"A Tale Of A, Well, A Tail"

So last week I was trying to get out of the house to run some last minute errands. We didn't have anything big to do, but we did have a lot of short stops to make. I had yelled at the kids to get their shoes on and find something to do in the car. While I was waiting for them, I did the ritual "cat count" before we left.

For those of you that don't know, when you have cats that occasionally escape, you need to know where they are. Also, those same cats can wreak havoc on the porch if accidentally left out. So, I had found both Bubba and Maia, and was searching for Misty. Her tinkling collar gave her away. She was sniffing around the floor in the dining room, in a suspicious manner. I have fallen for the "staring cat" trick before, and informed her that I wasn't falling for it this time.

As I was waiting for the kids to get ready, I watched Misty play with the trailing ends of Luke's flannel that was hanging over the back of one of the dining room chairs. I made an off-hand comment about her being a silly cat, and proceeded to take the shirt and twitch it around so she could play. By this time, I was done waiting for the kids and ready to leave.

I was very patiently waiting by the door; which means I was yelling at the kids to get their butts in gear so we could go. Rach was ready, Mark had shoes but nothing to do. Surprise, surprise. As Rachel and I waited for Mark to land on our planet, she decided to play with Misty. As Rachel crouched down to pet the cat, she screams out, "Mom, it's a lizard tail!"

I bend down and peek, and sure enough, it's the back part of a lizard, still squirming. Rach picks it up to inspect it. She wants to know the specific color of the lizard in question. She also determines that it can't have been too long since the severing of the tail because it is still moving. She, in case you haven't figured it out, is our resident 'lizard whisperer'. Good thing too, 'cause it seems we had one loose in the house.

I determined the reason Misty was so interested in Luke's shirt was because the lizard in question had taken refuge there. I told Rachel to take the shirt off and look around for the poor thing; well, I wasn't going to do it! She did. She laid the shirt on the floor and began to gently prod one sleeve. No lizard. She checked out the shirt-proper; no lizard. She was on the last sleeve and lamenting the fact the lizard had not been found yet. Me, being the smart-ass that I am, say to her, "You know, where there's a tail, there is bound to be a lizard." As the word "lizard" came out of my mouth, Rachel pulled her hand out of Luke's shirt sleeve and the damn thing was attached to her thumb!

She screams, I scream, I'm sure the lizard would have. She proceeds to lose her cool and fling her arm around. I watch, like it's in slow motion, as the lizard flies through the air and ends up behind the corner shelf in our dining room. She apologizes, we all take deep breaths and regroup. I carefully approach the shelf, unsure of what to do. You see, it's attached to the wall. As I begin to puzzle over this, the damn lizard comes running out, at full lizard speed, right at me. I jump back, screaming like the girl I am, as if a giant komodo dragon is running after me intent on ill-will.

It makes a b-line for the chest by the front door, and goes under. We again regroup. I steel myself to get close enough to the little monster so I can move the chest and Rachel can pick it up. This time, finally, it all goes according to plan.

We take mister stupid lizard outside, to set him free. However, he doesn't want to go. He is in shock and certain that Rachel is his savior. She eventually gets him to leave, and proceeds to set him on the front porch. I redirect her and mister stupid lizard into the flower bed. I mean really, I don't want to have to go through all of this AGAIN.

So, we get in the car and we leave to run errands. About five minutes into the ride, we are all laughing like loons.

Moral of the story: It's true. Pretty much where ever you find an animal's tail, you are bound to find the damn animal.

"A Surprise Visit"

It was the week after Christmas, and I was in the 'decoration funk'. You know, when you have to take down all the decorations and actually put them away? I really loved the year we only had Rach, and I just put everything in the spare bedroom and shut the door. Ahh, those days are over.

So, this time, I decided to power through it, and do everything at once. I started early morning, no shower, and comfy sweat attire. The kids helped me gather everything up and put it all in the living room. Luke got all the boxes from the garage and put them on the living room floor. Then everyone vacated the premises and left me to my work.

And there was a lot of work. I wanted to reorganize some boxes, and so I had things sorted and strewn from one end of the living room to the other. There was no room to walk and no surface or chair that wasn't covered.

I was making good progress. Luke was hiding in the study and the kids were playing well together outside. Then the phone rings. It's my neighbor. As the doorbell rings, she is warning me that our old neighbors are outside and about to stop in for a visit.

Un-huh. You have got to be kidding me! It's not that I'm a neat-freak. It's not that I haven't showered or brushed my hair. It's just that I was using this day to get all of my work done, and the 'work' was all over the living room!

So, I invited them in, moved some stuff off of chairs, and proceeded to visit while I worked. I was a little distracted, to say the least. I was worried about if it was rude to work while they were here. I was worried that I looked fatter than I did last time. I was worried they might break one of my knick-knacks that was lying helplessly on the floor, waiting to be re-boxed. So I wasn't paying that much attention to the kids.

Their daughters, upon arrival, had gone outside to play with my kids. My daughter, however, was periodically coming in the house and asking for things. I didn't notice at first how weird some of her requests were.

"Mom, do you know where that bird feather is I found at the beach?"
"No, why?"
"I need a feather for something."
So, I go to the craft cabinet and get her my bag of feathers.

Later...
"Mom, do we have any crushed eggshells?" I actually consider this before I answer.
"No, why?"
"I just needed them...never mind."

I go back to visiting. Rachel comes back in.
"Mom, have you seen the cats?"
"Why, did you leave the screen door open?" This is a common occurrence that makes me nuts.
"No," said with much indignation. "Never mind, there is Bubs." She proceeds to chase him down, pet him, and gather some loose fur.

I'm starting to become concerned, but I have company, so I can't investigate like I usually would. These are 'company' friends, not 'family' friends; which translates into 'I try not to yell or beat my children in front of them' friends. So I make a note to discuss this with Rachel later, and continue on with my un-decoration work and visit.

A little later...
"Mom, do you have something that will keep this feather on the stick Marissa found? I tried making a hole, but it won't stay." I get her the tape.

And finally, the coup de grace....Rachel is coming back in for scissors. So, I finally ask.
"What do you need scissors for?"
"I need to cut some hair off of Jilly."
"Oh, no you don't! What in the world are you doing?"
"I'm making a magic wand and I need some human hair to make it work."

Well, that clears it up quite nicely.

Moral of the story: Beware of dropping in on old neighbors, they might be practicing voodoo.

"A Perfect Tree"

So, it's the time of year where those of us that celebrate, begin to decorate. And we all have our own ways that we go about doing things. For me, this year was hard because I re-did the living room this past summer, got rid of some old pieces of furniture, and purchased some new pieces. This means that I didn't know where any of my stuff went. I had to start over from scratch, deciding where to put things, moving furniture to get the tree to fit, rearranging things until they made me happy. And for me, all of this starts if not before Thanksgiving, then as soon after as I can manage.

My tree now has a happy home in the living room, after I moved the couch three times, only to end up where I started! And you wouldn't think of Christmas as a time of strife, but we have had some tree "controversy" this year. Everyone has their own traditions surrounding the tree. And everyone's traditions are different!

Real, or fake? And since it's not swimsuit season, I'm not talking about those! I have terrific childhood memories of going to the tree farm, looking at ALL of them, and then standing by the one I have picked to cut down, while Valerie did the same. Then we had to convince the other family members, in 50 words or less, why ours was the best. And I don't remember hard feelings about this process. This I don't do with my kids.

We bought a fiber-optic fake tree the year Rachel was born. We have since jazzed it up with bead garland and extra LED lights; no tinsel for us because of the cats. We love our fake tree. No, there is no 'pine smell'. I have a reed diffuser for that. There also are no needles dropped all over the floor, no sap on me as I wind the lights, and no fire-hazards because I forgot to water the thing.

Well, I didn't realize that my children, while they love our tree, are missing the experience of the real kind. See, our neighbors and best friends have a real tree. And not just one, but THREE. The kids both have their own tree in their room. You see where this is going. So last year, at the after Christmas sales, I bought my kids each a fake desktop-sized tree for their rooms. Not the same, they moan at me, it doesn't smell!

While I'm not sure having a tree in their rooms will mask the odors of childhood, I have to admit that I tend to agree with them. However, I am not getting a real tree for my house, and their rooms are too small for real trees. So, Mema solved this whole thing for us.

We were lucky enough to be at Mema's house on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Mema is a real tree kind of gal. Well, maybe it's Pepa, but they always have a real tree. This year Rachel and I got to go with Mema on the tree-buying excursion. We went to this tiny lot in the parking lot of a KFC. Mema had seen "the perfect tree" when driving by earlier, and couldn't pass it up. So, we go. We find the exact tree she had seen from the road in under five minutes. Then we proceed to peruse the lot for another forty minutes, just to make sure it really was the perfect tree. While we were there another woman came, picked her tree, had it trimmed and tied to her car in under fifteen minutes. Another ten minutes later and we're standing by the tree that had originally spoken to Mema.

Rachel really got into the whole experience. She loved looking at ALL of the trees. She had an opinion about the straightness of the trunk. She could circle the tree with the best of them, looking for holes. And she wanted a tree in a bad way. And my peace offering to her was not the usual olive branch, but a fir branch. I told her I would take the cutting off of Mema's tree and make her a real live wreath for her room so it would smell like Christmas.

Moral of the Story: Be careful what you promise at the tree lot. It can be very time consuming and lop-sided.

"The Santa Clause"

This was an e-mail I sent Valerie last year. Hope you enjoy it.


So, I'm coming out of Panera with the kids....we bought the violin teacher a
gift certificate for the end of the year, and there was this lady with a
baby duck. I don't know why, but she let the kids pet it. And the next
five minutes were very...surreal.

Rachel says, "Mom, that duck was so cute! I want a baby duck."

Mom replies, "We have three cats. That is not such a good idea. They would
eat it."

"But mom, I would keep it away from the cats."

"No, end of discussion."

Then Mark pipes up, "Rach, you could ask Santa for one."

Ah, yes, the dreaded Santa clause.

And mom replies to this, "Remember guys, anything you want from Santa, he
has to check with me first."

And Rachel replies, "How does he do that?"

"Santa is magic, remember?"

"He'd have to be. Otherwise, how can all those elves get the toys made
between November and Christmas? That's a lot of toys!"

Rachel obviously hasn't heard about child labor.....

So mom responds, "He shops at Target."

"Mmoommm! I've never seen a Target sticker on my stuff."

"What? He's SANTA! You don't think Target will let him just come get the
stuff from the warehouse? 'Hello, this is Santa. I need 36,000 Pony in my
Pocket toys.' Come on!"

"Well, how would they know what he wants?"

"He emails them."

"That would take too long. Maybe he has one of those stones."

One of those stones? I'm tired, it's late afternoon, and yes, I'm gonna
ask.

"One of what stones?"

"You know, like Gandalf has."

It all becomes clear.

"You mean a palantir?"

"Yeah, that."

"Well, I still think he has Santa magic. Otherwise, how else would he get
all the way around the world in one night?"

"Yeah, that is a long way. Maybe he appa....he appa..., you know."

????I left my decoder ring at home, but I'm staying with the theme.

"Do you mean apparate? Like in Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, he just apparates from house to house and that's how he gets it all
done."

Me, being a smart ass.

"So then why does he need the sleigh and reindeer?"

"How else is he going to carry his stuff?"

Well, yes. There is that.

Moral of the story....don't pet the duck.

"Hamster on a Wheel"

So I've recently started running. Not for fun, NEVER for fun, but for exercise. And because I told my friend Jen I'd run the Shamrock 8K (5 miles) with her. And I have to admit it. I just don't get it. WHAT ARE WE RUNNING FROM OR WHERE ARE WE RUNNING TO?



Most days, I get in my car, drive to the YMCA, and get on a treadmill where I run in the same spot for half an hour. So basically, I ran to nowhere. Wouldn't just it have been better to ditch the car and run to the Y? At least then I would have actually run somewhere. My other option is some days I run in the neighborhood. So basically, I get up off my warm spot on the couch, leave the powdered sugar donuts on the counter, run away from my house, only to run towards my house 30 minutes later. I could have just stayed on the couch and kept the donuts company.



And I run really slow. Like turtle slow. Last time I ran outside, there was an old lady mowing her grass that was pushing her lawn mower faster than I was running. And I don't care what anyone else says, running hurts. Yeah, the endorphins kick in and those are great, but after a while, it's swollen knees, sprained ankles, and leg muscles that scream like a girl when I try to get out of the car.



Perhaps it's my motivation that's failed. Maybe if I were running from a pack of hungry, wild dogs, or if I was being pursued by a robber who wanted my purse (and the $2.50 in change contained therein) I would go a little faster. Or Maybe I need to run toward something. Matthew McConnaughey is in front of me and he'll let me touch his abs if I can catch him. Or there's a buy one get one sale at Target, but only the first 100 people to sprint to the store can claim the prize.



Moral of the Story: Until Matthew calls, I'm just a hamster on a wheel. And the hamster is faster than I am!

"This Doesn't Happen in Public School"

I'd like to start by welcoming back my 'Wonder Twin', after a long llloooooonng hiatus.

Sometimes, home schooling seems like cheating. There are those wonderful days where everybody is on their game, things just roll right along, and we get done late morning in sunny Florida. Then there are the days where it feels like I have been sentenced to 12 years hard labor with particularly whiny inmates. It's days like these when I have to take a moment to remember exactly why I am home schooling my children. I have to take stock and remember that my background, education, and job experience make me uniquely qualified to teach my children. Our goal when we started was to give Rach and Mark a superior education.


I believe on most days, we hit our mark. It has seemed lately, through no fault of our own and due to unusual circumstances, that we were falling well short of the goals we had set for ourselves. If I am being honest with myself and everyone else, it is way too easy to just roll over and sleep in. It is too easy to answer the siren's call of a good book. It is too easy to get caught up in the errands and cleaning and laundry that every day life throws at you. If you are going to home school and do it well, you really need discipline. (Does anyone else hear Lucy?)

The way I set up our school year to run this year was six weeks on and one week off. It worked great the first six weeks and we got side-tracked the second six weeks. So, this six weeks I wanted to get us back on track. We reviewed some rules. We revamped our start time. We all agreed. School now starts at 9:00 am, sharp. There are consequences if you are late. Your warm-ups last 10 minutes, and 10 minutes only, or they are homework after school. None of this sounds too difficult. However, it is all in the follow through.

The first week of this term went pretty well. I was up, exercised, and showered by 9:00 am. The kids were showing up on time dressed, with teeth and hair done. Then comes the push for Thanksgiving week. So maybe I wasn't always showered when 9:00 rolled around. I was exercised and dressed, for crying out loud. We cannot expect perfection. I will say I was always on time. Others, however, were not.

Earlier this week, I was doing my normal e-mail/facebook/blog posting check, when I realized there were ten minutes until school started. I did a quick walk-through. Rachel was dressed and ready; Mark, not so much. He was in his sleepy boxers in the living room playing on his DS. When I asked if he had eaten breakfast and was ready, he got this horrified look on his face and ran to the kitchen. He pulled out some chocolate-chip muffins and ripped into them. Then he ran to his room to change.

At 9:00 sharp, he was not to be found. I checked his room to find him sitting in the chair in his room. Naked as the day he was born. Playing Legos. When I reminded him school was starting and he would have "consequences", he threw on some underwear, grabbed a shirt and shorts and ran out his door. He had his shirt on by the time he made it through the living room and was running down the hall in his undies trying to put on his shorts as he went. He was highly indignant with me because I wouldn't let him into the classroom without pants on; call me old-fashioned. In his mind, he was 1 minute late because I wouldn't let him get dressed in class.

Moral of the story: First, you can't make this stuff up. Second, I'm hoping in public schools there are worse consequences for coming to school with no pants on than losing your Nintendo DS for a few days.

"I'm Taking Back Thanksgiving"

Let's face it. Pam owns Halloween with her sad melted jack-o-lantern story. But Bubba eating the ham don't have nothing on me. I own Thanksgiving, so I'm taking it and the blog back (temporarily).

Picture it, Thanksgiving Day 2006. Amy is approaching her first birthday, Sarah is 4 1/2. This year, it was "Milam" Thanksgiving, and sadly the Irwins weren't able to journey to Florida for the festivities. We were also devoid of any invitations to join in any local get togethers. So Craig and I decide to have a quiet Thanksgiving at home, just the four of us. We flaunt custom and instead of making turkey, we decide to make a big batch of chicken fajitas for dinner.

So it's the big day. A little past noon. Craig and I and the kids are still in our pajamas. Four year old Sarah looks up and says "When are all our friends coming over?". Confused, I reply, "Honey, coming over for what?". "For the feast", she says. "It's Thanksgiving Day and in school they said on Thanksgiving Day all your friends and family come over and you have a big feast!".

Thanks, Messiah Preschool. Horrified, I try to explain to her that we couldn't be with our family today, and that all are our friends are celebrating with their families. I told her that her Dad and I had just decided to have a quiet day at home. Well, don't you know it, chicken fajitas would not cut it. Sarah insisted, friends and family or not, we were supposed to have a feast. So all four of us head upstairs to get showered and dressed and head out to Shoney's. I know they're open and I know they have "feast" type food.

So we're at Shoney's eating our token turkey, mashed potatoes, dressing, and green bean casserole. Well, at least Craig and I were. Sarah had a roll and some croutons, because she doesn't eat any of that other food. And Sarah looks up at me smiling and says "Mom, this is the best Thanksgiving ever!"

Moral of the Story: Shoney's set a high standard. Every year, I wonder how I can improve. Oh, and Sarah, even at four, you had a keen eye for seeing the good in the midst of the absurd.

"A Turkey of a Thanksgiving"

So, we all have these. These great stories where we planned, and cooked, and worried, and due to no fault of our own, Thanksgiving dinner was somehow, well, off.

I am not a turkey girl. I like eating it, but mom always made ham, so I am still unsure as to how to cook one of those birds. The whole having things already stuffed inside where the dressing is supposed to go has always thrown me off. My mother-in-law helped me cook one the year Mark was born and I haven't done another since.

So, several years ago, when Luke and I invited a co-worker of his over for Thanksgiving dinner, it was a traditional Milam ham. I was kind of bummed about this, however, we were in a rental house at the time. I had a galley kitchen and wasn't about to experiment on turkey at this time. This co-worker was from Cameroon, Africa, so he didn't have preconceived notions about my turkey, anyway.

So the day arrives. I have plenty of casseroles pre-prepared. I have the traditional olives. I even thought to buy ziplock storage containers so Ezekiel could take home leftovers. He arrives with wine and he and Luke do the traditional watching of the football while I work on the food and basting the ham.

The cool thing about making ham is it's actually very easy to cook. And if you plan it correctly the ham can get done early and wait around while the casseroles cook. Which is what I did. I dutifully basted my ham until it was beautiful and yummy and ready to eat. Then, I left it on the counter and watched football with the men-folk while the casseroles cooked.

Most of you know how this story ends. There are many of you right now saying, "This happened to me!" Well, I'm sorry; it kind of sucks.

The timer went off and I trotted off to the kitchen to check the food. And found the cat on the counter. Eating the ham. Right off of the bone as it sat there on the counter. And I was expected to serve this very ham in less than ten minutes to a visitor in our home. And not only was I representing the family, I was kind of representing the whole entire United States. No pressure. And now, there were Bubba teeth marks all over my ham.

And yes, I served it and even ate it myself. You just had to carve it a little lopsided to avoid the cat marks. The company never knew and we had a wonderful dinner.

Moral of the story: If Bubba would have done this at the first Thanksgiving he probably would have ended up on the menu.

"Tis the Season"

So, November is here, and if you're like me, you're wondering where in the hell the rest of the year is. While I'm looking for my missing months, I'm also thinking that now is the time for us to think about what we are thankful for.

And I don't want any of that lame, my health, my family crap. Those things should go without saying. Be creative. Let's see what you've got. Here's mine.

I'm thankful for deodorant. This is a health and beauty item that some of us take for granted. However, I am very thankful that most of us use it. Think about it. Crowded elevator, many floors to ride up, Florida heat. These things all add up to some very stinky unpleasantness without deodorant. Who cares that the aluminum used in deodorant has been linked to Alzheimer's; you won't remember then anyway.

I am thankful for the roller white-out thingy. It makes my life easier, is easy to use, and keeps me from having to do things all over again. Let's face it, I make a lot of mistakes. What could be better? Add in the fact that the container looks good and the kids think it's cool.

And last on my list this year, is the potholder. Not only is this kitchen keeper a handy tool to keep you from getting burns, but, it can also make a personal style statement. Think about it; what's on your potholder? Cute kitties? A fish? Maybe it's crocheted or it's been woven on the ever-popular metal loom.

Moral of the story: This Thanksgiving season I am thankful for my wonderful family and terrific friends. I'm happy I find most of these in good health, as well. How about you?

"In Memory..."

To our friend....he will be sorely missed.

http://www.rlwilliams.com/obituaries.php

"Halloween Horror"

I know a lot of you already know this story. However, it is good enough to read just one more time.

So, it was Halloween night and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a witch. Okay, so it doesn't rhyme; is everyone a critic?

It was Halloween night, and after an evening of trick-or-treating and giving away my favorite candy, I was exhausted. I was so tired that I couldn't even sift through my kids' plastic pumpkins to check their candy.. So I made the decision to hide their candy until morning. The reasoning behind this was such; they get up before I do and if I were them, the first thing I would do after and evening of loading up on candy would be to get up and eat a bunch of it before mom told me I couldn't.

I had a problem with a hiding spot. I needed to put it up somewhere that the hooligans wouldn't look for it. Up high was out of the question; I didn't want them climbing on anything. My closet space is at a minimum, so that was out of the question as well. The garage might seem a likely candidate for some, however, not for anyone that has been in our garage. The cats, you see. The microwave? Too obvious, I thought. As I stood in my kitchen looking for a solution, I hit upon it. The stove. More precisely, the oven. My kids would never look in there. So, I shoved their orange plastic pumpkins in the over, and went off to bed.

The next day started as it usually did for a school day. The kids got up early, I got up late, and we rushed through our morning session of school. As they were taking a break, I began to think about lunch. I went through their usual choices. Soup and grilled cheese? Leftovers? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? No? None of those, thanks. Instead they chose chicken nuggets.
Yes, you know what happens. I turned on the oven to preheat it, and went about my business. No, I didn't think about the damn candy. Not even when I smelled an odd smell coming from the kitchen. I chalked it up to needing to clean my oven and again, went about my business. When did I realize the candy was being melted in my oven? When I opened the thing to put in the nuggets, that's when. Needless to say, I was shocked.

I quickly shut the oven door, lest the kiddies see what Mommy has done. I distracted them while I pulled the melted mess out and put it on a cookie sheet and hid it in the garage. I told them the oven was broken and made them sandwiches. While they were eating, I went to the closet. That's where my sister and I make emergency phone calls from, and this was an emergency.

I'm sure I called my sister first, although I don't think she was home. Yes, I know she was four states away and she couldn't actually help me. I then proceeded to call my lovely husband at work. I tearfully described the situation. Does he offer sage advice? Does he try to calm down his near-hysterical wife? No. He laughs. He laughs as he quickly retells the story to his fellow cube-dwellers. Then he asks if I can take a picture of it so he can see it and share with those I can hear cackling in the background. This does not qualify as help in my book.

So, I call my neighbor, who just happens to be home from work on this day. She immediately sorts through her kids' stashes from the night before and gives up her leftovers. I go over with some fake excuse to my kids and gratefully take the candy and make my way back home. As I am returning with their replacement candy, I am desperately trying to come up with a way to explain this to the kids. "Hey, kids, I melted all of you hard-earned loot from last night, but here, here's some replacements!" What in the hell do you say here? Have I permanently scarred the kids with this childhood incident?

Still unsure of the reaction I am likely to meet, I enter my home. I explain to my children what I have done and am met with shocked silence. I show them the replacement candy. It's not the same; their favorites are not here, the giant lollipop from down the street is gone forever. They ask to see the evidence of my crime. I bring in the tray with the melted pumpkins. This is met with more stony silence, and then come the tears. They try to have stiff upper lips, however, I have massacred a time-honored childhood tradition. I sit on the kitchen floor with them and join in the tears.

It is now several year later, and my children suffer no ill effects. They even laugh at the memory. Thank mother earth for the resiliency of youth.

Moral of the story: You probably already know this one: don't hide stuff in the oven. Just don't. Bad idea all around.

"Wanted: Hope. Immediate openings."

I don't want to write this story. I don't want to tell this story. I don't want to be a part of this story. However, I am a part of this story, so here it goes.

While we were on a quick vacation to Disney several weeks ago, my neighbor's/best friend's husband got sick. The day we came back from Disney he went into the hospital, and he's still there. Not to get too technical, he started out with pneumonia and progressed to ARDS. He's been in MICU for almost four weeks. He's in a "medically induced coma"and a machine breathes for him.

Wow. May I just say, this sucks? The range of emotions that we have all had over these long weeks is exhausting. The uncertainty, the small baby steps, the setbacks, the worry, the terrifying calls from the doctors; it's just all so unreal. To have a doctor stand there and say that Chuck would be dead if he lived in another country is a hard thing to hear. And I'm just the friend, I'm not even the wife.

This sucks on so many levels. First there is the reality of this illness. It's day-to-day. The news and outcome fluctuates from minute to minute, doctor to doctor. Melissa and I have learned more about medications, blood oxygen levels, PEEP percentages, and chest tubes than either of us have ever have dreamed of knowing. The one thing we keep hearing is that Chuck just needs time. How much time? No one knows for sure. I get to watch my friend live in limbo indefinitely.

The next suck is the effect on the kids. My friends have 5-year-old twin boys. They haven't seen their dad in almost a month. Their mom is an emotional wreck. Their grandmother has moved into their living room. Relatives that they have seen only once in their lives have flown in to see their dad, just in case. And all they know is that their dad was sick and went to the hospital. What do you tell them? Needless to say, this is beginning to wear on them as well.

Yet another suck? The financial end of long-term critical care. Have you ever thought about how you pay the bills when neither of you is working? Thank the gods for insurance. However, how long will Chuck's work continue to pay his part of the premium before they say enough? How can Melissa be at work and the hospital to coordinate Chuck's care? Which would you pick?

The final suck? Life goes on. Every day life things happen, well, every day. The grass grows. The roof leaks. The garbage disposal breaks. The shower handle comes off. The mother-in-law comes out of nursing home therapy and needs medications and wants a new place to stay. Bills come in, the kids go to school, and life moves on. And there aren't a lot of concessions made. Having a hard time, oh, so sorry. Here, sign this form; run this errand.

So what do you do in this situation? How can you make this better? You can't. You can make a casserole. You can pick up the boys from school. You can go to the hospital and sit. You can hug your friend as often as she can stand it. And at the end of the day, she still sits up nights, by herself, worrying about what will happen. I can't fix this. I can't make her heart hurt less. I can be her cheerleader. I can tell her to just give it time. I can say, he looks better today. I can hold her when his lung collapses, again. And I will damn sure keep saying there is hope. And if by sheer force of my will, I will make her believe it.

Here's to hope, and having Chuck home for Christmas.

Moral of the story: We could use some help down here. Pray; do a dance; dig into your karma bank; rub a crystal. All varieties of hope accepted; we don't discriminate based on race, creed, or religion.

"The Halloween Costume"

I would like to start out by saying that I really do know how to sew. When I was on maternity leave with Rachel, Valerie bought me a bunch of movies. One of those was Step Mom with Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon. Let's just say that because of hormones, etc., by the end of that movie I was crying hysterically because I couldn't sew and I'd never be able to make my daughter a cape. Needless to say, my mother got me sewing lessons that year. And since then, I have successfully made several things: a flower girl dress for Rach, a christening gown for my neighbor's son, a Red-Riding Hood cape for Sarah, a wizard's robe for Valerie, a quilt for Mark, and the list goes on.

However, this isn't one of my success stories.

It was nearing time to decide what Rachel wanted to be for Halloween. She was going through a Star Wars phase and decided she wanted to be a Jedi. I decided that since I had some skills I would make this happen.

I started by buying a couple of yards of unbleached muslin. Then, I watched the movie where the younger Obi Wan went to visit Yoda while he was teaching the younglings. I did a freeze frame of the part where you get a full view of a youngling and what they are wearing. I wrote everything down, drew a picture, and was good to go.

I dyed part of the material a dark brown for the cloak and sash, along with a t-shirt to wear underneath the whole thing. Then it was time to make the actual costume. It was then I realized I didn't really have a pattern, per se. In my infinite 'Pam logic' I decided this wasn't that hard. "Pattern, we don't need no stinking pattern!"

And things went smoothly, for awhile. I used her beach cover-up as a 'pattern' for the cloak. It was a little wide around the shoulders, but quite serviceable. The under-shirt was done, the sash was stupid-easy, and for the shirt, I used the same pattern as the cloak, I just made everything smaller and took the hood off. Everything that I thought was going to be hard, was actually going well. That's what I get for thinking.

I was too stupid to think that for pants, she should just wear some khakis. As Valerie always says, "Get smarter, faster!" Instead, I wanted to make them out of the same muslin as the rest of the outfit. It seemed reasonable to me, and I thought this would be the easy part. After all, I didn't have a pattern, but I had made pants for Rach before. You know, the cute little bloomers that go under the baby dresses, but over the diapers? I figured, 'just make the legs longer'. Yeah, right.

So, I'm sewing along one weekend, and think that I have the pants finished, but they look kind of, I don't know, WRONG? I have Rach come and try them on and they actually come up over her head. In fact, I step in to them and try them on. They were reminiscent of jodhpurs. Only, for someone shaped in the middle like a hot-air balloon with stick legs.

And, of course, my humiliation just isn't complete without inviting the neighbors over to laugh. And laugh......and laugh.

So, then I cut them apart and started again. No, I still didn't think about having her wear khakis...hindsight and all that. It was literally down to the wire, and I hadn't been successful with the pants. I got something that looked okay from the thigh down, but couldn't quite get the waist right. So I did what any mother would do. The night of Halloween, I actually sewed her into the pants. The only way those puppies were coming off, was with scissors. And that's what we did. Thank Mother Earth there were no bathroom emergencies that night, 'cause we couldn't deal with them!

After all that, she loved her costume. She had the braid like Anakin did. She had a light saber. She had boots. She was good to go. So, we just happen to go outside at the same time as our other neighbor. Her daughter was wearing the exact same princess costume she did the year before. Her and Rach wave 'hi' to each other, and Rachel turns to me and says, "Mommy, I want to be a princess, too! Can I go in and change?"

Moral of the story: As Yoda says, "There is no try. There is only do, or do not."

"So, What's After?"

I hate to admit it, but I have a lot of time to myself during the day; anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half, most days. Might not seem like much, but believe me, it is. So when I'm done cleaning the kitchen, schooling the kids, and starting dinner, then what do I do? Most days I read, sometimes I watch HGTV, other days I sit and wish I had enough time for a nap.

Unfortunately, most of the time I worry. "Now what do you have to worry about?" you might ask. I know, I'm borrowing trouble, but I worry about the future. A lot. Yes, we're fine financially; at least for the day-to-day stuff. However, we're just one good disaster away from financial trouble. And if that doesn't happen, then what about college? I have two smart cookies that know they are going to "Gator" school. Only, how am I supposed to pay for that? And then there's my obsession with HGTV. I want to upgrade and remodel like we're made of money, but we're not.

So, this is one of those things that is constantly in the back of my mind. I know that I can't stay home with my children indefinitely. So what do I do when the time comes? I still have my teaching certificate, and plan on keeping it up to date. But, really, do I want to teach? One of the reasons I left was because I couldn't stomach where this state's education system was headed. Why do you think I spend my Master's degree on my kids? I'm sorry to say, I'm not sure I could do it again. I realize the extra years will help out when I'm retirement age, but I don't think this is incentive enough to sell my soul.

This leaves me making countless mental lists. What am I good at? What could I do when my kids leave and work-life is imminent? So, you do what you like. I like to read. That leaves me to do, what? Edit? I don't do the whole grammar thing well. Review? Do they really pay people for that? Yeah, maybe one in a million.

So how about writing? I obviously enjoy writing for the blog, even if Val has to edit occasionally. Here's the problem. I'm snarky, not literary. Who's going to pay money for that? I haven't had some horrible tragedy befall me that I can play off of. I'm not an addict and have never been to rehab. I have ideas for stories and have even tried to write. The problem was the most recent story I worked on was depressing and made me mopey. I wasn't sure where it was going, and realized I didn't even care. The best story idea I had came to me in the shower, with characters and plot line from beginning to end. The problem there? It was a horror-mystery-pyscho book and I wouldn't read one of those, much less actually write one.

Moving on, I like music. But let's be honest, the cello ain't working out so good, and I can't sing in tune, much less harmonize. Luke and the kids are polite, most of the time, but I realize I don't have a career in music. Maybe I could teach it? Yeah, that'll pay for UF!

Next on the list: comedy. I LOVE stand-up. I watch it every Friday. I even pay attention to how the comics put together their skits and how may laughs they aim for in a half-hour show. I have even written some sketches full of the funny stuff that happens to me or the weird stuff I think. The problem here: I actually practiced with my video camera. My delivery sucks. I'm funny in the blog and I'm funny in the moment; not so much the stage thing. I realize this would get better with practice, but I'm not up to the humiliation it would take to get there.

So my list comes down to what I'm good at. I'm good at the whole wife thing. However, if I branch out in this area, it would spell certain disaster and possible homicide. Luke and I are very monogamous and we don't share well with others. The other side of that relationship is also not up for grabs. While Luke and I enjoy our intimate time together, I guarantee you no one wants to see us do so. I will happily deprive the "movie industry" of another star, thanks.

So this leaves me with, what? And then it hits me. My perfect job: superhero sidekick. You see, I'm not brave enough or strong enough to be the big hero. However, I sew, so I could come up with a kick-butt costume. And I naturally end up in funny situations that bring a folksy-charm to any occasion. My witty responses and sarcasm all seal the deal, in my opinion.

Moral of the story: Anyone know a good superhero that needs a side-kick?

"Don't You Just Love Disney?"

So last week we took the week off. I'm trying a six-weeks-on-one-week-off schedule for school, and Luke has a lot of vacation time stored up due to sucky work conditions earlier in the year. So what do we do? We spend two days at Disney.

I was thinking that after having gone to Diney for a bazillion times, that the kids would begin to get tired of it. I was thinking that this might be the year we get rid of our passes. Well, once again Disney has worked its magic and convinced this consumer not to be hasty. Let me tell you why.

Disney has something for everyone. So you don't like roller coasters? Then ride Small World or People Mover. Don't want a burger? Get a salad and some clam chowder. No matter how young, old, hip, or grumpy you are, you can find something you'll like. It's fun to know that at least once during the trip you are going to do something you enjoy.

Hidden Mickeys are the way to go. We have been to the parks so many times, I worry that we have become jaded about the Disney magic. However, it seems to be the opposite. We have stream-lined our visits to certain targeted strikes. We only go where we want to. We only ride our very favorite rides. If it's too crowded, too rainy, too hot, we can leave to return another day. But, this time to spice things up a bit, I bought the Hidden Mickey book. This book gives you clues to find "Mickey" shapes hidden in the Disney architecture or art work. This has brought new life to our park visits. Making a targeted strike to Hollywood Studios? Be sure to look for the Mickey in the 'cosmic car' poster while waiting for Rockin' Rollercoaster, or the one in the boiler room of the Tower of Terror. We found several Mickeys that weren't actually Mickeys, and even made some of our own. The kids had a blast.

You can see stuff here that you will witness no where else on earth. And that, my friend, might be a good friend. The see of humanity that surrounds you at Disney is enough to keep a people watcher satisfied for weeks. And they didn't disappoint this time around either. Check out the guy with the over-the-knee red cowboy boots. Why? I have no frickin' idea, but I took a picture of it. And the boat; this one is a classic. We were taking the river boat from Downtown Disney back to our hotel and these ladies had stalled their rental boat in the middle of the passage under the bridge. No one could get through until the Disney coast guard came to rescue them. I thought it was fabulous, especially because it wasn't me!

Moral of the story: Disney really is the happiest place on earth....especially on the off season when everyone else is at school!

"Sister Hazel Rocks!"

So we took the kids to their first ever concert on Friday. Yes, Rachel is only nine and Mark is just a lovely little six year-old. I heard several comments that I was nuts. I even had that thought a time or two myself. However, we had a rockin' good time!

Sister Hazel is a band from Gainesville, so this was a home-town crowd. You could tell from the crowd as we walked in. I was expecting a mostly college-aged crowd. However, there were grandmothers there and there were kids from the elementary school where Ken Blocks kid goes. We couldn't have asked for a better crowd.

The venue was terrific as well. The concert was at the Performing Arts center. It was small and everyone had their own seat. There was no "floor" seating where people usually go nuts. Granted, there were people dancing in the aisles, but they just added to the atmosphere. We got to sit through most of the songs. The kids enjoyed it, but Mark missed the nachos. We couldn't have asked for a better venue.

Then there was the actual performance. I love Sister Hazel's music; it's my happy music. The kids' both like it too. The music and lyrics are actually "kid friendly". I didn't have to worry about covering their ears. I didn't have to worry that the lyrics would be inappropriate. The band put on a great show and even their talk and stories in between were enjoyable. We couldn't have asked for a better group.

All in all, this was a fantastic family evening.

Moral of the story: Thank, mom. We had a GREAT time!

"The Closer to 40 You Get..."

Wow. Recently Luke and I have had some moments. You know those moments; the ones where you say to yourself, "Wow, I'm getting old!" Ours go like this.

Yesterday was Luke's birthday. He swears he's twenty-three. Take if from the one that has been with him these last 17 years, day in and day out. He is so NOT 23 anymore. Anyway. Birthdays always make me take a hard look in the mirror. And this is what I discovered.

I have discovered that the number of lotions you slather on yourself before bed is directly proportional to your age. I mean, think about it. How many lotions did you use when you were in your late teens, early 20's? Maybe some girly smelling something. Occasionally some sunscreen, but more often tanning oil; so not the same. Did you lotion before you put on your make-up when you were, oh, say 19? How about now?

I was recently "preparing" for bed when I began to take notice of my lotion situation. Here's my bedtime list: special lotion for the dry skin on my shoulders and upper arms. Face and neck creme. An eye serum. A special lotion for my hands and elbows. Lip balm. And finally, the ever popular pepermint foot rub. With this list, if I don't start getting ready for bed early enough, I might as well start with my daytime lotions!

The other discovery I made was that the amout of make-up I wear is inversely proportional to my age. When I was a late teen and into my make-up, I wore three kinds of base, four kinds of eye shadow, eye-liner, lip-liner, mascara, two shades of blush, powder, and two shades of lipstick. Now, lotion with sunscreen and some Carmex, and I'm good to go. When I'm forced to present a make-uped face, I wear probably 1/3 of what I used to. Problem is, my make-up is older than my children. I suppose it's a good thing I'm not required to 'do my face' very often!

As I was pondering the math equation that has become my beauty routine, Luke had his own moment.

He was perusing a game magazine in front of college ball this weekend when he pulls out the, "Man, I must be getting old!" line. I'm thinking it's a good thing we are getting old together, and ask what he has discovered. His age discovery was this: he made it all the way to page 84 of a game magazine before he saw something that he wanted. Hmm. I'm not sure this is an age thing, instead of an I-have-a-job-can't-spend-days-in-front-of-the-tv-and-I-buy-what-I-want-when-I-want thing. However, I'll give it to him because I'm feeling generous. It's all that beauty math that puts me in such a good mood.

Growing old is an adventure. What's your story?

Moral of the story: I'll take lotions over make-up, any day of the week.

"Happy Birthday to My Baby Girl!"

I think it is appropriate to wish my kid "Happy Birthday!" on Labor Day. After all, it was the day she was due.

Everyone thought it was a scream that my daughter was due on Labor Day, 2000. Yeah, real damn funny, unless you're nine months pregnant in the Florida heat! The strange thing was I actually went into labor on Labor Day. The result, 36 hours and one unplanned c-section later, was my beautiful and talented daughter.

We have just come back from celebrating her ninth birthday in Gainesville, with friends and family. We had a great time. And even though this may be a little late, I'd like to spend a few blog lines celebrating the fabulous person that is my daughter.

She was small when she entered this world, but she has a GIANT heart. She is funny and caring and wonderful. When I look at her, I don't see parts of me and parts of Luke put together to make one damn cute individual human. I see the girl that loves to read. I see the girl that has a great smile. I see a girl that is really into dead things, the grosser the better. I see my beautiful Rachel.

Rach is very talented. She is incredibly creative. She might be getting older, but she is still young enough to like her mom and dad. She loves her family and wants nothing more than to spend some time just hanging with them. She especially treasures her 'daddy time'.

She gets sarcasm. She tells funny jokes. She can draw. She can annoy her brother better than anyone I know. She can be a great partner in crime. And the girl LOVES her chocolate!

I have loved these last nine years with my kid. I realize the hard years are yet to come. I realize that I've had her at home 1/2 as long as I'm going to. Time is hurtling forward and it's dragging us with it. In nine more years I'll be driving her up to Gainesville to stay for the new semester and there will be no room in her dorm room for me.

So, I'll store up these last nine years, and collect a few more along the way. I'll be sure to tell her I love her. I'll be sure to tell her I'm proud of her. And I'll certainly be sure to hug on her as often as she'll let me.

Hey, Rach, this piece of cyber-cake is all for you, baby! Mommy loves you! Happy Birthday!

"Go Gators!"

Some of you may view the upcoming football season as a loss of your companion. Some of you may view it as uninterrupted shopping time. For others, it signals the beginning of all the fall holidays that are most beloved. How ever it is viewed, this is the big weekend!

So, the entire family is going to the game tomorrow. We do that whole "drag the kids to places of our younger years and tell them the same stories we told them last year when we came" thing. This year, we're even dragging the neighbors along. But I have something to admit....I didn't like going to the games when I actually went to school at UF. Go figure.

When I was a student, the games were just something to annoy me on a Saturday. I'd have to plan when I was going to go shopping or do laundry around a stupid sporting event. After Luke and I got together he dragged me to a few games in the name of 'dating'. The older I got, the more games I watched on TV. As I got older, the snacks got better, too. I'm sorry now that I wasn't appreciative of what I had, when I had it. Again, go figure.

Let's face it, football is the greatest American past time there is. And it doesn't get better than college ball, where the players aren't millionaires; they're just kids that love the game. Once a year we splurge and take the whole family. It is a blast. All colleges have their different traditions. Every Saturday during the season, hundreds of thousands of people don obnoxious attire and high-five perfect strangers, all in the name of collegiate camaraderie. Can I get a, "Go Gators!"

And Saturday, my family will be doing just that, and indoctrinating their friends into the greatness that is Gator Ball. We'll swelter in the heat and humidity and call it an "advantage". We'll scream until we're hoarse. We'll watch the crowds and the crazy students that are all dressed weird. We'll pay homage to all our popular icons. Albert the alligator. The band. The flag-guy. Singing "We Are the Boys". Mr. Two-Bits, well , the other Mr. Two-Bits, not the original. What's not to love about this? Can I get a, "Go Gators!"

We'll drink our body weight in sodas and Gatorade. We'll eat snacks that we bought from guys on the street. We'll likely stand for a good portion of the game. We'll worry about the weather. We'll spend way too much money on souvenirs. All in the name of good family fun. Can I get a, "Go Gators!"

Wish us luck, and think of your favorite team or Alma mater with pride this weekend!

Moral of the story: Go Gators!

"School Daze"

I thought now was a good time of year to wax poetical about school. So, here it goes.

I love new stuff. Getting ready for the school year was always my favorite part of the year. Freshly sharpened pencils. Clean, white paper just waiting for your happy thoughts to spill out and fill it. New clothes. Squeaky new shoes. A brand-spanking new backpack. And my favoritist of all, the Trapper Keeper. I just love the smell of new school supplies! I want everyone this year, just for me, to stop in the school supplies aisle and take a big whiff, okay?

The other thing I like about the new school year is the feeling of hope you carry with you. The thought that this, yes, this would be the year. The year you get all A's on your spelling tests. The year that you actually remember to turn in your homework on time. The year you get to be teacher's helper. The year you aren't picked last at PE. The year that people might actually call you "Pamela" instead of "Pammy". Hope is a great thing. It makes you feel like to can be and do anything. It makes you think you can be a new you. It makes you keep going when you feel like quitting. I think the beginning of the school year saves up some extra hope, just so the beginning part is really cool. And I want everybody, to think some really hokey, hope-filled thought, right now, just for me.

I like how everybody gets the benefit of the doubt at the beginning of school, too. Teachers really want to buy into that great, shiny hope that is just radiating off of all of the students, in their new school clothes. Most of us are ready to believe that you kids are the best and the smartest we ever had. Teachers too, hope for the best year ever. And, just for me, I want to you see the hope that the teacher shares with you, and respond to it in kind, okay?

So, here's to hope. May it bring everyone something good this year.


Moral of the story: Good luck this school year. May you all be happy, healthy, and loved. Hugs all around!

"9 Chicks and a Dick"

So I don't know what all you posers out there did this weekend, but check me out. While everyone else was mowing their grass and washing their cars 8 other Moms and I went whitewater rafting in West Virginia.

Whitewater rafting was not something I ever thought I wanted to do. It looks dangerous, you get really wet, and let's face it, it sounds like something Tommy Chong would say when he's stoned. "Hey, man", let's get in a boat and go down a really fast river with lots of rocks and maybe we'll fall out." But we were celebrating someones 40th birthday and next thing I know I'm hurtling down the New River and loving every minute of it.

The rafting was the best part of the trip, but the whole weekend will not soon be forgotten. There was a sunset horseback trail ride, a cabin in the woods with a hot tub, endless panoramic vistas, wonderful cafes and pubs, and my bunkmate wasn't 3 and didn't sleep with her feet in my face (thanks Jen). Also, the only person I had to feed was me. Consequently, we didn't stop anyplace that served chicken nuggets or had a kid's meal. I got to eat what I wanted when I wanted it, and best of all, it was still hot when I ate it! And yes, as in St. Augustine, I found the shop that sold fudge.

But perhaps the coolest part of the trip was that I got to be an alternate "me" for the weekend. I chatted up waitstaff in restaurants to find out the best food, I struck up conversations with complete strangers (I channeled my Dad, for sure), I was hilariously funny (as always), and I was "ADVENTURE GIRL": galloping down steep mountain paths on my trusty steed, then braving the icy waters and averting certain doom with my lightening quick reflexes and paddling ability. (In my own mind, I was a SERIOUS force to be reckoned with).

As with all things, my idyllic weekend came to an end when we pulled up in the driveway to the chorus of 2 little girls screaming not "We missed you Mommy", but "What did you bring me, Mommy?". Ah, home, sweet home.

Moral of the Story: Try on an "alternate you" next weekend. If you don't have one, you can borrow mine, I'm not currently using it.

For those of you wondering, "9 Chicks and a Dick" was the name our rafting guide gave to our crew for the day!

"I Am a Guitar Hero!"

You've gotta love a game that on the outset makes you a hero. If I never did anything else, just by purchasing this game I should be a demi-hero, or something.

It all started, like most things do, with my sister. We spent 15 days at her house in June. I came away exhausted and with permanent damage to my fingering hand. You see, while we were there, Craig found a great deal at GameStop.com on the Guitar Hero game. It was delivered while I was there. I watched in horrid fascination while these seasoned Rock Band veterans learned to pluck the Guitar Hero way.

I was skeptical at first. I mean, it's not really a guitar. It's just a game with a guitar controller, right? I started out on the Easy level and have since become proficient at Medium and have begun to venture out into Hard territory.

I have to tell you, I love this game. I'm not much for game playing, myself. I'll watch Luke and the kids navigate through dungeons, space, Lego lands and the like. I've just never really enjoyed actually playing the games myself. And let's be honest, it's because I suck.

But with this Guitar Hero thing, even the game tells me that I rock! So while I was still in Virginia, I bought and had delivered to my home my very own Guitar Hero games and guitars! And now the whole family can enjoy.

This game is great for helping the kids with their rhythm. It's great for a "together" activity for Luke and me. It's great for the kids to kill some time on a rainy afternoon. And if you can convince your friends, it's a great party game.

I must admit, I get a bit cocky when I play well. I am a fantastic bass player, in my mind. I'm sure 'real' guitar players the world over are horrified. I don't particularly care; they're just jealous because they didn't get 100% on the song Beautiful Disaster by the band 311.

Maybe I could add this to my list of hobbies. "Yeah, Luke and I have a band. We're the Ninja Cupcakes. I play bass." Do you think anyone would believe me? And I have to tell y0u, the character that I made for our band is so totally what I looked like, oh, say, 15, 20 years ago! Luke's character, too! I'm sure they get together after they're played a gig for us and, well, I'll keep it PG for you.

Moral of the story: Feel free to come over and play a set with me anytime!

"Three Cheers for Sarah!"

I'm writing this because I know that, while her mom is proud of her, she is slacking in the blog effort. And that my dears, is what is commonly known as a complassault.....

Anyway, on to Sarah. I got a phone call on Wednesday. I thought for sure it was Discover Card, or someone checking up on Mark because he's sick. Nope. It was a wonderful ray of sunshine in my otherwise rainy day.

I love that fact that my niece wants to share her triumphs with me. I just wish I wasn't so far away so I could do better than a, "Get a hug from your mom for me." You see, I love that kid. Even when the cheese is too cheesy and she turns all squealy for no apparent good reason. She has the best heart around, and she shares it well with all those she loves. Lucky for me, I'm included in the loved ones.

So, here I was wallowing in self-sick-pity, when I answer the phone. It's Val and my niece wants to tell me something.

"Aunt Pam!" she screams into the phone; all the better to hear you with my dear. "I passed my swim test!" This test is a simple swim from one end of the olympic-sized pool to the other, without resting, stopping, touching the side or the bottom. A monumental hurdle for some, and she passed it on her first time out!

The reason for the test is so you can go down the cool slide at the YMCA pool. So I ask, "Great! Did you go down the slide?" And in typical Sarah fashion she answers, "No, but I get to keep the wrist-band!" But that is not all folks....

"And, Aunt Pam, I read four books today!" Wow. That is a big deal. I can't get Mark to read one chapter without some serious coercion. But wait, there's more....

"And, Aunt Pam, I'm going to eat a whole apple so my loose tooth will fall out!" Loose teeth are a very big deal. And yet, there is one more thing....

"And, Aunt Pam, I have to go now because my friends are waiting outside to play. Bye!"

And I am the lucky person she shared with. However, I have a sneaking suspicion I wasn't the only one graced with Sarah's phone call. But that's okay; her heart is big enough for all of us.


Moral of the story: (Heaving great sighs....) And that, my friends, is what it means to be a kid.

"You Are NOT Wearing That!"

So, I have a daughter that is getting older. In my opinion, she is one of the most beautiful girls around. However, I will give you that I am prejudiced. But, with that said, I think she is cute and adorable.

Now realize, she doesn't go to a public school, so she doesn't really have any peer pressure where clothes are concerned. In fact, until recently, she was 'fashion impaired'. She would wear whatever, in any color combination. She has gotten better. I have to admit that she gets it from her mom. I'm very colorful and could care less nowadays about what is "in".

So, when I occasionally try to steer her toward less garish choices, she usually just tells me, "It's fine, mom." And in the effort not to fight over things that truly don't matter, I let it go. However, that is not the way it happened on Sunday.

We were getting ready to do our weekly Target shopping trip. I sent Rach in to get dressed so we could get going. What she came out in wasn't tacky. It matched. It was fashionable. The problem was how much of her was showing.

Rachel came out in a t-shirt and jeans shorts. When she put her hands down at her sides, the bottom of the shorts hit about wrist level or a little higher. So I tell her that's the last time she wears those shorts. Nope, on second thought, you ain't getting out of the house looking like that. She responds with, "It's fine, mom. It's supposed to be like that."

Really? Well, I decide not to fight. Instead I bring in my big guns. I invoke the dad. I have her go out and show Luke what she is almost wearing. I am certain he will back me up. I know with all that I am that he will be horrified that she is considering showing that much tanned leg out in public. Well, blow me over with a feather.

"She looks fine," he says. WHAT?!? "She just has long legs," he says. Well, yeah, I NOTICED. I just didn't want a bunch of other people noticing. So, I continue to say, "But they're so short." Nope. He thinks she's fine. So, I bring up, "If she bends over, her beheiney will show." So he has her bend over, and guess what? Nothing is hanging out. So she gets to go to Target in shorts I swear would fit a 2 year old midget.

Huh. Now what? Maybe I can convince her before she gets too much older that monks robes are cool. You think?

Moral of the story: What was cool for me when I was 8 just seems wrong 30 years later. Go figure.

"eBay is eVil"

Maybe I'm the only one. I'm not sure; you guys could tell me. Maybe I'm just weak. It started out small. Just one purchase. Than a few at a time. Now I'm addicted. Hello, my name is Pam and I'm an eBay junky. Here's my story.

At first I have to admit, I was scared of eBay. I had no idea how to use it, I didn't understand how the bidding worked, and I was easily discouraged. I tried it when Rachel was about 2, and then didn't look at it again for about 5 years. And then my sister explained it to me. Now get the hell out of my way!

The whole idea of a world-wide auction is just freakin' cool. I've bought jewelry from Hong Kong. I've bid on things in Canada. I can sit in my living room in my jammies and shop in exotic locales. What's not to love about this? It's way better than the mall. Well, the mall does have cookies....

Another cool thing about the whole eBay thing is I love getting mail. When I've been eBay shopping it is the highlight of my day to go out to the mailbox. What will it hold today? Sometimes just the empty hope that I had a delivery. Sometimes it's a jackpot and I receive multiple purchases at once. It's like I have friends all over the world that occasionally send me little trinkets they think I'll like. It's very affirming.

I also love the race for a good bargain. The whole bidding thing is way cool. Yes, I have sat and watched the seconds click down when I really, really, really wanted to win something. And I have fallen to utter despair when someone outbid me in the last few seconds by mere change. In turn, I have done the same to others. It's a rush. Not better than sex, but definitely less harmful than drugs or chocolate.

So why, you may ask, if I am singing the praises of eBay, do I also call it eVil? It sucks you in. Sure, there are bargains to be had. But really, at what price? I'm going broke saving money. It's like it's not real money because I use my Pal to pay, right? I saw a number on my account today that scared me. They track how much you spend every 30 to 60 days and display that, right there, on the screen, for me to see. What were they thinking? I don't NEED to see that! I can't log in without bidding on something, or two or six. And then I win it. And then it all adds up. And I didn't even have to do anything but sit there and type less than 20 characters.

I mean, you just log in, and there you go. There are suggestions for what you might want to bid on. I get emails on things that have no bids; like I'm some big high-roller that is getting some secret deal. Illusion, it's a powerful thing.

The credit card statement, that is even more powerful.

So, now I have to put myself on eBay restriction. Like I'm some teenager that came home after curfew, or cussed at my mom. eBay lets you act reckless, and then you have to pay for it later. And man, am I paying for it. I wonder how long this restriction will last.....

Moral of the story: Sometimes you pay for your fun in credit, and sometimes you pay for it with your soul. eBay has mine up for auction. You should check it out, it's a bargain.

"Home, Sweet Home"

So I just got back from our family vacation to Florida. And as always during my visits to my home state, at some part of the vacation, I settle back and think "it's good to be home". For most people, Florida is an ideal: white sand beaches, palm trees, and Mickey Mouse. But for the "Sunshine State" natives we know differently.

My Florida is populated by centuries old live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, saw palmettos, and telephone poles wrapped in kudzu vine. My Florida has miles of rolling pastures dotted with the occasional cow. My Florida is populated with cinder block and stucco houses, some hidden in dense growth in the small inland towns and others painted horrible pastel shades the closer you get to the beach. My Florida has small lizards on every available surface whose only purpose is to either amuse you with their poses or terrify you when you fail to notice how close you are to stepping on them. My Florida has heat and humidity that ride your back and weigh down your every step, making you consider how bad you really want your mail . My Florida has an afternoon shower that happens like clockwork every day, 2 minutes before you get home. My Florida has dozens of roadside stands selling fresh corn, homegrown tomatoes, and of course, boiled peanuts.

For this vacation we went native instead of tourist. Now don't get me wrong, I love spending time at "Mouse House", but our stops had their own rustic charm. Our first stop was Silver Springs. It boasts of glass bottom boat rides on a spring fed clear river. We saw alligators, herons, cranes, all manner of fish, snakes and even monkeys. My favorite part was that all the park attendants were surly/comical octogenarians. On the Jeep ride into the brush where the main attraction was mud and potholes, my Dad commented that we missed one of the 2.000+ potholes. Our driver slammed on the brakes, put the vehicle in reverse and made sure to run it over this time. At 5:00 p..m. sharp the park closed. I think the attendants were in a rush to get to the early bird special at Shoney's.

Our next journey was to historic St. Augustine. We climbed all over a centuries old fort, got to see the cannon fire, and by god, we made it to the store that sells fudge. Our highlight of the day was buying tacky souvenirs and ice cream. My favorite part of the trip was Rachel asking about the "man-planted" trees (tree farm) on the way there. I'm still laughing.

The next day we went to Burrito Brothers and spent $80 on burritos and t-shirts. For those of you not in the know, Burrito Brothers is a famous UF eatery that sells the best burritos and used to serve them out of a location the size of a closet. Their old location got knocked down and now they operate out of a church kitchen. It's akin to buying food off the back of a pickup. Then we tried to go to Devil's Millhopper. I say tried because they were closed. It's an old sinkhole that has stairs built into it so you can walk down into it. Oh well, we went for ice cream again.

And finally, we went tubing on the Ichitucknee River. We shoved inflatable rafts inside our cars, strapped the one that wouldn't fit on the top and off we went. A tram ride later we were cruising down yet another spring fed lake looking for wildlife and soaking up the rays.

Moral of the story: Glass bottom boats, an old fort, burritos, a sinkhole (almost), a tube ride down the river, and ten people sleeping on top of each other so they could all be together. That's my Florida.

"Tattoo, Or Not To"

....that is the question. Last year, while the kids were on their week's vacation to grandma's house, Luke and I got some pretty cool looking tats. As you can see, I think they are neato. Mine is the panda; Luke's is the Mayan jaguar. Both of these have significance for us. For me, I have collected pandas in various shapes and forms for as many years as I can recall. It was only when my friends and loved ones vowed no more pandas, that my collection has dwindled. Luke's tattoo was significant because his first love has been archeology, and he focused his studies in Central and South America. That was real useful, right?

Anyway, the kids went away to mom's again this summer. The time has come and gone. We briefly discussed getting more tattoos and making it an annual ritual. We were joking; at least I was. One of the reasons I love the tattoo I have, is because it is personally relevant. I like it because it is colorful and pretty. And I like it because nobody sees it that I don't want to see it. It's very easy for me to walk around camouflaged as a non-tattooed person, with no one the wiser.

If I started getting annual tattoos, the whole "put 'em where no one can see 'em" thing would only last so long before I ran out of places to put another tattoo. So, I started thinking seriously about whether or not I wanted another tattoo, and if I did, where in the heck would it go?

When it comes to what kind of tattoo I would like, the problem is there are so many that are great ideas for me. I love flowers. I'm an Aries and could do the whole zodiac symbol thing. Ever since I quit work we have tried to have more balance in our lives; so a yin/yang thing would be nice. Music is a big thing for us, so a bass clef would be cool. I could go trashy and have Luke's name tattooed somewhere interesting. And I am very ruled by the moon, ifn' you know what I mean; so a cool moon tat would be nice.

So, I have to ask myself: "Self, do you really want all of these things tattooed somewhere on your body?" I'm thinking the answer is probably 'yes'. Although, I have to say I'd like everything to match. So I'm thinking about a custom job on my back that incorporates all of these elements. The cool thing is, Luke is talking about designing for me.

I'm not sure if I'm actually going to go through with it. It's kind of like that whole child birth thing....I haven't forgotten the pain of the last one. And we're talking about a big, detailed tattoo that is going to take awhile to put on my skin. Will I do it? Who knows. Ask me next summer.

Moral of the story: I don't mind being the tattooed lady; I DO mind being the fat lady. Don't get your circus people confused.

"Bike Blues"

So, the neighbor boys are learning to ride their bikes without training wheels. And one evening, while watching them out of the dining room window, I was reminded of this story. I really wish I had a picture to go with it!

When Mark was smaller than he is now, he learned to ride a bike on a little 12-inch Shark bike from Toys r Us. Since it was so small, taking the training wheels off and teaching him to ride without them was actually relatively easy. So, since he was so proficient at bike riding, we decided to get him a bigger bike for his fifth birthday.

The day came and went, and he was excited about his new 'big boy' bike. The problem was, it came assembled with training wheels. We didn't think anything about giving him the bike with the training wheels and then pulling them off later. However, the boy had other ideas.

He was convinced since it was a bigger bike, it was therefore harder to ride and he needed the training wheels. We finally decided on tough love for the boy, and took the training wheels off under extreme protest. This meant that he usually chose to ride his scooter and dissed his bike altogether.

In response, being the mom that I am, I forced him to ride his bike first. He would do so under protest and in a desultory manner. This ticked me off, but it got him to ride.

Well, we happened to be out one afternoon with the neighbors. This was an occasion when I again forced him to ride his bike first. My neighbor and I were standing in the road while Mark drove off toward the cul-de-sac, discussing his lack of interest in riding the bigger bike. We were watching him make a slow circle to come back, when all of a sudden, he disappeared!

He was going so slowly and bitching so much, that he lost control at the end of the street and rode right into the retention pond! One minute he was there, and the next minute he and his bike had disappeared over the rise and into the water.

Melissa and I ran to his rescue, and fished him and his bike out of the pond. One of his crocs was floating away and my neighbor went right in after it, with her cell phone in her pocket. He was wet and scared and the bike had some algae damage, but everyone was all right.

Moral of the story: Maybe if you didn't bitch so much karma wouldn't throw you into the retention pond!

"Oh No You Didn't"

So, I've been hung up on twice in the last two days. I'm talking, talking, talking, and then, well, nothing. No one there. You would think I'm talking about a company, a call center, a place where they don't have ownership over their actions; but no. I'm talking of my best loved. Let's recount, shall we?

First time this heinous crime occurred was on a Sunday afternoon. I had just finished writing my blog posting for Monday morning, and was on the phone with my sister. We were discussing her upcoming trip to Florida. You know, what I'm expecting her to bring, what I need to bring to mom's, etc. The normal trip stuff. Then we get into a conversation I felt was benign. She obviously did not. Here it is; you be the judge.

Me: "So I just finished up the blog I'm going to post for tomorrow."
Her: "Great."
Me: "So, you know this site is called Wonder Twins, right?"
click

What the hell was that?! It was the sound of my sister hanging up on me. I call her right back to ask, and sure enough, it was intentional. She says to me that the phone didn't like me ragging on her and decided to cut me off. Really? And exactly how old are you again? I didn't even get to tell her that I miss her stories and don't know how much longer I can carry the site without her input. Well, let me tell you.....Sisters? We don't need no stinkin' sisters!!!! I can be entertaining enough for the both of us and not one person will miss you and your correctly spelled stories.

The next event was just as bad. It was Monday afternoon. We had just finished up lunch and were working on our math lessons for the day. I was helping Mark when Rachel asked for some help. I gave Mark a break and looked over Rach's stuff. It was mostly wrong. Which I found kind of funny because it was a review of a lesson Luke had given her on Friday. So, I called him at work to bust his chops. It went like this.

Me: "I just looked over the review from last Friday and Rachel got it all wrong."

Him: " Really? That's the lesson I taught her and she was doing great. I'll have to review it with her tonight when I get home."

Me: "I'm not sure I want you to. I mean, she has a test tomorrow. I'll go over it with her and she'll be fine. I was just calling because I thought it was funny. Silence. You know I'm kidding, right? Silence. Hello? Are you there? Silence. Luke?"

Well, I hung up the phone thinking either his work phone was on the fritz, or Brighthouse was messing with us again. I went back to working with Mark, waiting for Luke to call back. And waiting. And waiting. It was then I realized something: My husband had hung up on me!

Of course, I had to call him back as well. He had. I was kidding! Do you people not understand sarcasm when you hear it? Of all people, my sister and my husband should be on board with a little bit of friendly ribbing. Luke has the balls to tell me that maybe I'm the factor, after all, I'm the one that had been hung up on twice now. Get a clue.

Get a clue!? Get a clue. Yeah, I'll get a clue. Like the one that says Luke was murdered in the garage with a hammer by his wife. Or maybe Valerie was drown in the pool, with a floatie by her sister. What the hell?

My most favoritest people in the world are now the sarcasm police.

Moral of the story: You know, when you are mean to your wife, karma burns the eggs she was boiling for your work salads this week. Enjoy!

"There's A Book of Faces?"

Luke and I are technology-phobic. Well, not phobic, but we just don't go in for all the latest gadgets. Which given Luke's job, is kind of weird.

His latest venture has been writing software that will allow different kinds of media to talk to each other and translate without much problem. The problem is, we were really unsure exactly what media we were talking about.

I get texting. I don't do it, but I get it. I have a cell phone. Again, not a mac-daddy one, just a phone. I have a computer and I use it. I shop, I blog, I print pictures and copy stuff. I don't share this with anyone, I just do it. I suppose I understand the need for all of these things to talk to each other theoretically. Theory is good, right?

Well, it was decided by Luke's boss, that if you are writing software to connect different services, maybe you should know what the user is doing with those services. Hence, a foray into Facebook. So Luke signed up last night.

Now, I know several of you do this. What "this" is, I am still unsure of. All I know is what I read in this month's issue of Guideposts. Yes, this christian magazine was cautioning people on the ways in which they use this service, and the correct ettiquette when you do choose to partake. They were warning about the types of pictures you post and having more control over what you allow people that aren't your "friends" to see. I read it, but it was all geek to me.

Then, last night, Luke logs on to Facebook. Wow!!! It all becomes clear. I still have no idea what you do there, but, oh, the humanity! We were scrolling through links provided to Luke based on the fact that they work at the same place of business. So I'm shocked at the pictures people have chosen to post. Ladies with their bazooms pushed out to here for all to see, people sporting multiple drinks and cigs; there was even a lady that was sending out the "double bird" for all to see! Umm, am I in the right category? Luke actually works with these people and they deign to call themselves "professionals"! From some of these pictures I have to ask the question, "Professial what?"

From the work associations, we moved on to those people chosen because they graduated from the same high school as him. Again, the pictures were amazing. My favorites were the ones that weren't actually pictures of the people, but cartoon characters like Superman, or some South Park guy. So, I could put a picture on there that wasn't me? Like, let's say, Dana Delany? Yeah, right.

Then we moved on to a search for a specific person. However, said person had a very generic name. Oh-my-god!! It was like Wal-mart on sale day meets the county fair on wrist-band night! If they weren't covered in make-up, they looked like drug dealers or serial killers. One of the pictures even had a small sentence that said, "I like you." Buddy, you don't even know me! And I have to tell you, after scrolling through forty minutes worth of pictures, you start to wonder if these little thumbnails can actually see into your home!

I briefly considered getting up to date and joining. Instead, I'm shutting the 'book' on this one.

Moral of the story: Faces are for smiling at in person or identifying in a mug shot; not for making friends with in a book.