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

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.

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!

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!

(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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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?"

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

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

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

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

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

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.)