Spring is finally HERE

There is something awesome about having kids that are old enough to run in and out of the house, shouting out "I'll be at my friend's house!" before they slam the door. Granted, this age also means that there are usually just as many extra kids inside MY house as ones I have birthed, but I'm ok with that. The noise volume is definitely cranked up when that happens, but it's a price I'm happy to pay for the hours of absolute SILENCE when they're all outside.

Naturally, as soon as I sat down to type this, my 3 plus 2 spares came in from the beautiful outdoors to muck up the house. Sigh... I totally jinxed myself, didn't I?

That said, it is GORGEOUS outside! About 55 and sunny, sunny, sunny! We have so many outside plans for the upcoming weeks and I cannot WAIT to get rid of this winter pallor that March always bestows upon my face. Yikes. I am pale and look just... unhealthy. Gimme some Vitamin D!

I haven't felt the writing bug lately. I mean, I've written, but it's just not... good. It's not. I hesitate to proclaim that I am on a "bloggy break" because I'm NOT but I am definitely on a "blog staycation." Meaning I'm here, but not at work. Yeah, A Blog Staycation. Present but not performing. I wonder; if I had a laptop that I could bring out into the sunshine, would I want to write more and write with FEELING? Eh. I am kind of blah about that, one way or the other.

Lunch anyone? Part 2

It's time for another Blogger lunch date! We had such a great time at Panera last time that I'd like to get together again on April 16. It's an open invite for anyone in the Chicagoland area. Let me know if you want to go and I'll give the specific details. So, if you want to meet ME (I'm honored) or any other Chicago bloggers, this is a perfect opportunity to get together, connect, and not have any huge expense involved.

Hope to have another interesting turnout!

EDITED TO CHANGE LOCATION!! We'll be at Limestone Brewery in Plainfield, not Panera! Let me know if you need more information!

T.

This is EXACTLY what I needed on this dreary day...

If this doesn't make your day happy and sunny then you are obviously a mutant-robot-zombie and need to be eliminated:



My day has just started with a rainbow and a snorting laugh. Peace out.

Big Kids, Big Problems

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"What are you doing today?"

"Nothing."

"Who do you want to invite over?"

"No one."

"Is anything wrong?"

"No."

"Are you upset? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything."

Dull, bored stare.

"I'm. Fine. Nothing's wrong."

Concerned, I nibble my lip and shuffle my feet. This pre-teen stuff? It's serious. This is not for the weak-hearted. It is fraught with silence and sighs, groans and indignant stares. Bursts of happiness are interspersed with the angst we assume is reserved for 15 year olds who slather on black eyeliner and call their parents by their first names.

I cannot resist and continue to pester him. Picking away like a nervous chicken, I stare at my eldest child as he lies motionless on the couch, staring at the floor.

"Well, what are you thinking about?"

Huffy sigh.

"I am just... here. I'm not thinking. I don't know what to do or have anything to say."

I stroke his cheek and kiss his crazy curls.

"I love you!!"

"I know."

"Just please... tell me if you need to talk, ok?"

Sigh...

"I will."

~~

It really takes all my effort to just leave him be. To allow him to consider and mull within his mind. As mothers, we want to help. We held their hands for their first steps and caught them when they fell off of their bikes. We remember how difficult the teen years are and we want to shower our wisdom and experiences upon them, easing the transition from child to teenager to adult.

And even though I know, I KNOW, that this is a natural and necessary stage in each person's development, I continue to wring my hands and bite my lip and worry, worry, worry that I might not be cut out to forge these waters. That I will royally screw him up by not being accessible enough; by being TOO accessible; by not asking enough questions; by asking TOO many questions; by not being able to BE what he requires to safely navigate through these next few years.Being 12 sucked pretty bad the first time.

Raising a 12 year old is even harder.

Even in my dreams, I am Pop Culture Ignorant

Warning: Rambling dream sequence without any editing because mah feet are COLD (it might snow? Sniff. Sniff.) and I need more coffee and I want to finish my sappy romance novel before the hellions that are the beloved fruit of my loins awaken.

~

I dreamt that I was at a Marriott's hotel with a 5 bedroom suite (when I dream, I dream big) when I received an angry intercom message (??? 1973 technology???) from a woman named Ms. Lowhahn. She was pissed about all of the puking she could hear through the walls and continued to rant and rave and scream that I needed to have some respect for her beauty sleep.

After deducing that no one in my group was vomiting, I headed down to the lobby with the faxed copy of our conversation (try and explain THAT one). The desk clerk told me not to worry, because that was an old customer who had been banned from Marriott hotels due to destruction of property and drunken/disorderly conduct. Apparently, she liked to call the guests and mess with their heads but it was ok because she wasn't allowed past the front door. To this I started shaking and the room kind of "boomed" as I said "but she was on the INTERCOM! Inside the hotel!" Dun Dun DUUUHHHNN!!!

The best part of it all is that I didn't realize until I WOKE UP that the "Ms. LowHahn" that I was dreaming of was actually "Lindsay Lohan." What the hell? Even within my own dreams I cannot relate to pop culture references? My sub-conscious is just as out of the loop as I am.

If World Leaders Listened to their Mothers...

Tolerance = not speaking aloud all of the negative thoughts you are harboring about the person you don't accept. It means believing that you are better than someone else based upon their abilities, social standing or choices, but "enduring" it so that you are socially and politically correct.

Acceptance = genuinely believing that we all have a right to our life styles, religions or beliefs, and careers or lack thereof. It means that you don't see someone's physical/emotional/mental differences as something to be reckoned or "dealt with" because we are ALL different!

Thank God for that.

I'm not perfect, but I would sure love to witness more Acceptance of our Fellow Man in the world instead of simply Tolerance. I can "tolerate" an argument between my children, but I don't "accept" it.

I can "tolerate" a LOT of situations that I will never "accept".

One thing I will never tolerate OR accept will be ignorance of the rights of human beings. Every mother, everywhere has always said:

"Treat others as you'd like to be treated."

Honestly, if mothers were to be truly in charge of the world, the leaders would never reach a situation where they had weapons to play around with. After arguing and yelling and throwing their 'toys' about, they'd be grounded, without privileges, until they figured out how to get along!

I am bone tired of witnessing the pent-up anger of the world. I am fed UP with the whiny, over-privileged People of Luck who cannot empathize with the plight of their fellow man. I want nothing more than to send the leaders who demean and degrade their citizens straight to their rooms for a lengthy time-out. If you can't handle the responsibility that you asked for, then you can't get your allowance!

Honestly.

Like, fer sherr!

Thank you to everyone for their assistance in my quest for the perfect 80's ensemble. A trip to the thrift store and my basement provided me with the loveliness you see below. My hair is still recovering from the teasing (nyah nyah nyah!), mousse and spray.
Purple Passion and Hubba Bubba!! Our host was a man who listened closely to requests and provided me with my fondest memories of the 80's. (FYI: Purple Passion kinda sucks. I had forgotten that we drank it because it's all we could afford, not because it was delicious...)
My Valley Girl response to everything: Like, TOtalleeee!!
I actually like the earrings and am considering wearing them more often. Patrick DID have fun, despite his expression. This is the "I'm eating guacamole and you're taking my picture? Don't put this on the internet, Trace," look.
Pop Rocks! Fizzle Fizzle Pop!
Leather pants and a cell phone. My man knows how to rock the 80's! Rawr.
Ponytails are fun to swing in circles when you're drunk at a party but come morning, your neck will remind you of the number on your driver's license. Yeowch.

There actually WERE lots of people there despite the pictures. I'm just awesome at this photo editing thingy. ;)

I think the next party should be a 90's party! I am pretty sure that I still have my overalls*, a few flannel shirts, and a peasant skirt or two in the basement.

*Who am I kidding? The overalls are in my closet. JUST IN CASE. You never know when one might need a pair of 20 year old overalls...

How to Help

We all struggle to know what to do, who to donate to, and how to help out when horrible situations present themselves around the world. Japan, Libya, Afghanistan... There is so much need! Our children may feel globally disconnected and unable to help at all. They are, after all, just children.

I hope you've heard about Freerice.com before. It's an educational online game that donates ten grains of rice for every correct answer you give in subjects like vocabulary, multiplication, famous paintings, and geography. But did you know that they provide enough food for 4 million people to eat in one day based upon donations from the game?

4 MILLION people.

Think about that.

Freerice.com supports the WFP, the World Food Programme, to feed and support those who are affected by social, economic, and environmental crises.

I personally utilize Freerice as part of my homeschooling day. Earning 500 grains of rice means answering 50 questions correctly. It's a short quiz that takes 10 minutes and allows my kids to contribute to the world, doing something they would have been doing anyway! Evan is renowned for "surprising" me with 1000 grains of rice instead. He'll deliberately do EXTRA MATH because he knows that his actions will directly affect the hunger of another human being!!

A program that educates on more than one level is something I stand firmly behind.

So go on! If you haven't done it today, go to Freerice and answer a few questions! Make it part of your daily routine. Invite your kids to earn rice alongside and see who can tally the most up in a week or a month. Empower your entire family in the fight against poverty and starvation.

5 minutes could save the life of a starving child, pregnant mother, or desperate father.

After all, you're already online!!


Here's a short video explaining exactly how the WFP works with people in need around the world:

Gonna Party Like It's 1985!

I need some fashion advice. We are attending an 80's Party this weekend and I don't have a thing to wear!

Crazy, right? After purging like the flu for the last year, I finally have a use for all of my outdated clothes and I'm running on empty in the wardrobe department.

That said, I was only in junior high in the 80's (Why Yes! I AM trying to make myself feel younger after some 20-something make-up chick randomly attacked my "laugh lines" with concealer! And NO, she didn't ask first! How did you know? And YES! I did tell her that I earned those lines and didn't have any problem with them until she pointed them out! And NO. I did NOT buy her product but I would greatly appreciate any uplifting remarks you've been holding out on if you've got them in your repertoire. Shit, you can lie. Lie to me. Tell me pretty, smooth-faced, false compliments). My memories of the 80's involve watching way too much Saved by the Bell, wishing for a bra and the goods to fill it, covertly changing my name to "Traci" so that I could dot the "I" with a heart, and wearing 2 or 3 pairs of scrunchy socks over my rolled-up, acid-washed jeans.

I've gone through my dresser and closet; thus far, my appearance on Saturday will entail a sideways ponytail with really Aqua-Netted, curly bangs, and a few bangly bracelets that I can steal from Corinne's dress-up box.

Help. Me.

Not a Post for My Father to Read...

I was at the Hollywood Palms Cinema in Naperville (which, if you’ve never been, I highly suggest visiting for your next movie outing. “Unique” doesn’t even BEGIN to describe how totally cool each theater is…) last week to see the movie Hall Pass. Now, I’m not here to critique the movie. It was funny and I enjoyed it and you probably will too. Or maybe not. I don’t know you very well; what type of humor do you find “funny?”

I AM here, however to make a comment on the recurring theme that presents itself in so many movies, books, tv shows and magazines regarding women and sex. The theme being, naturally, that we don’t like it. That we’d do just about anything, including pretending to be asleep, lying about chores to finish, and groaning when our significant other gives us the old wink and nudge at the end of the day. Finish Reading...

If I don't change it, is it really lying?

I wanted to write a comment on a BlogHer post but needed to log in and forgot my log in info. Soooooo, I did the whole rigamarole of asking for the password to be reset, yadda yadda yadda. Long story short (or IS it?), I reset the info and password and just happened to glance upon my "About me" info. When I read it, I nearly choked on my Aldi wine.

And I quote:

Chicagoland girl for my whole life, which just so happens to be 30 years. Wife, Mom of 3, like to rave over my children and laugh at myself. Pretty basic gal.

Did you catch it?

Did you?

"..30 years." As in, I was 30 when I wrote that. Is that possible? I looked again and, sure enough, 2007 was my sign up date.

2007.

I had to look at my archives to confirm this and choked on my wine again; I have been blogging since May of 2006.

2006!

Shouldn't I have a book or something by now? 5 years in the blog world equates to 36 years in the Real World. I am so old that I remember when some Really Big Bloggers were just wee sprouts, writing about their lives without hundreds (or thousands) of people hanging on their every word. And yet I still remain at approximately the same size I've always been. While that may be a good thing for my waistline, it doesn't make me feel extremely accomplished in the Blog Universe, you know what I mean?

Granted, I know why this is. I don't spend nearly enough time networking and responding on time isn't always my top priority. I write when I feel compelled, not when a calendar or deadline dictates and lately, my compulsion to write has been slightly lacking.

Still. 5 years and never a gigantic break.

Sigh....

Also, that whole "30 years old" thing kind of looped me over. I am turning 35 in less than a month. Closer to 40 than 30. Closer to 50 than 20. Closer to death than birth!

And so I pour another cheap glass of wine and ponder life and its meanings or lack thereof. I consider drunk tweeting and think that this is a brilliant way to commemorate such a revelation as today's. Or not. Drunk Tweeting is a double edged sword...

I shall consider it.

I'd really enjoy it in black and white, please...

I have vivid dreams.

Heh. That is such an understatement!! I don't really know how else to qualify their intensity but let's just say that I have woken up laughing, sobbing, furious, confused, and, um, ecstatic*.

So when I have a horrific dream like I did on Friday night, it really affects me. Friday night was... devastating. I have cried many times since then. I've drawn out the location of the dream because we are NEVER going there. I have attempted to explain it to my poor husband who got to experience the hysteria first hand as he was trying to go to work... I really don't want to get into details but just know that it incapacitated me, to say the least. I am still trying to clean up the house in its aftermath of neglect.

Needless to say, I would gladly trade these technicolor dreams for some blackness at night time. Just a few nights of my head hitting the pillow and then the sun waking me up 8 hours later. Nothing in between. Especially since even the lovely dreams can make me feel blue. I woke up this morning smiling with my hands over my stomach, waiting to feel the baby move again. I started to freak out at the large amount of wine I'd imbibed over the weekend to combat the evil images. And then... oh yeah. Not pregnant. DREAM-pregnant. Not real, Tracey.

Damn.

Not that I want to be pregnant! Just... well, it doesn't take long for women like me to latch onto the idea of another baby. We figure out the details of who's going to sleep where and names and finances and how will this fit into my schedules etc. etc. We make it work.

Instead, again, I feel like I've had a baby ripped from my womb.



*Yes. That means what you think it means. And yes, that is a small benefit...

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

No offense to my boys, but I sure do love being a mom to a little girl...
Is there anything cuter than a 5 year old who writes in her DIARY (no joke) about having a crush on Justin Bieber?
I am finally starting to see this "resemblance" that everyone raves about, which is an honor because my daughter is stunningly beautiful...

...and hysterical. What a room, eh? Embassy Suites, Downtown Chicago for our American Girl's weekend trip, courtesy of the Kenmore Live Studios and Embassy Suites. The room was A.Maz.Ing.
And the American Girl package was pretty darn sweet, too. Corinne's eyes nearly popped when she saw the sugary loot we were going to plow through on our Girls Only trip. We munched all night and even ate Snickers bars in bed while watching Tangled... I was greatly disappointed with her doll, though. She just passed out in her new doll bed. So we froze her underwear; It's the law of a slumber party.
You have no idea how many pictures I own of my children and I doing this very shot...
I hadn't even had a glass of wine. I let her slap that maroon paint on my fingernails without even flinching. I deserve a medal.
Not bad, though. Especially since she's only 5 and was giggling the entire time.
My fish.
Though the American Girl store is way overpriced, IMHO, the restaurant was well priced. The sweet service and extra touches covered up the somewhat mediocre food and outrageously expensive doll accessories. We couldn't get her doll's ears pierced with our free coupon because, well, her doll isn't a "real" American Girl. Ahem. She's FIVE. I am not buying a $120 doll for a 5 year old. She was cool with it, though.
The chocolate mousse fully made up for the lack of holes in her doll's head.
Yes. That is a tank top. In February. On the train with the guitar playing 20-somethings who kept talking about how "unique" and "creative" they were which is why they dropped out of college to pursue a Mushroom Jazz band (I am positive that I heard that incorrectly) and why it's ok that they're living in their parents' basements while they pick up some hours working in construction. I'll betcha their parents aren't quite so enthusiastic about it... ;)

If you can swing it, do it. A weekend away. A night at a hotel or a campground or someone's house who is out of town to have a sleepover with one child at a time, doing silly games and talking and spoiling him or her just a bit. They feel so special and you'll never forget it.

At last

Goodbye February! PLEASE let the door smack you on the way out!

Ahhh... March. I am crying figurative tears of joy at the beginning of a new month. February, though busy and fun, sucked monkey balls. I wasn't depressed or anxious or SAD this year, but it still affected me. The blah-ness. The ongoing depletion of Vitamin D and fresh air and colors besides gray and brown.

But March is here and with it the tiny little sprouts of green in the trees and bushes. The crocuses will soon angrily thrust their way through the frozen ground with a chlorophyllic middle finger to Winter. The air has begun to warm noticeably to the point that I wore a TANK TOP under my hoodie today. I mean, 43 DEGREES, y'all. That's practically sandal weather.

And so, to give Spring a brilliant Welcome, I do believe that my children and I shall hit Brookfield Zoo this week and enjoy the breaking of Winter's back.

Shit. The weather forecast calls for snow on Thursday... Bollocks.*


*In addition to making a more deliberate effort to "Be Funnier" I am also making a deliberate effort to swear with more creativity. Don't like it? I don't Bloody Care!