I'm thirty-WHAT? Time for an upgrade!

Hey there stranger!

I realize it's been a few... um.. YEARS since I've blogged. So, if you find this, thanks for stopping by.

I miss putting my rambling thoughts out there for the world to stumble upon, so I decided to dig up the ol' bloggity-blog and dust her off. Apparently I thought at some point in my life I would be forever "thirty-something." Needless to say, this is not the case. I have a few short months left of my thirty-somethings before the front number changes. I need a new name! I find this appropriate since it's the rebirth of the blog. However, the witty side of my brain is temporarily broken, so I turn to you , the (maybe) dozen people reading this for help. What should I call the ol' bloggity-blog 2.0?

What phrase sums me up? "10 Minutes Late" is the first thing that comes to mind, but I don't think it's quite right as a title. "Ramblings of a Rock Mama?" hmm... promising, but I'm not 100% sold on it. "Going Off the Rails on the Crazy Train" sums things up, but it seems a bit long (and probably copyright protected).  So? I'm open to suggestions!

In the meantime - I can comfortably blog as a "Thirty-Something" for a little while longer so watch this space for more mindless ramblings and deep insights from all the corners of my mind. I have to say, it feels nice to be back.

Take a deep breath and count to 10

My mom says this to me at least 3 times a day. It drives me batty! Of course most everything my mom does and says drives me batty, so it begs one to ask why I talk to her so many times a day. Because she's my mom and I love her. We keep each other company. Someday I hope my kids will talk to me three times a day just to talk, and share a goofy thing that happened to them. I hope that I won't drive them batty, but let's be honest here. I'm their mother, and as much as it kills me, I'm my mother. Hopefully my kids will be understanding. Besides when I start driving them batty all they need to do is "take a deep breath and count to 10."

The wrong road

Did you ever let someone take your hand and lead you somewhere you knew wasn't the right direction? You look back and see the way you should be going, yet your feet don't fight this new direction, and you keep your mouth shut. You just go along with what is happening. Perhaps it's because you trust this person, maybe you're just curious, or too afraid to object. Whatever the reason, here you are watching the path you should be heading down slowly disappear behind the trees.

I find myself on this strange path. I can feel myself being led, but I do not cry out. I do not run away. I can see the path I want to be on there in the distance. I've been led far, but not so far that I couldn't make my way back, yet I keep walking. My child-sized hand outstretched to this blurry figure laying out my path ahead. The farther I get the heavier my chest feels. Why don't I just break away? This is not a good place I'm going. I don't know why, but I can feel it.

As we move along the dark tree-lined path, I can see glimpses of where I should be. Through the trees I can see the sun hit the dirt of the direction I was yanked from, and my heart sinks. I think to myself, "We're not that lost. We can still get to the other path!" Why can't I stop? Who is this person leading me? Her smile is warm and her eyes are full of love as she glances back at me to check that I am ok. I recognize the smile, and the eyes as my father's and my heart almost stops. Who is she, this tender woman leading me astray? Surely she means me no harm. I just keep wondering why I can't run away, and I realize, you can't run away from yourself.

"Ohmmmm"

OK - so I've neglected the Bloggity Blog here for a couple of months. I know, I know. I already feel bad enough because I know reading my mindless ramblings is exactly what you all look forward to with your morning cup of joe. So, my apologies.



Here's the thing, I wanted something really spectacular to write about but could think of nothing. Soon all of my waiting for something spectacular to happen turned into the winter blues and I just didn't have it in me. Do you ever feel like that? Oh sure, there were a several times during the course of the day I would think, "Oh, I should blog about that!" The trouble is, by the time I have a chance to blog, I forget exactly what it was I was going to share. Oh, well. C'est la vie... at least my vie.



Then one morning I woke up and something spectacular happened to me. I looked over and my husband was in bed next to me. My son literally drags himself into the bedroom and crawls in on the other side of me. They do this to me all the time. Coen calls it a Mommy Sandwich. As I tried to move over to make room I noticed my feet were stuck - my 3 year old was sleeping at the bottom of my bed. Down the hall I hear, "Mommy, awake!" as my 20-month old gives the morning S.O.S. to be rescued from her crib. At first I'm pleading with them all quietly inside my head to just go back to sleep, but I know it's only wishful thinking.



My husband drags himself out of bed to get the baby, my son starts telling me something-or-other about Star Wars and - simultaneously- my 3-year-old begins to tell me about what she and "Shelly, her new blue mom" did last night. Yes, my imaginative daughter has an alternate family. Shelly used to be pink, but she is now blue, and is always referred to as such when spoken about. Her blue father is Jeremiah, but we don't hear about him as much. At first we tried to ignore this "other" family, but then I just got down right jealous of Shelly! I have since made my peace with Shelly, and just go with it. I just tell Ravenna how lucky she is that she has two moms that love her so much! But, I digress... Jason returns with the baby in his arms and the two of them join us on the bed. Our little one, Lily, immediately begins to attack everyone as she laughs hysterically at the chaos she is causing.

Welcome to Saturday morning at our house. Ah, but not just any Saturday - it's my birthday on this particular Saturday. A day that I haven't really wanted to celebrate in 15 years. Sure, I've tried to do something to mark the day, but it has been forced on my part. This year was different. This year I was really looking forward to my birthday.

At some point in a person's life they are able to stop and take a good long look. For some this happens due to some traumatic event, for some it's the end of their life, for others... well, who knows. The point is this; I'm already staring myself down and I'm only 32.

I don't want to rehash the past 15 years. If you know me then you know what they have been like for me, if not, here's a quick rundown. Dad died 15 years ago - spent 17th birthday at funeral; 8 years to the day that Dad was buried Grandma dies on the day after my birthday. May 9, 2008 Mother-in-law dies very quickly after lengthly illness & May 31, 2008 Father-in-law dies unexpectedly after year long illness we thought was going to get better. Sure there have been lots of shiny spots in the mix, but the muck always seems to be there trying to spoil my good time.

Fast forward to June 2008. I had been taking pilates at the Y for a year or so, but wanted to try something else. Then I see an intro-to-meditation class being offered. Immediately I feel this excitement whelm up inside of me. An hour to sit with just me and turn my mind off is just what I need. I mean, I'm starting to get down right giddy at just the thought of quiet mommy time. I'm actually getting a tickle in my belly now thinking about it and this almost a year ago!

So I get to the first class and discover that it isn't just quiet time. It was weird and wonderful and scary all at the same time. The instructor is talking about our energy and sharing it and becoming one with all around us... I felt like I was going to open my eyes and find beads hanging from the door frame and a bong in the middle of the shag carpet. I liked it though. I liked that when I was quiet and still with myself it scared the crap out of me because there was ignored muck lurking around inside. I don't like being scared in general, but the fact that I realized that this muck was inside of me and was affecting the person I want to be really did excite me. It meant that it was mine, which in turn meant that I could control it.

Don't get me wrong, I never thought I was a bad person. I just wasn't the person I wanted to be or the parent I wanted my children to have because I knew I could do better. I'm a pretty open minded person and will give something an honest go before making a final decision on it. I saw this class as a chance to change myself for the better. Almost a year later I can say that I have. So, where was I going with this story... ah yes.

It's the morning of my 32nd birthday. I couldn't ask to be anywhere else in the world but smashed in that bed next to my husband getting pounced on by our three beautiful little balls of energy. "This is spectacular," I thought.

A few hours later I'm home alone waiting for the first of my guests to arrive. Yes. I'm celebrating my birthday today. Not to try to mask the negative connotations I get with it each year, but to truly celebrate my past 32 years of living. I asked for no presents - only presence. Today my girlfriends were coming over to experience what all this crazy meditation I speak of is all about. They all thought it sounded strange, but yet wanted to try it out themselves because they can see how much it truely means to me.

I look around and there are friends from all aspects of my life gathered in my living room. We laughed, cried, hugged and shared our innermost thoughts that afternoon. Many had never met before this day, but are now bound spiritually for the rest of our lives. As I sat there in my home and looked around at all of my friends I thought, "This is spectacular! My life, my family, my friends, my faith and my dreams are indeed spectacular!"

Under Roos!

OK ladies, we all have them. The underwear that we hate but wear it anyway. I'm not talking about the pair that is slowly unravelling at the leg band but you refuse to throw away because it was "good, expensive" underwear. I'm referring to the sexy pair. The pair that won't quite stay in place, or the silky pair that when you wear it your jeans slide off your butt every time you sit down. I'm talking about the lacy pair, with the not-so-soft-to-the-skin lace. The pair that goes deep where it should not go. You know the underwear to which I'm referring? Of course you do- because you have SEVERAL pairs of them in your drawer. You wear them on special occasions, and laundry day, but not a day more than absolutely necessary.

My husband had Friday off, so I thought, "Hey, maybe I'll wear the sexy silky underwear incase he gets a peek today." It's a sensible thought. We were going to the gym, but I thought the pair I picked out would be fine for that purpose. The pair I picked that day was on the verge of being anoying, but not not too bad. Apparently I was wrong. It was too slippery with my sweats and wouldn't stay put at all! I decided to just shut up and put up with it... well... "up".

While waiting for my son to get out of the pool I bent down to the sife of the pool to say something to him. Now my husband was in the next room watching us through a glass wall. As soon as we got to the car he starts in with "Dude, you had the world's biggest wedgie at the pool! Why did you wear that underwear? You should throw that away! I bet everyone was staring at your butt - it was so bad!" Thanks, dear... jack ass.

Why do I even try? He never even notices that I wear the nice underwear for him - he does the laundry! He knows what I own! I think from now on I will only wear the granny panties just to teach him a lesson for making fun of me. I will save my sexy, uncomfortable underwear for the weekdays when I don't see him. From now on when you hear me on the radio, you'll know I'm wearing the sexy underwear - because I'm saving the unsexy granny stuff for special occasions. :)

What a long strange ride it's been.

Yes, I suck. I've been neglecting the little blog here for the past few weeks. I've had some good stories to tell too! I'll save the bathing suit mishap for another blog, and instead tell you about the Thanksgiving weekend.... which actually starts with last Saturday - November 22nd. We had an adult dinner party. It was AWESOME! there were 8 of us - 4 couples - who all got babysitters for the evening and got together at our house for dinner. We ate off of my Grandparents china and downed two bottles of wine. It really was great. There was no TV and we sat around the table for a couple of hours just talking. We're definately doing that again! At the end of the night we went to clear off the table only to discover that my sink was all backed up! Great!

Convinced I could take care of it myself, I messed with it for days. Everytime I thought it was OK my husband would start running water and stuffing things in the garbage disposal and it would get all backed up again! It wasn't his fault, but I'm gonna blame him anyway. Finally on Friday morning- yes almost a week... and a smelly kitchen...later - we called in the plumber. Jason's grandparents were expected at 2 for our day-after-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving (we spent the actual Thanksgiving with Jason's stepmom's family), and I had a smelly kitchen full of dirty dishes. Oh, it was lovely. We hadn't been able to use the stove for a week because all the dishes from LAST WEEK'S dinner party were still all piled up on it. We're just nasty, is all I can say. It's not usually like this, but I was damned determined to fix it myself. I'm such a man. Anyway, I felt a little better after the plumber spent TWO hours with the snake way, way down the pipes trying to clear the blockage. I would have never been able to get to it. Then he only charged us $40! We felt a little guilty, but we'll make it up to him at Christmas. The plumber packs it up and we have our kitchen back... and it's 12:15! Thanksgiving dinner is at 2!

We can do this. Suprisingly, it was Jason freaking out this time & I was the calm one (the drugs must be working!). We tag teamed the dishes - he washed while I dried & put away. Then I went to the store & bought some food to make for dinner. I came home and started peeling potatoes while Jason went to the Honey Baked Ham store to get the main course. I set the table - complete with the antique table cloth handmade by Indians that Jason's Grandma, who was on her way over, gave to us. How good am I? We even used his Mother's dishes. Dinner was on the table at 2. Damn, I AM good!

I still had to work on Friday night, so after dinner was cleaned up and put away I headed out the door. Somehow, on the way there, I managed to hit a pothole the size of Texas! Oh yeah, I busted up the rim and flattened the front passenger tire on the Maxima. It was immediately flattened too. I babied the car the one block to work and called up to make the guy in the Newsroom come down and stand with me while I changed my tire. Dude, I couldn't get the jack out of the trunk! It was jammed in the side of the wheel well and that thing was not budging! We even got the owner's manual out to see if there was some magic button or something - "turn and pull." Yeah, turn and pull, my ass! After about 40 minutes of "turning and pulling" I caved in and called my brother. I felt so stupid. I can change a tire! grrr. I love my big brother though. He's always there to save me.

Saturday morning I called around to try and find a new rim - $613! Jason was not pleased with me. At all. In the meantime I had to be out at Fred Martin Superstore for work from 11-1. We dropped the car off at Conrad's and Jason dropped me off at Fred Martin. He picked me up and I took him home and went to get Coen from his friend's house (he spent the night with Evan). As we were getting in the car to leave from Evan's house my phone starts ringing. It's the radio station. They're out at Fred Martin Chevy and the jock that was supposed to be there didn't show up. It turns out she had a family emergency & everything is fine now, but we were all worried because that's not like her. Needless to say I went flying across town to Frd Martin Chevy - son in tow. I got there in time for the next break - only because I called as I was pulling in to the parking lot. We were there for the next hour and a half and my son was perfect! I couldn't have asked for him to be better! I was so proud!

We finished up there and headed home to put the tree up. It made it up, and there are lights and beads on it, but it never went further than that. On to Sunday...

The phone rang at 8:30. Our pastor was on the other end sounding horrible. She had been sick for the past few days and was so weak that she couldn't even stand! She e-mailed me her sermon and I was the preacher for both services on Sunday. Everyone said I had done such a great job, but I couldn't take much credit for it - it was her sermon, not mine.

Monday morning: I'm fighting with the kids to get them to MOVE! Do we have to get Coen to preschool late every morning? We rush in (half an hour late at this point) only to discover that he didn't have school today. I somehow missed that schedule change. He just turned to me and said "Well I guess I wasn't late today, was I?" He was so tickled.

Then Conrad's calls about the car. They were able to find a brand new wheel that matched our car through a salvage yard, and they were able to patch my tire!!! It only cost us $250 to get the car fixed!!! That could have been a $900 bill easily. How lucky are we?

It was just such a strange chain of events. It hasn't been a bad week, but it has been a little strange. It certainly hasn't been boring, but I'm hoping the rest of the week is, just a little.

My Hope for the future

Everyday I try to teach my children how to be a better person than I am. I try to teach them to leave it cleaner than you found it, and lend a hand whenever a hand is needed. I try to teach them to do good simply for the sake of doing good. I try to teach them that one person can make a difference one kind act at a time. Most of the time you think they're not getting it, but then there's that one unforced act of goodness! You can't help but beam with pride when you see it. It might be the time your child stands up to a bully who's picking on another kid, it may be when they break their cookie in half and share it with a lonely child, sometimes it's when they invite the kid in the corner to come over and play with the group. It could be when they pick up the litter in the park while we're walking, or simply being polite and conversational- no matter how uncomfortable they are - when the old crazy people in the grocery store are talking to them. It's these little things I see in action everyday that make me so proud of my kids.

Of all the things we try to instill in our children, tolerance and respect are two of the most important things on the list. Throughout the past few months, my kids have been surrounded by the election mess. My son is 5 and very aware of, well everything (except whe I'm calling his name...). He sees what's going on around him and asks questions to help fully understand it. My husband, being the political junkie in our house, has been answering these questions - mostly at night when I'm at work. I know he knows who Barack Obama and John McCain are. He knows that we all go vote for a new person to be the President every four years to be our boss. He watches the Daily Show more than I do - I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm willing to let it ride for now.

This morning my son, Coen, woke up and crawled into bed with me as he does every morning. The first thing he said was, "Who won the election?" When I told him Barack Obama had won he pumped his little fists and gave out a little "woohoo!" I just smiled. He then continued, "I'm glad McCain didn't win, because if he did he would come and take all of our toys away!" I just looked at him and asked him to repeat himself to be sure that is what I heard. It was. At that point I decided to sit and have a conversation about the elections and the candidates with him myself - Daddy was fired!

I told him that John McCain would not come and take his toys. I told him that Mr.McCain is a good man with a lot of good ideas. He loves our country and only wants to help us. I told him that he was a soldier a long time ago and helped a lot of people. I told him about how the bad guys in the war had caught him and hurt him, but he was very brave and strong. I told him that even though Mr. McCain was a very good man, Mommy and Daddy didn't vote for him because we didn't think we liked the way he would run our country. I told my son that he says things to people that scare them and make them angry. He might not mean to do it, but he does. I told him that Mr. Obama was a very nice man too with a lot of good ideas, but that he inspired people and brought positive reactions to people. We voted for Mr. Obama because we wanted to make a positive change in our world.

It was a really cool conversation - simply because we were having it. My parents taught me a lot of things to be proud of- things that left me a better person than them - and my parents were pretty amazing (mom still is!). This was never one of those conversations I had with my parents. I couldn't tell you anything about politics, voting or anything of the sort as a child. As an adult, I have to say that this was a really exciting election to be a part of. I only hope that they can all be like this. It really seemed almost like a national holiday or something. People were excited to go vote - and that excited me! I do hope it's a trend that doesn't fade. We stood in line at the polls at 6:30 am, my husband and I, for 45 minutes. It was almost like a date. We talked to each other about all kinds of stuff. It was nice. What was also nice was that we felt like we were really going to make a difference with our votes. It was cool.

After talking to my son this morning, it just seemed even cooler. We were teaching our child how important it is to vote, how to respect those that you don't necessarily agree with, to tolerate difference, and what it is to be a leader. It's a lesson that I'm proud of.

My son has no idea how historic this presidential election has turned out to be. There's a reason for that, and a reason that I'm proud of. My son doesn't see Barack Obama as black or white. He sees Barack Obama on the TV and he just sees a man like any other man. "Black" is not in the vocabulary at our house. "African American" means nothing to my children. My children see men, women and children of all shapes, sizes and shades - and we're all God's children.

My son was very interested in this election. It could be because he wanted to share the interest with his father, or maybe just because he needs to understand everything going on around him. I don't know if he'll remember the events of Decision '08, but I hope he at least remembers snuggling in bed with Mommy the day after.