Chased by Children

The Slump

At the busiest time of the year sometimes I hit what can only be described as a slump.  It's not pretty on me.

How can I be in a slump, you ask?  After putting up seven Christmas trees, spending a surprisingly delicious Thanksgiving with my parents (and my favorite Aunt AL), seeing the Chicago production of Wicked with my daughters, and finnnnnnnnalllllllly putting up the outside Christmas lights?  I don't know.  But it is a slump all right.  Here's how I know:

My hair is flat.

My tummy is not.

My attitude toward salespeople at my favorite shopping establishments is curt.  "Yes, I want TWO Lattes.  Make it snappy, Anthony, and don't forget the spill stoppers like you did last time"

My friends are suddenly needy.  What's all this about returning phone calls?

Things that used to bring me joy are annoying.  You know I have three kids, right?

Did I mention my hair is flat?  Is there any greater indication of a slump?

So, tomorrow I return to work after a week off....which is always great because no work piles up while you're out, right?  I'm missing my mojo.

Please give me some tips on how to de-slump-ify myself before it gets worse.

My Mother's Betrayal

She raised me to NOT know my way around the kitchen.

She worked at a job that paid GREAT.

She was never a room mother of the year.  not. once. Frankly, she didn't know enough crafts.

Her gloves always smelled like perfume.

I have worn these facts about my mother like a badge of courage.

_{What I was expecting       What I actually got}

Then I innocently showed up for Thanksgiving in my 29th year (or the 10th anniversary of that year, whatever).

Her home looked like Martha Stewart threw up the fall issue of Living all over it.

The turkey took more than 2 steps (you know 1) make reservation for Thanksgiving at swishy restaurant and 2) show up to swishy restaurant).  The turkey was BRINED for heavens sake, by HER!!

It was amazingly delicious.  and homemade.  and shocking.

Who is this retired version of my mother with the "homemaker" tendencies?  What does this mean for me, her only daughter?  Are these the end times?

Would it be wrong to have her checked for signs of a stroke?

Four Trees and Counting

Phew....  I'm exhausted.  I took these three days prior to Thanksgiving off to relax a little bit and get my work mojo back.  Unfortunately, I got the Christmas decorating bug a little early this year so the entire first two days hauling stuff up out of the basement, arranging it de-cor-at-ive-ly around the old homestead, and then retruning the remainders to the basement.  Did I mention Phew....

Are you guys getting excited for the pics?  I need a nap first.

Red Tree: check! Blue Tree: What the?

Ooooh la la!  I am way ahead of the game this year.  I've already got two trees up and decorated and it's not even Thanksgiving yet!  Hooray for me!

However, something unusual is definately up with me.  Who knows what.  (who asked you? I did?  Shut it )  This year immediately after I put up the Red Tree in the Living Room I got the funniest notion and spent the rest of the day trying to shake it.

Gentle reader, the Red Tree is completely traditional and lovely. It's a lovely artificial blue spruce with white mini-lights.  It's full of children's homemade ornaments and lovely Christmas-ey stuff.   The twelve days of Christmas are represented by lovely carved wood figurines.  It is everything a Christmas tree should be.  All of my trees tend to be variations on this theme.  I have never wavered. not. once.

Oh some of the neighbors will tell you that I've branched out a bit in the past.  Last year my Dining room tree was full of funky polka dots and multi-color lights.  However, even in it's weirdness it was more of a retro theme than a real rebellion. 

But this notion that eventually took me to the SuperTarget today in search of BLUE lights for the little tree in my foyer was pure rebel.  What's next?  A navel ring and a mermaid tattoo?  I'll keep you posted.

Maybe I shouldn't have told you that

So, my secret blog life is out at work.  At first it was just a select few people...but I think it's getting around.  If you know what I mean.  And I know you do.

So, no more "blue" posts.  Sorry Mom, I know those are your favorites.

No more talking about the people with whom I work.  GET BACK TO WORK SLACKERS!!!

No more calling bastards, well, bastards.  ^%&*((^&  will be code for bastard now.

From now on I vow that this blog will be SFW (that's safe for work).

Let the fun begin.

Looking Forward to Looking Forward

Did you notice my new button on the side bar there?  Boomama does a Christmas home tour "group blog" and this year I WILL be participating.  This is going to be a great Holiday Season and I can't wait for it to start. 

I've already started thinking about what four trees I will be doing (at minimum) and what pictures I will be taking.  It's going to be a great, great time.

So, if you have a blog maybe you'd like to start planning now too.  Because after this season is the beginning of the beginning.

“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day.”

Edith Lovejoy Pierce quotes (Poet b.1904)

That Other Gal

There she was. I guessed her to be about my age. 

We pulled up to the stop light at the exact same moment and she glanced over at me as she blew out a long breath of blue-gray smoke.

Her truck was a Ford F150.  White.  It had the nice liner and a rack for tools and tool boxes.  It was a working truck that she must use in her work.  One of the designs on her back window said something about girls and trucks.

Mine is  Black.  Escalade.  With a lot of goldfish crackers smashed into the carpet.  I have no designs on the back window.  The only work my truck does is getting me and the princesses (and usually a couple of their friends) to wherever we are going.

She was thin with long black hair and her cigarette was aloft as her practiced hand tapped the ashes off the end out onto the asphalt.  She was done up for the evening.  Her left hand had no ring.

I must have looked so ridiculous to her.  With my hair smooshed up under a black ball cap and wearing a Disney World sweatshirt that covers my mid-life paunch nicely (although I doubt she could tell).

She raised an eyebrow in my direction as if to say, "what are you looking at, Mom?"

I was struck by our opposite-ness. 

As she turned into the bowling alley I wonder what her evening held.  I was headed home with a car load of stuff from the Super Target.  I would unload it, sort it, put it all away.  Then to bed as soon as possible with a princess or two clinging to me.  Pretty much a typical Saturday night.

What did Frost say about two paths diverging in the woods?  I don't know which one of us took that road less traveled but I do know we chose very differently.  Neither better, neither worse but very differently.

What a way to go...

So you heard about this right?  The bowler who finally bowled a perfect game and then immediately had a heart attack and died. 

It gave me pause.

Apparently it paused him as well.

It got me thinking about what would be my perfect way to go.  So here it is:

I would have just accepted the Nobel Prize in Economic Sciences

for my definitive work on Anarcho-capitalism. People would be mentioning me in the same breath as Ayn Rand, but they would say I was soooooo much cooooooler.

As I reached for the award (and the accompanying check for 1.2 million USD -- which they refused to pay me in Euros) Brother Gunny hears Paul Krugman talking smack about my outfit and begins to pummel him about the head and shoulders.  As I attempt to intervene I trip over my 5" heels and am impaled on one of my visual aids.

I'd love to hear if any of you have thought about your preferred way to go.