Emerging's Blog

I should be doing housework, and I'll get to it in a little while, but an article on yahoo caught my attention about a Sociology instructor who has decided to abstain from gazing at her own reflection in a mirror for an entire year.  Her purpose is to test how the experiment will affect her self image.  It sounds like a daunting task, yet worthwhile.

According to the article, the average woman looks in the mirror approximately 70 times a day.  I'm not sure if I agree with that estimate or not because I've never really thought about it before, but I don't think I look at myself quite that many times in a day.  Then again, I know the visor mirror in my car is constantly open and I check it frequently when I'm singing along with the radio - just to see how crazy I must look to other drivers.  So, I'm going to do a quick count.  In the morning, I look in the mirror once before leaving for the pool.  After I get done, I have to look in the mirror to apply makeup and get ready for work.  Throw in a couple more times after getting dressed to make sure my fly is closed and nothing is poking out where it shouldn't be.  I take one more quick look in my visor mirror before I head into work, just to make sure I don't have anything stuck in my teeth.  I probably go into the bathroom 6-10 times a day and I'm sure I look in the mirror every time I wash my hands.  At the end of the day, I usually do a quick eyebrow check to see if they need to be weeded out before the unibrow takes root.  So, if I'm not driving a long distance and singing in the car, I probably don't spend that much time gazing in adoration at my own reflection.

Truth be told, I don't enjoy looking in the mirror much because I'm not that impressed with what I see.  I've waged war against the scale ever since I had my first child - sometimes coming out victorious in the various battles and sometimes not.  Right now, I'm slowly shrinking and I'm pleased with that, but losing weight brings its own challenges in the form of skin that takes longer to make the adjustment.  I guess the skin likes to make sure the transformation is going to last before it makes the commitment to change.  Also, gravity is particularly unkind during the "ugly duckling" weight loss stage.  I'm fully aware that I look better IN clothing than out of it and I'm just fine with that.  Honestly, when it's just me and the mirror, we get along fine.  It's only when I allow the messages from mass media, left-handed compliments, various cruel men in my past, and the voice of my mother reminding me I'll end up just like my paternal grandmother (who was morbidly obese) that the mirror and I become at odds with one another.  Sometimes I do just sit and stare at myself, critically examining every inch of my face & body.  Thankfully, I don't have time to do that very often.  Thankfully, I have some balance to the ugly messages. 

One song, called "Fingerprints of God", by Steven Curtis Chapman comes to mind.  In it, he describes the pain that comes when your reflection doesn't match what you've been brainwashed to think of as "the ideal".  He reminds me that I was knit together by the Creator of the universe, that I'm treasured by the One who made me, and that I'm a masterpiece still in the making.  God's not finished, but His handiwork is evident.

How does this compare with the way I see other people?  I probably pay closest attention to people when I'm first getting to know them.  I study their facial expressions, the way they dress, how they carry themselves, and their basic body structure.  I tend to look deeper into people than the superficial first impression, though, because I have a passion for learning about the stories that go along with the lives I encounter.  I've learned that, after awhile, I don't pay much attention to the physical appearance of my closest friends/family.  Sometimes this gets me into trouble because I fail to notice changes they've made that they want feedback on, so I've made it a point to spend time really looking at the people around me from time to time - not for the purpose of being critical, but just to make sure I don't miss important details.  Oddly enough, I was just thinking about that this morning.  

My son stopped by to pick up a couple of things from home on his way out to spend the day at the fair with his girlfriend & her family.  He's met them all before so it wasn't going to be some high pressure first impression situation, but after he left, I realized I couldn't remember what he was wearing or whether he'd shaved - I only had a vague impression of his general appearance.  I have a pretty good idea that he was wearing his standard uniform of jeans, tshirt, and black tennis shoes, but if something happened to him today, I don't think I'd be able to describe his specific clothing.  Was his shirt blue or white?  Usually it's white, but he may have had on his camp tshirt from last year - or was that what wore last night?  I just don't know. 

So, what have I learned from the article and my assessment of my own lifestyle?  I can't say I obsess over my own appearance to the exclusion of everything else.  I don't have the time or the strength of character to spend an inordinate amount of time studying my reflection.  I do spend time on inner reflection, which I think is good for the soul - especially if you can discuss your musings with people you trust who also tend toward introspection.  Like most people, I'm much more critical of myself than of others.  I need to pay closer attention to the those around me.  If I do that, I definitely won't have time to lament my physical shortcomings. 

I suffer from a fairly severe form of motion sickness.  I get nauseous watching iMax movies.  I can't read in the car or look at maps (sometimes, I even get carsick driving) and I certainly don't do amusement park rides.  I understand my limitations, so I don't even bother planning vacations that require prolonged or extreme activities involving spinning, bouncing, jumping, or flying.  Speaking of, I'm not particularly fond of flying in airplanes.  Despite all of these things that tend to make me feel as though I want to hurl, my goal lately has been to expand my horizons and try things I previously believed impossible. 

When the opportunity to go to Disney World for free presented itself recently, I didn't exactly jump at the chance (mostly because I've never been a huge Disney fan), but I did mull it over.  I probably won't be given the same opportunity anytime soon, so I took advantage of it.  I realize I'm late getting on the Disney bandwagon. I'm ashamed to say I missed several Disney movies in the 90's because I was suckered into believing there was some valid reason to boycott all things related to the conglomerate.  I've since decided that I wasn't cut out to be reactionary, so I dropped the boycott thing entirely (plus, I really wanted to buy The Little Mermaid when it came out on DVD).  I got my movie, but I usually avoid buying items associated with cartoon characters because I resent paying more for things that are otherwise identical to unadorned merchandise.

So, it was with a certain amount of skepticism that I went on my Disney journey.  Fortunately, I went with someone who is completely in love with all of the parks.  His excitement more than made up for my lackluster attitude.  Throughout the course of an afternoon and evening, we hit as many attractions as we possibly could within Hollywood Studios and the Magic Kingdom.  We didn't leave the park until 1am and I didn't want to go when it was time.  I was just too tired to remain upright and mobile anymore.  It rained while we were there and the rain must've scared a lot of people away because we basically had the run of the place.  We went on Splash Mountain, Pirates of the Caribbean, saw the Indiana Jones show, took the tram around Epcot, went on the ferry between parks, saw a 3D movie on music, took a brief tour of the museum, saw the electric lights parade, went on Star Tours, hit the Buzz Lightyear and Winnie the Pooh ride (psychedelic) and bunches more - some of them twice.  

My impression:  awesome!  Everything we did was a blast.  I took dramamine before we went in so I could better enjoy the rides (good thing, too!) and I LOVED the whole experience.  I even loved It's A Small World.  I thought the music would drive me crazy, but they've apparently revamped it and there was so much to see that I didn't mind a bit.  The only thing I wasn't crazy about was seeing Mickey & Minnie, but they even did that well.  They had them set up (and the princesses, though we didn't go to see them) in a little theater away from all the crowds.  Each family/group got to go in and have alone time with the characters and have the option of taking pictures or buying pictures.  It was really well done, but I just don't have anything to say to giant mice who don't talk back, so it was a bit awkward. 

My favorite things were Pirates (of course), Small World, the 3D theater, and Splash Mountain.  I LOVE water rides.  The Winnie the Pooh ride was probably the strangest thing, but highly entertaining.  Along the walkway leading into the ride, there are giant touch screens that look like they are dripping honey.  When you swipe your hand across them, the honey wipes away to reveal the character behind it.  Those touch screens were brilliant!  They also had a little playground with interactive toys along the walkway to keep the kids entertained while they wait.  Whoever designed that deserves an award! I was shocked at how much fun I enjoyed - first, with experiencing each ride and second, with watching the kids' reactions.  I was kind of sorry I didn't get to take my own kids, but it was so relaxing being able to walk around and not worry about what kind of time they were having.

The jury is still out on whether I'm a complete convert at this time.  I'm not sure I would plan a vacation down there for the sole purpose of going to a theme park because of the astronomical expense involved, but I did have a great time and would take the opportunity again if I could get in free again.  Either way, it was awesome to be so pleasantly surprised and the experience made me want to stay the course on this journey of self discovery! 

I wouldn't say I'm a TLC junkie, but I do like a few of the shows on that channel.  Through the course of watching the shows I like, I've been subjected to commercials featuring the show "Toddlers and Tiaras".  For those who don't know, it's a "reality" show about small children competing in "beauty" pageants.  The clips they use as teasers to drum up interest in the show make my stomach turn.  The latest one poses the dilemma one mother faces in her daughter's quest for the crown - how much is too much?  The mother imagines herself to be fairly conservative, but understands that the pageant world requires the girls to be over-the-top in order to win.  What this seems to entail is tarting the little girls up in copious amounts of makeup and costumes that would look risque on a grown woman and teaching them to parade around onstage while throwing in the occasional dance move, some of which would make a stripper blush.  Granted, I've gleaned all of this from only watching the commercials (because I'm certain the actual show would induce vomiting), but my description is pretty accurate, according to those who do watch the show.

For the record - I am adamantly opposed to beauty pageants for children (or anyone, really). First of all, I don't see these kinds of competition as beneficial to kids/young adults.  I've heard the arguments about how they build self-confidence and give people (mostly girls) the opportunity to compete for scholarship money, but the price tag seems awfully high.  I'll start with the older girls.  They spend a fortune on gowns, hair, makeup, manicures & pedicures, coaching, entry fees, and travel - and for what?  The remote chance of securing a fraction of what they spent to get there, plus the experience of being judged mostly on appearance, no matter what pageant advocates say. I've watched enough Food Network to know that there's something to be said for presentation, but it's only one element in determining quality.  Pageant contestants don't spend nearly enough time with the judges to showcase the things about themselves that truly hold value, which brings me to the price tag I was referring to.  The trade-off in the experience seems to be a shift in focus from what's really important (education, intelligent decision-making) to what isn't - the ability to capitalize on a commodity that has an expiration date (youthful beauty).

It may seem like I'm not being fair, but I've seen the sad results first-hand. My mom's boyfriend has a 20-yr-old daughter who is a former pageant participator.  She won Miss Teen Nebraska not too long ago.  There's no question that the girl is gorgeous and that her life hasn't been the same since the pageant.  Her win gave her popularity beyond what she'd previously experienced and her looks afforded her much attention from the opposite sex.  She got into the party scene, her grades fell, and she dropped out of high school, making her ineligible for the scholarship money she'd won as part of the package.  She got pregnant by a guy who isn't nearly as attentive, now that she's given birth, even though he contributed to her predicament.  Now, she's homeless, staying with my mom & her dad because she has no education, no job, and no means to support her child without seeking government assistance.  So, what happened to that poise and self-confidence she was supposed to have gained?  I know everyone has a choice about how they're going to conduct themselves and this girl has made some pretty poor choices, but I think she was set up for failure.  Up to the point of getting pregnant, she learned that beauty is the solution.  If you're pretty enough, you get whatever you want.  What she's learning now is that pretty doesn't feed a baby or pay the rent when the guy who said he loved her to get in her pants ditches her at the first sign he might have to be responsible. Pretty also doesn't hold up as well when you can no longer afford all of the expensive products you were previously accustomed to slathering on your skin to keep it moist and glowing. 

So, slice off 10-12 years and imagine small children going through the same process - with the caveat that the ONLY way they would even know about pageants, let alone participate in them, is that their parents introduce them to it. Stage parents swear that their kids ask to do the pageants, but I'm skeptical.  I find it very hard to believe that those little girls find it enjoyable to travel around, learning how to look like adults way before their time while behaving like spoiled brats.  Some might say I'm bitter and jealous because I don't look like a Barbie doll pageant contestant.  While it's true, I'd like to drop a bunch more weight and improve on my appearance, I know I have plenty more to offer than my outer shell.  I also know that my little girl could probably give those pageant contestants a run for their money, but it'll never happen!

My daughter is adorable, energetic, and has a larger-than-life personality.  She LOVES to entertain, but she has never asked me if she could be in a pageant.  I'm not sure she even knows what they are because we've never talked about them.  If I were to shoot videos of her putting on shows, they would probably look similar to any of the child stars' videos, but that still doesn't convince me she's dying to be in show business.  With the world the way it is now, why on earth would I want to shorten her childhood by throwing her into the world of adults?  She has enough dramatic moments as it is without having people fall all over themselves, catering to her every demand.  If she ever threw a tantrum like the ones I've seen on the Toddlers & Tiaras commercials, she'd be one hurting unit.  I'd make a terrible stage parent because I'd laugh in her face the first time she told me she didn't like her makeup or that she was going to die because her hair didn't look good enough.  As it is, the girl is having a good day if she brushes her hair once - and I kind of like her that way.  She isn't obsessed about her appearance.  She's much more interested in friends, school, and fun.  If you ask me, it's exactly as it should be.  I don't need her to be anything more than what she is. She doesn't need to be constantly staring in the mirror, searching out and criticizing her every flaw. 

I'm on day 4 of a migraine and I finally feel almost human again.  This thing came on suddenly Saturday evening.  Most of the time, I get a little warning - bright sparkly spots in the center of my vision, light sensitivity, mild nausea, or a nagging pain at the fringes of my consciousness.  The warning period usually gives me enough time to load up on the cocktail of medications required to stave off the truly monstrous pain.  Unfortunately, I missed all the signs this time and I went from comfortable conversation with friends to blinding agony in 2.2 seconds.  I took a bath, a handful of pills, and went to bed.  I slept for awhile, but not restfully and not enough, so I took more pain pills and tried to go back to sleep.  When it was obvious I wasn't going to get any more rest, I decided to tough it out and go to church.  I made it through, but I was hurting pretty bad afterward.  My kiddos were gone, so I took a couple of sleeping pills and slept the entire afternoon away, but still no relief from the pain.  Monday, I felt a little better in the morning, but the pain was back by the afternoon, so yet another day lost.  I managed to medicate enough to keep the majority of the pain under control yesterday and today.  I still have that nagging sense that the pain could return in full force any minute, but I've been eating right, drinking plenty of fluids, and moving around when I can.  This whole episode got me thinking about people's responses to pain - especially when it's self-inflicted, and what might possibly make pain more bearable.

I've had both my kids by c-section.  The first time, it was the single most excruciating experience of my life.  I wasn't prepared for how much it hurt to have my abdominal muscles cut or how long it would take to recover.  I'd had no prior experience - no stitches, no broken bones - nothing worse than a sprained ankle as a reference point for pain.  Despite the misery, I chose to have another child, knowing I'd likely end up with a repeat c-section.  Oddly enough, the second one didn't hurt nearly as bad.  In the time between the two, I'd had my wisdom teeth surgically extracted, 3 separate surgeries for cervical cancer, and laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis.  Because of those other experiences, I had a more accurate way to gauge my level of pain and had also developed coping mechanisms that allowed me to push through it.  As a result, I was off narcotic pain medication and driving 4 days after my second c-section.    

Although most of those medical procedures weren't elective, I do have some experience with self-inflicted pain.  I have 5 tattoos, 5 piercings in my right ear, 4 in my left, and one in my nose.  I've done yoga, aqua aerobics, ran a couple of 5K races, and made a number of other forays into the exercise world.  Nothing I've done to myself has been unbearable, but again, I've developed a certain tolerance for pain.  I know it isn't fair to compare, but one of my friends has a much more dramatic reaction to pain.  We went for a 2-mile walk one day.  The next day, she was all pumped to go 3 miles, but a few blocks into it, she decided her shoes were hurting her insteps, so she took them off and finished the walk in her socks.  My feet hurt when she said hers did, but I kept my shoes on and pushed through.  Later, her feet were giving her fits from walking in her socks on concrete.  My feet were a little tired and sore, but pretty good overall.  We were supposed to make the walking a daily activity, but she backed out because she had such a rough start.  Another of my friends has a solution to this.  He suggests friendly wagers to help motivate and ensure commitment on things such as exercise.  Depending on the integrity of the people entering into the wager, this can be quite effective.  His most recent one was with that same mutual friend over weight loss, which looked to be a very lucrative venture on his part, based on how quickly she gave up on walking.  Unfortunately, I don't generally gamble.  After today, I may rethink my stance on this.

Lately, I've been trying to let go of some of my fears, take more chances, and try some new experiences.  In the past few months, I've held a baby alligator, petted a hissing cockroach, joined a small group at a different church with a bunch of women I'd never met, baptized my daughter, danced like a maniac at a club under the tutelage of a gay man who took me under his wing, and taken various classes in things I'd wanted to, but previously lacked the courage to try.  I'm fed up with being hindered by my past fears, misconceptions, and preconceived ideas.  I've realized that the only thing holding me back most of the time is myself and that's just crazy!  During this process, I'm becoming more confident in what I like/dislike and in expressing myself without being overly aggressive or apologetic.  It has been amazing!

Even though I'm all about letting go of fears, I'm only spontaneous to a point.  Information is power and I like to enter into situations armed.  One of the most recent suggestions I've acted on is body waxing.  Through the course of conversation about hair removal techniques, the subject of waxing came up.  I've done a limited amount of waxing at home with over-the-counter kits, but despite numerous yoga classes, I'm not a contortionist.  I just can't reach all relevant areas without assistance, so I decided to enlist the help of a professional - just to see if it's as painful as Steve Carell would have us believe.  Like the bookworm I am, I did my research.  I read testimonial accounts, looked into local salons, and checked out independent reviews written by actual customers.  I settled on a licensed esthetician who came highly recommended by multiple resources, made my appointment, and refrained from shaving for a period of at least 2 weeks.  Tonight was the night.  I would say the pain was similar to that of getting inked, only without the eventual sensory overload that results in numbness of the affected area.  One of the stray thoughts I had during the waxing experience, while trying to distract myself from repeatedly having hair ripped out by the roots, was that I should've called up my friend and made a wager on the follow-through.  I knew that, once I started, I was committed, but it sure would've been nice to have some kind of monetary reward at the end of that yellow brick road!  The pain would've been just as severe, but somehow financial gain has a way of taking the sting out.     

The past few weeks since I got out of school have really been a whirlwind.  In trying to coordinate summer schedules, I've decided the best course of action is to wait until fall to look for a full-time job instead of trying to get a part-time one that I would likely end up quitting in 2-3 months anyway.  In the meantime, I may have a couple of private jobs lined up that will allow me to spend time with my kiddos and still supplement my income.  Today is the last day of 3rd grade for my little one.  I can't believe I'm going to have a high school senior and a 4th-grader this fall!

 So, now that the job decision has been settled (until I change my mind again), I've decided to focus on clearing up loose ends at home and finding ways to creatively cut my budget.  One of those ways was to change my phone plan.  I've been resistant to getting a "smart" phone because I didn't want to be stuck paying for a data plan I didn't think I'd use and I really can't afford to increase any bills right now.  When my plan became eligible for an upgrade, I made the call to do some comparisons & realized that, with a little tweaking, my bill would actually be cheaper even with a data plan, so I took the plunge.  I ordered my phone on a Thursday with the promise that it would arrive on my doorstep the following day before noon, which worked out great with my schedule.  Next day - no phone.  Called to try and figure out what happened & realized that the buttons on the face of my old phone had ceased to function properly, which made it nearly impossible to navigate the digital menu and added to my frustration about not receiving my new phone on time.  When all was said and done, I got the phone on Monday, complete with a free case (of course I picked the most expensive one they offered).  The kids have been making fun of the case I chose because it's military grade and virtually indestructible.  As hard as I am on phones, it seemed like a good idea.  My oldest teases that I could cause a minor earthquake if I drop the phone.

Still high on the success from cutting my cell phone bill, I decided to tackle the cable/internet next.  My contract expired & the bill went up almost $70 per month.  I can't justify that under any circumstances, so I called to negotiate.  I should mention that I HATE dealing with MediaCom.  They have a reputation for the worst customer service ever and it is well deserved, but they offer decent internet and the channels I want for TV.  So, I talked to a guy who seemed to be having an inordinate amount of difficulty retrieving my account information.  Once he got it, he read me off the line-item amounts of everything I was currently being charged for services.  He then read me the discount he had to offer.  When he was finished, he asked me to read them back to him so he could add them up.  Really?  Were they not on his computer screen?  In the end, the best he could offer was $10 off the new bill amount - so it would be a net loss of $50 per month for me for the exact same services I had.  He then went on to say I should get on the internet and try to change my service on their web site because I would likely find better deals.  I was annoyed and surprised to hear this, but OK, I'll bite.  When I got on their web site (after ending the most excruciating phone call ever with them), I learned that services cannot be changed online.  The dude lied to me just to get me off the phone.  I called back and spoke with someone else in customer retention who gave me the same spiel.  I gave up and called around to find new service.  I settled on Qwest/DirectTV and scheduled the install.  I waited to cancel MediaCom until the new stuff was up and running. 

Qwest came in on the 23rd to get the internet working.  Everything went pretty smoothly - all the computers were able to get onto the secured network & function without too much difficulty.  DirectTV was set up for the following day.  The guy gets up on the roof and realizes he can't quite lock on to one of the satellites - I need to do a little tree trimming.  Ugh!  He said he could install the dish, then put the order on hold for up to 5 days to give me time to get the tree trimmed.  OK, so I coordinated with a friend to borrow an extension ladder he rented to clean his gutters.  I conned another one into coming over and climbing said ladder and trim the branches in return for hosting his birthday party.  So, we got the job done on the Saturday of Memorial weekend.  In an odd stroke of luck, my son stopped by to pick up his car.  He went to get a friend and they came back and took turns playing lumberjack with an axe, helping me to cut up the branches (yes, we did sing The Lumberjack Song).  It was a pretty fun way to spend a couple of hours - mostly because I didn't have to climb the ladder.  We ordered pizza afterward and had a grand time.  I called DirectTV back to give them the green light to finish the install, so they were to be back here on Saturday. 

In the meantime, my Qwest internet has stopped working for some unknown reason.  I call them and the "tech support" chick tries to walk me through the procedure of rebooting the modem.  Lady, I've already done that.  I probably know more about this crap than you do and you need to send someone out.  Something is wrong with the system and unplugging the modem, waiting a couple of minutes, and plugging it back in isn't going to do the job.  The guy gets here the next day (they actually make it a point to have good turnaround time).  He informs me that my line had been hooked up to the wrong place on the pole.  Someone else ordered service and they unhooked my line to accommodate the other person.  He tried to hook my line up where it belonged, but the hook-up on the pole was nonfunctional, which is probably why it was hooked up in the wrong place before.  He found a new place to hook it up and labeled it to prevent future issues.  Problem solved - without unplugging the modem.  Go figure.

Back to DirectTV.  They were supposed to be here between 8 & 12 on Saturday, which was perfect for me because we had a full day planned.  We needed to prepare for the aforementioned birthday party, which was to take place that evening.  Little bit had a birthday party to go to in the afternoon and plans to have a friend sleep over that night.  Oldest had a graduation party to attend.  It gets to around 11am and no sign of installer, so I called and was told they'd have to reschedule for Thursday.  Um...NO!  I spoke with a supervisor, who arranged for an installer to be here sometime after 2.  I rearrange so that oldest can drop the girl off at her party, go on to his, then return to pick her up.  Direct TV guy shows up, I explain what's going on to him, and wait for the big moment to find out if we trimmed the right branches.  He gets up on the roof and informs me that the other guy must've been on crack because I would've had to cut half of the tree down to make it work - BUT, he can put a pole in the yard.  WTF? Why didn't the first guy just put the pole in the yard??  We could've saved so much trouble.  By this time, I'm foaming at the mouth over the whole episode, but I decide to just let it go.  Deep cleansing breath, put the dish in whatever way you can to make it work, and I'll continue with party preparations.

Had a great time playing cards with new friends at the party, the internet and TV are working properly, and I'll pay more than $100 less per month than I would if I kept MediaCom, even at their "discounted" price.  So, phone bill and cable/internet bill reduced.  I'm still coming in a bit over budget each month, but hopefully those private jobs will offset the overage.  If I could only figure out how to cut gas prices - I could be a national hero!

So I watched a 15-minute video of newscasters (I didn't even pay attention to who they were) debating the finer points of a proposed transformation McDonald's is unveiling to help them compete with the ambiance that Starbucks achieves - an attempt to appear more upscale.  I watched the video, but honestly, it's been a long hot day and I wasn't really listening.  I did give it a little thought, though, and decided it's a bad idea. Nobody from the McDonald's corporate office is likely to call and ask my opinion, but I'm throwing it out there anyway.  My dissension has nothing to do with revamping the "restaurant" chain.  Actually, toning down the nauseating primary colors and making them look a little less plastic isn't necessarily the bad idea - it just shouldn't be the first idea for making improvements. Revamping the menu should really be the top priority, especially since they will be required to prominently display nutritional information very soon.

OK, I don't live in a vacuum.  I know people eat at McDonald's, at least in part, because of the food.  The greasy gooey goodness is undeniable, but it's not the only reason.  It's also a matter of convenience.  It's SO easy to hit the drive-thru - especially on a busy day where you're tired and don't really feel like expending the time & energy on cooking.  My major malfunction is about health. 

I've recently been working really hard to shed the extra pounds I've packed on the past couple of years while I've been in school.  I downloaded an iPhone app that is helping me in my endeavors.  It's a free one called "Lose It" that allows me to input my current weight, my goal weight, and how many pounds I'd like to lose per week to attain my goal. In return, it tells me how many calories I'm allowed to consume per day, allows me to look up the calorie content of most name-brand foods and many restaurant foods, offers a reference for how many calories are burned by several common exercises, and automatically calculates my allowable calories according to the foods & exercises I input.  Normally, I'd be very opposed to counting calories because it's so freaking much work, but this app simplifies the process considerably.  If I don't find a food listed, I can add to my list using the nutritional information printed on the package.  Unfortunately, a lot of restaurants still don't have that information available.  Sometimes I can look it up online, but other times, I'm out of luck and just have to guess.  It's frustrating. 

As a result, I find myself eating out a lot less.  Good for my pocketbook and my waistline, but somewhat socially limiting as well.  I'm committed to losing the weight and I know it doesn't matter how I do it, as long as I follow through, but I'm seeing results with what I'm doing, so I'd like to continue with it.  I just wish certain aspects were easier.  I don't want to have to guess at what I'm eating.  I don't want to eat the same things day after day, either, just because I'm familiar with their nutritional content.  I want to be able to have a meal out with friends and not worry that I've just blown it for the day.  I used to have the self-discipline to cut my portion in half and box up the rest right when I got my order, but I'm not there yet.  I'm still at the point where I feel compelled to eat whatever is in front of me just because it's there.  I want restaurants to recognize this and help me out!

McDonald's - do what you want to make your restaurants more aesthetically pleasing, but PLEASE put a few more healthy options on the menu.  Quit packing the salads & oatmeal (things that should be healthy) with unnecessary calories. Not all of us like our food covered in syrupy sugar.  I need something that fits my lifestyle and renewed health consciousness.  Oh- and I shouldn't have to pay more for smaller portions of better foods!  It's not just McDonald's.  All restaurants should offer menu choices that are priced according to what you get and nutritionally beneficial.  Fettucini alfredo at Olive Garden is one of the cheapest and worst things on the menu.  It's loaded with fat and calories, partly because the portion size is enormous.  I would eat there more often if the food were slightly cheaper and the portions more consistent with what's appropriate for an adult to eat in one meal.  I think that's my biggest complaint.  If I went to Red Robin or Applebees for a burger, the burger would be twice the size of what's considered an acceptable serving of meat and the calorie content would be roughly 2/3 of what an adult should eat in an entire day. Add fries to that and it's unreasonable to expect to not gain weight.  Plus, you end up forking over extra cash for that outrageous portion that you shouldn't be eating in the first place.

Don't get me wrong - I don't expect everyone else in the universe to give up the things they love.  Sometimes we should be able to eat something because it's comfort food and we need to be comforted.  I'm just tired of feeling crappy and run down all the time because I overeat and don't exercise enough.  I'm doing my part to make the change.  I'm just asking for a little help here! 

I've recently reconnected with a male friend who, I've come to learn, is suffering a gender identity crisis. He has decided to take permanent measures to reconcile his physical form with his internal sense of self.  For obvious reasons, he's been extremely cautious in sharing his story, so it surprised me that he would confide in me - especially because we haven't exactly been close friends.  He told me he had a feeling I'd be receptive to what he had to say, based on some limited interactions we had last summer.  He was right - I am receptive.  I have an insatiable curiosity about many things, but especially about those concerning social stigma.  For the purpose of this mental exercise, I'll refer to my friend as Alan, though it isn't his real name and it wouldn't matter if it were.

Alan is married to a conservative woman and they have a child together. He has been actively involved in several churches and, at one time, believed firmly in his call to ministry. Based on the feelers he's already put out, he's fairly certain he will not be accepted in the Christian community by most people.  As sad as it is, his impressions are accurate.  He will not be welcome to participate in ministry in most churches without renouncing his decision. In fact, he will be bombarded with scripture, confronted, and cajoled even more than he already has been in an attempt to change his mind and bring him back in line with the "right" way of thinking - most likely without even being able to finish his story.  The party line on his situation is that God doesn't make mistakes.  Alan is exactly as he was designed to be and that's that.  As for me, I don't generally tow the party line anyway. Alan is my friend and I will support him.  In the space of a few days, he has challenged my beliefs in unexpected ways, which I will now explore in the same circular manner I do with anything outside my comfort zone and experience.  I'm more interested in the journey than I am in where it takes me.

My first realization in this strange journey is that I am sheltered.  It wasn't exactly an epiphany - the fact that I live in the Midwest hasn't entirely escaped me.  Although Iowans aren't exactly like the hayseed image most urban folks conjure up when they hear the the name of the state, we aren't progressive either. When people let their freak flag fly around here, it's usually in the form of some colored streaks in the hair or risque clothing.  There are a few establishments that cater to more unusual clientele, but for the most part, Des Moines is a white bread city filled with sports bars and family entertainment options. I know a handful of openly gay individuals/couples and have encountered the odd cross-dresser, but I've had little personal contact with people who push the envelope even further.  I do watch TV, however, and I'm addicted to all things Discovery Health (& Fit), including the Strange Sex show that explore the "fringes" of society.  It's very rare I see something on it that I can't wrap my mind around, but the episodes depict strangers sharing their stories with an almost clinical detachment, so the subject matter is easier to digest.  It's much different when it's someone you know, slogging through the trenches of a less-than-desirable set of circumstances in an effort to express their inner self. I see that more clearly now.

Another realization I've made is that people, when confronted with the uncomfortable, have fairly predictable reactions that are quite limited in scope.
1 - The SO supportive.  It's unclear whether the support these people offer is genuine or whether they're afraid of appearing judgmental and ignorant.
2 - The vocally opposed.  They will not listen to another word of your story - they've been confronted by something unnatural and they've already formulated a response to the abomination in front of them. If they're Christian, the answer usually involves spiritual warfare or some failure of faith.
3 - The philosophers.  They deny emotion entirely and avoid offering a personal reaction by engaging in an academic discussion about the matter at hand.
4 - The ghosts.  They muddle through the conversation as best they can, mumble apologies about a "forgotten obligation" and disappear from your life.  They may say "Hi" on the street, but they avoid eye contact and side-step any invitations to get together.
5 - The supportive true friends.  Some will be more willing to discuss the situation than others, but they are the "keepers" - the ones who love you, even when they don't agree with your choices or wouldn't choose the same thing for themselves.
These are obviously generalizations and people sometimes jump from one reaction to another, but most fall into one of the categories listed. 

Where Alan is concerned, I fall into the last category - I'm supportive and more than willing to talk with him - mostly because I see myself as a kindred spirit.  I don't suffer the same gender confusion, but I do understand certain aspects of his emotional conflict very well.  He does not feel like he fits the mold.  When he gives voice to his inner turmoil, I want to cry because I can relate so well. It makes me wonder - is he really a woman trapped in a man's body, or too expansive a soul trapped in too finite a vessel? Are his struggles as gender-specific as he believes, or are they the universal struggles of an individual who is more passionate, more sensitive, and more introspective than most?

At this point, I have a lot more questions than I do answers, but some things I know.  Feeling like I never quite fit in sucks sometimes.  I can't pretend to be someone else and I wouldn't trade who I am for that sense of belonging, but it would be nice to know more people who are as interested as I am in forging deeper connections. Alan is one of those people. It's not necessary for me to have all the answers in order to be a good friend to him or to accept his friendship. 

The movie Hall Pass was released I don't know how long ago (I really don't keep up on these things).  The premise is that a couple of wives give their husbands a week-long free pass to do whatever they want - a sort of vacation from marriage.  I'm sure it's a funny movie, but realistically speaking, it's a distasteful proposition at best.  Still, it got me thinking about an intriguing concept that doesn't have to be about debauchery or making a mockery of marriage.  It's the idea of a "stupid pass" and it goes something like this:

 Every time you meet someone, they give you a stupid pass and you give them one.  You only get one per person, so you must guard it well.  It is to be used for a day when you behave in a remarkably stupid or insensitive manner towards that person and works similar to the amnesia flash device the agents used in Men In Black.  Presto!  Your idiocy is erased and you can move on, business as usual, as far as the other person is concerned.  You still have to carry around the memory of that narrow brush with disaster.  If you're smart, you'll take the lesson and never do that something stupid again.  You wouldn't dare anyway because your stupid pass is all used up.

In an ideal world, people would be cognizant of that one chance and would be nicer to one another to avoid having to use their pass.  They would also learn from the mistake that caused them to use their pass so as not to repeat it.  Of course, there would have to be a don't ask/don't tell policy when the other person discovers you've used your pass for them (the gift of grace is meant to be given as well as received).  

Just think of the applications:  You have a bad day at work, yell at your boss, and get fired.  You make a decision that you regret almost immediately and you have the opportunity to take it back as though it never happened.  You have that perfect date, but then call and leave a dozen desperate-sounding messages on the person's machine, so they think you're crazy (instead of really excited) and change their number.  You have a little too much to drink and make an ass of yourself, but you have an opportunity for redemption.  It would be just like the web redemption segments on Tosh.0, only without the endless ridicule.

Obviously we don't get stupid passes, so we have to do things right the first time when it comes to relationships - or, suffer the consequences.  As it turns out, I'm more of a "practice makes perfect" sort of person.  Excuse me, now, while I go eat some more crow...  

Yesterday morning, my son woke me up because I couldn't find my phone before I went to bed (I use it as my alarm).  He left for the bus stop while I was getting my daughter up and ready for school.  Her friend, who lives across the street, sent me a text message requesting a ride to school.  She wasn't ready when we left, so I took my daughter to school.  After dropping off my little one, I made a pass back through our neighborhood, picked up the neighbor girl, and took her to school.  She's a 5th grader and it wasn't that cold out, but I still couldn't bear the thought of her walking to school alone.  Afterwords, I spent most of the day at home working on statistics homework before picking my little one up.  My son had plans last night, so my girl and I had girls' night in - strawberry waffles and a movie.  It was a relatively uneventful, yet fulfilling, day for me.  Looking back, I can remember when I had "higher" expectations for Friday night.  Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago that my friends and I would cruise "O" street in Lincoln on the weekend.  Other times, I wake up and look in the mirror, expecting to see my 17-yr-old reflection staring back at me.

 Don't get me wrong - I'm not lamenting my youth.  I had plenty of fun in high school.  Even if I hadn't, I'm not dead yet.  There's still life left in my 36-yr-old heart/mind/body/soul - hope for days yet to come.  What bothers me is a news story featuring one of my high school classmates.  Last night, when I was cutting up strawberries with my daughter, he was choking the life out of his girlfriend.  While my 8-yr-old and I were watching a silly kids' movie, he was fashioning a noose to slip around his neck and string up around a rafter.  In one evening of hopelessness, children lost their parents.  Hope was snuffed out for two people.

I can't say I have fond memories of this classmate I've described.  I graduated with nearly 400 people.  I couldn't possibly have known them all, yet I find myself startled by the news of a tragic event that seems to strike close to home.  We're the same age.  We grew up in the same neighborhood.  We went to the same high school.  We graduated. We transitioned into adulthood, complete with families, but we aren't the same.  Through no virtue of my own, I've managed to survive my poor decisions, rise above my unrealized hopes & dreams, and redefine my expectations.  I've learned to find contentment in places I never expected.  I've had to.  The alternative might very well be a blurb on the news about a couple in Podunk, Nebraska whose bodies were discovered during a "welfare check" - an apparent murder/suicide.  Another relationship gone wrong.  They are survived by 6 kids between the two of them.      

Anyone who tells you they are free from prejudicial attitudes is lying.  When someone starts off a statement with the phrase, "I'm not prejudiced, but..." - you can bet they probably are, at least on some level.  I don't even try to pretend I'm that person.  I know I've been taught things along the way that have caused me to form all kinds of preconceived notions.  I've made generalizations about population groups based on limited experiences with individuals.  I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of it because it's not something I consciously choose to do and I try to correct my attitudes when I realize they're unfounded and wrong.  There is one prejudice that has stuck with me for the majority of my life, though - against cheerleaders.  I think they are useless, annoying, bubble-headed bimbos in short skirts with nothing more to offer than loud mouths and elitist attitudes.  There - I said it.

Yes, I know I'm wrong.  I know there are plenty of studious and upstanding members of society that are cheerleaders now or once were in their former school days.  I know that my own experiences in high school with the "mean girls" dressed up like barbie dolls aren't necessarily representative of cheerleaders as a whole.  I also know that times have changed a lot in the past 20 years.  Cheerleaders are, by many, considered to be athletes.  They want to be taken seriously for the commitment they've invested in physical fitness, precision, and school spirit.  They participate in competitions and win awards for their dedication and hard work.  I'm all for that.  Kids should be encouraged and praised for their accomplishments.  I'm just not too sure how I feel about the idea that cheerleading is replacing some of the girls' organized athletic programs in schools where budget constraints require "trimming the fat" - maybe because of the whole "fat" issue.

On Yahoo earlier, I read an article about a group of girls in Connecticut who are protesting their school's cheerleading uniforms because they aren't appropriate and don't meet the dress code.  The girls who are supposed to wear them feel like they're too revealing.  That is an interesting predicament - a school sanctioned activity where the uniform required for participation doesn't meet the school's own efforts towards fostering an environment of learning (that is still the primary purpose of schools, isn't it?).  It's not as though short skirts and midriff baring tops are necessary for the range of motion involved in cheering.  God knows there is an abundance of athletic apparel on the market that would suffice just as well, if not better.  So, why cling to that outdated garb, especially if you want to be taken seriously as an athlete?  Can't the girls cheer just as well in shorts and a t-shirt?  Is their school spirit going to be somehow hampered by a little less exposed flesh?  

I'm sure some would argue that plenty of other sports have uniforms that are just as diminutive.  Wrestling, diving, and even cross country (which my son participates in) are prime examples.  Having attended plenty of those cross country meets, I can tell you that the kids with shorter or tighter shorts don't run any faster than ones with more modest uniforms.  My son's uniform isn't anywhere near as skimpy as some of the other schools, yet he hates it.  You can tell by the tan lines on all the kids' legs that none of them wear those kinds of clothes when they practice.  They choose to cover their bodies when they are allowed to make the choice - most of them, anyway.  The ones who would wear less if they could are prevented from doing so by the dress code. 

Most teenagers are, by nature, self-conscious.  Why dress them up in tiny clothes made out of stretchy fabric that expose every imperfection?  Why put them through the scrutiny?  Especially teenage girls who already measure themselves by their appearance.  The Yahoo article cited a study of the connection between college cheerleaders and eating disorders, which linked those revealing uniforms to distorted body images in young women.  For anyone with common sense, this isn't exactly shocking news.  Speaking of common sense, how about putting some of it into practice on this issue?  Choose uniforms that are most appropriate for the sport and maximize modesty.  Maybe more kids would choose to participate.  Maybe they'd discover what every kid deserves to know - that they have more to offer than just what people see on the outside.  Maybe my attitude towards cheerleaders would change. Maybe.    

I have a friend who's roughly the same age as me (mid-30's).  Her daughter is the same age as my son (16 yrs old).  She is on my "friends" list for Facebook.  The woman is sweet, attractive, funny, and has plenty going for herself.  She's also currently single.  I found this out because I happened to notice a post on my wall that she'd changed her status from "single" to "in a relationship with so-and-so".  A few weeks later, it changed back to "single".  Her friends commented.  Her former boyfriend was still on her friends list.  A few weeks after that, her status changed again to "in a relationship with...(someone else)".  Her friends commented.

This morning, I noticed a post on my wall written by a girl who used to babysit my kids.  She has recently graduated high school, so perhaps it's more understandable coming from her, but she wrote on her boyfriend's wall, "I wish you'd write me", or something to that effect.  I happen to know she's out of town right now (thanks to FB) and probably misses him, but is a wall post really the best way to express that?  Why not just send him a private message - one that all of their friends can't see?

Here's the thing - I really enjoy the networking opportunities that Facebook affords.  Our church passes messages back and forth between members and publishes upcoming events on there.  I love it because I don't have to remember to go to a separate web site for information, plus Facebook keeps a little reminder up on the corner of the screen until the event has passed.  That having been said, I also think people make some serious mistakes that fall into the category of WAY T.M.I.  Why aren't people a bit more mindful of who's on their friends list when they post comments or updates?  Is it so hard to keep the wall posts clean?  I've heard that potential employers look at networking sites when considering applicants because of how much those sites reveal about the way a person conducts themselves and how they relate to others. 

Take this relationship status thing, for instance.  I don't mind that people list their status.  I don't even mind when they link to their spouse.  In fact, I think it's sweet.  It's the "in a relationship with..." part that gets my panties in a bunch.  I feel like there should be guidelines for etiquette.  I have my status set to "in a relationship" because I am.  My status communicates the fact that I'm no longer married, which is very useful when I re-connect with old friends.  I no longer get asked questions about how my ex- is and only the people who really want to know send me private messages to ask about what happened.  My status also communicates the fact that I'm "off the market".  I don't have a link to the person I'm in a relationship with because I think it's tacky and juvenile.  It's none of my friends' business who I'm dating unless they're socially active with us, in which case, they would know the person and wouldn't need to read it on Facebook.  Nobody needs to know that I'm madly in love with the guy I met last week unless/until we've made some kind of commitment to one another (just an example, MM).  I'm not so self absorbed that I believe people even care about that sort of thing.  It seems to me that posting about these fleeting romances leaves the door wide open to inappropriate and unflattering behavior, like making nasty public comments if the relationship ends badly.  It's one thing to confide in a friend - it's a whole other thing to open up your personal life for comment to friends, fellow alumni, co-workers, church members, and peripheral acquaintances alike.  This is especially true if you are an adult with teenage children who are also on your "friends" list.  Do your kids really need to know the intricacies of your love life?  Isn't it traumatic enough for them to know you even HAVE a love life?     

OK, school's out and I can sleep all the way in until 8am this morning.  I, of course, have been up since 4:30, despite having gone to bed somewhere around 11 last night.  So, I decided to write my first post of the summer.  This might seem like a strange way to get started up again with blogging, but I just caught sight of a picture on yahoo's front page & I have to comment.  It's of solicitor general, Elena Kagan.

I'm not sure if this is the exact image they used, but it's close.  It's not a real flattering photograph by any stretch of the imagination.  In fact, not having initially read the caption, my first impression was that she bears a striking resemblance to Nathan Lane - especially his role in The Birdcage. 

 Now, before anyone jumps down my throat about political convictions and what kind of evils/wonders this woman has in store for the Supreme Court, just take a breath.  I don't know much about her, so I'm not going to discuss how she might serve as a benefit or detriment to the country's highest court.  I haven't even read the yahoo article yet.  I don't feel too bad about that, though, because I've been buried under mountains of homework for months and have had little contact with the outside world.  Mystery Man was kind enough to clue me in on the fact that they were looking for Supreme Court Justice nominations, but that's about as much as I knew.  So, just for fun, I decided to do a search on her. 

What I  discovered is that there were many other more flattering photos of her that they could've chosen to feature for the news article.  In some of her press release photos, she looks a bit like Bette Midler.  In others, she bears a mild resemblance to Kathy Bates. 

Something else I discovered, just from a brief 2-second search is that there's some speculation Ms. Kagan is gay.  A third article questioned whether she and another potential nominee were too fat for the Supreme Court - no, I am NOT making that up!  Now, I almost feel embarrassed about my first impression of Ms. Kagan from that photo.  Perhaps the person who wrote the article was simply trying to get a shot of her in action at work.  I can understand that. 

I suppose I'm just frustrated with a culture that's so obsessed with appearance.  I'm ashamed of myself for getting caught up in that attitude.  Let's face it - most people wouldn't describe Bette Midler or Kathy Bates as being classically beautiful.  I'm sure there are photos of them in character that wouldn't depict them in the most flattering light.  There are also photos of them circulating on the web that make them look both stunning and unique because the photographer played up the features that distinguish those women from everyone else. 

I don't know or care about either woman's sexual orientation.  I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone else speculate about it.  Bette and Kathy wouldn't qualify as runway models, either, but they are cultural icons, nonetheless - because they are good at what they do.  Isn't that really the point?  Ms. Kagan may look like Nathan Lane in some photos.  She may or may not be gay.  She is overweight.  Can she do the job?  I expect I'll be doing a little more in depth research to find out.  I have to in order to redeem myself for being so judgmental, especially first thing in the morning!  

Once upon a time, I had a brain.  If I had bothered to use it, I might not have burned it out today.  In my defense, it hasn't been terribly hot this summer.  There was one week at the end of June where the temps climbed into the 90's.  During that week, Mystery Man and I decided that the best thing to do was to purchase a wading pool for the backyard.  He'd gotten the idea from his daughter, who put one up at her place for the sole purpose of soaking in after a long day of working.

Putting the pool up was quite the ordeal - trying to find a spot level enough that it wouldn't tip and spill out in the yard, filling it, and then waiting for it to warm up enough to sit in.  It's one of those with the inflatable ring that rises as you fill it, so it has to be perfectly level.  It was well worth the effort, though.  The kids have had fun and it's very relaxing to cool off in at the end of the day.

As I mentioned before, the summer hasn't been terribly warm otherwise - especially in the past couple of weeks, so we haven't even used the pool for awhile.  Add that to the fact that I've had difficulty finding a replacement filter for the pump, and you have a recipe for disaster.  Today, it got VERY hot again.  I checked the weather and it looks as though it's going to stay hot for the next few days, so I decided to suck it up and take the cover off the pool.  It was worse than I expected.  The water was so green that I couldn't see the bottom of the pool.  It blended quite nicely with the yard around it, but that's not exactly what I look for in a pool - unless the bottom is supposed to be green.  It also had some sort of insect larvae thriving and multiplying.  I'm thinking mosquito, but I don't know for sure and I don't WANT to know.  It was obvious the pool needed to be emptied and refilled if we ever expected to use it again, so that's what I tried to do.

Let me just say, I don't do well with bugs of any kind, but especially insects in their larvae form.  Even so, I know I'm directly responsible for allowing the pool to get that bad, so it was up to me to clean up the mess.  I pushed on the side and allowed water to spill over until it was mostly empty.  I was on the phone with MM at the time.  I told him it needed to be refilled, but spared him the ugly details.  He suggested I let out water until I could lift one side and flip it to allow the rest of the water to drain.  I told him I thought it was too big a job for one person to do and he offered to help when he gets here.  I agreed to the plan of action, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was too embarrassed to let him see the mess.  Besides, it was personal now. 

After much sweating and heaving and sweating some more, I got the thing emptied, scrubbed, and reset.  Did I mention it's the hottest day of the summer so far?? I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but I decided to begin refilling it, too.  Obviously, I'd forgotten how long it takes and the work involved in pulling out the wrinkles on the bottom.  It's now after 9:00pm, very dark outside, and the pool doesn't seem close to being full.  It'll be my luck that I didn't quite get it set up right and the side has collapsed, allowing the water to drain once again.  I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.  Wish me luck in both getting the thing handled and explaining my idiocy to MM when he gets here.  Heatstroke sounds like a plausible explanation, right?

OK, the hard part is almost over.  I have to take one more test in the morning and I'll have met all of my requirements to get on the waiting list for the RN program at school.  The grades are in for my classes - Sociology - A, Intro to Literature - A, Anatomy - A, and Developmental Psychology - A-.  Yes, of course I'm disappointed with the A-.  Maybe I should've just caved to the instructor's every whim instead of getting myself ejected from the class.  Who am I kidding?  I'd rather take the lower grade.

As a reward to myself and a token of appreciation to Mystery Man, who usually makes the god-awful long drive, I trekked up to his place for the weekend.  I had a lovely, uneventful 8 1/2 hour trip up there (can't for the life of me figure out why it takes him at least 10 hrs).  My tushy was a little sore by the time I got there.  After a couple of those trips last summer, I swore I was going to get an extra cushion for the van seat, but I haven't taken many road trips lately, so the urgency apparently faded.  I have at least three more trips planned for the near future, so I think I'll get that cushion put back up there on my want list.

I have to say, I had a mah-ve-lous weekend.  Great company, great food, and my first foray into the world of golfing.  Before Saturday, my golf career consisted of attempting to hit most of a bucket of balls on a driving range.  Being the extravagant gentleman he is, MM swung me by a garage sale and picked up a set of clubs for me before we hit the course.  Hey, don't hate him because he's frugal (cheap).  He tells me my clubs are nicer than the ones he plays with.  I'm the amateur, so I'll take his word for it.  Either way, it's a full set of barely used left-handed ladies clubs, complete with the fuzzy little socks (I still haven't figured out why golf clubs need socks - I myself HATE to wear them).  At least this way, I knew I wouldn't have to feel guilty about the price tag if it turned out that golf and I aren't a match made in heaven. 

I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated by the whole idea of going out there and trying to hit that teeny tiny ball with a really long stick.  I kept having flashbacks of being forced to play baseball in gym class.  The agonizing ordeal of being the leftover player that the second team had to pick, followed by the humiliating times at bat where I never managed to connect with the ball even once.  I still suck at it - even on the Wii.  I shook off those haunting images and did my best.  It was frustrating at times, exhausting, and a lot more of a work-out than I expected.  It was also one of the best times I've had with MM so far.  He had a lot of pointers to offer, but I didn't mind.  My body hasn't been trained for anything like trying to swing a golf club, so I was grateful for all of the help.  I didn't feel terribly self-conscious, even though I'm sure I looked like a cartoon character at least a couple of times with the swing-and-miss approach.  MM managed not to mock me too brutally.  When he did, I laughed too 'cause it WAS funny.  All-in-all, a pretty fun day.

The only major snag in the whole trip was coming home.  I was in a crunch to make it home before my kids and I was doing so well.  I'd hit the half-way point before stopping to use the facilities - a monumental feat for my notoriously tiny bladder.  When I stopped, I thought I might like a cold soda from the vending machine.  When I looked around for my purse, I had that panic moment where I couldn't remember if I'd even put it in the car.  I searched frantically for a couple of minutes before the phone rang.  I must've sounded worried because MM asked me what was wrong.  I explained the situation and he said, "Are you kidding?"  Right, that would really be funny.  I'm already not quite half-way home with a little more than half a tank of gas left, which wasn't enough to get me home.  No money, no ID, and no credit cards.  Really funny.

As it turned out, I had left my purse at his house.  He did the man thing and worked out a solution, though.  Because he's made the trip so many times, he knew just which truck stop to wire gas money to.  He also dug through and got the necessary stuff out so he could over-night it to me.  Oh, and did I mention he'd packed me a sizable "snack" for the trip?  I made it home - a little late, but none the worse for wear.  I'd also left some emergency cash in my dresser drawer, so groceries are covered.    

This is an assignment I completed for my Intro to Literature class.  Our class discussed the poem and most thought it meant the woman was fickle or untrue to her love.  When I read it, I had a different idea in mind, so I expanded the poem into a short story.  Mystery Man helped edit it and this is what we came up with:

Slim Cunning Hands – Short Story Adaptation From The Poem

“Slim Cunning Hands”
Slim cunning hands at rest, and cozening eyes-
Under this stone one loved too wildly lies;
How false she was, no granite could declare;
  Nor all earth's flowers, how fair.

He kneeled in the snow, knees wet.  The cold from frozen earth crept over him, numbing his body, if not his heart.  As he brushed the snow away from the stone marker, hot tears spilled over his cheeks where they froze.  He could scarcely believe that the bitter winter had come again already.  He stood up, turned to go and caught a brief glimpse of the morning sunlight illuminating the daisy he’d just placed on her grave.  

It took him back to another place and time.

He walked the grounds of the new amphitheater on campus just before its dedication ceremony as the orchestra rehearsed for the evening’s concert.  The warm sun of early summer shined down on the horns and reflected off the brass, casting a perfect halo around her face.  It softened her features, creating an illusion that the light was radiating from within her.  The movement of her fingers drew his eyes away momentarily.  Those slim hands expertly plucked at the strings of her instrument, an ornate harp with a maiden carved into its column.  So intent was her focus; so apparent her passion.  For a moment, he indulged in a fantasy.  What might those fingers feel like dancing across his own skin?  His thoughts were interrupted by the gruff voice of his coworker, Hank, calling him back to his duties.  “Johnny, if you’re lookin’ at that harp player, yer wastin’ your time.  You know what they say about her.  Sure is nice to look at, though.” 

This was their final walk-through of the surrounding gardens to make sure everything was perfect for the occasion. 

 
A sparrow’s twitter brought him back to the moment; time to get to work.  Even in the winter, plenty of outdoor tasks kept him busy on campus, although sometimes he wonders why he even bothers now.
----
Passing the chapel on his way back to his office, he trips on a loose paver in the walkway. He comes down on one knee; the stone bites into his flesh and he remembers the moment they first touched.   Her ensemble was setting up on that same path to play for an outdoor wedding.   She was trying to reposition her instrument when she stumbled and started to go down.  Instinctively, he reached for the harp, thinking only of sparing the intricately carved maiden.   He heard her sharp intake of breath as she landed with a thud and he realized his mistake at once.  Why didn’t he have the sense to cushion her?  He was shocked when she reached down and cupped his chin in her hand.  He was completely unprepared. Her warm breath on his face, he was stunned when her lips brushed his.  She explained that the harp was one-of-a-kind, a gift from her mother.  It meant more to her than he could possibly imagine.  

4:30pm.  It’s already too dark to work outside even if it were warm enough, which it isn’t.  He steps into the building, the familiar lemon scent of wood polish assaulting his nostrils and for a reason that only just makes sense to him, his eyes well up again.  There’d been a time when he’d welcomed the aroma, when the mere hint of it sent a jolt of desire through his body because he knew it meant she was close by.  Again, he found himself lost in reverie.

Every day, the same routine… The work he previously relished had become an exquisite torture, the sun inching its way across the sky far too slowly while his hands carried out his duties.  Digging, weeding, and pruning.  Digging, weeding … pruning.  All the while his mind consumed with her.  He took great pleasure in mapping out every detail of their next encounter.  What would she be wearing?  How best to undress her delicately with his calloused hands?  Ever so slowly, their mutual anticipation building.  Finally, the workday nearly at its end, he’d shower quickly in the maintenance building and walk the short distance to the music building.  By now, he had arranged his schedule so that the last of his duties was to polish the wooden banisters that lead to the auditorium balconies.  He would complete his work just as the orchestra wrapped up rehearsal for the day, affording him a few moments of private pleasure watching her, watching her hands, her eyes, as he’d done on that first day.
---
He is finished for the day. He sits alone in the dark, sparsely furnished office that has become his second home.  His mind drifts to another time, not so long ago.  The first snow of the season falling softly outside.  Inclement weather has interrupted the routine he and Hank have developed that allows each of them time alone in the office they share.  Today, they are here together.  

They sit in an uncomfortable silence, which he attributes to the differences in them.  Hank is a burly man, perhaps better suited to his position as custodian and groundskeeper than is Johnny.  Hank’s interests were confined to tractor pulls, rodeos, and which local watering holes had the best beer on tap. Johnny had tried on more than one occasion to strike up a conversation with Hank, but to no avail.  Although Hank would never be mistaken for an intellectual, he was a hard worker and very reliable and they’d never had a cross word between them.  Johnny could see Hank fidgeting in his chair, something uncharacteristic for the man.  

Hank cleared his throat several times. He seemed nervous, something else out of character.  Finally he spoke, “Johnny, I know you’ve been seein’ that harp player. Hell, everyone knows.  Thing is, I’m not sure you’re the only one she’s seein’.  I seen her on the arm of some good lookin’ fellow who’s studyin’ to be a doctor.  She was walking with him, leanin’ on his arm.  They looked pretty cozy.”  

Johnny felt his heart drop and his stomach clench, but he assured Hank he wasn’t angry with him and even thanked him for passing along the information.  He politely excused himself and went to the men’s room to retch.  This wasn’t exactly news to Johnny. His head spun with snippets of conversations he’d overheard about her.  It amazed him what people said right in front of him while he worked – as if his uniform made him invisible.  It amazed him what random thoughts popped into his head as his heart broke.

Johnny snaps back to the present when he sees the lights go out in the hallway.  Time to go back to his tiny apartment before the building becomes unbearably cold – turning down the heat at night was a way for the college to cut costs.
---
    Just before he walks out into the cold night, Johnny stops before the big double doors, as though he’d forgotten something.  In reality, he’s remembering the evening he’d stood there, hidden in shadows. He’d watched her walking close to the guy Hank described.  They appeared to be engaged in deep conversation, though he couldn’t hear them.  He hated to spy on her; didn’t want to believe, even now, that she was cheating.  He waited until they parted where the path split off to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.  At least they hadn’t kissed.

He ran to catch up with her – to confront her.  She sighed.  She looked almost resigned, as if she’d been through this before, but she agreed to follow him back to his apartment so they could talk privately.  As an employee, he wasn’t subject to the same rules of conduct as the students, but they’d always been cautious when she visited him.  Despite the tension, they still maintained protocol.  When they got to Johnny’s room, they kept their voices low and measured.  He’d already made up his mind.  If she said she loved him, nothing else mattered.   He didn’t even have to ask.  

Her eyes disarmed him; those cozening eyes artfully coaxing him into loving her all the more.  She told him everything he wanted to hear – that she knew about her reputation of moving from one relationship right into another and she’d earned it, but things were different now; she was different.  She loved him with her whole heart and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, if he’d have her.  What more could he ask for?  He was under her spell and there was no going back.  

He removed a small box from his desk drawer, kneeled down by the bed where she was seated and asked her to marry him.  He’d slipped the ring on her finger, and she’d pulled him to her, kissing him deeply; her slim, cunning hands caressed his body as though he were her instrument.

He did his best not to notice how she changed the subject any time he tried to discuss plans for their future.  He trusted her when she said the dark circles under her eyes were the result of her grueling studies and rehearsal schedule.  He knew how much of herself she poured into her music and he refused to doubt her explanation.  Spring brought with it longer work hours for him, so he wasn’t there to see how much she slept during the day.  Was it love that blinded him or fear?  How could she do such a thing?  Was it guilt?  How could she promise to love him for the rest of her life, only for that life to end abruptly - and by her own hand?

The biting cold brings him back to the present – back to the darkened hallway and another in a seemingly endless string of lonely nights.  The tears flow freely now.  He wills himself to push through the doors and step outside.
---
      His boots crunch in the snow as he makes his way back to his apartment.  He doesn’t want to go.  Every reminder of her contained in those rooms is torture to his soul, and yet?  He simply can’t bring himself to change a thing. What if he’s missed something?  What if here, somewhere, there lies some clue as to why she did it?  Did she want him to follow her into death?  Was that what she meant by forever?  Why didn’t she even have the decency to leave him a note?  These questions run through his mind thousands of times.   Abruptly, he changes direction and walks towards the chapel, something else he’d done a thousand times, but tonight, he feels inexplicably drawn to enter.  The door is locked, but he has the key.  He has all the keys, he realizes, except the one most important to him.

Once inside, he isn’t quite sure what to do.  It’s too dark to see clearly, but he the idea of turning on a light seems too harsh, so he lights some candles on the altar.  For the first time today, he is in the present.  He hears the creaking door as he stands there gazing into the small dancing flames.  Who has the audacity to interrupt him at this late hour?  He turns to look and his knees buckle.  What is he doing here, tonight, of all the nights, the anniversary of her death?  Johnny didn’t want to hear what the med student had to say, but he needed answers, if there were any.

The med student speaks in halting sentences, “I’ve been watching you.  I know you loved her.  I should’ve come sooner.   I’m… I’m sorry – she made me promise, but it doesn’t really matter now.  I can’t stand to see you suffer anymore.  I know what you must have thought about her – about us.  I don’t know why you stuck with her, but it wasn’t what you thought.  That meant everything to her.  We were never a couple.  She came to me in a, well, I guess you’d call it a professional capacity, but, I mean, I’m not even a doctor yet.  I don’t know what made her think… I mean no one could help her, and she knew it...  I’m sorry.  I’m not making any sense.  Let me start from the beginning. Can we sit down?”

They sat in the front pew and were silent for just a moment, then, the med student continued, “We’d known each other since we were kids.  We grew up in the same town.  I always hoped we’d end up together, but she never saw me that way.  She never wanted a serious relationship with anyone.  She’d always been like that.  You? You took her by surprise. “

“When she was eight years old, her mother started getting sick.  At first, the doctors thought Eleanor was suffering from exhaustion and told her to rest.  It made sense at the time – the woman had worked hard all her life, but resting didn’t help.  No matter what they tried, nothing worked.  She got worse. Much worse.  She was in excruciating pain the final months of her life.  The best they could do for Eleanor was to try to make her comfortable.  The family went through hell.  At the end, she begged them to help her die.  Afterward, a few days after her funeral, Ellie found out her Mom had made provisions for her.  It was Eleanor’s life insurance that paid for Ellie’s harp and her college – Eleanor had even picked out the harp before she died, but it took Ellie quite a while before she could even get herself to touch it.  Eventually, she poured her heart and soul into her music, maybe as way of trying to bring meaning to her mother’s death.  

When Ellie’s symptoms started, she asked me to confirm what she already knew.  She made me promise to help her hide her illness so she could make the most of what little time she had with you.  She also made me promise to spare you the agony of watching her suffer the way her mother did.  Maybe I should have said no, but I couldn’t.  How could anyone say no to her?  Could you?”  &n bsp;   &nb sp;  

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/hostage_shooting " title="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/hostage_shooting " target="_blank"http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/ho...

I'm positive the above is merely a temporary link to a news story - one I have yet to internally process.  The news story refers to the massacre that took place this morning at an immigration office in New York.  My mom works for INS and it scares the hell out of me, even though her office serves in an administrative capacity only.  The opening of the article mentions that this is "at least the fifth deadly mass shooting in the U.S. in the past month alone.  WTF??

I joke about my "Auto Tourette's" - my own personal brand of road rage.  In truth, I'm not so filled with rage as I am just trying to blow off steam from all of the other frustrations in my life.  I occasionally play violent video games for the same reason.  I laugh at the gratuitous bloodshed, but I know in my heart that what makes it funny is the absurdity of the notion that I could actually commit a random murder.  I can't even see myself slapping one of my children across the face, despite the disrespectful tone they sometimes adopt.  It's not just that I love them (I definitely do), but I'm NOT that kind of person.

I'm not claiming to be a pacifist.  I'm not even saying I'm good at "turning the other cheek" as Pastor Dave has recently blogged about.  I'm simply saying there's a vast difference between "fantasy violence" and the physical act of intentionally hurting another human being.  I'm just not sure I could do it.  Maybe in self defense.  Probably in defense of my family.  Neither of those scenarios really indicates premeditation.  I could never commit an act of violence in response to my own anger.  What's more, I just don't understand what could compel a person to do such a thing, even though I understand frustration and hopelessness.  What moves a person to cross that line?  Can anyone shed a little light on this?  I guess it just goes to show that a reasonable person is incapable of really understanding someone who doesn't behave reasonably. 

I spent the weekend (prior to the crazy birthday party) with Mystery Man visiting some of my favorite places in Omaha.  Among them, is a section downtown called Old Market.  It's filled with artisan shops, used book stores, art galleries, and a particular novelty shop that features products that are sure to offend anyone with even a modicum of taste and some sense of propriety.  Seeing as how I posess neither, I felt right at home there.  I happened upon a particular product that I seriously considered buying as a gift to one of my favorite fellow bloggers, but I figured I'd never get his address on the grounds that he might think me a crazed fan or stalker.  In lieu of that, I'll just post a pic of the item in question and let him hunt it down for himself.  Fun-to-wear for Squirrelzone!!

My kiddos started Spring Break on Friday.  I didn't think that was entirely fair because, not only did I have to go to school Friday, but I had to take two tests and play nice with the Psychology instructor (which I accomplished admirably).  Fortunately, the Lit quiz was fairly easy.  I was pretty worried about the Sociology test because it's the first one I really wasn't ready for and we didn't have any class time to review.  The instructor had cut the class short on Wednesday, but he handed out answers to some of the questions on the study guide.  As it turns out, it was basically everything on the test.  I'm SO glad I bothered to read it.

Since I was only going to be in class 3 hours, I decided to let my son and niece baby-sit the little one.  I noticed she had a bit of a cough when I left, but she ate breakfast OK and she seemed content to watch cartoons until everyone got up and moving.  My brother was also home, so I didn't think I had a thing to worry about.  Between my Psych and Soc classes, I decided to call home and check on things.  My brother mentioned that Little Bit was feeling a little warm, so I had him take her temp - 100.3.  Not a big deal, just a low-grade thing.   I told the big kids to stay away from her in case she was contagious.  I went to class and took my test, then drove home.  My son met me at the car (something he only does when he's mad or wants something).  In the time it took me to take my test and drive home (around 30 minutes), the older kids had managed to pick a fight with the little one about a toy she had in the living room.  As it turns out, they wanted an excuse for her to be in trouble so they could make her go to her room and they could have the big TV.  My brother isn't always able to cut through the crap like I can, so he ended up in the middle of it and it turned into a big blow-out.  My reaction?  You ALL knew the little one was sick, right?  Don't pick on the sick kid!  I told the older ones that they could've just sent her to my room to watch TV instead of causing trouble.  They looked a little sheepish and embarrassed and we laughed a little at how everyone overreacted, so it was all good.

I checked on the little one periodically as I got ready to head out of town.  We'd planned to go see my grandmother Saturday morning, then head back to Sioux City so my son could visit with some of his friends.  Her fever kept climbing and she was complaining about how her body was too heavy to lift.  She's had fevers before, so I wasn't too worried.  They normally resolve themselves by the next day.  We watched some TV and I let her stay up until 11 because we didn't have school the next day.  I went to bed a little while later, then was awakened by a screaming child and hour or so later.  I thought it was just a bad dream, but the poor girl was awake and screaming about how everything was too big.  I took her temp again - 104.5 this time and I couldn't give her medicine again for an hour and a half.  We read a book to calm her down, then I explained to her that high fevers can make her see things that aren't there.  I suspected she had influenza A, which was confirmed by a visit to the doctor yesterday.  She prescribed some medication to shorten the course of the flu because of the high fevers.  The pharmacist said something about one of the side effects being dizziness.  Little Miss had been on Zyrtec before and suffered some "unusual" side effects, so I asked about those.  Yep, this medication may also cause "sleep disturbances".  I went home and gave her a dose, then got my drug handbook out and looked up the stuff.

The peak onset is 4 hours - when the drug is the strongest.  Possible side effects include sleep disturbance, insomnia, hallucinations, strange dreams, suicidal tendencies, and psychosis.  4 hours after I gave the med to her, like clockwork, she started in.  She'd dozed off while watching TV.  She woke up abruptly, screaming.  I ask her what's wrong and she says, "I wanted to watch TV and the TV disappeared."  I say, "Honey, the TV is on and it's right in front of you.  Do you remember me telling you that the fevers can make you see strange things?"  She calmed down after a few minutes and we went into the living room for a change of scenery.  The rest of the evening progressed without too much difficulty - just more high fevers and lethargy.  I gave her more medication just after 8pm, then we slept on the couch for awhile.  I woke up in a daze around midnight, put her to bed, called Mystery Man to tell him goodnight, then went to bed.  I didn't go to sleep right away because I realized that, if she was true to form, the little one would be back up in a few minutes.  She was, and several times after that.  She screamed the first time, but not so much after that - just kind of whining.  She kept sitting up and I'd ask her where she was going.  She'd mumble something incoherent, lay back down, and go to sleep.  This morning, her fever was finally gone.  Two more doses of the nasty stuff and she should be home-free.  I just have one question....

What happened to my crazy trip to Fort Lauderdale filled with outrageous stunts, fabulous warm weather, and nothing more pressing than figuring out who serves the best mojito?? 

Today was a banner day in my college career.  I was removed from my psychology class.  That's right, folks.  I guess it's time to come right out and say it - I'm a delinquent.

Just a little background info to set the stage:  I have difficulty processing verbal instruction.  I know this about myself and I've learned to compensate by keeping my hands busy so my brain can stay focused.  I know what you're all thinking, but I wasn't doing THAT in class!!  Sometimes I knit, doodle, label anatomy worksheets, or do study guides for other classes.  It's the same for church.  I'm listening - it just doesn't look like it.  Did I mention I'm a consistent Dean's List student and I'm currently getting A's in all of my classes?  Oh, and the lesson at church tonight was on Jesus' betrayal by Judas Iscariot and I did the first page of my Sociology study guide for Friday.

My psychology instructor is new to teaching.  She's relatively well organized, but most of what she does is lecture directly out of the book using a backdrop of powerpoint slides that were prepared by the textbook publisher.  She doesn't have to do a whole lot to prepare for the class.  Our grades are based primarily on test scores, with a few points thrown in for class participation and we have to write a couple of papers.  The first one was a four-page paper based on our observations of a child 0-11 years old.  It required a substantial amount of work.  It was worth 25 points (our tests are each worth 100 points).  Our next paper is due in a few weeks.  It's an eight-page paper based on the Erikson stages of development.  We're supposed to be writing about ourselves, covering every stage from birth to death.  I don't know about anyone else, but I remember very little before the age of 4 and I'm nowhere near the last three stages of development, so I'm not entirely sure what we're supposed to write.  Either way, this lengthy paper is still only worth 45 points.  For the people who don't test well, this class will be nearly impossible to pass.  It's also a required class in order to even get on the waiting list for the nursing program at the college.

Last Friday, we had a discussion in class about the fact that most everyone is failing.  The class average on the two tests we've taken is around 63%.  Not a real great start to the class and we're already past the mid-term point.  Something isn't working.  The instructor opened it up to questions, so I asked her, "Do you think the tests are giving an accurate measurement of whether or not people understand the material?"  She told me that's what the discussion was about, so I asked her again, "What do YOU think?"  She didn't answer the question.  In fact, she seemed to take it rather personal - as if she were the one who wrote the tests (again, those were written by the textbook publisher).  She told me I didn't need to worry about it because I'm getting a good grade.  Basically, she decided to test more often in the class and she'd try really hard to emphasize the material we'll be tested on.  Greeeaaaat.

When she finally got around to the lecture, it was about adolescent development - specifically, the effect on boys of physically maturing at an earlier age than their peers.  She asked why boys who mature early would have an easier time in high school and then struggle later in life with self-identity.  I said, "Maybe it has to do with where the blood flow is diverted."  It was off-color, meant to be funny, and I was ready to explain my point.  I was trying to get across the fact that you can't minimize the impact of hormones on developing males.  Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that teenage boys who have hit puberty have one thing on their minds - and it aint character development.  Because they are so consumed with sex, they don't tend to pay attention to much else.  It's not outrageous, sexist, or demeaning to guys.  It's just a fact.  She may not like it, but her opinion doesn't change a fact.   Not that it matters - she never gave me the chance to explain.  Instead, she said, "We need to be respectful in here.  We don't talk that way in this class."  Obviously, she didn't appreciate the joke.  I mentioned it to Mystery Man and he said I should email her about it.  As it turns out, he was right.

Today, I went to class like I normally do.  I had just gotten out of my Lit class and had the book we're reading in my hand.  I thought I'd busy myself with writing the footnotes from the back of the book into the margins during psychology.  It's a mindless activity for me and I knew it would keep my hands busy during the lecture/discussion.  The first few minutes were review and I actively participated.  The instructor looked over at me and asked me to put my book away.  I didn't answer her, but I also didn't put my book away.  I figured I'm in college and I have a right to do whatever it takes to learn, as long as I'm not being disruptive.  The discussion progressed and I was still offering relevant input.  A few minutes later, she told me, "You need to put the book away and pay attention."  Keep in mind, I sit in the front of the class.  She was the only one who even knew I had a book on my desk.  I told her I was paying attention.  She really didn't like that answer.  She said, "It's my class and I told you to put the book away."  I said, "I'm paying for the class, I wasn't looking for trouble, and I wasn't being disruptive."  She claimed I was interfering with her ability to teach - this would be a blanket statement covered in the student conduct code which, I believe, was meant to protect the teacher from people who intentionally make noise, text, send and receive phone calls, or generally make a nuisance of themselves.  Jotting down notes in the margin of a book hardly qualifies.  It also doesn't excuse her for trying the oldest tactic in the book to save face - bully the student you've singled out for no other reason than you're annoyed.  I told her she had no right to do that to me - I don't deserve to be treated like a child, especially since I wasn't acting like one.  She abruptly excused herself from the class.  When she left, I said, "Are you kidding me??"  The rest of the class was as shocked as I was.  She didn't say where she was going or even indicate she was coming back.

She did come back - with reinforcements.  She had the head of the department come and remove me from class.  When he spoke with me out in the hall, he said instructors have a right to do that after they've asked a student to leave.  I told him she never asked me to leave.  After class got out, I asked other students and nobody heard her ask me to leave.  After class, she went right to the Associate Dean of Liberal Arts to tattle on me.  I received a phone call a short while later.  I have to make a special trip up there tomorrow so I can meet with the instructor and the Dean.  With Mystery Man's help, I sent a carefully worded email to the Dean outlining my side of the story.  In essence, I get to go to the principal's office.  I don't care what they say, I will not put on that dunce cap!!   

Thank you all for your prayers and warm thoughts - the judge's decision is in...

...and it's very good news for both me and (I hope) my family.  The judge ruled in my favor on every point.  There will be no gloating or partying - just a big sigh of relief.  As of 03-06-09, I am officially divorced.  With the relief, comes a bit of sadness.  This marks the end of a chapter that covered all of my adult life so far.  It's not something anyone anticipates or prepares for when they speak their vows, but it is my reality. 

So, from this point forward, I vow to do the best I can to learn from my mistakes.  I promise to carefully consider the ramifications of my decisions and behavior.  I will do my best to live intentionally and love generously.  

John 16:33

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. 

My heart hurts.  It aches like it hasn't in a long, long time.  There are so many thoughts bouncing around in my head right now.  It's way late at night and I can't sleep.  I don't even want to try.  I spent most of today in bed, sick as much in heart as in body.  I still haven't heard anything from the judge.  It's been over two weeks since the trial.  I guess I should at least try to sleep.

In a few minutes, I will resume copying and saving emails in order to get them printed out tomorrow.  After that, I'll have to organize them into categories and get them shuffled into chronological order.  For now, I'm taking a breather.  The trial starts on Tuesday next week.  I spent New Year's Eve and the following 4 days with friends.  It was a time to reflect, cry a whole bunch over a lot of things, and brace myself for the next couple of weeks.  I can't imagine how my mindset might be different if I hadn't made the trip.  I wonder if those people have any idea what they mean to me.  I try to tell them as often as possible and in as many ways as I can.

My brother was laid off just before Christmas.  I'd managed to save up some money in the few months leading up to December so we could make sure the kids had a nice Christmas.  Now, like everyone, I'm broke.  Losing his financial contribution to the grocery bill really knocked the wind out of our sails.  It's impossible to make plans for anything with so many things undecided.  They have a job fair downtown tomorrow and he's supposed to be going.  At the very least, he can get help with his resume.  In the meantime, I'm supposed to start classes on Monday.  I don't have a job yet - haven't really had time to look because of the trial preparations.  I'm still trying to get paperwork in for financial aid.  I don't have a clue what books I need or how much they're going to cost.  To top it all off, my gas bill is due on Friday.  Oddly enough, that's the straw that broke the camel's back for me.

When we moved in October, I set up our gas/electric on budget pay.  The deal is that I have to pay the bill by the due date, or they charge the full amount due at the time and have the option to shut off service.  In my case, it's something like $450 over and above the normal monthly bill.  That was fine when I signed up because the bill was due on the 19th of the month.  What I didn't realize is that, for some reason, the gas company bills come due a couple of days earlier each month.  Now, the bill is due on the 9th instead of the 19th.  Rent is due the first week of the month, too.  In fact, every other bill I have is due on the same day of the month every month.  So, why can't the gas company do the same??  What is so hard about setting the due date the same every month?  Like I'm not under enough pressure right now!

Alright, that's enough complaining.  I'm managing to keep my chin up, despite the added stress of the trial.  At least I didn't have to start school this week!  The kids went back to school on Monday, which freed up my schedule to prepare for next week.  Everyone I asked to testify on my behalf has been willing, with one exception.  She's willing, but her schedule would be difficult to juggle.  She'd do it, though, if I really needed her to. 

I spoke to my pastor tonight, and he said the church will be able to cover my gas bill.  I just started bawling in his office.  It's hard to ask for help.  I'm glad I haven't needed to until now, but I did need to.  He was so gracious.  He was really matter-of-fact about it, didn't try to attach strings or make me feel pathetic, and gave me a pretty effective pep talk about how to deal with what I'm going through.  I'm grateful for that, too.

I have a lot to be grateful for - friends like Aunt Coni who go out of their way to do something I don't have the time or skills to do, yet really needed to have done.  Thank you Aunt Coni!  And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Mystery Man.  We've had to put everything on hold for a number of reasons, but he's been a trouper nonetheless.  I can't concentrate on anything but this damned trial and I feel miserable about that, yet he's still helping think of things I need to do that I wouldn't have thought of on my own.

Strangely enough, in the midst of all the turmoil, I got a call earlier from a friend's husband.  She called me a couple of days ago to say she was off work for a few days because she has a cellulitis infection.  I had planned to go over and spend a little time with her today, even though I'm swamped with everything else.  She's been there for me when I really needed it.  As it turned out, her husband decided to take the day off work and stay with her.  It's a good thing he did, too.  Cellulitis is extremely painful and the doctor hadn't given her any pain medication when she wrote the prescription for antibiotics.  They couldn't get an appointment with the doctor, so they went to urgent care.  She ended up in the hospital to have surgery this afternoon.  She's going to need someone to pack her wound for the next few days - something they could teach her husband to do, except that the poor man can't stand the sight of blood.  He gets weak at the mere mention of it and faints when he sees it. 

So, he called tonight to ask if I'd be willing to help out.  Yes, I have a lot going on right now, but how could I possibly say no?  Isn't this what I've gone to school for, after all?  Besides, it'll give me a chance to focus on helping someone else so I don't spend the time wallowing in my own misery.  What more could I ask for?  The truth of the matter is, I just about cried when he was talking to me because he was saying how much he missed her already, just knowing she'd be in the hospital tonight instead of at home with him.  I guess chivalry isn't dead after all.  My faith in mankind had been rekindled. 

I've done enough teaching at preschool, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday School to have witnessed first-hand how cruel kids can be - even at church (imagine!).  This morning, I had the unfortunate experience of watching my daughter become the object of another child's cruelty.  In her Sunday School classroom, they put up an attendance chart and have made a contest out of the kids bringing their Bibles to class.  They get a sticker for every day they attend and another one if they've brought their Bible.  One of the kids, by no virtue of his own, has his chart completely filled up.  His parents are involved in various committees and tend to be there just about every time the church doors are open.  As their only child, he has no choice but to tag along.  This little boy wasted no time in pointing out that he has twice as many stickers as my daughter.  Duh!  She comes to church with me every other weekend.  That's as often as I can bring her because of the visitation arrangement I have with her father. 

I admit, I wasn't feeling very charitable towards the kid.  It didn't take long to for me to realize I wasn't necessarily angry with the kid as much as I was with his parents - and ultimately, myself as well.  See, I was a part of a family just like his.  My ex and I used to drag our kids to church at least 3 times a week.  Sunday morning service, Sunday evening service, and Wednesday night activities.  It was as much a matter of pride as it was any real desire to do "God's work".  We were part of the core group.  We were part of the "in" crowd - at least outwardly.  I'm certain that I have been just as judgmental in the past.  I'm positive I've looked down my nose at other people because I equated church attendance with spiritual maturity.  I'm not proud of those occasions.  I'm sure my son picked up on those attitudes, just as this other kid did.  As with anything, circumstances (and people) change.  I have a much different perspective than I did back then.  Although I still like to feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself, I'm more interested in thinking through what I hear at church.  I'm more interested in figuring out what I believe so I can live in a manner that's consistent with those beliefs than I am in pointing fingers at other people.  

That's not to say my heart didn't ache for my daughter in that moment, though.  My girl is vivacious and enthusiastic and energetic nearly all of the time.  When that little boy was showing her the attendance chart, at first she got mad.  She turned to him and said, "You're bragging".  And he was.  After she thought about his words for a moment, it must've sunk in that she'd never be able to earn as many stickers as him and the light seemed to go right out of her.  She visibly withdrew from the situation and started to talk about something completely unrelated, ignoring the people around her.  The teacher was at least intuitive enough to recognize what was happening.  I'm sure the expression on my face was a dead giveaway.  She asked what the visitation pattern was and then offered to put stickers in for the weeks my daughter can't be there since those days are out of our control.  That made me feel a little better.  I did catch the other kid on the way out the door and reminded him that not everyone CAN be there every week, through no fault of their own.

After that little incident, I felt even more like an outsider than usual.  It's bad enough to be singled out for the choices I've made that I'm perfectly at peace with - the tattoos, the piercings, the unusual clothes.  It's a whole other thing to be in a place that doesn't feel like home, where I'm one of the few regular attenders who's a single parent, and then to have such a pointed reminder that things aren't what they used to be.  There are many things in my old life that I don't want to go back to.  There are some that I miss dreadfully, though.  I miss my old church and the friends I have there.  I miss the Christmas decorations, singing in the choir, and the familiarity - that feeling of home.  I'm sure this place will grow on me.  I'm sure I'll find where I belong, even if I have to carve out that place myself.  It just takes time. Thank God kids are resilient!  

As a reward for working hard at school this past week, I invited a couple of friends over for my daughter to play with.  They are our former neighbors' kids and we all love them.  I didn't tell my daughter who was coming.  She knew we were expecting guests, but didn't know who until they actually arrived.  The ear-splitting sound emitting from that girl could be heard for miles as she squealed their names and flung her arms around them.  Our neighbors moved back to their hometown in late September (about the same time we moved into this house), so the kids haven't seen each other in a couple of months and have missed each other terribly.  They've gotten along famously all afternoon, playing hide-and-seek, eating pancakes, tearing my daughter's room apart, and running, chasing, giggling, and tickling each other.  They should all sleep soundly tonight!  In an effort to get them to wind down a little, I decided to get them playing on the PS2

In case there was ever any doubt about how much I love my kids, the world can rest easier as of this moment.  Last year for Christmas, I bought an intriguing game for the PS2 called "SingStar" - a karaoke style game that allows you to sing along with preloaded songs.  The game scores you according to how close you come to hitting the notes and holding them for the right amount of time.  It came with a game disc, splitter, and two microphones so it can be played in a group setting.  As with any PS2 group game, it comes in several versions, including the two we have:  SingStar Pop and, my favorite,  SingStar 80's.  I started the game and then had to run downstairs to work on my favorite hobby [laundry].  I couldn't hear them very well from the basement, but as soon as I opened the door to the upstairs, I realized they were practically screaming into the microphones.  There's nothing quite so sweet as the sound of children's voices screaching out the words to Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It!"  If listening to them belt it out along with the background vocals wasn't painful enough, the developers were kind enough to include a playback feature.  My daughter is a pretty decent singer, but when she gets with her friends, they never score better than "amateur".  Imagine some of the worst American Idol candidates belting out their own renditions of pop songs at full volume and you'll be able to appreciate what I've subjected myself to.  But hey, it's all in the name of fun.  I think I'll encourage them to go back to the running, chasing, giggling, and tickling game.  It's sure to be quieter!

I have spent the entire morning recovering from the weekend.  I think I left a body print on the sofa from laying there so long!  I considered going to church, but it's been snowing since yesterday morning.  Not a lot of accumulation, but it's still cold and white and not very inviting.

Mystery Man and I started preparations on Tuesday morning with a trip to the grocery store.  I was feeling a little bit nervous for having waited so long to get the turkey - what if they didn't have any fresh ones left?  A frozen one would NEVER thaw in time to marinade overnight in bourbon.  Death row inmates get a final meal, so why shouldn't Tommy get a final drink (so what if he's dead)?  Nothing to fear, though.  They had everything we needed to put on a feast of kingly proportions.  We squabbled over the size of the bird - MM thought 14 lbs would be enough until I reminded him that my brother eats as though he's harboring an army of tapeworms.  Seriously, I've never seen anyone so skinny eat SO much - not even in the world championship hot dog eating contests.  We settled on a 19lb bird and then proceeded to shop til we dropped for all of the peripheral fixins.  We were only planning on feeding 8 people, but I'm admittedly lazy.  If I'm going to expend that much energy cooking, I want there to be leftovers!!

After consulting with Betty Crocker, we decided we needed to get up at 4am in order to make our 1pm deadline for eating.  Either Betty was tipping the bottle when she wrote the cookbook, or we miscalculated the math because it didn't take anywhere near 6 1/2 hours to cook.  Tommy spent the night soaking in a cooler of Wild Turkey (or the cheapest possible equivalent - nothing but the best for our dead bird) & brine.  When we opened it up the next morning, he smelled like I imagine a sailor would after a night of partying with Pirate Girl.  After our eyes stopped watering, he was rinsed, stuffed, basted, and tucked in for his dry sauna treatment at the detox center.  Thankfully, I have little to say about the rest of the dinner preparations because Mystery Man took care of most of it, leaving me free to scour the house and set the table.  The kids have begun affectionately referring to the holiday dishes as the "crappy dishes" because they're only allowed to use the "fine Chinet" for everyday eating.

The table & house looked phenomenal, the feast was magnificent, and we had great company to share the holiday with.  The kids behaved well and seemed to really enjoy having company and eating til they popped.  I forced them to help bake pies on Wednesday, which they complained incessantly about, but they were just as proud as I imagined when the pies were revealed and they could brag about their efforts.  Hey, I'll take what satisfaction I can get these days.  Two teenagers in the house and a 6-yr-old who's trying desperately to catch up while maintaining her role as the baby of the family.  It's a whirlwind!

After dinner, the rest of the day was quite relaxing - exactly what we needed in order to get ready for Black Friday.  My favorite day of the year, except for Christmas.  The only thing I hate about the whole thing is the amount of time I have to wait between when the gifts are purchased and when I can see the reactions of the recipients.  I won't have my kids for Christmas this year - first time ever.  It's been hard to come to grips with.  I was going to wait and do Christmas with them at New Years, but my neice won't be back from visiting her mom, so we made an executive decision to celebrate the weekend before Christmas.  After some soul-searching, I've made peace with it - mostly because it means I can hand out the gifts sooner. The only one who's worse than me at keeping the presents a secret is Mystery Man.  He sucks at that!  He's already tried to tell me.  Where's the fun in that?  It's much more exciting to get up late at night and ever-so-carefully peel back the tape a millimeter at a time until you can slide the packages out of the wrapping.  Of course the challenging part is getting them back in without tearing the paper.  He'll learn!!

On a side note, I checked my mailbox on Saturday and was THRILLED to find the official copy of my Nursing license in it!!!