My little girls are growing up...

I have never been afraid of change. In fact most of the time I quite enjoy it, even welcome it into my life…change has never been a huge issue for me. At 17 I chose to go to a university 15 hours from where I had lived my whole life. Change. I changed my major at least 14,000 times; in fact I remember a slightly terse conversation with my father where he indicated that perhaps I should declare in order to have my next semester paid for…I quickly decided, a lot of change there. Then after I graduated I changed my entire focus, and went to graduate school in something…somewhat related…but really? Not so much. Change again. I had kids, which at one point I was really adamant about not doing … and it changed my entire life, my entire being really. So as you see, I kind of look at change as just another adventure. Change isn’t what trips me up…it’s the moving on part.

I said I went to college 15 hour from home, but I cried until Late September missing my friends. I LOVED my school, and my new friends mind you, but I felt like I was leaving something major behind. When I got engaged, and it looked like Jamie was actually going to go through with marrying me and not run away arms flailing and screaming, I had this over whelming sense of sorrow… (Jamie is shaking his head saying NICE, Leia) Not over the getting married part, but how my relationship with my parents was going to be totally different. I believe that I actually grieved over that. Every time I see another stage of my life coming to an end… it seems to me, I have a hard time letting go. I literally mourn the loss. It isn’t that I am not looking forward to the new adventures coming my way, or the change of events, it's just that I loved the adventures that I have had, and I have a hard time letting go of them. People close to me just placate me by saying I am "passionate" about life...everything is BIG.

So you say, “WHY is she torturing me with this stupidness?” Well, here is why. I was watching my girls wave to me as they rode off on the bus this morning, and it hit me…holy crap, they aren’t little anymore. I mean they are still under my care for better or worse until 18 do we part…But they are in a new stage now. It occurs to me that I have been so preoccupied with the boy being a prominent 2…and my little girls started to grow up right under my nose!

The saddest part? I cannot even remember their chubby little faces at 2. I vaguely can, but it is like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t quite say…I can remember it, but it is so fuzzy that it is hard to actually picture it…

I walked up stairs to get the diaper bag, and at the top of my stairs, I see a poem that my mother had framed for me when I graduated from college…and I cried…

And since misery loves company, here it is:
A Red Shirt- Margaret Atwood

You really should read it, it is good...not sad really, but a wonderful poem....and today, I feel lucky to be raising two beautiful girls, and how lucky they are to have such a long line of strong women to look to in their world.

Fudgey Biscuits on Barbies

On our trip my daughter brought Barbie’s to play with. Henry sat in the same row as she did, and so, reluctantly, Caroline resorted to playing Barbie’s with him. This soon erupted into fighting as Henry seemed to strip all the Barbie’s and then stare at them. My daughter, understanding that this was…well…awkward, got distressed.

“Henry don’t take their clothes off!”
…to which he would violently scream back...
“THEY NEED TO TAKE A BATH!!”
Which of course was followed by the very predictable fight of “yes”… “no.” After about 2 minutes of that banter I followed up with yelling “DO I NEED TO PULL THE CAR OVER?” This worked once or twice, but I had to stop saying that when Henry answered me, yelling in his loudest possible voice, “YES! YOU DO!”

I thought that the Barbie stripping was a thing of the past, a thing of the trip…alas, no, I came in the den today and saw him playing….

ME: “Were you just looking at the Barbie’s butt?

Henry: Sly smile “Yesss” (I fussed at him for saying yeah, so now he OVER pronounces his S to sound snakeish…ahhhh the buttons he pushes!)

ME: “Why were you looking at the Barbie’s bottom?”

Henry: “Because I like her fudgey biscuits*”

ME: Restraining a laugh “why?”

Henry: “Because they are cute…like mine”

Hmmmmmmm Should I be disturbed?????? Perhaps, perhaps not….I will tell you in about 16 years.


* The origination of Fudgey Biscuits: Biscuits were always butts around here. You know, "cutie bisuits" "Sassy Biscuits" etc... and well it just popped out of my mouth one day to him when I patted him on his butt…and it stuck….so there you go…my poor children when they take anatomy are going to fail.

Vacation is Definitely Over

Our trek across the Eastern Seaboard has come to an end. I am pretty sure that my pants, that seem to be straining at the button, like a secret that has to be told, are fairly happy that it is.

In general I am not one to obsess too much about my diet...which is odd, because I do obsess over my ever growing ass, and one would think that I may have made that connection by now. (I never said I was overly bright!)

I tend to be of the mind set, "maybe if I run for a whole hour I can have Ho Ho's and Wine today." But none the less...I obsess even LESS (if possible) when I am on vacation. So my week of Smorgasbording, indulging, and complete laziness has come to an end, and what an end it is (as I look over my shoulder at my butt in the mirror.)

I found all sorts of excuses, "It is too hot to run in this beautiful 70 degree weather." "Southern Dogs are mean and I will get attacked."* "The people here drive too fast and I will get run over"** "I am on vacation, what am I supposed to eat squirrel?" and not the least of which was, "My body could use some rest time from so much exercise." Because I was like, you know, running marathons everyday before I left***, and because, yeah, rest from exercise does mean sitting on the couch with spinach dip and crackers resting on my belly and a beer on the side table...Doesn't that sound like rest from exercising to you??? To be honest, I think that the most exercise I got, was getting out of the car to walk to Cold Stone Creamery with purpose, to get first in line, and at least one push up should count since I pushed my husband out of the way to get to the counter. (The ice cream was DELISH by the way!)

So this morning, I got up at 5:15 (Not on purpose...but I live in Maine, and during this time of year, it gets light at like, 4 in the freaking morning, and the birds outside my window seem to think it is funny to chirp as loud as they can, so they sound like they are in my head, producing Alfred Hitchcock like dreams.) I stumble downstairs and get on the treadmill to run, (because it is only flipping 45 degrees outside here, clearly Maine hasn't gotten the call that it is time to turn Spring on.) I turn on my TEVO to the finale of "The Biggest Loser" and start my slow walk to hell.

The more I watched the finale, the more I could feel the roll above my butt shaking, and I wasn't sure, but I could swear that I may have developed a new roll that was shaking on my knees...but that could have just been the swelling from being old, and "resting" from exercise for a week. The more I felt all those bulges bubbling, the more resentful I was feeling at all those damn big losers...

But all ended well...I came up and had my coffee, with a cup of cream and a cup of sugar...because, I ran right????? and then I found this on the Onion, which I thought was kind of funny....so there you go...other people have the same Health IQ that I do!

* No offense to my Southern friends and relatives, but y'all got some mean ole dogs! and in my defense, I did almost get attacked by one near my parents house 4 years ago.
** The drivers in Greensboro NC could give NYC cab drivers a safety complex.
***Note: That was dripping sarcasm.

Disturbing conversations you really didn't need to hear

In a conversation about the squirrels that seem to be eating my parents house, we had a lovely revelation.

Side Note: Yes, squirrels are eating my parents house. I have never seen anything like it. They live in a brick house, yet the squirrels seem to have waged a war against the wood trim around the windows and the door frames. Having not seen them, I can only imagine what these demented squirrels must look like.

There has to be some kind of explanation for this. Perhaps they are into hallucinogens and think that their house is some kind of giant nut house... (I really shouldn't have typed that because that is leaving my parents wide open for some of my sarcasm...living in a nut house....but I am feeling somewhat nice today, and well, I need a place to sleep tonight!)

Revelation:
Me: "So what are you going to do?" (about the possessed squirrels)
Mom: "I don't know."
Dad: "I am going to shoot the sons of bitches!"
Me: "NO, seriously dad, what are you going to do?"
Dad: again with the shooting of the squirrels....
Me: Feeling a little protective of the wood rats, "Well if you are going to shoot them you had better eat them." Now, why I thought that this was going to deter him I don't know.
Dad: "I wouldn't eat those things for anything."
Me: "Come on, you are from foot hills of Appalachia, isn't that in your blood or something?"
(Now mind you, I said this tongue in cheek. I am not insulting people from that area, as my family is from that area. I was only teasing....I would not condone the eating of squirrels, which is why I was a little floored to hear: )
Mom: "Well your mother would....she loves squirrel"
(me sitting there horrified picturing my grandmother turning a little squirrel on a spit)
Dad: "No not anymore, she ate 5 of them in one sitting when she was pregnant and got sick, so she can't eat them anymore."

Me: look of disgust on my face, mouth hanging open...and silence falls over the table...
Jamie: (to the rescue) "What about Rabbit?"

This was when I just said "awwwww come ON!" and everyone laughed.

*I would like to note that this is WHY I was a vegetarian for so long...do you blame me?
**I would also like to discourage anyone from getting upset at this conversation....I love animals, so there is no malice here.

Hotel Stays with Children

I think that I may still be twitching a tiny bit after having spent two nights in a hotel with my three kids and my husband. I believe that I was unable to post about it yesterday because I may have blocked it out. But remembered abruptly when last night while I was dreaming I sat straight up in bed and yelled at everyone in the family. I don't think that I was screaming obscenities, but pretty sure that Jamie may have gotten a few whacks from my flailing arms.

Hotel stays with children should only be done in a suite where you can lock them in on one side, and relax and watch your finale of "Rock of Love" on the other. Otherwise you are telling them to shhhh, and oh wait put your head under the pillow, I think you shouldn't see this part. (no, really I am just kidding...kind of.)

We stayed all five of us in a hotel on Sunday night when we were on our way to NC. Somehow the thought of this sounded fine...OH yeah, the girls can sleep in one bed and Henry can get a roll away, and we can have the other bed...sounds OK right? Well yes, if you are not cheap like we are.

In our search for the cheapest possible hotel room that would not leave us with bed bug welts and unnamed DNA in our beds, we found a place. It actually was a fairly a decent place; however, because of our cheapness, we had two double beds.

Hmmmm, my husband is 6'4"...let me tell you, he doesn't FIT in a double bed...at least not the way that he should. So he lays down diagonally on the bed, and because of his tiredness and allergies, begins to snore. And we aren't talking just the little snorting now and again, or even the rhythmic big bird type of snore. We are talking b-52 bomber landing on my head snoring. So I am curled up in this little ball in the one corner of the bed that my husband is not inhabiting, trying to drown out the jet engine burning next to me, wondering how in the world the kids are sleeping...but they are, to some extent.

Exhausted, I concentrate on going to sleep...this was not the time that I needed to find out that my 2 year old son...talks in his sleep. Being true to his two years of experience, I was jerked awake periodically in the night to "NO IT IS MINE" and "STOP TAKING THAT FROM ME"

Which really wasn't that bad until the teeth grinder joined with her addition to this hellish concert I was being given... not long after that the lip smacker started her serenade. So imagine the chorus that I was trying to sleep to. It was about 4:30 in the morning when I delivered the final blow to my husbands midsection, that I finally fell asleep.

The four of them awoke clearly refreshed for a day full of activity while I was trying to pry my eyes open with my hands which I couldn't seem to function on such little sleep. I tried to just keep my eyes shut and stay very still so that I would be undetected...like a wild animal trying to avoid the kill. This lasted about two seconds, then the girls started fighting over the TV remote and my two year old jumped on my head.

My husband still is wondering what my "crabby ass problem was." And I am pretty sure that my kids are still flinching when I make quick movements around them!* But I have now learned an important lesson...We created houses with more than one room for lots of reasons, not the least of which is, there are some crazy ass sleepers out there. And I have now decided that I will never again, unless I bring Valium for the kids, a muzzle for my husband, and bourbon and a sledge hammer for me, spend the night all of us in one room.**

So I learned my lesson, and I am hoping that getting it out on paper will prevent me from having further night terrors of my nights in the hotels. But I am still twitching a little!




*No need to file any reports, I did not beat them. I didn't say I didn't think about it, I just didn't do it...see how mature and restrained I am?

**Of course I know that this really is not a promise that I can keep, but I can stand on my mountain today damn it!

World wind tour of the East Coast

OK so my 30 seconds of fame are over, I am back to my regular readers, don't worry I didn't let it go to my head, and I am pretty sure that the head shots that I sent People Magazine will be returned soon.  But it was fun while it lasted!

Well we are here, mostly in one piece...my thumb is still growing back.  (However, this does concern me.  Does that mean that I am part starfish or something?  Maybe I should be concerned about the preservatives that I am ingesting?)

We have had a crazy route thus not writing yesterday.  We went to North Carolina via northern Maine...yeah I know, that just makes SOOOOO much sense you say.  Well it was all for good reason.  Let us break for a brief moment of parental bragging.  Just give me this, because while my parenting skills are not winning me any awards, my offspring seem to be thriving.  Kind of like Dung Beetles, they may live in bad conditions but they really thrive in them.  hmmm...I am pretty sure that I just compared my children to Dung Beetles that's going to cost me in therapy later isn't it?

My moms spirit is looking over my shoulder and saying stop rambling... soooo here is my bragging:  My daughter's DI team had gotten second in regional, and went to states, where they again got second.  (She was not happy with this, WE  on the other hand were, well, totally OK with it!)  For many reasons, mostly because it is pretty awesome to come in second in the state in something like DI when you are in fourth grade, but if I am really honest, also a little because first place meant going to global's in Knoxville in 3 weeks... After sitting in a car for 3 hours Friday, 3 hours Saturday, 10 hours Sunday and 4 hours Monday, my butt is suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome and is starting to atrophy.  I think that if I confronted it and said to sit in a car for another 16 hours in three weeks, it would break free of me and run for the border... this might not be bad, but considering my butt while it may be wide, is already flat, so being assless is not the most attractive vision I have of myself.

I know I know, this is nothing compared with the world travels of many of you*.  But let me tell you I have been in the trenches.  It isn't easy to juggle snacks, changing movies, yelling, fighting, throwing, developing life threatening consequences to smooshing food on the fabric of car seats, phone calls from concerned parents and the thoughtful responses to questions like:  "Why is NC so far away?"  "When are we going to stop again I have to pee?"  and "Why are you not answering me?" 

But we are here, my mother didn't damn me to the garage, and I am sure that there will be something insightful that will happen while I am here that will keep me torturing you with my blog.  But for now, I am going to go out side and enjoy the freaking cold weather that NC has chosen to have this week, while in Maine, it is beautiful....I would just love if Murphy would quit enforcing his laws on me!

* A funny blog that I have been reading and living vicariously through certainly would laugh at my little petty drive in the car...but I am going to whine anyway!

My Mom still thinks I should learn to spell!

I just want you to know that I was so excited the other day when I was mentioned on another blog*...other than Leila's...(because if I am really honest, it was all because of her that it was even mentioned) I called my mom.

My mom is an English teacher, the consummate instructor of literature and well...just plain old good English in general. She was very happy for me, but suggested that I might ought to quit saying "freaking" in my posts, and perhaps tighten up my writing if other people are going to start reading it.

I did the typical teenager response, because somehow I cannot seem to loose that tone with her no matter how old I get, "OH MOOOOMM, it is just my voice....it is how I talk, I am just being sarcastic and snarky"

This really came as no surprise to her, as she had many a meal with me that ended in either laughter or expulsion from the table...it all depended on how well the jokes or teasing went over. But I think secretly, as much as she loves me, there still is that English teacher looking up to the heavens and saying "Are you serious? Could you just give me one that likes to write, AND can do it in proper form????"

It is so unfortunate for her to have me as a daughter, because if you read my profile, you have realized that, well, I can't spell...and even worse, if you have read my blog you may notice that I have a real problem with run-on sentences. You know the ones that go on and on and on with little ...'s to keep them going longer. I use caps when I shouldn't, and I put commas where they shouldn't go, and forget them where they should.

I am surprised that Leila, who has a thing about punctuation, hasn't felt the urge to stab me through the eye with The Merriam-Webster Concise Handbook for Writers. Which believe it or not, sits at my computer along with the Merriam-Webster Dictionary of English Usage, The Stylebook and Libel Manual, and the Basic English Revisited: A student Handbook. All of which were much loved presents at various times from my mom, in an attempt to make my writing better...

I am not bashing my mom, I really am not...those of you who know me, know, I am one of her biggest fans. I am just feeling sort of bad for her. I mean here she has this wonderful grasp of the English language, great at Literature, and way too smart to be my mom.

To add insult to injury, I force her to read my blog. If she doesn't, I confront her with analytics data, (which is how I know when she doesn't, because up until recently she was the only Greensboro resident reading my blog,) and quiz her on the most recent entries to see if she knows what I am talking about. And just like a mom, she faithfully tortures her self through my "freakings" and "OK's" and the thousands of ...'s, because she is a dutiful mom.

However, after writing this, I remember her saying "OH great, now you are going to make fun of me on your blog," and worrying about it...of course the teenager in me said "OH MOOOOMMM, I will not."

So now, I will say that I have a little fear a little going to her house this week, because after she reads this, I may be greeted with "I want my freaking books back and ...." But I doubt it.

So heres to you mom i am sorry that i rambel so much about nothing and i promise that i will try harder to not run on my sentences and i will try to spell a little better and i may even reference all those wonderful books you gave me because i know that you believe in me and damn it...oops i mean and goodness gracious that means a freaking lot to me...and i love you and thank you for reading my blog even though i think that it pains you as you recognize that i am no erma bombeck but just remember that you did break me of having the maine accent so at least you have one thing in your corner love you see you on monday if you will let me in the door.

(after reading that, her head is going to pop off...and Leila's might too! BAD pie BAD BAD pie.)


*if you click on the blog link to Fusenews and go about half way down, you will find the entry about pie. I now have this one on my reader, because well, I am just so ... freaking excited!