Hair Clot saves the Day

I don't know how it happens that even though I am very careful not to let my long, thick, black hair slip down the sink drain, it still manages to get down there. Every once in a while the hair will slow down the drain enough that I have to pour some Drain-O down there or have the sink opened up to remove the offensive mass.

I've always thought that the hair downt he drain was a bad thing...but now I am thinking it might not be such a terrible thing. It has an upside - believe it or not.

A couple of months ago I dropped an earring down the drain. It was a small "X" shape earring of diamonds...it is a small earring but it is expensive - the pair cost about $1000...so each earring costs about $500. I was sure that the earring was gone, being so small...but I couldn't stand the thought of flushing $500 into the sewers So I asked Dan to open up the sink. Sure enough, my earring was caught in a gunky black ball of hair.

Now just a moment ago I went upstairs to discover that C had spit out his Kim-Pap (basically sushi without anything in it but rice) into the sink. THe sink was clogged up by the Kim-pap mess. I was too lazy to look for the Drain-O so I took my tweezers and tried to pick out some of the rice and seaweed. Well. I ended up picking out some black hair with rice chunked up in it...and Yup...the hair, once again kept the pipes clear.

See, hair in the drain can be a good thing.

I better get up and there replace the hair I just plucked out lest something else should try to glide down my sink!

This is pathetic. I can't believe this is interesting enough to me to post. UghhhhH!

Newlywed Game

Ok Kiddies. Here is the Game...20 Questions for the Newlyweds (Jas and Prof). Jas and Prof will answer the questions by how they think the other would respond.

1) How does he/she take his/hers coffee (So Jas, tell me how Prof takes her coffee and vice versa...get the game??)

2) Is he/she a morning person or a night person

3) What kind of car does he/she drive

4) Does he/she adhere to the speed limit

5) How long does he/she take in the shower

6) What is his/her favorite food...favorite drink

7) What kind of soap does he/she use

8) What kind of shampoo

9) What would he/she say is the thing the he/she likes the most about you

10) What would he/she say is the thing that annoys her/him most about you

11) If you guys really met in person the first time, how would you have met

12) If you guys really dated...tell me about your first date with each other

13) Where does he/she hides his/her stash ...and what kind of stash is it

14) Is he/she a saver or a spender

15) What would he/she do with a $10,000

16) What is the one possession of his/hers that you absolutly detest but he/she would kill you if you threw it away

17) Who wears the pants in the house

18) What is his/her ultimate weakness

19) How would he/she describe you

20) How will you spend the holidays (if you were spending it together as a married coupled)

jibberish

fumbling
tumbling
through the night
mumbling jibberish
important stuff
put it down
tuck me in
safe
not sound

I had another dream about you cheating ob me last night...I think maybe that;s why I feel like such a zombie - feeling crazy all night - actually it wasn't all night 0 it was the last part of this morningSexy Gal: you were sleeping with Lisa ...Dunbar's ex...Sexy Gal: I was at college...but I was planning to transfer to a military academy and I was nervous about it...not sure if I could handle it - and I was really worried because I can't do chin ups...and then I called you at home and for some reason you like left the speaker phone onSexy Gal: and I could hear everything you guys were talking about - at first it was like you had a bunch of friends over...then I could hear from the conversation that you and lisa had a relationship so I went nutz with anger - I had to get to Tewksbury...and my brother happened to be around and he had his car...Sexy Gal: but he didnt feel like drivig me to Tewks.Sexy Gal: but he said I could take his car...Sexy Gal: and I was stressed about wasting time getting to the car and getting home - just wanted to get therSexy Gal: and then I lost the keys and couldnSexy Gal: couldn't find my room key and college idSexy Gal: and so I was so determined to get home that I decided to run home...Daniel Kelliher: that is wierd...Lisa Cafagno????Sexy Gal: but I had to run through SOmerville but I took a wrong turn someplaceSexy Gal: Y - CafagnoSexy Gal: and ended up in Jamaica Plane...but I met up with Greg - a guy from high schoolSexy Gal: and he was going to show me the waySexy Gal: we took a pit stop in the mansionSexy Gal: and went way way up stairs...the mansion was sort of worn but you could tell in its day it was quite regal and austere...the people inside were the same - srt of dusty looking and cothes faded a bit...Daniel Kelliher: so you cheated on meDaniel Kelliher: with GregSexy Gal: he put me in this chair that had some sort of electric buzzie sensation and it spun me around really really fastSexy Gal: no neverSexy Gal: and when it was done spinning I was lacquared and sparkling wth gold dustSexy Gal: then I was like I need to get home so I left greg and met up with some random lady in some plaze in JP and she said she could give me directionsSexy Gal: and she was leading me through tthe mall to exit through another entrance and I suddenly rememebered I frgot my pocketbookSexy Gal: so I ran back but there were tons of pocketbooks and these 3 black girls rummaging through them so I knew my bag was goneSexy Gal: now I had lost that lady as well so I was again lost and desperate to get homeSexy Gal: so I exited the mall and decided I might be able to figure it out but it was starting to get late now and by the time I got to Tewksbury Lisa would probably have gone home and there would be nothing to catch you in the act of so but I could still at least confront you in personSexy Gal: oso then I ended up in another mansion...this time it was a really fancy austere like castle - again I was on the top floor working my way down but I slid all the way down the railing - like 10 floors...past I think2 grand pianos with fancy ladies sitting there playing and singing...they were like wearig beautiful ball gowns and hair wigs ad jewls...like in Mozart daysSexy Gal: and I was dressed like that period too but more ordinary but not raggedy...but I had no shoes...Sexy Gal: and I walked past several servants who didnt seem to notice that I didn't quite fit in...and I tried to exit through a door and they thought I too was a queen of some sort...Sexy Gal: but the door I tried was locked and I had no shoes and there was snow all ove rhte ground...Sexy Gal: but the didn't seem to notice my shoes...Sexy Gal: or lack thereofDaniel Kelliher: this was all early this morn?Sexy Gal: and they managed to unlock the door for me and I ran out and decided I should give up going to Tewksbury and just head back tot eh dormSexy Gal: Y - last dream before I got upSexy Gal: but the streets were slushy and wet and cold and snowy and muddySexy Gal: and I had white socks onSexy Gal: and the way back was all uphill so I couldn't run I had to trudge and I was soooo exhausted and I was worried if I went to military academy your affair with Lisa would flourish into a real relationship and I was thinking I couldn't handle military academy anyways...bt I thought it was too late to back out...Sexy Gal: and I think that is when I woke up...trying to climb up the big crumble, dirt and slush and mud and snowy hilly roadSexy Gal: crazy...huh? and I actually left out a lot of detail because too long to tellSexy Gal: I feel a little more awake now that I retold my dreamDaniel Kelliher: yeah...that is crazy

Blink

It was a whilrwind of a fairly uneventful summer that started and ended in the blink of an eye.

The days were long and the weeks were short.

They were filled with the dizzying cacophony of little boy whoops and hollars as slender sticks sliced through the thickness of summer's heat.

It was a season of mastering marvelous maneuvers - how to ride a bike with no feet...no butts..."Look Mom - No Hands!". It was a summer of flying leaps into deep, dark waters...cartwheeling, flipping and tumbling across long, lush lawns.

It was a sticky summer of cool, creamy ice cream gliding down tan, smooth, arms and veiny popsicle rivers curving curiously...deliciously down soft round bellies.

It was a summer of chasing dogs and catching frogs...collecting dragon flies in glass jars with holes poked through the lid.

It was an experimental summer of observing spiders climbing up silken threads and watching piles of tiny ants scrambling over morsels of abandoned sweets - what will happen if we poke this stick at them...what will happen if we blow on them...what will happen if we slop some spit on them - watch them scatter...watch them flee...so fast...so furious...so delightfully devious.

It was a messy summer of mud wrestling after torential rains and splashing through giant puddles of water...digging holes to the center of the earth and constructing crumbly communities of coastal castles.

It was a magical summer of rainbows glistening in the spray of a garden hose...butterflies flitting and floating miraculously on a delicate summer breeze...finding long, lost treasures on an abandoned beach.

It was a summer without structure...without order...without rules and regulations.

It was a summer in which no one got lost...no one got injured...and everyone was blissfully, happily hot.

It was over in the blink of an eye.

School has re-opened and activities begun. The days are growing shorter and the weeks feel very long as the hectic schedule of reality shuffles us along.

We're following schedules and obeying rules...minding our manners and controlling our urges...yet in the blink of an eye someone got hurt.

Life happens in the blink of an eye - and so too shall it end.

Abominable Abysmal Abyss

I want to

stop

breathing....

stop moving...stop falling

into this giant abyss

If I could stop falling, I might climb out

But it's so crumbly...

course

The light at the top is so far away...

impossible to reach...

to think only a moment ago it was in my hand

I'm gonna lie down now

To sleep

to sleep...to sleep...to sleep...

sancutary

the abominable

abysmal

abyss

Busted!

****WARNING*****
Sexually Explicit Content!

Last week we got Busted!! by the CAPS (Children Against Parents having Sex).

We've been busted before...but the other times we have been able to quickly pull up the covers to shield our darling's innocent eyes from the nastiness.

This time was different.

It was a very awkward moment, to say the least.

Before I go into explicit detail as to the state we were in, let me just say that it had been 5 days since we last saw each other (the incident happened the night after Dan got back from his trip to LA).

So here are the nasty details.

We had just put the boys to bed...I mean literally...like a minute had passed.

Typically, after we put the boys to bed they fool around...we have to go back into their room several times to tell them to stop fooling around...eventually we have to threaten them in some way...usually we threaten to send them up to the dark attic to play with the bats (you know...because bats are the only ones that are allowed to play at night). Sometimes one of the boys will come out their room to pee or ask for a glass of water or tell us that the other is fooling around. We usually hear them coming out of their room...we usually hear them pitter patter down the hall...they usually knock on the door and wait until we invite them into our room.

I was in the process of folding laundry. I was standing there, minding my own business, bent over the side of the bed organizing freshly folded clothes into neat piles of who, what and where they belonged.

I guess Dan saw me bent over and couldn't resist (he's a butt man). I guess he couldn't wait until he was absolutly sure the boys were truly sleeping.

Dan swooped around behind me and started kissing my neck (my weakness...makes me trembly and weak in the knees). He reached around my waist and pulled me in close. I could feel how much he missed me...and I missed him too. So, despite my better judgement, I didn't stop him.

I thought for a moment that we should lock the door...but then I thought, we won't actually go at it until after the kids are asleep...or if we do get into it, we will hear them if they come out of their rooms and we will have time to do something about it.

I don't want to bore you with the play-by-play...so I will just get to the actual bust.

There I was, standing, leaning against the side of the bed, panties still slung around my ankle. Dan was on top of me...behind me...his pants and undies were still on...down near his knees. He was shirtless as I had all but torn it from his body moments prior. My own shirt was still on but pushed up high above my breasts. His hand was cupping my right breast...the other around my waist and on my hip...and then it happened.

We did not hear their bedroom door open.

We did not hear the pitter patter of little feet scurrying down the hall.

We did not hear a knock on the door.

We just heard a little voice...very clearly NOT on the other side of the door.

We both froze mid-thrust and turned around.

Alex was standing in our doorway.

I said, "Oh...hghhh...Hi Alex."

He timidly said, "Uhmmm. Brandon is fooling around."

Dan said, "Ok...Go back to bed."

I thought Dan would extract himself and go deal with the boys.

He didn't. He just went back to work.

I fully expected the boys to continue fooling around.

They didn't. They went dead silent and fell asleep without further intervention.

As a matter of fact, every night since that night has been a breeze to put them to bed. Noone has dared to screw around at bedtime...hehe except Dan and myself.

So. If you are having trouble getting your kids off to bed quickly and quietly...try this somewhat unorthodox method. It worked for us.

**Bear in mind, the position you are caught in needs to be very precarious. Otherwise, it might not work. For example, had we been actually on the bed, the child might have decided we were just about to go to sleep and maybe it was just too hot to wear jammies...or maybe our jammies were all in the laundry. Had we both been completely naked, the boy might have assumed that we had both just taken a bath and were simply helping each other dry off...or put lotion on...or something. The fact that we were both half clothed was indeed awkward enough to send the child scurrying back to his room without hesitation and off to sleep without further ado.

There you have it. BUSTED!

The Glass Box

When I hopped off the school bus I was greeted by the faint sound of music wafting up the road. It was classical music so I knew it was coming from my home.

It was like a gentle messenger, drifting to me on a silent breeze.

It told me, “Father is resting on the couch.”

It said to me, “Father is immersed in his music and his thoughts.”

It cautioned me, “Be careful and be quiet when you enter the house.”

I shuffled my feet along the sandy street, slowly making my way home.

The music was growing nearer. I could here it well now. It was Beethovan…it was Symphony No. 5.

I lingered on the side of the road, listening to the powerful message that the symphony relayed, “Father is feeling frustrated. Father is feeling powerless. Father is feeling defeated. Be very cautious and go directly to your room…silently, very silently.”

My father was a man full of contradictions. He was handsome and charming but beastly and violent. He was powerful, passionate and volatile yet incredibly delicate, sensitive and predictably unpredictable. He was extremely loyal but did not trust anyone. He was a visionary with enormous amounts of energy but he lacked the stamina and discipline to see his visions through. He was admirable and despicable.

His dichotomous personality made for a capricious life. We lived from moment to moment, never knowing which direction to walk. One moment he would be jovial and as brilliant as the sun…then the breeze would shift unpredictably and he would whip into a furious tornado of rage.

I spent my childhood desperately trying to capture that ever elusive ray of sunshine found in the eye of the storm. I would do anything to persuade the rays to part the clouds so that I could bask in my father’s happy moments, however transient.

I wanted to have a stable, peaceful life. But even more than that, I wanted my father to feel content and peaceful in his life. You see, from an early age, I recognized that my father was a terribly frustrated man. I knew that he was dissatisfied with what he was able to achieve in his life and I accepted that he was an idealist looking for perfection as well as a romantic disillusioned by reality.

I noticed that other parents seemed to find great satisfaction and personal achievement in the accomplishments of their children. There they seemed to find much gratification, satisfaction and inner peace. So, I tried to materialize my father’s failed ambitions through my own achievements. In this manner I hoped to effect his cheerful disposition.

I was bright, talented, charming and polite. I was mindful, obedient and respectful of authority. I strove to make him proud with my accomplishments by always achieving top marks in school and competition. I tried to amuse him with intelligent conversation and wit. I aimed to please him by conscientiously heeding instructions, rules and manners.

But, as far as he was concerned, I was a horrible disappointment. I was an awkward duckling, an underachieving idiot, and a scandalous embarrassment to his name.

Nonetheless, I was the most faithful and dedicated of his three children. I was the one who ran to greet him with open arms even when he came home in a frightful mood. I was the one who bent willingly to his tyranny. I was the one who forgave him every time he beat us needlessly, terrorized us insanely or accused us unfairly. I was the one he lashed out at in the most frequency and with the most vehemence (my sister and brother will concur).

The beatings that my father bestowed on our delicate bodies were the least scarring of his maltreatments. The psychological terrorism of never knowing where to tread, what to say, or how to behave was far more damaging, to be sure. We never knew if a napkin left haphazardly on the dining table would send him barreling through the bedroom door with a rod in his hand, or if a mistimed chuckle would pluck a string in his nerves whose vibrations would rock the house. We would void quickly so as to avoid being kicked out of the bathroom before we were finished and scurry down the halls to deter confrontations in small spaces where we might be shoved aside or worse. Years of unfair treatments and sub-humanizations left cataclysmic wounds that will never quite heal completely.

The funny thing is that he treated everyone else quite lavishly. He could make the pimpliest pauper feel like a princess and the dumbest dude feel like Einstein. Everyone thought he was the most charming, intelligent, interesting person they ever met…and he was…for them.

My father was an amazing illusion…A disillusioned illusion.

Things are a lot different now. In the past few years he has started taking anti-depressant medication. That and his age have helped to tame his temperament. He is much more at peace with himself and life now…and I am glad for him. But the turbulent years living in his murky shadow left an indelible mark on tender psyches.

Although these years cannot be retracted or erased they can be stored away for future reference. These memories have been placed carefully within plain view. They reside in a glass box. They are constant reminders to me of the important life lessons that my father taught me over the years.


The glass box reminds me to be patient and forgiving. It insists that I be understanding and compassionate – that I give everyone the benefit of a doubt. It propels me to defend the weak and pity the meek. And most of all, it compels me to give everyone the respect that they deserve simply by being alive.

I am my father’s daughter.

His blood runs undeniably through my veins.

I look like him.

I think like him.


I share his passion for music, art, the written word and beauty…

And I inherited his natural sociability and quirkily comical personality…

But I will not act like him.

I am a better person for having lived with him.

Bizarre, bizarre

The most bizarre thing happened to me today.

I went to the grocery store to get a few quick things late this afternoon. The kids were home with the babysitter.

I got the items I needed, loaded them in the minivan and looked in the rear view mirror to back out of my parking spot.

All clear. No other cars were pulling in or pulling out. Noone was standing behind my car and there appeared to be no obstacles behind me (my ninivan has one of those little tv screens that let you see what is behind your car and it beeps if there is something there, beeping faster the closer you get).

I put the car into reverse and proceeded to back out of my spot. All of a sudden the sensor starts beeping alarmingly fast (which means you are millimeters from hitting something). I glance at the sceen - nothing there, glance in the rear view mirror - nothing there, and of course slam on my breaks...but it was too late. I felt my car bump something...heard my car hit something. Alarmed and startled I slammed the minivan into park an jumped out of it. I ran around to the back of the minivan to see what happened.

There was no car behind me, there was noone and nothing laying on the ground behind my car. So I looked up and down the row to see if whatever I hit was stopped just away from me. No car was anywhere in sight (other than the cars that were safely parked, unharmed, in their parking spots). I looked to see if perhaps there may be a shoping cart that rolled away upon impact from my minivan. There were no shopping carts other than the ones that were tucked in the shopping cart corral. Puzzled I knelt down to look under my car to see if, perhaps, whatever I had hit had rolled under my car. There was nothing under my car.

Still puzzled I looked up to the person who was parked in front of me and was loading her groceries when I was. I said to her, "Did I hit something?" She said, "It sounded like you did." I said, "I felt myself and heard myself hit something...and my car even went beep, beep, beep...you know, I have one of those reverse sensors that beeps when you are reversing into something - but I don't see what I hit." Puzzled we both looked around, looked under the car and looked at each other."

After soe further investigation and discussion, we decided that it was safe for me to pull away because there appeared to be nothing harmed.

We both hear me hit something. I felt myself hit something but nothing apeared to be hit.

What do you think happened?

Do you think I hit a ghost or a ghost car?!

Bizarre, bizarre...

Detering JDs

This morning as I drank my morning coffee I perused some of my preious posts. Istumbled upon a piece called, "Path to Salvation". It was a piece I wrote about the Jehovah's Witnesses that persist in coming to my door every couple of months. I believe they are about due for another visit, especially since the nice weather is returning.

So, in anticipation of their next visit, the topic for today was:

Ways to Deter the JDs:

1. Answer the door naked: I'm altogether sure if this will be effective...it might just make them horny.

2. Fake being a non-English speaking foreigner...or better yet invent an alien tongue.

3. Simply don't answer the door...but I think they will just come back another time.

4. Fake being Deaf. This will be an excellent course of action if they don't have anyone in their congregation that knows sign language. If they do then I'm screwed because they will return with that person.

5. Fake being retarded. For some reason retardation causes a lot of discomfort for people, so this might keep them away.

6. Don't let them leave. Make them stay all day but dont offer them anything to eat or drink. It wil be a very long day, but next time they think about stopping by your home they will remember how long they were here last time and probably pass.

7. Answer the door yielding a butcher knife and a strange look. Scare tactic.

8. Swat non-existent flies and babble jibberish.

9. Meow in repsonse to all of their questions but if anyone else speaks to you it is ok to speak English. Just a touch of strange behavior does wonders in detering future interactions.

10. Stand at the door and bark like a dog...a vicious dog.

11. Tell them they can stay and talk as long as they help with the housework...after all, they are chewing up valuable time that you should be doing other things.

12. Tell them they can stay and talk but they have to help dig these holes...as many holes as there are them...and you should make it obvious that you are counting how many of them there are. Tell them that the holes nees to be approximtely 6' deep, 7' long and 3'wide.

13. Ask them for their addresses so you can visit them at their homes try to enlighten them about your faith - Satanism, Wickery, Nymphomanism...some good choices

14. Just join JD. Sometimes I think the only way to deter their future return is to join them. If you can't beat them, join them. I will go door to door with them and say and behave embarrassingly so that they will pray to be released from my company.

That's what I came up with in 30 Minutes on the Machine (which by the way seems to be paying off).

Pee Pee

Last night we went out to dinner. Nothing fancy, just a chain restaurant.

While we waited for our meals to arrive I decided to give Colin a fresh diaper.

Brandon needed to go to the bathroom too so he followed us to the Ladies Room.

When we got into the ladies room it appeared that one of two stalls was occupied (it turns out that both stalls were empty). I noticed there was a generous counter space between the two sinks, so, I sent Brandon into the empty stall and proceeded to wipe down the counter. All the while Colin was pointing at the stall yelling, "Peeepee, peeeeee peee."

I know you know where this is going...but just let me put it down for posterity.

I balanced Colin's squirming body on my hip and ignored his cries, thinking that he just wanted to go where Brandon went.

Finally I stood Colin up on the counter. I took off his shoes and tugged down his pants. I unsnapped his Onesie and pulled down his Pull-up diaper. All the while he was crying, "Peee Peee....Peeeeee Pee". Only when his bottom was naked did he stop his squirming and wailing. He looked down and his chajee (korean word for penis) amused, looked up at me and said, in a sweet, calm voice, "pee pee" and began to squirt a thin stream of urine on the counter.

In shock I gasped, "Huh!"

He instantly stopped the flow, looked up at my face and laughed gleefully at his accomplishment.

I grabbed his old diaper and held it up to his chajee and said, "you need to go more pee?" He reached down and knocked my hand away, dropping the diaper to the floor.

At this point Brandon emerged from the stall and pointed at Colin, laughing hysterically and said, "Coli...Did u do pee pee?!" Yay Coli!" I said, "Brandon. Don't encourage him to pee on the counter! Wash your hands...use soap."

I fumbled with the new diaper, trying to decide whether to 1) scoop him up and run to the open stall, 2) try to pull on the Pull-up before he pee'd again, or 3) lean him over the sink and let him pee in there (noone else was in the bathroom at the time).

I took too long to decide what to do.

Colin stood up straight, picked up his onesie and let a thick, long, arching stream of urine loose - all the while laughing merrily at what fun peeing turned out to be.

I put my cupped hand out to catch the urine but it overflowed and spilled through my fingers. So I reached over and tried to yank off a long stream of paper towels. The towel dispenser turned out to be one of those automatic sensory deals that only spits out one sheet at a time and takes a second to gear up for the next reading....So, I couldn't get the mass of paper towels that I was hoping for. In reaching over to get the paper towels, urine sprayed onto my arm. When I tried to re-position myself, urine sprayed onto my shirt and pants.

Of course, now women were piling into the bathroom. Now I was really in an embarressing position.

First of all, I was the stupid lady that changes her kid on the bathroom counter instead of in the changing station. Secondly, I know they were thinking, "She deserves to get pee'd on". And thirdly, now the ladies have to wash up on a urine soaked sink."

In the end, Colin had created a large puddle of urine on the floor and he had dropped his Onesie so it was wet with urine. He was dancing in the palmful of urine I had released on the counter-top so now his socks were soaked as well. Brandon was laughing hysterically and praising Colin for doing pee pee...and I was covered in it.

Ladies were glaring at me in disgust.

I hastened to clean up the mess (making sure the ladies saw that I was using plenty of soap and water and drying the areas thoroughly) while apologizing profusly and telling them that the stalls were both occupied when we first came in.

I gathered up my boys, and emerged from the bathroom wet, sweaty and red.

As soon as we returned to our table, Brandon announced to everyone, very clearly and very loudly, "Colin pee'd all over the bathroom and all over Mommy!" and Colin proclaimed proudly, "Pee Pee! Pee Pee!"

I looked at Dan and said, "We need to stop by Babies R Us on the way home and buy a potty seat. Did they bring my wine yet?"

Buttercups

I was feeling lazy tonight so instead of taking my usual Monday evening riding lesson, Cody and I went out on the trail.

It was a really nice evening for a ride since it wasn't too hot and the bugs were not bad.

We set off to do the loop (a scenic trail I ride that takes us through the grounds of New England Bio, across some hilly meadows, through Appleton Farms, through a couple of estates, through the polo field, along the Ipswich River, and around the schooling field) at 7:15. That gave us about an hour before the sun would set...possibly less since it was a cloudy evening.

At a casual pace, the loop takes about an hour and 45 minutes. At a moderatly bright pace the trail would take about an hour and 15 minutes. We did the loop in 45 minutes.

Needless to say, we held a very brisk pace. Only when we cleared the woody sections and entered the schooling field did we relax. When we got to the schooling field I let Cody linger to munch on the tall grass growing at the far end of the field.

The sun was hanging low in the sky and the sound of Cody munching eagerly on the sweet fragant grass mingled deliciously with chirping crickets and birds. It was so peaceful. After a long, harrowing day with the boys, this was just what I needed...Just where I wanted to be...In a country field, among wild lupine and buttercup flowers with my loyal stead, Cody.

I climbed down from Cody to pick some lupine but instead found myself plucking a buttercup and smiling at the tender memory it released.

As a girl, Eric (the boy next door) and I would walk through tall fields of grass, picking buttercups and holding them under each other's chins. We were looking to see if the flower cast a yellow shadow on each other's skin. If the flower cast a shadow that meant you liked butter. Of course, it always cast a shadow, but the game was a good excuse to get close to each other.

I also remembered spending afternoons laying in the grass with him, deeply immersed in the activity of looking for four leaf clovers and leprechans and making bracelets and rings out of clover flowers.

And the best memory I had tonight was when I heard the birds calling. The chirping was such that it sounded manufactured...and that jogged the memory of Eric's wake up calls to me. He would stand below my bedroom window, early on summer mornings and throw pebbles at my open window while chirping cheerfully to wake me up. I would sit up giddily, lean on the window sill and whisper to Eric that I would be out in a few minutes.

He was the boy next door.

He was my first kiss.

He is a distant memory from a different life.

Shock Me!

So here I am a Paleastra again for the third time this week. Gymnastics is on Wednesday afternoons so immediately after gymnastics I rush home, feed the kids and head out the door with Dan for Date Night (actually we only go out every few weeks now, but tonight is a date night).

I am sitting here amongst all the other gymnastics moms. They are all haggered and tired and messy looking. I am showered and fresh and pretty. I am wearing a super feminine, chocolate brown dress wtih little white dots. It has a broad open chest and flatters my smooth, sumptuous chest. I am wearing coral red high heeled shoes with gold weaved into the red fabric. They wrap around the ankle and accentuate the taper of my long legs. I feel pretty and super feminine. I am getting a lot of caddy looks from the other mothers...and a lot of admiring side glances from the fathers. I don't care. I feel good and that's all that matters.

I don't always look this nice but I do try to look nice most of the time...it makes me feel good. I think everyone should make more of an effort to look nice...it really doesnt take much more time to look nice than to look grungy. Instead of throwing on a dingy t-shirt and worn sweat pants throw on a cute top and stylish jeans. That's it. I don't have time to look good is bullshit. A good friend of mine (who happens to be the least vain person on earth) once said, "A little vanity goes a long way". I agree.

Anyways. I as you know I am going through something of a personal crisis...aging. I'm sure I have at least 5 good years left...maybe 10 if I take care of myself. The last 10 years flew by. I mean REALLY FLEW! So I have decided that I am going to really, consciously appreciate my beauty while it lasts. I am not going to take for granted my taught, smooth, natural glowing skin and my firm, lean womanly body.

So this past weekend, being Memorial Day Weekend, we attended a few cookouts and hosted one ourselves. We ate a lot and drank even more...margaritas were practically being pumped into our veins intraveniously.

As does often happen when people drink a lot, conversations turned to the frisky side. Its all good and fun...harmless and then we all go home horny and have awesome sex with our spouses.

Anyways, one of our friends introduced me to a new acronym.

MILF.

Ever heard of it?

M-I-L-F...stands for "Mother Id Like to F".

Our friend told me I was a MILF!

I laughed so hard!

Thanks Jake. It's just what my aging ego needed.

I love it when people say shocking things to me. I like to give people a mild shock now and again...it's a little hobby of mine. But it is rare that anyone ever shocks me back.

Go ahead. Shock me...I dare U.

Aging Beauty

I have always felt too young. It seemed like I always wanted to be older...At age 4 I wanted to be old enough to play outside unsupervised. At age 10 I wanted to be old enough to go to the movies withouth an adult. At age 13 I wanted to be old enough to drive. At age 16 I wanted to be old enough to get into an R rated movie...and then, of course, at age 18 I wanted to be old enough to drink alcohol...

Lately, however, I have found myself wanting just the opposite. I have been longing for my younger, carefree, responsibility-free days to return. It doesn't help, either, that there are more and more white hairs popping out of my head (hairs that I diligently search for every day and pluck out with intense contempt). And then there are those shocking moments of realisation...when suddenly I am slapped in the face with the number of years that have passed since I graduated from college...or the harshness of having been alive when people still played records...or when I call a DVD a Tape... or, the worst insult of all, being called Mam'.

I am beginning to feel old...and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Someone once told me that it is dificult for a beautiful woman to grow old. I am not going to fake modesty and deny being attractive. I have always been noted for my appearance. It has become one of the ways I see myself...and I enjoy it. But growing old is tedious. It takes so much more work to look good now. The taughtness of my althetic build needs a little help now to maintain its shape and my diet has become very green.

So I've been in a bit of a panick lately. My gorgeous, sexy, head-turning days are numbered. I find myself wondering if I've still "got it"...if I can still make men trip over themselves to gain my attention and favor. I haven't practiced this skill in many years, so I'm not sure if I'm still able. And then, I feel disgusted with myself that I am thinking this thought. I'm a married woman. I love my husband. I know he thinks I am the most gorgeous ad sexy woman on Earth...why isn't that more reassuring to me. I hate that lately I've been basing so much of my self-worth on my appearance. I was never one to obsess about my appearance...but I think that's because my good looks always came naturally and effortlessly.

Anyways. I know that there is more to me than just my looks. I know I am intelligent and talented and nice...those are the things that I spent my youthful years developing. I didn't think too much about being gorgeous...I took it for granted. Now that they are dwindling I am not taking them for grated.

I am an aging beauty. Like it or Lump it.

It is noon time here in Miami.

I am just rolling out of bed.

I actually woke up at 9:15 this morning. I guess my body is just conditioned to wake up early. My boys have always been early risers. They used to wake up at 5:00 every morning. Last year something miraculous happend in the Dominican...they started sleeping in. Now they sleep until at least 6:00 - usually 6:30/7:00 is there waking time.

Anyways. I woke up with a HUGE hangover. Debbie and I went to a couple of clubs last night.

First we went to the Clevelander. It is the club that all the MTV Spring Break specials take place. It is an outdoor club that wraps around a pool. There was a rocking band there and from the street we could see that the place was packed. So we decided this was a good place to start. There was a bit of a line to get in...no problem for the Kativating Kim sisters. We simply winked at the bouncer and shimmied our way into the club.

We got ourselves a couple of drinks and started to circulate...see what the crowd was like...check out the scene. There was nothing to see. The crowd was totally lame. Nobody was dancing and everybody seemed like nerdy tourists (I know...I am a tourist...but I am super kewl;) So we found a spot with a small shelf table and hung out to finish our drinks. It just happened that also hanging out in this spot were 2 other girls that looked exactly opposite of my sister and me. They were platinum blond, gant blue eyed, bomb shells from Germany. I wondered what this table must have loked like to an outsider...probably pretty interesting. I wish I had my camera.

When we finished our drinks we decided to move on. We wanted to go someplace where we could dance like crazy...with hot latino guys.

We went to Mango...touristy salsa club.

It Was A BLAST!! It too was full of tourists but the crowd was energized and fun...full of cheesy, horny men trying to rub themselves against all the girls as they "merenged" and "salsa" danced...but nonetheless fun.

The first 3 guys I danced with offended me so deeply I almost left the club. Now, I know that merenge and salsa are very sensual, provocative dances...but there is a difference between dancing sensually and rubbing your stiffy against a girl's body. Let's just say these first 3 guys were NOT dancing. I was so upset. I wondered if I had "Rub Your Hard-on Against Me" emblazoned on my forehead or something.

My sister assured me I did not...I had another drink and the next dance was more my pace. He was an Argentinian boy from DC. I don't remember his name...just that he was well mannered and wore a crisp white blouse. He was there with a bunch of other Argentinian boys. They were all cute...not hot...just cute boys. I say boys because they were all in their mid 20s. I felt like such an older woman. Not sure how I felt about being an older woman...but I had enough alcohol in my system at the moment to not care too much. I guess I basked a little in my older woman-ness. I felt strangly knowledgeable...mysterious and sensual.

Anyways. I asked them how old they thought I was. They all thought I too was in my mid 20s. I did not tell them my age - just that I was older than them. They guess 25...23...older?...26?...28...I told them, "It doesn't mater my age, I am just older and wiser than you". They could not fathom that I was in my 30s. I think at that age when you hear 30 something you think grey hair and wrinkles...not pretty face and hot bod.

So we spent the rest of the night dancing at Mango. By the end of the night my feet were killing me and I was too drunk to dance right anymore. So I decided we better head back.

As I lay drunk in my spinning bed I thought about my hunky guy and my adorable boys...I missed them as I fell asleep without them.

Sharing a Room

Well. Here I am in South Beach, Miami with my sister. We are having a sisterly, girl's weekend. We are staying at a stylish little boutique hotel on Collins Avenue (one of the hot locals in SB). We got a penthouse townhouse suite complete with 2 very cool bathrooms, a kitchenette, a living room with leather couch, 2 TVs, kick-ass stereo stystem, spiral staircase AND the best part....Private Roof Deck with Hot Tub! It is a very cool place.

There is only one king size bed...so my sister and I will sleep together. Thats fine. When we were kids we always wanted to sleep in the same bed but my parents would yell at us when they discovered us cozied up together.

Anyways. I've been here for all of 2 hours and it is already like girlie hell exploded in this room. I LOVE it! My sister and I are girlie girls to the max. We love fine designer things - clothes, handbags, shoes, sunglasses, shoes, handbags, bathing suits, make-up...and of course, shoes and handbags!

It is weird to be without my guys. I'm surprised by how much I already miss my hubby. He is so awesome...I love him so much. I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder. I haven't missed him like this since college...my heart yearns for him...yearns to snuggle up in his beefy arms and chest...and inhale his comforting scent.

Anyways. It is blistering hot here in Miami...but I'm a sun goddess.

Will keep you all posted as the weekend progresses...

The Wedding

It was the sweetest, most sincere wedding I have ever been to - the marriage of Jorge (a young man that works for my husband) and Johanna.

The ceremony took place in Quincy, in a gazebo overlooking the bay. It would have been a lovely spot had it not been freezing cold outside. There was no heat in the tent...and no light either - Just a little bit of natural light, from the stormy day outside, struggling to break through the hazey mist gathering on the the plastic that didn't shield the guests from the elements. The wind blew furiously, slapping the plastic loudly to and fro as the rain came down sideways, finding its way easily into the tent.

Nonetheless the groom showed up on time, wearing his wedding best - a white tuxedo and white sneakers. He paced at the alter, among the obviously fake flowers, and nervously chomped on a piece of gum.

I stood shivering near the back of the tent, amuzed by the spectacular frenzy of guests arriving in a cacophony of brightly colored attire and authentic faux jewels. Everyone was running in from the rain...trying in vain to stay dry. A darling little hispanic girl dressed provacatively in a purple, off-the-shoulder dress and long white gloves came running into the gazebo. When she got under the tent, she put on her brakes and immediately wiped out, sliding under the last few rows of plastic chairs.

Now a procession of flower girls and bridesmaids came barreling in. All were draped in garbage bags and wore shower caps on their heads. They were still soaked. They spoke breathlessly and violently in spanish.

The bridal party has arrived so we are ready to begin the ceremony. But someone forgot to bring the music. The priest asks the guests to sing "Here Comes the Bride".

As the guests begin singing in a thick chorus of spanish accents, the bride is escorted into the gazebo. She is wearing a fluffy white dress that is now spotted with rain and her veil is clinging wetly against her bare back. Her tiara glitters as she steps tentatively into the gazebo. She shivers as a drop of water rolls from her chin onto her bosom. She is clutching a bouquet of white and pink fake flowers and looking searchingly toward the front. A broad, white smile sweeps across her face and lights her up. She has found her groom.

As the bride makes her way down the aisle, the bridal party gets situated at the front of the tent. The brides maids are adorned in slinky, bright pink dresses out of which their buxom bosoms spill heavily. The maid of honor is wearing the same provocative dress but she is also sporting a thick, rhinestone choker collar necklace and glittering dangly earrings. She has a large tatoo emblazoned across her chest. I can't see exactly what it is. I am thinking, "Thank goodness we are not in a church!". The groom is standing tall, gleaming, mesmerized by his bride...still chomping away on his gum.

When the bride reaches the front, the priest asks everyone to rise. I notice a particular female guest seated near the front. She is wearing tight white pants through which one can effortlessly view the prominent indentation caused by her underwear digging into her flesh as the material struggles and strains heroically against the her bulbous buttocks. She is also wearing a black bomber jacket with a large furry hood but she isn't wearing the hood...she is wearing a clear plastic shower cap. It is an interesting and practical fashion statement. She sucks lustily on a big blue lollipop as she participates in the ceremony. She is among the most enthusiastic of the guests in providing the responsorial "Amen!". She is not afraid to let the bride and groom know she is there for them, "You go girl!" "Mmmm, Child, thas loov fo yas...". There are others in the audience also enthusiatically whooping and hollaring periodically throughout the ceremony but the enthusiasm reaches its peak when the bride and groom kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

By the time the ceremony is finished, the rain has let up enough for us to make it to our cars without getting completely drenched. The groom is still chowing on his gum as he leads his bride out of the gazebo.

The wedding reception is in another location. It is in Jamaica Plane. In order to get from Quincy to Jamaica Plane we have to drive through Roxbury and Dorchester (the projects). Jorge was good enough to give us very thorough directions to the reception hall - directions that would take us 15 minutes longer, but would take us through "the nicer parts of the hood". Despite the 3/4 page of typed directions, complete with number of lights, landmarks and a "house that looks dead", we get lost but Dan refuses to pull over for directions.

Eventually we get to the reception hall.

Upon entering the hall there is a sign-in table and a "wedding mailbox" to put cards into. Dan signs us in and I look around for the seating assignments. There appears to be no seating assignment so we stand around awkwardly.

The room is decorated with more fake flowers of white and pink. The tables are covered with white table clothes and the chairs are draped with white tulle scarves. The DJ is playing music with a latino beat. It is loud...very loud.

I am starving so I look around to see what there is to eat. There are no hor d-oeuvres floating around...there is no buffet table with cheese and crackers...I don't smell any food and the kitchen appears dark and still. I am wondering if we should have stopped at McDs on the way because I don't think I can wait until dinner.

We are totally out of our element. It feels like all the latinos are looking at us and all the inner-city folks are snarling at us. So I look around to see if there is a cocktail waitress...no cocktail waitress...no sign of a bar. I could really use a drink right now.

Someone comes along and finds out we are "Northcoast amigos". It turns out that there is no assigned seating but there are a few special tables reserved for very special guests...immediate family, and interestingly, Northcoast amigos.

We sit down at our table - table number 7. It is the second table from the head table and right on the dance floor. There are white and pink fake flowers on the table and plastic champagne glasses at each seat. I find comfort in these plastic champagne glasses as they indicate that there will, at the very least, be a glass of champagne...or maybe not...maybe they will toast with grape juice. I really hope it's champagne. I notice there is no silverware on the table. Now I am beginning to wonder if there is going to be any food at all. Still no scent of food on the horizon. The kitchen is still black. I am so hungry. I look in my clutch to see if I might have a package of saltines or peanuts. No dice...but I find some breath mints.

Eventually someone comes around and places a stack of plastic cups, a bottle of cheap champagne and a 2-litre bottle of Coca-Cola on each table.

Another Northcoast amigo shows up. He is Puerto Rican. He pulls a bottle of Petrone from his pocket...apparently he has been to one of these weddings before. He is now my best friend. It is a rather small bottle so now I am thinking maybe we should send someone to the package store for more alcohol...someone who knows this area. I tell Dan he should send Chenille (a Northcoast amigo...he's black, long dreadlocks, big white smile, seems to know his way around). I suggest that Dan give Chenille enough money to purchase cases and cases of beer and wine as a wedding gift from Northcoast to the bride and groom - he can write it off. He looks at me and asks me if I'm crazy...I think he means going back out into the rain...he means sending someone out with his money.

The hall is quite full of guests now - immigrants, latinos, inner-city folks and table number seven (the "Northcoast amigos" table - also referred to as the gringo table). Most of the ladies are dressed to the nines....cheap slinky dresses, gawdacious faux jewels, bright lipstick, plunging necklines, six inch heels. There is one woman in particular that catches my eye. She is wearing a leapord print swing coat. Under that coat she is wearing a black dress with large white polka dots and a lime green ribbon around her waste. She is carrying a bright pink satin purse and is wearing black platform, open-toed, high-heeled shoes. Her fingernails are like daggers, painted bright pink - the index finger has a sparkley rhinestone glued to the tip. Her toenails are also painted bright pink. I am so distracted by the assault of color, pattern and texture that I don't even notice what her face and hair look like. She is being escorted by a young black man wearing Pippi Long-stocking-like braids. He is sporting a cream colored vest and cream colored pants with white sneakers. He is wearing a pink dress shirt and a black tie...and the piece de resistance is his cream colored gentleman's hat (which he does not take off in the building as a gentleman should).

Finally a window near the back of the room slides open. Yes! It is a cash bar!!! Dan goes to the bar to get me a gin and tonic (I usually like Bombay and tonic) and to get himself a beer (he usually like Sam seasonal). He returns to the table with a plastic cup of gin and tonic and a bottle of beer. I take a sip of my drink and wince. I notice Dan's beer. It is Sam Octoberfest (it should be Sam Summer at this time of year).

My stomach is so empty that the alcohol goes straight to my senses and I immediatly feel deliciously relaxed. The gin, even though it tastes like crap, is doing a good job. The timing is perfect because now I can see that there will be food served after all and I am absolutly delirious with delight.

In the darkest corner of the reception hall I see ladies carrying in foil trays for the buffet table. They will call us up to the buffet by table number. I wait eagerly for our table to be called. When our table is called we head over to the buffet line. We each grab a styrofoam plate, a bundle of plastic utensils tied up with pink curling ribbon and a white paper napkin. The food looks like something you would find at a bad BBQ. The chicken and pork are dried like leather. There is something that has turned a sort of brownish, greyish color. I think it is some kind of banana dish with chunks of some sort of darker brownish greyish bits it. There are mashed potatoes - which actually look like mashed potatos...and a chopped salad of yellowish green lettuce, tomatos and cucumbers. Even though the food looked questionable I devour it. It actually tastes good and the mashed potatoes are to die for! It turns out the banana dish is actually some sort of a potato salad with chunks of turkey giblets in it. Ewe!!

People are finishing up their meals and moving onto the dance floor. They are playing a mixture of hip-hop and what Dan and I refer to as "vacation music". My friend with the Petrone grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. He merenges with me while his wife gets her toes stepped on by my white boy.

Dan and I danced like crazy and drank tons of cheap alcohol for the rest of the night. Dan is not much of a dancer so I danced with anyone that was willing, whether they were able or not. I danced with cute guys, ugly guys, young guys, old guys, buff guys, fat guys...They all had two things in common. They all smelled heavily of cheap cologne and they all knew how to lead a girl on the dance floor. It was so much fun!

By the end of the night I was shit faced and exhausted. I was giddy from being twirled all over the dance floor by dozens of men and enchanted by the pure, unpretentious festivity of this special occassion.

I am humbled by this experience.

It was a wedding unlike any I had ever been. It left an indelible impression on my mind and deeply touched my heart. I have to say, it is quite possibly the best wedding I have ever been to. I am honored to have been there - at Jorge and Johanna's wedding.

I wish the lovely couple a lifetime of companionship and just 2 or 3 adorable children.

I HATE HER! I HATE HER!! I HATE HER!!!!!

I am sitting at the piano - which is an upright and against the wall in my living room near the sliding lgass door (but in real life I have a grand piano centered in the back half of the living room). I am trying to play but I my fingers won't work. I am so angry and frustrated because my father's (who in this dream looks like Harrison Ford, the young Harrison) girlfriend is here (she looks like a pretty young actress that I've seen in some movies but I don't know her name) and I want to make her feel small - make her see how good at the piano I am. I hate her I HATE HER!! I HATE HER!!!! I am fuming with rage. Dad is just on the other side of the sliding door with my siblings (who in this dream are Alex and Brandon) and her. He is grilling some burgers. I HATE HER!!! I am so enraged by her I start screaming and throwing an unbelieveable tantrum. I am so jealous of her. I am threatened by her. But in my dream my love for my father feels like being in love - not the kind of love one has for a father but for a boyfriend. I am banging the keys and banging them and making a terible racket btween my screaming and pounding but every once in a while I slow down and try to play something prettily again. Colin is standing by the piano with me. He is looking up at me dolefully with his big round eyes and he is sucking on a freeze pop, I think it was red. I think she gets scared off by me - she feesl bad that she is causing all this...so she leaves. Dad tries to get her to stay. I know she's coming back. Dad goes back to grilling and tries to ignore my fit. I want him to come to me and comfort me but he refuses to give in to me. He is not gettting mad he is just merrilly grilling. He is determined not to let me get under his skin and not to let me ruim this thing with her for him. I am still slamming the piano and occassional trying to play it but the keys get jammed up - like the way an old fashioned typewriter gets jammed up when you type too fast. The last 2 lower octaves are the keys that have jammed like a typewriter .and the white key pads on these particular keys are all worn and faded and some have fallen off. The rest of the keyboard still loks fresh but have gone askew so they are broken too. I feel so bad that I did this because he worked so hard to buy this for me...it cost a lot of money...and I waited a very long time to have a nice piano. I know she's coming back so I am still trying to ge my playing back together but I'm playing horribly. All the while A+B are on the deck with D and asking him why is she acting that way...why is she so angry...aren't you going to do something. She comes back. She is at the front door. I jump up from the piano and run to the door. I want to get there before him so I can make her leave. I want to beat the crap out of her. I HATE HER SO MUCH!!! I am furious she is here and Dad loves her....but dad is in the front hallway ahead of me. He is just about to reach the door so I start screaming at him how I hate him IHATE HIM and I HATE HER! He turns and says try not to be angry...I'll get used to her... there is nothing I can do about it. Try to understand. I am hurting his feelings but he is not getting angry - he understands. I scream through blinding tears why do you need her?! Why aren't I enough for you?! So then get out! Get out of here! And I push him forward toward the door that is wide open. The storn door is closed but the glass is not in it so I push him out the door, through the storn door and into her. He is resisting and I get some satisfaction in the fact that he didn't go willingly and that he seems to care even though he wont bend to my will to leave this girl. I am crying and screaming hysterically. I run up the stairs to my room and slam the door shut. I am screaming and crying hystericaly and I want my father to come up to me. I want her to leave. I want my dad all to myself. I am so filled with rage.

I don't remember how the dream jumped into this next phase and this section is very hazy - I don't recall a great deal but I think I am running away from home. I am in the woods. I am walking angrily, sulkingly, mopingly down a path. I can still feel my hurt and longing with such intensity. It is sunny out. It is not hot or cold. The trees seem a bit bare - like it is autumn but I don't think it is autumn - I feel like it is early summer. I am walking down a slight hill. I remember meeting someone along the way I once knew (I don't remember who). I get the feeling it was someone I didn't really want to see - or someone I didn't really like that much... I remember crossing a bridge over a trickling brook. I think I hung oiut on the bridge for a while - looking over it, contemplating what has happened. I decide to turn around and go back. I see that person off to the left...I don't want her to see me so I hurry along. I think I trip and she comes voer. We exchange some words...don't remember what but I think we walk a little bit together but I really just want to be left alone with my thoughts. Going back was up hill, a rather high hill...still dirt path through woods/trees.

That's all I remember and I think I woke up soon after.

Magnificent Visible Wings

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was a mysterious, magical creature.

I was fascinated by her.

I was in absolute awe and wonderment of her. She was so beautiful.

She wore very little make-up and wore very simple clothing, yet people could not help but linger on her loveliness. She had this ethereal look to her. Large round eyes and a delicate, well-shaped nose mingled serenely among high, softly rounded cheekbones. She had flawless, porcelain skin that glowed from within and a soft, plush mouth that could heal all wounds mortal and mental. Her delicate frame seemed to float wherever she went.  And her voice…it was an amazing, soaring soprano that rang clear above all the other voices in song. She sang like an angel – an angel with magnificent invisible wings.

I was fiercely proud of her and wanted to be just like her. I would study her as she applied her make-up and try to learn her craft. I would consider her as she prepared meals and memorize her methods. I would examine her in a crowd and practice her mannerisms. She was everything womanly and wonderful to me.

As I grew older, I realized there was a lot more to her than meets the eyes. I realized that what made her so beautiful was more about who she was than what she looked like.  She was a quiet beacon radiating warmth, gentleness and compassion.  She was an unimposing vista, demanding nothing but inspiring and rejuvenating weary souls by just being there.  And, she was everything soft and peaceful that I wanted to be.  Even her voice was soft. In fact, I don’t ever remember her yelling. Her voice was a comforting, magical elixir for whatever ailed me. Sure, she would get upset with me. But she would never yell. Her voice simply didn’t make that sound. Her voice would take on this aggravated melody and I would feel disappointed with myself for having displeased her.  After all, she was the person who kept me safe. She was the person who healed my wounds. She was the person who loved me no matter what…and I was a naughty little girl. Even still, she always had a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss for me.

As I grew older still, I stopped admiring her.  I became self-absorbed. It was all about me. I needed to take lessons. I needed a ride someplace. I needed to have designer jeans.  My mother exhausted herself quietly to cater to my needs. She worked hard  for little money and slept little for a larger purpose.

Eventually I realized the magnitude and direction of her sacrifices.  They were all for me.  This made me feel guilty. I didn’t want to feel guilty. I just wanted to get what I “needed”. I was angry with her for making me feel guilty.  I accused her of being a masochistic martyr. I looked at her with contempt and treated her like a cockroach. Yet she still gave me warm hugs and soft, plush kisses.

When I entered womanhood, I stopped resenting her. I stopped thinking about her altogether. Life was still all about me…and I was free to pursue the business of me without her hanging over me. Smart and talented, I was arrogant in my self-confidence. In my eyes, she had grown quite small – she seemed so simple and meek. I would visit her from time to time…but mostly because I needed a place to crash…I needed to get my laundry done…I needed gas money. I shamelessly used her. But she was always glad to see me and always eager to feed me and she always had a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss for me.

The day I became a mother, my mother re-entered the godly realm. I was inexperienced and terrified by my new responsibilities. She was so wise and strong…she seemed omniscient and omnipotent. She showed me how to care for my newborn boy. She cradled him casually and lovingly in her arms, unfazed by his endless crying…and with some mysterious maternal power she was always able to stop his crying. She was somehow magically able to juggle all the demands of this tiny boy and never miss a beat…and never cave in. I felt like I was going to crumble.

Once my confidence and experience in motherhood grew, my mother’s heavenly status returned to earth and frustration settled in.  I was so exhausted and overwhelmed.  I was physically undernourished and spiritually depleted.  She came to me as much as she could and helped me in many ways but the mostly she resuscitated me with warm hugs and soft, plush kisses.

So, Mother’s Day is upon us and I find myself thinking - What is motherhood really? Cleaning up after the children?...keeping them clothed and clean, fed and healthy?…helping them when they need it?  Anyone can do that. You can pay someone to do that.

What I know of motherhood I learned from my mother. She showed me that Motherhood is the art of generosity – unconditional and without expectation. Motherhood is a life of acceptance without resentment. Motherhood is a way of loving without conditions. Motherhood is humanity at its purest. Motherhood is patiently waiting…and always being available…always available with a warm hug and a soft, plush kiss.

On this Mother’s Day I am a responsible, loving mother. But I am also a little girl…I have, all this time, always been a little girl…the little girl of a beautiful mother with magnificent visible wings.

The Tease

I hate making beds. Why should I make these beds. They’re just going to get messed up again in a few hours. I should just give up the boys’ naps – then at least the beds will stay neat for the day…but I do love taking a nap when they do.

Hggggh. I could really use a nap right now. I don’t think I can wait until noon.

Gawd. Why am I always so tired. These kids are going to be the death of me. Running around all day cleaning up after them is so exhausting…and seems so pointless when they just tear everything apart again in second.

Is this bed laughing at me?

You’re teasing me, aren’t you?!

“I look comfy, don’t I? Oooh, I’m so cozy and warm. Big, fluffy down comforteeerrs…piles of big plush pillooows."

Damn you! You are evil!

“Crisp clean sheets. I smell really good.”

Stop looking at me.

“Aw, Come on. Just try me. You won’t regret it. Look how big I am . You can stretch out and rest your weary bones. Don’t you want to snuggle up with me?”

Ok. You asked for it! Here I come!

“Ugh! Damn you’re heavy! And you smell! Go take a shower!”

Desperation

Go on back to the locker room and take off your shoes and socks. I’m gonna sit here so I can watch you.

Should I go to the locker room with him? No, he can handle it himself.

All set?

Good boy.

Class is about to start.

Hug and a kiss?

Have fun!

They’re so cute. I wish I had that much energy. Gawd, he is so strong! He’s the best one in the class…

Why do I torture myself by looking at these magazines. I’m bored, that’s why. This is boring – sitting here…waiting…watching…always watching. I’m a terrible mother. I should be completely captivated and interested in watching every movement he makes. I’m an embarrassment to motherhood. Look at those mothers sitting over there. They’re all watching their kids. They probably think I’m an uncaring mother…superficial – looking at my magazine instead of watching my kid. The “good mommy group”. They are so self-righteous. Jeesh. I would rather look at my silly magazine than join in on their baby talk and childbirth stories anyways.

I feel bad for that guy…having to listen to them talk about placentas and vaginal tears…don’t they have any modesty.

Yeah – I feel for you big guy. It’s gross. You should move over here and talk to me. I won’t bore you with baby talk and childbirth. Been there…done that...movin' on. I’m interesting, you know. I don’t know anything about sports…but I’m good for some harmless flirting…

Oooh. That’s a pretty dress…I’d never look like that in it…but I could wear those shoes…

Did you say you had botox injections? I’ve been thinking about doing that. Did it hurt?

Ugh…I make myself sick. I am so desperate to be included in someone’s conversation…I’m not even remotely thinking about having botox injections.

Just a little headache for few days? I could probably deal with that. Maybe next time you see me I’ll look as great as you.

Jeesh. Shut up already. You are such an ass-kisser! She doesn’t look thaaat great. Gawd, you make me sick. You are so desperate!

Oh, now these ladies are having an interesting conversation.

Ooh, ooh. I’ve been to the Dominican. I know a great place you can stay…

Jeesh. Mind your own business.

Yeah baby!…tropical drinks poolside…

Gawd…Mind your own business.

Excuse me. Did you say you’re thinking of going to the Dominican?

We go there every winter. It’s so great. Perfect temperature…gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Did you pick a resort yet?

Darn. She already booked.

Whatever. I didn’t want to talk to you anyways. Hmmm. This is a cute outfit.

Did she say Cedardale? I belong to that club!

Darn, I don’t play tennis.

Gawd! Stop it already! Mind your own business. Geesh. You are so desperate. You’ll talk to just about anyone won’t you!

Yeah. It is a cute outfit, isn’t it.

Come on now, I wish whe I was pregnant I looked as great as you do! I was always so huge. Don’t worry. You’ll be back in shape in no time.

Yeah it’s not easy being…

Is That you Diane?

I am in a restaurant. It is a nice restaurant, modest and conservative in decor - it is not at all in the league of the upscale, fashionable restaurants that I prefer. The menu is very basic. It's good basic american food - like Joe's American Bar and Grill. I am there with Colin. Just COlin. We are geting a bite to eat - I think it's lunch time. THe restaurant is a little dark - like pub style. We are seated in a corner booth. There is a large trunk?? behind our booth - it is wooden...heavily varnished, golden colored...oak? Colin is climbing all over it and all long the corner shaped bench. I order us some drinks. I order orange juice for COlin. I order milk for myself (I never order milk - I always order a ginger ale or a glass of wine in the evening). When the waitress comes back there is no table. There is a ramp of wood going down from the top of the corner of the bench to the floor - it surprises me that COlin isn't clinbing it. I don't want to be troublesome for the waitress so I say we can just use this as a table. I put the wood up horizontally in the coprner of our table and pull up a chair. She sets our drinks on it.

I see someone I once knew talking flirtatiously with the bartender and the fellow at the bar. I think it's her. She is working here. She is the hostess. SHe looks happy and cocky. She is not that way in real life. In real life she was very sweet and naieve and beautiful - really beautiful. But she was stupid - particularly stupidly naieve. She was a secretary at the firm I worked in before I had Alex. For some reason she latched onto me. I was always embarressed to be seen with her because she was slightly cheesy (she was a Medfor - pronounced by townies "Mh-Fah") and a secretary - I was a rising star - the youngest analyst on the block and I had CEOs making multi-biollion dollare decision based on what I said. Diane looked up to me - she emulated me in every way...particularly the way I dressed - but she was townie so she never quite got it right...she hung on my every word and advice. And I treated her shamefully. I took advantage of her naievity and her absolute adoration of me and toyed with her mind...made her doubt herself and made her feel her small-towness just for my own pleasure. She never knew I did this on purpose. She always thought it was all her. Anyways. I'm not sure it's her...she seemes so cocky...and thin...she's still so thin. She must have kids by now. She is wearing a black wrap dress. Her hair is long and dark (in real life she had long, curly, fiery red hair that after she got married she chopped it all off and wore it super short and let it go back to it';s natural dark brown color) , curls, parted off lightly off center. I think she glanced at me for a millisecond. When she walks near me I jump up from my seat and run over to her. As I'm jumping up, I think that I shouldn't be jumping up and leaving COlin alone at the table...he;ll be fine. I hope he's good. I'l just right here. It's fine. I grab her arm and say, Diane. She stops and says, Hi. Then she sees me and for a second I think she isn't Diane - I made an idiot of myself. I say, oh, sorry, as I let go of her arm...are you Diane...no you're not DIane, are you? Is that you Diane? Diane Privatera? She hesitates as if realizing she can back out of this if she wants...but she says Ya, I'm Diane. How are you EIleen? I said, fine, I'm eating here with my son. I can see in her eyes that she thinks - oh, EIleen eats here, I'm doing well to be working here...but I am thinking, I don't usually eat here...it is below me...but I do eat in these types of places when I'm with my kids. We chat a bit. I ask her where she's living now because this restaurant is in Andoiver...and last I knew she lived in Mansfield - an hour and a half away from here. She said where she lived - I don't know if she still lived in Mansfield or if she now lived closer. I asked her if she was still wtih Darren. She said yes - but I got the feeling he was only there in body - they were not spiritually together anymore...she was just using him for security. At this she mentions she knows Diane Brita - as if she is using it as psychological ammo. I say oh. and I wonder if Diane B told her about our misconducts in high school...and also about the scandoulous rumor (and they were just rumour not truths at all - I don't know why but in HS people watched me all the time. Girls were jealous and threatened by me and I think guys were secretly lustful of me...anyways, people made up all sorts of ridiculous, nasty rumour about me that if they took a moment to think about they would have realised the absolute impossibility and ridiculousness of the rumours...but people believe what they want to believe). Anyways, She looks like she knows something. She also says she knows Kim Miller and Angela Gardener. These three girls are a small group of slightly rebellious girls that were true friends to me in high school. I was not a rebel but being one of a very few non-white people, I was slightly outcasted - always on the ouside of the inside cirlce, never quite being truly accepted. Anyways, I haven't spoken to these girls since high school. Diane is called away...she's on duty...she feels important and struts away arrogantly. I go back to my table. The food has arrived. Now there is a table. A big woddon table. It is round, dark wood, like in a pub. When the waitress comes back with our order Colin's drink is gone. She cleared it away at some point but it was still full. I ask the waitress what happened to Colin's drink. She looks at my milk. I tell her this isn't his drink. She says our waitress didn't put it out with our food so now she has to go back to get it (annoyed). I realize at this point this is not our waitress, just a server. I tell her that we already got the drink - that it disappeared. She said, our waitress must have cleared it away - she will tell her to bring another. She calls our waitress on her cell phone. I don't really recall what exactly the food was but it was pubby looking, lots of fries, the crinkly kind, fried looking food and I see lettuce, pickle, onions, pickle on the side like when you order a burger. I am eating my food. I am sitting in a chair, back to the "camera" and COlin is being good, walking around on the corner bench while he eats the food he is holding in his fist. I am talking to someone now. I don't know who. I think in my dream I knew this person...but I can't remember who it was now. We are talking about Diane. I tell my "friend?" that Diane knows Diane Brito, Angela and Kim. We discuss how they could know each other. The other person says, did you hear her say she spent $1000 on 5 dresses?! I say, yeah, apparently she is trying to become an actress or a model. She is really into beauty pageants. And we talk about how ridiculous Diane is. Diane returns to my table to chat. She is cocky. She is acting like she is all that. I am still trying to figure out how/why she is here and how/why she knows my HS friends and what they told her about my days. I am nervous. I am casually eating everything in sight...I have just about finished my plate and look over to see Colin's plate is still quite full. There is a quarter of a steak left, french fries and a baked potato skin looking thing. I reach over and pull it near and start picking off of his plate as I finish my plate. I look over to see another plate of food with more french fries and some other foods. I pull it over and begin picking off of that as well. I finish my plate and finish the other plate and the waitress comes to clear away the dishes. I say to leave Colin's plate. And I chow on it - all the while Diane is talking and threateneing me with what she seems to know. She is stupid and talking about nothing important yet she THINKS she is so important and gorgeous and smart and successful. I am thinking yeah, you are still gorgeous, but you're personality has changed and it is ugly...and you are still stupid and you are still frivolous and being a hostess in a restauranty is not success.

This is about where I wake up.

Clothing Obsessed

Brandon is such a funny kid. There are so many quirky things about him. But he is particularly fond of clothing. Actually, he is clothing obsessed.

As you might recall he went through a peculiar phase this winter of wearing multiple layers of clothing at all time (see “Peeling Layers”). I’m glad to report that he has given up most of his layers…now he only wears 3 or 4 layers at a time. But he still remembers that I store clothes away in the attic. Whenever he sees the opportunity, he sneaks up to the attic and retrieves some more clothes. It doesn’t matter the size…he grabs clothes that are too big for him (stored away for his future use) and clothes that are too small for him (stored away for Colin’s future use). His drawers are overflowing with clothes and he continues to change his attire several times a day, but he has gotten significantly (although not perfectly) better at not turning all his clothes onto the floor (just his worn underwear, dirty socks and a few articles of clothing).

The other day Brandon noticed that Dan was wearing something different.

He asked Dan, “Daddy, is that a new shirt?”

Dan said, “No, I just haven’t worn it in a while.”

Brandon lowered his voice to secretive hush and said, “Did you get it from the attic?”

Party Time!!

Just so you know...I have been very disciplined in doing my 30 Minutes on the Machine. But some days my lists are just too boring to post.

Today I didn't really make a list but with summer quickly approaching I started thinking about our annual kid party. Every summer we throw a giant kid/family party for which we invite everyone we know that has kids. Last year summer got away from us and we didn'
t have a summer party but we had a kick-ass Halloween Party. The main events for the party were:

Spooky Bouncy House: We throw so many kid parties that we bought our own bouncy house. Best investment we ever made. I dressed the house up in ghostly attire and the kids bounced the night away.

Freakie Feelie Fun Hut: The activity in which you put common items in a bowl and the kids feel them - but they feel like freakie things - like peeled grapes for eye balls. I put the hut in a dark place and covered the table with white cobb webby stuff - I put a lamp in the middle opf the table with a black lightbulb so everything glowed eerily.

Monster Mania Dance Contest (in which I lit up the back yard with strobe lights...when all the kids got into a good dance groove and were properly mesmerized by the strobe lights I started tossing balloons down off the sundeck...as the balloons thinned out started throwing candy down. The first few pieces hit some kids - but when they figured out what they got hit with the candy frenzie began and noone cried)

Scavenger Hunt for candy and prized in the gully...I had each child bring a $5 toy and hid them in the swale. The swale is set apart from the main house so it is dark. Everyone had to bring a flashlight and search for the goodies.

Ended the night with Not too Spooky Fireside stories and marshmellow roasting

Other parties have included a Day at the Fair; Superhero Party (in which everyone dressed int heir favorite superhero costumes); Curious Creatures (where a guy came to our home and brought all kinds of creepy crawly critters including an aligator); Kiddie Boot Camp (just before school started)

This year I am thinking about ditching the kid party and having an awesome grown up party. I am going to send the kids off to grandmother and grandfather's house for a pajama party...and we grown-ups will have our own little PJ Party!! Everyone must come in their pajamas (or I will personally tear your clothes off and you will be left to party in you skivvies!!)

No feetie pajamas allowed! In fact, the man and woman with the most provacative attire will win a fabulous prize of some sort - maybe a night at some raunchy hotel;)

So, mark your calendars guys and gals...plan a trip to Massachusetts...and bring your PJs.

Date and Time yet to be determined.

The Boycott

Ugh! Didn’t I just do the laundry?

How can we possibly have so much laundry already?!

Well, at least Dan was nice enough to bring it down for me.

Dark, dark, light, dark, light…grey – I’ll set that aside, it can go both ways…

***

Better fold this stuff now while I have a few minutes.

Jeesh! How many pairs of underwear do these people go through in a week? I just can’t keep up. Why the hell am I even folding this stuff. Nobody sees it

I'm not folding it anymore. If you can’t see it, it ain’t gettin’ folded.

***

T-shirts. I should count how many t-shirts these guys have...and of course, they're all inside out.

Can’t they just turn their clothes right side out before putting them in the hamper? It would really make things so much easier for me. I mean, I’ve only asked them to do it a million times. Well, maybe the kids are a little young for that…but Dan should be able to do it.

Ugh.

Forget it.

I’m not turning all these shirts right side out. If he doesn’t care to turn them right side out, then he won’t care if I fold them inside out.

***

Towels. I don’t mind folding towels. They’re easy...and they look nice when they’re all stacked up, perfectly the same. But they take up so much space in the laundry…

Why do I have to wash them anyways. Aren’t they just drying off stuff that’s already clean?

***

I’m afraid to open this door………

Ugh! What the?!!…If they are just going to turn all their drawers out and leave the clothes all over the room, why do I even bother to fold them and put them away neatly. I've had it! I’m not folding their clothes anymore! I’m just going to wash them and throw them in the room.

***

Blaaaakie…where ya been hidin’ out boy? Who’s a good doggie? Yeees, you are. You’re such a good boy. Mommy loooves you. You’re the only one that doesn’t make dirty laundry for me. Yeaaah. That feels goood, huh?….

Jesus! What the heck have you been rolling in?!! You smell like shit!!

The Barn on Fellows Road

I am at the barn on Fellows Road. I feel good and strong and energetic and content with life. I don't remember why I was there that day..maybe I was there to do some work...I don't think I was there for a hack or a lesson...but I was in the process of leaving the barn. The barn is qiuet. I am going about my business - tidying up the joint before leaving - putting away pitch forks, sweeping up... At some point someone shows up...we chat and eventually find ourselves in the tack room. It looks as it really is in real life - It is dingy but tidy (because I just tidied it this morning - in real life...I go to the barn on Sunday mornings to feed the horses and do some chores). There is little light, just the little bit of natural light that fiters in through the crawl space window. We become passionate. It feels delicious. We are kissing passionatly, we are caressing and deliciously aware of each other and of each touch. We are a tangle of arms and legs and heavy breathing, hot kisses and tongues wetly tasting every inch of each other. We are like starving people who have discovered food. I hear the crunching of gravel outside the barn. Someone is coming. I think it is Lowell. I mustn't get caught. My lover leaves the barn discreetly - still buttoning his jeans. I see now that it is Andre. Andre is the one guy that rides at our barn. We are a chick barn - all girls and ladies. We call him the "crazy Russian" guy. The ladies at the barn don't care for him. They all think he is a manic and that he mistreats the horses and he is going to get himself and/or the horses into serious trouble one of these days. But I don't think he is so bad. I like him but can only take him in doses because he is very intense. He has a strong will and strong opinions..but maybe it's just that Russian accent that makes him seem so intense...I actually think he is a softy...Anyways...He rides like a maniac and is always a litle bit out of control. I am the only one that is willing to go out on the trail with him. I guess I don't mind him because I can see that he is earnest...he has good intentions...but he is also foreign so sometimes it takes a moment longer for him to get what you are saying (even though he is extremely intelligent and is very fluent with the English language)...or he misses something in translation and everyone gets annoyed at him and think he is being rude...foreigners have a way of seeming air-headed because of this and I am very aware and understanding of this because my parents were foreigners and I've dealt with such challenges my entire life. I guess I also like that he is so fearless and abandoned when he rides(even though it can be scary hacking with him if he wants to be naughty - i.e. take off at full speed). I am always in control. Even when I am galloping...I am in control. By the way, I have ABSOLUTLY not sexual interest in Andre. But he is a nice looking man. Anyways. I am re-composing myself in the the tack room. I still don't see whoever was crunching the gravel...I figure they must not need anything in the tack room and wish Andre had not gone away...I wish we just stayed stilll and quiet for the moment. But I am nervous about being caught...Now I hear people coming in and out of the barn - everyone was heading over to horse show. I am not going to the show (I don't particularly enjoy showing - those days are behind me...now I just do things for myself) Anyways. I am in the tack room. The light is on now - bright, flourescent lighting. I am now talking to some of the girls - the pre-teen girls that love talking to me...they love that I am grown up and wise in grown up ways but that I am "cool" - not an uptight, preachy mother type. Anyways...They are putting on their show clothes and gathering up their gear. I am eager for them to leave. I am talking casually with them about things they think are grown-up and helping them with their hair, etc like girls do...but really I am hastening them along because my lover said he would return when the barn settles down. I can hear more people outside the barn, puttting tack in the trailer and getting the horses onto the trailer. I walk around outside the barn, suddenly it is a large gravel parking lot (like at a horse show) and I see my "car"...it is Buddy. Buddy is the main schooling horse at the barn. He is the horse that makes everyone look good and that everyone trusts. He is steady and brave and trustworthy. I see his handsome, noble face and give him some love - snuggles and kisses...he loves it when I give him love. As I walk away I hear some voices of other show people...I turn to see the people near their own horse trailer, just next to Buddy - Buddy has the body of a brontasauraus?? (long neck, long body, long tail) but he has his own brown horse fur - he is a bay gelding . he is grazing on hay laziy and content. I walk back toward the barn and hope those poepole will disappear soon. I go back into the tack room and notice that there are 2 girls in the feed room (whcih is now a tack room too. The room is sunny and bright. The walls are bright yellow on the bottom and white on top...the feed room is actually, in real life, those colors but it is not sunny - it only has a very small crawl space window that the sun doesn't shine through because there is a bush in front of it.) One girl is sitting on a feed barrel pulling on her boots. The other is standing just behind her with her leg up and she is adjusting something. I go into the tack room, trying to act casual and hope they will leave soon. I am anxious for them to leave. I hope they don't know I am here and if they do I hope they don't want to chat with me. II fuddle around in the tack room, it is dim in there - just the littel bit of natural light filtering in through the crawl space window. I walk back over to the door to see if the girls are gone...to see if everyone is gone...I notice I am wearing my show clothes on top, black g-string panties and my riding boots...no pants. I even have my show gloves on. My hair is pulled back sleek and neatly in a low ponytail. I am surprised and wonder when I took my pants off and how long they have been off. I am going to put my pants on but decide to leave them off because my lover will be back...and I decide I look kind of sexy with mhy riding boots on. There is more waiting around, feeling anxious, being eager. I think he comes back at some point...but I think I willed him back because I think I realise I am dreaming.

End of dream.