Cords and Fleece

  “Well, Matilda’s dead.” I was talking on the phone with my Mom and I looked over to see Michael holding Matilda’s shell in the air while her body dangled limp beneath it. “OH! Crap. That’s awful.” My heart sank. In a matter of seconds, three adults had three opinions as to how to handle the death of our hermit crab. “I wouldn’t mention it,” suggested Grandma. “Remember that episode on King of Queens? (Where the parents tricked the son into believing his dog lived for nearly 30 human years...) You could just keep getting new ones.” I realize it's a popular solution, but what my Mom didn’t know is that I don’t want to get new ones. Once these guys kick the bucket, I think I’m done with crabs for a while. No offense to crab-lovers, but I think a gerbil or Guinea Pig will be our next caged pet. Our family is way too demanding and insecure for hermit crabs -- we need pets that respond . But still, I was not happy that Matilda died and her decomposing body was, well, disturbing. I c

  “You know, our friend so-and-so smokes weed,” I state while driving home from work during one of our endless commutes. “Uh-huh,” Michael says, completely disinterested as if I’d said, your shirt is white. Not that I expected him to gasp in excitement (or horror), but I thought it was an interesting fact, nonetheless. Plus, it got me to thinking: me = tense and on the verge of insanity weed = mellow me + weed = sane? Hmm... “I wonder -- how does one go about acquiring the weed, anyway?” I ask. “Well,” he says, “if you put it like that you’ll never know.” Touché (smart-ass). Touché... This only hurt a little more than it should have since I still remember the day in junior high when I overheard my classmates talking about a party they recently attended. At the party there were many high jinks and getting drunk and driving while underage and gossip and someone kissed someone they shouldn’t have kissed, and so on. The following weekend there would be another party and because it all so

  Yay Jesus Easter candy found its way into our house weeks before Easter (magically through cracks in the floorboards). I tried to be good to my health by passing it off to some of my coworkers and friends at work. Of course, they also brought in their confectionary excesses (Girl Scout cookies, etc.) which I indulged in while thinking it’s OK because it’s not mine , which is ridiculous. In the end, it’s all a wash. There really is no escaping springtime candy -- even if you’re Jewish. “I love Easter candy -- especially Peeps,” said my Jewish friend one day. “Oh yea? I have extra Peeps. Do you want them?” I asked. “Yes!” she replied. “Yay Jesus!” Easter Treasure Hunt For our almost-traditional Easter Day Treasure Hunt, I (I mean the Easter Bunny ) left clues around the house as to where the girls could find their “treasure”, i.e. Easter baskets. Their first clue was “Where is the coldest place in the house?” The girls went to the freezer to find their next clue. Only, the Easter Bunny

  Lately, I could use a stiff drink -- the kind of liquid satisfaction that comes from a book that promises to deliver life-changing enlightenment and eternal happiness, all from the convenience of my living room. As you may remember, I quit Self Help Books about a year ago. However, I recently discovered a new form of self help book and I must admit it has caused me to fall off the wagon with a thud. This new kind of self help book is more subtle. It doesn’t hit me over the head with a title like “Be Happy Now.” It doesn’t make overt promises. There are no charts or to-do lists. It is the self-help memoir . These are stories about people who have helped themselves out of whatever rut they were in and are happy to retell their adventures along the way. The not-so-obvious promise is that by reading this book, maybe I can do what they did, learn the lessons they learned, and then improve my life accordingly. I’ve read these kinds of books before, but never lumped them into the same ca

  You've got a way to keep me on your side You give me cause for love that I can't hide For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide Because you're mine, I walk the line - Walk the Line, by Johnny Cash It is morning. Like throwing holy water on vampires, the sun rises and we are not grateful. It is a work/school day and we do not face a morning of Froot Loops, Clifford, writing, and -- when God is kind -- sleeping in. Instead, we face a morning of alarm clocks, severe tot-itude , and traffic. We are not happy. It is my job to wrangle the girls into, well, anything but pajamas -- and preferably something weather-appropriate. This has never been easy. I remember a bad mommy moment I had with Elizabeth. At 3-years of age, Elizabeth suddenly decided she could pick out her own clothes, thank you very much. After pushing my hands away twice, I let her go for it. I mean, how bad could it be? But then she pulled out a bright, fluorescent green t-shirt and a pair of army green

  “Did you feel anything?” The teacher questions the class (all two of us) after we perform 15 minutes of breathing meditation exercises. I’m not exactly sure what I should or could be feeling -- I imagine some sort of “chi-ness.” I shake my head. “No, nothing really.” “Huh. Maybe next time,” she says. This is what I want to say: “Actually, I found it a little boring. During the exercises I kept thinking, Let this be the last breath, please. PLEASE. Plus, my back was hurting from sitting like that for so long and I couldn’t stop thinking how funny we must look, sitting in this dark room with our eyes closed and our fingers up our noses .” Instead, I just nod and say, “Yea, maybe next time.”  

  I was “tagged” recently by Shot in the Arm , a fine young Miss from the heartland, and also not so recently by Michele and The Dating Trooper . I’ve yet to respond to any of them, so I suppose it’s time. The rules are simple: I divulge 7 random facts about myself and then tag 7 others. But since I don’t really want to pressure anyone and I’m not that big on rules, I’ll just mention 7 of my favorite bloggers and blogging friends: Dating is Warfare Sexagenerian in the City Rimarama The Squawkery Must Love Tots The Bookdiva Dooce Journey Mama OK, that’s 8. They all have interesting things to say and I return to their words again and again. (And if they want to tell us seven random things about themselves, I can't wait to read about it!) One: I had my first boyfriend/girlfriend kiss when I was four years old. I went to a Christian preschool (of course -- where else would I get my first kiss?) and 5 year old Michael was my boyfriend. (This is not the Michael I ended up marrying 16 ye

  (WARNING: TMI Ahead) Guess what ladies? I’ve been fitted! No, not for a beautiful gown, a pair of glittery heals, or a diamond tiara. Alas, those times have long passed. Instead, a 37 year-old married woman who's been on The Pill FOREVER and who has blood pressure concerns and migraines gets fitted for something even more spectacular: a diaphragm. (Prolonged birth control usage = Higher blood pressure + Migraines = Bad News) It’s my first. In fact, you could say I’m a diaphragm virgin -- a phrase I actually used in the doctor’s office. My doctor is a 55-60 year old male with a deep baritone voice that vibrates through walls. He sounds like a cross between Yogi Bear and Bing Crosby. If I care to, I can hear words and phrases coming from the next room as he talks to his other patients. Yogi Bear says: “Take a deep breath in...” Bing Crosby croons: “Bend over and cough...” So talking with him about sex makes me a little light-headed and gives me a bad case of the giggles. “Is i

  The sun is setting. Elizabeth notices the dwindling light and announces, "Mommy, I hate the night.” “You do? Why?” Are you having nightmares? Are you afraid of the dark? Do you hear strange noises? What? “I hate the night because I have to sleep .” Oh, yea. I noticed that was a problem... ------------ “Mommy, I have a bad feeling.” “Oh no, you do?” “Yes. I have a bad, bad feeling... that if I don’t get any cheese before bed, I’ll never go to sleep.” “If you don’t get any cheese ?” “Yes. It’s bad news. I’ve just got a bad feeling.” “Yea, me too.” ------------ “Mommy, what can I do? I have a gajillion thoughts in my head. I can’t sleep.” “Try to think nice, calm thoughts -- like drifting in a raft on a lake, or taking a nap in the sun.” Elizabeth closes her eyes and tries to think soothing thoughts. Then suddenly she opens her eyes and says in exasperation, “Mommy, I can only think fun thoughts!” ------------ “Mommy, I need to talk to you.” “Oh yea?” I tuck Elizabeth into bed and

  Don’t worry -- be happy. But I don’t want to. Whoever said it was easy to be happy didn’t know what it was like to live inside my gray matter. Most of the time I’m fairly content. But there are times, weeks, months even, when contentment is nowhere to be found and happiness is a pipe dream away. (By the way, what’s a “pipe dream”?) So how do we feed our well-being? How do we generate inner feelings of happiness? Michele from The Squawkery challenged us to make a list of things we do to feed our well-being -- especially during times of extreme stress. I was chatting with a coworker the other day, and we both agreed that we drop the activities we need the most during those times. We eat poorly. We stop exercising. We don’t take time to quiet ourselves, slow the pace, and enjoy our lives. We reasoned, then, that if we make a list of things to do to “feed ourselves” (and try in earnest to do them) we’d naturally function better -- our well-being would be well-fed. Women’s magazines are