The Presidency, Explained

I picked Plato up from school yesterday, which he absolutely loves (so do I). He was bouncy and chatty, telling me all about his day. The highlight of his day was helping his class spell the word "VOTE" with red and blue plastic cups pushed through the holes of a chain-link fence separating their schoolyard from the street.

As we drove by and he proudly showed me his handiwork, he asked, "Mom, are you going to vote?" I told him that of course I would. He replied, "Who are you going to vote for?"

I explained that I hadn't quite decided yet, that I was still listening to the candidates talk and discuss important issues.

Plato informed me that if he were voting, he would vote for Obama. I asked him why. He rolled his eyes and said, "Moooommm! Don't ask me WHY!"

"Well, Plato, you don't just vote for someone because everyone you know is. You vote based on what you think of the candidates. Do you know who else is running besides Obama?" (I was figuring he just liked saying "Barack Obama." It does kind of roll off the tongue...)

"Uhm, John McCain?"

"Yes! Good job, Plato. You've been paying attention!" (as if he has any choice)

Plato thought a moment. ""Well... I would vote for Barack Obama because he talks smarter.

Aannnddd, he LOOKS smarter, too."

"Well. That's a MUCH better reason."

Plato is quiet, mulling something over. Finally he declares, "Mom? I would never want to be president."

"Really? Why not?"

"I think you have to take too many tests, and you probably get really tired."

I agreed, figuring he was talking about the rough campaign schedule and debates.

"Mom? When you run for president do you have to: (pumps arms wildly and pants) RUN for president?"

I stifle a guffaw. Barely. "No, honey, it's just a phrase. Everyone wants to get to the White House, so it's like a race, so they say you're RUNning for office. You don't actually have to run."

"Good, 'cause that didn't make any sense to me."

Reincarnation & Hamsters

Plato asked me last night, "Mom, when we die, do we like, shrink up and come out of another mommy again?"

I had to try hard to process this question, but I finally asked him, "Do you mean, when we die do our spirits come back as a baby so we can have a new life?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

Plato goes to a very culturally diverse school so it isn't surprising that some of his friends might have these beliefs.

"That's called 'reincarnation,' Plato, and some people think that's what happens when we die. I'm not really sure what happens - no one knows, so it might be possible."

Plato was quiet for a few moments, then declared, "Well, I hope that's not what happens. I don't want to have to get all those shots all over again!"

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Doing clean-up today:

Lulu: (holding up a pair of dirty socks) Mom? Where do I put deese?

Where do you think they go, Lulu?

Lulu: In da dirty hamp-ster?

Cringeworthy

There are a lot of things that make me cringe.

My 7-year old one-arming a half-full pot of coffee 'cause Dad talked him into getting him a refill (SOO not gonna happen again; I've BEEN in burn units...).

Singing the words to Nickelback's "Animals." Out loud. Even without the kids in the car!

Listening to my kids sing all the words to "Rock Star." (mom of the year, I tell ya!)

Stepping on the bathroom scale.

Being buzzed by one of our local nasty big-ass-wasps, the Cicada Killer:

**shiver** I know they're "docile," but still...

Anyway, in my frequent travels of late, I have encountered two separate cringeworthy moments that that are similar enough to be addressed in one category: the morbidly obese person trying to squeeze into a small seat.

Truthfully, I don't know what makes me cringe more, thinking about what must be going through the mind of the person trying to squeeze in, or trying to imagine what it must be like to have to tell this person to give it up.

I was on a flight recently where the woman who checked in at the ticket counter before me had requested an exit-row seat. I know her motivation: exit row seats often have more legroom. Unfortunately, they do not have anymore width. In a perfect world, the ticketing agent would have kindly had the woman review the specs of exit-row seat responsibilities, which specifically include that the exit-row passenger must not present an obstacle to the accessibility of the exit. This woman, at around 5'4" and 375#, clearly presented an obstacle. Yet I am sure that she was just thinking of her own comfort when requesting this seat assignment.

We boarded the flight, and the woman tried heroically to wedge herself into the seat AND fasten her seatbelt. The flight attendant came along and gave the customary "do you accept the responsibilities of the exit row assignment and are you willing to help others in case of emergency?" All replied in the affirmative.

Here, I am compelled to digress. Briefly. I sit in exit rows frequently. I answer "yes" to the above questions. I lie. If there is a need to actually use the exit rows, I will be plowing over everyone I can to save my own ass. 'Cause I don't like flying. And I especially don't like flying under dubious or dangerous conditions. Use of the emergency exit assumes that dubious or dangerous conditions have occurred or are imminent. 'Nuff said.

So anyhow, I overheard the flight attendants having a whisper-argument. The one who lost (presumably) approached the woman and tried to discreetly explain to her that she was, in fact, and obstacle, and would have to be reseated. The woman pried herself out of her seat and switched places with a thin passenger, and kept her dignity as best she could. Inside, I was cringing for her. And the flight attendant.

Similarly, I was recently at the local amusement park and watched a woman of comparable dimensions (as above) try to ride a rollercoaster with her daughter of about 8. Rollercoaster rides are simply not for large people, unless they are the type where you sit on a bicycle-type seat and are held in by an over-the-shoulder harness. Our local amusement park is not that fancy. We have traditional trains-on-tracks coasters, which require the riders to fit into seats that are made for non-childbearing hips. Men, kids, and skinny bitches.

Did I say that?

The point is, my hips squeeze uncomfortably into most of these rides. I am not fat. Maybe a little fluffy, and I have had two children, but seriously. These rides make me feel sort of like a foot in a shoe that could stand to be about half a size bigger. This poor woman was more comparable to a pair of DD's trying to fit into one of those cute C-cup bras.

Ya. So not gonna happen. I speak from firsthand experience.

Gotta give it to her, she was persistent. She was able to somehow feign that she had managed to maneuver more than one buttock into the space provided, but seatbelts and lap-bars don't lie. Or forgive. The ride attendant had to inform her that not only could she not ride, but that her child was too short to ride without an adult. The poor kid was taken out of the seat and placed in a car with a single adult rider (read: stranger). If it had been me as a kid, I would have freaked. This child looked irritated, yet strangely nonplussed. I suppose it wasn't the first time. Which is cringeworthy in and of itself.

At any rate, this is not an opinion piece. Please don't be offended. I see both sides, which is really why I cringe in the first place.

Brain-Bending Flick

Last night JeepMan and I took advantage of the kids being at MIL's for the weekend....Now, now, get your mind out of the gutter.

We rented actual grown-up movies and watched them without distraction or interruption.

The first one was SweenyTodd, staring the always-gorgeous Johnny Depp. Except, actually, he managed to be entirely non-gorgeous in this movie. The flick is pure Tim Burton, from the hollow-eyed characters (Depp and Helena Bonham Carter), to the smoggy setting, to the technicolor blood. I kept from JeepMan until the movie was actually in the DVD player the fact that this was a musical. He doesn't generally go for musicals. JM indulged me, however, and the movie was pretty good. I've never seen the stage version or read the book (is there a book?), so I had no idea what to expect. In the end I was left numb to the copious gore but satisfied wth the ending. Not a bad way to spend a couple hours with your hubs and no kidlets.

Then we decided to see the other I had picked out. Against my gut, I had chosen "Gone, Baby, Gone." Directed by Ben Affleck (or Matt Damon, I get them confused). I didn't know if I could handle it because it was about a kidnapping and had multiple twists. The film was engaging, and they didn't let us get to know the child too much before she was kidnapped...actually the bulk of the film revolved around her exceptionally dysfunctional family - crackhead mother, squalorous living conditions, etc. The film came to a sad conclusion, or so I thought. Then it kept going. Switched gears completely, which left me wondering what the point was of taking a hard left when the movie seemed to be essentially over. Turns out this veer uncovers a few twists to the original plot, and we are eventually back to almost where we left off.

SPOILER ALERT

So, the ending of the movie left me uneasy and conflicted. Essentially, the lead detective (engaged, no kids) uncovers a scheme that involves a crooked cop, the mother's brother, and the Chief of Police (Morgan Freeman), whose past includes the kidnapping and murder of his only daughter at the age of 12. The brother found out that his sister was a drug mule who had ended up with $130K after a police raid. The brother saw that he could expose his sister for the unfit mother she was, snag the money, and put the child into better hands all with a kidnapping scheme. The crooked cop saw an easy way to make money and do some good for humanity as well, and the Chief saw a way to rescue/raise a beautiful little girl, filling the void in the life of both he and his wife, and giving the child the kind of chance she would never get while in her mother's care.

We see the girl with her new "parents," she is clean, rosy-cheeked, well-dressed, and full of affection, kissing her "mother" and cuddling with her "father" on the porch rocker. She exudes a vivaciousness that we have not seen in any of the pictures her mother keeps. The chief's wife looks like any new mother, beaming at the child and lavishing her with attention. But somewhere across town lives the woman who carried and birthed this child, a mother who has already held a funeral for her and grieved as any mother, even a drug-addled derelict, would.

The detective has to make the decision on whether to do what he feels is morally "right," to return the child to her mother and expose the corruption in the police force, OR to do what his fiancee feels is ethically right, leaving the child with the doting, wealthy couple and just quietly walk away and leave well enough alone. What's more, his fiancee informs him that if he sends the girl back to her biological mother, she will leave him, as she feels that a moral/ethical rift of this magnitude is simply insurmountable.

What did he do? Ahhh, dear reader, I shall leave that for another post. You may actually want to see the movie and find out for yourself. The ending did not leave me easy. I am still thinking on it, unsure. If you can handle the intensity and unsavory subject matter, I would highly recommend this movie.

What I want to know now is, what would YOU do? And, what is RIGHT? (they may not be the same...)

Until next time...

Make-Up Sex

Got your attention, huh?

This is really more of a rant, but what follows may not be suitable for the easily offended, or my Mom.

Everyone else, read on. It's not that bad, really...

So my day was ... tarnished by a squabble between me and JeepMan. It was of the usual flavor: him overreacting to something really inconsequential, me reading probably waaay too much into his overreactiveness. The point is, we'll get over it and get on with our lives none the worse for wear as we always seem to do.

We don't live by the oft-advised: "Don't go to bed mad." Guaranteed that if we argue in the evening, we will go to bed mad. Then in the morning, we'll sort of mutually "forget" about it. Translate: neither of us wants to apologize, and neither of us has the desire to expend the energy that would be required to resume an argument that no one can (will) win.

Because let's face it, there usually isn't a winner in our arguments. He's too pigheaded to admit he's wrong, and I'm too pigheaded to admit he's right.

So we just get it out, get it over, and get along...

...every once in a while, though, he wants to get it on.

Yeah, I'm talking about "Make Up Sex." The much-glorified topic that I simply don't get. And by "get" I mean "understand." Actually, I think I DO understand it, but HE definitely doesn't. Because I can't be wrong about this. I just can't. Please tell me I'm not....

As JeepMan understands it, Make Up Sex is this: Sex. For the purpose of making up. So, we have the sex, and when we're done, we've made up. A means to an end.

Which is totally ass-backwards in my mind.

As I understand it, Make Up Sex is this: You make up. Then you have the sex. You have the sex because you've made up, and the making up makes you feel like you might actually want to have sex. It seals the deal, so to speak.

'Cause frankly, when we're arguing, that's the last thing on my mind.

In JeepManLand, the high emotions of the arguing should be getting us aroused somehow. Like the "pissed-off-ed-ness" can be somehow channeled into "take-me-now-this-very-second-ness." Wouldn't that be nice?... but I don't see it happening in MomInScrubsWorld. Ever.

Sucketh up to me, and thou shalt receiveth what thou seeketh. That, my dear husband, is Make Up Sex. At least in THIS marriage, baby.

Anyone else? Thoughts? Opinions? I'm dying to hear...

***Oh, and can anyone tell me how to do that fancy thing where you type a word than strike through it? I love that and can't figure it out!***

What is Hot? A Photo-Essay

What. Is. Hot?

A question with many answers, none of them wrong. One could say Hot is as Hot does. But not for everyone. Sometimes Hot is as Hot looks. Sometimes Hot is a total package. The bottom line is this: Hot is as Hot is perceived. By the Hot-ician.

Ok, I'm losing myself here. Focus, focus.

Inspired by a former post of SUV Mama's, I decided to compose a photo tribute to Hotness, from my own perspective, with commentary. Here goes:

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Hey, I like to look at a pretty face as much as the next gal...So right up there on my hotness list are two "givens:"

Johnny Depp - I believe this is circa "21 Jump Street" or a bit later, although it doesn't really matter what era you reference, this guy does it for me...and millions of women the world over. Heck, my 15 year old cousin has posters of him on her wall! A man whose hotness transcends age (and, I suspect, gender:)

And you can't say "hot" without good 'ol Brad Pitt. Pretty Boy Extraordinaire. I love him in Meet Joe Black - also love the movie although many don't think of the movie as one of his outstanding pics. Boyish, seemingly vulnerable, and assumably unaware of the magnitude of his sex appeal (though I secretly doubt this), he is the subject of many a woman's fantasy, I am sure.

We will now take a detour from mega-mass-marketed hotness.

For the transitional male hottie, I've chosen Michael Buble. He's got a kind of James Dean/Frank Sinatra thing going on. Again, boyish, but with a voice that's an audio orgasm. Have you heard this man sing? Dark chocolate for the ears....mmmmm.

On to even less....conventional...appeal. Here's a man that not everyone is familiar with. When I confessed to my husband that I find this guy attractive, he just gave me a blank stare. "Why?" he asked. "He's old, skinny, and smokes like a chimney!"

Hey, I didn't say I wanted to SLEEP with the guy. I just find him attractive! This, folks, is Anthony Bourdain. Star of the Travel Channel show, No Reservations. He's a former chef of some fancy restaurant turned-author turned-TV star.

What's sexy about him? He can cook. He can write. He has a wicked sarcastic wit and a sharp tongue. He's real - no BS. On top of it all, he's humble. Self-effacing even. Combine that with decent looks and for me, you have a cocktail for sexy.

You've heard the way to a woman's heart is through her brain? So true. How else can you explain all the stunning women out there running around with average or less-than-average looking men?

Which brings me to the final man on this post....A man who manages to combine many of the factors of the above men into one very nice package (pardon the euphemism). He's the star of the TV show Dirty Jobs on Discovery Channel. Here's Mike Rowe, folks:

Here's a man about as humble as they come, or at least he pulls off sincere humility better than Brad Pitt. He's got a rapier witt (or is that "rapist wit"? - Dumb and Dumber anyone?).

He's got a twisted and naughty sense of humor. He has a very manly physique, untainted by the oh-so-popular metrosexuality trend. His voice is like buttah. And he ain't afraid to get dirty. There's something very viscerally attractive to me about a man with all his qualities who manages to maintain that aura of genuineness and accessibility.

Sure, you could say it's probably all a facade. But I'm willing to buy what this guy is selling.

And tip generously.

This is not the end, folks. There is one more man on this list. He's the culmination of all these qualities bundled into one smokin'-hot package. Who can this man be, you may ask? You'll have to wait. This man deserves a whole post all to himself. Is it worth it? Oh, yeaah....

Any guesses in the meantime?

Home at Last

The saga of my life since January 14 is coming to a new episode: Home At Last!

Since I started this job nearly 3 months ago I have been home, not counting weekends, 11 days. Nine of those days were in January, which leaves 2 days in 2 months at home on a weekday.

Of the 12 weekends that I have had in that time period, I have been flying or driving more that 4 hours away on a Sunday afternoon/evening for SEVEN of them. That has left me with 5 relatively unadulterated weekends for my family since Jan. 14.

Valentine's Day, JeepMan's Birthday, My Birthday, St. Patty's Day, Easter....away, away, away, away, away.

Its been hard on me. It's been hard on JeepMan. It's been hard on Plato and Lulu. But lest you think I am bitching, let me summarize:

The last 12 weeks has been the hardest and yet the most rewarding of my career to date. The company I am working for has established a top-notch training regimen for new employees. The sacrifice I have made, my family has made, is small in the big picture of things. I am prepared now to pursue my future, and in so doing my family will also greatly benefit. Because of this 12 week investment, I feel truly competent to go out and do what I gotta do ON MY OWN. Hey, I'm in no-man's-land. The nearest "helper" I would have is 4 hours away! "On my own" is my new mantra.

I love working on my own!! I can be a team player if I have to, and I can do it well. But really, I thrive as a lone wolf (grrr...). I want to be solely responsible for meeting my own standards, yet have a heierarchy in place that can recognize my efforts and pat my back. I know, it's a weird combination. In one sentence, here is the profile of my career persona:

"Perfectionist loner; motivated by extraneous recognition and reward."

It sort of feels like a confession to admit that. Ideally I would like to be above it all, independent and "self-motivated." In fact, I have used that very word to describe myself for years. But when it gets right down to it, I am not "self-motivated." I am motivated by recognition and/or reward.

Wow. Is that bad? Am I morally aberrant? Selfish, even?

I suppose it spills over to my personal life too. Many an argument has ensued in my marriage that is traceable to that very source: I feel underappreciated. It's a little different with my kids, but inherent in my wanting to give and give and give to them is a tiny selfish bit that wants them to recognize that I am giving. Hugs and kisses and "I love you Mama!!!" are all the reward I need, but still...well.

Maybe this isn't so odd. Maybe I'm just more aware/honest about it than most people?

I love personality tests and the like. I recently took this Enneagram test at the suggestion of my sister (take the classic test, longer but better). I found it to be one of the most revealing personality tests I have ever taken. Guess what? Turns out I'm a Type 2. A Helper who Needs to Be Needed. Go figure. I also have a Type 3 component (wing), which means I am an Achiever that Craves Validation. Yup, that's me too. Finally I have a strong Type 1 component: Perfectionist, Responsible, Fixated on Improvement. So true.

Not bad, Mr. Enneagram man.

OK I totally digressed, but it's a good digression. I truly believe self-acceptance and honesty can only improve us and help us to present ourselves, not necessarily better, but in an AWARE manner. Knowing about yourself allows you to try to anticipate how others might see you and how you can best approach others. It also affords you the freedom of acceptance of yourself, neutralizing, at least in part, the internal struggle (conscious or unconscious) that comes from denial of self.

Whoa, baby. That was deep.

Anyhow, hopefully I will be posting more. For those of you who have stuck with me, thanks from the bottom of my (selfish) heart!

And let me know, if you take the test: What's your Type?

And a Shout-Out to my girl SUV Mama: Happy Birthday, Girl! No April Fool's jokes, folks....she'll kick your ass!

Thanks for the Idea, Travis...

Well Travis, you got me hooked. I love tests and quizzes, no matter how lame or stupid. And some of them are just downright insightful, like this one: you just pick the shape you like and bingo!

You Should Be a Doctor

You are practical, sharp, and very intuitive. Optimistic and energetic, you are a problem solver who doesn't get discouraged easily. You are also quite compassionate and caring. You make people feel hopeful. You're highly adaptable and capable. You do well with almost any curve ball life throws at you. You do best when you: - Are always learning new subjects - Use your knowledge to solve problems You would also be a good therapist or detective.

What Should You Be When You Grow Up?

Okay, I am a NURSE, but it's not a far stretch....

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And I wish I had this superpower; it would make married life so much simpler:

Your Superpower Should Be Mind Reading

You are brilliant, insightful, and intuitive. You understand people better than they would like to be understood. Highly sensitive, you are good at putting together seemingly irrelevant details. You figure out what's going on before anyone knows that anything is going on! Why you would be a good superhero: You don't care what people think, and you'd do whatever needed to be done Your biggest problem as a superhero: Feeling even more isolated than you do now

What Should Your Superpower Be?

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And this one was just fun:

You Are Betty Grable

The ultimate girl next door You're the perfect girl for most guys Pretty yet approachable. Beautiful yet real.

What Famous Pinup Are You?

Awww, shucks, me?
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A Quickie personality test that was pretty right-on:

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion: You have high extroversion. You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends. You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation. Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go!" (no, this isn't me) Conscientiousness: You have high conscientiousness. Intelligent and reliable, you tend to succeed in life. Most things in your life are organized and planned well. But you borderline on being a total perfectionist. Agreeableness: You have medium agreeableness. You're generally a friendly and trusting person. But you also have a healthy dose of cynicism. You get along well with others, as long as they play fair. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium. You are generally broad minded when it come to new things. But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it. You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue.

The Five Factor Personality Test

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And just to confirm what I already knew....(ha ha)

Your IQ Is 130

Your Logical Intelligence is Exceptional Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Genius

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Actually that was a bit surprising...I haven't taken math in a LOOOONG time...

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And this just freaked me out. All I did was type in my birth name:

Your Expression Number is 4

Practical and down to earth - everything in your life is organized. You are a great writer and teacher. You never forget a detail. Very patient, you have the ability to cultivate talents in difficult fields. You also tend to have an artistic side. You'd make a great architect or classical musician. You face your responsibilities with a positive attitude - and you always get things done. You are serious, sincere, honest, and faithful. Sometimes your strong sense of responsibility leads to frustration. You also tend to develop strong likes and dislikes, which border on dogmatism. At you're worst, you can be a dominant disciplinarian.

What's Your Expression Number?

Now that's just freaky...I can't argue with any of that. How do they do that?

Okay that was an easy-out post. But lots of fun.

Oh, and I found a WONDERFUL quote today: It's from Nelson Mandela's 1994 inaugural speech:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is the light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are we not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the Glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

MIL Musings #1

My MIL will never be described as the sharpest knife in the drawer. Most days I believe she isn't in the drawer at all, and the knife part is debatable too.

It makes it hell to watch movies with her, because she can't follow a plot. That in itself is not a crime. The fact that there appears to be no filter between her brain and her mouth is the real problem.

This weekend we brought Knocked Up to christmas. You might think this would be a no-brainer movie...which is what we thought, which is why we chose this particular movie to share.

Five minutes into the movie my MIL plops down on the couch. "What movie is this?"

It's called Knocked Up.

Silence.....

(On the screen are the two main characters, the guy and the girl.)

She opens her mouth: "Who gets knocked up?"

I decide to ignore this comment as I am sure she can't mean what I think she means.

But she won't let it drop. "Does the guy get knocked up or the girl?"

(silent forehead slap and silent Homer Simpson "DOH!")

Well I think generally when someone gets knocked up it's the girl....

"Oh."

Be assured there will be many more posts on this subject. It's an endless resource of blog-fodder.

'Till next time...

Quiet House/MIL Rant #2

Wow. It's quiet.

The kids are at mom-in-law's house. She finally got rid of her houseguest, so we let them spend the weekend there.

I guess that needs some explaining.

As you are aware from my previous posts, MIL's ideas often don't jive with JeepMan's and my ideas. Last October, she dropped a bomb: she was bringing her nephew to live with her. Her nephew, JeepMan's cousin (I'll call him LT), fit any conventional description of a "troubled" person.

LT grew up in the southwest. His father (JeepMan's uncle) is a drug dealer, currently doing jail time. LT grew up in chaotic circumstances. His mother died of heart failure, waiting for a transplant, when LT was only 13. LT's father had sporadic employment and was evicted from more than one home. They sometimes lived in hotel rooms. LT had no guidance or supervision, did poorly in school, and never had an example of a responsible person to model himself after. MIL decided he needed "a better life." Generous, right? So what's the problem?

The problem is that LT was 20 1/2 years old when MIL decided to "give him a better life."

MIL said she was bringing him here to the midwest, letting him live with her for a month, then kicking him out of her house if he hadn't found a way to make it on his own. This scenario was fraught with potential pitfalls, as JeepMan and I saw it. LT didn't have any life-skills. He didsn't have any idea of what a responsible adult was expected to do. He was so under-educated, he couldn't even get a driver's license because he couldn't pass the exam! How was this young man supposed to come to a new state with no savings or driver's license, get a job, save some money, find a place to live, and become independent within 4-6 weeks?

Well he arrived last November. About that time, we told MIL that the kids would not be allowed to come to her house and spend the weekend while LT was living in the house. Formerly, the kids would go there once a month or every other month to spend a weekend. This was great - the kids enjoyed it very much and we liked having some couple time for ourselves, too. However, we don't know LT. We have never known him. He was an absolute stranger that JeepMan just happened to be related to. He was a 20-year-old kid with a sketchy past and no guidance. We simply couldn't have our kids staying in the same house with a young man we didn't know or trust.

When MIL found out our position, she blew up. She yelled and screamed and accused my husband of being suspicious, passing judgement, and being a jerk. She made threats of legal action to force us to let the kids come for weekends. JeepMan and I were stunned and angry at her actions, but we stood our ground. Our children have had no unsupervised visits with MIL since October. We simply cannot trust strangers around our children, especially young adult male strangers with unknown morals.

MIL has calmed down since then, but we have seen her underbelly, and are certain that we would never want our children to go to her in the event of our untimely deaths (God forbid). I would like to believe that her impassioned (but certainly misguided) response to our decision was motivated by her devotion to the kids. There has never been an apology, or even an acknowledgement of the fact that we were simply being responsible and protective parents.
In fact, neither she nor us have spoken of it since it happened; it sits there between us like the proverbial gorilla in the room.

LT has moved out - 6 months later. MIL found out after just a month or two that having LT living with her wasn't going to be the experience she had romanticized in her own mind. LT didn't want her controlling him and she is, to her core, a control freak. She felt that since he was living in HER house he needed to follow HER rules and do what SHE wanted him to do. It didn't take long before he was staying out "too late," drinking "too much," and doing "too many" things she didn't know about or condone. I think in the end he was pretty desperate to get away! He now has a part-time job at a fast-food restaurant, and a coworker/girlfriend who hasn't yet tired of chauffeuring him around. After a few months of blowing his paychecks on Playstation games and fancy cellphones-and-cellphone-accessories, he and his girlfriend scraped together enough money to get an apartment together. He has been told that he cannot return to MIL's place.

I hope the best for him. He seems like a nice enough guy, though I still wouldn't trust him with my kids.

So this weekend is the first that the kids have been away for 6 months. A small part of me feels a little queasy about this. The kids will definitely be interrogated (subtly) about the weekend when they get home; this is no different than before, though. The time to ourselves is really nice every once in a while, and I think kids should spend time with their grandparents sans parents. We have stayed nearby both sets of grandparents specifically to facilitate this kind of relationship between the generations.

JeepMan and I had a nice meal together last evening, then walked around our local ped-mall, enjoying the perfect cool evening and listening to a free outdoor jazz concert. We stayed up late, then slept in this morning. For lunch, we had panini sandwiches on the patio at a little Italian deli. We went shopping, and I bought some new plants; he bought some new bolts. I puttered in my flower beds while he puttered in the garage. He is still in the garage and I am blogging. Soon I am going to take a nice hot shower (uninterrupted by peeking children wondering if they can get in with me!), then we will head out for a good dinner and maybe even a movie that isn't animated...

Life is good.

But... I can't wait see Plato and Lulu tomorrow. I'll grab them and kiss their chubby little cheeks, hug them close and press my face into each of their hair - inhale their indiuidual scents: shampoo, sweat, sunscreen, and that special Plato or Lulu musk that goes up my nose and straight to my core, exhilirating the primal mother within me.

Yeah, that'll be great too.

Tranquility

I have a rare few moments this evening to jot down my thoughts.

I'm sitting in my comfy sweats and oversized T-shirt, relishing the cool breeze of the evening. Through the open windows, the light perfume of crabapple blossoms from the tree in my front yard mingles with the heady aroma of fresh-baked banana bread. As I look out the front window I catch glimpses of an apricot sunset as the tree branches bounce and sway in the wind. The random "click, click" of a zipper occasionally breaks the monotony of the dryer hum. Distant squeals and giggles are becoming less and less frequent as the neighborhood children drift inside for homework or bed.

JeepMan is at the parts store, ordering a part for the truck. I hope it's a cheap one. It's his second trip out tonight, the first being an "emergency" trip to the store after Plato told us over dinner that he had invited the neighbor girl, Olivia, over for dessert. It's the first time he has done such a thing; unfortunately we don't keep much dessert stuff around, and the banana bread wasn't going to be done. Rather than disappoint him (and his friend), JeepMan ran to Fareway and picked up some sundae cones. What a good dad! The kids ate cones on the front steps, then played a while before bedtime.

Lulu is down the hall talking herself to sleep. She does this every night; it cracks me up. The minute I leave her to fall asleep she starts chattering. Unfortunately she doesn't have volume control, and usually has to be reminded several times to keep it down. I just reminded her, again, to whisper, and she told me, "I'm telling my STORIES, Mom!!"

Plato is asleep already. He's a champion sleeper, which probably accounts for the fact that he still wears a PullUp to bed. He falls asleep almost instantly and rarely wakes in the night. Most every night I go in about an hour after he falls asleep and "unwrap" him: his technique for falling asleep involves actually wrapping his head up in his blanket. It's creepy, and it used to freak me out completely. It's still unnerving, but I figure if it hasn't killed him yet it probably isn't going to. I actually bought his blanket with his habits in mind, making sure it was very breathable.

Tonight Plato was in thinking mode. During prayers, he was listing the people he was thankful for: Mom, Dad, Lulu, family and friends. Then he said he was thankful for Christians. It caught me off guard as we haven't discussed Christianity per se. He paused, then asked me what a Christian was. I explained that Christians believed in Jesus, and this seemed to satisfy him. He then said he was thankful for "...well...who was Noah again?" I told him about the Ark and the animals, and he said, "Oh yeah. I am thankful for Noah. And Jesus. And Johnny Appleseed."

As I was tucking him in, I asked him if he had fun playing with Olivia. He said "yeah," and started blushing! I asked him if Olivia was his friend (like many little girls, her friendship is fickle). He said "yeeeesssss," and started grinning like a cheshire cat. I raised my eyebrows, and he offered, "Well....she's actually sort of my GIRLfriend, but I'm trying to keep it a secret!" I asked him if his friends knew about it, and he said "Noooo." I asked him if Olivia knew about it and (thankfully) he said, "she doesn't know."

Oh boy.

Well, the dryer is chirping. And LOST is starting. What a great night!

Religion, Calamari, and Vitamins

Ok, it's been another ultra-hectic week; more overtime, busy lab, laundry and dishes piling up... but work today is a little slower so I am going to start (and hopefully finish) a post.

I am starting to teach my kids to pray. This might sound weird - after all, they are (almost) 3 and (almost) 6. We don't go to church except when we visit my folks. I know, I know, we should. This subject is probably the biggest dilemma I face on a moral/ethical level.

I grew up Catholic - not hard-core Catholic, but go-to-church-every-Sunday Catholic. Religion wasn't a huge factor in my life. We went to church every Sunday, I did all the Sacraments, went to Catechism, and was in Youth Group. My two best friends were in all these activities with me, which was probably a major factor in my drive to be involved. Church provided me with faith in something larger than myself, which is so important; it also provided me with a lot of uncertainties and anxieties.

My dad wasn't Catholic (still isn't technically, though he goes to church every Sunday with my mom). As a child and young adult, I frequently worried that he would go to Hell because he had never received the Eucharist. The Catholic church proclaims themselves the only "true" religion. Indeed, Catholics say a prayer referencing the "one holy Catholic and Apostolic church." Growing up, I wondered - in fact I still question - how any Christian person let alone an entire Christian organization could justify proclaiming superiority and passing judgement on others based on religious beliefs.

As a family, we didn't keep all the Church rules; we made our own "modifications" to the rules. For example, you had to give something up for Lent (church rules)...but, you could have it on Sundays (our rules). You were supposed to go to Confession (church rules), but if you confessed to God in private, that was ok (our rules). I spent a lot of restless nights thinking about how you can be Catholic but sort of pick and choose the rules you want to follow. My mom always told me that the church provided us with "guidelines" for life, but we ultimately could decide what we think is important and what isn't so important. I would never blame my mother for doing this - she did what she thought was right; I also think following all the rules and teachings of the Catholic church would be both unfulfilling and practically impossible. As a child, I accepted my mom's point of view without question because it made perfect sense. As an adult, it has left me in a bit of a moral quandary. I don't know if the "cafeteria Catholic" concept (taking what you want and leaving what you don't) is one that I want to espouse or teach to my own children. On the other hand I also can't think of a single church whose rules I could choose to follow 100%. I have toyed with the idea of switching religions, but frankly, I don't have the time or energy to devote to learning all about a new religion so I can in turn teach my children.


JeepMan was baptized Methodist, but that is where his religious training began and ended. His mother has told me she wishes she had taken him to church; yeah, too late now. Given his past, it is no wonder that he has struggled to have faith in anyone or anything outside himself. His limited contact with the Catholic church has been through me (wishy-washy) and through the media (financial and moral corruption, pedophilic priests?: that would be a definite thumbs-down...).

When we visit my parents and go to church with them, he sits there through the whole Mass with this blank look on his face. The "stand up, sit down, kneel down, stand up, sit down, fight-fight-fight!" (as he calls it) is meaningless to him. The beauty and ceremony of it all is completely lost on him. The kids are often fidgety, and Lulu usually needs carried out for disruptive behavior or potty breaks at least once. It's hard for me to enjoy any of it, especially when I know it does nothing for him.

It all started even before we were married. Our premarital retreat was absolutely horrible: an entire poorly planned weekend of preachy, borderline psychotic couples trying to "lead by example." One after another, after another, after another. For two straight days. We listened, mortified, to one couple talk in lengthy and embarrassing detail about how they had gotten pregnant without even having sex. In an effort to illustrate the evils of birth control, another couple told us all about their experiences with (Hellfire and Brimstone!) an IUD - I specifically remember the phrase, "bled like a stuck pig" being used - ugh. The weekend was expensive up front, and a total disaster in retrospect. The icing on the cake for JeepMan (and me, too) was when the church had the gall to solicit a DONATION when it was all done!

Our premarital meeting with the priest turned both of us off, too. We had 3 separate meetings. The first was an hour-long "compatibility test" (after 3 years of dating I would hope we might know if we were compatible). At the second, the priest asked a lot of very personal (nosy, weird, inappropriate) questions. The third meeting culminated in each of us (separately) being asked to put a hand on the Bible and swear "to have sexual relations with my spouse for the purposes of procreation." Ugh and double ugh.

My children are baptized, both in the Catholic church. Given my ambivalence about religion, especially the Catholic religion, I have pondered why I even felt the need to do this. I don't believe that unbaptized people go to Hell when they die. I suppose I was drawn to the ceremony of it...and frankly, I wanted to keep the kids' options open.

The plain truth is this: if I were married to someone who had a strong religious convictions, Catholic or otherwise, I would just follow along. For myself, I don't have a need for organized religion. I am actually a bit suspicious and skeptical about organized religion as a "business" or an "industry." I am secure in my own faith. I am teaching my children about God, and most importantly about belief in something larger than themselves. I am teaching them humanity, humility, gratitude, and generosity. I am teaching them about the Bible, and to pray. By not going to church, I am spared having to explain away the contradictions between what the church tells us we should do and what we choose to do. I am spared having to reassure them that their father isn't a heathen, and neither are many of their friends (our community is extremely diverse). On a more selfish level, Sundays are our lazy family days. Forcing everyone to get up, around, and sit in church for an hour doesn't budget into our precious, limited weekend time.

So why am I conflicted? I can't get past the feeling (guilt?) that maybe I SHOULD be exposing my children to church. Plato's first communion would be coming up soon (if I decide he should do it). I sometimes wonder: who am I to make the decision for him that he should or should not partake in the ceremony and community of organized religion? Will he resent me if I don't at least expose him to it? Should I "keep his options open" and let him make his own decisions later in life?

I am married to a man who is quite content not belonging to any religion. It fills no need in his life either, and it asks for his time and his money - both things with which he is reluctant to part. I am simply not going to get his support in this. If the kids are involved in any way in church, it will be entirely because of me. There will be grumbling, griping, and foot-dragging, both from him and the kids at times. In truth, it is almost too much to think about.

So Sundays come and Sundays go, each with a little twang of guilt and a thought that we should probably start going to church again one of these days. Maybe.

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At bedtime prayers last night, we were telling God about the things we are thankful for:

And what are you thankful for, Plato?

Plato: Uhmmmm.....(looks around)....I am thankful for bedrooms. And stars. And food. And Mom and Dad and Lulu.

And what are you thankful for Lulu?

Lulu: Uhmmmm....I am tankful for...ummm...CALAMARI!!

Calamari? (we haven't eaten calamari in months!)

Lulu: YEAH! CALAMARI!! And...ah...I am tankful for...ah...BITE-A-MINS!!

Vitamins, yeah, me too. Thank God for vitamins!

Control Freak

In my line of work I meet so many people. I meet them under circumstances that are, for them, extremely anxiety-provoking and uncomfortable. I bring them to a cold room, put them on a narrow table, and start invading their privacy. I expose parts of them that maybe only their significant other or family physician has seen. I shave their groin area, put sticky patches and wires all over them, and stick needles and tubes in them. I completely take away their control, preparing them for the terrifying unknown of the heart tests they are about to undergo. These people are well-informed (due to legalities) that the tests we are doing actually attempt to provoke a heart rhythm that could potentially kill them. We tell them it's ok, though, because it's all in a "controlled environment." It's easy for us to say, since WE are in control.

I do this several times a day, every day. For my patients, it's hopefully a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

How people behave when their control is taken away along with a good portion of their diginity is often remarkable. Grown men shiver and cry, little brittle women take it all in stride. Formerly composed professor-types panic, knuckle-dragging slackjaws show you courtesy and forbearance you could never imagine. So many people, so many surprises.

I am a control freak, and I have been on this table. Twice. I had my own heart rhythm problem. I have been the patient, known the terrifying loss of control. I had the "benefit" of knowing what was coming. Regardless, it was difficult. It has made me so much the better nurse, though. Who more appropriate to help patients through their own experience? I know it sounds corny, but sometimes I feel like I was "called" to do this.

Today, I met a patient who amazed me; one that will be forever in my memory. This man was 100, count'em: one hundred years old. He will be 101 in three months. What an inspiration! He was deaf as a post, sharp as a tack. We asked this poor crooked man to lie straight and still on a hard table for two hours. He never complained. He was polite, congenial, and tolerant. He told us of the 10 different places he was stationed in WWII all over Europe and in Africa. We had to stick him 6 times with needles for an IV and he never once grumbled. When he asked me to adjust his pillow, I told him he sure was a big complainer...he laughed and laughed. When the procedure was over he took my hand, squeezed it tight, looked right into my eyes, and thanked me for "guiding" him through this procedure. Yeah, this is why I come to work...on the chance that I might meet someone like him.

Another Dinner Table Conversation:

Plato: "Mom? What's the bad 'P-Word?'"

Do you know any bad p-words?

Plato: "...Nooooo..." Thinks a while. "Mom?"

Yes, honey?

Plato: "I know the bad "S-word."

The Boss has been listening and can't help but contribute: "WE DON'T SAY POTTY WORDS, JUST ONLY IN THE POTTY!!"

That's right, potty words are only for the potty (I didn't teach her this, but I like it!). Plato, what is the S-Word you know? I promise myself I will NOT laugh when he says it.

Plato: Well, I'm not supposed to say it. You won't be mad? It's a really, really bad word.

I won't be mad. You can tell mommy anything.

Plato: Well....okay... (takes a big breath)...it's..."Stupid."

I am trying hard not to crack up. Yes, honey, "stupid" is a very bad word.

The Boss: WE DON'T SAY STUPID, PWATO!! IT'S A POTTY WORD!!

Gosh, I hope he stays this innocent for a few more years.

Dinner Table Conversation 3/16

As a child growing up in my parents' household, I remember that dinner as a family was a high priority. Many topics were discussed, and even the silent dinners still held a sense of sanctity and cohesion. In spite of having a bit more hectic schedule than my parents, I have struggled to preserve this ritual for myself, my husband, and our children. However, it is only in the past year or so, as both my children are becoming eloquent in expressing their thoughts, that I have really come to reap the rewards of this nightly ritual.

Our conversation at dinner last evening went something like this:

Plato: Mom?

(most of our conversations start like this...)

Yes?

Plato: Mom? I LOVE you.

Thanks, babe. I love you too.

The Boss (in that cute squeak that can only come from a 2 year old girl): I LUB YOU TOO MOMMY!

I love you too baby.

Plato: You're the best mommy in the whole wide world.

Thanks, honey. And you are the best boy I could ask for.

The Boss: MOM!! You are da best mommy ebber!

Thanks LuLu (my pet name for her). And you are the best little girl I could ask for.

I notice JeepMan taking all of this in. The kids really do lavish a lot of attention on me. I think it may have to do with the fact that I reciprocate? Anyway, I try to involve him:

And what about Daddy?

The Boss: DADDY IS A POOPY DIAPER!! (she cackles hysterically, very pleased with her sense of "humor")

Plato, nearly 6, is a bit more diplomatic:

Plato: Well, Daddy IS stinky, but he's a good Daddy anyway.

JeepMan just shakes his head and smiles that little smile of his. I never know if he is trying not to crack up or if he is secretly irritated.

Silence for a while. Plato is deep in thought. After a while he speaks:

Plato: Mom? What if the Earth crashed into the Sun?

I struggle to process what he just said. I stare at him. Finally I manage an oh-so-sage reply:

...What?

Plato: What if the Earth crashed into the Sun?

JeepMan steps up to the plate to hit this one out of the park:

JM: Well, I suppose we would all burn up.

(ugh!) Plato's eyes are getting big...time for damage control:

Honey, that would never happen. The Earth has been where it is forever, and it is not going to crash into the sun.

Plato: Well, what if a bunch of people got really fat and the Earth went crashing into the sun?

That couldn't happen. The Earth is much too big.

Plato contemplates this for a minute. Then speaks:

Plato: Well, THAT's why I am NOT going to eat too much sugar!
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I wonder where he gets such thoughts? He comes up with this stuff all the time. Wacky questions that usually start with "Why" or "What if...", observations that usually start with "Did you know..." I realize that much of this is normal for kids his age. He is exploring his world, learning new things every day.

But there is so much more to his thinking. He worries, obsesses.

For instance when he was 4 I had put him to bed. This is a kid that usually konks right out and I don't hear from him for 11 hours. But an hour after I put him down he was in the kitchen sobbing. I asked what was the matter and he told me he couldn't sleep. He was nearly inconsolable! I finally managed to calm him down and when I asked him what the matter was he said, full of despair, "I am NEVER going to learn how to drive a car!!"

He went through a phase at 4 1/2 where he was devastated that he was not going to be able to marry his sister. He obsessed about how he was EVER going to find someone to marry.

His wish upon blowing out the candles on his 5th birthday? "I wish I was seventeen."

His first week of kindergarten was spend mooning over the 3rd grade girl who rides his bus and how she wouldn't be his friend and she was the PRETTIEST girl he knew.

And his current obsession. Death. He told me, "Mom, I just care about EVERYTHING. I don't want anything to die!"

This child has put me at a loss for words numerous times. What do you say to a 5 year old who thinks like a 10 year old (but still is really a 5 year old)? I am finding diversion to be an excellent tactic.
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Well, I am sure the dinner table will continue to provide endless material. That's all for now...

G$