closely related family member. This person was, at best a hindrance to my family, and at worst, potentially dangerous. I sent a letter explaining why I ended our relationship, sighting Corinthians 5:12 and Deuteronomy 19:19. I took about a week to write it, was careful to leave emotion out of it, and supported every word with scripture. I wrote a similar one to the family member’s spouse, and thought that would be the end of it.

It was only the beginning. I was enraged that there was no reaction. I quickly realized that part of my motivation in sending the letter was to cause hurt, embarrassment, or maybe anger in the one receiving it. This person, who caused so much pain to so many people, was getting off scot-free again! I was angry every single day. It didn’t matter how illogical it was. There was nothing anyone could tell me that would help. The anger and desire to inflict pain was affecting me physically. My stomach was hurting, and I was tense and irritable with my own family. I took to writing down bible verses that I felt applied to this person. I thought maybe another letter was due. I was going to make this person see himself the way I, and I was sure, God, saw him. I tried to find reasons not to forgive. “The bible says to forgive our brothers, this person only claims to be, and besides, they’ve never repented,” was what I told myself. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever be able to forgive. Yet I knew, that in order for God to forgive my many sins against Him, I would have to forgive this person’s sins against me. But I couldn’t do it.

Until yesterday. While I was doing a study for a completely different reason I came across the following scriptures.

Romans 12:14 Bless those who persecute you and do not curse. 17) Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. 19) Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath, for it is written, Vengeance is Mine, I will repay says the Lord. 21) Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.

With those verses, and His gentle persistent love, God loosened my childish fingers that were tightly clenching rocks to hurl. The resentment and poison that had been my hidden companions for years, and obvious companions for weeks, vanished.

God knows what was done. Every secret thing will be brought to light. More importantly, I too have hurt people. I do not want to be repaid for the cruel remarks I have made, or the selfish acts of unkindness I have committed.

I truly forgive this person. When his sins against me are measured against my sins against God, there is no comparison. I also have some repenting to do to the people I have hurt.

I am so grateful to God for doing what I could not do, freeing my heart of the shackles of anger and unforgiveness.

It was an act of pure grace that set me free, again.

...and to my amazing husband.

2010-06-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Steve,

How do I even begin to express who you are and what you mean to me? I was not me without you.

You are reserved, cautious, and thoughtful. You seldom make rash decisions, and you always count the cost. This is the perfect foil for my forwardness and impetuousness.

You are stable and constant, as you promised you would be. You have given me a target to land on whenever my flightiness overtakes me.

You believe in me, in my ability, and in my character. You have always believed more in my talent than I did. Because of your belief in me, I can be creative.

You have amazing self-discipline and self-control. You know right from wrong. You live life and make decisions according to your conscience rather than your feelings. Because of your self-control, I have learned its importance. You have a black and white worldview and this comforts me because I can be overwhelmed by shades of gray.

Your protectiveness has enabled me to fight for what is right, and then retreat behind you because I know you will finish the fight with me.

Your love helps me be a good wife. I am safe with you, like I have never been safe before. I know that you belong to me, and that you always will. Because of your example, I am a better person. You have always expected more of me than I expect of myself. From the first day we met, you have seen me for who I could be. I want to be who you think I can be.

Because of your gentleness, I am a good mother. You were so patient and insistent on our children being raised in a peaceful loving home. Because of your active involvement, they have been. Our children exhibit your characteristics every day, and every time I see them acting like you, I am grateful. The kids are quick to love, quick to forgive, and have high expectations for their own behavior. Because of you, we have a close, open, loving family. This happened because you did not let me raise them in the way that came naturally to me, but in the way that was right.

In addition to all of this, I just simply love you. You are fun, funny, and passionate. When I hear something funny or sad, I want to tell you. When you are gone, I want you home. When I am away from you, I want to be with you. The best parts of my day are the parts spent with you. I still look forward to being with you the way a girl in high-school looks forward to being with her boyfriend. When I think of you, I smile, like I am right now. I really think you are the most amazing man I have ever met, and I am still shaking my head in disbelief that you belong to me.

I look at my life and see the times that God’s grace was poured out. All throughout my childhood, God’s love and grace were there, comforting and protecting me. All of the love I missed as a child and more is mine as your wife. You are truly one of God’s greatest gifts to me. The best I can do, since a gift is not something that can be earned, is to try everyday, to be worthy of you, and the One who gave you to me.

I love you,

Bethany

To My Amazing Inlaws

2010-06-03T09:06:00.000-07:00

June 3, 2010

Dear Nonnie and Poppie,

I am writing this letter to express my gratitude for what you have done, and who you have been to me.

It is impossible, on Steve’s birthday, not to think of you both. You contributed so much more than DNA to my husband.

Nonnie,

From you he received a kind heart, loyal to family above all. You passed on your tenderness, sweetness, and humility. From you, Steve learned how fragile and precious a child’s heart is; that it must be protected, nurtured, and guarded. He learned the importance of hugs, kisses, and saying “I love you.” He learned that the people you love will make mistakes, and you must forgive them. You taught him that God is his Creator, and that God is Love. You taught Steve respect and reverence for God, and love for Jesus. Because of this, he carefully weighs his decisions, and lives like there is something more than just this life.

Steve has always felt loved by you. He has always known that you think he is amazing man. Because of your belief in him, he is always striving to be the man you see when you look at him.

Poppie,

You taught my husband how to be a man, never a boy, (except sometimes for his sense of humor, in that, Steve is about 12 years old!) Steve takes responsibility for his family, his career, and his life. He never makes excuses, and he never accepts less than “110%” from himself. He expects less of others and more of himself. He is fiercely protective of the kids and me. He is brave, dedicated, and selfless, just like you. I knew, years ago, that if Steve turned out like you I would be a very lucky woman, and that my children would be lucky too. Well, he is more like you every day. Sweet, funny, occasionally stubborn, but truly the best husband and father any family could ask for.

The two of you together created a home and a family that was a safe and loving place for my husband to grow up in. You taught him the importance of hospitality and generosity. You raised, with your patience, approval, and occasional disapproval, a man that I pray my sons become like. You have given me more than I ever hoped for when you raised Steve the way you did. I have a husband who is kind, loyal, appreciative, and loving, just like his parents.

Today, on Steve’s birthday, I thank you both, from the bottom of my heart. I hope that I can do half as good of a job with your grandkids as you have done. This letter barely expresses how I feel about you both. To truly say how I feel would take pages and pages.

I love you,

Your Daughter,

Bethany

Hello again...

2010-05-31T16:51:00.000-07:00

I am "micro-blogging" on Facebook, and writing for a living. I am, as you can tell, not blogging. Since I was last here, I began working for farmers as the marketing director for a small CSA. CSA stands for Consumer Supported Agriculture. I love feeling like I am doing something good. God is speaking to me about how a Christian should act, and I am searching that out in the word. I am curious and excited about what God will be doing in my life, and my families life in the second half of the year.

I am also trying to win a set of books for the summer as part of a contest called Covenant of Love

Those of you who know me are no doubt thinking that the last thing I need is more books. Just the same, I would like to win them.

I found the contest when I discovered a very interesting sounding book called "Imaginary Jesus". It led to this great blog, and contest. I am always happy to see what others are talking about.

School year part 2

2010-01-04T18:07:00.000-08:00

Whew! The kids are back in school. Another opportunity for me to make a completely different set of resolutions.

1. I will use my Crock-Pot more often.

2. I will sit at the table with my kids while they do their homework.

3. They will always have clean uniforms and socks. The socks will be folded in their drawers, not in the "sock basket" in my room.

4. I will expect more of my kids around the house.

I am very happy with some of the changes I have made this year. I am up before the kids, instead of at the same time as them. They get a hot breakfast more often than not. And, umm, let's see, actually, that's pretty much it.

I enjoy the rhythm of having school age children. It forces the day into a schedule. The days and weeks matter. I have an endless supply of rotating, seasonal artwork for my cupboard door. I am energized by being around my 15 year old's friends. Also, I listen to much better music than I would without my kids.

Then and Now

2010-01-01T20:21:00.000-08:00

I am watching Fame with Katie, the original, not the new, "High School Musical 4" one. It is a little rough, but I love it. Irene Cara just sang "Out Here on my Own". When I first saw this movie, back when I was about 12 or 13, that song meant so much to me. I loved the idea of being tough, of depending on someone else being a choice, not a given. Now that I am 41, I think taking pride in being strong is definitely for young women. I am not strong. I am completely dependent on the people around me. I can't even find the appeal of that song anymore, except for Irene Cara's amazing voice. I was tough, when I was a single mom, when I was trying to be a mom to young children. I was tough when I was trying to work out my relationship with extended family. I was tough when I was trying to figure out what was important in friendships, and coming to terms with my career. I don't care anymore about being tough. At the same time, I want my daughters to be tough. Just not too tough, and not for too long. I hope when they are 41, that tears spring easily to their eyes. I hope they can ask for help, and that they can depend on their husbands, but before that, I hope they are, at least a little tough.

Here's to doing things differently

2010-01-01T13:04:00.001-08:00

New Year's Day is here. As you may know, my New Year's resolution is to stop complaining. I won't cheat and complain in this blog. I won't find creative ways to tell you things, "just stating facts" but really, complaining. I am an inveterate complainer. I am going to change the way I think. I have a feeling I am going to be a little Pollyanna. The only way I know, right now, to change the way I communicate, is to look on the bright side. My other option is to not talk (or write) about things at all. Consistency is not one of my strong points, so making it a year will be an incredible victory.

A New Year, A New Me

2009-12-29T22:35:00.000-08:00

I have decided on a New Years resolution. I love New Years, and New Years resolutions. I love the idea of a clean start. I like new things, wiping away the old. I love the idea that the old is gone and the new is come. I put a lot of thought into my resolutions every year. I average about four days for keeping a resolution. I have resolved to quit smoking, quit cussing, quit gossiping, and, of course, lose weight. I have quit smoking, (on my 40th birthday, not New Years) I cuss less, I love gossiping, but don't indulge as much as I like, and I am no where near my ideal weight. When I told my husband I wanted to blog about my New Years resolution, he asked why I would want to put it out there publicly. When I told my 19 year old what my resolution was he laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full on bust out, belly laugh. He found my resolution far too vague. It's nice to know the two most important men in my life have so much faith in me.

So what is this resolution that my husband and son find so amusing? The resolution that they are sure I can't keep? I resolve to not complain, for a year. I realize that it is going to take a change in how I think. I have been told by many different people, over many years, that I tend to be negative. I don't want to be negative anymore. I complain about my health and how busy I am. The truth is, I am thrilled that I have two part-time jobs that I love. Most of my health issues are due to my weight, therefore, my fault. There is nothing to complain about if I am not willing to do what needs to be done to make myself healthy. I will have to find a different way of speaking. In order to do that, I need to find a different way of thinking. I am hoping to use this blog to keep myself accountable. Wish me luck.

I've missed you

2009-12-28T19:24:00.000-08:00

I loved writing this blog. I loved shouting into the wind. I loved sharing my life with the anonymous and not so anonymous masses. I miss it very much.

I have been writing for Neighbors Newspaper and more recently Taste of Temecula. I have been working on two young adult novels, and four actual young adults. I have been trying, along with my husband, to get a family that strayed from who we know we are, back on track. On top of everything, I discovered Facebook. In all of that, blogging simply fell off the plate. I would like to make room for it again.

There are mommy-bloggers out there infinitely more talented and funny than I am. I am going to keep blogging anyway. I know a lot of us are aspiring writers, and it always inspires me to know how other women are managing writing, working and raising a family. Please, if you have discovered this blog, or rediscovered it, please let me know. I am more likely to keep at it if I think I am letting people down by not writing.

Birth Days

2009-06-30T09:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Katie's 15th birthday. She had about 6 friends over for dinner and to spend the night. I was busy cooking, and baking all day. We served the girls tremendous amounts of ribs, potato salad, and spinach strawberry salad and cake. The cooking and baking and cleaning up from cooking and baking took the whole day. I loved doing it, but I forgot to do something else, something I always do on my kids birthdays.

At the end of the day, as Steve and I were getting ready for bed, he called Katie out of her room. He enveloped her in a big "Daddy" hug and kissed the top of her head.

"I remember the day you were born, Punkin," he said. "I remember almost every single detail of that day. The day you were born was one of the best days of my life."

That was when I remembered what I forgot. Every year on my kids birthdays I tell them about the day they were born. I grabbed Katie's hands, at 10:00pm right there in our upstairs hallway and began her story.

"The night before you were born, Aunt Nisey and I went to Claim Jumper. We split an I'd'eclair. When we got home I couldn't sleep. I made Aunt Nisey get up with me and play Horse."

"And Aunt Nisey won even thought you cheated," Katie broke in.

"That's right, and when I woke up, very early the next morning I told Daddy my water broke, and he thought I was kidding." I was trying to hurry because I knew she was eager to get back to her girlfriends so they could start their movie marathon. I tried to fast-forward to the important parts.

Each of my children have a birth day story. "I was painting your Nursery" begins Alex's. The day of David's birth came after weeks of false labor, so I was making a sandwich for Alex to take to school in case I was not really in labor. I was with my sweet mother-in-law when I realized I was in labor with Annie. We were at my doctor's office, but instead of going straight to the hospital, I insisted on going home first. I wanted to eat and wait for Steve to get home. I worked on a blanked I was making for my niece while I breathed through contractions.

The kids have heard these stories many times. They could tell the stories as well as I can. Three of them are old enough to roll their eyes at my sentimentality. I continue to tell them though, because I can. Because I am here and I can. They don't understand how important their history is, or maybe they do. Maybe they are just following kid code by acting annoyed. Maybe they secretly love hearing it. Maybe they love hearing the story in which they are the star, the story about the day that, without them, would have been just like any other day. No-one can tell me about the day I was born. My kid's history goes much farther back back than mine does. My history goes back only as far as I can remember. My kids history goes back farther than they can remember, it goes back as far as I can remember. If I keep telling them, about the day they were born, about how much they were wanted, these memories will become their own.

Cooking Chili on a Cold March Day

2009-03-22T14:51:00.001-07:00

I know lots of people make chili. Many make it from scratch. Here is how and why I make chili.
I always decide to make chili when I see the leftover odd cut pork chops for sale at Fresh and Easy. I can get a large package for very little and I feel pleasantly frugal. I then look for the least expensive beef I can find. Sometimes it is poorly cut roast, or stew meat. This time I use cube steak. The long slow cooking will break it down and this notoriously tough meat and make it melt-in-your-mouth-tender. I picture my crowded disheveled pantry. Do I have dry beans? Any kind will do, although I prefer an even mix of red beans and kidney beans. In the produce aisle, I pick the chiles. Slightly hot pasillas, mild but flavorful anaheims, and sometimes jalapenos for extra heat, but not this time. I do buy bell peppers. I always have onions and garlic, and I usually have canned tomatoes. I am not as picky about the tomatoes for chili as I am for my red sauce, (spaghetti sauce to you non-Italians) so I can use the Hunt's or Del Monte that Steve occasionally buys. I remember that I have plenty of chili powder and cumin.
After church, I start the chili. I measure out 3/4 of a cup of red beans and 3/4 of a cup of kidney beans. I rinse them and put them in a pot of water to boil. Then, every single time, I look in the pot and decide there are not enough beans. Every time, I measure out another 1/2 a cup of each kind of beans and add them to the pot. I don't know why I don't start with a 1 and 1/4 cups of each kind of bean, but I don't.
While the beans are coming up to a boil, I prepare the meat to be browned. The pork takes longer to prepare because there are all sorts of bones and fat that must be trimmed away. Both meats are cut in to large chunks and browned in small batches. If you try to brown them in large batches, as I did today with the beef, it steams instead of browning, and turns an unappealing grey.
I multi-task when I make chili. The beans are trying to boil, and I am keeping an eye on the many batches of meat I must brown. Now the peppers and onions must be chopped. Peppers are hard on knives. I start by sharpening my cleaverish knife. I split the peppers in half long ways and de-seed them. I touch my finger to the inside of the pasilla and taste it to judge the heat. Perfect; pleasantly painful. I then cut the peppers into strips and stack them. I love how the colors mix; the blackish green pasilla, the acidy yellow green of the anaheim, and the true kelly green of the bell pepper. When they are stacked, they become the most beautiful shade, there colors blending and become one glorious green. I chop. I start with a rough chop, then remember how someone I didn't like told me not to chop things so fine, so then I chop the peppers finer, and finer still. until the largest piece is about the size of a peanut. I have to re-sharpen the knife before I am finished. I feel a kinship with the women, all of them, who didn't have the option of canned food, who made everything from scratch. I feel like I am doing something for my family. I feel like the very act of chopping these peppers infuses them with love that will go into my family's body, like light, and heal them from psycic and physical ills. If someone eats my food, they carry my love with them in their cells. I peel the onion, thankful for my contact lenses that keep them from burning my eyes. Still, I can tell this is a strong one. Fumes go up my nose and make me cough. It is a healthy onion, tightly wrapped in in many layers of brown skin, and gleaming white once it is peeled. I only put in one onion, because no matter how strong it is raw, onion turns sweet when you cook it, and I do not want sweet chili. I once ruined an entire batch of red sauce by adding too much onion.
The juggling is almost done. The meat is browned and waiting in an old square pan to be added back. The peppers are sauteing in pan the meat was browned in, picking up the flavors. I give the peppers a good head start before I add the onion. I decide against garlic, since I know I will be adding garlic powder. As the peppers and onions cook, I add the thing that makes it chili; the chili powder. First I add a lot, then I add more. I add cumin, garlic powder and season salt, knowing the salt will help break down the vegetables and cause them to release their juices. When everything is a shiny gritty brownish red, I add the meat back in, along with a little water to loosen everything off the bottom of the pot. All of this has taken about 30 minutes which means the beans have another 30 minutes to simmer before they can be added. That is more than enough time to clean up, and adjust seasoning levels.
The chili now sits on the stove, simmering for several hours, melding all the flavors. The house will be filled with the smell all afternoon. Between dancing and singing Veggie Tales songs with Annie, reading "The Country Girls" and relaxing, I will make corn muffins and honey butter. When Steve and David come in from their afternoon of paint ball, it is the first thing they will smell. When Katie and Alex wake from their respective naps, they will smell it. They both know that asking if someone can eat over is just a formality, because they the answer will be, "Yes, of course! There's enough food for an army."
I cook like this because this is how my Nana cooked. I cook like this because this is how my Aunt Liz cooks.
This is how I make chili, and this is why I cook.

Hello

2009-03-21T10:02:00.000-07:00

Life is interesting. Thankfully, it is good interesting, but it is interesting. Having kids ranging in age from 18 to 6 is interesting. Katie was mean and horrible enough to tell me that she is turning 15 in three months. There was no good that could come from that information. I think I am going to forbid it. Yes, that's it. I forbid her turning 15. Will she still watch Ugly Betty with me when she turns 15. Will she still borrow my make-up and ask my advice on outfits for dances?

Now, onto the economy. Wouldn't I be stimulating the economy if I hired someone to do my laundry? I would be being patriotic, right? Now, if I only had the money to pays someone, and someone were desperate enough to do the most thankless job in the world. No, I guess I have to do it myself. I don't see another way, sadly.

In the mountains

2009-02-16T18:17:00.000-08:00

I am in the mountain town of Idyllwild right now with my immediate family. It was an impetuous decision. I had a lovely three day Valentine's Day extravaganza. On Friday before Valentines Steve and I made a "Bistro meal" of French onion soup, Steak au Poirve and Potatoes au Gratin. On Saturday, Valentines day, we went to a friend's house and had a delicious four course seafood meal. There was also great company, witty interesting conversation, and much warmth and love. On Sunday, we made barbecued ribs, fried potatoes and green beans. We had Steve's parents over and ate on the good china. Poppie gave me advice on how to make my book more appealing to men in his age range. I am thinking, maybe not. My mother-in-law, Nonnie is very understanding about having a writer for a daughter-in-law. She dropped in on me the other day, and I was deep in a tangle in the story. I could barely form sentences because I was so pre-occupied. She was gracious and understanding.

We are getting tons of rain in Temecula. I am loving it. It is making me think differently and making me a homebody. It's driving the dogs crazy though.

I am very hopeful that I will be able to go visit Prettyface in Georgia around the end of March.

2009-02-12T20:35:00.000-08:00

My computer was hanging on by a thread, and then the tread broke. Luckily, right before it gave up the the ghost, I emailed all my writing to myself. Had I not, I would have lost 3 years of writing, and three partially written novels.

I used Steve's computer for a while, but that didn't work out all that well. So I got a Mac. Happy, Happy me! I really need to get a book published to justify this purchase.

Luckily, no-one has been sick for a while. Things are kind of good right now, I hesitate to say. My house is a mess, but I am working hard writing.

I am on Facebook now. If you Facebook, come see me, and see pics.

Waiting on the locusts

2009-01-29T18:44:00.000-08:00

One short week after Annie's 6 day flu, Steve is having a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I am trying like crazy to be the working mom I need to be with out embittering my children. I am trying to do it all on about 6 hours of sleep a night, only sometimes remembering to take my vitamins.

If my family could manage to quit getting fevers, this would all be much easier.

David and I are driving out to the coast tomorrow so he can spend the night with his cousin. Even though my cousin, the mother, offered to meet us half-way, I would rather have the time with him. He has a half-day tomorrow, so we will have from 12 noon until 3:00 together. that is more time that we have had together alone for months. I am looking forward to it.

2009-01-28T17:44:00.000-08:00

Today was Writer's Group day. I did not actually write, but I got great notes from three outstanding writers. I got good notes about my over-use of adverbs, and telling what I have already shown. Tomorrow is Help-in-Library day and Bible-Study day. Very little writing will get done tomorrow, but Friday will be a writing day again.
I am grumpy as I get used to my new schedule.
I am excited to finish a piece, finally!

2009-01-27T13:01:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, January 27.

Steve was not home today, so I got a lot of writing done. Of course, I had to check everyone else's blog, and leave comments, but eventually, I got to writing.

I did not add any words to the novel today either. In fact, I lost about 300 word, due to revisions.

The word revision is actually the perfect word for this process. The novel is undergoing a change, a new vision, for the direction, and the characters. I am not so much revising it, as revisioning it. This process is pretty enjoyable. It is easier to fix something that is already there, than to come up with something new.

I know now why I chose this novel. I love these characters. I went back and realized I made the main character a little too unlikable. I softened her edges. Also, since I quit smoking, so did she!

I am bummed that the writing part of my day is now over, but I am happy the mothering part is beginning.

Cheerleading positions open

2009-01-26T14:51:00.000-08:00

I started writing again today. It's soooooo hard. Whine, whine, whine. I lost my original notebook for this story. But I sorted everything I have written so far into sections, and broken the sections in to scenes. I also opened a GMail account to back up my files, on Unnamed Cousin's advice.I did not add any actual words though. I am at a little over 18,000 words and 63 pages. I need about 75,000 to 150,000 for a completed project. Here is where you come in. I have to write about 3 hours a day, three days a week. Theoretically I have Monday, although Steve is home on Monday, and he is just a big, cute distraction. I also have Tuesday and Friday, although Steve is home on a lot of Fridays too. Please check this blog. I will be posting number of words written. I am depending on you, my wonderful group of Type A friends to hold me accountable. My blog will be a little boring for a while, but it is for a greater good.

Thanks everyone!

A night with friends

2009-01-25T08:54:00.000-08:00

My in-laws always have people over for "cocktails". I love that, it sounds so retro and cool. I decided to invite our friends over for cocktails. The friends in question are a military family. He is a high ranking marine, and she stays home with their two children, a high energy five year old boy, and an adorable three year old girl. This couple was, in my opinion, the only good thing that came out of the house we just moved from. We had a fun, easy-going night. Their tiny daughter fell in love with David. She called him "Boy" all night, even introducing him to her mother, that has known David for three years. "Mommy, this is Boy." The little girl kept grabbing grapes to bring upstairs, saying, "I need these for Boy." She also started going in Annie's toy closet and bringing things to David. When she brought all she could, she resorted to staring at him, her chin in her hands, while he played video games. For David, also known as Captain Personal Space, this was all a little challenging. I thought it was adorable.
The little girl's other great love was our male Yorkie. We have two Yorkies as well as a medium sized mixed breed. Our female Yorkie craves physical affection like none other. As long as you are touching her she's happy. It doesn't matter how awkwardly a kid holds her, or drags her along, the female is happy. The male on the other hand, thinks he is a 140 pound rottweiler, not a three pound little accessory. He gets confused and his pride get hurt when little tiny blond girls pick him up. He never snaps, or even grumbles, he just gets this bewildered look on his face and tries to get down. So of course, the little girl falls for the male. "There's my puppy, " she said every time she caught sight of him. I kept telling her how much the other puppy loves to be held, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Katie tried to rescue him by keeping him in her room, but the little girl found him.
Annie and their little boy have always been very good together. Annie is very high energy and pretty low drama, so boys love to play with her. We all kept the kids up later than we should have, because the adults were having so much fun. At almost 11:00 when they left, Steve and I plopped down to watch a little news, from upstairs I heard Annie say, "It's time to pause the news and put me to bed!" And, so it was.

Second night of visiting

2009-01-25T08:23:00.000-08:00

Oh man! Steve and I stayed up until 3am last night. We are usually in bed by 10:30 every night. Last night was a combination celebration for my father-in-law's 72nd birthday, and my brother-in-law's mother coming to stay with them. It was all family, and it was wonderful.

I am always thrilled and amazed at our family gatherings. My sister-in-law, Shellie is an incredibly warm, loving, open person. Her house is often the gathering place for the family. She married a wonderful man with grown kids. His daughter and niece both move to with in three miles of Shellie and Rich's home, and they have become part of our family. Rich's mom coming for an extended visit truly is a reason for celebration. I know not all families are like this, but I am so grateful mine is.

I have a cousin on Steve's side who is a reader like me. Her mom is one of my favorite people in the world. Even though we always talk, and like each other, last night we got to really talk. There is a pleasing consistency to knowing someone for many years, and seeing their life as though through a window. When you get a morsel of intimacy, it is that much sweeter.

Cousin Susie did not keep me up until 3am though. No, that was the perfect storm of Steve, his sister Shellie, and a magically refilling wine glass. Everyone left the party by almost midnight. My kids were all draped over furniture, covered with throws and blankets. Shellie, Rich, Steve and I were the last ones standing. We seldom have the time together that we want because we all have things and families to attend to. We laughed and talked and got way too personal. We scolded each other, and encouraged each other. I knew it was a horrible idea to stay up so late, and I woke up today wanting to fuss at Steve for it, but I realize now it was the right thing to do. If you have a good relationship with a family member, you should never take that for granted.

Mother Writing

2009-01-21T09:52:00.000-08:00

My cousin is in the process of having a book published. It is a witty, self-deprecating, hilarious book on parenting. I have had the privilege of giving her "notes", reading it as it is in progress, and commenting on what works, and what doesn't. It is an honor beyond what I can express because of the trust she has placed in my intellect and opinion. I also laughed my way through a difficult year because of her book. But, that's not the point, the point is, my husband saying "Unnamed Cousin got a book published, when are you going to?" This is not as mean as it sounds. In fact, it is actually quite kind. Steve believes with all of his non-reading heart that I am a talented writer. He believes people want to read what I write. He thinks I can do it. That's why he references Unnamed Cousin. He asked, what does she do? How did she finish a book? It isn't a rhetorical question, he really wants to know. Well, I know how she did it. She treated it like a job. She worked everyday. She set goals for herself. She is a pretty disciplined person. I finally got the nerve up to tell Steve what I needed to do in order to finish one of my FOUR! works in progress. I have to act like it is a job I have to do nothing but write from 8:30 in the morning til 1:30 when I pick up Annie the Amazing.

That means the family has to understand that I will be doing more housework while they are here, and less hanging on their every word, and serving their every desire. Do you know what Steve said? He said, "Of course, that is exactly what you should do."

I love him.

So, I have to pick a story to finish first. When I asked Steve what I should do, he said, "You have to finish them all, so just pick one."

He's kind of a slave-driver.

I had every intention of starting off this week by writing, and learning to organize my time well, but Annie the Amazing got an amazing case of the flu. We are on day three of her not really eating or drinking, so I am taking her to the doctor. Next week, look out Margaret Atwood, I am hot on your tail. (see, I can be self-deprecating too)

I think I am going to finish the one about the girl living in Vegas first. I will try to keep blogging and letting you know how it's going.

Seventeen years of food

2009-01-16T10:44:00.000-08:00

Steve and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary yesterday. It wasn't much of a celebration, since we both more or less forgot till late morning.

We didn't forget because we were super busy, or super stressed out, we just forgot. I don't mind, because most days I am treated the way I would want to be treated on my anniversary. Every day with Steve is pretty special, so anniversaries are just icing. They are definitely not the important thing.

Of course, I love any opportunity to reminisce. I thought about when Steve and I first started dating, in May of '91. I was a, *cough* waitress, with my tiny little baby in a studio apartment in Carlsbad, right on the water. I was pretty hippy-ish, and free-spirited. I was in love with fresh food I could get, that I never tasted in Las Vegas. I have always been a open-minded, adventurous eater, and I had new world with in walking distance of my apartment.

Exotic food was a big part of my life with my dad. We had a close family friend who owned a Moroccan restaurant; my stepmother and I went out for sushi regularly. I had a dear Filipino friend who taught me how to make lumpia, a long skinny Filipino egg roll, and a Greek roommate who taught me how to make a perfect Avgolemono, a chicken rice and lemon soup thickened with eggs.

In my tiny apartment, with its tinier kitchen, I cooked from scratch, making homemade red sauce, and soups with woefully inadequate cooking utensils. Let's just say, I got a lot of use out of my tea kettle!

Steve was the son of white, Midwestern parents, who favored rich mild food, to wild ethnic things. He just wasn't exposed to much besides all American, and some really good Mexican. His parents were very good at what they cooked, like pot roast, and grilled boneless skinless chicken breasts, and pork loin, but the food Steve grew up eating was as foreign to me as what I ate was to him. Not only was my pastor father's home full of diversity, it was short on money. Meat was a luxury. I never tasted pork loin until I had it at my future in-laws house. We never bought de-boned chicken, it was too expensive. To this day, I can break down a whole chicken in 7 minutes flat, and have the back in the freezer to save for soup. Roast was a whole other thing. I was married to Steve for 11 years before I could make a pot roast without calling his mother for help.

The point is, Steve's and my food background were as different as everything else about us when we met. He told me he was not a foodie. He was an "eat to live" not "live to eat" kind of guy. I took this as a challenge. Our second date was Steve's first time eating sushi. I didn't go easy on him either. Remember, I was poor, so I was not going to waste a night at a sushi restaurant on California rolls and cooked sushi. I ordered raw fish, octopus, and eel. He was a total gamer. After my success with the sushi, I began to order from the Armenian restaurant down the street from where I lived. Within a week we had knocked down tabbouleh salad, grilled lamb, and my beloved Avgolemono. He wasn't scared yet, in fact, he loved it! I cooked with whole grains, and fresh herbs. He began enjoying food. Together we discovered a seafood restaurant, literally half in the water, half on the shore, that printed new menus everyday, to accommodate the haul, and seasonal produce. He could no longer say he was not a foodie.

In spite of Steve's great palate, and open mind about food, I still did most of the cooking in the early part of our marriage. After the birth of Katie, I was instructed by my very forceful midwife to do nothing but care for the baby for at least two weeks. That meant my handsome one was doing all the cooking for the family. To complicate things, I was nursing the baby, so I couldn't eat anything gas producing, dairy, anything spicy, garlic, or chocolate. Sigh, just thinking about it makes me sad. (Sorry Naise, and Burpykitty, I know I get no sympathy;) I am just not a big fan of food restrictions ) What followed were two weeks of the blandest, saddest food to ever grace plates. We ate boxed mashed potatoes, chicken cutlets, and soggy mixed vegetables, every night.

Shortly after the bland food debacle, Steve taught himself how to cook. He picked the cook books with the most pictures, and the most precise instructions, and he learned how to make sauces from scratch. He perfected grilling, and mastered several potato recipes. From there he went on to becoming innovative, creative, and daring. It did not take long for him to cook as well as I do. If that sounds a little boastful, I don't mean it to. I can cook well, but it's okay, cause I suck at almost everything else.

Food has continued to play a big role in our relationship. Some of my favorite nights are "date nights". We feed the kids early and send them upstairs. Then we pour a glass of wine, and take our time making a gourmet meal, complete with appetizers, or at least, a cheese tray. These are time we go all out, making slow cooking reduction sauces, or trying a new recipe for the first time, preferably one our kids would hate. We take our time, laughing, and talking and flirting. We usually eat by candlelight, and we usually end up sharing with the pajama clad ones who just can't manage to stay upstairs once the dinner is on our plates. Unfortunately the kids never hate

what we have made.

We have made it a point to make food a big part of family life too, not just couple life. We are teaching or have taught all the kids how to cook. We don't dumb down food for them. We serve strong cheese, and spice everything up. We serve vegetables and salads and expect them to be eaten.

Brillat-Savarin said, "Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are." If that is true of Steve and me, then this is who we are.

One exotic, left of center, eating for pleasure girl, added to one steadfast, no frills, eating for sustenance boy, added together to create one curious, creative, and nourished family.

What should I write?

2009-01-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

I have three, no, really, four novels that I have started writing. I have not added one word to any of them since before Thanksgiving. I don't know which one to commit to finishing. Sigh. It hangs over my head whenever I do anything. I always think I should be writing. I could concentrate on freelance stuff, (magazine articles and marketing materials) but then I think I will never finish a novel. The other consideration is my commitment to pleasing God. That does not necessarily mean Christian themed books, just not offensive to God. I don't care about offending people. Here they are in the order I started writing them.

1) A young boy(14) with an overbearing mother who uses religion as an excuse for all sorts of bad behavior like not cleaning the house, because she is praying on the phone with people, or being mean to her husband because he isn't a Christian. She is extremely judgemental and legalistic. When the boy starts falling for the neighbor girl, it causes big problems.

2) A girl (16) living in the worst part of downtown Las Vegas, with her ex-prostitute dying of alcoholism mother, deals with life by being extremely tough and isolated. She meets a big, slightly goofy guy, who is a truly good guy, and who truly loves her. He waits patiently as she experiences what she has to in order to realize she loves him.

3) Girl (13) discovers she is from a long line of people with magical powers. They are a secret group of people, and she deals with her responsibility concerning this discovery.

I am leaving out the fourth plot line because it just isn't going to happen right now.

On another note.

My Best Friend is in Georgia. This is nice for my best friend, yummy Southern food, new adventures, a house with views for days, not so nice for me. When she lived in Las Vegas, I could hop in a car and be at her door in four hours flat. I didn't do it all the time, but I could have. Now I can't. I didn't expect it to be a big deal, but it is. I miss her terribly.

Happy 2009

2009-01-04T19:12:00.000-08:00

It is the end of winter break. We have continued to grow and change as a family. Tomorrow is the beginning of the real challenge. Can I please God with my actions? How can I give my kid' education the time it needs, pursue my writing career, and apply myself to the study of God's word? Oh yeah, and train the dogs, and lose 40 pounds.

I have made a New Year's Resolution. I resolve to be less judgemental. I resolve to let no unwholesome speech come out of my mouth. I apologize to those of you that so enjoy gossiping with me. I am taking the year off. As far as the unwholesome speech, obviously I am going to have to quit book club. I can not be wholesome and be around those heathens.

Of course I am kidding. I love those girls. I am just going to have to work on not dropping F-bombs.

I am so excited about the coming year. I always am. Some years have been unbelievably great, (1994, 1997 2002,) and some have been almost too difficult to bear, (1995, 2001, 2008) but come January I am always optimistic. I am old enough to look to the coming year with a little trepidation, but I am more excited about the prospects that are in my future.

2008-12-27T17:31:00.000-08:00

I have been away. Not geographically, but mentally, spiritually, emotionally. I have been hidden away as God has changed me. As you know, if you follow this blog, Alex gave his heart to the Lord in early October. God had led Steve and me to a solid, bible teaching church, almost three years ago. From that time on, we were slowly making changes in our lives that were geared toward pleasing God and making Him central in our life and our family. God rewarded us beyond our wildest expectations. After Alex, and then Katie and David got saved, Steve and I got more serious about our faith.

Steve and I were both raised Catholic. I always felt Jesus' presence. As painful as my childhood was, Jesus was always there, offering comfort and a sense of purpose. I had an amazing Holy Spirit filled priest named Father White, but for the most part, it was Jesus Himself who evangelized me. When I was ready, around the age of ten or eleven, I read an account of the crucifixion, and I understood it was for me. My sin was what Jesus was whipped for. I wept, and vowed to live my life for Him. I tried as hard and as long as I could, but with no support, and no fellowship, it didn't last long. Jesus honored my commitment, even though I didn't. He stayed near.

I moved in with my real father, after never living with him, when I was 16. He was a born-again Christian , and had come to Vegas, (my hometown) to pastor a church. I prayed the sinner's prayer, not realizing I was re-committing my life to the Lord. During the time in my dad's church, I avidly studied the bible. I learned the importance of prayer and praise and worship. I understood basic, but very important foundations of Christian life, including putting God first, service to others, and the importance of striving to live a holy life. During that same time, I also got beaten occasionally, saw my step-mother beaten often, and my brothers beaten almost daily. I dealt with my dad's bi-polar disorder up close, and was betrayed by the people who should have helped us. After almost four years of this, I ended up spectacularly backslidden. I started relying on my own understanding. I had no respect for Christians in general. I was broken, and I was hurting.

Every where I lived, there were Christians, either next door, or across the street. At work, there were Christians; kind, gentle people, who cared about me and my family. God kept his hand on me in my rebellion. He stayed near. Shortly after David was born, in 1997, I went to a women's retreat. I promised Steve I would not come back one of those crazy Christians, I just needed to get my head straight about religion. I really believed that I could do that. I would go to an Evangelical Christian women's conference, and not come back changed. I had too much faith in my own will. God won again. God worked on Steve's heart too. Steve gave his heart to the Lord too. Like me, Steve grew up with faith. He always loved the Lord, but he made it official.

At that time, I was still carrying around a lot of hurt from the Christian life I learned about under my father's reign of terror. I was too scared to really give in to God. I had one foot firmly in the world, and one foot in a church where we were not able to grow as Christians. This set me up for the slow decline to living for myself and not Jesus. Whew...

Now, I am older. At the same time, seeing my son saved at around the same age I was has restored to me the joy of my salvation. The unbridled joy of salvation, hand in hand with the knowledge of what is really important in life has created something brand-new in me. I think I finally get it. I want to please God. His presence and grace have accompanied every step I have taken. I have a believing husband and believing children, in spite of my failures.

I am a new creation in Christ. I am the personification of Lamentations 3:22, 23.

Truly, God's Mercies are new every morning.

A great afternoon

2008-11-20T10:27:00.000-08:00

Ok, done. I turned 40. The Earth did not slip off its axis. After lunch with Burpykitty, I went of by myself to do something I am too ashamed to do with others around. Unfortunately, by its very nature, what I wanted to do needs to be done in public, in a very specific place, in a very specific way.

I slipped off to my destination. I walked through the tall doors, and paused for a moment, breathing deeply. I did not linger though; I had to walk around the inner circumference to be sure no one I knew was there. It was not where I was that was embarrassing, it was what I was there to do.

Barnes and Noble was clear of anyone familiar. I quickly, but surreptitiously, headed to the diet, nutrition and self-help section. About halfway down, in the fitness section, is the fashion section. Nina Garcia and Rachel Zoe, "How not to Look Old" next to "What not to Wear". I grabbed a stack of books about six high, and slunk over to the Starbucks Cafe inside the bookstore. I spent the next two hours hunched over brightly illustrated books, and allowed myself to be yelled at by women who weigh as much as I did my sophomore year of high school.

It was heaven.

Caught between two worlds...

2008-11-18T08:58:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the day. November 19, 2008.

I was fine with turning 40, because I had it in the back of my mind that once I got forty out of the way, I would go back to the thirties. My brother was kind enough to shatter this illusion for me.

I am currently obsessed with fashion and style books. I go through this every once in a while. Apparently this is how I deal with milestone birthdays. I need to know how to dress for this new age. Some say all the worlds a stage, I say it is a series of themed costume parties.

The Countdown Begins

2008-11-12T09:17:00.000-08:00

I have exactly on week left of my thirties; one week during which I can honestly be referred to as a young woman. I will be turning 40 one week from today.

I was raised in a time when 40 year old women wore comfortable shoes and had sensible haircuts. I was raised thinking bitterness and unhappiness were inevitable. I spent my teens assuming my Joie de Vie had an expiration date. I am so happy to be wrong about that.

Two factors have worked together to make my life a fairytale. When I was 16, I gave my life to the Lord. I became a born-again Christian. My relationship with God has not been a smoothly ascending path through fragrant flowers. In fact, sometimes it is a battlefield. But it has been consistent. Though I have rejected Christ's lordship over my life, His love and grace have never abandoned me. I will work for the next 23 years to be as consistent a follower as He has been, a Lord.

The other factor that has made my life better than my best childhood fantasies is my husband. I met Steve in a bar in 1991, eight months after the birth of my beautiful son, Alex. Steve was everything I thought I could never have, handsome, educated, and kind. For reasons I will never understand, he is crazy about me. He makes me want to be the woman he sees when he lookes at me. His love makes up for all the pain in my life. His love has made me who the mother, sister and friend that I am today. He is, without a doubt, God's greatest earthly gift to me. Every day I try to deserve the love of this man.

So here I am, almost forty. I am about forty pounds over weight. My face is starting to droop, my lines are starting to deepen, and it takes a little longer these days to look fresh and pretty. I am the mother of two teenagers, one "tween" and on little kid. I am so busy I forget to eat, or sometimes even pee.

I feel exactly like a princess. I think I won the life lottery. I am the happiest girl in the world.

If this is what my first forty years brought me, I can't wait to see what the next forty might bring.

One hundred dollars.....

2008-11-10T09:35:00.000-08:00

My 28 year old sister and my 21 year old brother are living with Steve and me and our four kids. Because of this,it is rare for the six of us that make up my immediate family to have dinner alone. Last night was the first time it has happened in the several months we have been in our new home. Both the sibs were working, and Alex was off.

My family has been hit by the economic firestorm, same as most Americans. We have tried to be faithful in our giving, in spite of the uncertainty that we are feeling. Steve and I decided to give a portion of our normal tithe to another charity, besides our church. In the past we have given to St. Jude's Children's Hospital, and Birth Choice, a pro-life abortion counseling center. We decided to get the kids input and pick one as a family. Steve and I took advantage of the family meal to ask the kids about it. Their responses shocked and delighted me.

"We have $100 t0 spend on a charity that we choose. We wanted to know where you thought the money should go." I said.

They began talking over each other at once. 11 year old David piped up, "Children's' hospitals."

14 year old Katie said "I always think of young mothers. It must be hard to be poor and have kids to take care of."

18 year old Alex, ever global minded said, "Starving kids in Africa."

But the most passionate response came from 6 year old Annie. "Homeless people!" We all stopped talking and looked at her in surprise. She went on, meeting our eyes, sharing information she found to horrible to be believed. "There are people in this world who don't have homes! They live in the wild, and they need money to buy clothes, and food! Maybe we could give them a thousand dollars to buy a house." She looked at us beseechingly and went on. "They don't have homes. We need to help them."

I didn't know Annie knew homelessness even existed. Not only does she know, she cares. All the kids made their cases for the charities that thought we should support, but no one came close to Annie's passion and persuasiveness. I think we were convince of her commitment when she began pounding on the table chanting "Homelessness, homelessness," like Al Pacino, but in a very different sort of movie.

The truth is, they are all important causes. Bad economy does not preclude children getting sick. Africa is no better than it has ever been. Children are dying of starvation and AIDS. Single mothers need more help than ever, especially if Christians say they oppose abortion. My eyes filled with tears, because, as my family made their points about the causes they wanted to support, $100 suddenly seemed like such an insignificant amount, and there is so much need and pain in the world.

In the end, Annie won. Steve and I decided that, starting with the youngest, the kids would choose the charities for the next four months. After that, maybe Steve and I will get a turn, and then we will start over.

I am proud of my kids, and how instantly they came up with things they thought were important. Not one of them even paused long enough to ask if we could keep the money, even though we have been going without things we used to take for granted.

Where would you give a hundred dollars?

How did this happen?

2008-11-07T09:07:00.000-08:00

As I was growing up, I always related to the outcasts. I was a young child at the very end of the hippie movement. I envied their freedom, and ability to live there lives without caring about what people though. When I saw David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust, I was in love.
In 1983, my freshman year of high school, I had a hard-core punk-rocker in my biology class. I can't imagine what he saw in me, with my tortoise shell glasses, bad haircut, and hand me down clothes, but he began to indoctrinate into the world of punk music and rebellion. I felt like I found my place in the world. I had already been wearing hand-me-downs for years, as my adoptive mother felt that school clothes were an unnecessary expenditure, so it was a small leap to go from ugly accidentally to ugly on purpose. I got contacts and cut my hair into a mohawk. Being rejected by society somehow made me feel accepted. I had a spine of steel when it came to being myself, and expressing my self creatively. I eschewed social status at school, never went to a single school dance, and sneered at cheerleaders.
Fast-forward, 25 years. I have a 14 year old daughter. She is tall, slender and beautiful. She is also a cheerleader. My years of muttering about how anti-woman it is to stand on the sideline, cheering for the boys, have fallen on deaf ears. She has also been nominated for freshman homecoming princess. Not in a "Carrie-let's dump-pig-blood-on-her" way, but, a "she's-sweet-and-pretty" way.
How did this happen?
And why am I so proud of her?

In the eye of the beholder

2008-11-06T16:26:00.000-08:00

As I sit, I have a veiw out my front window of a hill with tall majestic palm trees. They are straight, and lush and green. Palm trees often remind me of Noble Zulu warriors with elaborate head-dresses. I am sure many people see the simple beauty and strength in a palm tree. Not me. I hate them. They remind me all the time that I did not move very far from my home town of Las Vegas. They remind me that I live in a place where the seasons change on the calender, but nowhere else.

XX6 went trick-or-treating in a t-shirt and jeans. I had to keep a water bottle with me because it was so dry. I will be putting Thanksgiving decorations up in an attempt to instill a feeling of a change of season.

Sometimes I have to remind myself why I love Southern California. It is beautiful, anytime you can look around and not have your eyes land on a palm tree.

2008-11-06T16:24:00.000-08:00

Hello.....Does anyone still care?

2008-11-03T14:54:00.000-08:00

Hello all.

We moved.

My kid stopped screwing his life up and gave his heart to The Lord.

I have been in a fugue state. I am so eager to get back to my life. I am almost there.

I had a panic attack at the dentist, and had to reschedule. No really, I did. Even though I rescheduled, my jaw still hurts.

We are having shepherd pie for dinner to use up some leftover mashed potatoes.

I really think that is enough excitement for one posting. If you think you can handle the excitement, check back soon.

Sweet Serene Summer

2008-07-16T09:22:00.000-07:00

My sister, the one I drove to rehab, is now staying with me. I am trying to remember why I thought it was a good idea. Oh yeah, living with my father would drive anyone to do drugs.

My commitment to get out and do things with the kids has not been fulfilled yet. I have family drama, real estate drama, and an unusually heavy workload this month. Still, I am taking tomorrow off to take the kids to the beach. Even though I hate the beach, even though I just received another assignment, even though it will cost me 50 dollars in gas, and even though I run the risk of an embittered super-hero throwing me far into the ocean because he mistakes me for a beached whale. Can you tell how excited I am? I don't actually hate the beach, it's just a lot of work for not much pay-off. I'm also not a big fan of sandy crevices, if you know what I mean.

My writers group is going well. I am so proud of my writers and their commitment to writing, and coming to share their thoughts on the other members writings. My book club is one of the things allowing me to hold on to my sanity. Having that to look forward to once a month is wonderful. It's also a good thing this month, because Rebecca may well be the only book I read this month!

2008-07-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

I am the perfect storm of "get fat." I am stressed about choosing a house to buy, I am premenstrual, and my dad is torturing me. So.... I had cake and ice cream for dinner, (Entenmanns fudge cake, or as I call it, Period Cake), and I had chips and onion dip for dessert. All washed down with white wine. Now I know why prisoners on death row ask for things like fried chicken for their last meal. It is familiar and comforting. I am watching "Atonement" on video-on-demand. I am worried that stress may actually cause me to chew my own head off, starting with my cheeks, and working up and out. Any suggestions for how I can keep from eating my self into oblivion, chewing my own face off, or becoming catatonic and laying fetal position on my bed for the next three days? If so, I welcome them.

Sigh... I need a new extended family.

2008-07-06T16:05:00.000-07:00

Usually I use this space for funny observation, or sentiment, but this is just blowing off steam. This is great steaming pile of "I don't deserve this!" I am the oldest of seven. Three of my sibs have had serious drug problems. One of them is a literal kleptomaniac. The two that are really trying to do things the right way are being completely ignored, or worse, my dad picks fights with them, telling them all the things they are doing wrong, while the ones with severe problems are coddled, or the efforts to succeed are sabotaged by my dad. When I try to take a stand, and say, "I don't want someone who continually steals in my house," or "I don't want my daughter looking up to a drug addict," do you think my dad supports that? No, he makes sure I look like the biggest bitch on earth. You know the sister I spent 6 hours driving to rehab? My dad went and got her from rehab without even telling me, and brought her to Vegas. How is that good for her? Why didn't he call me? Ask my advice, or ask me to keep her here? Because I think he likes when his kids are unhealthy. I really do. My one brother who lives in Temecula and is working and going to school, and never does drugs, is an object of rage for my father. My dad has an extra car, and instead of letting this brother use it, he brought it back to Vegas for my sister, who has been caught stealing, doesn't have a job, or a drivers licence. I am so sick of trying so hard to be who I need for my family, only to have my father actively trying to keep his children oppressed. I give advice, and tough love, and soft love, and I have someone undoing everything I do. I am so enraged right now, I don't know whether to cry, or scream.

What's left to eat?

2008-06-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

XY11 spent the night at a friends house and they came to my house for breakfast. I was busy, (in other words awake) so I did the lazy mom homemade breakfast. Frozen whole grain waffles, fried eggs and cut fruit. I asked the child, we'll call him, ummm... Rickets, how many eggs he would like. "One," he replied. I was mildly surprised since XY11 would gladly put away a dozen fried eggs at one sitting, but okay. I then asked which fruit he would like. Cut up cantaloupe? Grapes? Plums, nectarines? No, nope, no thanks. I asked him what fruit he does like. None. Oh, then you must eat vegetables instead. No, nuh-uh, only corn and potatoes. Huh! And your mom lets you not eat fruits and vegetables? Yeah, she doesn't care. Wow! Not my place to judge, or make the kid feel like a freak, so I let it go. As the boys were finishing breakfast, I noticed "Rickets" poking the outer edges of the egg with his fork like one might poke a jellyfish that washed up on the shore. "Is it over cooked?" I asked. "No, I've never eaten an egg before, and I don't know how to." "You mean you've only eaten scrambled eggs?" "No, I've never eaten any eggs." My resolve to not make the kid feel like a freak was waning. I knew if asked more questions he would be self conscious. But, seriously! Oh my goodness! No fruit, no vegetables, no eggs. There's not much left. His entire diet must be comprised of either neon artificial colors, or goldeny-beige. Yikes. I am so grateful for my whole grain, fruit and vegetable eating children. I also don't feel as bad about the monthly Kool-aid purchase.

2008-06-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Writing for pay is very different than writing for me. Hopefully the stuff I am working on for my self, (novel) will pay me eventually, I mean the assignment writing. Speaking of writing, my amazing cousin got an offer on her book! It is a comical take on a parenting self-help book. I will keep you updated. Back to me. I am not being the greatest summer mother, but I am trying. The many hours XX5 spent playing video games yesterday indicates I might not be trying hard enough. I bought the recent Time magazine that focuses on childhood obesity. Guilt upon guilt!
XY17 has a girlfriend, pretty much for the first time. I really like her. She is very sweet, smart and cute. I am always pushing XX17 to have friends over. He spends more time at his friends homes then they spend here. I really just want kids over here so I can feed them. It's a sickness. I need help. I know.

Day three of Summer Vacation

2008-06-18T12:43:00.001-07:00

I have committed to being a good mother this summer. Having a kid barely graduate provides ample motivation. On day one of Summer Vacation I took XX5 to the library. Yesterday XY11 had his crew over to swim. Today, day three of Summer Vacation, I took XX5 to the Summer Reading program at the library. The theme for the summer program is "Catch the Reading Bug". Today there was a lady talking about bugs. Or so I thought. Actually, she was a "bug wrangler". XX5 and I stood in the blaring sun for twenty minutes. The line wrapped around the building, filled with sensibly shod mothers and there adorable children. This is how it is, apparently, whenever there is a free event in Temecula. I didn't know, because this is the first summer I have tried to be a good mother. I was shocked at how aggressive mothers and fathers were in getting a place in line. I was really getting pissed off. This seven foot tall (approximately) blond lady was determined she and her three nine or ten year old sons were going to push ahead of me and my five year old daughter. Sure enough the mini-giants got a seat, second row, right in the middle, while poor little XX5 was banished somewhere over on the far right. I don't think so. "Can you see?" I asked XX5. "No," she said with a sigh. I grabbed her hand and marched over to the mini-giants with the primo seats. "I'm sure you great big boys won't mind if this tiny little girl sits in front of you do you?" They didn't. Turns out that may not have been the greatest idea I ever had. I was settled in, seated with the other parents, reading, keeping half an eye and half an ear open so I would have something to talk about on the way home. I heard the bug lady ask for a volunteer, a brave volunteer. I saw XX5's hand go up, sort of half-heartedly. Remember, this is the girl that says "ewww" at the sight of a butterfly. This is not a good prospect for a brave volunteer for a bug lady. As luck would have it, out of 80 or more children, Bug Lady picks the most bug averse child I personally have ever met. XX5 gets up there, cracks a few jokes, and then is told to act like a tree. I know my kid, and I am poised to leap out of my seat to rescue XX5 as she faints from terror. I almost faint as I see, behind XX5's back, the bug lady pick up a 10 inch long. 1 1/2 inch in circumference, black millipede. She drapes it around XX5's wrist. Luckily, my daughter's pride, at that moment, was greater than her fear. She swayed slightly, and her larger eyes grew larger, but she stood there. She stood there for about 30 seconds, and then she said, in the immortal words of BurpyKitty, "Okay, I'm done!" She thrust her her hand toward Bug Lady. "I mean it," she said "I'm done now." Bug Lady quickly removed the shiny slithery bug from her wrist. XX5 wasted no time return to her seat on the floor. Bug Lady picked another little girl. After the millipede, Bug Lady placed a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach on the little girls back. "Thank goodness," I heard XX5 mutter.

At the end of the program, we were told that there were barbecue flavored meal worms and sour-cream and onion flavored crickets for us to sample. If you ate a bug you got a sticker. A sticker wouldn't quite do it for me. If I ever eat a bug, you can bet there was a six digit pay-off involved. Or a Mercedes.

2008-06-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

Here I sit, June 16, the first day of Summer Vacation. XY17 graduated by the skin of his teeth. Really. We didn't know if he was going to graduate until two days before the ceremony. I strongly suspect creative grading on the part of at least one of his teachers. But, let's back up a moment, to a few days before all four of my kids graduated! my father called to let me know that my oldest younger sibling, 27 year old Cilla is finally done with her ten year long opiate and speed addiction. I know what you are picturing, and you are wrong. My sister is gorgeous, still, and the sweetest person you ever could meet. She is just naturally kind, like our Nana. She is never mean, and the only time she has ever hurt me is by being addicted to drugs. I love her, but from afar, because I can't deal with how she has lived her life. Anyway, she decides to leave her very wealthy drug dealing boyfriend, and move from Philly to SoCal to go into an intensive year-long Christian drug rehab. I am thrilled! I am also the one who drives her for six hours to two different locations the day before my kids graduate from, in order, middle school, elementary school, pre-school, and high-school. If you have not figured it out, either from reading this blog or knowing me, I am not a person who functions well under lots of stress and time constraints. As I typed that, I heard God laugh. In spite of the fact that I hate driving, I was very happy to have that time with Cilla. I love her so much. I want my sister, not some drug-addict whose name I avoid mentioning.

I got home at around 10pm, exhausted, and knew I had a huge day the following day. I was pretty together until XY17's graduation. Then I started crying and couldn't stop. I can't believe my baby is grown. I want to make sure I am the best possible parent to the three I still have in school.

"May you live in interesting times"

2008-05-30T06:18:00.001-07:00

Life continues to be interesting. Roser's mother was in the hospital for about six days last week. She had a liver biopsy and we are waiting for the results. big sigh. We are not expecting any thing drastic, probably just some damage from a medication she was taking. I am having a hard time being clever or artistic right now, but at the same time I am dreaming about writing. I miss it terribly. I think this is how poets are born. I don't have the mental fortitude even for a short story now, a few sparse stanzas are all I could manage.
XY11 is starting the pre-season football stuff; meeting the coaches, getting equipment, and stuff like that. Watching a group of 21 10 and 11 year olds throw together an impromptu football game while the coach talks to parents, makes you feel like not that much has changed. Eleven year old boys still have too much energy. They still have bruised shins and scraped elbows. They still get freckles across their noses in the summertime, and they still like being tucked in, even if they would rather be tortured than admit it to their friends. XY11's childhood is slipping away quickly. More quickly than his 17 year old brother's did. I wish I could preserve his innocence and youth, but I can't.

Sigh....

2008-05-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, Prettyface commented recently that she feels like she is in the beginning scenes of a 1970's disaster film. You know the ones where the characters are going about their business in sunny kitchens, with a small TV playing in the background. You can just here the newscaster reporting on things like, honeybees disappearing, and coyotes becoming more aggressive, shark attacks, and 30,000+ people dying in natural disasters in a three week period. Little stuff like that. When she first mentioned it, Myanmar and China had not yet happened. I hate anything that has to do with end-times theology. I get angry when people say that the end is coming. We don't know! We can't know. The symbols and clues in the Bible are there so we will recognize the time after the fact, not before. But still, I'm kind of freaking out here. I think about the time in the '60's when the Kennedys, and Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were assassinated. There was Viet Nam, and Kent State. I guess people were freaking out then too.

Mothers Day

2008-05-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

It is good to be the mother of a 13 year girl who can cook. I had the best Mother's Day brunch ever. Omelets, sour cream coffee cake, caramel ring-arounds, and bacon. Roser is sweet, but XX13 can cook! Roser can cook too, but he's more of a dinner chef. Take my advice. If you have kids, teach them how to cook. It will greatly improve the quality of your Mother's Day Brunches.

All week I have been thinking about what I want to do today. I want to lay out by the pool and read. It will be too cold to go in the pool, but laying out will be nice. I have to start a new book. I don't know which I will pick. I have a busy week for work, so I am going to enjoy today.

Of Books and Women

2008-05-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

I am happy to tell you about a new blog I am part of. Of Books and Women. Officially it is the website for the Book Club I am involved with. Unofficially it is a place for every one to discuss books. Tell everyone what you are reading, and what you are planning to read. Tell what you loved, and what you have hated; the embarrassing guilty pleasure, and the classic you think was overrated. Please check it out, and tell me, us what you think.

What TV has come to..

2008-05-06T09:09:00.000-07:00

I am truly thankful for DVR, or Tivo. I am going to bed earlier because I don't have to stay up to watch my crime shows that I love. I was especially grateful yesterday, when I realized, late yesterday afternoon that the two hour season finale of "Dexter" aired Sunday night and I completely forgot about it. Luckily the DVR was set to record all episodes. Whew! Roser likes sitcoms, and we have those set to record on Monday night and we watch them as we can through the week. I was so excited last night to have two full hours of Dexter to watch.

It turns out, major life stress does not mix well with TV shows about dismembering, blood-draining serial killers. I got about fifteen minutes in to it, and realized it was a bad choice. A day, during which you cried in your car over the prospect of your kid not graduating , is without a doubt a sitcom day. I had several to choose from. This brings me to my complaint. What the H-E-double hockey sticks is wrong with sitcoms? I thought "Friends" and "Seinfeld" introduced a new era of comedy. I thought realism, and subtlety was the new funny. I thought the days of bouncing breasts and the lecherous neighbor went out with Chrissy, Janet and Jack. Some of the humor in "Rules of Engagement" is sharp, observational and funny. Much of the interaction between the long married couple have Roser and I looking at each other knowingly, laughing uncomfortably. The relationship between the engaged couple is one we all remember. But, like a salad where all the components are fresh and tasty, except for one rotten slimy cucumber, there is a stereotype straight out of the Benny Hill '70s. The single neighbor is a repulsive sex and porn addict. He is a caricature and completely unbelievable. He is a fly in the ointment of this otherwise perfectly fine, (though not great) sitcom. Every time he is on the screen, I am annoyed. No one in real life would act like this, and if they did, they wouldn't have a job. (Downloading so much porn on his computer that it crashes, in his huge, presidentially appointed corner office, and then trying to have sex with the sexy tech who arrives to fix it.) The other object of my disdain is "The Big Bang Theory". I know the premise wasn't much to start with, but I thought it would be a light silly comedy. It is. Light, and a little silly, but not very funny. I watch it mostly cause the guy who was Darlene's boyfriend on "Rosanne" is on it, and I have sort of a weird crush on the robotic roommate, Sheldon. The show was consistently bland, occasionally slightly funny, until last night. Sheldon, the autistic savant has a super-hot twin sister, that his roommate and colleague of many years didn't know existed. By super hot, of course, I mean comically large breasts. Well, at least something was funny. Sort of. She was just one of the many girls Jack and Larry fought over in "Three's Company". A card board cutout, though definitely not flat.

In these sad, difficult times, I think we deserve decent comedy. Something believable, and with out stock characters. I feel like the creators of these shows don't care enough to make an enjoyable show. It feels like good enough is just good enough.

Don't even get me started on "Two and a Half Men".

Sorry.....

2008-04-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

Deadlines and sick kids. I have an elephant sitting on my chest and a python wrapped around my head. When I am lucky, they are not both there at once. And so... here is a list of things I am grateful for

My faith in my Creator. With out the grace of Jesus I would not get out of bed in the morning.

My children have never been hungry.

I have a job I love.

My husband is a source strength, not a sapper of strength.

None of my kids are in big trouble.

The kids and Steve and I talk to each other.

Books.

My friends.

There is much more, of course. But since I was up late with a restless XX5 last night, I can't think of anything else. What are you grateful for?

I am reading 'The Witch of Cologne'. Per Burpykitty's request, (pronouncement) I will be reading 'The Birth House' next. What are you reading? Should I read it?

Today is someone's Birthday

2008-04-10T06:25:00.000-07:00

Today is someones Birthday. Someone I have known for...about 12 years. The first time I met her, she was vulnerable. She was going through one of the worst times in her life. It was not representative of who she was at all. We loosely shared a group of friends over the next several years, and would be in the same place or events occasionally. She has the kind of looks that make you assume things about her. Between her beauty and her air of confidence, she seems as though she doesn't need anybody. When I found out, at a Princess House Party, that she reads so much she occasionally offends people, I was shocked. She didn't 'look' like a reader. I know, who does? Even after this revelation, it was another five years before we forged a friendship, independent of those around us. Not surprisingly, it started over a book club. I found out that I had access to a treasure, all that time, and I didn't know it.

She is still beautiful, so much more so now, because of the strength that I know lies within her. She is quietly observant, withholding her opinion until she's ready. She is steadfast, committed to doing the right thing, committed to knowing what the right thing is. Her standards are high, but she is forgiving. She smile easily, laughs easily, and cries sometimes. She has been easy to be friends with. Not many people are. Most people object to my close relationship with my husband, and my children. She is too busy with the close relationships in her own life to be affected by mine. She has been at once, a relief and a joy. The best part about her is her ever-changing, ever-striving nature. She will not be the same friend a year from now. She will have grown, and learned new things. I am lucky to know her.

Happy Birthday BurpyKitty

Things that Make Me Happy

2008-04-08T20:18:00.000-07:00

As you know, I have been a little stressed out lately. I started thinking yesterday about things that make me happy. I have always been able to extract joy from the mundane. I consider it one of God's gifts to me in exchange for some of the lousy cards I was dealt.

Here are some things that made me happy recently.

Making quesadillas for XY1y and his two friends who dropped him off after school.

XX11 letting me hug him for a long time in front of XX17's friends

Going to the nursery to buy herbs, strawberry plants, tomato plants, peppers and spinach.

Making a delicious dressing for salad with only four ingredients.

My box of produce from the CSA

The long hug I got from XX13 when she got home from school yesterday.

Getting to go up to my room after the kids got home from school and hang out while Roser made dinner. (This made me really! happy.)

There are also things that make me happy in general. Cooking. Tucking XX5 in bed. Going in to kiss XY11 after he has gone to bed, and turning his radio down or off. Waking up and falling asleep next to my most favorite person in the whole wide world. I have many things in my life that still make me happy. I am still feeling a little weighed down by the world, but I know it is temporary.

What makes you happy?

My Eeyore Moment

2008-04-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

I am reading Body Double by Tess Gerritsen. I am taking a break from literature in favor of escapism.

This has been a sucky Spring. Not just for me, for many people I know and love. Loved ones are dying, marriages are difficult, and children are going astray. Add in that most of us are working twice as hard for half as much money, I would say that Spring of 2008 rivals Fall of 2001 for highest concentration of lousy shit happening in a compressed amount of time. On the plus side, a very beautiful baby was born this Spring. Hope is alive.

With the many things going on, and difficulties, I feel my life being distilled. I want to figure out what is really important and focus on that. Problem is, I am not sure about what that is. I know the obvious, family, faith, health, but what does that really mean? Why do I buy organic vegetables and smoke? How do I balance my love for my husband, and my desire to spend time alone with him with my love for my children and their desire to spend time with me? Am I doing the right thing to prepare them for a life as Christians. Don't even get me started about education. Let's just say, I will not putting an order in for XY17's graduation cake too far ahead of time! After some thought, I will be putting a map in XX13's room. What do you, especially those of you who know me, but even those who don't, what do you think is important?

Just Checking In

2008-04-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

I've been away awhile, I know. I don't have a good excuse, so I won't try. I am not feeling chipper, or clever, just letting you know I am alive. I am reading "I Am Legend" by Richard Matheson. Not surprisingly, it is better than the movie. Roser's mistress is back in town in the form of the San Diego Padres. I will be lonely and pining for his affections. Maybe I will spend more time on my blog.

Which one is for you?

2008-03-27T14:51:00.000-07:00

I am so grateful for my book club. We always laugh, and drink. We discuss the book too. In addition to the laughing, drinking and literary discourse, some very important hypothetical questions are raised. The debate on Tuesday night was...Adam Sandler or Adrian Brody? Completely objectively I put the question to you. Doughy, aging fratboy, or lean sexy serious actor? I'll keep my vote to myself, but I would love to hear from you. Which nice Jewish boy floats your boat?

2008-03-22T15:23:00.000-07:00

I have no real hope I will be able to explain what I am feeling right now, but I am compelled to try.
I am at the library finishing up some work. I have been working non-stop since Thursday, between editing and my own articles. I finished up and was sitting here with earphones plugged into my laptop so I could listen to my i-pod songs while I rejoice in being done. While I was sitting here a girl of about 11 came and sat in the same section as me. She is awkward, with long dark hair pulled back in a messy pony tail. She is dressed in nothing my own little princess (sarcastic) would wear. Worn shorts, baggy t-shirt, bunny ears, (for Easter I'm sure.) She is too tall for her age, with feathered eyebrows over wideset eyes. She is buried, nose first in a graphic novel. She has a look that is equidistant between defiance and apology. I know that look well. I wore it for years before defiance took over. Defiance was my answer to being rejected; by parents who would rather be dead than be with me, who would rather drink themselves unconscious, anything but be with me, hear me; rejection from peers. Most, not all, found my vocabulary off putting, my swift mood swings, my preference for the printed page to a living breathing companion unbearable. Defiance served me well for a while, until I found the One who would never reject me. My Savior and Creator led me to others, my husband, his family, dear friends. I sit here writing this, comfortable, happy, confident. I look again at this little girl, on the brink of growing up. I see the beauty hidden by the soft childishness of her facial contours. I can tell by the way she carries herself she has no idea she will, one day soon, be beautiful. I want to place my hand on her head and say, "It's okay, everything will be fine." I want to talk to her as though she were me, almost 30 years ago. I want to tell her, "You will beloved some day by the people that matter most." I want to tell her, "Keep reading, it will save your life." I want to tell her, "You matter." She's not me, but she could be. It is hard for me to see someone that reminds me of myself at that time of my life. I like myself so much now. I hate to be reminded of a time when I did not.

I Wanna Know What Bored Is....

2008-03-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sung to the tune of "I want to know what love is," by Foreigner.

I have interviewed two restaurant owners, (married) and two married organic farmers in the past two days. Tomorrow at 8:30am, which is when I should be drinking my second cup of coffee, I will instead be interviewing another organic farmer. I blew off writing the articles I am working on today because my brother and sister-in-law were unexpectedly in town for a couple of days. We decided to go look at model home Roser and I are interested in and then go to lunch.They brought my crazy cracked out stepmother with them from Sin City. That's always fun. My brother and his wife were bickering nonstop. That was fun too. XX5's shoes overnight became too small, so she complained loudly and often about her pinkie toe getting squished. Still more fun. After lunch I ate an almond croissant just to put myself out of my misery.

I will be reading Unless for book club. That will not be miserable. I will be writing non-stop from 11am tomorrow until 11pm tomorrow evening to get my stuff in on time. I see another almond croissant in my future.

2008-03-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

That was quite a response. Thank you so much. The truth is, after sitting with it a few days and dealing with the fall-out, I have come to a conclusion.

I like how the nose rings look. I had a strangely bonding moment with my 13 year old daughter. We were exhilarated and high-fived. It was better than going on a roller-coaster with her. I came to some other conclusions to.

I am a kick-ass wife and mother.

I am committed to my family.

My family has never had to deal with me wanting independence, or fulfilling my own needs before their own.

I was a punk in my teens with (for a short time) a mohawk. It was always combed down around my aunt. I was the type who put my real clothes in my back-pack and changed at school. I had to defy convention at every turn. I felt a need to stand out and separate myself from the crowd. It was no better in my early 20's.

As a mother, I have been perfectly conventional, except for my unusually cool I-Pod selections. If I want to walk around with an earring in my nose, then for frick's sake, everyone can just deal with it!

And if I want to have the kind of relationship with my children in which they run their rebellion past me, and you don't like it, well then, kiss my ass.

People will make judgements on my kids, but those who are willing to look below the surface, to get to know my kids, those people are in for a treat.

A Break From Drama

2008-03-16T22:36:00.000-07:00

If there is ever a time during the month when it will be difficult to post everyday, it will be between now and the 20th. My deadline for turning my monthly articles is the 20th, and no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to get interviews done and information culled before the 17th. Tomorrow I have two interviews. I will then be writing non-stop until Thursday, except for a break Tuesday night for something I planned without thinking. Which is, of course, unusual for me because I usually consider things so carefully. (Insert rueful chuckle.) Roser came home from his trip with XY11. He was a sight for sore eyes, as was the hair lollipop. They got many autographs from ball players. I know you are all dying to know how Roser reacted to the piercing. Not telling. At least not now.

I am currently reading Cane River. It is a little too soon after Gone With the Wind to read a Southern book that includes the Civil War Period, but I have gone to far to stop now. I'm sure most of you know how that goes. What are you reading?

Running with the Bad Moms

2008-03-16T08:04:00.000-07:00

I am so seldom in this position. I am usually running with the conservative moms. I am the one who doesn't let my kids watch South Park, or even watch PG13 movies before they are 13. I never let my boy's choneys (underwear) show when they sagged their jeans. My girls have to dress modestly all the time, no matter what. My kids have to call adults Mr. or Mrs., or at the very least, Miss, as in Miss Michelle. I allow my younger three children very little freedom without me.

Now, all of a sudden, I am in the other camp. I have made many decisions that made me unpopular with my kids. Now I have made a decision that has made me unpopular with parents whose opinion matters to me.

I thought I didn't care what people thought of me, but it turns out I do. I have always parented according to my conscience and it has served me well. My kids are amazing and overall we are a close family. I let XX13 get her nose pierced because I think it looks cute. I was willing to allow XY17 to pierce his lip because he is 17 and has earned the privilege of looking the way he wants by doing everything else right. He brought it up for the first time over a year ago. It has taken him that long to get his grades to what I required in order to say yes. I consider most piercings temporary in that once you remove the post, the remaining hole is nearly invisible. I would never agree to something I would consider permanent. I would never agree to the large wholes that many boys, and some girls put in their ears. I am for very long and thoughtful consideration before getting a tattoo. I recommend a year, minimum. I have also made my feelings clear about how I feel about tattoos. I am not a big fan. I have told my kids if at some point they get one, it should be someplace where it can only be seen if they are wearing a bathing suit.

I am adamant about allowing my children some autonomy with their appearance. I realize that people judge you on your looks. My children are experimenting with sending different messages. Unfortunately, I seem to be sending the loudest message of all.

2008-03-15T19:42:00.000-07:00

Today was the Caribbean Queen's baby shower. I co-hosted it with JM at her house. It was just what you would expect at a baby shower for a little girl. An explosion of pink and flowers and fancy china.
JM, who has been my friend for 14 years was speechless when she saw XX13 and our pierced noses. I thought we would have to get the smelling salts. It was not pleasant. She got over it quickly though.

The Caribbean Queen is from St. Lucia, and always talks about her birthplace as though it were Heaven on Earth. She makes it sound like so much fun. She says that the food is so fresh that it makes you horny all the time. I am not sure if this is true or not, but I would love to find out.

Roser and XY11 are still out of town. Hopefully XX13 and her friend and I can watch either 'Scream' or 'May'. Both scary movies.

There were three readers at the shower. Very Nice.

See that puff of Smoke Floating By? That was my Parent Card

2008-03-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

A few things. First, 'Nanny Diaries' is not a comedy. Do not be fooled. I have seen 'Feed the Children' commercials that were less depressing.

Second. I found out why XY17 has been in such a good mood. It clicked when he said he's had no appetite for a week. Her name is Faith.

Third. If you have been waiting for an opportunity to judge me...your wait is over.

XY17 texted me to ask me if I would take him to get a double lip piercing called 'snake bites'. I was at Costco when I got the text. I knew it was coming. XY17 mentioned it many times. I have always been very laid back about my children's appearance, as long as it is modest, and not disrespectful. Of course 'not disrespectful' is open to interpretation. XY17 has dreadlocks, and XX13 has been reprimanded at school for showing up with hot pink hair. I would be sad if at any time one of my kids chose to get tattooed, or got their ears stretched with those types of earrings. Beyond that, we can discuss it. I agreed to take XY17 to the tatoo parlor to get his lip pierced. Twice. I brought XX13 and XX5. XX13, for some time, has wanted to get the cartilage in her ear pierced. I didn't mind that at all. Then she brought up something we talked about months ago. She asked if she could get her nose pierced.

"Daddy will kill me dead," I said. She pushed a little. I gave vague answers. Finally, I jokingly said that if she got her nose pierced, I would have to get mine done. "You should!' the two older ones said.

We got to the tattoo parlor, in the same shopping center as a Smoke Shop and a radical clothing store. And many, many people smoking in the parking lot. We had to wait a slightly uncomfortable amount of time for the piercer to return from taking his car appointment. XY17 can't have facial piercings at work, so in order for this to work, he has to be able to put clear plastic retainers in while at work. We found out that the piercing had to heal for at least three weeks before you can put the plastic retainers in. It wasn't going to work. XY17 was very disappointed. XX13 asked if she could still get her piercings done.

"No," I said, "This was Xy17's day. We'll do it another day." We left for home. XY17 had a concert to go to. XX13 was sullen and silent. I was pissed and hurt. I had been looking forward to an evening with her. I spoke to her about it a little, but I could tell she was upset. After a while she apologized, but she was still very quiet.

We got in the car to go to Trader Joe's and Pinkberry. Then, in the car, she began to talk.

"It's just that XY11 got something special," (Baseball trip with Roser) "and XY17 get something special," (Concert an hour out of town) "and I have been so good, with all the stress on our family. I have really tried, and for me, I have really good grades. It's not fair." she said, ending with the universal lament. I could not argue with her. She has been so good. She tries to get along with her brothers. She helps take care of XX5. She seldom pouts, she never cries. She is unfailingly dependable.I told her she had to choose, ear cartilage or nose. She said nose. I called the tattoo parlor. Then I called Roser. He was not happy. But he wasn't going to say no. Neither was I. The other thing I could not do was have her go through it alone.

XX13 and I are both the owners of one extra hole in our heads decorated with lovely sparkling studs.

2008-03-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

XY17 got in the car yesterday and announced there was a going away party for a friend of his who was going to prison. This was the first I had heard of it. XY17 doesn't have those kinds of friends. Most of his friends have been friends for years, and I know most of their parents. We are a conservative family oriented group of people. We are certainly not the type of people who have children who are convicted of felonies. My first thought was, 'How will this influence XY17'. We talked about it a little, and I decided to let him go. It is a boy he spends a lot of time with at school, and a close friend of one of XY17' best friends. In other words, as far as teenage boy's friendships go, this was a close one. I have always taught my kids to have compassion no matter what. I had to let him go.

I talked to Roser about it, after briefly considering lying about it. We agreed not to exploit the situation by trying to hammer home a lesson about responsibility and choices.By coincidence, I made one of XY17's favorite dinners, (chicken noodle soup) but he didn't eat a bite. He sat quietly on a chair, barely responding to my questions. Shame on me, I didn't realize how preoccupied he was with his friend's situation.

He finally said, "What do I say to him?"

I wasn't thinking about how serious it was. "The best thing to say to someone in a tragic situation is just 'I'm sorry'," I said.

When he got back, just before 10pm, I was already getting in bed. He didn't have his key, so I had to go down and let him in. I made just a little small talk with him, expecting to go back up to bed, but I could tell, for the first time in months, he wanted to talk. I sat at the kitchen table while he leaned up against the counter.

"I wish you could have met him. He really is great guy in spite of everything." I believed him. He had already told me the kid had a really rough upbringing. He got his diploma yesterday, several months ahead of time. XY17 was sure he would make good use of his time in prison to get his Associates Degree.

"It's so weird to think, he's going away for to years. Not to college though. Someone I saw almost every day is just gone." And then my six foot tall, 22o pound 17 year old son did the most surprising thing.

He cried.

He cried, and let me hold him for a moment. "I'm so sorry," I whispered into his neck, the very thing I told him to say to his friend. "I'm so sorry," I repeated, "This is a lousy way to be introduced to the grown-up world."

I let him go and he wiped his face. "D's truck got stuck and we all had to pick it up and push it," he said with a misty eyed grin. The tears spilled over again as he said, "Just like every other weekend." He quickly wiped his face again, and turned away to get water. I know he and a I and all of his friends were realizing how many times their friend would think of his last night with his friends.

I had to put my 'Mom-Hat' on for at least a little while. "The best thing you can do for your friend is pray for him every day. What he has to face won't be easy. You pray that he makes good choices while he is in there and stays safe. The other thing you can do is live your life well. Don't squander your freedom or take it for granted. You have an opportunity to further your education and pursue your dreams. Right now your friend doesn't."

I would never want my child to think about things like 'What will happen to my friend in prison?' I would never choose for my child to have a friend that would make a decision that could get him convicted of a felony. I know, though, that at different times in our lives, we may be tempted to make decisions that we never would at another time. Some times these decisions have dire consequences, other times the whole thing is nothing, swept under the rug. I don't know what will happen with this. I don't know if my son will stay friends with this boy, or if it will be an 'out of sight, out of mind' thing. I want to protect my boy from everything, but know that he must be strong enough to withstand the influence of others.

As for me, I will be praying for this boy. As hard as I am, as much as I believe in being tough on crime, it is a tragedy that a 17 year old boy, not even to the beginning of his life, will be in prison for two years, and then, for the rest of his life, an ex-con. If you want to pray for him, his name is Joshua.

The Hair Lollipops

2008-03-12T17:25:00.000-07:00

To make up for telling XY11 I couldn't take him to the skate park, I told him he could have some friends over and skate in the cul de sac or go to the neighborhood park. He came with one of his friends, named Christian or Cody or Daniel, because as far I can tell, all of his friends are called Christian or Cody or Daniel. XY11 showed up with his skinny tight jeans, skate shirt and long puffy/shaggy hair. Christian/Cody/Daniel also had...tight skinny jeans, skate shirt and long puffy/shaggy hair. A third boy showed up, another Christian/Cody/Daniel looking just like the first two. By the time the fourth boy showed up, I am embarrassed to say I had a hard time picking XY11 out of the crowd. It was like football season. They all had bony shoulders stretching out there faded t-shirts, and holes in the knees of there jeans. The only thing not angular and slim on these 10 and 11 year old boys was their gravity defying hair. They all looked liked Tootsie Pops that had been dropped in cat hair. They looked like hair lollipops.

A fourth boy showed up named Brock. That was not his only nod to individuality. He had a baseball cap with a skate logo on his mass of hair. It had to be an extra large.

Boy! Isn't this fun?!

2008-03-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

So...Blogging every day. Whose idea was that anyway? I am feeling very guilty for telling XY11 he can't go to the skate park for two hours with no adult supervision. What is wrong with me that I feel guilty? I don't actually feel guilty for saying no to that; I feel guilty for saying I would take him and be there and then having to cancel. I didn't realize when I said we could go that spring break starts next week. I would have put it off anyway, instead of having to cancel for work.

XX13 wants to go to Disneyland with two of her friends. That's all. Just three thirteen year old girls at Disneyland. Yeah, and when Hell freezes over they can all go ice-skating there too! What in my psychotic over-protective parenting style made her think I would say yes.

Roser is taking XY11 to see their favorite baseball team's spring training. XX13 and I will be watching chick flicks and horror movies. There will also be pancakes and bacon for dinner. I'm predicting a good weekend. I am sure there will be a cartoon to make XX5 happy too.

Vegtables vs. Shoes

2008-03-10T19:43:00.000-07:00

I am joining a CSA soon. The acronym stands for Community Supported Agriculture. You are basically buying shares in a local organic farm. You pay ahead for six weeks of food. I am very excited at the prospect of feeding my family fresh, organic, locally grown produce. Roser keeps referring to it derisively as 'the vegetable club'. He mentioned it to the kids tonight.

"If I am paying $250 for vegetables I'm gonna care whether or not you finish them."

"What?" XY17 squawked, "For vegetables?!"

"No," I said perhaps a little defensively, "It's organic produce, and it's $35 dollars a week."

XX13 piped in then.

"Think of the shoes we could get with $35 dollars a week."

"We'll have rickets if we don't eat fruits and vegetables," said I.

"They'll be be looking at our cute shoes and people won't notice. They'll be distracted."

I thought this was excellent logic for about two and a half seconds. Then I remembered the conversation we had earlier at dinner.

XX13 said, "I think Shelley's aunt is like a nun."

Shelley is a dear friend of mine who was the recipient of some Amish Friendship Bread starter I had to get rid of. XX13 and XX5 did my dirty work tonight before dinner. I didn't know XX13 was using teen speak for an actual nun or that the aunt was conservative like a nun. I asked for clarification

"I'm not sure. Shelley introduced her by saying 'This is my aunt, Sister Mary,' and she was wearing a huge cross and one of those outfit things that nuns wear." By now, as is not unusual, we are all rolling! XX13 tries to defend herself by saying,

"I didn't know if she was just from somewhere that women dress like that and..." her voice trailed off as she finished, "called each other Sister."

"And where would that be?" XY17 asked grinning for the first time in weeks.

"I don't know," XX13 said laughing along with us, "Maybe she runs an orphanage or something."

Just so you know, this is the girl whose advice I almost took about buying shoes instead of vegetables. In some ways, the organic apple doesn't fall too far from the locally grown tree.

2008-03-10T12:57:00.000-07:00

Who else thinks the Monday after Daylight Savings Time should be a national holiday? I am sitting here with a messy house really wishing today was 'Watch All the Stuff on your DVR' day. Alas, it's not. It is a normal day, not 'Read One of the 30 Books You have Borrowed from People Day', or 'Beat Your Best Text-Twist Score Day'. It is 'Get up Off Your Lazy Ass and Do Some Laundry Day'. This is not one of my favorite days.

Sunday...

2008-03-09T19:09:00.000-07:00

Today was a friends little girl's birthday. Friend is the Caribbean Queen. She is a beautiful girl from Saint Lucia. She had the party at one of those blow-up jumpy places. XX5 was invited and XY11 wanted to go too. I called and offered to pay, but was told to go ahead and bring him. The Caribbean Queen's husband is a Marine as beautiful as she is. XY11 was very excited to meet him. My son wants to be a Marine. He is fascinated with war, history and politics. To him meeting a Soldier or a Marine is like meeting a football hero. I am very proud of him, even though it breaks my heart. I think it is something he is, not something he wants to do. The way being a writer is who I am, not what I do.
XY17 wants to be a teacher. That also makes me very proud. There is nothing that could make me prouder. XX13 says she wants to be a stay-at-home mother. Again, so proud! It stands to reason that XX5 will be a girl in a bar with tequila in holsters mixing shots in peoples mouths. Not that there's anything wrong with those girls, but still...

2008-03-08T21:42:00.000-08:00

Readers are part of a culture all their own. Their are different types of readers, but I am referring to the die hard, three or more books, mostly novels a month. If that number seems a little low, it is because I do not have enough hours most months to read much more than three or four books a month. If the number seems high, you are not a reader. We are a snobby bunch. Magazine readers don't count, nor do newspaper readers. You must have a low self-help book to novels ratio.

We tend to find each other in crowds. In families, the bonds are especially strong. I have a cousin who has taste similar to mine. We have been exchanging books for years. I sent her out of my home one time with her arms loaded with books. She returned the favor when we went to her home. Another cousin has the weirdest taste ever, but I love it. She gives me haunting esoteric tales that I never would read otherwise. Because of her, I had to buy Lolita by Nabokov online. I was too embarrassed to go into our little independent bookstore and buy it. It would have been worth the embarrassment as it turns out.

People who are not readers are often resentful and jealous of the time the readers in their lives spend reading. I is an uneasy thing on both sides because most readers do not spend nearly as much time reading as they want to.

I had known a woman for about eight years when she lent me a book called Gloria. She never lets you know her opinion unless you ask. I inquired about the book all she would say was, "It's hard to say what exactly it is about." I knew she was a reader, we were even in a book club together. I read the book not even knowing if this friend liked the book. I was enthralled by the story. When I talked to BK about it, I found out she loved this strange lovely book too. I saw her in a new way after that. We have become very close in the three years since then. When I found out she loved that book, I felt like I found someone who spoke the same language as me, or saw the same strange colors I did. Like I found someone from my tribe.

My very best friend grew up in a trailer park with a mother who liked to date ex-cons. She grew up dirt poor, and with no real positive influences, but she is one of the most amazing people I know. She reads all the time. I think reading changed her life. I know it changed mine. It exposed me to worlds I never would have known existed.

Are you tired too?

2008-03-07T23:09:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been so tired you actually feel your brain rolling around inside your skull like a ball bearing?

Have you ever been so tired that the act of listening is painful? So tired that you wish the person talking would fall into a non-dangerous coma just so your ears could have some rest?

Have you ever been so tired that you watched The History Channel for twenty minutes because you're too tired to change it?

Have you ever been so tired that the commitment you made to blog every day for the month of March seemed like a really bad idea?

Have you ever been so tired that you went to sleep with a half a glass of Napa Syrah, slightly fruity, well structured, still on your nightstand?

Me neither.

Costco

2008-03-06T20:53:00.000-08:00

I am trying to blog every day for the month of March, so some entries may seem a little random.

I was in Costco with XY11 and XX5. I needed dish detergent, so of course I spent 240 dollars, because that is a reasonable financial penalty for running out of dish detergent, right? Any way the whole Costco buffet was going on, and the kids were snacking accordingly. There was a Yoplait Yogurt sample kiosk. I'm sure that's because there are dozens of people who have never tasted Yoplait. Anyway, XX5 looked for the "white" kind because it doesn't have chunks of fruit in it. She got strawberry instead.

"Mommy, there's things in it!" she said showing me her little paper cup of yogurt.

"Yes, Baby, there are little bits of strawberry in it," I confirmed.

"Will you please eat them all for me?" It didn't even occur to me to think of this as an unreasonable request. As a matter of fact I just did it. Not because I was in the mood for little slimy pieces of pale strawberry chunks, but because she was not. As a matter of fact, I missed one. She pulled it out with the little plastic spoon, and I sucked the offending piece of fruit from the surrounding yogurt. That's it. Princessa didn't want the strawberry bits. So of course Mommy ate them.

I used to love it when I had dignity. That was cool.

2008-03-05T21:15:00.000-08:00

I got XX5 a book today; "Horton Hatches the Egg" on sale at Kohls. I Have a huge collection of Dr. Seuss and Seuss-like books for the kids. I have been wanting this one for a long time though. After dinner, (Baked Tilapia, roasted asparagus and rice) I sat and talked with Roser in the front room for a while. When he went to do some work on the computer, XX5 came in. She had chocolate ice cream all over her sweet little face. I sent her up to get jammies on and brush her teeth. I assumed she would wipe her face off when she saw how dirty it was. Silly me. When she came down and snuggled up next to me, ready for her story, I told her about her dirty face.

"I won't die if I go to bed with ice cream on my face," she said.

"Do you really want to take that chance?" I asked her.

She just shook her head and sighed, "Even if it was oil it wouldn't kill me." It is hard to argue with logic like that.

I picked up the book and began reading. XX13 came in, eating a bowl of ice cream.

"Oh, I want to hear this story," she said as she got comfortable on the couch across from XX5 and me. I continued to read.

"Can't you come over here? I can't see the pictures," she said. That was XX13, that couldn't see the pictures. XX13, as in, Girl, aged 13 years. Sighing, XX5 and I moved over to the larger couch. We started again. Right around the time we figured out Maizey the lazy bird wasn't coming back, XY11 shows up and squished in between XX5 and the arm of the couch.

We got about halfway through when XX5 asked if we could finish up in her room. She told me she had looked forward all day to snuggling up in her bed. The problem with going to read in XX5's bed was, XX5's has a single bed. There wasn't enough room for both the older kids, XX5 and me, and the book. We compromised by getting in my bed and finishing the book.

It was wonderful.

I was in bed with my three youngest kids, reading to them. I know there is a finite amount of these moments left. I thank God for every one.

By the way, even if XX5 was willing to risk it, I wasn't. I wiped her face off before bed.

Just Call me Pancho Villa

2008-03-04T21:18:00.000-08:00

Every time I go to get my eyebrows waxed at a Vietnamese nail salon they ask if I want my lip done. Every time they ask, I get insulted. I would know if I had a mustache, wouldn't I? It turns out, maybe not. I was in my daughters' bathroom tonight, and I got up close to the mirror look at my skin. It was a little bumpy and I was checking for pimples. I found some, but more disturbing, I found several, no, many brown hairs on my upper lip. They couldn't just appear out of nowhere, could they? I tilted my head this way and that, hoping I was wrong; hoping they were the shadows of blond, silky hair. Nope, no shadows. I turned from the medicine cabinet mirror I was looking into and checked the big mirror. In the big mirror they disappeared. In the big mirror they were the soft baby-fine blond hairs I was used to. Turning back to the medicine cabinet mirror made them reappear. It was like some cruel optical illusion. I was upstairs to tuck XX5 into bed when I made this discovery, so I couldn't address it immediately. I finished singing and saying prayers and went downstairs to watch TV with Roser and XX13. As I sat there, I could feel the mustache growing in thicker and darker. My pores ached a little as the hair follicle stretched them. Even with the aching pores, and ever thickening facial hair, I held out hope that when I went up to my own bathroom to get ready for bed, they would be gone. The whole thing would just be an unpleasant hallucination. I was also prepared to believe that if I could not see the mustache, it did not exist. Well, I checked my up till now feminine upper lip, and found that they are there, and they are real. In addition the the mustache, the hairs under my chin are reproducing like Brad and Angelina. It will hurt like a mother to pluck my lip, so I have to get them waxed. I hope Vietnamese facialist are not given to gloating.

Open Letter to My Husband

2008-03-04T09:27:00.000-08:00

Dear BH,
I met you almost exactly 17 years ago. I was working in a sleazy bar and you and your best friend came in after a wedding. I tried to work you for tips but failed. You asked me for my phone number, just like five or six guys a night did. For reasons I still don’t understand, I broke precedent and gave it to you. Before I did, I told you my flaws as I saw them. I was not nearly as attractive out of the dim lights of the bar; I wore glasses when I didn’t have my contacts in; and I had a seven month old son. You didn’t care, you still called. I tried to keep you separate from my beautiful mixed race son. When you picked me up for a date, he was already at the sitter’s. One day, after we had been dating for about three weeks, you showed up unexpectedly at my apartment. When I realized it was you at the door, I said out loud, “Oh no!” You later told me you thought I had another guy in there. You were sort of right. My little man was there. You met him before I would have introduced you. He worked his calm wide-eyed charm on you. Over the next year, you fell in love with us simultaneously. The feeling was mutual. We married. The charming baby turned into a mouthy four year old. You approached fatherhood from a logical angle whenever you could, emotional when you couldn’t fight it anymore. You have always understood that true love is always accompanied by action. You coached DB’s baseball teams. You took him camping. You rolled your eyes over my head, so he knew you thought I was crazy too. It has always been obvious that there is more than meets the eye with DB. He is half black, and you and I are both white. When people meet the two of you together, they assume you are his father, and I am his step-mother. No one can tell by your behavior that you are not his father. He can’t even tell, even though he knows. He told me once, about four years ago that he was so grateful he didn’t have a step-father. He forgets that there is any other man but you responsible for his existence. He is right. You are the man responsible for everything he is. He stands like you, argues like you, laughs like you. I could never have taught him how to be a man. I taught him to learn about the world by reading. I taught him to have compassion, to have empathy. You taught him the importance of ambition. You taught him when to walk away and when to stand and fight. You taught him that a man appreciates the females in his life. He got his dark skin and curly hair, wound into messy dreadlocks from someone else. He got everything that matters from you.

Open Letter to a One Night Stand

2008-03-02T20:36:00.000-08:00

Dear SD,
You are an occasional subject of conversation in my house. Under normal circumstances I would not even remember your name. You and I were friends for a brief period in 1989/1990. I don’t remember the names of our other friends, although for about five months, we were all inseparable. The only reason I remember you at all is because we were sexually intimate one time, again, very briefly. So briefly in fact, that you were done before I could tell you I was not on the pill. As a result of that otherwise completely forgettable, drunken encounter, I have a seventeen year old son, who looks exactly like your brother. My husband asked me recently how you could not care if I was protected against pregnancy. I said it was because it wouldn’t have affected you at all if I got pregnant. I sort of just threw it out there. After I thought about it for just second, I realized I was right. My having a child has for all intents and purposes has not affected you at all. I remember a phone conversation with you, about ten years ago, in which you told me you though about “your son” every day, and every thing you did in your life was to bring you to a place where you could have something to offer him. I recommended a card on his birthday, but you said you couldn’t afford a stamp. Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you do think about the kid, oh, let’s just say, once a week. I think I am being damn generous here, but okay, once a week. When he was growing up that equaled 21 meals I had been responsible for. Ten outfits I had washed, one set of sheets I washed. When he was much younger, it was three episodes of night terrors that I got up in the middle of the night to deal with. On some weeks it was four or five times he didn’t make it to the toilet to barf, four or five messes on the carpet my husband or I would have to clean up. When he was 13, it was six times I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I had done all I could to raise him the right way. Now that he is seventeen, I am crying again, wondering again, “Have I done all I could?” You will never convince me that having a son means anything to you or your lifestyle. When I told you I was pregnant, I told you I didn’t want anything from you, and you could be as involved as you want. Every time we moved, I made sure you knew where we were. I made sure, through your mother, that you always had a phone number for our family. I have not had the same consideration from you. When my son was young, I cared. I had the most amazing, most beautiful child in the world, (like every mother) and I could not understand why the one other person in the world who had a genetic link to him didn’t care to know him. Because I was in a relationship with someone, the same someone, since my kid was seven months old, it didn’t matter for long. Having a child has affected your life not at all. And yet I know you claim him. You tell people you have a son. You asked me during one of only two phone conversations we have ever had if I would consider giving him your last name. Were you fucking serious? You were.
When I was told I was pregnant by a tired distracted doctor working in a medical clinic, he also told me I was in the process of miscarrying. I went immediately to a friend’s house, and waited in bed, trying to keep the little zygote I was carrying safe. I began changing my life. I did not want a baby, but I was compelled to act like a mother. I quit Diet Coke and smoking and drinking. I started drinking milk by the gallon. I worked until one week to the day before he was born. Every minute, every decision is about how it affects my family, of which, he was the first member. You have nerve. You did nothing, NOTHING to contribute to this child except have sex with me, 17 years ago. Your life has not changed at all. What is that like? Because my life has never been the same.

Kitchen Mojo

2008-03-01T21:59:00.000-08:00

As you know, I love to cook. I like to stretch a little, and experiment. Last night I decided to make gnocchi with browned butter, fried sage lemon zest and Parmesan cheese. Well, I didn't put enough flour in the potato dough, so the gnocchi was to soft and doughy, even though it was cooked long enough. The seasoning was great, perfect in fact, but the texture was all wrong. I am so disappointed. It would not have been so bad, but the previous night, I made carbonara for XY11's birthday dinner. I made half again as much as I usually do, but I didn't make enough sauce for the pasta. I was looking at the pancetta and white wine mixture thinking, "I really have to add some pasta water to this so there is enough to coat all the pasta."

For some reason I didn't, so the carbonara was so bone dry, it was almost inedible. That was a rookie mistake, and while making a dish I could normally make in my sleep too! That was not the one that started it though. On Sunday, I made red sauce, and eggplant Parmigiana. I salted the eggplant to draw out the bitter juices, and I forgot to rinse the salt off. The final dish was so salty it made my mouth hurt. Every other element of the dish was great. The sauce came out well, the eggplant was sliced nice and thin, the cheese was browned. It looked perfect, and tasted like a practical joke.

Tonight, I redeemed myself. Roser and I were kicking it upstairs. My brother and sister-in-law took the older three kids to the mall, and XX5 was watching Little Bear. We were relaxing and started talking about dinner.

"Let's make homemade pizza," Roser suggested. When we make pizza we generally do a barbecue chicken pizza with teeny tiny onion straws made from scratch. It tastes great but didn't appeal to me.

"Let's make a steak and Gorgonzola pizza with caramelized onions," I countered.

"That sounds good," he said, "But I was thinking we would make two. What should the other one be?"

We decided on a roasted vegetable one. My brother and sister-in-law were back and hanging out while Roser and I cooked. There was a lot of prep work for the pizzas. I made a light tomato sauce and roasted asparagus, mushrooms, red pepper and grape tomatoes for the veggie pizza. I started sauteing the onions for the steak pizza. I wanted them to have plenty of time to break down and get silky. If you do them too quickly they get hard and possibly burnt. Roser grilled a steak while I reduced cream for the sauce. I added some of the Gorgonzola cheese to the reduced heavy cream for the sauce, and I saved some to sprinkle on the pizza. We used prepared pizza dough. It's raw and you stretch it out yourself. The pizzas both came out very good. The onions were very dark brown, and so sweet they reminded me of sun dried tomatoes. The Gorgonzola cheese was just tangy and earthy enough to assert itself without overpowering everything else. the veggie pizza was delicious too, although next time I will let the veggies sit in a colander after I roast them so the pizza is not at all soggy.

I feel like I have my kitchen mojo back. Tomorrow family is coming over to help celebrate XY11's birthday. I hope I can still cook tomorrow.

2008-02-29T10:12:00.000-08:00

This morning, when Roser and I dropped XX5 off at pre-school, a mom approached me, asking me to sign a petition. It was a petition to ban same sex marriage. I looked over to Roser with panic in my eyes. He was no help at all. He gave me as small sympathetic smile and looked away. XX5 goes to a Lutheran pre-school, so it is not entirely unexpected that I would be approached by something like this, but still, I was surprised. I smiled politely at the mom and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t sign this.” She said “Okay,” and turned quickly away from me.
It is not that I am strongly in favor of gay marriage; it is that I am not strongly against it. In my religious beliefs, marriage is a sacrament, a covenant between a man and a woman and God. My own marriage is a promise to God that I will stay married to my husband until death separates us. In my opinion, the ease with which divorce is obtained is much more of a threat to marriage than gay marriage. There is no social stigma attached to divorce at all. Not that we should go back to the days when women stayed in horrible marriages with abusers and philanderers, but now, there is no reason to stay in a marriage if you don’t want to. This is a threat to what I see as the sanctity of marriage.
I have always believed that if everybody put their time and money into the one or two things they believe in, things would get done. That being said, I am shocked that this is an important cause to some people. Women are still being killed by their husbands and boyfriends. Children who are sexually molested by a parent may still have to have visitation from that parent. Little girls in Africa and the Middle East are still have their clitoris’s ripped from their bodies with no anesthesia, and their vaginal openings sewn closed. Babies are still being chopped up and sucked from what should be the safety of their mother’s wombs. The most important thing to this mother though, is that two people of the same sex should not share the same benefits as two people of the opposite sex.
My religious beliefs are my own. My relationship with my Creator is the cornerstone of my life, without which, nothing else matters. My children’s sharing my faith is the paramount issue to me as I raise them. I want to spend eternity with them. I will gladly tell everyone about my Savior. I will not expect anyone else to live by the parameters of my faith. I will not support legislation that does. I will not fight to ban a movie that presents my Lord or my religion in an unflattering light. I will not fight to hinder the right of someone to say their most abhorrent thoughts. I will thank God that I live in a country in which I can walk according to my own convictions openly and unafraid. I will fight for those around me to walk according to their own convictions, as long as those convictions do not impede my rights. I do not see how gay marriage impedes my rights. I will not sign a petition to ban it.

Sore Jaws

2008-02-25T10:31:00.000-08:00

Life in the suburbs seems a little oppressive right about now. I am walking around with my jaws hurting from being clenched so much. I permanently feel like I have been chewing 5 pieces of stale Bubbalicious gum. Of course I have not been chewing gum, because chewing gum would be fun, and there is certainly no time for that right now. I have a stash hidden in my jewelry box, because gum is a strangely valuable commodity, but I cannot remember to chew it. It's probably for the best anyway. My jaws would be too sore.

Every conversation Roser and I have becomes serious or depressing. I have an overwhelming urge to talk about something like the migration paths of butterflies, but then I think of how honeybees are dying off, and I think of pesticides in our foods, and how produce prices are going up, like gas prices, and how the paper said a recession is inevitable, and do you see? That was just from thinking about butterflies! I try very hard to only read the comics or Dear Abby, but sometimes I accidentally read real news. Even Dear Abby is depressing. Sometimes I tell myself she makes it up, just so I don't have to acknowledge that there are so many idiots in the world.

"Dear Abby,

The man I am dating has a very mature looking 16 year old daughter. They are very close. She often sits on his lap and kisses him on the mouth. They also share the same bed when she is at his house. Am I wrong to be concerned?"

You really need advice about this? If that is true, then someone remind me why enforced sterilization is a bad thing. This person should not pro-create, as favor to us and her future children.

I am sure I will be back to myself soon. Shortly after Easter I am guessing. I gave up chocolate for Lent. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Not so much now.

2008-02-24T14:21:00.000-08:00

I have been crazy busy. I know, I know, cry me a river right? So, I love my pastor. Not in a "Days of Our Lives" kind of way. I have been so wah-wah, poor me lately. We went to church today, and I was none to kindly reminded that there are people in this world that have real problems. Our pastor really doesn't pull any punches as to the obligation of Christians to live a certain way.
I also love my husband. We have been watching CMT (country music videos) after dinner. I think we are both so worn down from having to get the house on the market, an actual TV show seems like to much effort. Anyway, we were watching a video with this totally hot woman coming out of a swimming pool. I took the opportunity to feel bad about myself, and my weight, and grey hairs. Roser was staring very intently at the TV and then he turned to me and said, "Did you see that outdoor kitchen? That was amazing!" Yep, I love him. XY17 is no longer unbearable, his condition has been upgraded to annoying.

Hmmm....I was missed!

2008-02-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

Wow, day 46 of year 2008. With the exception of Super Bowl Sunday, this year is off to an across the board bad start. Without my faith, I would be curled up in a ball under my bed. There are still days that under the bed seems like a great idea.

I have had endless health issues, nothing serious, all annoying. We are putting our house on the market in the worst mortgage crisis in over 10 years.

XY17 has finally gotten the testosterone surge that turns 17 year old boys in to sullen pains in the ass.

On the upside, I love my husband, and all four of my kids, even the sullen one, and we are all pretty healthy. I'm not, but they are. I am thinking about quitting smoking. I know, kind of stupid timing, but I need to get some things right.

Thats all for now.

Ha! Happy Effing New Years!

2007-12-31T18:36:00.000-08:00

(I actually wrote this on New Years Eve, but naps, sick husbands and iffy internet connection kept me from posting until today.)

I cannot believe I am spending the second New Years of my life sick in bed. The New Years Party got cancelled, because of my kids getting sick, not me, and then I woke up this morning with a little sore throat. By 9am I have a full blown migraine. Two Motrin and three Excedrin later, I get in bed. I think I will do some writing, but holding my head up hurts. So does light, and noise. I fell asleep and bitchslapped Paris Hilton, so at least that wasn't a total loss. I was sure when I woke up I would be fine. I was wrong. I could actually hear my eyes opening. They creaked like the head of that giant statue Clash of the Titans. I finally got out of bed around 5:30 and washed my face and brushed my teeth. I thought I was fine to go downstairs and spend a quiet evening with my family. Oh.....that's right.....five year olds don't care how much pain they cause you when they talk, they will keep talking. And ten year olds? They take it personally if you keep saying "Quiet voice, please!" Roser made my Nana's sauce, with his own spin on it, (Oregano and meat) and it was delicious. Unfortunately, my family doesn't know the first thing about being quiet. To be fair, they've never had to. I am not given to migraines, or even regular headaches. When I do get a headache, I take some Motrin and it's gone. This totally sucks! Why am I being punished for wanting to have a New Years Eve party?

My Love Affair with S.E. Hinton

2007-12-18T08:40:00.000-08:00

I discovered S. E. Hinton when I was around 13 years old. I read all four of her books in a row, and then I went back and re-read them. I read The Outsiders maybe twenty or more times over the next two or three years. I had the book memorized. I read That was Then, This is Now nearly as many times.

My own ultra-feminine XX13 was assigned The Outsiders as an English class reading assignment. To my surprise, she loved it! She got the same look on her face when she talked about it that I used to get on my face. She loved the boys in the book, and got a little crush on Ponyboy. (That ended when she saw the movie, as, after you see Rob Lowe in nothing but a towel, there really is no-one else for you but Soda-Pop.) She is such a fashion minded, giddy gossipy girl, that I never expected her to be so invested in the lives of boys from early '60's Oklahoma. It is even more astounding when you consider she is not much of a reader. She averages one to two books a year. When I realized how much she was enjoying it, I bought her That was Then, This is Now. She had to finish another book that she had been working on since February. She started reading it yesterday, and she couldn't put it down. Wow. I can't even tell you what that means to me.

She came in to the bonus room where I was sewing and curled up on the couch to do her homework. She finished her math and said,

"Now I can read my book." I have never heard, nor have I ever expected to hear those words out of her mouth. She would stop every once in a while to tell me how much she liked the way S. E. Hinton wrote. She laughed out loud, and would read passages she liked to me. She became almost giddy when Ponyboy, from The Outsiders made an appearance.

"It's like seeing an old friend," She said. Of course I knew exactly what she was talking about. It's like introducing my daughter to my old friends, the ones who were there with me and for me. These old friends have been frozen in time, held as teenagers, able to give my daughter the gifts they gave me. I wish S. E. Hinton knew what she has done for me. First, when I was a teenager, already an avid reader, and now, she has ignited a love of reading in a girl whom I never thought would love reading. Thank God for her.

Sugar Toast and Sprite

2007-12-17T10:48:00.000-08:00

About eight years ago, Roser and I decided to host a family friendly New Year's Eve party. We set up the garage for the kids, and bought the food and the booze. We had invited about fifty people, (Around twenty families) and then I got one of the worst cases of the flu that I can remember. It lasted about four days, right through the proposed New Years Eve bash. Roser is not the type to do that sort of thing on his own, so he had to call everyone at two in the afternoon to let them know the party had been cancelled.

The other night we were at a small Christmas celebration, and one of my friends recommended (insisted) that Roser and I host a New Year's Eve party. We finally agreed. We came home, and XX5 woke up in the middle of the night, sick to her stomach. She was in my bed, throwing up everything, and then, nothing, for twelve hours. I mostly stayed close by her in bed, since I got no sleep the night before, and tried to get her to eat saltines, and drink flat Sprite. I thought maybe the mere commitment to a New Years party is enough to encourage the plague to visit our house.

Right now, I have Spiderman 3 on in the background. "Why?" you might ask, "Why, on a Monday morning would you have an action movie aimed at ten year old boys on in the background?" That would be because my ten year old boy is sitting here beside me, with the barf bowl, and a can of Sprite. Yep, another one has been felled by the stomach flu. I am pushing on with the party, in the hopes that I will not be barfing when the time comes. Wish me luck!

Cook Books

2007-12-14T09:58:00.000-08:00

Last night, my good friend gave me a copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking". I received it last year at a Book Club book exchange, and she stole it. I barely even remembered that she took it more than once or twice a month. I sat on my porch and read the introductions and forwards. There were about eight of them, two from Julia Child herself.

Cook books are something special to me. They combing my two great loves, cooking, and reading, more specifically, books. I had a childhood, lacking in all forms of tangible manifestations of love. Perhaps due to some genetic memory in my French and Italian lineage, I have long equated delicious food with feeling loved. It is by no accident that my best child hood memories took place in the kitchen or at the dining room table of the most amazing cook I know to this very day, My Aunt Liz. She is a loud, exotically beautiful Brooklyn born Italian. She oozed love like essential oil, but not a flowery oil, a garlic and pepper infused oil. It was a love that was not about making you feel good about yourself by telling you how wonderful you were, it made you feel good about yourself because it took care of your needs. It was a love that could tell, just by looking at you, that you need a sandwich and a glass of milk. Her house always had the lingering smell of the red sauce she made weekly, and a cookie drawer. A drawer, designated for nothing but cookies! Oh, and she always had Pop-Tarts. That was as good as it got when I was little.

This was very different the house I grew up in, on the same street as Aunt Liz. Family dinner in my other aunt's house was an infrequent affair, tense and not very tasty. The aunt who raised me just wasn't a very good cook. I don't know if she wasn't able to taste well, or if she was missing that certain generosity of spirit and patience that I think is necessary to be a good cook. Our house always smelled like cigarette smoke. Aunt Torm pretty much gave up cooking around the time I was ten. I began making dinners for myself out of Top Ramen, hot dogs, and fried eggs. Not all at the same time of course. I would roast the hot dogs over the gas flame on our stove, and I drained the broth off the noodles in the Top Ramen and add canned Parmesan cheese. none of these are particularly original ideas, but at ten years old, it was the best I could do. The point is, I was tweaking, and working, and trying to make mediocre food taste good.

When I moved in with my dad at sixteen, my step-mother had several cookbooks. She was a busy pastor's wife, and it often fell to me to cook dinner for the family, and what ever members of the congregation we had for dinner that night. I never felt this was a burden. I loved it. One of the recipes I discovered in one of Ruth's little church based cookbooks is a recipe I use to this very day. (Heavenly Chicken)

Somehow, over the years, I have amassed a collection of about 60 cookbooks. I have at least skimmed through all of them. Many of them I have read cover to cover, like a novel. Ann Hodgman is my favorite, both for entertainment value, and recipes. Many of my cookbooks are old, from the 70's or earlier. The old ones give me a sense of history. I think about older dinner parties, where there was no goat cheese or sun-dried tomatoes. I am also grateful, that we are no longer expected to eat things covered in Jello and call it fancy.

Mostly my cookbooks are like "how to love" manuals. Food, to make my family feel love, feel actual physical love, in their bellies. Waking up the smell of bacon, popovers whipped up when we have unexpected guests. Their favorite meal, whatever it may be, for birthdays, or first jobs, or other special days. My kids joke with me,

"You can't solve every problem by making a sandwich Ma," they say. Well, I disagree. There are very few problems that cannot be made better by a lovingly prepared meal.

Roser's Family, or, The Side of the Family we Don't Hide the Knives From

2007-12-09T12:41:00.001-08:00

Thursday night was my niece's 11th birthday. She is Roser's sister's daughter. I love her and have since the night she was born. Literally, I was there. Roser's sister, 'Rosie' was married, twice to the same jerk. Not the beating on her kind of jerk, the sitting on his ass stoned, screwing around on her, jerk. The only good thing he ever did in his life was contribute genetically to my two nieces, J and M. Rosie and Jerko were high school sweethearts, and Rosie is still close with Jerko's family. His sister and her two girls were at my nieces birthday. Rosie married an man she had known for many years, and she now has the kind of husband she deserves. He gives more, much more than he takes, and he loves her extended family. He treats her parents with love and respect, and her daughters like they are his own. He has two daughters who were 18 and 20 when he and Rosie got married three years ago. His daughters have loved Rosie's girls, and referred to them as sisters, (never using the word step) from day one. They have taken J and M to get pictures taken altogether for Father's Day and Christmas.
There was a large amount extended family at J's party. Good husband's mother is staying with Rosie and her family. Her girls call her Nana. As I said, Jerko's sister was there, and good husband's girls with their boyfriend and husband. It was just a mishmash of people, young and old, who in some ways loosely connected, but who consider each other family. It was wonderful for me to see my kids around these people whom they've known for so long. I love that my sister-in-law is the type that stayed friends with her ex sister-in-law, and that her husband is the kind of guy that is okay with it. I love my kids knowing that there is this group of people with values and morals, who care what happens to them. I am convinced that my kids are who they are partly because of this stable consistent love and support they have gotten from family who is not Roser and me.

Buying Clothes my Children will Hate

2007-12-06T08:40:00.000-08:00

Roser started a new job recently. For the first time in about nine years, we have a company Christmas party. It is a family Christmas party. I didn't even try to talk XY17 into it, and we gave XX13 the choice to go or spend the night with a friend. XY10 and XX5 were not given a choice. We tend to be a pretty casual family, with spotty church attendance, so at any given time, the closest my boys have to dress clothes is black Dickies, and tennies that their toes aren't poking through. I had to go all out and buy XY10 a full dress outfit. My daughters are easier, as they just naturally dress up more. Still, I had to get XX5 a fancy dress. Oh, and joy of joys, I had to buy a ginormous pair of pants to cover my fat ass. Oh yeah! Yesterday was a great day.

I decided to go with comfort in mind for the kids. XY10 got twill pants instead of full on dress pants, and XX5 got a stretch velvet dress, with no taffeta, or netting, or anything stiff or itchy anywhere. I had a shirt picked out that I thought he and Roser would like, cause Roser cares about that stuff. As I walked through the store with the shirt, I realized I hated it. I went back and picked the one I liked, and decided to just bear the anger of my boys. I went to four different stores to find a pair of dress shoes that would not make the boy bleed from the eyes and call on fire from above to put him out of his misery. The shoes were the most expensive thing I bought, and if I'm lucky, he will wear them, maybe six times. Sigh.

When I got home, XY10 and several similarly mop haired 10 year olds were waiting to go cause havoc at the park down the street. I showed him the stuff I bought him, and when he saw the shirt, I was rewarded with a "That shirt's sick!" If you are a unfamiliar with 10 year old boys, that means he liked it. A Lot.

Moments that Make a Mother Proud

2007-12-05T07:33:00.000-08:00

We were all sitting at the dinner table, (Spaghetti Carbonara, with extra cheese) when I brought up, what I thought was an amusing little anecdote about a quasi-celebrity. It seems Kellie Pickler was on Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader? and totally embarrassed herself.( http://youtube.com/watch?v=juOQhTuzDQ0 ) I told my family the question, "What European country is Budapest the capital of? First of all, NO ONE! in my family of six knew the answer. Most of their answers came from Asia. Everyone was surprised that it was Hungary. To be fair, it took me a long time to get that too. It just sounds like the capital of Mongolia or something. Anyway, I went on to the part where Miss Pickler thought Europe was a country. We were all laughing (except XX5, she was trying to sneak more cheese) and I didn't notice that XX13 had a quizzical look on her face.

"I guess I kinda thought Europe was a country too."
"Oh Baby, No. You don't know the continents."

"No, I'm really bad at geography."

Come to find out she is really bad at geography.

She could not name one continent without the help of XY10. Xy10, little history freak that he is, could name them all. She further, could not name the three countries that reside on the North American continent. Oh, It gets worse....She thought maybe Indiana might be one. Yeah... Indiana. And, ummm....is Hawaii a country? I was horrified. Laughing, of course, but horrified. How did I the trivia enthusiast of the world, the one who gets her daily endorphin boost by getting all the answers right on Jeopardy. How did I raise a kid who, in 7th grade, can not name one continent. Who thinks, maybe Hawaii is a country. I mean, she's cute and all, but, Seriously?

I don't even know what to say. Do you all think this is evidence that I never should have reproduced in the first place?

What a Weekend pt. 2

2007-12-04T07:43:00.000-08:00

My family is a little fuzzy on boundaries. My dad was a pastor of a nondenominational church in downtown Las Vegas when I was a teenager. It was not at all uncommon for him to bring home homeless people. I spent time in my teenage years sharing my room with ex-hookers, and recovering drug addicts. We had a large house and at any given time there were up to six non-family members sharing the house with us. I can, and will at some point, say all sorts of true, horrible things about my dad, but in spite of his many, many faults, he is completely generous, and hospitable. Since I have lived in California, Roser and I have had an open door policy for my family. Sometimes it caused a little tension, like the time my dad called me to tell me that my then 17 and 19 year old brothers were on there way with 4 friends and would be at my house in about an hour. That was a little stressful because I already had 2 out of town guests staying with me. My guests and I left when I got the message from my dad, and when we returned a few hours later, my home had all the evidence of a full scale invasion. We tripped over gigantic shoes near my front door. There were duffels stacked in the front room like it was basic training, and the house reeked of boy sweat and cheap cologne. The actual boys, all six of them, were out, getting lunch.

In spite of the inconvenience, and annoyance, I loved the noise and chaos they brought with them when my brothers and their friends came out. I loved feeding all of them. I loved the vitality that filled the house. I just would have appreciated a little warning.

Roser, on the other hand, is one of 2 children. His father was never a pastor, and he never brought hookers home, at least not that we know of. Roser's extended family is mostly tucked safely away in Indiana, and would never dream of dropping in on anybody. His family is identified by its sense of propriety, and consideration. It has been a very easy family to be a part of because of these things. Roser has been amazing with my family, that is so different from his, and is loving on the days that I want to go after all of them with a hammer. None of this has made the Italian invasion from the north any easier to deal with.

Now that my family is local, they are dropping in, A Lot. I still kind of love it. Roser, not so much. He is very protective of his time with the family. I would love to have kids over all the time, but I need to balance that with Roser's need for time alone with us. We were supposed to go to a Christmas party on Saturday night, the one that got cancelled. When my dad found out were going, he asked me to ask the hostess if he could attend. When the party got cancelled, Roser and I decided to have a family night and put up the Christmas tree. When I told my dad this, he was hurt. I figured he would not be coming around for a while. I was wrong.

He showed up on Sunday without calling, as Roser and I were on our way out to do some errands. He settled in, even though we were leaving, and let us know that my brother, his wife, and my sister (the tattooed) would be coming by. I got totally forced to offer to make dinner for everyone. Roser was livid. He does not want to have no control over when people come over. Because it is my family, I don't care. It feels like the house I grew up in, and the type of house I always wanted to have.

I made baked rigatoni with spicy Italian sausage and green beans with garlic, olive oil and Parmesan cheese. My sister-in-law's little brother, who is a very good friend of both my own Xy17 and SibXX16 came over and ate too. I was really happy. Until 9pm, when they were showing no signs of leaving. My dad had been at my house for 13 hours, watching TV, reading the paper, hassling me about my weight, (sweetly though, if you can imagine it,) and I was done. It took a full hour to get them all out of there. An hour and tons of hints. I am not the girl I was. Apparently, I need time with just my immediate family too. Roser has rubbed off on me.

What a Weekend pt. 1

2007-12-03T09:49:00.000-08:00

What a weekend! XY10 had his football banquet this Saturday. We were supposed to go to a Christmas Party that I was looking forward to, but it got cancelled due to my friend's little XX getting the stomach flu. Unfortunately, I, nor any of my family members got the stomach flu, so I had to go to the football banquet. With the football moms. And the football dads. Usually the football moms and dads are the best thing about Pop Warner football, but this year they were all snooty, and by snooty I mean not willing to be fascinated by me. In years past, the football parents have been a rowdy, flirty, friendly bunch, but this year they must have thought they were signing up for little league. It was one of the coldest days of the year, with a high of about fifty-three degrees. I'm sure for a lot of Americans that is down right balmy, but her in So-Cal, it was arctic. It was held at the home of one of the coaches, and the entire thing was outside. The festivities started at 12 noon, and they didn't even start handing out trophies until 3:15. There was a picture montage set to music, all very sentimental, and/or rousing, and there was not one! picture of XY10. Not One! out of about 400 pictures, and a thirty minute montage, Not one! And my kid didn't suck at football, so I don't get it.
When we first arrived I noticed a book sitting out on the counter. It was called, I think, The Pale Blue Eye.( http://www.amazon.com/Pale-Blue-Eye-Novel/dp/0060733977 )It was a 19th century murder mystery, with Edgar Allen Poe as one of the characters. I assumed it was the woman of the house who was reading it, but I couldn't figure out who the woman of the house was, so I finally asked the coach that lived there who was reading it. Turns out, it was him, Coach S. I was very impressed. We talked a little about books. I went back inside, and noticed a complete CD collection of David Sedaris.(http://www.barclayagency.com/sedaris.html) Wow! This guy was not the type of guy I would expect to be a David Sedaris fan, you know, being straight, and a football coach and all. I know, I shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but I do. All the time. Those were the slightly bright spots in a cold miserable day.
My family came over on Sunday, but I need more time to digest that. I will probably write about that later.

Was I unreasonable?

2007-11-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

I have a sister who is sixteen years old. Her mom left when she was four, leaving her with four very rowdy brothers, and a father, who is bi-polar. Loving, and dedicated, but bi-polar. I have been as much of a mother figure to her as I can be, as I have tried to be with all six of my siblings. Yesterday, she, my oldest brother (25) and my dad came over for a few hours after dinner. As they were leaving, my sib, we'll call her SibXX16, stretched her jacket went up a little and I saw something on the lower right part of her stomach, right above her jeans. At first I thought it might be frayed threads from her jeans, so reached over to pull her jacket up to see. She pulled away from me, so I knew my suspicion was correct.
"Come on upstairs," I said, "I need to show you something in my room." She followed me obediently, and sheepishly.
"Okay," I said, "Let's see it."
She reluctantly lifted her jacket to show me a small graceful treble clef inked on to her lower abdomen.
"When?"
"A couple of months ago."
"With who?"
I already knew the answer, but I needed her to say it. I knew it was her boyfriend of about a year and a half. By all evidence he is a perfectly nice boy from a good, close knit family, but I don't like her being in a serious relationship at such a young age.
"Are you mad?" She asked in a very small voice. This is a tough girl who for all intents and purposes raised herself, so it meant something that she cared if I was mad.
I sighed.
"No, mad is not the right word."
"Disappointed?"
"Yeah, disappointed. I wish you had talked to me first. I would have tried to talk you out of it. I wish that this tattoo was not a link to your boyfriend, but it could be a lot worse."
"Really?"
"Yes, at least it is small and well done, and you know, not your boyfriends name."
She hugged me and thanked me for not freaking out and left my room. As we left my room I made another comment about it not realizing that XX13 was coming out of her room.
"Oh, my mom found out?" She said to SibXX16
"What?! How long have you known?" I spun around and asked. She immediatly realized her mistake.
"Not long," she said evasively and scurried down the stairs. I was on her heels repeating the question. We got down stairs and stopped talking about it because my dad was there. As soon as they all left I started grilling XX13 again.
XY17 was in the kitchen and said,
"Oh mom found, oh... never mind." He went back to the food he was preparing five seconds too late.
"You knew too?!"
"Crap, the second the words were out of my mouth," he muttered looking down at the cheese.
All of the reason and calm that I had shown with my sister was gone. I was practically yelling at them. I was so upset that they didn't tell me.
"We found out the same way you did," they both told me.
"It's not like it was something dangerous," XX13 said, "And besides, she's my aunt, it would be disloyal."
I was irate. I left the room for a minute. Almost instantly I felt like I was being unreasonable. Did I really expect them to come running to me to tattle on SibXX16 for getting a tattoo? They are both very close to her. They all grew up together. I have always encouraged the loyalty and closeness XY17 and XX13 share. I know they know things about each other that Roser and I don't know about them, so wouldn't it make sense that they would extend this loyalty to their aunt, who is really more like a close cousin?
The reason I was upset was because I felt that if they could keep this, pretty big, thing they could keep other things from me. The other reason is because we have recently had a problem with XX13 keeping important information about one of her friends from me, so I saw this as part of a pattern. She tried to assure me this was not the case.
"If it was a friend, I would have told you. Haven't I been honest, even about the bad stuff lately?" I had to admit she had.
The clincher is, I did not, and have no intention of, telling my dad. I am not sure exactly why. There are many reasons, and maybe none of them on their own are a good enough reason not to tell him, but all together, they make me feel justified in not telling him.
Now I am asking you. Was I wrong to get upset? There is a poll on the upper right corner of my blog. Please tell me what you think.

"What do I need to do to gain Weight?"

2007-11-28T10:18:00.000-08:00

I made the huge mistake of getting on the scale yesterday. It goes with out saying that I will not be sharing that ginormous number with you, but I will say that when I was pregnant with XY17 I put on sixty pounds and at the end of that pregnancy I weighed less than I do right now. In case you had any delusions about just how shallow I am, I feel like crying right now. Seriously, I am not saying that for comedic effect.

Apparently, this was not cruel enough on its own. As I walked up the stairs XY10 asked me what foods he can eat to gain weight. His nickname is Skinnybone Jones. He plays football and needs to put on quite a bit of weight in order to play at the level he wants to next year. Did I mention he doesn't have much of an appetite, and has to be reminded to eat? Did I mention that I have to be reminded not to eat?

Anyway, he asks me what foods will put weight on him. I could answer that question so fast, I practically talked gibberish. I was like Alvin and the Chipmunks.

"Peanut Butter, bread, whole milk, pasta, cheese, bananas, beans, ice cream, fried chicken, fried food, canned ravioli, cream soups, macaroni and cheese, chips, cheez-its...." It was easy, I just rattled of all the off all the foods that I either avoid, or feel guilty eating. I have for years had to buy food that would put weight on my kids, and not on me. I refrained from mentioning all the sugary food that would put weight on him, 'cause, I want to be a good mom. Besides, if I included the sweets that I avoid/feel guilty about, he would have been standing there for an hour. Sigh. I will work on getting him bulked up, and since I can't afford new clothes, so I will spend more time avoiding certain foods, and less time feeling guilty.

Fight Hangover

2007-11-27T08:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a complete waste of a day. Roser and I had a fight the night before, and even though we made up yesterday morning, I had a "fight hangover" all day. I didn't get anything productive done, although I did beat my best score on Test Twist. That will happen if you spend four or possibly more, hours playing a game. The down side of spending a day doing nothing is that I keep thinking of Bette Midler's character in the horrible remake of "Stepford Wives". If you were lucky enough to not see it, she plays a writer with horrible homemaking skills. Her house was a wreck, and her kids were independent, not because she raised them that way, but because they had to be to survive. Because of yesterday, I have been thinking about how cliches become cliches because they are true. The breakfast dishes from yesterday morning are still in the sink. I don't have to worry about dinner dishes, because last night was 'fend for yourself night'. It should go without saying that I didn't touch my niece's quilt. Proud me. Today I will clean enough to keep CPS from taking my kids, work on the quilt, possibly do a phone interview for work, and, blessedly, go to book club tonight.

We read "Like Water for Chocolate". I have read it at least twice, maybe three times before. I love the magical aspect of it, and of course the passionate, sensuous food descriptions. Very little of the discussion tonight will center on the book. We will talk about Thanksgiving, and our relatives, our kids and our husbands. We will get bawdy and personal. We will eat delicious food, and I will walk away feeling like I got an IV of some wonderful combination of Prozac and Ecstasy. Honestly, I don't know what I did before Book Club. It is such a consistent calm port in the hurricane that is my life. Even though I only see the Book Club girls once a month, I love them and I'm grateful for them. I have to go and try to cross as many things off my list as I can today. Wish me luck.

For my own curiosity, what is on your to-do list today? And...does anyone else get fight hangovers?

Busy Day, Peaceful Night

2007-11-25T15:09:00.000-08:00

I am taking a break from sewing. I got too hungry to go on. I would have loved a turkey sandwich, but, well you know.... Anyway, XX5 was coughing soo much this morning, and I didn't want to leave her here to go to church, so we all stayed home. XX5 is doing a lot better now, and she has a friend over. XX13 has a friend over, my dad is here, and my 16 year old sister. You Know, just a typical peaceful Sunday afternoon at home with the family.

Last night, after working my poor fingers to the bone, I was looking forward to some TV time with Roser. I just had to wait until the game was over. By the time the game was over, Roser was asleep, at the late hour of 8:30. XY17 was at a bonfire at a friends house, and XX13 was at the mall, (her mothership). XY10 is sort of a loner, and likes to watch TV up in the bonus room. He had been outside playing and skateboarding for hours. I assumed that was what he would do, and I looked forward to a night with a cheesy or horror or foreign film. XY10 surprised me by not leaving the family room. I hinted a little, but he wasn't going anywhere. He knew I wanted to watch a movie so he offered to play a computer game with his back to the TV. I wound up watching re-runs of Twilight Zone and House so he could watch TV with me. He didn't exactly snuggle up to me, but he did share blankets with me. It was nice, because he has always been Such! a Daddy's Boy, that any affection he shows me, I am grateful for.It was not the night I looked forward to in any way, but it was a very nice evening.

The Wrong Kinds of Leftovers

2007-11-24T13:36:00.000-08:00

Saturday, after Thanksgiving. We are finally getting back to what passes for normal here. I was right to be worried about the turkey. We have no, none, nada, zippo leftovers of turkey. I have enough rolls and cranberry to make lots and lots of the turkey sandwiches I love so much. Rolls, cranberry sauce, mayo, and no turkey. I was right about the turkey, but I was wrong about something else. Pies. I told everyone to bring a pie, and I bought two. Most families brought two or more desserts, including one very impressive looking toffee spice cake, and a huge tray of some amazing thing called 'Pumpkin Brownies'. There was no chocolate in them. It was a layer of spiced pumpkin custard over a layer of butter cake. Oh Man! So good. Well the end result of this was that even with some people bring some of their desserts home, we are loaded with leftover desserts. No turkey, and six pies. I love apple pie and coffee for breakfast more than anything, but this morning I looked at the beautiful bounty of pies and I said,

"I think I will have eggs and toast for breakfast." I pretty much never say that, but I had so much sugar yesterday, I couldn't even think about pie for breakfast.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, I will be doing the minimum amount of writing I have to do to keep my job, and all of my time and attention will be on the quilt I will be making for my niece for Christmas. I should have had it done a really long time ago. I will try to keep up on my blog, but I will be sewing, and not doing much else. Lot's of pizzas for my family for dinner.

What will be taking up your time over the next few weeks?

Thanksgiving Eve

2007-11-21T22:56:00.000-08:00

It is 10:24 on the night before Thanksgiving. I have made the stuffing, (no chicken livers or sausage,) and I have the red sauce made for the stuffed shells. I got worried about the size of turkey Roser picked out, so I am making a tray of Ricotta stuffed shells to go with the Thanksgiving dinner. We will be having a total of twenty people including my nuclear family. This is the smallest Thanksgiving, I think, we have ever hosted. My sister-in-law will be bringing many dishes.

With me, in the kitchen, is the spirit of my Nana. She is always there for the big occasions. She was the most amazing bombshell of a grandma ever. She always wore false eyelashes, and low-cut blouses. She was the kindest, least cynical person I have ever known. In spite of a shockingly difficult childhood and marriage, she always saw the best in everyone. Many of the recipes I make are from her. Oh, did I mention? She was a phenomenal cook. I strive to be like her. The vacuum she left when she died, about eight years ago, can never be filled, but I am always motivated to try.

Tomorrow my home will be filled with family members and close family friends. There will be laughter, and dramatic shows of emotion. We are Italian after all. There will be stress and I will get pissy. That's my own personal tradition. I will be exhausted at the end of it, but more than anything else, I will be grateful.
Grateful that my extended family thinks enough of me to come to my house for Thanksgiving;
Grateful that my family and my husband’s family get along, not only get along, but love each other and enjoy spending time together.
I am grateful for the abundance in my life, abundance of love, abundance of food, abundance of stubborn, over-bearing, often controlling people, who love me and my family enough to give me their not often asked for opinions, their seldom asked for support, and their always needed belief in me.
I am also grateful, ultimately grateful to God, from whom all blessings flow. I am humbled at the path my life has taken. I deserve no more than anyone else, and yet my life is filled with comfort and love and support. I cannot express my thanks to my Father in Heaven, and I do not try often enough.

The Me and Mine Meme 100

2007-11-21T09:06:00.000-08:00

I was checking out another "Mom" blog, and I found this information. This blogger is trying to find and promote other "mommy bloggers" Click on the title of this blog to be linked there.

1.) State the name of your blog, your real name or your online name, and link to your "about me" page:
I am Becaro
My Blog is 'Thrinving in Chaos' at http://owningchaos.blogspot.com/
My about me link is: http://www.blogger.com/profile/01191877004978673498

2.) Say you want to be profiled on BlogHer as a family blogger and link back to this Me and Mine 100 original post, http://www.blogher.org/mommy-and-family-bloggers-promote-yourselves-me-and-mine-meme-100. I do, profile me, Pleease!

3.) Tell how long you've been blogging. About 6 months.

4.) Pass this meme on to three other bloggers that you think should be profiled/interviewed, and ask them to do the meme. (Kindly link to the bloggers you select.)

Thanksgiving Advice

2007-11-20T18:27:00.000-08:00

I have hosted many Thanksgiving dinners, in my over twenty years of being a grown-up. I enjoy Thanksgiving, and I enjoy wine. This has resulted in the occasional misstep, when it comes to cooking with wine on Thanksgiving. I would like you to avoid any missteps, and so, I present to you: My list of dos and don’ts when cooking Thanksgiving Dinner.

· The night before Thanksgiving, as you are doing the last minute preparation for the coming celebration, is not the time to open and sample all the wines you have chosen. After the second or third glass, it seems like a great idea. After the fifth or sixth glass, seeing if the turkey will fit in your son’s cabbage patch doll’s clothes also seems like a good idea. By the seventh glass, the reddish pink juice leaking out of your turkey will seem hilarious to you and your equally drunk co-horts. It’s not the turkey’s period, it’s disgusting and unsanitary.

· Mimosas are wonderful, a great excuse to drink wine with breakfast. If you are responsible for cooking Thanksgiving Dinner, you may want to stick to coffee on Thanksgiving morning. If your Step-mother makes egg-nog like mine does, slightly creamy rum, definitely stick to coffee. If you sampled the wine the night before, make it coffee and Motrin.

· Martha Stewart is an inspiration to us all, but I suspect she does not personally try every single recipe she puts in her magazine. When I was a new bride, and trying very hard to impress my in-laws, I took Martha’s advice and marinated my turkey in a brine that included a lot red wine. This sounds good, in theory. That is why I did it without doing a dry run. Frankly, turkeys are too big to do dry runs anyway. Well I should have. If I had, the very first turkey I ever cooked for my in-laws would not have been puce. So, don’t marinate your turkey in red wine, unless you think puce is an appetizing color. My in-laws didn’t. They hosted Thanksgiving the following year.

· I have a beautiful cousin who has always had a beautiful if somewhat busty figure. She is young, and dresses like she is going to a dance club all the time. She is sweet, and a little naïve, but very eye-catching. She recently got a boob job. I did not warn my brother-in-law. He saw her at a summer family event and choked on an olive. Roser had to do the Heimlich, and he ruined the artichoke dip with the expelled olive. I’ll be warning the rest of the family before Thanksgiving.

· The five inch high stilettos that perfectly match your outfit are going to make you grumpy if you are cooking dinner. Drinking more wine will not make you less grumpy. Oddly enough, more wine will make you more grumpy. Just take off the shoes.

· Let people drink the wine they want to drink. Let brother drink White Zinfandel and call it Rosé. Let your dad bring a case of Two-Buck Chuck. Smile and accept it graciously. And whatever you do, do not march over and snatch a glass of French Chardonnay out of your mother-in-laws hand when she attempts to add ice. She won’t understand. She won’t think it’s cute. Believe me.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Line Dancing?

2007-11-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

I am very close to my 39th birthday. It is November 19th, which is tomorrow. I am not one of those, "Oh, I'd rather just skip my birthday this year," or "I don't like the attention". I love the attention, and I would hate it if people skipped my birthday. The annoyance of getting older (fatter, wrinklier, worse taste in music) is offset by having a day or three entirely about me.

Last night we went out with long-time friends, two couples, to dinner and drinks. The couples we went out with have been friends for many many years. One couple lives out on the coast, the other lives here in the same town I do. One of the women, on of my closest friends, has a birthday four days earlier than mine, and the six of us celebrate together every year. I look forward to it every year. We always have fun.

We live in a small, not very cosmopolitan town, so our restaurant choices are a little limited. We went to a local steak house that Roser and I have been to, but none of our friends have. Seeing it through my friend's eyes, this steakhouse that I had thought was just fine before looked small and a little cheesy. Their dinners were fine, I picked a not great bottle of wine, and I had horrible lamb. Roser picked Halibut. In a steakhouse. Halibut. Guess how that was. Right. Horrible. The six of us usually go to a wine bar that I used to work at, but we wanted to try something different. Someone mentioned a cowboy bar, down the street from where we were eating dinner. Dancing sounded great to me. I could tell Roser wasn't that excited about it, but he went along with what everyone wanted.

I had never been in a cowboy bar before last night. I knew that there was a mechanical bull, and whenever I drove home past it, on my way from the wine bar, there were always about a million marines waiting in line to enter. I figured the crowd would be a little young, but that wouldn't be a problem, there would be dancing, and to country music. I couldn't wait to get out there and shake it, feel the freedom that only came from being out in the middle of a pulsating dance floor, dancing with, but not really with, hundreds of other people. I love being in a crowd of people moving and swaying, just getting lost in my own world.

We paid the eight dollar cover charge, and walked in. The first sign of trouble was, I couldn't see the dance floor. There was a huge mechanical bull, right at the entrance, and a long bar, but no dance floor. I asked Roser to get me a Diet Coke, (I would need energy for all that dancing) and went to find the dance floor. It was allllll the way in the back. That was not the surprising though. What was surprising was the way people were dancing. There was a group of people doing some sort of choreographed dance in the middle of the dance floor. The outer edge of the dance floor was separated from the middle by a metal rail, placed about hip or waist high with breaks so you could get to the middle. Around the outer edge, couples were going around, in a sort of rhythmic, gliding, with twirls and turns, but never breaking the rhythm of the circle as a whole. I was mesmerized. I had not seen anything like it since the days of the roller-rink. I was suddenly dying to make out with a seventh-grade boy. I watched until the end of the song, figuring it was like the Macerena, and the real dancing would begin with the next song. Nope, more choreographed dancing. I went back to Roser.

"Why didn't you warn me?" I hissed at him.

"You wouldn't have believed me, and you would have said it was your birthday, and you want to dance."

He was right.

I did not care about the eight dollars we paid to get in, I wanted to get out. I tried to find out how the other two girls felt about where we were. They not only didn't mind very much, they didn't understand my surprise at what was found there.

"It's a Cowboy Bar," they said with exaggerated patience, "You know, a Country Bar. This is what people do in a Country Bar." How in the hell! was I supposed to know that? I've never seen Urban Cowboy.

"You've seen line dancing, haven't you?"

"I saw Coyote Ugly, they danced in a line on the bar."

When I couldn't get any one else to budge, I finally conceded to having a Jolly Rancher Watermelon Shooter. That was really what it was called. And really what it tasted like. And it really did not help make the cowboy bar experience more fun. What it did was make me laugh louder at the sight of these very straight looking men sashaying around the dance floor. There were all types, of men them straight looking, all of them performing these strangely graceful synchronized dances. I am used to seeing women give it their all when dancing, but my own sweet Roser exemplifies what I expect to see when men dance. The white man's overbite, feet cemented to their spot on the dance floor, not moving for any reason, and shoulders, arms and hips moving with no sense that they are all moving to the same song, or for that matter, even belonging to the same person. This is the type of male dancing I have become comfortable with. I suppose if I had not been so peevish about wanting to dance myself, I may have admired what I was seeing.

I heard the beat change, and a hip-hop song came on. I immediately stood up and started heading for the dance floor. By the time I got there, I realized it was another choreographed dance song, "The Cupid Shuffle"I was so disappointed I almost cried.

I kept thinking about people who are stuck out in a life boat in the middle of the ocean. They are parched, and surrounded by water that they cannot drink. I was surrounded by dancing that I could not, and would not, participate in.

In the midst of all this, I was texting my brother who was going to meet us at the wine bar we usually go to. I was letting him know where we were and he was not responding. I couldn't figure out why. I was being a big whiny baby, but we were also celebrating another birthday, so I couldn't stamp my feet and play the"It's my birthday, get me the fuck out of here" card. I just pouted long enough to make everyone else miserable enough to finally want to leave. By this time my brother was calling me. It turns out he doesn't have text-messaging!?! and they had no idea where we were. They had been waiting for us at the wine bar for over an hour.

We lost the couple who had to drive back to the coast. The remaining couple went with us to the wine bar. By the time we got there, it was closing. My old boss allowed us to buy a bottle, which the four of us drank in record time, as my old boss and her helper were obviously eager to close up and go home. I gulped down the last couple of swallows in my glass, and suddenly the wine got into a fight with the watermelon shooter, and I was green. My brother and sister-in -law seemed irritated, the other couple seemed irritated, and I was seasick. And so the celebration was ending.

Roser and I headed home. As we turned around the corner toward our house, through our glass front door I could see the outline of our larger dog waiting to greet us. We walked in to our house, where both of my boys were awake. Thank goodness there was a pizza box on the stove. Roser and I each grabbed a piece. We flopped down on the couch and turned on MadTV. Thanks to the damn writer's strike, the already re-run plagued SNL is permanent re-runs. XY10 grabbed a blanket out of the closet for the two of us to share, and I slipped of my heels. I ate my pizza with XY10's head on my shoulder, and we roared with laughter at the comic that was performing. It was a pretty good way to end the evening.