An Imperfect Life

So Here's What's Been Going On

2010-04-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

I just had a custody hearing on Friday...and won. It had been hanging over my head for months, and it was the second time my son's dad had tried to get custody. My son's dad is unfortunately not a man of character. I'm debating with myself about how much to share here...

Preaching and Teaching Acceptance and Love

2010-03-10T08:23:00.000-08:00

This makes me want to cry. If it were to follow its own logic -- that they're simply following the teachings of the Catholic church -- the archdiocese should start expelling children of parents who have had abortions, or who use birth control. But why stop there? Expel children of parents who are who are divorced, who support euthanasia, and who have had sex outside of marriage. Expel children of parents who have practiced anything that "goes against" church teachings.

If God is love, and if the church's intent is to lead people to Christ, it must accept ALL PEOPLE.

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" -- Matthew 19:14 (New International Version)

Art Attack

2010-02-25T10:21:00.000-08:00

Last week I did art with second-graders. It was like herding cats! Cute, quirky, adorable, defiant, creative, wandering, sassy, sloppy, funny cats!! ;^)

It was a fundraising project. The kids draw pictures and the parents are supposed to buy tote bags, coffee mugs, mousepads, etc. with their kids' drawings on them. I suggested the kids draw themselves or their favorite place.

Questions: "Can we draw weapons? Can I draw my mom? Can I draw myself with my favorite place in the background? Can I draw my dog? Can I draw Washington, DC? Can I draw a made-up place? Can I draw anything else besides those things?" OY. ;^)

We had only 40 minutes for the project. Some kids dug in right away, and others started meticulously sketching with pencils. Argh! Just color already! ;^) One kid drew a train on the front of his paper, and started to draw Washington, DC, on the back, then had a major confidence crisis and wanted to start over. I finally moved him to a table away from the other kid who was kinda harshing his vibe, and convinced him to stick with the train picture. It turned out super cute.

One kid just drew a ton of stick figures holding light sabers, and wrote the names of every Star Wars character he could think of.

Another kid drew a very artistic view of her living room, complete with detailed armchair, TV, and dog, incl. paw prints leading to the door.

One kid kept getting up to see what everyone else was doing, and did NOT like it when I told her (repeatedly) to sit down and finish her picture. When I put my hands on her shoulders once to guide her back to her seat, her body stiffened up; I tipped her backward a tiny bit for fun (like I do with my son), and she was my buddy from that point on.

Another kid drew his face, and when I playfully pointed out that he hadn't added freckles like I saw on his face, he smacked his forehead and exclaimed, " I KNEW you were going to say that!" Then he added freckles. ;^)

Two kids drew castles and peace signs and rainbows. They were the groovy girls.

One kid drew McDonald's, one kid drew Denny's, and one kid drew Wal-Mart.

IT WAS AWESOME. :-)

The Truth Shall Set Your Stomach Free?

2010-02-10T11:52:00.000-08:00

This morning on the way to school, the kiddo told me he had a stomachache. He didn’t feel feverish, so I told him I’d still send him to school, but if his stomach didn’t get better, he could go to the office and the office ladies would call me.

After a bit more consideration and conversation, he finally blurted out, "Okay! I spit out my vitamin in the toilet!" Hmm. Miraculously, no more stomachache after that!

Much to his confusion, I just laughed and laughed. If only all illnesses and problems could be so simple!

Nope, No Way, No How

2010-01-02T12:21:00.001-08:00

I'm rediscovering my ability to say NO.

It's not like I've never said it before. Goodness knows I say it a hundred times a week when my son asks me if I can buy him the latest video game (when he just got a new game the week before).

And if you were to ask my ex, he'd tell you I say NO to life, when really it's just that I say NO to his trampling all over my boundaries.

My latest accomplishment: saying NO to having my time wasted. At the upscale mall the other night, I passed one of the many kiosks with salespeople standing out front, trying to get the attention of passersby. Now, it's not like I've stopped at every single one of these when beckoned. However, I've always felt a teensy bit uncomfortable when demurring. Let's face it. I want to be liked. I don't want to be thought of as a bitch. There, now you know.

But the other night, when a Kiosk Guy stepped out, made eye contact with me and said, "Miss, may I ask you a question?" I looked him right in the eye and pointedly said NO.

And damn, that felt good.

Is it one o'clock yet?

2009-12-22T11:20:00.000-08:00

Today the kiddo and I get to celebrate our Christmas tradition -- we're going to the Hotel Del Coronado, where I'll give him a couple of small gifts and we'll have dinner. We'll watch the ice skaters (HDC puts up a temporary rink each year) for a while and maybe even walk on the beach (since the hotel is right on the sand), and admire the giant Christmas tree in the lobby as we sit on a velvet couch and enjoy our time together. :-) Afterward, we'll go home and finish putting ornaments on our own tree, then turn off all the lights (except for the tree lights) and just hang out, "like they did in olden times," as the kiddo says. ;^)

I can't wait to leave the office!!

Hmm.

2009-12-16T13:44:00.001-08:00

Gave money to a homeless guy in my neighborhood today, after first ignoring him. He thanked me and blessed me. When we spoke, I saw he had a tattoo across his forehead. I thought it was barbed wire, but as I drove away, I thought it might have been a crown of thorns. Food for thought.

Suzy Jean the Beauty Queen

2009-12-13T21:22:00.000-08:00

Well, Auxiliary Dog (Suzy [Jean the Beauty Queen]) has been living with the groomer for a week. I must admit, I miss her. She has a sweet, happy little face and is always so glad to see her human. I felt horrible having to bring her to the groomer's shop last weekend, and even more horrible as I drove away and saw her looking forlornly out the window. Poor little girl, passed from person to person. As the kiddo reminded me, though, "We just have to remember it's best for Suzy this way."

Very true. When we first took Suzy in, I was a stay-at-home mom and could take Suzy with me most of the time. My son was still small enough and willing to sit in a grocery cart, and he would hold Suzy while I shopped. Restaurant owners occasionally let me hold her on my lap while I ate; she was content to sit still and was unnoticeable to other patrons. I took her to the kiddo's baseball games and other parents joked that I should charge $5 for them to hold her and let her warm them up on colder evenings. Everyone thought she was a cutie, and younger than her eleven years.

At home, she would hop up on the couch and snuggle behind my knees as I lay on my side. If I picked up her leash, she would perform her unique "tap dance of joy."

Then life sped up. I got my current job, which kept me out of the house for long stretches. The kiddo's activities got more complicated and it was harder to bring Suzy with us to all the places we needed to go. We got another dog in the hope that he would keep Suzy company, but she hardly noticed him; she wanted only us, only me, really. When we had to leave the house, Suzy would cry and cry, and exhibit other nervous behaviors, like constant paw-licking, indiscriminate peeing, and chewing on her crate door (she broke a tooth doing this).

I looked for another home for Suzy. A lovely woman I met while dogwalking said she would take her, but I wasn't sure her home was the right environment for Suzy. The woman already had a very large dog and I just wasn't convinced the change would be for the better. I posted an ad on Craigslist and several people replied. The thing was, most of the them didn't care that they didn't meet the requirements set forth in the ad. "Oh, I've been looking for a dog for my kids," said one, despite the fact that I'd decribed Suzy as a one-person dog and specifically said she wasn't a good dog for children. One respondent, who supposedly worked in a vet's office, said she could take Suzy with her to work. I thought I'd found the right owner, but then the respondent disappeared when I said I'd like to see her work environment.

We kept Suzy and did our best. I was determined not to send her to a shelter; she would have been scared and miserable there. I was also determined to give her a much better home than she had with us -- not just a different home, but a better one.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, our groomer called and asked if we still had our "little girl." I said we did. She asked if we were still looking for a home for her. I said we were. Turns out the groomer had lost her little girl dog a couple of months ago and although she still had her "little boys," she and her husband had decided it was time to bring another little girl home. We agreed to let Suzy spend a night or two at the groomer's house and see how things went.

My son carried Suzy into the groomer's shop last Saturday morning and we petted her goodbye. The groomer picked her up and kissed her and snuggled her. I hoped everything would work out. I tried not to look at Suzy's face in the window as we drove away. I felt like I'd given away one of my kids.

The next morning my cell phone rang. I recognized the groomer's number and cringed. Was she calling to say Suzy had had a rough night and things wouldn't work out? I let the call go to voicemail so I could listen to the message and prepare myself to call back.

The message was amazing: "We are IN LOVE with her!" said the groomer. "She is SUCH a LOVE! She just followed my husband around all over the place and laid down to watch him decorate the tree. Then she was sitting in his lap and he was petting her as he watched TV and she started to fall asleep. She is SO CUTE!" And so on. I was thrilled.

When I called the groomer, she said she definitely wanted to keep Suzy. So now Suzy has a new life. She has other dogs to keep her company at home, along with the groomer and her husband. She has a house with a yard. She has experienced owners who truly love dogs. And best of all, she gets to go to work with the groomer!

I miss her little face around here, but I know she's much happier in her new home. And I feel good knowing I held out long enough to make sure she went to the right place. Suzy will rarely be alone again, and is loved and adored. Just as she should be.

This is where Suzy will spend her days -- with dog lovers

and dogs, in a cozy environment with plenty of soft beds

and full water dishes scattered about, near her new owner.

The best possible world for this sweet little girl.

Odds and Ends

2009-12-10T09:50:00.001-08:00

I was sitting in the Target parking lot with a friend last night and we saw a homeless guy steal a Christmas tree out of their nursery. Not sure what to make of that.

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Art class was WONDERFUL today! One little girl who was in the class last year said, "Miss K? I always remember: 'There's no wrong in art.'" Someone was listening to me last year! ;^) I told her she made my day. :-) Of course, this little girl was sitting next to another girl, and their drawings were identical. ;^) But hey...there's no wrong in art!

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Yikes. Got ten charity request calls within 30 minutes today at the church. SCARY. At that rate, we won't be able to serve all the folks who apply from now until next week. I think our congregants would come through if we told them we had 100 families in need, but that would be five times our normal load. Must talk with the pastors tomorrow and figure out what to do...

Saturday

2009-12-06T21:59:00.000-08:00

My youngest sister's birthday is on Monday. How do you celebrate your birthday? By learning how to fly a plane? That's what I thought, too. ;^)

That's my sister, taking off. That's my dad's hand, waving to her. She said later that she could see us. I told her she should've been watching where she was going!

After a birthday lunch and some time spent at my folks' house, my son and I went with my folks to the mall nearby. Every weekend in December, the mall makes snow at 7:30 p.m. We lucked out and got an orchestra as well! Christmas carols and snow and lights and family. Good stuff. :-)

In Other News

2009-12-04T23:18:00.000-08:00

I just realized I'm walking around the house in my dad's old flannel shirt, with a cell phone and eye drops in my front pocket, and am preparing to watch TV and crash on the couch.

In other words, I just realized I have turned into my dad.

Uh-oh.

Mama Mia!

2009-12-04T22:54:00.000-08:00

Oh, I had to mention this. The kiddo stayed very late at work with me tonight. I had a bunch of stuff to wrap up for the week, and we finally left at about 9:00 p.m. Highly unusual! Anyway, the kiddo was exceptionally well-behaved, keeping himself busy, asking for what he needed in a polite and patient manner, cheerfully helping me or staying out of my way, depending on what the situation called for. At one point, he even brought a book to me that he'd checked out from the school library. "I got this for you, Mom," he said. It was The Young Chef's Italian Cookbook. "I was thinking we could try this sometime," he told me as he pointed to a picture of risotto.

So I guess I'll be learning how to cook a few Italian dishes. After all, he made me an offer I can't refuse! ;^)

But Which Password?

2009-12-04T22:15:00.001-08:00

Tonight I told the kiddo a little bedtime story (stories usually consist of silly things I did as a kid), and he fell asleep almost immediately. A minute later, he bolted upright and demanded, "Password, please!" He was surprised to hear himself say it, and I asked what he had been dreaming about. He said he'd had a quick little dream that he was working in a parking structure and had to take money from people.

Okay, then. I did get my laugh for the night, though. ;^)

What Would You Do?

2009-12-01T22:44:00.001-08:00

My son is in third grade. Yesterday after school, I noticed he had a postage stamp-size hole in the back of his shirt. Upon examination, it was obvious the hole had been deliberately cut, not torn. It was a fairly neat little square.

I wrote what I thought was a neutral, informative note to the kiddo's teacher and sent the shirt to school with the note the next day. When I picked up the kiddo, he told me the teacher had tried to get him to admit that he'd cut the hole himself.

Huh??

First of all, the kiddo is not destructive. Never has been. Second, the kiddo wouldn't have turned his shirt around in class, or anywhere else, for that matter; this is a kid who doesn't want the world to see even part of his chest. Third, if the kiddo is limber and coordinated and sneaky enough to have cut a square in the center of the back of his shirt, I should sign him up for the circus.

Now I'm annoyed that she spent time telling the kiddo he probably cut the hole himself, and that when SHE was a kid, she colored all over someone's front stoop. So just because SHE was kind of a mischievous kid, she assumes my kid cut the back of his own shirt? For the record, he was genuinely shocked when I initially said it looked like someone had cut his shirt. And I know when this kid is lying, and he wasn't.

So what would you do? Drop it? Write another note? Talk to her in person? For whatever it's worth, I get the impression she has it in for the kiddo this year. This strikes me as WEIRD because he's never had another teacher give him so much trouble. I know he didn't turn into a different kid all of a sudden this school year. Also, this teacher has used other slightly shaming tactics to manage the class.

As I told the kiddo, sometimes you get a teacher or boss you like, and sometimes you get one you don't like, and you have to learn to deal with them no matter what. Still, I'd sort of like to tell off this teacher. I won't do anything nasty, certainly. But you know what I mean.

Expect the Worst and Hope for the Best (I Always Forget the Second Part)

2009-12-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

You guys have GREAT ideas about how to heal chapped skin! I feel like I want to buy all those products and slather the kiddo in them all at once. That would certainly do the trick, wouldn't it? ;^) Thank you so much for all your hugely useful suggestions!

On a different subject, today I saw our custodian and I said, "Hey, yesterday I tried to offer B. sympathy on his mother's passing and I'm afraid I came off as a real douche." (She's the only one at work with whom I can talk this way! Not sure if that's a good thing!) She said that her husband hadn't thought so at all; he'd thought it was nice that I spent time talking with him about his mom at all. I'm still going to touch base with him tomorrow when he comes in, because I am That Way. He's a military guy, and I think a lot of people just assume he's got everything handled. Not that the pastoral staff would avoid comforting him; I think it has more to do with his own expectations, so he's occasionally touched when people treat him with tenderness.

On yet another different subject, I'm grateful for the really nice Blue Shield rep I spoke with today when I called to pay my bill. I couldn't find the number I usually call, so I called the corporate office. Then I had a little identity theft wacko moment and didn't want to give my Social Security number to the guy. (I didn't have my bill handy.) I kind of expected him to be a little impatient with me, but he was cheerful and sweet about it, especially when I made him at least tell me my street name to assure me he was really looking at my records and not just waiting to steal my credit card number. Gee, overly cautious much? Ho-ho, I jest! But not really. It's been one of those days. ;^)

Healing the Outer and Inner Self

2009-11-30T23:30:00.000-08:00

This weather is so bizarre, even for Southern California. Today it was at least 80 degrees (F) outside. It's nice that it's warm, but it's also annoying because the warmth is due to Santa Ana conditions and the air is extremely dry. This is exacerbating the kiddo's incredibly chapped hands. I tried putting Aveeno lotion on the backs of his hands today and he cried because it burned his skin. I thought the culprit was the dimethicone in the lotion, but later I tried to put regular lotion on his hands and that burned, too. Poor baby! His hands are just so cracked. Both times today, I wound up putting straight Vaseline on the backs of his hands; this doesn't hurt him at all, but it's kind of messy, as you might imagine. I'm wondering if baby oil gel would be a good middle ground for a while; we'll try that tomorrow. It's clear that he needs something we can put on his hands at least three times a day without causing him pain, until his skin is healed enough that we can use a regular good lotion/barrier that'll not only moisturize his hands, but also provide some protection from moisture loss. (Mime, I like your suggestion, in your comment on the previous entry, of using Chapstick on one's hands for protection, and we're going to graduate to that! Thanks!!)

I also talked with him about the way he washes his hands -- rather, about the way he doesn't dry his hands. He washes his hands kind of a lot, probably largely due to all the handwashing talk he's heard in regard to cold/flu prevention. That's a little problematic in itself, but the other thing is that he doesn't dry his hands on his towel, preferring to let them drip-/air-dry. (You can imagine how I love having water dripped all over the place, which is another issue altogether.) The problem with letting the water evaporate from his hands is that his hands wind up drier than ever. Argh. I showed him how he can gently blot -- not rub -- his hands dry with his towel, and explained that this will help his skin somewhat. Still, we have to continue with the lotion/barrier.

Oddly, not only did the kiddo's dad NOT use lotion on the kiddo's hands, he used hydrocortisone and HYDROGEN PEROXIDE. WTF?? The kiddo's knuckles are cracked and even the skin on his wrists is chapped, so the guy puts hydrogen peroxide on it?? No wonder the kiddo's skin is looking so bad.

Anyway.

In other news, the mother of a part-time co-worker (the husband of our custodian) passed away on Thanksgiving. She had throat cancer that had spread to other areas, and her death was not unexpected, but I believe it's not possible to prepare completely for that sort of thing. My heart goes out to him, as his mother was also a good friend of his. According to our custodian, her husband and his mother were able to talk about things he can't talk about with some other people -- intellectually stimulating stuff that's over most people's heads. It's quite a loss for him. I said a few words to him today when I saw him, and I fear I might have sounded like a douche. I started out saying the right things and listening, but then my awkwardness got the best of me and...I should've quit while I was ahead. Note to self: That inner voice that says, "Stop talking"? PAY ATTENTION TO IT. *sigh* Of course, I may be exaggerrating my faux pas; nevertheless, I feel he and I have a friendly relationship and I plan to apologize for anything I might have said that may have sounded...glib. Argh. I cringe. I hope my fears are unfounded.

Photo courtesy of my sister. Taken near the Cabrillo Monument, San Diego, CA.

Tiger Who?

2009-11-29T16:31:00.000-08:00

Yeesh. Why doesn't everyone just leave Tiger Woods alone? The Florida state troopers already told him he's not legally obligated to make a statement about the crash, so how about they quit hounding him and let him fix whatever needs fixing (marriage, fire hydrant, whatever!). They already said the accident wasn't alcohol-related, so it seems the thing to do would be to MOVE ON.

I Know One Person Who Really Is a Cotton-Headed Ninny-Muggins *

2009-11-28T22:14:00.000-08:00

This eviction/moving during the holidays that my son's dad has initiated is kind of taking its toll on the kiddo, who doesn't understand what's going on and who feels stressed out by the uncertainty of the situation. To make matters worse, his dad hasn't spoken about it with him at any length, although the kiddo says he's (the kiddo's) brought it up.

Tonight the kiddo came back from spending the holiday at his dad's house. They had a lot of fun and ate Thanksgiving dinner on a yacht. The kiddo also finally mastered riding a two-wheeler, which is great, considering we don't live in an area where practicing such a skill is convenient (busy streets, lots of hills, etc.). He's so proud of himself, but later he told me, "I'm sorry I learned how to ride a two-wheeler without you, Mommy." ?? I told him it was perfectly fine with me, and after he gets really good we'll go for a ride together. He liked that.

But the kiddo had a meltdown when I casually mentioned I'd looked at some apartments today. He's very sad he won't be getting a "little brother" (I'd considered moving in with a friend and her little boy), and it stresses him out that his parents have such different approaches to the same subject. That is, he's stressed that I talk about things and his dad won't. Mind you, I'm not laying my feelings on the kiddo or constantly talking about the move as each development happens. Nothing of the sort. However, when the kiddo asks me a question, I answer it. It seems that his dad does not.

The kiddo mentioned a week ago that he'd told his dad, "You made Mommy cry when she got the eviction notice." Then the kiddo told me he thought it seemed like Daddy regretted that. I know his dad well enough to know what his responses will likely be to certain things, so I asked the kiddo if his dad had made a sad face. "Yes!" he replied. "And he also said 'aw'." Bingo. The classic non-response. And not regretful in the least. Totally predictable.

Some day the kiddo is going to figure out what kind of person his dad is, and he's going to be terribly disappointed, and I will be picking up the pieces. Kind of like I am now.

Tonight, after the kiddo cried his eyes out, I put on some funny videos on YouTube. We watched Gallagher smash watermelons, and watched David Letterman and his crew drop various items off a rooftop. Utterly mindless, stupid stuff that made us giggle. Afterward, I asked the kiddo if he wanted to go out for a treat, even though it was bedtime. He was delighted, so off we went in search of ice cream.

When we got back, we watched the beginning of Elf on TV and I lightly tickled the kiddo's feet, just the way he likes. At the first commercial, we went upstairs so he could get ready for bed, and I put Vaseline on his terribly chapped knuckles. (His dad puts hydrocortisone on them, which makes them worse, I believe. Let's just say I put Vaseline on them all last week and they were healed, and after a few days of hydrocortisone, they were the worst I'd seen them.) I scratched the kiddo's head a bit, at his request, and he fell asleep right away.

Peace.

I'm sure in the morning his mood will be sorted out, more or less. I wish he didn't have to go to his dad's at all, as I feel it does more harm than good in the long run. *sigh* Nine more years of having to deal with the kiddo's dad. In the meantime, I'll be shoring up moods and chapped knuckles and disappointments. Just like always.

* From the movie Elf.

2009-11-27T21:26:00.000-08:00

Just another November in California. ;^)

Good Thing Ah Wore Mah Eatin' Pants

2009-11-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

Oof. I'm glad Thanksgiving is over. No more excuses to eat...until Christmas. ;-) I hope you and yours had a great time today. I missed my little guy, who spent today with his dad, but I'm thankful to have my son in my life and I'm looking forward to getting him back in another day or so. He's got a lot of smooshy kisses waiting for him!

Journey to the Center

2009-11-25T18:15:00.000-08:00

First United Methodist Church, San Diego, CA, Nov. 2009.

"Is it a maze?" he asked.

"Well, no," I replied. "A labyrinth isn't a maze because a labyrinth doesn't try to trick you."

"Like...huh?"

"A maze takes you to dead ends as you search for the way out. A labyrinth is a path that turns in directions you're not expecting, but leads you to the place you know you need to go: the center. The purpose of walking a labyrinth is to get your mind to slow down as your feet slow down. You have to trust it."

"..."

"Some people like to think about God as they walk the labyrinth because the walk is a lot like following God. You may go in directions you don't expect, but if you follow and trust, when you look back, you see there were no tricks. Just a steady path."

"Yeah. Okay, Mom. Is it okay if I turn on my game again?"

;^)

Give Me...a Break, a Hand, a Piece of Your Mind

2009-11-24T21:43:00.000-08:00

This week the kiddo is off school, so he's been coming to work with me at the church. Yesterday he helped finish packing Thanksgiving meal boxes for needy families, and today he helped me buy extra turkeys and hand out meals. It was exhausting, but awesome. I'm really glad he gets the opportunity to help on projects like that.

I have to admit that while I love being able to help people who need it, I also find less charitable thoughts creeping into my mind at times. For instance, today I brought out two meal boxes (containing green beans, cream of mushroom soup, sweet potatoes, marshmallows, rolls, pie crust, canned pumpkin, evaporated milk, stuffing mix, chicken broth, cranberry sauce...and sometimes other things as well) and two turkeys for a mother and her daughter who had called the church to be put on the list. They'd brought along another person who asked if we had any other meal boxes, and I sadly told him we didn't.

The truth was that we really did have an extra one, but it was sort of our backup, last-minute box, and I didn't want to give it to someone who was helping cart away two full family meals already. I felt bad about it, but I didn't feel it would be right to carelessly hand out yet another meal to someone who already had one (as far as I could tell). I wondered if I was being judgmental about whether this person "deserved" an extra meal box. Not a good feeling.

As it turned out, I got a message when I got back into the office. Apparently someone had a friend who was living in a group home for people with AIDS, and she wondered if we could help her friend. So that's who's getting the extra meal tomorrow. I guess things work out the way they do for a reason, but...still.

It would be nice to be able to give freely. There are so many people in need, and just the same, I know there are also plenty of people who play us for charity. One woman calls us periodically and asks us for amounts of money and food that we can't supply, in a time frame that wouldn't work for us anyway. She's been doing this for going on two years, and the impression is that she's more of a manipulator than a person in need. We helped her twice at the beginning, then declined further calls.

That's hard.

My boss, a pastor, says there's a difference between being charitable and being mericiful. Merciful is giving the shirt off your back, even if you have to suffer. Charitable is giving people what they need in order to help themselves. I lean toward merciful; it's hard to say no. My boss is one to set boundaries. This makes for some interesting discussions and uncomfortable moments for me.

I don't think there's only one right way to give; we all do what we want with what we have, and every bit of generosity helps. Still, I'd be interested in knowing your thoughts on giving. What's your giving style? When is it "right" to not give? Do you give to everyone, or just to people who "deserve" it?

Say...What?

2009-11-23T21:25:00.000-08:00

He doesn't do much in this one, but it's sooo from my era. Hilarious.

Is It Still Cradle-Robbing If He's 28 Years Old?

2009-11-22T13:20:00.000-08:00

I love this guy.

God Bless Us, Every One...As We Tiptoe Through the Tulips

2009-11-21T23:03:00.000-08:00

I went to see a play tonight. My brother's girlfriend teaches drama, speech and choir at a Catholic high school, and she directs all the school plays and musicals there. Anyway, tonight they did A Christmas Carol and it was wonderful -- part play, part musical, very creative while sticking to Dickens' story. As usual, I cried when the Ghost of Christmas to Come showed the Cratchit family burying Tiny Tim. Kills me every time.

No, not that one.

This one.

Prayers, Please

2009-11-20T11:50:00.000-08:00

I've recently learned that a 35-year-old mom in Georgia, Anissa Mayhew, suffered her second stroke a couple of days ago. She'd had a stroke a few years ago, and dealt with her toddler's cancer as well, and now this. She and her family sound like an amazing bunch of people, and there are a lot of people testifying to this on a number of blogs.

Anissa's regular blog is here, but updates about her health (written by her husband) are here.

If you could say a prayer or think a good thought or light a candle or...something for Anissa and her family, I know they would appreciate it. Thanks.

I Can't Even Count the Number of Times I've Needed to Take Notes While Eating...

2009-11-19T17:41:00.000-08:00

I'm unreasonably amused by these. Wouldn't it be fun to pull these out of your pocket at a meeting? Also, they're biodegradable, which I love.

The overall Inhabitat site is pretty nifty and their kid site, Inhabitots, is a must-visit. Seriously. Go there now. Awesomeness abounds!

But Now My Pillow Is Calling My Name

2009-11-18T03:18:00.000-08:00

Why am I up at this hour? Well, Primary Dog heard the kiddo moving about at 2:15 a.m. and growled, then raced upstairs to investigate. I figured the kiddo was just visiting the bathroom, but the glow that appeared at the top of the stairs said otherwise. Turned out he thought it was wake-up time and figured he'd watch a few Bakugan videos on YouTube. I put the kibosh on that plan and the kiddo told me I never let him do anything fun. Then he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Speaking of pillows...

She Shoots...and Misses

2009-11-17T20:56:00.001-08:00

Just to balance things out, tonight the kiddo is going to sleep and he's cranky. I told him I love him, and he said, "No, you DON'T, and I'm TIRED of BELIEVING that!" Hmm. Methinks someone just lost bedtime story privileges. ;^)

Does That Mean My Average is Above Average?

2009-11-16T10:57:00.000-08:00

At the football game Friday, the kiddo was in a foul mood. I tried to jolly him out of it, to no avail. Finally we went to the snack bar and I told him he needed to take responsibility for his mood and pull himself together because I wasn't going to indulge it any more. Complete mood turnaround. After the game, he told me, "Mom, I just want you to know you're battin' a thousand on bein' a parent."

Hey, I can live on that for a long time. Should have it embroidered on a pillow. ;^)

Home, Sweet Home

2009-11-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

Rockin' That Random Act of Kindness

2009-11-14T22:31:00.000-08:00

Well, I missed a day, so NaBloPoMo = fail. Nonetheless, I will soldier on. ;-) I plead stress, though. The eviction thing is kind of a mind-blower, not so much for me because I always expect the kiddo's dad to behave like the malignant narcissist he is, but for the kiddo. He absolutely cannot understand why his dad is doing this to him. I'm in charge of making everything nice and smooth, which is a full-time job. Also a full-time job: forgiving the kiddo's dad.

Anyway, recently I forgot my PIN after not using it for so long, and stress has sent some things flying out of memory. At the ATM I tried a few possible PIN combos, with no luck. Little did I know the card had been deactivated. I'd promised the kiddo I would take him to the beach (we were visiting my parents), so we headed down there and stoped by Starbucks to order a bunch of stuff. Card declined. ??!!!

My mind started racing as I thought about how I'd have to go to the bank and fix the card, and somehow pay for parking when I left the beach, and...and...then, as I was about to tell the cashier to cancel my order, the twenty-something dude behind me said, "I got 'er, son." At first I wasn't sure I'd heard him right, but he paid for all my stuff! I was dumbstruck. I asked if I could give him a hug and he got all shy, but I hugged him anyway. Man, I soooooooo needed his random act of kindness today!

For what it's worth, the dude's name is Ryan and we were at the Starbucks in Huntington Beach on Main Street. And Ryan, if you ever Google yourself and by some longshot find this blog entry, I want you to know you totally made my day. Probably even my week. :-)

Nine More Years...

2009-11-12T22:42:00.000-08:00

Got served an eviction notice today from my son's dad. Merry Christmas! Thank God I have my bio-family and church family and will get through this. Still, I am highly impressed by the ex's sophisticated assholery. The kiddo is very upset. I doubt the ex considered how this would affect the little guy. Some toothless dude actually handed it to me at the church this evening, then told me, "Oh, by the way, thanks for Prop 8!" WTF? Please go back to your car and smoke some more crack. (FWIW, I voted no on Prop 8, so begone, ye gummy meth-head!) ;) Anyway, the kiddo is fairly upset, and no, I did not tell him the news in a way that would put his dad down at all, although I have every right to. Nevertheless, as therapists have told me, the kiddo will likely figure out on his own how his damaged dad really is. I'm sad about that. A boy should be able to grow up knowing his dad is a hero, not a dick. I don't fault his dad for having to sell the condo; it's the cowardly way he's gone about it. A real man would call and have a proper conversation about it and help work out an exit plan that all parties could live with. Serving an eviction notice = killing flies with a hammer. Narcissistic wound, anyone?* What a poor excuse for a grownup he is. Nine more years.

narcissistic personality disorder

"A psychiatric diagnosis characterized by an exaggerated sense of self-importance and uniqueness, an abnormal need for attention and admiration, preoccupation with grandiose fantasies concerning the self, and disturbances in interpersonal relationships, usually involving the exploitation of others and a lack of empathy."

If you recognize someone you know or love in the above definition, let me know. I have some good resources on dealing with people like this, and I've had ten years of practice. :-)

* THE NARCISSISTIC WOUND (per Linda Marks)

"The wound to heart and psyche that gets called narcissism occurs when a child's vulnerable and developing core sense of self is not seen and reflected back by the adults around him/her. Each child is born a unique individual with special gifts and personal challenges, multi-layered and both simple and complex. For any one layer to develop, that part of the child needs to be seen, heard, understood and valued. Parents have to be present to be mirrors—to bear witness and reflect back. Healthy parents help young people build a frame of reference for living.

"A child needs a safe context in which to explore and express his/her core sense of self. A child needs adults who are themselves grounded in who they are so they have emotional and psychic space to be receptive to the individual child at any moment, rather than relating to the child from their own unmet needs. Any one adult may be capable of seeing and developing certain aspects of a child, and less equipped to see and develop other ones. In this sense, it does take a village to raise a child, and with the loss of this village and the committed long-term adult relationships the village offers to a child, many levels of the child's developing self will be missed entirely.

"When a parent's own woundedness and unmet needs override their ability to be present to a child or a parent's undeveloped parts of self render them unable to respond to a child's vulnerable and authentic needs, the child's core sense of self can be lost, fragmented or undeveloped. The loss, fragmentation and lack of development of the core sense of self is the root of the narcissistic wound. Raw, broken, undeveloped and lost, we enter a cold cruel world ill-equipped to relate, define fulfillment from the inside out and connect with the spirit of life.

"While our hunter-gatherer and agricultural ancestors and the worlds they lived in have slowly become extinct over many generations, our human bodies are still wired with the cellular expectations of connection that were the birthright and experience of those that came before us. When our primal wiring meets the world we live in today characterized by disconnection at personal, family and social levels, we experience a helplessness and aloneness that is beyond what we are biologically prepared to embrace. By necessity, we must sculpt defenses that allow us to navigate the world asit is, and protect us from what we are afraid of or not equipped to deal with. These defenses create a false self that allows us to survive practically but masks as it protects our wounded hearts and souls.

"We cannot live with a sense of depth because to relate at this level is exhausting unless we are self-secure beings, willing to be vulnerable and chance being exposed to the core. Most people yearn to be known, to be understood. Only by living from the core do we become who we were meant to be."

How Some of Us Are Spending the Afternoon

2009-11-12T13:12:00.000-08:00

Some of us are more productive than others. *blush*

Work in Progress

2009-11-11T23:02:00.000-08:00

Chalk artist, Hollywood, CA.

Why I Don't Post as Much as I'd Like

2009-11-10T20:51:00.000-08:00

After we came home from work today, the kiddo commandeered my computer to watch Bakugan videos on YouTube. Finally it was bedtime, and I sighed with relief; I could reclaim my computer, check Facebook, surf blogs...

Then the kiddo patted the mattress. "Mo-om," he called. "I have an invitation for you! You get to lie down next to me and watch me play my DS for a few minutes."

My mom had four kids, and although I know she sat on my bed from time to time, I seem to remember it never being long enough. As a mom, I now know she was probably dying to put her feet up and watch *Mary Tyler Moore* but when I was a kid, no matter how much of herself she gave us, I wanted more of her.

"Mom!" the kiddo called again. "You have an invitation and and it has hearts on it!"

I pried myself out of my desk chair. Facebook could wait.

A Thorny Issue

2009-11-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

Cactusland, as the kiddo calls it. Balboa Park, San Diego, CA.

Wishing I Had a Magic Pocket Watch

2009-11-09T20:34:00.000-08:00

He just looks big because he's wearing my sweatshirt.

At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Tonight the kiddo and I had a little date of sorts. My brother's girlfriend had given me a business card case from Brighton a few years ago, and finally the cover decoration plate had come loose. Did you know that Brighton will fix any of their items for free? I was delighted to discover this. My case was ready for pickup at the swanky mall, so the kiddo and I headed there after work.

He was chatterbox squared tonight, and talking a mile a minute about anything and everything: Bakugan, school, stores he hadn't seen before, pizza, heaters at the food court, etc. It was all I could do to keep up with him, especially since I hadn't been feeling great and had earlier convinced myself I could be having a heart attack, and was finally recovering from some heading-for-significant anxiety. Crazy, I know. Fodder for a different post. (An old friend of mine had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and I can be a bit suggestible at times.)

As we strolled the mall, a kiosk salesperson tried to get my attention. "No, thank you," I interrupted, perhaps a little sharply. "Good job, Mom!" the kiddo said in wonderment. "That was really good!" Ah, I'm teaching him well, I suppose! Hey, I used to be the nice person who'd give everyone the time of day. Growing up, I thought my mom was so rude to some salespeople. Why did she have to hang up on them or verbally dismiss them when they were just trying to do their jobs? As a mom, I finally get it: My time is my own and no one else gets to decide they can just take up my time with pointless crap. Wow, aren't I the badass tonight? ;^)

Anyway, we eventually found our way back to the food court and grabbed some dinner, eating as we sat under the gas heaters. We didn't talk much at that point, but then we don't always have to. I just enjoyed being in the moment and thanked God for my kid, who's growing so fast. One moment he's scoffing at me for being such a mom, and the next he's telling me he's afraid of elevators (because he knows I would never laugh at such a thing, although I might make him ride a few more elevators with me in the future to get past that fear), and the next he's patting my hair and kissing me on the forehead.

We walked a bit more after dinner and he decided he wanted some ice cream. As he tried to keep it from dripping, I resisted the urge to take it from him and lick it back to manageability, as I might've a few years earlier.

I did, however, grab a napkin and wipe his face once, and he let me. He's still my little boy...for now.

Who Said Baseball Season Ends with the World Series?

2009-11-08T19:05:00.000-08:00

The kiddo, pitching today against...oh, does it matter? ;-)

But Should You Yell "Theater!" in a Crowded Firehouse?

2009-11-07T23:05:00.000-08:00

The kiddo in a fireman's coat at the wildfire exhibit in

the Natural History Museum, San Diego, CA.

Tonight I took the kiddo to see Honk! in Escondido. My brother's girlfriend had directed about a gazillion kids of all ages into singing and dancing through a musical adaption of Hans Christian Andersen's The Ugly Duckling and it was wonderful, as her work always is.

Toward the end of the first act, the amazingly loud fire alarm sounded and the actors at first vamped, then froze. The kiddo proceeded to come a little unglued. The house manager instructed everyone to leave the theater (alarm still blaring) and we all poured outside. The kiddo grabbed my sleeve and tried to drag me toward the parking lot to go home, but I convinced him to stick around so we could see if it was a false alarm. Thank goodness I had his video game in my purse. Distractions are lifesavers!

Turned out the concessions folks had accidentally burned some cookies they were preparing for intermission sales, so after everyone regrouped, we went back into the building for intermission, then the actors resumed the show at the number that had been interrupted, and played into the second act. What troopers! Now we just have a funny story to tell, and I'm grateful for that.

Now...to bed!

Shoulda Posted This One for "Blue"

2009-11-06T17:11:00.000-08:00

At the Birch Aquarium in La Jolla, CA.

Peace

2009-11-05T16:48:00.001-08:00

Just me, my lunch...and the lizards.

Praying for a Sign

2009-11-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

Venice, CA.

Hollywood and Highland Center, Hollywood, CA.

Who's on First, What's on Second...?

2009-11-03T16:29:00.000-08:00

The kiddo cracked me up today by demonstrating how much of this he has memorized. He even has Abbot's "Yeees" down pat. Love it. :-)

It Ain't Easy...(You Know the Rest)

2009-11-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

The field I see from my window, before and after the rainy season.

Waiting for koi.

The kiddo and the green machine.

Botanical Building, Balboa Park, San Diego.

Playing along with the Women's Colony. Come check us out!

Everyone Thought He Was a Farmer, Which Is Probably Just as Well

2009-11-01T13:01:00.000-08:00

This year the kiddo went as Huckleberry Finn to his school's fall festival, then on to trick-or-treating at the mall. I don't think he's ever trick-or-treated in a regular neighborhood, except when he was a baby and I carried him up and down my parents' street. These days we happen to live on a street that's mostly condos and apartments and a field and a lake, so it just makes things easier to go to the mall for Halloween.

When I picked up the kiddo from his dad's house yesterday, he'd had only a sweet roll and crackers-and-milk (a tradition passed down from his paternal grandmother, who mashed the crackers into the milk and ate the concoction with a spoon), so he was a little underfortified for a day of running around and candy acquisition. Also, he was a tad cranky. We stopped at home to Huck Finn the kid up, then headed for the school. I'd signed up to work at the balloon dart booth for an hour, so the kiddo came along to help.

He wasn't that thrilled with being told what to do (imagine that!), so I was relieved to see his dad show up for a bit to take the kiddo around and play games. They ate a little food while they were away from the booth, so the kiddo eventually returned to me in a better mood. I however, hadn't eaten anything yet for the day and it was already 1:30 in the afternoon, so I was wilting. However, when I opened my checkbook to buy tickets for food, I discovered I was out of checks. We dashed home for checks, returned to the school so I could scarf down a hot dog and chips, played a couple of games, then returned to work at the dart booth for a while. In the meantime, the kiddo was begging me to go into the haunted house with him.

He'd been in the haunted house last year with his dad and had a great time, but haunted houses aren't really my thing, so I encouraged the kiddo to find a buddy to go with. The few kids he asked didn't want to go, so I finally agreed to go with him. The haunted house was basically one of the mobile classrooms all decked out with black plastic draping on the outside and who-knows-what on the inside. The dad in charge was letting in groups of four, so when it was our turn, the kiddo made me promise to hold his hand. Good thing.

As we entered, we were met with a rapid strobe light, more black plastic draping and plenty of skulls painted with glow-in-the-dark paint. Then everything went to hell when a little girl dressed as a corpse (she was part of the haunted house) screamed at the top of her lungs and other people dressed as monsters walked slowly toward us. The kiddo started panicking and saying he wanted to get out, and I couldn't find our way out. Seriously, he was hyperventilating and yelling, "Help me, Mommy! Help me, Mommy!" After a couple of seconds, a monster told us to go around the corner, and we were out.

After we were safely out the door, the kiddo told me he was going to wait until we were away from the haunted house and the crowd of waiting kids so he could cry. And cry he did, poor thing. I just hugged him, had him drink some water, and decided to move on to the mall for tick-or-treating. On our way to the car, we ran into a couple of boys the kiddo knows, and he asked them if they'd gone in the haunted house. "Yeah," they said, looking at us sideways, "it wasn't very scary." The kiddo agreed.

When we were safely out of earshot, the kiddo laughed nervously and took my hand again. "Okay, I lied."

Oh Yeah, I'm Doin' It

2009-10-29T19:29:00.001-07:00

Who's with me?

Am I Blue?

2009-10-25T20:55:00.000-07:00

Detail, painted utility box, Hillcrest (San Diego), California.

Playing along with the Women's Colony again! If you haven't visited, check us out!

Orange You Glad It's Monday?

2009-10-19T12:45:00.000-07:00

Resin beads, Bowers Museum, Adornment Festival.

Playing along with the Women's Colony...

Not the Same as Rose-Colored Glasses

2009-10-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

You know, I actually think I gave myself pinkeye in BOTH eyes by falling asleep with my eye makeup on last night. Unbelievable! Tonight I went to the mall to see Whip It (loved it!), and while I walked around and window-shopped to kill time before the show, I wore my sunglasses as long as I possibly could so no one could see my Night of the Living Dead eyes. Bleah. That'll teach me to wash my face before doing anything else after coming home. No more walking in the door and crashing on the couch!

So...Work Was a Bit Interesting on Thursday

2009-10-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

My son had a two-week break from school, so I brought him with me to the church where I work. He likes to hang around, play video games, help out with small tasks and play with my co-worker's son at times. On Thursday, the kiddo told me he was hungry around 11:30 a.m., so we left for lunch. We grabbed some food nearby, then headed back to the church to listen to the radio in the car and eat.

While we were sitting there, I saw a CHP (California Highway Patrol) officer walking in the parking lot. I figured he'd pulled someone over for some reason and was using our parking lot as a stopping point.

Then I saw a police car with its lights flashing. Then I saw another police car...and another. Then I saw at least ten police officers with rifles, walking in front of the church office building. My stomach felt queasy, and I told my son to put on his seatbealt as I put the car in gear.

My cell phone rang, and I saw the call was from the church. I didn't even say hello. "What's happening in there?" I asked. "Well," my office mate answered, "a guy grabbed Miss Edie [our Spanish-speaking custodian] and we're all on lockdown now because the police think the guy might be hiding on the premises. Pastor B. and I are trying to find out more from Miss Edie, but it's a little hard. She's really shaken up."

We had a very small staff on Thursday; a lot of our staff take Thursdays off because they work on Sundays. Only three of us were in the office, and we had only Miss Edie on custodian duty. One congregant had entered the office just before the police arrived. However, we also had about 108 children on the premises, in the preschool and childcare center. This includes infants to pre-K. We also had a lot of teachers, as well as the director and assistant director of the preschool and childcare program.

I wasn't sure if my son and I would be safe in the building, and I definitely didn't want to stay in the parking lot in case a shootout took place. Still more police cars were pulling up and officers were jumping out with rifles. The situation didn't look like it was slowing down, so I left for home.

My son processes things verbally, so he was asking question after question, and I was doing mjy best to assure him that the police were taking care of the situation and would check everywhere to make sure the church was safe. I suggested he relax in a warm bath, so he hopped in the tub for all of five minutes; then we played Othello for a while and I called the office to see what was happening. After about 90 minutes, my office mate called to tell me the police had found the bad guy hiding in a storage alcove in the sanctuary and had arrested him. We were cleared to return to the office, so we headed back.

Needless to say the rest of the afternoon was completely unproductive. The phone rang with calls from the newspaper, concerned congregants who had seen the church on the midday news, police officers checking information, etc. I later found out that the childcare center director, her assistant and a teacher had tried to sneak around outside behind the church to get to the infant room to make sure the babies were okay. As they were tiptoeing, the back door to the sanctuary opened a couple of inches and they ran back to the office.

That door led to the space where the bad guy was hiding, and I honestly think hearing the ladies' footsteps is what kept the bad guy stuck in the alcove for the police to find him. The alcove has four doors: the one that leads to the sanctuary locks behind you if you're not careful; the door the storage closet is locked; the door to a classroom is locked; and the door leading to the outside is unlocked on the inside. Basically the bad guy was screwed.

As the staff compared notes after things started to settle down, I learned that the bad guy had robbed a gas station right by my house, then made the gas station manager drive him a few miles on the freeway. The two fought in the car and the driver pulled over and jumped out. The bad guy jumped over the freeway railing, tried to carjack a woman in the post office parking lot next to the church, then assaulted two of our employees in an effort to get their car keys. He wound up hiding and getting arrested.

Phew.

Luckily Friday was a boring day. ;-)

In Case You Haven't Seen This Yet

2009-10-17T15:25:00.001-07:00

Fresh Air

2009-09-19T16:46:00.000-07:00

Well, the calendar says we have a coupla days, but for me, summer is definitely over. I hadn't planned on taking a break, but it sure worked out that way. Now where to start? Hmm...

Ah, the Pageantry!

2009-06-10T19:43:00.000-07:00

Well, I was hoping to post another photo of a completely shaved Primary Dog, but it turns out he really does hate having his legs messed with. I must have sat on the floor for an hour, letting him eat treats near the electric trimmer, then on the trimmer when it was off, then on the trimmer when it was on, etc., but he's still afraid/annoyed when I put the trimmer near his legs. I wonder if the groomer accidentally nicked him in the past. Oh, and the sweet doggie really hates having his collar pulled. That much I already knew, but I'm forgetful sometimes. No bites, but he did remind me with a slight growl. Wouldn't it be great if a dog could tell people about his past? "I'm terribly sorry, but some meanie used to yank me around by my collar when I was a pup. I've never really gotten over it, but don't take it personally." I would love that. Also, hmm. Maybe I should make more friends.

So in lieu of a dog picture, which probably interests me more than it interests you (if it does at all), here are some other swell images.

From the lovely rose garden at Balboa Park.

A beautiful princess, probably having her photo taken for her Quinceañera.

The kiddo, scoring a run.

And It Took Me Only Two Hours (Cough)

2009-06-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

Here's the primary dog, mid-shave. He requested a modesty patch, so I gave him one, even though his privates are pretty teeny. Don't tell him that, though; he's sensitive.

I shaved almost all of his main body down to fuzz, but I had to quit because he's a bit snippy about having this leg fur trimmed. He may wind up with some groovy go-go boots. Either that, or I'm going to muzzle him and just get it over with. I wonder how the groomer does it.

Most likely the primary dog will get to keep his (trimmed) head and tail fur. No sense in depriving him of all his cuteness. Let's face it: The guy's looking like one of those scary hairless cats and enough is enough.

The auxiliary dog has escaped the trimmer, although she probably wishes she were getting a haircut. The girl will do anything for attention. That ho.

As Promised

2009-06-04T19:11:00.001-07:00

So here they are: Auxiliary Dog and Primary Dog. Don't they look happy? No, those aren't their real names. They're afraid the media will start camping out on our doorstep if I reveal their true identities. I tried photographing them at their own level, but they were impossible to work with. Camera in front of them = scary. Camera over their heads = treat! Alrighty then.

Primary Dog (the white one on the right) is the one who's getting shaved. He's a maltipoo or something like that, and his fur is extremely fine and fluffy. This means MATS GALORE. Add nonstop growth and you're in for some fun. I already shaved his underside down to his soft, pink skin. The kiddo thought it was funny when I shaved the dog's p*nis, but that's what the groomer does, and with good reason. 'Nuff said about that! Auxiliary Dog's fur grows to just one length (seen here at maximum length), so she just needs washing and brushing once in a while. What she lacks in coat management difficulty she makes up for in whining, people-food sneaking and indoor puking. The girl's got skillz.

I must admit I'm having fun shaving Primary Dog. There's something very satisfying about watching the mats fall to the floor and seeing the pooch shake and prance around the room. Granted, it's nothing like the major mat cases on Animal Cops, but he does enjoy the attention and the subsequent lightness/freedom.

So now you know what I'll be doing this weekend. Well, besides watching my son play in the minors invitational game on Saturday morning and maybe getting my nails done for the first time in forever. (I wonder if the dogs would tolerate nail polish. Hmm.)

You want my glamorous life. I know it! :-)

I May Need to Put Sunblock on the Dog Soon

2009-06-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

I got paid yesterday and hauled the kiddo to Wal-Mart for a few essentials. While there, I got the urge to treat myself. I bought a can of macadamia nuts and was reminded of the scene from *It Could Happen to You* in which Bridget Fonda learns that the cop wants to split his winning lottery ticket with her in lieu of a tip, as he had promised, so she goes shopping, comes home to her super-cute-yet-humble apartment, sighs happily and opens the jar of macadamia nuts she splurged on for the occasion.

I kinda got a kick out of that association. Then I came back to reality and bought an electric trimmer so I could shave my dog.

Photos forthcoming.

At Odds

2009-05-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

The other night as I was taking the dogs out, someone approached the condo gate and waited. He had a small, familiar dog with him; it was the Yorkshire Terrier that belongs to the girl next door. I let the guy in and he thanked me. I said nothing. The Boyfriend had returned.

He'd been tossed out after disturbing the other residents, scaring his girlfriend, and generally proving he needed anger management classes. Now apparently he's back in my neighbor's life. I'm on pins and needles, wondering how long it'll take him to revert to his aggressive behavior.

There's forgiveness, and there's being a sucker.

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I've been missing my boy while he's been in Missouri with his dad. They're back tonight, and I'll be meeting the kiddo at school tomorrow morning. I can't wait to give him a good squeeze. My ex scheduled his vacation on my time, and although we'd agreed two months before the trip that we would swap time, the week before the trip, he'd unceremoniously broken the agreement, insisting that the language in the Court Order meant he didn't owe me any time in return for taking my time. I argued about it at first, then told him if that's how he wanted to interpret the Court Order, I'd remember that when planning my vacation next year. I'm sure he doesn't think I'll schedule a trip, much less on his time. I've surprised him before.

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A co-worker moped into the office today and told me she needed a hug. When I hugged her, she felt like a skinny kid. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was sad that her oldest child had graduated from college and was headed for law school. Was she sad that he was all grown up? Well, partly that, and partly because she didn't want him to be a lawyer. She sees being a lawyer as incompatible with her kiddo's Christian upbringing. I assured her that there are a lot of good, ethical lawyers (my family law attorney is one, occasionally to my disappointment - oh, I kid!), and she wasn't convinced. Look, I told her, what about immigration attorneys? Estate planners? Things like that? Maybe, she admitted.

After a few more hugs, she told me her youngest son, a teenager, had hit a home run that weekend. "Great!" And broken the rear window of a car. "Oh..." A Lexus. "Eek." And a bunch of other parents had run out to the lot and taken pictures. "Hoo-boy..." The hole left by the ball looked like a cartoon, all jagged and centered. (Okay, I thought that was kind of funny.) She said she asked the league rep. about her liability for the damage, and the rep. said she wasn't liable because cars park at their own risk in the lot next to the ballfield. Indeed the parking lot next to the ballfield where my son sometimes plays has big signs stating exactly this. Still, she went out to the lot to talk to the car owner, and he had already gone. The whole thing is eating at her and she feels responsible, despite having been told by the league rep. that she's not. She's an admirably ethical and yet overly accommodating person by nature, and she's not sure what to do at this point.

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At work/church we have a Spanish-speaking co-custodian. She's learning some English and I'm reaching for my high school Spanish; we manage to meet in the middle. This morning she gestured and explained: "En el cuarto del hombres, la agua...dañado."

Dañado, dañado...I didn't know that one. "You come," she said, so I followed her to the men's room. (I did at least know that much of what she had told me.) Once there, she showed me a urinal that was flushing continuously. "Ah! Dañado! Okay!"

I love lightbulb moments. Damaged. The urinal was damaged.

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It has occurred to me lately that we're all dañado in one way or another. Some of us cope with it and move on; some of us continue making the same mistakes over and over. There's forgiveness, and there's being a sucker.

I'm walking the line between the two.

Good Fences Probably Do Make Good Neighbors

2009-05-05T20:43:00.000-07:00

Today my grumpy Russian neighbor was driving down the condo driveway as I was rushing to the Dumpster in my pajamas, with a large, newspaper-wrapped handful of dog poop that I'd just picked up outside. We never talk, she and I. Well, I take that back. One time when I was headed out for a walk with the dogs and the kiddo, I noticed her hose lying in the driveway as water streamed down to the street. I left it alone, figuring she'd just finished washing her car (against association rules, but whatever) and would shut it off shortly. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, we returned from our walk and the hose was still there, still running. I turned off the water and Mrs. Grump came storming out of her garage, berating me for turning off the water because she was still using it. Um, what? I told her I'd thought someone had forgotten about it because the water was just running down the driveway, and then I left her alone. That was my most significant interaction with her before today.

So she's driving by and I'm in a hurry to toss the poop before it somehow falls out of the newspaper and I have to recollect it, and she rolls down her window to lay into me about the dogs peeing in the plants on condo property. Um, what? There are four other pet owners in the complex besides me. I'd just taken the kiddo to school after a bumpy morning and I had about thirty minutes to shower and get to work, so I shouted, "I'm trying not to [let the dogs pee in the plants]!" even though I and everyone else couldn't care less about it. Then I just walked away while she was still talking. Straw, meet camel's back.

Of course, in the shower I imagined myself handling the situation a little differently, telling her she had a lot of nerve being critical of anyone's behavior, considering she never attends association meetings, put a nonregulation satellite dish on her balcony, refused to have the association's handyman make outside repairs to her unit (insisting on some other guy instead), and tortured her direct neighbor for years with loud fights with her husband (all of which could be heard through the shared wall). Sort Clint-Eastwood-slash-condo-association-president, minus the guns.

There's nothing like waiting until you're alone to say everything you wish you'd said to someone's face. Ah, yes.

In other news, while out with the kiddo this afternoon, I drove through a swarm of bees. The first time I did that, I was on a surface street and it was just A Little Weird, but today we were on the freeway and the bees thwopped rapidly against the windshield, which qualified as Downright Creepy. I almost swerved to avoid them, but realized in a microsecond how futile that would be. The kiddo, who is deathly afraid of bees, was engrossed in playing blackjack on my cell phone (we'll be taking up drinking after he gets the hang of gambling -- don't worry) and didn't even notice. I, however, was a little on edge afterward and jumped each time I heard anything that sounded the least bit buzzy. I've seen one too many specials on killer bees. Plus, I had a bee once in my car and I don't recommend it.

So that's the news from Lake WTF, where the women are apiphobic, the men are oddly distant, and the children are cute as a button and addicted to electronics.

Marketing Geniuses

2009-05-01T13:51:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I have my son's favorite toys all figured out...

Something else catches his fancy...

...and we spend yet more time at the store to amass a collection of plastic.

Fed Up

2009-04-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Lately I find I'm making certain adjustments to my life partly because such adjustments will make my life better...and partly so I can eventually tell some people to just fuck off. Gee, is that unhealthy? (she asked sarcastically.)

I say who gives a shit, as long as stuff gets done. But check back with me in six months and I'll let you know if it was as satisfying as I'd imagined.

Plants of Doom

2009-04-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, not really doom. More like major inconvenience, all right? The kiddo and I took the dogs for a walk by the lake yesterday evening. Well, I wrangled the dogs while the kiddo walked along and played his Nintendo DS, insisting to me, "Mom, I AM watching where I'm going. I have peripheral vision, you know!" Got it.

So I made the mistake of letting all three dogs (remember the giant Golden Retriever?) wander through the tall daisies that appear every year at about this time. Later, I noticed the primary dog rubbing his face. Hmm. What now? Oh, just about a hundred evil seed/corkscrew things stuck all over him, that's what. They were stuck all over his legs, his fluffy snout and his beard. Poor guy was loaded with 'em.

Needless to say, I spent about 45 minutes at home, pulling these things out of his fur. The thing is, you have to find the seed part and pull from that end, since the corkscrew part doesn't want to release backward, if that makes sense. The dog was pretty cranky and upset at first (much growling and struggling) until he realized I was trying to help him. Then he just rolled over on his back and let me unstick him. His fur is very fine and fluffy, so it was a tedious job. And there are still a few left that I'll have to cut out later. The things I do for love.

In other news, I'm sneezing like crazy. I'm hoping it's just the daisies and not a Golden Retriever allergy, 'cause that would be a sad thing indeed. Benadryl is kicking my ass, so I'm going to look for an effective, non-drowsy allergy medicine.

A life without doggies would be no life at all. :-)

Ah, spring, when a 40-something woman's fancy turns to thoughts of getting laid (and baseball).

2009-04-05T09:11:00.000-07:00

Baseball season is kind of kicking my butt. My son has had games and practices galore already, and although I love that he loves the game, and I love his coach, I feel like it's consuming our time more than it did last season. I'll admit I was looking forward to the season -- talking to other parents during games and practices, watching the kiddo improve, checking out the hot dads (WHO SAID THAT?), but a part of me is glad we're on spring break and won't be having any games for two weeks.

That said, guess what I'm doing today: going to see the kiddo's dad play baseball. Yep, he plays in a 38-and-over league. Most of the guys, including the kiddo's dad, are over 55. The kiddo loves to watch, and gets to sit in the dugout with the players as long as he wears a helmet. I go to hang out with the kiddo when he wanders out of the dugout...and check out the hot old guys.

Ah, spring, when a 40-something woman's fancy turns to thoughts of getting laid (and baseball).

I've decided I've been single and action-less long enough, and have joined eHarmony. I even had a date last weekend. Okay, it was a coffee date, but humor me here. When I told my mom I met the guy on eHarmony, she exclaimed, "Agh! That's what I was afraid of!" She's still working on catching up to the times in some ways, bless her heart. Anyway, the guy I met looked good on paper, more or less: child development teacher, nice smile, loves kids, tall, reasonably good-looking. When I met him, though, the chemistry wasn't quite there. I'm a dog person, literally and figuratively (i.e., I love the animal and I'm comfortable with a certain level of chaos and slobber); he's a cat person (i.e., he had cats in his childhood and likes everything just so -- he also looked with "not-love" at the dogs that passed us at Starbucks, whereas I wanted to run over to each one and hug them). And he was a teensy bit...feminine...but not in a good way.

However, I'm a believer in chemistry sometimes taking a little time to come around, and he wasn't totally unpleasant, so I was thinking I'd be up for at least a second date. Give people a chance and all that, you know? Then I got his post-date email, asking me how I'd thought our date had gone. Well, in all my years of online dating, I don't think that's ever happened, and I felt a bit put on the spot. I didn't answer right away, and after a day or two I got a second email saying something like, "Perhaps you didn't receive my first email..." and I felt a tiny bit suffocated. What is it people say? That anything that bugs you about a person upon first meeting will bug you a thousand times more down the road? Do you think that's true?

I mean, in the past, I gauged a guy's interest by whether or not he called again. This guy has my home and cell numbers and I told him upon parting to call if he wanted to go out. Pretty straightforward, I think. So the email thing turned me off. I feel bad that I haven't responded yet, and yet I keep thinking this guy knows I have a kid and it's busy baseball season, I've told him that; we're not a couple, so he shouldn't expect instant responses from me; I hate feeling checked up on by someone I'm not sleeping with; etc.

So the email remains unanswered. Yes, I'll probably sit down and answer it sometime today. The weekend is my relax-and-catch-up time, whereas during the week is my crazy-rush-rush-to-baseball-omigod-the-dog-pooped-in-the-tub time. But first I'm going to let the dogs out, take a shower, hang out with my son and watch the guys play, eat sushi with my brother and his girlfriend (I got a 30% off coupon in the mail -- yay!), and clear the decks for my ex's Golden Retriever to come over tonight.

Oh...didn't I tell you? My ex took a contract job providing psychological counseling at a maximum security prison over three hours away and will be gone four days a week for a while. This economy thing kind of forced the issue. So to help out, I'll be taking care of his 70-pound dog while he's gone. My son is delighted. My stomach doesn't feel so good.

But I did say I was comfortable with a certain level of chaos, didn't I? ;^)

Sometimes you Feel Like a...Well...Er...

2009-03-14T20:33:00.001-07:00

The kiddo is sleeping the sleep of the freshly Children's N*y*q*u*i*l-dosed. Yes, he is sick again, although this time it's just a cold and not that awful, vomity flu we had a little while back. I'm typing in his room because he wanted me to keep him company while he fell asleep, and now he's making cute little snuffly-moany noises like he did when he was a baby. Well, the noises would be cute if they didn't mean he's sick. :-(

Anyway, today I was a bad mom and let him play baseball. He had no fever and wasn't coughing a lot, and he wanted to play (and one of our pastors was scheduled to attend and he was excited about that), so I gave him some cough medicine and let him play. He did just fine until the cough medicine wore off and then...BAM. The game was over by then, so we went home to let him rest. He still has very little appetite (all he ate today was a bite of a roll and four little cheese-and-cracker dealies after the game), but he's happy and I know his appetite will come back when he's ready.

At today's game, a mom friend told me I should write down a little story I told her last week, so I'm writing it here. The kiddo's dad plays baseball in an adult league, and the kiddo gets to sit in the dugout with the old guys...er, the players. (The kiddo wears a helmet to protect him from foul balls.) One guy asked the kiddo if he could think of ten body parts* that contain only three letters. "Well," said the guy, "I guess there are really eleven, but I don't want you to think about that last one." The kiddo immediately emerged from the dugout to ask my help in compiling a list. Together we thought of eight body parts and then we were stumped.

"We could write down the one Mr. Jack said not to think of," the kiddo offered. I agreed to write it down opposite our list, with a little "Oh no!" face. Still, I told the kiddo, that word is slang and doesn't really count. The kiddo thought and thought, then eagerly exclaimed, "I know one!" I asked him what he'd come up with.

"Nut!"

That's boys for ya. ;^)

* Go here for the list.

Through the Wall

2009-02-25T18:36:00.000-08:00

He has a pierced eyebrow and his pants are always falling down. It's hard for me not to judge; I'm more of a fuddy-duddy than I care to admit. She is the stepdaughter of the condo owner. I don't know if her stepdad knows her boyfriend is living there with her. They're about fifteen years younger than I am; the last neighbors were more than fifteen years older than I. I get to be the grownup in this go-round.

Loud thuds against the shared bedroom wall. Could have been a closet door closed too hastily. What time is it? A thud again. It's 6:30 a.m. I hear shouting, another thud. I am tense. Loud noises like these usually meant bad things when I was a kid. Maybe my son won't hear the ruckus.

Thudding, shouting.

I take the dogs out to pee, and stand for a few minutes outside the front door. The shouting permeates the closed patio door. "I'm afraid of you half the time!" she cries. I'm frozen, but the thuds have stopped.

What could I say to her when I next see her? What should I say? Should I write a note? Should I have called the police? Her stepdad? Will the boyfriend always be there? I don't even know their schedules.

I think of the oldest of six daughters who lived two doors down from my parents. She babysat my son a few times when he was a baby and I was in counseling, trying to figure out what to do about my ex, trying to make the depression go away.

On October 10, 2007, she was found dead in an alley in North Hollywood. Her boyfriend had strangled her. He was found later at a friend's house. She was four-and-a-half months pregnant.

I see my neighbor's boyfriend outside once in a while. He usually has a put-upon air, like he thinks his life is hard and he wants pity. He bugs me.

I imagine what I could say to him if I hear thuds and shouting again. I imagine saying something about not letting him create that kind of atmosphere in our complex. For his girlfriend. Right next door to me and my little boy. I imagine calling the police. I imagine telling my neighbor she doesn't have to put up with that kind of fear and chaos.

A few weeks pass. This morning is quiet. I take the dogs out to pee. I hear shouting, but no thuds. It's about 7:00 a.m. The boyfriend is shouting expletives. They quiet down. Maybe they've heard my foot on the stairs.

I freeze, listening. Nothing. I don't know what to do, what to say. I just stand there, waiting.

I'd Say I'm Pissed Off, But That Would Be Inaccurate

2009-02-20T21:19:00.000-08:00

Hey, I know this is turning into the Bad Dog Blog (did I tell you the auxiliary dog has pooped in the kitchen twice in two days?)...but...the primary dog just peed on me.

We were sitting on the couch and he was napping on my lap. Then he woke up, looked at me, panted a little...and my lap felt warm.

Shoulda named him Ruprecht. Maybe his next owners will. Heh.

Okay, you know he ain't goin' anywhere.

I'm such a sucker.

I promise my next post will be about real people doing human things.

(If you don't see the comments link, try refreshing your browser. I'm having trouble with it, too. Thanks, Blogger!)

Just When I Think I've Seen the Last of Weird Dog Behavior

2009-02-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

Today we had the front door open for a few minutes, and the primary dog disappeared. At first I thought he'd gone upstairs, but a quick check confirmed his absence.

Where was he?

Oh...pooping in the neighbor's bedroom.

Our neighbor TWO DOORS DOWN moved out today and her patio door was open, so I guess the primary dog assumed her Berber was a beautiful carpet...to poop on! The new owners are moving in tomorrow (so fast!), so they'll probably be glad to encounter the bigole wet spot where I sprayed carpet cleaner.

That dog is lucky we love him.

In other news, my sister and I built bunkbeds for the kiddo today, and said kiddo is now peacefully asleep in the top bunk. Naturally I'll be checking on him, like, a million times to make sure he's not anywhere close to falling out of bed.

I'm a little bit like that. Ahem. ;-)

Argh.

2009-02-04T08:10:00.000-08:00

I honestly don't know what's worse: being stuck at home with the flu for going on six days, or being stuck in the house with the kiddo while he repeatedly plays "Music of the Night."

Today: a trip to the pediatrician. I hope my tummy behaves during that time.

A Moment of Quiet

2009-02-03T19:15:00.001-08:00

For the past hour or so, the kiddo has been downstairs on the couch, coughing frequently. I've been upstairs, trying to bring down my stubborn fever (seriously, I took Tylenol AND Advil and it's still over 100F) and hollering down the stairs after every cough to make sure the boy is okay. In between, I've been praying that my son would be able to get some rest from the coughing. Eventually...I noticed things had quieted down, so I tiptoed to the stairs and saw that the wee boy had fallen asleep. *sigh* I love that kid so much.

Can I Go Back to Sleep Now?

2009-02-03T16:19:00.000-08:00

Well, now the kiddo and I are 2-2, since he just barfed about five minutes ago. (Have I mentioned I've actually blown the capillaries in my eyes from barfing? That'll stay REAL pretty for a long time.) I gave him some cough medicine and he just upchucked; at least he did it in the sink. Still, he's kind of interested in discussing what was in his barf and analyzing the whole experience. Bleah. Earlier I slept for four hours on the couch while he played video games; that was good. I think by tomorrow we may be able to go back to school/work and see how it goes. We won't be 100% yet, but hopefully the barfing has passed and our temperatures will be back to normal. The kiddo's was 99.4F this morning and mine was 101.3F. After I took ibuprofen, it went down to about 99.4, but now it's back up to 101.1. What the heck? Maybe I'll get a flu shot next year. My dad would like that a lot. He's a HUGE flu shot advocate.

Now I get to clean Mini-Wheats and cottage cheese (milk) out of the sink. Yay. Then back to sitting in front a space heater turned up so high it might burn my non-fire-retardant pajamas.

The friend who had surgery yesterday came through the procedure fine; now she has about eight weeks of recovery to look forward to. Please continue to keep her in your thoughts/prayers if you can. Thanks.

Short Pity Party, Then Back to Business...

2009-02-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

Man, I think the last time I barfed was when I was pregnant. Well, prior to TODAY. My son had a 103-ish temp. all weekend, and last night I started getting the chills as well. Today...big headache, some fever, and two vomiting episodes.

Feels so good...when it's over.

Needless to say, we're both staying home today. The kiddo was scared just now when he heard me throwing up, so I had to reassure him that I was okay when I was done. The kiddo's dad is out of town for the week, so I don't have anyone to hand the kiddo off to; I hope I'm much better by tonight.

The kiddo just hollered up the stairs that I should under no circumstances use his toothbrush. As if I ever did or would!! Wonder where that came from.

This is a lonely parenting day.

A friend is having a total hysterectomy today, so I need to shift back out of poor-me mode. After all, I would choose today's illness over surgery. If you could please keep her in your thoughts/prayers, I would appreciate it. She deserves good health and peace.

Bits and Pieces

2009-01-31T09:31:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if the primary dog is really smart or really a pain. He pooped in the bathtub when I was asleep this morning. Considering that I fed him a different food last night, and taking into account how crazy I get when he poops elsewhere in the house, I'm inclined to think he's pretty smart. Of course, neither the kiddo nor I knew where the mysterious and elusive poop smell was coming from this morning, so we did have to hunt for it. There's nothing like the fear and loathing one has while searching for poop.

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Why was I asleep this morning? The kiddo awoke at 3:00 a.m. with a temperature of 101.3F and a dry cough. He was fairly chatty and wanted to play board games; I wanted him to go back to sleep. Then he said he was hungry, so I fixed him something, which he decided not to eat. I gave him some ibuprofen and a tiny dose of Benadryl, and at about 4:30 a.m. he went back to sleep. I finally fell asleep around 5:00 a.m. *yawn* Where's the coffee?

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We were supposed to go to the kiddo's dad's 10k run today (so the kiddo could watch), but since it was scheduled to start at 7:30 a.m. and the kiddo is sick, we missed it. It would've been hard to make it there early enough under the best circumstances, so we it was just as well that we didn't go.

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Tomorrow: Cheetos, Doritos, guacamole, Bruce, funny commercials...who's actually playing in the Super Bowl, anyway? My son probably knows.

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Do you think the fact that the kiddo keeps banging out the melody to "Music of the Night" on the piano means he's ready (i.e., desperate) for lessons? I'm thinking yes. I could try teaching him, but so far I don't have a reason to think he would take my direction well in this field. I tried teaching him the proper fingering to a C scale and he insisted on inventing a "better" way. Lately everything I do seems to be wrong (if you ask the kiddo), so it might be worth it to pay someone else to teach him. At least I'd hear something other than "Music of the Night" for a while. ;^)

Tylenol Party Favors. Think About It.

2009-01-25T20:48:00.000-08:00

Three words:

Kids' bowling party.

Help me.

We Have No Holiday Armadillo, Though

2009-01-23T01:42:00.000-08:00

So the kiddo woke me with a bad dream and now I'm the one awake. I suppose it's just as well, since he left a tooth and a note (in lieu of another tooth that he swallowed) under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy, and I'd fallen asleep before, er, letting her in. Now the kiddo is fast asleep and I'll be tiptoeing into the bedroom to leave some money while trying to keep the dogs from following me with their loud, jangly tags and insane panting and relentless leaping onto the bed.

Speaking of mythical and magical creatures (the Tooth Fairy - NOT my smelly, earthy and earthly dogs), Santa still visits our house each year. Santa doesn't really visit the kiddo's dad's house, and pretty much never did; Daddy said he didn't want to "lie" to the kiddo, so Daddy gets credit for all the presents there. I remember one year the kiddo came back to my house on Christmas morning and was indignant to find that while Daddy had brought him a bunch of gifts at the other house, and Santa had brought him a bunch of gifts at our house, Mommy had brought him nothing at all! And this was a year in which I'd scrounged for bargains all over Craigslist and the county so we could have Christmas. Ah, well, it gives me a funny story to tell him later.

My mom, practical in the extreme, is of the opinion that I should educate my boy on the Santa issue, but I think by Christmas 2009 he'll have the whole thing figured out. He's already asked me about Santa's existence a few times: "Mom, is Santa Claus real, or is he a myth?" I've put the question back to him, and he's said he thinks Santa does exist. Then he asked me if the Tooth Fairy is real. Same process and outcome. He asked what the Tooth Fairy does with all those teeth; I told him I wasn't sure, but there's a rumor going around that she uses them to keep building onto her palace. (Methinks the Tooth Fairy might have a touch of Winchester-itis.) He thought about this, then asked if there was also a rumor going around that one's parents really put money under pillows in exchange for teeth. I asked him his opinion, and he said he thought the Tooth Fairy did it. Oh, okay.

Like I said, I think he'll figure everything out on his own, and I see no pressing reason to expedite the process. He'll be a kid only once, and he should be able to enjoy the myths that go with childhood. My mom felt the need to break the news about Santa to my sister when she was little, and although at the time Sis acted as though she'd known all along, she says she remembers feeling kind of crushed. I'm definitely not going to put my son through that. Let him enjoy his innocence. Let him have his fun.

Let him believe.

. . .

2009-01-10T07:27:00.000-08:00

The other day, I took my son to my office after school, helped him with his homework, let him eat some chocolate that had been given to me over the holidays, and bought him a fanzine he begged for at W*l-M*rt. He was over the moon and gazed adoringly at his celebrity crush all the way home.

Then we went home to walk the dogs. On the way, we passed a few businesses and he begged me to buy him something at each one. I said no and he started to cry oh so dramatically as I wrangled our two poop monsters. I decided to ignore him, and after a while he stopped. Great, I thought, peace and quiet. Ha.

"Well, aren't you even going to HUG ME??" he demanded. I was reminded of that scene from Everybody Loves Raymond, when Deborah has raging PMS and angrily asks Ray if he's ever thought of just giving her a hug and in frustration he replies, "THIS...[gesturing toward her wildly hormonal self] is not huggable!" Anyway.

I told the kiddo I was letting him have his space to get himself together. (We've been talking about getting emotions under control and not having tantrums over losing games or being told no.) He's constantly refining his guilt trip tactics, so he mustered up his best shot: "YOU NEVER HUG ME ANYWAY!"

Now, I happen to have a thing about hugging. I have a fond childhood memory of snuggling with my grandma and patting the soft, wrinkled skin on her arm as we talked. I have another memory of putting my head in my aunt's lap (she had no children back then) as she gently twirled my hair with her fingers. My mom must have hugged me, but my only memories of her hugging me are more recent, sort of warmth-less hugs in the past several years. My dad was always doing obnoxious things to us kids, like reaching out and grabbing us when we were on the way to the kitchen. His hugs were almost aggressive, attention-seeking hugs, but he did hug me gently in the urgent care about a year ago as I sat on the exam table and cried and hyperventilated, with my blood pressure hovering around 192 over some equally shocking number. My mom sat in a chair, but she was there. Stories for another post...

But I'm a dedicated hugger when it comes to my son because I want him to remember that his mother hugged him. A lot. And he's mostly receptive to being hugged; he especially loves group hugs, and has said so numerous times. He's always trying to get in on a hug, whether I'm hugging someone in my office, or hugging his dad. (Once again, stories for another post...) So when the kiddo told me I never hugged him, or at least hadn't hugged him that day, I was slightly tweaked. Not mad...just...okay, a little mad, but mostly disappointed. I reminded him that I'd hugged him that very morning when he first woke up, had hugged him a few times when he was at my office, and that I hug him all the time, and if he says I don't ever hug him, I think maybe he doesn't notice or appreciate all the hugs he gets. Then I hugged him and we continued our walk in thoughtful silence for a while. He managed to "turn his frown upside down," as we say, and the rest of the evening was pleasant. When bedtime rolled around, I sat with him in the dark as usual as we talked and he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I was on the computer before dawn. I heard Slider's tags jingle, and my son's feet hit the floor. As usual, the kiddo crept into my lap and I hugged him quietly, just like any day. The kiddo closed his eyes, and just for fun, I dipped him. He kept his eyes closed and said nothing for a moment as I watched his little face and wondered if he'd ever know how much I love him.

Just before I set him upright, his eyes still closed, he took a breath: "Yes. I notice."

Getting back in touch after being out of it for so long...

2009-01-04T07:42:00.000-08:00

Because I'm feeling lazy today, I'm borrowing from a post I made last night to a listserv from which I've also been absent for a while...

*stretch* I feel like I've been hibernating. My flat screen monitor went belly up in October. I just came in and saw a swirl of colors drifting across the screen. Fabulous. Luckily, I had a gigantic, bulky monitor that came with the computer and which I never bothered to hook up because, well, I had the flat screen. Ahem. Unfortunately, the huge monitor was too big for my puny desk. Since I wasn't ready to get a bigger desk, I hooked up the huge monitor and plunked it on a chair so I could at least read blogs, even though I couldn't comfortably type. Okay, that story's pretty boring, but it does explain my initial absence somewhat. Then life just got busy.

Working at a church during the holidays is CRAZY. I love it, but the holidays were completely full of activities, charity schtuff (making food boxes, etc.) and tons of other things. I'm sorta glad work has settled down for now, so I can catch up on basic tasks. What else is new? Oh, my dogs had FLEAS yesterday. I bathed them within an inch of their lives, picked dead/drowned fleas off them (GROSS, I know!), brushed and dried them...and took them to the pet store to get more flea drops and spray to dose them with. (I'm ordering more Advantage on 1-800-PETMEDS, which is cheaper than Amazon and definitely cheaper than the vet, but am using pet store stuff for now.) I'm hoping I caught everything soon enough; I didn't see any fleas last week, so I think these were a recent thing. You have no idea how much this skeeves me out. *shudder* I'm silently freaking.

In other news, the kiddo signed up for baseball today, and I bought a copy of Baseball for Dummies so I can converse intelligently at the pro and Little League games this season. Bring on the hot single dads. (What? Who said that?) ;^)

Christmas was very nice. For the first time in the past few years, I felt able to really enjoy the holiday. Last December was the worst, when I had to go to the urgent care and subsequently the shrink to take care of what had become more or less a protracted panic attack. This year I was able to relax and really have fun with the kiddo. We went to a grand Christmas musical show in early December, then made our somewhat traditional visit on Christmas Eve-Eve (!) to the Hotel Del Coronado to see the giant tree, let the kiddo open a couple of gifts, and have dinner. Usually there's ice skating on the beach (a temporary rink), but it had rained that day and the rink was closed. Nonetheless, the kiddo loved the two small gifts I brought for him to open; we played the card game together, and he hugged the stuffed dog he'd been begging for after seeing it in a deli gift shop. Upon unwrapping the dog, he gasped and asked, "Did you get this for me because you knew I'd been wanting it?" When I said yes, he leaned against me and sighed, "Well, aren't you a sweet mama!" I'M TELLING YOU, I COULD HAVE DIED. Anyway, we then wandered downstairs in the beautiful hotel to look around, eat ice cream (his idea - it was FREEZING outside!), and have dinner courtesy of my first-ever Christmas bonus check.

I initiated this little hotel tradition a few years ago because the kiddo spends all of Christmas Eve (the whole day) with his dad and comes home around 11:00 a.m. on Christmas Day, and then we head off to my parents' house around 1:00 p.m., so our pre-Christmas hotel visit is a way for us to get a little relaxed Christmas time without any other pressing engagements. We weren't able to do this last year because of my panic attacks, so I was especially thankful for our visit this year.

Let's see...what else? My little dog, Suzy, turned nine this year. We've had her for over a year now, and sadly I've decided she would be much better off with a retired woman who stays home a lot, is willing to dote on her, and would be willing to take her along on some trips. The kiddo and I are away at work/school (and soon...baseball) too much these days, and Suzy is miserable. She cries all day long when we're away. I even taped her and played it for my co-workers, who found it hard to believe such horrible sounds could come from a teeny animal. My dad thinks one of the women on my folks' street might be interested in another little dog, and she fits the profile I'm looking for, so I plan to visit her the next time we're in town. I met a mom through the kiddo's school who might also be interested, so I'm keeping her in mind also, but I'd prefer to place Suzy on my parents' street if possible. I mean, how perfect would that be? I want to make the transition as smooth and as much of an improvement as possible for Suzy, and she will never go to a shelter.

Our other dog, Slider, ran away when I was visiting my parents last month. What a booger. The gate to the backyard was open, and someone inadvertently let the dogs out. I was in tears, driving around the neighborhood, hoping he hadn't wandered out to the busy street and wondering how I would tell the kiddo if anything happened to Slider. My youngest sister and her girlfriend and my dad were also out looking for him, and my other sister and my brother were already on the roof (putting up Christmas lights), so they tried to check out the area. Finally my youngest sister discovered Slider in a pen on someone's lawn. Some dog lovers had found him and placed him where we could see him! They even put food and water and a rug in the pen to make him comfortable. Needless to say, I brought them a bunch of dog treats, toys and a card later that day.

New Year's Eve was quiet around here. The kiddo and I started to watch Elf at 8:00 p.m., but he fell asleep ten minutes into it and I carried all 66 pounds of him up to bed. I dropped off around 10:00 p.m., then awoke at midnight because Slider was repeatedly jumping on me, then running over to the front door and alerting. He must've heard some firecrackers that I couldn't hear. Suzy couldn't have cared less, of course. On New Year's Day, the kiddo decided we should go out to breakfast and then see Bolt, so that's what we did. :-)

Hmm...last month I did an art project with the kiddo's 2nd/3rd grade class, and it went really well. We talked about the theme "artists depict winter," then talked about the word "depict," then talked about what images come to our minds when we think of winter. Our project was a crayon/watercolor resist, so we also learned the word "resist." It was awesome! The kids drew pictures with white (well, mostly) crayons, then painted over the drawings with black or blue watercolors. Most of the kids drew snowmen and presents, but the kiddo drew the two of us walking the dogs in knee-deep snow. How cute is that? (Okay, I'm biased.) Now I need to figure out a project for January. This art docent gig is a blast!

Now...off to check for fleas. Yes, I'm obsessed. As you might imagine, the dogs do not enjoy being unexpectedly flipped over to have their bellies scanned for critters. I'll be back, though, I promise.

I wish you all a wonderful 2009!

I'm Sorry...So Sorry...

2008-10-25T05:22:00.000-07:00

Lately whenever I give my son an instruction, he says, "Sor-REE!" with just enough sass to have me thinking this needs to stop. For instance:

Me: "Honey, please turn off the TV and put on your shoes."

Kiddo: "Sor-REE!"

I told him saying sorry is only for when he's done something wrong - not for when I've just given him an instruction - and that I don't want him to develop the habit of saying he's sorry inappropriately, to the point that it becomes meaningless.

So now when I give him an instruction and he responds with "Sor-REE!" I give him the hairy eyeball and he immediately follows with "I know, I know, it's a bad hobby.* Sorry."

Sheesh.

* He's been confusing hobby with habit, but I sometimes think his word choice says a lot about his motives. ;^)

Tears on His Pillow

2008-10-18T22:03:00.000-07:00

Hoo-boy. I kid you not - the kiddo is crying his eyes out over the dark-haired hottie on the far left. He just watched a movie featuring this young actress, and came upstairs several times to throw a blanket over his head and moan about how jealous he was that the other actor in the movie got to kiss her. And the kiddo is seven...and the actress is about fifteen. I see a lot of heavy crushes in our future. *sigh*

Ho-Hum

2008-10-10T07:33:00.000-07:00

I've been idly wondering what to write about, so how about this? The senior adult pastor at work refers to me as "the little girl up front." I'm 42, but he's about 84 years old, so I find it amusing. I know he means it in a good way, as in, "Did you see the posters the little girl in the front made for me this month? She's so creative!" (Yep, he said that.) Pastor F. has a bunch of kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, so he's the quintessential grandfather and I feel a little bit like I have a grandfather now.

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The kiddo is in the shower (a few feet from my desk), getting ready for his dad to pick him up. The school district is on a two-week break. What is UP with these breaks?? When I was a kid, we had two weeks off at Christmas, and one week off at Easter. My son has two weeks off in the fall, two weeks off at Christmas, and two weeks off in the spring. And a shorter summer. From a childcare perspective, I'd much prefer it if the kids would stay in school more during the year and have a longer summer. Yech. Anyway, I'm lucky to have the kind of job in which it's okay to bring kids to work (within reason). The kiddo has come with me three days this week (and stayed with his dad the other two days) and hung out while I've gone about my business. He's great company and I got to take him out to lunch each day. Awesome! :-)

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I'm a bad dog mommy because I accidentally dropped Suzy. She's nine years old and wary of being crated, so she mostly avoids me when I try to pick her up. However, this morning I was trying to hustle both dogs outside for potty time and she refused to walk past me and out the front door (lest it be a trick - the girl is on to me), so I tried to pick her up and set her outside. She panicked, leapt from my hands and landed a bit on her face (on the carpet) by the front door, then limped outside and held up her little paw. Oy. I scooped her up and cuddled her, carried her downstairs and set her in her potty spot, and she daintily trotted away. All better. Phew.

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My son is splashing around in the shower. "What are you doing?" His answer: "Nothing. Well, nothing you should worry about." Okay then.

But If I'd Dreamt This Years Ago Would I Have Known What It Meant?

2008-10-04T22:11:00.001-07:00

The other night I dreamt I married the kiddo's dad. The reason for our marrying was unclear, but I was aware that we were doing it for the kiddo's dad's benefit.

I had to pick out my own wedding ring. By myself.

The ring I chose was a single piece of carved ivory and didn't match the kiddo's dad's ring at all. The image on top of the ring was rather intricate, something like a butterfly, a lion's head, or a strawberry.

When I showed the ring to the kiddo's dad, he was underwhelmed. "Good," he said, and looked away as I stood there expectantly.

I asked if I should go home to my house, or come with him to his, and he told me offhand to do whatever I wanted.

It's hard to remember any other dream of mine that was more clear.

But I'm Sure My Mother Would Not Approve

2008-10-04T20:53:00.000-07:00

Tonight I ran into the kiddo's dad's landlady, E., when I dropped off the kiddo's baseball uniform. She's a batty old thing. Seeing as I almost never go to the ex's house (and for damn sure never go inside any more - my choice), he treated my visit a bit like Old Home Week, making sure E. got to say hello to me. I should mention that I have quite disliked this woman ever since she treated me like a friend, then turned around and wrote a letter on behalf of my ex when he took me to court for child custody.

So she showed up and acted all happy to see me, and asked me, "So did you do your chairs?" I had been all set to do a big art project right before my ex took me to court in 2004. I was caught off guard, so I told her no, but I was gearing up for a project again.

What I really wanted to say: "Oh, you mean the chairs I was going to do before my entire fucking life got derailed by the custody case in which you suported the petitioner? The chairs I was going to do before all the terms of my move 100 miles away from my family were completely changed and I was left adrift without support? The chairs I was going to do before I happened upon the kiddo's dad and his new girlfriend at the movies, when I didn't even know we were officially finished? The chairs I was going to do before I spent every day for over six months crying and could hardly function? The chairs I was going to do before I started having panic attacks over court appearances and sidestepping the new girlfriend and grieving my notion of how I'd thought my life would be? Those ones?? Well...NO, YOU TACTLESS STUPID OLD BACK-STABBING DRIED-UP BITCH, BUT THANKS A HELL OF A WHOLE LOT FOR BRINGING IT UP."

If my son hadn't been standing right there, I would've said what I was thinking. And now...back to not setting foot on that property. I just think it's better that way.

Wanting to Help the Unpleasant

2008-10-04T06:51:00.000-07:00

So Imez asked if I wanted to fill people's immediate needs no matter how unpleasant the people may be. Well...not necessarily. The critical factor is time to think. If I have time to think about a situation, I can analyze it to the point that I come back to the root: need. If I don't have a lot of time to think about it, I can quickly justify not assisting someone. (Just saying I can; not saying I always do.)

For instance, if I encounter a person asking for donations at the onramp as I'm heading home from work, I might reason that I'm in a hurry, I don't have a lot of money in my purse, it's not safe to open my window, traffic is moving too fast, that person has been out there for at least three years and what is up with that?...the list of reasons or excuses goes on. If I think about it, though, as I sometimes do after passing the person, I eventually realize that the person wouldn't be standing there if they didn't need help. And then I feel like a bitch for not slowing down and giving them my last two bucks.

But that doesn't really cover the issue of an asker's being unpleasant, I realize. So...hmm. Let me think for a second. Okay. At the church, there was a big, burly guy who used to come in and ask to talk to a pastor. (We sent only male pastors out there because the guy once told us he didn't "do well" with women. Okey-dokey then.) He wanted help. However, he was also aggressive and had an anger issue and was quite capable of really hurting someone. I was more interested in seeing him go away than I was in helping him or even talking with him for one minute. Eventually he started to act entitled and more aggressive and then luckily (for us anyway) he encountered transportation issues and found another church to pursue.

I'm as human as the next person. If someone is too unpleasant, my first reaction is "You know what? GO AWAY." But if I'm dealing with a seemingly harmless homeless guy whose main offenses are coming around too frequently and stinkin' up the joint, then I do feel driven to help. (And, as June said in her comment earlier, I also am fairly sure the guy was going around to lots of other churches for "bus pass money." That doesn't necessarily bother me; I think he's just in really intense survival mode.)

It's hard, though, because I sometimes feel like I'm taking on other people's problems. I do have trouble separating myself from their issues, and I think that works both for and against me. On one hand, empathy and sympathy are great. They motivate me to do good things and they help me understand people. On the other hand, if unchecked, they can lead me to become way too involved, to the point that I forget to help myself.

It's like that commonly used analogy about flying and putting on your own oxygen mask before helping your child (or anyone else) put theirs on. You can't help others unless you're reasonably taken care of. I don't think anyone is ever 100% taken care of, or "full." We just have to be reasonably okay to help someone else. When I was Really Not Okay, I couldn't help people effectively. I just sucked up help from everyone else. It was necessary, but it sure felt crappy.

I don't feel like I'm totally out of the woods yet, but maybe that's a good thing. I'm kind of in an interesting place where I'm reasonably okay and can help some people, but I still need help with some things and that keeps me aware of others' need for help.

Does that make sense? I think I really deviated from the question, but hey, it's early and I have a head full of snot. (See? Excuses.) ;^)

Later, perhaps, thoughts on whether help matters more when given to the unpleasant...

Bus Passes and Judgments

2008-10-02T03:12:00.000-07:00

Ah.

The bus pass man came into the church yesterday asking for a few bucks. Our financial secretary was out, so I told him he could come back the next day if he wanted and we would see if anything could be done. I wasn't optimistic, though. He's been frequenting the church office for at least the past few years, I'm told, and usually has the same story (or stories), and the general feeling was that the time was coming to direct the man to other services. I don't say that with judgment. Rather, I say it because it's evident that, for whatever reason, the man's life is in a holding pattern. I've been in many a holding pattern myself, and it makes me sad to see someone else so...stuck. Seemingly hopelessly.

Today he came back, as fate would have it, almost immediately after I met with a pastor to ask what we wanted to continue to do for this man. The pastor said she felt it was time to provide him with a list of social service agencies and tell him he needed to contact them for ongoing assistance. Most people see a church as a place where folks can't say no to giving. I think a lot of people have a slightly romanticized view of churches handing out bread on a daily basis. The truth is that each church has limited resources and just isn't equipped to provide ongoing financial support to those in perpetual need.

I'm sick and my voice is hoarse, so my lovely office mate from Zimbabwe, who is also a pastor, said she'd talk with the man. When he showed up, I handed her the printed materials I'd prepared for him, then left to give them some privacy. She told him that unfortunately the church isn't a social service agency specifically set up to provide ongoing financial assistance, and recommended that he contact the social service agencies that are specifically geared toward ongoing assistance with food, shelter, employment, etc.

He was not happy about this, but he did leave. Nonetheless, I have a feeling he'll be back.

Imez asked in an earlier comment whether there was something someone could do that would cause me to stop feeling like helping them. I've been thinking about that for the past few days, and every time I come up with something that could indeed change my mind, I ultimately go back to the person's need. Yes, people in need sometimes play us for fools, sometimes act entitled, sometimes ask for more than we can possibly provide, sometimes come to rely on outside help without making an effort to improve their situation. That certainly dampens my enthusiasm for helping. When someone is aggressive and threatening, that shuts me off right away. In most case, though, after I think about it, I see that the asker still just needs help at that moment and I usually feel driven to help them.

Is it our job to try to see beyond what they're asking for and figure out what kind of help they need? Do they really need money, or do they need food, mental health care, a shower, a drug treatment program? I personally don't feel equipped to discern this at this point. If I spend a lot of time with someone, I can eventually form an opinion about what they need, but in my job I typically see people for only short bursts of time.

The bus pass man had been coming to the church office for years. Everyone here had heard his stories over and over, to the point that they strongly felt they were a ruse. In the short time that I've been working at the church, he came at least once a month, but sometime two or three times a month, with the same stories. How many bus passes can someone need in one month? I'm sure it was just easier to say the money was needed for a bus pass than to say it was needed for food, for alcohol, for a motel bill, for...anything else.

This situation is keeping me up, but I'd better go back to sleep if I want to kick this cold and be useful to someone tomorrow. I have so many unanswered questions, but staying up all night won't answer them.

Warning: Contains Barf

2008-09-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

I'm wiped out. Today the kiddo and I went to church and treated ourselves to breakfast afterward. That was nice. Upon returning home, however, we discovered that Slider had pooped in his crate. I took the crate outside to be washed, took the dog upstairs to be washed, washed the dog and just when I thought the situation was under control...he barfed on the floor. Okay. Cleaned up the barf, watched him for a while, decided he was fine, let him sit on the kiddo's lap on the couch...and he projectile vomited across the couch and the kiddo's backpack. Things fell into slow motion for me at that point, and I actually tried to catch the barf in my hands to protect the couch. Of course, I failed miserably and just wound up covered in dog vomit.

Oh, and did I mention we were trying to get out the door to get to the kiddo's baseball game on time, and I still hadn't looked up the directions?

The kiddo started crying and wailing about the possibility that the backpack's contents were covered with vomit. I tethered the dog outside in case he had another episode, cleaned up everything as well as I could, then went upstairs to change my clothes...and heard my computer making a funny whirring/whining noise.

That's never good.

I changed my clothes and tried to fix the computer. However, the machine wouldn't display my desktop photo and gave me a plain background. I rebooted and took .25mg of Xanax because I was starting to hyperventilate. Then I called the kiddo's dad and the team mom to tell them we would be late to the game.

The system rebooted, minus the desktop display function, but at least I had icons and otherwise normal function (I hope, I hope), so I looked up the directions to the ballpark. Several times during this process, I had to send the kiddo downstairs so I could take a few deep breaths and tell myself everything would be fine one way or another, and that nothing that was happening was life-threatening. Perspective is a great thing and I hope to get a little bit someday. ;^)

Anyway, I crated the auxiliary dog and took the barf-dog with us to the game, although I knew the park probably didn't allow dogs. His crate was still in need of washing, and I couldn't see leaving him loose at home to trash the house.

Then I got lost on the way to the game. The kiddo was working to keep it together, telling me "It must be so frustrating, huh, Mom?" and trying to be sympathetic. Then when I apologized to him for how crummy everything was going at the moment, he told me he was trying hard not to cry. I was, too.

After several wrong turns, we arrived at the game about 30 minutes late, we found the kiddo's dad, and the kiddo was able to jump right in and start playing. I took the dog to a non-park area to pee, and wrapped his leash around my hand several times to shorten it. I wasn't going to take a chance on his finding the side of someone's lawn chair to pee on.

A bunch of little kids rushed over to pet the dog, then thought it would be fun to bop him on the head, so I relocated to a shady spot (it was hotter than snot today) where we could stand away from everyone else. While we were there, a park worker came over to tell me that dogs aren't allowed in the park. I didn't want to go into detail on why I'd brought the dog along, but I told her it was too hot to leave him in the car and I was keeping him on a short leash so he wouldn't get into trouble. Nevertheless, she asked me to move, so I found a shady spot by the other team's dugout and held the dog on my lap as I sat at a picnic table and watched the game. I just didn't have it in me at the time to argue with a park worker with imaginary authority.

The band of little kids (ages three and four) once again rushed over to bop the dog on the head, so I redirected them to collect rocks so they could build a tower. The dog was excited by this, so he did a flip off my lap and landed flat on his back on the concrete. He's still skinny and has no extra padding, so he made a nice thwack when he hit the ground. I scooped him up and rubbed his back for a while, and he seemed happy to sit still after that, poor baby. The kids gathered around to talk about the dog's boo-boo and show me every boo-boo they had. Then one of them decided to sit on the picnic table, started to topple over, and grabbed my hair to keep from falling off the tabletop. A dad sitting close by grabbed the kid's leg and we both hauled the kid off the table. Another kid thought that all looked like fun and started to climb onto the table, but we put the kibosh on that.

When the game was over (amazingly, I did get to see a lot of the game; the kiddo got a couple of good hits and also made a nifty play at first base), the kiddo's dad and I took the kiddo to lunch. The kiddo's dad had run a 10k earlier in the day, so he eventually left to take a nap, and the kiddo, dog and I went to W*l-M*rt to buy CDs for my computer backup and rug/upholstery cleaner for the house. The kiddo sat in the cart and held the dog on his lap, which got a few looks from some people, but worked out great.

Back home, the virus scan was complete and the system was ready to back up, so I popped a disc in the drive and waited. Thank goodness the thing worked. I feel better now, in case the machine goes belly up. Still no desktop image, though.

(Oh, and on our garage door we did discover an invitation that had been hand-delivered today...for our old neighbor's 65th birthday party. I guess we're good after all!)

The kiddo wanted me to lie on the bed with him and talk, so I did that for a while until the day caught up with us and we fell asleep for a bit. Around the kiddo's normal bedtime, he woke up and told me he was hungry, so I gave him his lunch leftovers and took the dogs outside. There I ran into my still-new neighbor, whose stepdad owns the unit she lives in. He has cancer. I asked how he was doing, and she said it seemed to have spread to his lymph nodes and he'd just had a port put in for chemo. She said she was scared for him, but also scared for her mom. I told her I was thinking about them a lot (I still have a hard time telling someone I'm praying for them) and hoping for the best.

And then I was thankful for my day. Not in a glorious, the-heavens-opened-and-I-was-filled-with-peace way, but in a sometimes-it-takes-a-kick-in-the-butt-to-give-me-a-little-perspective way.

I stroked my son's foot to help him fall asleep, cleaned up yet another (small) barf incident, and played a few rounds of FreeCell.

Life is pretty good.

Oh, Mercy...

2008-09-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

So I went with a pastor last Friday to deliver a box of food and an electric fan to the woman who'd called the church. She called a lot and her requests increased each time she called. As I've said, it's hard to know who's really in need and who's pretty much working the system. The (female) pastor and I pulled into the woman's run-down neighborhood and looked very out of place in our makeup and jewelry and nice car. We called the woman and asked if she could come out, since we couldn't tell which apartment she lived in. She came outside and started trying to make her way down the stairs. She was morbidly obese and had a lot of trouble with just a few steps, and we immediately told her we'd carry the stuff up to her instead. She was agreeable and when she turned around to make the laborious climb back upstairs, I saw she had a bloodstain on the back of her pale gray sweatpants. I just wanted to cry, seeing her in need of so much more help than we could really offer, and carrying what seemed like a pitfully small offering.

After we left, the pastor and I talked about compassion and mercy. She said she's noticed that I'm "high in mercy," whereas she's "high in compassion." I asked how she defined each and she said she thinks of compassion as listening and counseling and helping people find their way, and she thinks of mercy as giving people immediate, practical help, to the point of giving the shirt off one's back. Food for thought.

On Sunday, I was struck by the realization that I could have become that woman if I hadn't had a family to help me with my panic attacks and so many other things. Later, in a class at church, the idea of helping others, but not so much that we take away their chance to find their own path, came up. I'm really not sure what to make of that yet. I mean, I understand it, and at the same time I wonder how one finds that limit. People can't listen or function unless their most basic needs are taken care of. I'm not talking about the old expression, "People can't listen until their bellies are full." I still don't know what my relationship with God is, so I have no desire to go out and preach or anything like that in the slightest. I'm just in mercy mode right now, I guess.

Just Some Things

2008-09-17T18:36:00.000-07:00

My son recently asked his dad for the meaning of "rape" and his dad said it was when someone makes someone else do something they don't want to do. I let that stand until yesterday, when the kiddo was hanging out at my office. He was playing with another kid and I told the kiddo it was time to stop playing and get ready to go home. He refused, so we went outside for a talk. "Why are you making me do this??" he wailed. "YOU'RE RAPING ME!"

That's a nice thing for a kid to yell at his mom at a church.

Needless to say, I later clarified the definition of "rape" as "when a person makes someone do something with their private parts that they don't want to do," and I reiterated that the word most certainly does not apply to anything that happens between the two of us.

The pastors sure did laugh their asses off when I told them about it, though. ;^)

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(Why, oh why do the dogs smell like hummus farts? This worries me.)

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The homeless guy, "Mr. Bus Pass," came into the office last Thursday and I had to turn him away empty-handed. Our finance secretary is on vacation and she controls the petty cash. I'd also been told not pull money out of my purse in front of the homeless folks who visit us, lest we suddenly be deluged by homeless folks. Apparently it has happened in the past. When we had a full food pantry and routinely gave out boxes of food, word got around and we wound up having more requests than we could meet. Anyway, our childcare director was in the office when Mr. Bus Pass came by, and she heard the whole thing go down. When he left, dejected, she said, "That has to be the suckiest part of the job." I would venture to say it might be the only sucky part of the job, but it's pretty damned sucky.

Anyway, my conscience nagged me mercilessly since last week (WWJD indeed! And I'm not even a WWJD kinda gal), and when Mr. Bus Pass came back yesterday, I told him again that our finance secretary was still out (true), but that I'd check to see if a pastor was around to talk to. Then I covertly pulled some cash out of my purse, went away, came back and said I'd found a pastor who was able to scare up some cash, and gave it to him. The guy fills the waiting room with his unfortunate aroma, to the point that I have to stand back about five or six feet or my eyes start to water. He's been coming to us for a long time -- since before I started working there -- and I'm probably the latest sucker, but at least I felt better having given him something instead of sending him away with nothing. It doesn't solve his problems, but it gets through the afternoon. But what a fucked-up world it is sometimes.

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The last few days have been completely awesome on the home front. The kiddo and I have been able to get ourselves ready for school/work ahead of time (incl. doing homework one morning!) and gotten out the door and to our destinations free of stress. Well, I do still feel some stress but I'm working hard on not transmitting it to the kiddo. As a result, he's been super mellow lately and has begun singing in the car. I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS.

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Last night the kiddo had baseball practice (rescheduled at the last minute from Wednesday) and I brought the dogs. With the exception of a few moments when the kids spotted the dogs and began barking at them (that's right, the kids were barking at the dogs), it was fabulous to have two hours to walk the dogs around the area -- not the field, although the primary dog did express interest in visiting the outfield and was very ticked off when I put the kibosh on that. The dogs got to expend and expel and were appropriately tuckered out by the time practice was over. Everyone slept like a log last night, so yes, we will be doing this again.

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Today a woman called the church and asked if we could provide her with food. We'd recently begun to revive our food pantry and I told her I'd have the appropriate pastor contact her. Then she asked if I could maybe just go to the store and buy her some eggs, chicken quarters, milk, etc., "about twenty or thirty dollars' worth and I'll pay you back," and bring them to her house. Once again I told her I'd need to have the pastor contact her that afternoon because that pastor has a procedure we need to follow. I don't really know what to make of the caller. On one hand, I can certainly appreciate the fact that she's in need. I've been in dire need at certain times in my life and have total sympathy for others in need. On the other hand, I felt a little bit like I was about to be taken advantage of.

How does one walk the line between selflessness and selfishness?

Update: Today, 9-18-08, the woman called again and asked if we could scrape together seven, or maybe ten or eleven dollars and bring it with her food (and box fan) so she could do her laundry and she would pay us back. I don't know if we're getting scammed a little, but I mostly feel heartsick to think of anyone doing without basics, scammer or not. It's hard to know how to be with all this, and it's an ever-evolving lesson.

One Woman's Take on a Panic Attack

2008-09-17T18:32:00.000-07:00

It's hard to accurately describe a panic attack to someone who's never had one (I used to have no clue what it was like until I experienced it for myself), but Andrea of Superhero Journal does a mighty fine job.

If You Missed It...

2008-09-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

Look at this:

Hmm...What?

2008-09-11T11:29:00.000-07:00

Last night when I was hosing out the dog's crate (and seriously, what is with the pooping?) in my spare few minutes between getting home from work and heading off to the Back-to-School Night, one of my neighbors casually came downstairs and watched me. Yeah, that's not at all unnerving. Then she told me it was her hose. And that it was supposed to be coiled up nicely. I told her that although it had never been coiled up in the past five years since I'd lived there (and the other former neighbors used to use the hose exclusively), I would be happy to coil it up for her when I was done. I was pleasant about it, but WTH? And she watched me coil it up. I felt a little bit resentful because it's not as though each condo has its own hose hookup. If she's bothered by my using her hose, maybe I'll just buy my own and disconnect hers when I want to hose stuff off. Silly, but whatever.

Also in the WTH category, she told me she'd been to the old neighbors' new house. Hmm. The old neighbors had promised my son several times that they'd invite him over to swim in their new pool and told me they would invite "all the neighbors [they] like," including us, for a housewarming party. Guess the party happened and we fell off the list. I gotta admit, I was saddened by this. It's not the idea of not being invited to the party that bugs me. It's the weird disconnect between what I'd been told and what transpired. I liked them a lot and had been told the feeling was mutual. We exchanged gifts every Christmas and I gave their daughter money for her high school graduation. And again, it's not the material things that matter (and it isn't the first time they talked about our doing something together and it never happened); it's just that I thought we were, well, friends. Guess not! And I gotta admit that I spent more time thinking about this last night than I probably should have.

WTH indeed?

"I thought you said your dog did not bite!"

2008-09-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

If you want to avoid being bitten by your dog, do not grab his collar when he was only trying to steal the treats you're using to lure your auxiliary dog out of the weeds because you're late for work and your auxiliary dog has learned a new delay tactic. You probably know your primary dog, having come from the shelter about two months ago, has a mysterious past and hates having his collar grabbed in already-tense situations. Further, when he shows his teeth, do not give in to your urge to grab his snout in a misguided attempt to exert dominance. Your dog will only point out your stupidity by biting your hand and then running off to hide outside for twenty minutes, leaving you to curse like a sailor, wash and bandage your hand, and hunt for the giant bottle of generic painkillers you know is around somewhere. Do go back outside to retrieve your dog, who will be standing nervously in the middle of the sidewalk somewhere in your condo complex. Call him nicely, and don't argue with him when he slinks right into his crate upon returning home. Briefly consider selling primary dog to gypsies. Be sure to show injury to co-worker later for entertainment value. After all, she did just show you her child's ringworm and it would be rude to withhold a perfectly good disgusting injury.

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If you wonder why the house smells like poop when you come home from work, check the primary dog's crate. It's possible that he's pooped and then stepped all over it. (If you come home and smell poop and you don't have a dog, you may have bigger problems than I can address here.) If you're lucky, you may have had the foresight to have left the antibacterial wipes next to the crate after the last poop occurrence. If you're even luckier, your dog will obediently stay in the crate (on the poop-free side) while you wipe every one of his paws, instead of shooting out and running toward the door. He may even avoid looking at you while you do this, because he knows pooping in the crate is a no-no. If you're really, really lucky, your freshly wiped dog will then good-naturedly trot upstairs and voluntarily hop into the bathtub so you can give him a Silkwood scrubdown with lots of doggie shampoo. Remember to clean the poop out of the crate right away and put the crate outside to be hosed down and bleached in the morning. Do not stop at your computer to check your email for even a second (thirty minutes), lest you be unpleasantly surprised by a familiar odor when you return downstairs. Think about selling dog to gypsies, and idly wonder if he would fit into your crockpot. Later, look up "pooping in crate" on the Internet, learn about preventing dogs from "taking a potty stance" in their crates, and start pricing smaller crates and/or crate dividers.

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If you decide to watch TV and fall asleep on the couch, be sure to close the bedroom doors beforehand, lest you awaken in the wee hours and wander off to the bathroom, only to discover that your dog apparently thinks the king-size bed upstairs is his. Lock (bleary) eyes with dog, who shows no sign of vacating king-size bed. Briefly wonder why you're not asleep in king-size bed. Consider removing dog from king-size bed, but decide you're too tired to deal with another training issue at 4:00 a.m. Continue to bathroom. Try to ignore dog, who now watches you intently as you accomplish your original goal. Wash hands, first stepping around dog, who thinks the sound of a toilet flushing means it's time to go somewhere and who is excitedly running circles around your feet. Tell him there's no way in hell you're going outside when most reasonable people are asleep. It is important to throw in a few curse words to let dog know you are serious. When dog continues to leap around and assume play stance, wonder if gypsies read Craigslist, make mental note to price family-size crockpots online, and try to convince yourself that your son wouldn't notice primary dog's absence if you loaded him (son) up with enough chocolate. Realize there's not that much chocolate in the world. Retreat to computer to wait for sunrise while playing FreeCell. Lots and lots of FreeCell.

Shh...

2008-09-04T08:26:00.000-07:00

At work/church, I see a lot of people in need. I'm in the front, so most of them come to me first. One regular is an elderly man who wears an Illinois sweatshirt no matter what kind of weather we're having. I've seen him come in wearing that sweatshirt on days that are swelteringly hot, rainy days, you name it. He always says he needs eight dollars for a bus pass, and although I suspect he visits a lot of churches and tells the same story, I always try to get him some cash. He likes to talk about Chicago; usually he wants to talk about the time the elevated train (the "el") derailed a couple of years ago. He never smiles, and usually looks a little shell-shocked. I can understand this. Once he told me about getting into a fight with someone, though, and I couldn't imagine this frail, lost man having enough energy to fight anyone.

We used to have a regular who demanded help from us. The guy was youngish, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, and looked like about 250 pounds of pure muscle. He said he didn't "do well" with women, and we always referred him to a male pastor. This guy was known to come to Sunday services and pick fights with certain men (huge, hot, widowed, retired firefighter included). Luckily he found another church to attend after his demands grew too large for us.

One woman came in and said her husband was in the restroom, too embarrassed to ask for help. She said she had a heart condition and that she and her husband and two twin girls were living in their car. Our senior pastor talked with her and got her on her feet. She was not a regular.

For a while there was a man who would call me every day and ask for help. He said he and his wife and son were staying in a motel and couldn't pay the bill. I did what I could for him, including looking online for various agencies that could really help him (unfortunately churches just don't have the kind of money it takes to pay daily hotel bills and such). I wish I could've done more.

A young married couple in our congregation occasionally needs help paying bills and procuring treatment for one of their young sons, who has ADD and a few other diagnoses. This family breaks my heart because they obviously favor their other son who is "normal" and seem to loathe their "sick" son. Our children's pastor is working with them and their situation weighs on us all.

We have a congregant who believes she's a minister and speaks in a joyful, rambling, incoherent manner. She's delightful, and yet no one quite understands her. One of our other congregants has taken her under her wing.

Last Thursday, a man in his mid-thirties came in and asked for help. His command of the English language was only fair, and I had to work to speak slowly and listen very closely. Our children's pastor also spoke with him, but she spoke way too fast and went off on a couple of tangents, so the man turned his attention to me again. I took him into a semi-private room when he said he needed to keep his situation confidential. Turned out he was from Mexico and has AIDS; he'd even brought his entire medical folder with him in case we wanted proof. I listened to him for a while until another pastor returned from lunch and took over.

I often think about all these people and have wished I could do something meaningful for them. Lately I've considered that what I do is meaningful: I listen. I may not be able to hand out church funds or fix their problems, but I can listen. I try to remember that their contact with me might be one of the only times they find someone who will listen - that day, that week.

Thanks for listening to me.

Speaking Up

2008-09-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, the same day I was late for work due to a panic attack, I was feeling introspective and more sensitive than usual. I arrived at the office to find one of the pastors taking a phone message for me. She's about my age, and she kindly asked how I was doing. Everyone at work knows about my situation; I made a decision not to even try to keep it a secret because keeping it a secret makes it even worse. Secrets fester and people wind up confused and inadvertently making up their own explanations for other people's behavior. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was simply a fuckup...or worse...so I've pretty much put it all out there in my personal life (family, PTA, church/work), as long as I feel I'm in a loving environment. And when I say I've put it all out there, I don't mean by whining or constantly complaining; I just mean that I've told people, "Look, here's something that happens with me and I'm taking care of it, but I want you to know so that you don't have to speculate, and so I don't have to carry the burden of keeping this a secret."

So far my instincts have been right on. (That's another thing I'm working on: trusting my instincts. I've some to realize that it's when I go against my instincts that I get into trouble.) I've confirmed what I already knew - that a lot of people are dealing with panic attacks, depression, etc., and are glad to have another friend who understands. I'm glad to be meeting people who understand as well. Even people who haven't experienced these things have been very kind to me. I remember last year when I was at school, standing by the fence and chatting with another mom; I suddenly felt panicked and lightheaded. I asked the other mom to stay with me while I put my head between my knees and tried to get a breath. Afterward, she walked me to my car. Later, she told me that her adult daughter had been telling her she'd been having panic attacks and she (the mom) hadn't believed her; she said she now had a better idea of what her daughter might be going through, and she would try to help her.

This tells me it's good to talk about this stuff. That there is some benefit (both ways) to my speaking up about it. And yet it's hard to talk about at times. I'm not going to turn this blog into a single topic discussion, but this is where I am right now and it feels right to address it.

And Now I Really Should Get Ready for Work

2008-08-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

A quick update and then I'm slinking off to write a real post. I think I've been putting off writing about some hugely painful things that have been going on, and have been instead playing on the surface. That doesn't feel honest to me.

But first...

Had a great time with the new mom-friend, A. We met at 9:00 a.m. for coffee, stayed until about 1:30 p.m., and never ran out of things to talk about. Her husband and son (same age as the kiddo - seven) dropped by unexpectedly and it was nice to see them as well. They hadn't known which coffee place we were going to, so seeing them was a pleasant surprise. Anyway, A. and I plan to get together regularly. She said it's been a while since she made a new friend, esp. so quickly, and I agreed. It's just so great to hit it off with someone like that.

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Here's what I really need to start writing about (well, part of it at least): This morning I started to have a panic attack while walking the dogs. I had my cell phone on me, but no meds, and I started to hyperventilate and feel desperate. I almost flagged down a woman who was checking her mail...but what would I have said? "Please sit here with me and hold my hand while I get through my panic attack"? I managed to get through it by singing three songs with the same melody (ABC, Twinkle Twinkle, Baa-Baa Black Sheep) as I walked steadily toward home and dragged the poor dogs along. Suzy was panting but I couldn't afford to slow down. Poor Suzy.

I feel somehow ashamed and weak and yet I know I don't need to feel that way. I've also been holding off on writing about this because it's so hideously painful to me and I'm still just learning how to deal with (overcome?) it after things reached critical mass last December.

So I will think about how to write about this.

In the meantime, please visit one of my favorite bloggers, Mrs. G of Derfwad Manor. I caught up on her posts after coming home from my walk and I am so grateful to her for her humor and honesty that have particularly uplifted me today. I have this little idea that if she and I ever met in real life, we'd hit it off and gab for hours. ;^)

"Nobody Likes a Frowner"

2008-08-19T04:41:00.000-07:00

I am ruminating. Where to start?

Much to my relief, the kiddo has recovered and started school.

I can't believe I'm the mom of a second grader.

My period has been unusually light this time around, and a woman at work helpfully told me she reached menopause at age 42. Guess how old I'll be next month?

And I've done something to my foot, although I can't recall any specific moment of injury (so maybe it's cumulative?). Thought I'd sprained my big toe, the the pain migrated to the ball of my foot and although there's no obvious swelling, I can't flex my toes much. Walking was mighty tough for about five days, and it seems to be getting better now if I don't push it, but WTF? I don't wear ridiculous shoes - moderate wedges at work and flip-flops the rest of the time, which have never caused me trouble.

And my ex is being so nice and reasonable lately that I'm half-wondering if he's medicated. If he had been this way eight years ago, I'd never have moved out. But the damage is done (that is, I will never totally trust him) and I'm still working on my new life, while cautiously enjoying the lull in tension between us.

I met a very cool mom at my son's swimming lessons, and for a change, she actually asked to exchange numbers. (Usually I'm the one who wants to keep in touch with potential friends.) I'm going to give her a call and see if she wants to get together this weekend for coffee and a gab. She's a research librarian at the city paper and incredibly interesting. I emailed another mom-friend about getting together with the kids soon. It's nice to have female friends. I should've listened to my dad when I was a kid and he was trying to encourage me to focus on platonic friendships. Better late than never. ;^)

And speaking of friends, another topic for my list: my college roommate who has a brain tumor and is kicking ass and who is curiously and unusually, yet sometimes understandably, different and distant.

Perfect Timing...Not

2008-08-15T07:26:00.000-07:00

Well, after being healthy all summer, my kiddo now has a sore throat and congestion. Last night his temperature was 100.7F, but today it's normal, which is a good sign. Oh, and did I mention that school starts on Monday? Sheesh. He's going to his dad's for the weekend, and I'm hoping they don't stay up late as they've been doing this summer. If the kiddo were home with me for the weekend, I'd be making sure he rests and sending him to bed early or on time and dosing him with water and vitamins and M*trin and doing whatever else will speed his recovery. I hate having to send the kiddo away when he's sick; I'm a mom through and through and that just feels so, so wrong.

How Do They Do It?

2008-08-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

How do they do it? I'm talking about women who blog almost every day. And not just about surface stuff. About Interesting Issues and Serious Things.

If I could download my thoughts directly to the computer, I could blog every day. I really do have interesting thoughts, especially when I'm in the shower. (No, not those interesting thoughts.) But so many things come up that I can't seem to choose one and just go with it.

Some thoughts:

- being Catholic and working at a Nazarene church
- my experience with anxiety and depression
- my quirky son and what I'm teaching him
- my occasionally puzzling relationship with my ex
- how I sometimes feel like I'm missing my life
- my love-hate relationship with baseball
- widowed, retired firefighters and why they are hot

Etc.

Maybe I should put them in a hat and just pick one.

At Least I'm Not Wet Behind the Ears

2008-07-18T17:33:00.000-07:00

The other morning as we drove to work together (the kiddo is currently in a summer program a few yards from my office), I accidentally parked in my usual afternoon spot. "Whoops!" I said as I reparked my car. "I guess I somehow thought I was coming back from lunch instead of just getting to work!"

The kiddo thought about this, then very sincerely offered, "Here's a tip, Mom. When you're pulling into the parking lot, just feel your hair. If it's wet, you're just getting to work!"

Heh. ;^)

Chow Mama

2008-07-17T04:37:00.000-07:00

After loading the kiddo and the dogs into the car, then locking the garage door...

Son: Suzy missed you and cried a little bit, but I just told her, "Don't worry, your meal ticket will be back in a minute."

He's got that right. ;^)

And No, I Was Not Spooning the Dog When I Awoke

2008-07-17T03:12:00.000-07:00

I just had the funniest dream. (Thanks, cold medicine!) I fell asleep with Slider snuggled up next to the couch (after apparently deciding I was too warm to snuggle with), and I dreamt that I was kind to an intelligent stray dog who was hanging around a church. He wandered into the church during service to find me, then turned out to be a man in disguise. He was incredibly tall (think CJ from Top Chef), and loving and devoted. We stayed with his family for a while as he fixed things that needed repair, and built things for me.

As for whether it later turned into a sex dream, I'll leave that to your imagination. And yes, it was good. ;^)

Morning Scene

2008-07-04T09:31:00.000-07:00

Kiddo: Mom, I love you, please, I love you, please, I love you, I love you, I love you, please, I love you, please, please, please, I love you, I love you, I love you, pleeeeeeeease...can I teach you chess this morning?

Me: Stop! Cuteness overload! I'm overwhelmed by the cuteness!!

Kiddo: Really? You really think I'm that cute?

Me: Yep.

Kiddo: [batting eyelashes doubletime right in my face] PLEASE? PLEASE? PLEEEASE??

Me: Ah, honey, I need to say no.

Kiddo: AAAUUUGGGHHH!!! [commences theaterical crying]

Me: You're scaring Slider.

Kiddo: [continues crying and wailing]

Me: You sound like you're falling off a cliff. [imitates son's Doppler effect-style wailing]

Kiddo: [crying and trying not to laugh] So will you play chess with me?

Me: Honey, no, we need to get dressed and I haven't eaten breakfast yet.

Kiddo: You've RUINED my INDEPENDENCE DAY!! [resumes crying and wailing]

[Time passes, during which the kiddo eventually gets a grip and is happy again, sans chess game.]

Me: Time to get in the shower.

Kiddo: Okay! [climbing into shower] Oh, wait! I was going to refuse to get in!

Me: ...

Kiddo: Heh-heh. Just kidding!

END