Vanity

Well, all the hype about my losing an eye and my face turning into a red, swollen, ugly troll like vision has passed. I didn't develop so much as a single blister. This is all due to the fast action of Dr. Goodnews and my willing obedience to do exactly what she told me to do.

Other than being a little scaly, I look pretty darn normal. Just ask anyone who has seen me in the last day and they'll say I marvelous dahling!

Aww shucks, it's nothing that a thick coat of moisturizer and Bare Minerals couldn't handle.

Oh vanity of vanities!

In other non-vanity news; I've finished training two new employees. Okay, I've pretty much finished training one of them, and let me just say for the record that she is the bomb baby! The other one, well, not so much. Which makes me sad.

The second trainee didn't finish her homework. She struggled from day one with some of the material. There were times it seemed as if she wasn't paying attention. I started to wonder if it was me. Then I noticed a couple of minor details.

She's easily distracted.

Sometimes, if she doesn't know what to do, she'll kinda wander off.

She, very occasionally, claps when stressed.

Wait! I've seen this behavior before.

I'm no doctor, but I would be willing to bet she's ADD.

Eureka!

Knowing this gives me a new approach to helping her be all that she can be. It means that I need to be a little more patient. More understanding. I'll need to keep her focused and minimize distractions.

The problem with all this, is that I have a job to do and, frankly, so does she. How do I help her when she doesn't finish assignments? I've given her extra time, I've offered extra help, and when I didn't know what else to do I pushed her a little.

I know you might be thinking that the training couldn't be that intense. After all, I work at a gym, right? Let me just say, there is way more than you could ever imagine. Way more! More anatomy. More psychology. There is more to sales and service than you know.

It's a lot to take in. A lot to memorize. I get it. I've been there and I remember feeling like I couldn't/wouldn't make the cut. It was rough, but I did it.

I just don't know if this trainee will make it and I'm not sure I can do any more for her. That makes me sad for both of us and in a weird way, wounds my ego.

This is my first assignment as Staff Trainer and I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted my trainee's to be two of the best that my club had ever seen. Yeah, cause it's all about me...

Oh vanity of vanities!

They're Happier There Today

Ahh life, with it's powerful fast ball shots, freakin' hair pulling stress, roller coaster emotional highway. Good times people. Good times.

Or not.

I've decided that I don't want to be an adult anymore. This will come as a great shock to my children. Sorry kids.

Life was so much easier when my biggest problem was what to wear to school and if I should date boy A, B, or C. Although, I have to admit that at the time it wasn't exactly a "stress free zone". Trivial little things cropped up and seemingly made my life difficult. Like the fact that I didn't have a drivers license. Or that pesky math test that nearly kept me from graduating.

However, from my point of view at forty-two (rhyme - snicker) life at sixteen was waayyy less complicated.

Way less.

FIL will be coming home today.

Yippee.

We have done everything possible to make his return home easier. This involved HOURS of work, driving, and money spent. It also included some pretty harsh words from yours truly about the way he keeps house, or the lack thereof.

As Beloved and I drove home from yet another task for FIL, I looked at Beloved and said, "Do you remember that song, The Way? You know, the one about two people just walking away from it all? I think that should be our theme song."

Take this as a warning, ya'll who think we will be here to handle every.single.crisis. that crops up from now until eternity. I have a limit. I'm drawing a line in the sand. Cross it...and I'm outta here!

The Way


They made up their minds
And they started packing
They left before the sun came up that day
An exit to eternal summer slacking
But where were they going Without ever knowing the way?

They drank up the wine
And they got to talking
They now had more important things to say
And when the car broke down They started walking
Where were they going without ever knowing the way?

CHORUS:

Anyone could see The road that they walk on is paved in gold
And It's always summer, they'll never get cold
They'll Never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows Wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happier there today , today

The children woke up
And they couldn't find 'em
They Left before the sun came up that day
They just drove off
And left it all behind 'em
But Where were they going Without ever knowing the way?

Anyone could see The road that they walk on is paved in gold
And It's always summer, they'll never get cold
They'll Never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows Wandering off somewhere
They Won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happy there today , today (repeat)

The Wanna Be

Yes, I am that girl.

The wanna be.

I wanna be organized, beautiful, intelligent, IN CONTROL OF MY EMOTIONS...

Sadly, none of this is true.



When it comes to organization, well, let's just say it's more sporadic than actually orderly. It works something like this:

I note that my kitchen cabinet, hall closet, my bedroom is a mess and spilling out into daily life. The light bulb flickers on inside my head and I think, "Gee, wouldn't it be great if someone cleaned and organized that mess?"

Since we cannot afford to hire help, that someone, of course, will be me.

And I'll dig in!

There will be a bag for the Mission, a bag for the garbage, and stacks of things that simply do not belong where they've been stuffed.

Why am I saving a long, flat box of European chocolates that is now empty and void of all the delicious chocolatiness? Is it because our missionary friend from Moldova gave them to us?



Why is there a half empty package of stale crackers in the plastics cupboard?

Should linen napkins really be stored underneath the toaster?

Lids with no matching containers, Ziploc bags with only crumbs of what once occupied that space, snow boots, gloves, one black sock...All need to find a home other than they now have.

Sadly, the organization only lasts a few weeks. I've come to the conclusion that we are pigs. That's right, pigs.



I wanna be beautiful...

A little over a million years ago, I walked into my new high school restroom and noted the two most beautiful young women I have ever seen. They were stunning. My little freshmen brain, hidden somewhere beneath caveman eyebrows and yards of unruly brown hair, simply knew that some day I would look like these two Venuses! They were seniors and I just knew that all senior girls looked like that.

I'm forty-two years old and I'm still waiting...

Sitting in my furry pink bathrobe, unruly brown hair (now streaked with gray), slightly better eyebrows, and a shrinking upper lip, I find that I am anything but beautiful.

Ah, you say, but true beauty is on the INSIDE...snicker...yeah...right...



I wanna be intelligent!

Look, I'm not saying I want to be Einstein. All I want is not to look like a doof at every given opportunity. You know what I mean! I'd like to be able to have a nifty come back to the zinger that is thrown my way. I wish I could express myself in person the way that I do on paper.

I'm so much better on paper...

And I wish I understood Algebra. Okay, that's a lie. I hate Algebra and could care less about it.

Note to Girl: This does not apply to YOU. You are far more intelligent than your mother and you DO understand Algebra and you will NEED it at some point in your life. Trust me on this




Is it too much to ask to be in control of my emotions?

Don't you think it's a mean little trick of God to place two hormonal females in the same house when they are at different ends of the spectrum? I'm just askin'.

I told Beloved just a few days ago that I am losing my mind. I'm out of control. They may need to keep me locked up so that I don't hurt myself or anyone else.

Yes, it is that bad.

I don't sleep well. At any given moment I mad, fuming, irritated, ticked off! On Sunday I read the obits (weird, I know) and the sad, sad, sad story of a couple...sniff..sniff...just got to me.

They were married for seventy years. She died in November. He passed away just three weeks later. Sniff....sniff...booo hooo hooo....It was as if He couldn't stand to live without her...sniffle...

But the real question here is WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME?!

Is this some sort of secret? Don't you think women of a CERTAIN age should be warned that they are going to go completely insane?

And do you know what the older ladies said when I complained about sleeplessness, anxiety, and sever mood swings? Do you?

"Oh honey! It just gets worse!"

Worse?

And they laughed while they said it!

It seems to me that in the olden days they would pack women like me off to the sanitarium and let us recuperate under the careful administration of Valium.

Is that too much to ask?

I don't think that I am asking for too much. I just wanna be normal. And organized. And beautiful. And intelligent. And to get off this emotional roller coaster.

It's not too much. I know it's not.

Oh, stop laughing and pass the Valium!

Simply For Review

I've been a bad blogger for the better part of six months. I don't really know why. Sure, I've been busy with work and family, but that usually doesn't slow me down too much. Maybe I've been wrestling with writers block. Perhaps I've wondered why anyone would read this dribble. There's always the amount of time I have spent on Facebook that could help to explain my being MIA.

More than likely it's a combination of all the above.

And here it is New Years day. The year of our Lord, two-thousand and ten. Crazy.

This year I watched my children grow and expand their horizons. I noted, when looking at Boy's senior picture, how much he's changed since he left home. Amazing.

Boy, who is standing behind me, reading over my shoulder, said to tell you that he is "hotter"...

ahem...

Boy has recovered from Mono and bankrupted us by enrolling in school. As I write this he is packing his things, preparing to return to the round house he shares with his roomies. It occurred to me that we may not see him until spring. Then I realized he only lives an hour from here! Duh!

Then there's my Girl. Seventeen, holder of a drivers permit, looks beautiful in a formal, finally understands Algebra, and so content.

She is not here to tell you that she is hotter than two years ago. She wouldn't anyway. She's not the way!

Last night, New Years Eve, Girl and I lay in bed and read Shel Siverstein poems. It struck me that this is a year of big changes for my little girl. She'll graduate from high school. She'll turn eighteen. The world will be her oyster...cept she doesn't like oysters!

One big dream she has is to have Soldier Mommy at her graduation tea. It's a dream I hope will come true.

The rest of the family has grown up too and I so enjoyed some of the cousins being here in August.



It was a year of the visiting friends. Two girlies who make my heart sing. They have both experienced such brutal heartbreak this year that sometimes I wonder how they manage to breath in and out, in and out, in and out.






Of course the Writer was still around, only less frequently because she's a working fool and has little to no time for anything!

My Omi died. Ya'll remember that sad tale from September.

I learned that every single member of my parents family are back stabbing, lying, hurtful individuals, whose company I can afford to live without.

Then God showed me that my family are those they he has brought into my life. Ladies like these below, who accept me for the Idiot Girl that I am.




Girl has good friends too!



And so does Boy!




Beloved is still my Beloved. After twenty-two years he still puts chains on the car and drives out in the nasty, snowy weather to rescue his idiot wife who got stuck on a hill. I promised him that I will never drive in the snow, ever, ever again! Beloved puts up with my ranting and crying and silly talk. He's a keeper I tell ya.

All in all, it's been a good year for friends and cooking and laughing. I'm a blessed Idiot Girl to have all these wonderful people in my life and even though 2009was hard in so many ways, I still think it was a good year.

Me and the Stranger

We interrupt the trilogy of Southern Comfort to bring you this report...




It is five minutes to midnight and the lights have been dimmed. The hiss of oxygen mixes with Omi’s labored breathing. As I sit by her bedside, my nostrils are assaulted by the stench of death and I find it difficult to believe that this woman before me is my Omi.

Her skin is ashen, her mouth dry, and her body unresponsive, but she wasn’t always like this.

I adjust her oxygen mask and look closely to see if there is any eye movement – but I find none. There was a time when her sky blue eyes would dance with laughter or crackle with disgust. Those eyes told a great deal about her personality. Fiercely proud and stubborn as the day is long, those beautiful baby blues are a part, and perhaps one of the best parts, of my childhood.

Tonight, as the hospital began to quiet, I held her hand. The same hand that snuck cookies to my brothers and I, regardless of the fact that our Mother told us no more cookies. These hands made the best peach pie evah! In fact, although peach pie is my favorite, I haven’t eaten a slice in years, because no ones’ pie, mine included, equal hers.

She’s settled down these last few hours. She is not as agitated as she was earlier. When I arrived I squeezed her hand, ran my other hand across her weathered face and said, “Omi, I’m here.” Omi opened her left eye and she searched me face. I saw recognition flicker there and I smiled. I told her I loved her and she attempted to reply but no words fell from her parched lips but I know she was saying she loved me too.

I watch this woman, this stranger, as her chest rises and falls with each breath and I wonder why the nursing staff insists on calling her Marie. For you see, this isn’t my Omi. This is not the woman who romanced an American GI, married him and fled Germany for the hope of a better life in the USA. This can’t possibly be the same spunky lady who met her second husband through a newspaper ad. This frail, shell of a woman, whose body is swollen from fluids cannot be the same lady who danced with sailors, twenty years her junior, during Rose Festival.

Hours have passed. I talk to her about our family, children, grand children. I describe the skilled nursing facility we found for her in Portland. I tell her about the beautiful room with a large window that we’ve chosen for her. I read to her. I debate the shift in theories concerning black holes and quantum physics. I describe the recipe for Tres Leche Cake that I am planning to bake.

We watch the news and I comment on a variety of stories. She has no opinion and the discussion slowly fades. The seconds tick by and together we wait. I tell her that it’s okay to go. She doesn’t need to worry about us. I promise her, based on a conversation she and I had last year, that Jesus is waiting to take her home.

Her lungs are beginning to fill with fluid even as her collection bag does not.

And I wonder… Can someone ever say I love you too many times?

The answer is simply no and I lean over and kiss her clammy brow. “I love you Omi.”

Together, this stranger and I, sit side by side. The IV pump hums in the back ground. The Oxygen hisses. Her breathing continues steadily. I’ve lost my appetite for television and thus I sit and stare at the woman in the hospital bed. Memories flicker across my mind of the past we’ve shared and I cannot stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

We wait.

The specter of death is in no hurry to arrive, leaving us both weary. The night stretches before me and I quarrel with exhaustion. GC won’t be back for another couple of hours. Like a sentry on patrol, I stand and stretch, forcing my body to remain alert.

And still we wait for death.

The Death of the Boob Tube

In a few short days television will forever be changed. No longer will the analog signal float through the airwaves to entertain the masses. Unless, of course, you have satellite service, cable, or have already purchased your converter box. Have you made the switch to high definition television?

We have not.

To many people our skimpy television viewing is mystifying. We are an enigma. We do not subscribe to any outside service, nor do we intend to. Frankly, we’re not huge television fans. Sure, if it’s here, we’ll watch it. I’ll admit to being entrance by HGTV, The Food Network and The Sci-Fi channel. Thanks to Girl’s adopted grandma, we fell in love with American Idol this past season, and I admit that we’ll scan the channels searching for something to watch. For the most part, we are usually disappointed and thus we don’t watch a great deal of TV.

We adore Netflix.

When Beloved and I were first married we were televisionless. Both our families were shocked. They offered to give/buy/ loan us a TV, yet we were fine without one. We read books, we worked on projects, we talked, and we really didn’t miss the the boob tube. When our children came along, we restricted television viewing but we weren’t weird about it. It’s not that we think television is evil (okay, I kinda think it is), we simply felt that the children’s time would be better spent outside.

We do not regret that decision.

Of course there are shows we like, many of which are on the Public Broadcasting station and yes, sometimes I watch the news (much to Girl’s dismay). The one eyed monster often sits blankly staring at us, urging us, silently, to grab the remote and settle in for a few hours of mindless dribble. Who doesn’t like mindless dribble?

We grew up with television.

Happy Days, Rosanne, Gilligan’s Island, Emergency!, ER, Friends, Blazer Basketball (that’s for you Mr. Mike), MTV, VH1, HBO, Showtime, and on and on and on. The TV was a member of the family. We’d all gather round it, our dinners on TV trays, as we inhaled the fragrance of electricity and the scent of dying brain cells.

Good times people, good times.

Yet… Isn’t there something more? Remember board games, the art of conversation, and classic literature?

In a few short days our television will grow strangely quiet. We’ll be forced to find something else to do besides “veg” in front of the tube. Our Netflix will still be delivered to our mailbox and we’ll enjoy episodes of Jeeves and Wooster, SG-1, and various other commercial free entertainment. I’m sure we’ll all suffer from some attachment issues, but I think we’ll be okay.

After all, we still remember how to play Scrabble.

Workin' for the Man

As many of you know we have family in the military. One of them is Soldier Mommy, she's the Game Master and Master Smiley's mommy. For the last year we have all geared up preparing for her deployment to parts hot and sandy.

Until about two months ago, when Uncle Sam said, "Nope. You ain't goin'. We need you here as support staff."

Everyone stepped down and dreamed of a different summer. A summer that Soldier Mommy would spend with her new husband, the General. The coming months would be filled with typical mommy and wife stuff.

For the rest of us, we just kept keepin' on. No need to change my work schedule, no need to adjust homeschool or weekends. Life would pretty much continue in the way it had.

Until this morning...

"I'm deploying..."

"What? When?"

"The end of March."

We have a week and half to figure everything, to make a plan, and figure out where boys are going to sleep. A week and a half for Soldier Mommy to say goodbye to her boys and pack her bags.

I'm a patriot. I am. I believe in and love this country. I fully support the military and the work they do.

I only wish they'd given us a bit more time before deployment.

And they wonder why some folks don't re-enlist!

Make it Count

I have always believed that boys should be boys. You know what I mean, all the gross jokes, the fort-building, cowboys and Indians, rough and tumble kind of boyhood. I simply don’t think God intended little boys to sit still, clean and quiet, for hours at a time. That may be part of the reason we decided to homeschool Boy and Girl. It’s all about the freedom baby.

Girls, on the other hand, could be anything they wanted: pink and dainty, climbing trees tough, mud pie chefs, pine cone warriors; for whatever reason I always thought girls should be given more leverage to be…well anything.

Please don’t mistake me. I think boys can be anything they want to be too, I just think girls need a greater push to get there. (Yes Boy, if you are reading this I think journalism might be a good major).

We’ve been talking on and off with Girl, trying to get a sense of where she’d like to go in life. It’s hard when you’re sixteen and you really don’t know. I look at Girl and marvel at how amazing she is. She’s so giving and so fun, except when her mother is singing to her or dancing and she’s rolling her eyes and trying to crawl under the nearest rock, then she’s not so much fun.

I think about my past, where I’ve been, the things that I missed doing (by choice), and the things that were so important that aren’t any more. Frankly, I don’t have too many regrets. I want my Girl to make wise choices, have an adventure or two, and find what makes her heart sing. Personally, I think she’ll make a fabulous wife and mommy but I also think she’ll make a great nurse or teacher (two things she isn’t remotely interested in).

There was a time when she toyed with the idea of Astro-physics. Which is totally rockin’ but I think that boat has sailed. My point though, is not that she make a decision today regarding her future, but that she look at the wide, wide world and see what adventure awaits. Maybe she’ll sail the oceans blue on a man-o-war, or travel to Africa to work with missionaries. Perhaps she’ll teach piano and study Russian language. Run for president, cure cancer, or simply provide a loving, peaceful home for a family of her own.

Time will tell.

I love to look at Boy and Girl and see the possibilities of youth. It stirs my soul and I’m loving watching them carve their own nitch in the world. But I do offer one simple piece of advice: do not waste your youth. Time fly’s whether you are having fun or not. Don’t waste your youth (or your middle age or your old age) on trivial pursuits. Life is short and sweet.

Make it count.