The Crab Chronicles

The Rant on Budgets

The kids started putting together their trampoline this morning. They can't finish it alone - they need a big strong guy to help. Hopefully one of the neighbors can come over tonight. I asked Michael how big it was and he said "It's bigger than your car, OK? Let's just say that."

I have been trying to figure out a realistic budget. I have resisted this for a long time because 1) I hate budgets, and 2) I kept hoping the condo would sell and I could get that debt off my plate. So far, no sale on the condo. I think this must be a record - more than 3 years and it's not sold. Of course, it hasn't been on the market the whole time, but still... Let's just say I will never buy a condo again, OK?!

It's always hard for me to make a realistic budget because stuff always pops up unexpectedly. Like last April, Alesia had the endoscopy and the medical bills from that - what insurance didn't cover - were around $1,000. Unexpected medical expenses stink. Then there are unexpected car expenses - and I am driving my Mazda until it's ready for the junkyard. Sometimes we have unexpected house expenses, too, for plumbers, etc. or like Alesia's makeup mirror falling out of the bathroom wall. Haven't figured out how to fix that one, yet. [It may go on the Honey-Do list for my brother, for when he's home in November.]

One thing I am trying to do is bring my lunch. Food in the cafeteria here has gotten really pricey. Plus I am tired of it. Today I brought some of our wonderful homemade vegetable beef soup from last night. It's very hearty [thick as stew] and filling. That saves me a good bit right there, if I can bring leftovers. Mother isn't crazy about leftovers anyway, so they tend to languish and get thrown out. She and the kids prefer sandwiches. I am not keen on sandwiches, mainly because I do not like mustard or mayonnaise, except in recipes.

When I was a kid I flatly refused to eat anything with mustard or mayonnaise on it. Needless to say, we rarely went to McDonald's.

I was on a local TV show called Trooper Terry when I was about 6, and there was an issue. Trooper Terry was a local TV personality in Augusta who talked to his kiddie audience and showed cartoons [think local version of Howdy Doody]. All the kids in the audience were supposed to eat these hamburgers and fries from Kelly's hamburgers, and smile and look happy on camera. I refused to eat the hamburger because it had mustard and ketchup on it. I imagine the camera operator was horrified to see my scowling face in the audience of kids, and panned away a lot. Those were the days before video cameras or YouTube, or I'd show you. It was NOT a happy experience for me, despite the thrill of being near Trooper Terry, whom I adored.  Anyway, I digress, as usual.

Let's digress some more.

When I was in college, I had $25 to eat on every week, after I got my own tiny apartment. Even in 1982 that wasn't much money. That had to cover everything, too, like toiletries and magazines. It was brutal. One day, driving back to Athens, I was stopped by the police for speeding. I was going 80 in a 55 mph zone, and I got a ticket for like $175. That wiped out my meager savings and my food money. I remembered my cousin Terri telling me once she would eat beans for a couple of weeks sometimes and save her food money for new camera accessories [she was an avid amateur photographer]. So I decided not to tell Dad I had that ticket. I decided to eat only oatmeal and what was in my pantry until I could get the money together for the ticket. I love oatmeal, so this seemed like a reasonable idea. It took about 1 day to go through my pantry stocks of tuna and Campbell's soup.

On about day 4 of the oatmeal diet, Dad called me as I was sitting down to dinner. He said something casual like "What are you eating for dinner?" and I started sobbing uncontrollably. He asked me what was wrong, and I blubbered "I have to eat oatmeal, OK? JUST OATMEAL!!" He asked why, and I finally broke down and told him about the speeding ticket. He started laughing hysterically and had to hand the phone to mother. She was not sweet about it. No mommy comfort was forthcoming, to my chagrin. You see, my father was a speed demon, and collected speeding tickets all the time. We never went on vacation that he didn't get at least 1 ticket, and sometimes 2 or 3. Those were the days before fuzzbusters or CB radios. So Mother was annoyed I took after the old man with the leadfoot.

Dad took pity on me and just paid the ticket, and sent me some money for food.

It was a year or so before I could eat oatmeal again.

So BUDGET is not a happy word for me. I have to make peace with it.

Cranky People

Well, yesterday was a day from hell, I now realize. After almost no sleep Saturday night, we were all cranky. I think I mentioned that yesterday. Maybe I should have said we were ALL REALLY REALLY CRANKY!! Like, bite your head off kinda cranky.

After lunch, I had a nap. I needed that nap. The house wasn't cooled down, but I was about to drop.

I cut my nap short, however, to take the kids to see the new Batman movie, The Dark Knight.

Before I say anything else, let me just state for the record, I HATED The Dark Knight. I can't post a review because it would be too much - too many capital letters and exclamation points. I didn't really want to see it, but the kids did. In hindsight, I should have kept napping. It's extremely violent. The car crashes and scenes of breaking glass and people leaping off buildings finally just got boringly repetitive. How many times can you watch something explode?! There was almost no actual dialogue. The dialogue that was there was mostly just stuff like "Sometimes the truth just isn't enough." Huh? Plus, I really got lost in the overly elaborate plot, too. I've said before, I don't want to see a movie where I feel compelled to take notes. I also was irked that Rachel was played by Maggie Gyllenhall, who is not attractive and has a high, icky voice. Then there was Heath Ledger - I can see why that part drove him over the edge. He was basically playing Satan.

Of course, all this could be colored by the fact I was sleep deprived and extremely cranky.

We went to Kroger afterwards, around 7 p.m. By then the boiling hot sun was going down and it wasn't too too miserable. However, Alesia kept saying snotty little remarks, and she had Michael doing it, too. He has always been a sweet boy, and it was horrifying to see him aping her. I finally just lost it. Right there in the middle of the aisle, I was glaring and hissing at them both "You are getting on MY LAST NERVE! You both need to SHUT UP or I am going to lose it and scream at you, right here!!" Alesia was able to stay quiet for all of 3 seconds before making some flippant remark. I almost blew my cool and slapped her. I came close. I scared myself. She will do this over and over - goad me into getting really angry, and I have to physically stop myself from slapping her. If I tell her how mad she has made me, she will retort "Why don't you go ahead and HIT ME?! Others have hit me!" I always reply that I do not hit my children.

I sent a long and anguished email to the therapist this morning, going into more detail. I hope she can help us. She has been out of town for several weeks but is due back today.

I was telling a friend here at work about it, and she remarked that with Alesia, I get all the normal teenaged angst, and then some extra. That's true. I don't think childhood trauma should excuse rudeness, though. I have known people with teenagers who just let them talk ugly and disrespectfully to them, and I told the therapist at the first visit, I simply don't allow it. I don't allow attitude and rudeness. Nor should any parent. If we don't teach them how to have good personal relationships, who will?

On the way to our house we saw two more houses with huge trees smashed into them. That makes 4 trees within a half mile of us that smashed onto houses. One house had an entire set of rooms smashed to bits. It's like something from a war zone. The local news didn't even cover it, either.

So, today has been better, just from the standpoint of being able to come to work and escape cranky people, including myself.

Stormy Weather

Not long after I blogged yesterday, we had some excitement around here in the form of massive thunderstorms. The kids just made it back from the pool when the storms really hit.

Around 7, the power was knocked out. Usually it comes on within 15 minutes but last night we weren't so lucky. It was out from around 7 last night to 11 this morning. We've had highs in the mid 90's lately so the house was HOT last night.

We have a gas stove, thanks be to God. I heated up some leftover roast and we ate fruit and tortillas. At dinner, we just talked.

We have lots of candles, so light wasn't a big problem. I do want to get more oil and wicks for our oil lamps, though, because they were unusable. I also want to get more of the little lights my cousin gave Michael last year. It's a nylon strap that goes on your head and has a light you can switch on and off, like a minor's light but on a headband. Ever heard of this? I don't know where to find them but I want to order one for each of us. This one worked great.

I read aloud to the family after dinner - The Mouse and the Motorcycle, by Beverly Cleary. It was the only kids' book downstairs, and Mike wanted to hear it. It's a wonderful book, though, and I didn't mind reading it. Mother listened, too. Alesia listened to her MP3 and played Solitaire.

Georgia Power had said when I called that power would be restored last night, but it wasn't, which irked me.

We don't open windows in our house, ever. Mother has asthma and the pollen and other particles in the air can cause her to have an attack. Last night, though, we opened the windows here in the upstairs. Mike slept on my bed with me. Alesia slept downstairs in the family room, on the sofa.

As you can imagine, we were all pretty cranky this morning, after so little sleep.

I am going to go to Kroger this afternoon late, not in the midday heat. It's another scorcher. I am going to take the kids to the movie this afternoon, just so Mother can get a good nap and we can escape the heat. Even with the air conditioner going, the upstairs of this house doesn't cool down but to 82 or thereabouts on a really hot day.

Obsessed, That's Me

Two days ago I had a freaky, Oh My God what's happening? kind of moment on my way home. I get on 75 heading south towards downtown and I notice there are no cars on 75 northbound. None. For miles. I am so startled. I drive and drive, and try not to wreck while I rubberneck over to the northbound lanes.Finally, I see a police barricade holding back the northbound traffic. It's a parking lot over there.

I call my friend Brian, who is an event planner and knows all. "The president is in town," he informs me. Then today, I perused my favorite news site, Oddly Enough [weird news and photos and funny captions, what's not to love?!] and found this: http://blogs.reuters.com/oddly-enough/2008/07/24/whered-you-get-the-turkey-leg-mr-president/. So the pres was here! I believed Brian, but the photo of W at Dobbins Air Force Base was still a teeny weeny bit thrilling. I work very near Dobbins.

It's almost as good as the day I ate lunch near Evander Holyfield. I walked right behind him coming back from the bathroom! He's not very tall. [No, I didn't follow him to the bathroom, I'm not that weird.]

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We had an interesting morning. Here's what I reported to my brother:

Since Mike had that bad episode last week where his arm was burning and he had to sleep with an ice pack, I wanted to get him in to see a specialist. Colleen arranged for us to see Dr. Allan Peljovich, over at Northside, who specializes in hands and lower extremities.

Dr. Peljovich was very nice, and very kind to Michael. He took an x-ray. There is no overgrowth of any size to warrant surgery and he likely will never need surgery – only about 5-10% of child amputees ever do. Dr. P said the pain occasionally and burning feelings occasionally were normal.

There is also some phantom pain and sensation in the missing hand and fingers, which Michael had never admitted to me before. Dr. P told Mike that’s totally normal and nothing to get freaked out about or worry about. He seemed relieved to hear that. He told me in the car later that the phantom feelings are sort of scary. Dr. P said the brain just doesn’t realize the hand is gone. I told Mike I had heard of that, about phantom pain in missing limbs, and it’s normal.

Dr. P also said to pay attention and when there is pain or burning or itching, to think carefully about what was happening a day or so before that, to try and know what actions to avoid. He said Mike can do anything he wants with the short arm, though, as long as it doesn’t hurt. That’s good because he uses it to get more power in his backhand when playing tennis. [There has been no pain or burning since he started playing tennis a lot, though.]

He didn’t think a followup visit was necessary. We can just go back if there is a big issue.

The only awkward time was when the nurse was taking the medical history. She asked me what information I have about his mother and father and I said I have none. I also don’t have any medical to speak of, except for some notes in Russian in a little booklet. She also asked me about the accident which caused the amputation – even though I had written out an explanation which was perfectly clear. I think with any new doctor we see from now on I am going to ask them to talk to me privately about the history. Michael looked really unhappy when she was asking me about it.

When we were going home in the car I told Mike he needs to help Alesia this afternoon to get the house straightened up before Lesleigh comes over, and he sighed and looked at me and said “Lesleigh is family. Why are you so OBSESSED with the house, Mom?!” LOL

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I wrote up a review of The Great Debaters and it's here:

http://deescribbler.typepad.com/flick_pages/

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I just read that the water advisory was canceled. Woo hoo!! We'll be drinkin' some H2O tonight!!

The Many Tiny Mr. Wrongs in My Life

Last night when Alesia and I were in the car going home after therapy, I told her I have made many mistakes in my life. Everyone has. That's how life is - you make mistakes, you fix them as best you can. She is starting to see some of her past behavior as mistakes and starting to analyze it a bit, which is real progress. Learning to be introspective and contemplative is a tough thing for a former orphan. The survival mode is to simply live in the moment.

Michael was upset last night about his difficulty in learning the multiplication tables. I was able to tell him, truthfully, that it took me about 2 years to really learn them. I have little facility with numbers. I ordered an interesting workbook for him which is supposed to teach the multiplication tables with pictures. It was recommended to me by a friend who homeschools her kids. Mother didn't really understand it, so I am hoping Alesia can teach it to Michael this afternoon.

I said to him last night, though, that failure at something simply means you have to find another way to succeed. Failure is how we learn. That's something he is learning now, at 11, and Alesia is trying to understand at 17.

Michael is able to talk more openly about what upsets him, and so I have a tiny hope that we will have an easier time with him. Then again, the practical side of me says "Well, his challenges won't be the same as Alesia's, perhaps, but they will be there. Teenhood looms large." Yikes.

This morning in the car Alesia told me she had taken her new MP3 player to SCHOOL! I was aghast. "You need to be concentrating on BIOLOGY, not listening to music!" I fussed at her. Plus, it's likely to be stolen. Just when I think she's starting to get some sense, she comes out with something like that. She was genuinely puzzled at my dismay. 

However, back to last night. We had a good bonding time in the car last night because after I told her I made a lot of big mistakes in my life she asked me to name one. I had to think, oh, about 3 seconds.

"Well, every guy I was ever involved with was a mistake," I said casually. Her eyes got huge.

"Really? Why?" she asked.

"Well, I just always was too emotionally needy, was the biggest problem. I tried to make them my everythnig, and they ran in the other direction." [This echoed what we had been discussing in therapy, to a certain extent. It was true, though.]

I felt like I should tell her the truth. We talked a little about the last guy I dated seriously, who broke up with me just a few months before I came home with her from Russia.

I wound up the discussion by telling her, "Look, I am telling you this, because each and every guy I ever fell in love with hurt me. Hurt me bad. I never, ever want you to be hurt like that. I want you to choose wisely."

I got to thinking today, that makes it sound like all gloom and doom. The truth is, while the relationships were all dismal failures, I had some pretty funny dates.

I went through a period of time in my 30's when I was doing internet dating. I have friends who have found their spouses using internet dating sites. So I would "meet" a guy online, and if we clicked I would meet him in a public place, using no last names, and see if he was a possibility. None of them really worked out. I have often thought I could write a pretty humorous book about those crazy days.

** One guy, who I met at a very nice restaurant, had sent me a photo that was old. He was no taller than me, and he was as wide as he was tall. I could deal with that. The dealbreakers were that he did phone sales and he lived with his mother and didn't own a car. Those 3 attributes just made me back slowly out of the restaurant and speed walk to my car. I didn't even give him a ride to the train.

** One guy was a research scientist from Sweden who admitted to me rather early in the evening that no, he wasn't actually divorced yet. We spent the evening wandering around the mall looking for a fondue set for him to use in his new apartment. I had a feeling I didn't measure up to the blonde goddess he pictured himself with, but he was actually rather pleasant and we had a nice evening. I never saw him again but I didn't care. He and his fondue pot are probably very happy together somewhere and I hope he's divorced, if he's still on the net. I think of him as Mr. Fondue Pot Scientist.

** One of the first guys I met was a lawyer, and I vaguely recalled him being on the other side of a case from me when I worked for a woman I will call Josephine, a completely crazy attorney who drove me nuts for 6 years.  [She's the subject of a whole other book.] I think he was just curious to see what I looked like, because Josephine regularly caused secretaries and paralegals to have nervous breakdowns and quit, or just tell her off and then quit. I stuck it out for a long time, but only because I couldn't find another job. This attorney I went out with, although handsome and smart, was an ego maniac whose carefully coiffed hair and casual knocking back of several mixed drinks in a half hour ruled him right out of the picture, for me.

** I met one guy at a movie theater. This one, like so many guys I met, was short. I can deal with short, as long as a guy is not less than 5'4 [my height]. I cannot deal with men who have stubby little hands with long fingernails like an animal. YUCKO! I think of him as Animal Man. I wouldn't even share a popcorn with him. Him riding a kangaroo is my worst nightmare. [shudder]

** I met one guy at a Mexican restaurant near my job, for lunch, and I insisted we sit outside, where I nearly sweated to death. However, I didn't want to be indoors with him. He was probably less than 5'4 but he had on high heeled cowboy boots and a cowboy hat which made him almost eye level with me. I'm OK with costumes. Not a big deal. The dealbreaker was, he told me in excruciating detail about the house he had built for himself, with his bare hands, waaaay up in the North Georgia mountains, and how it was surrounded by security cameras, and motion detectors, and he had a terrific collection of rifles, grenades, etc. I smiled and thought "I will see you on the news one of these days, my Tiny Wacko Cowboy..."

** I was delighted to meet a guy I'll call John. He was a technical writer, and so sweet. When we met, I was dumbstruck by his voice, however. He was, as Seinfeld put it, a "high talker." Alesia's voice is lower than his. My mother's voice is lower. He was like a tenor who had sucked way too much helium. I am very sensitive to voices. I couldn't deal with his. I was hoping we could sustain a friendship, though. We did remain friends, for a while. It ended when he emailed me several of his "short stories." The "stories" were only a few sentences long. He got ticked when I told him honey you are writing poetry, not stories. So much for you, Mr. High Talker.

** The best of the internet dates was a guy I never actually met in person, an airline pilot who lived in Las Vegas. We had a number of intense phone conversations. He was funny. He said he had always dreamed of flying and had worked hard to get his commercial pilot's license, only to realize one night that he spent most of his time ferrying hookers from LA to Vegas, on a flight called "the dolly trolley." He broke up with me by telling me that our planned rendezvous was not going to happen because he had found a woman who LOVED golf, as much as he did. I didn't point out that wives #1 and #2 also liked golf, and that sort of obsession didn't exactly guarantee happiness, but he was too nice to diss. I still regret that he didn't work out, although I will never live in Las Vegas. I've no desire to even visit. I'm a southern girl and will be for life.

** I met one guy for lunch at his very expensive townhouse in midtown, near an area called Virginia Highlands. When we met, he looked at me like an auctioneer appraising a painting. I was frozen and didn't want to turn around and let him see my butt, even though I was a totally normal size then. I just felt like there was a lot of criticism behind his icy blue-eyed stare. I started to get mad and tell him off then I thought nope, I want a free lunch. So I joked and jollied him along, and got a nice lunch out of the deal. We ate lunch at a little Thai place and that had delicious food.

I have to confess, I have dated for food before.

Years ago, when I was in Knoxville and struggling to get through grad school and work, my parents' next door neighbor fixed me up on a blind date with a guy from her office. He had sounded very nice on the phone. I dressed carefully in a little black dress, put my hair up, wore high heels - I was going for the Audrey Hepburn look. I answered the door and nearly fainted.

This guy was standing there in a grey business suit -which was fine - but it didn't go with the bright orange [think road cone orange] parka, with a fur edged hood. He looked like Alfred E. Neumann, the little dude on Mad Magazine covers [see below]. I exclaimed about how cold it was that night, and went back to my room and changed into a denim jumper and a heavy turtleneck, with tights and loafers. He went out with me anyway, which was his mistake.

I insisted we go to an expensive Italian restaurant. I was living on like $30 a week for food and eating a lot of canned tuna and ramen noodles. I had a fine meal that night - lobster, I think. He proceeded to interrogate me like the KGB with a double agent. "How often do you work out? What's your religion? Can you cook?" etc. etc. At first, I was amused, because I knew I never wanted to see that goofball again. Then I started getting irritated. I decided to have some fun.

"You know, I have a confession to make," I said, taking off my lobster bib and leaning in close so he could smell my perfume and gaze into my big bluegreen eyes. "I really really want to get married, as soon as possible. I want a big wedding. I want to start a family right away. I'm thinking four kids would be awesome. What do you think? You're awfully cute when you smile..."

He froze, like a deer in the headlights.

He pulled out his calculator and paid the check.

I never heard from him again. My 4 little Alfred E. Neumann lookalike kids had to remain a mere fantasy. Darn. Here's a very close match to what Mr. Goofball looked like:

Mike Goes to Camp and I Endorse Products

This is my third try at typing today's post. Each try, the post gets shorter. When I try and insert images, the machine goes apes**t and closes down on me. Aaaargh!

I got Mike to Children’s Healthcare this morning before 7:30, to catch the bus to camp. He was so not a Happy Camper. I know he was nervous. When we got almost there in the car he said "This camp was NOT my idea, ya know!!" I just chuckled. There were a lot of kids there, maybe 20-30, and all had limb differences. One tall girl was a double leg amputee but she was smiling and chatting with friends. I hope that attitude rubs off on Michael. I talked to one of the therapists and they said they were taking the kids whitewater rafting this afternoon, and horseback riding one day. When we saw the IMAX movie about whitewater rafting down the Colorado a couple of weeks ago Michael said he would LOVE to try that.

Lesleigh and Gary have both been to Nantahala many times and they said the kids will have a great time. Here's the website: http://www.noc.com/

What 11 year old boy wouldn't want to go whitewater rafting down a beautiful river like this? [He's never seen the movie Deliverance.]

I expect when I pick him up on Sunday he will be a happy guy.

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The other day I forgot to list a thing that really annoys me - boys with saggy pants, with their boxers showing. Good lord, is this the end of civilization as we know it?! Every time I see some slouchy kid wearing their pants down low like that I have to physically restrain myself from running up and giving the punk an atomic wedgie!! Mike has been warned.

Just as an experiment, to see if it helps blog traffic - I saw a huge uptick when I posted photos of the Smart Car - I want to see if I can insert some images of things I love.

I haven't eaten this in a long time - I swear - but if nuclear war was imminent this would be my last meal on earth, in all its sinful sugary, fattening decadence:

If I were sent to a desert island and could only take one food, it would be Ritz crackers. I love them plain, with peanut butter and jelly, with cheese, with pepperoni, I am salivating right now...

I took an entire box of this tea to Russia and to Kazakhstan because it's one of the few things I cannot live without.

You are probably familiar with all these, except perhaps Simply Limeade. It's the MOST refreshing, fabulous drink EVER, but more so if you're menopausal and you live in the south. LOL

Walking On the Edge!!

Before I start my exciting blog post I wanted to tell you something. I don't usually pay much attention to the mechanics of my blog but in a few days I will have posted my 700th blog entry! I also have almost 200 comments!

So I wanted to take a moment to say thanks for reading. Sometimes I want to start my posts "Dear Reader" but it seems to unbelievably goofy to do that, so I resist the temptation.

I am working on an essay about why I blog, in hopes it will be included in an anthology about mommy bloggers. As long as they aren't looking for something really "literary" I think I have a chance. It's forced me to think a bit about why I blog.

The blog started out because I got tired of writing multiple emails to friends and family members who wanted to know how things were going with Alesia, when she first came home. So I started blogging and made A Record of the New Normal available to only select folks. That was fine. Eventually, though, in order to publicize Jack's New Family, I realized I needed a public blog. It was scary, going public.

I often start to write about my opinions on some topic, then decide to keep quiet. I am a big ol' wussy, is the reason. I posted about my aversion to body piercings and tattoos and got some very negative comments. So I decided to avoid controversy.

I decided today to list some of my opinions. Go ahead and send the nasty comments. I probably won't print them but I hope it will make you, Dear Reader, feel smug and happy.

Things I Find Very Annoying:

1970's fashions - they looked idiotic then, so why return to those days?! why on earth should anyone with an ounce of body fat wear hip huggers? Or halter tops? Designers are soooooo lazy. Instead of the comfy caftans we SHOULD be wearing, they're going for a very annoying retro look. As long as fashion is going retro, why aren't we seeing the high-waisted plaid bellbottoms so popular when I was in middle school? or the shirts with enormous collars? where are the leisure suits?

Smock Tops that Make A Woman Look Pregnant - if you aren't pregnant, why do you want to look that way?! Anyone bigger than a size 2, WILL look pregnant in something like this:

Smart Cars - I keep seeing these zipping around on the freeways. I am all about fuel efficiency, but these things are like waterbugs on the surface of the interstate. In my huge mid-size Mazda, I feel like a lumbering Frankenstein clod next to the little Smart cars. Are they really smart, safety-wise? what would you prefer around you in a close encounter with a huge truck - a Smart car or a 1970 Catalina?

Sassy Kids on TV - I absolutely hate the Disney channel. Every time I let Mike watch TV, he wants to see Disney sitcoms. I watched 5 minutes of one the other day [Mike had the TV on while I was making dinner] and I wanted to hurl a tomato at the screen. Are all sitcom writers young punks with no children? My kids are taught to be respectful and not snotty to grownups, but that seems to be a very old-fashioned notion.

People Who Don't Keep Their Word - My kids have already figured out which of my friends do what they promise, and which ones are very casual about keeping commitments. I don't allow Michael to see his little friend Xavier because the child's mother doesn't keep her word when it comes to honoring playdates. It has hurt him. I'm trying to teach my kids this - when you say you are going to be somewhere or do something, keep your word. Be honorable.

People Who Consider Colon Cleansing a Religion - you know who you are. If I could spend half my waking hours on the potty I might agree with this view, but I can't.

People Who Think Shopping is Nirvana - to me, shopping is just somethign I have to do sometimes. It's not a sport. It's not a hobby. I know a woman who went back to work and left her kids home unsupervised just so she could have more money for shopping. Excuse me, but I believe there's a commandment on this one, something about Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods?

People Who Send Me Political Emails - I am NOT political. I'm not. I will hold my nose and vote for the lesser evil, on November 4th. I think all politicians on the national stage are morally bankrupt, and I find our whole political system out of whack and depressing. I would vote in favor of letting a computer run the country, if possible - it couldn't be bought off by special interest groups.

Emails about Praying for the Troops - I pray for my brother and all our service people EVERY DAY. If I don't send around your chain email about praying I am not a heartless heathen, OK?!

People Who Assume My Kids Are Like Most Kids - This is a little harder to explain. I overheard a woman recently ask my daughter if she likes to "hang out at the mall with her friends." She also asked me why on earth Alesia is 16 and doesn't have a driver's license.Well, first of all, Alesia is about 13, emotionally, not 16. She doesn't "hang out" anywhere in public without me around, or another responsible adult, because she is very naive and she could get into trouble without even realizing it. She is easily led into irresponsible behaviors. If someone her age offered her a beer or a joint, I am not sure if she would say yes or no. I am not sure she would remember the numbers "911" if she was in danger. She is impulsive and doesn't think about consequences. This is not her fault. It's part of the reason why she's in therapy. Just don't assume she is like every American teenager.

My son is also naive. He hardly glances across the street before darting out. His birthmom let him drink beer, and he often says he wants beer, despite my telling him he can't legally drink until age 21, and I will NEVER let him drink in my house. He likes to brag he will punch out anyone who gives him a problem. Is her serious? I know he says these things in a joking tone, but he spent his first 8 years running wild in the streets, drinking and smoking from a very early age. Fighting was common. I have to educate him about how kids his age in America should act.

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OK, so let me know if you agree or disagree. Let the games begin!

A Dozen Years Ago

I feel compelled to write a quick post and clarify something.

Back in 1996 when Tom Cruise did Jerry Maguire - one of my all-time favorite movies - he was awfully cute. Now he is a couch-jumping Scientology-spouting wack job. I hate to see it. He's a good actor. I will not be running for president of his fan club anytime soon, however.

Our movie tonight was Alesia's choice of one of my old VDR tapes, When Harry Met Sally. In addition to being able to sing every word to every song and knowing most of the lines, the movie brought back a lot of bittersweet memories.

WHMS was released in 1989. It became like a personal theme song for me, the whole film. I had jeans and turtlenecks like Meg Ryan. I had curly hair. [Well, mine was reddish brown and natural, not a blonde perm, but still...] I had a man I loved, who only thought of me as a friend. Yep, for about 8 years, we were close friends and that's all. I kept thinking if I was patient, he would suddenly become mature and realize happiness was right in front of him. Sadly, he never matured. Finally, in 1996, I came clean about my feelings, and he said he could only think of me as a friend. It was winter 1996. I was devastated.

We learned a few months later that my father had cancer, and that then overshadowed everything else.

The year 1996 was horrible. I parted ways with the man I thought of as the love of my life, the man I devoted myself to for 8 years. My father died. A close friend at work quit and I learned she had been telling lies about me to my boss for several years.

This work "friend" had been feeding misinformation to my supervising attorney for years, because she wanted me fired so she could take my job. The attorney suggested to me on several occasions that I should check myself into a mental health facility. I thought that was really bizarre, but then she was a bizarre person. Then I found out about my friend's betrayal.

The only good thing about 1996 - which I didn't know about until years later - was that it was the year my son was born. So in the midst of terrible grief and pain, a small ray of light was born on the other side of the world.

"When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."

From a perspective of a dozen years, I see a lot more now. The pain of 1996 gradually subsided, with the help of a good therapist.

The man I loved is actually still my friend.

My father's spirit lives on in me, and I see him in the faces of my children, every day, even though they are adopted.

The friend who betrayed me? She actually contacted me right before I brought Alesia home and wanted to be friends again. I couldn't do it. I know the Lord says to forgive, and I did that, but I couldn't forget.

I never realized my life was a soap opera until just now. LOL

Pondering Friday

Since we had the big dinner out last night for my birthday, I am looking forward to doing as little as possible this Friday, which is the actual day. I may go to the movie. That's really it.

Usually, when I tell people I was born on the 4th of July, I get one of several reactions:

"Oh, you're a firecracker baby!"

"Everyone celebrates your birthday!"

"How nice, you never have to work on your birthday!"

Sometimes older folks will sing the portion of Yankee Doodle Dandy that goes "... born on the fourth of July!" and cackle with delight at being so clever.

There was a movie with Tom Cruise about fifteen years ago called Born on the Fourth of July, about a young man wounded in the Vietnam War. I remember seeing it and thinking Tom Cruise did a good job, but it was really not a great film.

Ironically, Tom Cruise was born one day before me, on July 3, 1962. He has brown hair. He has an adopted son and daughter. So do I. I used to do some acting. There, the similarities end. I digress.

Growing up, I always celebrated with a cake with a flag on it, and there were often little flags decorating the birthday area. One year, everyone in the neighborhood was outside setting off fireworks, and the neighbor next door stuck a lit roman candle in my hand and told me to have fun. I was 8 years old and terrified. I stood there holding it, frozen with fright. Since then, watching fireworks or doing much with fireworks has not been a happy thing for me.

July 4th is actually is a rotten day to have a birthday. Everyone makes plans to be with family and friends. It's tough to have a party on the day, or even nearby, because people are always out of town. FOr many years, I tried to plan parties on my birthday. Even when we lived on the lake it was tough to do. 

This year, I tried to get all my close friends here in town together to go with me to Cheescake Factory last night and nobody could make it except Lesleigh. Nobody could make it July 5th. It's depressing.

I will be 46 on Friday and that number is causing me to ponder some things, none of them happy things. First, it's only 4 years away from 50, the half century mark. Just in itself, that's a scary thought.

Also, I am going through early menopause. Friday was a horrible day because I kept having mini hot flashes all day. So that reminds me that I will never have biological children. I will never grow a child in my body and give birth to it. Most of the time that's not something I get upset about. Every once in a while, though, I will feel this stabbing pain of regret, this pang of longing to raise a child from infancy. It usually goes away very quickly. It's something that will always be a bit sad to me, though. As much as I love my kids, I wish God had also let me have the experience of giving birth, of raising a child that was a biological part of myself and someone I loved.

We have a lot of family antiques in my house, and sometimes I wonder if I should give them away to my cousins with biological children. My kids never even met their great grandparents. For instance, should I give my grandmother's jewelry to her biological descendants? Would that be the right thing to do? Or would it upset my daughter, cause her to think she was less worthy than my cousins' kids, just because she doesn't share my biology? When I am gone, will there be fighting because I didn't pass along the family heirlooms to the biological descendants? Do any of my cousins' children even care? Should I just give it all away now? I don't know. It's a painful thing to contemplate.

So I have some regrets. There are a lot of things I look back on and wish I had done differently. Looking back is a waste of energy, though. You cannot change the past.

I try to look forward, to plan for the future, and try and make it the best it can be for my little family. Mother accuses me of being a bit of a control freak, like my dad. I am, and I know it. I wish I could be more laid back, but then I would be afraid something would get by me.

When I was in paralegal school here in Atlanta I had two roommates who were from Louisiana. They would sit on the apartment balcony for hours, drinking beer and looking at the woods. I envied them that ability to be relaxed and laid back. I could do that for maybe 15 minutes, max, and then I had to go DO something. Cut my toenails, balance my checkbook, read a magazine, but SOMETHING.

"Old age ain't for sissies." I don't know who said that, but it's very true. Going into it depresses me.

I just hope I never spend hours sitting in a chair, looking out at trees, getting drunk, and doing nothing. Even having a little pity party for myself is doing SOMETHING.

Thanks for coming to my little party.

My Little Guy

My friend Apryl, who is with Antares Foundation, sent me two photos she found of Michael from July 2005. I looked at them and wanted to cry. He told us just the other day how his head was shaved when he first went to the orphanage.

Mike's on the far right. He was 9 years old and he looked about 5.

This is a photo that was made recently:

He looks like an entirely different child, huh?! [This is right before Alesia carried Coco up to bed - Coco loves being carried like this!]

I looked at the kids in the photo above and I thought, what has happened to them? Where are they now?

Michael's orphanage was one of the better ones for older children I have seen anywhere, but once the kids turn 17 or 18 and finish school, they are on their own. They usually have no family to help, no resources.

Michael is writing little "stories" - just paragraphs, really - about his life in Kazakhstan. Mother works with him every day for a couple of hours, tutoring him, and he has made strides already. I am wondering if the stories could be knit together for a book of some kind. He writes honestly and pretty well for an 11 year old who barely knew any English a year ago. He talks about playing with a friend and skipping school - in first grade. He writes about when he first went to the orphanage and they shaved his head. He has told us how he hid from the authorities when they tried to take him from his mother, even though she had been so horribly neglectful and abusive. If he can find his "voice" as a writer, I think it would be therapeutic for him to write all this down, before he forgets it or blocks it out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Alesia was better last night. She and Michael ate pizza for dinner, a rare treat, and we all watched Hello Dolly. I sang along to a lot of the music, and Alesia didn't complain.I did a dinner theater production of Hello Dolly when I was 17, and believe me I know every word to every song - we ran 8 shows a week for 5 weeks. It's a great show, though. Mother actually watched with us, which is a rare treat.

I felt the presence of my dad with us. He loved "Dolly." He and Mother saw it on Broadway with Carol Channing in the 1960's. Seeing it always makes me think of him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I was dismayed to see that George Carlin died over the weekend.

I grew up seeing him on Laugh In, and later I heard his comedy albums and memorized some of his routines, just because they were so clever and thought-provoking. I can still do part of his routine comparing football and baseball. When he did Saturday Night Live I would stay up and watch it until the end, because he always ratcheted up the humor level on the show.

Classic Carlin: We buy houses just to hold all our STUFF. We collect more stuff over the years, and we have to buy a bigger house to hold it all. // I don't take a camera on vacation. I have a trick I use - I just look at something and REMEMBER it. // I've never understood why you can't sing at the dinner table. You can stand right next to it and sing your a** off!

Carlin was raised Catholic but turned away from the church and was openly antagonistic about it, and abotu all religion, basically. Sometimes his rants in recent years were really distasteful to me, if not downright offensive. However, I still read his books and watched him whenever I could, because he always said things that were intelligent and made me think about the world a little differently - even if they ticked me off. I will miss the occasional sighting of him on TV or in print, because his voice was unique, and it's stilled forever.