Great Tidings of ... Change. Maybe Some Joy. It's In There Somewhere.

Yes, yes, I know it has been ages (again) and the few holdouts who ever bother to check whether I even have a post up are wondering what has happened to me. The rest of you are apparently just too lazy to remove me from your blogrolls, and bless you for it. My ego gets somewhat soothed by seeing that my number of followers has miraculously remained the same during this inadvertent sabbatical.

Things have been....complicated. In order to protect certain people's privacy and to not stir up more drama in an already overly dramatic situation, I have been keeping silent here, much as I wanted (and still want) to pour things out for you. It would make fascinating reading, I'm sure, in a National Enquirer sort of way. Or perhaps like the script of a Jerry Springer show.

So let me 'splain...No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

A person of our acquaintance and her husband are each in circumstances that render them currently unable to take care of their five-year-old daughter. She (the five-year-old) has been with us for the last week and a half, and will be with us for an undetermined space of time, although we have plans to enroll her in kindergarten here in our district for the rest of the school year. We have been given a form of power of attorney for her that allows us to act as her parental agents for the next six months.

So we now have a Brady Bunch! Truly so this week, as The Dark One is with us over most of Winter Break. And lord help us, this house suddenly feels much smaller.

Despite all the noise and stress, MTL and I keep getting confirmation that we've made the right decision by taking The Hurricane (as we have nicknamed the wild child) into our home. To keep the story short(er), I'll give you the highlights:

• We needed $200 in order to pay a lawyer to draw up the Delegation of Parental Powers. We were very short on cash that week, and wouldn't have the money until our payday, one day later than we needed. I was able to contact my parents out in West Africa to ask if we could borrow the money for a day. It turned out that earlier that day my father had become convinced that we were going to need some money for whatever was going on in the situation, and the amount of $200 came into his mind. In addition, they made the decision, before we even Skyped them, to gift us the money rather than loan it. (Have I mentioned that I have wonderful parents?)
• Two weeks earlier or so, before we even had a clue we would be taking in The Hurricane, my sister was shopping for Christmas gifts for the children. She saw an extra one that she was drawn to, and decided to just go ahead and buy it, even though she wasn't sure why. Turns out it was perfect for our new addition!
• The Widget had a Santa's Workshop at his daycare (to purchase small gifts for family), and I was supposed to turn in the money and list of names by last Tuesday. Since it wasn't my custody week, I forgot and didn't get it in until Thursday. The Hurricane joined us very suddenly Tuesday night. I was therefore able to include her name on the list and add a bit to the money I turned in, and The Widget was able to buy a gift for her as well!
• My brother, the wonderful DorkMaster B, was able to rearrange his one morning shift at work so that he could come stay with us last week and be with The Hurricane during the work day. Without his graciousness, we would have struggled to care for her during my last week of work before break.
• I had been attempting to make an appointment with the kids' elementary school's social worker in order to clue her in on some issues going on with KlutzGirl, and had been frustrated by the lack of response. However, because of the delay, when we did meet we were able to discuss The Hurricane's situation as well. She is now filled in and better prepared should anything come up at school with either girl and she is needed in a support situation.

There are other incidents as well, but those are some of the ones I can share.

It's been an exhausting week. Well, realistically, it's been an exhausting few months. Our stress levels are high, we aren't getting much sleep, and privacy is a rare commodity around here. But I know we're doing the right thing.

And the kids are awfully cute, amidst all the commotion. It's going to be a crazy awesome Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice, or whatever other holiday you may be celebrating this time of year! May the next year be a wonderful one--and far less dramatic than this one.

Hugs and Kisses,
The Crazy Woman Running This Crazy Household

Counting in Tongues

--Uno--

Yesterday was Parent Teacher Conferences, which means that today my brain has the approximate operating power of your average pudding cup. Unlike previous years, when I examined the schedule, observed the impending doom, and wisely arranged for my students to be involved in quizzes or independent projects or the like (therefore validating the wonderful people who consider me to be an overpaid babysitter, of course), my planning this week lacked forethought. One half of my brain noted that I needed to make sure my husband and The Ex and various and sundry other persons were filling in that day, since I would not be home until after bedtime for the Littles. The other half merrily planned away, somehow under the impression that I would be capable of such teacherly feats as grammar instruction the day after conferences.

That part of my brain was wrong.

--Deux--

My seniors are instead reading a Challenging and Opinionated Article on personal conscience vs. social conscience, inspired by the classic play Antigone. Somehow my brain was able to get involved in a rather interesting debate on whether or not medical practitioners should be able to refuse to perform medical services due to moral objections, such as surgery for ectopic pregnancies. I find it endlessly fascinating that the moral and philosophical debates that existed thousands of years B.C.E. are still so relevant today.

We then strayed into the delicate arena of The Great Abortion Debate. I was a bit nervous, but it went rather well. We didn't even get shouty, despite widely varying perspectives and beliefs. How sad that a bunch of high school seniors are more capable of polite debate than our politicians.

--Drei--

We aren't supposed to have the kids this weekend, yet somehow it has become filled with Kid-Related Activities. The Padawan will be staying with us, since he has hunter's safety classes on Saturday and Sunday. KlutzGirl has a birthday party to attend on Sunday that will require us to get her from her mother's rather earlier than usual.

I'm hoping we may manage to grab an hour to ourselves somewhere in there. My hopes are not high.

--Четыре--

Children are exhausting. How is it that I wound up with so many, again? And how is it that somehow I realized the other day that if disaster occurred and one of our children had a baby as a teen, I would want to raise the baby?

I question my sanity on a regular basis.

--A Cúig--

DramaBoy turns six on the 25th. His first birthday wish list included an XBox, a Wii, and a variety of games for both systems.

We laughed and told him to try again.

Have I mentioned that he already plays Portal, DragonBall Z, and Minecraft like a pro, all games which make me throw up my hands and despair? I'm so proud.

Sigh.

--Έξι--

We have kittens. I don't think I've mentioned this. I caved to family pressure and the ridiculous cuteness of photos posted by a friend, and agreed we could adopt another kitten. When I went to pick up said kitten, the aforementioned friend tricked me into playing with her siblings. Her little sister kept hiding under my pant leg and peeking out at me.

I brought home two kittens instead of one.

So now we have adolescent Halo (who moodily varies between freaking out over the invaders and trying to play with them), shy and sweet Oreo (the original intended adoptee), and outgoing/cuddly/extremely loud-and-squeaky Shadow (who purrs instantly when touched and has a monotone meow stuck on Loud and Demanding). Both of the kittens are Lap Kitties, so we are now guaranteed lapfuls of furs and purrs whenever we sit down.

Sometimes insanity pays off.

--Seven--

I love my husband.

That is all.

(Mis)Adventures in Domestic Divinity (Part One)

(Because the likelihood of there being more than one part is VERY high.)

So I mentioned that I made chicken stock this week, right? It's a fairly simple thing to do, provided one plans ahead to a certain extent. I save the peels and ends of any vegetables and greens I use in my cooking. The outer layers of onion, celery tops, carrot peels, leek greens--even apple peelings, actually--all go into gallon-size Ziploc bags and get stashed away in the freezer. Then when I have a couple of chicken carcasses, I throw it all in the largest heavy pot I have. I add a bay leaf or two, any odds and ends of fresh herbs that might need using--whatever I have on hand. I pour water over the lot, enough to just cover all the bones and scraps, and bring it to a boil. Finally, I turn the heat down to low, pop a lid on the pot, and let it simmer all night.

(You can do the same thing with a turkey carcass or any pork/lamb/beef bones you might have after a large meal. You can even blend them together. That's the lovely thing about the "recipe": it'll work for whatever you have!)

In the morning, I take the pot off the heat, let it cool a bit, and then put it in the fridge to chill. Later I take off the fat, an easy process when it has solidified on top of the liquid, and voila! I have lovely stock which can be canned or used right away.

At least, that's what usually happens.

Here's what you SHOULDN'T do, if you ever decide to try it out:

1. Underestimate the quantity of bones and scraps you have in the pot and overestimate the amount of water you need to pour over it all.

2. Realize you're going to get into trouble when it starts boiling, so pull out another smaller pot and transfer some of the makings into it, adding water to both pots to compensate.

3. Grab the first lid you can find that fits the smaller pot, rejoicing because the pots and pans cupboard has become a chaotic mess ever since KlutzGirl took over putting away dishes.

4. Go to bed believing catastrophe has been averted.

5. Wake up around 3 a.m. from a dream in which something strange is burning. Realize that the smell has not vanished with the dream. Lie in bed for a while trying to get your sleep-addled brain to process what might be going on.

6. Wonder suddenly if the stock might have overflowed or something of the sort.

7. Grab a robe and rush downstairs to check.

8. Walk into a kitchen filled with smoke streaming from the smaller pot. Realize that the lid you grabbed had a steam vent, and as a result all the liquid has boiled away. Open the lid to discover a disgusting mass of charred, reeking remnants of bone, cartilage, and vegetable scraps thisclose to bursting into flames.

9. Spend the next half an hour cleaning up the mess, salvaging the pot, and trying to air out the house. (This will not happen, and the house--and all its inhabitants--will reek for the next 36 hours or so.)

10. Crawl back into bed next to your husband, who has amazingly enough slept through the entire ordeal despite a freakishly sensitive sense of smell. Thank your lucky stars, because he will mock you enough when you tell him in the morning, without adding the extra delight of being woken by the marvelous stench of burning bone in the wee hours of the morning.

NOT THAT I WOULD DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

I think my halo is slipping.

Of Food and Family and Fabulousness

I seem to have drifted away from the world of blogging in recent months. I swear to you that it doesn't even enter my mind most days.

This could be, in part, due to the rather alarming number of things for which I am responsible during the course of a day now. I keep looking at my life in astonishment, wondering when I became the SuperWoman that I used to pretend to be back in the Bad Old Days of post-partum depression. The sheer level of logistical planning alone explains why the idea of sitting down and chatting with all my virtual friends doesn't have a chance of occurring.

Today, for example, there is a full day of teaching, after which I shall rush home and cook meat for chili and then rush off for my bi-weekly hour-long tutoring gig, and then I shall battle the horrendous afternoon traffic that turns two-and-a-half miles of driving on one road into a fifteen-minute ordeal so that I can pick up The Widget from daycare. We shall then battle our way home, where he will be shoved off to change clothes while I hurriedly put together the rest of the chili and plop it on the stove to simmer. We shall then rush off to The Widget's new dance class (5:30-6 pm on Thursdays) so that he can learn to shake his booty even more adorably than he did at our wedding (though there may never be anything so adorable as a tux-clad Widget doing the Chicken Dance). Then we can finally return home and collapse in the bosom of my rather large family.

I should confess that when I was planning the menu for this week, I completely forgot that I had tutoring today and would be so rushed. My True Love and I were therefore kerflummoxed about how to feed The Ravening Horde tonight until I realized that I could most likely manage the chili in stages. When I announced my realization to MTL, he (bless him) simply said, Just do what you can without killing yourself.

I think that may become my daily mantra.

Oh! But tonight I also need to pressure can the homemade stock that is chilling in the refrigerator after a long night of simmering into golden glory, and I should probably make some bread or something, since I have nothing to feed The Widget this weekend other than the fabulous and oh-so-simple roast chicken that was our meal last night.

I didn't mention that I've transformed into a Domestic Demi-goddess, did I? I know. I'm as astonished as you are. My only real online interaction with the outer world is on Facebook these days, and I keep posting statuses about all the amazing things I have baked/cooked/canned, partly out of a craving for jealous adulation and partly because seeing it in print makes it suddenly real and explains why I'm so exhausted All The Time.

You see, The Widget has inconveniently developed a host of food sensitivities, much like his older brother DramaBoy did at the young age of one. The Widget's are simultaneously less and more inconvenient than DramaBoy's were: on the one hand, he can have eggs and yeast and tomatoes and citrus fruits and canola; on the other, he cannot have corn or millet or buckwheat or legumes. The rest of the inconvenient items on the (long) list is rather similar. No bovine dairy, no soy, no garlic, no rice, among other things. Oddly enough, watermelon and cantaloupe are high on the reactive side, which makes us feel rather guilty about the enormous quantities of watermelon that disappeared down his throat over the course of the hot summer.

The big No-No, however, is gluten, and unlike the other items (which we should be able to reintroduce to his diet after a period of cleansing and rebooting his system), this will likely remain permanent. One of the tests indicated that if he continues to have gluten in his diet, he is likely to develop Celiac Disease and/or another nasty anti-gluten syndrome.

So. Our new reality. Since we have the boys every other week now, I spend every other weekend baking interesting breads and muffins and cookies, all with Funky Flours like sorghum, tapioca, quinoa, almond, and arrowroot. At least I can MAKE real bread: DramaBoy could not have eggs or yeast, so it was impossible to create anything other than fruit breads for him.

We also are making and canning all sorts of things like spaghetti sauce and stock and apple butter and various delicious jams (though to be fair we had started making our own jam before we had The Widget tested).

And the entire family has begun drinking almond and coconut milk rather than dairy, since MTL and The Padawan are lactose-sensitive anyway, and we discovered (to our surprise) that the Silk brand of both is cheaper than Lactaid, and contains less fat, more calcium, and the same or more vitamins than dairy milk. We're also doing much more gluten-free and homemade food in general, since it's simpler to cook for everyone rather than making two separate meals, and we want to start eating more healthily anyway.

So, much to my surprise, we are becoming alarmingly Crunchy, and I am discovering that I actually rather enjoy being domestic. Mind you, it makes all the difference that MTL does some of the work too, and that I have a horde of children who are all assigned chores and responsibilities. Who would have thought that having four children at home would actually be easier than having only two?

Also, we have a wonderful lady who comes and does all the deep cleaning every other week. I may have transformed quite a bit, but I'm perfectly content to leave the toilet-scrubbing and floor-mopping to someone else, thankyouverymuch.

Well, there you are. MTL is thinking of getting a second Xbox at some point so that he can have his own and play games online with his friends and The Padawan (who monopolizes and technically owns the one we have now), and if that happens, I may find myself with time in the evenings to chat with you all in this space while keeping him company.

All my snarky love in the meantime,
Mrs. MTL

The Exasperating Case of the Insomniac in the Night Time

I am crawling through my day on approximately zero-point-four hours of sleep last night which, last time I checked, doesn't come even close to the amount of sleep I need to babble even semi-coherently at the Raving Rabble that still insists on inhabiting my classroom periodically throughout my day. I mean, the seniors are gone--other than the occasional ones who pop in unexpectedly to bring me senior pictures and tell me that I am awesome and they will miss me horribly and YAY! I CAN ADD YOU ON FACEBOOK NOW! and all that, which, hey, practically makes me miss the Mangy Maggots--

(can maggots get mange? somehow I doubt this, but I rather like the nastiness of the alliteration and will leave it be.)

(hey, it's my blog and I can even stop using capital letters OR WRITE ALL IN CAPS if I want to--so there)

(I really need some sleep)

(Where was I? Oh yes.) --but the juniors and sophomores persist. On top of expecting me to rehash every piece of text they've SparkNoted read all semester, little glints of hope sparkling in their eyes that I will give up and just tell them the answers for the test, they expect me to actually read and comment on and grade the massive term papers that I sado-masochistically assign every year. WHY DO I DO THIS???? I ask myself every single f***ing year at this time as I gaze in doomy gloom--or gloomy doom, whichever is dominant at the time--at the massive pile of seven-to-ten- (sophomores) and ten-to-twelve- (juniors) page papers that threaten to smother me in a paperlanche. Of course, this year I had them all submit their papers electronically to the wonderful electronic plagiarism catcher slash online grading service we use, so it's all threatening me VIRTUALLY, which is interesting. At least this way there's less chance of Death By Papercut.

On top of that, I have gradually gained a sense that I am Not At All Well over the course of the day, including feeling rather feverish, developing a sore throat, and (since that wasn't enough) becoming increasingly nauseated.

(NOT NAUSEOUS, which is the error everybody makes these days that drives me absolutely batshit insane, because being NAUSEOUS means that it/one/you CAUSE[S] NAUSEA, not that you HAVE it. People feel NAUSEATED, dammit, and while some people may in fact be nauseous, like the nasty-piece-of-work senior who burned his last bridge with me two weeks ago and will NOT be getting friended on Facebook thankyouverymuch, that is not what most people are attempting to indicate. THAT WORD DOES NOT MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.)

Ahem.

To add just a little more spice to our day, we went into a level one lockdown a short time ago, which means they aren't allowing people in or out of the building because there's a perceived threat somewhere in the area. It's the lowest level lockdown, but I have no idea why it's happening or when it will end. Because, you know, today wasn't enough of a Mondayish sort of Monday already.

The silver lining in it all is that my fourth hour sophomores cheered me up with their depictions of starfish of varying ethnicity and religion on the dry erase board, something that originated with a perky Jewish Starfish in a markered mural that gradually developed over the course of last week. The mural started with a cartoon turtle (a rather adorable one, much like the turtle on our class t-shirt with the joke word "intelligous" we had made last semester) with a speech bubble declaring I'm a turtle!, and it developed from there. The Jewish Starfish (a six-pointed starfish, naturally) showed up toward the end, along with a School of Attici--the plural form of "Atticus" (from To Kill a Mockingbird), obviously.

It's an....interesting class.

Okay, fine, maybe I'll miss those pesky students a little bit after all.

But right now? Right now I just want some french bread, a snuggle with MTL, and my bed. Preferably in that order.

Crumbs are so uncomfortable when they get in the sheets.

Blog? What Blog?

Holy crapola. Really? It's been that long since I posted anything? I feel like I'm failing you all.

Life. Is. Crazy. Which is why I'm back on crazy pills, because when I started having mild panic attacks I figured I should get some help before they developed into not-so-mild panic attacks and I end up rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere. God bless modern pharmaceuticals.

My therapist and friends all agree this was actually an indication of how far I've come in the last few years, considering I asked for help BEFORE the crazy became The Crazy. Just sayin'. Also: I love my people. There's nothing like a time of high anxiety to bring home just how awesome a support structure I have these days. Not the least of which is a very, very beloved and supportive MTL. The hurricane winds may be blowing, but the foundation is holding firm.

So. My seniors are gone.

Excuse me a minute while I go do a happy dance.

[Insert holding music here]

Whew. They're gone, they're out of here, I managed to get all but two out the door to graduation, some squeaking through by mere tenths of a percentage point. One huge load is off my shoulders: only several dozen left to carry!

My juniors and sophomores have been very patient the last few weeks as I've neglected grading much of their work in order to focus on the seniors. Now I have time to wade through their essays, including their massive term papers (seven to ten pages for sophomores; ten to twelve pages for juniors: EACH). I have exams to create, quiz and test grades to enter, and a classroom to clean and organize. I can do that in the next eight school days, right?

Right.

Dammit. I left my meds at home.

Probably the biggest source of stress (now that the seniors are--GLORY HALLELUJAH--gone) is the impending shift at home. I can't go into all the details here, but there have been massive changes chez MTL's Ex, and the girls are moving in with us.

And there's an element to the situation that I can't discuss--yet--but suffice it to say: DRAMA WILL ENSUE.

So. Yeah.

Nothing to be anxious about. Nothing at all.

OH! There is one lovely new addition to my life! Are you ready for this?

I. Got. A. Smartphone.

Oh yes. I, the phone-technophobe, have officially Grown Up and gotten a phone that's more like a hand-held computer than a phone. A Droid X, to be exact. And I just may be in love. MTL says that I'm acting like a kid who's had her first ever taste of chocolate.

Angry Birds? Check.

Words With Friends? Check.

Sudden addiction to apps? Check, check, and absolutely check.

Hmm. You think they have a support group for that?

I May Be Barefoot In The Kitchen, But I Swear I'm Not Pregnant

Today was the first day of Operation Clean House. I'm calling it that because at this point I lack the creativity to come up with an awesome name, like Operation ThunderHawk or some such shit. Besides, while the results are awesome, the process is, well, not.

Now, lest you suddenly picture me amidst a near-avalanche of trash and clutter, a la the pitiful people on my obsession of the last few months "Hoarders" and "Hoarding: Buried Alive", let me assure you that in point of fact we keep the house remarkably neat considering it regularly contains a pack of tasmanian devils kids. I've shocked my parents and former roommates with my current tidy tendencies, MTL breaks out in a rash when he sees clutter, and we gratefully employ a wonderful woman to come by every two weeks to do the deep cleaning. Not to mention that we firmly believe that one of the benefits of having children is that child labor laws do not apply at home.

Nevertheless, the house could do with a proper spring cleaning. Last weekend we put the kids to work on their domain--the bedroom and the game room--instructing them to not only put things away properly but to also put the trash in the trash bag rather than tossing it into the nearest toy box, and to fill additional boxes with the toys and clothes they no longer use.

I tell you, if there are any people with serious hoarding tendencies in this domicile, it would be the freeloaders non-rent-payers around here.

After hours of fighting and fussing decluttering and cleaning, their bedroom and game room are finally fit for human habitation, and I no longer feel like weeping when I walk through the hall. The chances of seriously injuring myself have also decreased.

This week is Spring Break, and it is also our break from children. The boylets are down in Florida with their father, being spoiled outrageously by their grandfather and other relatives on that side, and MTL's children are all with their mother this week.

NO CHILDREN FOR TEN DAYS.

Excuse me while I break out into spontaneous celebratory dancing.

----

Whew. Where was I?

Ah yes. Spring Break. Now, before you go off muttering about spoiled teachers sleeping in every day (I can hear you, MTL!!! Stop that!) take a look at my agenda. OK, fine, not really, but imagine it at least. Not only am I diving into some wedding planning and spending valuable time with my sister and her adorable if exhausting seven-month-old son, I also have major chores written in for each day. It's time to get serious about cleaning house, peoples.

So today was the kitchen. I roped DMB into the task, and he scrubbed the refrigerator while I emptied cabinets and pantries and threw things away and sorted and organized to my heart's content. Do I love doing it? Well, okay, sort of, since there's a part of me that loves doing that sort of thing every now and then. It's the same part that finds folding laundry soothing, especially when done in front of a TV watching one of those hoarding shows and patting myself on the back that I am so much better than that.

Hey, MTL likes cleaning the garage every now and then, too. I'm not the only weird one.

I can't say that I love the first part of this task, though, which involves pulling out all the food and finding out just how old that jar of mayonnaise actually is and how long that box of pasta mix has been hiding in the back corner. Since I'm trying to be a responsible recycler, it also involves emptying all those nauseating jars and tins down the garbage disposal.

My scented candles saw use today. I also appreciate sliding doors and stovetop fans. Just sayin'.

I won't tell you how many bags of garbage went out today on DMB's back. I'd like to keep my shame at a reasonable level.

Anyhow, I'm enjoying the ability to close the pantry door without something falling out. Not to mention opening the fridge without being forced a step back by the odor of Something Gone Off.

Tomorrow I'm tackling our walk-in closet and the master bathroom/bedroom before I head out to search for a wedding dress with my mother and sister. Wednesday the great room will submit to my ministrations. And Thursday I get to sort and organize the books that have crawled off the bookshelves and strewn themselves on every surface. Maybe I'll even find money somewhere to purchase the much-needed additional bookshelves that MIGHT brhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=4078483744873792132ing our collection under the semblance of control.

Right now it's time to whip up a chicken pot pie for dinner so MTL has a nice hot dinner when he comes home from work.

Am I crazy, or am I getting positively DOMESTIC over in these here parts?

Don't answer that.

Style and Stylability

Warning: Many links to many amazing things ahead. I've already gotten a couple of other people hooked. This is fair warning. You may be as well...

****************************************

I've never felt like I have much of a sense of style when it comes to home decor. Other than the boylets' nursery, I've never even decorated an entire room. The Ex and I always had plans for the basement, when we finished it (we never even started), and for the dining and living rooms (we never moved beyond an area rug and some paint chips.) Even in my home with MTL, we never did get around to painting the bedrooms as we had planned. Time ran out, school started up, and other than choosing paint chips yet again...nothing. There are a few desultory photos and pieces of art on some walls, and decorative pieces placed on bookcases and the entertainment cabinet.

The most cohesively decorated room in our house is the downstairs half-bath, which has developed a soft seaside theme. It's nothing overwhelming.

I don't have much confidence in my ability to pull together cohesive, lovely interior design. I've doubted my instinct for it, and it's certainly never been put to the test. I was recently in the home of a friend-of-a-friend who had every room beautifully painted, with just the right decorative pieces and pillows and furniture and art. It felt pulled-together and homey and elegantly artsy. Even though I might not have made the same choices for my own home, I felt a streak of envy over her design instinct.

As I mentioned in my self-pitying moan yesterday, I've become addicted to Etsy.com, the home of many many beautiful handmade things (along with the downright bizarre and fugly, much celebrated on Regretsy.com, which I discovered first.) The brilliant and very artsy Heidi finally got me hooked on Etsy a few weeks ago, and I've been obsessed ever since.

As my list of favorite items and stores has grown, and as I've channeled my creative and obsessive urges into crafting thematic treasury lists, I've begun to recognize definite trends in what I like.

Apparently I am much drawn to stark, elegant trees and branches (like these pillows and these drawings and these incredible woodburnings and this pendant and this print collection and the breathtaking photography of a fellow Michigander). I can picture the art and pillows in my dream living room, with lots of wood and soft earthy tones in the furniture.

I knew that I like birds--at least when they're outdoors--but did not realize how much I love their images in art and jewelry until I started recognizing the trend in my Etsy picks. From stylized art to Poe-esque gothic photography to fantasy illustrations to incredible watercolors, birds appear in much of the art to which I am drawn. They even show up in some of my jewelry picks, sometimes combining both bird and tree, as in this elegant pendant.

I also love a number of quirky items, such as the work of the artists OddFauna and Kellie Schneider and Studio Lyon, as well as the slightly less weird but still left-of-center Eastwiching (check out the adorable foxes and elephants, especially!)

I'm beginning to create rooms in my head. I'd have the living room done with trees and birds. Animals and fairy tale creatures would frolic in kids' and guest bedrooms. I already have a huge gorgeous stick-and-ink drawing of three female figures in my bedroom (courtesy of my sister from her art class days), and I'd continue on that theme with work from artists like Krystyna and Kellie Schneider. (I don't think MTL would mind.) I'd increase our collection of wood carvings with work from the Natural Selection Studio and DD Wood Creations.

My dream house would be filled with rich earthy tones and soft blues and greens. Brighter colors would pop in accent decor. There would be wood everywhere, along with comfortable but streamlined furniture. It would be a place where I would be surrounded by beauty in every room, but where my heart and mind and soul would be soothed.

I have a home wherever I am with My True Love, but I can dream of a place that would our home in physical as well as emotional expression.

Now I just have to win the lottery...

More Like A Wedding Speed-Walk Than A March, Really

I've been meaning to sit down and write a post for, oh, ages now, and I haven't done so because of two reasons.

The first is gross. A fingernail cuticle became infected about three weeks ago and unlike most annoying little infections of that sort, this one did not go away but instead decided to Colonize The Nail and attempt to destroy any chance of my ever becoming a hand model, as the lovely and all-too-kind momsicle suggested I do in order to fund the wedding. Epsom salts and tea-tree oil proved limited in their defense capabilities, and so at long last (and probably later than I should have, considering the sad state of the nail itself) I filled the scrip for Keflex and started popping pills. Two days later, I can finally put pressure on that finger without feeling like my nail is about to begin the apparently painful process of zombification.

A lovely image, I know.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

I love filling you in on the beautiful little moments of my life.

The second (and more exciting) reason is that I have dived full force into Wedding Planning, and for good reason. MTL and I had originally thought we would marry next fall. This would have meant my parents would be unable to attend. At first I shrugged this off a bit. I mean, they live in Africa. They can only come here every couple of years. Scheduling is hard.

By Wednesday, however, MTL was starting to say things like, Hmmm. A year and a half is a long time. One and a half times as long as we've been together. and Are you really sure you're going to be okay with your parents not being there?

Then I chatted with one of my closest friends, the amazing and talented Heidi (she's a bridesmaid, by the way) and she started asking about how I would really feel about my parents not being there, and finally I admitted that yes, it would matter. If they weren't there, I would regret it.

I had a feeling, said MTL.

There are SO many reasons I'm marrying that man. Other than him asking, I mean.

So we sat down and looked at our finances and we talked to people and I emailed my parents and lo, behold, we were shooting for an August wedding instead. THIS YEAR August, as in. Five and half months away.

Enter panic. Would we be able to afford this? What venues would be available? How much did you say that costs?? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DAMN EXPENSIVE???

I had already asked my closest friends to be bridesmaids, and they talked me down rallied 'round. And then MTL crunched numbers and helped me look up venues and ideas online, and then we went to tour a possible reception venue and drove by a possible ceremony venue and went to a bridal expo MTL had heard about on the radio and BAM!

Things started falling together instead of apart. We fell in love with the reception and ceremony venues, and they both offer beauty as well as budget, and we even found a bakery we love and could afford at the expo.

It's really happening. We're getting married. This August thirteenth. In five and half months. Under twenty-four weeks. One hundred sixty-five days, when you get right down to it!

So DraftQueen, oh sweet Mistress of Honor? Heidi, darling bridesmaid mine? I'm seeing you here in MICHIGAN, ladies! You better be saving your pennies!

How MTL Became My True Love (Part I)

Today is Valentine's Day, and because we're a holiday birthday family, it's also MTL's birthday. Happy birthday, oh love of my life!

(I got him a Kindle. Because we're soulmates like that.)

I have to admit I am generally cynical and snarky about Hallmark holidays. I think perhaps some of it has masked a quiet resolve not to care that I have not dated or been married to anyone who was much into romantic gestures. It's easier to just dismiss it all by saying it's all corporate broohaha and that romance should not be limited to a handful of days each year. Which is true, but that only really works if the person you love is romantic other times of the year.

Here's the mushy truth: romance isn't just in bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolate, and my life has become full of romance ever since I met MTL. I can't remember a day when he has not told me, with full sincerity rather than rote habit, that he loves me. I can't remember a day when he hasn't at least once held me close, looked at me with that special look, made me aware of just how sexy and amazing and wonderful he thinks I am.

There's been some chocolate, too.

HOWEVER. Hallmark holiday or no, having that wonderful man say Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart! this morning as we climbed in our respective cars, and then discovering he'd beaten me to Facebook and posted on my Wall...

Yeah. Guess I'm just a big mushy-hearted sap after all.

ANYWAY. It occurs to me that I never did tell you, my bloggy readers, how MTL and I met.  So here you go. It's a long one, so grab a drink and get comfy:

Last year, a few weeks before Valentine's Day, I texted a few of my girlfriends about feeling like I could really use a compliment from some hot guy right then. You know, just for the ego boost. Shallow, yes, but honest. My friend Melissa suggested that I try out an online dating site just to do some casual dating, have some fun, get back out there. She suggested Yahoo! Personals, since her sister had tried that one.

So I decided what the heck and signed up--for free at first, just to check around. Then I did buy a brief membership, since I thought perhaps there was some potential. I created my profile and looked around at the profiles of men in my area who seemed interesting. On that site you can send little generic "icebreakers"--phrases like Your profile made me smile. I remember that one because it's the one I used when I saw MTL's profile. Anyhow, I got some responses from several men and we chatted a bit on that website. It was nice to be able to do that there, without all your super personal information on display (they know your first name and general location, plus photos and whatever you've written in your profile) and get a feel for someone before deciding even whether to exchange email addresses, much less phone numbers and whatnot.

At any rate, I connected with a few different men and went on some dates. I did the careful meeting in public, letting friends know where I was sort of thing. One guy, Scott, was very nice--but TOO nice, if you know what I mean. He just felt like a friend. He was rather into me, but I didn't feel the chemistry. But we went on a few dates. There were a few others with whom I only had one date. Nice, but not for me. And as much as I intended to keep things casual, I didn't feel right leading them on as if there was a future in the relationship. I also felt weird about juggling multiple dates, to be honest. Some women may enjoy that, and I'll admit that for a very brief time it was very flattering to have several men interested in me, but it's not for me.

So much for being a "playa". (Heh.)

I still didn't expect more than some confidence-boosting, companionable, casual dating. Little did I know that God had something else in mind.

MTL was one of the men I'd sent an icebreaker to. I thought he was cute and I very much liked what he said in his profile. He seemed to have a good sense of humor and be very "real", if that makes sense. He ended up responding a day or two later (more on that in Part II), we sent messages back and forth for a bit on the site, and then we exchanged email addresses. And we continued to communicate quite heavily. Lots of back-and-forth short messages. Our senses of humor clicked really well. We're both snarky and sarcastic, and we discovered that we "got" each other's humor even through email, which can be tricky.

Then we exchanged phone numbers, though we started out just texting. I found that he had a quick mind and sense of humor, and he wasn't so nicey-nice like Scott. How do I explain this? Scott was the kind of person where if I said something snarky about having a bad day or whatever, he'd be all super-comforting instead of being snarky back--which is what I want and need. MTL, on the other hand, gave back as good as I gave him. He was making me laugh, and I hadn't even talked to him directly yet.

I remember the first time I texted him, I was getting a mani-pedi. I wrote him that I was sitting in a massage chair getting my feet rubbed--so sad that he wasn't out of work yet. He retorted that some people have to actually work for a living.

And then we talked about science fiction.

(Fate, I'm telling you.)

The next day I started my solitary road trip to visit my dear friend DraftQueen and my sister in the Boston area. That night, February 12th, I had my first direct phone conversation with MTL. He even kicked his kids out of the house so he could have some privacy. Two days later, on Valentine's Day, I texted him Happy Birthday and he texted me with Not sure if this is inappropriate or not, but I don't care. Happy Valentine's Day!

I saved the text. I still have it.

(I told you. SAP.)

And five days later we went on our first official date.

ice maiden

Sometimes? It's just too damn cold.

**************************************

i am
clenched hands
slow feet
chattering teeth
held together by strings of yarn
wrapped and wound in knots and knits
shuffling in mimeodance through
snowdrifts
small scale
still drifts and drifted by wind
cutting cross cheeks and chin
dwarfed in immensity
stars icechips in frozen sky
moon a slice of lemon pie
did i rhyme
the chill must be affecting my brain
tears sting my lashes
if they freeze
will i become the ice maiden
crystallized in hoar frost white
bound to earth in winters grasp
and when they come searching
will the warmth of my beloveds arms
free me again
or will they chip me away
mount me on a pedestal
display me in climate controlled conditions
for all to see
and ooh
and aah
over ice made flesh
or was that flesh made ice
the one made the other
i cannot recall
or was that forecall

perhaps
i am too close to nature tonight
for i cannot tell
where winter leaves off
and i begin

Feathers and Fat

Another post from my [reluctant] reflections on the wintry world outside my window. Which is where I prefer to keep it, on the whole.

**********************************

I've never loved birds as pets.

Oh yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the antics of Fraque, our African Grey parrot, when I was a child. But I was able to enjoy him as a pet without dealing with his mess. He lived in a spacious cage, after all, and I was not the one deputized to clean out the bottom.

I didn't learn to detest pet birds until college. My former mother-in-law had a yellow parakeet who flew about her apartment with almost complete freedom. I discovered first-hand the joys of a bird's inability to control its bowels. Wherever that thing landed--clock, cagetop, couch arm, carpet, shoulder, head--it could and often would leave behind a curdled-milk trace of its presence.

Even now, as a mother of two who has personally handled far more excrement and other distasteful bodily emissions than I ever dreamed, I shudder at the memory. At least my children don't leave their waste smeared all over the furniture and walls. Well, not often.

So--no birds as pets in my household.

Our townhouse backs onto a wetlands, a tiny refuge for the local wildlife nestled amidst the human residences of West Bloomfield. And birds nest and fly about and forage in our extended backyard every day.

I have discovered that I love birds--when they are properly outside, in their natural medium. MTL and I obtained a bird feeder a few weeks ago, and Thanksgiving weekend we drove the pole into the ground and stocked the feeder with blocks of suet and peanut butter and seeds, the kind loved by birds who winter here rather than fleeing for warmer points south. We have hovered by the window, waiting for the birds to discover it.

Today, they have. Winter's bitter breath is blowing, with distinct promise of snow to come, and the birds are gorging on the luscious fat we have provided them. I sit and watch, wondering if this provision in some way violates the natural order of things. These woodpeckers and cardinals and other birds I cannot name would be forced to make do with the scant provisions of winter-bound wetlands if people like us did not lavish them with food. Would they have more natural foods available to them if we had not invaded their world with brick and wood and vinyl siding? How much of their ability to winter here, as is their natural wont, is based on our tribute to their beauty?

Have we formed an odd partnership, we denizens of the suburbs, feathered and featherless alike?

We pay our human entertainers with offerings as well, forming a niche where basic necessity does not go. Have we extended that concept to nature's entertainers as well?

Come here and brighten up my yard. Sweeten the wind with your songs. And in return, I offer you the fat of the supermarket...

Soft

A while ago, my dear friend Lauren asked for more stories about living in the snowy suburbs of Michigan, curious how a tropics-born-and-raised missionary kid handles all that cold. The truth is: not all that well, considering I spend very little of the winter actually outdoors at all. But I did write some nature essays for an assignment I did along with my sophomores last month, and I'll post a few of them here to give you a glimpse into the wintry world outside my window.

Considering that the forecast calls for another thick layer of snow tonight, I think you'll find me huddled up inside under a few layers of blankets with a goblet mug of wine cocoa most of this weekend.

*************************************

I don't want to be here today. The wind is bitter, the sky gloomy with cloud piled on cloud until the horizon blurs. The warmth of the indoors is calling me, and I think longingly of hot coffee and a blanket and perhaps the friendly hum of television. Or a book. Escape into a different world, see things from a different point of view...

So much for transcending through nature. Today, I am a child of technology and media, pampered by the stuff of other's makings. I realize that if everything were to stop working today, if all the electricity and gas and everything else that has become such an essential part of modern life were to just end--I'd be screwed.

It's a good thing I live with someone who has some survival skills.

Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh on myself. Sure, I would struggle in such a situation, at least at first. But I'm not a complete idiot. I'm resourceful. I'm intelligent. I am, more to the point, stubborn. I wouldn't be one to sit down and give up.

How did they do it, though, those long-ago ancestors of ours? How did they make it through the bitter winters with limited food sources and minimal shelter? How, for goodness' sake, did anyone ever survive the ice ages?

Well, many didn't, I suppose. Were all those so-called essentials of modern life to vanish, our world would no longer be so heavily populated with humans.

We've grown soft, after all. We've grown comfortable and complacent in our furnace-heated, insulated, carpeted, electrified homes with well-stocked fridges and pantries and a television in every room.

Okay, okay, not every room. Though I've kind of wanted one in the kitchen, you know, for when I'm making dinner.

It's a reliable companion.

Definitely soft. And spoiled. I grin at myself, hoist my scarf tighter around my chin, and scuff at the snow with a boot-clad foot.

I wonder if The Walking Dead is showing tonight? I can always survive vicariously. Though we have started thinking about how to prepare for the zombie apocalypse. Bottled water and baseball bats are a good start, but I'm growing convinced that I really should learn how to shoot a crossbow. Maybe even how to make my own bolts.

You never can be too prepared for zombies, after all.

Don't Feel Too Pressured. It's Just A Test Of Your Love.

I am blocked. I have started and stopped, both mentally and typically (I don't think that word means what you think it means! says my inner Inigo Montoya, and he's sort of right--get a sense of vocabulary humor, Inigo!) a half dozen posts and then I look at them (mentally or, well, on the screen) and they fall flatter than a prematurely de-ovenated souffle.

I complained to my friend Rob, and he suggested that I write about playing DnD

(no, not Diapers and Dragons--DUNGEONS and Dragons! Though the confusion is completely logical)

(and yes, I know that my geek quotient just went through the atmosphere with some of you, while others are completely unsurprised--This is the girl who wanted an Elf Ranger outfit for Christmas, you say, and now you know exactly what character I play: her name is Tahlia--pronounced Tuh-LEE-uh--and she's the only Fey in a group of humans, and she kicks ass, of course)

except that I think most of you have already glazed over just at the thought of it and the rest of you, with maybe a couple of exceptions, would join the others if I actually launched into a description of our sessions. Which, really, tend to be pretty raucous and full of hilarious geek culture references, but also involve things like complicated dice and little pewter miniatures and stats sheets and people debating over whether or not a particular attack is likely to have much effect on the target and whether Dexterity or Strength is the base stat for...

And there you go. Come back! I'll stop!

Anyhow.

I'm stumped and feeling a little desperate because I WANT TO BLOG and yet nothing is coming to me on its own. So here's my request: would you? could you? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE help me out?

If you're willing to play along, comment on this post with something you'd like to know or always wondered about me or my blog or my life or whatever, or a topic upon which you'd like me to expound, and I will go with it to the best of my ability.

And if you don't comment, I'll know who loves me and who doesn't.

I KID! I KID!!!

(Sort of.)

So....Ready? Set? GO!

The Problem With Being Tagged Online Is That You Can't Really Run Away. Not That I'd Be Able To Run Very Quickly Right Now Anyway. Oh Well. At Least I'm Writing. Right?

I haven't done a meme in ever so long, but fellow Michigander (and yes, I am of that party--no Michiganians, okay??? Even Blogger spelling says that's the wrong one!) Katie over at No Missed Opportunities tagged me, and since I haven't been posting up a storm lately and the nagging and gradually increasing pain in my kidney region is interfering with my thought/posting processes lately, tally ho and all that.

(And yes, I am being good and looking into this kidney issue further. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound this afternoon. Also: drinking water nonstop. Also: running for the bathroom every half hour. These last two may be related.)

So. The Meme: A bit about me-me. I'm feeling a little lightheaded from, well, I'm not quite sure what. The blood dilution from drinking so much water? The poisonous little bastards bacteria partying in my body? Lack of restful sleep due to strange dreams I suspect are triggered by my top-level antibiotics? The sheer frustration from the whole stupid illness? The strangeness of actually posting something only a couple days after a previous post????

Anyhow, whatever it is, I'm lightheaded. So we'll see what kind of wackadoodle responses I come up with in response to the meme questions.

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.

2. Paste these rules on your blog post.

3. Respond to the following prompts (in bold).

4. Add a prompt of your own and answer it.

5. Tag a few other bloggers at the bottom of the post.

6. Leave "Tagged You" notices on their blog/Facebook.

7. Let the person who tagged you know when you've written the post.
------------------------------------------------------------

1) The best investment you ever made:
My health. Oh wait! That's the best investment I WISH I had ever made. Or perhaps at least buying stock in pharmaceuticals.

Um. No frickin' idea. My Tax Sheltered Annuities are doing pretty well, which is amazing in this economy, so maybe those.

And I suppose I could be all mommyblogger and say My kids! [insert rainbows and flowers and fairy dust here] but I have to say, so far it seems like there's a whole lot more investment and not a whole lot of return interest. I mean, sure, kisses and cuddles are nice, but where's my MONEY, yo??? You think those shoes and haircuts and snacks and clothing grow on trees? CUZ THEY DON'T!!!

Of course, I am stockpiling stories and pictures and whatnot with which to blackmail and embarrass them one day, so I suppose that's an investment. I'm just waiting for my returns, people.

2) If you could’ve written any book, directed any movie, and composed any song, which three would you pick:
Seriously? I have to pick something like this? Like I'm all, Hey, I could have done that! Or jealous or whatever? I'm changing it up, because y'all, I'm not those other people. So here's what I would pick to write/direct/compose:

The book that proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that sports are, in fact, overrated and unnecessary and that other things such as the arts should prevail. Readers would close it reverently, cancel their tickets to the Sunday game, and change the channel from ESPN to SyFy (which would stop showing wrestling, of course, even though that's more theatre than sport.) Athletes would demand a cut in pay. Huge quantities of money would suddenly divert from all things athletic to theaters and concert halls. The geeky kids would be picked first. For everything.

The movie that costs about $2000 to make and rakes in $900,000,000. Because I want the money, that's why.

The song that instantly makes anyone who hears it smile, even if it's the shittiest day of their lives. And never gets old.

In other words, the impossible.

3) Weirdest quirk:
Only one? But I have so many! I even asked MTL, who was astonishingly unhelpful. I would have thought this was right up his alley, but NO. He was all IDK and then Hair twirling? which is an obsession quirk I have, true, but isn't all that WEIRD really, especially since I do it to my hair rather than other people's which would be weirder, and so I told him he sucks and then he said You're just not weird to me and so I melted.

I do also wiggle my ears. Especially when I'm reading and very focused. So I guess I'm kind of weird when I read, since I'll sit there and twirl my hair with one hand while wiggling my ears (handsfree, of course) and also sometimes stick my tongue between my teeth, kind of like a cat. I only know these things because more than one person has observed and commented upon them.

My students say my obsession with written letters being completely closed is my weirdest quirk. When I or someone else writes on the board, for example, and doesn't completely connect the lines in, say, an "o" or an "a" or a "p", I CANNOT ignore it. I have to close it. I think it's perfectly logical, but they think it's hilarious and will sometimes NOT close things on purpose just to drive me crazy, the sadistic little buggers.

Is that weird enough?

4) One wish immediately granted:
HEALTH. Seriously. And maybe a hug to go along with it. And a date night.

Oh wait. One...okay. HEALTH. The others I probably don't need to wish for in order to get. Right, MTL? RIGHT????

5) Most expensive hobby:
Does reading count as a hobby? I think it's more of an essential part of life for me. So...cross stitching. Because the project I'm working on now cost me over $70 in supplies, will cost a ton to frame, and also "costs" increasing woman-hours of work. Especially considering all the mistakes I made at the beginning that required me to rip out literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of stitches. In one case, twice. I'M JUST THAT AWESOME.

6) An inexhaustible gift-card at which store:
Borders. DUH.

7) In another lifetime, you’d be:
A cat. A pampered indoor one, obviously. Seriously, have you seen what their lives are like? With all the sleeping and the eating and the sleeping and the playing and the sleeping and the cuddling and the sleeping and the purring and THE SLEEPING. AWESOME.

8) The most famous/interesting member of your family tree:
Good lord. Again, with the choosing. One of my Issues, actually, is trying to live up to the ridiculously Accomplished and Interesting Family in which I was raised. Extended family on my mother's side, really, where I have grandparents with medals of honor (not American, but still) framed on their wall; and a great-great-aunt who was the first woman to earn a degree in Architecture from the University of Michigan; and family members scattered hither and yon Doing Great Things For Other People; and a cousin who lived in Jerusalem for years and now teaches Hebrew to children in California and whose wife is studying to become a rabbi; and a father who is a Knight--yes really, an actually Knight knighted by the (oddly enough, non-monarchical) government of the country where I grew up and he still works.

Also on that side, I have an indirect ancestor (a many times great-uncle or cousin or whatever) in the American history books as the Founder of the American Industrial Revolution, because he memorized the blueprints to the industrial cotton mill and immigrated to the colonies and started things up, back when the British didn't allow that sort of thing to be taken to the colonies. So, you know, a smuggler and criminal. But on the winning side, which makes all the difference.

Gah. Now I'm feeling all small and insignificant again, thankyouverymuch.

9) What would you say to your teenage self?
GET THERAPY. Also, stop perming your damn hair.

10) What do you want to be when you grow up?
Just like the little old lady I spotted the other day. She was driving a smallish SUV with this stick-figure family decal on the back window:

She is officially the most awesome little old lady I've ever seen.

11) Proudest moment?
Um. I'm bad at remembering these ones. I'm better at remembering all the very many, many humiliating ones I've had.

I think I'll have to be sappy for a minute and say it would be a collage or montage or whatever of the various times students have told me I made a difference in their lives. Those are my proudest moments.

And if my sons tell me someday that I didn't mess them up TOO much, that will be my new one.

12) Best decision ever made?
To risk everything and fall head over heels in love with MTL. Haven't regretted it one bit.

All these years of forgetting to drink water all day, on the other hand....regret that. SO MUCH. Damn kidneys.

Oh, and I have to tag people? (grumble grumble) FINE. I'll tag other people who have been struggling with posting lately as well. Cuz I know how it feels, people.

I tag Kathleen over at Treasured Chapters, because routine can be a blog-killer;

and the lovely and FINALLY no longer preggers (wee Sam decided to stop hiding from his big brothers, that's why) Pants over at Pants With Names, because maybe this is a post she can handle with one hand;

and MomZombie over at Mom Zombie, because we're both struggling with silence and what happens within it;

and Angelique over at The Hyggelig In Me, not because she's struggling with posting (she's not), but because she's my real life friend and fellow Michigander who just started blogging a cozy little blog and I feel like tagging her.

So there! You're welcome.

So Much To Do, So Much To Say...*

'Cos here we have been standing for a long, long time
Can't see the light
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time...*

I haven't been writing much of anything anywhere lately. It's not due to being silent; in some ways, actually, it's due to speaking a great deal elsewhere. I'm back in therapy, focusing on deep root issues that have spread their tendrils throughout almost every area of my mind and life. It's very much like after facing down depression and divorce and those dragons, others wormed their way up from the depths and waved. Hello, still here. Wanna play?

They don't play nicely.

I'm talking, yes. Talking and wringing hands and, apparently, digging my nails into my skin until the morass of red crescents becomes raw enough to realize what I'm doing. It's hard work, this therapy. Then when I leave the War Room of my therapist's office, I dive into processing and digging deeper in my own mind. And talking some more: with MTL and with my dear friends J and A and H, spread out from coast to coast of the country though they are. Thank God for email and g-chat and phones, I say.

Elsewhere, with other people, however, I find myself silent. There are ideas I have to process, issues I have to solve, emotions I have to face before I can open my mouth and speak. My therapist agrees, by the way, with this instinct. And I find myself thinking of the words of Solomon, who wrote in his time of struggle, facing dragons of his own:

1 For everything there is a season,
      a time for every activity under heaven.
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
      A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
      A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
      A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
      A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
      A time to keep and a time to throw away.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.
      A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
      A time for war and a time for peace. 
--Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (New Living Translation, emphasis added)

For now, in some ways, it is a season to be quiet, to be silent, to be "mindful," as my therapist says.

But oh, Dear Readers, how tired I am!

Add to all this hard work of the mind the busy-ness of the end of the Marking Period, and Parent Teacher Conferences last week, and fighting off my fifth? sixth? seventh? urinary tract infection of the year...Oh yes, I know that's not a good thing at all. And I'm sorry if it's a bit TMI, but hello, I Have A Problem. I'm scheduled to see a urologist on December 1st, because when someone (aka ME) is averaging between six and ten UTIs per year for three years straight, something is going on.

Granted, I don't take care of myself terribly well. I've been working on that recently: drinking water much more throughout the day, even at work; heading to the bathroom much more often; avoiding an overabundance of sugary junk at work instead of real food. Hopefully that will also help.

But I seem to have reached the ceiling, so to speak, with the heavy-duty antibiotics. My body is building resistance. I've been on Cipro for almost a full week, with no missed doses, and I'm still developing fevers and experiencing discomfort--including, the last couple days, an ache in my lower back that makes me nervous about my kidneys.

So I'm headed back to the doctor this afternoon, and I'm dragging myself somehow through the day and trying not to think too longingly of my bed (oh lovely bed with your soft pillows and fluffy comforter) when I'm supposed to be teaching kids about sonnet forms and the consequences of overweening ambition as shown in Macbeth and the abuse of authority as demonstrated in Oedipus Rex and dramatic irony and the emptiness of the American Dream when lacking solid foundations as shown in The Great Gatsby and oh yes, the historical context for all of those texts and let's not forget vocabulary and grammar and dear God what was I thinking when I said I'd take on three preps this year? Oh right, helping out the department because we were losing teachers.

Also, I'm trying very hard to be grateful for having a job when so many others do not, trying hard not to be bitterly cynical about politics (and losing that battle rapidly, may I say), and trying exceedingly hard not to panic about the upcoming contract negotiations which, hey, may become moot anyhow if The Powers That Newly Be in this state have anything to say about it.

I will say this, though: I'm deeply--bone deeply, really--grateful for having friends with whom I can talk so rawly and honestly; for a partner who is my best friend, and who loves me even when I'm dragged down by it all and being infuriating, and who loves me more because of than in spite of my moments of batshit crazy; for the strength to even face this all in the first place. Even when, on days like this, I feel like doing nothing more than crawling into my very own padded room and staying there for a while.

Or taking a holiday from my Self. Just for a little while.

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be someone else...*

-----------------------------------------
*From Dave Matthews Band "So Much To Say":

This Is Why I Should Probably Just Go Back To Bed. And Perhaps Organize My Shoes.

You may have picked up a hint or two that I am overtired and overstressed lately. Just a smidge. I hadn't realized just how much my mental processes have been affected, however, until I was standing up from giving the kidlets hugs at daycare this morning and spotted this:

Oh yes. Those are, indeed, shoes from two different sets of black boots. Please note that they fit my feet quite differently. What you can't spot from this angle is that the right boot's heel is about half an inch higher than the left, which means that I had been limping--yes, LIMPING--around for the previous half hour and hadn't even noticed. This is, as you can imagine, SO VERY GOOD for my back.

So here's what I'm wearing now:

It's a very good thing that I've become so comfortable with my not-so-inner Dork.

If Wishes Were Horses, I'd Totally Sell The Horses And Get This Stuff Instead. Forget Black Beauty. I'll Take Black Boots.

There is an increasingly large gap growing between what I WANT for Christmas and my birthday (which are totally the same day so it's convenient for gift-giving, but it's NOT okay to just make one present work for both unless it's a REALLY BIG PRESENT) (just sayin') and what I NEED for Christmas and my birthday. This is one of the sadder parts of becoming terminally adult.

Well, that and all the joint creaking. You should hear me when I get up from bed or the couch or, well, pretty much any position in which my joints have to move from one angle to another. I sound like a really big bowl of Rice Krispies, or possibly a bag of microwaveable popcorn. Plus I often have to hoist myself up and then put my hand on my lower back because my back, it's lopsided and stuff. I'm 32 years old and already moving like a grandma.

It's sexy as hell, yo.

Anywho, I have a growing list of all the fun stuff I'd really like to get as gifts, as well as a growing list of all the things I actually need and don't necessarily have the money to get. And since I know you are all DYING to know what's on those lists, I'll share them with you!

You're welcome.

Here's What I Want, What I Really Really Want

1. A bunch of t-shirts from my new favorite merchandise website, ThinkGeek.com, especially these ones:

Because cookies make everything better. Especially double dark chocolate.

Because it's the Answer, of course!*

SPACE INVADERS! Now with extra destruction!

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Seriously, I think my life would be complete if I had this.**

This just makes me giggle.

Oh yes. I am that geeky. Although Next Generation is still my favorite.***

Sheldon is my hero. Even though I think I would probably stab him to death with a hundred very sharp pencils if I actually lived with him. I don't know how Leonard handles it.****

So. Awesome.

And again, brilliance from Sheldon. I want this in poster form, too.

This is what I'm talking about. I mean, seriously. LOVE.

2. Boots. I know, I know, I have a ton already, but there are a couple kinds I really want. One is a pair of tight-fitting brown high heeled boots that will perfect several specific outfits:

Like these

Or these. I'm not picky.

And then just because I've wanted a pair for a very, very long time, a pair of thigh-high black high heeled boots (but not a pair that looks too hooker-y. Because I have standards.):

Yes. Perfect.

DON'T JUDGE ME.

3. And of course I really want an elf ranger outfit to go with my ears, only that's going to be really hard to do because even the stores/websites that sell things like this seem to have never realized that maybe WOMEN want to dress like elf rangers and would prefer something of quality rather than the stupid little Peter-Pan-ish Halloween-y crap that is the only stuff I can find. ARGH. Anyhow, an outfit that would look something like this:

Yes, the bow and arrows and bracer and boots too. 
Because I'm a total geek, that's why.

4. Also from ThinkGeek.com, I really, really, really want this USB Webcam Missile Launcher that would allow me to launch foam darts at my students without them even realizing I'm watching them on the webcam. Sleeping when you're supposed to be working? PEW PEW!!! Talking to your neighbor when you shouldn't? K-CHOW!!! Just being a general annoyance? PEW PEW K-CHOW WHAM PEW PEW PEW!!!!!!

Beware my wrath!!!! PEW PEW PEW PEW!!!!! Mwahahahahahahaha!!

5. And because I'm not totally selfish and would also like something that our entire massive family can enjoy, I'd love to get a Wii system and a bunch of fun games. I'm generous like that.

I already own both Raymond's Ravin' Rabbids Wii games, and I love them. But I can't play them. This makes me sad.

What I Need and Should Probably Get Instead

1. Four new tires for my Saturn Vue. The current ones are almost entirely bald and squeal like I'm a crazy maniac driver every time I take a corner, even if I'm going about five miles an hour. And Michigan winters are a bitch, yo, and these tires will NOT handle things. I should probably get these before Christmas, actually. Sigh.

They may be black and sleek in their own way, but they just aren't the same as those boots. SIGH.

2. Also for my poor overworked Vue, a rear wheel hub assembly. It's only the fourth one needing replacement in the last few months. It's bizarre: that car is awesome and reliable, but apparently at around 130,000 miles all the wheel bearings start screaming. And, um, I mean that pretty literally. They're LOUD, people.

Oooh, shiny. Still not exciting, though.

3. And because that's not enough, I should get those brakes replaced soonish too. Geez, you'd think I was working as a chauffeur these days. Oh wait. I AM.

Why do all the repairs happen all at once? Thank God MTL can do a lot of that car stuff. Makes him handy to have around.

4. Oh, and speaking of those cold Michigan winters? It would be pretty awesome to have an electric blanket. Not exactly exciting, but awesome.

Now with extra snuggles.

5. Finally, even though MTL and I have a walk-in closet, I don't exactly have room for all my Stuff. Especially the stuff that doesn't hang up. Like socks. And underwear. You know, things like that. I have exactly one drawer in MTL's dresser that is mine. And while I totally <3 MTL for giving me a drawer (of his own free will, mind you, and without my badgering or even hinting), it's not quite enough. This is why I need a dresser. Preferably one of those long low ones, because then I can also put things like my jewelry chest(s) and Other Girly Things on top instead of on the floor/bathroom counter/random surfaces as I have to now.

Like this, only cheaper, because I'm pretty sure it's an antique. Which mostly is just another word for "It's been sitting around here for a few generations and it isn't completely broken."

Sigh.

Sometimes being a low-maintenance, practical, responsible adult Sucks the Big One.

And to think: for the sake of brevity, I'm not including all the piddly stuff I gaze at wistfully, like dozens of books and CDs and movies and that really cool necklace I saw at Aldo's the other day and things like that.

I'm not really all that materialistic. Really. But a girl can dream.

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*From The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams. If you don't get this joke, I'm deeply disappointed in you. Also, you need to go read the first three books. NOW. Forget about the last two in the series. He only wrote them because he was pressured into it and you can tell.
**From The Princess Bride--both book and movie. Again, ditto above if you don't get it.
*** STAR TREK, people. /facepalm
****From The Big Bang Theory, which is currently just about the only half-hour TV sitcom worth watching. LOVE IT.