Slowly...slowly...

This morning I laughed so hard I couldn't even breathe. I was snorting and wheezing. All because my son did a slow motion fall from the backseat of my car onto the driveway.

You should have seen the look on his face. With one butt cheek balanced precariously on the car's seat, he lost his balance and couldn't save himself, but his grasping hands and backpack made his fall slow and almost graceful.

From my spot in the front seat, I was the only one who could see him, but I couldn't possibly save him. So I just watched. And he narrated.

"Whoa...

I'm falling...

slowly...

slowly..."

And then from his ass on the pavement, "My slowness saved me."

I don't know why I find this so hilarious. But even now I can't think about it without cracking up.

Sometimes it is the little damn things.

"Slowly...

slowly..."

Crack my ass up!

Hot Boy

I think, every once in a while for parents it just hits you that your kids are growing up. And I love that. I love every second of it.

This weekend we went to a violin workshop. After the play in (an informal concert where anyone who can play the chosen song just gets up and plays) my daughter asked me if I had seen the boy on the end.

"He was so hot," she said.

Now there is a sentence I've never heard her utter before. She's liked boys before, but usually boys she's known for years and who are nice to her in some way. This was the first time she had signaled one out on looks alone.

But I was a bit worried. If I recalled correctly, the boy on the end was about 17 or 18, had a shaved head, goatee and tattoos. If her taste is swinging that way, I should probably put my husband in anger management classes now.

So at the last concert I asked her to point out this "hot" boy to me.

She pointed out the most angelic, baby-faced twelve-year-old ever to grace the Earth. He was actually very cute, almost pretty. And I breathed a huge sigh of relief!

You know, I was thinking about it. She's never gotten into actors or singers before. She scoffs at all things Jonas. But she has had what one might consider "celebrity crushes" on violinists she's seen perform live.

She's actually gotten to have master classes with a couple of those violinists. For her that would be like having a singing lesson with Justin B-whatever-his-name-is. Except these guys really can play the violin.

Ultimately, I'm glad she's comfortable enough with me to share her "hot" ratings. And I'm even more grateful she doesn't share my taste in men.

Careful What You Wish For

I have a kinda-sorta secret and it is driving me nutso. I'm not good at keeping secrets. I'm just too damn honest. Besides, it is a kinda-sorta secret that my husband and I share and want to talk about sometimes. And occasionally we blurt.

In fact, my mom figured out our kinda-sorta secret by overhearing something completely innocuous that I said when she was two rooms away.

My husband is deploying again.

We've been expecting it because he is long overdue. We were just hoping that we wouldn't get just a couple of weeks notice again like we did when he went to Iraq.

So now the opposite is happening. He is going to that other desert place next September. That's the longest lead time we have ever had before a deployment. Or a move, or anything!

And it's actually made things harder, I swear.

He still has a bunch of training he needs to do this summer, so he'll be gone half of June, half of July and some of August. But he doesn't know exactly when he's leaving yet so he doesn't want to tell the kids.

Plus, three (to six) months is a long time for them to be stressed about Daddy leaving. It just feels like it is too early to tell them. So we have to be careful what we say.

I hate that. They're smart enough to figure out that something is up anyway. They've been through this four times before. They know the signs. It feels like it is against our value system to withhold information from them. We're walking a line here.

But also, my husband doesn't want to tell his mother yet. He just doesn't want to deal with her worry. I think it is...funny, or maybe weird that he is more worried about telling her than he was about telling me.

So, I can't really tell anyone. (Except the blog-o-sphere) I'm not really worried or stressed yet. But occasionally I do think Oh man! Soon I'll be doing this all alone again.

If it is even possible, I am now even more grateful for the way our life has settled this year. And that I turned down that symphony job. And that I am slowly but surely making some friends here.

Ah, sigh. My warrior is heading back to be a warrior again. Sixth grade and third grade will forever be remembered as years when Daddy was gone. And I'll start sleeping diagonally across our bed again before too long.

Unplugged Six Years In

Given how little I have been writing lately, you'd be forgiven for thinking that I just don't have anything interesting going on. You'd be right, and you'd be forgiven.

I don't know. I've actually had plenty of things going on but I find myself drawing into myself more and more lately. I'm just not feeling the need to share.

I've been simplifying my life more and more. Which has been great. But it means that I talk to less and less people. And I'm okay with that. For now.

During the first week of March, my kids were on Spring Break. I'm not sure how it happened, but my father somehow used his impending blindness to guilt me into letting my parents take my kids for the week.

So my husband and I were going to maybe take a trip or spend the week at home remodeling the bathroom. But he ended up going TDY (and not inviting me along...pout) so I spent an entire week home alone doing absolutely nothing.

It was heaven.

Okay, actually I took a couple of days to Spring clean, but I spent the rest of the week reading and watching Bones and Spartacus, Blood and Sand.

I had intended to blog every day, since I was alone and all that, but I ended up barely going online at all.

I find myself being more and more resentful of technology and its ability to keep us absolutely connected and available all the damn time.

Sometimes I worry that I'm going to be one of those old widows who lives alone in a house filled with crap and never goes outside. I can envision it too easily. I'll never wash my hair and I'll re-read the same dozen books over and over and watch handsome men on television all day long.

I'm going to have to get a boyfriend in my old age.

And on that note, I just realized...today my blog turns six-years-old. If it was a kid it would be in Kindergarten. Holy heck!

Mighty Aphrodite

My kids are both obsessed with Greek mythology right now. My daughter is obsessed with the Percy Jackson books and my son just completed a really in depth and creative unit of study on ancient Greece at school.

It's almost scary how much they know.

So they like to talk about the gods. A lot.

Last night in the car they were trying to pick what god was most like each family member. After debated for a while I decided to try and make them laugh.

"Well, I think I'm most like Aphrodite!" I announced.

I got three vastly different yet simultaneous reactions.

My husband rolled his eyes at me. (He doesn't think I'm funny.)

My daughter yelled out, "No way! You're not self conscience about your looks. You don't care about appearances at all!" (I'm kind of glad she noticed.)

And my son said with much relief, "That's right! Because you're so beautiful."

Guess which one of them gets clean laundry, extra helpings of dessert and help cleaning his room.

When I Grow Up

If I had life to do all over again, I think I would become an orthodontist.

I had a consultation with my son's orthodontist this week and I found it absolutely fascinating. He's a very interesting guy anyway*, and I think he kind of likes me and the kids, so he took a long time to show me how they figure out all this ortho stuff. It was all angles and time lines and math and pretty pictures.

Fascinating.

Besides, what better job could there be than to help people smile and laugh and talk and eat without feeling pain or self-conscience?

(Okay, I'm sure there are more noble jobs, but they all sound hard.)

A friend of ours who was an ER doctor (who left the hospital to start a fat clinic, by the way) always tells his son, "Become an orthodontist, not a doctor. You'll make all of the money with half the work and stress."

That sounds good to me. Tuna Boy thinks it sounds good too. Now he's thinking he'll have something to fall back on if his Hollywood stardom should fall through.

*****

*Here are some other reasons I find the orthodontist "interesting":

1) He highly approves of my son's name. It is his own son's name and he likes to go on about what a great name it is. So, he has good taste.

2) He showed me charts of my child's perceived beauty. Apparently, his facial features are symmetrical and his profile is "classic" which equals a "very attractive" face. So, the orthodontist has quantified the superiority of our genes. That's always a good trait in a person.

3) I've never known an orthodontist who didn't own a yacht. Yachts are cool.

Planning Ahead

Last night my husband asked me, "What would you like...(long pause)...for Valentine's Day?"

I thought he might be asking about what I wanted for my birthday at first. For that I had a prepared answer. But for Valentine's Day?

"I don't know. Actually, flowers or candy would be nice."

See. I'm easy.

Then I asked him, "What would you like?"

What am I? Stupid?

What a pointless question to ask a man. I know what he wants.

Sex.

A blow job.

More sex.

Sex with accouterments.

A little more sex.

And sleep.

But, that sounds like a lot of work to me.

I'm baking him brownies.

He likes brownies.

Preventing Infection

You know when you have a small cut, or a bit of a scratch, like scraped knees or over-itched skin?

You know how it hurts, but not too bad? It's just an annoyance.

Until you decide that you should do the right thing, the smart thing, and clean that wound with soap?

And then it burns like a fucker?

That's what my life has been like this last month.

Most things are fine. Great even. But there have been, as there always are, a few small annoyances.

Until I tried to do the right thing, the smart thing, and deal with those annoyances in an adult, straight-forward manner.

And, man, has it burned.

It's interesting though, at least to me, how these burns have affected me. I am actually more grateful and thankful for my life than ever before.

I've had a hard time dealing with people lately. Because people are stupid, mean, or petty. And I'm not.

People bounce checks to me and I'm just glad that I don't have to worry about money like they do. People are rude and I'm just glad that I have a reputation of being polite. (In real life, anyway. I get all of my rudeness out here.) People are turning their children into little shit losers and I'm just glad that I'm not.

I've got love, security, loyalty, happiness and family. And I'm learning that most people don't. Who knew? But more, I'm learning that some people who have all of those things still somehow manage to rip the misery from the jaws of joy. They revel in nastiness.

I'm not going to let people infect me with their nastiness. Uh uh. Not me.

I'm getting some hurt-free Neosporin and a Band-aid, baby! I know where the good people are. And I'm sticking with them.

What I Learned in the Boys' Locker Room

Somewhere along the line, I left behind the Teddy Bear Relay races and preschool craft parties. Now when I volunteer at school, I do things like walk the kids to the pool for swimming and supervise the locker room as they change in and out of their swimsuits.

Have I mentioned that my sons' class is all boys? Our school separates the boys and girls in class until the fifth grade. I believe it is a leftover tradition from the year when the original boys' academy merged with the girls' day school.

(Don't worry for Tuna Boy, though. Girls still have crushes on him.)

I have learned a great deal about boys volunteering in this way.

Mostly I've learned that I know nothing about boys.

Nothing.

Would you believe that a handful of them go commando every day? Did you know that their private parts (and whether or not someone has hit them in their private parts) are their favorite topics of discussion? Did you know that it is really, really important to be the first one out of the locker room and the first one in line? Did you know that "cutting" is the ultimate evil?

And did you know that just one kid can get the others all riled up singing "Pants on the Ground" and make the entire class late for lunch?

I didn't know any of this. My son never talks about his private parts, unless he's having a real issue. He'll never be first in line because he's too damn slow (and doesn't care anyway). And he hasn't the slightest clue what this whole "Pants on the Ground" thing is about.

He does go commando sometimes, though. But only because he's too lazy to find clean underwear and too fastidious to wear dirty underwear.

I guess I should count my blessings.

Flat is Best

My son turned eight last month.

Eight.

I have a ten-year-old and an eight-year-old. I'm not quite sure how that happened. (Yet, 36 still sounds so young to me. I feel young, at least.)

I am finally starting to see my son as a boy, as opposed to a little boy. He is, very suddenly, a boy. I've sort of been waiting for it to happen--the change in my perception, I mean. I've been watching him grow taller and listening to his speech finally mature.

And I've been really hearing what he is saying. He is so damn funny. He's always had a sophisticated sense of humor for his age. Now I wonder if he really will become an actor or performer of some kind. He just has the best delivery.

His world has become very boy-centric lately. He's old enough now that his sports teams are made up of all boys. And his class at school is all boys.

There are still girls who like him though. He has always been popular with girls. I think it is because he's nice but not wimpy. And he makes them laugh. (Isn't that every girl's dream man?) His big, beautiful eyes might have something to do with it too. (After all, those same eyes helped me fall for his father.)

But he's thinking that he might not get married. Girls, in his opinion, are too much work. They like stuff like hair, clothes, Kids' Bop and Bumpits.

My son hates Bumpits with a passion. They represent all that is evil and wrong with the world. He implores his sister and I to never use Bumpits. I'm not sure he'd love me anymore if I did.

You know, he is the first person to tell me, his sister, grandmother or teachers that we look pretty. But he thinks "flat" hair is prettiest.

In fact, he finally decided, after much deliberation, that he might marry a girl, if she were nice and fun.

And didn't wear Bumpits.

This pleases me immensely. I think I might have a chance at having a daughter-in-law I can stand after all.

Sticking with the Bon Bons

I got the job.

I turned them down.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Or, well, you know...not so much beautiful as spoiled.

The whole experience really put things into perspective for me. My husband and I talked some big stuff out and made choices that are really the best for everyone. Including me.

As my husband put it, "We don't need the money so you should only do something you really want to do. As much as I complain about my job, and as much as it totally sucks sometimes, I love it. It is my calling. What's your calling, honey?"

I only have one simple answer to that.

Motherhood.

So, I'm happy and I feel like celebrating. I feel very liberated. Except, I really think I pissed off the girl who interviewed me and offered me the job. It was a very awkward conversation.

But it's done and over, and I remain free. Free to be at the kids' school for two meetings this week and every day for two weeks to help with swimming and for the Greek festival next week and the concert the week after that...

And you see where I'm going with this.

I have to say, I love my damn life. And my future as a Lady Who Lunches is secure. Anyone want to meet me for martinis and bon bons?

Interview with Generation Y

Once I had an interview for a marketing internship position that didn't really exist. My professor got me in the door by insisting to the marketing director (a woman he barely knew) that I was the best marketing writer she'd ever see and she'd be crazy not to interview me.

No pressure though.

So I walked in, nervous but confident. She didn't even shake my hand. She looked up at me, narrowed her eyes, tossed a legal pad at me and said, "So I hear you can write. So write something." And left me alone.

Today was like that.

I'm not sure what I was expecting but it has been a long time since I had an interview. I didn't expect to be asked so many blind, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" or, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" type questions.

The majority of interviews I've had, especially for jobs I actually got, mostly consisted of the interviewers trying to sell me on their organizations.

I think I did okay. But they surprised me at the end. They had a computer test for me to complete. I had to do a Word letter, an Excel spreadsheet, a Mail merge and a Word table all on a version of Office that probably came out back when I was working in the corporate world many moons ago. (Seriously. Was there an Office '95 version?)

It was much more of a corporate cubicle farm than I expected. And my potential boss is about six months pregnant. They want me to fit 20 hours a week between 9 and 5.

I'd be making about $300 a week which hardly seems worth it. But my biggest problem would be the summer schedule. The kids' school day camp would cost me about $500 a week. I'd be in the red.

I have a lot to think about. I guess if nothing else, this was a good chance to dress up and go speak to some adults (albeit adults much younger than me) in a professional manner. If I get the offer, at least I know I still have the ability to rock out a job interview.

And if not, well, then I'm off the damn hook.

I Told Myself So

Guess who has a job interview on Thursday.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don't have anything to wear!

I haven't had a boss or a dress code since the 90's!

I don't even know if I want to do this!

My husband thinks I'm nervous because I don't see that I'm perfect for the job and that they'd be lucky to have me. He mistakes me for someone without a huge ego.

My fear isn't that they won't like me. My fear is that they will! And then I'm really going to have to make a decision about what I want.

Scary.

Wrapping Up Another One

I'm sitting here in my living room this New Year's Eve doing something I haven't done since college. I'm typing on my own computer!

Since we first got married and pooled our money to pay for a "refurbished" piece of crap desktop computer, I have been sharing. With my husband, with my kids, briefly with my parents. Having my own computer seems absolutely decedent and...liberating!

My husband bought me a very cute HP Mini for Christmas. So far, I am loving it. It is so light and has as much (actually more) power and memory than my husband's laptop. He keeps finding more and more ways to get me to write my book.

Speaking of writing, I have done little of it of late. This last month has been, well, just weird. I'm not even sure how to describe it. I have been very withdrawn from the world, but in a very nice way. I'm not depressed or sad or anything. I've just been in my own little world, taking care of my little family, reading and thinking. A lot.

2010 has the potential to be a very dynamic year for us. Or it could be business as usual. I'm just not sure.

I have been looking for a job. Job searching sucks, by the way. I'm not just looking for something to make money or fill time. I want a writing job or a part time job that actually sparks my interest. Frankly, I don't want life to change for my kids in the least. If I can't do a job while they're in school, I won't do it. and since I don't want to pour coffee or sell anything, it's been a challenge.

Three months later I've found exactly one prospect.

I've applied for a part time job in the development office of our local symphony. I think I would be a perfect fit for this job, but now it is up to the symphony folks to realize it too. I'm hoping that the fact that we've been subscribers and donors since we've moved here will help my case.

If I get this job, 2010 will be vastly different, especially with a deployment looming in May.

If I don't get it, I think I'm going to stop looking for a while. I certainly have plenty of things to do that I won't get paid for.

So I am looking forward to the new year with hope and excitement. It's funny, it seems like so many of my friends have hated 2009. even my horoscope mentioned how awful my last two years have been. (So does my husband's and my son's.) But I found 2009 to be, well, perfectly fine. 2009 is the year I got my kids settled in an awesome school It doesn't take much else to make me happy.

This year I resolve only to bring more love to my house on a daily basis, no matter what it takes or how much I have to bite my lip.

I hope you have a love-filled 2010 too.

Chemical Imbalance

I am in an excessively bad mood today. Seriously, I am unreasonably angry and annoyed. At everything. And more to the point, everyone.

I know it is hormonal. And so I thought that the knowledge of the reason for my horrible mood would help me lessen its impact.

I even said it out loud to my empty house before I picked the kids up. "Knowing that your bad mood is just hormones, you can control it."

Bullshit.

Bullshit!

It doesn't help that most people are stupid or rude or mean or some combination of the three. It also doesn't help that the garage is such a freaking mess that I can't find what I need. It also doesn't help that my usually responsible child is trying to take shortcuts with his homework.

My husband should be very glad he's a bunch of states away today.

Not even the King-sized Snickers is helping. That's what I call a lost cause.

So, I've been thinking...

There are three little words that when spoken by my darling husband strike fear into the very core of my being.

"I've been thinking..."

I can only reply in one simple way.

"Uh, oh."

So, he has come up with some variations on the theme like...

"I have an idea."

The other day he hit me with a "So, I've been thinking and I have an idea."

That deserves more than an "uh, oh". That deserves an "Oh, shit!"

And what was his idea?

*shaking my head*

You know, I love that man. I love that even though in the twenty years that he's known me, I have never been successful at anything even remotely career related, he still thinks that I can do anything.

Sure, I've managed to keep two kids alive and plump (and not disturbingly messed up) for a number of years. And even I'll admit that I was a very good student once upon a time. But when it comes to jobs or work, I suck.

But he still believes that I can do anything. Anything! Really. Like...anything.

His brilliant idea is that I should start my own business. He thinks I should start a marketing firm. He even did a bunch of research to get me started.

Never mind that my fifteen year old degree in marketing is next to worthless now. I mean, think about it. The Internet hadn't even really gotten off the ground back then. But I don't even want to run a marketing firm.

Generating clients and pitching marketing plans is the very last thing in the world I want to do right now. That would involve actually talking to strangers.

That husband of mine has had a lot of "uh, oh" ideas over the years. He's thought of everything from planting a garden to having a baby. But his ideas--the things that he thinks I can do, and the things that he thinks we can do together--they're one of the reasons why I love him.

Light Dawns on Marble Head

My daughter wrote a letter to Santa with a wish list. It's all American Girl stuff, which she assures Santa is her favorite. She even starred the things she wants most.

Then she left her letter taped to my computer monitor.

Me thinks the child has finally figured something out.

At least I don't have to steal the letter from under her pillow anymore.

Cookies Fix Everything

Note to self:

Hey, crazy! There are people out there with real problems. Now quit your bitchin' and go shave your legs.

And make a dentist appointment.

And eat a cookie.

All the best,

Me

Just call me Nelly!

Like 99.9% of the people on the planet, I care too much about what others think of me.

I think that's why I'm so very shy. I know that first impressions are everything, and I dread having to make one at all. (We have talked about my fear of failure before, right?)

This fall I decided, shyness be damned, I was going to go out and do something I've been wanting to do for years. So I started taking piano lessons.

It's been going pretty well. I'm learning a great deal about myself, things I should have known a long, long time ago but that I've likely been ignoring in order to live with some illusion of coolness.

Lets' see. Like, for example, I'm a complete nut ball. I like to do things perfectly right from the beginning. I hate to not be the best at something. I think way too much. And...oh! My fingers like to stick out at odd angles like I'm forever clutching a tea cup before the queen.

Yesterday at my lesson, I was feeling strangely nervous. I don't know why. Possibly with our Nor'Easter, my husband being off work, the kids being off school, and my cleaning frenzy to prepare for our home concert, I didn't feel prepared for my lesson.

Now, my teacher is a very nice guy. He's primarily a jazz pianist, but he's the music director at his church too. (He inadvertently made me admit that I don't go to church last week. I wonder if he hates me now.)

He's never been anything but positive and constructive, yet I worry.

When I flub the music all up, I don't want him to think I'm not practicing. I don't want him to think that I'm wasting his time. I don't want him to think I don't respect him as a teacher.

My husband tells me I'm nuts. He says that I pay for the time, it's mine to do with as I please. Cynic that he is, he says that my teacher really only wants to get paid. As long as my check clears, he doesn't care about anything else.

But I think my teacher likes me. We laugh a lot. He's got me playing music I have no business playing after only two months.

But yesterday, as I flexed my fingers to get ready to play, I had to stop and look at him.

"I'm nervous today" I told him. "I don't know why."

"I can tell," he told me. "I'm the most laid back guy around! You don't need to be nervous. But let's warm up with some scales."

So then halfway through the lesson, when I finished up a song I thought I had done pretty well on, he remarked, "Yeah. It's hard to play when you're nervous."

What the...? Do I suck that bad?

He went on to tell me that the first time he met me he could tell that I was a really nervous person.

"I made a note to myself to be as calming and encouraging as I could," he told me.

Seriously? I'm a person that people have to treat with kid gloves? Seriously!

I made a great first impression. And now I won't believe anything positive that comes out of that man's mouth.

Here I was thinking that I'm all strong and courageous, and shy for sure, but gregarious and confident for all that.

Apparently I was wrong.

I feel like I should have just stayed home and never tried something new. I'm embarrassed. And while I sat before my teacher and felt my face flame with a hot blush, I was mortified.

This has affected me more than I like to admit. Probably because I'm such a weak, nervous Nelly.

I won't quit because we all know how bad I am at that, but I am starting to fantasize about the day the kids get out of school when I can tell him that I won't be able to take lessons over the summer because I don't have a sitter.

I've decided to start my own practice challenge. I have next week off because of Thanksgiving, so I am challenging myself to practice every single exercise and song, every day for two weeks. My plan is to be so comfortable with my music that I couldn't possibly be nervous.

There is nothing worse than people who reflect our true selves back at us. Illusions are so very comfortable. They don't make me nervous at all.

Energy to Nest

Have you ever wanted to have sex really bad? I mean really bad. Bad enough that you kept thinking about it at inopportune times? But, you were so bone-deep weary and tired that you just couldn't make it happen?

Yeah. That's how I feel about blogging right now.

I've had tons of things to talk about and keep composing posts in my head, but I just haven't had the time or energy.

I have been in a major nesting mode lately. My husband took a few days off of work and we finally, finally, finally got this house decorated. Or at least the ground floor of it, anyway.

I can't tell you how happy this makes me!

It's about time. We got a new chandelier to replace the 1990's brass monstrosity that we've been pretending isn't actually hanging in our faces for a year and a half. We replaced kitchen cabinet knobs and door knobs. We hung pictures and curtains.

This all makes me unaccountably joyful!

I guess I just needed an impetus.

A few months ago I volunteered to host a home concert for our teacher's violin studio. I did it purposefully knowing that it would finally push me to make the house presentable. I guess it worked.

As it turned out, we had to host two back-to-back concerts because our teacher has so many students this year.

I was nervous about the whole thing, but it was a blast. I even had fun moving out our furniture to set up the stage and chairs. Oh, and my piano was extremely happy to be played by the professional accompanist we hired. She was awesome.

The design of our house does lend itself well to a concert setting. I have a feeling will be hosting a few more concerts in the years to come.

Now, there. I did it. I blogged something.

Now if I can just get myself to seduce my husband (when he gets home from D.C. this weekend) I'll really be getting somewhere.

In the meantime, enjoy some pictures.