Seven! Seven Things To Count! HA HA HA HA HA! (Insert Crashes of Thunder)

It's been AGES since I've done something as spontaneous and yet meme-ish as a Seven Quick Takes Friday, as originated over at Conversion Diary, but something bloggish in me woke up and said, Today! Write today! So I am. Except I can't get Count von Count's voice out of my head, for some odd reason, so we'll be doing this his way.

--One! One Quick Take! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

This morning I pulled on new jeans purchased on sale from Old Navy yesterday. They're the same style that I always wear (I am, apparently, The Flirt), but one size up. It was rather marvelous to pull on jeans that don't feel like sausage casings. I am sad to report that MTL's birthday gift to me is still sitting in the corner of the living room. I've used it about four times, which means that each seven minute ride cost about $50. Damn, but I'm out of shape. I keep swearing I'm going to do something about it, and then the siren song of the couch drowns out everything else.

On a positive note, MTL appreciated being able to actually grab my butt this morning as he walked by on his way out the door, rather than encountering the immovable force of straining denim. There's always a silver lining.

--Two! Two Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Upon arriving at daycare this morning, The Widget informed me that he felt like throwing up. He then proceeded to do exactly that. All over his shirt and the floor, with a bonus splattering on one of my shoes. Although he did have a nasty stomach bug last weekend, I have a strong suspicion that this morning's gift was the product of too much sinus drainage (thank you, environmental allergens!) and his refusal to swallow the chewed-up Claritin chewable pill that ended up on the floor along with the semi-digested remains of last night's tacos.

News flash: I have apparently lost the cast-iron stomach I developed during those early years of parenting. I was unabashedly grateful that he threw up on the daycare's floor rather than mine. All I had to do was wipe him down and get him back into the car. God bless the heroic and plastic-gloved daycare teacher who tackled the floor.

--Three! Three Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I can't say I'm thrilled about how often The Ex's girlfriend is at the house. This has nothing to do with her--I rather like her, truth be told, and I'm relieved he's moving on and I'm happy she's good with the kids. I do, however, resent that I'm still paying almost half of the mortgage on a house I don't live in, and that I'm essentially paying for them to live there. Trust me, I only agreed to this in the settlement for the kids' sake (plus she wasn't staying there back then). And yes, there is a time limit, but still. Don't even get MTL started on that, either.

However, I did find myself rather grateful to discover that she was there this morning and doesn't have work today, because she's able to watch the Widget. For some reason daycare centers don't let vomiting children stick around.

--Four! Four Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I love my coworkers.

Thanks to one of them, my students were able to enter my classroom, be made aware of the situation, and get started on their work for the day. I was only ten minutes late to work, but mine is not a job with flexible start times. Thanks to another, those kids also had a watchful pair of eyes during those ten minutes. You'd be amazed what a bunch of juniors will try to do during ten minutes' unsupervised time.

Sometimes I wonder how much of a difference there really is between my job and a kindergarten teacher's.

Oh, right. We don't have recess.

--Five! Five Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Speaking of kindergarten, DramaBoy is currently going through a phase of Marvelous! Wonderful! Near-perfect behavior! both at school and at home, which is a lovely respite from phone calls about how many kids he's hit on a given day and battles over how many bites of that horrible healthy food he'll have to eat tonight. I'd enjoy it more if I didn't keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Also, since children learn how to tag-team at birth, The Widget is In A Mood almost every day right now. I'm fairly certain he was flung into a maelstrom of jealousy, insecurity, and angst by having his eight-month-old cousin around for a few days and having to Share Attention--particularly from my parents, whom he views as his personal attendants. I mean, how DARE they?

Not that I would know anything about how that feels, or ever tormented The Widget's cousin's mother for coming along and dispelling my belief that the universe revolved around my three-year-old self. Nah. I wouldn't have done that. Ahem.

(Sorry, SoccerSister. Again.)

--Six! Six Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I hate politics.

I know this isn't news, but I think it deserves restating.

And while I will not, out of deference to DraftQueen's sensibilities, say that I hate all politicians or that they are all corrupt and horrible people, I will say that I have very little faith in most politicians.

However, if Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert ever run for office, I'm voting for them.

Just sayin'.

--Seven! Seven Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

The Old Spice commercials are awesome. In fact, an Old Spice ad torn from a magazine is clipped to my inbox where I can see it and be reminded to smile. Not because Isaiah Mustafa is pretty decent eye candy (though he is), but because the sheer over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek ridiculousness of these ads brings a little sunshine into my gloomy days.

I wonder if they'll have any effect on lowering the acceptable age for men to wear Old Spice. MTL can hardly wait until he's allowed to wear it, in fact--and felt that way even before these ads. Fortunately, I'm not allergic to that particular cologne.

In the meantime, I'll just keep enjoying the ads.

You're welcome.

Happy Friday!

Happy Holidays and All That Jazz

★˛˚˛*˛°.˛*.˛°˛.*★* Merry *★* 。*˛.
˛°_██_*.。*./ ♥ \ .˛* .˛。.˛.*.★* Christmas *★ 。*
˛. (´• ̮•)*.。*/♫.♫\*˛.* ˛_Π_____.♥Everyone♥ ˛* ˛*
.°( . • . ) ˛°./• '♫ ' •\.˛*./______/~＼*. ˛*.。˛* ˛. *。
*(...'•'.. ) *˛╬╬╬╬╬˛°.｜田田 ｜門｜╬╬╬╬╬*˚ .˛ *.*

Hey, I know. I totally stole this from Facebook. That's what social networking is FOR!!!

Regardless of any theft plagiarism loan, Merry Christmas to everyone! And a Happy Birthday (however incorrectly celebrated since he was probably born in March) (heh) to Jesus. And ME! Yep. I'm an ancient and decrepit thirty-three years old today.

Now to try to overcome my nausea and go put away leftovers from the massive overindulgence of the day. Oh, and possibly dropkick some overtired, oversugared, overstimulated children into the nearest bed. Yaaaahooooo!

What? I totally need some Silent Night up in here.

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.

If It Wasn't For Meme, You Wouldn't Have Me At All

Well, at least right now. Because life, it's a little crazy. Bless DraftQueen for tagging me. I'll be Up North in the Michigan backwoods for the next few days, so I will not be on the Interwebz. Well, even less so than I have been lately.

So. Ten questions (and answers, natch) about me, and then I'm supposed to tag six people:

1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now?

Well, I am and I'm not. My name and my fambily's names are, obviously, nom de plumes. But I did that whole Oooooh I'm writing a blog! Come read me! Do you need me to make it email itself to you automatically???? thing for my extended family and friends (and The Ex, who wasn't my Ex back then) that a lot of beginner bloggers do, and there have been times when that has been...inconvenient. Ever since I crashed and burned back in December 2008/January 2009 and then started blogging again in March 2009, I've been as open and honest as I can be. There are times when I need to write about something that I'm not comfortable being read by certain people, however, and that's when I resort to friends who will lend me their blog for a day or two.

Thank God for bloggy friends.

What was the question, again?

2. Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

HA! Which to choose, which to choose...because really, it's not so much an "inner" stubborn side. It's pretty much HERE I AM AND WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!?! Um...okay. Shall I be all open and honest here? And you can decide whether this is me being stubborn or all conflict-avoidance.

There's a friend who has been a fairly good friend for quite a while who said some things to me back in January about my divorce and how she saw my future playing out. I was pretty hurt and bothered by some of it, and I haven't talked to her since, even when she's texted or Facebooked me. I even composed a letter in my head explaining why I was hurt (I don't think it's even the part she expects it is) and why I've been avoiding her. But I haven't written the letter.

I suck.

3. What do you see when you really look at yourself in the face in the mirror?

Someone beautiful and flawed and fulfilled. You have no idea how amazing it is to be able to say that with honesty.

4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Iced tea with lemon, NO SUGAR thankyouverymuch. Though I have to say the tropical sangrias I imbibed at the Olive Garden last Friday would top my list if I was more of a drinker.

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

READ. Lavishly. Preferably the kind of books that do NOT end up on summer reading lists, though I think those lists could use more like what I read. Ugh. Remind me to whine vent tell you about that another time.

6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it?

I seriously think I'd like to be published. I'm not certain whether it would be for poetry, fiction, or essays, but I'd really like to be published. You know, by other people. And ideally also read by other people.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the class shy person, or always ditching school?

Oh, definitely the overachiever. For a long time my intelligence and academic success were the only things I thought worthwhile about myself.

I still attend school occasionally, by the way, because there's that pesky ongoing education requirement for my certification. Nowadays I'm the class smartass. I'm still at the top of the class, though.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what do you see?

Past? Future? Sad-poignant? Happy-poignant? Come on, people, be specific! Um.

Past sad-poignant was the moment last year I realized my marriage was dead. Not just dying, but dead. I'd already cried all my tears, so I didn't weep for it again, but it was a moment that I'll never quite forget.

Past mostly-happy-and-also-freaked-out-poignant was the moment DramaBoy was first shown to me and I fell in love in a totally different way than I expected. I also realized that life would never be the same and I wasn't quite so sure I was ready. Turns out, I wasn't. I survived, though.

More recent and purely-happy-poignant was when MTL first told me he loved me. I already knew it, but still, the first time those words are spoken...I can still picture it all perfectly. *mushy sigh*

As for future poignant--well, refer back to my answer to #1. Maybe I'll tell you once it's happened. *wink*

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I don't think I can help but write about myself. Very few of my posts are about other people without my involvement. This is essentially my rather non-private diary. Same for my poetry--it's all based in reality.

Sure, it's navel gazing, but they say to write what you know! Hehe.

10. If you had the choice to sit and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

Oh, the answer to this one should be obvious to anyone who's been reading my blog for long! Sit and read ALL THE WAY!!! It's my addiction, after all. Even more so than shoes. (I know. Gasp.)

I actually prefer texting on the phone to talking on it. And I'll take talking to someone face-to-face over the phone any day! I've become more like my mother that way as I've gotten older. Now sit down with me over a cup of coffee or a lovely slice of dark chocolate cake with raspberries, and I can talk--and listen, believe it or not--for hours.

Which is what I plan to do the next few days, because my parents are IN COUNTRY and IN TOWN until Sunday, when they fly out to Boston for the birth of my nephew!!!

MTL finally met them last night. I won't tell you how nervous he was. How very, very, very nervous. *ahem*

(He survived.)

(I love that man. As he says, I better. Heehee.)

I'm supposed to tag people, right? Eeek. Um. Okay. Yikes, can't tag DraftQueen. Or Brenda at MummyTime. Or Wanderlust. Or Melissa at Rock and Drool. DQ already tagged them. Dammit, woman!

Okay. I tag:

Lori at Random Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mum
Pants With Names at Pants With Names
Katie at No Missed Opportunities
Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em
GingerB at Gas-Food-Lodging
Monica at And I'll Raise You 5

Your turn!

You're welcome.

7 Quick Takes, Awards, and Blog Flogging (Oh My!)

If you've been reading here for a while, or if you are one of the few people who bother to peruse my sidebars, you know that I have a little award I give out at times for blog posts that strike me as particularly marvelous.

Truth be told, there are some bloggers who, if I didn't have some self-control, would get an award for pretty much every post they ever write. Top of the list would be Julia at Julia {here be hippogriffs} because OMG that woman can write. Another would be Mike at Cry It Out because ditto (only he's a man, obviously: stay with me, peoples). Perhaps I should just give them overall blog awards. I'll think about that.

However, there are certain posts that will hit me as being superlative, and so I'll give out my Top Marks award. I should note that I have by no means awarded every deserving post, partly because my sidebar would get really really really long (like it isn't already) and partly because sometimes it just slips my mind. I know. I suck.

I have handed out a few lately, and then never actually acknowledged doing so in a post, although the recipients did get notified and their blogs and winning posts are up on the sidebar as winners. Then this week I was given two awards for my own blog, and adding it all up, I realized I have seven awards about which to write.

And it's Friday.

So here is a special Awards edition of 7 Quick Takes AND Flog Yo Blog Friday. Let's all give ourselves a hand!!!

--1--

My first Top Marks Award goes to a personal essay by Mike Adamick at Cry It Out. Mike does a brilliant job of recording events in his life as a stay-at-home father to Emmaline in the beautiful city of San Francisco. In "Something So Good," he relates and comments on his conflicting experience being a Good Samaritan one day, and along the way reminds us that good deeds are rarely as purely good and pure as we would like to think.

--2--

My second award goes to a personal essay by Beck at Frog And Toad Are Still Friends. Her brilliant May 3rd post "The End of Love" is not what it may sound like from the title. She writes with her usual eloquence tempered with humor about the finish line of lasting love, the kind that endures the years and trials and hardships to hold strong even when one's body becomes weak. Her last line puts into words what I hold in my own heart: "It is the end of love, this finish line, that I want, decades and decades more, worn and perfected, a water-smooth rock, something final and lasting in whatever forever there is."

--3--

The third award was given the very next day to a former schoolmate of mine with whom I reconnected through Facebook. Josh is now a pastor in California, and his blog The Outpost-It contains his musings on life and faith. His post "Gone Jogging ~ 5/4/10" evoked memories of Africa for me and brilliantly connects the physical experience of jogging with "getting going" in life.

--4--

Next up is a humorous poem by Monica at And I'll Raise You 5. As the mother of five kids, Monica is far too familiar with the ongoing battle to climb Mount Washmore. I couldn't have been more delighted to read her parody of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's famous "Sonnet 43" in the form of her June 1st post "Sonnet to my F***ing Laundry"--especially since I was just about to teach Victorian poetry (including that very poem) to my juniors! Monica's poem inspired an assignment for my students: they are to write a parody of their own for that sonnet by Monday. THEY ARE SO HAPPY. Thank you, Monica!

--5--

And just this morning, right in time to make it onto this post, Betty Herbert at The 52 Seductions wrote a post called "Monogamy: A Manifesto" about why monogamy is right for her and her husband--a thoughtful, eloquent post that speaks to the deliberate, daily, hourly choice of monogamy; not because of biology or religious ideology, but because it is THEIR choice. She put into words what I have felt and why this is also my choice.

--6--

I mentioned that I myself received some awards this week. The first came from Monica at And I'll Raise You 5, who was a little put out that I managed to get my award to her (though not mentioned in a post here) before she had a chance to give me one for a post she particularly loved. She came through, however, and so I now have received this:

for my "If I Were..." post. Monica wrote beautifully about award-giving in her post "Award Love". Thank you, Monica!!!

--7--

Finally, this morning I discovered that the lovely Wanderlust also gave me an award. This is one that will no doubt make my poor grandmother shake her head yet again over the profanity-laced awards that I keep getting (*ahem*) but such is life. Besides, it's MEDUSA and that just rocks. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've been connected with that particular mythological creature before...Why yes! I have.

Go figure.

So be warned, peoples! I've been given the

Thank you, Wanderlust!!! You're my kind of blogger.

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

For more fabulous blogs (and perhaps even some awards), go check out the other blogs linked on Flog Yo Blog Friday at MummyTime. It's FUN!

5ive Things

I've been Tag-Teamed, apparently, as both Tim Riley at life of riles and DraftQueen at The Drafts Folder tagged me for a meme. A nice, simple meme involving answering five questions and then tagging five other bloggers. Easy peasy. Since I'm trying to get stacks and stacks of The Great Big Paper a.k.a. "The Bitch" (actual file name from one student's emailed final draft: "10 pages of HELL!!!.doc") graded and still have exams to create and Benchmark Assessments to administer and massive amounts of end-of-year paperwork/tasks/packing to accomplish, anything that makes life easier is more than welcome.

So thank you, Tim and DraftQueen!

I should note that because I'm obsessive like this and also have a sneaking suspicion that whoever originated this meme was on a "5 Things" kick, I've slightly altered two of these questions to keep with the "five" theme. I know. It's a little sad.

1. Where were you five years ago?

Physically? Right here in Oakland County, Michigan, teaching at the same school, though not all the same classes. I was pregnant with DramaBoy and heading into my last summer teaching summer school while simultaneously beginning my Masters program. Because I was crazy. Mentally? I was under the illusion that I was doing well while ignoring my constant low-level depression (PPD wasn't even a reality yet) and the ever-widening fractures in my marriage.

2. Where would you like to be five years from now?

Physically? Right here in Oakland County, Michigan, teaching at the same school, though not all the same classes. Unless I miraculously win millions in the lottery, in which case I will be on a sandy beach somewhere with a steady stream of umbrella-d drinks in my hand. Mentally? I'd like to be on even more solid ground, enjoying my career (or the beach and fruity drinks), parenting well, flourishing in my relationship with MTL, growing in my relationship with God, and overflowing with all the love in my life. Not necessarily in that order of importance.

3. What are five things on your To-Do List for today?

• Grade papers. Make some sort of inroad into the piles that are threatening me with Grievous Bodily Papercut if I don't do something about them.
• Prep the Victorian Poetry lesson for my juniors that I'm giving tomorrow. Come up with a way to keep them (the students, not the poems) from wanting to commit harikari. Though now that I think about it, the poems might want to do so after my students get through their whining and moaning and bitching.
• Prep the ACT English-style Benchmark Assessments I'm giving my sophomores on Friday. Avoid wanting to commit harikari over giving such tests in the first place.
• Track down more paper boxes (you know, the sturdy boxes with lids that hold reams of copier paper that are the BEST for packing?). Try to do so without having to engage in duels with coworkers who also lust after them.
• Relax with MTL. Despite being chronologically last on my list, it's actually kind of highest in importance. Despite the ongoing threat of exsanguination via paper avalanche.

4. What are five snacks you enjoy?

• toast with Nutella (or rather, the way I spread it, Nutella with toast)
• Godiva Dark Chocolate with Raspberry Filling bars (OBVIOUSLY)
• Doritos (but not Cool Ranch) (because they're gross)
• Cheetos (especially the Flaming kind) (hehehe--I said Flaming)
• apples with Cheddar or muenster cheese (Haven't tried it? DO IT. You won't regret it. Or if you do, you might want to have your taste buds checked. Loser.)

5. What are five things you would do if you were a billionaire?

Oh, I've played this game before. In order, I would (1) pay off every single one of my debts, (2) pay off every single debt owed by my loved ones, (3) create trust and college funds for my boys, (4) build my dream house, including a massive library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and sliding ladders and a big bay window and massive armchairs made for curling up and reading, and (5) go on a lengthy trip around the world with MTL.

There you go. Thrilling stuff, I know.

I'm tagging

Monica from And I'll Raise You 5 (but of course)
Lori from Random Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mom
PantsWithNames from Pants With Names
Katie from No Missed Opportunities
Arby from Boarding in Bedlam

Have fun!

I've Got Them Under My Skin. Kind of Like Chiggers.

So Wanderlust tagged me for a meme about Seven Things That Get Under My Skin (but not in the Frank Sinatra sort of way) and it's honestly more about narrowing down the list than coming up with ideas. Especially today because OMG I was hanging on to my temper with a death grip at one point this afternoon, I kid you not. It was one of those moments where I had to shut my mouth and just breathe, then decide NOT to address the issue that was standing there in the room like the biggest frickin' pachyderm ever described by Rudyard Kipling (Oh Best Beloveds) and instead move on while talking in a very very very calm and soft voice. This served to send every student in the room into a stock-still nervous hush because they could tell the slightest slip might send me over the edge and they apparently wanted to survive the day.

Smartest thing they did all hour.

Anywho, here are my grumpy seven things that are currently getting under my skin (and I'm keeping a smallish scope here, people, because it could get ugly otherwise.)

--1--

Politicians. Pretty much all the time and everywhere, but especially (right now) the Michigan ones who have apparently decided that their budget woes can be solved by screwing all the public servants and state employees, especially the teachers, police officers, and firefighters. BECAUSE THEY CAN.

--2--

Lazy students. Like mine today. The ones who've had a week to work on a project WITH class time to do so and chose today--the Due Day--to come up and tell me they weren't done and needed more time. Or the ones who had a presentation but had obviously invested as little effort as possible. It's a good thing this year is almost over, both for my blood pressure and their continued existence.

--3--

The smokers whining about the changed law here in Michigan. Especially the ones who believe that second-hand smoke is a myth. I KID YOU NOT. Makes me want to grab their little cancer sticks and shove them in a different orifice so they can enjoy a special kind of smoking experience.

--4--

The legal system. Especially the way it's been designed to make it as difficult as possible, if not practically impossible, to do anything without resorting to lawyers. It's a self-propagating, parasitic process that sucks us "regular" people dry. As Arby commented to me last week, judges are just lawyers in a referee outfit. And as Shakespeare wisely humorously wrote in Henry VI: The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.*

--5--

Bureaucratic nonsense--especially bureaucratic nonsense that costs money. The district hired a firm to run an audit of all the dependents carried on health insurance by district employees. You know, to make sure we're not lying bastards or whatever it is they think we are. I never received my audit in the mail, or it got misplaced (you know, what with the whole weird living situation thing), so here I get an email today about it, and I have to come up with all this paperwork proving the existence of my dependents. It needs to be postmarked by May 31st. WHICH IS MEMORIAL DAY. /headdesk

So I'm scrambling to get that together and mailed by Friday at the latest.

And how is this audit being funded? Oh, don't worry. It's not being paid for up front by the district. No, it will be paid out of the premium savings made through the audit.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

--6--

Telling a certain someone that he needs to get a certain task accomplished for OVER A MONTH only to discover, yet again, that it was not accomplished. And knowing full well, all the time, that eventually I will have to give in and just do it my own damn self, give him the receipt, and have him pay for it this time because I paid for it last time. Just like almost every one of these kinds of tasks we share. Passive aggressive, much? Also see: insanity.

--7--

KIDS WHO WILL NOT GO TO SLEEP even though it's getting insanely late and they'll be super grouchy in the morning when I have to get them up to go to school. I mean, at least they're being quiet. But the morning's gonna be a bitch.


There you go. I think I may have used up my grump allotment for the day. But WHOO does it feel good to get it out!

I'm now tagging:

DraftQueen at The Drafts Folder
Beth at BurkinaMom in France
Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka
MaryMac at Pajamas and Coffee
Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em
Melissa at Rock and Drool

And since the whining gets to even me, let's relax a bit and listen to something much nicer.

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*For the sake of legal protection, I state for the record that I am not, in fact, promoting or condoning violence toward anyone, no matter how scum-sucking or sharklike he or she may be. Ahem.

If I Were...

I don't know where this meme began, but I love the poetry of it. I found it at Wanderlust, who is orange silk and rain. But of course.

If I were a month, I would be April, with budding shoots peeking through the melting crusts of snow.

If I were a day of the week, I would be Saturday, when errands must be run but the night brings play.

If I were a time of day, I would be the moment when all the craziness of the day is done and I can finally breathe.

If I were a planet, I would be Venus, whose thick mask conceals molten heat, who turns in opposition to her sister Earth.

If I were an animal, I would be a sleek jungle cat, resting in the shade of a tree one moment and racing in the hunt the next.

If I were a direction, I would be Around.

If I were a piece of furniture, I would be a smooth, lush suede armchair, perfect for a rainy day of reading and drinking hot chocolate.

If I were a liquid, I would be an Irish coffee.

If I were a gemstone, I would be an emerald, valued for its imperfections and rich with crystalline life.

If I were a tree, I would be a redbud, purple blossoms vivid against the darkness of their backdrop.

If I were a tool, I would be well-used and valuable.

If I were a flower, I would be a Bleeding Heart.

If I were a kind of weather, I would be a spring rainstorm.

If I were a musical instrument, I would be a flute played by master hands.

If I were a color, I would be the green of a mature tree brought to new life by spring rain.

If I were an emotion, I would be deeply felt.

If I were a fruit, I would be a dragonfruit.

If I were a sound, I would be unchecked laughter.

If I were an element, I would be Water in its many forms and faces.

If I were a car, I would be due for maintenance.

If I were a food, I would be dark chocolate and raspberries.

If I were a place, I would be a savannah springing to life after a long drought.

If I were a material, I would be raw silk and lace.

If I were a taste, I would be the sweet-tart burst with cinnamon edge of a grafted mango.

If I were a scent, I would be Moka Java.

If I were an object, I would be a well-thumbed book only half read.

If I were a body part, I would be the hollow between neck and collarbone.

If I were a pair of shoes, I would be slinky high heels with ankle straps.

If I were a facial expression, I would be newly discovered Joy.

What would you be?

It's My Gift To You. You May Thank Me With Brownies. OF EITHER SORT.

I've mentioned before that I'm lazy, yes? Considering I have a label for that, pretty sure I have. And while I have a couple posts brewing (which can mean anything from Coming Soon to a Blog Near You! to Will Never See the Frickin' Light of Day, depending on my level of togetherness and follow-through-edness during any given time period), I'm taking the easy way out AGAIN and posting a meme. Just because. I wasn't even properly tagged this time, because Fraught Mummy Pants with Names (girl, you not only had to change your blog, you had to change your name?!?!?) decided not to tag me. Well, directly, though she kindly says anyone can play along, since she wasn't exactly tagged for it either. This is quite possibly her passive-aggressive way of saying Screw You since I didn't tag her for Saturday's meme, though I was totally going to until I realized that if I was to tag her, then her second post on her new blog would be the first post from her first blog, and that's just odd.

Anywho, the meme involves posting Ten Things I Bet You [My Faithful Readers] Didn't Know About Me. Which at first sounded easy, and then I realized as I started brainstorming that there is far less to write than I thought. First of all, I tell you folks a lot about myself. I'm self-centered generous like that. Second of all, there are plenty of things most people don't know about me, but if I posted them here I'd have to start rating my blog Mature. Also, my parents, sister, grandparents, and various other readers would probably have to gouge out their eyes and scrub their brains, and that's just mean. Uh, DraftQueen? NO TELLING.

And now that you have all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts going through your heads and wish I had an even better filter, here's the PG list:

1. Back in college, I was the official copy editor for a small gaming and publishing company run by my then-boyfriend/now-ex and two of his high school buddies. The problem was that the main guy, a doofus by the name of Ryan, was so controlling and illogical and idiotic that we all Got The Hell Out after only a few things were published. We did put out an actual role-playing game system, though. My (maiden) name is on it as both copy editor and author of the short story in the back of the book. And no, I'm not gonna link it. Tough cookies.

(Also, this may give you further evidence of just how much of a geek/dork I really am. Heehee!)

2. I was temporarily non-geeky in high school with my one moment of Athletic Glory when I was the All Star floor hockey goalie in the high school intramural tournament. I was a lowly freshman, but I Rocked. My team won the Championship, and then I was chosen as one of the goalies for the All Star game--and my team won again!

And then my knees went kaput and any chance at fame and fortune via my athletic prowess went kaput along with them. Sigh. What might have been...

3. You'd think that with my apparent willingness to face down (literally) a hard rubber ball rocketing towards me and my daily obsession with the Intarwebz and my sensation of panic/nakedness without my cell phone (ooh, did you like that segue? I rock transitions, yo!), I'd be all excited over fancy-schmancy phones like the I-phone and Droid and whatnot. You'd be wrong. I have fought the cell phone upgrade issue tooth and nail since, well, forever. I only agreed to GET a cell phone ten years ago when my POS car broke down on I-75 just after I'd driven through that lovely 25-mile section with all the signs saying Prison Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers and then I had to walk into town to call a tow truck while thanking the God I wasn't even sure existed at the time* that the car had sputtered to a halt right by an exit to Podunkville**, Michigan. I got the most basic, barebones phone I could, and ever since then have been accepting technology upgrades with the greatest of reluctance. You have no idea what a big deal it is that my current phone has a camera. And when I tried to download some ringtones lately, my service informed me with the snottiest of possible text that my phone was simply too old for that application, thankyouverymuch you antediluvian weirdo you. I have no Intarwebz access, no *shudder* touch screen, no fancy apps. And as I watch with dismay the increasing signs that Wanda*** may not be surviving her multitudinous mishaps for much longer, I'm dreading the inevitable reality that they just don't make them like they used to. You know, CELL PHONES FOR DUMMIES.

4. So maybe I'm a technophobe in some weirdly specific way. It's not my only fear. I am afraid of heights, which I think is a very sensible fear, but not so sensible is my overwhelming terror of praying mantises (mantisi? mantisusses?). OVERWHELMING. We grow 'em BIG out in the wilds of West Africa, peoples, and many a time I would go outside at night to feed the dog, turn around, and realize that my way back in had been cut off by a monstrous alien being clinging to the screen door. IT WAS LIKE THEY KNEW. And I'd swallow a shriek (because that could have alerted it to my presence and then it could have ATTACKED OMG OMG OMG) and creep around the corner and run like hell to the front door. I remember one particularly horrible night when apparently two mantisussesses were IN A CONSPIRACY because when I got to the front door THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE OMG OMG OMG OMG. Upon which realization I threw caution to the wind and screamed for my daddy to come save me, which he did, because he's Awesome like that. He only chuckled a little bit, even.

SEE???? Terrifying!!!! And, um, I may never be able to read this post again. I couldn't even bear to make it bigger because OMG OMG and do you have ANY idea how much courage it took to LOOK for this damn photo?????

5. Now that my shuddering is subsiding--I am not all Fear and Trembling. I admit I enjoy a good adrenaline rush. Despite my fear of heights, I love rollercoasters. And I have a semi-secret lust for motorcycles. Not the monstrous practically-an-automobile-on-two-wheels types, but the FAST ones that are sleek and sexy and *swoon*. Don't get confused and think this translates to an automatic lust for bikers, mind you. It's the machine that catches my eye and makes me sigh (Ooh! poetry! Kind of. Meh. I'm not much for cheap rhymes.) I have yet to properly ride one, however. Maybe. Someday. It's a Bucket List item, that.

6. I think I have a secret desire to be a Badass. I mean, I'd totally be a Biker Chick. The hot kind who (wo)mans her own machine, mind you, not the Backseat Eye Candy or My Old Lady sort. It all goes along with my love of smartass snarkiness, I suppose. Which (ooh, another Look At Me Go segue!) translates into the classroom, too. You'd think that with my love for being the Queen and Goddess of the Classroom, I'd be all for the suck-ups and kiss-asses, but here's the truth: they annoy me. Really, they do. I just want to shake them and tell them to leave me alone, for Pete's sake! I mean, by all means bring me bribes tribute and whatnot, but do so with a bit of sly sarcasm. Learn to walk the line between Snark and Disrespect. Some of my favorite students are the ones who mouth off--but know how to do so with humor and without getting insolent. Good times.

7. I am afraid I may have, once upon a time, been the suck-up in my classes. I don't know. (Lauren? Was I?) I certainly was occasionally the Teacher's Pet. Sigh. These days, I'm the annoyingly snarky smart one who thinks she knows more (and occasionally does) than the teacher. The truth is I dislike taking most classes. I'm not like my mother or MTL, who adore learning. They're both the lifetime student sort--MTL even says that if he won the lottery, he'd quit working and just take classes full-time: not for a degree, but just to take classes that interest him. Now, it's possible there might be the occasional class that would intrigue me, but realistically I'd rather learn on my own from books. When it comes to the classroom, I'd rather teach than be taught. I'm depressingly stereotypical that way: you know, the saying Teachers make the worst students? Yeah. That's me.

8. Really, this probably just means I'm controlling. And being in front of my class, leading discussion, interacting with the students--those are my strong points as a teacher. My weakest point? PAPERWORK. Oh dear little gods and graces, I HATE PAPERWORK. And I'm very very very bad at keeping up with it. I'm almost always late getting it done. I know, the irony and hypocrisy of it all. I'm afraid I take the ostrich approach: hide my head and pretend it doesn't exist and perhaps it'll miraculously Go Away.

What I really need to do is locate some of those handy Brownies, only the kind that will do paperwork instead of housework. Anyone know where I could find some?

9. Despite this atrocious lack of paper-oriented organizational skills, I have a little bit of OCD. Just, you know, not in USEFUL areas. I can't be all OCD about getting paperwork done or cleaning the house or organizing my classroom or tidying my desk or lawnwork or anything like that. Oh no. I have to be OCD about things like at which number the radio volume is set, or whether written letters and numbers have the lines touching instead of leaving annoying little gaps OMG FINISH THEM OFF!!!!, or getting stuck cracking my shoulder/knuckles/neck/whatever until I feel like I've "completed" the process (whatever that means), or all sorts of annoying little things. Oy. And now I'm twitching all over the place because just mentioning that third one is making my various body parts need cracking and moving and ahhhhhhhhhhhh I'm such a weirdo.

10. Along with the touch of OCD comes a slight superstitious tendency. I don't like stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. When I say that I hope something doesn't happen, I knock on wood (I use my head if nothing else is available). And I carry a lucky rock. Well, when I say rock, I mean lovely rose quartz crystal, a sort of faceted cylinder with a pointed top. When I'm anxious, I'll clutch it in my fist and rub my thumb and fingers over the sharp ridges and feel it warm in my grasp. It's very soothing.

As for the lucky part...well, that would be telling. YOU DON'T DISCUSS LUCK.

I know. It's silly. But there you go.

Betcha didn't know all of that, did ya? Whew. So much for being lazy.

And since I'm curious, and I didn't tag them last time, I want to hear from

DraftQueen (Ha! Tagged you back!)
GingerB
Stone Fox
Kathleen

Although, in line with Pants with Names, any of y'all who want to join in, please feel free! Because obviously, you don't HAVE to be tagged to play along.

--------------------------------------------
*Time of quasi-belief, not time of God's existence, OBVIOUSLY, people.
**Not its real name. Come on, people, keep up with the snark!
***That's my phone's name. No, really. She's lovely and red.

First of Something

Oh DraftQueen my DraftQueen. Thank you for giving me something to post, because dude, I gots nothing. I have this former student who promised me a written account of a highly entertaining dream he had in which I was a star player (and, um, no, not in THAT way, you dirty-minded people you. SHAME.), but the pesky business of doing Top Secret Stuff on computers over in Iraq got in the way, so I'm having to come up with my own blog fodder.

Oy.

But you, my darling, have tagged me. I'm It. Apparently I am to repost my first ever blog post and then tag some others to do the same. I'm sure, if I tried hard enough, I could tie this meme in to the fact that today is International Worker's Day as well as Beltene, but today is Saturday and I don't have a maypole handy, so I'll just be lazy and post the damn post already. You're welcome.

As a relatively new addict to the world of mommyblogs, I have had my concepts of blogging seriously challenged. My exposure to blogs was limited to the travesties of MySpace and the more personal ones of a few friends and family members--you know, the kinds that really only their friends and family are meant to see and enjoy? But a short while ago, on a day when I really had MANY other things I needed to do but really didn't feel like doing, I followed a series of links that led me to, of all things, a MommyBlog. (I won't say which at the moment, as I do believe in asking permission before linking and don't have the courage to go ask this High Lady of Humor for permission to link to my sorry little starter blog.) This Mommy was Funny. And Smart. And Funny some more.

As I became addicted to her blog and then (perhaps unwisely for the sake of the stack of papers that is teetering precariously on the corner of my desk) to several others that she herself linked, I realized that (1) blogging mommies Rock, (2) the ones worth reading have actually improved their writing skills through blogging, and (3) apparently blogging can satisfy something in women who are mommies but like to think too.

Now you have to understand that I am the type of person who writes really well when it comes to academic sorts of things, and I know it. However, that confidence falls short when it comes to the Personal. I am much like Adrian Plass, Aged 37 3/4, who starts a diary with the entry:

Feel led to keep a diary. A sort of spiritual log for the benefit of others in the future. Each new divine insight and experience will shine like a beacon in the darkness!

Can’t think of anything to put in today.

This is Me. I have started a half dozen diaries (or, rather, "Journals," very much in the tradition of Great Contributers to Literature) with the rather pompous and idealistic vision of sharing Great Thoughts with Humankind. I buy the pretty ones, the appealing ones, the Journals with lovely clean pages just aching to be written upon with a proper pen (I feel strongly in this matter, as does Anne Shirley, that only the right pen* will do). They generally lasted for a scattering of entries, and then they lay forgotten and dusty on various shelves. I find them later, mourn over another waste of money, laugh at myself and those silly entries, and then try to find something more useful to do with all that lovely paper. Such as jot down important notes about items to find and gems to get cut and quests to fulfill in another addiction of mine, World of Warcraft. But that's another post.

Similarly, the only blogging I have ever done was one exasperated post (about the frustrations of dealing with hormonal teenagers, as I recall) on the otherwise silent MySpace account I created solely to be able to read my sister's blogs. She doesn't blog there anymore, so that account lies quiet and dusty, but definitely unmourned, on some shelf the Webgods have tucked away in a back corner.

We shall see if this blog goes that way. I hope not. Mainly I need to remind myself that the best MommyBloggers are those who edit themselves and yet remain true to themselves. That way they avoid the pomposity and short-lived interest in what they write. From what I have read, at any rate.

So, here begins my account of life with Diapers and Dragons.

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* So do you find it curious, as do I, that upon reading over this entry I realized I had initially written "write pen" rather than "right pen"? A slip of the pen, or keys, or whatever, but amusingly apt.

I'm struck by the irony in one of those last lines I wrote: "...the best MommyBloggers are those who edit themselves and yet remain true to themselves." If you've been following my journey at all, you know that I was frantically lying to myself for years, and the first few months of my blog were the last few months I spent doing that. Go back and read last post of 2008 and then read through my journey of 2009...Good Lord. I feel like I'm looking back at the words of a completely different person.

And thank God, I'm not her any longer. 

So where were you and how far have you come since you first started blogging? I'm tagging MomZombie at MomZombie, Monica at And I'll Raise You Five, Arby at Boarding in Bedlam, and Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em. Happy First of May!

In Music, Memoriam

Fraught Mummy at Brits in Bosnia started a meme ages ago, and she tagged me. She instructed us to write about "a song that reminds you of something, that has a story for you. Not necessarily your favourite song or a even a song that you love, but a song that instantly takes you back to that time and place." 

It's a meme that's perfect for me in many ways, because music connects to memory for me All The Time. I have entire soundtracks for times in my life. DraftQueen is my official LifeTrack DJ, in fact, because she always seems to find the perfect song to send me when Things Happen. The problem, therefore, is not thinking of a song, but choosing just one. 

It took me a long while to get around to this post. The timing, therefore, is choosing the song for me. And because of the nature of this post, I can't tag people the normal way. So if you are inspired to carry on this meme, please do.

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

Four years ago my mother sent out an email asking for some help. My aunt, her only and baby sister, was nearing the end of a long fight with leukaemia. She was in hospice. The toxic side effects of chemo and the gradual failure of her body had made her restless and highly sensitive to sound. She could no longer handle being read to for any length of time. She craved music, but only certain music was bearable. My mother, who had become her main non-medical caretaker in hospice, asked us if we could find and send CDs that were soothing, instrumental only, and uplifting.

I felt helpless, much as I had been feeling for months. I had just born my first baby, the tiny DramaBoy, a couple of months earlier. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and (unknowingly) depressed. My beloved aunt, the one after whom I was named, the one who had cared for me when I was a baby, the one who had fought so hard and so long for all five of her own beloved babes, was dying, and there was nothing I could do.

I looked through the instrumental music racks at Best Buy and Borders. I found a couple of possibilities under the New Age category, but still felt uncertain about my choices. Neither felt quite right.

At that time DramaBoy was up frequently during the night, and I had taken to tuning the satellite tv to the New Age music station. The slow-moving blue title box gave just enough light to maneuvre without waking DramaBoy's father, and the music kept me company and calm. I would sit propped against the pillows to nurse my small son, dazed and halfway dozing while the mainly instrumental music would wash over me.

One night as I stared blankly at whatever was in front of me, DramaBoy suckling peacefully at my breast, I heard a lovely piano piece begin. The melody was what snapped my head up from half-mast. I knew that song. I knew the words. And something about it spoke to me.

The title box informed me that the piece was, indeed, "As The Deer"*, the artist was named David Nevue, and the album was titled Overcome. Realizing that there was no way I would remember this by morning, I grabbed a serendipitous scrap of paper and pen and jotted down the information.

When I looked up the artist and album the next day on Amazon, I discovered, to my amazement, that Nevue (a Christian pianist who specializes in lovely inspirational albums based on hymns and psalms) had composed and recorded the album as his father was dying from cancer. I listened to the progression of songs and knew that this CD was meant for my aunt. I ordered it that day.

My mother told me later that near the end, Overcome was one of only two CDs that my aunt could listen to. Again and again she would ask for it, calling it "[my] CD", using the nickname I went by as a young girl. It was playing that day in March 2006 when she peacefully passed from this world into the next.

I am crying as I write this. My aunt's death is something I have never completely worked through. I am torn between anger that someone so young and so loved, the adoring mother of five very young children, was taken from us too soon and in such a very painful way; and joy that her life AND her death were full of meaning. She and her story touched many lives. She still does.

I could not bring myself to listen to Overcome for years, even though my mother gave me my own copy, as she did many other family members. Last year, as I was working through a different grief and different loss, I finally started listening to it, often at night as I once again struggled to sleep. And finally I was able to find peace in its lovely music rather than torment and grief.

As the deer panteth for the water
So my soul longeth after Thee
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship Thee

You alone are my strength, my shield
To You alone may my spirit yield
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship Thee

As the deer panteth for the water
So my soul longeth after Thee
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship Thee

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*From Psalm 42

"Remembered Grace": {W}rite of Passage Challenge #1

This is my first attempt for {W}rite of Passage, in response to Challenge #1, which asked us to find a person in public, study his or her character, and build a story around him or her. The linky list following my story is for other participants in the challenge.

"Remembered Grace"

He trudged through the icy air, his nose buried deep within the collar of his coat. A blast of warmth greeted him when he pulled open the door, bracing himself against an urgent gust of wind, raising his head at the aroma of roast beef and chicken and marinara sauce. Colleen's face widened in a welcoming grin when she spotted him.

"Hey there, Ray! Your usual spot's open. Go ahead--I'll be right there."

He walked carefully down the stretch of damp tile to the end booth closest to the salad bar and slid himself wearily onto the bench. His nose started tingling, blood finally circulating after his freezing walk. Winter was here, all right. The festive lights and wreaths that draped eaves and doors no longer looked out of place. Two weeks until Christmas. Maybe he should put up some lights this weekend. His stomach clenched. The thought of holiday cheer was too much of a stretch. Why should his house reflect something his heart didn't?

Colleen appeared at his side, sliding a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. She plopped down a fistful of cream and cocked a hip, looking at him expectantly.

"The usual?" she asked.

"Sure," he grunted. She smiled again, and he returned the gesture halfheartedly. His face felt stiff, unused, and he hoped she would blame it on the frigid air rather than unfriendliness.

He glanced around the room as he peeled the foil off three creamers and stirred them into his coffee. More smokers than usual tonight; his neighbor across the divider had just lit a cigarette and the smoke curled lazily to the ceiling. The aroma was familiar. Too familiar. Maybe he needed to start sitting somewhere else. It wasn't like he needed to sit in the smoking section any more. That had been Gracie's vice. Only habit dictated his choice these days.

Enough of that. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his earbuds, placing them carefully in his half-frozen ears before peering at the screen of the I-pod. At least he could manipulate the damn thing these days. It had taken Michael an hour to walk him through the process, but now he could have his choice of music any time he pleased. The husky tones of Johnny Cash flowed into his ears, and his shoulders gradually released their tension. Shut off the mind. Just listen.

Like a bird on a wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
Like a fish on a hook
Like a knight from an old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons with thee

Colleen was at his elbow again. Steam rose in fragrant streams from the plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans that she placed in front of him.

"There you go, honey," she said, pitching her voice to be heard over the music in his head. "You need anything else right now? I'll get some more coffee for you in a minute."

He glanced at his untouched mug. "No hurry," he replied, and ducked his head in a nod of thanks.

The food was good. It wasn't gourmet, but the flavors were strong and solid, and the warmth reached his core. He was soothed by the comforting familiarity, something Gracie had never fully understood. It had been a running joke: she trying something different every time they came, he sticking to meat and potatoes. She had always wanted to try new restaurants, too, but had given away as graciously as her name to his need for routine.

His stomach clenched again. Maybe he should have compromised more. Maybe he should have stretched himself, allowed himself to be pulled along with her on an adventure or two. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so haunted by might-have-beens.

His plate was clean. Somehow he had finished it all, though his mind had stopped registering each forkful. Colleen was there almost immediately, whisking the dish and cutlery away and replacing it with a smaller plate of warm apple pie. She must have sensed his unwillingness to talk tonight; she just smiled swiftly at him and was gone.

He picked at the crust, placed a spoonful of creamy cinnamon-laced apple on his tongue, forced himself to swallow. He barely tasted it. Gracie would have been teasing him right now about how Colleen hadn't even asked if he wanted the pie, because he always had apple pie (warmed, no ice cream) after his meal. She would have been trying one of the holiday specialties instead, would have consulted with Colleen about which one was the best and when they had been prepared.

He released his spoon and stared blankly at the table.

The first time ever I saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes.
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless sky, my love.
And the first time ever I kissed your mouth,
I felt the earth move through my hands.
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command.

A movement caught his eye and he glanced up to see a young woman walk by, mahogany hair gleaming in the flourescent lighting. A young boy clutched her hand, half skipping to keep up, glancing around in delight at all the customers. She bent a moment to say something to the boy, and something in the curve of her back, the tilt of her head, the sweep of her hair across her cheek, sparked a mind's-eye glimpse of another woman decades before who had moved like that with a different still-small boy, her own red-brown hair yet unwhitened by age.

His breath caught in his throat. The pain was as sharp as it was those first few weeks. He had sat endlessly in that house that had ceased to be a home when her voice could no longer be heard, when her laughter no longer pealed through the rooms, when her smile no longer lit up each day brighter than any sun. How was he supposed to face each endless day, each aching night, without her presence? How was he supposed to celebrate holidays left empty of meaning without her there to share them?

He sat there, fingers clenched around his mug, for what felt an eternity, struggling to breathe, fighting not to break into a thousand shattered pieces.

Then there she was again, facing him this time, bent a bit as she held the arms of her son, one slim limb in each hand. The boy was laughing, his brown eyes glinting with mischief, dodging this way and that as she kept him from escaping to run riot through the booths. Her face was lit with delight, and as she lifted it to spot her way, her dancing green eyes caught his a moment and her mouth stretched in a wry grin as if to say What can I do? And why would I want to?

Her face was not Gracie's, but her joy in this moment of innocent childhood fun was, and he suddenly could not hold back an answering smile. He looked down at the boy and could see Michael as he had been at that age. He, too, had been full of movement and joy and mischief.

Michael. Tall, strong Michael who had, he suddenly realized, been doing everything he could to fill the gaping void left by Gracie. Michael, who looked so much like a male version of her that he was caught off guard every time they visited. Michael, who had invited him to Red Wings games and Emily's preschool concerts and bought the I-pod so that he could fill the silence with his beloved music. Michael and gentle Allie and their beautiful, boisterous little girl. How long had he shut them out? How long had he forgotten that Gracie had left behind a piece of herself in their son and granddaughter? How long had he ignored the memory of her words?

"You aren't allowed to pretend the world doesn't exist once I'm gone, Ray. I want you to live and love and be part of life. Don't disappear into yourself or I'll have to kick your ass when we see each other again someday. Don't think I won't!"

He straightened in his seat. He owed it to Gracie to follow her wishes. She had filled his life with love and laughter. What kind of husband, lover, best friend would he be if he let her legacy disappear?

He glanced at Colleen. She was standing by the salad bar, staring at him. Her face was creased with worry, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. He smiled suddenly and beckoned her over.

"How's your daughter doing?" he asked. Her eyes widened, then she smiled and leaned against the table.

"Oh, honey, let me tell you! She and her husband just did the most crazy thing. I told Tom I just don't know what to think!"

He sighed with contentment and settled in his seat. Gracie would have loved to hear this story. He could almost see her across the table, face full of humor and sympathy.

She would always be with him, but it was time to let others be there too.

We saw houses falling from the sky
Where the mountains lean down to the sand
We saw blackbirds circling 'round an old castle keep
And I stood on the cliff and held your hand

We walked troubled brooding wind swept hills
And we loved and we laughed the pain away
At the end of the journey, when our last song is sung
Will you meet me in Heaven someday?

Seriously, My Mouth Is Watering Just Thinking About Them, People!

So in yesterday's suprisingly optimistic post about Christmas Past and Present (trust me, the optimism caught me off guard too), I mentioned my family's traditional Christmas morning breakfast: Christmas Eggs. And then DeeDee over at Fiddledeedee posted about a $100 Visa gift card giveaway that asked contestants to share a Christmas tradition they are continuing with their own families, and I wrote about Christmas Eggs. And she is also doing a Saturday Stirrings post today, so BOOM! I'm all meme-ing and stuff here. Head over to those two posts if you'd like to enter the contest and/or if you'd like to check out more awesome recipes.

While pigs and pork are relatively common out in Ivory Coast, West Africa (that's where I grew up, if you're new or oblivious), processed pork in the forms of ham and bacon are quite rare. Somehow my father would manage to track some down every year before Christmas: thick, rich, smoky bacon bursting with flavor and all the more delicious for its rarity. He also canned his own tomatoes and tomato sauce from tomatoes grown in his garden behind the house.

So each Christmas morning at some point toward the end of the gifting extravaganza, Dad would go off in to the kitchen and rattle around with muffin tins and eggs and bacon and tomato sauce, and soon we would smell the rich scent of Christmas Eggs. We each got two at breakfast and filled in the cracks with Mom's coffee cake.

Bacon is plentiful in Michigan grocery stores, and my tomato sauce comes out of a bottle or can, but I still carry on this tradition every Christmas. For some reason I simply cannot bring myself to make these eggs any other time of year--it just would not be right! So here you go. Perhaps you'll find yourself adding something new and delicious to your own Christmas breakfast.

Just--if you decide to make it other times during the year, don't let on to me, okay? 

Christmas Eggs

thick-cut bacon*
large eggs
tomato sauce
salt
pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Line the sides of each cup in a muffin tin with bacon. Make sure the ends of the bacon strips overlap. Crack an egg into the center of each cup. Carefully pour a tablespoon or two of tomato sauce on top of each egg. Salt and pepper to taste.

Bake for approximately 15 minutes (don't you love my precision?) until bacon is cooked through and eggs are firm and opaque.

The cooked eggs/bacon should come out of the cups with the help of a large spoon. Serve hot and enjoy!

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*I have made this successfully using turkey bacon, if you're looking for a lower-fat option. The thicker the cut the better, but you could also double layer if needed. I haven't tried that, so you'd be entering experimental arenas....

They're Awesome. I'm Brain Dead.

Oh, hai! I can haz brain today?

Because I think it's mostly gone due to the mind-numbing energy sink that is a combination Professional Development and Parent Teacher Conferences day. (That was yesterday. In case you were wondering. That's why I was only online for a split second. In case you were wondering about that too. Though you probably weren't. Whatever.)

Therefore I will take care of a couple of housekeeping chores today before I go stare at a friendly wall. Since that's about as much as I can handle today.

So. Earlier this week my dear long-ago-long-time friend Kathleen at Treasured Chapters awarded me a lovely award, because she's generous like that, and it is the Superior Scribbler Award, which makes me want to squee. Except I never squee. It's a matter of principle. Instead I will bow gravely with all the self-absorbed gracious pompousness of academia in her general direction.

Thank you very much, Kathleen! That means a great deal to me. 'STruth.

As usual, these awards come with bloggy strings attached. In this case, the strings are:
1. Each Superior Scribbler I name today must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving bloggy friends.
2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
3. Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog.
4. Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Eek. Um. Okay. Let's see. Kathleen awarded this to her English teacher(ish) bloggy friends, and I don't dare copy her. That would be so NON-TEACHERY. (That's a word, right? No? Crap.) I also would like to award this to some people who might actually acknowledge and post the award and pass it on (You hear me, Heidi?!?! Yeah, I'm lookin' at you! Well, virtually speaking.)

So I am awarding this Superior Scribbler Award to some bloggers who consistently delight me with their writing. They may or may not have been/be teachers. I'm not going to try anything cute like Kathleen. (Yet.) And they are (dunh dunh dunh):

1. Julia at Julia {here be hippogriffs}
2. DeeDee at Fiddledeedee
3. Beck at Frog And Toad Are Still Friends
4. Mom Zombie at Mom Zombie
5. Marinka at Motherhood in NYC

These five wonderful writers are proof that writing with style Matters.

And now a new reader of mine (Heyla, Hyla! Welcome to my cuuurrrazy little world!) gave me a rather humbling award (Really? I deserve this? Okay, now I really am almost feeling a squee emerge and that would mean that my soul would wither a little. Must. Control. Voice.) called the Best Blog Award. Wow. Okay. Really? Wow. THANK YOU!!!

What makes me gulp even more than that scary word "BEST" are the rules, however, and suddenly I think I might have to cheat. (I know. My reputation as a teacher is becoming seriously tarnished.)

Apparently in order to accept the award, I must:
...post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his/her blog link. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you have recently discovered and think are great! Remember to contact the bloggers you've awarded to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

ACK. 15 blogs? That I've recently discovered? Crap crap crap.

You see, while I follow a million and half blogs (not all of them are currently listed on that blogroll over at the side), I have NOT added a whopping fifteen to my follow list in recent times. I have added some, but not fifteen. This is because I know that reading blogs is an addiction. I could easily spend the majority of my day simply reading blog after blog after blog if I allowed myself to do so. As a result, I approach blog discovery much in the way that I approach my addiction to shoes and books. I limit my access. I do not enter a shoe or book store lightly.

Otherwise my bookshelves and closets would be even more out-of-control than they already are.

So I am going to have to cheat a bit (Did I mention that last night I actually encouraged DraftQueen a friend to play hooky from class and go have fun with a girlfriend instead? And that she then texted back about the irony of a teacher incouraging truancy? No? Um, forget I wrote that.) and reduce that Very Scary Number to, oh, let's say five (5) (cinq) (cinco). That I can handle.

Recently I've been branching out from MommyBloggers to reading DaddyBloggers. My follow list is slowly swelling with the brilliance of these men. You should read them too. And since I'm just that confusing, I will round it out with a very non-male but still very worth reading MommyBlogger. Because I just cannot bring myself to only list four when five is so much more RIGHT.* I'm OCD awesome like that.

And you know what's fun about that? If they follow the rules, they'll have shiny little hearts on their blogs! (mwahahahahaha *giggle*)

So I am awarding the Best (Somewhat Recently Discovered and Apparently Mostly-Daddy-Blogger Oriented) Blog Award to:

1. Jason Mayo at Out-Numbered
2. Sedg311 at Why Is Daddy Crying?
3. Mike Adamick at Cry It Out: Memoirs of a Stay-at-Home Dad
4. Mocha Dad at Mocha Dad
5. MaryMac at Pajamas & Coffee (Here's a clue: she's the one without a penis.)

Go forth and read. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll suddenly realize that men (and women too--don't worry, Mary! I got your back, Gurl!) are Crazy. Good times.

I apologize for any brain aneurisms confusion this ridiculously scattered somewhat rambling post may have caused you.


Now you know how I feel.

*I could include Arby here as the fifth, because he is also a brilliant DaddyBlogger, but I've been following him for much longer and he already refused to post an award I gave him because of the froofy hearts issue. So he's not getting it. So there. Nyah.