Lost in the Din

The office is so quiet, so hushed, but a clamor in my head pervades the stillness, not jarring, like the faint creak of a door at the edge of an afternoon nap, but incessant, like the faraway buzzing of a halogen light.

Four years. Four years they’ve gone while I’ve stayed. Four years they’ve played while I’ve worked. Four years they’ve reconnected while I’ve disconnected. Four years.

If I admit I can’t get used to this, will the restlessness subside, or will I lose myself in the din?

The Wonkerers *updated

(If the video below doesn’t work for you, click HERE for some serious Wonkerering.)

We weren’t allowed to video tape TD’s musical, Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, (what is UP with that?! HUH?!) but hey! Who needs to tape the show from waaaaay back in the audience, when one’s kiddos have memorized the whole darn thing anyway, and commandeer the family computer for an afternoon to capture the entire show– up close and personal– for posterity? Not me, that’s who!

So, yeah. I have no actual tape of Tanner performing on stage as Charlie, but I have him (and his sisters) performing every other role in the musical– with FEELING, no less… so FOOYAH!

Yup. Feel free to take a quick peek at what it’s been like at MY house for the past five months.

Enjoy.

You Did It, Charlie!

Not to brag, but a certain desperate working momma’s son was sensationally awesome as Charlie Bucket in a certain Willy Wonka Jr. musical at a certain elementary school!

Hey. I call it like I see it.

Okay, but tonight? I’m bringing the GOOD camera!

Think Positive

Is it normal for me to be MORE nervous than TD? He’s the one singing all of Charlie Bucket’s songs and performing all of Charlie Bucket’s lines in the 6th grade Willy Wonka Jr. musical tonight! It’s out of control!

I’m a wreck, that’s what I am… A wreck, I say!

Aaaaaand TD just rushed by me, belting out “Think Positive,” complete with wild gesticulations that I certainly hope are a part of the choreography. Because if not? EMBARRASSING.

“You’ve nothing to lose so why not choose to think positive?”

Well all righty then. I’m off to the show.

And TD? Break a leg, kid.

Aerosmithsonian

When you’ve been together a while, it’s bound to happen. You know, the whole ending each other’s sentences thing? Accordingly, one shouldn’t be surprised by the following conversation I recently had with the DWM padres who have traveled all the way from Podunky Small Town Arizona to see Numbah One Grandson (Yeah-huh! Okay, Numbah TWO Grandson… happy Kim?! SHEESH.) in his musical theater debut as Charlie Bucket in Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka Junior Ramma Lamma Bing Bang Extravaganza!

Do you follow?

So we were sitting down, having a nice little chat, when my dad leaned over my mother to ask if it would be difficult to get into DC to visit some places.

I asked, “Where do you want to go?” while mentally conjuring the Metro transit rail map.

“Well, I wanted to go to the Smithsonian…” he began.

Ah. See, there is a common misconception out there in the aether that the Smithsonian is one particular building in DC. This is not, in fact, the case. Let’s see…. you’ve got the more well-known Natural History Museum (check out the Hope Diamond!), the Air and Space Museum (ooooh! IMAX and Planetarium!), the National Portrait Gallery (don’t step too close to some of the exhibits… the sensors are freaking sensitive) and let’s not forget the National Zoo (Giant Pandas! Giant Pandas!). Then, of course, you’ve got your American Indian Museum, African Art Museum, your Postal Museum… and quite few more that I am much too lazy to look up, so there.

It’s evil I know, all show-offy and whatnot, but of course I asked, “Which one?”, and blinked innocently at the confused look on my dad’s face.

To his credit, I think he must have remembered my lecture on the Great Smithsonian Conundrum (yes! I’m a horrible geek! duh!) because he was only fazed for a moment.

“I wanted to see–”

And then it happened. The finishing each other’s sentences thing. (See? I’m focused! HA!)

My mom leaned over and butted in– er, interrupted– I mean, lovingly finished his thought, “Oh! He wants to go see the Aerosmith Museum!”

I blinked again, but this time in confusion. “The Aero…Smith… what?”

There was one of those pauses where it is completely silent except for the almost perceptible sound of cogs whirring and twirling in the collective brains of those assembled. As my dad and I began to snicker, my mom blurted out, “Oh! Air and Space! Air and Space!”

But it was too late. Oh, yes. Much too late.

My dad grinned. “Yeah, hon, I really wanted to hit that rock and roll museum… see all that rock star memorabilia?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll tell you how to get there! Just walk this waaaaaaay! talk this waaaay!”

My mom, adopting her patented I Totally Meant To Say That blasé attitude, was all, “Oh, you knew what I meant!” And just in case that wasn’t enough to save face, she quickly added, “Although an Aerosmith Museum would be pretty cool, come to think of it…”

My dad and I gave her a hard time of it for a few more minutes, after which I assured my father that I would make sure he got to see the Air and Space Museum.

Then I launched into my Smithsonian Conundrum spiel one more time for good measure, naturally.

Aaaaaaand now you know me better. You see? I can’t help how I am. It’s like the magnet my parents had on their refrigerator as I was growing up:

“Insanity is hereditary. I get it from my children.”

Wait… Hey!

More Riding in Cars with 3rd Grade Drama Queens

We now join the post-kiss-and-ride-pickup conversation of a desperate working momma and drama queen daughter, already in progress:

“It was a good day… except, do you know what so-and-so thinks is a good insult, Momma? He says,” here Alli adopted a gruff schoolboy’s tone, “‘Your grandma’s butt!’”

I threw a quick, raised-eyebrow look at her. “Huh,” I said as I signaled and pulled into the jam of after-school traffic. “That’s kind of a stupid thing to say.”

Alli snorted. “I know. Me and Hannah think a good thing to say would be, ‘I’m sorry. We need an interpreter. We don’t speak idiot.’”

Wow. I didn’t even teach her that one! “Nice one,” I said, throwing a quick glance of motherly pride her way.

A proud smile crossed her face, but almost as quickly as it came, it wavered. “Of course then he’d probably hurl a rock at me, or something, huh, Momma?”

I pictured so-and-so in my head for a moment. “There is that possibility,” I finally agreed.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled mischievously. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak idiot!” she said with a giggle.

I suppose she figured the satisfaction would be worth the risk.

That’s my girl.

*UPDATED I’m Thinking!

There are thoughts being thunk. I promise! But I’m in a funk. Not to mention the fact there are, unfortunately, not enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk…

Aaaaaand now I’ve gone all Theodor Seuss Geisel on your ass– er, bootays. How incredibly lame.

I need a vacation.

That being said, I have a story. It’s a good one. It involves six impatiently eager children, six gaily wrapped presents, one tinsel-covered Christmas tree, and a dream. Oh, and Uncle Ron. We can’t forget him. This story spans years and years and has recently come to a rather interesting conclusion. Or beginning. I don’t know…

When I gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk.

Oh, dear lord. I’m LAAAAAAAAAME.

Until I get my blog on, feel free to click over to TechnoGeekery for my latest shows:

TechnoGeekery Show #29: What the Widget?!

*TechnoGeekery Show #30: Send Videos…One Click!

Seriously. What the widget?! Did anyone ELSE know a person with Safari and Leopard could DO this?! SWEET.

* Plus, to prove people watch, I need your videos now! Send whatever you want, except porn ain’t allowed! (Hey, that sounds like a song…)

Leap of Faith… Redux

I recently stumbled across the following post, which I wrote way, waaaay back in May of ‘05. In all honesty, it made my heart hurt a little to re-read it. Who knew I could be introspective and poignant? Sometimes? Okay, I may have even teared up a bit. Just a little! I know, right? Me? BIG BABY. Deal with it. Re-reading the post also inspired in me a wicked craving for a donut. Go figure.

In any event, I thought I would share. Or, rather, re-share. Share again? Whatev. You know what I’m saying.

_______________________________

I have no desire to be enigmatic.

But it is a scary place, my mind. Crowded with jumbled imagery and intricate stories and trivial pop culture references, with nowhere to go. All of the craziness shuffles and scuffles to be forefront in my mind, to be most important. To be first. “Let me out!” it all screams, because it has to go somewhere, right?

Sometimes, when I read a book or I see a movie, I catch the mood of the piece, and I cannot shake it. I am there, and woe unto any who try to break in, to find me. I am in it, and only I can find my way back out. I am not even sure if that makes sense, but it is most definitely the case.

I mean, I know other people can read a book and put it down. Me? I read the fifth Harry Potter book in one night. ONE NIGHT! That freaking book is over 800 pages long! Honestly. It can take me literally hours to stop worrying about the characters in which I have invested my time. I feel their pain, their joy, their despair, their triumphs. If the book is particularly well-done, if the characters are alive, if the mood is fully realized, then it can take me hours to stop feeling the book. To let go of it.

Other people can watch a particularly riveting television show or movie and walk away thinking, “Huh. Good show! What’s for dinner?” Me? I become emotionally invested in the characters. I will obsess about their lives and the “what if’s” for days on end. Weeks, even. Now do not misunderstand. This is not to say I cannot separate the fictional characters from reality. No worries. I absolutely can. What I cannot do, not right away, anyway, is to stop thinking about their stories. Taking them in new directions. I will spend hours weaving new stories for them. Sometimes I even dream new stories. But Leonardo da Vinci said, The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake. Dude was a wise Renaissance man, yo?

Which leads me to this: when I write stories? Oh BOY. I am SO living them. And it is so exciting! I get to be someone else! Well, for a little while, anyway. I become Goddess of the Story Universe! Bow to me! Then, inevitably, my characters begin growing and acting out in ways I had not intended, and I just get to go with it, and it is GOOD. Of course, I think this is why I enjoy happy ending so much, formulaic cliche be damned. I need them, or I am lost. Then again, my endings are not always happy. And I absolutely hate that, because I ache for my characters. But I love it, too.

For a long time I thought this craziness had a name. I HAD to give it a name. I was surely bipolar. Manically depressed. Obviously. It was the only explanation for the mood swings, the black days, the deep-rooted dark despair that settled into my mind and would not let go. Right? And what sane, happy person loses herself in television and books? Huh? Normal people with three beautiful kids and TGIM don’t act this way, right? Am I RIGHT?! I hated my career choice, my living situation, my life, and I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly WRONG with me, because everyone I knew insisted I should be happy, that I should be thankful, that I should just STOP wallowing and get on with living. And I wanted to. I WANTED TO. But I was stuck. So I turned to the happy pills. But the drugs? They did not help. Dispassionateness, for me, was not a cure. It was a bandage.

“You are just like my ex-husband,” my sister said to me. “You can be anything you want to be. Anything but happy.”

Oh, no she DIDN’T.

So I ripped it off that bandage. And I made CHANGES.

I found a job writing and quit my teaching job. I packed up and moved all the way across the United States, not sure when and if TGIM would follow, but sure it was the right thing to do. I began expressing the jumbled imagery, intricate ideas, and trivial pop culture references swirling about in my mind through the magical world of blogging. I made new friends. I discovered the words “job satisfaction” were not mutually exclusive. I pulled myself out of the rut of complacency and fear in which I was trapped and made some personally earth-shattering decisions regarding what I wanted out of life. And, yes, I hurt TGIM and others close to me in the process and, yes, almost lost everything. I know that. I OWN that. But these days? I’m starting to feel as if despite the excruciating pain I caused myself and others, I have gained everything.

TGIM thinks this is The Crazy in me. Sometimes he loves me for it, sometimes… not so much. Me? I am starting to believe The Crazy is simply the artistic temperament in me. And, slowly, oh so slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it, to hone it, to bend it to my infinite megalomaniacal will, mwah ha ha ha!…

Sorry.

The other day I stumbled across a quote by Edvard Munch, the artist formerly known as the man who painted The Scream. Okay, he is still known as that, I just like the allusion to Prince. Because Prince ROCKS. Anywhos, Munch wrote of the experience he had which triggered the creation of this masterpiece:

I was out walking with two friends - the sun began to set - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an endless scream passing through nature.

As I read this I realized, hey, sometimes I sense that Endless Scream, too. I hear it! I KNOW it. And, slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it. I know, I know. Inscrutable, much? Talk to my family. But, then again, if I did not see the world this way, if I did not feel the world this way, how could I write? And writing? Makes me feel complete. Utterly, dizzyingly complete.

Well, writing, and a big ol’ cinnamon cake donut. Yummmmmm.

Take that, big sister. I CAN be happy.

Driving in Cars with Kiddos

Sometimes big thoughts hit you during small moments.

For whatever reason, my kiddos and I were talking about the city that lives underneath Disneyland, full of offices and tunnels and security and employees making their way across the park without having to brave the crowds. I believe the Mickey Mouse Jail is underground, too. Not that I’ve ever been in it. But, hey, I know people who have, so HA!

“Hey, Momma, wouldn’t it be fun to live underground?”

Before I could say anything, Tanner butted in to say exactly what I was thinking. “No way,” he replied. “Everyone would be all grumpy and depressed…”

“Exactly,” I interjected, imagining a world full of people stricken with seasonal affective disorder due to sun deprivation.

“… until we evolved.”

Okay, I wasn’t thinking that last part.

“Evolved?” Allison repeated, her eyebrows going all wrinkly.

Tanner turned around in his seat to look at Allison who sat behind him in the middle row of our car. “Yeah,” he said, with that twelve-year-old air of confidence and superiority sixth-graders have before they go off to junior high and have it squashed out of them. “Then? We’ll lose our eyes and have to find our way around by echolocation.”

Okay, I wasn’t thinking that part either.

I could see in the rearview mirror that Allison’s eyebrows had flown up into her hairline as her eyes widened to enormous proportions behind her glasses.

Tanner, never one to miss an opportunity to showboat, cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and stage-whispered, “And then we become FISH!”

Allison gasped. Hannah snickered from the very back seat of the car, then continued reading the book that had miraculously kept her out of the conversation up to this point.

I looked over at Tanner–torn between reproving him for freaking out his sister or giving him props for his correct usage of sweet words such as “evolve” and “echolocation”– but before I could say anything he smiled smugly at his littler sister and said, “But don’t worry. Evolving would take years.”

I cleared my throat.

“Millions of years,” Tanner amended.

Allison’s tense little body sagged with relief. “I guess it wouldn’t be fun to live underground after all, huh, Momma,” she said.

“I guess not,” I replied, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. Then I turned to glance at Tanner, with what I hoped was a stern look on my face. “Echolocation?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Fish?”

Tanner shrugged and smiled, then turned away to look out the window.

Echolocation, I murmured to myself, amused. Evolution. I ever-so-slyly stole a look at my son, and suddenly, in that small moment, the big thought struck. We may have millions of years underground before we evolve into freaky, sightless, echolocating fish, but my son appears to be evolving right before my eyes into more and more of a handsome young man than my sweet little buddy boy.

And that quickly, evolution didn’t seem all that funny anymore.

“Echolocation!” Hannah piped up from the back seat as she slammed shut her book. “Like bats!” she added with a giggle.

At that, I burst out laughing. Because honestly. Echolocation? Still funny.

For My Nephew: An Argument FOR Video Games

Please indulge me as I address a response to my tween-aged nephew who requested some advice on how to write a persuasive essay which would convince people to play video games.

“Not a good topic,” he wrote, “but they say stick to what you know.”

Oh, no. I would say that this is a freaking fabulous topic, my nephew. FAB-U-LOUS. In fact, I would say that there are actually two very compelling angles you can take with this topic. Allow me to elucidate:

Argue that playing video games can help keep you phyically fit AND promote family togetherness.

Booyah! Fact! Sort of!

With the emergence of games such as Dance, Dance, Revolution and Wii Sports and EA (Wii) Playground, you are no longer a passive participant in video game playage. No, indeed! Instead, you are working up a sweat getting down with your bad dancey self, and swinging that Wii remote around, bowling, batting, golfing, boxing, playing tetherball, skateboarding, and battling your friends and family in dodgeball. DODGEBALL, people. Without actual BALLS being hurled at you at warp speed by sadistic jocks who are only happy when they are inflicting pain upon those smaller than them in the form of dodgeball-sized welts all over said smaller people’s torsos. Do you hear me, Coach Carter?! DO YOU?! Welts! On TORSOS!

Plus, tetherball is way fun.

I confess, I was sore after I spent the afternoon playing Wii Sports with my friend Paige. (Yes, I play video games with my friends on my days off! While my kids are in school! Hoo! How do you like them apples?) I think it was the boxing that did it. Ouch. It was like an intense Tae Bo workout, but with sound effects and fits of giggles. And everyone knows that laughing is an AWESOME abs workout.

It is. Look it up. I can’t do everything. GOSH.

And don’t even get me started on the fun that is Rock Band, which is essentially Guitar Hero on crack, with not only guitar and bass, but drums and vocals. Oh, you got me started!  See, it’s educational, what with budgeting all the gig earnings so you can buy new songs, outfits, tattoos, instruments, you know, important rock band stuff. Not to mention the fact that many kids who play Rock Band are inspired to try out the REAL instruments, thus developing a previously untapped musical talent. Plus there’s the traveling, the practicing, and the working together to be the Best Rock Band EVER. That’s all I’m saying. These are valuable life skills. It’s the school of rock, baby! SCHOOL. OF. ROCK.

Basically, it’s all about family togetherness.

As an added bonus, playing some of the instruments–especially the drums, which, FUN!– are quite the workout. I’m not kidding here. You will sweat.

OF course, there’s the old standby of developing your hand-eye coordination blah blah blahdy blah, but whatever. Physical fitness! Family togetherness! Those are the key!

(An upcoming TechnoGeekery vidcast episode I am working on involves this very topic, so feel free to cite my show as a resource.)

There. I believe I have made my point. I rest my case.

Um, amen.

“… and a bag of chips.”

Over the weekend, I cuddled up on the couch with my kiddos and we watched Sydney White, a modern retelling of the Snow White story. As “the fairest of them all”– a beautiful sorority girl (because, duh, who better to play an evil witch, eh Disney?)– strutted onto the scene, Alli leaned over and tapped on my arm.

With an unladylike snort of disgust, she whispered, “Momma, that girl thinks she’s all this and that, doesn’t she?”

Another TechnoGeekery Quickie! Plus… A TD/Kate Movie Debut!

Another episode of TechnoGeekery is up. It’s a quickie!

TechnoGeekery Quickie #6: Attaching Files to Email

In this one, I get down to basics and explain how to attach files– such as documents, pictures, or videos– to your emails. Because my TechnoGeeks ASKED me, that’s why! Now, we’ve gone over this before, people! Don’t MAKE me get out my guitar and write a song, yo?

In other news, TD and Paige’s daughter, Kate, wrote, directed, starred in, and produced a short video for a children’s video festival they want to enter. They did this– from the script-writing to the camera work to the film editing– completely independently and are bizarre and genuinely hilarious in it.

For real. They have the best chemistry and comedic timing. I don’t know where they get this.

“What’s up with that?! Haaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Random Thoughts on a Dreary Thursday Afternoon

Okay, I’m not sure if any of you have ever lost consciousness before, so let me just say very quickly here: Don’t do it.

No, seriously. If you can avoid a situation in which there is a possibility you might lose consciousness, by all means, do so. Whatever you do, do not pass out. Especially if you have foolishly locked yourself in an ER restroom where no one can find you until you come to, drag yourself up from the floor, and stagger out to find a nurse. Or, you know, anyone who will make the world stop spinning. It is NOT fun. Not fun at all. Trust me.

Just FYI.

Also, this? This right here is exactly what happens when you send a man to get support supplies after you bust your ass. Wait. I have to say, it seems like there should be something after that, doesn’t it? Like, “I busted my ass doing this report and this is the thanks I get?!” Or, “Hey, don’t bust your ass trying to get this done, it’s not that big a deal, yo?” You know? But whatever. Hee. I said “but.” Which totally sounds exactly like butt! Because it is a homonym?! Or more specifically, a homophone?! Hee! BUT.

What?

Oh yes… THIS is exactly what happens!

I know, right?! It’s like he just walked into CVS and grabbed the biggest, brightest, most gosh-awfulest butt-support-donut EVER and was like, “Dude. Cat will so totally love me for this. I am the best husband in the entire universe. I wonder if my bike pump will fit this bad boy?” And I was like, “Oh, the HELL you say?!”

I mean, guys? It smells like those kickballs you used to check out from the P.E. teachers at recess! Yeah. Like that. And I can totally bounce it and it makes that rubbery BOING! sound, which I demonstrated to several of my very impressed co-workers. Well, once they recovered from the blinding shock of the Manic Panic Orange, that is.

Honestly.

Thank goodness for my spare office hoodie, that’s all I’m saying.

So… think anyone will notice?

Conversation Over B-Day Breakfast for TD

by Guest Blogger TGIM

Scene: Family of five, two adults, one rugged twelve-year old boy and two young girlie-girls. All sitting down, waiting for breakfast to be served.

Man to Rugged Boy: “Son, would you like to go to the sporting goods store and check out some pocketknives?”

Girlie Girl #1: “Ooh, I want a pocketknife!”

Girlie Girl #2: “Hey, can I have a knife too?!”

Rugged Boy (with slightly sheepish smile): “Um, yeah… do you think we could go to the craft store instead?”

Woman to all: “Wow.”

End Scene.

Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!

Last night was a comedy of errors, really. Except sad. And very painful. Lots of pain. But a comedy, nonetheless. Bringing the funny.

Ha?

It all began when I slipped on the iced-over concrete steps outside of our house while on my way to the mailbox. I had keys in one hand and envelopes in the other and it all happened so fast, so I didn’t even have time to catch myself. So, THUD, thud, thud. Then pain. Scratch that. I meant to say PAIN. Yet, even through the haze of agony, I automatically did that thing you do when you fall. You know? That thing? When you look frantically around to see if anyone saw you fall, because 1) embarrassing!, and 2) if anyone DID see it is imperative that you do the “I’m all right! Ta da! Nothing to see here!” thing, and 3) EMBARRASSING. Hmm. Why do people do that, anyway? And by “people” I mean “me.” When a weakly uttered, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” would be so totally appropriate, not to mention awesomely pathetic? Really.

But, I digress. Luckily I was able to pick myself up, and– clutching my back– managed to stagger back through my front door before passing out. Coincidentally, Alli was watching Madagscar and was just at the part where Alex the Lion has been nailed with tranquilizer darts and is in a psychedelic delirium. I know, right? It lent itself well to my own confused thinking during my dramatic collapse and loss of consciousness. Mood music, if you will. Hey, mad props on the timing, Fate! You bizzyotch.

When I came to, TD was on the phone with 911. I guess when I came staggering through the front door babbling about how I thought I’d broken my tailbone and to “call DAD!” he insisted on calling 911 first. He apparently told me (several times, allegedly), “Okay, I’ll call Dad, but 911 FIRST!” At the time, 911 meant nothing to me, just random numbers he kept throwing around. Like 12. Or 7. I couldn’t understand why he was so fixated on those stupid numbers when clearly I needed him to call TGIM. I’m pretty proud of the kid, actually. He stayed calm, followed the directions of the 911 dispatcher, and took care of his utterly freaked-out sisters. Of course, the four blankets he and the girls ripped off the beds and threw over me may have been overkill on the whole “Keep her warm!” directive, but still… proud!

So… I got my first ambulance ride out of the experience. But I have to say it wasn’t as fun as one would think. Probably because of the neck brace, the backboard, the IV, and the excruciating pain. Probably.

At the hospital they took x-rays (after three hours) and told me that while I didn’t appear to have broken anything, my coccyx was badly bruised (along with my dignity) and I will have to check back with my doctor on Friday, in case of internal bruising or a herniated lumbar disc or some such nonsense. You know what? Herniated is a funny word. HER-NEE-AAAY-TED. See? Funny.

After about six hours in the emergency room, they finally decided to discharge me. Yes, even though it was after midnight. And TGIM and the kiddos were at home in bed (thinking I was staying the night). But the emergency room was swamped and they needed the bed, so there you go. Unfortunately, in their haste, they did not take the time to do the little things. You know, like check my blood pressure? Which is a good idea when a patient tells you repeatedly that she has low blood pressure, and you decide to hop her up on Percocet anyway (on an empty stomach, no less), and then leave her laid out on a stretcher for six hours.

Because when you pull out her IV and point her toward the exit, and she decides to take a pit stop at the emergency room bathroom (IV? six hours? duh?), no good can come of it. None. Zilch. And wouldn’t you know it? No matter how sternly I told myself that I would NOT pass out– no, absolutely NOT, under no circumstances, I am not even JOKING!– the next thing I knew I was still coming to with my cheek pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The kicker? I apparently twisted my ankle on the way down, just before I broke my fall with my face. Of course, having been unconscious during the fall, I didn’t feel a thing, so that was a mercy. Then again, I feel it now. Which… no fun at all? And while the sprained ankle seems reasonable to concerned friends and family, how do I explain the bruises and swelling on my face, when I purportedly fell on my bum?

Oh, I guess I just did. Sa-WEET.

Hey. You know what else is a funny word? Percocet. Ha! It’s loopy doopy. Percocet…

Oh, Snap!

Allison dragged me over to the dream home she had constructed for her Polly Pocket using an empty paper box, a pair of heavy duty scissors, assorted colored pencils, and some seriously stellar eight-year-old ingenuity.

“Momma, look, ” she instructed, flourishing at the box with a red colored pencil she had evidently put to work covering the outside of Polly’s new home with meticulously crafted bricks. “Check it out!”

Mentally tallying how many hours before TGIM tripped over Polly’s dream home one too many times and condemned it to tear down status, I said, “Ooh, uh-huh.” Hey! With motherly pride! Step off me!

“Well?” she asked, her face lit with eagerness and pride in ownership. “What do you think of Polly Pocket’s new briiiiiiiiiick… hooouuuuse?”

I ruffled her hair playfully. “It’s mighty mighty,” I replied, almost without thought. “Now Polly can let it all hang out.”

We stood there, mother and daughter, admiring Polly Pocket’s Dream Home in artistic and Motown solidarity. After a moment we went our separate ways, each of us humming and singing “She’s a briiiiiick… hoooouse…” under our breath and jiving to the beat. What can I say?

That’s just how we roll at the DWM house.

“Momma, can I read to you?”

Alli stood at my left shoulder, resting her chin on the back of my chair to peek at whatever it was on my computer screen that held my attention. I could feel her there, fidgety and anxious, waiting as patiently as she knew how until I finished typing. Her warm breath tickled my neck, and I smiled to myself. I turned away from the computer (these days it is always the computer) to give her a smile, and that is when it happened. That is when I saw her.

Really saw her.

Of course you saw her, dipstick, you think to yourself. You were looking right at her. And you’d be right, of course, except for the “dipstick” part, because that is just plain rude. I looked at her. Of course I looked at her. But it was what I saw that startled me.

I’m not going to spout any hackneyed verbiage about seeing her “with new eyes” or “for the first time.” Nor will I wax allegorical about seeing beyond the outward appearance of those around us. Nope. It was simpler than that. I wasn’t seeing her anew; I was just… seeing her. Her sea green eyes, one magnified by a coke bottle lens, but both shining up at me, full of depth and warmth. The freckle on her chin. The wisps of unruly hair that danced around her hairline, escaped from the confines of her ponytail. The sweet little nose. The determined tilt of her chin, seemingly at odds with the amiable set of her lips. The almost palpable energy radiating from her body as her excitement and vitality threatened to spill over, to overwhelm me with, just… her, all of her, even as she struggled for composure.

She was so beautiful in that moment. Ethereal, yet so very real. I literally ached with the beauty of her. All of her. In that moment, she wasn’t just a spunky little mini-me with glasses and a propensity for chattering simply for chattering’s sake. I don’t know how else to say it. She was just… herself.

And it was breathtaking.

Alli shook my shoulder. “Mom? Momma?” She peered into my eyes, and a shadow of concern crossed her face.

Just a moment had gone by–seconds, really–but I felt both physically and emotionally exhausted, absolutely spent, as if I’d been traveling for weeks in some far off place and I was finally returning home. Trying to get my bearings.

I blinked a few times, fast, winking away any tears that dared to escape. I showed my tear ducts who’s boss, so to speak. “Yes, sweetie?” I finally answered.

“I love you.”

Now, I know for a fact that she had been about to ask me, “Can I read to you?” Because that is what she always asks when her homework is finished and she needs to read for twenty minutes for her reading log. But she changed the program.

“I love you, too,” I replied, then pulled her into my arms for a hug.

“I know,” she said simply. Then, “Momma?” she asked as she gently disentangled herself from my arms, arms which may or may not have been holding her a teensy bit too tightly.

“Hmm…?”

“Can I read to you?”

After a momentary glitch, we were back to our regularly scheduled program. All was well in the world.

But now, as I think back to that moment, I can’t help but wonder if Alli veered off-script because at that moment, that exact moment when she looked into my eyes… she saw me, too.

Driving in Cars With Drama Queens

We now join a conversation “between” Alli and Momma in the DWM car, already in progress…

“…and it wasn’t even a big deal, it was just one little mistake– are you listening, Momma?– but they wouldn’t let me help and we were getting graded on cooperation and stuff, so I told the teacher I wanted to help but they wouldn’t let me– and that’s not cooperating, is it, Momma?– I mean, it’s not my fault they lost points because we were supposed to cooperate, and it was just, like, one point or something, but then she was all like, ‘What’s that all about?! You ruined our grade!’ and she got all worked over and stuff and she told the other girls not to play with me at recess– which is so rude, huh, Momma?– and then guess what? She started to cry.”

“Wow,” I replied as I flicked my turn signal blinker and glanced over my shoulder at my blind spot. “Lots of drama in the third grade, huh?”

“I know! I mean, she got so worked over, Momma! For one teensy little mistake! And it was pretty much their own fault, anyway, if you ask me, so, you know…”

I merged into the right lane. “Well, hopefully by next week your project partner will have forgotten all about this.”

“Yeah.” Alli sighed heavily. “Man… what a drama queen.”

Feeling Saucy

Look how tall my gals are getting to be! Shazam!

Hannah (birthday girl! woot!) and Alli are feeling quite saucy today, bee tee dub, due to some seriously sassy straightened hair! Now some of you may know of the curly-haired gal’s secret pining for stick straight hair, with blunt cut bangs and no fear of frizz, and by golly, today these two little girls were living the dream!

Well, except their hair isn’t quite STICK straight, there is nary a bang in sight, and a little humidity would poof those hairdos right the hell out, but whatever! STRAIGHT HAIR! On Hannah and Alli! It’s like, a miracle or something. A birthday miracle!

No, I’m not tearing up… there’s just a speck of dirt in my eye…

Pet Store Shenanigans

Pet stores. Exciting for the kiddos, smelly to the momma, and oh-so educational. For EVERYBODY.

The other night we were in the vicinity of the pet store, so we threw caution to the wind and went to torture ourselves by looking at the most adorable kittens and puppies and other allergen-riddled mammals (and some way creepy non-mammals) that we can never ever buy, not even in a million years, as my kids will tell you, “Thanks to Mom and her stupid allergies that could totally kill her, GOSH!” But they’re not bitter. They love me.

So, we browsed the store, marveling at the gecko’s eyes, giggling over the mice-in-the-wheel shenanigans, and freaking out over the ssslithering ssslinkiness of the snakes. As we approached the cockatiel cage, a favorite stop of my kiddos, we inadvertently stumbled upon an intimate moment between the two cockatiel residents.

Now, listen… I don’t care what anyone says, NOBODY wants to watch these pet store animals get their freak on. They’re shameless exhibitionists, openly exulting in braggy displays of unrestrained lust– all, “Oooh! Look at me! Look at me!” (and often in positions that put the Kama Sutra to shame)– displays which everyone knows are not appropriate for public and/or mixed company, and it’s exposed and embarrassing and gross, like karaoke.

But I digress.

“Oh, my,” said Hannah, pausing for one infinitesimal moment before hurrying past the cage, an embarrassed grin slowly spreading across her face.

“What?” Alli asked before looking into the cage. “Ooooh! Look! That one’s giving the other one a piggyback ride!”

Tanner and Hannah snorted.

“She doesn’t know,” Tanner said, turning away from the cage.

“Yeah, she doesn’t,” Hannah agreed.

But Alli was having none of it. She stood there, a thoughtful expression on her face as she shifted her attention between her grinning and increasingly red-faced siblings and the busy little caged birdies.

Thankful for at least one child with a shred of farmyard innocence, I began to shoo my kids toward the exit. Before we made it two steps, however, TGIM wandered over from the aquarium section of the store.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Okay. FINE. I giggled (because… dirty!) but only in my head. Duh. I have filters! Most of the time!

“Look, Daddy!” Hannah said, pointing at the cage.

So TGIM looked. Then looked again. It was one of those amusing little television moments where you could practically hear the double-take sound effect.

Then TGIM looked at me, and his eyes did that yelling thing, you know, where they are all, “Um, hello? Cat? WHAT the…?!” Like somehow I encouraged the birds to go for a quickie during store hours! Whatever. My eyes told his eyes to just STEP OFF.

Suddenly, Alli turned away from the cage, and in an ah-HA! tone of voice exclaimed, “Oh, I know! They’re mating!”

“Giddyup, little horsey!” Hannah blurted out, pitching Tanner into a fit of the giggles.

You know how you do that thing when you are trying not to laugh at something your child says because you aren’t quite sure whether or not it would be appropriate to encourage said child in questionable expressions of humor? You know, that thing? With the trying not to laugh? TGIM and I were doing that thing. Well, attempting to do that thing, anyway.

Hey, don’t judge. You weren’t there. You don’t know.

We turned to leave. Hannah grabbed her red-faced daddy’s hand and skipped alongside him as we headed out the doors and into the parking lot. “Hey, did you see the smiles on the birdies’ faces, Daddy?” she asked.

Tanner– trailing behind the two– scoffed at her ignorance. “Birds don’t smile.”

“Those ones were. Did you see, Daddy?! Those were happy birdies!”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” TGIM said and determinedly changed the subject. To dessert ideas, I think, which… brilliant?!

But at my side, I felt a gentle tug on my arm. I looked down at Alli, who grabbed my hand with her little one and said in an innocent, confiding little voice, “Well, that sure looked like an awkward way to mate, didn’t it Momma?!”

In an instant, sure knowledge of impending adolescence (times three!) struck me and wrestled the air from my lungs more quickly than that time my big sister slammed her end of the see-saw down so violently it launched me up and off… and down. THUNK.

Can’t…! breathe…! I remember thinking back then. I thought the same now.

I choked back the breathlessness. I powered through. There was time yet. Still time.

“Oh, absolutely,” was all I replied, as I squeezed her hand. “Absolutely.”

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