I've switched lanes but not attitude.

My oldest son was home for a month over Christmas break.  One of his chores was of course, driving his siblings the full two miles to the school and the pick them up in the afternoon.  Yes it's cruel to force   a college student on break to wake up early, but it's also cruel to make me pay his college tuition!

My Christmas present was three full day away from my family (I'm sure they felt it was a present for them too).  I was out of the country on a little island where cell service couldn't reach me.  I blissfully enjoyed three days in a villa.  When my Diet Coke went low, I got into a microscopic acid green machine that had nothing more than a steering wheel and a gas pedal.  The car did all that cars were meant to do, it got me from one place to another. Once again, I was driving on the left hand said of the road, but was grateful I wasn't driving my big ML 500 here…the island just wasn't big enough to hold mini-vans and SUV's.

While I scooted around the bumpy, sandy roads in beautiful weather, my son was paralyzed in after school traffic.  The day I returned home he knew not to complain about helping with his brothers and sisters.  I could tell by the look on their faces the trip wasn't an easy one.  The third day back right before Christmas break my son came back with his younger siblings in tow.  His face was bright red he threw his car keys across the table and told me,"There isn't enough money in the world to make drive back to that school!"

Christmas came early last year.

Was it because of the dog?

My biggest complaint has been about the disaster of the school's car line.  I've felt justified in my anger.  If the Christian radio personality signs off each day with a "blessing "for parents going to pick up their children, then millions of others are suffering each day with a form of self-induced whiplash.  Push the pedal to the floor now, just to hit the brakes seconds later, to maintain my position in line.  Its got the same jerking motion as when we tried to teach my son to drive a stick shift.

Tuesday I got an early Christmas present from a man in a silver sedan with a schnauzer hanging out of the back window.  It didn't seem like a gift at first.  He cut line, forgoeing the slalom course of dotted lines, so he would be in next in line.  Instead of getting right on his bumper and risk the chance of dog drool on my car I tried everything I could to think rationally.  Maybe the dog needed to go to the bathroom, or be at the vets, or as usual I just got cut off.

When the race became serious, and we were no longer fighting for inches but instead full car lengths, the man in the sedan waved for me to go in front of him!  He knew he cut me off and cared! (Yes, I know it wasn't about me but more likely the safety of his dog.)

Regardless in my fourteen years of driving, this was the first time that someone did the right thing.  I was so happy that I out-talked my kids when they got in the car!  When the kids finally understood what had happened, the kids came up with a simple, logical explanation.  It was because of the dog!

Making it back to the Real World

After an exciting trip to London and Ireland, how did I think one expensive 11day trip would satisfy  my  traveling gene for the year.  Hey it was bred into me!  As I write this now I have no idea where my parents are, only where they were last.  They have the advantage of having babysitters for the four children who are left at home. I grew up in a household where I would go to sleep in my footy pajamas snuggling my favorite teddy bear, and wake up in the car the next morning in a different state.
Since no new trips are planned; I've been pouting until now.  No new trips planned for me, just my hubby who gets to jet set off to NYC, Houston, California, and last and least Cleveland.
(Two of my children were born in Ohio so I can't say too much)

I had my dream trip.  It didn't turn out like we had planned, but it was definitely memorable.  I had always imagined I would never want to return to the U.S., but by the tenth day I was desperately craving some ice and really irked with the lack of lifts (elevators) and curb side cut outs so wheelchairs can cross without climbing Mount Everest or following off of it.  My temper did get the best of me, while my husband was trying to shout over the car noise while simultaneously checking my life insurance policy, I dropped off the curb and tried to outrun the famous DoubleDecker Buses in London.  (It really would have been a fitting end…me charging off into..well.. there is an old Morrissoy song about being killed by the gigantic red bus)  Obnoxious American, I definitely qualified that day.
 Now it's hard to go from your favorite pass time traveling, to being tied down to a school regimen.
 So now I have been back in the car line at school.  There is just no way around it.  Luckily, I am on the opposite side of the school this year from the DREAD BUMPER SITTING MANIAC (alias teacher); but that is not enough to satisfy me.

There are others out there that get as frustrated as I do, I have heard them call in for prayer to make it through the twenty minutes of stopping,merging, honking and getting the right kid in your car.  Prayer is the best option, leaving your child to be picked up last seems really cruel, at least most days.  This morning I was even greeted with a pastry, which I am sure means we will be selling said pastry to the public shortly.

 Tonight is even a bigger dilemma!  Parent/Teachee Conferences! My husband was going to attend tonight to hear the good (?) the bad and the ugly; but he got called away to stay the day in Atlanta.  I told my son I would go but I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't end up in jail.  He's 11, he knows I have a vendetta against the school and driving.  I will report back tomorrow if I live.

Count Down to Ireland...Forget the Blarney Stone

Every book I have read about Ireland talks about the warm welcoming people that you meet there.  That is the first page, second page is all about kissing the Blarney Stone.   Now being an American and not knowing enough history I believed that the stone gave you the gift of the gab as in gossip.  The truth is buried in fact that the Lord from Blarney was fool of baloney, and the Queen wished he would learn the gift of speaking eloquently.

I told my husband that we could skip the Blarney Stone when I found out about the 200 steep steps it takes to get there.  My husband still was undaunted in this Irish folklore so imbedded into Irish culture that it would be like a foreigner coming to America and missing the Statue of Liberty.  (Disney World takes a close second/ or maybe first can't be sure).

Luckily the debate ended peacefully.  My friend who summered in Ireland several years warned me.
"There is just one thing not to do." she said.  "Don't kiss the Blarney Stone."
Puzzled I asked why.

"It's a common saying in Ireland,"she continued.  "That the Irish piss on the stone so that the tourists kiss it in the morning."

My husband and I scratched the Blarney Castle off our list.

Kissing the Castle---Who needs the Blarney Stone!

    I am in the midst of nursing two sick, one cranky, birds back to health.  Did I also mention that I am also helping my HS senior fill out college applications?  Oh, yes and a two tweens on two different planets.  One husband working his butt off and me?  Well I am getting older and its colder so I am hanging on to the hopes of something fun.  Okay one of my son's teacher's was arrested for assault that made me happy--she deserved it!  Problem is the school still let her teach.

  So what do I have to cling to?  My trip next spring to Ireland!  My best friend went several times to Ireland in college and listening to her it sounds like a place I could move to and call home.  Of course I would want to live in a castle with some kind of rodent protector....and an elevator...yes I know I am pushing it, but living in a castle would either give me nightmares and pain from the drafts..or maybe it would be a magic castle where I would turn into a woman of the Manor who found secret passages interlaced with old notes stuffed into walls.

    Unfortunately my mom beat me to Dublin...she picks up and just goes places..but was only there for a couple hours.  So the next couple months I will be trying to find a route through Ireland with maybe a stop in England.  Any hints, suggestions, let me know.  Travel guides are great, but hearing the ups and downs of a country from someone who has been is much more informative! 

Ban on Soda? ONLY IN NYC...

America's kids are fat. NYC's Mayor Michael Bloomberg thinks he knows the reason.  Kids consuming too much soda.  Bloomberg banned all sodas and other sugared drinks bigger than 16oz from being sold at restaurants, cafeterias, and movies, and fast food places.

 I was stunned.  Thoughts of the Prohibition era, raced through my mind.  Instead of alcohol, police would be checking for 2 liter bottles of Diet Coke, hidden under jackets, jammed into mega purses or covered by blankets and hidden in a stroller.

Yes, I am exaggerating, but to me having the luxury to drink a soda when and where I want is part of the American Dream...for life, liberty, and the freedom to have as much soda as I want.

  My love/addiction for this mixture of chemicals and water will probably have my body preserved for 30 years after my death.  In fact before I got married my husband promised that no matter what happened to us financially, I would always have Diet Coke to drink.  Scary huh?

At this point though,  Bloomberg isn't focusing on diet drinks.  Bloomberg is more concerned with diet soda's tastier, sugary, syrupy sister, regular soda sold in containers that hold more than16oz.

Raising 3 children I constantly told them the bad side effects of drinking soda;(caffeine, cost of sodas) as I popped the tab on a Diet Coke can, and began drinking.  This of course did nothing but make my children want to drink soda more.

 My kids were at least six years old before they were allowed to have a couple sips of soda in my house.  Sodas were reserved for birthday parties, eating out, and Grandma's house.  (There was no way I was going to pass up a weekend get away with my husband over the kids consuming a couple of cans of soda.)  Even now, at age 17, 12, and 11, I know my kids generally consume two cans of diet soda a week.

Can those extra ounces of regular soda be the key to America's rising childhood obesity?  I doubt it!

This government ban is stepping into a place it doesn't belong.  How do they plan on enforcing this ban?  Tasting every child's 16 oz cup to make sure it is a diet drink? Would a police officer stand guard over the free refill soda fountain at Chucky Cheese? Is the government willing to give me the extra money it takes to buy three smaller sodas instead of just buying one large drink at the movies?

There are so many other options that make sense than banning 16 oz sodas.  Bring back recess, or gym every day during the school year,   Talk more about healthy eating during school hours.

The real culprit to childhood obesity is the countless hours kids spend watching television and playing video games.  My kids recently got banned  for one night from t.v., video games, and computers.  After whining for 15 minutes (that has to burn calories too), they all three decided to go outside and play a game.  They stayed outside until dark, and only complained when they had to come inside.

Banning anything when it comes to food seems absurd. The government is becoming the Nanny Nation, stepping into a role that the founders of our country probably never even considered. If the government is regulating foods in the interest of out children, shouldn't the next attack be on the go to babysitter of choice..t.v.?

Banning television for 3 hours a day would cause a nation of panicked parents, but it would make America's children healthier.




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An accident occurs!

Accidents happen. I joke about it all the time.  Nothing could prepare me for the shock of hearing that my 17 yr-old son, and his 2 siblings were in a wreck.  Thank God no one was hurt, just really shaken up...me included.  My son's car was hit in the back passenger side door, right where my daughter was sitting.

I was never so glad that my son was driving an SUV!  I don't care about the extra gas, or possible complications from my son driving an SUV, the benefits were obvious when I made it to the crash site!  

My son's 2002 SUV had a minor dent in the side door.  The other driver was not so lucky.

The fact that the accident happened on school grounds, when my son was following "the designated driving lane" bothers me the most. The principal, secretary and staff said they weren't even aware that an accident had occurred.I guess the five floor to ceiling windows are just there to make the school look better. 

It must be a conspiracy!  Maybe the school paid the driver to slam into my son's car so I would quit airing the school's dirty secrets.  Okay even I'll admit this theory is far-fetched...but the thought keeps crossing my mind.

Drive safe BIG cars, and try to avoid the idiot in the car beside you who is texting while talking! 

Turning the big 40!

Some trips you don't have to go anywhere.  Yes, it sounds crazy but it's true.  My husband and I are planning a  it trip next spring to England and Ireland.  As I looked at the maps and read other people opinions about what place I had to visit, my eldest son came up and gave me a hug.

This trip would happen just a month or two before he graduated High School.  My instant thought was should I stay home so I can be with him every last moment before college?  The answer was so clear and obvious that it hurt.

My son has already started on his own journey.  He is (quickly?) becoming a man.

Dance Moms...Abby's a Pain

My 11 year old daughter is addicted to Dance Moms.  I record the show and then, when she bugs me enough we watch the show.  I use to enjoy the  bickering, the dancing and of course the DRAMA.  it finally got to me, made me mad enough to turn off the show and send my daughter out of the room.  It was the episode where Paige's foot was broken and Brooke's back was hurting.

Abby kept pushing for Brooke to do her dance even though she was in enough pain to cry and require use of a T.E.N.S unit ( a system often used for chronic pain).  Look I live with severe nerve pain that started in my childhood.  Pain strong enough that I was willing to amputate the first affected limb.  I wouldn't wish this on anyone (okay maybe on one key political figure).

Abby constantly berates Brooke on this and that, saying she doesn't have what it takes to be a professional dancer.  If so, why, except for ratings,would you take the chance of having a daughter who grows up to be in chronic pain?  So Abby Lee can get her name out?  She has Lifetime and her big mouth to do that.

No body can accurately judge how much pain someone is in, let alone what one misstep might cause it to permanently plague her.  Sometimes you just can't push through the pain because "every dancer has pain."(Abby Lee)  I think the reason these kids cry so much is because their "teacher" is the biggest pain of them all.

What do you think...should Kendall have been allowed back into the studio?

Kick in the Backside..college time

I have been in a battle against my son's school for so long that I failed to notice the calendar.  Yes, I know the date (generally), I just happened to miss the interview with college plastered on this weekend.

Time to look at colleges?  How far away is that school?  My husband who seems blissful unaware of  how this affects ME, just brings it up in simple phone conversation.  He wants to leave a day early.   

I guess it's a good thing I'm staying home.

My son will make the choices.  It's his time to make the decisions.    

Did he have to choose colleges that are so far away?

School Carpool, Senior Year,....and final justice!

Most of my blogs have been lost in space, which is great for this time of year, school carpool lanes.  I don't have the luxury of erasing my history with the teacher who likes to sit literally on the front bumper of my V-8 ML500.....okay bad grammar here....notice the V-8 part of the car, SUV, and about 7 years old...(car and teacher's apparent age equivalent)...who else would keep up this kind of hate to hate relationship for so long?  Well me.

I got a break from aforementioned teacher last year in December when my oldest son,  finally had the money to pay for his "new to him" car. He saved me from the afternoon traffic nightmare by driving himself and his siblings home. I only had to drive the morning shift!  This luxury is over.

I counted on at least one full year, his Senior year,  of freedom from the daily treachery of driving!  I wouldn't have to deal with  waiting, pushing, honking, finger pointing and gesturing!  He is a Senior, home stretch, he drives safely enough that I have sent him to pick up his siblings.  So it felt like a slap to the face when I found out that he would leave the HS at noon to head to the local college!  Why can't he be simultaneously in two places at once?  Is college that important?

Doesn't my son care more about me?   Or does he desperately want to see me in jail for a finale to this feud? Eye for an Eye kind of justice?

My husband gave me the go ahead to give the teacher a gentle push, and in the same breath, said he and the kids would be fine with me in jail. (Really? who would pick up the kids then?)  He also assured me 2 visits at the prison, before the quick divorce.

There was also one other request,  if I am going to commit a felony-- to please have the desperately dirty deed done, before my 40th birthday --October.  (Saving him the cost and drama of dealing with a wife who desperately wants to do something MEMORABLE for the big 40!)

So what will I do?

 Not sure!

 Senior Orientation is Mandatory for graduation!,  The over-empowered, bumper-sitting, conniving  teacher; (the only teacher my son has for class at the HS)  and I will meet face to face Monday inside the school.

 I can't bring my car in the auditorium,  but I have my 400 pound, hill climbing,  bone-crushing,  25 -miles an hour wheelchair-- locked and loaded.

My secret life

My daughter saw an ad in the local newspaper advertising for a cubby reporter for a small town about thirty miles from here.  Her enthusiasm was infectious as I thought about my days working for newspapers and regional magazines.

"Mom you would actually have a paying job!'she stated.

I actually considered it, for about 10 min. and drove my husband crazy. The thought of having a byline again was intriguing, but then a quick reminder from my husband about how much an article was worth, immediately shutdown any thoughts of responding to the ad.

 You see, I'm past the point most moms stay home. Sometime around 3rd grade most parents shift back into what my kids call "real work".  With my big mouth, and frequently expressed opinions combined with a bad arm... I don't do well at the average job.  I don't do well with the role of June Cleaver either.

I don't cook, don't do laundry, so like my kids often ask, what do I do while they are away?  Sometimes questions are better left unanswered.  Maybe I really am a spy with a bionic arm that beats away the bad guys, all without breaking a sweat or missing a lunch date.

Killer Sleeping Pills...Public beware!

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!

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-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

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.

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.

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.

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.