Happy Halloween!

A clown and a Jack O Lantern.  That was the first two costumes for each of the kids.  I made them both.  The Jack O Lantern costume won Ashlyn best costume award at Vista Hacienda's Halloween Party.  There have been cheerleaders, football players, Spiderman, Spiderman, laboratory assistants and werewolves,  There was even a polar bear once, that was Barron. 
We have always taken costumes very seriously at our house.  There have been a few store bought, but most of the time they come from Goodwill, the sewing box and the garage.  One year Hayley made a Edward Scissorhands costume that was incredible.  She even sewed scissors onto gloves.  That year she sat on a friend's porch with the bowl of candy in her lap and terrified a lot of little kids.  The following year she was Ace Ventura.  That costume was scary only because Hayley could pull off the look so well.
Last year, Ashlyn was a crime scene.  She is in college so the costume took a little more edge and height.  She wore three in blood splattered heels.  I am guessing she wasn't trick or treating in those babies!  Neither of the girls dressed up this year.  It was an off year, and that's ok.  Sometimes it is just too much work to try and outdo the year before.
Jacob, however, did not let me down.  He went as The Riddler.  A trip to Goodwill was all it took to find some green clothes.  We dug into the fabric box and a few days later, he was 'riddling us' all damn day.  I was pretty proud of this costume.  I had never changed a skirt into pants before.  Jacob didn't seem to think it was any big deal and he was right.  He looked pretty cool this Halloween.  And yes, he did trick or treat, only to his friends' homes.  I have had big kids come to my door and as long as they were in good costumes, I didn't mind.  There isn't a whole lot for the teens to do on Halloween, too old to trick or treat, too young to bar hop.  I say, let them get candy!
We did break down and bought a costume in October of 1994.  We had just moved to Germany and our household items would not arrive until November.  I had no sewing machine so we took the drive to Frankfurt, did a little siteseeing and stumbled upon a Disney Store.  Ashlyn got a Snow White dress.  Hayley wore it the following year.  And I don't mean for Halloween, she wore it the entire next year! 
There is not the tradition of trick or treating in Germany unless you live near American housing.  Some of the German and Russian kids wore costumes and some of them didn't.  Most did not know to say "Trick or treat". 
When we moved to West Des Moines, we learned of the joke tradition.  I for one would like to abolish this tradition.  I don't think there are too many kids that want to waste valuable candy getting time with joke telling and I don't know if there are too many candy giving people that want to hear 60 jokes a night.  I am there to give out candy and admire the cute little kids!
My sister is also amazing at costumes.  She does great make up.  We probably could have teamed up and started a little business.  I do the costume and she makes them look bloodied and bruised! 
I have some great ideas still brewing in my brain, I am just not sure how to pull them off.  Danny and I have always wanted to go as the King and I.  I think I know how to make a hoop skirt. 

Piles

Here it is, another Saturday and I am digging myself out from under piles.  Sometimes it is piles of laundry, other times it is piles of scrapbook stuff.  And always, it is piles of papers.  I don't understand how I let it get this way every single freakin week!  My mother was a piler and I swore that I would not be the same, but look at me now.  (Though I do not save nearly the amount of paperwork that she saved.)
Right now, on my kitchen counter is some bills.  They are the girls' Sallie Mae statements.  We get two at a time, twice a month.  Hayley's statement and Ashlyn's statement and Danny's statements for each of their statements.  I will switch them to electronic statements and auto payment.  That will take care of four articles a month.  There is also a clinic bill from Ashlyn's most recent visit.  It is for $325.00.  Insurance won't cover it because she should have had these things done at her regular doctor.  Her regular doctor is the clinic.  We went through this the last time she had these things done at the clinic.  This has to stay on the counter so I remember to call the insurance company on Monday.
Oh and there is a couple of magazines.  I love magazines and I read them pretty soon after they come in the door.  But this is a' how to' magazine so Danny needs to thumb through it to see if he needs to know how to do any of the stuff in it.  I have already thumbed through it and because it is the garage issue, I am leaving it to Danny. 
There is the Disney Movie Club catalog and order form.  I left that on the counter so I would remember to decline Cars 2.  I did not remember to decline Cars 2 and it will be arriving soon!  I will then get a statement from the Disney Movie Club that I can add to the pile.
There is always a few papers in my pile that belong to Danny.  I never know what to do with them so I put them at his place at the table.  He sometimes doesn't get to them in time and when I set the table for dinner, I take the papers and put them back in the pile.
Then there is the pile of papers on the dining room table.  Currently, these are papers that belong in the file box, but I am sorting them for the shredder.  Which leads me to another pile on top of the shredder.  I don't always get the papers in the shredder right away and I form a new pile on top of the shredder.
I would really like this to be the last Saturday that I spend going through piles.  I really think my life as more value than this.  But how do I do it?  And how do I get Danny on board, too?  This may be my greatest challenge yet!
First, I need to convince Danny that he can recycle any fliers that come in the mail.  We have no carpet, so we don't need carpet cleaning coupons.  We are not very political, so we don't need to read the election propaganda.  We need new windows, but aren't getting them before the window, siding, roofing, gutter coupon expires.  Second, I need to get online and request that all correspondence from the bank, the mortgage company, the insurance company and the student loan company is sent to me electronically.  Third, I need to somehow get Danny's name off of all the "dear Veteran..." mailers.  That would take care of 40% of our junk mail.  I really don't think that this company will give us $410,000 over the value of our home.  And I really don't think we need that much, even if Danny "proudly served our nation and deserves financial support worthy of the service that he gave to our proud and grateful nation." 
The mail truck just pulled up, lets see if I can tackle this pile before it ever hits the counter!  

All Alone in the Dark

There was a time, when Danny was in Iraq, the van was in Kansas City and the new puppy was in the hospital that I really didn't know what to do.  The kids were in Cedar Rapids with Crissy and I was as alone as I had ever been. 
I had had it.  Really and truly had it.  I remember very clearly having it out with God and He just sat there and took it.  What the hell did I do to deserve such a shitty week?  He didn't answer.  He just let me rant and rave and swear and hate and break the phone and cry and cry and cry.  I accused Him of awful things.  He didn't make up excuses or try and talk His way out of it.  God just listened. 
Normally one feels better after all of the above, but I didn't.  I spent that week waiting for the other shoe to drop.  The van was gone.  There was no getting around that fact.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  I hoped it was in a ditch somewhere, looted and burned.  (Unfortunately, it was not, it was in Kansas City and only looted.)
The new puppy, LRS Louise, was dying.  We had had her only a few weeks.  She was my "Danny's gone to war" puppy.  She was meant to keep all our spirits high.  That was not what happened at all.  She died an awful death that could never be clearly explained. 
And then, there was the torment of Danny being gone.  He was so frustrated that he couldn't help me and I was so angry that I was left to do this all on my own.  I didn't consider for a moment that he was hurting, probably more than I was. 
I truly waited for the next horrible thing to happen.  They happen in threes, don't they?  So it just seemed like there should be one more unbearable moment in this week.  And there was, see paragraph two.  I chose to be all alone.  I didn't want to let any of my family or friends in to my battered heart.  People were reaching out to me and I was pushing away.  I just wanted to wallow in my misery.  I wanted a parade of people begging to help just so I could refuse them.  And I wanted nothing to do with God. 
But here is the thing about God (or whatever you want to call it)He just doesn't go away.  In those darkest days, and only now can I admit how dark they were, He stayed beside me.  When the vet called to tell me that LRS died in the night, He sat on the step next to me, ready to comfort me.  When I threw the phone and cursed His name, he ducked out of the way and He understood.  When the police called to tell me that the van was found intact but pretty trashed, He gave me his shoulder to lean on.  I pushed it away. 
Alone and bleeding.  I remember that day.  A fresh mound of dirt was in the back yard.  I didn't go to work.  I had broken one phone earlier in the week.  I wasn't answering the other one.  My arm throbbed and my eyes were red and puffy.  I knew that Danny was in Iraq at his wits end.  He knew I was in bad shape, but I wouldn't let him reach me. There had never been a moment in my life as horrid as the moment I was in.
And it wasn't because the van was stolen or the puppy had died or that Danny was gone.  It was that I had somehow allowed my heart to become so angry that I was going to chose to hurt myself and hurt those that loved me the most. 
And then I started to see the light.  And by light, I mean the light yellow coat of a dog that never, ever left my side.  He followed me from room to room.  He had sat on the step next to me when the vet called.  He sniffed the pieces of the phone as it layed on the floor.  He pressed his head into my chest after I cleaned my cuts.  He put his head in my lap.  His heavy head matched the heaviness of my heart.  He walked beside me as we went out to the fresh mound of dirt and he took all my tears into his coat as we sat in the grass by her grave.  And I knew that I hadn't been alone that week.  I wanted to be, I wanted to be cursed and alone.  But the Lord had Barron there to keep an eye on me.  And nothing was going to happen to me on Barron's watch. 
It took me a long time to heal the wounds of that week.  When the kids came home, and there was a lot of life back in the house, my heart didn't hurt as much.  They mourned our puppy, but knew to transfer their sorrow to joy in Barron.  He was eager to help everyone find joy again.  The van was stolen by illegal aliens from Mexico.  For several weeks, I would not wait on anyone fitting that description at work. I wanted to blame everyone instead of the two people that were guilty.  I came to terms with the fact that no one was going to get in trouble over the theft.  I forgave them because I really couldn't have that darkness in my heart.  I still have the scars on my arm.  Though they have almost faded completely.   Danny and I had to wait until he was home from Iraq to really talk about it.  It still comes up on occassion.  That week became my reference point for all other pain. 
I had often said that Barron was my guardian angel in a fur coat.  He often proved that to be true, but never like he did that week.  If I was home, then he was beside me.  The clip of his nails of the floor as we walked about.  His heavy sighs in the night as he laid on my floor.  His silent appearance when I needed him most. 
I was not foresaken, I was not left alone to suffer.  God was there with me.  In that yellow dog. 
After that week, my faith shifted ever so slightly.  My anger towards God started to subside and I let Him in again.  I told all my problems and worries to Barron, but I knew that God was evesdropping and I no longer minded.   Bad shit happens to everyone, and sometimes it happens all at once.  But it doesn't happen when we are all alone. 

Bloggers Block

 Tonight is one of those nights that I cannot find a train of thought.  It might be because I need to finish a Halloween costume or check my homework.  Maybe I am terribly distracted but the little brown cat that keeps pawing at my legs.  Or perhaps the very large dog that keeps whining in the family room is preventing me from stringing six words together to form a cohesive sentence.  Or maybe tonight I don't have much to say because I have so much to do.
There is the costume.  It is almost done, just finish up the pants that started as a skirt and glue on a few more question marks to the jacket.  Sew up the bottom of the home made tie and cover the mask with purple fabric.  Jacob is going to be the Riddler.  Last night he told me I was pretty as I cut out 11 velvet question marks. 
There is the homework.  I am taking Composition online.  I don't know what the hell I am doing.  The last term paper I wrote was 25 years ago.  I am in way over my head and there is no getting out of it.  Hayley will be home tomorrow and I am hoping she can help me, just a little bit!
To top it all off, I feel like a cold is coming on.  I have that achy neck feeling and I am chilly.  I am not very creative when I am whiny and I am whiny when I am sick. 
So tonight, I got nothing.  Except the dog in the family room and the kitty that wants treats.  And a costume to finish and homework to check. 

What's In A Name

Anne Elizabeth Helen Snow White
Anne after the mother of Mary.  Elizabeth after the cousin of Mary and the mother of John the Baptist.  Elizabeth is also my maternal grandmother's name.   Helen, my confirmation name.  It is also my paternal grandmother's name.  Snow is my maiden name.  I used that for twenty years.  I had always planned to hyphenate my maiden name with my married name and had expected to have a liberal enough husband that he would do the same.  White is my married name.  I have had that name for nearly twenty two years.  I am not hyphenated.  I did not have a liberal husband.  In fact, I had a very traditional husband that had very hurt feelings when I suggested that I would like to hyphenate my name.  I also had a husband in the Marine Corps who would, under no uncertain terms, be PFC Snow-White.  I see his point. 
The SNOW - WHITE wedding announcement from the newspaper was featured on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno in his Headlines segment and in National Lampoons Weird Headlines book.  In fact, that might be the only reason we got married, because our last names fit so well together.  Oh, and our first names are the same as the coon hounds in "Where the Red Fern Grows".  In the story, the young boy finds "Dan + Anne" carved in a tree.  The dogs end up being called Old Dan and Little Anne.   Great book!
If you knew me between the years of 1969-1990 then you probably called me Annie.  I was not fond of Annie.  I am only called Annie when I go back to Cedar Rapids.  Except for this one Catholic Irish guy, he calls me Annie and I find it adorable. 
If you knew me between the years of 1985-1988 then I probably introduced myself as An.  I found the second N and E to be useless and chose not to use them.  After my trip to Europe in 1987, I preferred to have my name pronounced with a long A.  That never caught on.  Luckily, when I returned to Europe in 1994, they were still pronouncing my name like that!
Between the years of 1990-2006, I was White's Wife.  That was how I was always introduced.  We would be at a military function where wives would be in attendance.  The husbands would introduce me to their wives as "White's Wife".  I would shake their hand, learn their first name and share with them my first name.  I have always loved being referred to as White's Wife.  That just might be my third favorite name.
The second favorite is Honey.  I have been Honey to My Honey for a very long time.  Danny calls me Honey more than he calls me, Anne.  He never calls me, Annie.
My most favorite name is Momma.  As the kids have grown, that name has changed and morphed into other names.  I have been Mom, Mother, MOTHER (that's when I am not paying attention), Mommy (when Hayley wants to irritate me) and the latest, Bomb-ba.  That is one of those words that started out as momma and just ended up like that.
 I had a few nicknames when I was little.  Careless Love, because I was always breaking things, I guess.  Annie Go Wash, because I did not wash my hands at my grandparents house after I went to the bathroom.  I don't remember how old I was when either of those names took hold.  I still get called Careless when I am around the old IC people (IC is our family church). 
So, what's in a name?  For me, a little and a lot.  No one in West Des Moines knows me as a Snow, but when I go back to Cedar Rapids, that is who I am.  Even though I don't use that name, it is a part of my identity.  I will never use my confirmation name, but I love having Helen attached to me.  Not because it is my confirmation name, but because it was the grandma I never knew.  I don't get bothered by the people that mistakenly call me Annie.  In fact, if it is an old guy, I kinda like it.  I think there was a time when I wanted something more exotic then Anne.  At least Snow was different.  Then I married a White.  Run my credit report, there are thousands of Anne White's in this country and one of them did not pay her Sears bill!
So I didn't get my exotic after all, unless you consider Bomb-ba. 

Avalanche of Love

"Is it cold in here?"  Jacob asks.
 Again, a little louder "Mom, is it cold in here?"
 One more time, closer to me and much, much louder "MOM!  Is it cold in here?"
It doesn't matter what my response is, because the love is in motion and I am about to be buried under an avalanche of love.
Are you not familiar with this weather phenomenon?  Oh, we get at least four avalanches a week, with two on Saturdays.  There is no way to prevent them.  No way to prepare for them.  You cannot stock up on non perishables and have extra batteries on hand.  There is no weather forecast that can predict them.  You just curl up in a ball and hope for the best.
Once you have been buried under the avalanche of love, you must rapidly dig yourself out before frost bite sets in.  And by frost bite, I mean that Jacob bites.  It is usually the tips of the ears that get frost bit first but all of you is vulnerable. 
Yes, an avalanche of love is just one of the many odd and somewhat frightening things that happen at my house.  The avalanche is the only weather related happening.  Most of the other happenings are animal based in nature.  Currently there is the Planet of the Apes attack.  That ends with my finger being bit.  We have also had ostrich and emu attacks.  I think if given enough time, we could come up with a mode of attack for every animal.  In fact, I think we would rise to that challenge.
Danny may come at you with Crazy Legs.  You may also receive a sternum rub if you are not reponding (not reponding will also result in having your eye ball flicked).  There are also a series of attacks that Hayley and Jacob devised that can only be blocked by placing your hand on your face or neck in the appropriate place.  If the block does not match the attack, then you are attacked more.  It is all very confusing and precise.
I think one of the most interesting forms of entertainment that we came up with (and I think this was Danny's idea) was turning the lights off on an innocent person (often me) and punching them (me) and kicking them (me) hooligan style.  Then someone would flip the lights on and everyone would be "cool".  Various members of this family would be attacked usually in the hallway.  It was fun and painful!
Mix in a few Nerf gun assults and Danny get pegged in the neck with an airsoft pellet and its an average day here.  I don't know how all of these things started, but I do know that Ashlyn was going to :punch you in the nose" at eighteen months.  Hayley would offer you a poisoned apple..."have a bite.  Heh heh heh!"  It only seems natural that I would now be buried under an avalanche of love. 

The Art of Being Sophie

I have known a lot of cats in my day, but no one has done it quite like our Miss Sophie Belle.  She has taken all that is right with being a cat and has made it her life's mission to perfect and promote kittiness.  In fact, as I write this she is curled up on the chair beside me.  She is not supposed to be on the chair beside me but is there, curled up with her little paws crossed.  She was in that warm spot that Danny vacated before he had both cheeks off the seat.  She is a master at napping.  She understands the movements of the earth and instinctively knows which window will have the best sun at any given time.  She also knows when someone has acquired a blanket for their lap and she is on it like white on rice!
In fact, we could probably change that expression from white on rice to Sophie on a blanket and it would be as effective.  Alright, it wouldn't be effective at all because you would have to continually stop to explain that Sophie gets on blankets.
Anyway, back to Sophie.
We got Sophie in 1999.  She is our oldest pet.  Sophie is little.  Petting her is like petting on of those wooden 3-D dinosaur puzzles with fur.  You can feel every bone.  She is the color of wild bunnies.  Brown and grey and tan.  She has magic eyes.  When she needs them to be big, they are the size of milk duds.  She uses these eyes when she wants treats.  When she needs to convey other messages like "that's my chair Elsa" or "Not in the mood for your gigantic head, Harlow!"  she uses the squinty Clint Eastwood eyes.  Those eyes are usually followed by a 'sike you out' paw raise and a low murr.   Not a growl, but not a friendly meow either.  Spohie is also a wonderful winker, she just kind of stares you down and then winks.  The best part of this little trick is that Danny cannot wink and Sophie seems to know that so she usually saves her winking for him!
Sophie lived with us in Cedar Rapids then made the move to West Des Moines.  She is a mostly indoor cat though she has spent a few nights out on the streets.  We used to let her have some patio time, but she took advantage of it, left the yard and greatly upset us all.  The past few years we have had a hawk in residence in the neighbor's tree so Sophie only gets to go outside under armed guard.  As in she is in the arms of the guard!
Sophie finds comfort everywhere.  If it is her desire to lay down, there is really nothing you can do to stop her from making your lap, your leg, your book, your sewing project, your keyboard, your freshly laundered towels, your dog's new rug, your friend's baby's car seat comfortable.  She is like one of those people on the plane that can sleep in any position. 
Sophie is my baby fix.  She is happy to be carried around like a baby.  She will lay on her back, nestled in the crook of my arm.  She will rest her paws and head on my shoulder as I cup her little butt.  She will spend the day that way if it suits her. 
Sophie sometimes gets The Flopps.  The Flopps is the scientific term for when a cat puffs up its tail, runs kind of sideways, has a crazy look in its eyes and meows forlornly.  The Flopps often happen late at night or when you just walk into a room.  Empty cardboard boxes often are associated with The Flopps.  The Flopps generally happen two to three times a week and are followed by a nap.  All cat activities are followed by a nap.
Sophie, when she wants to appear particularly pathetic, will lose her voice.  She will attempt to meow, but no sound will come out.  She will walk around the treat closet and desperately try to convey to you her need for treats but alas, no sound will be heard.  She then gets treats.  She eats her treats the fastest and then eats Elsa and Emmitt's treats, as well!
Sophie, all seven pounds of her, is on a mission to make everyone love kitties.  Sophie greets everyone with big eyes and a leg rub.  She has the special gift of knowing those that need to be converted.  She will gently reach a paw up as if to say "hello, I am so damn cute!  You are a fool if you don't love me now."  Are you allergic?  Then she is in your lap.  Are you here to repair something or sell something?  Then she wants to know all about it.  If you can't sell it to her, then I don't want it.  And as I look at her still laying on the chair she is not supposed to be on, I am reminded of how wonderful the simple things are.  A sun spot, a scratch behind the ears and a pile of treats.  That is all she is really after.  Isn't that what we're all after, warmth, love, nourishment. 

The Best Corners and the Best Art

I am Catholic and am not defending it!.  I was baptized withing two weeks of my birth.  I have twelve years of catholic education to my credit.  A Catholic church is one of the most comforting places for me to be. 
I am not a good catholic, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I try.  Every week when I leave mass (and that is currently three weeks in a row), I leave with an open heart.  Open to the message of the Gospel.  Sometimes I manage to remember the message for the whole day and even reflect on it a little before I fall asleep, but most Sundays I am forgetting everything as I head to my car.  But Lord, I am trying.
As a catholic, I feel like I am put on the spot a lot.  It is true that this organization has had its fair share of scandal and sin.  I also know that on a daily basis, a lot of good comes from this church.  And that is true of all churches.  But we just seem to take more of the heat. 
I knew a guy that fancied himself a pretty religious man.  He carried his bible and he quoted the word.  He also told stories about his thug life and drug dealing days.  He never seemed to be sorry for his past while he preached about his future.  I suppose I wouldn't have cared much either way if he wasn't constantly attacking me, my church and my faith.  Say what you want about me, but when you start in on the Angels and Saints, its on!
The Angels and Saints.  God love 'em!  I think they are awesome.  He would tell me that praying to the saints was blasphemous.  With a roll of my eyes and an exasperated exhale, I would explain (very slowly) that the saints were there to do God's will.  It was like the military chain of command.  When I misplaced my keys (or a gas station), I would ask St Anthony for help.  I know that I could have asked God, and He would have been happy to help.  But I didn't think my keys were that important compared to...war.  So, Anthony got the call.  St. Francis was there with me as I drove Barron to the vet that day in April.  St. Micheal is with Danny every night at work.  I know that the Lord is always and everywhere.  The angels and saints intercede on our behalf.  I appreciate all the help I can get.
The sacraments, especially reconciliation, or confession (I like it old school).  He could not figure it out.  How was it ok for me to go to a priest and tell him my sins and then he would tell me I was forgiven after ten Our Fathers.  Well, since he had no idea what really happened, he couldn't understand.  It is an act of faith.  I am not asking anyone else to believe what I believe, but I am asking you to respect what I believe, especially since it doesn't hurt you in any way and does make me a better human!   When I go into a confessional and say those seven little words, "forgive me Father, for I have sinned" I am not talking to the priest sitting in front of me (or if I am really naughty, on the other side of the screen from me), I am talking to God.  And the words of forgiveness that I hear are coming from God through the priest.  Otherwise, for the last thirty years, every priest I have met has known exactly what to say.  Anyway, this guy would tell me that he didn't need a priest to tell him that he was forgiven, that was between him and God.  I agree.  I know that when I ask for forgiveness for a sin that I am truly sorry for, I am forgiven.  I just like telling someone.  I feel that the weight is lifted for me when I hear that I am forgiven and receive some words to help me not commit this sin again.
Mary, why worship Mary?  Well, here's my thing about Mary.  She was the mother of all Sons.  When I am struggling as a parent, I pray to her.  There is a lot of debate about her virginity and such, but that is really none of my business.  She was a good mom.  She raised a good kid.  I aspire to both of those things.  If she can give me some pointers, great!
Big, gaudy churches!  WHOA!  Big, I will give you, but gaudy?  Seriously, we have some pretty kick ass churches.  And by ass, I mean donkey.  It's in the bible!  (remember when the bible verse would use ass instead of donkey and it was fun to read aloud!)  Don't blame the Catholics because you can't raise the roof on your own place of worship.  Some of the cardinals of days gone by weren't very Godly, but they knew real estate and art.  And do I feel closer to the Lord inside a building compared to being in a meadow.  Of course not, but there is an awe inspiring feeling knowing how difficult the task was and how hard these craftsmen worked to create a house for the Lord.
And his final argument was that we used a missal every week.  He thought the priest should know it by heart. After all, it was the same every week.  And I'm sure the priest did know it by heart.  I knew the mass by heart in the second grade.  I got to make my first communion early because I was so church smart!  But the significance to the mass, to the Eucharist is that Jesus' words are being spoken.  And those words need to be correct so the priest reads them.  It is a tremendous gift that he is given.  I am sure that he does not want to screw it up.  And as far as what happens at the mass, well that is all a matter of faith.  And it is the same every week.  When I was young, it was boring because it was the same every week.  But there is comfort in that sameness.  I could see how much my mom enjoyed the ritual, even when she didn't know much else, she still knew the Mass.  That is a tremendous gift.  Now that I am older and maybe wiser, I don't just go through the motions, but I listen and I respond.  I am an active part of the celebration.
A couple of summers ago, I had two Morman elders stop by.  I have always enjoyed a visit from the elders.  I admire their own commitment to faith, work ethic and clean white shirts.  They wanted me to read the book and all that jazz.  I politely declined because I am where I am supposed to be.  I thought and thought about how best to explain this to the elders and here is my best analogy.    The Body and Blood of Christ is present during the Catholic mass, the bread and wine are a symbol of the Body and Blood at the LDS service.  That is the big deal.  But what does it mean for me?  Well when I got my prescription for my epi pen, it came with a practice pen.  This practice pen looked and acted just like the real pen except that it could not save my life.  It was a symbol...   Good anology right!  Those Mormans finished their mission before I could impart that bit of wisdom on them.
So there you have it!  My in defense of Catholics blog.  I know that there have been some horrible priests that have done monsterous things to the most trusting of members.  But there have been so many amazing priests and nuns that have changed the lives of so many.  I don't think it is fair to lump them all, or us all together.  We are a group of people with a common faith trying to make our way in this world and make it to the next one.  Ask me a question, but don't put me on the spot. 
Peace Out!

Steve and Sue

This is a story about Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue...nope, not them.  Jack and Diane?  Nope.  Tommy and Gina?  Well, they never backed down, that is true.  But this is not about them either. 
This is about Steve and Sue.  Steve and Sue were good friends of mine growing up.  I can still see Sue with her curly hair pulled up in a high ponytail.  Steve was well built, solid head of hair.  They usually lived in a pretty nice house not too far from the single girls, Stephanie and Wendy.  One of them usually dated a soldier.  The other had a pretty serious injury at some point and was now an amputee. 
The soldier, I don't recall his name, lost his foot in the war.  I imagine it was the Vietnam war, but that was never really talked about.  He would come visit her girlfriend, either Stephanie or Wendy, in their cute little apartment.  Sometimes, one of their mothers would come around and she was a bitch.  She even looked a little like an evil stepmother.  She wore horrible blue eye shadow and painted on eyebrows.  The other daughter looked just like the mother except she wore her hair in a sixties style and the mother often wore a wig.
I spent a lot of time with Steve and Sue.  They lived an amazing life.  Steve was always changing jobs.  Sue always looked beautiful.  She had dresses galore.  I loved being with her.  And their house, oh my goodness!  Fur carpets, high ceilings, a pool!  Steve drove a convertible.  They really were living the dream.
Stephanie and Wendy were nice girls.  They sometimes had a hard time with love.  I think it was tough to love a soldier.  He had a lot of issues that just couldn't be fixed.   His foot was stuck in his boot so he had to leave his boots on all the time.  He never really relaxed, always on guard, ready to put someone in a choke hold.  And Stephaine and Wendy (I don't remember which was which) couldn't be an airline attendant after the accident.  I don't remember what happened, but I think it was my fault.
There were other people in this circle of friends but I don't remember the names.  The faces, though, are still very clear.  Blonds with great tans, in gorgeous clothes.  They were living the dream and let me tag along!  But times change, and relationships change.  It started first when my sister got older.  Then I got older and I spent less and less time with my old friends.  I don't even know where they are now.  Up in the attic, I suppose.  That's where a lot of old friends go.  Their houses are torn down.  Their wardrobes, rags.
Sometimes I think that maybe Sue and Steve are like Woody and Jesse, just waiting for me to come back one more time.    My girls played with them for a short time, but they didn't call them by the same name or give them the same back story.  My girls created something new for them to live!
So this was a story of Steve and Sue.
Two plastic dolls with nothing better to do...
The rest was up to me!

This One's For You! (Even if you don't read it)

Seventeen years ago, Danny and I had two quite spectacular little girls but we weren't sure if our family was complete.  We had just set up house in Germany and had acquired a puppy.  Life was humming along nicely so we decided to keep things as they were and stop at two.  A few weeks later, we find out that that wasn't going to be the case.  I was pregnant.  And that suited us just fine!
So fast forward to July, the eighth to be exact.  We got a Jacob.  We had always wanted a Jacob.  Jacob was a different kind of kid.  He was relaxed.  He was content to eat, watch the game, hang with the dog.  Jacob, except for a week in Belgium, was pretty happy-go-lucky.  And we were pretty happy and lucky to have him. 
But sometimes I don't think Jacob believes that.  Sometimes I think Jacob really does believe that we love him less.  Sometimes I think Jacob thinks that because he was neither with cancer or saving someone from cancer that he isn't as important or special.  So, I am going to tell him right now that he is mistaken.  Oh, it is true that the attention was not focused on Jacob back in the hospital days.  But that is the beauty of Jacob.  He knew that there were some crazy things going on and he stood back and let us take care of those things.  A lesser son would have acted out in an attempt to draw attention to himself.  I don't ever remember Jacob standing there with arms spread wide screaming "what about me?!?"  Though I am sure there were days that he felt like that.
Every mother will tell you that they love all their children the same.  My mom always said that, but I never believed her and now that I am a mother, I don't believe it when I say it.  How am I supposed to love all my children the same.  They aren't the same.  I love them all with all that I am.  But it isn't the same.  Well, I love different things about them so...
Let me clarify because I am sure someone will read this the wrong way.  If my love for my children were candy, it would be M&Ms because even though there are different colors, they all taste the same.  
Anyway, back to Jacob.  Quick witted and oh, so inappropriate, I find myself laughing as I shake my head.  The words that come out of his mouth are so funny.  And so often, way over his audience's head.  Not everyone gets him and I think he likes it that way.  Jacob has me laughing practically everyday.  If it isn't something he said...
then it's something he did.  Ask his sisters, they never know what to expect from him, but they know it will be odd and entertaining.  Jacob is a great shot.  I really think he ought to go to the shooting range and try his luck there.  If it is anything like it is here when he shoots his dad with the airsoft pistol...the target would have a big red welt on the back of his neck! 
With Jacob, I never know what type of attack is coming next.  I am always on guard.  I enjoy that.  Keeps me spry!  Emmitt would disagree.  He is always on guard, too, he just doesn't enjoy that.  Harlow doesn't know what is going on, she is just grateful that Jacob includes her. 
Sometimes, Jacob has a pitbull point of view.  He will decide how he feels about something and there is no discussion.  He will listen to your points, maybe nod, and then tell you that you are mistaken and explain why.  I think he gets that from his dad!  
Danny had to go to training a few months after Jacob was born.  I remember him telling this little guy of ours to "take care of your mom".  Danny repeated those words so many times over the years, and Jacob has never failed at that task.  When Danny deployed to Iraq several years ago, Jacob stepped up again.  Quite literally, too.  When I needed a hug, Jacob would stand on the second stair step so I could put my head on his shoulder. 
I know this really doesn't do Jacob justice, but I didn't want to divulge any of his secrets, either.  To know him is lucky for you.  You will laugh plenty and you will have a good friend.  He asks little of those who are with him- a love of 80s music, Muppet theater, Tombstone pizza and Cowboys football.  I wouldn't cross him on any of those (of course that's what he was raised on).  
Jacob is sixteen.  Today he put a note in my pocket that said "Jacob loves you".  I kept it there all day because I know how happy and lucky I am to have him. 

Cleaning the Windows of my Glass House

I am judgemental.  And it drives me crazy.  I find myself making comments, very snarky ones at that, in my head all the time, in all types of situations.  It drives me crazy, who died and made me moral judgement caller?  I am pretty sure no one.  In fact,  I don't think that is a real title to be passed down at the time of one's death, and if it were, I think there would be some type of blood line involved and I clearly do not come from any type of blood line that would pass anything down except maybe heart disease.   Anyway, it drives me crazy that I cannot turn off the portion of my brain that snarks.
In an average day I will mentally comment about every overweight person on a scooter, every toothless person buying Mt. Dew, every DBT swiper buying candy, every cougher buying cigarettes.  I suppose it is human nature (its my nature!) to try and  put oneself above others, but at the same time, it is rather pathetic.  Shouldn't I just be happy enough in my own skin? 
So before I reach down to pick up another handful of "better than thou" rocks, I better peer into my own glass house.  I should see what is going on in there before I decide to pass judgement on someone else. 
Well, the windows are dirty.  And the yard tends to get a bit weedy.  Rubbing a little grime off and the view inside is about the same.  There are bills unpaid and candy wrappers in the trash.  There is more than one fast food container on the counter and the exercise DVD still has the cellophane securely on it.  The kids have been yelled at and no one got up in time for Mass.  The cell phone records show a hundred facebook checks, but only one call to my dad.  And of those facebook checks, a few are probably mean spirited creeps.
Boy my house needs some cleaning.  There is no doubt about that.  I need to put down those rocks and pick up some rags.  It won't be easy.  I think it is of my nature to want to be better than someone else.  But it has to stop.  I have been pitching pebbles for far too long and have been lucky that a boulder hasn't rolled its way into my day.
Here's the part where I tell you that tomorrow is a Windex day!  Tomorrow I will not judge!  Tomorrow I will look at everyone equally!  And here is the part where you should laugh.  I don't think it is possible to clean every window in a day but I can certainly try.  I can find the fault, or I can just be thankful.  Man, its gonna be tough.  I like to snark, in fact, it is expected of me.  Maybe I'll keep the Windex handy, as a reminder.

You know that scene in Back to the Future when his hand fades? It was kind of like that in my heart.

My family knew something was wrong before I did.  I was living overseas and my contact with my mom was by telephone and mail.  Mom came to visit twice in a period of four years and I could see such a change in her.  She repeated herself more often, asked the same questions over and over, was fixated on the smallest of details.  But my mom was too young to be too sick.
I moved back to Iowa in 1998 and we knew that it was dementia that had taken hold of my mom.  For two years, I lived in Cedar Rapids and did not see a dramatic decline.  Once I moved to West Des Moines and saw her much less frequently, the decline was much more noticeable.  And as dementia took a tighter grip, Mom became harder to travel with so my dad didn't bring her to our house.  And with three kids in three activities, we didn't make it to his house nearly enough. 
When we did see her, she would confuse Ashlyn or Hayley for me.  We didn't mind.  Everyone did the best they could with a situation that was never going to be easy.  The kids had a lot of patience, some fear.  I had a lot of fear and some patience.  There were times when I so desperately needed my mom and she wasn't really there.  There is no getting around that, it hurts, it frustrates, it angers.
Fast forward a few years.  I had grown accustom to Mom not recognizing me or calling me by the wrong name.  It was common and it was expected.  I would tell her who I was, there would be a flash of understanding in her eyes and we would move on from there.  She would tap her fingers and sing her children's names.  Bobby, Crissy, Dicky, Sheila, Annie.  I was the pinkie. 
So there we were, at my sister's wedding, June 19, 2004.  Sheila, my mom and I were standing on the driveway talking.  And Mom asks Sheila who I was.  "Annie"  Sheila says.  Everyone in Cedar Rapids calls me Annie.  And Sheila sees it in Mom's eyes, that lack of connection.  So Sheila adds, "your youngest daughter." and there is a nervous laugh to Sheila's words.  I see it in Mom's eyes, blankness, then confusion, and then blankness again.  I was gone.  The path that took my mom to me inside her mind was gone.  And it didn't matter if I was still in there somewhere because she was never going to find me again.  I knew that. 
Prior to that moment, I knew that I could lead, prod, cajole my mom into knowing me.  After that moment, I knew, really knew that I was gone from her.  I will tell you that there were no words empty enough to describe that emotion.  There were no words to ease the sorrow.  There was nothing that could make me feel okay. 
When my mom died 18 months later, joy overwhelmed me.  She knew again and she knew me without anyone holding her hand, leading her through the family connections.  I was hers again, completely.  And she was mine again, to confer with, seek wisdom from, be loved by.  
I cannot tell you what it was like for my dad or my siblings.  I don't know how any other family deals with such a disease.  I don't dwell on the way I may have been judged for not being present more often, for not being patient enough, for not being a better daughter.  Dementia is very good at making it very difficult for everyone. 
As much as I would rather have a living, breathing, knowing mom here with me today, that was not meant to be.  So I must continue to find the joy in knowing that she can call each of her children by name without a song to help her along.  Now, she can see me with clear eyes that will know me immediately.  My sorrow is eased by the joy I have knowing that she is ever present now.  There is no confusion, anxtiety or frustration in her any longer, just joy.

A Dog on a chain

 Have you ever seen one of those dogs?  Thick necked, barrel chested, pinch collar and taunt leash.  You look at him and think "that son of a bitch could go at any second!"  You don't want to make eye contact because you have no idea what might set him off.   But it is kind of hard to look away because you are just a little curious to see what he is capable of.   He's low to the ground but quick.  He's quiet, but you can tell a lot is happening behind his stillness.  His eyes are always moving, taking it all in.  Even when he appears to be calm, his body is slightly forward.
I know that kind of dog.  He is the kind of dog Ceasar Milan, the Dog Whisperer, would classify as a "red zone" dog.  He's the kind of dog that is very loyal to a few and has no problem taking out the rest.  He is fierce and hard to frighten.  He is courageous and will not back down.  He latches on and doesn't let go. 
In fact, I am married to that kind of dog.  But only on the job, only when there are people to protect. 
I never really made the connection until Danny's partner described Danny in the above way.  On the job, in the heat of the moment, my honey is a pit bull-rottweiler mix.  Latching on and not letting go!    And thinking of Danny in these terms actually makes me less concerned about him while he's on the job.  People really aren't afraid of other people in a lot of situations, but bring in a dog and people back down.  That is why K9's are so effective.  Danny doesn't have to say a lot, it is pretty clear what your options are just by looking at him.

The First Week

IT SUCKED!!!  
I don't have an aversion to eating well.  I would eat well all the time if it were cheaper and easier.  I would gladly snack on carrots and humus if it tasted like candy corn and jelly beans.  I would  gulp down gallons of water if I could mix it with a cup and quarter of sugar and one packet of Black Cherry Kool Aid per every two quarts!  I would so stir and enjoy!
I like to exercise.  I like popping in a DVD.  I like marching to the beat.  I feel good when Denise Austin tells me that "I can do it".   When Gilad tells me to make this the best push up, sit up, leg lift ever, I do!  I hold the count, I zip up my abs, I remember to breathe!  I like turning on my 80s tunes, lacing up my go fasters and heading out the door.    I could walk for hours.
But, and this but is almost as big as my butt, it is easy to get sidetracked.  I have lost 5 pounds this week so I am not completely sidetracked.  My pants feel better and my tummy is acting better so I know I am doing something.  But I also know I am not doing enough.  So I looked back at this week and tried to be honest with myself about the failings.
The worst part of last week were my allergies.  The quantity of allergy pills that I take on a daily basis is pretty ridiculous but I can be deathly allergic to areas of my workplace, so it is necessary.  Now, add in seasonal allergies and I am a walking (barely) talking (incoherently) aisle 8 of Walgreens!  In the mornings, I was so congested that I couldn't breath, let alone do a push up, sit up or lunge.  In the evenings, I was crashing from my mid-day sudefed and didn't have the energy to squat, bicep curl or warrior pose.  I worked out three times last week.  That isn't enough to lengthen, strength and to make Denise Austin proud of me.
There are some supplements I have been taking that may or may not be the cause of my jitters and bitchiness.  I blame the supplements because I have adjusted my eating plan in the past and did not experience these effects.  I decided to stop the jitters by eating a little bit more (but good stuff like whole grain cereal and rice cakes) and I haven't decided how to stop the bitchiness.  I upped my water hoping to flush it out.
I also get sidetracked with goofing off and blog writing.  I really need to learn how to manage my time well, too.  Maybe next week that will get introduced.
The best part of last week was my regularity!  Fiber has been introduced to my diet and we are now good friends.  I had fear of fiber.  I thought that it would taste horrible and cause sudden and violent trips to the potty.  The fiber drink is not yummy be any means, but it is drinkable.  And the trips to the potty are nice and easy.  A little more frequent but much less work!
I ate horribly tonight.  It did not satisfy me.  I was disappointed.  I will eat good again tomorrow.  It won't be perfect but it will be better.  I will set my alarm an hour earlier than necessary and I will really want to get up, but there is a slim chance (as slim as my waistline) that I will snuggle up to Danny and go back to sleep.
I will try to sneak in a walk on one of my breaks tomorrow.
Tomorrow starts my second week of better choices.  I feel like the worst is behind me.  And tomorrow when Denise Austin tells me that "I can do it".  I will do it and she will be proud of me.  Me, too!

You Know That's Permanent?

What to get?
Where to get it?
When to get it?
Why did I get it?
Those tend to be the four tattoo questions.  The first three you ask yourself, and the fourth is asked of you.  Or in this case, of me!
What to get, what to get, what to get?  That was the hardest question.  I wanted something that was symbolic of me.  That still left things wide open, did I want a symbol of wife, mother, sister, daughter?  No, not yet.  Not my first one.  I wanted it to be of me.  But what was me?  That required some searching of my soul.  It also required that I take a look at what I had done to myself and what that had done to others.  That sounds awfully cryptic and I will explain more in a moment. 
But the what to get became clear to me as I saw a Catholic jewelry maker's work.  She had created a snowflake pendant and it was called "washed" .  When I think of the term washed in a Catholic setting, I immediately think of confession and being washed of sin.  So a snowflake became the what.
I chose my right ankle.  It was a place on my body that I could easily see.  I could conceal it when I needed to, and it was a part of the body that doesn't tend to get fat!
I got it after I lost some weight both physically and emotionally.
But why in the world would I permanently mark my body?  Because I already had in a much less beautiful way.  Between the ages of 13 and 36, I routinely cut myself.   I don't know why I started.  But I knew that it was an easy way for me to feel better.  A little blood letting was much simpler than dealing with the issue.  And for most of these scars, I couldn't tell you what the issue was.  I truly gave no thought to how it would hurt someone that loved me until I realized that it did hurt someone that loved me.  And then I used it as a weapon.  Hurting myself was the best way I could hurt others.  It was no longer self mutilation, but an act that I cannot find words for.  And for as ugly as my scars were, I had become so much uglier. 
So I stopped cutting, but the threat always hung in the air during disagreements, during frustrating times, honestly, during every day.  I would catch people looking at my arm and I am sure they were trying to decide if I had a serious problem, or just horrible cats. 
This tattoo became my promise that I would never cut again.  And I finally came to the place in my heart where I could make that promise. 
I went to the two people that love me most in the world, Danny and God.  I knew that Danny had forgiven me, we had already had the conversation.  But I wasn't so sure about God.  I had never told Him what I had done though He could obviously see it, feel it.  And I know that God forgives all sins for which we are truly sorry, but I needed to hear it.  One of my favorite things about being Catholic is the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  I was terrified to admit to God that I had treated His creation with such hate.  But that moment was such a gift for me. Turns out that God loves me.  In spite of my scars and because of them.  
So when you look at my ankle, you see a snowflake.  It is shades of blue and is reminiscent of a stained glass window.  That was a nice added bonus since I have a great fondness for churches, especially old ones filled with fancy windows.  It was also nice that the symbol I chose was also representative of my maiden name.  But what is really on my ankle is this promise to myself, my Lord and the people that I love that I will never hurt like that again.

Going Back to Cali? Yeah, I Think So!

There I was, young and on my own in Southern California.  If you think that this is about to get very interesting, you are wrong...
I hadn't intended on being on my own.  And I actually wasn't alone, there was an Ashlyn in my belly.  But I was young.  And I was on my own.  And  Southern California isn't as fabulous as it sounds.  I had arrived in June, four months after Danny arrived.  Crissy and I drove out in a very tiny Toyota Tercel.  It was packed with all that it could handle.  It and I were headed for one great big adventure!  Danny already found us an apartment on Waring Road in Oceanside, California.  There wasn't much for base housing at that time and what was available went to Marines with families. 

So the month of June found Danny and I playing house.  We bought some furniture and hung some pictures.  We took a few trips to the beach.  I found a job at the mall.  Wedded bliss! 

And then July came.  Danny spent the month in Panama training and I thought I was never going to make it as a military bride.  There was a tremendous amount of wailing and teeth gnashing.  It was really quite embarrassing.  Looking back, I don't know what all my fuss was about.  It was training.  Not war.  It was for a month.  Not indefinitely.  Seriously!

And then August came.  I will just say that I was glad for July and all my boo hooing because in August, the shit just got real!

One day, not even a full 24 hours.  That's how long I got Danny before the Marine Corps took him again.   And this time, they took him to Saudi Arabia and there was no time table.    I think Danny had time to call his mom and dad.  I think I called my parents.  I knew where the grocery store, drug store, Home Depot and mall were at.  I knew how to get to Camp Pendleton, but had never gone there by myself.  I knew four other people besides Danny, and one of them was the landlady.  The first time I drove on Camp Pendleton was the night I drove home from dropping Danny off.  That was also the first time I drove on the Five. 
So, there I was, young and on my own in Southern California.  And I was one day pregnant! 
Over the course of the next few days, I made the plan to move back to Cedar Rapids.  It made perfect sense to me to go home.  When I told my dad of my plans, he told me I was already home.   Didn't see that coming.  And didn't care for it at all.  But my dad was right.  I belonged in Oceanside.  I needed to learn how to pay the bills, get to the doctor, make my way in a world that was quite different.  And I did.  I worked until it became too much for my belly.  I found my way around Camp Pendleton.  I learned acronyms and acronyms for acronyms.  I had two little kitties.  I watched movies and wrote letters.  I grew an Ashlyn. 
As the days turned into weeks into months, maybe my dad regretted not letting me come back to Cedar Rapids, but I did not regret it.  It was such an important lesson to learn.  I wasn't the same girl that moved out there.  I had become a Marine wife.  I could adapt and overcome. 

My first year as a married woman was something I never would have expected.  Danny and I spent 36 days of those first 365 together.  We did not spend our birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas or our anniversary together.  We wrote a hundred letters, we talked on the phone a few times and every night, every single night, we said good night on the moon.  It was the only thing in the world that we could both see.  I had a couple of USO tapes of Danny and a very brief clip of him on CNN.  He had a few pictures of me, but I didn't have a camera, so he had never seen my growing belly.

Danny came home early March.   I had 12 hours notice.  Ashlyn was born six weeks later.  Three months after that, Danny was deployed again.  This time, my dad made me move back to Cedar Rapids.  I had a little girl this time, and nothing to prove to anyone.  I stopped counting the days that Danny and I spent apart. 

Pairs Gymnastics

They could have taken the sport by storm.  They will tell you that each and every time the family gets together.  It is a bitter conversation, kind of like one you would expect on a rehab show, or True Hollywood Stories..."parent squashes child's dream".  Or in our case, two children and one dream that they didn't even know they had.  Pairs Gymnastics Champions.
It all began in Germany.  Germany produces a fair number of gymnastics champions, I suppose, so I can understand why being in Germany adds fuel to this ridiculous fire.  It all began in Germany, at the American elementary school, in the cafeteria/theater/gym.  See how the fire begins to dim?  The instructor, Miss Mary, a wonderful, beautiful former college gymnast who was the wife of a soldier and had volunteered to teach.  Dimming still.  The gymnasts, and that is a word I will use very loosely here, Ashlyn and Hayley White.  Future Pairs Gymnastics Champions.   Until their parents tore them out of class, drug them back to America and never enrolled them in anything again!
So it really wasn't as harsh as all that.  Ashlyn was five, Hayley was three.  Gymnastics lessons were a couple nights a week for a few dollars a class.  Danny was away and we were looking for something fun to get us out of the house.  WIN, WIN, WIN!  Right?  Right!  The girls had fun.  At Christmas time, there was a show and a potluck at the school.  The girls got leotards, got to do somersaults and got fancy Army medals.  Then Miss Mary had to go back to America and gymnastics was over.   Danny and I did not seek out another class.  When we returned to America, we did not sign them up for tumbling, we did not put a small machine shed up in the backyard and buy some mats, we did not encourage them to wear leotards!  In fact, we kind of just let them be kids.
Fast forward to more recent years.  Danny and I thought ourselves pretty decent parents.  We would put the kids into sports or music if the kids were interested, the only rule was that they had to see the season, lesson through and could not quit.  Sure, we had visions of victories, scholarships, fame.  I think every parent does to some extent.  But, we also knew that the gene pool was probably pretty 50/50.  My 50 being unmusical and uncoordinated.  Our visions were realistic, too.  We wanted the kids to find some things they loved that we could afford to keep them in.  There was track, soccer and wrestling, band, orchestra and guitar.  We thought they were happy and satisfied.  We were wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

Pairs Gymnastics, as far as Ashlyn and Hayley were concerned, was where their happiness was.
 
I suppose Danny and I are somehow to blame for the lack of pairs gymnastics coverage on ESPN.  It is not yet recognized as an Olympic sport.  In fact, it did not bring up a single hit on a websearch.  Maybe because it is nonexistent.  Probably because the two greatest pairs gymnasts that ever were, weren't.

That's What You Said Last Time

Hayley, God bless her, tries to encourage me.  She knows that I have not been happy with the state of my being for quite some time and off and on, I try to do something about it.  So Hayley throws me a complimentary bone when she sees me.  Usually a "lookin skinny there, Momma!"  That was the compliment I got last time she was home.  But the truth was, and is, I am the heaviest I have ever been and told her so.    "That's what you said last time."  Exactly.  I just keep getting bigger.
Do I think I'm fat?  Absolutely not.  Do I think I have too much fat hanging on this once svelte frame?  Absolutely!  I weigh more now then I did when I had a baby in me.  When I was pregnant with Hayley, the nutritionist I was sent to wanted me to gain forty pounds.  Forty pounds!!!   I remember thinking, "there's is no way I can put forty pounds onto this frame."  Well, I was wrong.  It took me 18 years, but I added 47 pounds to this frame.  Considering that Jacob is sixteen, I cannot claim it as baby weight either.
When Danny was in Iraq, I got down to 118 pounds.  My eyes were sunk in, my collarbone popped out.  The 13 month stress diet is very hard on a girl.  When Ashlyn was sick, I started to gain weight.  A lot of fast
food and treats and absolutely no exercise for 9 months diet is very hard on a girl, as well.   Now, with no crisis to use as a crutch, it is just me making the right choices for me. 
I worked out today and I ate well.  I drank a lot of water and peed a lot of pee.  I resisted the urge to buy candy corn.  I bought raspberries and carrots instead.  
I hope to see Hayley next weekend.  And I hope she greets me with "lookin skinny there, Momma!" 

I think I'm Going To Blog (Whatever that is!!!)

So here goes nothing, my first blog...
What to blog about?   I wanted to be a writer, didn't everyone at some point?  I envisioned living in a cramp apartment, smoking and starving and creating great prose on a typewriter.  But that didn't happen, not even close.  Oh, I wrote.  I wrote a lot.  I wrote letters and Christmas cards and journal entries.  I wrote emails and facebook posts and to do lists.  But I didn't write great prose that would stand the test of time, move someone to laughter or to tears.  I didn't make my high school English teacher proud.  I didn't have book signings or guest appearances on talk shows. 
In fact, I almost pressed the 'backspace' button on this whole thing, but...
I got things to say, ideas to share, opinions to express!
And I have decided the best place to write is here on a computer that freezes up once a night, in my husband's office without the cigarettes.  And I definately am not starving.  (That is the subject of tomorrow's blog!)  And my high school English teacher did describe one of my story's as "Hemingwayesque" (yes that is the word I am using!).  And my nine months of Ashlyn Alerts did move people.  And my grandma did save all my letters.  So I suppose that what I have written in the past has had some impact on others.  Not the whole world, just my world!
My blog is Kind of Like Writing!