Quote of the Day

George Orwell must have had teenage girls....

"Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it." - George Orwell

When Did This Happen and How Did I Get Here?

As I mentioned on my side bar, I am reading "Water for Elephants." It is a good book; I am only on chapter 8, a champion reader I am not! But it goes back and forth between the current 90 something year old Jankowski and his memories as a 23 year old in the circus.

The chapters of his life in his nursing home he talks rather bluntly about the indignity of it all. His resentment of being spoken to like a child, or the feeling that he is outdated, and his experiences are not interesting to anyone anymore. He realized that the whole world is talking around him, but he was no longer a part of the conversation. I was getting so uncomfortable reading it, and then I realized, I am scared to death of getting old.

I don't how this crept up on me. Perhaps it is watching my 90 something year old Grandmother, and taking care of her, or maybe it is my jaunts on Facebook and having my past life staring me in the face I am not sure, I do know however, that it seems like yesterday I was 20 something and wondering how my life would unfold. Suddenly 15 years has gone by like a blip on a radar screen, and I think wow, I am going to be thankful if this is my half way point.

I can remember my pastor saying that there is a switch that goes off, somewhere in your late thirties to early forties where you all of the sudden stop counting the years you have lived, and instead count down the years you have left. I was all indignant and thought that was the most depressing thing anyone had ever said to me. I thought that I would never be that way, I would live as intensely as I ever had, feeling like it would never end…but I guess in the end, it just sneaks up on you. Like it has been lurking in dark corners and secret passage ways your whole life and all of the sudden it pops out into the sunlight to trip you up.

I laughed when my father called me after his 50th high school reunion. His response to walking in and seeing everyone was "where did all these old people come from?" I just laughed as he went on his diatribe of how no one had discovered Lady Clairol and there needed to be a cane rack in the front hall. But knowing the whole time, that he has a point. I have a similar reaction to my friends on Facebook.

We have all posted pictures of us and our families. We laugh at our re-crooked teeth, joking about our lines and Botox. We joke about our receding hairlines (some which have long since retreated) and "baby bellies." We post old pictures of ourselves together in our teens at dances and trips we took together, and we laugh at how young we were. We laugh, but with an undertone of disconcertment....when did we turn into our parents?

I look at these teenage pictures of myself. I look into those eyes and I remember her, but barely. Somehow those years of my life seem more like a movie now. I remember them, but they are not tangible...almost like words on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t spit out.

What a different person I am, but ultimately? I Still feel like I am only 20 something…sometimes it feels surreal when I look at my 10 year old daughter and think…wow, I am old enough to have a 10 year old daughter? That has to be illegal in some states!

I wouldn't trade it, I wouldn't want to BE that person that I was, self-absorbed, overly dramatic, and ALWAYS right...but then, I guess I would love to have that feeling again...That feeling of complete wonder, about how things were going to go...would I have children? What would I do for work? Where would I live? Back then anything seemed possible. Living overseas and teaching English in a third world country, or being a famous author seemed like a totally logical progression to my life...living in Maine with three kids?…not so much.

I understand that this is life. This is our journey, and I guess it should make me smile that I have had one that makes me recognize the beauty that this world has to offer, and the desire to suck as much of it up as I can. I guess for that, I am eternally thankful. But as I sit here typing…I am still wondering, When did this happen, and how did I get here?

Desperation Makes me Act Out

I woke up this morning after actually sleeping through the night. No midnight hacking, nightmares or cats licking my face...I slept the WHOLE NIGHT. Then I realized that it was a school day for Henry and the girls...I might actually have a few minutes to myself!

At this point this is such a luxury because I haven't been alone since 2009 started. But today...bless today, everyone is off to school. With a skip in my step (well, not really, it was more like I was so tired that I bounced off the wall and tripped over my mud shoes that were in the middle of my floor...) I went down stairs to make coffee and wait to have my time alone!

Due to foreseen circumstances, (in other words my children’s lack of being able to understand the sentence "Please get your coats on and get out to the car." …You can see how that might be confusing or easily misinterpreted.) We missed the bus. I feared that I might miss out on a second of my time today. I became Lora Croft Tomb Raider on a mission to get them to school.

I mean to tell you I flew home ran around the house getting things ready for Henry. Snack bag for school? Couldn’t find it, just threw some crackers in a bag and threw him in his backpack…figured he could just drink his own spit if he swallowed enough, but then thought better of it and tossed in a water bottle. Henry was protesting as I shoved him in his underwear and pants while in-route to the car, but I was thinking: "Boy, you are lucky I am buckling you in..."

Got the girls dropped off, picked up a fellow preschooler and mom who needed a ride, got to school dropped Henry off, and then took a big sigh of relief….

I am feeling a little guilty picturing Henry Picking loose crackers out of his backpack at snacktime because I am not sure that the bag even zipped shut, but man, sometimes you just gottah breathe!

Yeah, I guess this IS why I have failed to make mom of the year…

A Letter to Keep me Honest...

I got this as an email this morning. My mother sent it to me (obviously)...

I am posting it here simply to keep me honest, because I know that I have, and will in the future complain, rant, stomp and scream at, about and around my sluggish time warped middle child...

This is to keep me honest, so that you all can say "Pie, check out your blog 1/24...Those apples that fall from trees can be fairly frustrating!"

So here you go enjoy having the dirt on me.....


I was sorting through papers I could throw away today and found a journal entry from graduate school that might sound familiar to you ... since you and the Bean are entering the same phase as parent and child. I hope it will make you laugh ... at me, at yourself, and at Bean. (The discussion in class was about how different cultures had different perceptions of time.)

"The first person that comes to mind when you refer to different concepts of time is my daughter, Leia, affectionately known to her family as "Pie." Pie's arrival into the world was timely - she was born at 7:30 a.m. My husband had to rush home to meet the movers who were coming at 8:30. After that, she was never anywhere on time.

"Clean up your room," her father would say at breakfast when she was but seven-years-old, "and I will check it tonight."

She would dutifully begin work at 2:30 after school, but after taking everything out her drawers to neaten them, everything from under her bed to store it away, and all her books from her bookcase to rearrange, she would find a scrap of paper to read, a poem to peruse, or a note from her friend that needed an immediate response. She would then descend into her own time warp. The results were always predictable - the room got messier and the parents got more frustrated.

And then came the teen years. "What time will you be home?" Well, there is a concert at Great Woods that gets over at midnight. By the time she arrived home at 3:30, I was ready to call the state police and the national guard. Papers due? Time is just a number.

Love you much, MOM

Updating

Yeah, I finally got around to updating my book thingy...

You know, I can't even remember if I have read anything else since I updated...and I am pretty sure I have watched a ton of stuff....

I sadly finished the entire Veronica Mars series and am really bummed there is no fourth season. But I hear that there may be a movie coming out...so Logan...here I come...even if you are a Scientologist...at least you aren't Tom Cruise, and perhaps you could do something to help free Katie???

I also finished Weeds up to the fourth season, but haven't tried to hard to find that yet, I was starting to not like drug dealer mommy...but love the brother in law, he made the show.

I finished Six Feet Under...and all I have to say is...WOW, best series finale EVER. It truly was a masterpiece. Loved it.

Other than that, I have been trying to beat my bowling scores on Wii...which I need to stop because it is getting in the way of my reading...but boy is it addictive!

The Firing Squad

OK, so in what seems like a moment of temporary insanity, I was talked into running for the new school board...or new RSU board as it happens.

No one is running against me, and it is a job that no one wants…so needless to say, if I don’t get elected, I am ending my political career right here!

Last night they had a “meet the candidate night.” This would be where they put you on TV and ask you poignant questions about your vision for the schools and the future of the RSU…yeah…I know…what was I thinking????

All was well until half way through I looked down and realized that the “snack” I had for dinner in between work (my illustrious library sub career) and this meeting had fallen on my sweater. I tried to zip up my cardigan a little, but it still showed. I decided that the cameras weren’t close up anyway, no big deal… wrong…as I discovered later I was in the picture the whole time and that it was very close up and focused on my fidgeting.

Then my tights kept catching on the wooden desk, and I got a splinter in my thigh half way through the questioning…there is no dainty way to get a splinter out of your leg, much less address the situation in a skirt in front of everyone. I hunched a bit to try and make my legs fit under the desk a little, but then realized that the cameras were on me and I was all slumped in my chair looking like a lump of oatmeal, not to mention the 10 pounds that were being added to my already 20 pound over the limit butt.

This was a lot to think about when you are trying to answer questions about our children’s futures.*

By the time I was done I felt like a 5 year old with my feet swinging from the chair out side the principals office in trouble for smacking someone in the head with a truck…(not that that ever happened…Ok, so it did. But Jason Seaver TOTALLY deserved it, because he put gum in my hair during circle time and also called me a ski slope nose…which if you have ever seen me…I totally don’t have…it is more like a witches nose…with a lump in the middle, but that was from an unfortunate accident with a pillar in front of my high school…)

I made it through the questions, fairly unscathed and since no one wants this job anyway. I suppose now, this wise assed, snarky, mom is going to be on a school board…I guess you may want to take that as a warning for those of you in my area…run, run like the wind I tell you!

* Rest assured, I was a teacher in my past life, and the three kids in my house keep telling me I am their mother, so I promise, some good will come from this debacle I have gotten myself into.

Plague Sets In

I am getting close to calling a Haz-Mat team to come and blow up my house because clearly there is something living in it that has waged war against my family.

I have recovered...after 2.5 weeks of feverish hell, but now my two youngest have it, Caroline has averaged 101 fevers for a week now. Bad part is, she feels pretty OK. But I can't rightfully send her to school with a fever and a cough that sounds like she is coughing up small school children each time she starts hacking. So alas, I have her at home.

But because she doesn’t feel all that horrible, she is bored, which leads to her being rambunctious…which leads to a coughing fit, which leads to my “outside voice” telling her to calm down and lay down. It’s a bad cycle that should be broken.

Speaking of bad cycles, the boy is getting all too used to having his sister around as his playmate. We all know that my son is… well…not the most inspired individual. (He missed the gumption train all together.) So having his sister as a permanent playmate with nothing to do but sit around the house is totally his cup of tea.

I think that the boy will be the inventor of Adult diapers that automatically change themselves, so that all he has to do in his future, is lay on one of those couches with the built in coolers in the arm, and flick channels without having to be bothered to, you know, go to the bathroom…who has time for that when there is so much laziness to be had? I will let it be known, that it will NOT BE IN MY BASEMENT…

So as I am held hostage in my house for week 4, I write to the outside world in desperation…and if there is a report of distress signals in the form of smoke coming from a house in Maine, you will know I have hit a wall…most likely with my head…repeatedly…

Ode to a Toilet Bowl

I can't be sure, but I am fairly positive that when I dreamed of my future when I was a child, I never envisioned jumping up and down in a bathroom singing "poo poo, poo poo lets do the poo poo dance"

I am also confident that I never in my life imagined that I would stare into a toilet bowl with the kind of anticipation and excitement that seems to follow me into the bathroom these days as I travel the hard, uphill, rocky, mount Kilimanjaro trek that toilet training a bull headed, scared to poop, boy is.

But alas, it is the small things in life…like making it until 1:23 with out having to clean out underwear! It is the small things like not having the crying fit wondering if Henry will have to find a special kind of date to prom that will not mind bringing wipes and a pull-up for him in her tiny prom purse.

I realize that this is entirely too hopeful, and I know that I will likely have many more pairs of underwear to clean out, but for now, I am just going to jump up and down and sing the poo poo song for a little while.

You know, most people are excited for inaugurations, and weddings and engagements this weekend…I am just going to settle for a little bit of poop….ahhhh the life of a mom, ain’t it grand……

A Vision in Yoga Pants

I realized yesterday when I was sitting at the dinner table and Caroline said to me, “Are you wearing mascara?” in a bit of an astonished tone, and I had to sadly admit that yeah, but it was probably left over from the day before when I had gone to work, that perhaps I have not looked, well, up to par lately.

Yes, it is true, I am woman enough to admit it, daily cleanliness seemed to have taken a low priority for me while I was sick. It was just too much effort to peel my nasty self off my couch of death to do anything much less wash my hair.

I had to work on Monday night, so I showered and dutifully put on girl clothes. As I came down stairs to say goodbye, I thought my kids were going to fall out of their skin. Caroline actually said “Are you going to a dance or something?”

OK, now seriously, it isn’t like I NEVER wear girl clothes, but I realize that sadly, for the past two weeks I have worn the same yoga pants and sweatshirt so much that they are standing up in the corner of my room like a suit of armor in a castle.

I should have realized this when I did laundry for the first time in two weeks and there was nothing of mine in it.

SO, today I am going to try walking on a treadmill and see if my lungs hold up, and then…yes folks, I am going to get in HOT water, and actually wash my face, my hair, and then…wait for it…if I am still feeling so inspired…I might actually dry my hair with a hair dryer so that I will stop scaring the neighbor kids with my Sid Vicious look a like hair.

I know, I know, Aim for the stars… Aim for the stars!

A Bit of Sap From the Couch of Death...

This is for my close friends. The ones who know the ins and outs of my everyday struggles, who hold me up when I need to be held up, or bawl me out when I need that too, because I often do.

Who have always been there for me, even when I didn't ask, (because they know I won't,) but barge into my life with their arms out and a bottle of wine, ready for the task that lies ahead. Whether it is just listening, holding me up, laughing with me, or just making sure that I am OK.

It is for those of you that care about the menial everyday of my existence, because you understand that is what makes up bigger picture.

It is for my friends who just know when I am drowning, (because I will never tell you,) and offers me a life raft. You don't question why I don't call for help, you just know I don't, and offer it to me anyway.

It is also for those that have been my friends in the past, my Theta sisters, and my friends at a distance, who may be on the periphery for some reason or another, but are still there. I cherish each of your presence in my life, because it has made it richer and more meaningful.

A friend sent this to me, and it made me cry, not just the words, but that she thought of ME when she listened to them. I am grateful not only for her being in my life, but for me being able to be that person in hers.

I am grateful for all the women in my life, family and friends, who make me stronger, smarter, funnier, more accessible, more human and more alive.

This reminded me WHY I was a Women’s Studies major!

The Couch of Death

No I have not gotten lost in Caroline’s room, fallen under a large piece of furniture, or even finally lost the battle to the militant dust bunnies that for years have been gathering strength in numbers under my living room couch...I have been laying on my "couch of death."

The Saturday night after Christmas, I kissed my loving husband goodnight, and said "I am getting sick, I can feel it."

I will never utter those words again, because apparently they are the key words that open a crevice in the earth to let out the wrath of germ warfare. I woke the next day with a raging fever, and what I can only describe as a tribe of ice picks having a luau in my chest...I am fairly sure that at one point they were doing the lung limbo, but one is never sure of these things with out an at home X-ray machine.

Needless to say, my doctor was on vacation, and her substitute must have had me black listed because he refused to see me twice....

Dr. Major from York Hospital...you are definitely going somewhere HOT in the afterlife for this tryst of yours, I am writing a personal recommendation.

My husband, who in general is the boy scout of peacemakers, actually called and got mad because I was lying in a puddle on our couch crying and saying “just kill me, seriously, make it quick and just do me in.” He fussed at the doctors office for putting him in a place of such temptation…there should be laws about that kind of thing.

I had an interview on Monday the 5th…surely I would be better by then…RIGHT? It was over a week away.

NOPE, I went to my interview with a 101.8 fever, and feeling like breathing was a little more exercise then I really needed…But I coughed through it and haven’t heard anything…I am guessing a sweaty hacking person in a business suit doesn’t impress much…but you never know!

I am glad to say that my Dr. came back from vacation and took me in, and gave me lots of medicine…antibiotics, cough medicine with Codeine, inhalers…I didn’t bother to tell her that she should be giving me a script for house cleaners and cooks, since it was her cohorts fault that it was all I could do to muster the energy to open my eyes, and my family was drowning in dirty underwear.

So I took to my couch, where I have peeled off now and again to feed the kids or some other menial task, I haven’t written…but I am back.

Still hacking, still a tad feverish….2 flippin’ weeks later, but I figure at some point one of us, either the germs or me will have to give in…until then, I miss being sarcastic and snarky, so I will just have to hack through some typing.

Happy Freaking New Year to you all!