Blunt Force Trauma to the Face

About a month ago, I went to see a dentist for the first time in years.  I had some work done a few years ago when a tooth split, but I haven't been receiving regular dental care for years.

After looking in my mouth for the first time, the doctor pulled back and looked me over then asked,

"Have you experienced blunt force trauma to your face?"

My first thought was that the last few years had been even HARDER on me that I knew.  But I have a mirror and my teeth don't look that bad.  I mean, if I showed up looking like this woman, I might have expected his question.

So I tell him, no.  I haven't suffered any blunt force trauma to the face or anywhere else.  He persists, "Have you been in an accident and hit your face?"  Uh, no.  I think I'd remember that.

He finally fills me in.  My front teeth, on top and bottom, are chipping off.  That's not something common in a woman of  my age.  As the good dentist says,

"This is something I might expect from an 80 year old woman ..."

Yep.  Those last few years were definitely much harder than I knew.

"but not someone of your age."

Then I get to explain to him how over fifteen years ago I was diagnosed with severe shortage of calcium in my bones.  To the point that I was already showing signs of osteoporosis then.  The Orthopedic Surgeon explained that a depletion like I had was most likely caused at the time of my conception.  Of coarse, he meant my mom wasn't getting enough calcium.  I was thinking it was unlikely she was drinking milk when I was conceived.

He still didn't look convinced.

The Green Pants

At some point yesterday, Linden began asking me to look for a pair of green pants for a Lego person he wanted to play with.  First, let me share with you the process his requests usually take.

9:35 am   "Mom, can you find me a pair of green pants for the

                  Green Lantern?"

9:36 am   "Why not?"

9:37 am   "Please?"

9:40 am   "Okay, here are your options.  You can help me find

                  some green pants and I'll leave you alone.  Or, I'm

                  going to stay right here."

9:41 am   "You're going to make me sad."

9:45 am   "If you don't find some green pants for me I'm not going

                  to love you."

Then, I might get 10-30 minutes of peace before the exact process starts again; give or take a few sentences.  I did get an hour break from the request/demand when we went to the park to play.  

Due to my contrary nature, each time he repeats the process it just makes me less inclined to help him out.  Besides, his room is a disaster and he owns probably five gallons of tiny little Lego parts that I'd have to look through. 

It also bears sharing that he had in his possession at the time several alternative colors of pants.  I tried, at one point, to convince him that the Green Lantern was doing laundry and black pants were a completely acceptable alternative...but no luck.

After I put Linden to bed, I spent two hours trying to add hinges to a very small building.  The main problem being that the opening is slanted and two different hinges are needed.  I made such a mess, that in the long run, I ended up having to take everything apart.  I re-puttied the holes, sanded it down, and repainted the affected area.  

First thing this morning and I was back at it.  For three hours I screwed in and out eight different little screws, four of which can't be reached with my drill.  I even ended up having to replace all eight screws at least twice with longer screws as they eventually lost their grip.  And as I become more and more frustrated, I have to listen to the following sound track:

9:35 am   "Mom, can you find me a pair of green pants for the
                  Green Lantern?"

9:36 am   "Why not?"

9:37 am   "You told me yesterday that you'd find me some today."

9:40 am   "Please?"

9:41 am   "I'm to little to find them by myself."

9.42 am   "Will's still sleeping and he's mean when I wake him up."

9:45 am   "You're going to make me sad."

And it repeats every 10-30 minutes.

At eleven thirty I was contemplating using my hammer to smash the small building into timber; thus removing the need to have functioning hinges when Linden started on round five of "I need some green pants."

"Fine!  I'll find you some damn green pants."

I spent an hour going through every toy box, bag of toys, pile of toys, and his giant tackle box that is filled with just Legos.  Every time I'd find any person piece I'd put it in a container just in case he decided he needed an orange hand, frown face, or blond wig next.  I found a pair of green pants about thirty minutes into my search, but I kept going.  The break from hinges was greatly appreciated.  When I went back to work on my little house, the door was hanging perfectly in less than fifteen minutes. 

Apparently, the secret was green pants.

My Little Village

I've been obsessed with having my own little library since I found out about them.  In case you are one of the other twelve people in America that hasn't heard about the Little Free Library program, here's a quick description: 

People build, or buy, their own small library (most are less then 20x20 inches).  Then they register their library by purchasing a sign from the official site ... this is the only way to get a charter number.  You display the library outside of your home or business.  You are responsible for stocking it, upkeep, etc.  It's a way to bring people in an immediate area closer together.

As with all things, I didn't start with a simple library.  I spent weeks pouring over every online library I could find and compiling a Pinterest file of the library designs that most appealed to me.  Since I predominately want to supply books for children, as our neighborhood is filled with them, I wanted a fun and engaging design.  I never did find exactly what I wanted.  But, I did find a company that makes adorable fairy homes.  After that, nothing else appealed to me.

Once I had selected the design I wanted to use, I had to make plans that included enlarging and making my library water proof.  This is also about the time I decided it would be best to have two separate buildings, one for children and one for adults.  And, of coarse, they should each be two stories.  Why not?  They always say dream big or go home.  The problem is that I am home and it's been over run with small buildings in some process of completion for over three weeks.

Oh, and it's not just two small buildings.  When looking at those hundreds of photos of little libraries I feel in love with the idea of adding a small house that could hold dog treats ... we have a lot of dog walkers in our area.  Then I needed a separate place to hold comment cards.  So my little library, that could have been made from some simple plans available for free online and easily completed in a weekend had turned into a small village of four building; two of which are two story. And they are still not completed.

Having to make my own plans sort of sucked.  I think I would have been okay if the buildings had been perfectly square; but they are not.  So I drew up what I thought were decent plans then cut out everything accordingly.  As I assembled each house I ended up recutting about half of my pieces ... and some for even a third time.  As you can guess, I am not a carpenter.  I have a better understanding of the tools used then most women and I excel at figuring out how things go together ... but that still leaves a lot of room for error.  And I have been abusing the hell out of the room for three weeks.

I have felt more frustration in the last few weeks than is good for my health.  But little by little, I'm winning.  There is progress being made and I can still stand to look at my little building at the end of each night.  I haven't thought of piling them in the back yard and setting them on fire more than once...a day.  I was hoping to finish them last week, but when making the original timeline I forgot that Will would be home for two weeks for Spring Break.  I was also unaware that Steve would be working 6-7 days a week during the entire process; most nights until dark.

Will's out of school this week too, so my progress is still slow.  I'm past the point of estimating when I might have them completed, but I'll post photos of them when they are finally up.  In the mean time, here is my inspiration for the designs I choose. 

Now, I'm off to work on my village.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to work I go!

Point of View

Postive POV (Point of View)

"Positive things happen to positive people." - Sarah Beeny

I had an amazing day today.  

1) My BFF picked Linden and I up and drove us to Joann's for their grand opening - and she bought me a large iced tea on the way.  I got a $10 gift card at Joann's for free and a 50%-off coupon.  I found a set of cookie sheets that ended up costing me nothing!

2) We stopped by a local store to check out evening wear, then had lunch together.

3) My BFF also watched Linden while I ran into HEB and grabbed items for dinner.

4) Linden and I got to go to Will's school for his Valentine's party.  He made an awesome sunday and played Bingo while we were there.

5) I enjoyed some sun and fresh air this afternoon after Will got out of school and this evening Steve cooked crab legs and sweet potatoes for me - and brought me home a bouquet of beautiful flowers.

It was a fabulous Valentine's!

  Negative POV

 “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity.” - Winston Churchill

I had the worse day ever!

1) I went out with my friend this morning to run errands.  I had to remove Linden's car seat and install it in her vehicle - and those seats are not made to move around.  While I was taking it out, Linden ran out in the road.  When we got to Joann's we had to wait in line, while I held the baby, then fight our way through a hundred shoppers.  I got some good deals but ended up spending more than I should have, then had to carry my purchases four lanes over to the car - with a baby in the other arm.

2) It was to early for the lunch we had planned so we stopped at a thrift store.  We ended up finding nothing and Linden was getting fussy.  We stopped for an early lunch at a cheap Mexican restaurant and Linden made the biggest mess EVER.  I also had to sit and look at chips and salsa I couldn't eat for over half an hour.

3) My friend watched Linden while I ran into the store to pick up some items.  Naturally, I got off without my list and forgot several things.  Linden napped the entire time, which was only 45 minutes - not his usual 2 hour nap.

4) We had to illegally park at Will's school because everyone was there for the parties.  We did make it on time, but the teacher asked us all to come 15 minutes early without letting us know we'd be sitting around waiting for the kids to come back from PE.  Linden was horrible - he ran up and down isles, cried, got into things and had several fits.

5) Linden was happy to see Will when he finally showed up, but only for about 10 minutes.  We got to watch Will fix and eat a large ice cream sunday - which Linden and I couldn't have.  Then we watched as the entire class played Valentine bingo - for a game or two anyway until Linden started clawing and pinching me.  (His way of letting me know he's done.)  So, even though I had planned on staying until the party was over and driving Will home, we had to leave early.  Which Will didn't like and complained about.

6) I took Linden home and put him down for a nap.  I texted a neighbor to grab Will from the bus and walk him home as Linden would still be asleep by then.  Only Linden didn't sleep, he cried for half an hour straight.  I finally got him up and walked up to meet the bus.  Then I kept him outside until Steve came home - which almost kept him happy.

7) While outside Linden had to be spanked twice for crawling outside the safe zone and heading into the front yard.  He also threw several fits and put on an old hat that was filled with water and debris.

8) For dinner, Steve boiled crab legs and corn on the cob in Louisianan spices.  Linden loves corn; so I took one out of the pot and ran it through cold water to rinse it off and cool it down.  I apparently didn't get all the spices off as Linden started screaming.  Then he rubbed his eyes and got spices in them.  It took me nearly 20 minutes to calm him down and get him to nap.  By which time my crab was cold and I had to microwave it as I peeled it, and Will was done eating and sitting in the living room.

9) I managed to finish eating and help Will with homework before Linden woke back up.  The next half hour found me dealing with a screaming baby as I bathed him, flushed his eyes, and administered medication.

10) By then, it was Will's bed time.  Linden stayed up a little later, thanks to his cat nap during dinner. By the time the boys were down, Steve was ready for bed.

Worse Valentine's to date!  (But I'm sure next years will be worse!)

 
My POV

I'm well aware of the things that can, do, and probably will go wrong with most given situations.  I don't think that makes me a pessimistic ... just experienced.

However, it should be noted that I enjoy the foundation of my life - my children, husband, friends, and where I live, and the quirks associated with each.  

I actually found my day a true representation of the spirit of Valentines - I spent it with those I love, in which ever mood or activity life found us.  And I am thankful for the opportunity to have done so.



 
      


 

Cheryl Will Do

Girly-Boy

Steve and Will were packing for their weekend away from home.  Will had been told where his boots where and asked to get them. He went to retrieve them and returned empty handed.  I sent him back to look again and he returned with one boot.

If I've told him once, I've told him a hundred times, "Where one shoe is, the other will be close by."  (Seriously, how difficult of a concept is this?)

Seeing as I had only averaged four hours of sleep a night for the past three weeks, I was not only unexcited about looking for something Will was capable of finding, my mind wasn't as sharp as it could have been.

In frustration, I struggled mentally to find something to threaten him with that would be so horrible he would immediately go in there and not come back until he had two boots in his hands.

"If I go in there and find the other boot, can I call you ...."

What?  I needed a really girly name.  Something so frou frou he would never want to be called that.  Think.  Think.  Girly name.  Without any notice the following comes out of my mouth:

"... Cheryl the rest of the night?"

Immediately I hear Steve choke then start laughing like a frigging hyena in the back ground.  And, truth be told, I'm more shocked than he is.  The only Cheryl either of us know is my ex-husbands wife, and she is not a girly girl at all.  She's a nice enough woman; has her own scars, prejudices, and problems -- as do the rest of us.  Definitely not a frou frou woman.

"What?" Will asked, in confusion.

"If I go in their and find your boot right where I told you to look, can I call you Cheryl the rest of the night?" I asked.

Then I taunted him in a sing-song voice

"Cheryl, it's time to brush your teeth."
"Cheryl, put on your pajamas."
"Cheryl, it's time to turn off the TV."
"Good night, Cheryl, I love you."

(And there goes that damn hyena again.)

Will found his other boot in seconds.

* * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Steve is looking for the portable DVD player.  While standing over the dining room table, he asks me where I said it was.

"It's on the dining room table," I told him.

"I don't see it."

(Have I mentioned that Will comes by his inability to find things naturally?)

"If I come in there and find it on the table," I asked him with a grin,  "Can I call you Cheryl the rest of the night?"

Before the laughter died down, Steve managed to locate the DVD player.

"You know," I told him, "if we're going to keep using this we need to find another name instead of Cheryl."

"No," Steve responded, "Cheryl will do."

And I guess it will.

A Bump in the Road

The road.

I've been working really hard the last three weeks to improve my health.  Now that Will is back in school, I have been taking the opportunity to go walking each morning with Linden.  We walk two miles each school day - an amazing accomplishment when you consider I averaged a mile or two a week during the summer months.

I've also arranged to swap baby-time with a new friend so I have been able to add another workout to my weekly schedule.

While I can't techinally diet while nursing, I have cut out sweets, stopped eating late in the day, and tried to curb snacking as much as possible.

And it's working.  Slowly.  But it is working.

In three weeks I've lost five pounds and definately began to rebuild some lost muscel mass.

I still hate getting dressed in the morning, as nothing fits right and I'm so disappointented in the person I see in the mirror.  But in this case, it's definately better than the alternative ... not getting dressed.  

All and all, I'm okay with my progress, but realize it's a long slow road ahead of me.

The bump.

I've been sleep training Linden the last few days, and it's been hell.  I've spent more time listening to him crying in the last three days than I have in the ten months of his life.  I'm not getting any sleep and my nerves are shot.

Tuesdays and Thrusdays are always tough at my house as they are the days I take Will to tuttoring.  He gets off the buss at 3:00 and he's tired and really just wants to disappear into his room for about an hour and veg.  But we have to leave by 3:20 to make it to the tutor on time.  Once we drop him off, a little before 4:00, Linden and I have an hour to hang around the area until we pick him up.  We make it home about  5:30; usually with a screaming baby and a tired boy.  Then it's rush, rush, rush, through homework, meals, and baths so that everyone can be tucked into their rooms about 7:30.  It's just stressful.

Today, Steve came home early with a stomach bug.  Then, on the way home from tutoring, Will began to complain about not feeling well.  Just as I laid Linden down for the night, Will starts giving back everything he's eaten all day.  An hour later, everyone is in bed or asleep, except for me.  I'm attempting to locate a package USPS has manged to lose, answer emails, and print out files for orders tomorrow.

But that's not the bump ...  this is:

 

I don't even remember the trip to the kitchen to get it, but I looked down and there were nothing but crumbs on the wrapper that use to contain a frigging huge blueberry muffin.  Seriously, I ate an entire 4-servings size blueberry muffin at nine p.m. without even thinking about it.  There's my bump.

I'm seasoned enough to know there will be delays, set backs, road blocks, and bumps along the way to any goal.  But wouldn't it be nice to have a little warning beforehand?

Not a Housewife

I had an epiphany tonight: I'm not a housewife. I never married a house. I never even dated a house. And I sure as hell never made one any promises.

Women my age were born right as a woman's role within the family was changing. And many of us, although more modern in our thinking than the last generation, are still tied mentally to the older expectations.

I have always felt like a bad housewife. I don't enjoy cleaning or cooking - and seldom make either a priority. Even when I really try I just can't seem to get everything done.

Not succeeding at something, that others seem to take in stride, has always bothered me. I don't like failing at anything.

Tonight, I realized I haven't failed. I don't stay home to clean my house or prepare meals. I stay home to raise my children; to make sure their first years are spent with family. To give them the best start possible on developing into people with the values Steve and I (and not some babysitter) think are important. To give them a sense of security and a solid foundation from which they can grow into healthy and strong individuals.

I'm a stay-at-home mom.

I take care of their basic needs, introduce them to new places and things, encourage them to spread their wings, support their interests, offer guidance and discipline when needed, teach them how to handle the highs and lows, show them how to make sacrifices and love one another, and I'm always there when they need me.

(And yeah, that does involve some cooking, laundry, and house work . . . but not as much as you would think.)

And you know what? I'm good at it.

The Burning Question

We've had an ongoing issue with Will's diet. He does not get enough fruit, vegetables, or grains and so suffers from reoccurring stomach aches. Two weeks ago, Will almost cried with cramps located in his lower back. I expected it was his kidneys and asked if he'd experienced any burning when peeing.

"Sometimes," Will responds. "But I just dip my penis in water and it feels better."

My first fear was that the willy-dipping had taken place in the sink, where I often brush my teeth. But, I realized he was to short to reach that high - and I'd removed the steps in the bathroom over a year ago.

Then I got all involved in making Will feel better and the question of where exactly he dipped his penis was forgotten. I bought cranberry juice and forced water down him. In a few days things were back to normal.

Tonight, Will comes out of the bathroom and tells me it burned again when he went pee.

As I had shared my moment of fear with Steve weeks earlier, and we'd laughed about it, I looked at my spouse and smiled. "Will dips his penis in water so it feels better," I reminded Steve. Then I asked Will, "Do you need me to get you a wet rag to wash off?"

"No," he tells me calmly, "I filled a glass and dipped my penis in it. It feels better now."

The only glasses in the bathroom are the small paper ones we use when we brush our teeth - the same ones that are often spread all over the bathroom cabinet and I have to re-stack. "Do you throw the cups away after you put your penis in them?" I ask with trepidation.

"Sometimes."

The Note

I've been thinking about all the adjustments Steve has made over the last year as we prepared for a new baby, and then as the father of a new born.

In addition to having Linden in the house, Steve has lost most of his wife's time, and gained a lot more responsibility towards Will.

I wanted to let him know I was aware of how life had changed and that I appreciated the acceptance on his part towards those changes. As having a serious talk with Steve is a hit-and-miss, with his humor jumping out at the strangest moments, I decided to leave him a note.

I explained that I was sorry he had to make his own breakfast and pack his own lunches. Sorry the house wasn't clean and the laundry hardly ever done. That meals were often abbreviated affairs or burnt offerings. That I had no time to spend with him. I even expressed sorrow that I had gained weight, seldom put on nice clothes, and never had time to fix my hair or put on make up. But I was not sorry that I had him, Will, or Linden in my life . . . and I never would be.

When I woke up this morning, I saw that Steve had written "Me too" next to the end of each paragraph. It didn't bother me at first, but then I noticed he'd even written it next to the paragraph about me being sorry I had gained weight and never wore makeup.

I was all, "What the hell did he mean by that?"

How dare he say anything about me putting on weight! (And I was off!) I mentally tallied a list of imagined insults. Eventually, the insult train had a layover and reason boarded. Then I was mad at myself.

Steve hadn't gone out of his way to make me feel bad. I was the one that put all those statements on paper and made them real. All of a sudden, I felt like the woman asking her husband if her pants made her ass look big. Don't ask if you don't want the truth.

When Steve and I were sitting around the living room this evening, after the boys went to bed, I brought up the note and my see saw of emotions regarding his response.

The man is either really good at saving his hide, or honestly didn't mean the "Me too" the way I'd taken it.

"I meant that I too had gained weight and never had time to dress up for you," he said.

Isn't he sweet?

Be Were Bear

I'm a huge fan of paranormal stories. I'm not really into ghosts, future or past travel, or aliens. Vampires? Sometimes. But what I really enjoy reading is a book with any type of 'were' in it.

Last year, Steve had a good laugh when I read about my first werebear. I've read about so many at this point, I can hardly recall what was so funny about it in the first place. Familiarity may, or may not breed contempt, but it certainly builds credence. I've read stories about werewolves, werecougars, werelions, werehyenas, werebears, and once, even about a wearbunny - but that was a spoof.

Steve and I were talking about the problems I've been having with mercurial mood and hormonal swings. I hate the loss of control and my own reactions during these unexpected outbreaks. I am comforted by the fact that I understand what causes them and eventually they will go away. I am also blessed with a husband that understands and knows how to correctly handle the situations when they arrive - duck and run for cover!

This man, who has never caught a hint in his life, doesn't have a clue about most relationship nuances, and can be plain blind and deaf to situational strife, has shown a startling ability to identify one of my mood swings from the onset -- often before I am even aware I'm headed into the danger zone. All he has to do is look at me.

That's when it dawned on me, my 'were' must be coming out.

This photo was taken at the onslaught of an 'episode'.

As soon as we started joking about my 'were' abilities, I could clearly see it. I struggle constantly to present a calm and competent persona to the world, to my family. But lately, I seem to have no off switch. Any emotion or reaction (anger, resentment, concern, etc.) comes out of nowhere and rips through my skin until I feel like a belligerent bear.

Thankfully, the episodes don't last long, although they do commonly include a bit of mauling of the unwary - just until the bodies stop fighting and remain still. After which, I am left feeling remorseful and pained by my actions.

So, I'd like to take this opportunity to forewarn you. Should you be in my company (let's say any time in the next five years), and notice Steve tripping over furniture as he runs away for no apparent reason . . . I suggest you race after him. Because you know what they say, "You don't have to out race the bear, just the person in front of you."

The Unusual Phone Tree

Today, I sold a baby item Linden had out grown on Craigslist. Although the item was not special, and I didn't make much off of it, I doubt I will ever forget this particular transaction. Well, I'll never forget the phone call I received regarding the purchase anyway.

Yesterday, I received an email asking if I still had the item, and if I did, to please text my address to a phone number that was supplied. So I did.

Later that day, I received a phone call from a woman that lives in Kyle, about 15 miles away. Her daughter-in-law was the number I had texted earlier, the number which had been supplied by the woman's daughter - who is expecting. It seems her daughter moved out of the state recently. She (the daughter) found my item listed on Craigslist and contacted her sister-in-law (who lives in Pflugerville - 35 miles on the other side of Austin) and asked her to pick up the item. When the sister-in-law saw our location, she called her mother-in-law and asked if she could pick it up, since she lives in Kyle.

As the woman on the phone told me, she would love to pick it up for her daughter, but she doesn't have a car. However, her mom is driving from Austin to take her to a doctors appointment in the morning, and she (the grandmother) is willing to drive her (the mother) over to pick up the item.

How could I refuse the request to save the item for the next day?

I could hardly wait to meet mom and grandma, and I sort of secretly hoped a few other relatives might show up for grins and giggles.

Although, I do have to admit to being a little jealous of how the entire family pulled together to ensure a young mom from out of state would end up with this incredibly exciting used vibrating bouncer that has only mild scratches and light fading.

In fact, I've come up with my own slightly skewed phone tree for the next time I want something from Cedar Park (about 35 miles north). I'll call Dave, in ND, and see if he can pick it up for me - because he does live north of me. Then Dave can call Kathy, in AZ, since that is much closer to Texas than where he lives. Kathy, being the smart one, will remember that Greg and Stephanie actually live in Texas and call them to pick it up. Then Stephanie's no-nonsense German raising will have her calling Oma and Opa to pick it up since they really are closer to Cedar Park than I am.

Or, maybe I'll just go pick it up myself.

Or, and tell me if you think this is weird, maybe I'll only buy stuff in the area I live in.

A Bump in the Road

The Break Down

This afternoon my car broke down on the side of the road. I had Will and Linden with me. My car has been acting funny for a few days. At first, we thought it was the battery, and I made sure to charge it overnight and charge-up our jumper box to put in the vehicle. So when my car began to show signs of dying, I made the decision to pull off of the busy road I was on and onto a less traveled path. My thought being, I would quickly jump the car and get back on the road . . . I was only about 3 miles from the house.

The problem was that the jumper box had lost it's charge. Now, I was stuck. I called a friend I had just been visiting with at a local park and asked if she was going to be driving by and could help out. She would be by, but first she had to drop off her grand daughter - in the opposite direction. So I settled in for the wait.

The Wait

I had pulled into a small area where a road had been shut down but still remained, just barricaded. The area was isolated and had thick shrubs. At the end of the road, there was a huge pile of some sort of gravel or dirt. Will spent forty minutes playing king of the mountain, sliding down the hill, or walking along the top ridge. I opened doors on either side of the car and the light breeze lulled Linden to sleep. My main concern was trying to balance my time between staying close to the car and keeping Will in my line of sight - unfortunately, this didn't leave me visible to people driving by.

The Help

We had only been there a few minutes when a scary looking older man in a small truck pulled up. He looked over the kids and I, then asked, "Anyone know you're out here?" I answered, "Yes", and he rolled up his window and left.

A nice woman in her mid-thirties stopped about fifteen minutes into our stay and offered us a jump. She didn't even know how to open her hood or how to fold down the rod to support it. The real suprise came when we realized you could not access the negative post to her battery - it was covered by her fuses. She tried calling her husband for help, but he was in a meeting. She finally left, without us ever figuring out how to get to her battery.

Then there were three different drivers that all did the same thing; they slowed down and yelled, "Got help coming?" As soon as they heard, "yes", they took off - never hearing the "But I could use a jump." Damn that slow southern drawl!

The Cost

The boys and I ended up spending about an hour outside. There was a cool breeze and plenty of shade. Will got to do something I dreamed of doing as a child - climbing a huge pile of dirt on the side of the road.

My friend and my hubby showed up within minutes of each other to help me out and I made it home safely. Turns out, it was the alternator. Steve spent all evening replacing it; and it cost a pretty penny.

Speaking of which, Will found a pretty penny while we were waiting for assistance to arrive ... along with a pretty dime.

Facebook

Cons

Like most people on Facebook, I spend half my time complaining about it. Here are just a few of the irritating things I dislike about Facebook:

1. Friend requests. It just seems rude to turn down a request to be your friend, but ... Do you really want the weird guy from work knowing everything about you? Do you want your church friends to see photos of you out with your party friends? And who really wants to reconnect with every person you went to elementary school with?

2. Notifications. You make one comment on one photo/status/wall post and then you receive 27 notifications telling you that other people have also commented.

3. Games. I don't want to send you items, see your farm, vote for you in a fake pagent, or buy your fake baked goods. I don't care that you just won 1,000,000 points or have advanced another level.

4. Online. Each time you decide to check your profile, every one of your "friends" will know you are online and will decide that this means you are free to chat.

5. Performance. There are many times when the site lags or freezes due to a heavy load.

6. Changes. It seems that every month or two you have to learn a new way of doing something you've been doing with no issues for the last few years. It's annoying - I don't like change.

Oh there's more; privacy, political or religious postings, sharing my info., forwarding tons of things, etc. Nothing major, just your ordinary complaints.

Pros

Here are a few of the reasons I love Facebook.

1. When you are isolated by location, health, or circumstances, you have a way of interacting with others - even meeting new people. Any form of social interaction is better than none.

2. You are in control of your profile in as much as you select which photo represents you and what information is supplied. I'm amazed on how nice we all look, how successful we are, and what great families we have. Sometimes, I go out to my profile just to remind myself of how well I'm doing.

3. It is a quick way to update everyone in your family at once about any major, or non-major, issues. It's also a good way to share photos of growing children with everyone and not have to mail out photos every year. Also an easy way to keep up with what family members are doing.

4. There have been more than one time when playing the many games on Facebook kept me sane. I may not be thrilled to see game posts on my feed now, but I use to be one of those people making gaming posts/requests. I get it.

5. It makes me laugh. I have several funny friends and relatives who's posts crack me up. Not a day goes by that I don't at least smile, if not outright laugh, at something I've read on Facebook.

6. You can hook up with people from your past that mean the world to you, but managed to loose touch with through the years.

Tonight

Will was playing on the computer this evening. He is often on the computer and is proficient at searching for and playing many free games.

I came in about eight to check my email and was shocked to find four receipts in my inbox from Facebook totally over $96 - for games. Back when I use to play games on Facebook I had attached a credit card to my account for automatic purchasing, and I never removed it. Will had followed some links and hadn't realized he was making purchases.

I immediately followed a link on the first receipt to dispute the transaction. It took less than five minutes to find and dispute all claims from this evening. By the time I removed my financial permission and returned to my email, Facebook had refunded every penny.

Tonight, I'm loving them.

The Wait of a Book

I Love to Read

Take the most avid reader you know and multiply them by ten and you have someone like me - except they don't read much.

I read more than anyone I have ever known. However, I don't want you to get confused thinking I read anything good for me. I seldom pick up a book to learn something new, to study history, art, or physiology. I'm not into the New York best sellers list. I read to relax, to escape, to occupy myself ... I read junk. (Or, according to Steve, I read porn.)

I've been an avid reader since elementary school. By sixth grade, the local library made me an honorary librarian - complete with certificate. In Junior High, the school gave me a pin and made me the first student librarian because I had read over 75% of the books. When the girls were small and I could only make it to the library once a week, I'd check out fifty to a hundred paper backs each time I went in.

I can actually remember reading three entire separate books in one day, on more than one occasion.

eReaders

When eReaders first began to come out I was not interested in owning one at all. They'd be bad for your eyes, have to be constantly recharged, could easily get broken, and they cost to much. It took several years before I begin to think I might enjoy one.

Then I got one for Christmas.

I am still amazed at how quickly I adapted to reading books on an eReader. I did lick my finger and try to turn the page a few times - but that's expected. And not going to the book store or the library was an adjustment too.

Overall, it's been great. My reader is lighter than a book, so it doesn't hurt my wrists. The font is adjustable in size and the contrast is adjustable for daytime or nighttime reading. It opens directly onto the last page of book I was reading before I turned it off - no more lost places or bookmarks.

The Heavy Book

When Tori blogged about a good book she had recently read, I asked her to lend it to me and she did. It's been sitting on my dining room table for six weeks collecting dust.

I'm interested in the book, but every time I walk by and see it I'm reminded that it's a book. It's heavy - it's a thick book. (I bet it hurts my wrists.) I'll have to flip pages. If I don't finish it soon, I'll have to stuff it in my purse or carry it around with me for days. So, I keep waiting, putting it off.

I stumble across it every two to three days and have a moment of guilt over not reading it yet. But feel no compulsion, what so ever, to pick it up and start.

At this point, I'm considering buying the electronic version of the story. Then I wouldn't have to wait to read it any longer.

The Non-Allergic List

I started feeding Linden baby foods this month. Two weeks into the experience and I realized I was doing something different than with my other children. I was only trying him on one new food at a time and trying if for several days to make sure he did not have an allergic reaction before introducing something else.

Then each time I would try something new, I'd recite the list in my head. A list of foods Linden was not allergic to. Not a bad practice, if your child has food allergies or if they run in your family. In ours, the only allergies you have to worry about are the seasonal ones.

As soon as I realized what I was doing, I was stumped. Why? Why go to the trouble of remembering every food introduced when none of my children had ever had a food allergy? What had changed so that I would totally treat the introduction of foods to Linden different than all my other children? It would definitely be a lot easier to just remember the items he reacted to; an allergy list.

It didn't take but a moment to realize it was the introduction of my BFF and her son, who has chronic allergies, into my life that acted as the basis for my unusual behavior. Watching their daily struggle to live a normal life with the many extreme allergies he has ... well, it's left an impression. A conscious one, and I guess, an unconscious one as well.

Lacking any true reason to continue my non-allergic list, I have dropped it. I've also started feeding Linden just like my other children; off the table, mixed foods, whatever he'll eat. He's not had a reaction to anything and I've stopped expecting him too.

I'm just reminded of how much are lives are changed by those we choose to associate with.

Stardust: Part 2 of Clubbing at 40

The Stardust is a club and billiard hall that is three miles from my house. The building is divided with a small stage and dance area on one side and fifteen pool tables in another room. Every night, except Friday, music is supplied via your contributions to a jukebox - get there early enough and with enough cash, and you can listen to whatever you want to.

There are two small pool tables that are coin operated in the dance area. When the girls and I go dancing, we tend to latch onto one of them early. We're all so bad at pool that a game might last half an hour, and we can leave the table to go dance if a song comes on we like.

Before eleven pm, the clientele on the dance side averages between 35-55 years of age. Most of them show up in what they wore all day and have a beer or two before heading home. It's a small town type of place until after eleven, then the kids come out and the DJ shows up to play songs most of my friends don't like (but I do).

Last Thursday, we hit the Stardust because SXSW was in Austin and no one wanted to mess with driving into town. Two of us showed up early to save a table, which wasn't necessary as the place was empty. When we walked in at 7:30 there were two people at the bar, a three some sitting between the pool and dance areas, and two pool tables occupied on the other side.

However, we hadn't even sit down when an Enabler came over to see if we wanted to join him and a set of Twinkies. We politely declined, letting them know we had friends coming. This did not prevent the Twinkies from attempting to engage us in conversation and act as sports broadcasters over every frame of our pool game. Nor did it stop the Enabler from giving us cash for the jukebox.

Other friends dribbled in over the next hour and we ended up with five women and one man at the table. For the first hour we mainly played pool and listened to music, as well as watched others trickle in.

I was pleased to see a four pack of women around are age show up and settle in for the evening. The Freak that was at their table started dancing right away, by herself. The Drunk sitting at the bar stumbled over and asked Ms. Independence, who was sporting a bruised cheek, to dance. She did. All incredibly entertaining.

At some point, the Enabler managed to lure a woman in her early thirties away from the pool tables and over to sit with the Twinkies. He bought the table a few rounds and headed on out. An hour later the lady (and I use the term loosely) left with the Twinkies.

By nine every one at our table was up dancing to every decent song that came on. The gentleman made a comment about it being the first time he'd ever danced with five women and we decided he had to have a photo to commemorate the event. Between the Drunk dancing into us, the Freak scaring everyone she got close too, and the bad lighting, it wasn't an easy photo to take.

While we were out on the floor, the Drunk stumbled over and introduced himself to all five ladies. Shaking our hands and informing us he had a ranch outside of town. "Always a good place to keep them," I say - I love messing with drunks.

"She's crazy," he mumbles, pointing at the Freak - like we needed clarification. She apparently took exception to his talking to us and dragged him off shortly afterwards.

Most of my friends left around ten as they worked the next morning, just leaving two of us to finish up the night. We played another round of pool and danced a few more dances. By this time the DJ was hooking up his equipment and a large Team came in.

This was a first, as the Team was an actual team who had just finished playing softball. Sixteen men and women in their mid-twenties who were still wearing dirty uniform tops and shorts. Several of them had painted black streaks across their faces. They pushed a few tables together right in front of us.

At this point, we're leaning back in our chairs and have our feet propped up on vacant seats. We're slowly polishing off our last drink and just people watching.

The Chairperson jumps up as a member of his Team approaches and moves toward our table to see if he can borrow a vacant chair - we had tons of them. I kicked one toward him and saved him a few steps. We repeated the process two more times. The last time, he catches it and pushes it back toward us and takes a seat. He introduces himself and spends a few minutes yakking, then we run out of things to say to each other. He sits around a few more minutes before grabbing his chair and headed back to his friends.

As soon as the Team arrives, Ms Independence, who looks to be in her early fifties, morphs into a Cougar and starts draping herself over the young men. A Babysitter in her group jumps up each time she does this and leads her back to their table. This cycle is repeated no less than six times before the Babysitter decides it's time to take the Cougar home. Getting her out the door took another half hour - every the Babysitter would let go of the Cougar, she'd be back over trying to sit in the lap of, or drape over, one of the guys. The guys were all good-natured about it, which just made it funnier.

A few minutes before the Cougar made it out the door, the Drunk was escorted out by his own Babysitter (and the Drunks Babysitter managed to get him out the door on the first try).

With most of the Usual Suspects gone, our people watching teetered off and we headed out about eleven thirty.

A little dancing, some drinking, a few games of pool, people watching and good company . . . not a bad night at all at the old Stardust.

The Usual Suspects - Part 1 of Clubbing in your 40s

I've been clubbing on a semi-regular basies for about two years now and I thought I'd share my perspective of what going out in your fourties is like.

Keep in mind: I'm out with a bunch of women my age, and we tend to go places where we're comfortable. The experience is probably totally different if you're younger.


THE USUAL SUSPECTS

I'm an avid people watcher and I've categorized many of the types of people I come across when clubbing.

Ms. Independence
This is most commonly a woman, but I have come across a man or two, who is newly out of a relationship and out to prove something. They drink too much, laugh way too loud, are very 'handy', and they will go home with ANYTHING. Don't dance to close to them, they'll take it as an invitation - and they are hard to get away from.

Twinkies
This is a set of two same-sex individuals that are incapable of acting without each other. They will go to the bathroom, bar, or dance, only at the same time. They can often be seen leaving at the same time with two (or one) person of the opposite sex. Don't bother asking one of them to dance unless you have a friend to take with you.

The Team
This is a bunch of individuals that are use to being together and not interested in interacting outside of their group. They may work together, be related, belong to the same social network, or play on a team sport together. While seeing groups of people together at clubs is not unusual, they are usually more open to interaction from others - not these guys. Save your breath and just ignore them.

The Chairman
This person is usually part of a group. He/she will jump up and make it their job to locate and drag over a chair for anyone who slows down when approaching their table. They're also known to grab extra napkins, glasses of water, and ash trays as needed. Nice to have in your group, but not worth asking to dance - they never have any time to call their own.

The Freak
Sadly, this is most often a woman. It is someone who isn't out to prove anything and doesn't need alcohol to scare the shit out of everyone. They dance by themselves, usually in a manner that is way over the top. They are also known to randomly draw unsuspecting people into conversation while on the dance floor then follow you back to the table and try to join the group. They also have no idea what words like 'that seat is taken', 'no thank you', 'could you leave now' mean. Some times the only option is for the entire group to get up and relocate, sans the Freak.

The Enabler
This is someone who drinks very little and never dances, but funds the activities for others. It's usually an older person who is living vicariously. They are prone to snagging people for their friends and bringing them back to the table. They're pretty harmless, and known to buy drinks for pretty much anyone.

The Rock Star
This is a woman that likes to dress scandalously (spandex pants, see through tops, etc.) and wear make up thick enough she looks ready to appear on stage. At our age, not a pretty picture. She's almost always alone and never joins another group. Since she looks easy, she gets asked to dance a lot. While she adores the attention - may even need it, she's most likely to leave alone.

The Drunk
This is usually a man. Most of the time, it's a normal old Tom, Dick, or Harry that has worked all week and just wants to have a good time. Desperately, wants to have a good time. They usually show up about three sheets to the wind and it goes down hill from there. They're generally nice, fun to talk to, a riot to watch, and if you catch them early enough, they'll dance with anyone that asks them. Just don't wait to ask them to long, or they'll step on your toes, spin you into poles, and trip on the way to the dance floor.

The Babysitter
This is the responsible one in a group. There isn't a Babysitter in every group, but most groups don't need them. The Babysitter is most noticeable when combined with a Drunk or Ms. Independence. Once someone in their group hits staggering stage, the Babysitter will start trying to convince them it's time to leave. For some reason, this always takes about thirty minutes. You can always tell how often a person plays this role, by how fast they can get their drunk friend out the door.

The Cougar
An older woman trying to pick up younger man to prove she's still attractive. Has many of the same traits as Ms. Independence, but they're more calculating and able to handle their liquor better. They are also mean and prone to defending their territory - perceived or otherwise. Stay clear of.

In conclusion
Once you've identified the usual suspects many fun hours can be filled with placing bets on who takes who home, how fast someone falls down, who gets asked to dance first, if those pants will rip while she dances, and so much more.

Catch Part 2 to read about my last girls night out and the appearance of the usual suspects.

Now, that's funny!

I was having breakfast with a friend when the subject of picking up litter came up. The prior weekend, my friend and her family had a picnic. They made a point of picking up litter around the area for fifteen minutes before leaving - to show their appreciation for the ability to access such a nice place.

I recalled how, when Will was three or four, I could only get him to go walking if we took a bucket and picked up trash along the way. It was shocking how much stuff we'd find in our residential area - beer caps, an occasional can, junk mail, and tons of cigarette butts.

Will, who had been mostly quite during our conversation, about fell out of the booth laughing. "Cigarette butts," he wheezed, as he beat upon the table top with one hand. "Now, that's funny."

Well, I thought that's what he said.

Will has a slight speech issue and some times I just assume he's saying what I expect to come out of his mouth.

"Yes," I replied with a wry grin, "You thought it was pretty funny back then too."

My friend and I shared a smile over boys and their odd sense of humor. After breakfast, I loaded the kids back into the car to head home.

"Cigarette butts," Will said with a smile as he climbed in.

Only, this time I was paying a little more attention. Something was off with how he was saying cigarette. "It's not 'rat'," I corrected. "It's 'ret'." Then I slowly pronounced cigarette so that he'd hear each syllable.

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I thought you said sewer rat butt."

Now, that's funny!

Finally Enough

I lost my drivers license about six weeks ago and just received my new one in the mail. I was more than a little surprised to find that I had no real objection to the photo taken by the Department of Transportation's clerk. I've never cared for a license before. In fact, I once kept the same photo for so long - just renewing online - that people began to question it was actually my license.

As I pondered this rare phenomenon - a license photo that was acceptable - I came to a surprising conclusion. I'm OK with the photo, because I'm OK with the person in the photo.

All of my life, I have qualified my value by one thing or another: my education (or lack of), my looks, my weight, my children, my participation in my children's lives, my job, my husband, my marriage, my relatives, my house, and so on.

And over my life, each and every thing I used to apply value to myself has failed me, leaving me floundering, with no concept of worth or idea of where to go from there.

And suddenly, at the ripe old age of 45, I'm OK. I'm accepting of all the women I've been, understanding of the choices, decisions, and consequences of each move made.

There will always be things I regret, but they no longer define me. Nor do the things I've yet to accomplish - or will never accomplish. I'm not the worse at anything. Nor am I the best at anything . . . except being Misty.

And oddly, that's finally enough.

That was fun ... NOT!

With the errands I had to run today, I knew I would not be near home at Linden's next feeding. So I packed a bottle and made plans to stop at a restaurant for lunch. I figured I'd get a little break, and I could feed him while my food was being prepared. A win, win.

Not!

As I make a habit of eating at the same places, at the same time, on the same days, I forget about the places I normally avoid with a baby. Places where babies, and those carrying them, are treated like leapers.

Seriously, in thirty minutes, three tables of people asked to be reseated once they realized a baby was in their section. They didn't even sit down. And Linden was being good; a few happy noises, some drool, a smile or two.

The restaurant was fast filling up, except for the immediate tables around us. You would have thought we were flinging food.

I became so self conscience I couldn't enjoy my lunch. I called for my check and left before someone decided to jump out a window to escape us.