Bad Mommy

I feel like I have been hit by a truck. These migraines are really starting to tick me off. The one triggered on Tuesday took until Wednesday to end, but this one triggered yesterday is still going. I'm holding it off with medication so I'm semi-functional, but that always goes in waves. One moment I'm alright to type on the computer for a little while, and the next moment I'm contemplating throwing up and/or flinging myself from the highest building around (don't worry, I think that's only two stories high anyway, good thing I don't live in Chicago anymore!)

These things wear me out. Even after they leave, it's like recovering from a hangover. Worse, my patience-o-meter is low. I totally snapped at my daughter this morning. Was it worthy of yelling at least a little about? Yes. Was it worth the level of yelling I did? No. I feel like someone should shoot me. I have major guilt. I did apologize to her, explaining that while my point is valid, my reaction was not and I was wrong. I'm still scum. I know.

My daughter is trying on being a teenager, I think. At a recent sleepover one of her friends brought deodorant. So, now my daughter wants to wear deodorant - she's NINE years old. She has been asking us to smell her armpits (every mother's dream, I'm sure) so she can get deodorant too. I literally had to take a step back and think about this, because I have no memory of when I started with deodorant and neither does Mr. Savy. I kinda just figured one day I'd say "daughter dear, you stink, here - wear this" like my mom did with me. Right now, I am being bad mommy because I don't think she needs it. So there is strike two on my list.

Strike three actually happened yesterday (so, technically I suppose I'm going in reverse on these strikes.) We had a fight about clothing. My daughter said that she felt she had the right at her advanced age of nine years to pick out whatever clothes she deemed fit for school each morning. However, I disagreed because she tried to wear very warm clothes on a day it was going to be around 90 degrees and humid. I restated that if I said she had to wear cooler clothing because it was going to be hot, she had full rights to pick whatever fits into that description, but she had to stay within it. The same will go for the winter when I say she must wear something warm. She feels that I am the worst of dictators. I kinda thought I was being fair, to be honest. I'm "the man" now, aren't I? They'll start picketing me at any moment, I'm sure.

*sigh* Now my head hurts again.

Cortortionist Cow and Butterfly Serial Killer

Have you ever seen a contortionist cow?

Yeah, me neither. At least, up until my drive this morning. I was simply driving along, minding my own business, every now and then glancing this way and that when I saw a cow do something even an advanced student in yoga would have had trouble with. It was completely bizarre, and I kept thinking about it for the rest of the drive. What would make a cow do that? The best I can come up with is that perhaps it got stung in a very personal place.

In other news, I think I'm a butterfly serial killer. Right now, the entire state of Vermont is simply glittering with butterflies. Every color, every size, it's amazing. It's beautiful. It's really hard to drive anywhere without taking out 20 or 30 of the little buggers. I can't even imagine biking anywhere right now (a collective "EWWWW!" I'm assuming.)

The worst part is that I feel BAD for them. I like butterflies. They're so pretty! They'll land on your finger and hang out with you or provide hours of entertainment while the dogs chase them and are continually surprised that the things fly away. So, when I end up killing so many on a single drive, I feel a lot like the wicked witch.

You can't exactly swerve, you know. Imagine going along at 50 *cough* 60 MPH, end up in a ditch, "I'm sorry officer, but if I hadn't swerved I would have hit that monarch butterfly! *sniffle*" I'm thinking they'd tranquilize me on the spot and tie me up in a bell tower somewhere. And really, I have plans for next week.

So, I continue on my way, feeling bad, but not swerving. I nailed at LEAST six monarchs today, the rest were a fancy variety of yellows, whites and a few blues of which I have no in depth knowledge except "'D'er Puuuurty!" If they were spiders or flies, or even better - mosquitoes, I wouldn't feel bad at all. I suppose that makes me even worse, doesn't it?

Maybe that's what the cow was doing... watching all those butterflies?

And lastly, on a completely different note; migraines. I can now confirm that the room I had suspected of triggering my migraines is, in fact, to blame. My first two days back to school and within about 10 minutes of the class beginning, a migraine set in both times. A determined one, that cannot be kicked like I normally can with good timing and medication. Even more specifically, I know it's the lights.

The room is tiny, with about 25 students sitting in it practically shoulder to shoulder while the teacher drones on forever (if I didn't have a better culprit I would think that level of boredom was to blame.) The room, being so small, is seriously over-lit. Almost the entire ceiling is covered with FLICKERING florescent lights instead of ceiling tiles. Some of them are older than others, some have different types of bulbs, but they all flicker and my eyes start having issues almost immediately.

It's too small a class to get away with wearing sunglasses, I got yelled at when I tried closing my eyes against it, I moved my seat back by the window trying to kill some of the flickering with natural light, but after that I am out of ideas. HELP! Any other ideas?

I Think I Wanna Cry

I shipped both kids off on the bus to their first day of school (1st & 4th grade) and I think I wanna go cry my eyes out in the corner. Seriously, when does this end? This was not in the mommy-manual.

Meant To Be

Today I survived my first day back in classes. I spent my morning yelling at people on my hour drive to the college who were clearly speed-limit challenged (seriously, 20 in a 50 MPH zone, no passing? Come ON!) Registering my car at a breakneck pace before they put a boot on it and forced a $150 fine for not having a parking permit, even though you can't get one until you park and walk over to the office to apply for one while they're patrolling behind you trying to cite offenders. And last but not least choking up the inordinate amount of money for a required text and then heading off to classes, at which I was assigned an incredible amount of homework for the first day. And all of that was before noon.

It was during all of this that I realized what had actually been causing my apprehension regarding returning to classes; the limbo that it creates for me. That, not the school work and obligations, is what has been prickling just beneath my skin. Sitting in a class full of minors and several "Oh, man! Dude! I get my legal drivers license next week! I can't wait!! Beer, man! BEEEEER!" types will really set you back a few paces.

I know it sounds silly, but I have felt (and said) from the beginning that I do not belong there. There are not other non-traditional (college code for OLD AS DIRT) students in my classes. I'm it. The old broad. One of the other students saying hello to me this morning explained to his friend on the cell phone that he was saying hello to "the mommie-tudent." (insert eye roll here)

I am the type of person to cut and run when I am in a place where it seems rather blatant that I either don't fit or are unwelcome. I am not the type to push my way into a party and make it my own. I'm not even sure I admire those who do. However, when it really only comes down to my own discomfort - I am NOT a quitter. I finished a damn marathon by sheer will, not talent or grace. It wasn't pretty but I stuck it out, even after most the people around me expressed the opinion that someone like me would never be able to finish.

But this college-thing, it's deeper than a marathon. This is a place where people go to start on the paths of who they want, or think that they're supposed to be. It's a place of discovery, as well as a launching pad. But it's almost exclusively reserved for the young at this particular college.

I was thinking back on a family member I saw this Summer. Technically, she is an "in-law" but she is probably one of only two that don't want me skinned alive. She took a rough road, and lately the one thing I have been wanting to say to her is:

"Never hide from who you are meant to be."

The thing is, I need that advice as much as her. I have needed to hear it from someone - ANYONE - for my entire life. No, it has never been said to me. Instead I have heard a lot of "make sure you do the right thing, take care of your responsibilities by taking the CORRECT road, be acceptable..." etc. This always leads into discussions of labels. Mom, Wife, Daughter, Coach, Woman, Housekeeper, whatever... Labels suck, and the reason that they do is that they put people into boxes.

Everyone, my whole life, has always had a lot of boxes for me. Even when they accepted I was artistically inclined, they had an idea of how that should be and what path I should follow. What is expected and socially acceptable. A list to live up to. When I had kids, they added to that list and deleted off the other, and so it went with everything in my life.

People will always tell you to listen to your heart. That's a great sentiment, but not easy to follow. Sometimes you can't even hear your heart because the noise everyone else is making is so damn loud. Still, deep down there is a sense of who you should be. Some people call it your personal drive. I won't label it, because I hate labels and it sells the whole thing short. If I spent a lifetime, I could not adequately describe what it is inside that alternately hums and screams to you about who you are meant to be. And what happens when that person you are meant to be isn't the social norm? The other people's yelling gets louder and your internal voices become muddled with doubt.

People are always surprised when they get to know me. I hear over and over that I was not what they had thought I was when they first saw and spoke with me. From afar I look the soccer-mom-wife, and upon closer inspection certain things don't fit. Then they spend time getting to know me and find that their first impression was so small and so different from who I really am that they are genuinely surprised. This always amazes me, because I wonder how I would need to look to get who I am across. The thing is, I dress in a fashion which suits me, and so - it IS a part of who I am.

It just so happens that who I am is such a mix that I don't fit into a neat little box. And boy, do people want you to fit into that neat little box. It's the being pushed by others towards boxes and labels so they can better understand you that causes such discomfort.

I realized today that the reason I went back to university is that I am not hiding from who I am meant to be. Yes, art is so much of who I am that I am sure my blood runs in multicolor oils rather than red. I also write, so much so that I often live in another world in my head (no, I don't hear voices... well, not usually.) But I also find business fascinating. More than that, I have a driving need to have a sort of back-up plan should the unspeakable ever happen. Pair that with my generic desire to have my bachelors degree, and then you know some of the reasons I returned to school. Yes, I did get my A.A. in fine art and was as it turned out, only a class or two from a B.A. But it was in art, and business is also a part of who I am.

So today, when I felt out of place and started wishing I was simply at home doing things that were familiar and comfortable to me, instead of shrinking into the background as I am wont to do, I realized that this was just another step in my day that was about being who I was meant to be. And if that is true (which it is) why the hell should I hide or shrink away from that? That's being a coward. That is why so many of my art-friends drink (or worse.) That will not be me.

I will never again hide from who I am meant to be. I'm just sorry it took me that long to figure it out. Seriously, two semesters ago would have been really helpful. Apparently timing is not something I am meant to have. Still, I got some damn good stuff in trade!

The Secret You

How many of you have ever kept a personal journal? I started when I was very young. I still have a couple of diaries from grade school and they're boring as hell for the most part; "Marci was mean, I think my school teacher is an alien, ate noodles for dinner, I think my dog hates me, luv ya - bye."

Then came the years when I realized my parents knew nothing, and were complete idiots but wouldn't let me set them straight. These were, for the most part, long rants on how misguided my poor parents were and what must it be like to have enlightened parents instead. I had a lot of time on my hands for writing because I spent those years grounded for the most part. And by grounded I don't mean I can't go out and play; my parents grounded you good and hard - no phone, no television, no radio, no toys, no books, no friends, no going out of your room even to use the bathroom without first hollering for permission. Running away required too much effort, and the few times I did it I came to the horrible conclusion that I had no where to actually run TO. Rather depressing, you know. So, it was either stare at the ceiling and make pictures out of the speckle stuff up there or grab my notebook and rant about the injustice of it all. Those early years of journaling can be summed up pretty much with "My parents suck."

Then the boy years came. Those are even more depressing, because while I may have finally noticed boys didn't carry the plague, I also noticed I was a good foot taller than all of them. Sure they noticed me, they were probably worried I'd trip and squash them. Not exactly what I had been hoping for. Teenie-bopper angst is nauseating.

Then, suddenly, everything shifted. I stopped writing about everyone else, and started writing about me. I'm not exactly sure what caused the change in perspective. Unfortunately, what I had to write about me was never good. I used my journals to empty out the blackness building inside. My outlet. It was almost never positive stuff. Over the years during some truly horrible experiences in my life (tv movie of the week stuff) it was positively bleak. Suicidal, hateful, horrid - usually only towards myself.

Still, life moved on, but my journals became a place to vent the poison within me. Then they grew to include all the things I wasn't allowed to say. My journal became a place to confess, be angry, and a way to keep myself quiet and unobtrusive in real life knowing I had at least said something in another place. Not positive either, but truthful.

When life improved, they became a way of marking time. This happened because I looked back within my journals and found that time moved on. I know that sounds silly, but when you are in a moment of horror and you write about it, then look back six months later and see that life moved on and there was something else to go on to - it becomes a focus of survival. I could write down my thoughts and know that soon I'd look back and all this too would have passed.

Eventually, I found more peace and balance, and to be honest, I started blogging. I haven't really written in my journals since I started blogging. When you write publicly, it's a very large leap from a private page of thoughts hidden away in a bureau. One was never meant to be read by another, a blog is likely to be read by people you never would have thought to share with. On one hand, it is still me. My page, my private thoughts. I do keep a lot of the blackness, when it occurs, to myself (believe it or not) even though this is difficult because this has become my outlet over my journal and I have some extremely dark times.

But, the payoff for when I just feel like writing, or the positive times is so much greater that I don't regret shifting my focus (well, until a troll pops in for a visit. That was one thing you never had to deal with while using a notebook.) Plus, there are the comments. People who make time in their day to offer support, advice, or just a friendly hello. A journal is usually a very lonely place... but a blog is somewhere to share your thoughts and not hide away because of it.

Then, recently, I started hearing about families who had lost family members and then found their personal journals. They went on and on about how wonderful these journals were, how much better they got to know the person. But you know, if someone found my paper journals they would probably be shocked and dismayed instead. I used that journal for a pure purpose; to vent that which should never see the light of day. So, what happens when those types of things do?

I have long been playing with the idea of burning my old journals. Not the grade school ones, obviously, but the ones with nothing to offer. But I haven't. The only thing I can figure is that even though they are vile and repulsive; that's me. No, that's not all of me, but it certainly is a part. Even when I look back at those entries and know I never want to read them again, I still know that they are a part of me. It begs the peculiar question of whether or not it is ever acceptable to set fire to a piece of yourself, good or bad?

I'm leaning towards a bonfire, complete with s'mores. But, I wonder what it will cost me.

When Does The Glass Slipper Crack?

Last night the tooth fairy redeemed herself with a letter of apology (on tissue paper and tied with golden ribbon) explaining that one of the other tooth fairies had a cold and that she fell behind while she helped her and was unable to collect my daughter's tooth - the first tooth she has missed collecting in 108 years. She also offered an extra dollar in restitution and her thanks to my daughter for being so understanding.

Still, it's at times like these that I begin to wonder... when do we set aside the childhood illusions? It's a kind of power I do not like having as a parent.

I remember when I believed in everything. I was very young when that was shattered. It was so wonderful to believe in fairies, Santa, and bunnies hopping around the world to deliver a special present every now and then. Especially Santa, and not because I got great presents - because I didn't. There wasn't a lot of money when I was a kid, and so there was only one present that wasn't socks under the tree. My extended family had disowned our family so there were never any gifts from loving grandparents or aunts and uncles. But that one gift meant so much, and honestly after seeing how our Christmases are with so many relatives contributing I wonder whether having just one gift was better than this.

When I was about six years old I set a trap for the Tooth Fairy. In my mind she was a lot like Tinkerbell. It involved a glass falling over my tooth fairy pillow, thus trapping the fairy. I caught her. My mother was completely taken by surprise. But instead of just admitting there was no tooth fairy, she decided to make a full confession of it. No Easter Bunny. No Santa. Welcome to the bleak world of reality. I know it sounds stupid, but if she had just stopped at the tooth fairy I would have still believed in the others for a little while. I remember feeling my stomach turn and the magic of belief flit away, leaving my life so much darker and empty than it had been only moments before.

Six is very young to have all the magic crushed, true. I was too mischievous for my own good. So, as a parent I have worked to make sure the magic stayed a bit longer than what I had. It's been hard with so many parents choosing to make the truth clear from the get-go. Still, my children do believe. The world is still full of magic and wonders for them. But there is a part of me, like when I was writing that apology letter last night, when it feels a little more like lying than it does protecting the magic of it all.

So, when do you spill the beans? Do I want to do it now? No, I do not. My daughter came flying into my bedroom with her eyes sparkling and read the letter to us while bouncing on the bed in excitement. She practically glittered. I do not want to take that away. And truthfully, part of me deep down still kinda believes in Santa. So sue me. It makes it easy to answer my daughter's question "Do YOU believe in Santa?" with honesty and still keep the magic alive for her.

So, out of curiosity - those of you who have children, when did/do you plan on setting the record straight? I'm asking for your take on your own opinions, not judgment of me. My daughter is nine years old, and has gotten many extra years beyond what I did. For this I am glad, but her curiosity is becoming more sophisticated...

Mr. Savy's opinion is that you come clean when it's no longer fun for them. I think that sounds pretty good as far as standards go. What do you think?

My Wings Have Been Revoked

The mommy police will probably be showing up at any moment, so I haven't long to spare before I go into hiding. But, I thought I should get out my side of the story before I disappeared into the underworld.

I didn't mean to do it, I swear! In all these years, this is my first major infraction. I have spent countless hours ensuring that the Easter Bunny had access to deliver his goods even though I think it's bizarre that a bunny is strolling around doling out boiled eggs. I have gone to great lengths facilitating Santa's visits - even when he was on that diet and requested only fruits and vegetables with his eggnog. I did what he asked, even though it seemed so very wrong at the time (fortunately he gave up his diet attempt back in 2002 and we happily went back to cookies.) I even thought of the reindeer!

But it is not what you have done in the past, it's about what you have done now that matters. And I have done wrong. Oh yes, so very wrong.

Last night my daughter lost another tooth. They seem to be falling out right and left lately. I saw it, I acknowledge that I had full awareness of the event. I even told her to make sure she put it in her tooth fairy pillow, while I was working on the walls in her new bedroom. I even made a mental post-it note to let the tooth fairy know that she had a stop to make.

...and then I popped a couple more Advil, readjusted the wrap/brace and changed the ice pack on my leg, and then continued on working in the bedroom until I stumbled (all too literally) into bed last night. It was only while I was unloading the dishwasher that I looked up and came eye to eye with tearful baby blues that I realized I had not put that call in to the tooth fairy like I was supposed to.

Extrapolating on the possible causes (a tooth backlog perhaps? Weather conditions? There is a hurricane going on, right?) hasn't helped much, but my daughter is writing a letter to the tooth fairy to ask what happened. She's willing to try again, and I will make sure the tooth fairy is notified this time... but still. I have violated my mommy-oath and committed a crime most heinous.

They'll be coming for me for sure.

I Broke Myself!

Oh Crap! CRAP! I broke myself! I Broke Myself!!!!

Why is it that I can't ever break myself when it's a reasonable thing to do? You know, like sliding into home for that winning run, or deflecting that goal shot at the last minute, or saving a child from an oncoming bus???

I have NO idea how I did it, or exactly what I did. I was washing the walls down in my daughter's new bedroom preparing to paint. I simply lowered myself into a kneeling position to scrub the lower part of a wall... and suddenly I was laying on my back hollering bloody murder while the dogs decided now was the time to bark at me! I suppose they must have thought we were singing a duet.

Something in my right quad just freaked out. It felt like a combination between a nasty charlie horse and ripping my leg in half. It was neither of those, but my leg did have a slightly purple tinge for about 30 minutes - that can't be normal, right? I don't know what it was, but it took me a long time before I could stop crying and pull myself together enough to limp to the kitchen, down two advil, grab an ice pack and the mineral ice and the bemoan my fate. I have never even heard of someone spraining their quad, much less doing something like that while doing NOTHING demanding.

How does one even wrap a quad? I don't want to go to my doctor, that office will just laugh at me and they've left for the day anyway. They'd probably refer me to the emergency room, and I feel that 1) this is stupid to go to a hospital for, 2) Too expensive, and 3) I'd know the doctor working there and be embarrassed as all hell, and the whole town would know and I'd have to deal with trying to explain how I did this to every freaking resident.

ARGH!!! I'm defective. I demand a refund.

This just in...

* Dance Dance Revolution is just another way to prove that if the world were based on dance competitions I would have been put to death long ago. Or, it's simply another way for my kids to kick my butt and brag for at least three hours straight. Death might have been preferable.

* Apparently the average American can't be bothered to read a book. As a matter of fact, one in four read NOT A SINGLE BOOK at all last year. Seriously? I'm in between books because I have read everything in my house right now and I'm waiting for a nice big shipment to show up in the mail because my local library is completely useless, and there are people who can't even be bothered to pick up a single book? Oh, it gets better... The average person only read four to seven books last year.

Now, we all know I'm a freak - but only four to seven books? Do you have any idea how many I read in a year? I'd ballpark it around 100-150. Yes, really. On average I read about a book every two days, except for the dry spells like I am in the middle of now. If I'm not in the middle of a book, I'm irritable. It's like half of my life is missing. I need to live in this one and somewhere else. Even my daughter knocks back a book about every one to two weeks.

So, what the heck are people doing instead, I wonder?

Look at this:
1/3 of high school graduates never read another book for the rest of their lives.

42 percent of college graduates never read another book after college.

80 percent of U.S. families did not buy or read a book last year.

70 percent of U.S. adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years.

57 percent of new books are not read to completion.

70 percent of books published do not earn back their advance.

70 percent of the books published do not make a profit.

(Source: Jerold Jenkins, www.JenkinsGroupInc.com)

...er not to digress or anything... but are you kidding me??? Where do all of you fall in this? Do you read books?


* Nicole Richie spent 82 minutes in jail, or as I like to think of it "less time than the layover I had in Philadelphia." It's clear our justice system is working well and is a shining example to all.

* Apparently I am not the only person thinking about decorating for Autumn and Halloween a little early this year. Though, raccoon parts were not exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking candy corn and cute ghosts... I think a raccoon head might be considered a bit over the top. This has also made me a bit leery of the trip to Salem we were contemplating in a month.

* Would you go to a doctor at a Walmart? My doctor doesn't listen to me anyway, I suppose it might be nice to be able to pick up laundry detergent and make my trip useful on some level...

* Viagra might just be the equivalent of chocolate for men. In women the act of eating chocolate has been shown to stimulate responses similar to that of being in love. Apparently, Viagra does that in a male body. Just more proof that men equate sex with love. It all makes so much more sense now, doesn't it?

* And following that note, is it just me or have more women been setting fire to... their 'luv machines" than normal? Seems to be in the news a lot lately. I notice more men are sitting with their legs crossed. Coincidence? I think not.

Because I Don't Want To!

Human nature is a peculiar thing. We'll go to the ends of the earth for something on our own, but if someone else tells us we need to do so we don't want to simply because they told us to. In some recent discussions about diet and exercise (but mostly diet) I have found that a reason a lot of people don't stick to their diet isn't because of a craving or a mood, but defiance.

People do not like being told that they cannot have that bag of chips, or that donut - even if they don't actually want it. They don't like being told that they need to exercise, even if they were in the mood to go for a walk. As a personal trainer, it's been an interesting phenomenon to watch. People will literally set out to defy what someone else has suggested that they do - even when they pay for it. My own father freely admits that he will never diet/eat healthy on any plan whatsoever because he resents anyone telling him what he can and cannot eat and he doesn't know how to do it on his own - lovely logic, eh? (And meanwhile my mother is fretting over his ever increasing waistline, freaking out, and likely making his "rebellion" even worse.)

It's not that I don't understand the compulsion to reject the dictates of others. Far from it actually. I'm so adverse to being told what to do that I can only work for myself, so I'm close to the queen of rebellion in that sense. It infuriates me if someone sticks their nose into my grocery cart and tells me I shouldn't be buying this or that. People LOVE to shoulder into other's business. They LOVE to try and tell others what to do. It's annoying as hell. So, I completely understand the desire when someone tells you not to eat junk food to whip open a Reese's and shove both cups in your mouth right in front of them.

The problem is, this only ends up compounding the problem in most cases. I used to be furious at all those people, magazines, and shows that insisted I was a waste of humanity if I wasn't a size 2. Actually, I'm still pretty angry that the media and many people still do this. However, my rebellion was to go bawl my eyes out and sneak food down into my pity-party den, which resulted in taking myself that much farther down my personal path of destruction. In some ways, I think I was trying to say "See? I'm a complete loser by your standards, yet I still have value!" But it never really worked out too well. In the end, those jerks wrote me off as not worth their time because I wasn't thin, and anything I had inside that was worth something was ignored anyway and devalued by me because I looked for justification from others instead of myself.

I have been asked many times what is it that clicked, what made me turn around my 230 lbs spiral, and back it up? Those who know me know that I didn't go out and join a weight loss group or start some fantastic diet. I did it myself, on my own, trying to figure it out without someone telling me what to do (sound familiar?) So what was the turning point? What made me change?

Well, to be honest, I got really angry. Mostly at myself for being so stupid. Why on earth would I place any store by what people thought if the only qualifying factor was my dress size? Worse, why was I placing store by my own opinions based on my dress size? Both they and I had written myself off as a waste of space on this earth. Being a depressive sort, it really came down to realizing that if I was a waste of space - why not end it all? Why? Because THAT would have been the ultimate height of stupidity. Suicide over pant size and chocolate cake? Seriously? Pathetic. And I was DONE being pathetic.

People say anger is a destructive emotion. I disagree. I think anger is rightly compared to fire. Sure, it can burn and destroy, but it can heat, shape, cleanse, and cause change. Sometimes you need to light the fuse to get things to happen, even with yourself. The whole phrase "fueled off of anger" is not without its merits. Anger sustained me through the changes in behavior and lifestyle, success paved the path the rest of the way - partnered with knowledge that I gained by opening up my ears and at least listening to what others had to say in books, online, and so on.

I'm still not great at being told what to do directly to my face, but at least I can file away what they have said to pull it apart later (when the emotions have dulled a bit) and see if there was any value in the statements. I also believe the biggest contributing factor in all of this was realizing that the reason so many people feel they have to try and tell you what to do is really because YOU hold 100% of the power over you. So, even if you do take someone's supposed "advice" the truth is, it's because YOU decided to choose that option, not because they told you to.

Literally, the choice is 100% yours. What everyone else tells you to do is irrelevant. They're just post-it notes with options, not obligations. Choosing the right path for you does not mean giving any power to the person who pointed the information out in the first place. They're still powerless, even if they try to tell themselves differently. Any success you achieve is your own - just as you own your failures. This is true in life as well as fitness and weight loss.

It's that realization that stopped the weight gain and started the weight loss, that lead to me running a marathon, that enabled me to choose to go back to university, and everything else that has followed. The only trick is remembering that this is the truth no matter what anyone else tells you. But I will tell you this; it gets easier to remember with time and practice. So don't do anything because someone told you to - do something because YOU SAID SO.

Stripping, Bidding, and Dodging Balls

Such a dirty title for a Wednesday. I'm feeling evil, apparently.

Stripping... wallpaper is on my agenda for today. I have been suckered into completing my daughter's room. It became a "now or next summer" thing, and everyone said "Oh yes, lets do this now!" and then disappeared on me. Traitors. Cowards......... help?

My studio is housed in what used to be the toddler-room. We put up a wallpaper mural long ago and painted the other walls blue. Lil'miss'princess will be moving into that room and I'll be moving my studio into hers (but not before I blot out the pepto bismal pink bedroom from existence.) So, I have to pile all my art furniture, supplies and tools out into the hallway and strip the mural from the wall. I bought a bottle of stripper but it's all new territory for me. We'll see how it goes. Could be a complete disaster.

This is the bed set she chose. Black and white. Her bedroom furniture is white also, so we're going to paint the wall right behind her bed black and I'm going to paint the design on the center of the throw pillow (or possibly a similar one) in white up on the wall above her bed.

I'm also going to paint some of the scroll work from the comforter on the walls and a little bit on the ceiling - black on the white, and reverse for whatever crosses over into the black.

Her accent color is this bright purple. (a little here, with a throw pillow and sheets, and a little there with a hideous furry carpet that looks like someone hunted down a Muppet for sport.)

Bidding... on eBay. I am not a big eBay person. I really ought to be. I have so much stuff I need to get rid of and selling it to someone who actually wants it would really be a good thing. I just haven't got the patience or the organizational skills to pull it off yet. Someday I'll get to it. really.

Still, every now and then I do buy something off of eBay. Most recently it was a set of books. The thing was, I decided to be all clever about it and only bid in the last moments. This has worked out for me in the past. However, this time there was some wench sitting on the auction too and we had a shoot-out down to the last second. I seriously thought I was going to have an anxiety attack... or a temper tantrum. I don't know if I can take the stress of eBay again after that.

And last but not least...

Dodging Balls... that my husband is kicking at me. Mr. Savy, soccer player extraordinaire (runs the district league for the kids, the corporate league, and a pick-up league,) has decided that I have potential as a soccer goalie (and not just because I block most of the net simply by standing there.) It apparently has something to do with my great reflexes.

However, after letting him convince me to give it a go and having soccer balls fired at me for two hours resulting two jammed fingers, a slightly twisted ankle, and bruises in so many peculiar places, I have decided that what he really has is unresolved anger issues with me and is being passive aggressive. OK, maybe not. And granted, I think I did a decent job of stopping most of the shots but... ow. OW, I say!!! I also feel as though I have pulled the muscles in both of my forearms - I cannot figure out how that could possibly be.

So am I going back? Oh heck yeah. If anything it was fun to make him run after the ball after tossing it back out in the wrong direction. I figure he gets to take shots at me, I have full permission to torture him. Marriage is all about give and take.

I'm So Darn Old

I can't be anything else after having (been forced) to watch High School Musical One AND Two with my nine year old. It's full of teenage puppy dog love, songs, flamboyant dancing, and a lot of peculiar fashion statements.

In short, my daughter loved them. Me, on the other hand, I just felt old. I had more in common with the parents in the film than the characters. Do you have any idea how bone chillingly frightening that is? I am quite certain that would be close to tantamount to identifying with the horribly close minded parents from Dirty Dancing! Sacrilege! It just isn't done! I actually thought several times during the movie "Good grief, these kids are so young!"

Does this mean I have crossed over to the dark side?

I can understand why these movies appeal to so many kids, it's a sort of Grease-Dirty-Dancing phenomenon. I LOVED Grease while growing up. I loved it enough to overlook the heavy 70's under(over) tones. I didn't lust after any of the characters, I just wanted to be transformed into ultra-cool, dance and sing. I was young, what can I say? Boys still had cooties.




When boys had lost their cooties (just barely) is when the movie Dirty Dancing was released into theaters.

Oh my.

Now, I fully admit that I lusted after Patrick Swayze at that point. For a while. Oh alright! I had a poster of him stretched out up on my wall and I spoke to it on occasion. Leave me alone!

Where was I? Oh right... I loved Dirty Dancing. I watched it far too many times. I knew the words, I knew the songs. I wanted to dance and show my parents they were stuck in the dark ages, and just... well go work at a country club for the summer apparently. But, I cannot dance. I cannot sing. And I was too young to work at a country club, if I could even find one. So, I settled for my movie posters and watching my video (VCR TAPE!!!) of it until it broke. Pathetic, I know.

The point is, I think just about every generation has one of these types of movies. I wonder if this High School Musical thing is going to be my daughter's. I hope not. I'd like to think the acting and story line was better in mine... but maybe it wasn't. Maybe I'm just out of touch, and that parent-genetic-DNA-morphing-out-of-syncing has begun?

I have been enjoying the kids movies coming out into theaters less and less. The Garfield movies came close to doing me in altogether, but both my kids loved them. I took my daughter to see Stardust this past weekend and I enjoyed that movie, but my daughter thought it was only "OK."

I kept saying "But that was a good movie, seriously! You didn't think it was a great movie?"

"it was just OK, mom."

*sigh* Back when I was her age, Stardust would have been one of my favorites.

Once you cross over to the dark side, there is no going back, is there? Especially when you wonder whether you would want to go back.

I'm doomed.

Offend Me, Baby!

Lately, or maybe not so much lately and I'm just waking up to this (likely), it seems as though people are looking for any reason, any excuse to be offended. Forget about saying something truly offensive, even slightly mispronounce something and people will jump all over you. Has anyone else noticed this?

I have seen people enraged over things that just don't seem worth getting that upset about. In a doctors office, I witnessed a woman become exceedingly nasty because the receptionist pronounced her name wrong. So? Geeze, people haven't been saying my name right my entire life! I'm lucky I married a guy with a completely normal last name, otherwise I'd probably still have people avoiding addressing me at all like they did in school. The teacher on the first day of school, or a substitute, would go down doing roll call, stop at my name (I always knew it was mine from the long pause) and often would then call my MIDDLE NAME because it was the only thing they could pronounce. I never went by my middle name, ever.

I think the Internet is hard, because you can't hear the tone on top of whatever is being said so that even the most innocuous things can come out sounding wrong to someone on the other side of the monitor. Makes it a wee bit dodgy to have a blog. But then, some of us just can't seem to shut up (Me!! MEmememee!) and need somewhere to just babble inanely for a while. Still, sometimes it feels a little like walking through a minefield.

Even more, I think people like to be enraged. At least it seems so. They need a cause, something to get riled up about and feel that they are just in stating their opinion and spitting in the face of another. Even Mr. Savy, rather unplugged from the world in general (his world is a shiny happy place,) has noticed it has become very difficult to do anything without wondering if people are going to misunderstand. He said life is a "lot like walking on egg-shells all the time" now. I have to agree. Sure, there are reasonable upsets out there: racism, sexism, prejudice, discrimination, slander - all things worth a good temper tantrum or two. But is it worth throwing down over a mispronounced name?

I think it's possible that people have forgotten about giving others a little bit of slack, aka "the benefit of the doubt." It's quite possible that the person wasn't trying to pronounce your name wrong just to make you angry. It's possible that saying that they believe in working moms didn't mean that they disapprove of stay at home moms. It's possible that when they said they hated fish, the fact that it's your favorite wasn't a consideration.

I think people just need to chill out a bit and remember that the world doesn't revolve solely around them. People are thinking about their own situation usually before they're trying to consider every aspect of yours. But that doesn't mean that they want to insult you for your differences or hurt you. Usually the people who are trying to hurt you make it pretty darn clear that this is their aim. But right now, we're all so busy being angry and offended at everyone else that it makes it nearly impossible to say anything at all.

Clearly, though, that isn't the problem in my case. My problem is that I have plenty to say, and continue on with saying it - though NEVER with the intention of offending another. But isn't it exhausting trying to analyze and over analyze every single thing you say? It's making me tired, even though I'm clearly not very good at it. Maybe I just need to become offended more often and spend my time thinking about how the other person has "wronged me" instead of avoiding offending them.

Nah. That sounds just as tiring. I guess I'll just carry on, offending as I go. And I can tell you right now that I'll mispronounce your name. You're welcome to get angry about it, but keep in mind that I mispronounce my OWN name on occasion. Maybe I should send myself an angry letter...

Friendly Requirements

It was so easy to make and be friends when we were kids. You walked into school, walked up to the person in question and said "Hey, wanna be friends? Good! Lets go play!" and off you went. You didn't care about how they looked or what their opinions were, just that they were five years old too. Sure, you had your fights; someone stole so and so's Barbie, or was seen in the company of someone with a Hot Wheels obsession, or had a problem with that frog you stowed away in her lunch box. Whatever... but generally you got over it and were back to being friends by recess; four-Square is a problem with only one person. And as always, if you weren't friends by recess you could always get in a good game of dodge ball and get your aggressions out so your ire rarely lasted until the end of the day. (Did you know most schools have banned dodge ball? My children's school has discussed banning ANY games/sports where there is a "loser" of any type. Seriously. Even board games. They're insane.)

As a child, you overlook so much. You don't care that they feel differently about things because, lets face it, what did you really insist upon with them? That you went rollerskating on this street instead of that one? It gets a little more complicated when you hit puberty and boys and girls lose their "cootie" status. It's a lot like watching members of your army defect to the other side. Fortunately, for the most part, no one shot the deserters.

Still, the drama was higher in high school. You started to realize that these people were a little bit deeper and more different than you thought. But hey, without the drama of this person hating that person in high school and causing a huge split in supporters I would have probably slept through those years. Not that I ever sided with anyone, but boy were they damn entertaining. And the race for the Prom crowns? Priceless. (No, I was never anything but ignored in High School for the most part. Which suited me just fine. It made the screaming match over one girl's crown being "more shiny and more sparkly" than the other that much more entertaining.)

I had a circle of friends in High School. Half of them were from Jr. High, so we had been together for a while. We started off with the generic "we're all the same" thing, and developed into people who are vastly different from each other now. I remember the very moment I spotted trouble in paradise, though I didn't realize the depth of it at the time. We were about 14 or 15 years old and I was sitting around with the girl components of the group (we were 50/50 in gender overall,) and I asked what everyone wanted to do with their lives. A logical question when considering we were heading towards the end of our school careers. Except that while I had a million ideas of what I wanted to go out and do, and be, none of my friends did. Oh, it's not that they didn't know, but they were fairly settled on the answer: nothing.

My best friend of many years stated in all seriousness that she wanted to "marry a guy who made enough money so she could stay home and eat ice cream and watch Days of Our Lives." She'd have children if she had to, in order to make it a valid excuse to stay home, but that was her life goal. My other friend just wanted a baby - with or without a daddy for it, and really thought of it as more of a doll than a little person. The other one mentioned WELFARE as her option, and the others chimed in and agreed that was a good idea for them too.

My jaw just hit the floor. I didn't know my "friends" at all!

I said that they couldn't possibly be serious - right? Wrong. They didn't want to be anything when they grew up, and their biggest aim in life was to have cable television. That is exactly what they did with their lives.

That was a huge dividing factor for me. It was one thing for a girl to want to be a "Mom", but it was a whole other thing to plot it out in order to avoid actually doing anything. It's a distinction I couldn't get around. There is a big difference in wanting to have children in your life, and being resigned to having children so you can do nothing with your life on purpose. Plus, being even farther from the others with the plan that I wouldn't even think about getting married until I was 28 and my career was established (that's not how it worked out, but it was my plan) put me on the outs with them as well. The whole circle disintegrated for me. Last I heard, they're all still friends, on Welfare, with kids - but I'm long gone from that picture without regret, and was before I even graduated high school.

I went out into the world, moved all over the place, met many people, made more friends. But it was harder. People suddenly had political, personal, and religious views that could not be set aside for one another. Tricky. Then everyone had children.

Talk about the dividing line. We parted ways with almost all of the friends we had made over the years, albeit it is tough to maintain friendships over vast distances and our constant moving. It really came down to not being able to deal with how others treated their children. I had one friend who drugged her kids almost every night with cough syrup instead of settling them into bed herself, and another who had a baby and ignored it - leaving it in the crib for about eight hours a day (or more) while it was awake. The list goes on and on. I never knew people were this screwed up.

I know it's not just me. I look around and see many people finding that those once large friendship-circles are down to a very select few. When did we all get so picky? When did I? The worst part is, I know there is no going back. I know that I cannot stop being picky. I didn't think I was overly picky, but maybe I am. In a friend I require:

* Respect: that you respect yourself and others.
* Tolerance: different views on politics or religion are actually fine, encouraged because it makes it interesting, but tolerate the different views in others as well.
* Kindness: choose not to attack when weakness is evident, and value others. Forgive small errors, trips, and stumbles.
* Treat children as priceless people, not possessions or punching bags to vent life's frustrations on.
* Responsibility: for yourself, your choices, your past and your future.
*Communicate: if there is a problem, say something.

That's pretty much it. It's not a huge list, and I love diversity in others so it's not as if I'm constantly setting up impossible expectations. But you would be amazed at the people who don't even meet half of these. Why is that?

Mr. Savy and I discussed whether our expectations were too high, but the truth is that I don't want to cultivate a friendship with someone who is racist, prejudiced, cruel, mean, intolerant, or disrespectful. So even if I do have high expectations, they're not unreasonable. At least they don't seem so to me. It's a long way from back when we were five years old and the biggest factor involved was whether you were a girl or a boy. Time really does change everything.

Do you have high expectations for friends in your life? Do you still have a large circle of friends? Keep in contact with those from your past?

While I certainly have a significantly lower amount of friends now compared to when I was growing up, I will say that the ones I do have are much better friends. I know who these people are, and I adore them - differences and similarities included.

Warm Me Up

I cannot seem to get warm today. I woke up shivering and it hasn't stopped since. It's not that this is an unusual occurrence, but it is in AUGUST. It's normally rather toasty at this time of the year, and instead my bedroom was in the 50's when I woke up and it's been blustery and chilly all day.

It feels like Autumn. I'm ready for colorful leaves, pumpkin pies baking and making my house smell wonderful (love the smell; can't stand the pie,) and apple harvests. And sweaters. Big, lovely, soft, fluffy sweaters that I can snuggle in. Oh, how I love sweaters. I forget how much I love them over the summer, while I have my fling with spaghetti strap camisoles and shorts. But this morning I found myself grabbing my most worn (i.e. soft) pair of blue jeans and pawing through my sweaters, reacquainting myself with my lost loves.

I'm one heart beat away from breaking out my hot teas, turning on the fireplace, and laying down for a nap in front of it like a big cat. Actually, that sounds like the perfect Saturday, doesn't it?

Foreign Traveler and Lottery Fantasies

I'm happy to report that yesterday my new passport finally showed up. Of course, this is very important because I can now visit New Hampshire.

I spent a good amount of time giggling over that joke yesterday. They also sent back my old passport with my second new photo stapled next to my old one. There are 11 years between photos, so it was really weird to look at them side by side. I was smiling in my first photo, the second looks like I'm annoyed and/or smirking in it. I think I look a lot more shifty in my new one, something I figure you don't want to look like on a passport. My hair is different, but there is just something else... I think it's that I look more jaded. Which I am, obviously, but I look it. A trouble maker, just waiting for entry. Maybe I should take up a more sinister occupation, I might be good at it. You never know!

Coincidentally enough, I also received word from Delta via the Better Business Bureau (after all, why would they respond to my actual complaint directly to them?) It was a completely canned response for the most part, but I did get an apology included with it - also clearly pre-written for the general public. Still, it's more than I received at any other time from Delta. They also, while not offering to pay for any of the additional cost caused by them or taking any responsibility for what happened (the letter was 99% excuses about why the airline industry can't do things correctly and woe is them,) gave us $150 credits on Delta to use to fly within the year. Gee, what that must have cost them to give me something I already said I would never use, but in addition to that if I ever did use it I'd end up paying them more money because no tickets anywhere are only $150. Clearly they feel my pain.

Still, at least someone said something to me. Something I figured they were never going to do, since the customer service reps essentially told me they don't care, and it didn't matter who I complained to. I still maintain that Delta is a horrid company, completely lacking in respect for their customers, and I will never ever fly with them again.

That being said, I was messing around yesterday and found a 14 day cruise on the Disney website which was very cheap ($1099, that is cheap for a 14 day cruise on Disney) and called Mr. Savy to drool over it with. He, of course, being irrationally frightened that I meant it, kept saying no and offering reasons why we can't go. I KNOW we can't go, but why can't I fantasize about it? Some people fantasize about the opposite sex, some the same sex, some about winning the lottery or cars, I fantasize about traveling the world in style. So sue me.

After hanging up with Mr. Savy, I continued on my world tour fantasy which included a couple stays at various ritzy resorts in Europe, followed by a romantic tour of Italy, with a fantastic closing stint in the Bahamas. After I returned from my trip and looked at the cost on various pages, I realized that what I really need to fantasize about is winning the lottery.

I used to fantasize about the lottery. When I was younger. Long, long ago. (Where's my walker?) The problem is that I think too much. Seriously, I cannot shut my brain up at any time, except maybe after a couple glasses of wine. So, for me these fantasies about money situations like the lottery don't end with the "Woohoo! I won! I'll quit my job and dress in solid gold clothing from now on!" For me, lottery fantasies turn into stressful nightmares as I imagine the legal issues that would arise, the creepy extended relatives that would ooze from the woodwork demanding money and filing false lawsuits in court (because yes, my family is FULL of those.) The stalkers, who watch for lottery winners and then follow them around begging for money, some of them violent. The people around you, like the town who would suddenly be demanding you do "more" for the community; they need new town vehicles, and how about a town pool?

See? Now, does that sound like a fun fantasy? Too much reality mixed in with my fantasies just kill them completely. I had to settle out with my lottery fantasy when I divorced it from my consciousness. I had to acknowledge that while winning the lottery would be fun, I don't want to win one of those massive prizes of 100 million dollars or anything. Just a couple million would be fine. Something small, so the stalkers ignored me for bigger game, and the media stayed hushed because it wasn't interesting so all those family members would stay uninformed, secluded with their unibomber friends and leave me alone.

This is why foreign travel, while clearly something I'll never be able to afford (and even if I saved up for it, I'd probably have a panic attack spending that much on just a vacation,) is a much better fantasy. I can keep my mind running to different activities, without letting my over charged brain thrust in reality where it's not wanted. I'm like a cruise director for my brain. It works for me. And now that I have my passport I can really scare Mr. Savy into thinking I'm serious, which is a major bonus!

So, who's coming with me on a three week excursion through Australia?

We're Half Way There

I'm half way done with the room now. A lunar landscape was too involved on a grand scale and so I took the easy way out and did a generic landscape... besides, it suits his wooden furniture better anyway (Ok, yes, my son is irked at me.... but come on! I'm tired now!)

It's still taking about two hours a wall. Blah. But that only means four hours left! I'm totally exhausted because last night my son went to his first ever sleep over and he made it through the night! I was shocked, considering his sister was over there too with her friend doing a sleepover too but ended up coming home early. So all night I tossed and turned and worried. He called me this morning, happy, but ready to come home. I had no problem zipping over and getting him. Now all my ducklings are back under my roof and all is almost right with the world.

I needed to take a break to eat which is why I am checking in, but here is the progress I have made:

Whew

Ok, the ceiling is finished. I found some unexpected side effects from painting his room, the first is funny, the second isn't. The first is that apparently that glow in the dark paint does NOT come off human skin. I scrubbed the heck out of myself and I thought I was clean. I then turned off the light to get into bed, and Mr. Savy yelled "Wholly Crap!"

I was lit up from head to toe with glow in the dark spots. I looked like a moving star cluster. I cannot get this stuff off of me, it's impossible! At least you can't see it during the day. Mr. Savy found it highly amusing and spent a good 15 minutes chuckling over how he was going to get to tell everyone he works with that his wife now glows in the dark. I couldn't ignore him and go to sleep because even my eyelashes were glowing - it was really annoying. I did amuse myself for about an hour waving my arms back and forth and watching. I'm as bad as a kid with those glo-sticks.

The second thing was waking up in the middle of the night with my entire right side spasming. My left is fine, but everything from my ankle to my neck is whacked out. I took a bunch of advil and tried to go back to sleep, but OW!

Ok, pics now. Here is my son's room. Only the ceiling and whatnot is finished. I have to do the lunar landscape (or something else clever for the bottom of the room. I have a plan if the lunar landscape bombs. I think I'll be finished with this by Friday. YAY!) I'm happy with the way the ceiling turned out. Not bad for my first one ever, and no experimenting. I learned a lot, it's a shame I won't be doing this again because I know I could do it much better now.

Does anyone know if you have to "seal" spray paint?

I just have to say...

Spray paint ROCKS!!!!

Paint Deep

I started in (finally) on my son's room. Sure, it's not a big room, but good grief! It's a HUGE job. Getting all the furniture out of the room, stepping on Lego's and various Star Wars figurines, and just about breaking my neck when I hit a patch of hot wheels was just the beginning. We had to wash down walls, mark off lines, and fill holes from various screws (this used to be my studio, so there were a lot of hanging places.) Unfortunately, Mr. Savy forgot to sand down the filler on the patched holes before he told me to go paint. We're looking at it from the perspective that it "adds texture and interest" *ahem*.

I am taking photos, but if it comes out ghastly I shan't be posting them.

I was perched up on top of my son's draped loft bed, in a bikini top and shorts (not my normal painting attire - it was about 87 degrees and humid,) covered in black paint while rollering the ceiling when an antique horse driven cart with four people crammed into the two person cab came by and stopped to stare at me like I was the one who looked weird. I was then faced with the awkward moment of trying to decide whether I was supposed to wave neighborly at the people in the weird horse cart who were technically looking into my house watching me be an idiot, or ignore them because I was in my house on the second floor, minding my own business, and their poor horse pulling the cart looked like he was about to have a heart attack pulling along two extra people and it would be good for him to get back to the barn without my costing him any more time than necessary. I settled for a half shrug wave roller movement. (Suave, aren't I?) They stayed outside gabbing about something to one another and pointing up at me. I literally checked to make sure I was still dressed, because I know I am not that interesting, and painting a ceiling black can't be that deviant even here in upper New England. They eventually moved on but... there are moments in my life that I feel should be included in various twilight zone episodes.

Today painting will hopefully get more fun for me. I get to add more details, like clouds. Clouds are fun. I always crave whipped cream when I paint clouds... subliminal suggestion? Well, anyway, there isn't any in my house, so I'm safe. I can't wait to break into the spray paint. I have so many colors and a major urge to spray anything I can, it's bordering on obsessive. I suppose it's because it's something new I haven't tried before.

On another subject, I'm trying to decide when it's time to start getting up earlier again. School starts in two and half weeks. For everyone. Right now the kids are staying up an hour late (9 p.m.) and sleeping until 7:30 a.m. That's something I never thought would happen since they had always naturally awoken at just before sunrise (anywhere from 4 a.m. to 5:30 a.m.) I am loath to change this lovely sleeping in thing they have going, but the truth is that in about two weeks they will have to start getting up at 6:30 a.m. Do I just hold out until the last minute, letting them stay up late? Or do I start forcing an earlier bedtime in the hopes that they naturally adjust to waking earlier?

For myself, I am slowly forcing the getting up earlier route, but not adjusting my bedtime because no matter what I do I'm still a night-owl. It's a lot easier to work out early in the morning though. I keep forgetting how fast the time flies first thing in the morning, verses how much it drags on when I get to it later. It's literally the difference between feeling like I accomplished something, or torturing myself. I'm proud to say I got my run in early this morning, and I didn't have to stop once gasping for breath or passed out. Of course, I wasn't going my old interval speeds but hey... something to work back up to right?

The clouds are callin'!

Flattery Will End You

We did make it to the Fair yesterday. It was cloudy and chilly, but no rain, so we dressed in jeans with heavier clothes to spare and off we went... only to have it clear up completely and hit over 80 degrees plus. It wasn't supposed to clear and warm up. We didn't bring cooler clothes, just warmer clothes. I hate our weather man.

Still, sweating buckets or not, it was a beautiful day. The kids went on many rides, and I even went on one. It was called "Starship 2000" (AKA the Gravitron. These are not my pictures, but it's the same ride. I didn't bring my camera since it was supposed to be raining.)

I have thought of several more appropriate names for the ride since I got off of it.

The kids loved it. We were back for their second (or was it tenth?) ride on it when the operator motioned me onto the ride. I said "are you sure? I didn't buy a wrist band..." And he said "I'm a sucker for redheads, go ahead!"

And me, being flattered and stupid, got on.

All the info on the ride from multiple sources says it is 4Gs of force. You are spinning around on these sled things that move up the wall once you are going. I think my tonsils were in my eyeballs. I feel for the second operator inside though - he has to sit in the center of the thing, spinning without the force, but still spinning. What a horrid job.

As much fun as it was for the kids to watch people climbing up the walls and turning themselves upside down, or trying to lift their hands out from their bodies and feeling the blood rush backwards, I was having the horrible realization that I don't think I like spinning rides anymore.

I used to! I did! I was the spinning queen! Growing up, even though I have always had a horrible tendency towards motion sickness, I loved spinning rides. The Tilt-o-whirl and several others including one that spun and stuck you to the wall and then raised into the air (I forget the name of it) were my favorites. I went on them over and over, including one night before closing when I went on them back to back because no one was there. I never even got woozy. It wasn't just when I was a kid; even into my early 20's I loved them.

What's happened to me?

I still have the same level of motion sickness (whom ever said you "grow out of it" can kiss my toes.) But that wasn't a problem back then. It sure is now. Pretty quickly into the ride I realized that this did NOT feel good. Worse was the realization that our fair ride operators were those wonderful, kind souls who extend the ride time for the riders. Well beyond a normal ride. Years and years beyond. The information I found online said they recommend 80 second rides. There is NO WAY that ride was only 80 seconds. I'm thinking at least three times that long. Of course, when you are green around the gills, and your kneecaps are in your lungs, maybe it just feels that much longer.

I wobbled off the ride, gave what was probably a very watery smile at the operator outside who had let me on in the first place, and then dragged the kids to the nearest stall with water for sale and collapsed at the table with my eyeballs still waltzing in my head.

"Wanna go again Mommy?"

"no."

"But mommy wasn't that -"

"no"

"Mommy I-"

"no... *gasp* mommy... no... talk... now... shh. Here, ice cream. Shh."

"Oh wow, thanks Mommy! Didn't you say no ice cream or cotton candy though? I thought-"

"shh." must. make. world. stop. spinning. will. not. toss. my. cookies. dagnabbit.

Fortunately, I recovered enough to watch tractor pulls (what are the points of pulls?) and visit various stalls after Mr. Savy showed up. There is nothing quite so amusing as watching Mr. Savy lust after various power equipment and boats next to the knitting guild complete with actual alpacas standing with them donating for the sweaters. Mr. Savy still wants alpacas, but I just see it as a bad choice for us. They breed... constantly (think rabbits, but really, really big.) They are herd animals that must have company from each other or they don't do well. It just sounds like a recipe for disaster.

My daughter spent her allowance on buying her and I matching bracelets. I thought it was really sweet of her. All in all a nice, if woozy day for me.

Off Kilter

Well, I think