Cue the Facts of Life Theme Song

I'm a little bit grumpy today.

I'm not going to dwell. No wallowing here. Nope!

Well, not much, anyway.

Do you ever just have one of those days when you feel defeated before you even get out of bed? You know, like when all of life's little shitty details pile on top of you until you feel like you've been trapped beneath something really heavy. Say, a flatulent hippopotamus?

Maybe your kids come home filthy and crotchety from school, then refuse to go to bed until after 9.

Maybe tomorrow marks one year since your favorite person passed away.

Maybe you can't go one day at work without something breaking and it's your job to get it fixed, but not before you hear about the problem from every single person in the office.

Maybe the 7 day cleanse pills you are taking have caused some pretty unpredictable and unpleasant sprints to the bathroom.

Not that this is what I've got going on or anything. Oh nooooo, not me! I'm just cranky 'cuz it's Thursday and not Friday. ;) Thank GOODNESS it's a 3-day weekend!

Don't get me wrong - I'm very thankful today, too. I took my oldest for his annual physical yesterday and he is healthy both mentally and physically. As a mother I could never ask for more than that. My youngest boy is growing like a weed and making me smile every day, and the love I get from both of those little dudes eases the hurt from everything else life throws at me.

My husband is sweet, hard-working, and always lets me be me. I am glad that I was smart enough to put a ring on it back in my wild(er) days.

I'm thankful for my friends, who keep me young.

I'm thankful for all of you peeps, who read my shtuff and leave me hilarious and sweet comments.

And I'm thankful for humor in all shapes & forms & the people who recognize it when they see it.

There. See? Counting my blessings really does help. I feel better already!

Something else that makes me happy is this song by Mumford & Sons. It's NSFW because they drop the F bomb in the chorus.



Your turn! What's bumming you out and what are you thankful for? C'mon, spill - it really helps! Sharing is caring.

Festivus is early this year!

It's not even December, but it's already Festivus for the rest of us!



How else can I explain this Airing of Grievances? Get out the aluminum pole and limber up for the Feats of Strength, people, 'cause here it comes.

First of all, Gmail is spying on me.

Stop looking at me like that! I know it sounds paranoid, but Gmail is freaking me out lately. You know how they have those keyword generated ads along the right column of the page? I find them so intrusive, don't you? Just now, for instance, I was tapping out an email in which I called something or someone a pain in the neck. Next time I glanced over Gmail had helpfully suggested several cures for neck pain and a few chiropractors in and around my city. On occasion I've been known to pen a dirty email or ten (shut up) and you would not believe the smut Gmail slams me with during those instances. Buncha pervs! Gmail needs to mind their beeswax, I say.

My kid got sent home sick today. Again.

Yet he doesn't act sick at all. In fact, he's quite energetic and annoying. He doesn't lie around, glassy-eyed with fever, quietly sipping juice and calling me "Mother Dear," he bounces around touching everything and making constant, irritating, grate-on-your-nerves noise! He's not one of these kids who loses his appetite either; nope, he's asking me for things to eat every 5 minutes only to eat two bites of it and say he's full. For this, I keep missing work! Not that I'm missing it, but that's beside the point. I'm bored at home, simple as that.

I still don't know what I'm allergic to.

Sure, the rash is gone, and I'm reallyreallyreally glad about that. But why must my left eye keep swelling?! It's like all of the mystery whatever-it-was has all landed there in one eye. This morning I woke up feeling pretty darn good; after all, I was home with my kid all day yesterday and managed to sneak in a 2 hour nap while he played Wii! It wasn't until I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw that I resembled Rocky Balboa after going a few rounds with Apollo Creed that my spirits took a nosedive. Also, I think I'm developing some sort of dependency on Benedryl and Zyrtec.

On a related note, the Google image search results for "swollen eye" are terrifying.

Daycare centers suck.

There's this woman at the daycare whom we privately refer to as the Chicken Lady. She has yellow hair and bulgy, bloodshot eyes, she's skinny and has a prominent Adam's Apple and a beak-like nose. She clearly earned the nickname by virtue of her looks alone, but we'd never have started calling her that had she not also been a raging biotch as well. She's one of these drill Sargent types who takes no guff and has the children marching in little lines. Our oldest son toughed out a year under her reign last year for Kindergarten and we thought that would be the extent of it now that he goes to the public elementary school. As it turns out, he still has to deal with her in the after school program.

Lately she has been nitpicking every little thing the kid does and making a federal case out of it when my husband goes in to pick him up in the afternoons. Jim started to dread pick-ups because it was always something: D stood up before the bus came to a complete stop and angered the driver! D and his friends licked their hands and laughed about it! D and his little friend were talking about *gasp* their weiners! Sounds like typical 6 year-old-boy stuff, right? That's what we thought too! But no, everything is a huuuuuuge deal to the Chicken Lady.

Well, yesterday the shit hit the fan and she managed to anger my mild mannered professor/hey-man-it's-cool hippy of a husband so much that he actually yelled back at her. Yeah, The Jim yelled back! Definitely a first. So now we have to go have a conference with the owner of the daycare and the Chicken Lady, but the long & the short of it is that Jim told her to stop treating him like a child and she told him to stop blowing her off when she tells him all about what is "wrong" with our kid. Really productive. The good news is she kissed my ass thoroughly this morning, so now I get to be the sensible, reasonable parent in the equation instead of the one who is usually overly-sensitive to the fall-out caused by their banal little microcosmic existence.

So there they are, my grievances. You'd think I would feel better, but not so much. Maybe after the Feats of Strength? Come on, who's gonna try to pin me first? I'm all kinds of irritated right now, so I'm pretty sure I can take all y'all! ;)

I'm in a baaad, bad mood.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


Yeah. I'm fucking grumpy today. If I haven't stopped by your blog in a day or two and left my usual pithy and loving comments, please don't be offended. I'm just pissy as hell for no good reason. Hormones, maybe, or the phase of the moon again, or maybe I'm just overdue for a case of the grumps. IDK, but whatever it is is PISSING ME OFF.

See? Told ya. Bad mood.

Anywho, here's some stuff that is contributing to my shitty attitude. Let's do a little listy-poo, shall we?

1. My crap job is boring; I don't have enough to do, and the work I do have sucks. My boss is on vacay this week, which I usually love because I can slack off with reckless abandon and take long lunches, etc., but this week I'm just irked every time one of our asshole clients calls with one of their asshole problems. Don't even get me started on my asshole coworkers, because we'd be here all day. Why don't I go get a new job? Because I fear change, and I'm lazy and unmotivated and have no career ambition anymore, that's why. I honestly think I am meant to be an heiress or socialite or something, because all I want to do is have a good time. Stupid life.

2. We have two car payments at the same bank. I sent one check in with two payment coupons, one for each loan. I wrote in the exact amount on each slip, AND I wrote the account numbers in the memo of the check. I got a note the other day saying we were late on one of the loans, so clearly the idiots applied it all to just one loan and nothing to the other. Stupid jerks.

3. My husband is going to his college buddy's (2nd) wedding on Labor Day weekend. It's in Oregon. Has he booked a flight or done anything other than commit to going? Nope. I just checked for him and the flights are all over $500 and don't work for his schedule. When I told him, he got all annoyed and tried looking himself, then said, "Ugh. I'll just do this later when you're home to help me." Goddamn it! I just helped you! I just looked, just now, and told you what I saw! Which was nothing! So now I get to look forward to figuring this out for him when I get home later, and to paying out the ass for him to go across the country to get drunk with his old friends while I do something super fun and glamorous that weekend.

What will I be doing, you may wonder? Well, I will be driving myself, my two children, and my mother to New York for my grandmother's funeral, that's what. WOOT! Party in the minivan! Jealous? Yeah, I thought so.

4. Everyone keeps dying. I've been coping with the loss of my father two months ago; most days I am able to think good thoughts about him, and I find myself bringing him up in conversation a lot. "Dad always loved 'such-and-such'," or "Dad used to say, 'blah blah blah'." But the other day I found a server full of photos that I had completely forgotten about, and I found a picture of my dad laughing at a birthday party 5 years ago. My sister is at his feet, gazing up at him adoringly, and it's just such a good example of why we loved him that I lost it. I cried and cried and cried, just because I miss him. I know he's okay, I know that it was his life's plan and all that good stuff; I have peace about his passing. But I miss him and will always miss him, and that pisses me off.

5. I'm a slacker daughter who dreads calling her depressed mother because is makes me sad. I'm selfish. I do it because I must, but I drink a glass of wine to steel myself beforehand. All she talks about is cleaning out my dad's belongings, and who said what in their sympathy cards, and the business of death. I offer to drive the 2 hours up north to take her out to dinner to cheer her up, but instead I get roped into spending my Sunday cleaning out her garage. FUCK. MY. LIFE.

6. It's humid. So humid that you can't see the horizon. So humid that I can't get my rings off of my sausage fingers. So humid my straight hair is frizzing.

7. Pictures from yesterday's beach trip reveal troubling truths about the state of my upper thighs. Skirted bathing suits, here I come. What's next? MuuMuus?

8. I snapped at my husband the other night and hurt his feelings. I apologized, and he is fine, but I still feel like shit. I just haven't been appreciating him as much as I should be. He's a great father, and I should be more grateful.

9. Nobody around me ever shuts the fuck up. Well, almost nobody. Last night we were out to dinner with Mala & her family, and it suddenly dawned on me why she and I get along so well. We were in the middle of the table, across from each other. On one side, our children were yammering away and blowing bubbles with their milk and generally being obnoxious, on the other side, our husbands were blabbing away about some boring shit, and she and I were just sitting there eating our salads. I looked across the table at her and grinned, and she grinned back.

Sometimes, you don't have to talk. Sometimes, you can just sit there and fucking eat and not fucking TALK. She gets it.

10. I am an idiot who didn't put on enough sunblock yesterday, so now I'm Lobster Girl. WTF is wrong with me? I managed to keep my children from burning, but I am now sporting a ridiculous halter-shaped sunburn which hurts like holy hell. I've been rubbing the lotion on its skin, but it's not helping so far. Goddamn me.

I could keep going, I'm that grumpy, but I'll stop now. Ten reasons to be peeved are more than enough. This too will pass; my bad moods don't typically last more than a day or two, but right now I'm going to keep wallowing.

Sad Kermit

ETA: I edited this post because I didn't want you all to think I was suicidal. Hahaha. (I'd say NTTAWWT, but yes, there is something wrong with that, so YTISWWT?) I'm just a little blue today because my dog died, goddamn it. That son of a bitch universe keeps hittin' me, but I keep gettin' back UP! To quote Malomatic, "BOOO-YA!"

IS THAT ALL YOU GOT? Wait, don't answer that. Fate, consider yourself un-tempted, k? Anyway, I'm fine, I'll get over it, just a bit of a downer.

So, I give you Kermit the Frog covering Elliot Smith's song, "Needle in the Hay." The song was used in one of my favorite off-beat dramedies, The Royal Tenenbaums.



and for shits, giggles, & comparison's sake, here's the scene from the real movie:


Catch up with you later, taters.
After all, tomorrow is another day....

It happened.

I apologize; I won't be posting about the Cake show as I had planned. That'll have to wait till another day.

My father died this morning. He had a massive heart attack and decided not to go to any great extremes to live; he didn't want to be an invalid, and let's face it, he had terminal cancer, so, that's that. They gave him morphine for the pain and he passed away holding my mom's hand.

I'm numb and teary, but coping. We had a month to get used to the idea that he was dying, and most people don't even get that. I had a couple more wonderful days with him. There was nothing left unsaid. He is not in pain anymore, and he is not afraid of the torture of cancer treatment anymore, and now he is everywhere, just in a different form.

I am grieving over the fact that I can't see him anymore, and can't ask his advice or listen to his voice anymore. I miss him already. My heart is broken, but I will heal. He taught me how.


I love you, Daddy, and I always will.

Goodbye

Warning: This post may be a downer for some. Skip it if you want; I won't be offended.



My last living grandparent passed away today at the age of 93. Here I am at my college graduation with my two grandmothers. Grandma S. (above right) died two years ago, after living with dementia for the past five years or so. She lived independently well into her late 80's, and I loved that woman silly. Grandma C. (above left)) was as mean as a wet cat and maintained her faculties until about six months ago, when she went crazy like someone switched an "off" switch in her brain. Maybe someone did. She never recovered her senses. She'd been ill for a long time; bedridden, blind, bad heart, diabetes... you name it, but she was always a razor sharp lady, right up until recently.

In short, we've been expecting her to die for a long time, and nobody was particularly sad because she was old and ill and wanted to die. She was mean to just about everyone in her life, but she was always nice to me and my sister. I don't know why, maybe it's because we lived 8 hours away from her and only saw her a couple of times a year. At any rate, we got off easy. Plus, she liked me a lot because I was into theatre, and that was her thing in college and later with my grandfather in community theatre.

She lived to be 93 years old; she saw my whole childhood, my Jr. High, High School and college graduations, my bridal shower, my wedding, my children born. That's a pretty good fucking run, I'd say. Ninety-three is a good long life.

Seventy is not long enough.

Since I've been listening to a lot of Cake recently, this song has been speaking to me:

"End Of The Movie"

People you love
Will turn their backs on you
You'll lose your hair
Your teeth
Your knife will fall out of its sheath
But you still don't like to leave before the end of the movie
People you hate will get their hooks into you
They'll pull you down
You'll frown
They'll tar you and drag you through town
But you still don't like to leave before the end of the movie
No you still don't like to leave before the end of the show


Sure, life sucks sometimes, and bad shit happens, but you still don't want to die before your story is done. Right on.

I'm so sad that my children won't have a picture like this that includes my dad. I'm so sad that my dad is being ushered out of the movie when it's clearly not finished yet. I'm so sad, and I'm getting really pissed off.

Rest in peace, Grandma. This quote's for you:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts

From As You Like It, by Wm. Shakespeare. Incidentally, that was the very first production I was ever a part of, at the tender age of 14, and I didn't have any lines at all.

Really quickly, because I don't want to dwell.

Here's what's up with me, behind the scenes:

My dad is dying. He has stage 4 NSC lung cancer and a very weak heart. Everything's uncertain; we have no idea how many days/weeks/months we will have with him, or what his quality of life will be. I'm trying to stay positive, see him as often as possible, and accept this process as being part of nature.

But, I'm really, really, really, really sad. I'm choosing to keep things as normal as I can for myself and my family. I will probably not talk about this too much on the blog, because I like keeping this a "happy place."

I'm also pissed, because after a lifetime of being spectacularly un-psychic, my first accurate premonition had to be about something this awful. :(

BUT, back to the happy thoughts. Here are some things that are going to pull me through this week:

The next installment of the Sookie Stackhouse novels comes out tomorrow. We only get one new book per year, people! Sadly, I devour these books so fast that this will likely only bring me a day or two of diversion, but I'll try my best to milk it for the whole week. I know they're mindless, I know they're fluff... but both of those seem like REALLY good things for me this week.

Television. Tonight there's a new How I Met Your Mother (shut up, I love that show), new LOST on Wednesday, and of course, The Office & 30 Rock on Thursday. Also, Alan Alda is guest starring on 30 Rock this week. Sweeeeeet.

Music. This morning it was The Beatles (skipping Let It Be, Eleanor Rigby, and In My Life... for obvious reasons). Yesterday, Beck and The Dead. Cake. Zeppelin. Modest Mouse for when I'm feeling spacey and offbeat; of course, my favorite album of theirs is The Moon & Antarctica, but really Good News for People Who Love Bad News would be more appropriate. Tom Petty, for when I just want to sing along. I have a prescription for every mood this week, but I will not wallow in sad stuff. Even Alexi got the boot this week; too solemn.

My kids. Because it's impossible not to smile when I watch them chase each other around and giggle. Because the little guy's hair is getting all long and blond and I don't want to cut it, but don't want to let it get all Ryder Robinson, either.

Arrested Development on Hulu. Just... yes.

Work. Yes, I hate my job and my coworkers are being their usual phony selves with the alleged-sympathy and pitying looks, but at least it's keeping me occupied.

Wednesday. My day off, and a day to hang with a friend and laugh, shop... act normal. This week I am thinking I need a massage!

All of you. No pressure! But, I do enjoy keeping up with my peeps on your blogs, my blog, FB, email, HL, and elsewhere. Seriously, you make me laugh and think about stuff that doesn't involve doom & gloom. Thank you.

I made it exactly 24 hours

before losing my shit. That is some kind of record for me, really. I spent the day with my mom & dad at the hospital, and things are looking bleak. A CT scan revealed the large mass in his lung as well as spots on his liver and spleen. His heart is still functioning at 15% instead of the usual 60% of a normal healthy heart. Tomorrow they'll snake a tube down his throat and take a biopsy to see what form of evil his illness has taken. We won't know what we're dealing with or how to deal with it until Friday, at the earliest.

Dad's in fine spirits, all things considered. He is one of those Zen dudes who is down with Jesus, and he is ready to go if that's what's on the map. However, he says that he will fight it, thank goodness. I know that's weird to say, but it isn't a given for us. You see, my dad is a Christian Scientist, not to be confused with a Scientologist, thankyouverymuch. He doesn't worship Xenu or anything like that. My mom is a staunch Presbyterian so my sister and I were raised in that faith. It wasn't until Dad got old that he started getting real medical care; before then, he did just fine with prayer. So, it's good that he's ok with chemo and radiation and whatever else the doctors want to do to him to get it gone. I'm glad.

I have been very fortunate in my life as far as losing people, which is interesting considering the fact that it has always been my biggest fear. Apart from distant aunts and uncles, the closest person I've lost is my grandmother, who passed away two years ago at the age of 91. I loved that woman silly and still miss her all the time, but by the time you're 91, people don't freak out when you die, ya know? Besides, she was all kinds of demented at the end, so it was pretty much a blessing at that point. Anyway, I don't have a lot of experience with losing my loved ones, and history proves that I will be a big fucking pussy about this. What? It's true.

You see, my first reaction to something this earth-shattering is typically to go to pieces and cry a lot. It's not flattering, but it's true. My family is full of stoic types who wait to freak out until they're alone, but I'm the one who immediately jumps to the endgame and then figures out the details later. It's just how I'm built; I'm hard-wired to freak, if you will. But so far, this has been different.

A couple of weeks ago I had one of those dreams where your teeth fall out. When you look that shit up, it tells you about how it's an anxiety dream about your fear of loss and death. Well, I had this dream about my dad, and when I woke up it was like someone whispered in my ear, "He is going to die." But I didn't freak out. I had this eerie sense of calm about it all. Last night, when he called to tell me about what was happening, that same calm descended upon me and didn't leave all day today, even when I showed up at the hospital and my dad tearfully told me that he probably wouldn't make it to see his first grandson graduate from High School after all.

Yes, I wept a bit here and there, but I kept it together all day, even when I was alone in my car, where I usually allow myself to disintegrate if need be. My sister and I talked about how we both had this strange detachment and peace about it all, about how we were ready to do battle with him and fight it and do what we could, but if it came to the end, well... we were ready. My dad did it all right; we have no bad blood between us, no things left unsaid. My sister and I are 100% sure that he loves us, is proud of us, and wants the best for us. In all of my almost-34 years, I've never had a beef with Dad. He's the guy I'd call just to chat on a Tuesday afternoon, the guy who taught me how to spring a great quote at just the right moment, the guy whose sense of humor I emulated and share.

It wasn't until I had a glass of wine with dinner that something inside me clicked and all hell broke loose. Wine is the key to many things, you see, and closely-guarded emotions are only the beginning. I escaped to the bathroom and quietly let it rip. I didn't want to scare the kids with my animalistic keening, so I risked bursting some blood vessels and had a silent nervous breakdown. I wrapped it up when I heard the baby calling, "Mommmmmy!" outside the door and knew that the dog would be counter-surfing if I didn't get off my duff and load the dishwasher.

I feel better now. The messages here and on Facebook have really helped, and as always, you find out who your friends are in these cases. I appreciate all of your well-wishes and support. I don't know how much I'll blog about what we'll be going through with Dad. I don't know if I'll feel like talking about it or escaping from it, I just don't know. I may find it cathartic to blog about this experience; I have always written to find peace, and I wrote this blog for quite a while before anyone showed up to read it. ;) So, if I bore you, just skip it, and I'll be back to my usual goofy self in no time, I'm sure. Thanks for understanding.

Life's a long song

I was looking through some old pictures last night and feeling a little bit melancholy. It's really quite rare for me to feel that way, but it was a full moon, and I tend to get a little looney when the moon is full. I know it's weird, but it's true. I don't start ripping my clothes off and baying at the moon, but I do get irritable and short-tempered, and yes, a trifle weepy. It's like lunar PMS or something. Or actual PMS, but whatever.

Time is moving too quickly. My children are growing so fast that I don't feel like I am savoring it enough; I find myself wishing for bedtime when I should really be just enjoying spending time with these little guys whom I love so completely. I keep having moments when I imagine what it will be like when they're grown, or at least off at college, and I have all this free time to sit and drink wine and read my books and watch something other than SpongeBob and.... and GOD. It sounds fucking terrible! It sounds lonely! I'm having pre-emptive empty nest syndrome.

How to slow down time? How to enjoy every moment? How to be grateful enough?

I've never been one of those people for whom life is a given. I have always, even as a child, harbored a rather morbid part in my mind that goes to dark places pretty easily. If my mom was late from work, I'd sit in the window and cry, imagining her in a firey car accident. Nice, huh? My parents like to say I'm just the biggest worrier they've ever known, and that's partially true, but I think it's more like I just have no problem imagining the worst case scenerio for any given situation.

And here's where you're all gonna place me solidly into the "hippy-dippy metaphysical hoo-hah" category, but frankly I feel like I've been here before, and I think I've seen some crazy ass shit, and I think it makes it all the more easy to know that bad stuff happens to good people all the goddamn time. There is nothing in life that is a given, no guarantees. None. Everything wonderful can be wiped out in a heartbeat. Everything that irks you today, you will miss when it is gone.

I am so grateful for my life, which has felt charmed despite its hardships. I still have so much to learn, but feel like there's joy in that work. I just want to do right by everyone, including myself. When I am an old woman sitting alone in a quiet, empty house, I just want to feel like I've accomplished something worthwhile. I want to feel like I experienced life with all of its ugliness and beauty, and came out better for it in the end.

Makes you think.

This whole thing with Natasha Richardson dying has really bummed me out. I didn't know much about her before she died yesterday; all I really knew was that she was the guest judge in the red dress on last season's Top Chef, and that she was married to Liam Neeson and the daughter of Vanessa Redgrave.

It's not so much her, personally, it's just the fact that she took a seemingly harmless tumble and laughed it off, then ended up brain dead two days later. What the fucking fuck is that all about? I mean, really! How can you be walking around, talking and joking about your fall, and then just die?

Such sadness for her poor family. :(

It's the suddenness of it all that gets me in the gut. The fact that we all get up and go about our business, and anything could happen that day to cause us to just suddenly cease to exist without warning. Just, poof - The End.

Head stuff is so scary, anyway. A little over a year ago, my dad had brain surgery to remove a softball sized benign tumor from the lining of his brain. Thank God they got it all, it wasn't cancer, and removing it basically "fixed" him. Another head story - right after my youngest son was born, my husband's left eye started going all wonky. He couldn't control it anymore, couldn't focus, could barely drive. It was a terrifying time for us; me with my post-baby hormones raging, two little kids to care for, DH wondering if he'd be able to keep doing his job, and of course, Dr. Google telling us it was caused by a stroke, aneurysm, or tumor. Several thousand dollars and a referral to a neurologist told us that basically, something crazy had happened on the third nerve of DH's eye - tiny stroke? Or most likely, a result of a small knock on the temple that jarred something loose. The upswing was, it resolved on its own and now he's fine, but... scary.

Hell, my best friend had a massive stroke in her late 20's. Shit happens, man. I'm not being very eloquent here. I can't seem to wrap my head around how tenuous our grip on this life really is.

My DH is an expert skier, and also a huge proponant for helmets. My oldest son just started skiing this winter, and already has a spankin' new helmet. But, I can't say that this story doesn't scare the bejeebers out of me when I think of my loved ones out there on the mountain.

Protect your noggins. Hug your family. Be safe.

Thursday, March 12, 1992

Today I'm gonna tell you a story.

On this day in 1992, there was a blizzard in northern Vermont, where I lived. I was 16 years old. My mom was driving the two of us home from work/school in a powder blue Oldsmobile Cutless sedan that had belonged to my grandmother until she got too feeble(minded) to drive. It was very dark, and the dirt road we lived on was slick with over a foot of snow, but we made it to our driveway, which is where we ran into trouble.

The house we lived in was on top of a hill and had a very long, steep driveway that was over a mile long. The house was a brick cape with an addition and attached garage, and commanding views of the NH Presidential Range and Vermont's Green Mountains. A lovely spot, but a bitch to get to.

We had a difficult time getting the car up the driveway, and my mom gunned the engine perhaps a bit more than she should have. We finally struggled to the top amidst squeeling tires and the smell of burning rubber. She parked in the garage, and we went inside. I took off my shoes and coat.

About 10 minutes later, my mom decided to check on the car because "it just seemed too hot" from the climb up the driveway. When she opened the garage door, the entire car was engulfed in flames, and fire was licking at the ceiling and melting the freezer next to the car already. She panicked and ran for a fire extinguisher while I hit the fire department speed dial button. We had a couple of bad moments when she came and hit the button after I already had, and we had to hang up and try again, etc. Pandemoniam. Mayhem. Panic.

I threw on my dad's work boots as the living area closest to the garage was starting to fill with smoke. I herded the dogs outside and searched for our two cats, finding only one. Consumed with panic, I looked around the living room and tried to think of what I should grab, since it seemed apparent by then that the living room was toast. Instead of grabbing the irreplacable framed photos or the whole drawer of photo albums, I took:

a tube of lip balm
a pillow from the couch
the TV remote
another pair of my father's boots

Panic and fear do weird things to you, what can I say?

We fled to the horse barn, located about 100 yards from the house. The fire department came, but couldn't get their trucks up the driveway either. They sat at the bottom of the hill until another town came with a truck that had chains on the tires. Eventually, 7 different town fire departments would respond. The fire got so hot that the trucks ran out of water, and in northern VT there are no sisterns every mile or so like we have in suburbia. Several trucks left, seeking a frozen pond from which they hoped to refill their tanks. Many firefighters just wandered around the blazing structure, scratching their heads and frowning. The entire house was consumed with 2 hours.

I watched it burn from the cold horse barn, holding a franticly peeing cat while my dogs cowered at my feet. The worst part of the night came when I saw my father staggering through the snow towards the barn, openly weeping. My dad's a stoic guy and I had never seen him cry before, so this was a jarring sight. Apparently, no one had bothered to tell the man that my mom and I were not in the house. He came home from work to find the house on fire, firetrucks everywhere, the car in the garage, and us... nowhere.

Thankfully, someone managed to get ahold of my sister at work to tell her what had happened so she didn't have to have a similar moment of absolute soul-crushing sadness.

We spent the night at a neighbor's house. We woke up with just the clothes we had been wearing, no toothbrush, and reeking of smoke. I was still wearing my dad's size 12 work boots.

We lost every material posession we owned. I have no baby pictures of myself.

But, we rebuilt. We healed. We got new "stuff." We cherished each other more than ever, because we realized that people are the only things that can never be replaced. Everything else is gravy, but loved ones are important.

Today it's sunny and reasonably warm, no snow in the forecast, but I won't ever forget what surprises a day in March can hold.

Oh, and by the way,

The people at Spanx are lie-tellers.

After wriggling into the scuba suit I ordered from them in an effort to NOT look like I never exercise, I was sorely disappointed to discover that instead of sucking in the flab, it simply made it smoother.

I've bought control garments that redistributed the fat so you have unholy bulges and rolls in places that God never intended women to have bulges and rolls, but this was not the same. $82 later and I looked like a much tauter chubby chick instead of Cindy Crawford circa 1985, as I had hoped.

Mothereffers forced me back to the gym, which is where I'm heading right now. Bastards.

It's not a blog, it's a blah-g

I am sorry that I have been boring this week. I just can't seem to think creatively and I feel like my brain's been idling in neutral for a while now. I'm happy enough, just... blaaaah. If I were a color, I'd be taupe.

I think I need a real live, actual vacation. Too bad the closest thing I'm getting to vacationing is flying to beautiful, scenic Philadelphia next week for my brother-in-law's wedding. With the kids. Not exactly what I'd call "relaxing" or "rejuvenating."

So, please bear with me. I'm sure I'll be back to normal (heh) soon enough. I'll keep you posted.

TGI-Fruesday

I'm so glad I have the day off tomorrow. I feel like I'm behind in everything right now! LS is still sick, so I'm getting the royal bitch treatment from the daycare workers every morning (well, just that one nasty jackass I'm used to getting attitude from, but she has amped it up to "11" this week). I am glad that I can keep him home tomorrow, at least, so I don't have to miss yet another day of work. Poor buddy - this Hand-Foot-Mouth virus is icky.

Last week we forgot to do BS's homework, and I thought, "Oops, oh well, we'll just get back on track next week." So this morning when his teacher asked if we had it (4 days late?!) I was flabbergasted. At a loss, again. I just cannot keep up. Then there are the umpteen million "projects" the daycare always wants to do. "Today is bring a puzzle day!" or "Bring in a baby picture and a current picture by Thursday!" or "Bring in a can of beef broth for some crappy soup we're making as a special project" or "We're doing a new thing where the parents supply the snack for all the kids. It's your turn today!" GAH! They're killin' me!

What I wouldn't do to not have to deal with daycare. Seriously. Next year BS will be in public school, and I'm not sure where LS will go yet. I might keep him where he is, but considering that I'm not nuts about the room he's in or the room that's next after this, and considering how much I hate the nasty bully bitch who works there, well... we're playing it by ear.

Anyway, I just need a day (or a month) to catch up! My (clean) laundry is piled up like a mini Everest in my bedroom, and today I was scrounging for clean work pants... fun. Let's just hope LS makes it through this day without me getting the dreaded phone call....

Hug your family

It seems like this week, everywhere I turn I'm hearing these awful stories of people losing loved ones or getting terrible diagnoses. Cancer that grows and spreads silently in seemingly healthy people, until one day they get devastating news.... It strikes fear in my heart on a daily basis. It's so unfair, so random, and so cruel for all involved.

That's why I try very hard to never take my life or family for granted, but some days it's hard to stop and think about all that we have to be grateful for. We all have off days (or weeks, like this one has been for me!), and we all get busy and frustrated and short with those we love.

Today I am going to hug my family extra tightly. I am going to eat well and go to the gym (for the first time in months) and try to lose some of this weight that has crept back on while I wasn't looking. I am going to count my blessings.

These pictures were taken by my friend Lauralee last weekend, and they are a reminder of all that I have to be grateful for.







Hug your families tightly. Life is short, but sweeter when we add more sugar! :)

All of a sudden, getting old sucks

Until today, I was totally cool with getting older. So I'm a few (ahem) pounds heavier than before, have to get my hair colored regularly to hide the little gray garden that sprouts up on my part, and have fine lines and sun damage and all that good stuff starting on my face. My thirties have been pretty cool so far, and heck - I've already survived one bout of cancer, so life is pretty rockin', right?

Sort of. It's still good to be Bev, but now Bev has to get $1,690 worth of dental work done. Yes, that is the amount due AFTER my good-for-nothing insurance company kicks in their measely $460 for the crown and several fillings my new dentist just told me I needed, as illustrated by his fancy-dancy little camera. Apparently, even though I have slacked off and not used my benefits for two years (blush), I have only $460 remaining in benefits until next July, when it renews. What the--? How does that happen?

So now, in addition to the painful and icky 5 hours of office visits I must endure, I must also feel pain in my wallet.

That's it! Pull them all and give me a mouthful of Gary Busey chompers!


The good news is that I've been informed that my hygiene is terrific, and I had very little plaque. Just holes in my teeth and a mouthful of metal that needs replacing. Fan-freakin-tastic!

Oh well. At least my boobs aren't getting saggy or... Oh, wait. Crap!