Oh It's a scene alright....

Hey everyone,
It is with mixed emotions I report that my family has a slight obsession with the CSI crime series. I think the fam members would all agree that we like CSI Vegas the most, although our reasons would vary if asked to explain the how's and why's. For me, as a total side note to any relevancy here at all, I love CSI Vegas because I have been forever been in love with Marg Helgenberger, I have loved her since she played the "female escort" on China Beach. I swear she has barely aged and her sexiness has deepened in some understated, yet very rich way. She's smokin' hot. But I digress....
My reason for referencing CSI at all is because I just changed my sheets. If you are faint of reality read no more.
It is not my usual sheet washing day, this is one of those other circumstances that fits loosely into the sickness category. Thankfully the liquid matter on my bed was not vomit this time, instead a glass of milk that accompanied a bowl of miniature vanilla wafers. (side note for a million years Kevin pronounced them vanilla waw-fers, just remembered that and laughed)
Typically the only person that gets to eat in my bed is me, it usually occurs under a pile of text books and is usually something very bad for me and solely for the purpose of sustaining lagging brain power. It is rare at best. However, my Mimzy was sick this week and set up camp in my bed (hence my now pounding head,cramped up stomach and propensity for continual sneezing YAY!)
Normally I would kick an eating kid to the curb of my bed, if not right out of my room, but a recovering sick kid with big please Mom eyes and a squeaky worn out please mom voice, leave me defenseless.
And so spilled milk I cry about and strip my damn bead and all it's princess and the pea linens.
As I ripped layers from the mattress, I was awe-struck by the myriad of stains. I said aloud "wow" and thought the CSI peeps would have to reconstruct a thousand or more scenarios here. They would be emptying bottles of their magic spray and running their little light wand thingys up and down endlessly. Ha, they would never get it all right.
It's funny how the stains of a mattress piece together stories of of it's owners life, especially that of a parent with as many kids as I have. The things that have happened on that bed....

Am I gross beyond measure for even thinking about this? Am I alone???
Before I proceed, let me make perfectly, crystal clear that I am a clean freak by nature. I am NOT one to "let things go" around my house, un-cleanliness freaks me out and I am habitually, forever freaking cleaning something... There is however, NOTHING that can be done about the mattress stains, trust me I have tried. Many a times the steam cleaner and it's attachment have worked ferociously trying to remove a remnant of some puking episode or bladder break. Although some spots leave me unable able to name their person of origin, my favorite, most recognizable, is one I made myself.
It is a faint stain, the shape of a pond of water. In actuality it was a pond of breast milk. It was my second night home after giving birth to Emma. Being a master breast feeder, I was well aware that the small amount of milk I was making was just "pre-milk" and that the Mother load was due to arrive any time. I woke up in the hormonal exodus sweats, completely soaking wet from hair line to soles of my feet.
As I came to and got my bearings, (where is the baby and is she breathing) I began to realize that the pool I was swimming in was more than just sweat. And with that, I became aware of a faucet like feeling rushing from two enormous, mountain like masses from my chest level. I was the fountain of Motherhood and if a pool around me had been built, I could have easily fed all the starving children of at least one third world country, if not two. I just now groped my own breasts remembering how they quadrupled in size, Thank You Jesus for table food.
There has been poop and barf, pee, feminine accidents, spilled drinks, a glass or two of red wine, chicken noodle soup, sweat, nail polish remover and I am sure DNA of other varieties....

If the CSI agents of New York, Miami and Vegas all converged in my bedroom, they still wouldn't have the resources or time to sort this all out. My mattress is a crime scene of life....

Never Surrender

Hi,
So without going into too much detail, simply because it is not my detail to go into, something has happened to someone I love that I can do very little about. I will suffice it to say it is major and beyond what I ever imagined I would deal with, even by association. Now, with that out of the way I would like to discuss the Wizard of Oz. I think there is a connection here, although honestly I am not quite sure what it is as I write... (I just instinctively, continue typing) - I will say that some day over the rainbow, I hope that my "someone by association" will look back and read this and say to themselves, wow she loved me.
Maybe just maybe, the connective tissue I identify here is that me and my "someone" (by association) are engaged in battle for freedom from a wicked witch and arrival at that sacred place, where you are finally capable of realizing/admitting, THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME. If only real life was manageable, by simply aiming a bucket of water and clicking some ruby slippers...
For as far back as I can remember, the Wizard of Oz has had a profound effect on me. I recall my horror, when as a child, I watched, mouth agape as the Wicked Witch of the West tossed her hate filled balls of fire at the sweet scarecrow. I would hold my breath tight in my chest as if the last breath I drew before he went up in flames was my actual, last breath. I squeezed my eyes painfully shut, wincing as I shrunk down into myself covering my face anxiously waiting for the fire to be put out. My reaction never differed, regardless of knowing the movie by heart. I struggled with my intense fear the exact same way each time I watched. The thing about back in the day, is that back in the day that movie being on TV truly was a special occasion. I am old enough to say, VHS tapes and DVR's did not exist. As a girl, every time I sat down to watch that movie was memorable, I was enraptured as though it were all brand new. I still feel that way today even as my collectors edition dvd, collects dust on the shelf in the next room. So much about that movie evoked strong emotion. Auntie Em in the crystal ball calling out for Dorothy... "Run Toto Run"... The first flight of the monkeys and the "Oooooweeo" soldiers marching in front of the castle - geez they freaked me out....Dorothy Gale was, and still is, my #1 fictional hero. She was so loyal and brave and not even slightly put off by the lollipop guild. The way she skipped down that endless yellow brick road with so much hope and enthusiasm, made me think skipping while singing is essential to safe arrival at your destination...The two things I loved the most about Dorothy were that she befriended un-likely's with absolutely no judgment and jumped on their personal bandwagons with as much conviction as her own. And, that when the witch wrote SURRENDER DOROTHY in the sky, she flat out refused.

Memories from the corners of my mind....
In the end, we all know how it ends - the virtues the boys were seeking, were inside them all along. The Great and powerful Oz was just a regular guy with a balloon and a dream, Dorothy will miss her BFF most of all and finally there is, no place like home.
All my long life this movie has stayed with me... My Mother laughs JUST like the Wicked Witch of the West. My kids call her "Nana Witch" - I call my sister Courtney, "Toto"....And my best friend Mary, is my scarecrow.

The song somewhere over the rainbow is my theme song, how could it not be??? Where troubles melt like lemon drops a way above the chimney tops that's where you'll find me...If little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow why oh why can't I ??? It's just so Deb...
What prompted this verbal expulsion of emotion and thought, was a flat out conclusion to a "TIMBER" falling like a cut down tree,bed flop. I fell hard, face first and sobbed into my blankets. When I rolled over and looked up at the blank ceiling, I felt like Dorothy in the poppy field, exhausted hazy woozy. Once I made the connection of feeling like Ms. Gale in her time of great distress, I squinted at the white wall space looking for a sky and a rainbow. And there in my minds eye and ear I heard and saw my beloved Dave Matthews describing (at Leroi's funeral mass), the first time he heard him play his sax. He said, and I loosely quote here purely from memory, "He played the most beautiful version of somewhere over the rainbow, that was the night I fell in love with him"....
Of course it was. What other song could it have been?
- And then, what happened next is what always happens to me, because I am admittedly some sort of freak of nature. The whole damn thing, my horrific personal issue, the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy Gale, The Cowardly Lion (Brian), Run Toto Run, "only bad witches are ugly", "and I'll miss you most of all" A baby blue Leroi and the music of my life, converged in a sense of spiritual and artistic peace.
The Wizard of Oz is about life. It is about unforeseen circumstances, bad choices, devotion, commitment, deep thought, courage, friendship, determination, song and a conviction that there is HOPE in all of it - even the Wicked Witch was avenging her sisters death out of love and loyalty.
The illusion of Oz and a quick fix never works. You must skip the path steadily, oil some hinges, slap some noses and put out some fires along the way. In the end when you wake up from the bad dream and look into the faces of those you love and who love you right back, the bad dream is worthy of remembering....It after all is responsible, for getting you to the place of appreciation for all you have, that you in fact had all along....
This fixes nothing for my person who I cannot help. It changes nothing in the immediate.... Consolation prize in the interim, I love you. And you love me. And no matter what the path or how long it takes, I will be here when the nightmare ends. I have been here all along. And if, through this battle, you appreciate the courage, intelligence and big heart you have inside yourself, and you figure out that no one else can give you what you already are OR define you, it will be worth the storm. And after the storm comes the rainbow. Imagine me singing to you, as I have all your life...

Always look on the bright side of life, education and religion....

Hi all ya'll, (did I do that right - not Southern)
I have no time to blog for real today as my life has taken a complicated path (by association) and I find myself thrust into the center of a storm I must weather. Just think good thoughts - think DEB GOOD THOUGHTS.
I did however just reply to a discussion thread at school as part of an introductory assignment, I was supposed to post a comment on our reading - BOY are they in for it. Ha!!!
I thought, because I have no time to for my own thoughts (that are not academically related), I would just post that thread for you here to read and that way you won't miss me. AS IF you miss me - silly girl/old woman.
So welcome to my education - World Religion.
Hi everyone!
I am a habitual blogger in my personal time, writing/communicating is my thing and so....I am warning you all, this "discussion thread thing" could get dangerous for me :)
My thoughts... They are so varied and expanse on this subject to begin with, where oh where will I be in my head by the time May rolls around??? I am super excited by the prospect of expanding within the academic setting, being forty and in college provides a real appreciation for learning opportunities. BUT, in truth, I am even more excited by the possibility that this class may help me in some way define my own opinions and maybe even beliefs. I have found that my philosophy classes from the last three semesters awakened a very specific question in my personal life, What do I believe? Education, the expansion and well rounded-ness of my knowledge, only serves to provide more relevant and new/unknown variables to consider as I attempt to answer the big questions in my own middle-aged life. I am afraid (very) of my own death, and acknowledge I am certainly closer to it now than I was yesterday....Sigh, I want to explore the concept of religion some more before I am either meeting a maker at the pearly gates, thrust into my new body and life or, just plain done....
To comment specifically on the reading, I found it all quite fascinating and in my view the common thread is this - most humans require something aside from themselves and their own conscience to look/refer to for answers and control, regarding those things which we cannot.
In particular, I found the reading on the Indigenous people of our Native Americans the most thought provoking but this is simply because I have just studied Rene Descartes "God Proofs", along with his opinion of animals. Although I find there are aspects I agree with and disagree with in his philosophies, I am mostly torn about his opinion on the state of animal consciousness. I giggled a lot imagining what points he and a Native American what have debated in reference to the animal kingdom and the role it plays or doesn't play in our spiritual life. I find the Native American connection to the animals fascinating. Are they on to something, learning from and being guided (in simplified terms) by instincts that seem to provide a pretty reasonable order of things??? (Did that make sense?) Are there answers to our big questions by observing the natural world, the animals, the landscape, the seasons - natural death and rebirth? I wonder if it is just that simple? I think we are way too clogged up emotionally and spiritually these days - rules, regulations, possessions.... Maybe the order is in simplicity and maybe then my dog isn't being a bad boy by chasing the deer through the woods and leaving me standing there pissed off holding his leash.
And side note - the "trickster" deities - love this concept, kind of like the bad luck gods who throw you a curve ball to see if you duck, get popped, or smack it clean out of the park. Tricksters are everywhere, they are called CHANGE. I like the concept of worshiping the trickster, embracing your bad luck instead of bemoaning it. But....I say this believing I was an awful person in my past life and am karma screwed in this one - I could just be comforting myself here with a bright side only I see....
See you all in class :)

choose to believe?

Hey hey hey,
SO this semester I am taking a world religions class and although today is only day two, I find myself thoroughly submerged in questions relating to religion, the concept of God and what it all really means to me. It is so stupid that I am tearing up as I begin to type and open my mind to this vast and controversial subject. This topic is a huge one for me and one I am unsure I will ever reconcile with definitive conclusions and/or answers.

I was raised an Irish Catholic girl in a very Catholic family. I will be honest (without going into depth that may get me sued) that my experience is tainted a bit by bad behaviors having everything to do with people associated with the church, but certainly not within my actual church experience. Church for me was always a beautiful time, the sound of my Grandparents on either side of me passionately singing hymns is one of the safest memories I can conjure up from childhood. I will also admit however, that I never had the sense of devotion to Catholicism that my family seemed to experience, namely my Nana and Papa. The word of the gospel is straight from the lips of God in my Grandmother's opinion and there is NO other way. Jesus is our salvation and a Hail Mary will save your plane from crashing or redeem you should you not clear your plate at dinner. I WISH that I had the belief and devotion she has, I have watched her silently mouth the rosary over and over in times of fear and pain and have literally watched the fear and pain fall off of her with all the force of a good car wash. I wish I could find that kind of faith in anything outside of myself....
I make these detached statements, but then tear up immediately (again) as I guiltily feel the well of emotion rising to sting my eyes, I have an overflow of moments that smack of something higher and yet, I just don't know, but I do, but I don't...
The best way I can attempt to explain what I mean, is this.
I have a miracle - his name is Matthew Joseph.... I'll stay brief on this - the doctors said, terminate - the ventricle is blocked, the fluid has accumulated, his future is uncertain but certainly looks grave.
The first thing I did following scream, cry and sink to my knees, was grab my rosary beads wrap them tight around my fingers, Jesus tight in my palm and pray...Our Father who art in heaven...Hail Mary full of grace pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death..... I fell asleep praying and woke praying and continued on this way for weeks and weeks of what to me now, only resembles a numb haze. Every time that I went to the hospital for further tests (weekly) I first visited the hospital chapel where I knelt, hands clasped tight, forehead sunk deep into them and labored through these exact words, which I half spoke, half choked aloud, DEAR GOD PLEASE MAKE MY BABY WELL.
I did not believe he would be well in the end and believed even less, that I would survive his certain death. I quietly and gracefully prepared to die myself, if not in fact my actual life, certainly my emotional life. I was just waiting to say goodbye....I lived this way until somewhere around week thirty when I experienced what I refer to as a "divine intervention" where suddenly the landscape around me became grainy dots like that of an Andy Warhol print or the comics of a newspaper. The only exception to the glowing atoms surrounding me, was the twisted mangled body of a crippled teenage girl in a wheel chair and her loving Father doting on her every breath. I watched them in dismay and wonder as they communicated on a silent level, a language of a love so deep that I could see it glowing around them and emanating from them towards me, inviting me somehow to imagine I would ever be so lucky as to know this kind of intimacy.
I know it is hard to understand, it is even harder for me to describe, especially in short form text. The story deserves the inflection of my choked up voice as I travel back in time and see her again, see them again before me. This form does the experience no justice at all, I promise you. It was life altering for me. A look at divinity, a view of something higher - that someone, somewhere decided I NEEDED to see.
It was that very day that the weight of Matthew's health outcome lifted from me and I realized that because I was his MOTHER, I would know what to do no matter what. If he should be born into the world to die in my arms, well then my arms would be ready to hold him, my voice ready to sing to him, my heart full of love to send with him on his way. Whatever his destiny, I was THE integral component. And, if I were so lucky to have him live and instead face the many challenges of a disabled child, I would be blessed to have that rare kind of love like that Dad and his beautiful daughter...
Did God intervene? I have asked myself that question time and time again, especially when the terrorist attack of 9/11 ruined my first day of rest on maternity leave as I should have been preparing to give birth to Matt but was instead sobbing in horror as I watched the twin towers fall to the ground and with them the lives of thousands of people. The next day 9/12/01, I went to the hospital for my very last ultrasound to measure Matthews head, check circumference and swelling to see if vaginal delivery was even a possibility. As I drove to the hospital, the world around me moved in paces of shock, zombie like....The local firefighters were at red lights with boots collecting money for the fire houses in NYC. I entered the doors of Martha Jefferson Hospital that day in the same mood as everyone else in the country, SAD.
When I got up on the table and had the cool jelly smeared across my mountainous belly, I remember thinking, as Sheri (the tech) placed the ultrasound wand in the mound of gel, this may be the last time I see him safe....or alive.
I could not have been more wrong....
It is fuzzy what happened next - she said "I don't believe this" and I said "what"???? WHAT???

In short, the ventricle in his brain, after 38 weeks of pregnancy had suddenly, without explanation shrunk from completely dilated and covering the entire left side of his brain to within the normal limits and there it was grey matter we had never seen, developed normally underneath all that cerebral spinal fluid. The pressure had not damaged a thing....My boy turned nine and is here healthy as a healthy horse and driving me nuts on a daily basis. Praise God??? My Nana, the devout Catholic, told me God had made room for him, life and death are entwined....
Is that the work of God? Do I believe in God???
Today my professor addressed the class asking, "has anyone thought about where they were before they were born"???
I raised my hand the only whack job in the class and explained that I was evil in my past life I am SURE of it !!! How else can we explain the mammoth acorns that fall from the sky and hit me dead smack in the center of my head when there is no tree above me? Lets not forget the falling birthday squirrel that nearly beheaded me on my 38th birthday....
I have delusions of grandeur that have followed me from my past life as a bewitching evil princess probably responsible for mass murders if not mass seductions. Sometimes I think Marie Antoinette and I are the same and her party habits make me hopelessly bored in this lifetime....Sometimes I speak languages in my dreams that I have never heard before....I do believe that I was somewhere before here and that is most certainly not Catholic or indicative of traditional Christian beliefs...
What do I believe? I read about the "indigenous religions" of Africa and think some of it sounds faintly familiar.... I think it's possible that Hinduism has it all right....Is it about the next life? Is is about this one? Do I want to be nailed down? (wow I totally did not mean to make a Jesus reference there, no pun intended.)
I do know, that regardless of anything, a Catholic church makes me feel super safe and Jesus was a man I can respect no matter what the real deal is. Any man willing to die for a peace loving effort is a hero and worthy of worship. I pretty much worship Dr. King, no doubt
As I age, I find that I am less sure of anything I don't know for sure and really the only thing I do know for sure, is myself....
This class is going to break open my mind, I just know great revelations will come of this, whether they be Aboriginal, indigenous or Buddhist.....
So much to say so much to say..... (maybe music is the only religion I need ha)

All my personalities are PERFECT

Oh my word it has been so longgggg.
As I sit here and glance out at the house that looks as though it is falling down around me, I think, blog - really? How about clean? BUT it has just been too damn long and I have come to realize, the mess will be here day after day. HA ! Something I can count on !!!!!
Anyhooooo, I just posted what I thought was a hilarious facebook post, the arguing in my head of my split personalities. Now, I don't actually have a split personality BUT I do, like everyone have facets. I have a over achiever who gets orgasmic at the mention of a worthy challenge and then I have chubby Debbie (GOD I HATE THAT NAME) who whines that she can't do anything. (She was created by my Mother so so so so long ago when I could only eat desert on Sunday because I was, you got it chubby.) Whatev....
My point is to not write about the girls but rather to write that some people will surely scoff and go WOW that chick is so unhinged and wrong.
This has been happening to me most of my life. And I say, guess what I say?????
I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT ME.
And the sweetest part, is that it's true, not just words. You see, I have come to learn to be who I am and embrace the spastic, crazy BEAUTIFUL messiness that is me. At bare bones, it is all truth and I don't put on. What you see is what you get.
And I only care how I FEEL about it, what anyone else feels is their business not mine.
I heard a song the other day, driving in my silly bumper sticker littered truck by the artist who graces not only the outside of my 4runner but the inside too, my girl PINK. The song is called (and don't read if profanity offends you) Fuckin Perfect....
Made me think of me first and then my BF Mary second. There are a lot of songs out there that we believe are written exclusively for and about us, this one now graces my list up somewhere close to the top. The words to this song, are words Mary has said to me, over and over and over.....(to infinity and beyond)....
Now I love PINK. I mean love her with all my heart. I believe, she may just be the most talented girl in the world and really,  I want to be her. Every morning when I wake up. I go "pink check? - shit, still Deb UGH" - hell at this point,  I would settle to just be her trapeze....She is my girl idol and I worship her. Not only is she an AMAZING vocalist, her MESSAGE is ON POINT. She is a bad ass, take no shit, take it or leave it, kinda girl. My kinda woman.
I may be getting off track a bit or a lot but, recently Emma was singing "you can have whatever you like" while doing some Beyonce looking Bootie drop and I almost had a massive stroke and died on the spot.....I called she and Matthew to an emergency family meeting and began to explain to them about personal responsibility with their own bodies and jokes and dances and whatever etc. etc. - I mimicked Emma....You can have whatever you like and stuck my ass out and around and I said "NO NO NO NO NO EMMA" - NO!!!!!
It's like this my Daughter "SO WHAT I'M STILL A ROCK STAR AND I DON'T NEED YOU" while popping my guns and gritting my teeth for emphasis.....Her message is my message..... Emma is not going to be a stupid girl flipping her blonde hair back and pushing up her bra like that....Not if I have my say and PINK has hers.
Sometimes being the girl that sticks out like an misunderstood sore thumb instigates people to talk trash about you and make false assumptions. Sometimes being unique makes others seethe and have to spit venom for lack of anything nice to say. Sometimes not looking like everyone else will make you a slut for lack of anything more inventive to say...Sometimes not getting out of your car at the bus stop for hen clucking makes you stuck up (no really, I don't like the gossip is all) Most times you have to say WHATEVER and do what makes you YOU.
And so I am grateful to have my facets argue, it makes for entertainment and a constant high bar for me to get over (Insert When Harry Met Sally Orgasms noises here) I am grateful for friends who tell me all the time I am fuckin perfect just the way I am and for female Idols who write songs for me to have for personal anthems that I crank while I sit in my car at the bus stop....
And for the record I have slept with less people than you and yes, my boobs sag.

 PINK- FUCKIN PERFECT


Made a wrong turn, once or twice
Dug my way out, blood and fire
Bad decisions, that's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around

Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me!

You're so mean, when you talk about yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead
So complicated, look happy, you'll make it!
Filled with so much hatred...such a tired game
It's enough! I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same


Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing

You're f*ckin' perfect to me

The whole world's scared so I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer
So cool in line, and we try try try, but we try too hard and it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics, cause they're everywhere
They dont like my jeans, they don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves, and we do it all the time
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?

Why do I do that..?

Yeah, oh, oh baby, pretty baby..!
Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel
Like you're nothing, you're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect!
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're fuckin' perfect to me..

safety in numbers, mine is 4....

Good Morning All,
In the middle of the night last night, my beautiful, sweet, sensitive little daughter Emma Claire came furiously climbing up the center of my bed as though she were being chased. She woke me very suddenly and apologetically, explaining expediently that she had a nightmare that she had been kidnapped. She said and I quote "It was just awful Mumma and I can't stop thinking about it, I think I might need you to hold me".....
For me, fear or illness in my children triggers my Maternal instinct like nothing else. I could have been accepting the Nobel peace prize at that very moment and I would have dropped it immediately to free up my arms to wrap tightly around her. I held her into my chest, squeezing her, she was shaking like a brittle autumn leaf in the wind and I had to literally contain her to dull the quaking. I could feel her heart beating, it was dangerously fast and mine beat in time with hers, my fear spiking too.
I don't ever want a police officer to ask me for a picture of Emma to post on an Amber alert. It is the understatement of the century to say I would not do well with a missing child.....
(I don't want to go there)
My point for writing about this experience is simply that I was thinking about children and their fear a lot last night and I thought it was blog worthy, thought worthy, hug worthy even.
Yesterday my friend Steph called asking if I was available to keep her baby daughter Sydney for a few hours while she took her husband Scott to the urologist (poor guy had kidney stones - ouch) I was happy to take Syd as she is quite possibly the sweetest baby since Emma. Stephanie came and dropped her off and all was  just fine until about ten minutes in when Sydney looked around my house and realized that Mommy and Daddy were no where to be found....Her bottom lip began to suck in and out with her heaving deep breaths and her big innocent eyes welled with pools of tears. She looked and looked and heaved and heaved....Her sad face was killing me. I was holding her and rubbed my hand over her soft baby hair and I said "I know honey it's scary isn't it" - children find their safety in their parents, period. Sydney knows me very well and actually really does love me, about a minute into the sad face and the hair stroking she head planted on my shoulder and sighed as if to say, okay I guess I am okay for now. The rest of our time was full of crawling hide and seek games, laughing, chewing plastic straws and pretty much baby fun.
When Scott and Steph returned to retrieve their bundle of love and she saw them, heard their voices as they talked with Kevin in the next room even, her face literally lit up light someone had flipped on her switch. She was like a little glo-worm, her joy and comfort elevated to a level that can only be felt while in the midst of the Rents and her smile in turn, lit up my kitchen.
God being a MOTHER is the best thing ever. It really is something else to be another human beings safe place....I feel privileged that whoever it is that makes these decisions thought me capable enough to give me four opportunities to FEEL this and BE this.
Our kids need us to be worthy.... It is so easy in the midst of busyness and craziness to overlook what we mean to our kids. It is so easy to just drive them here and there, fold their laundry and nag them to take out the trash, so easy to take for granted that they are here and we are here with them.
Kids love us as much as we love them. And that's all I have to say because I am crying now.
My advice for the day Moms and Dads, revel in that you = safety for your children. Revel in that they are safe. Hold them like I held Emma, like I am sure Steph held Sydney. Hold them tight tight tight. It's quite something this bond, it's quite something to be the everything to someone who is your everything.

The little things

Good late afternoon/early evening,
Today I went for my very first outside run of 2011. I am ashamed to say that I haven't done a legit run, in I don't know how long, I would guesstimate maybe over a year or more....Dumb. Today was more of a walk/run, I pretty much interval trained for about three miles. OH MY GOD, it felt so GOOD. I mean it felt awful too don't get me wrong... My ass muscles and calves are throbbing intensely and my right hip is apparently pissed off because it keeps pinching sharp and sudden, like a quick I HATE YOU !!!!
Too f'n bad hip, you've been lazy too long.
While I was out and about in the hood today, I was meditating in my head on how much gratification I enjoy from the simplest things in life. Today I found it in working muscles, Jason Mraz on the pod and the sunshine bathing everything in the most perfect golden and sparkletastic light. A bonus as I walked/ran, I couldn't help but notice Willoughby's big furry ass a few paces in front of me just jiggling away. This sight was laugh worthy enough all on it's own, but when I realized that his ass cheeks moved in perfect syncopation with the Latin beats of the song blasting in my headphones, I was flooded with so much joy that my reaction was to stop and hug my dog.
An elderly man fetching his mail, looked at me rather disapprovingly. His face read, "you have a screw loose", but I paid no matter because my big, beloved fur ball was hugging me back and all you need is love, love is all you need....
As I approached this new year and thought about resolutions, I spent a lot of quiet contemplative time in my head considering SIMPLICITY. I also pondered how I could acquire a state of mind that would keep me from wanting THINGS that I don't really need and instead choose to be mindful/appreciative of what I already possess that is satisfying.  On January 1st, I set forth with a strong ambition to love my life, simply because I HAVE one.
Today I was super successful in that endeavor, finding a walk outside with my dog and lunch at school with my kids has left me feeling serene.
I hope I have good health this year and I hope that I live to see 2012, because if I am fortunate enough to enjoy the next 359 days, I am feeling confident that my enjoyment level is going to be off the hook....

spoon me

Hey hey hey,
About a decade ago in one of the very first seasons of survivor (back when I watched TV), I recall a challenge that was insane and ridiculously grueling (something over water- hanging upside down or some shit) - anyways, the prize that the tribes were battling for, was a food item from back home in the states. Now although I have never been starving in the jungle myself,  I can easily imagine that when you are pretty much wasting away and have resorted to eating bugs and rotisserie rodents, (next to eating a cast mate), risking death for a jar of peanut butter is the only thing that makes any real sense. I remember watching the winner of the challenge shovel hand scoops of peanut butter in his mouth, eyes rolling back and looking a little like a near death experience or sexual climax or BOTH was occurring.
I can so relate to that feeling. I love me some peanut butter, like really really really love it, for me, it's a cure-less illness....
If a gun was suddenly jammed to my temple and I was asked "what can't you live without?" - sorry kids, I would say immediately, without reservation or hesitation, the creamy Peter Pan...If I were packing up for my trip to solitude island, in the backpack with the ipod and my copy of Khalil Gibran's "The Prophet", would go the peanut butter, and not a jar either, the big ass tub from Sam's Club...
My love affair with creamy, peanutty perfection began as a child, in my friend Tanya Cullen's house where the PB&J was a regular occurrence and during the summer months I ate lunch at her house quite frequently. I was an only child until I was 18, Tanya however was the oldest of like a million little brothers, her mother was in a constant state of pregnancy throughout my entire childhood, no seriously, she was...Noon to One p.m. in the Cullen household was more like entertainment/education hour than lunch, in hindsight I should have paid more attention and joined the convent straight out of high school....Tanya's Mom Kathy, made lunch assembly line style on the kitchen counter that stretched out like a highway. She lined up two endless rows of wonder bread and with a baby hanging on her hip, (literally balancing for dear life on her very pregnant belly), she would slap peanut butter and jelly down in ginormous blobs of goodness. Then with the backside of a big wooden spoon, she would go back down the line again smoothing everything like a Zamboni. The great thing about her technique was that it was completely sloppy and even sloppier on days when the baby was fussing or she was just plain on the verge of a breakdown. Her slop was our glory.
I remember her so well, dark hair falling loosely from a pony tail, sweat on her brow, pale and pasty, always looking like she could use a carton of cigarettes and a liter of Jack Daniels, it's truly amazing she survived her life....Stressed out Kathy Cullen's sandwiches were the best part of my summer days and trained my taste buds to identify peanut butter as comfort. To this day, as a forty year old woman, peanut butter = my #1 comfort food....
As I grew into a young woman I kept up the PB&J trend, most notably during my second pregnancy with my son Kevin. For nine long months, at 12:15 on the dot, I would eat one sandwich with plain lays potato chips, one banana, a glass of milk and two oreo's. Pregnant lunch became very ritualistic for me, from the split top brand wheat bread to the number of licks to annihilate the cream filling of my cookies. Crazy... My fav peanut butter of choice has always been Peter Pan, although I'll do any and all. I definitely do not discriminate based on labels, if it says PEANUT and BUTTER it goes in the pie hole, nuff said....
Now a days I like my peanut butter first thing in the morning on perfectly toasted whole wheat bread. I love it warm and melty, and if I so choose to layer it with nutella, I get especially excited when it swirls together like a tie dye t-shirt, MMMMmmmmm GOOD, pretty on the eyes and great on the tongue too. Chocolate, hazelnut and peanut butter....Can I hear an AMEN????
And so, as I pause from writing this blog to pour my glass of red and put together my spinach salad as the dinner hour approaches, I am salivating for none of what I have before me.... Instead I find Peter is taunting me from the cabinet. Think I'll just go grab a spoon and show him who's boss. After all, it's best solo and straight out the jar to the lips...Really, why waste time on the bread???

No boys allowed

Good Morning Peeps,
Well I hope your morning has been better than mine, but we won't get into that. I am however going to man bash a bit, so....If you are in love or especially sensitive to the male race, you may want to stop reading here.
Here is my issue.....I no longer have the patience or desire to deal with anyone with a penis...Really  I would like to inhabit a island in the middle of nowhere, cage a few men for the sole purpose of pro-creation and establish a chick country/village where I can live in peace, understanding and harmony. I am fully aware that at first it may get a little hormonal, but soon enough everyone would be on the same cycle and we could have rage support groups in place and ready as we approach our monthly beloved menses time.
Okay STOP and breathe...
Here's my question? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THEIR SKULLS????
Do they think, and if so, what about? Cause it sure as shit isn't what I am thinking about.... I think of myself as extremely logical - a problem solver and a cut to the chase kind of girl. And okay, I admit it, a fairly deep thinker....Please Please Please someone tell me that a man exists on the planet that will get right to the heart of a REAL issue rather than beating around a pointless bush and babbling shit that is ego based rather than reality based. OMG I can't take it anymore.
Okay STOP....
I love men, I do.
 Although to be honest, I think I love the IDEA of men more than actual men,  this is where I run into major issues and problemos.
I desperately want there to be men I get, men I can talk to, men that are well intentioned, I just don't know where they are.... NORMAL MEN ARE YOU OUT THERE????
I don't understand what, for the love of God is so difficult about the communication between men and women. Are we really that different that the divorce rate is at like a staggering 57% in this country because we just cannot make love flow ??? Why why why why why is it so hard for men and women to get along?
AND what exactly do men want? DO they know themselves?
Cause some of them say they want marriage and then cheat like rabid dogs. Some say they don't want a wife but then sleep with the masses and complain that they are lonelier than ever. I find they mostly say one thing, mean the opposite and then get pissed off that we don't understand what the hell they are talking about....Who has time to reverse psychology the hell out of every single exchange to then deal with the disappointment, when in the end it is primarily about the man muscle anyways??? NOT ME.
I'm bitter, I know.
I have had a few great men in my life. My step father for one, a SAINT. A good man, a solid heart of gold, a great listener, provider, friend etc. etc....BUT, most of the men I have had contact with suck.
For example (and we will go with strangers rather than anyone personal), this well dressed, good looking man is shopping in my store recently. He asks for an opinion about earrings for his wife. I hold them up do my sales girl dance, we laugh yada yada typical shit. He is unsure about the very expensive jewels and I tell him not to judge them based on my modeling, I am particularly hideous that day as I was up all night with puking children. I joke, maybe tomorrow I will look better.....HE COMES BACK THE NEXT DAY. He tells me I look better yes, and then asks me if I ever get to D.C.(he is an attorney there), I say yup, sister in college at CUA yadayada. I am ringing up earrings for his WIFE mind you and he says, "I'll be really upset if you don't come see me next time you're in my area"....I say "I can't imagine your WIFE would like that" and he says "NO BUT SHE'LL LIKE THE EARRINGS" !!!!!!!!
Makes me want to be with a woman, like seriously, or a spinster for all of eternity....
Oh MANNNN I am frustrated today.....Frustrated not only by Morons who think I am attracted to their super size inflated ego's, but also because I am soooo out numbered in my home of MAN BOYS and find myself  constantly confused by their idiotic behavior, laziness and lack of consideration.

Come on boys step it up, get your shit together please.... We girls of substance expect something substantial between the ears and do NOT for your information, enjoy wet towels on the floor....
I really do love men, really I do.....Today however I feel a tad witchy, it would benefit me greatly to not come in contact with anyone who has testosterone.
An estrogen island somewhere and ovulatory rage counseling, oh my....sigh

foot for thought

So today, as I was driving home from work, I was thinking quite intensely about feet. Weird right??? Although that seems particularly random (even to me), the foot thoughts were triggered by my car stereo, Dave was totally destroying a live version of SEVEN. The words and vibe of this song had me immediately day tripping on summer (what else is new?) I was poolside in my favorite low chair, legs spread out before me, neon pink toes reaching towards the sky, the horizon line of the deep end and the summer landscape. I wished so bad I was sweating profusely down the front of my bikini top and that my fish belly white feet were tan.
I am not a big fan of the feet, especially when they are winterized...
Winterized = socked, neglected, unpolished, pale...yuck
I have to admit, as far as feet go, somehow I got blessed with pretty cute ones (even November thru March). I have been told my feet are especially pretty, sexy even???
Now they are rather slender, and as of yet, are pretty smooth and lacking in bunyons and other foot funkiness. The "not-hideous" foot comes in handy when sandal wearing, walking barefoot on the beach and apparently when taunting men with foot fetishes....
I have had a few foot stalkers, I swear to God,(ask DANCAM she can attest....)
And here I must pause and say REALLY ???
Anyone with a legit foot fetish is not right in the head in my book. FEET?? REALLY?
I won't completely disagree that a tongue on the foot feels pretty okay, but that is from a receiving end, I can say pretty confidently that I really don't want anyone's feet in my mouth. I can think of so many other tantalizing uses for my lips, teeth and tongue...Just sayin...
Anyhoo, the women in my family are teeny-tiny, slight, petite women except for.... naturally, ME!!! My Mother weighs 100 pounds wet and is lucky to reach five feet tall with a heel to her shoe. My sister Courtney wears 00 (that's a double zero) and a size four kids shoe (she's 20) my other sister Ashleigh is rail thin and eats candy almost constantly. I got so screwed in the skinny gene department. Apparently spawn of  giant and midget equals big boned, big boobed, big hipped chica with bony feet, toes, fingers and wrists....
Why, why not a waist ???
Because I got my Mother's feet, I am constantly breaking my skinny, long ass, sexy toes. They snap like twigs at the slightest stub....It is a constant issue for me, I chalk it up to my Mother's genetic curse. UGH. Damn feet.
I will say, that I prefer my feet to other people's. Other feet make me cringe a little, shit a lot.  I will also admit that a nice foot on a man can cure an ugly face and sometimes a bad personality. A man with a good foot and a good face, RARE.... Feet, yuck.
My poor feet are sad right now, if toes had hearts, all ten of mine would be broken. My feet do not like shoes and socks, period. They are happiest bare and well exfoliated, moisturized and painted.
Right now they look clammy and this is so not sitting well with me. I have left them unpainted now for like two months. I look at them every day when I am peeing on the toilet, head hanging low, and I apologize for my pathetic negligence. My seasonal depression is now taking a toll on my poor toes.
So I have a plan. Tonight, I will talk to them, assure them that summer will come again and just to give them the hope they need to survive the January blah's, I will paint them a summer color....Something neon and fabulous. I may even pull up a pool picture and leave it as my background on the laptop and prop my crossed feet in front of it for good measure....
So that's my thought for the day.
Go paint your toenails or suck someones pinky toe or whatever.... Love some feet today :)

coming out of the tower now....

Howdy and happy New Year to you all,
Did everyone have fun? I certainly hope so...So today, January 1, 2011.... A new year, a whole new chronology of life's relevant moments... Whatever will happen to fill the unfolding blank space this coming 365, and what will we all have to say about it? So much possibility...
I look at most things this way now, as I find myself aging into wisdom, what good or BAD will come my way? I am not a negative person mind you, just realistic and experienced.
This past year I did some serious shit. For the very first time in my life I made a declaration in my head, a statement of positive INTENT and I set forth with my goal in sight. I didn't talk about it much, at least my INTENT, I just privately plugged along at the process and kept saying in my head a personal mantra, like the Little Engine that Could - "I think I can, I think I can"...
To many I said, "Oh I just want to improve" (so bullshittingly humble), but to the head of the English department, I said with swinging balls of confidence, "Oh I don't want to just improve this year, I want to win first place, I want to WIN.
HA- LOVE so MUCH, that I DID.....
For me it wasn't so much about the writing contest as it was my INTENT and persistent follow through to make it happen. First time in my long ass life, the intent materialized into the win.
Admittedly I have a painfully long history of doubting myself out of any and all  good intention.... In lovely 2010, I learned to silence my nagging doubt with solid, fixed intent to win. So take that, eat me, ha, gfy....
And to top off, I banged my finals out the park and pulled off, for the third semester in a row, my beloved 4.0 GPA (yee-f'n-haw) - The grade point average just another hidden agenda.
Recently, my best girl Mary sighs, "eventually you won't get straight A's and then what?" (meaning what will happen to my self esteem, my bar height, my fear of failure paralysis etc.) but I explained to Mary, it isn't about GPA....It isn't about too much pressure on myself, not about the perfect grades. For me in 2010, my GPA and my essay win became about not accepting LESS THAN I AM CAPABLE OF. I told the wifey, "I have been expecting too little of myself my whole life"- GAME OVER.
Unfortunately my balancing act tipped a little too far in the direction of physical gluttony and now I must do battle with my body again. The healthy me, is trapped inside a very over indulgent, unhealthy me. No more. I hate the belly flab, it makes me feel like I might be a typical forty year old. (I keep having dreams about middle aged, stress induced belly flab - it has a name?)  um yeah no thanks, how about I run some stairs with the sweat pouring down my ass crack instead???
So, my New Years resolution will be the same as every other woman signing hope into a new years gym contract - Lose this 20 pounds and resume life as a bad ass - one who also knows a perfect (for now) grade point average and the meaning of purposeful intention <3
But what else??? What else can I do???
I will attempt to reign in all areas of excess, especially with possessions and food. I have too much, and too many, have too little and it bothers me tremendously. In 2010, after constantly feeding the homeless on the downtown mall, after being haunted by their presence, I took a good look at my closet and vomited. Truth is, no one really gives a shit what I look like, my beauty is inner..... I HAVE TOO MUCH SHIT and too little security because I am an over active, mindless consumer. The fact that I can make a statement like that, TOO MUCH SHIT and too little SECURITY is a GIFT. I have a choice to spend, some people have no choice but concrete beds.
I dislike. I am part of the problem/monster and I want to change that. I want to be selfless and save people. That is what pleases me most, lifting up those who have been leveled by some heartbreak or another.
New Years Resolution - REIGN IN EXCESS.
Chocolate chip cookies at Rev soup? NO !!! Two bucks in my pocket thanks and I think I will go for a run with Mr. A-Z instead :)
Instead of shop, maybe volunteer at the homeless shelter, maybe teach my kids to save the world since my years are dwindling...
In 2011, I would also love to get my shit together enough to finally write the CANARY MEMOIRS and learn to do a reasonable flip turn without swallowing 60% of the pool. I'd Love to spend five minutes in real time with my muse, hear about her life, realizations, new goals, hear her laugh. I want to spend Christmas and New Years 11 with the wife and kids, want to take the beach trip for Dyer's 40th. Want to PH for an extended visit, rub cream on some needy heels, talk at length with Leroi down on the shore and watch the sun set on the ocean tides with the people I love most. Work a foiled pole at WWW and maybe take in some live shows. Learn to salsa dance for real and get through a song in it's entirety with Kevin.....I would really like to hug my friend Tommy and tell him how glad I am that he is upright again :) Hold my Nan's soft hands and pass her the kleenex box. Oh and so so much more....

sigh.....


As always, no matter the year, I will continue to love loud and proud, gushing emotion all over the place. That never changes with time, Thank God.
I hope I continue to be worthy of people like all of you.
I wish all of you reading, a blessed year full of happiness and good health.
Happy Happy New Year xo