Something You May Not (Want To) Know About Me

Step dancing knocks me out. I absolutely love it. I went to my first step show at the U of MD in the '80's and it totally blew me out of the water. I'd never seen anything like it. Well - I guess that's not entirely true. I'd seen black marching bands. (Something you may not (want to) know about my mother is that she got a scholarship to go back and finish college when I was in grade school. The school that offered her a scholarship was a predominantly black state school and they had a FANTASTIC band.) But in a band the steps are to showcase the music being played. In a step show the steps showcase the line, the bond of the fraternity brothers/sorority sisters, and they showcase the steps themselves. I never wanted to be part of the white greek system the way I wanted to be a part of the black greek system. Ignore (completely) for the moment that I am one of the palest and most arrhythmic white girls you've ever seen - there was something that called to me at that first step show. The percussive steps, the syncopated stomping, the precise angles of shoulders, necks, heads and hand movements - every bit of it amazed me. The exact and coordinated appearance of those on line, the explosive pride on display, and the unruly appreciation of the audience at the show all spoke to the kind of solidarity I desperately wanted to be a part of in college.

I've seen shows that have some of those elements: percussion, showmanship, mind-bogglingly uniform athleticism. Stomp. Riverdance. Whatever those huge Japanese drums are called. I love (Love, LOVE) stuff like that - but none of it reaches into my being the way step shows do. On the flip side, I've seen things that unexpectedly repulse me. Example: Krumping. For the love of God I do not understand Krumping! Given my bizarre attraction to stepping you'd think I'd have at least some appreciation for it - but no. None. Maybe it's the clown thing? Maybe it's that it's too much like professional wrestling for me? Maybe it's that I can't think of a less euphonious word than "krumping"? I have no good explanation for my lack of krumping affinity. All I can say is that I yearn to be in a step show the way I could never, ever - for love or money - want to be a krumper.

Impossible yearning and inexplicable repulsions aside - I'm not exactly hooked into the step show circuit. I haven't gotten to see one in years. But tonight I got to watch Stomp the Yard (on DVD because I missed seeing it in the theater a few months ago by ONE day!) Ignoring the mistake I made in renting it instead of buying it (why, why, why? I KNEW I was going to want to own it!) it was perfect watching it at home. I watched the whole thing through. Then I watched the extra features. Then the step scenes again. And then again. It was not a complex plot (by any stretch) but it was extremely well acted for a dance vehicle. It was believable in all the story ways it should be and it was unexpectedly authentic in the dance-story elements. And the stepping was abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. If you have any, even the slightest, interest in stepping you must go watch this movie. Like now.
(I mean it. You must. Now.)
Peace.

Distraction

Wednesday I learned how to solve the Rubik's Cube. Yay! It's been a mere 26 years since the one my Uncle Paul gave me drove me up the wall of frustration. Before the rejoicing gets out of hand, I should probably mention that I didn't figure it out all by myself. I just figured out the solution guide. That is enough cube accomplishment for me. Apparently this sentiment ranks me low down on the cube mania scale. I see on the official website that "cube fans everywhere" are invited to various competitions (Chicago for the US Cube Open and Hungary for the World Championships). Cube community members can chat (about cubes? all cubes all the time?) They can even send cube greeting cards to one another. For the serious cubers (maybe the ones who wore their cubes out?) there is now a virtual Rubik's cube online. Who knew?

In further avoidance behavior news - I have spent the better part of my computer time this week being distracted by random links. I have come across links to all kinds of things I didn't know about like the fan fiction genre of femmeslash, the gender neutral pronoun het, and the very interesting term tranzi which is being used by people I don't agree with to mean things I didn't know it meant. All very hmmmmmmm.

I have also been writing. You'd think writing and blogging would go hand in glove - and sometimes they do for me - but this week between the lure of links and non-blog writing, I've used up all my computer time. Fortunately or not, I have had plenty of time to worry about my son, Chaos, who is away at bible camp. He comes home today. Will I be able to tell if he's been born again the minute he gets off the bus? I imagine all kinds of horrible things like the youth leader telling me how proud they are that they got him to speak in tongues. (Given Chaos' interesting way with language - it's the most probable of his spiritual gifts if he were to lean in a pentecostal direction, don't you think?) In reality, I think Chaos is relatively impervious to religious fervor. Now sneak attacks of the hormonal variety? Not so confident about his skills deflecting those. How pretty are the girls at camp, do you think?
Peace.

Trust

I'm not sure if it came through clearly in my catch-up post, but SH has not seen the new house. That's right. Him no see house. He had just returned to TN when we found it. Blithely he had said as he was leaving, "Let's put an offer on [the house we'd seen three times] unless you find one that trumps it. We've seen enough houses together that I'd trust you on that." I'm pretty sure he did not think we'd find a clear trump. After all, we'd looked at 20 something houses already. No other even close contenders. We talked a little bit about the feasibility of him dashing back for a look see. It went like this: "Feasible? Not so much." No more time off from work to drive, no more money for plane tickets, no reassurance that waiting wouldn't lose us the house because the price reduction might bring in competing offers, etc. So this amazing man said, "Go ahead." He is buying a home sight unseen - incidentally committing to a 30 year mortgage in the process - based on what VBGF and I could tell him (and show him through pictures). That is a boatload of trust and love. It is humbling and wonderful and I just had to point it out. I'd like to think that I could have done the same thing if our positions had been reversed. My love for him is boundless and my trust in him is immense. It's just never been put to the test. I'm trying not to feel too pressured by it, but damn - I hope he likes the house when we get there!
Peace.

Chaos: 7 am On His Birthday

Chaos wanted to tell a joke this morning. (Since it's his birthday and he's on his way to Bible Camp where we've told him he is NOT allowed to tell any of his jokes - we let him tell us one over breakfast.)
"Mom, why don't dinosaurs talk?"
"Because they're dead?"
"Did I tell you this one already?"

I love life with Chaos - even if his future is clearly NOT in stand up comedy. I absolutely adore him - sweet, shaggy, man-child that he has become. I can't believe I've been a mom for 15 years. Pretty freaking amazing.
Peace.

A Month Of Sundays

Happy Fathers' Day to all the dads out there! Here at Lilymania, we are going to play catch up while the man of the house snoozes. (He and Bug - his first born and also the only child at home this weekend- stayed up until the wee sma's playing PS3, so it may be quite some time before they awaken.) The plan was to make the Dad Of The House a lovely breakfast - until we realized we'd packed up the kitchen and the oven won't be fixed until Wednesday! Plan B: IHOP.

News:
Who knew that selling the house would be the EASY part??
Turns out that buying a house is an adventure in crazymaking. We have been looking at houses, online and in person, since April. We have seen dozens of houses. We have learned a LOT about each other - and about our realtor. We found a house that would work. We went to see it three times. Sweet Hubby left with the kids to get back home. I stayed with VBGF to help close up her classroom and get her grades in. Robbie the Realtor said she had two more houses for us to see. The plan was that unless either of these two houses trumped it, we'd put an offer on the one we'd seen three times. Wouldn't you know that both houses trumped it? There was a clear top choice though. This house - oh man! We loved it. LOVED it. Naturally, the list price was 30K above our upper limit. Here is where the fun came in.

We spent the better part of the week (=Tuesday morning through Friday afternoon) "negotiating". The first step was to offer 20K less than list price. They countered by going down 2K and wanting both triple the earnest money we offered and triple the cost of repairs contingency. That was weird. They wanted a LOT of our money and they wanted us locked into the contract even if there were repairs of ten grand. Danger Will Robinson! The house was built in '56. We said back - meet you half way on the price but that's ALL the earnest money we've got and we'll up the cost of repair contingency a little bit (NOT to ten grand!) Mind you - these people are in Chicago, Sweet Hubby is back in TN, and the realtors, VBGF, and I are all in NC. Getting answers and signatures and initials is not the smoothest of processes. We went back and forth and back and forth - and finally arrived at a verbal deal. Yay! Minor celebration ensued. Robbie the Realtor told us we couldn't really celebrate until it was all signed. We waited for the signatures. Signatures were not forthcoming. Major sadness and anger ensued. Turns out the young couple could not "afford" to sell their house at the price they verbally agreed to. Note - they were already getting a discounted commission rate. Their realtor said she was in shock and this had never happened to her and she was so sorry - but she could only relay what her clients said. We thought about it. We all decided that this was the right house for us. We raised our offer up to their original counter offer. They still couldn't afford it. Our realtor was irked and said that the sellers were not acting in good faith during the whole of this process. Their realtor agreed! What to do? Walk away? Make an offer on one of the two other houses that would work (just barely) for our family? We decided that we'd make one final effort and offer the list price. [There were other weird contingencies this couple tried to throw in, but all of those details are too tiresome to go into. At one point it truly seemed like the sellers were not hip with the whole concept of what selling entails (i.e. releasing ownership of the house for an agreed upon price).] At long last, however, all documents were signed and faxed (we made them sign first before we wasted time faxing again) and celebration recommenced. (Robbie the Realtor told us we could celebrate 75% - that there was still the home inspection to get through.)

More of the story -
We saw that the house had been listed in April for 90K more than the list price for which we bought it. Somewhere near the end of all the negotiating, our realtor turns up the fact that before that it was listed for 75K more with a different realty company. I guess we should feel like we got a deal, but really? I think they were smoking crack if they thought they'd get their original list price. Yes they did updates (oh, wait until you see the pictures in a minute!) - but the house is still 50 years old and has very little curb appeal (according to R the R.) We did get a deal because we got a house we love, that suits us all, that is close (walking distance on sidewalks!) to the schools and public library and community center, AND that we could afford (even if it's a bit of a stretch!) Keep your fingers crossed for us until July 18th!!

Here are a few of the previously promised pictures!
First, Mayhem and the Princessa as they tested for their black belts. This picture was taken at the beginning - about a half an hour into the three and a half hour test. They are both still so nervous they look like they're about to hurl. The posters on the walls behind them are lists and lists of the techniques they are being tested on.

I have fantastic movies of their freestyle sparring match and grappling match. They are not usually paired in class because they are siblings so it was surprising to have them fight each other during the belt test. The sensei was both amused and impressed. The Princessa didn't slow down one bit when Mayhem sent her earrings flying and Mayhem didn't let up even when the Princessa snagged and ripped out the ties on his gi (you can see them dangling in the pictures.) This is a picture of their final test element: to hold their belts straight armed, out in frontof them (not below their chins or above their foreheads) for 3 full (and very long) minutes.
Here is their first formal bowing out as black belts. Yay!!!!


Next - Chaos is 15! We celebrate with decorated birthday cookies instead of cakes and everyone gets to pick their own theme. Chaos likes skulls.

He also likes the two new holes in his head. One of his closest friends (Nate) got Chaos a scholarship to go to camp. Nate is super excited that Chaos gets to go. Me? Not so much. It's a Baptist summer camp - away for a week. I talked to the youth minister and explained that my son was Catholic and I did NOT want to send him if he was going to be told that his baptism didn't count or that he wasn't a real Christian. The nice youth minister said that didn't happen. ("Since when?!!!" was my sister's response to that.) We'll see. I've explained to Chaos that by choosing to go, he has accepted responsibility to modify his behavior, dress, and attitude to fit within the boundaries of a much more conservative group. He says he still wants to go. I think it will be good for him to follow through on a choice like that, but I'm also a little worried about it. (Can you tell?)

And finally - I have to show off my new kitchen (squeals with delight!) Look at the skylight! Do you see the coolie, cool purple, lavender, and lilac glass mosaic above the range? Have you ever seen an island that big? It's either 9 or 10 feet long!
This is the other end of the kitchen. The black is chalkboard. Painted right onto the wall. Ok - it's weird and not really well done - but it's the only thing I don't just love, love, love about the kitchen. Havoc, however, thinks it's perfect! He can't wait to write out his menus.
Give you one guess as to what he now wants to be when he grows up!
Peace (and keep those fingers crossed for us, please!)

One For The Money, Two For The Show

I have half a dozen half-written posts languishing. I've discovered that the surest way to show my house is to sit down to blog! We've had six showings in four days and we had an offer which is now a contract from the second one. YAY!!! The home inspection is Friday afternoon - and with a 30-year old house that part is a bit worrying! However, I am keeping the faith and I know that it will be smooth sailing. It has to be because, quite honestly, I can't handle many more showings.

We have all worked like fiends getting the house ready and keeping it that way - but oi! I charged Chaos to clean the fans - and he did a lovely job - but he left grimy handprints on the ceiling. I had to show Mayhem that it was, indeed, possible to vacuum the carpets without gouging the baseboards. We pressure washed the house only to have the kids water the baby grass and spray dirt and water up onto the clean windows. Wasabi "helped" by brushing his furry butt against new paint and then sitting on the leather couch. I really thought I'd scream. Actually I did scream a little. I was completely exasperated and explained (in an overly loud voice) several things, including (but not limited to) the pointlessness of creating even more work for ourselves, the financial reality that our house being in better shape meant it selling for better money which in turn meant being able to buy a better house in NC - and importantly that spending money on stupid stuff here (e.g. new green paint to cover up the sparkly red "I love you" mark left by window clings that had been adhered to the wall not the window) meant lowering the budget for fun stuff there (e.g. food, clothing, shelter). Mayhem turned to the Princessa and in a funny, mock sad, little voice said, "See what you did? You made the good Mama go away." The other kids held their breath and waited to see whether my head would start whipping around and around on my neck or whether I'd laugh. I laughed. I hugged them each and sent them off to work - and immediately had to call them back for remedial walking down the hall lessons. Who knew that there were five children in the world who could not for love or money walk down the (need I mention newly painted?) hallway without bumping into the walls with some part of their pointy, grungy little bodies?!!!

Once I'd gotten the kids on board I thought things would fall into place. And they did. Light bulbs fell out of sockets into hard to reach places. Wooden slats in the library unglued themselves and fell to the floor. Clearly, somewhere along the way I have managed to piss off a household god (or three). The lamp we'd moved from the library to Bug and Chaos' room ignited and spewed toxic fumes. Unky Dunky (who was babysitting while SH and I were out to dinner with my father) had the boys put it outside and then they all went back to their video games. In the middle of baking a casserole one night, the oven went "Phht" and died. The stove top still works but the oven won't heat. Is this an old oven? Why no, it is not. (The library lamp was ancient in appliance years and perhaps had an excuse for self immolation even if the timing was uncanny - but the oven was only old enough not to be under warranty!!!) To add insult to injury, for a year and a half we had a spare oven in the garage (along with a spare washer and dryer and at one point a semi-dead refrigerator). Our garage - a half way house for appliances. We looked around a few months ago and said to ourselves, "This is silly. The new appliances in the house are fine. We don't need these other ones even if they aren't all that old and they all work. Sure, it would be great to have another washer and dryer available, but there's not room for a second set to be hooked up. It's wasteful to have these perfectly good appliances sitting here benefitting no one. Let's give them all away!" And we did. We gave them to a needy family through a friend's church.

I don't regret that. I do regret having to spend hundreds of dollars either fixing this oven or buying another one. Grrr. I had no idea that selling a house was so expensive! For the first showing, I got a call at about 5 pm asking if the house could be shown between 6:15 and 7:15. As I hadn't started cooking supper, I took the kids out to eat. $75. The next day the house was shown from 1 to 2. I took the kids to the bookstore. $75. The next day we got three calls in the space of 15 minutes scheduling showings for the next two days. I told the kids we could not spend $75 a pop on these showings. They agreed. The next showing we went into town and bought the boys running shoes - which had been in the budget for a couple of weeks even though we hadn't had time to get there . Three pairs of running shoes ($311.85) and ice cream at Maggie Moo's ($19.61) totals $331.46 which (as Mayhem pointed out) is waaaaaaay more than $75.

Here's today's mantra: Contract. Done deal. Closing on July 16th. No need for any more showings! No more spending money! (We'll stick to all that just as soon as we get back from our trip to Wal-Mart to replace bathing suits we had but can't find ANYWHERE!)
Peace.

Connection

I've been completely self-absorbed for the last week. Lilycentric. There has been so much to do, so very much to do. My poor friends. All they've heard is a frantic whine from me. I'm excited. I'm exhausted. I'm exhausting!

Last night and this morning I decided to go traipsing around the blogosphere. I hadn't been doing much visiting recently. I realized how nice it felt to be connected again to people I don't know! Isn't that weird? But it's true - it felt good to be reacquainted with the details of familiar strangers' lives. I lurk a lot. I follow the progress of new quilts and new babies. I sympathize with other folks who are training or selling their houses too. I read about travels and drool over gorgeous pictures of Australia and Japan. I get inspired by the books people are reading and make mental notes to add to my "Read Next" list. And this morning I went to see Neilochka at Citizen of the Month and found out that Sophia's next surgery is today. Perhaps right now (although since they're West Coast, that would be very early.) He is funny and odd and I love his blog. I immediately sent my thoughts and prayers and then almost as immediately worried that I shouldn't have said anything because they don't know me. But then I think, that's the point! He blogs - he puts it all out there and most of the people that read his blog were strangers until they started reading and commenting. I have to keep reminding myself that that is how blogging works. It makes total sense until I apply it to me. Then I feel like my comment of good wishes might be seen as strange and unwelcome. What is that about?? Anywaaaaaay...prayers, good vibes, and general lurking have gone on this morning. I feel connected. I love being connected. I think it is a good and joyful thing (always and evermore) to be connected in kind and random ways. If you don't have your morning's quota of brain/heart power already allocated, please spend a moment or two thinking healing thoughts for Sophia. Then we'll all be doubly connected.

Now I have to go paint some more [curse word, curse word] trim. Not so joyful. Yet, if you are reading this, then you're connected to me as I paint (and curse). And that's pretty darn cool. What would be cooler is if you could pick up that brush right there ...
Oh well - I guess there are limits on this here ether connection.

Peace.

Peace.

Redemption

I had all but stopped reading Joshilyn Jackson's blog but clicked on it for some reason today. Faster Than Kudzu often has 3 question interviews. Perhaps that's why I stopped reading? I had no interest in today's author or book. I'm crabby and was just looking for a bit of chat when my eye snagged on the word "redemption". I love that word. Even when I hate Christianity and the South and Bible thumpers and spittle flingers - I love redemption. Joni Rodgers says of her characters, "Each of the sisters dies and rises again in a different way, learning that redemption is tragedy cross-pollinated by grace." Redemption is tragedy cross-pollinated by grace. What a FABULOUS thing to say, to learn, to read. Redemption is tragedy cross-pollinated by grace. Redemption as some strange and wonderful spirit flower. Grace buzzing around. I so needed to have that in my head tonight. Not that there's tragedy here - just grumpy folks, stressed out with upheaval and change. Still, redemption! The ultimate pick-me-up.
Peace.

Kids Out, Carpet In, House On, Mayhem Down

The kids are out of school (last week already!) The carpet is in the house (finally yesterday!) The house is on the market (tomorrow really.) Mayhem is down and out, sick as a dog - a feverish dog (right this very minute.) It's been a crazy week. Here's what you missed because I wasn't able to blog. (There are pictures. They are on the camera, which is in a box, which is in a stack, which may be in the garage or even in storage - but which I'm hoping is in the back of the car. I'll post 'em when my head stops spinning enough to locate the camera.)

Brag Time:
Chaos won a presidential achievement in education award.
Mayhem won tenth in the regional math contest and received a library award (a plaque - not just a paper certificate he wants everyone to know.)
The Ninja Princessa received an award at school honoring her state literacy contest win.
Havoc placed first in math and second in science in the gifted program's contests.

Mayhem and The Princessa both received their black belts in karate after THREE AND A HALF HOURS of testing. They had two five minute water breaks but the rest of the time they were marching up and down the floor demonstrating their striking techniques, grappling, doing reversals and take downs (there were some twenty of each!), freestyle sparring, shouting out creeds and last of all holding their belts straight arm out in front of them - not above their heads and not below their chins - for three minutes. It doesn't sound as hard as it is. Had their hands dropped even the slightest bit he would have plucked that black belt out of their hands and tied their provisional belts back on them. It was so nerve wracking to watch them get that far and then watch their arms shake, sweat pouring down their faces. I don't know that I breathed for those last three minutes. Their instructor put on a good show, but she was, if anything, more nervous than us parents. Her sensei was doing the testing and he kept telling the kids how he had had to test and re-test to get his black belt. It took him seven years. I was so relieved and proud of them when they got their belts on their first test. They were proud of themselves - but worn out!

Other Random News:
The house! We (ALL of us - kids, SH, me, VBGF - the whole village!) have painted and weeded and packed and sorted and scrubbed and buffed and dusted and vacuumed and cleaned and fixed and replaced every freaking thing in this house. This sucker better sell IMMEDIATELY!

Did I mention Bug (my stepson) is here? Yay! We get him for three months.

Chaos? Did I tell you what Chaos' birthday present was? Is? He wanted another piercing. (His dad did the first one for him by piercing his earlobe in February.) He had to wait until after school was out but then VBGF and I (and Unky Dunky) took him to the world's cutest piercer and got him an industrial. He agreed to hold off on any more piercings until he's 18. He's very pleased with it. I think it looks great. I also think that it's plenty. If he wants to do any other bod mod for the next couple of years, he's going to have to hit the gym and lift weights or something else innocuous.

Plans:
We are moving no later than mid July. Even if the house hasn't sold (oh, please God - I want the house to sell quickly), we are moving and getting the kids registered for school. From '86 to '92, I lived in Florida, California, Texas, Maryland, and DC. Then from '92 to now (FIFTEEN YEARS!) I've been here. It is more exciting than I thought it would be now that the process has truly begun. I can't wait to be in a new place - a place I've never lived. I can't wait to drive around and explore. I look forward to training rides and runs through the new neighborhood. I wonder about the new people we'll meet.

Whine:
I want to go now!

Peace.

Havoc's Take On The Birds And The Bees

The other day Havoc desperately wanted to watch a movie with the whole family. No way that was going to happen. Everyone was going in twelve different directions and the 'to do' lists were a mile long. He did not want to be alone. I can understand that. I told him there wasn't time for a whole movie before his dad came to get him, but that we could find one together on demand and watch for about 45 minutes. This is how we came to be watching "Look Who's Talking". Remember that movie? It has Kirstie Alley and John Travolta with Bruce Willis as the voice of "Mikey" the baby. I had forgotten how very 80's it was. The hairstyles were cracking Havoc up! I'd also forgotten the opening bit. The story line is about how a single mom goes about finding a father for her new baby son. The part I'd forgotten is the cute little visual at the beginning of how she became a single mom.

Havoc said, "What's that?! Is that her baby?"
"That's an egg." I explained.
"She's laying an egg? Like a chicken? Right there in the office with that guy there?"
"Sort of. Not really. Remember the puberty book? This is that kind of egg. It is what grows into a baby. They're showing you what's happening inside her body. Women can only get pregnant during the few days each month that they have an egg healthy and waiting."
"Wow, it's really big!"
"No, it just looks that way. It's a movie. In real life, it's very small."
"How small?"

While we were going though all that the movie concerned itself with a bit of plot: Kirstie Alley talking to her client (and lover) and then some kissing and then...
"What are those? Guppies?"
Guppies! I thought I was going to choke. His eyes were glued to the screen.
"Those are sperm. The egg is the mommy's part and the sperm are the dad's part and when they meet up at just the right time, they make the beginnings of a baby. Remember?"
The whole time I'm saying this, Bruce Willis' voice is saying, "Come on fellas! Faster. We're almost there! Look at that! I'll beat you there!"
Havoc thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Mommies laying eggs inside their bodies! Dads sending racing guppies with Bruce Willis' voice up inside to get the egg! Never mind the puberty books we bought and the talks about how babies get made and the conversations we've had about what sex is - you just know this is what he's going to remember. Thanks Hollywood! I guess chickens and guppies are as as valid as birds and bees, right? Right?
Oh well. What's one more therapy session?
Peace.

I Heart My Power Washer

I washed most of the roof with the power washer yesterday. VBGF did the courtyard and the side of the house and the windows. (Sweet Hubby was weed eating the gimongous hill we have. Poor guy - we hogged all the pressure washing fun!) The only reason I stopped cleaning the roof was because it was 8:15 p.m. and almost completely dark. I had grand visions of pressuring washing again this morning bright and early. The only obstacle? My right hand is curled into a claw hand - a sore claw hand. To the point that I dreamed (and this won't make any sense to non-Harry Potter fans) that I went to pick VBGF from the Dursleys with my hand all twisted up and blackened. I magicked up everyone a few drinks which they refused to drink so the glasses hovered in the air and clonked them in the head trying to get their attention. VBGF howled with laughter at the Dursleys getting knocked about the head by glassware and was finally ready to leave. My hand was still shriveled. THAT'S how sore my hand is today.

Peace.

The Anti-Prometheus

Apparently I am a fire hoarder. In the sorting, cleaning, and purging process I have come across a crap load of fire starting implements I had squirrelled away. (For a rainy day? For an emergency? In case we needed to start a bonfire the size of Pluto?) I'm not sure what Freud would have made of my tendencies. I have unearthed no fewer than four huge boxes of kitchen matches, three smaller boxes of "strike anywhere" matches, two boxes of camping matches (windproof! waterproof!), and nine (NINE!) lighters in various colors (blue, yellow, orange, pink, purple, and black). Oh! And one (still packaged) camping firestarter kit with a flint/sparking contraption. It's very odd. Most of what I found was tucked away in emergency backpacks, in baskets in the closet, and at the back of drawers in every room in my house.) I don't carry matches (or lighters) in my purse, so clearly I'm not that worried about being able to start a fire anywhere, anytime. Yet...I obviously have a subconscious obsession with having the capacity to start a fire in an "emergency" (provided that emergency happened in the comfort of my home.) Come to think of it though, I'm not sure I'd be a big help in a situation requiring immediate fire. I am historically unable to find implements to light birthday candles or the fireplace!

I'm not at all sure what to do with this pile o'fire potential that I've amassed. I'm not comfortable packing it up and putting it in storage with everything I own. I know Sweet Hubby would say something reasonable like, "Well, if hasn't all caught fire in the house over the years, why would it spontaneously combust the minute we put it in storage?" He may have a point. But I still can't do it. It seems like tempting fate just a leetle too much.

I woke up in the middle of the night worried about those camping matches. I'm not sure it's a good idea to make windproof and waterproof matches. What do you do if you can't blow the match out or douse it in water? I suppose it would be ok for a campfire where you can just toss the match in, but what if you tried to light a candle with that sucker?

I know the Goodwill won't take computers. What do you think their policy is on matches/lighters/flint?

Something Old, Something New

Remember how I was all "Behold! I am doing something new!"? Apparently the newness wore off yesterday and we were back to the old. I could NOT get myself on track with packing and painting and purging. Instead I threw an internal temper tantrum and went for a pedicure. It was lovely to pamper myself. It was part of my Mother's Day present. (As much fun as it was, it was not my favorite part of my Mother's Day present. My favorite part is the handmade card and weird little wind up Carmen Miranda-like bunny thing the kids gave me.)

What was not part of my original Mother's Day present at all was a trip to the bookstore. Yet, on the phone with me as I left the nail shop yesterday, Sweet Hubby said, "Go buy a book! Take yourself to lunch! Re-rax." See why I love that man?

I hied me hither to yon book shoppe. Did I buy a book? No, I did not. I tried. I tried real hard. In the end, though, I could not bring myself to buy a single book. Not me. I, addict that I am, bought books. Plural. As in multiple. More than two. (More than three, if you must know. And you must. That is the point of me being all confessiony on the internet here.) I did save the receipt so that I could take some of them back if need be. (Which is a complete joke really. If I had the willpower to take them back, then I would have had the willpower (in spades!) to resist buying them in the first place. I mean, I suck at returns I HAVE to make. I cannot for the life of me imagine that I would be better at returns I don't want to make. Still. That receipt is emotional insurance.)

I about panicked on the way home as I realized I had no where to "hide" my books. (I mentioned the addiction part of all this, right?) It's not that I hide books from Sweet Hubby. I promise you, he's not judgmental like that. He won't lecture me about $ or natter on about someone giving inches and someone else taking miles. He won't wonder where I'm going to find the time to read them all while still getting done what needs to be done. He's a prince. (Or a really cute enabler. You decide.) He might be slightly disappointed that my book binge is all chick lit. He likes sci-fi. No, my pattern of hiding books is all about hiding them from myself. The old me would squirrel them away, a few here on this bookshelf, a few on that. I would pick one to gobble up right away and the rest would be scattered to be re-discovered later. That way I didn't have a pile of books beside the bed demanding attention all at the same time. The hiding process keeps a book buying binge from turning into an all out book reading binge. Only it is quite a bit harder to tuck books away on this shelf and that when you have no shelves! Or if the few built in ones you have are absolutely bare except for your new books. You know what I did? I put the new books under my bed. Do you think that helped? No, it did not.

I read my allotted one book of immediate gratification last night: Watermelon by Marian Keys. Now I must spend all of today and the rest of this week resisting the rest of the stack even though I know exactly where it is. I've never done that before. Behold! I am doing something new! (I hope.)
Peace.

Random Neuron Firings

You know you got up too early when your body says it's waaaay past lunch time and you look at the clock to discover it's 9:45 a.m..
Are you supposed to put two periods there? One for the abbreviation and one to end the sentence makes sense to me but it looks like a failed ellipsis. If I leave one off though, it looks like a naked sentence. Grammar quandary. I'd look it up in one of my 2,000 books - but did I mention I packed up all those fuckers??
Finally, I think it's weird when women have tanned armpits. I can think of no easy way to accomplish tan pits. Do they lay out in the sun with their arms over their heads specifically to make sure their pits get bronze? What happens if they fall asleep that way and get sunburned there?? Egad. That would be horrible! And? Not worth it. It looks odd to begin with.
Is it lunch time yet?
Peace.

Where Did Monday Go?

We are in whirlwind mode here. I'm planning on Sweet Hubby's job contract being signed by the end of the week and having the house on the market by a week from today. We have packed all of the books in our house (some 2,000 of them). My studio is packed away. We are moving non-essential furniture, dishes, and clothes to storage, too. Pretty much all we have left are beds, the PS3 (with HD monitor), table and chairs, some food, and random things (like NFL band-aids, bowls of keys, and a headless dragon statue that is awaiting gluing). Makes it easier to paint and put in new carpet. The kids are vacillating at school between last minute fun (field trips, pizza parties, movies in class) and academic cram (National Math League contests, test review, final exams). We had a fantastic time this past weekend. We had all the kids and one party segued right into the next as we celebrated birthdays, and going aways, and mothers. I'm saying goodbye's to my stuff (for a while), to my friends (for a longer while), and to my house (forever). It is a bit drawn out but it feels safe and anchoring. I'm doing everything in stages. Even though it feels like we're doing so much so quickly, it also feels like we have enough time to do it all the right way. I am in a better groove than I've ever been in my life! I am getting better and better at transitions. Who knew that all I needed was more practice?
Peace.

O'Dark Thirty Realization

When we move, local/regional NFL coverage will be centered on the Panthers!! Not only are they not the Titans, but they're an NFC team to boot! Egad.

Old Home Week (Or Something)

I don't know if the purging of twenty year old boxes I did the other night sent out this mighty nostalgia vibe or what - but today has pretty much freaked me out. I'm registered with this great website/board thingy (that's the technical name for it) that reconnects sailors with their shipmates from yesteryear. It has been interesting fun the past few months to hear what everyone has been up to. Navy linguists formed a close-knit community back in the 80's and even though I was "only" a reservist, it was great to be a small part of it then and it's fascinating to be pulled back into the fringes now. Today, however, was just uncanny.

I hadn't even signed on in weeks. I'd promised a buddy (Matt) who had just found me that I'd write back as soon as I returned from a trip - which I never did! Lame-O friend! Today I got a message from someone new asking if I was the same Lilymane who had been to Misawa TAD in the late 80's. Why, yes. That was me. I wrote back and he wrote back - and I was very surprised to learn that I had thrown a drink in his face. I remember the drinks we were drinking that night. They were called Chu hai's (sp?). They tasted like Sprite but had an evil, delayed kick. The bar was at the top of this steep hill- we are talking vertical incline. It was set up that way, I suspect, so that sailors could just roll down the hill back to base because there is no way you could have walked UP that thing after a Chu hai or two!

Somehow in all this e-reminiscing, I remembered to write to my buddy Matt. In doing so, I noticed that there had been a lot of "visitors" to my profile since the last time I'd logged in. It's kind of fun to scroll through and see who's been checking to see if you're a shipmate they remember. I didn't recognize many of the names - but one jumped out at me. Not to rehash very, very old drama - but there was a boy I was madly in love with. We were sort of an on again, off again undefined relationship, but really? I was off the deep end about this guy. I was quite torn up to come back from that TAD to Japan to find a friend of his waiting for me at the airport instead of him. In fact, I never heard from him again and only saw him once more. We literally ran into each other about a year later. We turned a corner and smacked into each other. "Sorry!" "Sorry!" we both said and kept walking. That was it. For 17 years. Then there was his name on my visitor log. But had he written me? Noooo. Boys!!!!!

I wrote him and said hey. I'd love to hear from him. I kept waiting for some angst to hit me about him - because man, oh man, was I in love with him at the time - but there was nothing weird at all. I just wondered what he'd been up to all these years and hoped he'd write back. I did finally hit the send button on the email to Matt - only to have the phone ring that very second. I saw the caller ID and it said "San Diego" with some number. As Sweet Hubby is in San Diego this week on business, I assumed it was him. Nope. It was my Navy buddy Lisa, (whom I talk to maybe twice a year) calling me on her way to her ship to let me know she's coming through here on her way to South Carolina next month!!

But wait there's more! After spending the better part of the day emailing various and sundry other Navy buddies (because I was on a roll!), I got an email from my writer pal Steve. He was forwarding on an email from our mutual friend Julia that we had both lost track of about 7 or 8 years ago! Seems she had randomly found the website for the research we're doing on our book project. She had forgotten we knew each other. Julia and I had been friends since I was in Kindergarten (she is a year older) and I'd met Steve through friends in a theater program when I was in the 8th grade. I'd been the one to introduce them to each other - and they went right out and fell in love and had a turbulent relationship for like, six or seven years. (And I thought dating the same boy for THREE years in high school was an eternity!) She'd forgotten she'd just walked in and practically stole this boy away from me? I say that with a smile because I think Steve and I were always destined to be "just friends". It is so interesting to me what we remember and what we forget. She forgot she stole a boy from me in the 8th grade and I forgot I'd thrown a drink in a cheeky boy's face!

Lest you think I'm forgetting to post these next few days - rest assured. I haven't forgotten you, I'm just ignoring you. Ha ha. In addition to Mother's Day - it is the appointed time for family May celebrations. Tidget's birthday is on the 15th, the Princessa's on the 19th, and Marmie's (=my mother's) b'day on the 21st. We will be busy making tacos and strawberry shortcake (the traditional fare in our house for May birthdays!) There is also the wee matter of VBGF being here to help us get the house on the market, SH coming back in from a week out of town, Nurse Nice cycling up to see us, and my sister leaving to go back to Paris. So. Ignoring you. Feel free to ignore me back and we'll catch up again on Monday, eh?
Peace my internetchiks.

Field Trip To Hell

I was just handed a permission slip to sign so my sixth graders can go on a field trip. Where are they going? The local Baptist McChurch. To be innoculated against the evils of alcohol and tobacco. I'm not overly excited about signing this form.

Don't get me wrong - I don't want my kids smoking or drinking. We talk with the kids about it a lot - the dangers, the realities, the health risks, the social consequences, the legal issues - we talk about it all. And by "we" I don't just mean Sweet Hubby and me. "We" means our whole village: other parents, closest friends, aunts and uncles, grandmothers, mothers of peers, karate instructors and wrestling coaches. I would add the "Teen Living" teacher to that list of village voices except that sex, drugs, and personal hygeine seem to have garnered all the glory in her class. Smoking and drinking have gotten short shrift. I want the kids to hear the "Don't drink" and "Don't smoke" messages at school. I don't know that I think a field trip to a church known for its "purity programs" counts (in my book).

I don't believe that pressuring kids to sign pledge cards in front of hundreds of their peers is the answer. I don't think that portraying kids who smoke and drink as villains is particularly honest or effective. I despise the pious crap that this type of program pushes. And yet...

The school was pre-emptively defensive about the location - praising the church for offering to host the event in order to accomodate such a large group. Um, this is just for the sixth grade - and I know for a fact that they can all fit into one of several venues right at school! Isn't that what places like the cafeteria and gym and auditorium are for? Anyway... I'm going to sign this form and let Mayhem and the Princessa go. I think I'll plan on some deprogramming time afterwards.

***I wrote this post last week and never posted it! Today is the day. I talked to them about what I expected today to be like (pressure, scary information) and what they expected today to be like (pizza, no classes or homework). They both assured me that they weren't interested in smoking or drinking. Mayhem added the ominous word "yet" to his statement which almost launched me into a round of lecture until he pointed his finger at me and said, "Gotcha." Both he and the Princessa thought it was very funny. Then they reassured me that they both felt very centered in themselves and they just wanted to go have fun. OK. I guess. ***

Purging

I spent yesterday throwing away "treasures". Do you want to know what I considered "treasure" in high school? (Yes, I said high school. Remember my reunion - my TWENTIETH reunion LAST May? Twenty-one years. THAT's how long I've been lugging this junk, excuse me - these treasures, around.) The box marked "treasures" was filled with dessicated roses, newspaper clippings of my boyfriend's track achievements, bubble gum wrappers, beer bottle tops, movie ticket stubs, mylar balloon carcasses, construction paper valentines and love letters.

I dated the same boy for three years (=an eternity) in high school so all of that crap was surely connected to him - balloons and bouquets of roses he sent. I can't explain the bubble gum wrappers. My parents HATED gum and you'd get kicked off campus if you got caught with it at school so I never chewed bubble gum. Beer (obviously) was just as forbidden but what worked for keeping me away from gum did not work for alcohol. We drank like fish. Like alcoholic fish. I don't know why I saved a measly three bottle caps as reminders from the squillions of bottles we polished off. I don't even think I want to know. And for the love of God, why would anyone EVER think that a twenty year old movie ticket to "Top Gun" was valuable? Why, why, why have I carted this box around all these years?

It might possibly be cute if I had married that boyfriend and had his children. But I don't know. Another thing I threw away was a Martha Stewart wedding planner stuffed with receipts and magazine clippings and sketches and guest lists from my wedding in '91 to Mr. Tapioca Head. I did marry him, I did have his kids - and I still don't know what possible worth those momentos could have. I asked the boys if they had any interest in it. They looked up from the PS3 and looked horrified. A book full of wedding stuff - no thank you!

Trash! I have bags and bags of trash. It feels incredible to move through the world so much more lightly. It's not that I want to do away with all the reminders of my past. I kept letters from my grandparents and notes from my high school buddies. Books and letters - I re-read those. The other stuff, though, has got to go. I need room in my life for newness, for change, for clarity. I've decided this move is the best thing that could possibly have happened.
Peace.

The Z-Man Smileth

This is my godson Z-Man. I flew to Philadelphia this weekend to meet him and smother him with kisses and cuddles - and oh yeah, to promise to help raise him in the faith. I renounced all the forces of wickedness (again) and prayed while my godson was being marked up with oil and splashed with water. I loved it. Of course, I pretty much love all the liturgy in the Episcopal Church. Sometimes my witchy side cringes when certain priests get going - especially if they start to get all Baptist on me and say the words "precious Lord" too many times. I figure it balances out because my churchy side gets squicked out by some of the more froo-froo New Agey folks in Circle. I try to focus only the parts I like from both of my paths. I'm a blend, blend, blend kind of gal.

I tell you though, it's a darn good thing I renounced the forces of wickedness (and yea, verily did I renounce them) on Saturday morning. Otherwise my fellow godparent might have become headless. St. Ann is one of my dearest friends and her husband, John the Magnificent or JTM for short, is a prince of a guy. JTM's parents are kind and funny. I enjoy them very much. JTM's brother, on the other hand, is a dickhead. I'm talking, a total asshat. I guess it happens in the best of families.

On Saturday there was a lot going on. Baby ZMan was being baptized and 50 someodd folks were being confirmed or received into the church. JTM was one of those being confirmed. The plan was to all go to church and then head back to St. Ann's for a luncheon. There was even MORE going on when JTM's other son (who is 6) decided that he didn't want to wait and get baptized all by himself. Apparently he'd been talking in Sunday school about getting baptized but waited until Saturday morning to let his parents know that today was the day! The rector agreed to it, the Bishop thought it a fine idea, and luckily his Sunday school teacher was in the pew right behind the baptismal family's and whispered a smiling "Yes, I'd be delighted" when asked if she'd like to be an impromptu godmother. (She even had a present for him in her car! We had to rush to the church gift shop after the service but that woman was prepared. I can only dream of being that prepared.)

Baptisms are lovely affairs where we get to march to the baptismal font for some splashing and we get to pray that the newly baptised be guided in all good things and be given an inquiring mind and a discerning heart. The words of the BCP are truly beautiful. Did this impress the godfather? Not so much. He leaned over halfway through the service - about a nanosecond after the baptisms and confirmations were done - and whispered loudly, "Hey, we're gonna go back to your place. You gotta spare key?" Before the service the priest had made sure to tell us that the little boys were welcome to go play on the playground after their part. They'd gotten squirmy and we'd sent them out. You'd think that the 36 year old could manage to stay for communion, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you think that the godfather would be willing to stay and meet the priest at least? Guess not. Of course this was the guy who had called to bitch and whine about having to wear a suit to this thing. Can you imagine? Making the most of it, JTM asked his brother to take the two boys with him. After the service, Nana (St. Ann's mom) took the two girls (8 and 10 years old) back to the house to start getting the luncheon things set out while we mingled and made a quick run through the gift shop. As we were leaving the gift shop, which was waaaay down in the basement of the church and sort of around a corner, the youth leader walks in with St. Ann and JTM's sons and says, "See, I told you we'd find them. They're right here." WTF??? They were supposed to have gone with Brother Can't Be Bothered 45 minutes ago!!!!!!! The boys told us that he had come out to the playground to get them but they had wanted to stay and play. So he let them. That might have been fine IF HE HAD LET US KNOW!!! What kind of grown up takes responsibility for two little guys and then just leaves them? To make it worse, when JTM asked him about it he got PISSED and said, "What? They didn't want to go. I wasn't going to make them." He completely missed the point about letting someone know. St. Ann said he is self-centered like that. She was surprised that he hadn't just helped himself to the food before everyone got back. Apparently he's done that before. He had helped himself to some beers already but that just made St. Ann and JTM laugh. The beer he snagged was left over beer from the wedding (in Sept!) that no one else would touch. He spent the rest of the afternoon saying embarassing and hurtful things about his 5th grade son. One of the guests tried to get him to change tracks by saying, "Man, you're embarassing the guy." Brother Asshat's response? "Well, maybe he'll go away and stop bothering us then." Geez! The kid was great. He was just sitting talking with the grown ups because he was the oldest kid there.

As far as I'm concerned I'm a single godparent. Oh wait - no. St. Ann's brother is a godfather too even though he couldn't be there on Saturday. He's a pretty cool dude. I think he and I need to get together and quietly vote Brother Blacksheep off the island. ZMan will thank us for it later.

The rest of the weekend was fantastic! It was relaxed and fun. ZMan is a jolly boy and a big flirt. The other four kids were sweet to me and LOVED showing off their brother. Hanging out with St. Ann and JTM was exactly what I needed. It is so nice to compare notes with good friends who understand the challenges of a big, blended family. I even had a nice trip back - once we figured out that the huge, black plume of smoke rising up from behind the airport was garbage/something being burned at an industrial facility and not a problem on the runway! On the plane home I met a sparkly, young gal who had been in Philly to see her boyfriend. She's from Alabama. She and her boyfriend have been together for three and a half years and plan to marry - but she worries about how their families will get along. She thinks all the parents will be fine but their brothers will be a different matter. Her future brother-in-law is a self-important wiseguy named Tony, who talks like he's in the Sopranos. She described her brother Tooter as "Kramer all jacked up on redneck." I wished her luck and said that it sounded like a reality tv series in the making. All families have their issues, don't they?

Currently my family's issue is that we have too much crapola! After the kids had lugged a few boxes to storage, they got on board with the idea that we should throw/give stuff away. Now. This very minute. Before it gets packed in heavy boxes that have to get moved to storage, then into a truck, then into another house. I'm a smart mom for packing all the hardback books first, aren't I?

Peace to the People!

Calorific

My beautiful friend (I mentioned I have beautiful friends, right?) C is for Coffee has been such an inspiration to me. She is dynamic and creative and has been losing weight and shaping her body in the healthiest of healthy ways. I've been following my own little plan. I've been changing one small piece of my pattern each week with the eventual goal of losing these pounds and completing the Pacific Grove Triathlon. Next week, my one new thing for the week is to keep a food journal. I have been dreading this task for 11 weeks. I knew it was the new thing for week 12 and I have been absolutely dreading it!

I have had internal temper tantrums. I have thought about skipping that week. I have been scared of writing everything down for fear of triggering those old obsessive and addictive habits. Five years of anorexia/bulimia leaves its mark even after 20 years of recovery!! And in the last two weeks C is for Coffee has helped me get over all of that fear. She didn't even know she was doing it. She tracks not only her food but her calories! She's a great role model. She is interested in the caloric cost of food. She doesn't use the calorie information to deprive herself or chastise herself. She uses it to make good choices. Of course I KNOW that that's what you're supposed to do. I've just never had faith that I could do it that way. That is, until I watched her. She makes it look doable. Still doubting myself, I've spent the last ten days quietly checking the packages of food I eat or looking up info on calorie counter websites. It has not been hard. It has not meant I don't get enough to eat. I've just become aware of the caloric cost of what I do eat. I haven't written it down yet - but suddenly next week isn't scaring me at all. It feels safe.

I think I'm going to change her name from C is for Coffee to C is for Cool Calorie Counting Chick!

The Talk

This post may be incomprehensible because my nephew Thrasher is staying with me for the day. You'd think with the herd of children I have that I'd remember how impossible it is to complete anything - even a thought - with a toddler around. Apparently I have the long term memory of a gnat, because I keep looking at the clock wondering how another hour has passed when I've still only managed to write half of an email! For a little guy who spent his entire day yesterday flying from Paris to Boston to Philadelphia to here - Thrasher's remarkably well behaved. Very snuggly. I may not have gotten caught up on my email but I'm making progress on getting caught up on hugs and kisses!

So...Monday night...The Talk
Have you ever tried to wedge a family talk into a schedule of karate and cub scouts and chorus concerts and math contests? There was no "good" night for it. Once we decided that sooner was better for the kids than later, we realized that the only relatively free night in the next two weeks was Monday. Maybe it's good we didn't have more than a few hours to stress about it. I had a hurried, but helpful and encouraging phone conversation with VBGF and then took a walk around the block with Sweet Hubby. Mr. Tapioca Head and I had talked twice already and he said he'd be available for the kids to call him after we finished talking. All set.

We took the kids out for ice cream after the concert to celebrate the Princessa's solo and Mayhem's making the math team. We got home and instead of chasing them off to bed, sat them around the table. We said we had big news we needed to talk to them about.
"You're pregnant?!" asked the Princessa.
Er, no. We explained we were moving. Chaos immediately asked, "Will I still get to go to HHS?"
"No, we're moving to North Carolina."
"Oh man!" he said and put his head down on his arms. The Princessa burst into tears. She sobbed. She was almost hysterical for a while. It was not going particularly well. We reminded them about the job situation here and told them about the job opportunities there. We told them we had weighed many factors once we knew that we needed to move. We told them there were other opportunities in other places, but we'd decided on North Carolina because we already had some family and friends there and that all the kids had liked it when we'd visited. We told them that we were making the best choice for our family that we could. Of course they wanted to know where else. I said, "There are some great opportunities in places like San Francisco and Dallas and Atlanta." Chaos cracked me up when he said, "Dallas? Dallas, Texas? Gee, what else is in Texas? Cowboys, prickly cactuses, and, oh the Bush family. No thank you!" I assured him there was a lot more in Texas but that I agreed with him, it would NOT be a good place for us.

We told them about the schools and some of the activities that were available. We assured the boys they wouldn't miss time with their dad because he was going to move close by. We told the Princessa that it wouldn't affect her time with her mom. The only change would be that she'd fly from RDU instead of from BNA. Havoc tried first to find the bright side and started listing the people we knew there. But then it hit him that he'd be leaving his Grandmothers and friends and he got a little tearful. His response was pretty amazing for an 8 year old. He said, "I feel worried and stressed and a little bit angry and excited, too. Would it be alright if I got a piece of paper and a bright red crayon and scribbled while you keep talking?" I praised him for being able to name all of his feelings and told him of course he could scribble if that made him feel better. Mayhem was completely cool with it all. He wanted to call his best friend - but since they see each other more on Runescape than they do in real life, I don't think he sees it as impacting his friendships too much. Mayhem is also easily the most outgoing of the kids. He makes new friends everywhere.

Mayhem, never one to be still for very long - and being more upset by the Princessa's sadness than the actual news, I think - had to get up and move around. He started practicing his karate moves. Chaos was quiet. He also got up but he started wandering around the table and pacing. Havoc snuggled and the Princessa leaned against me as she continued to sniffle. Havoc wanted to know if he could go talk to the guidance counselor at school. Isn't that great?! I love that he thought of other resources to help him deal. We let the kids ask all of their questions and then let them up to go figure things out the way they wanted to. The Ninja Princessa immediately texted all of her friends and Havoc called his dad. Chaos wanted to go sit in the driveway and look at the moon and think. Mayhem and Wasabi went around checking on everyone. Once the big talk broke up, we got to have smaller conversations with the kids in shifting groups. I went to talk to Chaos in the driveway and Mayhem joined us. SH and the NP cuddled on our bed and talked and pretty soon Havoc and Mayhem and Wasabi joined them. Later I had all the boys in the studio. Chaos said he was "fine" with it. I asked him what he felt. "Nothing." I told them that everyone would have a different pattern for processing and a different time schedule. The boys were worried about the Princessa. The Princessa was worried about the boys - especially because she couldn't understand how Chaos could feel nothing. I told her that it was hard for some people to know what they were feeling immediately. I told all of them that there would be more and different feelings everyday for a while. We emphasized that everyone's reactions were valid. There isn't just one way to do big transitions. We tried to make them understand that there were many, many healthy patterns for dealing with things like this. We did talk about some of the unhealthy ways that we wanted to avoid - but mostly we talked about the positives.

It was hard but such a good process! The kids all had to go away to cope for a bit - but they all came back! Each of them came back and added more to the discussion. They each came back to ask more and to talk more about how they felt. Even Chaos, in his own way. He came in and wanted to snuggle and have me scratch his back. I told him I could only scratch his back for a minute and he said, "After what you just did, you better scratch my back for TEN minutes." He also let me know that part of the price for his cooperation with the move is to get his ear pierced the minute school is out. It was sweet bargaining. It was, "This sucks and I'm trying to be a good sport." I know that Monday was only the first stage but it was a great first step. The kids were all honest and present and turned in towards the family. I had been sure Chaos' first reaction would be a huge surge of anger. I hadn't anticipated the Ninja Princessa's intense sadness. I think it likely that there will be more anger from Chaos and less sadness and more resignation from the Princessa as the days move on. I know that everyone is going to cycle up and down through all kinds of feelings. It is a grieving process. It just felt so good to be doing all of that together. It's been hard to try to be juggling details and worry about slipping up and having the kids find out in a backwards way. I like the directness and clarity and I want to keep moving in that direction.

We've already started packing up our books. Remember our beautiful library? Now it looks like this!

There is so much to do in such a short time but now I'm enjoying the process more.
Naptime is over! Thrasher and I are going to have some lunch and pack some more boxes.
Peace.

Alternative Playground Equipment

Today Havoc was trying to explain the rules of some game to me. The game involves two guys on a tater totter. :D I wish I hadn't laughed because then I had to explain that it's really called a teeter totter. Gone are the days of "calipippers", "belbows", and "Mommy, can I sit by next to you?" I miss the childish slips and word confusions - except, of course, when Chaos does them. What is still cute at 8 isn't remotely cute at almost 15. Which is good, really.

In other news - we are definitely moving. The job offer from the world's most perfect company offering to pay Sweet Hubby the world's most perfect salary for doing the thing he most wants to do hasn't quite been extended yet - but we're moving anyway. I believe with all my heart the job will come through. Jobs here are not coming through - except for ones that are steps backwards on the professional path. Even a lateral move to a job in our new City of Choice is preferable to backpedaling here. I think this horrendous experience has been a jolt. We've made compromises for security and now that security has been ripped away. It's scary. Definitely that. But also energizing and exciting to think of the possibilites. Now that we've given up on here, it's been wonderful to think of choosing a new community. The community we've picked is great - the schools are doing cool things - and we have some friends and a few family members there already.

Mr. Tapioca Head is not only being accepting - but he's being encouraging. In fact, today he talked with me about when to tell the kids even knowing the job offer is not nailed down yet. He advocated for sooner rather than later - although we both agreed that it's either soon (like the next few days!) or we wait until after the kids get out of school (May 24th.) There are cases to be made for both scenarios. If we tell them now, then they have a few weeks to adjust to the idea before exams and they get to spend this time with their friends. It's all moving fast - but it needs to.

***Interrupted and now I have to add:
We've decided to tell the children TONIGHT that we're moving.
***
Wish us luck?
Peace.

Stellar

I went to pick up my best girl at the airport on Friday night and while waiting, guess who I saw? A famous blogger!!!!! She's been training for a marathon - a real one - like TWICE what I did. She's been so inspirational to me as I try to get back to my training. She has kids - a son about the same age as my Mayhem and a toddler. She writes; she's plugged into pop culture - I have no idea how she does it all. And I saw her in real life! I immediately wanted to say hi - and then I panicked. Is it ok to say hi because you recognize someone from the computer? Is that considered stalking? Would it freak me out if someone did it to me? (Well, yes, probably - but I'm easily freaked out. I squealed the first time my IM pinged even though I knew it was someone I knew.) I sat and thought about it for a few minutes. Is there a class on this somewhere? Blogging Ethics 101? I had to figure it out on the fly.

No one would want to be tracked down by what they've said, but being recognized isn't at all the same thing, is it? She'd told the world she'd be in Nashville for the race and it's definitely part of the ethos of the Country Music Marathon that strangers are rooting for you. If you have your name on your shirt, people you do not know will call out your name. Even if you don't have your name visible anywhere, people will yell out "Good Luck" as you pass. I was just a day early. I decided I'd regret it if I didn't say hello, wish her luck in the race, and tell her I loved her blog. I was halfway across the space between us before I realized she might not actually be who I thought she was! Too late - she and her son and her dad (I assumed) were looking at me. I said I was sorry to interrupt and just barge over - and it might be a weird question - but did she, by chance, blog. She smiled and said yes. I asked, "Miss Zoot?" and she nodded. I think I gushed a bit then - and told her I wished her the very best luck in the race and I knew she'd do well and then I scurried away forgetting to tell her how much I liked her blog as a whole. Oh well. Probably better to have said too little than too much, eh? When VBGF got off the plane, we passed Miss Zoot and I waved and smiled. She smiled back at us - so I knew it was really ok to have said hi. ***And? Miss Zoot finished her marathon yesterday! What an accomplishment - do you realize how freakin' long 26.2 miles is??? Yay Zoot!***

And then I saw another star! The reason VBGF flew in was to see Loreena McKennit at the Ryman Auditorium. If you have not been to the Ryman, then you cannot believe what you are missing. It is such an intimate venue - with history that just soaks into you as you sit on the church pew seats. It was perfect for Loreena McKennit's music. Her voice was powerful and rich, ethereal and electric. Her presence was inviting and overwhelming at the same time. It is without a doubt the most amazing concert I have ever seen. (<--And that is saying a lot because I have seen Etta James and Celine Dion recently.) Loreena McKennit is an amazing woman. I think she won my heart when I found out years ago that she keeps her journals in both French and English and that she travels around the world for her musical inspiration. She spoke about her creative process for a few of the songs she played. It was mesmerizing. She infuses her music with an appreciation of the cultures she's studied; she has a genuine respect for the musicians that surround her; and she has a way of inviting her audience into her musical process and performance. There are instruments in her show that I have not only never seen (like the Hurdy-Gurdy), but there were some that I have never even heard of. Do you know what an "Oud" is? Or a "Celtic Bouzouki"? Then there is her voice. Her awe-inspiring voice. The range and depth of her voice are simply astounding. I kept having to remind myself that all of that haunting, soul-grabbing sound was pouring out of a live woman right in front of me. I very nearly chucked everything to become a Loreena McKennit groupie right then and there.

We were not prepared for the night to be over - even after the third encore. The Ryman security folks finally shooed us out. We wandered back to the car and ended up driving to East Nashville to sit in a smoky bar and hear some more live music. I think we finally got home around 2. (Sweet Hubby was still up playing his PS3 to de-stress from the job search.) We talked and then had to shower to get all the icky smoke off of us. I think I finally fell asleep around 4. I meant to blog all this last night, but I fell asleep at 6 pm and slept for 13 hours!!!! I am SUCH a party animal. I stay out late one night and have to pay for it immediately. Oh well. It was beyond "worth it" and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Hope everyone else had a great weekend!
Peace.

They Shave?

On his way out to the school bus this morning, Havoc said to me, "If you see a Lego guy who looks like he hasn't shaved in a while, will you put him on my ship?"

Uh. Ok.
Peace.

Ooops!

There was a parent meeting for World Studies which is an honors symposium Chaos wants to take next year. The meeting started at 7 in the cafeteria. I was there in plenty of time. Twenty minutes early. The lights were off and there were no other parents there. Even at 5 of 7 there was no one else there. I knew I had the date right. VBGF was on the phone with me as I wandered around trying to find a way into the school. At 7:01 she said, "Are you at the high school?"

DOH!

High school! The meeting is at the high school were my son will be a high school student next year! My brain did know that. (I'd even called the right school to find out what room the meeting would be in!) I thought I had a handle on letting my kid grow up but clearly there is at least a small part of me that is not quite ready to make that transition to being the mother of a high schooler!

Peace.

Whose Tooth Is It Anyway?

I don't remember if I've mentioned what a Lame-O we have for a tooth fairy. But she sucks. I think she has remembered to claim a tooth on the first night it was offered once per kid. Maybe. If you combine all five of the kids, the total number of lost teeth is approximately 2,076. That is a lot of disappointment. It is also a butt load of money since the tooth fairy - out of overwhelming guilt - pays entirely too much per tooth when she finally gets around to checking the silver cannister. (Sidenote: instead of tucking the tooth in toilet paper and burying it under the pillow, our household subscribes to the concept of putting the tooth in a cute little silver container and sticking on the bedside table after calling three times "Tooth Fairy, Tooth Fairy ________ has lost a tooth!" This method has its advantages - namely, the box was a baby shower gift and is quite lovely and it can be placed outside the door instead of beside the bed for children who think it's "creepy" to have someone lurking around their room even for the purpose of leaving money. The drawbacks, however, are not insignificant. Said tiny cannister is easy to lose in between teeth and doesn't hold more than three teeth at a time. Ask me how I know this. Also, is not remotely big enough to hold coins. Conveniently, it is the perfect size for rolled up bills.)

There are some positive things to be said for a household with a completely dysfunctional tooth fairy. The kids have become flexible about the pomp and circumstance surrounding the losing of the teeth. The children knew immediately without even a moment's worry that the tooth fairy would be forgiving of the lack of actual tooth in the cannister. Not being able to recover teeth from the drain or from the river while on vacation - these are circumstances the the tooth fairy can understand as she clearly has obstacles that often prevent her from meeting her end of the standard tooth=money contract. My children know about diversity and equality. Broken shards of teeth are as acceptable as run of the mill whole teeth. And all teeth, be they first teeth, molars, or child fangs, are equally likely to be languishing in the cannister. The kids have also learned the art of delayed gratification and gained an understanding of compound interest. They have even been made aware of the American business tradition of Christmas bonuses in the form of packages under the tree labeled "From TTF".

So maybe all of that explains why my children are not normal about teeth. Or maybe not.

Today, along with the list of chore assignments that I leave for the kids each afternoon, I left a baggie with a tooth in it that I found while cleaning out one of those spots that seems to accumualte random and somewhat horrifying detritus. This was a first for us - the tooth hadn't even made it to the cannister before it had been forgotten. Ay yi yi! The caption on my note said, "Whose tooth is this?"

When I came into the kitchen, I discovered them trying to fit it back into their mouths to determine whose tooth it might be!!! They hadn't taken it out of the baggie, which makes it oh so not much better. What did they think - this was like Cinderella's slipper?!! They finally decided it was Mayhem's - but, as I overheard some bargaining between Chaos and Mayhem about who owed whom $ for something or other, I don't know if I totally trust that.

****Please Pardon The Interruption*****
As I was typing along about how odd my children can be about teeth, I heard some serious commotion from the other end of the house. The Princessa was laughing, Chaos was saying, "Arg. Eh. Gr!", and Mayhem was howling (but with what sounded like laughter, not pain.) I finally went to fuss at them and chase them back to their chores but was stopped in my tracks at the sight of Mayhem. He was standing, red-faced, in the hall with water dripping out of his hair and into his eyes. Chaos was laughing his a** off. I asked what was going on and Mayhem said, "Chaos gave me a swirlie!!"
A SWIRLIE??
"No way!!! Chaos, tell me you did NOT put your brother's head in a toilet!! Mayhem, did he?!! He wouldn't have!" I am nearly choking as I'm trying to speak. The thought is horrifying but Mayhem's face is comic. I cannot help laughing even though I'm on the verge of being seriously pissed and worried as hell about my son. It is like laughing when someone is tickling you even though that is the very LAST thing you think is funny. Thankfully the kids all completely busted out laughing and assured me they would never, ever, ever in a million years do something mean like that to anyone for any reason. They also sort of apologized for pulling such a prank on me but I think they knew they had caught me on a good day and had stayed *just barely* inside of my tolerance for hijinks.
*****
I have no idea how I was going to close the tooth fairy post. I can only sit here and wonder if my children are even near the realm of normalcy. They are congenial, and bright, and caring (for the most part!) - but their weirdness factor can be off the charts. That's normal, right?!
Peace.

Why Not 33?

My mother told me last night that I would like her new customer Rosemary. She said that Rosemary asked a question that she knew I would have asked.

Mom told me Rosemary works for the mayor's office in the small town next to ours. They fielded many, many calls about when and how to ring the bells to remember those lost in the Virginia Tech tragedy. I'm not sure I understand if the conversation took place in my mother's shop or in the mayor's office itself, but the way my mom told me the story, she said they were going to ring the bells 32 times and I immediately interrupted to ask, "Why not 33?" Mom hugged me and said, "That's why you'd like Rosemary. That's the question she had." Rosemary was the only one in a room full of people to ask that question.

As a matter of fact, not only was she the only one to question the number 32, but everyone else was aghast that she did. Angry. How is it that I ended up in a community that can't see the gunman as a victim? How can they not remember him? I'm not advocating that he should be "honored" for what he did - but I certainly believe he should be remembered and numbered among those who were lost. He was lost from his family. He was lost from his community. He was certainly lost from himself to do what he did. How can the uber-Christians that surround me not get that?! How can they not pray for his tormented soul? Why can't their compassion extend to his family? I cannot imagine that family's loss! How would you even start to cope with the sadness and anger of losing your son to suicide, much less the horror of knowing that your son, in his pain and anguish, murdered 32 innocent people?

I didn't think I could get sadder about the events at Virginia Tech until I heard how outraged my neighbors were to be asked, "Why not 33?"
Peace. For everyone - I wish for peace.

Never Wear Paisley To An Interview

I don't know why. Sweet Hubby said you just don't wear a paisley tie to an interview. Huh. Ok. (Pretty sure I never have.) Anyone know why this is so? Does it indicate that you are too carefree? Too 80's? What?

We are off to celebrate our anniversary weekend with job and house hunting! Yay! Nothing says I still love as much as I did all those years ago as a huge bouquet of STRESS! Only sort of kidding. I do like the dreaming that goes with house hunting (whose room would this be, oh - the Piranesi would look great over the mantlepiece, look at the light! etc) and I'll be home on Sunday before Sweet Hubby starts with the interviews on Monday morning. He's got two confirmed interviews and one other possible one. NOT BAD for a week's worth of job hunting, I think!

It is supposed to be gorgeous - sunny and in the 70's all weekend. How perfect is that? Can you tell I am very much trying to distract myself from the darkside of all this - like OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GET MY HOUSE READY TO PUT ON THE MARKET!) Hope all you lovely internets have a lovely weekend too!
Peace.

In Medias Res

Tonight Havoc got on the phone with his dad. (I usually shoo the kids into their bedroom to talk to their dad so they have some quiet and protected talk space - but tonight the kids were everywhere with friends over and I was trying to get them fed and make sure they talked to their dad before game. Shooing Havoc out of the family room was low on my priority list as I was trying to make supper.) Anyway I hear Havoc's end of the conversation and I can picture my ex's puzzled facial expression throughout the whole thing.

Clearly dad asked something along the lines of "What did you do today?"
What I hear Havoc say (even though I know differently) is, "I made my first nude sculpture for dinner tonight and..."
Pause.
"Food. You know, food?"
Pause.
"Food sculpture. To eat. I got to eat my invention for dinner and..."
Pause.
"What kind of invention? A food invention with a face. The kind you eat and we stuck the eyes.."
Pause.
"It was a head. You know, with a face? We cut out the eyes. Only the knife was sharp so I ...."
Pause.
"A head." Pause. "No, mom was there. And we used fruit snacks for the pupils and toothpicks and cut a mouth and..."
Pause.
"An apple. We started with an apple, dad. I wanted to do something fun for dinner so I made a face on an apple with other fruit and fruit snacks and I named him Bob. Anyway, the Yogos hair fell on the floor when we tried to show..."

A starting point! We (finally) find the starting point for his story! You'd think he'd begin to understand that people need a leetle bit of background before the barrage of details, but Havoc is continually perplexed as to why people don't understand what he's talking about.
Peace.

Cannot Speak

I don't have the words to express how I feel about the tragedy at Virginia Tech.
I don't know what I think (or rather I do - but I don't feel like talking about the need for gun control or the funding for mental health services.)
I am so very, very sorry for the families (including the gunman's) who are grieving so deeply.
Peace.

Quiet Commotion

We've had quite the emotion commotion this week. The job market is not exciting here and it looks like we really may move. Out of state. Like pack up all the kids, sell the house and schlep a bit east.

It is exciting. And scary. And energizing. And paralyzing.

The conversation with Mr. Tapioca Head about the possibility of taking the boys out of state went well. Really well. Surprisingly well. (Which, of course, scares the crud out of me waiting for the other shoe to drop - but I'm not going to borrow trouble from tomorrow by dwelling on it.) He understands the professional situation here (having had something like 5 jobs in 6 years) and he was realistic about the fact that he could delay us or make it harder but that it was unlikely he could legally prevent it. He doesn't want to be away from his kids (which makes sense to me - I don't want to be away from them either!) so depending on what the actual offers are, he's going to try to work with me. Truly I couldn't possibly have asked for anything more.

I'm ready for the fantastic job offers from points eastward to start rolling in. (Universe, are you listening?) I'm cleaning the house like a fiend (OH MY GOD I HAVE TO HAVE MY HOUSE READY TO PUT ON THE MARKET!) and I'm trying to keep the energy level on as even a keel as possible. For many, many reasons we're not telling the kids any time soon. Firstly, we have to have a much more concrete plan (starting with a signed offer - a fantastic in all ways kind of signed offer - oh universe, do you hear me?) And also? The kids have their end of the year, standardized state exams this week. This. Week.

I've decided that my new affirmation is "I continue to make good and healthy choices during times of stress. I easily navigate flux and change. I have fun." That sounds good doesn't it? The dog likes it. I say my affirmations outloud while I sit on the floor and stretch. He tries to lick my face each time I start talking. It's sweet in a distracting way. I laugh but haven't figured out how to shoo him without feeling like I'm shooing away all the goodness I'm trying so hard to attract! This talking to the universe can be very tricky!
Peace.

A House Full Of Farmers

Farming has become an unexpected recent topic of conversation here.
Chaos wanted to take "Introduction to Agriculture" as one of his electives next year. ??
Now, I have nothing AT ALL against farmers or farming. Without farmers I would be in sorry shape. After all, I very much like to eat but I would be a poor farmer. Plants do not thrive in my care and I would have a hard time raising animals knowing that later they would be slabs o'protein on my plate. I am ever so grateful to farmers for the fact that I can get my food from the market.

My son (having inherited my winning way with plants) is not what I would consider prime Future Farmers of America material. Add that to the the fact that he's never once shown the slightest interest in any form of agriculture before. Ever. He was not even one of those little boys who liked tractors and backhoes.
I had to ask, "Why the sudden interest in Ag 101?"
His answer? "You know that book, A Hymn Before Battle?"
(If you clicked on the link you will understand my hesitation as I nodded my head yes. I try to read everything my kids read - and as that one is sci-fi (which I love) - it was not a chore. There is, however, NO FARMING in that book.) "And?" I prompted.
"The grandfather, you know, Mighty Mike's father? He had a farm. I think it would be cool."
Ahhhhhh. The grandfather in question was Vietnam era covert ops specialist who had retired to a "farm" that he had stocked with all sorts of traps and weapons which conveniently help to stop the alien invasion. "Chaos - that is NOT farming. And it is not REMOTELY what they will teach you in Ag 101. I promise. Go ahead and sign up for Keyboarding and Wellness this year and if you absolutely can't live without taking farming in high school, you can sign up for it next year."

Case closed. Or so I thought. Then Havoc (the 8 year old) started talking to me about farming. And just so you know - Havoc's MO is to start a conversation in the middle. Assuming you know what he's talking about, he just jumps right in giving you all the details long before he gives you a beginning point or even a topic sentence. Sometimes, if you hang in there, you can sort it out and join in intelligently but more often than not, you have to wait for an opening and ask questions like, "What the heck are you talking about?" This was one of the latter instances.

He "started" by asking me, "Whatever happened to that water buffalo we gave Nurse Nice for Christmas?" (Hie thee hither to Heifer International if you've never given someone a water buffalo for Christmas.) I explained that we'd given a donation in her name towards the purchse of a water buffalo for a village overseas. Havoc was VERY RELIEVED. Then he was off and running about farming. At least I thought he was talking about farming. Thankfully his idea of farming seemed to include barns, livestock, drought and irrigation, and even crops. As a bonus, he knew that crops were plants like wheat and corn and cotton - unlike a certain one of my children (you'll never guess which one) who used to think crops had only to do with mysterious circles and aliens. But Havoc kept talking about "third" farming and then he started yammering on about gold and tourists and having to slaughter all of his chickens. Yeah. Ok. "Havoc, start at the beginning please!"

Turns out he was playing** this very cool game online called "Third World Farmer". Third World Farmer is a remarkable and interesting simulation game. As the name might suggest, the object is to be successful as a farmer facing the obstacles and hardships common in developing nations. Medicine and school are expensive but your chances are slim to none without them. Poachers and civil war and disease zap you when you can least afford it. Plentiful seasons are sporadic and a well can mean the difference between life and death for your livestock. There are interesting ethical decisions - like should you lease a few of your acres for opium poppies which would pay for the medicine needed to save your character's life -or your character's baby's life! One of the options for your down-and-out farmers sometimes is to perform in a "tribal" show for tourists. The conversations this game has provoked in my household! My son's compassion has shifted and grown as a direct result of this game.
He confided to me that he was glad we had given our friend part of a water buffalo, but he had been worried that it was going to waste. He didn't think that she needed it nearly as much as some people in the world did. Now that he understands the whole story, he's on fire to give everyone we know water buffaloes this year.
Just wait 'til I tell him you can give llamas and honeybees too!
Peace.

**Same with the books - I try to play the games my kids are playing - and they usually have to ask permission to play new ones, but this time Havoc caught me off guard. He learned about this game from the teacher of his gifted class and had assumed it would be ok with me for him to play it during his turn at the computer. He was right in all that. Still, the slaughtering chickens thing threw me for a loop. Kids these days!

He's Cute And All, But Yikes!

We took Chaos out one afternoon recently to celebrate his being registered for all honors classes next year. After getting a fun and unexpected snack out with us, he decided to give Mayhem the bag of Doritos he'd been hoarding. (Apparently Mayhem had loaned him headphones when Chaos lost his or some such good turn.) Chaos walked up to Mayhem, handed him the coveted bag of chips and said, "Hey, thanks for the headphones, man. Here's some condensation."
"Condensation?! You mean 'compensation'?!!" I asked. (Sweet Hubby was busy choking and spluttering - caught between laughter and horror.)
Chaos' standard response? "Yeah. Whatever. Mayhem knows what I meant." (Mayhem was, by this time, in the other room already chowing on the chips.)

I don't see a bright future for my son in Human Resources if he goes around handing out condensation packages, do you? Wouldn't you worry if this were your child?

Peace.