SBFH

All that, and more

2009-03-11T08:42:00.002-07:00

You might have noticed: I haven't been here much lately.

I started this blog back in the year of our lord just-got-divorced-and-need-to-figure-that-out. I started it as a sort of whispering out into the nothing, rather than a bottling everything up. And it helped a lot. And what do you know, the nothing turned out not to be nothing after all. I met so many astonishingly lovely other whisperers.

The Blog Whisperers! On CBS! I think it could work!

As with all my good intentions, my posting here has become somewhat...spotty? Yeah, let's go with spotty. It isn't that I'm not writing, or venting, or even social networking (Facebook, you crack pipe, I'm talking about you). It's just...

Here's the deal, or as close as I can come to it. I started this blog because my heart was broken, and I didn't know where to put it while I tried to piece it back together. My hands were full, you see.

My hands are still full, believe you me. Probably fuller, all things considered. I own my own business now. I'm a few weeks away from finishing a novel, which I (not unlike that matchmaker from "Fiddler on the Roof") will then schlep around, trying to hook it up with its one true love: some nice man or woman who will have it and hold it and make an honest book of it. I'm the full-time breadwinner of a family of four and full-time everything-person of two small humans who, despite what they've been through, are still wildly amazing, growing, thriving little people.

So now the small era of my life that signaled the interim between "married" and "widowed"--if I get to call it that, and you know what, I think I do--has ended, and so too, I think, must this little blip of anonymity that helped me get through it. I think it's time to let this particular blog to go to God (as we say when we found something unidentifiable in the back of the fridge), or wherever it needs to go, along with that particular piece of my life. That seems best, don't you think?

So, thank you for stopping by, and thank you for being lovely, you marvelous crazy nuts you. If you and I have already made our acquaintances (i.e., you know my real name), I'm on Facebook (and God help me, Twitter--it's mostly useless just now, but then someone once said that about the Blogs). I'm also in the process of starting another blog, the contents of which might or might not resemble the types of things I wrote here. I will probably keep stalking some of the people you see listed over to the left. (Thought you were going to get out of that one, didn't you?) If you want to know where to find me, email me. I'll keep that address open.

Oh, and Dr. B? Peeps are still NASTY. Some things, my dears, will never change.

xoxoxo and Namaste,
PK

America, the Universe, Sweet Baby Jesus...

2008-11-04T23:12:00.001-07:00

...THANK YOU!!!!!

OMG. I am so, so relieved and thrilled and just verklempt. After much sorrow, rejoicing.

Smoochies!
PK

Go VOTE!

2008-11-04T10:12:00.002-07:00

Tomorrow will either be the happiest or saddest birthday EVER.

Go vote. Give me a happy birthday. Dammit, I deserve it.

A telling question

2008-10-29T11:01:00.002-07:00

Who would you rather your 13-year old daughter listen to: (Old School) Britney or (Any School) Pink?

You betcha there's a right answer.

Things that are distressing me...

2008-10-26T11:37:00.002-07:00

...in no particular order:
1) The fact that one of the insurance policies, which the company assured me would pay, is not going to pay.
2) The fact that #1 bothers me as much as it does. It's just effing money, for Pete's sake.
3) The idea the McCain could actually become president. Dear God. I honestly don't think I could take that.
4) My son's mental health.
5) My fat ass.
6) My hair. Seriously. I know. Shallow.
7) My inability to chill the fuck out.

Chupacabra

2008-10-22T11:12:00.003-07:00

You know what makes me happy? The Chupacabra.
Seriously.
I am going to try and work the Chupacabra into everything I write from now on. Because there is just nothing better than a goat-sucking monster.

Funny

2008-10-06T08:03:00.002-07:00

Today, the Girl stood in the middle of the kitchen and screamed at the top of her lungs, full of righteous indignation:
"QUIT YELLING AT MEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

Which was sort of funny seeing as how, you know, I wasn't yelling at the time.

A tip: Don't laugh at indignant 5-year-olds. Oh, the tears! The recrimination! It wasn't funny! Laughing at her IS. NOT. FUNNY!

Ah, but honey. It's the laughing at the not-funny stuff that gets you through life.

I would have tried to tell her that, but she was sort of busy threatening to poke me in the butt with her miniature American flag. I think there's some sort of message there, mayhaps?

Things are going. We're sifting through the business of death. The Boy punched a kid at school last week. The kids are taking ice skating lessons. I swear to God that I heard their father come in the house last week, in the middle of the day, while I was typing away on some job. I actually heard the door open, and I heard him call out "Hellooo?" in this funny way he used to do. I nearly answered, then I stopped, then I really stopped. Then I answered anyway. Nobody answered back.

I want to thank everyone who has sent us kindness--kind thoughts, kind words, kind deeds. It's odd to me that I started this stupid blog as a sort of self-motivating journal to get through some of the harshest emotions after my marriage fell apart. And now it's like I don't know what to say. Probably because I'm not sure what to think. Or, I am very purposefully not thinking. Except for when I've planted my arse on Dr. Zen's comfy chair. I think a bit then. Then I go sneak a cigarette and quit thinking for another week.

I guess that's okay, too.

I'll loan you mine

2008-09-15T21:41:00.001-07:00

Missing

2008-09-03T08:45:00.003-07:00

I suddenly had the most intense longing for a Sears catalogue. You remember those? The giant tomes that used to come in the mail? I'd spend hours and hours and days and months pouring over them, cutting out pictures, wishing for things.

I want one so badly, I could just cry.

I may be avoiding missing other things. Possibly.

2008-08-20T06:27:00.002-07:00

Arrangements have been completed. If you're local and would like to attend the memorial service or wake and need information, please feel free to email me.

Wasted

2008-08-15T21:45:00.002-07:00

I don't know how to say this, so I probably won't. The thing that I was afraid of happening happened today.

I don't know what to say. There isn't really anything to say.

If you're the praying type, say a prayer for my kids. If you aren't, I'd still appreciate you doing whatever it is you do.

I might be a while. I don't know.

PK

Anyone? Anyone?

2008-08-11T07:37:00.003-07:00

I'm debating whether I can turn this blog into a pseudonymous creation. Well, it is already, I guess. What I mean is, can I clean up some of the old posts--switch them to draft status--and commence to using this space as the blog for a more precise pseudonym, attaching it to my pen name?

I've had the "no Google" code on this site for a while, so I hope that many of the posts I would want to remove from public view would not be available in cached form, either.

I just don't think I have the gumption (or the time) to manage *another* blog. I already have a double life on Facebook, where my actual profile and my writing pseudonym's profile are friends. (It's good to be your own friend.) But I don't think I can just transfer this puppy over wholesale, as there are some posts that might either jeopardize the privacy of people I care about or be frowned upon in posts by someone marketing writing to children/young adults (who theoretically would find their way here).

Thoughts? Anyone else handle something similar?

Mental illness sucks

2008-07-16T11:50:00.002-07:00

It sucks to watch somebody you care about being destroyed, and know that there really isn't a damned thing you can do about it. It sucks to realize that you need to remove yourself emotionally so that you will be ready to deal with the things you'll need to deal with if they kill themselves, which they've threatened to do not once, but multiple, multiple times. It really sucks when you've watched the person honestly try to get better, and nothing seems to help.

It just sucks.

Can't this wait 6 years? (or: My Internal Dialogue)

2008-07-14T06:17:00.003-07:00

"Katie dumped me."

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry." [Dude, you're 8. EIGHT! I am not ready to deal with the hussies. Aren't you supposed to be out eating worms or something?]

"M said he heard her talking to another boy. She told him she likes him, so she was going to dump me, and then she did."

"Well, I know your feelings are probably hurt..." [HUSSY!]

"Yeah..."

"And I just have to tell you...even though you know you're only 8, and you're not old enough to really have a 'girlfriend'..." [Especially not one who's a HUSSY!!!]

"Yeah..."

"I do think that was pretty uncool. She sounds awfully fickle. I don't think she was good enough for you." [Little hussy.]

"You're right. When she dumped me, I was going to tell her, "You are SO immature," 'cause I knew that would really make her mad, 'cause you told me about that, remember? But then I didn't, because I decided it would be mean, and I was too good for that."

"Wow." [WOW.]

Reminders

2008-06-23T08:24:00.002-07:00

Overheard coming from my lips and following the Boy down the street the other afternoon:

"Have fun!
.
.
.
And remember your phone!
.
.
.
And remember your bike helmet!
.
.
.
And be back in an hour!
.
.
.
AND DON'T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS!!!!"

Prepare for Awesomeness

2008-06-15T19:18:00.003-07:00

So the kids and I went to see "Kung Fu Panda" this afternoon. I haven't said much about it here and probably won't, but I'm keeping them for all overnights now. They did get to spend some time with their dad this week--he had them over for dinner and then a few hours before bed, plus half the day Saturday--but for now, they're sleeping over here every night.

The Boy is also going through some potentially big changes. Part of it is probably just growing up, getting older and understanding things a little better. He's also taking a second round of a social skills class at the local university, and I think he really is getting some good from it. I've also got him back seeing his therapist a few times a month, so that he can hopefully build more skills for handling the stressful stuff in his life. I think all these things work together, little pieces of a bigger puzzle that makes a picture of a person handling life well or losing his or her shit. I would be remiss, though, if I didn't reveal this piece over here in the corner: He's on medication again.

We tried that back in kindergarten...and wow. That experience is in the archives somewhere. Well, this year, we decided to try again and see what happened. That decision was based on feedback and discussions from him, about how he was feeling in school, with other kids. He tried a typical ADHD medication, and it seemed to help with focus a bit, but not with his moodiness or low-frustration level. We tried a Tourette's medication, but it just made him tired, which made him more moody. Then a few things happened, and what I can say is that it brought up the possibility that we had a hyper-sensitive kid who was suffering from anxiety and stress and--yep--depression. So after much soul-searching and many discussions with his (truly excellent) psychiatrist, we broke out the Zoloft.

Now, this is the teeniest, tiniest amount of Zoloft ever. But interestingly, after 3 weeks, I'm seeing a change. At least I think I am. I'm a little reluctant to call it too quickly, but I swear that he's been less moody this week, and even more organized and agreeable.

I didn't make this decision because I want my kid to be perfect or benign or anything like that. But I remember what it felt like when I was suffering from acute depression. I remember what it felt like to get help for that. He's still an 8-year old boy, and he's still bouncing off the walls and arguing with his sister and getting into all sorts of mischief with his friends and trying to talk me into whatever he wants to talk me into. It's just that I'm starting to see a kid who isn't always on the verge of losing his shit. And that makes me happy.

And I don't know what this has to do with Kung Fu Panda, really, except that it WAS the most Awesome movie Ever. We were indeed blinded by its awesomeness. Plus, I sort of secretly love Jack Black.

Yeeeeaaahooowwwww!

Just a gigolo

2008-06-12T18:54:00.003-07:00

Flea's recap of the Police concert that Orange and she attended reminded me that I meant to recap this:

When Jeannie and I went to the same concert last year, I got the Boy all riled up about the Police. How awesome they were! Message in a Friggin' Bottle!

So when Roxanne came on the radio the other day, I cranked it up. "It's the Police!" I told him.

After a minute: "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this song about, exactly?"

Er.

"Well," I said, "it's a guy singing to his girlfriend."

"Yeah, but about what?"

"And her name is Roxanne."

"Yeah, but what's he saying to her?"

"He doesn't like her job."

"Oh." Then, "What's her job?"

Oy vey. "Well...she dates people."

The voice from the back seat pitches up a notch. "She dates people? For money? That's her job?"

"Yes. And that makes her boyfriend feel jealous, and he wants her to stop. Because that job is pretty much frowned upon. Not to mention illegal in all but one state."

"And she gets money. For going on dates."

"Yes."

Pause.

"How much money?"

Uh, not the point, kid.

"Which state thinks it's okay?"

"Nevada."

Pause.

"I'M GONNA MOVE TO NEVADA WHEN I GROW UP! I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT JOB, MOM!!!"

World weary

2008-06-11T18:54:00.002-07:00

So we're at the park and we see three women--probably high school or or college age--go by on bikes. They're wearing bikinis, towels draped around their shoulders.

The Boy's got eyes like saucers.

"Why are those teenage girls riding their bikes in their swimsuits?" he asks.

"Good question," I say.

"I bet they're on their way to the pool."

"Probably."

"Or," he says, with confidence, "or, they want people to pay attention to them."

"It's a good bet," I say.

"Why would they want people to notice them?" he asks. Then he answers his own question: "They probably want people to buy what they're selling."

"Oh?" This is an interesting theory, though I'm not sure I like where it's going. "And what do you think they're selling?"

"Teenager stuff. Like Teenage Blower Machines."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Teenage Blower Machines. That blow smoke rings. For teenager parties. They have those at all the teenager parties."

Indeed.

Oh, and this one.

allrighty then

2008-05-14T19:35:00.002-07:00

I don't think I sat on this one long enough. I'd cut two lines and two words if I could.

And while you're there, read this one. Isn't it lovely?!

The kitchen sink

2008-05-13T21:44:00.003-07:00

I'm thinking back to when I started blogging and how conscientious I was about posting regularly, leaving comments on other blogs, and lord. I do so suck now.

But you know what I'm doing? I'm writing a book. For really and truly. And it's kind of awesome. (Not the book, necessarily, but the writing of it.)

What will become of it? Who knows. Does it matter? All I know is this: That feeling I've had for the past 10 years, that feeling like you get when you leave for vacation and you think, "Crap. Did I leave the stove on? I bet I left the stove on. No, not the stove. What then? What did I not do? What what what?"

It's gone.

We're staying afloat so far with the freelancing, which is just fine, considering that it's only 6 months in and that I'm pretty much supporting four people with only a fairly modest amount of child support. I've had a few pieces published here and there. I have picked up several writing jobs and some new editing clients. I may have an opportunity to return to full-time work, and I may take it, but who knows?

I haven't been very good about writing here, because I'm writing not here. And I'm trying to decide how to handle the necessity of blogging as a writer. Do I disappear and suddenly pop up somewhere else, living out my bloggy life under a new name, like a virtual Elvis? With less sparkle, of course. Do I manage two blogs? Should I point from here to things I'm writing (which as of now are also under pseudonyms so wouldn't likely threaten my anonymity, but would make it likely that people could trail back here)?

So these are the things I think about, and then I think about the stack of editing waiting for me and that damned first draft that is waiting to be finished. And I wonder how everyone is and I try to catch up reading a few blogs but don't have time to leave comments or write here and that's a little bit of what's happening and why things are quiet.

Just so you know.

Who said that?

2008-04-26T09:12:00.002-07:00

The Boy understands attribution. You read a quote; you read the name of the person who said it. "Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them." Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

We're in church, and there's a Whitman quotation up on the on the side screen. He reads it out loud. "That means Walt Whitman said that," he tells me.

"Yup."

He thinks for a moment. "Say something by Shakespeare," he asks.

"Uh, okay... 'To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune--"

"Shakespeare. 'I don't understand anything you just said.' Boy K."

RIP, Psycho Kitty

2008-03-25T16:16:00.003-07:00

The best cat in the whole fucking universe. Rocks wept.

Can't...breathe...

2008-02-25T16:28:00.003-07:00

I realize most of you have probably already seen this, but if you haven't...treat yourself. You deserve it.

Brilliant.

Thank you sweet little baby Jesus

2008-02-19T14:10:00.002-07:00

Nothing makes the day a little happier than an acceptance letter. Except TWO acceptance letters. That makes it happier.

This just in: It seems I am not a complete hack. I might be mostly a hack; the jury's still out. But for now, less-than-total is enough.

Foiled again

2008-01-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

So, the Girl. She does this thing that I did at her age. She doesn't like to sleep in her own bed.

She starts out there, more or less. But somewhere in the wee hours, she wakes up. And that's when my bed shines with the light of Mecca, beckoning her to its warm embrace. Someone once wrote about how sneaky a similar Scorpiolette had become in her nocturnal wanderings, which had prompted me to inform the Girl that if she was very, very quiet when she climbed into my bed, so quiet that I didn't wake up, I wouldn't be able to put her BACK in her bed. This worked like a charm at the time, my priority being to get some damned sleep. Now that my priority is to get the kid to sleep in her own bed? Not so much. Plus, she's sneaky getting in, but eventually she sticks her feet in my ribs, which means I wake up every morning, around 3:00 a.m., which really throws off the whole sleep cycle thing.

So I've vowed to haul myself out of bed when she comes in, take her back to her bed, and lie down with her there until she gives up and just figures the extra walking isn't worth it. Some day soon, I envision a full night's uninterrupted rest.

The other night, I managed to get both kids to sleep without falling asleep myself, lying next to one or the other. The reward: A hot bath, that rarist of luxuries in this house.

But damn, the thing wiped me out! Maybe I made it too hot, maybe I stayed in too long, but when I got out, I collapsed into bed. I seem to remember thinking, "Well, at least I'll sleep well."

Which I did, I guess. Until I woke up, around 3:00 a.m..

In the Girl's bed.

No idea how I got there. But she was sound asleep, so I guess I was sneaky.

And because we believe in equal airtime...

2008-01-18T01:09:00.000-07:00

Scene: The Girl is playing with the v. awesome Anatomically Correct Schleich Pony. (Have you seen these? They rock. Target has them; I tried to find a link but no luck.)

The Girl: I don't know whether Pony is a boy or a girl.
PK (turning Pony over and offering Exhibit A): Pony's a boy, honey.
The Girl: But he hasn't decided yet! He hasn't decided whether he wants to be a boy or a girl!
PK: Well, he's got a penis, honey, but I don't see why he can't be whatever he feels like being.
The Girl: He's gonna be a girl.

Another reason to love him

2008-01-18T00:55:00.000-07:00

The Boy's Cub Scout den toured the new Police Services building today. He was great--kept his hands to himself, raised his hand when he had a question, only threw himself against the side of the building once (sirens are exciting!). They learned about how the officers have training to learn how to handcuff people or to deal with mace, and they got to see the juvenile holding cells, including the one with the "soft walls". These are the particulars that interested the Boy, of course: Conference rooms shmonference rooms, do you have any big weapons?

[As an aside, I just must say: Either a mighty coincidence was afoot or DAMN this town has some hot Protectors of the Peace. I'm not kidding. I think I need more tours of Police Services. Again I say, Daaaaamn. Plus, the building is super friggin' cool.]

Where was I? Oh. On the way home, we were talking about the holding cells. The Boy said, "One of them had a toilet in it! But the door had a window! So people would be able to SEE you PEE!" And I explained that one of the consequences of deciding to commit crimes is that if you're caught, you lose the right to privacy and freedom, more or less. "What if someone took a picture of you peeing, and spread it all over the world!?" the Boy wondered, and that question launched a conversation about what you don't lose the rights to (or should I say, what you aren't supposed to lose the rights to): decent treatment, and so forth. "But what if they did it anyway?" he asked, and I told him that they would likely get into trouble, but that sometimes that sort of thing happened, and that it was one reason I don't like the current president et al., because of something like that that happened to prisoners in another country.

Then the Boy said, "Yeah, I think it isn't good now. I mean, Lincoln was good. And Washington was okay, and other people, but you know what we should really have? A woman president. Because we've never had one! And we should!"

And then I pulled the car over and bought him a pony.

Ooh, Shiny!

2008-01-17T09:05:00.000-07:00

The great thing about having my mom sharing our home is that she's providing a wonderful balance to my more...Bohemian...tendencies. Perhaps my housekeeping skills are not all they could be. Perhaps, during college, I put sheets on my bedroom floor for a few months and called it art. Perhaps, just perhaps, I've been known to go a long, long time without dusting. Or mopping. Or, you know, putting away the laundry, unless the floor of my walk-in counts as "away". My mother, she likes the doing of the laundry. I have told her that if all she ever does is the laundry, her room and board are more than paid for. (Obviously, I don't expect her to do jack. But if it makes the woman who birthed me happy, who am I to fight it?)

Now, you may think that children raised in my...well, for lack of a better word, let's call it squalor...would be used to it. Apparently not:

PK: "Yo, Mama! I finally hauled away all those gym bags under the coat rack."
Mom: "That's nice, honey."
The Girl: "OOOOOOOH! It's so SHINY! Can I sleep under there tonight, Mama? Can I? Can I sleep under there?"

We here chez PK like to enjoy the simple things. Like sleeping under coat racks. Sigh.

That's the rub

2008-01-13T14:13:00.000-07:00

From the AP:
"...authorities didn't consider Laurean a threat to Lauterbach, or later a flight risk, because they had indications the pair were on friendly terms."

Dear God. She's meeting with military prosecutors because she says he raped her. How fucking friendly do you think she feels toward him? How the hell can you be on "friendly terms" with a person you're accusing of raping you?

Such a short phrase to reveal such an insane mindset--one that keeps too many women in danger or in fear.

Make me some moNAY with your spatuLAY

2008-01-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all the support, you sweethearts, you. Of course I mean that in a totally nondescriminatory way.

Happily, the new Endeavor is keeping me busy enough that I haven't had more time to blog than I did pre-Endeavor. (Pre-Endeavor. That kind of makes me sound like an astronaut. I like.) I am officially a business owner, joy, bliss, and I'm currently searching for legitimate ways to claim vodka as a business expense. (If you work for the IRS: That was a joke. If you don't: Email me with your ideas.) If you or anyone you know have need of an editor or writer, email me and I'll send you my contact info.

I'm spending all my non-editing and non-business-setup (and, ok, non-kid-wrangling and non-house-cleaning and non-vodka-drinking) time writing, writing, researching, writing, and what was it, oh yes! writing. This feels fucking fantastic, even though nothing has come of it yet. (Notice all that writing has not yet been followed by any mailing.) No matter; everything in good time.

The sky's a bit bluer, the grass a bit greener--although that one I'm taking on faith as it's currently covered with snow that's a bit... Look. I won't lie to you. The snow is lacking in the White department. The snow is more than a bit greyer because it's been on the ground for a month. Let's just agree to cut the snow some slack, shall we?

xo
PK

The Deal

2008-01-01T18:33:00.000-07:00

Happy new year! Are you all happy? I certainly hope so.

To start the year off right, I'll expand on the previous post. Here's the deal, which I could not fully explain until I had certain contractual amendments in my hot little hands:

I got laid off from work.

Surprisingly, considering my somewhat precarious financial situation, this did not freak me out.

Although I do have moments during which I need to lie flat and breathe into a paper bag--I have more moments during which I feel truly excited.

Which might be crazy.

But.

Anyway, here it is: I'm going freelance. I'm now officially an Editing Whore, which means that for a low, low rate, you can pay me to play with your words all day long. Hey big boy, is that a dangling participle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? I know those of you out there who do or have done the freelance thing are making all sorts of gestures at me right now. I will have to hope that you aren't yelling at me to Stay out of the basement!!!, metaphorically speaking.

And after I've satisfied my (soon to be many, manifest, manifest) clients, I am going to write. Lately, I've really wanted to, more and more. Is it something I can do? Will it serve any purpose? Am I crazy? We'll see, I guess. I just know that I'm not at all stressed about any of it, which either means that I'm following my right path, or I've finally lost that last shred of sanity.

Either way, I think it's going to be a fucking awesome year.

xo

PK

The line is thin

2007-12-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

Orange has cheered me, and in gratitude, I remove all references to squirrels.
(Even though I had to remove a sneaky add from the HTML.)

But still, I cannot figure out how to change the template. Orange, I tried!

The 10:00 to Midlife Crisis

2007-12-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

Guess what!

It's been pretty quiet around here, so you are all probably off carousing with other, more lively blogs, but if anyone's still around:

On Monday, a big ol' opportunity to dive right into my midlife crisis presented itself.

I think this is going to be a Good Thing.

I will write more, but I just wanted to say, any Good Thing confirmation vibes you could send my way would be groovy-doovy.

Thanks!

Either way (or, one throw-away story won't make up for all that Cinderella crap, fellas)

2007-11-18T18:05:00.000-07:00

The Boy (reading): "...Ariel knew her father would never let her race."
The Girl: Why not?
Me (under my breath): Because he's a sexist.
The Girl: No! Because he's a poopy-head!

Holy crap, where'd that come from?

2007-11-05T05:44:00.000-07:00

Forty, babies.

Uh...ok. I didn't want to sleep anyway.

2007-10-23T19:21:00.001-07:00

From the WTF Department:

Eeeeeeeesh. Get thee behind me, Scary Robot Beer Corpse Woman.

Go, Dumbledore!

2007-10-20T07:15:00.000-07:00

Did you hear that J.K. Rowling outed Dumbledore?

I can't decide whether it rocks that this fact is simply another piece of Potter trivia along the lines of what Ginny's job is after she graduates--because dammit, this freaky obsession with what goes on in people's bedrooms is half the stupid problem, if I like you I don't give a fuck who you're sleeping with. And regardless of who you're sleeping with, you deserve to have the same rights and be judged on the same principles as everyone else. Anyway, I can't decide between thinking that makes sense or being pissed that she never said anything sooner.

I think I'm leaning toward the former, because the private lives of the teachers never came into play except as necessary to drive plot--as it should be in a children's book, I think--do kids ever care about the lives of adults, except as they apply to their own lives? Not if they're safe and healthy, I think.

Hmm. Your thoughts?

Ayieeeee! !!!!

2007-09-28T13:01:00.000-07:00

Of course just when I'm feeling care-free and sassy because I laughed in the face of West Nile after the Boy's soccer practice and let him--nay, verily ENCOURAGED him--HELPED him, even!--catch tadpoles in the mucky pool that formed at the bottom of the soccer field...

Brain. Eating. Amoebas.

[Obviously, that should be Brain-Eating. Amoebas. There aren't mutant brains running around gobbling up amoebas. But the correct grammar just doesn't properly convey my sense of dread and despair.]

Dear god. Is there no end of things over which I must lie awake at night?

World's Youngest Teenager

2007-09-27T06:08:00.000-07:00

Her: NO! [eye roll]
Me: How old are you?
Her: FIVE!
Me: Uh, no. Try again.
Her: [grouchily] Four.
Me: Or maybe thirteen.
Her: [eeeeeeyyyyyeeee rooooooooolllllll]

FU AP

2007-09-10T07:12:00.000-07:00

To the authors and editors of "MTV Awards Flourish Despite Britney Bomb"and related stories:

Regarding the above-named article and others published by the AP yesterday and today, I wish to make a complaint.

The performance and the woman are a disaster, I'll give you that. Discussion of her bad performance is more than appropriate. But I'm disturbed that in every AP article I've seen so far, much is made of how "unforgivably" out of shape Britney is, of her "paunch", etc. The woman's body definitely is less "cut" than it used to be, but I'm appalled that the AP is buying into the idea that a woman with the body displayed at that awards ceremony is outrageously out of shape. Frankly, I think most women who have had two children, and one just a year ago, would be happy--and HEALTHY-- to look like that in a bikini.

Way to contribute to the eating disorders of millions of young women, AP.

[Sent this morning.]

Unsaid

2007-09-06T15:48:00.000-07:00

Because other people can say it better than I can do.

Shhh!

2007-09-04T12:46:00.000-07:00

dear god i'm emailing a member of the opposite sex and obviously freaking out which is even more stupid because, hello, it's an email. how old am i? not old enough.

this is why i never dated. i am a freak of nature and a wonder to behold.

you didn't hear any of this from me.

Or, yes, the Trikonasana kicked my ass.

2007-08-31T10:44:00.000-07:00

I finally went to yoga class again! Namaste, bitches!!!

I'm a Balanced Yogi!

A Balanced Yogi

You love your friends unconditionally and accept them for who they are no matter what their yoga style preference, religious beliefs, or spending habits. You focus on the good in people and would never try to change them. Almost everyone feels comfortable in your presence. You live your yoga. You are an inspiration to yoga students everywhere!

Take the Yoga Journal Yoga Snob Quiz!

Just curious

2007-08-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

Anyone else see "Premonition"?

Anyone else PISSED OFF by that stupid movie?

grrrrr.

Let me just give you a piece of advice:

Movies NEVER to watch (if you haven't already made the freaking mistake of watching them) because they will just make you grind your teeth into little nubbies:
1) Requiem for a Fucking Dream
2) The Fucking Hours
3) Fucking Premonition
4) The Fucking Little Match Girl
*5) A. Fucking I. (via Canada--and YES. I knew I was forgetting one, and there it is. Fuck you and your big-ass shiny knife in my heart, Spielberg!!)
*6) The Fucking Cell (we've got a mixed vote on this one: b.e.c.k. hated it, I kinda hated it, Orange and Canada loved it. Not sure how high it really scores on my "why don't you just take my beating heart out of my body and then chop it up into little pieces poached in a nice cream sauce with glass shards and then make me eat it and by the way we're fresh out of vicodin thank you very much" scale, but better safe than sorry, dear readers.)
*7) Vanilla Fucking Sky (via Canada--I'm wondering if that also counts for "Open Your Eyes"? I saw the latter and didn't mind it--it was definitely a MF but for some reason it didn't make me want to lie down in front of a train.)
*8) Fucking Jesus Camp (via Hashbrown--haven't seen this one; having come close enough to living it, no thankee.)
*9) Left Be-Fucking-Hind (via Muse--again, haven't seen it as this was one of those books my mother's husband brought home for a great read-!!-and having started to read it I went into a nearly full-blown panic attack. Soooo I'm guessing it fits on the list.)
*10) Fucking Brazil (via Elsewhere--and her comment, btw, sums up the whole esprit of this list: "I could tell it was brilliant, and yet it made me FURIOUS." Well, ok, not so much the esprit of Fucking Premonition, but...)
*11) Pay It Fucking Forward (via b.e.c.k.--again, never saw this one. I had the impression maybe it was just sort of...well...bad. But I just googled the plot summary/ending and CRAP! PAY IT FUCKING FORWARD!!!!)

Any additions? Tell me in comments and I'll add them to the list. Please, post a fucking movie, save an imaginary friend from nubby teeth.

*And fucking Blogger template! I'll figure out the Haloscan when I have nothing better to do. Bastard.

**Mr. Raehan would seem to wish to add Fucking Crash, but I'm undecided as to whether to disqualify on the condition that he didn't actually watch the whole thing.

Limbo

2007-08-02T14:37:00.000-07:00

Just curious: How many of you ever wonder what your life is in an alternate universe? Do you catch a glimpse of yourself as you round that corner up ahead?

I saw my doppelganger once, but only from the side. She was just my profile doppelganger.

I'm a bit stuck today, in case you couldn't tell.

Next week

2007-07-31T22:39:00.000-07:00

Eight? Already? That can't be right.
Eight. Holy crap.

He says today, "I'm so glad we bought Lucky Charms! Lucky Charms make my heart SOAR!"

He says today, "Gigi, you are so STUPID!"

He says today, "What the hell are you doing!?" (Indeed, I could ask the same!!! Ahem.)

He says today, "Mama? I love you. Gigi? I love you too. I'm glad I have a little sister."

I have to will my body to relax around him when I get so frustrated or stressed or impatient, and remember just how breakable 8 is. It's still just the smallest, smallest bit.

Or not.

Une Petite Diversion pour les Francophiles

2007-07-21T12:21:00.000-07:00

Scene: La maison "Ex".

Chaque nuit, il chante à La Fille une petite chanson qu'il a composée lui-même: "Ma petite, ma petite fille...Tu es ma petite...fille". Il fait une pause avant le dernier mot et l'attend pour le chanter "Fille!"

L'autre soirée, il a chanté la chanson, faite une pause avant le dernier mot, et attendue. Elle aussi, elle a fait une pause un moment, puis a chanté :

"PUTAIN!"

Peut-être il devrait maudire moins souvent, non?

Admissions

2007-07-19T08:46:00.001-07:00

There's another thing in my head. It's the thought that maybe I do have some purpose, and that I know what it is, but that I'm afraid to attempt to live to that purpose for fear that I'm that guy from Amadeus who wants something more than anything but turns out to be really shitty at it.

You know that feeling?

Actually, there are maybe two things, and they might be connected. Sometimes things get in the way of me being able to see them clearly. But I think I need to try them on. It's funny that by now I should be brave enough not care if I fall flat on my face. But of course, I'm not, and I do.

Vaguely, but sincerely, yours, as always.

The place where I come from

2007-07-17T11:20:00.001-07:00

Are we being honest? Really and truly, gut-twisting, eyes-closed, breath-held honest?

Okay, then.

How is it that half the time I can burst into tears just by looking at these kids--at their sweet faces, at that huge mother of a gap between the Girl's front teeth, and the way the Boy's hair completely obscures half his face (!) and he looks like a miniature version of a skateboarder that's about 3 seconds from exploding upward into some 6-foot-tall bean pole of a wild child--and the other half?

I feel nothing. Or worse, I feel a distinct sense of annoyance. Of wanting to be anywhere but here, of just wanting to be alone? Or maybe that isn't worse. Maybe the nothing is worse. I can feel it ooze out of my pores. I can hear it in the disgusted tone of my voice when I tell them to stop fighting with each other or that I'm busy right now or that we have to leave, please put down those toys and brush your teeth and why must you argue with me constantly??? It's like I'm two women: the one who loves her babies fiercely, and the one who wants nothing to do with them.

I hate it.

I'm angry right now about a situation--situations--I don't know how to address. It's so easy to see the aggravation spill out and turn me into this block of wood, because that's what I do. I just go away. It's so stupid. The Girl said today, "I hate it when you're a grumpy mama." And I am. Stupid, just so stupid.

Is it possible to stay with all these feelings instead, or to wrench my brain away from all the worrying and fretting and obsessing and gnashing of teeth, and just instead make it remember that I only have them for the littlest, littlest while? I can't think of anything worse than them thinking I don't love them.

Namaste, Bitches

2007-07-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

I love this site. Seriously.

Have you seen that Sprint ad with the neon-y drawing fast-action thingies? They showed it before the new Harry Potter movie. Said the Boy, "I would really like this if it wasn't an ad. I would find it very soothing and calming." He cracks me up.

For everyone who kindly offered to try and get their local and near-local contacts to set me up: GO FOR IT. I am not proud. Ladies, you bring a tear to my eye. Here is your assignment, for those willing to accept it: I'll be 40 in November. I think we've established that I am a wise-ass. I have two kids. I am not stupid. I talk too much. I am not unattractive, but neither am I in the greatest shape of my life, truth be told. I like to think that things always work out. Need more information? Email me. Smooch!

Have I told you how excited I am about my plants? They grow! They liiiiive! (Say that in a mad-scientist voice. It's more fun that way.) Okay, a few of them bolt, but oh well.

Namaste, bitches.

Get it while it's hot

2007-07-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

I am looking into a p/t second job on the evenings I don't have the kids. Having made the decision, I actually feel rather good about it, although I don't know whether I'll get the position. The nice thing is that it doesn't really matter at this point--if I do, yay, if I don't, yay.

I like cats. No, really. Cats are great. Thank heavens for cats. But they are hairy.

I also like men. A lot. No, really. Men are great. I miss them. Again, hairy, but at this point I'm pretty much willing to overlook that. Honestly. Are you a man? Do you play one on TV? Do you freaking know one within a 50-mile radius of me? THEN TELL HIM TO CALL ME. NOW.

I got something of a load off my chest with the Ex, which was nice. I generally cut him a lot of slack (and I'm sure he would say that he does the same for me, and probably rightfully so), but sometimes the whole Irrational Thinking Of Those Who Think They Are Highly Aware But Are Really Just Overly Friggin' Sensitive And Making Their Ex-Wives Crazy thing happens, and then, I want to stab a fork into my left eye while chewing on my tongue. But rather than cannibalize my organs, today I asked him to please quit taking everything I say or don't say the very second he thinks I should be saying or not saying it so personally and understand that I'm not friggin psychic (ok, I am, but not like that) and don't actually put his needs at the center of my universe anymore already sheesh! I hope I said it nicer than that, and it certainly wasn't as big a drama as it sounds or anything, but oy. He's a good guy, and half the time he's very cognizant and all so this isn't an issue, but when it is, it seems to have bad timing, like the summer when I have no air conditioning, dammit.

Okay, for once, you know what? I am going to avoid obfuscation. I am going to vent. Be warned that unnecessary bitching lies ahead. Observe the scene:

[Pre-scene: The Ex stops by briefly between trips the other night. It is 85 degrees in my house. I am hot. I am cooking. My house is a wreck. The Girl is not listening and insists on running out the front door and trying to escape to the neighbor's house. The Boy wants his father to watch a scene from a movie he has rented. I am trying to get dinner finished and clean up the kitchen and herd the children. The Ex is sitting on the floor with the Boy. He says he's got to get going. I ask him if he'd like to take some food with him. No, he says. I say, Of course, you're welcome to stay here and eat with us or take some, either way, if you like. Are you sure you won't have some? I'm sure, he says. Fine.]

[Scene this afternoon: I'm working. I'm looking for something I Can. Not. Locate. I'm annoyed. I'm also pissed at myself because I haven't exercised yet. And I, the Not Very Good Mother When Not Given Recuperation Time On A Regular Basis, have had the kids full time for the past week because of Ex having some pre-arranged travel. And I'm hot. And I'm feeling fat. And I haven't had sex in FOUR EFFING YEARS. You see where I'm going with this: I'm a little eensy bit testy. And pre-occupied. And such.]

Phone rings. It's Ex. Thursdays are one of his nights, but he is preparing for a sporting event for which he has been preparing for a long time and which will occur in a month, and there are practices on Thursday nights. Up until a few weeks ago, he had a babysitter watch the kids, but she's unavailable over the summer and so I agreed to watch them until about 8. Yes, I felt somewhat forced into this. Yes, that's my own problem.]

Ex: So, my practice is tonight, and I have to go meet the builder over at the new house, so I'll pick the kids up from your place around 8, 8:10. [I usually take them over and put them to bed at his house; he gets home a bit after their bedtimes] Is that ok?

Me: Sure.

Ex: Will you feed them?

Me: Of course. No, I'll let them sit around hungry until 8:30.

Ex [in friendly, favor-asking tone]: Will you make me a sandwich?

Me [somewhat confused]: What, when you pick them up? Sure, you can have a sandwich. Or you can have some of what I make them for dinner.

Ex [now sounding put out]: No. Never mind. I told you I have to go by the house. Never mind.

Me: What? I'm not understanding what you're asking for. Are you wanting to come by and pick up a sandwich before you go to class?

Ex: It's like pulling teeth to get you to offer me anything. The other night, it took you 20 minutes, and then you only offered me something I could take home.

Me: KABLOOOOOOOOOIE!!!!!!!! [That's the sound of my head. Exploding. And then I had some Strong Words To Say.]

The End.

...and then she just wouldn't shut UP!

2007-07-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, so maybe not that chatty. But you know, nothing nothing nothing and then two days in a row.

The Boy and I took a few hours off this afternoon to go see the new Harry Potter movie. It was fine...reasonably dark and all that. Of course it can never live up to what I have in my head from the book, but I don't expect it to do.

Confession: I have this sort of crush on Harry Potter. Not in a Mrs. Robinson way, don't panic. It's more like a crush on being 15 than a crush on a 15-year old, you know what I mean? A melancholic sort of heartache for being 15, for being of the age when you could have a crush on a boy and it was sort of exciting and sort of nauseating and it was ok either way, and you didn't know yet how everything was going to turn out but you hoped it would be great.

Well crap. I seem to have suddenly turned into Peggy Sue. Which is sort of funny in its own way, cause I loved that movie when it came out, and what the hell did I know about it then? It's like how JRM and I used to be obsessed with "30-Something" when we were freshmen...what was that about? Like we understood a damned thing about those characters. I should Netflix that show now. I'd be Nancy, probably. Wasn't she always kinda depressed and unkempt?

I'm re-reading this book that my therapist had me working on back when I was actually seeing her, several years ago, and it's interesting because I'm getting a lot out of it but what I'm getting is quite different than what I got back then. (Yeesh, write long sentences much?) I kind of wonder where that'll end up.

Seriously, a month?

2007-07-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

I started to write this post about how all this crazy craziness is making me crazy but that it's ok, because you have to look past the visible. And then I thought, damn! This post is stressing me out. So I guess you just get this.

You have to look past the visible.

Oh. And the Girl wanted me to sing her "I Will Survive" as a lullaby tonight, while she full-on lip-synched it, complete with these excellent arm motions and hair flips at all the right parts. Dang, she's great.

Something for nothing

2007-06-04T14:50:00.000-07:00

I know I've been incredibly absent. I've just been so busy, and okay then, overwhelmed, and I've realized that this great mechanism I spent my youth developing--this no holds barred barrelling down the highway at a million miles an hour until I got where I was going and could take a pit-stop thing--it no work so good no more. My (nearly 40-year-old) body seems to have had enough, and in its evil scheming has hatched upon a plan to derail me if and when I don't treat myself well enough. That is to say, if I don't eat fairly well and get some regular exercise and go to sleep before midnight for any length of time, it slams my brain into low gear and I get a full-on bout of depression. Clever, clever body. Duplicitous body.

I am trying hard to learn to live with this new schema. So, it's hit and miss, I'll admit. I'm still not eating as well as I should, and I have to work hard to get in some exercise every day. I absolutely have to give first priority to having some meditation/prayer/contemplation time first thing in the morning, because I realize that I have to will myself to start over every single day. I would make a good addict.

A wren has built a nest on our front porch. I tore down the starling nest that showed up earlier in the spring, because I really didn't relish the mess that I knew (from experience) would come with it. But then the sweetest wren built a nest on the other side--right over the little cafe table I have there--and I just couldn't bear to tear it down, so I very quickly and quietly moved it to the other post. She seems to have accepted this change of affairs; I think it threw her for a minute, as she landed in the old spot with a bit of grass and did a full 360 and I could just see that little bird brain thinking, "What the ... ?" But then she spotted the nest, and gave sort of a bird shrug, and she's been in it several times since so I think we're good. The Girl wanted to name her Rag Doll, the Boy voted for Puff Puff, and I wonder why we have to name everything?

I am sorry that I've been so negligent in visiting and commenting. I miss writing. I miss reading you all, though I have been trying to catch up. I have a little tiny cauliflower out in the garden, and an apple tree I need to plant, and children who I want to throttle and kiss simultaneously, and a job I want to do right by, and a blue sky full of thunder. I think of you often.

xo
PK

Fine

2007-05-18T08:40:00.000-07:00

Is it odd that I've seldom had relationships with men in which I was treated with love and respect? I don't mean that as any type of dig against the other people involved, because I believe that most people do the best they can, and I think most of the people in my life have done and do the same. It's just on my mind today.

I'm overwhelmed right now, and that seems to be fairly typical. Also typical: Overwhelmed Me really notices what she's missing, even though not a lot is missing, frankly. Overwhelmed Me needs to learn how to take a breath and just accept stuff, and keep moving.

Yesterday the Boy's sister kept bugging him about this sucker that he had. They both got these suckers, those swirly, flat circle ones, and she'd eaten hers and wanted his. And when she didn't get it, she grabbed it and broke the stick. And you know, he's seven, and he'd had a long day at a field trip, and he was getting kind of hungry (so yeah, like he really needed the sucker then), and he got upset. We were sitting outside under a tree, and after screaming at her (her wise choice: run away), he started crying. We talked a little, but he sat under the tree and put his head down and cried for a minute or two, and then he went inside. And when I walked in a minute later, he was sitting with her on the couch, hugging her, and everything was fine.

Everything's pretty much always fine, isn't it?

Grownup

2007-05-12T21:11:00.000-07:00

Well, dammit. I cancelled the sitting. Because I am being a grownup is why, and even though I think it's worth every single penny, it's just too rich for my blood at the moment. One day. But not today.

Today, actually, I am babysitting the kids' half-brother. (Or I should say, as the Boy pointed out, WE are babysitting him. They are such good siblings! Okay, so the Girl did have a moment of "over-sharing" with a blanket that nearly gave me a heart attack, but other than that, we're good.) He is one sweet baby, I gotta tell you. I do not actually recall ever being around a less fussy baby. I was a tad worried at first, thinking, Holy crap. It's been a long time since I did babies. What am I going to do with this kid for 6 hours? But it's been a snap. And the kiddos were just wonderful. "I guess we're not going to get any attention around here when the baby's here," the Boy said with a shrug at dinner. "That's just the way it goes when you have a baby around!"

I planted a few more plants today, and picked the first flowers off the strawberries, and mowed the lawn. I feel that work might nearly almost possible settle down into something that isn't insane. Maybe.

Dr. B. sent us stuffed peeps for Easter, which was a huge hit and cracked me right up. A more generous Bitch you won't find, methinks. I owe her a thank you note, and I just might send it out when I mail out the mother's day cards I bought. Yes, Mother's Day is tomorrow. You see where I'm heading with this.

Does this blog make me look fat?

xo
PK

Oh Frabjous Day!!

2007-05-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

I have booked a sitting.
I am So. Effing. Psyched.

Pointless

2007-04-30T06:22:00.000-07:00

A few days after writing that last post, I went over to read Suburban Bliss, and damned if Melissa didn't rag on Spring in almost exactly the same way. Which makes me look like a big ol' copy cat, but I swear it was completely and bizarrely unrelated, like that time in college when my friend L and I started calling things "peachy" because we thought it was funny, and not a week later, Letterman started saying "peachy" to much positive audience response. Hrm.

I bought a little bistro table for the front porch, which is good because it means at least I can work outside and feel slightly less like some 40-year old guy living in his parents' basement.

My kids are darling so why do I get so frustrated with them? I have let the morning meditation slide, and I need not to do. I'm not getting enough exercise, either. I kinda all around suck right now, to be honest. Oh well.

I did, however, start a vegetable garden, with help from the Chica and Mr Chica. In a month, I'll be able to plant lovely plants, and maybe even help them grow. How groovy would that be?

The Boy has decided to grow his hair out long. I am fine with it, and his father said fine as well, but it'll be interesting to see if his dad can really go the distance. This is a guy who has his hair cut every 2 weeks. Maybe it won't bug him if it's somebody else's head, though. I did tell the Boy that if he wants it long, he needs to take care of it--wash it and brush it, etc., and let me just tell you, we're talking about the Bedhead King here.

Spring is a bitch

2007-04-15T06:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not kidding. Look at her, the hussy. First she gets you all excited with the blue skies and the warm weather and all the little flowers coming out, and then, wham. It's all winter storm warnings and nasty nasty wind and chapped lips.

Spring: the cock-tease of the seasons.

But whatever, I can deal with that type.

It's official: My metabolism is a piece of shit. Both kids are playing soccer this season, and so yes! I am the ubiquitous Soccer Mom. Except in a crap-for-all Honda with stickers all over the windows and a pair of jeans that really need to see the inside of a washer, rather than a shiny minivan and something velour with something written across the ass. I'm like the Poor Man's Soccer Mom. With liberal leanings. Groovy. But the question is this: How is it that the kids play their soccer games, run around playing with the other kids during each other's game, play for .5 to 1 hour in the playgrounds after each game, play in the park after lunch, play with the neighbors when we get home, and I'm the one who is falling asleep on my feet by 7pm? Crap, no wonder I'm a tub.

This post brought to you by the number 5 and the colon (:), nature's all-around punctuation.

As much as I would like to continue this stream of consciousness, I must go make waffles and get the kids dressed and hie us to the chosen place of worship so that my daughter can pretend to sing but in actuality pull her dress over her head and twirl around. And so I can buy them donuts and drink bad coffee while I chat with the other parents. Because that, my friends, is what being a good Methodist is all about. Thank God.

Smoochies,
PK

Good egg

2007-04-07T22:02:00.000-07:00

Happy celebration of birth and renewal--spring, Passover, Easter, pick your poison.

"The Easter bunny isn't real," the Boy said tonight, "Everybody knows that Santa and the Easter bunny and all that is just your parents."

"Who on earth told you THAT?" I asked, in my best non-plussed voice. "What a crazy thing to say."

"Oh," he said, "Jim and I have been talking about it all week." And then later, lying in bed, he bemoaned the fact that he couldn't fall asleep. "If I don't fall asleep, the Easter bunny won't come!" "I thought the Easter bunny wasn't real," I said. "Oh, no!" he yelped, "I just said that because I wanted Jim to think I was cool! I DO believe in him! What if he doesn't come because of what I said!!??"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm sure he'll still come. But if you want things to happen, you have to believe that they will."

It went by so fast, that age of unprotesting belief. But I'll play along for another year. The thing about my Boy is, even when he was very young, he could see through things. I think that's one reason he rarely has nightmares or is bothered or scared by books or movies (not that I let him watch "Night of the Living Dead" or anything, but he has read and seen Harry Potter 1-4, and liked them a lot but never got freaked out by the scary parts). He's a good sport, so I don't think he'll mind. I had a regular meltdown when I finally realized the jig was up--accused my mother of lying to me my whole life, oh the agony. I have the feeling the Boy will just shrug his shoulders, confirm the fact that he'll still get chocolate, and move on.

But I'll miss him when he goes.

Absent

2007-03-25T06:19:00.000-07:00

I am seriously considering the whole non-blogging thing, but for now, I think I'm going to try on the blog-once-a-week thing. Which would be more than what's been going on. Frankly, though, I think it'll be a mixed batch. The whole original point of this thing for me was to get stuff out of my head, but you know, then people show up. And it's difficult not to be thinking about that when you write. And maybe sometimes you need to be--the point becomes communication instead of expulsion. And maybe the need to entertain. And then when you don't feel up to entertaining or communicating, you stop, but there you are again with a whole bunch of stuff in your head. I guess what I'm saying is, just because I'm going to write it doesn't mean it's going to be worth reading. No offense taken.

I have been moderately keeping up with all your blogs, at least...Catherine's warts and Scrivener's books and Joe's trip to Paris of which I am EXTREMELY jealous and John's baseball fever and Flea's cat's head in a box and BABIES damn it cute, cute, babies. And of course all the other stuff that goes on in everyone's life but I will not write an entire paragraph about it because you've already done so and better than I could, certainly.

Things here are good. Really good. But very busy.

It's almost Easter, and I would beg you, just walk away from the Peeps. Oh, my people, the Peeps, they are vile. But of course, we go through this every year, and I am used to living in my lonely, Peeps-shunning exile.

My kids have a baby brother now. Have I already mentioned this? I can't remember. It's happy, and it's sad. It's complicated, mostly, and although it isn't really something I have to think about on a daily basis, I certainly wish things could be easier for the people who do.

I think a lot about my mother, and how she moved back in with her parents when she had me, and how hard it must have been, and I feel really sad for Monica, and at the same time I think about how I saw myself, and my mother, and my father (and specifically, his absense) as a child, and how it all went around in circles in my head. And I think about how differently I see it now, and wonder how this baby will see it...

When we were visiting my uncle last year, everyone was reminiscing (I almost wrote, all the adults were reminiscing. Isn't that funny? Like, when I'm around my mom and aunts and uncles, they're the adults). And my uncle said to my mom, "Did I ever tell you that when [my father] left, Joe [my mom's first cousin] called me up and said, 'Come on, we're going to go find him and beat the hell out of him.'?" "Did you??" asked my mom, and he said "No, I talked him out of it, but he really wanted to." And it was sort of odd, because I never thought of anyone else in my family having a reaction to his leaving her. Which is stupid, of course they would have had a reaction. Kind of weird.

So anyway, geez I do go on, but Monica and I are keeping in touch, and I hope that if things go well, that will make things easier for everyone involved, and if things don't go well, it will at the very least make it easier for her and the baby and of course my kiddos. B is pretty sad that his brother is so far away, and sometimes I just feel royally pissed at the Ex over the whole thing, but that's just the way it is.

It's difficult when someone has a disorder that really effs up the choices they make on a regular basis, and when that person's choices affect your kids. Because you can spend a lot of time being mad about it, but that person is really as much a victim as anyone--at least if he or she is doing their best to get better, and he really is, so what good does it do to be angry? It would just be anger at a circumstance, and that's fine now and then for venting purposes but you can't hold onto it.

Change of subject: Money. As it turns out, I'm not really a candidate for the whole debt-management plan; it wouldn't save me that much interest or lower my payments by a great deal. But just getting to the point of deciding to do that has put me in a place where I'm really serious about getting out of the debt. And in accordance, other things stepped up to fill the gap, not least among them an unexpected promotion and raise. So from that perspective, I'm in a great place now, and anticipate being out of this hole completely within 2 years.

Of course I'm grateful for this turn of events, but I'm also now much, much more occupied with work. Not to mention the return of Le Saison de Football (that would be soccer for the non-ex-French-espoused amongst you). The Girl is old enough to play now, so that equates to 3 practices and 2 games per week. Say it with me: Oy. Plus the dance, gymnastics, Scout meetings... (Yes. I know. Feel free to email me and we'll discuss, but suffice it to say that it was a long, painful, and drawn-out decision-making process.) Typical weekday: Set the alarm for 6, check email, get some exercise (oy I am heavy right now), make breakfast, get the kids off to school, work (which, btw, now involves HOURS of phone calls that were absent before), pick up the Girl, take the Girl to gymnastics, work during the class, home, spend some time with the Girl (keeping an eye on email), Boy comes home, snacks, take Boy to soccer practice, home (email), make dinner while Boy does homework, feed kids, play with kids, bathe kids, read to kids, bedtime for kids, work until about 1 a.m., go to sleep.

Do we notice what's missing from that day? Go ahead, take a look.

Plus, soon, family French lessons. The Ex has been offering to pay for the kids for some time, and I finally found the time to call the local language exchange and get more info. They offer private family lessons so we'll be heading across town once a week for those. I'm really quite happy about this one, as I think I'm more interested in them knowing that part of their heritage than even their father is. The fact is that I'm a little jealous--I'd have loved to have a whole intriguing foreign family set as a kid. I am totally going to play up the "you can speak in secret and hardly anyone will understand you thing" as a motivating factor. Spying is big in our house.

To illustrate, I leave you with the following conversation. Don't say I never gave you anything.

[In the car, at a stoplight, next to a Lamborghini.]
PK: Yo, B! Check out that car.
The Boy: Huh. That looks like my [HotWheels] car. The one I smashed [with a big rock. HotWheels have it tough around my kid].
PK: Yeah, it does. Except this one probably cost $100,000.
B: [making noise of disgust] Mom, I would NEVER pay that much money for a car. I mean, not for THAT car. I'm going to pay that much money when I grow up and get a car, but my car's going to be a CAMPER!
PK: Well, that's certainly more practical. Not only would you get a trunk, you'd get a potty and a kitchen and a bed.
B: Yeah, and I'm going to travel the country, having adventures. As a spy. SPY adventures. In my camper.

I can't wait for the high-speed chases.

Why, look who snuck in all quiet-like

2007-03-02T14:09:00.000-07:00

So, my supervisor just quit, and I am to take over for her, at least in the interim. This project that just won't die just isn't dying, though it does show signs of letting me keep a limb here or there. The Ex is heading out of state tomorrow to attend the birth of my kids' little brother (what shall we call him, oh Pseudonymous Forces That Be?)--and I have an out-of-town 2-day meeting to go to while he's gone. Swim lessons, school presentations, I killed one of the hermit crabs from neglect, I fear. Found him all naked and curled up in the empty water dish this morning. Ayeeee. The CCCS can't do anything for me--I actually have better rates than they can negotiate--but it's ok, I have a plan B, and C, even. Oh, gotta turn in those taxes. The blogging absence might have to continue for at least the next week or two.

But guess what! It isn't February any longer. Things are lookin' up.

Cold, hard

2007-02-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

We're friends, right? So I can talk with you about this.

I'm seriously considering signing up with the CCCS. Here's the deal: When the Ex and I split up, we had a fairly high debt going on. We'd just finished the basement in our house the year before, to make room for the Girl's arrival. On top of that, there was some manic behavior going on, and nothing runs up a credit card like some good ol' fashioned manic behavior, coupled with some good ol' fashioned passive-aggressive denial. Yummy.

Anyway, loads o' debt. Then we had the whole, wow, one income thing; the wow, I'm depressed, let's spend some money thing; the wow, I'm selling my house and the market just tanked thing...you see where we're going. And it occurs to me, after having some talks with family who have done the CCCS thing, that I would be willing to be bereft of the safety net of credit for 5 or so years in order to be done with this debt. It's really the only thing that's killing me, and you know, I was one of those people who got sucked into it in college and never really got out. I make a decent living, and if I didn't have the credit debt, frankly, I could make it completely on my own, without child support or anything. Which for some strange reason I would really, really like to be able to do--just in case one found it necessary.

I'm not even a big spender--it's the damned interest rates that kick your ass and turn you into Sisyphus. When my kids go to college, I don't want to be in worse shape than they are. And I certainly don't want to be in the financial position my mother is in now.

I know there are some stigma attached to using the service, but frankly I don't give a crap. I want out, and better a little discomfort now than going bankrupt in a few years.

The Buddethodist Girl's Guide to Lent

2007-02-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not Catholic, but I like Lent. (You might have figured out that I am sort of a Global Girl when it comes to world religions. Why stick with just one? How dull.)

This year, I'm giving up The Drama.

I like the idea of getting rid of something. Simplifying, you know? I don't think it's about giving up something you really like, as some sort of sacrificial group therapy. I think it's about giving up something you're sort of addicted to, but that actually gets in the way of your life moving forward.

So this year, I'm giving up The Drama. This might sound easy, but folks, I am The Drama Queen. No, I'm The Drama Empress. Sultana of Drama.

Life is friggin' busy, and that won't stop. I work full time, on top of taking care of the kids part time during the day. But I've also got a lot of support and resources. We've got some interesting personal challenges in the form of the health of some family members--Borderline Personality Disorder Is Fun!--but again, we've got a lot of resources, we've got insurance, and everyone involved is doing what they can to get help and to get healthier. I have more debt than I'd like, but I have the ability to make it better. I'm a crappy housekeeper, and there are a lot of areas in my life I'd like to run more smoothly.

Giving up The Drama won't change any of that. But I think it will change how much of it I can handle, how able to cope I feel. The Drama is tempting. The Drama is the way I learned to cope, back when I didn't actually have any control over the things in my life or what I did with them. But I'm a grownup now. I'm not stuck in my parents' marriage, I'm not trapped by other people's choices--and when those choices affect me, I have the power to follow through with my own reactions.

When you're a kid who can't control your environment or what the adults in your life do around you or to you, The Drama's as good a way of coping as any. But when you're an adult, The Drama leads to The Self Pity leads to The Defiant Inactivity or The Panicked Inactivity. One thing it doesn't lead to is The Zen.

I still want The Zen.

So. The Drama is a nice, comfortable place to be. But it's got to go.

What are you getting rid of?

F is for February, Filler...

2007-02-20T08:13:00.000-07:00

[The Boy is reading to his sister. (On a side note, gee, what could the book be about? Sigh.)]
B: ... A princess is a polite young lady. Don't you want to be a princess?
G: YES!
B: [in a world-weary tone] Gigi. That was a rhetorical question.

[Before school today]
PK: ... your soft pants are right there on the stool.
G: I wanna skirt!
PK: That's fine, but when we go to drop off B at school, you should put on pants. It's cold out.
G: [running in the opposite direction, shouting back at me in her best 13-year-old-punk-rock-voice] NO! GOD knows everything! YOU don't know everything! YOU don't know ANYthing!

Takin' your time, huh?

2007-02-17T14:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm a total tool for cracking up over this ad campaign, but I can't help myself. Sometimes I just go for the low-brow funny.

Mirror, mirror

2007-02-06T09:57:00.000-07:00

"'...she dreamed sweet dreams of the handsome prince who would carry her off on his horse to his castle in the clouds.' Oh, brother. You know, honey, you don't need some prince to get a castle. You can build your own castle."

"Nuh-uh, Mama. Princesses can't build castles."

"YES they can!"

"Mama. No. There's no such thing as princesses."

"Oh. Oh, I see."

...

"'It was a sweet little, tiny little house in the woods. My, what an untidy sight met her eyes! The sink was full of unwashed dishes and everything was covered with dust.' Sounds like our house."

"No, Mama. Because that house is very, very little, and our house is BIG!"

"Right. 'Let's clean their house, said Snow White.' Dang, I wish Snow White would come clean our house."

"Ma-MA. There's. No. Such. Thing. As. Snow. White! Because, I saw the book before. That's how I know it."

...

"Mama. If someone was coloring and it was everywhere you would NOT say, 'Oh, what a messy scribbler!' You would say, 'Never worry, you will learn and learn!'"

"You're right, that would be much nicer."

"Yes, otherwise you would hurt someone's feelings."

"True."

[minutes pass]

"Mama. If you hit someone in the head with this bouncy ball, you would NOT say, 'I am going to hit you in the head again and again!' You would say, 'Oh. Oh, no. I am so sorry that I hit you with the bouncy ball. I will not do it again.'"

"Indeed."

"Yes, because it's important to be nice to people."

"Good idea."

[minutes pass]

"Mom. You are a special, special guest today." [I swear I don't watch talk shows or any other type of adult tv around them. I haven't seen Oprah in years. Where do they get this?]

Living

2007-02-05T18:15:00.000-07:00

My son vacuumed his own room, and his sister's. Lovely.

-------------------

I dig Legos out of the carpet. "One day," I say, "one day, when you are grown up, I will say, 'Oh, how I wish my little boy was still around leaving Legos everywhere."

"Mom," he sighs, "I am NEVER going to leave this house, don't you worry. I will always, always live here with you."

"Well, honey, you know you will always be welcome in my house. But if one day you change your mind and decide you'd like to live somewhere else, I will understand."

"I won't! I won't ever change my mind. Well. Maybe I will. One day."

---------------

The children are building a fort behind the oversized chair in the empty room that will be their grandmother's living room when she moves in. They're singing a song. They sing, "It's a belly, it's a button! It's a beeeellllly, it's a buuuttttoooon!"

----------------

For no apparent reason, the Girl now calls her brother "Coco Puff". He calls her "Midget Fun-Fun". I do not know where these names come from.

Perfection

2007-02-02T23:56:00.000-07:00

What's the absolute perfect way to end a week in which you worked until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. most nights, did the Ex-having-a-nervous-breakdown thing (again), and couldn't seem to find your own ass? Have your kid get jumped by three other boys from his class, you say? Huh, that's just what I was thinking.

Man.

But, you know, it's 2 minutes away from this week being, for all intents and purposes, over. The Ex told me this evening that he is doubling his therapy time as he realizes he can't go on dealing with really hard stuff by bottoming out; then he took the Boy to a monster truck rally. (The Boy: "Do we have any green marker? Because maybe Bone Crusher will be there! He's my favorite! And I could color under my eyes all green 'cause I'm a fan!" It's a mystery to me.) The Girl and I had girls' night and ate suckers while taking bubble baths. The work that caused the crazy nights is all but done. And the Boy's teacher is taking care of the Situation. Better yet, when I told him I was proud of him for his response of not getting into a fight, he said, in that offhanded way, "Yep, I told a teacher and went on with my life!" By that point, he was done with it, as he'd been home for 5 minutes and CyberChase was on. I, however, was shaking for at least 15 minutes. On the one hand, he wasn't hurt, he's over it, and heck knows he's thrown a temper-fueled kick now and then. I am not the overly sensitive mother. It was the three-on-one, let's chase the kid down and kick him thing, on top of my worries over him and his peer interactions in the first place, and let's be honest, my own miserable awkward elementary school experience, that made my heart twist up faster than a pair of granny panties on the fast spin cycle. Oh well.

Hey! You know what else is funny? When you're late for a flight and the airport garage and lot you usually park in is full because THE SNOW WILL BE HERE UNTIL JUDGEMENT DAY and you have to park in the next available lot and when you come back, it's dark and you get all turned around and it's 5 degrees and you're wandering around like a lost soul, every now and then passing another confused looking popsicle like ships in the night--ships with no navigational systems--and just as you think, hell, they're gonna find my dead frozen body on aisle Q2, a million coyotes start howling from the field next to the lot and it sounds like they're in Q3, and you think, "Huh. This would be funny if I could feel my legs." But once you actually find the car and are eating your Starbucks' chocolate covered graham crackers that you broke down and bought at the airport--yeah, it's pretty effing funny.

Another perfect way to end this week: Incoherent posting.

Pebbles and stones

2007-01-27T11:29:00.000-07:00

So, in the comments a couple posts back, I assured Raehan I wasn't blaming myself. And I wanted to sort of expand on that...

I'm not blaming myself for not trusting my Ex. But I am recognizing it, and acknowledging that I have a larger issue with trusting people--and lets take another leap of faith and say men in particular--into my life. On the surface, I'm very open--obviously, I put all sorts of crap out here and it wouldn't seem that I'm particularly closed off or private. But there's a point at which there's a small, locked door in a small, hard wall. You might not even notice it, because of all the smoke and mirrors and interesting hedge animals strewn around in front of it.

The dream I had was about forgiveness. About a pattern in my life that has been repeating without me realizing it, and about what will happen if I don't open my eyes and let go of it. And about how much of that is in my control.

I want to move forward--for my kids, but for myself, too. I want to be a real person, not just a reflection of the person I could be. What's that line, from a movie... "I still want things." And I do. I can see these crumbs on the path behind me, the things I've wanted and the things I told myself I couldn't have, and the bricks I laid down to build that wall. I can't go back and pick them up, but I can go forward and leave them behind. And that's enough for now.

And by the way

2007-01-23T20:12:00.000-07:00

Why would your children come down with strep throat (and borderline Scarlet Fever? Yegads!) the day before you have to fly out of town?

Well, why wouldn't they?

The world all about

2007-01-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

I'll admit that one reason for the long silence has been that I've been thinking things over. I think we've established (several times) that I veer sharply toward the melodramatic, so I've been debating whether to put some stuff down here or not, because if I do, it might sound all Drama Queen Goes Bad, but I wouldn't mean it that way. It doesn't feel that way. It just feels like I'm admitting some things to myself.

So anyway, a while back I was driving home from dropping off the kids, and it was dark, and friggin' cold, and I thought, kinda out of nowhere, that very few people really know me. Which will probably sound really full of it and all mopey, but really, it was just sort of a confession. I don't come off all Scorpio mysterious and such. I talk too much, and I'm not particularly brooding, so you wouldn't know. It's just that if I'm going to be really truthful, there are only two people I can say I think really know me--all the parts that aren't so nice as well as the potentially good stuff. And I thought, "You know, this was an issue in my marriage, an issue that was all mine." Because I never really trusted the Ex. Because I don't trust people to like me if they really know what I'm like. And I knew that was true of me when I was younger, but it just sort of occurred to me that it's true now, too. I don't mean it in a woe-is-me sort of way. It's just sort of what it is. Not to get all wackadoo, but I've had a couple people chart my horoscope or whatever and they told me that my rising sign is the opposite of my star sign, so it means the face I present is pretty much opposite to the "inner me". (I know, I'm picturing Trelawney, too. What can I say.) I never saw much of a difference, though, and kinda thought, huh, that makes no sense. But all of a sudden, I kinda saw how that could be true. Because *I* don't really admit some of the inner stuff to *myself*, or not very often. It just sort of sits over there quietly and lets me pile junk mail on top of it. And I thought, "Wow. I will never be able to be in a healthy relationship until I sort that out."

And a few nights after that, I had a dream. I don't think it's really necessary to go into the whole thing, but it's worth saying that this dream was like my psyche slamming the book on the table, opening it up, pointing to the passage, and then just giving me the eyebrow. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. from this dream, and I started crying. I got out of bed, and cried some more. I got dressed, and cried some more. I went downstairs to work out, and cried some more. I sat and wrote the dream down, and cried some more. I cried for a good hour or more, because I got it.

And... nothing, really. I mean, it isn't like the heavens opened up and angels flew down and made me breakfast. It's just another one of those steps that you take, that eventually (hopefully) lead you somewhere.

Plus, there's a heckuva lot of snow here. Sheesh.

Perfect in every way

2007-01-19T13:16:00.000-07:00

I'm still sucking with the posting, but I'm not such a suckie Auntie that I will neglect to send any of you still out there over to leave big ol' sloppy kisses and good wishes to my beautiful gorgeous new niece and her wonderful marvelous mamas. (Hey, Hashbrown, that hat looks familiar... and just the right size. Well played.)

Thank you for making me an official auntie, you two. I am so lucky to have you in my family. (And I promise not to show Hester incriminating photos of her Mumsie's childhood ... until she's old enough to use them properly.)

xo
PK

Stranger things

2007-01-13T21:42:00.000-07:00

I know I've not written much or even stopped by your places for a while. Everything's fine, really. It's just, now I'm at the point where I think, oy, I haven' t blogged in ages, and I think, I should write about this or that, and then I think, OR I could just...do something else instead.

Plus, this whole old Blogger/new Blogger thing continues to kick my ass, and after having about 5 comments erased or blocked or whatever in a row, I get fed up and turn off the computer.

But anyway. Hi. Miss y'all.

wiiildfiiire

2007-01-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

Remember that song? About how there came a bitter frost, and the pony got lost, and that dumbass chick goes running after him and (one must assume) freezes to death? Yeah, yeah, I loved that song, I was too young to have any taste, apparently, but even then I thought it was pretty friggin' stupid, running into a blizzard after your pony, and I was the age at which ponies are pretty damned important.

But now, NOW I think I get it. The poor crazy chick had been snowed in all friggin' winter. Of course she was INSANE by then. And she didn't have two kids on winter break. Or the flu. Despite getting a flu shot.

If only she'd had the Sweet Elixer that is NyQuil. I totally agree with Ms. Summers on this point: There is no substitute. Do not be swayed by those new ads that imply something is missing from the NyQuil! It's sudden lack of decongestive prowess matters not once the bright shiny light of its sedative hits you over the head. Then, it's all sweet dreams of hot dates with farm animals and small leprechauns. And waking up in the morning feeling like a semi drove over your tongue. But hey, that just adds a hint of danger to the Quil's sweet siren song, don't you think?

Ooh. I have to go now. The leprechauns are calling outside my window now, for 3 nights in a row. They're coming for me, I know.

Holiday spirit

2006-12-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

So, we had this little blizzard-y thing, which has it's minuses, but on the plus side, the last 2 days of school got cancelled, so that procrastinating I did when it came to buying the supplies for the craft table I was supposed to run at the 2nd-grade party the last day of school? Heh.

I shoveled the walk yesterday, and it was actually fun because the neighbors were out, too, and we kept cracking each other up and taking "snow lounger" breaks--you know, when you've got 2 or 3 feet of nice, packed snow, you can just fall back on it and it'll hold you up quite nicely. Just make sure you've got your snow pants on. Not your shorts, like my crazy neigbor. Why is it only the chicks dress for the snow? Is it some sort of Guy Pissing Contest? Could be.

The alley still hasn't been plowed, so it isn't like we can go anywhere, but the kids'll be back from their Papa's soon, and I think we'll be baking cookies and cutting snowflakes and tromping around in the 6' drifts. I'm close enough to being done with shopping to not really stress about it, even if we don't get out until Sunday. And I've got enough supplies to make another batch of Chex Mix, so we'll make it through.

I hope every one of you is safe and happy enough to be able to find something on the bright side to hold onto this season. Because really and truly? It's a wonderful life.

Out, out, damn Blogspot

2006-12-21T13:39:00.000-07:00

Why is it that I can't comment on anyone's Blogger blog anymore? Because friggin' Blogger won't accept my Blogger sign-in. Oh, it says it will, but it lies.

Bastard.

The Littlest Boss

2006-12-19T17:17:00.000-07:00

"You not the boss of me!"
"Excuse me?"
"You. Are. Not. The. Boss. Of. Me."
"Huh. Too true. You're your own boss. However, I'm your BOSS's boss."

It's all good

2006-12-15T15:20:00.000-07:00

Just friggin' busy. You know how it goes.

About 10 times a day, I think, Oh! I should blog that!

And then I don't.

But all is well, and I hope for all of you, too.

Smoochies,
PK

Back

2006-12-05T09:44:00.000-07:00

But buried. Oy.

When I get half a minute, I'll tell you about the Capone visit, my family's "Gift" (with a Capital Freaky "G"), and all that other stuff.

Smoochies,
PK

Hey all y'all!

2006-12-02T07:44:00.000-07:00

Guess where I am? Ah'm back home in the SOUTH!

(Scriv, I suck, cause I didn't set up a get-together, dammit! I'm here until Monday afternoon, but it's been pretty packed full of Crazy Family Stuff.)

Such as!

The best story I heard at my uncle's surprise party last night:

My great-grandfather took him to Al Capone's house when he was 5!!!
I am not shitting you!

And my aunt sang at Capone's funeral.

Man, I kinda miss this family stuff.

I will try to find out more wild tales of criminal fun for your amusement as the weekend goes on.

xo y'all,
PK

Vent

2006-11-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

I am trying, really trying, to focus on the positive and not the negative. But sometimes, my friends, a girl just needs to bitch.

You know?

Do you have any idea how aggravating it is to have someone with a diagnosed mental condition, one symptom of which is narcissism, call you, have a perfectly normal conversation, and then call you back two minutes after you hang up to tell you how self-absorbed you are because you didn't ask that person whether he was doing okay? Despite the fact that when you do ask that question--and oh, believe me, you've asked it plenty--the answer is almost always something taciturn along the lines of "I'll live" and "No, you can't do anything to help"--or if it's a particularly bad episode, "What do you care?"

Pretty. Frigging. Aggravating!!!

And then. THEN! THEN!!!!

If you know that I have said no Effing PloyStation at my house because the child throws fits over it and I do not need to deal with that shite, then do NOT tell the child that he can have the EFFING PLOYSTATION at my house "if I say it's okay". And when I say "No" because he has used up his screentime, and he proceeds to have a total meltdown because of it (which, HELLO!, is the reason I won't let him have it here in the first place!), DO. NOT. CALL. ME. back in the middle of dealing with the child's nervous breakdown (and the nervous breakdown of his sister who cannot cope when her brother loses it) and start lecturing me about how I Need To Learn To Choose My Battles! Exclamation Point!!!! And how the child listens to you more than he listens to me and it's because I don't know how to "give a little".

People. You have no idea how PISSED OFF I am right now.

Deep breath. Okay.

And now I'm going to let that go. Thanks for listening.

Manifest destiny

2006-11-21T21:57:00.000-07:00

Me: Oh my God! I manifested a CAR ACCIDENT!
Chica: What?!
Me: I kept telling the author that as he's the only one turning his stuff in on time, and every time I settle one issue with one author, another one freaks out on me and drops out, my greatest fear is that he'll get hit by a bus or something. And then he emailed us and said he was okay, but...HE GOT HIT BY A BUS!
Chica: NO!
Me: Well, no. It was a car. That rear ended him, and he's okay, but still! Crap!
Chica: That is kinda freaky.
Me: What I want to know is, I can manifest some guy getting hit by a bus, but I can't manifest a friggin' boyfriend? That just sucks.
Chica: If only you could use your powers for good!
Me: I know! Wait. I know what the problem is. I don't have anyone real to focus on, so I just wind up lusting after, like, Hugh Jackman or whatever, so my Jedi Powers are totally wasted. Somewhere in Australia, Hugh Jackman is saying, "I have this feeling that I need to be somewhere else..."
Chica: "...but I don't know why!"
Me: Exactly. I tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to manifest a bottle of vodka on my friggin' doorstep, is what I'm going to do. Otherwise, it's just a waste.
--------
And then she snuck by on her way to a dinner in town and left one on the front mat. Which is why she is the. best. friend. ever.

If your best friend leaves vodka on your doorstep because she knows you're trying to use the power of your mind to make one appear, does that still count?

Futuristic

2006-11-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

Scene: Tucking the Girl into bed.

G: Mommy! Just ONE more hug and kiss!
Me: Okay, sweetie, one more.
G [draping herself around my neck]: I'm gonna give you hugs AWL the time! I will hug you at the mornin', an I will hug you at the night, an I will hug you downstairs, an I will hug you in the cawr, hugs all the time, for all the life!
Me: That would be great. Do you promise?
G: Yep!
Me: Even when you're a teenager?
G [thinking for a moment]: Only at the night.

Discovery

2006-11-15T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Discover Card:

Um. I'm sure you worked awfully hard on your new ad campaign. But.

Flocks of jumping, snipping scissors do not make me happy. In fact, they make me feel distinctly UNhappy. Bordering on freaked out.

Where are you trying to go with this? Because if I walked outside and saw all those effing scissors? I would not be feeding them my credit cards. I would be hiding under my effing bed.

Please stop. Now.

-PK

Kind of on point...

2006-11-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Exactly my point. More or less.

Battles

2006-11-14T11:52:00.000-07:00

Imagine that someone has dropped you--plop!--into the middle of us. Here's what you'll probably think:

My lord. Those children are riding roughshod over that woman!

At least, that's what I imagine people think, in my slightly embarassed and defensive imaginings. And uh, I guess it's sorta true. But when I start hearing you say that, in my head, then I end up acting like the Mama I don't like. The one who expects her children to be the Textbook Children Who Behave, In A Vaccum, And Are Just Like Little Grownups.

I'm really, really trying to keep remembering that those Children don't exist.

It's hard, because I think what happened is that people used to be able to pretend they existed, because back in the days when you'd get your hide tanned if you stepped out of line, kids were smarter about putting on the Nice Kid Skin around the grownups, and then doing the crazy stuff once they were alone with other kids. Which actually happened Back When--you actually had lots of time when you were just around the other kids, and could cut loose, and run around like maniacs and get all that energy out, and if you did something nutty, well, that's what kids did, and you might get a wupping but you wouldn't get sued by some other kid's parents or labeled a danger to society. But somewhere along the line, everything got all crazy. Now kids don't get smacked anymore (not that that's a bad thing, I'm kinda against the whole smacking thing myself) but they also don't get let out of an adult's sight for fear that they'll all be snatched away within the first 5 seconds that they're unsupervised. And if they mess up, well, there are worse things than getting spanked, and frankly I think the disdain of adults when you're just acting like a friggin' kid is one of them.

So. Yeah, my kids are pretty wild. Okay, they are SERIOUSLY wild. They have more energy than a nuclear power plant. Sometimes, they even (gasp) scream at each other. Or at me. And yeah, they get in trouble for it, so don't give me the fish eye if I don't spend every other second telling them to quit running around or keep their voices down. They aren't living without rules and consequences, believe me. I just don't want them to grow up with my voice in the back of their heads, telling them all the time that I got the wrong kids.

Deep thoughts

2006-11-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

After contemplating the complex issues in life, here's what I think about:

Remember "The Kids from C.A.P.E.R."? From the 70s? Remember that episode where the aliens were disguised as hot dogs, and flew around on frisbies, and people would eat them, and then put ketchup and mustard and relish on their heads and sing the Weiner Song?

Come on, you know you do.

What do you mean, it isn't pronounced "mare"?

2006-11-09T13:37:00.000-07:00

Wow. I did one of these a while back, but this one is ... uh ... Wow.
Did I ever mention how annoyed everyone used to get with me when we lived in England? Because I didn't have a "real" American accent and thus was no fun for teasing.
Thanks, Orange!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The West
Boston
The South
North Central
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The Inland North
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

Deception

2006-11-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."
-Mark 12:29-31

It seems to me, that if you hate yourself so much that you surround yourself with people and ideas that make it impossible to accept yourself the way you were made, with the result that you end up describing yourself as evil, fallen, and a deceiver because you couldn't maintain the lie that you made your life into just so you could deny something that you have no control over, that you're not getting the gist of those commandments. And that if you think that someone's sexuality is a bigger sin than the fact that your religion forces people into a corner in which they have to live a lie in order to feel worthy of your god's love? You aren't paying attention to your own Word.

Episode V

2006-11-04T17:29:00.000-07:00

"You know what is SO gross? When Han Solo kisses Princess Leia!"
"EWWWW! I know! That is the GROSSEST thing EVER!"
"When Han Solo gets turned into carbonite..."
"YEAH!"
"THAT is soooo cool."

Here nor there

2006-11-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

I remember the year I made the Boy a ghost costume out of long underwear and cheesecloth. And the year I made his scarecrow costume with newspaper stuffing and crinkly-paper straw. This year? 5:30 p.m. at the fly-by-night costume store and he's Harry Potter. And despite all my peer pressuring, he was accompanied by the Little Mermaid and her Gunky Red Hair That Is Not Really Red.

What I'm saying is, it was an excellent Halloween. The Boy ended up dividing all his candy into piles according to type, and then using them as a Lego obstacle course. The Girl put all hers in a plastic bag and then tried to hide behind the coffee table and eat them all.

Then they put about half the loot out for the Halloween Witch (who brought some nice erasers and so forth). And then I conked out on the Boy's bed after reading our chapter of Harry Potter.

Oh! OH! And get this! I was at the doctor's today, and they did the height/weight thing, and the nurse said, "Okay, 5'8 1/2," and I said, "Excuse me?" And she repeated my height, and I said, "Uh...no, I'm 5'7 1/2," and she said, "Want me to check it again?" and I said, "Yes, please" and guess what? I'm an inch taller than I thought I was. So, can I just say, how does that happen? How do I go my whole friggin' adult life thinking I'm an inch shorter than I actually am? I was ridiculously happy about it, for some reason. There's hope for me yet, as apparently I'm still growing.

No shit

2006-10-31T10:15:00.000-07:00

Go read this, from Dr. B.

Curious Philosophy

2006-10-30T07:04:00.000-07:00

Life lessons, gracie de Curious George:

"And the squirrel on his head was hungry..."

I think that kind of sums it all up, especially when stated by William H. Macy.

[Edited to correct the damned H. Thanks Trisha! You have saved me from a virtual eternity of looking like a dork! :) ]

A few things

2006-10-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Thank you. Really.

Better.

It's a start.

Think, thank, thunk

2006-10-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

Well, crap.

I think The Depression is back.

I don't know. I don't want to jump the gun, and shit but I don't want to go back on those nice expensive drugs, but witness the telltale signs:

Difficulty focusing on work
Difficulty focusing on typical tasks
Sleeping issues
No appetite
Fairly continuous feeling of anxiety
Obsessing over really stupid shit
Pretty much losing interest in pretty much everything

Aaaand we're coming up on a good 3 or 4 weeks here.

So.

There are still some non-medical things I haven't really put into full effect yet; I need to dig out the info I kept from my sessions last year, make specific times to get more exercise, plan out the diet better, blah blah blah. But. But.

There are some things in my head that make me sad right now. That's all, I guess.

Conversations from Bizarro World

2006-10-16T11:28:00.000-07:00

The kids are watching "Dragon Tales"; I call them away for breakfast just as Max and Emmi are finishing their little dragon scale rhyme.

The Girl: EWWWWWW! GROSS!
The Boy and me: ?
TG: I don wanna fy with dagons in a lan uv BARF!

-------------------

Phone call with the Ex:

Ex: You need somebody extremely smart.
Me: I would settle for middling smart, even, at this point.
Ex: Well, I think he's gonna hafta be smart.
Me: Fine.
Ex: And I would say, pretty refined.
Me: Well, I don't know. I mean, I don't want somebody who's going to be going all esoteric on me all the time.
Ex: You know what you need? You need to date...
Me: A professor.
Ex: That's exactly what I was thinking!
Me: It'd do.
Ex: How old?
Me: I'm wide open. Any birthdate between 1960 and 1978.
Ex: 1978?
Me: I told you, I'm approaching desperation here!
Ex: That's like, what, how old is that?
Me: Ten years. That's the most I could stand.
Ex: What, you want to get them right out of college?
Me: SHUT UP! I said that was the Outer Limit. It isn't my preference!!
Ex: I think it's a little young, though.
Me: Well, so do I, I'm just saying that--HEY! Pot calling Kettle!!
Ex: I'd say somewhere between 40 and 45.
Me: That would certainly be my preference, but I'm like the choosy beggar here, dude.
Ex: An accent would be pretty good. Like maybe a British accent.
Me: Oh, sure, why not. Throw that in.
Ex: Like Hugh Grant.
Me: ??!! Hugh Grant?? Dear god, no. Try Collin Firth.
Ex: Who's that?
Me: You know, from Nanny McFee.
Ex: Oh, no way! He's a wus. Even Hugh Grant knocked him out.
Me: Shut up! He's a total sweetie! I am NOT dating Hugh Grant. Yuck!
Ex: No, you need a fighter.
Me: Uh, I think not. I can fight for myself, thanks. What I need is somebody who isn't all stressed out all the time.
Ex: Good luck with that.
Me: Yeah, yeah, I know.
Ex: All right, I'm on it.
Me: Good. Go. Find.

Why Sesame Street rocks...

2006-10-12T08:17:00.000-07:00

Amy Sedaris is the guest on the street today. 'Nuff said.

Cry me a river

2006-10-11T12:52:00.000-07:00

I've got a runner. This is what happens: The Boy messes up. And he realizes it. And he blurts out that he's sorry, gets a total panicked look on his face, and then takes off. Literally. Running. And then you either have to chase after him or ignore him until he comes back.

So on the one hand, this is a way to take the pressure off. I get that. He runs off, people come after him, and it isn't about how he's in trouble anymore. So I say to him, "Buddy. You've got to stop running away from stuff. You've got to stay and face up to it."

"But I'm just not that type of person!" he wails from downstairs (where yes, he'd run away to).

"What type of person is that?" I ask.

"The good type of person!" he sniffs. "I'm the other type of person! I'm the bad bad bad type of person!"

Oy vey.

No, I tell him, you aren't. But why do you run off? If you run off, you can't resolve the situation. I give him some examples of times he's run off so fast that he hasn't given the other person the chance to tell him it's okay and they aren't even upset. "But," he says, "I have to run away. Because I feel bad. And then I feel like crying." The tears start squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. "And I can't cry! I run away so no one will see me cry, because I can't help it, and only babies cry! And I don't want to be a baby! Everyone will know that I'm a baby!" He's crying really hard now, and covering up his head with the covers.

Where did this come from? Damn this American Man Shit. But I don't know, and he won't or can't tell me, where or from whom in particular this notion has come.

"That's completely not true," I insist. "I cry all the time."

"No you don't," comes the muffled response. "You never cry."

So much for all those sleepless nights thinking I'd scarred my kids crying while I was making dinner or reading them stories or wiping their butts. Hmm.

"Parents usually try not to cry in front of their kids, honey, because they don't want to upset them."

"Well it wouldn't upset me! It would just show me that it's okay!"

So I promised him I would cry more if he would promise to think about the fact that crying was actually something that everybody was made to do, and that it was good for you, and that if you never cried you couldn't get out the sad stuff. I am baffled.

Sundry

2006-10-10T06:09:00.000-07:00

I've been rather short with the Girl lately, and I don't like it.

But let me first say, and I know this is eye-rolling-worthy, but it's absolutely true: You have No. Idea. how cute she is. I mean, the kid is Cute (tm). In fact, every interaction with pretty much every adult, in passing or otherwise, ends with them saying, "Ohhhhhh, she's so cute!"

This is getting dangerous. I mean, she gets away with shite (away from home) because of The Cuteness. Which is not a message we want to send to her little brain. Because you send that message, the next thing you know you get not just The Cute, but you get The Bratty. Not good.

Anyway, though, I am being too short with her, and that's not good. You know that thing where you hear your voice coming out of your body, and it's the Voice of Criticism? I don't like that voice.

Last week, a client actually said to me, "You know what your special gift in this world is? You are so calm! You can stay so calm and keep everyone else calm...it's amazing." And boy, did I get a good laugh outta that one. Hooboy.

We'll probably get our first snow today. S gave me an piece of extra carpeting she didn't want, and I put it in the basement, so we now have Unfinished Basement Playroom, complete with $5 Home De(s)pot painted concrete walls (sadly, they look a bit institutional, but can painted concrete ever not? I think I need to buy some funky spraypaint and get abstract), carpet-remnant carpeting, futon, blackboard painted-art table (formerly the second-hand table the Ex and I acquired when we first got hitched) and chairs, and all the toys and art stuff. I am ready to deal with Kids Stuck Indoors.