State of Obvious

Eric:  Knock knock Carly: What? Me: Who's there? Eric: Goa Carly: Goa who? Eric: Goa sleep now. Carly: Don't ever say that again!

I'm wallowing in self pity tonight.  First because I got some very bad news.  From the IRS, no doubt.  Of all the people to get bad news from, that is pretty much the top right there.  The IRS and the doctor.  In cahoots I bet.  I wonder if they have conferences.   "Hey IRS dude I told someone they had to have that lump removed today."  {GLEE} "Ohhh, nice one!  I only got to tell people they were being audited."  {SMUG} Something like that I'm sure. No offense if you are a doctor or an IRS person.  My brain is a-spinning and a-whirling about a-what to do.  I have very few solutions, I can count them on one hand actually.  Most of them involve considerable flim-flammery and heaps of worries.  On a side not, flim-flammery sounds fun.  I would buy that at the store if it was a product.  Sounds cozy and fun.  Like a fancy Snuggie. Aside from this mess-I'm-in-of-my-own-making, though, I really don't have much to complain about.  I've got

You are turning 12 this year (only about 7 short months away) , I have been thinking about this a lot lately.  12 was a turning point in my life, a reckoning as it were.  Twelve marked my transition to knowing-it-all.  Twelve marked the point where I felt like I had grown up..ish.  Twelve marked turning away from Barbie dolls (though secretly I only did it because I felt like it was supposed to happen) .  Twelve marked wondering if my body would mature and if so-and-so noticed me.  Twelve marked my first serious body issues, as in not liking it.  I wonder, often, what twelve will mark for you. We haven't had THE talk yet.  You know, the one no parent wants to give and no child wants to sit through?  It's still simmering on the back burner.  You have managed to retain this delightful innocence, naivety one might rightly say.  You are soft and sweet, buttery almost.  I am afraid of losing that.  Afraid of growing you up before you are ready.  I am probably foolish to wait so lo

The problem with painting is that it's hard to see the bigger picture.  You zero in on tiny little details, blank spots, unfinished blobs, and imperfections.  You notice the colors and contrasts, unsatisfied that they are apparent.  You want it all to blend, to come together, to gel into a sudden magical burst of light.  Stepping away is useful in these types of situations. Thursday marks the one year date since Poppa (my father-in-law) slipped away .  The days have flown past us since then, catching us up in the whirlwind of change and moving on.  But the days don't separate you from the feelings.  I can still feel his sandpaper cheeks against my lips when I kissed him.  And I remember the moment we came back into the hospital to say good-bye.  He was already fading fast, the machines registering the slowing down of his heart and breath.  As we stood there together - Scott, Eric and I - holding on to each other, Poppa heaved a great heavy sigh.  Something like relief ming

1. I secretly enjoy Carly's Afro. Until junk off the ground starts sticking to it. (She's a tumbler, that one.) 2. I started freelance writing for a local paper. I am afraid I'm going to get fired at any moment and I've only written one story so far. 3. I really don't like drinking water. 4. I've taken up painting. So far I've painted two pictures I mostly like, 1 I half don't like, and 2 I've scrapped. Move over, Picasso. 5. Today it is snowing, sunny, sleeting, sunny and windy here (by turns). 6. I have a pathetic addiction to Cafe World on Facebook (which reminds me, I think my tacos are done...I totally just hit level 41, woot!) 7. I am still in my pjs. In my defense, Carly did not go to school today (thank you again, parents of sick child) and I am doing laundry so I don't have much to choose from clothing wise yet. 8. I swept and mopped most of the house. The dog tracked muddy prints all across the clean floor.

Next time, please tell your mom/dad/decision maker that you are sick.  That you are coughing so hard your whole body shakes.  That your nose is running and you aren't really the best at wiping it and washing your hands so as not to spread germs.  Please make sure they understand that pre-school is OPTIONAL, heck! even non-pre-school is going to go on if you miss a day or two.  Remind them that the other kids love pre-school and are going to be sad when they have to stay home in the very first week back.  Please help them understand that you are going to infect my child just by looking at her sideways.  Please tell them that Carly coughing so hard she can't sleep (and she needs to sleep) is really alarming and pitiful to listen to.  Tell them I said THANK YOU SO MUCH for NOT coming to pre-school NEXT TIME because this time, it's already too late.  Love, Me

I'm sure by now you've all seen the bra color, shoe size, hair-do postings on Facebook.  You know what I mean - the random reds, 10.5s, up and big postings that are circulating around like a bad flu.  Now, apparently these postings are aimed at breast cancer awareness.  I'm all about good causes like saving people from cancer.  If I were smart enough to come up with a cure, I so would like yesterday.  Because we need one. But Really , ladies? I suppose it is a little amusing.  I mean, everyone is trying to guess what the heck is going on and having a good snicker about it.  The bra color thing was pretty cute, even if it was a little TMI for my taste.  I mean, the reason I wear underwear under my clothes is so that people won't see them.  I suppose it does peak interest (mine was peaked enough to google the phenom) so that is a good thing.  But, how many people even know WHAT was going on or WHY.  And did any of the people that figured it out go to www.cancer.o

I am a mother. At times I am overwhelmed with this thought.  At times I am crippled by guilt for my actions.  At times I lose control of my patience, my temper, my body, my thoughts, my words, my reactions.  At times I step outside what it means to love and I embrace what it means to control. The fact is: I can't control anyone outside of myself.  I can show the little devils how to walk the path of angels, but I can't make them do it.  I can show the kicking, screaming child how to take back the reins of their anger and frustration - but not if I've lost my own grip.  I struggle with speaking softly when I'm angry.  I struggle with hanging on to patience when things aren't going the way I planned.  I struggle with jealousy, insecurity, spite, and I temper all these with bitterness (just to keep things fun, you know) . I am an ordinary mother. My first job every single day is to make sure my children are safe fed clothed bathed clean finished with homew

I just can't make things like that stick.  Forget a whole year of trying to improve something about myself, I can't even go a week without dropping my goals like hot potatoes. And why the heck do we set these goals right after we just over spent, over ate, over slept, and over indulged?  Of course we want to change things after we just threw a month-long party.  But now, now that life is back to normal - which includes all those lovely things like catching up the laundry that is staring you in the face - those goals seem hard - nay out of reach , nay unnecessary , nay just a whim , nay - dare I say - silly .  Walk with me a while, let us reason our way out of resolutions together. The truth is I didn't really set any goals for 2010 except to get our financial selves in order.  But even that, I guess I'll have to learn to do day by day.  This year thing just isn't working.