Let The Sun Shine In

Autumn signals a lot of different things.
Cool crisp days, which mean you can wear pants and forgo daily leg shaving.
Dragging out all the winter clothes and taking inventory of what is needed, while wondering how children can possibly grow so quickly.
Leaves on the trees that turn beautiful shades of gold and red that need to be raked into piles or, my personal alternative, leaf blown into the neighbor's yard.
Picking apples and buying wildly overpriced pumpkins to carve into jack-o-lanterns.


It also means, for us, finishing up all the home improvement projects that we intended to finish in the warmer weather, but didn't. Now we have no choice but to work ourselves crazy trying to finish them up. This year it is scraping, reglazing, painting, and reinstalling windows. Too many windows.

So many windows, in fact, that we have contemplated the unthinkable, on more than one occasion.

I'll ask, "Rob, do we really need so many windows?"

"Probably not. The kids just smudge them all up with their sticky little fingers anyway."

"I have an idea... Why don't we get rid of the window and wall it up!"

"Let's wall them all up!" he will shout and toss his tools down.

"Think of the savings in heat," I will say.

"We can pretend we live in a cave"

"Never be bothered by that pesky sunshine"

"I hate it when it makes a glare on the television," Rob will add.

"Sunshine is so over rated."

"Vitamin D too."

"Who needs sun, isn't that why god invented electricity?"

"It was on the 8th day. God said, "Let there be light indoors"

"Bored of all that resting in the dark He was."

"And it was good"

In the end, however, it is just all talk and we decide that keeping the windows is probably for the best. For resale value. But it doesn't stop us from having variations of this conversation over and over again.

I guess we are easily amused. Or else missing precious brain cells from working with chemical strippers.

Wondering

If I try on a pair of low waisted pants and my underwear is above the "waistline" of the pants, does that mean I am too much of an old fart, who is evidently wearing grannie underwear, to wear said pants?

Also, I bought a beautiful velvet and lace spaghetti strap shirt today, which I have no idea when I will actually wear since it both velvet AND sleeveless, and what would the appropriate weather be for it's wearing?

I know WHO (World Health Organization) recommends extended breastfeeding... so, would it be so wrong to continue nursing my youngest son until he is in college? Because I have grown very fond of having boobs and I fear that after ten plus years of nursing a baby that when I stop I will have what amounts to shriveled raisins left on my rib cage.

And why, for the love of God, do the grocery stores persist in hiring mentally challenged people to bag the groceries, but yet not train them to put the bread on top. I am so tired of having to reshape my bread so I can make something vaguely sandwich shaped.

Quote of the Day

said by me during a particularly loud and rowdy dinner last night.

"Will you shut your mouths and eat your dinner already."

Hearing muffled laughter I look over to see six children, with closed mouths, banging forks full of food against their lips.

And I laughed, while silently cursing them, like mothers have been doing since time began, I hope you have children just like you.

To The Withered Old Woman At the Library Book Sale

Having arrived at the ripe old age that you are, I would think that you would have learned that children sometimes cry and scream, especially two year old children. Two year old children who do not get their own way (for example coloring all over the books that are for sale with a pencil she just found on the ground) are particularly notorious for this type of behavior.

And really who can blame her. When you are two year old and surrounded by thousands of books finding a pencil on the ground seems like a stroke of good luck.

When you give me dirty looks and sigh loudly, it doesn't help the situation. When you loudly complain about my screaming child it makes me angry. It makes me want to grab you by you short gray helmet of hair and twist your arm behind your back while shouting "Who's crying now? HUH ? WHO'S CRYING NOW???"

As I was trying to calm my daughter down and wrestle the pencil out of her little hand, while she tried her hardest to gouge my eyeballs out of my head with it, I suddenly realized that I was allowing you to steal my joy.

Yes, it was aggravating dealing with her tantrum, but at two years old, her behavior is to be expected. Now your behavior, that is a different story.

The entire day leading up to this event was beautiful. The weather was warm and sunny, with a slight breeze that cooled you off just enough to enjoy standing out in the sunshine. I was pushing my sleeping infant in his stroller while three of my children skipped ahead of me on the sidewalk, my daughter with her ponytails swinging. I was thinking how lucky I am to live in this town with it's well funded public library, paved sidewalks, almost Norman Rockwellesque appearance.

It was at that moment that my anger dissipated and was replace with pity. You must have a very sad life if you can not bear to hear a two year old scream for all of 90 seconds. For that I am sorry.

That is why I smiled at you.

But say anything to me again like you did today, and I am taking you down.

In Which I Stand In Place, Frozen

Stacy has tagged me.

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.

You can all collectively stop holding your breath in anticipation now. My sentence is:

"I really have no idea."

And that pretty much sums up my very existence. No need to blog anymore, that sentence says it all.

I'm not going to single anyone out, if you'd like to do it consider yourself tagged, just tell me in the comments section.



(Disclaimer: yes, I know I just violated my own unwritten rule of doing a meme (how do you pronounce that anyway..mee-mee, mehm, mehm-mee?) and I am sure that someone will email me and point it out. And what can say other than I liked this one and it didn't ask me my favorite color, what kind of shoe I would be if I were a shoe, or require a picture of the inside of my refrigerator. It's my perogative to be fickle and no one should take this as a slight against them personally. M'kay?)

I Love These Kids, Really I Do

I am sick.
I hate being sick.
But more than I hate myself being sick, I hate my kids being sick.
I hate them coughing in my face.
I hate them wiping their noses on the furniture.
I hate them using tissues to smear their boogers all over their cheeks.
I hate them mouth breathing in my general vicinity.
I hate listening to them sniff and snort instead of blowing their noses.
And that throat thing, ugh. makes. me. want. to. vomit.

All to say, this is why I could never have a job where I had to deal with the general public. I would not be able to hide my general disgust with people I didn't love.

On the up side, I love Nyquil and the sound drug induced sleep I enjoyed last night.

If only I could give it to a nine month old. If only...

Nine Months

Dear Miles,

You turned nine months old last week and for the past week I have been trying to write about the stage you are at now. But I am finding it so hard to encapsulate your emerging personality.



You are beginning to leave babyhood behind and taking small steps to independence, which both warms my heart and leaves me a bit sad.

Active doesn't even begin to describe you. When you are awake you are constantly on the go. You walk along all the furniture and have taken your first tentative steps without holding on to anything. You race around the house, bent over at the waist, hands and feet on the ground, crawling almost as fast as the rest of us can walk. And while you do this you "talk" constantly. There is no other way to describe it other than hooting like an owl, interspersed with bouts of spitting.



You don't even stay still when you are nursing, instead preferring to engage in something I call "nursing gymnastics" I have to hold you tightly to make you lay still, otherwise you try to stand, jump, and do handstands while nursing. And unfortunately, for you, my nipples are not detachable.

This past weekend we were at a baseball game, yes the baseball field is like your second home, and one of the mothers came up to me and remarked at how big you were getting. She couldn't believe how you were standing and walking around everything. She said, "Oh, my babies didn't do any of that until they were at least 14 months old because I just loved to hold them all the time. I'm sure you can't do that, but I just loved holding my babies." I want you to know that I do hold you, hug you, and carry you around as much as you will allow. I hope you never think that because you were seventh that you weren't as loved and cherished as those before you.




You hate my laptop with the fiery passion you previously only reserved for diaper changes and being strapped into your carseat. Right now as I am typing you are trying to slam my computer shut with one hand and reach around and bang on the keyboard with the other. It really is quite annoying. You keep hitting the caps lock key and I keep having to backspace and retype. I am not sure why you object so strenuously to having your diaper changed. Everyday, several times a day, for your entire life you have been having your diaper changed, why does it have to be a big deal now? Why? It would be so much easier on all of us if you would just lay still and deal with it.

You have a stubborn and independent streak, that makes me laugh in spite of myself. I know that by the time you are two years old I will be tearing my hair from my own head,and possibly yours, in frustration, but how can I not laugh when you collapse to the ground screaming as if you have been shot, just because I dared to wipe your nose.



You refuse to eat any sort of baby food or cereal or to let me spoon any food into your mouth. Your favorite foods are pasta with butter and grated cheese, raisins, cocoa puffs, toasted apple butter sandwiches, and any other random food bits that you find under the kitchen table. You just recently discovered the joys of drinking out of a sippy cup, though the term drinking is a bit disingenuous as you fill your mouth with water and then let it dribble out of your mouth and down your chin. Considering you still have no teeth, you do incredibly well in the eating department.

You do not like to sleep and avoid it at all costs, until you can not possibly carry on any longer. At that point you will just fall asleep wherever you are.



Sleeping through the night is just a dream at this point. You wake several times a night to nurse. And if there are going to be points given out for motherhood, I think I deserve a whole slew of them for being woken up every hour, every night for nine months. But I am really not complaining. I know from experience that this stage will eventually pass and that one day it will be a distant memory that I have trouble fully recalling. I promise though that I will never forget enough that I would tell your wife that my babies slept through the night from the day they were born.



Your latest passion is opening and closing cabinets and taking everything out of them that you can get your hands on. As soon as we open the dishwasher to unload it you get so excited you climb onto the open door and begin flinging silverware.



You smile at everyone and you think everything is worthy of a giggle. You recently learned to give high fives and so you frequently sit with your hand up in the air just waiting for someone to notice.

You are such a treasure and bring so much joy to our entire family. As much as I hate to fall back on tired old cliches, I have to say that time is passing so quickly and I feel the days, weeks, and months slipping by. I wish I could stop time and enjoy you at this moment for awhile longer. Well, maybe not this exact moment since you are screaming and hitting my keyboard, but you know what I mean.

Micey-Mouse, Mini-Man, PITA pocket...

I love you,
Mom

Quote Of The Day

"For crying out loud, you're not dying. Will you just stop your damn moaning and whining and keep up with the rest us."

Said by me to my 8 yr old son seconds before I turned around to see him vomiting in the middle of the parking lot. Might as well engrave it on my tombstone, because you just know I will never be able to live it down.

Do You Think He Will Tickle Me If I Ask Nicely?

Get Out Your Feathersword
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

At 10:00 am this morning I bought tickets to see the Wiggles.

I don't know what is sadder, that I was online at 10:00 am when they went on sale to get the best seats possible, or that I danced around the roon cheering once I bought tenth row orchestra seats.

Hello, my name is Chris and I live vicariously through the happiness of my children.

Some Things Are Better Left To The Professionals

Things like brain surgery, asbestos removal, criminal legal defense... and eyebrow waxing.

Just so you know.

Preparing myself to say, "No, I'm not surprised. Why do you ask?" all day long.

And Who Thought These Would Be Fun

There is literally thousands of puzzle pieces. I am not sure if every piece to every puzzle is here, because frankly my children never put them together. They take the pieces and fling them all over the house.
And then I have an aneurysm.

Puzzles
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

I am tired of putting together puzzles and sifting through pieces trying to figure out if that piece belongs to Curious George or the Muppets. Is that blue Madeline's coat or Cookie Monster's fur? My loathing for puzzles is second only to that of board games.

I have tried various ways of organizing them and locking them up, which sort of makes having them pointless, but nothing has worked.

So shortly after I took this picture I gathered them up into a garbage bag and tossed them.

My 6 yr old son suggested we box them up and bring them down to the fire station and donate them to the children in shelters from Katrina. My 10 yr old piped up, "I think those parents have enough aggravation already, I doubt they want more."

From the mouths of children. Of course I didn't add that parents wouldn't need to be aggravated if their children cleaned up their own damn messes.

The End Of The World As I Know It

My 2 yr old daughter has learned how to climb out of her crib and turn the doorknob on her bedroom door.

I don't think this horrific turn of events needs any further explanation.

It's A Sad Sort Of Love

I am having a love affair.

I walk around my house and I can not stop thinking about new lover. Every item in my home has taken on a new meaning. I look at them and wonder how much would my lover like that?

My husband is starting to become suspicious. He wonders why I am on the computer so much, hitting the refresh button over and over again.

He has taken to sneaking up on me in the house to see what I am doing. He wonders why I am sifting through unpacked boxes that are in our attic.

Yesterday he finally had enough and yelled at me, "You better not touch any of my stuff! You hear?"

Yeah ,yeah if you don't notice that your stuff is missing you couldn't have really liked it to begin with. At least not as much as my new lover will like it. And I'll deny it to my grave anyway.

I am in love... with ebay.

It has changed my perspective on the world, this addictive love of mine. I walk through my house and no longer see things. I see dollar signs. That unused tsotchke sitting idle on the counter, I can make $3.00 off of that all for about 5 hours of my time. And if I find 100 of these things to sell I might be able to buy a new pair of shoes or some other equally unused tsotchke that I will then want to try and sell for 1/100th of it's original price.

Last night I was helping my 4 year old in the bathroom when I reached over and picked something up off the back of the sink.

I held it up with a glint in my eye. "I bet I can sell this on ebay!" I declared.

"But Mommy, I need that." he wailed.

"Oh c'mon, I am sure I can make a few dollars off of this thing. What do you need this thing for?"

"For brushing my teeth. It's my toothbrush and I want it." And with that he grabbed it out of my hand and ran screaming from the room. "Daddy, help me!"


I am really quite out of control.

He Lives A Hard Hard Life, Just Ask Him

I have not been grocery shopping in awhile. We still have plenty of food in the house to eat, just not the staples that the kids enjoy... bread, soy milk, eggs, bagels, flour...

Breakfast this morning was a bit of a challenge. We are out of all the usual fare. So I made a big pot of Cream of Wheat. I like it and most of my children like it.

Except, of course, my eldest son, who feels it is his birthright to enjoy a sugary breakfast cereal each morning. He was playing with the Cream of Wheat in his bowl, having already sweetened it with brown sugar AND maple syrup, when he says, "You know how in books sometimes when they talk about poor people, orphans, and prisoners and they say they had to eat gruel? Well I am thinking that they mean Cream of Wheat."

And with tears welling in my eyes and my hand held over my heart, I replied, "Oh yes my son, what a poor tortured existence you must suffer through."

"I can tell you are being sarcastic, you know."

At least I am teaching them something.

In Which My Sons Lament the Fact That They Are Not Being Raised in the Deep South

A magazine came in the mail today covered with plastic so that none of it's contents could be revealed. Before I could even bring it into the house my 10 year old snatched it out of my hand and ran away with it.

My two oldest sons are huddled over a magazine. Their heads are pressed together and they are giggling and pointing things out to each other.

"OH MY GOD. Look at that!!!"

"That is so awesome. But look over here, those are even bigger."

"I'd love to get my hands on that!"

"Every page is better than the next."

"If we put our money together maybe we could buy one"


What is the object of my sons' interest? A catalog from this store filled with pictures of guns, knives, bows, and camouflage everything.

It's like porn for the preadolescent boy.

What happened to the pacificist boys I was going to raise who were going to be gentle and play nurturing games and love to sing in harmony? Instead I have sons who want to deck themselves out in camouflage, drool over weaponry, and seem to have a natural predilection for blowing things up.


Disclaimer: The title of this post is in no way an insult to the people who live in the deep south. It's just that I have heard there is a completely different attitude toward weaponry down there, meaning it is socially acceptable to have guns in your home. If you are from the south and you don't agree with this characterization feel free to NOT email me. I am bogged down with other hate mail. I'll let you know when I am done with it and when I will be welcoming the hate again. Thanks.

Anticipation

For the past few months the power cord to my computer has been wrapped in electrical tape. I keep meaning to replace it, but for some reason I have a hard time spending money on something when what I have is adequate, albeit unsightly, but adequate nonetheless.

Last night the power cord began sparking, but just a little. I totally could have lived with it a bit longer. But my husband is the more cautious sort and grabbed the thing off of my computer, saying "Good God woman, what is wrong with you?" and broke it into stringy wire pieces so that I could no longer use it.

And I was, um, a bit peeved, to put it mildly. Well at least once I recovered from the shock and was able to pick my chin up off of the floor.

So today I was computerless. I can't even begin to explain how much it stunk. I felt like some sort of pioneer completely devoid of contact with the outside world, notice I didn't say human contact, I had plenty of that by people under 4 ft tall.

And let's just say my husband's comment trying to cheer me up by saying, "Hey I bet you'll get lots of things done today" well, it didn't go over very well. And my response prompted him to yell, "Did you take your medi-fuckin-cation today?"

And that made the song Anticipation by Carly Simon pop into my head and I couldn't get rid of it for the entire day, and I proceeded to burst out singing it at completely inappropriate times.

But you know what? My new medication is not working. One of the things that it says in the package insert is that the medication is currently being tested as a weight loss drug. Well, I can tell them I have GAINED weight these past two weeks. Also it says in the package insert that it should not be taken by people who have eating disorders. You know why?!? Because it makes you FAT! How is that for a nice side effect for depressed people.

I will probably go back to the last medication even though it made me tired, because at least I wasn't depressed anymore. Although maybe I just didn't notice I was depressed because i was always falling asleep. I never understood what people meant when they said they needed at least eight hours of sleep until I took that medication. Usually four or five is good for me. I mean, how do you get anything done if you sleep eight hours? Sleep always feels like a colossal waste of time.

Wow, listen to me ramble on like a shut-in.

Long story short, Rob ordered me a new power cord and paid $35 for overnight shipping, such is the price of my sanity. And even though I tried to be happy with that I couldn't help but wonder out loud if someone at Dell could pick it up off the shelf and run it right over. Surely someone needs the exercise.

And I really didn't get much done today, other than miss my computer, sing Anticipation, making up my own lyrics ,because I really only know the chorus, and picture the Heinz ketchup commercial.

Right now I am using Rob's computer. I tried to wait an acceptable amount of time when he came home before I grabbed it out of his hands. And I think I did okay by only running half way down the driveway to greet him and running back to the house next to the car banging on the windows, like some crazed paparazzi stalker.

Tomorrow I'll be sitting on my front porch waiting for the FedEx guy. I'll try to have a bit more restraint.

Feeling Like A Big Fat Liar

I have no idea why my post isn't up yet over at dotmoms.

Of course now I am thinking,it must have totally sucked and that's why it has failed to appear. Insecure much?

Anyway, yesterday was truly amazing. We filled 15 rubbermaid bins with clothes for women and children, shoes, one filled with art supplies and craft paper for the children, towels, blankets, bedding. We also filled two boxes with medicine things like Tylenol for grown ups and children, vitamins, formula, pedialyte, toothpaste etc.

The most heart warming was seeing the generosity of my children. They went through their beloved beannie baby collections and donated quite a few each. My 9 year old has the most sensitive heart. He cried thinking about how frightening and sad it would be to not have all of your favorite things anymore. He brought his blanket down from his bed and half of his clothing, he said he would just wash his clothes more often.

My 8 yr old sobbed holding his favorite beannie babies and stuffed animals. I told him he didn't have to give anything away if it would make him so sad. And he said that as sad as it was making him, he knew that there were other kids even sadder and his favorite toys might make them feel a little better. As he put them into the box he kissed them one by one and told them to enjoy their adventure.

And just so you don't think all my children are perfectly wonderfully selfless creatures and that I have some sort of parenting secret that I am keeping to myself. I am convinced that my 10yr old has a heart made of cold hard stone. I mostly ignored him to stop myself from shouting unkind things at him. Really I don't know how a person could be so lacking in empathy. he isn't an unkind child or a mean child, but he definitely thinks of himself first and everyone else a distant second. Not sure how we work on the character flaw to be honest.

And my 6 year old, well he shattered my heart into a million pieces with his choice of what he thought he should give, and I mean that in a good way. I wrote about it in my dotmoms post so hopefully SOMEDAY you'll get to read it.

Kids, nothing prepares you for times like this.

Going to the fire station and seeing the generosity of so many people was incredible. I only wish I had more to give.

As we left the fire station I looked at my children in the rearview mirror wondering what they will remember from this experience, what lesson they would take away from it all. I had wanted to make a difference and the biggest difference I probably made was in the hearts of my children. And really that is just fine with me.

Quote For The Day*

"Mom, can I use your photocopier?"

"Why? What do you need photocopied?"

"Dollars. I thought I would make some money so I wouldn't have to do work to earn it. I'll make you some too if you want. Then we can go to Target and I can buy Bionicles and you can get underwear or something else you like."

I thought two things:

First, underwear? Do I give the impression to my son that I enjoy shopping for underwear... at Target no less?

Second, I hope my son looks good in an orange jumpsuit.


(alternately titled The Reason You Always Have To Ask Your Children, "Why?" )

Why Does It Still Not Feel Like Enough?

Donations
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

Today we brought our donations for the people affected by Hurricane Katrina, down to a local fire station.

I wrote a post over at dotmoms about this effort that should be up later today or tomorrow titled, Hope in a box.

If Wishes Were Trojans

My husband went to the drug store this weekend to buy some, uh... things for, uh... you know, contraception. I have never been able to bring myself to buy them. Even though it is obvious that I have had sex before, the thought of buying a box of condoms makes me feel like a giggling adolescent buying a box of maxi pads.

Anyway, Rob walked around the store looking for them, with two kids in tow. He finally went up to one of the people who worked there, right here you can tell how desperate he was to actually be ASKING for directions, and, trying to be discrete, asked, "Excuse me, where do you keep the prophylactics?"

The man thought for a moment, pointed to the other side of the store and said, "Well we have several different ones. The diet ones are over there."

Rob was completely confused. "Diet ones?"

"Yes, but we have some regular ones too."

"I'm sorry, but we weren't planning on ingesting them." Rob said.

At this point they were both looking at each other completely confused.

"Well, what were you going to do with them then?"

"Prophylactics?" Rob tried again, " Also known as condoms? rubbers? protective sheath for my man tool?" Okay, so he didn't really say the last one, I just thought it would be funny if he had.

"Oh, I have never heard them called that before." And with that the man gestured over to the other side of the store and walked away.

Rob found them and came home with his box of wishful thinking and told me the story. I had to remind him that not everyone is as much of a geek as he is.

Once I recovered from laughing I asked, what seems to me, to be the obvious question.

"Well, what was he talking about?"

And you know what, Rob has no idea. It is driving me crazy. What sounds like prophylactic that would come in diet and non diet varieties? I am *this* close to calling up CVS and tracking down the poor store clerk to ask him.

Crawling Back Into My Hole, Sort Of

I have a nice comfortable life, I am the first to admit that.

I have decided that I can no longer listen to the news about all the horrors that were going on in New Orleans. I just can't do it. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. It makes me feel helpless. It makes me want wrap my children up and protect them.

Last night I was sitting on the couch holding my baby son in my arms. Rob was switching around watching news, baseball games, and random bits of movies. Such is the joy of watching television with someone who probably has ADD.

My son was cranky and burning up with a 102 degree fever. This is the first time he has ever been sick. I was nursing him and he was looking into my eyes. Every now and then he would let out a tiny moan, as if to remind me that he wasn't feeling well. I rubbed his sweaty little head knowing that the Tylenol I gave him would soon make him feel better.

My daughter was sitting next to me curled up with her fingers in her mouth and her blanket in her hand. I heard music on the television and looked up to see images of horror set to music. A macabre music video.

I hate that.

Do I need to be manipulated by music to tell me how I should feel? Aren't the images enough? I turned her head away and stroked her hair. I wanted to shield her from the images. I wanted to tell her that it was pretend, that things like this don't really happen.

The song News* by Jack Johnson popped into my head.

How grateful I am to have this luxury. While other mothers are worrying about how they will feed and clothe their children, I get to worry about how much bubble wrap I can seal my children in before they suffocate. It's not fair.





*Lyrics

A billion people died on the news tonight
But not so many cried at the terrible sight
Well mama said
It's just make believe
You can't believe everything you see
So baby close your eyes to the lullabies
On the news tonight

Who's the one to decide that it would be alright
To put the music behind the news tonight
Well mama said
You can't believe everything you hear
The diagetic world is so unclear
So baby close your ears
On the news tonight

On the news tonight
The unobtrusive tones on the news tonight

And mama said Mmm

Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die
At least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eyes

Mama said
It's just make believe
You cant believe everything you see
So baby close your eyes to the lullabies
On the news tonight

In Which I Ramble On And On And Really Go Nowhere

Today I went to the dentist, again.

First though I filled my car with gasoline, just for fun. Oh wait that was a different post. Nevermind.

I listened to music radio, as I needed the break from the news. I just couldn't listen to the reports from New Orleans anymore. One radio station was having a fundraiser for the Red Cross. If you called up and donated money you could pick whatever song you wanted and they would play it. People were so incredibly generous that it really did my heart good.

That and you really can't listen to the song Y-M-C-A and not smile, for the song and well, The Village People themselves. Then there was the father who called up and apologized profusely for his song selection chosen by his daughter, he willingly requested a song by Hillary Duff and said his name on the air. The correction officers who called as a group and made a hefty donation made me chuckle when they asked for the song, I Fought the law, and the law won.

At the dentist I requested that my television be turned off. Having dental work done brings me close enough to a nervous breakdown I don't need CNN to put me right over the edge.

So yeah, where was I in this dull recounting of my day. I had the impressions taken for the molds for my permanent caps, or crowns, whatever you call them. Personally I am going with chapeau, in keeping with my new found embracing of the vowel "u" whenever I can.

Yes that is plural. (Insert a joke here about me being toothless and full of class. I don't have one so make up your own and laugh appropriately) I could have had a brand new car, but I have something better... TEETH! But at least we have really good dental insurance so it would only be a small piece of junk like the Ford Aspire-to-be-a-real-car. Who decides these car names anyway?

The exciting part was that I got to pick the color of my new teeth, within the white family obviously. I told the dentist I wanted them to look like I had white Chicklets lined up in my mouth. I want to blind people when I smile. I want them to glow in the dark.

So after a three hour long appointment I was ready to go home, new temporary chapeaus in my numb mouth.

I drove down the highway, listening to my baby son giggle at his Elmo toy, while it played "la la la la, la la la la, Elmo's world" over and over and over again.

Suddenly a car in the left lane swerved across the dividing line. A big SUV type car in front of me in the right lane swerved off to the shoulder.

Time is so elastic. It happened so slow, yet it happened faster than I could even react to take my foot from the gas pedal to the brake. I had time to think about lots of things. I couldn't take my eyes off of the cars, willing them to stay away from me.

After an eternity that lasted no more than the blink of an eye, my car safely passed by. The SUV wasn't so lucky. It rolled several times before stopping on it's side against a tree.

My sons Elmo toy was still serenading me from the backseat.

In the blink of an eye it could have all been different.

I took a sip from my water bottle, forgetting for a brief moment that my mouth was completely numb. The water dribbled out of my mouth. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I wiped the drool off my chin.

And I thought the same thing I have thought many times. How did I get so lucky in this life?

My Own Public Service Announcement

In case anyone missed it, last night Rob heard on the radio that George Bush was telling all Americans not to buy gas, unless you need to.

Good thing he told us that. We routinely buy gas when we don't need it.

Ass.

Being Blessed

Niki just wrote on her blog how blessed she feels in the midst of all the tragedy that is going on.

A common thread that has woven it's way through people's blogs yesterday and today. Even on days when there is nothing bad going on in the world, I question how I got so lucky to have the life I do.

But I have to wonder if I would feel that way if it were me and my family who had lost everything, or rather all of our material possessions. I'm not sure I could be so gracious.

Niki is from New Orleans. She lost everything she didn't have with her.

She was on he way home from Bulgaria and Romania, a missionary trip where she "danced with the Gypsies". She was in the air flying home as Katrina hit. She is an incredible photographer, funny as hell (I hope that's an okay way to describe someone who does missionary work... funny as God himself? would that be better. I dunno), and a genuinely nice person.

Go visit her blog and give her some love. Who can't use a little more love in their life.

When Words Fail

Sometimes you realize that our language does not have the ability to convey fully the things we wish to express.

The horror.

The anguish of people losing everything.

The anger at the looters who are more interested in their own personal gain.

The sadness that people like the looters even exist.

The terror that mothers must have felt hanging on to their children as flood waters rose.

The fear in not being able to find your loved ones.

The realization that the dead bodies they keep talking about are someone's mother, father, son, daughter, friend... more than a body, a person who will be missed.

The utter disbelief that people can loot a children's hospital and shoot at rescue workers.

The feeling of helplessness.

The miraculous recoveries that are too few.

The acts of heroism you cling to, hoping that there really are more good people than evil ones in this world.

The hope that your faith in humankind, in God, in something will be restored.

The need to hug your babies a little tighter.

The sadness that threads through the day and catches in your throat.

Being thankful it isn't you and hating yourself for even thinking it.

There aren't words to encompass all of it. There simply aren't words.