do the Amish have ice makers?

My appliances appear to have developed a sense of humor.

For the past month, my washing machine—a less than five year old, high end, front loading model—has been behaving less than cooperatively.  It isn’t draining fully, the clothes are not spinning the water out, it shuts off in the middle of cycles, and it takes twice as long to run a single load (that has to go through the spin cycle yet again after it finishes.)  It flashes a wonderful little error code at the end to tell me that I will need to wash my clothes over again, and probably run the spin cycle a time or two, as well.

Basically, it’s broken.

I still use it, going through all of the ridiculous extra motions, because I need clean clothes.  I have a puppy who has taken to chewing the crotches out of my underwear, so I have to wash the ones I have left a lot more often.

I used to love my washing machine.  It was my favorite appliance. 

My refrigerator was never my favorite appliance.  I bought it at the same time as the washing machine, but it was a compromise with my husband who wanted the side by side model for the ice and water on the door, while I wanted the French door model that coincidentally came out with a model with ice and water in the door just after I compromised to get the side by side that we have now.  Irony.  Even more ironic is the fact that the ice maker broke right around the same time as the washing machine.  It still makes ice, but the little flap that is supposed to close between the outside and the freezer doesn’t close anymore causing the cold air to escape and the ice to melt inside.  This causes a buildup of ice inside that jams the entire apparatus so no ice will come out at all.  The reason my husband wanted that stupid refrigerator is now null and void. And the only part of the refrigerator that I liked no longer works.

So I spend all day washing one load of my clothes, and I can’t even get a glass of ice water while I wait.  At least I can vacuum the floors while I’m doing the wash, right?

Wrong.

Today my vacuum has decided to stop working.  It just stopped.  One minute I was vacuuming dog hair from the corners, and the next it was quiet.  No power whatsoever.  It’s like the appliance gods are angry with me.  And for what reason, I have no idea.  Are they trying to force me into an Amish existence? 

It could just be the law of warranties that is at work.  I’m not sure about the refrigerator or the washing machine, but I know the warrantee on my Dyson vacuum just expired recently.  I think there must be a self-destruct mechanism embedded in these expensive appliances, set to go off just after the warrantee runs out. 

Then again, I could have just read the manuals. 

In a fit of frustration, and with a mission to discover the specifics of my warrantee on the washing machine, I pulled out the manual that came in the original packaging.  There was actually a section on error codes.  Funny thing about my error code…it means the drain hose is clogged.  Unclog the drain hose and the washing machine will work perfectly again!  That’s top on my list for tomorrow. 

The vacuum didn’t have a nice little section in the manual about spontaneous death, but my husband looked it up on the internet, and after letting it cool down and cleaning out the HEPA filter, we are back in business sucking up little bits of Henry Chow’s ever replenishing fur. 

As for the refrigerator…so far there is no miracle cure that I can find.  A broken flap is a broken flap.  Hot summer air getting into the ice chamber is going to continue to melt the ice.  It’s just simple science.  Global warming on a smaller scale.  But I never liked that refrigerator to begin with.  I wouldn’t mind trading it in for the French door model with the ice and water on the door.  Who knows…maybe the appliance gods are actually smiling down on me, rewarding me for my patience and hard work? 

It could happen…

Until the next time…I’ll be reaching into the freezer to get my ice (the old fashioned way!)

could you pass me that box of kleenex, please?

I was feeling very sentimental today.  Everywhere I went there were reminders of times past.  Moments missed.  Wonderful memories.  It was as simple as a package of Jello pudding in the cupboard that reminded me of Sunday nights when I was a kid. (And opened an unexpected flood gate of tears!)

My parents used to make Jello pudding on the stove and we would watch Wild Kingdom followed by the Wonderful World of Disney.  I have fond memories of watching Davy Crockett with my sister…and a bowl of Jiffy Pop popcorn.

With that in mind, I spent the evening watching old movies with my husband while the girls spent the evening with some “safe” friends.  Things are finally getting back to a new sort of normal. 

My normal now includes watching movies from the early nineties, back when my kids were babies.  That’s my new nostalgia.  It brings me back to a time and a place when things were pretty perfect.  Those were good days.  I miss those days. 

But the good old days aside, I am determined to keep making good new days.  So several years from now I will look back on today with a sentimental feeling.  That’s the way memories work.  The further away they are, the more nostalgic they become.  How else could the movie “Look Who’s Talking” become such a tearjerker? 

I may need to watch something a little less emotional next…I’m running out of tissues.

Until the next time…I’ll be watching The Princess Bride (with a roll of toilet paper!)

who needs fuel when you have the internet?

I feel as if I have survived a taste of the apocalypse and made through other side.  Of course, I am exaggerating.  I’m no Mad Max…no Road Warrior.  But I was driving aimlessly along the streets of my town much like the Road Warrior during the past twenty-four hours as I waited impatiently for my internet connection to be restored.    But I wasn’t searching for fuel.  No, I was seeking out an internet connection in a vast wasteland of lost connections.

It was horrible.

It was like someone had taken one of my senses.  I suddenly realized how much we rely on our sense of “connectivity”.  I had lost my sight…my awareness of the world around me.  My mother’s little town in Tennessee had flooded during my internet black out, but I was completely unaware.  My mother is fine, my family is safe, but being disconnected reminded me of how much stock we put in the internet.  And how easily the loss can disable us. 

I don’t remember the world in a pre-internet setting.  I don’t remember how I got my news (or gossip), or how I got mail, or how I shared my thoughts with all of humanity.  I don’t have a clue how I did any of those things without a laptop in front of me connected to the World Wide Web.  Even keeping in touch with friends was an exercise in impossibility prior to the magic that is the internet.  You may think I really need to get out more, but maybe I need to get out less.  I am too busy to sit down and relax with a tangible newspaper to read about the world I live in.

I’m falling asleep as I type.  I suppose that means I spent too much time with my eyes awake today.  So time to sleep, comforted by the fact that my internet will be there in the morning.

Until the next time…I’ll be having sweet dreams!

party like its 1984

How many times have I heard the phrase, “I hate the cable company!”  My own sister said it just the other day after waiting for two days in a row for the cable man to show up.  He never did.  All she was trying to do was return the box to get her deposit back.  She will likely have to take it to them if she wants her money back.  I told her I understood her pain, but honestly, I had little to complain about.  My cable was working perfectly, and I had no reason to call on the cable man for a visit. 

That was then. This is now.

My cable went out around ten o’clock this morning while I was watching Animal Planet.  First the TV went black, and then the internet failed to connect.  My husband and I looked at each other and made the exact same assumption.

“Did you pay the cable bill?”  We said in unison.

Of course, our cable bill is fairly insignificant since I complained to the cable company about eight months ago and was given a year of free cable.  The only thing we pay for is the pay per view movies we order on a weekly basis.  This can add up though, so it was still a reasonable concern. 

As it turns out, our bill was current, but apparently paying your bill does not prevent the cable company from experiencing an “outage” in your area.  We were assured that this problem was being worked on, and our service would be restored as soon as possible.

I was not buoyed by fact that my bill was paid.  It would have been much easier to have paid a late bill to restore service.  Instead, both Mike and I were left with a feeling of dread as we stared at our laptops’ “page not found” error messages, and black TV screen.

I am unsure of what an “outage” means…exactly.  Sure, it means I have no cable until they fix it, but how exactly do these things happen?  Did someone trip over the cord in the big cable building?  I suddenly felt as if I had been plunged back into 1982, the veritable dark ages that occurred prior to the invention of the internet. 

How on earth did we survive back then?

Mike was in a very different predicament than I was.  I was distraught that I could no longer check my Facebook page, or my comments on the blog.  He works from home.  He couldn’t do his job. 

The irony is…we are probably the most connect people I know.  We both have BlackBerry’s with internet services.  We have high speed cable at home (or normally do when there isn’t an “outage in our area) and Mike even has a mobile hotspot for emergencies.  Unfortunately, the mobile hotspot doesn’t work in our tree filled neighborhood, and our BlackBerry’s don’t have the capabilities to do everything that Mike needed to do (but thank goodness for me that I can still check my Facebook and comments via the credit card sized screen on my phone.)

If only I could actually post my blog from my BlackBerry.  Now THAT would be a feat!  I wouldn’t be sitting here more than fourteen hours after the initial outage, still waiting for internet to be restored so I can post my daily blog.  I can only hope the outage will be repaired before morning.  I can’t imagine living in this “darkness” for another whole day.  This really IS like being Amish. 

Is somebody up there trying to tell me something?

Until the next time…I’ll be checking my connection every hour on the hour throughout the night!

(Disclaimer - Due to circumstances beyond my control, the blog was VERY late today.  I am still struggling with a pre-internet existence at my house due to an "outage", as the cable company has stated on numerous occasions.  I keep calling...they keep stalling.  But late or not...I'm still here!)

greetings from the blogosphere

I had a pretty good day today.  It was crazy busy—and I’m not entirely sure how I survived it—but all in all, it was a good day. 

I woke up a little late—nine am instead of seven-thirty—because Indy slept in after having been up well past midnight the night before.  I can’t complain about the extra sleep, even as I watch him sleep now, knowing I will be up at seven thirty again tomorrow.  I was delighted to wake up and discover that my husband was still alive after having eaten plants for dinner that were discovered in the wild.  I warned him to be more diligent.  I told him that it was entirely possible that the plant material that he “harvested” from a stretch of “private property” out in the woods was in fact, poisonous.  I wasn’t certain, of course, but the important thing is neither was he.  I was not trying to discount his years of training as a boy scout, but especially after Indy’s run in with potentially poisonous mushrooms a few weeks back, and my mother’s recent trip to the hospital that was possibly caused by something she ate,  I wasn’t willing to take chances.  I refused to eat the mysterious plant. 

Thankfully, Mike was alive when I woke up.  I didn’t see him, mind you.  He was already gone.  But since leaving would have required him to be alive, I went ahead and made that assumption. 

There is something to be said about having your family members alive and well.  It bolstered my spirits, and I carried out the numerous tasks and errands on my daily calendar with a smile on my face.  And to top it off, today was book club/game night.  Although, we scrapped the whole book club thing this week and just played games. 

There were no teams this evening.  It was every man (or woman in this case) for herself.  We played an old fashioned game of Rummy minus the gin, and sipped on chardonnay with key lime pie.  (Is it any wonder I keep going to these things when I never read the book?)

Mrs. Jones picked the game tonight, and so she was certain she would be the victor, what with having no other teammates to drag her down.  This was not the case.  Despite her fondness for this particular card game, she had no special powers over the rest of us.  I, however, seemed to have some karma working in my favor for a change, and I won several hands. 

We had to keep playing until Mrs. Jones won one round.  And once she did, it was time to pack up and leave.  Of course, she stated that the true winner was the person who won most recently, and that was her.  We just let her think that.  We all knew I really won.  And everyone suggested I play the lottery tonight with as good as my lucky streak had been.  I forgot to get a ticket.  Maybe tomorrow.  I’m going with the power of positive thinking to say that tomorrow will be a great day too.  How could it not be…its Wednesday? 

Until the next time…I’ll be enjoying the powers of “hump” day!

when it rains, it pours

I don’t like to drive at night.  It’s a well known fact that I am severely handicapped when driving past dusk, and God forbid there should be any precipitation to complicate things.  There is something about wet pavement that seems to soak up every molecule of light into the dark abyss.  And I can’t see at night as it is.  High beams or no high beams, this is why I avoid driving at night—especially when it’s raining. 

So there I was, driving down a dark country road at a quarter past night tonight…rain coming down in buckets…steam rising off the glassy pitch black pavement…windshield wipers slapping back and forth in front of me like they had turrets…me going twenty miles an hour in a forty-five mile an hour zone.  Cars were passing me illegally across the double yellow lines.  My knuckles gripped the steering wheel so hard I thought they might break.  My GPS was leading me like an invisible voice in the dark… “Go point three miles and turn right directly into the rising creek waters.”

It didn’t actually say that, but that very thought was rushing through my brain like the creek waters I was afraid of.  I started planning in the event of an emergency.  I saw an episode of Myth Busters once where they submerged a car in a swimming pool with one of the guys inside.  They were trying to prove that once the pressure inside the car regulated that the doors would then open with ease.  It was true, but unfortunately, unless you are magician David Blaine or the ghost of Harry Houdini, you would most likely drown before the door opened. 

I had a plan.  If I had a few balloons filled with air, I could use those to suck the air out and stay alive until the door would open.  But I was afraid the balloons would pop on impact or something.  I needed miniature oxygen tanks.  That would be a reasonable thing to keep in the glove box for emergencies.  I need an entire emergency kit for things like that!  I should get at least four.  One for everyone who rides in the car regularly.  I mean…I could have driven into a lake, and I wouldn’t have known until the water started seeping into the car!

My heart was pounding like that of a rabbit staring up at a cat, and it matched the rhythm of the wipers slapping against the windshield.  Suddenly I was creating a song inside my head.  “Please don’t let me drown today…I should have gone the other way…I’m driving so slow I’m going to be late...but if I don’t die I’ll celebrate.”  It was a catchy tune, but probably not “Top 40” material.

I made it there and back without dying (obviously), but I have no idea how I managed.  Talk about stressful!  It was the perfect cap to a perfect day. 

Earlier, I took the girls school clothes shopping—one tradition that I would like to see permanently abolished.  Who made up this rule that just because it was a new school year that the kids could completely replenish their entire wardrobes?  I don’t get to do that.  Since when do earrings count as school clothes?  And they don’t even let them wear those cute sunglasses in class, so why do they expect me to buy them? 

We stuck with just clothes for this trip, but I’m sure today was just the first of many “school” shopping expeditions I will be dragged on in the coming weeks.  Maybe next time I’ll get myself a thing or two.  I could use a new pair of cute sunglasses too. 

Until the next time…I’ll be listening to the rain fall, thankful I’m not driving in it!

miracles never cease

While I was so busy noticing all of the chaos around me, I failed to notice those tiny little flowers that grow up around a crack in the sidewalk.  You know what I mean…the little miracles in a barren landscape?

I’m probably exaggerating.  I do that.

I’ve mentioned many times how my cats do not like each other.  Hate each other is more like it.  Ever since Henry Chow was brought into the family, Kitty Bartholomew has been greatly displeased.  I have cleaned up the flying fur on too many occasions.  It has been a challenge to feed them in the same room, and I have to keep litter boxes on opposite sides of the house because they refused to use the same one.  My ninja kitty, Henry Chow, has stalked Bart around the dining room, using the table as a platform to pounce from above.  And Bart has taken up sleeping with one eye open for fear that Henry will creep up on him as he sleeps.  After almost a year of living together, I had given up hope of them ever finding common ground. 

Enter Indiana Jones.

The puppy loves the cats.  He follows them all over the house, wagging his tail and barking at them.  When he’s feeling rambunctious at night, he has even given chase from time to time.

The cats do not like Indy.  I imagine Indy talking to Henry Chow as he licks Henry, and tries to pull his tail, and Henry reluctantly lays motionless to avoid being chased.  I imagine Indy saying, “I like you Henry Chow.”

And I imagine Henry Chow replying in his irritated, Himalayan cat accent, “I do not rike you, Doctor Jones.” Like a foreign villain in an Indiana Jones movie.

While I was busy trying to teach Indy that pulling the fur from the cat is a bad thing, I missed the budding friendship between the former enemies.

I was in the mudroom, feeding the cats, when I noticed something strange.  They were sitting very close to one another, and neither of them was hissing.  Then I saw something that just about made my eyes pop out—Bart leaned in and touched his nose against Henry Chow’s nose.  Like a friendly greeting.  And Henry didn’t attack.  In fact, he greeted Bart back.

I nearly spilled the cat food on the floor. 

I don’t know what really caused the new friendship.  Was it just a case of, “if you can’t beat them, join them” or was it more something along the lines of becoming allies in the war against the marauding puppy? I may never know the answer, but it has taught me a valuable lesson…never give up hope.  Sometimes you just have to be really patient, and things will work out in the end. 

Those seem to be words to live by.

Until the next time…I will be watching for more miracles to pop up!

men do not understand the importance of a clean restroom.

My husband and I took a little road trip today with one of the girls.  It was part of our “simple life” adventure series.  I’ve mentioned it before…my husband wants to move to the country and live off the land.  I want to move to the country and live in a wooden structure with electricity and hot and cold running water.

And internet.

So I’ve managed to get him to give up the idea of the yurt and the hole in the ground (outhouse) in exchange for a rustic cabin and indoor plumbing.  It wasn’t a hard sell, really.  I think he likes the modern conveniences as much as I do, and he was just happy that I was serious about moving to country.  I really do like the idea, actually.  I just have a few rational demands before I start packing up the fine china and silver. 

I would love to say that I have my husband wrapped around my little finger, but anyone who knows either one of us knows that absolutely nothing is that easy.  We are both very strong willed (stubborn) people, who have a clear picture of what we want.  It’s just that sometimes, those pictures don’t exactly match. 

So we have gone back and forth over the type of structure to include in our plans.  After many back and forth struggles, I was forced to let go of my idea of having the decadent log cabin design, and we compromised on the old fashioned barn structure.  I’m actually excited about the prospect of converting a barn into a house.  I’m thinking of documenting the entire process for HGTV or something.  In the mean time, we will be making several day trips to points beyond to check out land for sale, and all the assorted trimmings.

Today our little jaunt included an excessive amount of time in the car and a few too many diet cokes. And I will say it again…men just do not understand the importance of a clean restroom. 

I don’t care how many diet soft drinks I have consumed, I am never desperate enough to use the toilet in a seedy run down gas station.  I would sooner take my empty cup and refill it from the side of the road (something that I have yet to have to do, thanks in large part to my super capacity bladder.) My husband thinks this is ridiculous and I should just go if I have to go—spoken by someone who can stand a safe distance from the toilet while using it. 

I made it home, albeit a little uncomfortable, without having to compromise my convictions this time.  There are just some lines that should never be crossed.  Like living in a yurt with an outhouse.  I’m all about green living, but that just takes it a step too far.  Thank goodness my husband likes a hot shower in the morning.

Among other things.

Until the next time…I’ll be trying to get some more sleep!

Friday the 13th

Ladder tucked away…check.  Black cats scared off…check.  Mirrors packed up securely…check.  Garlic and holy water at the ready…wrong day…but check just the same.  You never can be too careful on a Friday the 13^th.  Not with MY luck.  I was certain not to cross any streets, spill any salt, or walk too closely to any ravines.  I did take the time to visit my friends back at the bank, and I was told that my former clients were missing me terribly.  That is always nice to hear.  I miss the people, but I’m very happy to have said goodbye to the job. 

After all…now I can stay up late and watch movies every night if I want to.  Just nothing too scary.  I’ll leave that to the kids.

Kids and scary movies—they sort of go together like macaroni and cheese.  At least the kids in my house.  Well, the kids who are home tonight anyway.  So on Friday the 13^th, I’m sitting in my chair, tucked behind the screen of my laptop to shield me from the terror on the screen.  I used to love horror movies.  The more gore the better.  I guess you know you’re getting old when you can’t sit through a scary movie anymore. 

Elsewhere in my life there are a few scary happenings as well.  Nothing worth writing about, though.  I’ve given up the “Debbie Downer” stuff in exchange for a positive outlook. 

And I am positively exhausted. 

I would love to blame it on the heat, but unfortunately, this has been the most difficult, stress filled summer of my life, and little of it has to do with “global warming” (or the lack thereof).  I don’t know if the devil has been scoping things out in Georgia these days or not, but things have certainly reminded me of Hell.  Things of this freakish nature should at least wait until October to manifest themselves, when I can hide behind a costume and pretend it’s make believe.  But, like I said…I’m keeping it positive.

The good news is, a passing storm has lowered the temperatures here, at least temporarily, and it was almost comfortable out this evening.  My air conditioning even took a breather for the first time in months—another reminder of my love of Fall. 

I have high hopes for tomorrow…I actually hope it rains again.  I really do love a summer storm…almost as much as a crisp fall evening.  But I’ll have to wait a few weeks for one of those…

Until the next time…I’ll be doing my rain dance!

a bouncing baby girl

Seventeen years ago today, I held my daughter in my arms for the first time, and I knew that my life would never be the same.  It has been a wild ride getting to where we are now, but it is a ride that I have cherished through every twist and turn of the way. 

I remember the hours before her birth.  I called my mother to tell her to meet me at the hospital….my second baby was on her way into the world.  I didn’t have a cell phone, I don’t think anyone did back then, I had to use a landline.  And I didn’t have the internet or the ability to post it to my status on Facebook.  I had to rely on the old fashioned phone chain to get the word out.  And of course, I had to go into labor at bedtime.  I never do get a full night’s sleep, do I?  But who needs sleep when something as wonderful as a baby is being born?  And I was nothing if not delighted to know that my sweet baby girl was on her way.  Even if the pains of labor may have clouded my thoughts just slightly.

My little girl didn’t take as long as her brother to come into the world…she wasn’t as patient.  

A lot of things have changed over the years, but she still isn’t patient.  She gets that, among other things, from her mother.

Alexa didn’t want a cake for her birthday.  She wanted something more exciting, and so an exciting birthday dessert she would get.  Her request?  Crème brule.  But crème brule is not a dessert for the impatient—it takes hours.  Nor is it a dessert for the amateur dessert maker.  Thank goodness for us, Mike is a skilled crème brule chef. 

Crème brule starts out with cream, eggs, and vanilla, and must be properly mixed and cooked and then finally baked for nearly an hour in individual little crocks.  After baking, it must be completely cooled before the sugar is added to the top, and burned with a torch for a caramelized crunchy top. 

We started dinner at six o’clock—I made barbeque chicken pizza and spinach and goat cheese pizza (both went over big with the guests)—and dessert was finally served sometime after ten.  Those of us who were still awake enjoyed it thoroughly.  The birthday girl in particular…and she barely even noticed how long it took to prepare. 

Crème brule is a divine sweet, but impossible to add candles, so the only fire came from the torch.  We didn’t even sing happy birthday, everyone was too busy inhaling the decadence of the dessert.  I think our eyes may have glazed over from the sheer ecstasy of it all.  I would have gone back for seconds if there had been anything left.

It wasn’t a conventional birthday dinner, but we are hardly a conventional bunch, so it was perfectly fitting.  It was actually a wonderful time filled with games, laughter, good food, and family.   I’m almost sad that birthday row has come to an end.  But at the same time, perhaps now I can try losing a few pounds without having a constant stream of cake and sweets to tempt me.  We’ll see…

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping in just a little bit tomorrow after the long day that was today.

I'm so happy I could pee!

Well…I did it.  I focused on the positive today, and I got a lot done at home.  I vacuumed, did laundry and dishes, and cooked an exciting dinner.  And I mopped the floors.  And mopped them again.

And then I mopped them again. 

It would seem as if my geriatric, incontinent Labrador (the cult leader herself) contains an infinite supply of pee.  Somehow, I had slipped into a fantasy world wherein she didn’t need to wear Depends and my floors were not in imminent danger of flooding.  I was wrong on both accounts.  Unfortunately, they don’t make doggie diapers in her size—really big. 

So I carried a mop in one hand and a Swiffer Wet Jet in the other, all day long. 

At the risk of making a bad pun, she goes through this in spurts…the incontinence. Some days are good, some days are bad.  Today was exceptionally bad.  I can only focus on the positive…I have hardwood floors, and not carpet. 

On a high note, the puppy is mostly potty trained.  He still doesn’t make his intentions explicitly known by barking or scratching at the door, but he does sit there and look at me with this look that says, “Let me out now or I’m just going to pee right here.”  And I’m pretty sure he means it. 

I’m trying to maintain some level of organized and clean in the house.  It’s a challenge when you don’t live alone.  I suppose the positive side of that is that I am not alone.  I am surrounded by warm blooded beings who love and depend on me.  And some of them pee without notice.  I suppose there are worse things…

Like having a concussion. 

Lucky for me, I’m free of any brain damage today.  And tomorrow is my daughter’s birthday.  Seventeen years ago today I was screaming and crying, begging for drugs to make the pain stop, and calling for my mommy.  Not much has changed really (just kidding.)

I wouldn’t trade motherhood for the world.  I will gladly take every scraped knee and bumped head along the way.  In the end, it’s more than worth it, and I feel blessed to have such a wonderful family. 

Even if we aren’t exactly “conventional.”

Until the next time…I’ll be singing Happy Birthday all day long!

turn that frown upside down

It has come to my attention that I have been somewhat of a “Debbie Downer” over the past few months.  And who could blame me with all that I’ve had going on?  But honestly, that’s no excuse.  I have always said that only we control our attitude, and we should just choose to be happy.  I am the girl who finds the positive in the negative.  I’m the girl who laughs at her own shortcomings.  And blogs about inside out underwear, and failed attempts at bikini waxing and pole dancing.  I’m not the girl who bemoans every moment that didn’t go my way! 

Well, maybe I do lately.

But I’m done with that.  As of right now, I’m adopting a new positive outlook.  And my new outlook is that of…I am not playing a team sport.  I am playing a serious game of me against the world.  But I have a great cheering section—my friends and family.  So what if I’m on the field alone.  We’re all on the field alone in a way.  I just have to keep that in perspective.  Only one person can walk in my shoes while I’m wearing them. Not even my husband.  He has to walk in his own shoes, and hold himself up. 

But he’s still there for me as part of my support group cheering me on from the stands.  We are brought into the world alone, and we go out alone, but that doesn’t mean we have to be lonely, right? 

I’m not really suggesting we walk through life without any help or support.  We just have to be self-sufficient.  As hard as that may be, when we feel the pressures of life weighing us down.

But I can’t expect someone to hold my hand as I go through every trial and tribulation.  I have to stand on my own to some degree.  And I can’t expect anyone to hold me up while I do it. 

But we do, don’t we?  We expect the ones we love to stand right there with us in the middle of the fray and help us fight every battle.  I know I expect that.  And maybe that’s just not fair.

How much should we expect our families to support us?  How much should we do for ourselves?  I suppose we should find the balance between the two, but it’s a difficult balance to find sometimes.  Especially in the tough times.  And lately, it seems like the tough times are at a premium.  On the positive side, (because I always have to find the positive side) if I’m being inundated with tough times now, I’m definitely due for some good times right around the corner.  And I will definitely share those with the ones I love.  It’s only fair, seeing how they are sharing the tough times with me. 

Until the next time…I’ll be looking for the silver lining on every cloud!

hugs for sale

Why is it that during the one time in life when you so desperately need to cling together, you pull apart? 

I spent a good bit of time cleaning the house today.  I also shopped for food and cooked dinner.  Stopped at the vet for the puppy’s weekly weigh in (44.8lbs today) and ran errands with the kids.  It was a busy day—the first one after the dreadfully long trip filled weekend.  And at the end of it, I find myself fighting back tears. 

I can’t explain it.  I just can’t find the words.  Ironic, I know.  Words are my thing, and I can’t come up with the right ones to convey the way I feel.  There is definitely a sense of being very alone at times.  Even when I know that I am not alone. 

I begin to wonder if this isn’t just a whisper of PMS creeping up on me.  I have been quite occupied with other matters; it could have snuck up on me.  I never did get that early PMS warning system that I was talking about, up and running. It would have come in handy.  But PMS or not, I feel a sense of desperation for comfort. 

Basically, I need a hug.

Funny isn’t it?  I devoted an entire blog on the subject of my “non-hugger” status, and here I am, less than half a year later, practically begging for a hug.  That doesn’t mean I’m likely to begin hugging total strangers at the supermarket or something totally crazy like that.  I’m not THAT desperate for a hug.

Truly, I just need the “hug speech.”  That’s what I call it.  It consists of having someone embrace you, rub your back, and tell you that everything will be alright.  Whether it will be alright is irrelevant.  It’s just necessary.  I’m thinking I should put this message on several Post-it notes and stick them around the house for “someone” to find. 

In times of great stress, when two people should be leaning on each other for support and comfort, it seems as if what happens is the complete opposite.  We tend to drift apart into our own worlds.  That doesn’t necessarily lead to tragedy, sometimes it’s a needed break.  But if it lasts too long, it’s very hard to recover from.  This worries me.

Am I overreacting?  Maybe…or probably…or maybe not at all.  See what I mean?  The words completely escape me. 

Maybe I just need to set up an old fashioned “hugging booth” where I’m on the inside, and people line up to hug me for a quarter.  Only I pay them, because who would pay a quarter to hug me?  I mean…I’m not even good at it.  I have become very good at crying lately though.  This is why I’m afraid I’m dealing with something more powerful than just family crisis.  I’m dealing with the dreaded hormone invasion, otherwise known as PMS.

And if I am…I should feel better in about a week.  See, there is light at the end of every tunnel.  I just wonder…what do you do if the light at the end of your tunnel is red?

I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Until the next time…I’ll be seeking out huggers for a little cheap attention!

i love my own bed

It’s good to be back in my own bed

This is what the puppy, Indiana Jones, conveyed to me via his snoring from his comfy fleece bed inside his very own crate, back in our very own house.  It was funny to see him crawl in there and flop down, as if to say…ahhhh!

I concur. 

After two miserable days spent mostly in the car, I am thrilled to be back in my own bed.  I don’t even care if the house needs to be vacuumed or if the dishes need to be put away.  I’m just glad to be back.  All things considered, I would have rather stayed home all weekend and gotten things done around the house, but it was nice to see Mike’s family and especially his grandmother who was so very sick not so long ago.  She looks fabulous by the way, and she thoroughly enjoyed her birthday party.

The trip home was much the same as the trip there except for the fact that the puppy rode on my lap the entire way, and slept for much of it.  I managed to find a comfortable position for him.  It was less comfortable for me, but anything was better than trying to hold a squirming puppy.  I can only compare it loosely to trying to hold onto a forty five pound bag of potatoes that was trying to get away from me.  Not that I’ve ever had a bag of potatoes that tried to escape, or a bag of potatoes that large, but it seemed like a fitting metaphor just the same. 

So as much as you know I love sharing the entirety of my day with you, the most interesting thing I did all day was to survive a public restroom somewhere in Alabama.  It was a close call too. I almost didn’t make it out alive.  And now I’m exhausted, and ready for a long night’s sleep.  I figure if I start now, I might even get a full eight hours before the puppy wakes up to pee in the morning. 

Until the next time…I’ll be singing happy songs as I clean my house tomorrow!

you'll need a big cake if you’re going to use eighty candles

What a Saturday…

Mike woke us up at six thirty Saturday morning to make the trek to his family’s homestead in Panama City Beach, Florida for his grandmother’s eightieth birthday celebration.  I would have preferred teleporting there, but as that wasn’t one of the options, I begrudgingly got up. 

Things would have gone much smoother had we packed the night before, which we didn’t, so it was a mad rush to collect all of our things (including the puppy’s enormous crate) and pack up the car.  This occurred in mostly a blur as my husband was ready to leave way before the rest of us, and so we had to rush. 

It was just past seven when everyone had finished some fashion of breakfast, one last trip to the bathroom (or back yard), and we were piled in the car ready to roll. 

The line up in our midsized sedan was as follows:

2 teenagers and 1 preteen in the back seat (plus their purses, pillows, books and blankets).  1 husband driving, 1 blogger in the passenger seat, and one forty three pound puppy trying to settle into the center console. 

This is because the center console is where his food and treats were situated, so of course, he wanted to ride there.  We had to rearrange him almost immediately and the girls were excited to have him ride in the back with them. 

This excitement lasted for about forty five minutes, or right about the same time he set off his first round of doggy gas.  I’m sure it was an entertaining sight to see a car full of people with their heads out the window while the dog sat comfortably inside. 

This is when Indy was sent back to the front seat to ride on my lap.  This is also when I declared that we needed a bigger car.  When he wasn’t squirming in my arms or attempting to infiltrate the backseat yet again, Indy was stretched across my lap resting his head on Mike’s arm as he drove.  As Mike drove, not Indy…just in case you needed clarification there. 

Both of my legs started to go numb from the pressure of Indy pressing his weight against me so I maneuvered a pillow under him for the rest of the ride.  He finally fell asleep about five miles from the gas station where we stopped to fill up.  This, of course, woke him up to squirm for a while more until we were back on the road at an even clip.  It was right about then when I realized why car seats were truly invented.  To protect the parents from the squirming child on their laps!  But I didn’t have a car seat for Indy, and it wouldn’t matter if I did, I would be lucky if he fit in the car by the time we turned around to come back home, let alone in a car seat. 

He slept for the last hour of the trip, comfortably stretched across my lap on top of my down filled pillow, his face against the cold air vent and his back legs across the center console.  The food had long since been moved after he decided to help himself to a snack somewhere in the middle of the journey. 

I can’t say that riding in the car with a giant sized puppy was enjoyable, but it was definitely entertaining to the trucks passing us on the trip from Atlanta to Panama City Beach. 

Once we had our puppy safely secured in his crate at our home away from home (pet friendly hotel), his belly filled and his bladder emptied, we headed to the birthday party.  It was a fun time had by all, and the third birthday cake I had eaten this week.  So much for giving up all of my vices…cake, ice cream, sweets, fats, etc.  That will have to wait until after Alexa’s birthday next week.  We are going to have to figure out how to put candles in crème brule, her choice in place of cake. I can’t say I blame her; I’ve had my fill of cake for a while.  At least until the next round of birthdays…hopefully a few months away at least.

Until the next time…I’ll be working off my cake and ice cream by holding a squirming pup on the ride home!

one little, two little, three little birthdays

Today was the second birthday (Happy 12^th Birthday Mady) in what we like to call “birthday row.”  Our girls all have their birthdays within an eight day stretch, right at the beginning of the school year.  So between school shopping, birthday shopping, and special dinner nights, this would be the most inopportune time for a trip out of town.  Right?

Wrong.  It seems as if Mike’s grandmother has an August birthday too.  And it will be her 80^th.  That’s a birthday that needs a party!  So we are making the trip to Panama City, Florida to celebrate the birthdays that fall in the month of August.  And believe me, there are many. Thank goodness I have an adult son who doesn’t mind staying at the house with the big dogs while the girls, Mike, Indy and I pile into the car for the five hour drive.  It should be interesting, at best.  Hopefully my laundry will be dry by the  morning. 

So, as much as I would love to blog away about the crazy antics in my day, unfortunately, my day was so crazy I haven’t had a chance to process it yet.  I will say this…I have discovered the place where “tacky fashion” goes to die.  The girls and I stumbled upon the tackiest store in all of Atlanta today.  I actually saw a pair of purple patent leather crocodile men’s shoes.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Purple…patent leather…crocodile pattern…MENS shoes.  It was as if we had accidentally time traveled to 1974.  Either that, or someone is filming a new show…Pimp my shoes. 

The horror of it all exhausted me…then again; it could be the overindulgence in Italian food from the Olive Garden tonight, or maybe the cake and ice cream back at home.  Either way, I’m about to slip into a food coma.  And breakfast is just around the corner!

Until the next time…I’ll be sitting on Indy’s lap in the front seat!

the cult of Cybil

I have mentioned my dogs many times, but I have never delved into the intricacies of their relationships within the family. 

As you know, I have the puppy, Indiana Jones.  He is the newest addition to our home and in the course of the month or so that I have had him, he has grown to be a part of the family.  In the beginning, he was the outsider.  An unpredictable force that the other dogs and the cats kept at a distance for fear of the unknown.  He tested the proverbial fence by attempting to set himself as the top dog. 

He was not successful because our house already had an Alpha dog.  And she runs a tight ship.

I have had Cybil for longer than I have had Mike.  She and Lady were a part of the family before any of the other animals were brought in, so she truly does rule the roost with respect to the other pets.  That doesn’t mean she thinks she is the boss.  She knows who the boss is.  And according to her…that’s me.

Cybil is very protective for a Labrador.  It doesn’t help that she is a little skittish with people other than me or the kids.  She just prefers her family.  When I first got her, she would only let me take her out in the morning.  No one else was allowed to take her. She would lie beside my bed until I got up.  It didn’t matter if I slept in until 10…she would wait.  That hasn’t changed. 

The interesting change has occurred as new dogs have been introduced into the family. 

Joey came to us five years ago as a rescue dog.  He was supposed to be Mike’s dog.  He was going to be the “boy” dog that went on walks, and hikes, and would play ball in the yard for hours.  All of these things were true…except for the part about being Mike’s dog. 

In the beginning, Joey would get up in the morning with Mike to go potty and play ball before Mike went to work.  The change was gradual.  As Joey adapted to the family, falling under Cybil’s rule as did Lady before him, he would refuse Mike’s request to go out in the morning.  He would wait, with Cybil, until I got up.   The only exception was if the kids asked him to go.  He would happily get up with the kids, even if Cybil would not. 

We would joke that Cybil had told Joey that he wasn’t supposed to go outside with “the man” because the dogs only went places with “the mommy”.  It seemed possible given the fact that initially Joey would go with Mike, and the minute he was fully integrated into the household, he wouldn’t.  The thing was, we would never really know, would we?  Even if we did speak dog, they weren’t talking. 

Jump ahead five years, and in walks Indy—the big boned, clumsy, sweet natured English Mastiff, who seems to like Mike a great deal.  He runs to greet Mike when he comes home.  He goes to see Mike while he works from home.  Mike feeds him, and takes him out, and gives him treats.  Indy is a “daddy’s boy.”  Or so it would seem. 

Indy is also very attached to Cybil.  He tries to sleep beside her, and he follows her around the yard, and he has completely accepted her alpha-ness. 

Last week we noticed that when Indy would cry at seven thirty in the morning to go out, he would refuse to come out of his crate for Mike.  He would lie there in his comfy bed, staring at the open crate door and Cybil on the other side of it. 

He had been told not to go with Mike! 

This time we are certain that this is what has happened.  It cannot be a coincidence.  Cybil is not just the alpha dog in our house, she is a cult leader.  The other dogs will do whatever she tells them, and I know she is telling them things.  I can see it now…once Indy is big enough to open the refrigerator, and reach the kitchen counters, Cybil will order him to infiltrate the sandwich meat and steal the bread.  And Indy will do what she asks, they all do.  I suppose I should just count myself lucky that Cybil loves me the best.  I guess that way I will always be safe from her mischief.  Now if only I could convince her to help me teach Indy not to pee by the back door when no one is looking.  Oh well…you can’t have everything.

Until the next time…I’ll be getting up with the dogs at seven thirty!

could somebody give me a hand?

how do I do these things?

I fell asleep writing my blog last night causing it to be posted closer to morning than midnight, much to my disappointment.  My fingers were still on the keys of the laptop when my husband took the photos that will never see the light of day.  And despite the fact that I was able to fall asleep so easily, it was definitely not a restful sleep.  I had somehow hurt my shoulder the day before, making it impossible to find a comfortable position to sleep in, and by morning I was completely engulfed in pain.  I don’t even know what I did. I almost never do.  I have so many incidents where I run into walls or trip over dogs, that I have stopped cataloguing everything.  It is either dislocated or I’ve torn the rotator.  Either way, the shoulder has proven to be a big problem for me. 

I am right handed.  Not just mostly right handed, but completely right handed, as in…my left arm and hand are used purely for decoration, and balance.  And clearly, they are not much help at the balancing. 

I couldn’t dress or undress myself, shower by myself, or feed myself this morning without great effort.  In fact, my husband had to help me with the first two.  But all of those things pale in comparison to my major dilemma…

One tends to forget about the simple things you wouldn’t be able to do every day without the use of your arm.  Things like using the bathroom.  Things like wiping yourself after using the bathroom. 

Yeah, it’s pretty bad.  I have been struggling with the task as a temporary lefty, but it’s not easy.  And it has definitely upped the ante of the quandary of whether to wad or fold.  I won’t get into all of the details, but trust me when I say; you need to take good care of your dominant arm!

Using the bathroom wasn’t the worse challenge created by my dislocated shoulder. 

Driving was also a near impossibility for me today.  Because of that, I allowed Lauren to drive the car today on the way back from her morning group meeting, and due to the prankster on my GPS, we ended up on the on ramp to the five lane freeway that runs around the perimeter of Atlanta.  This is probably the scariest place we could have ended up. 

In between our pleas to the powers that be to spare us from a horrible highway death, I carefully guided her across all five lanes of traffic as directed by the prankster GPS.  GPS may not lie, but it does like a good laugh at my expense apparently, because once we were on the opposite side of the fast moving traffic lanes, the GPS instructed us to head back to the far right to exit. 

As I’m sure you can imagine we survived.  And it’s good thing too.  Today is Lauren’s 17^th birthday, and we had a party planned, and a cake to eat. 

We took the kids bowling for the birthday celebration. I didn’t bowl.  That is definitely something that would have been dangerous with my left hand.  Wadding and dabbing is one thing, but wielding a fifteen pound marble is quite another. 

If my shoulder isn’t better by tomorrow I plan on making a sling out of a cashmere scarf.  I figure if you’re going to be a klutz, you should at least do it in style.

Until the next time…I’ll be holding it as long as I can!

due to technical difficulties beyond my control

The encore of the dancing bear  

When I started writing this blog six months or so ago, I remember comparing myself to a dancing bear, doing a soft shoe to entertain you.  Amazingly, 190 blogs later, I’m still dancing.  And with any luck…you’re still reading.

It has been an interesting journey we’re on.  I’ve gone through fun times, and goofy times, hysterically funny times and tragically sad times.  But I haven’t gone through them alone, I feel as if you’ve been with me every step of the way, laughing at the funny, and cheering me on when I need it. 

Aside from being a writer who just needs to write, I am also a wife and mother who often times needs advice and guidance from my peers.  Remember, life isn’t for the faint of heart.  Life requires a little bit more work than many of us were expecting.  Especially those of us with teenagers.  God bless the people with small children who have no idea what they’re in for.   So I’m grateful that I have such wise readers, with such good advice. 

Thank you!

Here’s to better times right around the bend.  Here’s to surviving the teenage years on our second go round—as if it wasn’t hard enough to go through them ourselves.  And here’s to lots more blogging to come.  Let’s home the next 6 months are just as interesting, but twice as funny!

Until the next time…I’ll be dancing my way through another day!

in every life a little rain must fall

When the shit hits the fan, it doesn’t mess around. 

It’s already midnight, and I’m just now writing my blog.  Why?  Because today was one of those days when even my normal late night bedtime was botched by the ensuing chaos.  Raised voices, angry words, and slamming doors.  I actually found myself uttering the words, “Calgon, take me away!” And I’ve never in my life used Calgon.

I have been thinking a lot about life, and chaos, and blended families this evening.  My husband tends to look at things as either black or white.  Wrong or right.  This way or that way.  I feel as if life falls more within the gray area.  It’s about compromise, and acceptance.   Life is a series of subtle events tucked in and around the large catastrophes.  And chaos is not just a theory, it’s a reality.  Murphy didn’t come up with a law for nothing.  Whatever can go wrong…will. 

Especially when you have teenagers.

The thing is…it’s hard enough raising teenagers as part of a blended family without having to deal with the interference of others.  It starts to wear on you.  And that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it get me down, but it definitely gets old quickly.  You start to wonder who you can actually trust, and therefore you begin to trust no one. 

Perhaps my caffeine intake has gone way too high lately.  I seem to be just a little bit high strung (more so than normal.) 

Then again, it is almost 1am, and I’m still wide awake. 

Just like in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, our storm has the feeling of being never ending.  But even the worst hurricane breaks for sunny skies after a time.  Life will settle back down.  I have no uncertainty about that.  I have weathered some pretty wicked storms in my life, and the one overwhelming similarity has been that, “this too shall pass.” There is a rainbow in my future, I can just feel it.  And as soon as I can see it, I’ll grab the kids and we’ll sit there and stare at it for a few minutes, burning the image into our memories.  Because it is that rainbow after the storm that shows us the magic of forgiveness and rebirth. 

Beauty born out of chaos.

I’m still watching for the rainbow.  I know it’s coming soon.  They’ve never failed me yet.

Until the next time…I’ll be waiting for a few more claps of thunder before the storm is over.