I need to get out of here

I have been trapped at home for a couple of weeks now. Oh, I went "out": Walmart, the grocery store, dropped my kids off at school, took one to the doctor. Last week I house sat for a relative who had surgery. whoopie.

But I'm not one to whine, ok, I am trying not to be. So I won't.

Twiddle.

Twiddle.

Twiddle.

Ok, that was fun....I need to GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE! I know that this is a common issue with work at homes, stay at homes...when my kids were tiny I would try to get out at least once a day. Sometimes we went to the grocery store to buy a piece of fruit we had never tried before. Sometimes we would go to the library. Sometimes we went to the fire station to see if we could look at the, uh, yeah... the trucks (seriously...this may be the greatest reason to have kids EVER.)

A lot of the time we would go to Target and walk around and see all the other Mommies and little kids who had to get out of the house. If finding new mommy friends is like dating ( it is), then Target is the club. THE CLUB. If you can't find a new Mommy Friend in Target, then your social skills are seriously lacking. And no one's social skills are more lacking than Moms who spend all day with toddlers, so we are talking skills that need some work.

But I tried to get out of the house every day. I had to. My sanity was at stake.

But the kids are in school now.  I have no reason to go to the library other than to pick up the books I have held online. Or pay the hefty fee for not dropping off the ones I had at home. I never go for a piece of fruit, that's just stupid. The whole list, once a week. And forget Target. I don't have the cute babies in the carrier. Now I just look like a creeper when I admire someones baby. Or a little old lady. And I am neither. (I'm not! Shut up!)

And the fire fighters look at you weird if you show up without a kid and ask for a tour. Just trust me on this.

Anyway, now my days are home based, and rarely do I get out. I have to force myself. And force myself I shall.  I will. Tomorrow. '

Or maybe the next day, tomorrow I have a lot of work to do. And it's dusting day.

And let your Klout be your guide

Apparently I am talking about this just a liiiiitle bit too much. In all honestly, if I have three cocktails in one week it's a lot. I can go weeks without any. I have a small.... (ok, it's not a bottle, it's a carton--are you happy? Yes, keeping it classy one box at a time.) I have a small box o'vino in my fridge half consumed for three weeks now. I'm going to use it for cooking at this point.

But the point is, I am not a heavy drinker. But apparently, the Klout algorithm thinks I talk about it a lot.  

Don't know Klout? It's a ranking device attached to social media. I allow it access to my facebook and blogs, and it gives me a readout of how influential I am. It tells me the area's where I have influence, the number of people I reach.

Which, like the above announcement, cracks me up every time.

I'm not influential. I can't even get my boys to aim properly in the toilet. I have been married for 20 years. In that time I haven't been able to influence my husband to do anything! 

And yet, based on whatever I post Klout thinks they know me, know my reach. 

uh huh.

My reach is about 2 feet above my head which is only about 5 feet off the floor. I'm pretty sure my reach is quite limited. 

There is a whole science behind Klout, I get that. And really, the science bores me. I know I shouldn't say that, but it's true. I would rather spend my time researching childbirth in Tudor England than worrying about how to increase a Klout score.( I did that today! The Tudor childbirth thing...it's very interesting...). I'm fairly certain that my future is not as a mommy blogger- I realized that about a year ago. I enjoy it when I do it, but don't have the heart to monitize. I like to think of myself as a recreational mommy blogger.

And, as such, I am not a huge Klout fan. I signed up to see how it works, leave my account up to check in periodically for humor, but aside from that, I don't have a real purpose for it. An algorithm isn't a content generator, it's a reporter. And not a very accurate one at that.

 

Of course...

My camera is flipping out. I can take pictures, but not upload them to anything. 

Why should you care? You shouldn't, it's one of those things that will either be resolved, or not. Although if it was two weeks sooner, I could have asked those people who say,"what would you like for your birthday" for cash. I mean, cash is really an impersonal gift. If you don't know me well enough to know what I would like, then maybe you don't know me well enough to get me something. It's ok, REALLY. I would rather not get something than get something that makes me turn my head sideways and think," you saw this and thought of me?"

Although, those extreme gifts are rather humorous. But I mean, a token just so you can cross, "Get Susan Gift For Her Birthday" off of your To Do list? If someone just wants to get me a Cross This Off List Gift- cash will work.

Back to the camera issue, I should look for a picture that might entertain you. How about this one? He is turning seven. This means that I have succeeded in getting three children through the age of six without giving in to the question,"why don't we eat our young?"

Ew.

The cake is chocolate. The frosting is cream cheese. The M& Ms are plain, milk chocolate. The outfit was selected by the Birthday Lad that morning. He was trying to put together and outfit that was,"colorful, and fun, and matches this cool shark tooth necklace Kevin gave me."

 Now I have to describe the picture that I just took but can't get on here. Just because it made me want to drop my head to the keyboard and cry.

Luke is 13. He is looking older each and every day. This, naturally, makes me wonder what kind of man he will grow to be. I shudder with most of the images that flash in my mind. Surely, they outgrow this...age. I know they do. I have brothers. And a husband. And I shudder again.

No, not really.

So today, the 13 year-old fixes himself a snack. We had many leftovers from the Superbowl Table O'Snacks that I provided. He chooses: 3 slices of pizza, a handful of carrots, three chicken wings and a puddle of ranch dressing. Then he sees that we never finished the bottle of sparkling juice (the spiffy 7 year old likes to play mixologist with sparkling and other juices and fancy glasses. He really was born past his time.) So here is the picture:

Teen boy, scruffy hair, sleeveless white t-shirt( the kind called a,"wife beater" if you don't find that term offensive like I do.) Plate heaped high with gross greasy food ( and a handful of carrots!). With his free hand, he grabs a highball glass, opens the top of the juice bottle--that really is a wine bottle, and he pours himself a highball. I mean, juice. Then, he takes the bottle, puts it to his lips and swigs the rest that won't fit in his glass.

That's when I snap the picture. Shaggy teen wearing a tank top t-shirt, gross food, highball glass of 'wine' and drinking from the bottle.

My head hits to keyboard gtttttttttttttttttttdfs"enh vcewq- Basement dweller in my future?!!!

Alive and well and smiling

You hate me, don't you? I'm so sorry for not posting for so very long! Life. Life got in the way of retelling life here.

And then the lives of others, whose stories I can't share because they are not mine, took over my life. Or I let them take over. Welcomed them as a matter of fact. Pursued them even, if can imagine that.

But it wasn't you. And it wasn't this forum. I took the entire month of January off from the other place that I blog at every week; one week off at the place that pays me to tell tales. See? Not you.

But I will be back soon, oh, very soon, to share some more tales. I promise. Ok, I feel bad for neglecting things over here. ONE short tale:

This is me. I'm going to church. I almost didn't go that day, but decided that was the wrong message to send to my kids. So I fluffed my hair, donned my pearls and contemplated, but did not decide upon, a lowcut top.

Contemplating lower cut top

I was healthy, awoke in plenty of time, and really had no good reason to miss church, so why did I not want to go? Because, apparently, menopause is the new adolescence. My face had decided to head in the Way Back Machine to age 13. I had a breakout like I have not seen since I would smudge my Leif Garrett posters with Lip Smackers each night.

Look at the chin! I have the chin of a teenager!

"I'm not going to church today." I announced at breakfast.

"Why not?" Brian asked.

"If she's not going, I'm not going, I'll keep her company," Bekah offered oh. so. generously.

"Because, I uh..." I looked at the faces of my kids, faces that would probably face a similar situation in the not so distant future," ugh, I'm going. But not one crack about having a third eye!"

So I went. Concealer as in place as it was going to be, head held high, as many distracting techniques as I could come up with (although it was a communion Sunday, and I don't like wearing anything that might accidentally give the elders serving an eye full as I bowed before the alter so the top was not low cut.)

I have age 50 right ahead of me and I'm trying to conceal pimples. It's just wrong. 

I have to point them out, don't I? Oh, you can see some, even caked with concealer they are hardly concealed.

Sorry about that. In person, they  really were quite obvious. I caught people looking at my chin all morning, and it wasn't my imagination either. The blemishes were there, but I couldn't let a hormonal outbreak stop me from going places, doing things that are important to me. I couldn't let something so superficial hold me back.  What would be the point in that?  There really wasn't anything I could do but smile.

Which is probably a really great life lesson on several levels, don't you think?

Because every Saturday should begin with a police report, duct tape and Press 'N Seal wrap?

Happy 2012! (a number I keep repeating because I'm  determined to write the correct year before March!)

The last day of our 2011 began at 2:30 AM. That is when Brian and I woke to a loud KEEEEERASH!

In that moment between sweet slumber and waking terror - the moment of shattered dreams- I thought an M80 had gone off outside the window. Brian thought it had been someone crashing through the glass of our backdoor.

He guessed better.

It was Noah's bedroom window to be exact.

I have a confession-- falling asleep in Noah's bed after prayers, and mid 6 year-old pillow talk is something that I frequently do. I was sleeping there when the window broke- mere inches from the glass shards, Noah was on the side away from the window.

When I peered out the unshattered portion,  there was no culprit to be seen. But on the lawn was a ball that had not been there when we went to bed. It didn't belong to my kids, either.

I should back up just a bit.  Our neighborhood is very active at night. We have had a long history of late night ding dong ditching. So have most of our neighbors. It's just a fact of subdivision life. Even the hooligans who decided that they didn't like the conventional style of our light up reindeer and rearranged them one late night was annoying. (But it was sorta funny.)

You giggled. It's ok, so did I

But a middle of the night breaking of windows? That's criminal.

"Clean up this room, it looks like a crime scene in here!" I told Noah first thing in the morning.

" It IS a crime scene!" Luke countered.

"Yeah, but the police don't have to see what slobs we are!" I said as they headed to tidy and I called the sheriff's office.

The officer arrived quickly (He had a name that screamed for commentary, but I resisted. Really, the guy probably hears crap about his name all the time and someone with Vollenweider as a last name probably shouldn't be mocking other people's last names, anyway). He took pictures, recorded my story and asked me to call if I figured out who did it.

The town I live in is small. One of the downsides of small town life is that everyone knows your business. One of the upsides of small town life is that you can very easily find out any one else's business.

It didn't take long.

"Hey!" I said when my neighbor Christy came to her door, "do you recognize this ball?" I tossed it in the air like the jock I wish I was.

"Yeah, I was looking for that, it's my kid's."

"It came through Noah's window last night."

"Never saw it before."

This was not our first detective case. A year of so ago, Christy and I broke the case of " what happened to the full bag of security guard gear that was taken from an unlocked truck?" We found the physical evidence in her shrubs, and figured out the timeline based on the activity of her dog the night before. We resisted the urge to make commentary about the wisdom of leaving such items in an unlocked car...well, at least to the police officer who came to collect our findings.

For the Case of  Shattered Dreams, we headed off to another neighbor's house channeling our inner Cagney and Lacy. Only, you know, no firearms...or badges, simply armed with our combined knowledge of human nature and our degrees from the School of TV Cop Shows.

Within 20 minutes, we had answers.

We know who did it.

We have witnesses.

How it all plays out is up to the kid's parents.

And because I like to inform of handy things you may not know:

This is not my first Ball v. Window episode. I have boys...and a husband. If you need to board up a broken window (because it breaks on a holiday and the glass company can't come out for 4 days without paying extra), reach for the Press 'n Seal wrap. This time I added a layer of Reynolds pan liner ( the one with aluminum foil on one side, parchment paper on the other) and sealed it all up with duct tape. Very cold resistant, and the glass sticks to the Press 'N Seal wrap and doesn't fall on the floor.

Recipe for repair: Press n' seal, Pan Liner paper, 2nd Press 'n Seal layer, duct tape

Done. And classy.

And that is how my Saturday began, and 2011 ended,  with a police report, duct tape and Press 'N Seal Wrap.


***UPDATE*** The parents did the right thing. There are good people in this world who do things that aren't comfortable to try and  teach their kids to right thing. I applaud them. Nicely done, Parents!

Horrible Parents, all around

I think that every parent has a moment when they realize that they goofed. Admitting that we screwed up, and trying to correct the situation is the adult thing to do. Right? It teaches our children that we are fallible, human and that we are big enough people to admit that we were wrong.

Last Easter someone thought that the kids had gotten too much candy from the Easter Bunny. He decided to take part of it from The Candy Stash and put it far away, for later in the year.

(Yeah, I said "he".  Pfft, you didn't think I had messed up, did you?)

This parent hid the candy so well, that he only just recently discovered it and reunited it with the kids. This happened the day after we put up the Christmas tree.Many, many, months after Easter.

 2/3rds of the kids were willing to have their emotions recorded- to show that parent exactly how they felt. And of course, a picture often tells a story far better than words ever could:

 Yes, we all make mistakes. To err is human, to post it on the internet is...

It's not about vodka

And it's not about candy or mommy bloggers or recipes...although I know that you like that stuff. It's about mothers and daughters and that the issues surrounding coming-of-age are not entirely related to the time that it happens. 1950's, 1970's or now...times change, but sometimes they don't.

It's about what happens when you wish for something and it comes true.

It's about rock and roll, and sailing, and art and there is a mermaid involved in the mix mostly because I dig mermaids.

It's my nanowrimo project and it came in just under 60K on November 28 which is when I got to The End. That was my goal, write the whole thing- Once Upon a Time to The End- in a month. I'm in the process of filling in the chapters that were a little light, and then I'm going to go back and probably re-write the darn thing. And because I seem to only work well with a deadline, I'm giving myself one: my birthday. February 1st.

Lofty, I know. 

What did I learn this year, my second nano? Hmm...not sure. It was a more social year- I joined two nanowrimo groups which was fun. I met some really interesting people and that experience enriched my process. I also got to see that some who I already knew were just as crazy committed to the project as I was, and that shared history can only deepen our friendships. Writing wise, I'm not sure. I learned a lot this past year about style and pace and basic format (and a bunch of other stuff)...so I don't think that I can attribute these lessons to nano or not. And really, this makes some seriously boring blog reading especially since I am not a published novelist.

Now it's December. Life has yet to return to a normal pace. It's Christmas, and my house was a wreck after nano. Beckett and I wanted to keep as much on our podcasting schedule as possible so we are putting a lot of energy into that. The one we recorded yesterday--going out on a limb here- may be my most favorite one yet!

Anyway, I realize that this is not a very compelling post (which is why I won't pimp it...hahaha) but I wanted to get down in writing that I finished Nano. I got to the required 50K words in 19 days to earn my web badge. And then I got to the end. 

I may post a chapter here at some point. Some people have asked me to. If I can figure out if they want to read it to see if I'm a horrible writer or because they are genuinely interested- I might do it. But it will be stealth. Like this one.

Ninja-style...ooh, a ninja-mermaid...I may have my next project idea....

Susan