A Senator in D.C. got away with a hit and run, thousands report themselves eating at night, and others don't even remember having "relations" with spouses. So why then should I be surprised that I too would fall prey to the horrible effects of a sleeping pill?
Honestly, I have done the binge eating and cooking in the middle of the night (luckily my husband caught me before I burned the house down), sleepwalking, yeah got that too, but two nights ago I got a new side effect of sleeping pills: sleep writing! Public beware!
Now before you yawn and click away into another part of the web, read, or try to, the CarlsbadCaverns posting. My first attempt at writing while not being awake. (It's around three a.m. currently..so how do I describe this posting...maybe I just need a better sleeping pill!)
Seriously, my daughter and I were walking by my office when I had a brief recollection about writing something. I told my 11-yr-old daughter this, and though she too was used to me sleepwalking thought me sleep writing was hysterical. She pictured me as Zombie like arms stretched straight out, fingers just dropping from my wrist as I wrote. Wrote what?
The previous posting. What its about...well even I'm not sure....but I will leave it listed in case I ever need to get away with something purely evil I will have an excuse. (Yeah, right)
A reasonable excuse will come in handy in about a month when once again I am thrown into the carpool lane of two different schools. Hopefully this year no one will get hurt!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Carlsbad Caverns and other "Distractions"
I went on a journey these past months that wasn't planned. In order to sidestep a crater I fell into a hole that while beautiful, and unending in depth, the climb out was fraught with fallen trees, bats, flesh biting insects and the loss of one of my traveling companions. It wasn't his choice to be flying solo across the country; but without any other income sometimes your choices are already chosen before they are presented to you.
I have reached the surface of the hole and when looking down on it from my wheelchair, I have to stand and see if that hole that encapsulated me for so long was really that minuscule! I stand up, a blessing that is still offered to me and once again look at the hole only this time it is hard to even call it a hole, more like a simple innocuous break in the sandy land that surrounds the area.
Free from its boundaries, and my own I will write to tell more of a different journey. The journey of loss, holding down the fort while my better half travels to places I will never see, the sight of watching my oldest son stretch out his raven like wings to begin his own journey, and last the knowledge that with each day the person who has raised me and then 6 others will slowly forget my existence.
Sometimes a pit is meant to take you away and let you wallow and bemoan your existence. Other times the pit opens up to a hidden treasure of perfectly formed rocks made from million of years of being dripped on, one drop at a time. Each person has to decide what to do when a pit has incapsulated them. Most will step over the small hole and never even know of its existence.
I have reached the surface of the hole and when looking down on it from my wheelchair, I have to stand and see if that hole that encapsulated me for so long was really that minuscule! I stand up, a blessing that is still offered to me and once again look at the hole only this time it is hard to even call it a hole, more like a simple innocuous break in the sandy land that surrounds the area.
Free from its boundaries, and my own I will write to tell more of a different journey. The journey of loss, holding down the fort while my better half travels to places I will never see, the sight of watching my oldest son stretch out his raven like wings to begin his own journey, and last the knowledge that with each day the person who has raised me and then 6 others will slowly forget my existence.
Sometimes a pit is meant to take you away and let you wallow and bemoan your existence. Other times the pit opens up to a hidden treasure of perfectly formed rocks made from million of years of being dripped on, one drop at a time. Each person has to decide what to do when a pit has incapsulated them. Most will step over the small hole and never even know of its existence.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
I-77 Watch Out
My son makes his debut solo 4 hour drive up the interstate on Monday. He successfully brought me down from the Blue Ridge Mountains to the Charlotte area a little over a week ago. He drives well--obviously learning from my mistakes--but he will be picking up his best friend.
I remember my first solo drive on the interstate and the way I helped a suspect successfully flee the police. It wasn't on purpose, but somehow concentrating on going 65 with my music blaring I somehow missed the scores of people pulling off to the right as a car was speeding past me with a police cruiser trying to close the distance. I gave the suspect a great lead because when I finally realized what was happening I danced with the police as when he pulled into the right lane I did too. Then trying to help I pulled back into the left lane when a honk from the police car and fingers told me to stay where I was so he could get around me. The worst thing that could have happened? No, that was my next trip.
Safety and sanity to my son and all the drivers around him on Monday.
I
I remember my first solo drive on the interstate and the way I helped a suspect successfully flee the police. It wasn't on purpose, but somehow concentrating on going 65 with my music blaring I somehow missed the scores of people pulling off to the right as a car was speeding past me with a police cruiser trying to close the distance. I gave the suspect a great lead because when I finally realized what was happening I danced with the police as when he pulled into the right lane I did too. Then trying to help I pulled back into the left lane when a honk from the police car and fingers told me to stay where I was so he could get around me. The worst thing that could have happened? No, that was my next trip.
Safety and sanity to my son and all the drivers around him on Monday.
I
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Amazing ...My son has turned into me--teenage carpool hater
I took my son with me up to the mountains and watched as he enjoyed taking over the car and flying up the interstate. He did well, I wasn't sure he could do it but he did. I thought all restrictions would finally be gone...he was a great driver....until.
I sent him to pick up his younger brother from camp. My son turned into an outraged underage driver who if the cost of insurance wasn't so high--would have probably followed my lead and started ramming other people. When he came home with his younger brother in tow his face was red and he was trying to explain to me how frustrating it is to wait in line. I shook my head and said haven't you heard me rant and rave these past 8 years?
I guess it is just my luck that I get a son who can drive and have only one year I can have him spare me the carpool lanes. Senior year in high school now includes freshman courses at the local college. Leaving me to another 6 years of driving my other 2 children.
I sent him to pick up his younger brother from camp. My son turned into an outraged underage driver who if the cost of insurance wasn't so high--would have probably followed my lead and started ramming other people. When he came home with his younger brother in tow his face was red and he was trying to explain to me how frustrating it is to wait in line. I shook my head and said haven't you heard me rant and rave these past 8 years?
I guess it is just my luck that I get a son who can drive and have only one year I can have him spare me the carpool lanes. Senior year in high school now includes freshman courses at the local college. Leaving me to another 6 years of driving my other 2 children.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Breast-fed @ 8--Time to Go
No this isn't a friendly reminder that breakfast is at 8 a.m. There is self-serve though if your interested...
The cover of Time magazine has the picture of a totally fit mom(though she looks like a model) breastfeeding her 8 year old son. She is standing up and the kid in camouflage pants lips around her breast face to the camera. (Being honest here--I would hate to be that kid going to school--talk about a momma's boy!)
I first saw the photo on an I-Phone. I'm sure more people will Google the picture than buy the magazine. Skip the whole issue of whether a woman should breastfeed an eight year old. You also have to skip the other problem of would they really show a chubby or dowdy mom on the front cover? If breastfeeding a kid until he/she is 8 yrs old makes us that slim--I might consider it. (--come on kid, -other side--I just had a milkshake-- and I see some cellulite on the left side).
Wow if I can come up with this stuff, I wonder what late night television is doing.
If print is dying, please die gracefully. Time magazine, the name itself meant something. Yes it was edgy at times, but not such a flagrant attempt to save itself from becoming lost in the digital world.
Does the woman on the cover need help--probably...but I would say she is easier to fix/save than the magazines that use to be fanned out on someone's coffee table.
The cover of Time magazine has the picture of a totally fit mom(though she looks like a model) breastfeeding her 8 year old son. She is standing up and the kid in camouflage pants lips around her breast face to the camera. (Being honest here--I would hate to be that kid going to school--talk about a momma's boy!)
I first saw the photo on an I-Phone. I'm sure more people will Google the picture than buy the magazine. Skip the whole issue of whether a woman should breastfeed an eight year old. You also have to skip the other problem of would they really show a chubby or dowdy mom on the front cover? If breastfeeding a kid until he/she is 8 yrs old makes us that slim--I might consider it. (--come on kid, -other side--I just had a milkshake-- and I see some cellulite on the left side).
Wow if I can come up with this stuff, I wonder what late night television is doing.
If print is dying, please die gracefully. Time magazine, the name itself meant something. Yes it was edgy at times, but not such a flagrant attempt to save itself from becoming lost in the digital world.
Does the woman on the cover need help--probably...but I would say she is easier to fix/save than the magazines that use to be fanned out on someone's coffee table.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Road Rage Hits Dallas --Escalade vs. Prius can't you guess who won?
The front page of the local paper touted the information that an Escalade was on top of a Toyota Prius. I dropped my purse on the floor gleefully wanting to read the story. Was it a my SUV is bigger than your gas saving mini car that the government is trying to force down our necks? My next question was wow what kind of ground clearance must an Escalade have to successfully land on the hood of the Prius?
I thought of all kind of scenarios. The Escalade going the full 55 mile speed limit when the Prius coughed and jumped its tiny self out onto the road right in front of the SUV. Regardless of all the explanations I could concoct in my head none of them were true, then again I didn't quite read the headline right either.
While the officers called this incident "extreme", it wasn't as extreme as my first misread. Instead what had happened was that the owner of the Escalade was standing on the roof of the Prius kicking the windshield and side mirrors. Even as this 61 yr-old man was pulled off the Prius by the police, the Escalade driver was able to kick in the door of the Prius. According to "some witness who doesn't know much about the cost of fixing cars" the Prius could be a total loss. If that statement isn't confusing enough (even I could guess what it would take to have the car fixed--a mechanic and some money)--consider this closing fact, the Prius driver wasn't some young 20's Earth savvy saver, the Prius driver was 69.
I thought of all kind of scenarios. The Escalade going the full 55 mile speed limit when the Prius coughed and jumped its tiny self out onto the road right in front of the SUV. Regardless of all the explanations I could concoct in my head none of them were true, then again I didn't quite read the headline right either.
While the officers called this incident "extreme", it wasn't as extreme as my first misread. Instead what had happened was that the owner of the Escalade was standing on the roof of the Prius kicking the windshield and side mirrors. Even as this 61 yr-old man was pulled off the Prius by the police, the Escalade driver was able to kick in the door of the Prius. According to "some witness who doesn't know much about the cost of fixing cars" the Prius could be a total loss. If that statement isn't confusing enough (even I could guess what it would take to have the car fixed--a mechanic and some money)--consider this closing fact, the Prius driver wasn't some young 20's Earth savvy saver, the Prius driver was 69.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Orlando, Magic Kingdom, Road Rage, Golf Carts
Cars and golf carts kept swerving around each other as the place we were staying. This was the first year we went to Orlando during Spring Break and both my husband and myself were starting to regret the decision. We were staying in a condo/time share unit located less than five miles from the Magic Kingdom, and realtors were waving their magic wands as they enticed people into buying a time-share unit.
You could definitely tell who was an owner vs. the realtor's prey. Having established that I have road rage, I passed the driving over to my husband. The realtor on the golf cart, long lean and blonde, must have an incredible life insurance policy! She would continue non stop talking as her cart started going head to head with an SUV.
She would wave her arm with the heir of a beauty queen expecting that she had right of way. She must have felt invincible, because with one arm on the driver she would keep her spiel going(about the golf course, pools, weight room) as her possible tenets braced for the crash.
Since I wasn't the one driving, I thought I could ignore the battle going between real cars, and these white golf carts. Just look at a map of the complex, I told myself as I saw another golf car trying to get through, or maybe I should decide which park to visit. By the third day there I lost it and reached over and honked the horn. I held on to it as long as I could before my husband bumped my arm off the horn. Where I would have been just as happy to bump all these carts out of the complex.
By the fifth day of vacation my husband quit telling me to relax and starting to say things the children in the back shouldn't hear (not saying they haven't heard them before, or that they will be saved from obscenities in the future).
The day before we went home, the golf carts starting looking like golf balls to me--one hit-one in the hole -I win. Only 17 more carts to hit to win the game, because there are 18 holes in a round of putt-putt.
It was the last day before my husband succumbed to the power of my engine. The changing and swerving on invisible lanes had me yelling for more, while the kids were eerily quiet.
Their world was no longer the same, their Dad had turned to the dark side. He no longer cared if he scared the people on the cart, and he climbed up a berm in an effort to be free from this place. The funny thing was, about three cars followed in our wake.
You could definitely tell who was an owner vs. the realtor's prey. Having established that I have road rage, I passed the driving over to my husband. The realtor on the golf cart, long lean and blonde, must have an incredible life insurance policy! She would continue non stop talking as her cart started going head to head with an SUV.
She would wave her arm with the heir of a beauty queen expecting that she had right of way. She must have felt invincible, because with one arm on the driver she would keep her spiel going(about the golf course, pools, weight room) as her possible tenets braced for the crash.
Since I wasn't the one driving, I thought I could ignore the battle going between real cars, and these white golf carts. Just look at a map of the complex, I told myself as I saw another golf car trying to get through, or maybe I should decide which park to visit. By the third day there I lost it and reached over and honked the horn. I held on to it as long as I could before my husband bumped my arm off the horn. Where I would have been just as happy to bump all these carts out of the complex.
By the fifth day of vacation my husband quit telling me to relax and starting to say things the children in the back shouldn't hear (not saying they haven't heard them before, or that they will be saved from obscenities in the future).
The day before we went home, the golf carts starting looking like golf balls to me--one hit-one in the hole -I win. Only 17 more carts to hit to win the game, because there are 18 holes in a round of putt-putt.
It was the last day before my husband succumbed to the power of my engine. The changing and swerving on invisible lanes had me yelling for more, while the kids were eerily quiet.
Their world was no longer the same, their Dad had turned to the dark side. He no longer cared if he scared the people on the cart, and he climbed up a berm in an effort to be free from this place. The funny thing was, about three cars followed in our wake.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
I'm Your Favorite!
Today is voting day and we have some big issues on the ballot. Now before you go off to sleep I could mention one is about making marriage as only between a man and a woman, toll roads, and a ton of guys who have called me and said hey pick me! The reason I even bring this up is that these political calls are telling me the exact same thing my children. Who I like/love the best.
It came down to a shouting match as I took a short, and I do mean short walk with two of my kids. At 17 and 11, I thought we were past this point, but as I and several of my neighbors heard, my 11 year old daughter put up her fists and was willing to attack her brother who now towers us at close to 6 feet. All this over who I loved the most, vs. who their father loved the most! I thought we had been fair but not in their eyes. Anyway, back to David vs Goliath in order to stop my daughter from advancing while my son just tipped his sun glasses down a bit I stuck my bright pink cane between the two of them.
I then boomed one, two, three....and when I said "Fight" and to my surprise they took off at a fast clip racing each other to a basketball goal. It took them a minute or two to turn around and realize what I said.
"You really want me to fight with my sister? Kinda unfair don't you think?" my son said.
"Mom he could really hurt me!"
"I guess the matter is settled then, your Dad and I love each of you," I said sounding like a parenting book.
Bored with the answer we resumed our walk. In my head I calculated out of all three children who probably has the most legitimate complaint. If any child should fill left out it would be my youngest. He recently came up to me before school and complained that his stomach hurt. After I told him he still had to go, he vomited near my feet.
Luckily it wasn't too disgusting, but it was still too much for me. I handed my son a roll of paper towels, a can of Clorox wipes and a garbage bag. I explained that if I helped him it would be a lot more to cleanup. My 10 year old son looked at me through wet lashes and started cleaning up. He then took a shower, brushed his teeth, and changed his clothes. When I heard him coming down the stairs, I poked my head out of the room and asked him if it was all cleaned up. He nodded his head and I came out of my room sniffing as I went.
I spent the rest of the day letting him cuddle and watch television. Unlike politics, I don't think parents have permeant favorite children, instead it is who is behaving the best that day.
It came down to a shouting match as I took a short, and I do mean short walk with two of my kids. At 17 and 11, I thought we were past this point, but as I and several of my neighbors heard, my 11 year old daughter put up her fists and was willing to attack her brother who now towers us at close to 6 feet. All this over who I loved the most, vs. who their father loved the most! I thought we had been fair but not in their eyes. Anyway, back to David vs Goliath in order to stop my daughter from advancing while my son just tipped his sun glasses down a bit I stuck my bright pink cane between the two of them.
I then boomed one, two, three....and when I said "Fight" and to my surprise they took off at a fast clip racing each other to a basketball goal. It took them a minute or two to turn around and realize what I said.
"You really want me to fight with my sister? Kinda unfair don't you think?" my son said.
"Mom he could really hurt me!"
"I guess the matter is settled then, your Dad and I love each of you," I said sounding like a parenting book.
Bored with the answer we resumed our walk. In my head I calculated out of all three children who probably has the most legitimate complaint. If any child should fill left out it would be my youngest. He recently came up to me before school and complained that his stomach hurt. After I told him he still had to go, he vomited near my feet.
Luckily it wasn't too disgusting, but it was still too much for me. I handed my son a roll of paper towels, a can of Clorox wipes and a garbage bag. I explained that if I helped him it would be a lot more to cleanup. My 10 year old son looked at me through wet lashes and started cleaning up. He then took a shower, brushed his teeth, and changed his clothes. When I heard him coming down the stairs, I poked my head out of the room and asked him if it was all cleaned up. He nodded his head and I came out of my room sniffing as I went.
I spent the rest of the day letting him cuddle and watch television. Unlike politics, I don't think parents have permeant favorite children, instead it is who is behaving the best that day.
Monday, April 30, 2012
DANCE MOMS --PHILLY VS. MIAMI
I thought anybody could fill Abby Lee's place. Well after seeing the first show of Dance Moms Miami, I realized I was wrong! Dance Moms Miami was so bad I didn't even finish watching the show. Spin- off shows are almost never as good as the first, but this one was so bad I can't believe Lifetime would even air it!
Now to be honest I was ecstatic when Abby Lee started sobbing in the auditorium when her favorite dancer forgot her solo. Abby couldn't maintain any sense of decorum, nor did she care; she just got up and left.
After a heated encounter with Holly (the most even tempered of the moms), the next camera shot shows Abby Lee in a cab heading to the airport and making a statement that all the girls would do well without her.
I really thought this might be the end of Abby....and for a couple of weeks thought she would be no great loss.
As Abby says "Everyone is replaceable."
That is, unless you are on television.
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