February 22, 2010 @ 06:04

But happy nonetheless.  Thank you Cormac for the challenge.  And I particularly enjoyed what you had to say about last week’s quote. 

I joined a gym last week.  With a couple of friends, another to join soon.  It’s been very nice so far.  But I’m still smack in the middle of my plateau.  Worked out six out of the last seven days and lost not one pound.  Miles:  12, Hours of other fitness pursuits:  4, Pounds lost:  0?  hmmm . . .   No matter.  I do, at the least, feel good. 

So this week, for the quote challenge, I’m throwing out this one.  For fun . . .  or existentiality . . .  or all seriousness . . .  or fun . . . 

“Never put a sock in a toaster.”
 Eddie Izzard

 And I tag, Sarah. 

February 19, 2010 @ 06:22

For this weeks quote challenge, Cormac give us this . . .  “Sometimes it’s better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness” Terry Pratchet. 

It’s funny that just last week Bear was telling me something about Discworld and looking at me with disbelief that I had no idea what he was talking about.  So my first thoughts on this are not colored in any way by having read Terry Pratchet.  I am curious now about the quote’s context, but for today . . . let’s just wallow for a minute, k?  

I have a favorite song for tough times.  At first it may seem angry, but it’s not.  It’s about shaking off what is wasteful, or hurtful, what is unproductive, what is toxic.  Sometimes that’s as simple as “Girl!  Do not buy those pants.  I don’t care if they are on sale for five dollah.”  Or it might be giving up caffiene, sugar, cigarettes.  Tough.  But what about when it is the very painful necessity of ending a relationship?  And you aren’t going to be the only one that is hurt.  Maybe you know you can’t go on the way you have in the past.  But you do love that person.  But you can’t be what they need.  And you continually find yourself in that viscious cycle.  Of caving in to their needs.  Of loving them so much that you don’t know how to tell them no.  Of watching them fall again and again and being there for them when they reach up their hand and ask for help up.  And hating yourself for it.  Because what they need is more than you have to give.  And what they get from you is just a patch, not a real solution.  Or finding yourself continually lost in the image that someone has of the girl they believe you to be.  Maybe you helped them form that idea.  Maybe not.  But you know that they don’t know you at all.  Not really.  And you can find yourself stuck in those relationships.  Out of guilt.  Out of a genuine desire to be there for someone.  Out of comfort.  Laziness.  Fear. 

That’s no good for anyone.  And what can you do when you realize that you are part of the problem.  Laying there in the darkness and wishing things were better but never knowing what could make it better?  So sometimes you have to just walk away.  And that doesn’t mean that the minute your back is turned that you are done.  You still love them.  You still want the best for them.  But you know that what is best for them is not you.  And you know that the right thing to do is keep walking.  No matter how much it hurts.  Them.  Or you.  You burn it down.  So that when the hurting is over the healing can begin.  And if you are really lucky, you remember that the next time around. 

February 18, 2010 @ 21:32

For Gracie, who is four.  Beside the plate it will be served on, to match of course.  And I can’t help but notice, that MY horse is fat . . .  oh, subconcious me, thou art a heartless bitch . . . 

February 16, 2010 @ 22:03

Warning, this story is not particularly . . .  G rated?  It’s not too ugly, but . . .  well, you remember Ralphie and the Queen Mother of all swear words in A Christmas Story?  Yeah, it’s like that. 

Early Monday morning, Puppy came running into my room as I was folding laundry to tell me about a new magical creature he had just discovered in his Harry Potter game.  Now, Puppy has become a really great reader.  And frequently he reads a new word by sounding it out and just plows on through, not bothering to ask if he’s right about the new word or not.  That was the case here.  Super excited about his new acquisition he comes running into the room and is telling me, at about nintey words a minute that he has a new creature and it is a “Magical C#^T!”  Are you with me on what that word was that he was nearly shouting at me?  The creature was actually called a knut.  He transposed the N and the U.  Sound it out . . .  uh huh . . .  Now are you with me? 

Yeah. 

So we spent several minutes with me explaining very emphatically that he had read that word wrong and that he must never ever ever EVER say that wrong word again because it was a very bad word.  And that the word he had read was actually pronounced newt!  And we talked about how a K and an N together make the N sound just like in the word “know” and NEVER say that other word again.  And isn’t newt a funny sounding word and NEVER say that other word again.  And what an awesome new magical creature that magical knut was and NEVER say that other word again.  I felt fairly confident that I had made my point. 

Yeah. 

Flash forward several hours to our afternoon haircut appointment.  Puppy is in the chair getting his haircut and our stylist is a very nice mommy and he is talking ninety miles an hour about his DS games and Kirby and Mariokart and Harry Potter and without breaking stride, or even taking a breath I think, he says “And you must never say C#^T because that is a bad word!”

And then as I have an existential experience, become dizzy and learn the full meaning of the word apoplectic, he just keeps on talking.  And meanwhile every other person in the place, and there were at least half a dozen, freeze, look at me, and then die laughing.  I haven’t been that mortified in so long.  Probably not since my Dad “accidentally” taught Bear how to say “S#%T”. 

Yeah. 

All I can say is, thank god I get our hair cut in a place full of women that are moms and that have a good sense of humor. 

February 11, 2010 @ 21:35 

 Just finished making cupcakes to send over to the Humane Society of Faulkner County’s Chocoholics Dream Night Out.  If you are from around here, you should go.  Chocolate and a good cause?  Heck yeah! 

February 12, 2010

Where: First Presbyterian Church on Prince Street in Conway

When: Friday, February 12 from 5:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m. 

Details: Hosted by the Faulkner County Humane Society.  The event features a silent auction, a buffet of chocolate dishes, animals available for adoption from the HSFC and an area for children. 

Admission is $15, or $25 for two, for the all you can eat chocolate buffet.

February 10, 2010 @ 20:12 

“Experience teaches us that silence terrifies people the most.” ~ Bob Dylan

In response to Kat and the quote challenge . . . 

You’ve probably noticed how I haven’t had too much to say about Puppy’s progress lately.  It isn’t because of setbacks.  We’re not white knuckling it here at our house.  We are in a strange holding pattern.  I feel like a rabbit in the underbrush.  I’m pretty sure there are still wolves out there.  But right now we are cozy and safe.  I don’t wake up in the middle of the night with my heart thumping against my ribs after dreaming of driving a car that is out of control.  Cake and fat nightmares aside.  Cars are my subconcious tell.  I dream of out of control driving when I’m out of control in real life.  Cars, trucks, planes, towering four-story unicycles.  Oh, yeah, really. But not lately.  That is the way things play out for me when I am under real stress.  But for the moment, we are feeling very safe.  And this leaves the concious me feeling as if I should be doing something more.  Next week we’ll be going in for a nutritional study.  We are participating in a genome project as well.  We are due for a check up with our Autism specialist in just a couple of weeks, too.  None of which is giving me pause.  Which . . .  gives me pause.  Isn’t that rich?  We are so completely happy and well right now that . . .  I am scared.  Does that make sense at all?  I complete our trio nicely, Puppy, Bear and Goose. 

I am feeling the way you do when you start a new job.  And you’ve read all the training manuals.  And you feel as if you have a really good handle on what is in store and what to do in all the situations that have been described to you.   But you haven’t been set free on the work just yet.  And you know that the real test will come when you are.  And you are waiting for it.  And feeling a bit useless while you wait.  So you begin to second guess yourself?  Or that feeling you get as you stand in the batters box and watch that first pitch coming at you?  As a pretty non-athletic girl, that’s a moment full of angst. 

Lately, if I am losing sleep it’s because of a sore shoulder or Puppy having a restless night.  Not because of great big worries.  And now that is beginning to turn into a worry.  As if I’ve missed something.  As if I’ve shirked some duty.  Shouldn’t I be doing something more? Enough already with the no problems.  I don’t know what to do with that. 

Perhaps there is a way for me to just enjoy this really good place we are in right now.  Before the kids in his class get older and meaner.  Before the quirks of his behavior begin to stand out.  Make him an outsider.  Perhaps there is a way for me to just appreciate his sweet sweet face every day and not have that twist of pain in my heart and that sting of tears from the fear of what may be just outside our door.  I read somewhere that fears and negative emotions may actually be an evolutionary strength.  But it certainly sucks the joy out, doesn’t it?  I spend a lot of energy trying to anticipate things that could hurt my boys.  Not just Puppy.  Bear, too.  But sometimes I wonder if all my careful arranging of what is in their paths isn’t just futile.  Me setting up dominoes.  That are bound to fall.  When what might serve us all so much better would be for Mommy to be able to be at peace when the rest of our world is. 

February 03, 2010 @ 10:15

Can you believe there is more snow in the forecast for us?  It has been so surreal driving around town with snow on rooftops and lingering snowmen that haven’t completely melted yet.  We just don’t get snow that lingers down South.  It’s beautiful.  Although, I gotta admit I’m getting a little tired of the mushy yard . . . 

The boys had a blast last week with the snowdays.  So I think I could get over mushy yard for more of this . . . 

The ambush . . . 

Doesn’t really look like a fair matchup does it? 

He didn’t seem to mind. 

Until Bear started making Bear-sized snowballs . . . 

And put one down Puppy’s hoodie . . . 

But mom knew just how to make it all better. 

February 02, 2010 @ 06:21

I’ve been having nightmares lately.  Nothing to really worry about.  My subconcious leads a very full and active life, that’s all.  I am a picture thinker so dreams have always been a constant.  I find people who never remember their dreams to be a curiosity.  The last couple of nights though I’ve dreamt about deep fried catfish and giant sandwiches with double cheese and cake and cake and cake.  I’ve hit a plateau in my weight loss.  I haven’t lost any weight in about three months.  I think.  I’m not going back in to check that on past posts because I don’t want to get obsessed.  Eating disorder recovery is a damned slippery slope when you can’t give up your demon 100%.  I could live without whiskey if I were an alcoholic.  But you gotta eat.  That’s part of why I get so enraged by the people who continually feed the disease.  The beauty, fashion, and diet/weight loss industries primarily.  I have had a dislike of the Special K commercials for a long time.  Ever since the one they ran that used the phrase “studies show that women who eat breakfast weigh less”.  You see the problem with that sentence?  Weigh less.  Less than what?  I weigh less I did at my highest, but I’m still not to my healthy goal yet.  But there are so many people suffering from eating disorders, many of whom will die from the disease, that weigh less than me.  Is that your winner statistic Special K?  Lose weight until you die?  You win, you weigh less!  Here are some other statistics: 

MORTALITY RATES

• Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness
• A study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reported that 5 – 10% of anorexics die within 10 years after contracting the disease; 18-20% of anorexics will be dead after 20 years and only 30 – 40% ever fully recover
• The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old.
• 20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems

From : http://www.state.sc.us/dmh/anorexia/statistics.htm 

But whatever marketing company Kellogs uses has managed to top it in a way that I just can’t believe made it to the air.  Seriously, I don’t know exactly how many peole have to put a stamp of approval on an ad that costs that much money, but surely at least one person down that line raised an eyebrow.  The mom with the red robe after Christmas with the Santa butt commercial, it was funny.  But this one?  Irresponsible.  It features a woman who appears to be at a healthy weight sitting down with her daughter (way to follow through on the message there) in a child’s chair.  When she stands and it gets stuck on her behind, she immediately feels the need to diet.  Congratulations Special K, on being another contributor to the you aren’t good enough machine.  Little girls, and boys, too, thank you so very much.  I’m gonna go out and buy some more Kashi cereal today. 

February 01, 2010 @ 06:12

My contribution to the quote challenge . . .  from Judith Viorst . . . 

I’ll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory.
It seems the woman I’ve turned out to be
Is not the heroine of some grand story.
But I have learned to find the poetry
In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

First of all, I have to tell you what happened when I googled my quote.  It was just a big fat kick in the ironical throat.  I love Judith Viorst.  Thinking that this poem was from the book “It’s Hard to Be Hip Over Thirty”, and wanting to make sure I didn’t misquote, I googled it.  As I typed . . .  It’s. Hard. To. Be . . . .  and so on, you know the way google tries to predict what you want and cut your work short for you?  Well, I’m so damned old - and my favorite quotes are so damned older than that - they never once came up.  Apparently nowadays, it’s just hard to be hip hop . . .  

This past Christmas I went shopping for a little something for my niece, who will very soon be the dreaded thirteen.  As I wandered about the stores I realized that in the last few years, as I’ve retreated further and further into my obscure-artist-filled iTunes playlists and crazy hobbies and odd books, the current trends have passed me by.  I did get another hint there.  While talking with a younger friend (college aged) not too long ago, I said something about the magic song.  To which he replied, “Huh?”  You know, the magic song.  Just like that episode of Friends, (and there’s another clue - Friends is so last decade) that episode with the magic story about backpacking across Europe, the magic story you tell when you want to have sex.  My friend informed me that there is now a new magic song.  And I don’t even know who the artist is.  Never heard of them.  And well, I’ve got just enough pride left to not tell you what the magic song USED to be, and not enough powers of recollection to tell you what the magic song is NOW.  *sigh*  Tell me this!  How will I know if some dreamy guy with an acoustic guitar is trying to seduce me now?  I mean really?  I suppose a dreamy guy with a guitar for me is so last decade, as well. 

I’m really not bemoaning my age, or the woman I’ve become.  Inside my head, I still feel nineteen and confused by boys and not quite sure of what the future holds and fresh as a daisy, just like when I was actually nineteen.  But side by side with all of that girlish confusion lies confidence.  A sure and steady belief in what matters and what does not.  When I look in the mirror, the woman I see is far more appealing to me than that daisy girl.  Lines and all.  I like her.  Alot.  I haven’t written a novel.  I haven’t finished college.  I haven’t made millions.  I haven’t won too many hearts.  But I haven’t scarred too many either.  I don’t believe that I have screwed up too badly.  And what I have gathered around me, in place of dreams of authoring great novels and stealing the hearts of millions and being rich and at my leisure, is a life that is full.  Satisfying.  Every day I get a little bit better at not being a reactionary.  At being a patient mother.  At giving up on grudges and misconceptions, even when they are about me.  I’ve been trying my best to remember that what I know about others is almost never the whole story.  I’m working hard at believing in the best in people instead of the worst.  I’m getting better at it, but there’s still far to go.  And, largely because of some of the amazing women that I’m lucky enough to call friends, I’ve gotten some glimpses of a world far bigger than I could imagine when I was just nineteen.  I realize how lucky I am that my worries center around helping one small boy navigate the big big world and one not so small boy launch himself into it.  I never really worry about where tomorrow’s breakfast will come from.  I can work.  I never really worry about shelter.  If our house crumbled into the dirt tomorrow, well, we’d just find another one.  We live in a place where poverty is rarely marked by starvation.  We are the lucky ones.  We have it good here.  And here I am, at an age where I could buy into that sad sad American thing and seriously start worrying about what little nips and tucks I might could pursue to knock some mileage off my face.  But I just can’t drum up any little bit of caring for jockeying for position in a race that doesn’t matter.  My friend Natalie and I were talking about shopping one day.  She said, “Hey have you noticed the clothes at Walmart look better these days?”  To which I said, “No, sugar, it’s just different now that we are paying for them.  Now the dollars measure up differently.”  I can remember a time when a pair of $200 jeans might have impressed me.  But now, you wanna prove to me that you a woman to be reckoned with?  Show me some denim on your butt that you snagged down at the consignment shop for two dollars on your way home from volunteering at a soup kitchen.  Show me a woman who would rather by mesquito nets, or a case of Plumpynut or a box of bees or a whole water buffalo!, than designer fashion and I’ll show you a woman who knows of true beauty.  And if I can pass along that knowledge to my two boys, then I’ve made more contribution to the world than any other kind of success I could have chased after. 

I think back to how frightened I was when I divorced.  And now, inside my head, I tell myself relax sugar, you got this thing.  Just keep focusing on the things that matter.  Be a good mom.  Raise some healthy kids.  The rest is gravy . . .  or drivel.  There is nothing sweeter than being able to look around at the people in your world and being totally in love with them.  And I certainly am.  I mean really, have you looked at you guys? 

Oh, and just in case you are wondering, I’m sure this strange streak of narcissism/navel gazing will die down soon and I’ll post some more cake and cute kid pictures . . .  but not today.  ;)  And Kat?  Tag, you’re it. 

The Pleasures of Ordinary Life 
 
I’ve had my share of necessary losses,
Of dreams I know no longer can come true.
I’m done now with the whys and the becauses.
It’s time to make things good, not just make do.
It’s time to stop complaining and pursue
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I used to rail against my compromises.
I yearned for the wild music, the swift race.
But happiness arrived in new disguises:
Sun lighting a child’s hair. A friend’s embrace.
Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I’ll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory.
It seems the woman I’ve turned out to be
Is not the heroine of some grand story.
But I have learned to find the poetry
In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

Young fantasies of magic and of mystery
Are over. But they really can’t compete
With all we’ve built together: A long history.
Connections that help render us complete.
Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet,
Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life. 

Judith Viorst