Mom to the Screaming Masses

What a weekend......

I'm wiped out.

This weekend was the Bar Mitzvah of one of the kids in my neighborhood.  He's a great kid and one of the best friends of my older kids.  (As an aside, one of the (many) reasons that I love this neighborhood would be the kids.  There are a ton in almost all of the ages of my kids. Whenever I can't find my big kids, I know that they are out with their friends.)

So, the temple service was on Saturday.  I really didn't know what to expect, having never been to a Jewish, well, anything, really.  We live in an area with a high concentration of Jewish families.  As an aside, we also live in an area with a high concentration of Orientals.  The Hubster and I joke that we are a minority, being Irish/German white Catholics.  The service was amazing.  Probably one of the most prayerful, reverent experiences of my life.  It was looong, too, almost 3 hours.  It was nice that they offered babysitting, and doubly nice that Emma and Riley actually stayed there.  After, the was a luncheon, and then later that night, there was a dinner party scheduled.  An entire day, devoted to a boy who was now considered a man.  Most of my neighbors came out.

Having never been to a Bar Mitzvah, I had no idea that it was such a ginormous event.  Really, I have only been to one other Jewish ceremony, and that was a bris. We have First Communions, and the way our church does it is nice, but not a huge party.  Correction:  there are people who do have big parties, we just aren't one of them, I guess.   But, we have FC, and that's it.  We go home.  This event went on all weekend; it resembled a wedding in that there was an event for every day.

Let me back up here for a second.  Friday, I had watched Oprah.  It was the episode where she visited Auschwitz with Elie Wiesel.  I remember my mother reading one of his books and crying, and I could never understand why.  Now, as an adult, I do.  I was *consumed* by Friday's episode.  I have always been interested in the Holocaust, and it was the era that I did most of my research on in school.  Oprah was walking through the museums with him, and they came to the shoe display.  The stack of shoes was mindboggling.  And then they came to the hair.  At which point I began to cry, and then quietly lost it.  There was a room full of hair from corspes, and it was one of the biggest rooms I have ever seen.  I couldn't even stand it.  But I forced myself to watch it, and my big kids as well. 

So, Saturday night, we got dressed up and went to the hotel.  I, of COURSE, was dressed incorrectly.  One of my neighbors told me that she was just wearing a simple little sundress.  Yeah, if you can say that.  It was fancy and she looked amazing.  I, on the other hand, was working my fancy gold cork wedges, thanks to Kalisa.  Anyway, I was at the table with my neighborhood.  It was tons of fun; I was sitting with two other couples who live across from me and two college boys who used to live down the street, before they went to school.  There was a DJ, an open bar, and a huge buffet line, after the appetizers that were offered by walking waitstaff.  It was akin to a wedding; at least, most of the weddings I've been to.  I LOVE open bars, let's just say that.

I went through the buffet line, gathering my salad and steak, fruit, green beans and broccoli.  Hey, I was trying to be good!  I sat down with my meal and my mixed drink, and dug in.  About half way through the meal, I looked up and dropped my fork in shock.

I had just connected the dots between the Oprah show and the day I had just spent.  An entire day, full of life and laughter, love and excitment, celebrated by a group of people who almost didn't exist.  I looked around, the steak in my mouth as dry as toast. I was one of the only non Jewish persons in the room.  The people who were in the room were my friends, and we were having a complete and total ball.  The music was pumping, the drinks were flowing, and yet, it almost didn't happen.  It was a party that almost wasn't. The shoes in the musuem had owners.  The hair belonged on the heads of people who were seated at Table 10 with me.  The suitcases of toys that were brought in anticipation of a fun time would have been used by little kids just like the ones running wild through the party, and by teens just like those asking for drinks at the bar.

I pushed my plate away, unable to eat anymore.  It took me a good ten minutes before I was able to think about anything else. But then, the DJ played the Hava Nagila, and the entire room exploded into dance.  I was even up there, this Irish Catholic.  After that, there was no holding the party back, and we danced most of the night.  I do LOVE to dance in a group of people.

Another thought that was so interesting to me was the juxtaposition of the college students with the married couples at the table.  You have neighbors, people you hang with, and you never really know them.  And then you go to a wedding, or a Bar Mitzvah, and people are able to relax.  The hair comes down, the shoes come off, and the real person comes out.  When you are in college, partying is all you think about.  It defines you; how much you can drink, when can you drink, who is going to which party when.  As an adult, the parties are farther between, so when you go to parties, you really get to see what people are made of; you get to see the real person inside. 

Gah.  We had a neighborhood party today, in the street, after we had a brunch together yesterday - so what I'm saying is that after three days, the neighbors are still talking to me, so I must have done something right.  I had FOUR glasses of the best sangria EVAH, so I'm not sure that I said what I wanted to here.

What a great, eye opening, interesting weekend.  Back to reality, but this time with a new vision.  Hopefully it's not derived from all the alcohol I've had..........

The heat is on

It was above 90 degrees today.  NINETY.  9.0. 

(as an aside, I'm watching Oprah, and she's dishing with the cast of Grey's Anatomy, which is really very, very interesting.  I'm totally hoping for some spoilers.)

Earlier today, my two little girls were at my mother's house - she was off for the day and kept them, so that I could do some work at school.  I had almost 45 minutes to myself, and so I sat out at the playground, in order to get some sun on my face and arms.  It was *nirvana* - I had a good book, and my fully charged iPod, and no one was around.  It was so quiet, it was eerie.  It was so nice that when I got home with all the kids, I decided to try to get a bit more sun.

I KNOW, so bad for my skin.  But, sooo flattering.  At least I'm hoping.

(Man, Ellen Pompeo is looking pretty today.  Very un- Merideth looking......)

So, I went outside to lay out for an hour.  With me came my four youngest kids. 

"Mom, it's hot out here.  Can we turn on the sprinkler?  Why not?  Can we put out the kiddie pool?  You're so mean!"

I mumbled something and turned the page of my book with one hand, and upended a diet coke with lime with the other.  I was going to remain calm.

"What's a psychologo?  Why is boy in school going to see one?  Why does the moon look like that?  Don't you think it smells like cheese out here?  Why does my heart look like that?  When you mix play doh and water, what happens?  Why are there so many bugs?  Can you get rid of the bugs?  Make her stop bothering me/following me/swinging next to me/sliding on the slide when I was thinking about it/breathing my air/looking in the way that I'm looking!"

I turned over and adjusted my straps and took a deep breath.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Calm, damnit.  "Go play, guys.  This is the first nice day you've had to play.  Why don't you enjoy it?"  and leave me alone, I was thinking, but not saying.

"Wwwwhhhhhhhhy can't we turn on the sprinkulur?  (That's how Emma says it.)  Look at Mackenzie!"  I turned over to look, and saw that she had come out of the house with an extra large ice pack tucked under her shirt, and a wet cloth on her forehead.  "It's booooiiiiiling out here.  You could cook hot dogs on my skin."  she said. 

School's not even out yet, and I can tell.  It's going to be a long, long summer........

I hate beer

I mean, I really hate beer.

The taste of it, the smell of it, the idea of it.  I've never acquired a taste for beer.  I won't even kiss The Hubster if he's been drinking it.  Gag.

Two days ago, while grocery shopping with the kids, which was insanity in and of itself, I thought I'd buy some ice cream for The Hubster.  I found the Godiva bars that he loves, and glanced over at the Ben & Jerry's.  I died just a bit inside, knowing that I wasn't going to get any.

But!  There was a NEW flavor.  I thought I might just buy a small container of it, just to have as a treat now and again.  (I am in nothing if not denial.  almost three pounds?  I SCOFF at you, scale.  I got into a size 12!)  So, I picked it up.  Black and Tan, it's called.  I started to read the smaller print, where the description is, and Riley began to scream.  A quick glance gave me the words "cream" and "Whirled with chocolate".  Oookay, then, into the cart with you!

Today I thought about the ice cream.  It's been a long time since I had ice cream, and I glanced longingly at the freezer.  I allowed myself one small taste.  Mouth watering with anticipation, I pried off the top and dug in the spoon.  Smiling just a bit, I popped the cold creamy bite into my mouth.

Oh, gross!  What the hell was this???  I leaned over the sink and spit it out, and rinsed twice.  Yuck.  The nasty taste was still there.  I grabbed the container; cream and chocolate shouldn't taste like this!  And then, I saw the description:

We've no idea how many Ben & Jerry's fans might be beer enthusiasts, but we suspect that once you've tasted the way we've blended real cream stout ice cream with a whirl of chocolate ice cream, you might soon be raising more than a few pints of Black & Tan - and more than a few brew-aha!'s too.

Oh, ick.  Beer flavored ice cream.  Somebody up there DEFINITELY doesn't want me eating ice cream.

Yes, but do you know your phone number?

My phone number is close to the phone number of a local charity.  in fact, they have the same number as I do, except you flip the last two numbers.  This means that we get allllll kinds of phone calls from desperate people. 

"Um, hi.  My son is in jail, and I'm trying to get bond for him.  Can you help me?"

That type of thing.  Frequently, we get messages left on the Voice mail.  For me, it's standard operating practice when I leave a message to actually, oh, I don't know, LISTEN to the outgoing message, in order to ascertain that I'm leaving the message for the person it's supposed to be for.  Usually, I erase them and don't worry about them.  I figure, if they don't get a return call soon, they will call back and most likely call the correct number, ya know?  Although, I did call this one old man back.  His message was that his wife was dying, he was in need of a transplant of some kind, they had no money, no car and no one to help them, and their power was going to be turned off.  Meals on Wheels had stopped coming, and at this point he began to cry.  He gasped out, "Can you please help us?" and left his number.

Dude.  I was *ready* to cook for him that day.  I did call the charity and give them his message, and requested that they call him, pronto. 

But, today's call was funny.  This lady called, with a very heavy Hispanic accent.  She requested to speak with the charity's counselor, and was I her?  Nope, wrong number.  She said to me, "I don't THINK I have the wrong number, lady.  Now, let me speak to the counselor!"  I was all, "Um, I'm sorry.  This is my house, and not the charity.  We get calls for them all the time; you've transposed the last two numbers.  Redial it, and you'll get them, ok?"

Honest to the good Lord, she said to me, "I think I know what number I called, and this is it.  THIS is the number for the charity."  At which point I hung up, very quietly.

It's almost as bad as the time that an office worker at school told me that I was misspelling my own last name. And she knew better than me, because I've only had this name for SIXTEEN YEARS and she's known me three.

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There's another 5k here in three weeks, this time a run/walk one.  Is it worth the $35 to enter?  Should I do another one?  Will I feel more like an idiot than ever????  Will I ever stop with the questions?  The questions, they make my brain hurt......

Advance, retreat, forward, backward

Well, hmm.  I'm not certain how I feel about this.

I was wearing a *very* snug 16, in denial about the fact that I really needed an 18, when I began this.  This weekend, I went to Target and bought some capris.  I tried the 14's on and they fit, so I bought them.  The first time I wore them, I noticed that they were baggy.  On a whim, I went back and tried the 12's.  They fit, so I bought them.  Yaaaah!  I've not worn a 12 for about 6 years, so that's good, right?  (Oh, and a woman on my exercise loop said not to look at the size.  I really can't stand her right about now.  I mean, I know all about vanity sizing, which she reminded me of, and I know that I can wear different sizes in different outfits.  But, c'mon.  I haven't worn a TWELVE in YEARS.  I'd like to think that maybe, just maybe, I was getting A BIT smaller, and not staying the same size but with a different size tag. Ya think???)

But then I went to weigh myself, and I was up almost THREE pounds in two weeks.  Yikes.

I freely admit that I was lax with the food choices over the past week, and didn't exercise quite as much.  But, man, that came out of nowhere.  I didn't think I had gained THAT much, that quickly.  Same scale, so I can't even blame that!

I did 7.1 miles yesterday, just to kick it up a bit.  Walking five, running two. 

So, new goals.  Fifteen pounds by Blogher would make 40, my goal.  Fifteen pounds in a bit over 9 weeks.  I hope I can do that.  I would have said that it would be easy before this last week.

Sigh.  It's always something, isn't it?

Exhaustion, thy name is mine

You may ask, why is MTTSM so tired?

Go on, ask.

This is why I'm so tired.    And this:     And, this one:  Cruddy quality, all shot from my camera phone, but I took my kids to the beach today.  By myself.  Riley LOVED it.  She dug in the sand, she ran in and out of the water, and that in and of itself is a freakin' miracle.  Do you KNOW how long we had to work with her with sand in therapy??  Try EIGHT months.  And now?  Total fun.  I love the look on Emma's face, as she was trying to get Riley to touch the sand.  Gabe and Nikolas dug a HUGE hole - Nik is standing on the bottom of it and Gabe is on the side.

But, why does the beach make you so tired?

I have a dilemma to solve, and I need the advice of the internet.  That way, when I am asked how I reached this decision, I can say, "Well, I just asked the internet!".  I think I'll cackle a bit too, just to add to the crazy lady image.  Allegra was asked to try out for two advanced soccer teams - one a rush team and one a travel team.  The travel team is full of her girlfriends, all in the same grade, and she'd like nothing more than to play with them.  But, the travel part is going to be very difficult to do.  I don't know that I'd be able to drive to the games, some as much as two hours away, with the other kids.  But she'd be upset if I wasn't able to be at her games.

The other team would be older girls, none of whom are her friends and all of whom will be in 7th and 8th grade next year; she's going to be in 6th.  She could play with them, not as much as the other team, since she'd be the youngest player.  She'd love to play on this team as well.  Just not quite as much as the other team, ya know?

Both coaches are top notch, and girls from both teams play Varsity in high school.  Both are winning teams, and end up in the tournaments every year.  She hasn't played on a team that has won ONE game in four seasons, so she's really hungry to actually be on a team that is going places. 

So both are having try outs tomorrow, back to back, and she's going to try out for both.  We'll see what happens.  Each team has three spots open. What if she gets offered both?  What if she is offered neither? 

What would you do?

Oh, and never ask The Hubster to get flank steak at the supermarket.  We ended up with ribeyes.  He said that the store didn't sell flank steak, but he thought ribeyes would be a good swap.  Expensive, but yum!  Dinner tonight was way better than I thought it would be!

All the news that doesn't fit anywhere else.....

Ever have a bunch of stuff, just floating around in your mind?

I didn't think you did.  All of you guys are so flippin organized all the time, leaving me here to just meditate on how I'm a loser.

Anywho, I'm going to start having some advertising here in the next few days.  Let me know if you don't like it, and I'll....

What?  What will I do?  I'll pat your hand and tell you how sorry I am for you.  I DO need to make some money, and after balancing my checkbook this week, I am alllllll about the money. 

I had some of the best empanadas last weekend at our church carnival.  Allegra adored them as well, so I decided to make them.  I looked up a true, authentic recipe, and got cracking yesterday.  There was a lot! of! work! involved in making them.  First step was to make the dough.  Mine, well, it didn't turn out so great.  I'm one of those cooks who has never ever been able to master a pie crust.  As in, never.  So, this dough recipe was quite similar to a pie crust.  When The Hubster ate one, he turned to me and said, "Next time, do what they did and use a prepared crust."  Oh.  Totally, right.  They were still tasty, but not like the REAL ones.  Guess I'll have to find me a restaurant!  Or embrace the pie crust.

Hey, anyone remember when I blogged last year about self tanning?  It's on this page, about 1/3 of the way down. Well, I'm still on the hunt.  I've been using the Jergens stuff, you know, the hint of color lotion that is always sold out where ever you go?  It's pretty good, just a bit darker than your usual self.  I ran out of it, and so I bought the Aveeno brand.  Hey, I like Aveeno stuff and I pufy heart their lavender and oatmeal baby line, so I just (foolishly) assumed - you know what they say about assuming,right??- that it would be good. 

Don't make that mistake, y'all.  Apparently, "hint of color' does not mean the same thing to different companies.  The webs of my fingers look like I've been digging in the dirt, and my ankles are discolored and funky.  <Sigh>  Maybe I'l try one of those airbrush places?  Anyone ever done that?

Oh, and never, NEVER ever say that you have nothing to do on a Saturday.  Three of my kids had a camping trip planned with my mother for the day and tonight, and I was looking forward to a quiet, relaxing day.  Mom's car broke down and I spent the morning getting over to her, loading my van with her stuff and loaning it to her so she could still take Gabe on his FIRST!EVER! Boy Scout campout.  I got home at 12, realizing that I had figured out how to spend my relaxing morning. 

I should know better than to tempt fate......

She is the prom queen

So, between the comments at the prom on Grey's Anatomy, my rewatching of 13 going on 30, and some other flashback thingie that I have forgotten right now - damned brain - I was pondering over the prom.  Oh, the other thing is the new song by Saving Jane, Girl next door.

When I went to the prom, I was 17.  I had dated a guy all throughout high school, and I was w-i-l-d about him. Man, did he get me.  But, he had a history of breaking up with me, and leaving me in tears.  Finally, after about the tenth  time, I let it go. He started making a play for a friend of mine.  And, just to show how over him I was, I dated his best friend.  A nice guy, but a bit weird. I had known him ever since I had been dating boy #1.  He had, at the beginning of my senior year, shaved his head into a mohawk and dyed it a funny color - exactly which color escapes me now, but it wasn't his real color.  Then he decided to be bald, and nair'ed his head.  He moved out of his parents house and got an apartment with a friend, and it was wild parties, all the time.  Lots of stuff going on there.  He was heavy into the punk scene, and so, by default, I was too.  Actually, I had been for a while, since my long time boyfriend was also into the punk scene.  The Clash, Violent Femmes, Depeche Mode, Sex Pistols - all music I still love, incidentally.  Anyway, he joined the Army. So, he took me to my prom.  He had been dating this other girl, in fact, she was a good friend of mine at the time and the four of us were almost inseparable.  Until, you know, my long time boyfriend made a pass for her, and I took up with her boyfriend, kind of as a revenge thing.

Can you say soap opera?  I knew you could!

So, my mom and I made my dress, and I did my hair in a fancy updo.  I worked on my makeup for an hour, got dressed, and went out to dinner with my date and a friend of mine, a German exchange student who had a wild crush on me.  I liked him, but already had a date, so I set him up with a friend of mine and the four of us went to a fancy Chinese place. My date wore his Army uniform, and looked very dashing.  I was *quite* the envy of all my girlfriends, dating a man in uniform, let me tell you!

We got to the prom, and we had our picture taken.  We went into the room, and my date spied his ex across the way.  Within five minutes, they were gone.  As in, left the prom together.  Leaving me there alone. 

I didn't dance at the prom.  I ate none of the fancy food.  I got a ride home with a friend.

All of this sad tale to lead up to the present question.  What kind of kid were you in high school?  The jock, the punk, the brainiac, the cheerleader?  The band geek, the Star Wars junkie, the nerd?  I was the punk.  I wore black eyeliner, dark clothes, combat boots (!) and had perfected the bored air. I was rude and obnoxious.  I knew all the words to the "wrong" songs.  And, yet, I secretly really liked school and got pretty good grades.  I rarely got into trouble.  Well, there was the one time I got in school suspension for kissing.......

After the prom, though, there was about a month of school, and I totally dropped the punk look.  It was the most enjoyable month of school.  I  remember thinking, "Oh, this is fun!  I wish I had done it sooner!"  HIndsight is always 20/20.

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Postscripts that just don't fit above:

1)  The dress that I asked about yesterday?  Nordstroms DID carry it, but they sold out.  If you like it, I was told yesterday to keep calling and checking in - with enough requests for item 38785, they may carry it again.......

2) If you like Grey's Anatomy, you HAVE GOT TO watch this dream sequence.  It's hysterical.  http://youtube.com/watch?v=jVGLTfgUBtk&feature=Views&page=4&t=t&f=b

3)One more thing!  This is also very funny - it's a video of two guys making a card for their mother for Mother's Day. 

http://media.ebaumsworld.com/wmv/mothersday.wmv

Gracias, Danke, grazie, obrigado, merci and all that jazz

Many, many thanks to my lovely readers.  May I say that, indeed, your hair looks smashing today and that outfit?  You look ten pounds thinner.

So, yesterday was a wasted day.   A wretched day.  A feel bad, woe is me day.  Today is not, well, great, because I have to pay the bills, exercise, and go to a BAND concert, and I STILL have cramps.  But, yesterday I completely connected the new computer for the kids, including rewiring the wireless and downloading and installing the driver for the printer, as well as new versions of spyware, adware, Office, iTunes, yadda yadda.  So, go me!

(I'm stretching here, shut up.)

It seems that most of us feel like we don't fit in, which I find very interesting.  I have heard the "inside to outsides" comparison that Kalisa suggested, and I use it on my kids all the time.  Methinks I need to have it printed on a shirt, but then I'd probably get crazy comments, you think? I was just taken aback by the ferocity of my feelings yesterday.  I KNOW I've had good stuff happen lately, which is why being so grumpy was so shocking, ya know?

I am loving Google's language tools, though.

I have my first order from school, for tie dye stuff, and I think I'm going to look into Etsy, which the lovely Annika suggested.  If all of you who were interested in ordering are REALLY interested, I'd totally hook you up. 

Any chance that anyone has last month's Oprah magazine laying around?  The May issue?  In it, there was this dress, for women with big juggs larger female parts, and I fell so in love with it.  I ripped out the picture, so's I could buy it, and gave the magazine to my mother, who leaves them out for patients at her job.  The ordering stuff was in the back of the magazine, not on the page like I thought.  Here is the dress - what says the internet? 

I can't imagine anyone with a body like mine trying to wear the first dress, can you?

Lastly, discussion question for the day.  I read this in a magazine, and I find myself having an interesting reaction to it.  Do you think that in life, there is a person who is your real, true wild love, and one who is your comfortable love?

Keep it civil in the discussion, and you can totally speak hypothetically, if'n you want.  I'm just curious.....

How Grey's Anatomy parallels my life

If you don't watch this show, you still might want to read, cuz you never know WHAT I might say, eh?

So, I am really not liking the Callie character.  (For those of you not in the know, she's this outsider girl, who is madly in love with George, who lives with two women.  She can never seem to do the right thing, to fit in.)  Raise your hands, please, if you have ever felt this way.  Wow, there was quite a breeze there, from all of the hands that went up.

I never have felt like I fit in.  Ever.  I try hard; most times, I try TOO hard and I overshoot the mark and end up feeling like a fool.  And that's happened to me a few times in this past week - like, say, when I met the deejays of the morning radio show, and felt all gushy and such while they gave me funny looks, and then when I made an offer to the teacher of one of my kids that didn't go over well, and her reasoning was stupid and didn't make sense and then I contacted an old friend via email who I haven't seen in five years and she's recently resurfaced.  I offered to meet up one day and she turned me down flat.  Just too busy .....

Sigh.

But, I keep hanging in there, much like Callie does.  And I seem to not get any better at this communication/friendship thingie.  And the knowledge that, after 36 years, I still haven't improved, sucks beyond belief.  I can't ever seem to do the right thing, to say the right thing, to call at the right time.  I have this one friend, who I haven't talked to in six months.  I feel like I've made all of the effort, and gotten nothing back, and I hate that.  I did shower, I swear!

Like Callie, sometimes I have balls of steel.  I can give it out to someone, and make them sorry.  Sometimes.  And then there are the other times, like when I meet a person and I try to be a good friend, and go overboard.  I would like to be more like Bailey.  Tough, no nonsense Bailey, who tells it like it is and doesn't worry about what people think of her. 

I wear the wrong shoes, or the wrong outfit.  I'm too dressy, or too casual, or too much makeup or not enough. I offer to coach soccer and the way I coach isn't good enough.  I try to help in the classroom and it's too much.  I call people too often, and can't seem to get calls returned.  Huh.  Maybe I just talk too much?

I hate my body and I hate having my period and I hate PMS and I hate not eating junk food and working out.  I'm sick of looking the way I do and having to BUST my ASS to get some clothes that aren't enormous.  I hate not having a true, close girlfriend locally, one I can call and dish with.  I hate dishes and laundry and going food shopping and smart mouthed kids and cranky teachers.  I hate paying bills and not having enough money almost evey month.  I hate that The Hubster is obsessed with home improvements today and not spending his day off with me.  I hate that I have NO running clothes, not even any shorts that I can run in that don't creep up my crotch.  I hate that I have a permanent blister on the back of my foot from my shoe, and I hate that I'm so grumpy and out of sorts today.

Gah.  Sometimes I make myself sick with the pity party.

I think I just have to stop trying so hard.