Another Example of How Dumb I Am

The past few days my car has had a faint strange odor. It almost smelled like a sewer, but a little more roadkill-like than that. I was wondering if I accidentally ran over a carcass in the road and sprayed juice up under my car. With spring upon us, there are a lot of dead animals on the road now. But the smell wasn’t outside the car at all. It was definitely inside.

Last night, the Hub backed the car into the garage and notified me of the increasing offensiveness of this smell. I went out to sniff for myself, and the odor was indeed even more aggressive than it was during my commute home that day. I began to wonder if a critter of some sort finagled its way into the car and had died there. I went out with a flashlight and did a thorough investigation, hoping it hadn’t managed to get in between the door panels or something.

I pinpointed the strongest concentration of the stench to be in the hatchback. Then it dawned on me. I’d gone to the grocery store on Sunday night. I must have missed a bag with some sort of perishable in it.

There, slipped behind the cargo net, I found it. A lone grocery bag, overlooked and forgotten. Do you want to know what was in there?

I couldn’t have left a $2 package of hot dogs or a $4 package of hamburger behind. I’d left the steaks.

Porterhouses.

Two of them.

How on God’s green earth did I not notice that they were missing when I put everything away?

Footnote: I don’t think I’ll be eating steak for a while. (shudder)

Mommy is a Big Fat Jerk

If you're checking in to see if I'm back to my deep, inspiring, reflective musings posts, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Maybe tomorrow I'll be feeling inspirational, but ...

I feel like a big jacka$$ today.

As I’ve mentioned before, Incrediboy is battling a virus that has a really nasty accompanying cough. Mornings are especially rough for the coughing. Yesterday morning as we were getting ready to leave for our day, he coughed so hard he spit up slimy orange juice all over the carpet and his clothes. So we had to clean that whole mess up and get changed before we could leave. Late. Urgh.

This morning he coughed up a big phlegm puddle again just as we were heading out the door. I’m absolutely exhausted from waking up every time he coughed the last couple nights and the whole thing just set me off today. I wasn’t mad at him, just mad, ya know? I mean our coats were on and everything and now I have to clean up lung puke. AGAIN. I practically screamed a chain of pseudo explicatives (and probably a few real ones too *blush* ), which scared Incrediboy into a crying fit.

After the second consecutive morning mop up, we got loaded in the car and arrived at Grandma’s house. Incrediboy was pretty quiet on the trip there and when I reached into the back seat to unload him, he looked at me and said, “I threw up.” I looked him over and didn’t see anything, and so I deduced, “Oh, you threw up at home?” He said, “Yeah …” He looked up at me with big sad eyes and and added in a very meek voice, “I’m sorry.”

Geez. He was apologizing for something he couldn’t even help, no doubt because of the Tourette’s tantrum I threw. I feel absolutely horrible.

This follows a bedtime offering the most scintillating moment in my life, as Incrediboy looked up at me from his nest of blankies and sleeping companions, and said for the first time, “I love you, Mommy”.

I am SO hating myself today.

Tidbit Shish Kabob

My life has been frantic lately, and laden with both blessings and frets. I’ve not had time nor presence of concentration to come up with any interesting topics, but I’ve missed blogging while I’ve been tending to other things here - so while I hope to be back to my regularly scheduled irregularites soon, today’s menu consists of tidbit shish kabob. Bon apetit!

Incrediboy has been sick. He’s had a horrible sounding, phlegm-bubbling, chest rattling cough and a low grade fever for a few days now. I took him to the doc and was relieved to learn that it’s just a minor virus and it looks and sounds a lot worse than it is. The downside is there’s nothing can be done to cure it – we just all have to wait it out. The best we can do is try to minimize his discomfort with a cough suppressant and analgesics. The poor dear isn’t in complete and utter misery but he doesn’t feel good in general and is clearly is not himself. He clings to us and whines quietly, pitifully – and all we can do is hug him and try to comfort him. My biggest fear now is that he’ll develop an ear infection, which is absolute hell for all of us. I try to prop him a bit when he’s sleeping, but he’s a roller, not staying in one position long. So, I pray for his little ears to defend themselves. It’s awful having your little one sick.

For all you thoughtful peeps who asked about it, the scrapbooking event went well. I didn’t get as much done as I’d hoped, but I did get a lot done, plus had some wonderfully lush gabby girl time with new and old local scrapping acquaintances – a real treat in my boy-filled life. I’ve mentioned before that I started a tradition of doing a year by year scrapbook of Incrediboy’s life & times for the grandmas for Mother’s Day – I seem to have had a hard time getting this year’s done, but I only have about 6 more layouts to go. I probably could have gotten it done long before now if I didn’t conjure up such complicated layouts … But that’s part of what’s so fun for me. The good news is once you get the first one the way you want it, the second one goes together in no time. Anyway, looks like I’ll make the holiday deadline after all.

Saturday’s gathering, a semi-annual event, helps raise money for Epidermolysis Bullosa (EB), a genetic skin disorder in which the epidermis lacks the ability to withstand any sort of friction, pressure, or adhesion without peeling away from the flesh in blisters and shreds. Children born with EB suffer perpetual burn-like wounds that must be cleaned and redressed daily. The condition also affects the esophagus, intestinal tract and even the eyes, and the constant opening and reopening of the flesh often leads to various physical deformities. It’s a heartbreaking condition for which there is no cure, nor method of remission.

Due to my fondness of events sponsored by this organization and my involvement with the local group as a scrapping enthusiast, I’ve gotten to know 2 fellow scrappers who have children with EB. Words cannot describe how much compassion I feel for what these children and their parents must endure every day, every moment with this disease. The daily pain is beyond my comprehension. Once you come face to face with something by knowing those who bear the burden … It’s near impossible to keep it at arm’s length.

I’ve been to previous events but somehow managed to distance myself from the cause enough to simply mind my own beeswax for the day. It got to me this time, though. I didn’t take much money with me Saturday, but I gave what I could. I didn’t even buy raffle tickets with it – I didn’t want anything for my donation. I just wanted to give. To help, somehow.

One of the many things my church does as outreach to the community is hosting a food pantry to help those in need, and I picked up a paper sack there on Sunday to fill and bring back with me next week. The church has a supply of paper grocery sacks to give to those who’d like to participate in stocking the food pantry, just as kind of a suggested donation size. Sunday evening I went grocery shopping and the store was holding a great sale. I picked up all kinds of things for the food drive and filled my sack for practically nothing. Funny thing is, rather than think about how much money I saved on the items, I wish I’d have used the savings to buy more to give now. Ironic since I’m such a stingy cheapo most of the time. God seems to have touched my heart with the desire for giving lately.

The other night MBDog curled up between the Hub and me, lying on his side, lanky limbs draped over me like half-assembled folding rulers. He tucked his velvety head under my chin and sighed deeply as he drifted asleep. I was totally uncomfortable. But I stayed this way, and woke up half crippled in the morning – for the simple reason that I love that my dog loves me so.

Other things that have made me very happy lately: The Hub recently surprised me with a night out at a dinner theater club we used to visit a lot before Incrediboy was born. It’s a rock and roll comedy sketch club, always a great time. After the constant scramble that life becomes, leaving little time just for the two of us, this impromptu night out was a welcome treat. My Hub’s a pretty special guy.

After out running around with his cousins one recent afternoon, Incrediboy came up to me and presented me proudly with a fist full of tiny wildflowers. “Here, Mommy!”, he said with a big beaming smile. It was my first Mommy bouquet. The prettiest bouquet I ever got.

For all its rubs, life is pretty great.

Urgh.

Work is crazy-busy. Home is crazy-busy. Incrediboy is sick. Momma and Daddy are exhausted. Feeling quite contorted here!

Hope to be back posting (and visiting around) again soon - Till then, just wanted to say hi and give proof of life over here. ... Hugs!

P.S. If you could use more laughter at someone else's expense, let me tell you that Incrediboy headbutted my face Sunday during a wrestling match, and I now have a really gross, festering busted lower lip. I look like I've been in a bar brawl and it hurts like crazy. Playing is dangerous work!

**ADDENDUM**: I've added a neat new link under Miscellany - Eagle Cam. Live feed of a nesting bald eagle. Check it out - it's cool. Special thanks to jgf for posting the link first.

Foul Mood Friday

I’m in a foul mood today.
You’ll be glad to know I’ll keep it to myself.

I'm going to an all-day scrapbooking gathering tomorrow (10am-10pm - woohoo!). I'm excited. It's great therapy for me to get lost in making an album. I hope you all have something fun slated as well.

If you need a good laugh at others' expense, here is a hilarious link I found on a blogroll somewhere. I laughed my head off. I'm sorry, I'm meaner than a rattlesnake when I'm in a bad mood. >:} ... I'll warn you that the text, though sparse, is peppered with pottymouth. But for those of you who find humor at the expense of others' stupidity (you know who you are, you naughty children!), check it out. Just take it with a grain of salt ... and a lemon wedge. ;)

Have a great weekend, and make sure your picture doesn't end up there on Monday.

The Canine Design

"It had been (my dog)'s job to raise me. All that time we had been having fun, going for walks, getting into trouble, being companions and friends in some great adventure. And I had spent so much time teaching him to sit, stay, lie down, roll over. But all along, he had been teaching me. It is the child that makes the man, and in this case it was a dog. All along it had been the dog doing the teaching, not me. How do you like that? And I love him for it ... and will for the rest of my life."

- Carlo De Vito

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Anyone who knows me, knows I love my dog to a ridiculous degree. He is my 4 footed son. I love dogs in general, and I firmly believe that anyone who doesn’t like dogs has a serious defect in their wiring.

Dog is God spelled backwards. Have you ever noticed? Probably a random coincidence of English language – as I’m sure this wouldn’t apply in all other tongues. But that is a delightful and poignant little thing to me. Dogs are uniquely special creatures, purposefully designed to hold a precious place in the hearts and lives of mankind. And as in all blessed relationships, the rewards outweigh the annoyances so greatly that the aggravations fade into the shadows before they even brand your heart with a grudge.

Having a dog in your life will award you with the world’s sweetest gifts and most understated lessons. As touched upon in the quote above, we have as much to be taught from them as they have from us, if not moreso. Most Beautiful Dog shows us every day that joy is not only simply found but so easily attainable. He is thrilled to see us whether we’ve been gone all day or only for a few moments behind the bathroom door. He is always up for romping and playing, and is never hesitant about showing his emotions honestly. He senses when we are sad, and responds with gentle quiet sympathy. He’s unpretentious and never puts on airs. And most importantly, if we are harsh with him, he doesn’t hold it against us – he immediately apologizes with a sorrowful gaze of his dazzling amber eyes, and then works on making friends again.

I wish I could be half the good person Most Beautiful Dog is. I try to follow his examples in my interactions with others, though I usually fall short.

Our biggest problem with Most Beautiful Dog is getting him to come when we call. We have taught him to sit, lie down, roll over, even “pray” - but can we teach him to come when we call? No-o-o-o-o! He doesn't come when we call. He only comes when he thinks what we’re doing right now is more exciting than what he's doing right now.

I’d love for MBDog to come when I call him. It’s recently occurred to me that maybe he’s teaching me another lesson. I don’t always listen to my Master, either.

Trimming the Fat

While lying on the back of your boat, in the middle of nowhere, under a canopy of stars, with a cooler of beverages close by and good friends on the next boat over ... you talk about a great many things that you never seem to get around to talking about in the real world.

One evening such as this in a cove filled with frog serenade, warm summer air, and inky black nightfall, some friends and the Hub and I watched for satellites and meteors. And one of us said, “If you had to whittle your life down to only a list of things that were absolutely essential to your happiness, what would that list contain?”

It’s a good question.

There is the “obvious” of course. Things so obvious that many take them for granted. Health. Family & Friends. You know, the typical clichés that are really far from cliché if you pause to think upon your own.

I’ve been thinking that question over once more as of late. I have been standing in the root cellar of my heart recently, looking around and realizing how much old junk is in here. Junk I don’t need, never use, and really don’t see having a use for again. Much of it I don’t even like anymore. Much is either outdated, outgrown, or not in good working order in general. Why is it even still here?

As I grow older, I am becoming simpler. I don’t mean mentally, though some may agree with that as well. ;) What I mean is I am very interested in getting back to basics. Return to an appreciation for what really matters, even to a point where nearly all the other stuff in life becomes subordinate. It may seem hypocritical to those who know me. We’re not millionaires, but we live a comfortable life. We own expensive toys and occasionally indulge in lavish vacations and live on more land than is really necessary. In turn, many would say, why shouldn’t I enjoy these things? I’ve worked hard for them, it’s my right. But I try to be more humble than that. I have been without these things before and very well could be again someday. But I know what’s really vital to my basic well being, and I can pretty much count them on one hand.

What really is important when you cut all the fat away? Not much. But what is, really is.

Take a look.

See what I mean?

Sit on It

Sometimes it would be really useful to go back in time and give the younger you a good talking to.

When I was in middle school, I desperately wanted to be liked. I didn’t care if I was super popular, I just wanted to have a nice group of friends and have most people in general like me. Well, it didn’t work out that way.

See, young teens, especially girls, can smell this desire on one of their own. If you look a certain way and act a certain way and have certain hobbies and wear certain clothes, you will be accepted. If not, you are an outcast. And if you’re really unlucky – say, you’re awkward, or have bad skin, or your mom buys you off brand clothes because your folks are trying to put your brother through college while still saving for your education as well – you become the target. There was a point in my life that I was teased and picked on mercilessly every day. And I never let them see me cry, but I did. I cried every day.

The Hub is a tough but wonderful man, who grew from a tough but wonderful boy. He’s told me that when kids picked on him, he fought back. Sometimes he got the crap kicked out of him, but he had earned respect from it. And when kids picked on someone else, he’d get after them, too. He stuck up for the underdogs. I wish I knew him then.

He has asked me in the past, why didn’t you fight back? To which I have no real answer. Mainly, I suppose, because I knew I had no chance against a whole group of girls. Boys fight more honorably than girls – when boys fight, the rest gather and watch. When girls fight, you go after one of them and the other twenty jump in and rip your hair out too. But honestly, I think I was just taken aback. I was a nice girl, raised in a Christian home. You were supposed to be nice to people, even if they were mean to you. Nobody told me about the part where it just gets worse and worse.

By the time I got to high school I had grown out of my ugly ducklingness, and had developed a really nasty attitude about a lot of things. With my boiling point reached and my new confrontational attitude locked and loaded, things were much different. I made friends in my new school. Not the kids I went to middle school with, but I didn’t care about them anymore. I had boyfriends, something they said would never happen to me, and I was part of a pack. I found my guts by then and told them all to kiss my a$$.

It wasn't until college that I finally began to learn how to let go of anger and become my own friend.

I’ve learned to pick my battles now. I’ve learned temperament and distinction between what really matters and what really doesn’t. I’ve thought many times about what I’d say to the younger me, could I cross back into past chapters of my life.

I have never quite definitively decided what I’d say, though. Nor if it would even make a difference.

THEISM: Deal or No Deal?

Kodijack has an interesting topic going on currently, regarding his views on various points of theism vs. atheism. It’s had me thinking, as it's a fascinating topic (I love to chew on this kind of stuff) and I have decided to set up a forum while I’m temporarily tied up with other items of life.

Here’s what I’m wondering:

If you believe in God/a higher power, exactly why do you believe? What is the personal epiphany you've had that has caused you to so greatly "walk in faith"?

If you do not believe, what then is the fulcrum for your balance of what is “right” and “wrong”? If there is no God/Divine Being to place the fingerprint of morality within humans, then how is any point of reference, anything other than arbitrary?

Please note: I am not equating "being religious" with "belief in God". While they can and do go hand in hand regularly, they are not the same. Just as one can go through dogmatic motion with a dead heart, so can one have true and pure belief and trust in a Holy Father without being confined by additional rituals laid out by man. I am also not saying that to not believe in a Supreme Force makes you morally or ethically wrong. I just wonder that if all is by chance, how can there be such an absolute? How can there be conscience without supernatural guidance?

We’re all friends here – let’s be respectful of each other. I’m just asking becasue I'm curious. You are welcome to post anonymously if you prefer, and if you feel your response would be too lengthy to post in a comment, I’d encourage you to maybe tackle it in the form of a post on your own blog. Just let me know if you go that route so I can come check it out ;). C'mon - this'll be fun!

I’ll be back hopefully soon. Until then, talk amongst yourselves.

Flashback Friday - A Plethora

Do you remember the concept of being blood brothers or blood sisters? This was very big when I was in grade school. In our inexperienced collection of ways to show particular loyalty and affection towards a friend, this was about the biggest thing you could do. You would cut your finger or prick it with a pin until you got it bleeding pretty good, and then you’d put it together with your friend’s bleeding finger. The idea was for their blood to flow into you and yours into them – bonding you forever as best friends.

A pretty revolting practice when you think about it, and something that I am sure would be immediately and urgently halted if kids were caught doing this today. But 30 years ago, hepatitis was unheard of and HIV wasn’t around, the disease bouquet we know now hadn't yet germinated ... We rode around without bicycle helmets and played with clackers and lawn jarts, too …

The seventies trifecta of concussions and bodily injury ... Good times …

I had 3 blood sisters. I don’t know what happened to any of them. So much for that.

I don’t know what made me think of that the other day. But there it was, and it triggered a lot of other long lost memories as well.

Remember when you used to hold dandelions under each other’s chins to see if you like butter or not? What kind of nonsense was that? Years later I learned in art class that this is merely a phenomenon called reflective color. Light rays absorb into an object, and those colors of the spectrum that you see and identifty to the item are the ones which are bounced back off the object. If you hold an object (such as, a dandelion) close enough to another surface (such as, a chin), you can often see the color reflected on to that as well. Hence, reflective color.

I know you’re thrilled. I’m just saying.

Regardless, according to our chins, we all liked butter back then - whether we did or not. And we never had any doubts about this highly scientific test.

There was also the dreaded sidewalk stamps. In my neighborhood, the contractor who poured the sidewalks placed a company stamp in the edge of every third or fourth scoreline or so. It was common knowledge that if you stepped on any of the squares with the stamp in it, you’d smell like fish for the rest of the day. Why fish, I don’t know. But it was a universal law.

After a while my brain started going to musical memories. Remember this guy, to the right? His name was Timer. Every Saturday morning between cartoon shows, he’d remind us that if our ten gallon hat feels five gallons flat and we seem a little weak in the knees, we could remedy that condition with a hunk of cheese. (“Look! A wagon wheel!”) He also showed us how easy it was to make sunshine on a stick by putting orange juice in an ice tray, covering it with cellophane, and carefully poking toothpicks through it. Freeze it for a few hours, and voila! A completely pain in the butt way to handle a popcicle. (My folks bought flat toothpicks, which always broke – leaving us with trying to eat the orange ice cube out of a cup and splintering up the roof of our mouths with the broken toothpick. That didn’t stop us from doing this little project a hundred times, though).

Of course, the king of all viewing when I was a kid was Schoolhouse Rock. How great were those things? We were learning grammar and history and science and government structure without even knowing it. And that stuff stuck, didn’t it? How many times have you sung, “I’m just a Bill,” and at least one other person chimes in with, “and I’m sittin’ here on Capital Hill!”?

Man I loved those. There were SO MANY classics! ...

Innnnnn-terjections show excitement or emotion ….

Conjunction Junction, what’s your function ….

3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 15 - 18 - 21 - 24 - 27 – 30 (football players with jerseys numbered as such crashing through the wall)

Wee the peeeeeee-pulllle, in order to form a more perfect uuunion …

Mother Necessity, where would we be? ….

He was a hairy bear, he was a scary bear …

Lolly Lolly Lolly get your adverbs here …

So everyone knows I get some pretty serious selective OCD, especially with music. Once a song’s in my head it stays in there for hours, even days, and makes me batty. Thought I’d share the sensation with you :). You know you’re going to be singing these songs all day now! If you have trouble remembering some of the lyrics, visit the Schoolhouse Rock Lyrics site, here.

Ah, memories!

If I don’t post again for a while, I wish you all a Happy and Blessed Easter. And if you get any Pop Rocks in your Easter basket, don’t drink any Coke or Pepsi with them. That’s what killed Mikey, you know.