My Week In A Nutshell

Has looked pretty much something like this - or some similar variation.....

Yes, I've plopped my kids in front of the TV ALL damned week. At least it was Foster's for much of the week. However, what's the deal Cartoon Network?? During the whole month of March, during Foster's evening time slot....MOVIES!?!? I guess it means I'll have to run out and buy the 1st Season on DVD to get me through the month. Or I need to grow up and get a new obsession. But it's just so damned funny.

During this particular viewing, I was cracking up.....First of all, it's a funny episode. But Coco, who only speaks using "co" for each syllable, if you're not schooled in Foster's, was freaking out about that pink elephant. By that point Grace was sitting on the floor. And from the floor, I hear....

Coco, co co co!!!

This is Coco.

Dear lord. My daughter is speaking Cocoese. In perfect pitch, syntax, symnatics and intonation. Hilarious.

Grace Is As Grace Does

For those less observant readers, this week has been really rough. I have woken up everyday thinking this is the day that Grace & I will start to feel better. But no. Not just yet. I'm at the stage where, when I bend over, my eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my skull and land on the floor like 2 splattered egg yolks. And when I stand up, my wish is that the top of my skull does finally explode - just so some of the pressure would be alleviated.
But I'm not whining.

Our days have been filled with sleeping in that deep sleep that only a sick person can sleep. Waking up to that sweet little tickle in our dry, scratchy throats, easing that tickle, then crawling back into bed for another sick nap. We're wearing disgusting, dirty pajamas. Our hair is standing up at all sorts of weird, greasy angles. It's just boooootiful.
But really, in this sick haze I had something happen that I've been clinging to. I've had this experience that I want to make into a really beautiful post. Whether or not I can accomplish the really beautiful post part, I'm not so sure. But I'll share this little moment of sweet, sweet love.

During one of our sick naps, Gracie & I were sleeping in my bed. I guess at some point, she had awoken while I slumbered on. I was in this black, floating, sleepy abyss. No dreams. No sounds. Just sleep.
But then there was something.
And then again.
And yet again.
This light, gentle sweep - a tender brush of skin.
I lay very still, processing where I am and who is next to me.
Through the thin slits of my eyelids, I see my daughter. Resting on one hand and leaning over me.
With her tender little toddler-girl fingers, she is caressing my hair.
In the most feminine fashion, she rubs my shoulder.
Then moves back up to my hair.
She is caring for me in a way that paralyzed me with so many emotions.

I instantly got a smile on my face. Watching her as she did this. In the most quiet, loving way.
Then my heart swelled up at how pure my daughter is. How sweet of spirit she truly is.
And then I was afraid to move. I didn't want this intimate, tender moment to end.

Being the smart girl that she is, she realized I was awake. And like a bubble on a blade of grass the moment burst into thin air. There was left nothing but the feeling. The knowledge that it had happened.

It made me think back to how incredibly devastated I was when I found out I was pregnant a 2nd time. And just how devastated I was by the results of my ultrasound. See here how the lack of a pronounced penis is not evident? I do not have a good view, but if I were to bet, I'd say you're having a girl.

Oh, shit.

I had flashes of princess-stuff (oh dear god, how I hate that shit).
Absolutely, under no circumstances are you to buy us anything with the words/images of a princess, tiara or any such nonsense. Thank You!

I began to panic as I saw millions of frilly dresses, patent leather shoes, frilly socks, laced-bottomed what-nots, and faux fur embellished shirts. Ick.

I began to panic when I thought of the disconnect in my own relationship with my mother. How time has healed things over, but it's not the relationship that we both might have wanted over the years. How was I supposed to form a relationship with a daughter when I haven't been properly shown how to do so?

I relaxed a bit when my dad was ecstatic at the idea of not only another grandchild, but...
a granddaughter.
(Dad, I expected more out of you, really.)

I mean Easy-Bake Ovens. The very thought grosses me out.
Barbies. By their very nature make me want to hurl. I mean, I used to chew the feet of the two I happened to have, for cripes sakes.

I thought I had taken the time to get all prepared. My daughter can wear purple and pink...but other colors as well. She'll enjoy dirt and heavy-equipment (tractors, motorcycles, etc). The whole princess thing? Not here.

But then, she came. And I wondered how I ever had such dire thoughts about having a daughter.

And all of those things are true. She's a girl. I've managed to keep the whole princess thing at bay. She hasn't yet discovered that she can't live without Barbie. She enjoys being dirty and even tractors. When she sees Darth Vader or R2D2 she says, Ooh, Look! Star Wars!

But nothing could have prepared me for what, people like my dad, already knew.

The sweetness. The ability to look at you and melt you like a chocolate bar on a hot, summer day. The propensity to make you feel adored in a way that you've never felt before. The hugs and the squeals and the giggles that can only be so sweet coming from your own little girl.

The way in which she can be so good to me. She sits so patiently in the bathroom while I'm showering chattering away, asking me to sing songs. And as soon as I turn the water off, she's standing there, with my hair towel in her hand and a big smile on her face.

She gives without realizing that it could be painful.

People keep saying to me that I'll eventually lose her. That my time with her will be up soon and it will all be about Daddy.

On days when I'm exasperated by the close proximity of a needy individual whose whole world is wrapped up in me and only me - that is comforting news.

But the rest of the time, it is news that brings me to my knees.

Living More By Living With A Little Less

I took Jess' advice, and have started reading "Middlesex". I had to put Barack Obama in the bathroom book bin for now. I'm not in a clear enough state of mind to really give that book it's fair shake.

I'm in the very beginning stages of the book and I'm already enthralled as to where this thing is going to proceed. And it just so happens that the chapters I have just finished have coincided with something that has been rattling around this noggin of mine. I'm going to attempt to tackle this in a somewhat clear, lucid manner. We'll see how it goes.

This thought started the other day when talking to a friend of mine about the people that she services at the preschool that she owns. The preschool that Gracie attends. The preschool that I previously worked at. In fact, think for a second what I'm saying.....preschool. It operates for 3 1/2 hours a day. That's it. This is not a daycare. It's a preschool. A preschool where 98% of the mothers are stay at home moms. Stay at home moms that have bodies I would die to have. Dress like they have no budget. Stay at home moms who drive vehicles that most P.I.M.P.'s would love to own. Homes that probably would take Rav's whole monthly salary to heat in the winter.

That being said, the fact that my friend, who owns the preschool is my BFF, the Godmother to my two babes, my kid goes for free. Aaannnywaaayyy.....

We got to discussing how they appear to take their circumstances for granted. How they are lucky that they get to stay home, to be so fortunate to have all that they have. To which I replied, Well, then, how can one really be grateful? How does one truly act that way? What is it that sets this person apart as being grateful, but another not so much? To which she replied, Well, I think of you I guess. You and Rav are struggling. You don't have a lot for extras. But you are always there to help someone out. You give whatever it is you have. (Jen, if I'm not mistaken, you were tackling this same question a few weeks or more back?) This made me feel embarrassed. But coming from the person I admire so for her giving spirit, her large heart, I took this as a supreme compliment. Granted that, I can always find ways to do more, I do donate to different causes. But seriously, this post is not intended to pat myself on the back....I'm going somewhere with this.

The other day, I was listening to the latest Dixie Chicks album that I just downloaded. And I listened to their song called "I Hope". At one point, the lyrics stating something about 'having more than you could possibly need...'. And this got me thinking back to the original thought..

And today, I'm reading "Middlesex" and these first few chapters being about refugees, fleeing a country with so much death, disaster, and fire. And this thought added to the ones before it.....

I got to thinking about my own grandparents. How hard they worked. How little they had. I got to thinking about my grandparents, and their 6 kids (one of those kids, my mother) living in a 3 bedroom house. A small 3 bedroom house. But does that need to be said? Most 3 bedroom houses are relatively small.....

I got to thinking about the house I currently reside in. 3 bedrooms. And no damned storage space. Barely enough closet space.

People then, Back then did not own the amount of things we find ourselves owning in today's times. They weren't concerned with "things".
I had to do a little research on poverty in America. And what I read was pretty interesting. If you think about poor people in America. Just the average working poor person. And much to my surprise, we don't fall into the "poor" category. But anyway....the average poor home has at least one TV. Quite possibly, a computer. A car. Possibly two.

I think of what people did during WWII, The Great Depression. The struggles.
Like most things, it is what you make of it. What you walk away with on the inside. What you do while you're in it.

I think back to what it was like to be so poor growing up. The things we did without. Eating at my grandmother's house every day. Thinking back to how broken everything seemed to be. How broken everything was. A broken family, a broken mom, a broken kid, a broken car, a broke bank account, broken heaters in broken apartments. Being sent to bed early in your mom's broken bed wearing your coat and hat and mittens. Being sent to bed early because you had so much body heat, you warmed the bed for your mom by the time she wearily crawled into it.
Those broken times made the times I have now with my kids a little sweeter.

Rav & I struggle. Our bank account isn't setting the world on fire. We have it a tad bit better than I did when I was growing up. And my growing up certainly wasn't the worst there was. But it made me who I am today. Those times were times I buried myself in books, in music, in school, in thinking.

I came to the realization that we don't need so much. We may want it. But we don't need it.
I have come to the realization that older generations that have come before me are strong, and colorful, and wise because of struggles. Because of their hard work. Because things weren't easy.
It seems that so many people out there think that they are exempt from a struggle. That everything should be so damned easy. And for some, they somehow miss the struggles. And everything is easy.
But they are at a disadvantage, I think.

I'm not saying struggling means that you need to have a down-trodden attitude. It doesn't mean that you can't be happy. It just means that when you step out of the big mug puddle and are met by another one that is a tad bit smaller, you know that you'll be alright.

I don't know. I may not even be making the point I want to make. I think the point I'm trying to make is: It's OK that neither of our vehicles have DVD players in them. It's OK that "I don't hope for more than I could possibly need or use". All I want is to wake up to my Rav every morning. I want to wake up to Connor & Gracie's stinky, hot breath in my face, giggling. I want to eat breakfast at our hand-me-down dining room table. I want them to understand how good they are doing when they get excited by a toy that costs $.25 at The Goodwill.

The life I have now.
The things I have now.
The man I have now.
The kids I have now.
Are way more than I ever thought I'd have.
And that is seriously all that I ever want.
Anything else is a bonus.
And I need to pass that on.

Maybe this is the way I rationalize our situation.
Maybe not.
Maybe I'm just thinking idealistically - not realistically.
Maybe, inadvertently we're actually on to something.

But if we all just stopped and thought about how much stuff we don't need. That we can live with a little less.
Like so many before us have done.

That we might actually end up having so much more.



"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." ~Thornton Wilder


Jen, thank you. It's as if just by your mere presence via computer lines, I healed over enough to say something from my heart.

The artwork was taken from here.

Just Remember....

That your own well-intentioned advice will always come back to bite you in the ass.

A Pause & A Deep Breath

Until I can post about something and not whine, I'm taking my leave. Talk amongst yourselves. Discuss if you will: Why do people today have so much stuff?

Useful Tip #33

NEVER, under ANY circumstances - no matter how tipsy you are, no matter how bad the mind-numbing, bone crushing pain is from your cute, strappy sandals, or how nice the place appears to be - walk into a "public" restroom barefoot.
It's just asking for trouble.

Kick Me When I'm Down

As if 24+ hours alone by myself with a sick 2 1/2 year old girl wasn't bad enough......

As if 24 + hours alone with the above said and a boy with an attention addiction wasn't bad enough.....

As if being alone with the above said isn't bad enough, then in the middle of trying to prepare a meal for the two above said, your son informs you he's pooped in his pants. Water is boiling, things are baking (and burning), you go up to clean him up, dump the dump in the toilet, flush and YAY!!!
Because your son tends to withhold because of issues with dumping his dump in the toilet, this big ball of dump refuses to flush.
Can I get another YAY!!!!! ?
Son is standing there with crap pasted to the insides of his legs, you're desperately spinning in circles trying to find the plunger as the water and soggy bits of shredded toilet paper teeter precariously close to the rim of the toilet bowl.

Eureka! The Plunger!!!
You strategically plant the plunger around the edges of this insanely huge dump-ball, so as not to implant the plunger in it's mass. You heave and push down, waiting to hear that comforting sound of the big GURGLE that ensures this will all be over soon. Otherwise, you have to resort to cutting this up with a plastic knife and fork
Dinner, anyone???
Speaking of dinner.....it's cooking itself in the kitchen, amazingly enough.
Pretty soon, you'll upgrade from Plumber to Fire Fighter quicker than you can say Poo.

As if all that wasn't bad enough....
You're sick with the nasty beast of a cold you're daughter so lovingly shared.

And if that's not bad enough.....
Aunt Flo has come to town.

Great.
Wonderful.

The cosmic forces just love you, Tab.
Remember: this is divine.
I've heard myself say it. It's in black & white.
Stupid.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

**Edited**

Ok, so if you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know of my love for Bob Marley & the Wailers. It's a deep-rooted love. It is a love that runs wild, it runs deep, and true.

His music is a gift my father bestowed upon me at a very young age. So these songs of his were truly the songs I sang since I was a little girl. When most 5 year-olds were singing The Care Bears theme song, I was singing "Three Little Birds" or "No Woman, No Cry". His songs are a source of great comfort to me. They make me think, they make me feel, the make me happy. I can be in the most sour of sour moods and if I hear any song of Bob Marley's I'm feeling pretty good. I may still be upset at the actual events that put me in a sour mood to begin with, but my main man Bob always makes everything OK.

Since my inception of the Sunday Morning Song, I have tried not to pick a Bob Marley song or a Dave Matthews song. I don't really know why. I guess I suppose because these are my two favorites. These two are the ones that I own almost every version of every song they've sung. And I've tried (unsuccessfully) to keep this for songs that are new to me. But that hasn't worked. I also figure that these two artists' are a given. That at any given moment any given song of theirs would be a choice. And especially for Bob, that holds true. I figured today I would go against my own "fake" rule and chose a Bob song as my dad's birthday was on Friday. And I'm missing him as I haven't seen him since the beginning of December. And this one had me dancing my crazy dance in the computer chair!!

***And I think what I've tried to say about Bob & his music that I never could, but the though finally came clearly, is that it is as much a part of me as well....... My Name. ***

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Lively Up Yourself
By: Bob Marley & The Wailers

You're gonna lively up yourself, and don't be no drag;
You lively up yourself 'cause reggae is another bag.
You lively up yourself, and don't say, "No";
You're gonna lively up yourself 'cause I said so!

Hear what you gonna do:
You rock so, You rock so, like you never did before, yeah!
You dip so, You dip so: dip through my door.
You come so, You come so, oh yeah!
You skank so, You skank so: be alive today!

You're gonna lively up yourself, and don't say , "No";
You lively up yourself big daddy says so, y'all!
You lively up yourself, and don't be no drag;
You lively up yourself 'cause reggae is another bag.

What you go that I don't know?
I'm a-trying to wonder-wonder-wonder why you-
wonder-wonder why you act so. Yeah!

Hey, do you hear what the man seh?
Lively up your(self) - your woman in the morning time,
y'all!
Wa! Keep a liv'lin up your woman when the evening come
And take ya-take ya-take ya-a-a!
Come on, baby! 'Cause I wanna be lively myself, y'all!

/organ, saxophone, and guitar solo/

Lively up yourself;
Lively up yourself.
You want to rock so, you rock so:

/saxophone solo/

You rock so, you rock so;
You dip so, you dip so;
You skank so, you skank so, and don't be no drag!
You come so, you come so, for reggae is another bag!

Get what you got in that bag!
What you got in de other bag you got hanging there?
What you say you got?
I don't believe you!

The Score

The Kids: 4,000,001

Mom: 2

If you add Dad, the total would be zero. So, if I stand alone, the score is better.

One of those points is for the fact that Connor now alerts me in this way while I'm in the kitchen doing mommy stuff he says from the livingroom:

Hey, Mom!! I think Foster's is coming on!

You sweet little ball of genius, you!

And my addiction to Foster's borders on sick. Just so you know.

An Addition

(To the previous post....)

As I sit here wasting away the day in front of the computer, Gracie walks up to me with a tissue in her hand. She offers me her outstretched hand with a tissue in it. I look at her and see the tell-tale green gunk oozing from her cute, fat, little toddler nostrils. And just for good measure she also has added a shining, shimmering streak of snot across her cheek. I see she needs some help. And like the smart woman I am, I grab the tissue. Big Mistake.

It's slimey. And it's on my hands. I sling this nasty tissue to the ground and shout: Eeeww!!!!!
Gracie giggles and blows a big snot bubble and says Mommy! (giggle, giggle) It's ok. It's just boogers.

Yeah, sure is boogers, kid. And one thing you need to learn about your mommy ASAP is that she has issues with bodily fluids. Whether they be from vegetable, animal or mineral. Take that stuff somewhere else. It grosses mommy out! I have no problem touching a dry tissue and wiping your funky nose. But there should be absolutely no contact between the wet secretions of your nose and my tender, sweet flesh.

It's just boogers.
Yeah. Keep walking, kid.

Bittersweet Symphony

Rav left yesterday afternoon to head down state to the State Wrestling Tournament. I'm sad to see him go (he won't be home 'til late tonight, which is no biggie), but I'm elated at the fact that the wrestling season will be officially over. Yeeeehaw.

You have to understand that we somehow got Gracie to school 2 days a week (1/2 hour away), Rav to work, to wrestling practice, back to work, home, then me to school and so on (until 2 weeks ago) with one car. Yes. You heard me correctly. One.Car. It was a constant juggling act. And as much as I am happy that Rav is happy with coaching, it's nice to see the loooooong season come to a close. I digress though.

The kids are each coming down with a lovely dose of green snot, mixed with raspy breathing, coughing and fevers. And of course this decides to blow up into a full-blown deal when Rav has flown the coop.

At 10 p.m. when the kids were still awake, barely breathing and all snotty, I knew I was in for a looong, rough night. I finally get them to bed, get myself to bed at about 11. At some point, the kids both made it into our bed. By that time, Gracie was running one nasty fever. I couldn't bear to head to the couch. So, I was nestled in restless sleep, in a horizontal position at the foot of our bed. While the babes slept somewhat soundly in vertical positions, stretched out, with their heads on the pillows.

At approximately 7:15, I was awoken to the sounds of their deep breathing. Followed by the occasional snort and raspy exhale.

Morning routines being what they are, I felt the need to expel some built up gas. Which sounded something like this:
squeak.


Then Gracie in her sleep-induced state followed with a:
toot.

Connor added the crescendo to this little symphony with a rolling, undulating, vibrating:
Toot!

Their father would be so proud.

What struck me as funny is that I was the only one awake. They did this, seemingly as if on cue. Like it was a game. I was waiting for them to giggle after each of them sang their morning songs. But nope.
Asleep. Dead asleep.

Aaaaah. Nothing like the smell of pent up gas in the morning.
Bittersweet.

The Gut Shot- a guest spot by Rav

Tabba asked me to do a guest spot, and I could only think of one thing to post about. My every thought for the past 24 hours has returned to this thing and I just can't get past it, it's a long one, but here goes:

I was sitting at my desk yesterday morning, doing nothing, as usual. My phone rings, which is certainly a normal occurrence, and I am just thinking about which jackass is calling me and what stupid question they have for me. To my surprise, it was my old boss on the other end. Before I began my illustrious career as a probation and parole officer, I was a security supervisor at the local mall. My boss, the security director, and I had a fairly good relationship, at times very good. I don't speak to him, or any of the good friends I made there as often as I should, but as we have mostly all moved on to become law enforcement officers, we are a busy lot. Anyway, I was quite pleased to hear his voice on the phone. He sounds funny though and says that he needs a big favor. He asks me a question, which would put me in the terrible situation I am currently in. He asks me if I remember his biggest fear in regards to "E". "E" is a security guard who has worked at the mall for almost 20 years, and seemed as if he would be there forever. No one really liked him, as he was a little strange. As a matter of fact, we couldn't stand him, and any one who is human, could not stand to be around him. He was missing teeth, he smelled, and he had these crazy conspiracy theories. Worst of all, he was a dumpster diver!!! Sometimes he tried to hide it, and other times he proudly spoke of all the things he had "recovered". He used to talk about what a great guy he was and how his neighbor was a single mother, and she worked two jobs, and that he used to take care of her children and take them places. So when my boss asked me what his biggest fear was, I knew it right away.
We had all joked, for years, about how "E" had to be a sex offender. We used to laugh about how weird he was and how we would not be surprised if he was arrested for being a pervert. And, he didn't help his situation. Sometimes, he would make comments, that were so outrageous and inappropriate, that we just had to walk away. Personally, I attributed it to him being a crazy old man.

After I answered my old boss's question he informed me that "E" had a girlfriend, a surprising fact to me, and that she had called "E" out of work the night before saying that he was in some trouble. She called my old boss in the morning and said that a Detective had called and told "E" that he needed to turn himself in on a warrant. I looked "E" up in the computer and saw that he did in fact have a warrant. I looked at the warrant and saw what it was for. I could not speak. Oh shit, I said to my old boss. And then I confirmed his worst fear. "E" was wanted for Rape 1st, Continuous Unlawful Sexual Contact with a Minor (3 charges of this one), Sexual Exploitation of a Minor (2 charges of this one), and Possession of Child Pornography. Just at that moment, I was asked by a co-worker to help with something. I told my boss I would call him back and I hung up the phone. I sat there staring at my computer screen. I could not believe what I was reading. And then I made the biggest mistake of all. I read the actual warrants, the information presented to the judge requesting that "E" be charged with these heinous crimes. In summary, "E" had molested the daughter of his neighbor, the single mother. Apparently the girl has been in therapy for a while and she had just disclosed that "Uncle E", as she knew him, had molested her. The warrant was detailed and explained exactly what and when "E" had done to this 11 year old girl. It also stated that a search warrant had been executed on "E's" home and it listed all of the things found there. Pictures and videos (home made or otherwise), were just the beginning. And then I thought of this mother and the fact that I remember "E" saying that she had more than one child. I couldn't help but wonder if "E" had molested them too. And then, I was struck by the worst part of all, the dates of occurrence. We laughed and laughed about how weird "E" was, and how he had to be a sex offender. Chester the child molester we jokingly called him. And all the while, this poor poor girl was having her life ripped apart. This man whom she trusted, was in fact a disgusting despicable thief. He stole so much from her, but I can't help but feel like he stole something from me too. Of the group of guys who I worked with at the time, 2 have become state troopers, 4 have become city cops, 1 is a county cop, and me.
I have spoken with 2 of the guys, the troopers. Neither was surprised at what I told them. I don't know if either of them is as affected by it as me, but I do know one thing. Some part of me feels like there must have been something I could have done. Instead of laughing, maybe I could have prevented what happened to this little innocent girl. I know that she wasn't the first, and if it had not been her, it would have been someone else. But I don't know that I'll ever be able to get past this feeling.

"All that is necessary for evil to succeed, is for good men to do nothing."
-Edmund Burke

Staring Crazy Right In The Face

Tuesdays while Gracie is at school, I head over to my friend Beth's house for chit-chat and coffee. Sometimes these chit-chat sessions end up being purging sessions. I have entered her house early on Tuesday mornings upbeat & happy...and have left there spent from crying and purging. That might not sound all that appealing. But considering, I might spend $100 an hour somewhere else to do the same thing, it's not all that bad.

She understands and listens to my thoughts regarding these shifts that are going on. The fact that I've become comfortable with my own head/self. My thoughts on things. The fact that something is changing within me.

What I haven't talked about in great detail is this fog that I've been in the past few weeks. The fact that little or no effort has been put into blogging lately. Little or no effort has been put into cleaning my house. And I have absolutely no energy. I'm trying to wear my happy face and not panic. I don't want my inner thoughts regarding this to shine through. But the fact is that I'm scared.

I don't know what is wrong. I'm skating by on a day-to-day basis with the bare minimum. The momentum and energy I had just a few short weeks ago is a very distant memory. I have comforted myself with the idea that it is just the natural shift. That all things ebb & flow.

I have had some emotional upheavals lately & that this could certainly contribute to how I've been feeling. But what I think I'm most afraid to admit to myself is that I could, quite possibly, be depressed.
OH, the horror of that ugly, ugly word.

I'm not a big follower of the Zodiac. However, I think some things can generally hold true for some of it. That being said, I am a Libra. And that means balance, justice, fairness. That also means that our surroundings play a huge role in how we feel. I am affected by the fact that things in the winter become so dreary, I am affected by the fact that my house is not right at this particular point. I have two....yes TWO sofas in my small living room right now & it's driving me mad. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. There are piles of crap everywhere I turn. Piles of toys, piles of clothes, piles of magazines/papers. All I need is 7oo cats & I'd be cooking with gas. I'm not an anal clean-freak person. But things do have to feel right. And they just don't. I am to the point of crawling into our new ride and driving as far as I can until I can't go anymore.

In my mind, everything is neglected. And the hole seems to be getting deeper & I don't know how to dig out. Meh.

Now that I'm done whining I wanted to personally acknowledge a few people:

Slackermommy: I've been reading when I can. I'm sorry I haven't been there like I want to be. Apologies suck, in my mind, I just need to DO. I'll work on it.

Pippajo: Thanks for always being there. I'm sorry I've been absent.

Oh, the Joys!: Your humor is one of the things that keeps me going. Sorry I've been lacking on the comments over your way.

Jen: I hope you have had a wonderful vacation & sorry I haven't commented over your way either.

Deb: Same thing....I love reading what you have to say. But my comments your way are lacking. I'm a shit.

I know I'm forgetting others, so I apologize to you all as well.

I think what I need is a swift kick in the arse. I'm trying to find what it is that is going on & fix it. But it might take awhile. So, if I'm not around much, I'm sorry. But I'm trying & I'll do my best.

Sleep To Dream

I had this dream the other night. And now that I've had this dream for the third time, in a relatively short period of time, I now feel comfortable enough to label it a recurring dream.
In the dream, I am on a bike trail riding my bike. And I'm riding through the woods. The landscape is very hilly. I am inclined to think that this is a dream version of a park I've ridden before or the Northern part of my state. Anyway.....I'm riding along (sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by someone - not sure who) and the trail leads to what looks like part of a rather large Estate. I'm assuming this would be the DuPont's as I'm pretty sure I'm in Northern Delaware (in my dream). On the left are some average-sized homes. I'm assuming these are quarters for the "help". And straight ahead, in the middle of the trail, is this large, boxy, Georgian-style mansion. It's usually a slate-blue color with white shudders. It's quite clear that this home has historic significance. I dismount off of the bike and enter the house. Everything inside is perfectly preserved. And when I enter, there is a museum-like feel to the house. I walk around, looking at the artifacts, inspecting the furniture, the floors....everything. Sometimes I head up to the 2ND floor, sometimes I simply mill around the first floor. But after walking around for a few minutes, it becomes clear that I am not alone in this house. I hear banging and clanging, footsteps, creepy noises, moaning and any other number haunting noises that you can imagine. I end-up hauling ass out of there & shortly thereafter, waking up.

This past week, I've had that same dream. Only this time, inside was a "tour guide". She was an older lady, dressed in period clothing. She seemed very warm, welcoming, sweet and generally-speaking: grandmother-ish. In the middle of her spiel about the dining room artifacts, there it is. All of the footsteps, loud banging, moaning, wailing, and related haunting noise. As I begin to take notice of all of the noise, the old lady just smiles this apologetic, non-plussed smile, shrugs it off, explains this happens all day, everyday and continues on with her tour. I look at her with a blank stare and run as fast as my size 8's will carry me back outside. Where upon, I wake up.

This dream is freaking me out. I discussed it just the other day with Rav for the first time. And we began discussing recurring dreams - old and new. I decided as him & I were talking, that I'd have to google Recurring Dreams and see just what in the hell was going on.

I did just that the other day & the results were quite interesting regarding my particular dream. It seems that when you dream about a house - that represents yourself. If you dream of an attic - that is your mind, your intellect. Different rooms are different parts of your personality/life. If you dream of a haunted house, that usually means that you need to deal with an old issue or repressed whatever. Dreaming of a haunted house could also mean that you are shedding old ideals/adopting new ones, but that something has yet to be dealt with.

This whole explanation has got me thinking. I certainly, over the past year or so, have shed some old ideals and have been changing my way of thinking. I've been looking past myself & trying to take a different approach to the way I deal with things.

I don't really know what the unfinished business is. Considering that most of us tend to have a bit of it over the years. I know that I'm not excluded in that. I guess what it comes down to is quieting myself down enough to listen to what is really bothering me and having the courage to take it head on.

I'm ready to ride my bike in my dreams and find that the trail is not obstructed by this big, old, boxy house. I'm ready to find that the trail extends through the woods, over the hills, to a bright, sunny field.

Random #999

I have to admit that I find it intensly amusing when AOL spell-checks my emails and the spell-check zeros in on my name (Tabitha) it wants to replace it with Absinth.

(Geek)

(Freaky Geek)

Ignore the inner dialouge that I've chosen to type. I'm sick with a nasty cold & punchy.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

This week's pick is from one of my new favorites. And what also makes this pick nice is that it's a song/artist that Rav enjoys as well. That doesn't happen too often. Anyway...

Whoa, Nelly. Dude can sing. If I were a guy, I would want to sing just like Ray LaMontagne. Like a lot of the artists' that I pick, I could choose any number of songs. But this one is hitting me in just the right spot this week, so I figured I'd share.

I Could Hold You In My Arms

By: Ray LaMontagne

When you came to me with your bad dreams and your fears

It was easy to see you'd been crying

Seems like everywhere you turn catastrophe it reigns

But who really profits from the dying

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

When you kissed my lips with my mouth so full of questions

My worried mind that you quiet

Place your hands on my face

Close my eyes and say

That love is a poor man's food

Don't prophesize

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

And I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

So now we see how it is

This fist begets the spear

Weapons of war

Symptoms of madness

Don't let your eyes refuse to see

Don't let your ears refuse to hear

Or you ain't never going to shake this sense of sadness

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold on forever

And I could hold you in my arms

I could hold on forever

Snapshot Saturday

Our new (to us) baby. Ain't she purdy?? I'm in knock-down, drag-out, be-still-my-beating heart L-O-V-E. Not the greatest picture, I know. I know. I'll have to take another one at a later date.
YAY! for Landrover Discovery's!

YAY!

Useful Tip #325

Keep a spare key somewhere outside of your house.
Or better yet, take keys with you when:

*You go out to chip away 3" of accumulated ice on your driveway, so that you can correct yesterday's mistake of skating on your ass to put your kid on the bus.

*Then while chipping away that 3" of ice, you try to help out a neighbor that is stuck on your street on the sheet of ice(which your kid's bus got stuck on yesterday on the way to school & had to be bailed out & the kids were a 1/2 hour late for school on account of your kid going to school & your house is on a slight incline. And vehicles, ice and inclines don't go together). You chip away under the tires, you push their vehicle, you spread salt under their tires. All in an attempt to be a good neighbor. (which at this point, in my mind is way over-rated).

*It is fricking freezing outside. I mean like windchills are in the teens & single digits.

*After all of that, you make your way back to the house (from the street, in front of your house), you're freezing, you have frozen snot running down your face, you can't feel your thighs anymore because you are so cold. All you want to do is get back in the house.
And you can't.

Because the kids have locked you out.

And you know they can't open the door because you have (like a good mother) installed the plastic safety doorknob covers over the doorknobs so they can't make that great escape they've been planning that they hope will land you on The World's Worst Mothers List.

*You panic. No cell phone. The gates to the backyard are frozen shut. You have to hop the fence in your semi-frozen state. Beat & pound, pound & beat on the back door. Where your four-year-old stands looking up at you in dismay. You scream through the glass of the back door (and now all of your neighbors know you're an idiot b/c your kids have locked you out of the house when hell has literally frozen over), that he has to go & get a stool, and turn that big lock on the top of the back door. And you think this is damn near impossible as he has had Occupational Therapy for almost 2 years and still struggles with the pincer grasp on his pencil, so how in the hell is he going to have enough strength in his little fingers to turn this big, ass lock??

But he does it.

And upon re-entering your home, said four-year-old turns to his two-year-old sister and says:
Gracie! Don't you dare lock mommy out of the house ever, ever again!

So there, Gracie! He.told.you.

In a nutshell, that is why you need to use your brain. Plant a key outside somewhere. Or like I said, take keys with you outside. Because just when you think your kids would never lock you out.
They sure as hell will.

The End.

Patience Rewarded

This one's for Pip.

10 Firsts:
1. First Best Friend: Her name was Keesha. We met in the 2nd grade and were best friends for about 2-3 years. I would consider her my very first best friend.
2. First Car: Oh.dear.lord. My first car was a Plymouth Horizon. It was white with a light blue interior. My parents bought it for me for my 16th birthday.
3. First Love: Davy Jones from The Monkees. (Oh, shut up. I was a little kid, watching Monkees reruns on TV. I had no clue!)
4. First Vacation: Outterbanks, NC with my dad, stepmom & her best friend & her family.
5. First Job: an associate at Sears (where I met Mark).
6. First Piercing (and my only): My ears when I was like 7 or 8.
7. First Concert: It was a tribute concert to Bob Marley at The Mann (I think?), when I was about 8, that my dad & stepmom took me to.
8. First record/CD bought: Jeez. You think I would remember this one. Hmmmm. This a tough one. I remember the first record that I was given. I remember the first CD's I was given. But I can't remember the first one I bought myself. That's bad.
9. First real love: Mark. I met him my junior year in high school. We started dating in August right before my senior year. We ended up getting an apartment together and calling it a day in like 1998.
10. First screen name: I believe it was Hexfan. I was into the Flyers & Ron Hextall was/is my favorite player.....it was a (bad) ode to him.

9 Latest:
1. Latest alcoholic beverage: Yuengling with dinner which I am currently still working on finishing (the drink - not dinner).
2. Latest car ride: Last night, to pick something up for the kids to eat since our electricity went out.
3. Latest movie watched: Little Miss Sunshine. Rav & I watched it yesterday during our Snow Day.
4. Latest phone call made: To my best friend, Pat's house, and I spoke with her daughter Jen, who is taking a class with me this semester.
5. Latest jacuzzi bath: It's been that long that I couldn't even tell ya. But I think it was in Massachusetts at my BIL's house 1 1/2 yrs. ago. Sad, sad, sad.
6. Latest played CD: Ray LaMontagne's Trouble CD. I rarely buy CD's & I just bought this one Sunday morning. Dude is AMAZING.
7. Latest time you cried: Sunday morning AT breakfast when Rav & I were discussing something regarding Connor.
8. Latest meal: Spicy Tomato-Basil Pork Tenderloin out of the Cooking Light magazine.
9. Latest curse: The eff-dash-dash-dash word. The Queen Mother of all dirty words. I sling that thing around like a soggy noodle.

8 Things You Wear:
1. Crazy Socks
2. Fleece slipper socks overtop of the crazy socks.
3. Jeans
4. Grannies (for some reason ever since I had Gracie, I can't wear thongs anymore. I save those for X-tra special occasions.)
5. A new bra.
6. Black Gap T-shirt
7. A new purdy purple sweater I bought recently at Goodwill. Yes. That's what I said.
8. My wedding ring.

7 Have You Ever:
1. Dated one of your best friends? Uh, yeah. Not a good idea. I don't recommend it.
2. Been arrested? Nada.
3. Fallen in love at first sight? Yup
4. Been in a TV program? Ever watch Bewitched? That little girl 'Tabitha'...yep, that was me. Kidding. No, never.
5. Had Your Heart Broken? Seriously? A man-eater like me? C'mon. YES!
6. Said you loved someone without meaning it? Yeah. I'm terrible.
7. Made a prank phone call? Yes, but not since 8th grade.

6 Things You've Done Lately:
1. Laundry
2. Talked on the phone
3. Drank hot chocolate w/ peppermint mocha creamer topped with Extra-creamy Redi-whip.
4. Ate dinner
5. Got rip-roaring drunk this past Saturday.
6. Laughed 'til I pissed my pants a little watching Little Miss Sunshine.

5 Favorite Things:
1. Rav's eyes
2. Music
3. Slipping under a Korean blanket
4. Coffee
5. Sleeping children

4 People I Can Tell Anything:
1. My dad
2. Pat - my best friend
3. Beth - my good friend
4. Bob - my queen friend

3 Choices:
1. Black or white? White, for sure. I LOVE white T-shirts. I'm anal about my whites being white (not gray), pure white snow. WHITE, WHITE, WHITE.
2. Summer or winter? Summer! Duh.
3. Chocolate or chips? PMSing.....hell ya, Chocolate. Chips, sometimes. Mainly chocolate.

2 Things To To Before You Die:
1. Write a children's book.
2. Travel to Australia

1 Thing You Regret:
1. Way too personal to mention here.

On an unrelated note, Pippa....to answer your question (and thank you for thinking of me), I'm feeling the same. The doc suggested it is emotional. But I'm not so sure. I'm going to keep an eye on this & if nothing changes, make some more appointments. Clearly, something is up. But he did a huge work-up & everything came back normal. Go figure.
By the way, I hope you find out what is 'ailing' you & my thoughts are with you & Your Girl.

Postcards From Hoth...

Greetings From Hoth! We wish you were here.

The lush foliage on Hoth. It's indescribably beautiful.

We were so lucky to book our vacation to Hoth during

the peak weather season.

I (Tab) decided to head out of our "villa" on our Tonton (thank you, Jon)

and see the local terrain.

The Hoth skies are heavy with the warm rays of sunshine.

Beauty.

Spending Valentine's Day on Hoth is a dream come true. I have, since I was a wee little girl, dreamt of spending Valentine's Day on a planet of ice.

As a surprise for Rav, I had this wonderful meal all planned out. I figured I would make this wonderful meal that we could sit down and enjoy together. It just so happens that as I was preparing the fresh herbs for the sauce and preparing the tenderloin Voila! - the electricity goes out. Not to be deterred, I find as many candles as I possibly can & am determined to finish this meal....in the semi-darkness.
Yeah, that didn't work.
Despite our meal plans being put on hold, we had a wonderful dinner of homemade Lentil soup (whose effects are "beneficial" in many, many ways - who knew that we'd both benefit from those effects 12 hours after the fact. Gas masks are a must-have. Next time, I'll place them atop of the napkins when I make this soup), a dessert of strawberry shortcake....by candlelight....with the kids.
It may not have been what we planned, but it was an adventure. And we all had fun.
Hoth does have it's good-points. There are just too many to name here. I figured I'd send you all the pictures and let them speak for themselves.

See you in a few days - after we all defrost and thaw.