Chased by Children

Hello 2012, You Gorgeous Year You!

I remembered to say "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" first thing today.  Which means, of course, that I will have good luck for the entire year.  What's that?  shut it.

"Rabbit rabbit rabbit" is a superstition with questionable origins in the rich culture that was the British Empire.  I believe that I became familiar with it when I was celebrating my one and only New Year's day on the east coast.  Having just given birth to Princess MiMi the day before, my recollection may be somewhat muddled.

The theory is that upon waking (even before you say your prayers) on the first day of the month you say "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" and you will have good luck for the entire month.  However, if you say it on the first day of the year, you will have good luck for THE ENTIRE YEAR!  Hooray!

My luck has already been changing for the better:  I found a remarkable boyfriend with THREE BOYS (hooray!); I'm living in a cool little place (hooray!); I'm working for Thurston again (hooray!) and I've scratched enough money together to start blogging again (Typepad isn't free, people). In other words, my rabbit, rabbit, rabbit this morning was just icing on the 2012 cake!

Usually, at this point I will make some wild predictions about what's going to happen this year.  However, my "snark" is considerably less potent than it was before I began the elegant sea change (which was my divorce).  I'm roughly one hundred years older and 30 pounds heavier, but I have learned a lot and plan to put it to good use.

Here's hoping that every single person who reads this little post has a lot of luck in 2012 and beyond!

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.

 

I'm in the Hospital

My dear mother is in the hospital.  She had not ONE but TWO of her knees replaced.

I don't like to brag (shut it) but she is sort of a ROCK STAR!!!  In fact, people keep coming in to meet her because in their morning meetings she always comes up as an example of "great attitude".  

She is up and walking, doing as many exercises as they will let her and basically just setting this place on fire.  When she tells people she's going to rehab they ask her, "why?  what are you going to do there?"

She is a great patient.  They had given her six weeks of exercise to do before surgery and she did them.  She followed all of their pre-op instructions.  She decided as she came through the door that this was going to be a great experience for her and for everyone she met.  And guess what...That's exactly what happened.

 

 

 

 

 

A Burn Notice Poem

Oh Michael Weston, you hunk of lobster slathered in butter

I love the way you walk, talk and shoot (I overlook the fact that you run like a girl)

Oh Michael Weston,  you hunk of peanutbutter chocolate Haagen-Dazs.

I love the way you banter with Fiona and Sam (and the way you look after your Mom)

Oh Michael Weston, you hunk of biscuits and bacon gravy

I love the way you talk in accents and ooze manly charm (especially with Fiona)

I love you Michael Weston.

Can you tell I've been dieting?

Amy O

I'm not a great morning mother.  You know those gals who are all happiness and light in the morning?  I am more grumpy and grey.  I come by this honestly.  My father is also not a morning person....growing up he and I had a pact, we tried not to speak before 10am. I digress...

So, this morning as I am waking everyone, making breakfast, finding clothes, getting homework packed back in the backpacks etc... LuLu gets toothpaste on her last clean uniform shirt.  Where are the other clean uniform shirts?  In the dryer at her Dad's house. 

CoCo is upset because this means a detour to their Dad's house and will mean they will be a few minutes late to school.  So, when we finally get to school they stage a mutiny at the door saying that I must go inside with them. 

Hmmm....unshowered.  No Makeup.  Hair askew.  SCARY!  Don't the  women in the offices of schools get special training on dealing with people like me?  I grudginly made my way to the door to get buzzed into the fortress of Saint Whotheheck.  The principal took my statement about why my children were three minutes late.  CoCo went off to class without smooching me (!!).  LuLu and MiMi both gave me an enthusiastic send off (the principal actually walked MiMi down to her class).  And I was back out the door without scaring any of the innocent schoolchildren with my appearance.  I bound back out to my car.

The doors to my car are locked.

The keys to my car are in it.

Just then, like an angel, Amy O pulled up next to me.  She was fresh as a daisy.  Dressed in clean, pressed clothing, her blond hair was gorgeously quaffed, her daughters sitting perfectly in her sparkling mininvan.  I even caught a fleeting glimpse of her matching socks (show off).  After she deposited her middle daughter in the school she came out and saw my distress. 

She hugged me.  She let me use her cell phone to call onstar.  My doors were unlocked in a few seconds.

She left me with a promise of lunch soon and off she went (with her youngest daughter in tow).   Probably not realizing that she was the first bright spot in my day.

Thanks Amy O.

Jumping into Dad's arms

My post about the barn the other day led to some interesting discussion among my friends and family.  My Dad wasn't sure I was old enough to even remember the old barn (it was torn down years ago to make way for a more practical pole barn).  But I remember that barn so clearly I could walk you through it and tell you a story about almost every nook and cranny.  Are memories ever more crystal than the ones you make as a child?

In fact, one of the great joys I remember in that musty old barn was jumping from the loft into my Dad's arms.  You know that feeling, right?  That complete confidence in another human being.  The willingness to leave the relative comfort and safety of a solid loft (or monkey bars or edge of the swimming pool) to leap into the air and into the arms of someone you know would never let you fall. 

My Dad was not a giant, but at 6'2" with a natural strength and muscles built during years of farm work and a stint as a brick layer he was as big as any giant I could picture.  He also always had an enviable natural confidence about him.  He could fix anything, do anything, be anything.  Years as a traffic officer must have honed this confidence (anyone who's ever been stopped for speeding can attest to the surreal confidence these officers possess).  But, unlike almost evey other traffic cop any of us have ever met, he lacked cockiness, he was just remarkably self-assured. 

Growing up I was pretty sure he was the toughest, strongest guy in the world (or at least my bubble).  I was always confident in my answer when playground talk turned to who's dad could beat up everybody else's dad....not that I ever saw him fight anyone.  I just knew he could handle himself whatever situation came up. 

I'm sure my mom is reading this out loud to him right now and he's pooh poohing the idea that he's so great.  But as the scaredy-cat little girl who jumped so confidently into his waiting arms a thousand times, I can tell you....he's pretty awesome.

My new Barn

So, there was a barn on the farm that my family owned for 140 years (approximately).  It was an amazing barn.  It was huge and imposing, inside there was a section that my great-grandfather had made into his little work shop, complete with a shoe template.

This remarkable barn stood over a century.  It anchored a family to that plot of land for 5 generations.  I often think of my ancestor, Valentine (I assume that was not his stage name) who originally set himself down on that land and said "home" with such resonance that almost a century and a half later his ancestors were still nesting there.  When I think of that place I have a slew of memories all my own that made it home for me. 

In fact, at several times over my life I've been asked to picture the place on the planet where I felt most secure and happy.  It is always that farm, in the doorway of that barn, my grandmother is walking toward me calling me in for lunch.  She wants me to come and ring the bell to alert everyone else that lunch is ready. 

Valentine created that safe and happy place, never knowing what it would mean to me.  He was a German immigrant from Canada who decided to live in a German settlement near three rivers.  He farmed the land and made investments (?).  He settled somewhere far from any safe place he'd ever known and created a place that sustained his family.  He must have been something else.

I hope like hell heck that I still have a little of Valentine's blood running through my veins.  Because I need to build my own "barn" now. It's probably not going to stand for a century and a half.  It most certainly will not be an actual barn. Whatever it is, it will have to sustain me and my daughters for the rest of my life.  I'm pretty sure I can do it.

I hope I'll have a work shop.

Who Your Friends Are...

One of my friend's sons recently had a car accident.  A very serious car accident.  He was hospitalized overnight and did not return home.  His live-in girlfriend was seemingly unconcerned that he was missing overnight, she didn't call him, she didn't call his friends or parents looking for him.  After the car accident my friend's son broke up with the girl citing her indifference to his well-being on that particular night.

Better writers than I have written of friendship more eloquently than I ever could.  But it all distills down to this:  in your darkest hour, as the whirling waters around your head threaten to drown you -- who is the person you know is plotting for your rescue?  Who is the person who may have taught you to tread water for just such an occasion?  Who is sustaining you with bits of food and water?  Who are the people who hear of your plight and come rushing to your aid?  And just who is that one person who will jump in risking their own well-being to ensure that they will have done everything they can to save you, and that if you do go down both of you will go down together?

Alternatively, who is standing on the shore?  Comfortably gazing from their position in repose?  Laughing at the spectacle or criticizing the way you are treading water.  Perhaps they avert their eyes to avoid their own discomfort or they've become bored with watching you struggle. 

And once the crisis has passed you are armed with powerful knowledge.  You know your own strength (and are significantly stronger than before the crisis).  You have water treading skills that you can instill in others.  And you know who your friends are....and who they aren't.

 

My Favorite Mistakes

Real Simple is a magazine I get from time to time.  Last month it included an collection of stories by notables about mistakes they'd made that they would recommend as a learning experience.  Go here to read the on-line version Real Simple: 5 Mistakes Everyone Should Make

It got me thinking about the mistakes I've made in my life.  There have been a couple (shut it).  Of all the mistakes I've made, there are very few that I would recommend.  Sure, I've tried to learn from all of them.  And the ones I did not learn from I was doomed to repeat (some of them over and over again).  Here are my favorite mistakes:

1.  Gluttony.  Please don't argue with my semantics.  It may be a sin (and one of the seven deadly, at that) but at it's heart it's a mistake.  It's probably the mistake I've made most often in my life.  I'm not proud of that fact.  However, the over-eating, over-drinking, over-spending and over- anything has given me a depth of perspective.  I know things now that I could only have learned through these mistakes.  Wasn't it Aristotle who said the path to enlightenment is through debauchery?  Maybe not.

2.  Foot-In-Mouth.  Any person who is enthusiastic about communicating with other people will occassionally do this.  I am no exception (wow, am I not an exception).  However, if you don't break a few eggs you'll never make an omelet (with tomatoes, onions and green peppers).  If you are willing to put yourself out there, you risk that you will say something wrong sometimes. The pay off is that you get to interact with people in an unguarded and often humorous way.  This opens you up to some criticism. This also means you will sometimes accident ly say something wrong.  So what.  Ask for forgiveness and move on to the next person who will be charmed and delighted by you.

3.  Naivete.   One of the down sides of being raised in a bubble is that you assume a few things about people.  They don't lie.  They don't cheat.  They don't want to hurt you, at least not intentionally.  Unfortunately, once you have contact with the real world you start to realize that other people seem to be playing by different rules.  People will try to take advantage of you.  People will hurt you intentionally.  People will look out for themselves above all else.  However, it really makes you appreciate the people who give you a fair shake....and the people from your bubble.

4.  Laughing the Loudest at My Own Jokes.  I think I'm funny.  I think my mother is funny.  My mother thinks I am funny.  I am raising three girls who also think my mother and I are funny.  They are also funny.  I'm digressing.....  The point here is that I say things for my own enjoyment (and the enjoyment of my mother and daughters).  I love to laugh at what other people say, but when I say things it's usually because if I didn't say it out loud people would wonder why I was snickering to myself.  It could be creepy.

5.  Sloth. I was once told that you are either a rabbit or a cat in the way you use your "down" time.  I am a sloth. I like to lay in bed with my computer on my lap and the television on.....all day.  I like to nap.  I like to luxuriate in the fabulousness of a comfortable pair of pajamas and my jersey sheets.  I like to rest.  Sue me.

These are the favorite of all my many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many mistakes.  Don't try these at home.

 

 

My name is Jenny and I am not an addict

I don't have an addictive personality.  I know this because I've had plenty (puuuuuuh-lennnnnty) of opportunity to become addicted to any number of things.  During college I smoked cigarettes during finals to relieve stress, but it never "took".  I had my first alcoholic drink as a freshman in college and, try as I might, I never became one of those affable drunks you see on the street with the tin cups and the witty cardboard signs.  I've been to Vegas and, while I flirted with the idea of becoming addicted to the Cirque de Soleil shows, the gambling itself was never so alluring that I couldn't stop.  And while at one time I also thought my blogging habit might become my first addiction I think we both know we can quite safely rule that out (ahem).

The closest I've come to a true addiction was my Starbucks habit.  Looking back I can't even believe my behavior.  I could have fed a third world country (or at least my children)  for a month on the capital I spent at that place a week.  But that, friends, is a post for another day.

Today I want to talk about the addiction I am trying to foster in myself. I've decided to become one of those work-out addicts.  You know those women who run, jump, lift and sweat EVERY day.  I have an old copy of Jillian Michael's  30 day Shred.   I am trying to become addicted to it.  So far, I've just been looking at it in kind of a surprised manner.  Like, "what are YOU doing HERE in my house."  Any day now I am going to actually put it into the DVD player and actually watch it.

I'll let you know.

Couponing.....it's come to this.

Necessity is the mother of invention.  Right?  Well, that little phrase has nothing to do with this post.  Except the necessity part.  And maybe the mother part (I do have three kids)....but the rest of it you can just throw out.

Like almost everyone I know I am barely scraping by (please note the dangling preposition and realize that it's an indication of just how desperate I am).  I'm so broke that I can barely PAY attention  (stop groaning, you).   Phrases, like that one,  have started resonating with me that before I never fully understood.

"Trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents" sounds so charming until you really have to do it (and cashiers at Meier have no patience for the tune that accompanies it sung at the top of your lungs during checkout).  "Robbing Peter to pay Paul" makes me wonder where Peter lives and how hard it would be to get into his house.  Because Paul is starting to get aggressive about getting paid, and I ain't got it.  I digress...

All of this désespéré has culminated in my need to ensure that whatever I  spend is absolutely the least amount that can be spent.  This means my cart no longer runneth over (unless my mother is in town and she's footing the bill).  And everything in my cart has a coupon for it, sometimes "stacked" (which is black belt couponing lingo for two coupons on the same item -- one from the store and one from the manufacturer).   You live for the deals where you stack coupons and then get a fabulous catalina (those coupons that spit out after you check out) or gift card back. 

I'm a newbie.  I just bought my first coupon carrier (I had been carrying them around in increasingly large envelopes).  I just discovered Jill Cataldo who is amazing and does make it a little more fun (even the poverty stricken like fun). 

I'm pretty sure any minute now I will stop being able to function in regular society...you will just find me stumbling through the aisle of Target mumbling about expired coupons and their b#$sh*t catalina policy.  Don't worry.  I'll post about it.