Send chocolate and wine. ASAP.

CRASH!

Yet again, things in my life come to a crushing low, every 4.1 weeks. Lovely.

And yet again, the nature of this blog is such that I don't feel comfortable posting my internal struggles and issues.

Instead, I sit here, letting Corinne comb my hair. I watch the clock tick ever closer to 8 pm when I can officially send them upstairs towards the bedtime countdown. My greatest wish is that I hadn't finished the box of chocolates that my sister and brother in law brought from Vegas. Yes. In 2 days' time, I have eaten an entire box of fancy chocolates. And am moaning for more. That and wine.

Lots of wine....

If you want to make me feel better, enter my giveaway below. Which I am too grumpy to properly link to at this moment. Because I am a big, fat baby and I NEED CHOCOLATE AND WINE.

Rawr.

The things I do

WARNING:

Any mother-in-laws, Aunt-in-laws, Brother-in-laws, or children who have grown up and are now reading their mother's blog to find out why they're in therapy TAKE HEED. You have been duly warned to halt reading any further if the thought of me as anything other than "Madonna-like" (and I'm not talking about the Material Girl) makes you writhe in discomfort.

You. Have. Been. Warned.

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Holy hell. Ever have a brilliant idea that goes a little, um, wrong?

Ok, here's the deal. I don't write about my sex life on this site. I just don't. That's just a little too "open-diary" for me. (Though I adore reading about YOUR sex life! Please! Continue. It's a riot and very interesting. Wink wink.)

ANYway! This isn't about "sex", persay. This brilliant idea was more along the lines of thoughts leading up to the Grand Finale. This BRILLIANT idea included me stumbling upon a red lacy thong in my underwear drawer and thinking "Hey. Haven't worn you in a while. Let's give her a go!" I then remembered that it had been a while since I had, um... (Hey, brother-in-law Mike? Stop reading now, ok? REALLY. ) trimmed it up downstairs, you know? So I marched myself into the bathroom with the only pair of scissors I could find - scrapbooking scissors! I am nothing if not creative.

Snippety, snippety, snip. I was so proud of myself! Making myself more attractive and working towards a healthier sex life. AWESOME! I had great plans of finishing the trim up with a razor and scented lotion, hoping for a certain someone to notice my efforts when OW! Owie! Ouch! Oh my GOD! Holy SHIT like a BITCH!

Never, never, never NEEEEVVVVER trim your hoo-ha without slow and precise movements. Because keeping the pressure on a cut down there while silently crying in your kids' bathroom may SOUND like a fun way to spend a night alone, but I'm telling you: It's not all it's cracked up to be.

(Once the blood stopped, I soldiered on with the razor. And I am currently WEARING THE THONG, damnit. But it appears that all of my pain and bravery were for naught as it is 1:45 on a Monday morning and I am alone and typing about the cut to my privates instead of basking in an after-sex glow.)

Seeing Sunshine!

I am so excited! I get to surprise Corinne with a girls' only day to see Gustafer Yellowgold at Schuba's in Chicago!! Eeeee!!

What? Don't know Gustafer? Dude. Don't you remember my post from April?!? Haven't you all memorized my ENTIRE BLOG yet?!? I thought I had sufficiently obsessed readers!

Whatever.

Just in case you don't know the music I am referring to, I give you this:


Weird but cool, right?

The best part is that Corinne and I actually both really like this music.

I. Am. Stoked.

The couple behind the music, Morgan Taylor and Rachel Loshak have offered a little gift for one reader. A plush Gustafer doll and a t-shirt from their site. :) I recommend you check out their music and, if you're in the Chicagoland area on Sunday, October 11, come out to Schuba's Tavern at 3159 North Southport. Let me know and I'll look for you. I'll be there with my own little rocker!

Leave a comment below and I'll pick a winner for the doll and shirt on Monday, October 5.

1 Month and 1 Day

She stumbled into my office and crawled into my lap. Her face flushed and warm, her eyes droopy and sad.

My baby is catching a cold.

:(

I let her snuggle on my lap while I attempted to beat my Facebook friends on Bejeweled Blitz until the drool on my shoulder made me realize that she had passed out in the middle of the day. Poor baby! I hefted her to my shoulder, her legs dangling to my knees, and slowly made my way to the couch where I paused for a moment; I could put her down. I could put her down on the couch and let her nap while I continued to crush people I rarely see on a silly game. Or I could keep her in my arms while she sleeps. We could relax on the couch in the afternoon, just the two of us...

How can I resist that option?

So I lowered myself down, kicked back the footrest, and held my sleeping 3 year old. And as I thought about the fact that I was holding a napping 3 year old, I realized that this will be the LAST TIME I ever do this. Unless her cold lasts longer than I think, or I have a surprise baby (HAHAHAHAHA), this will be the final afternoon cuddle with a sleeping toddler. For in just 1 month and 1 day, my BABY turns 4.

FOUR.

Oh, my heart! It's the first year of being a "big kid." A 3 year old still holds some semblance to the baby that they once were. A 3 year still retains the ability to be called a "toddler", though my daughter hasn't toddled since she was 10 months old. Always running, climbing and dancing, she has seemed older than her age from the start. But to have the number 3 permanently disappear from my family line-up feels... weird. Unsettling. I mean, I have been a mommy to a 3 and under child for a decade. 10 years, 8 months, to be exact. For 128 months I have held the title of "Mommy to a baby/toddler." But in exactly 1 month and 1 day? That title will be stripped from me...

What a big to-do, eh? Moaning and groaning over a number? But this IS a change for me. Being a mother is the defining aspect of my adulthood. Being a mother to only Older Children is a new direction that I hadn't planned on taking. I mean, seriously? Does any mom to a couple of babies or toddlers honestly believe that she will one day be that seasoned mom of Big Kids? It sounds like a foreign country! How could MY babies grow into creatures like those I've seen in other families??

But, grow they do. And I am fortunate to have this blessing of being a mommy to Big Kids. Not all moms of babies and toddlers get to reach this stage, a tragedy that I am extremely aware of. But it doesn't make me miss my snuggly babies any less...

So I held her. We snuggled. I stroked her damp hair off of her almost-4-year-old-head and cradled her like the baby she once was. I got weepy as I remembered the countless hours and hours spent rocking her, and Evan, and Justin in the glider that now sits in my family room as a gamer chair. My throat clenched up while I attempted, once again, to hold onto this moment. To make it last. To freeze this snippet of life; not only in my heart, but in sentences and paragraphs.

This? Is impossible. Even now, less than an hour after we awakened (I fell asleep for a bit, too!) from our nap, the memory has faded. Always slipping away, my memories are like cups full of sand, being poured into the giant sand box that is my mind. I can only truly experience them once. One time, and then they are blended with the rest of my memories. Meshed and mixed and unclear. Shifting and sifting and moving together... Corinne as a newborn... Corinne as a one year old... Corinne in the glider... Corinne on the couch... Corinne on her bike... Corinne driving a car... Corinne getting married...

My heart can't take this. I swear it will burst....

Did you Know? Did you? Well? DID YOU?!?

Did you know that a 10 year old boy can ask approximately 189 questions in a ten minute drive? Did you know that? Did you also know that a ten year old boy knows all of the levels for every song in guitar hero (and there's more than "ONE" Guitar Hero!) and is eager to share them with you on said ten minute drive? Did you also know that if you don't express enough interest in each song's level, he will repeat it so that you don't miss a Single. Detail? Did you know that the endless questions of a 4 year old don't "go away" when they grow older; they just get more complicated and open-ended???

I Did Not Know This.

Yet another significant detail that was left out of that Mommy 101 handbook I never got.

ENDLESS folks. ENDLESS QUESTIONS. And details. ENDLESS DETAILS.

I? Am wearily wishing for a glass of wine.

Ending one and beginning another.

Dude. What a long, long looooong, FREAKING LONG week that was.

OVER. It's over and I'm moving on.

I was looking around my house and realizing that I have some serious cleaning to do if I am to make sure my nephew survives his sleepover this weekend. My sister and brother-in-law are having a weekend away and we're taking the kids 2 of the nights. But my nephew is under 2 and my house? Is no longer toddler safe! Crap! Legos everywhere, open staircases, and lots of fun stuff to pull off of shelves. He should have a blast. I may have a coronary...

Good thing he's so damn cute.

Corinne and my niece will entertain themselves (without a single fight! Because they LOVE each other!) while I chase my nephew and hope that the boys just do their work without much instruction. We'll see how this pans out!

Did I mention it was a long week? Yeah. That's putting it mildly. At least the basement didn't flood and no one got sick and I didn't paralyze my arm and the toilet didn't overflow. Maybe we're breaking the curse of bad luck whenever he's out of town??

Crossing my fingers but not holding my breath.

Sunday Giggle

In honor of our 12 year anniversary, here is a love song for everyone this beautiful Sunday morning...



You can't watch it without smiling and falling a little bit in love, can you?

The Finish Line of a Loooooong week.

Crap. What does a SAHM who homeschools 3 kids while her husband is fishing in Canada for a week do when she looks around her house and realizes that the floor isn't just a touch dirty, it's all-out crunchy-filthy? And that the laundry on the floor is the same laundry from when her husband left the week before? Even though she has a legitimate excuse of, well, TEACHING her kids for 5 days, hosting a sleepover, attending 2 scout meetings, and managing to keep said offspring alive and moderately well-cared for EVEN THOUGH her neck still hurts like a bitch?

She sighs. And washes the dishes. And shoves the laundry into the drawers. And gives up and does an art project with her daughter.

Priorities, right?

Pat should be home late tonight. I will be waiting for him on the front porch, car keys in my hand so that I may drive off, laughing maniacally at the idea of Peace and Quiet.

In Which My Naive Heart Meets Reality

Ever have someone that you just click with? No matter how long the time between talking or seeing each other, you just seem to understand the other's silences and thoughts, their sense of humor and views on life. When I reconnected with a dear person recently, we were both shocked at how much we missed each other, and amazed at how we had managed to live 15 years of our lives without being friends.

What shocked me initially though, was that this kind person was nervous to meet with me. My friend feared that I wouldn't react well to the changes that life had brought to the surface. That I would, in fact, be uncomfortable or reject the possibility of friendship with someone who has finally begun to accept the reality that she is a She, despite what her birth certificate displays.

Am I really that unusual in my ability to accept this change so freely? Is someone being transgender truly something that affects others in such a profoundly vile way? Am I that incredibly naive to assume that the world would OF COURSE see the lovely person inside, without worrying about the external differences?

I've tried to wrap my mind around it, but my heart keeps getting in the way. For all I saw when I gave her a hug, was someone with a generous heart and soul, who wouldn't hurt a fly (or mouse). All I saw was the same sweet person from my youth. True, we've both gotten a little older, and compared a couple of gray hairs (grrrrrr) but the core of who we are is the same. The decision to finally "get busy living" and embrace her true nature hasn't changed the person that is inside.

But I heard the fear of being rejected or treated horribly in her voice. I know that the expectation of being hurt or pushed aside was already thought out in her head before we said hello. For the daily life of someone who is transgender is something I can only imagine...

This gentle soul has to hide her true identity at work. In this economy, none of us want to take a chance at losing our jobs, and the reality is that coming out at work regarding one's gender identity or sexual orientation is still dangerous. Most states don't have any protection for LGBT rights. Though Illinois has some, they are not all-inclusive or equal with those who are born into the gender they identify with or those who have a different sexual orientation. There exists the very real possibility that she could be fired without reason, simply because of who she is. And that? That. Makes. Me. Ill.

We need to wake up. We need to protect EVERYONE. Minorities aren't just ethnicities, religions or those with different physical or mental abilities. Every single person on this planet has something that makes them unique. Some trait, belief, or difference that sets them apart from others. What is YOUR unique difference? How would you feel if that very special trait made you fearful of hate crimes or of losing the right to live a happy, peaceful life?

I know I'm naive, now. I know that I am a little unusual in that I DON'T CARE who makes your heart beat faster or how you want to dress. I want only for each person on Earth to experience happiness, joy and acceptance. It is not up to anyone else to determine how you are "supposed" to feel happy.

Owie owie ow ow!

In. serious. pain. I cannot achieve my Wolf badge, apparently since I pulled my neck and shoulder muscle doing a backwards roll. I can feel the pain travelling down through my arm to my fingers.

This. Sucks.

it's one thing to hurt yourself. It's quite another to hurt yourself as you show a 7 year old how to do a "simple back roll! Come on! We can ALL do it!" on the grass and then have to refrain from some SERIOUS Curse words when you strain a muscle that objects to being used after 15 years of rest.

The best part? Besides the fact that Patrick isn't in town (OF COURSE NOT) to help me rub it out? The best part is that I rarely take medication, so when I actually NEED drugs to cut the pain? I have to make do with Vick's Vapo Rub, Nyquil and a hot towel. (Which, without the searing pain and someone to share it with sounds like everything one would need for a Fun! Night! In!)

Shoot me. Shoot me with something stronger than NyQuil so that I can pass out and let my body truly relax. Like Vicodin. Or Ouzo. I'd even take a great big shot of nitrous just to Make. This. Stop. Hurting.

15 years is a long time to wait for a hug...

Some people are meant to be a part of each other's lives. I know this fact to be true as I have experienced the connections and coincidences throughout my 33 years on this Earth. Certain souls on this planet are DESTINED to be enmeshed within my life.

A pre-destined friend re-entered my life today. (Thank you, Facebook). A friend I thought I had lost forever. A friend I didn't know how much I missed until I held her hand while we cried over lost times, friends who have passed, and with happiness at being together again.

I am so, so grateful to have her in my life again. And I am so proud to call her my heart-friend.

Gone fishing, Eh?

A week of no husband... Sigh. He's with his dad for the week which is loads of fun for him. For the rest of us? Not so much. It could be worse. So, so much worse. He could be gone for longer or not coming back...

But still? Still it kind of stinks to be without him for so long.

And so I begin this strange, brief journey through single parenthood. I've done it before and it's always an adjustment to the psyche. In every shred of my life, no matter how little Patrick is physically available, he is present. But when he's in a cabin in remote Canada, with no cell coverage? Then I am on my own.

Sigh.... At least there'll be lots of fish to eat when he returns. Until then, I'll follow the fortunes in my Dove mini chocolate caramel:

"In chaos there lies opportunity"

"Believe the best in yourself."

"Let chocolate warm your soul." (ABSOLUTELY. No problem.)

"Be a good listener to your friends."

"Remember your first best friend."

"The most enjoyable experiences are often free."

What? So I've had a bunch of chocolates on a lonely Saturday night. What of it?

My Door's Alway's Open

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on September 10, 2009

My Door's Always Open

The conversation was going well. I was connecting with a woman I hadn't seen in months and remembering why I had liked her before.

"How are things?" she asks.

I hem and haw around the financial issues we're going through. It's not something everyone wants to hear about and it's not something I want to talk in great detail about. (Writing it for the world? That's ok. Talking with a real person in front of me? Too personal. We bloggers are a strange breed, aren't we?)

"But how are you and your husband holding up through it all? It's generally a tough time for couples..."

I reassure her that we are doing well. I know that things could be better, but one constant in my life is the love that we have for each other and our commitment to making it through anything. I return the question to her and am surprised by the answer...

"I'm thinking of leaving him. Things aren't good. Not good at all..."

The specifics aren't mine to spill. Her story is unique to her and yet similar to so many women's lives. Tied to a man that may not be good for her anymore; she has 2 children and their future to consider.

Tears in our eyes, I listen. I hold her hand, this woman I was hoping to befriend. Now I am hoping that she believes me when I said, as I passed her my phone number,

"Call me. Any time you need me. Any time you need somewhere to go. Call me."

I have no judgment. I'll offer no advice. All I can provide are open arms and a genuinely concerned ear to listen. I pray that all women with secrets they cannot tell have someone to call. Somewhere to go...

Whew! Sorry, but I've been so busy!

I know, I know. I hate that old line, too. But it's true in my case. I'm not just making it up to hold the hundreds (ok, ONE) of daily stalkerish emails I get asking "Where are you? Are you okaaaaay??"

I'm here. I'm ok! Rest your souls, I'm still alive.

Alive and IN LOVE with Wednesday nights!! The drama club geek in me is So! Ecstatic! at the Wednesday night line-up on Fox. First, the next season of So You Think You Can Dance. (I love that this season was up and running before last season's winner had even completed her final winning spin.) Then, before your butt gets a chance to vacate the couch, Glee flickers onto the screen, bringing the singing along with the dancing!! For a lover of all musical films and productions, I am In. Heaven. This show is brilliant! Now I need you all to go set your dvr's to record it and fall in love with it, too, because I am NOT having another favorite show dying off the way that The 4400 and Pushing Daisies did. That Will. NOT. Happen.

I'll wait while you set your tv...

Moving along.

(Dude. I totally know that you didn't set it. Could you please, please, PLEASE go and do this one teensy thing for me?!? COME ON.)

~~~

This next section is bad. This is reallllly bad...

Patrick has claimed that Corinne is officially his favorite child; between the fact that she is our only child to love White Castle like Daddy does (gag!) and that this music is (apparently) her favorite band, she has sealed a spot in her father's heart For. Ever.

Is it wrong to let her listen to this if she doesn't understand the lyrics? (I swear, we cough over the obviously inappropriate words...)

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Don't google the lyrics if you don't know Tool's songs. Trust me on this. You'll only sully your opinion of me as a mom...

~~~

Kinda bummed that we can't attend the Disney on Ice show that is in Chicago this week. I was contacted just a touch too late to arrange the parking fee and person to attend with us. But you all can benefit from this code for a discounted rate. You can get a 4-pack of tickets for only $44 if you log onto www.ticketmaster.com and use the code MOM. I sure hope some of you get to go because my family has ALWAYS loved the Disney on Ice shows. Maybe we'll get there the next time they come to town...

~~~

My homeschool blog will tell you more about our educational adventures and I have a new item up for a giveaway on my review blog, so please be a dear, and head on over?

Thanks bunches, you're a real sweetie, muwah.

p.s. Isn't that date just neato? 09/09/09... I wonder how many women asked to be induced or to have cesareans today?

Scissorhands

The scissors are a fascinating toy to Corinne. She has been snipping fringes and shapes since she was 18 months and her dexterity has always amazed me. (Are you tired of hearing how incredible my daughter is? Because if so, you'd best look away, beeyatch! She's AWE.Some. And I intend to brag on my blog, once again.)

Well, maybe not "brag." Because the fact that she CUT HER HAIR when I was reading a children's novel, er... I mean, Teaching my other kids, isn't really something to boast about.

The fact that her hair now frames her face in a lovely cascade? IS.

So, my quandry is this: If I yelled at her (and made her cry. I am such a meanie) about cutting her hair, but now it really frames her face well and looks beautiful, how do I maintain its shape without letting her know about it?


Edited to add:

MAN you guys are pushy!! Here's a picture. Geesh.

Notice the left side of the picture, her hair looks layered as if it's on purpose?

Told you it was hard to notice! But it's layered, now. And it looks deliberate! Thank God. I have seen some of the self -haircuts 3 year olds have done. Her hair has grown so slowly, that I shudder to think of how long she would have had to live with short spikes on top, had she cut to the scalp!

Not quite the tango.

This is a dance I know all too well. No instructions required.

Though my movements appear random, each stumble and yawn feels carefully choreographed. I've danced this song before.

Ah, insomnia; the constant rhythm to my world. Like an addict and her vice, I can never stray too far from your painful hold. But to close my eyes brings no relief. The darkness of my eyelids simply awakens the self-inflicted demons that feed on my half-rested mind.

Like my children in the night, as they search for the safety of my arms, I'll pursue the search for relief; a safety blanket for my adult soul...

Slow, slow. Quick. Quick...

Fine.

As if I don't have enough bills towering over my computer, I was bestowed with the honor of not one but TWO violations on my van today!!

Happy! Joy!

For what it's worth, in all of my years of driving in the good state of Illinois, I never knew that parking on the side of the road, facing the "wrong" way, was illegal.

Surprise! Because it IS! And it's a $10 fine.

Seriously?!?

Seriously. A $10 fine. Which is actually a big deal for us right now, so it's not even as amusing as it would have been a couple of years ago. It might have been funny in another 12 months, when we're in a much better spot than we're at right now. (I KNOW WE'LL BE BETTER. If I say it loud enough and often enough, it will come true.)

So FINE. A fine.

And that is how my pretty decent Thursday went sour.

Silver lining: At least they didn't tow me. Right?

To Enjoy It

What have I been doing?

Rolling right along, living life. Wondering about the meaning of it all, and knowing there isn't any answer other than "to enjoy it." Trying to follow that mantra...

Yesterday at the park, watching the kids run and play with other homeschooled children... 1 in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the sun is shining and the rest of my loved ones are inside buildings and offices.

How long will this stage of my life last? When will I again find myself immersed in schedules and paperwork, tedious chores and duties that don't include marching across a field to the creek to search for frogs (we found 1. A Big FAT frog, covered in mud, despite the claims from Evan that is was frog poop)? How many days will I honestly be able to say that I lived without using a clock or watch? NOT ONCE did the numbers that mark the sun's position matter in our week. You're hungry? Eat. You're tired? Sleep. Your schoolwork's done? Play.

So blessed to know this freedom of routine. So blessed to explain The Cold War over pancakes and multiplication until it's understood.

Enjoy this, enjoy this, enjoy this.

Soon this shall pass. Soon they will grow and change and leave. ALL too soon this stage of my life will be only a memory on a blog, long forgotten and difficult to remember... Like the baby pictures of my now-gangly school-children, whose days of infancy are like a blurry dream; some other Tracey. Some other child.

I want to remember the wistful tears in my coffee this morning. The tangles in Justin's hair, the glue and glitter on the kitchen table, and the way Evan's tooth is dangling on its last threads. I want to remember it all, without the dreamlike quality that the passing years inevitably color our memories with...