happy new year!

it's already 2012 in some parts of the world but still 2011 in most. how weird is that.

when we lived in indiana, the decision about whether or not to go on daylight savings time was left up to each individual county. the county we lived in did go on it but one of the contiguous counties didn't. lots of people who lived in our county worked in the other county. how weird is that.

i remember new year's eve 1999 and all the flap over y2k. i'll admit......i was a little concerned about what would happen until i realized that it would be the year 2000 in, say, australia before it would be the year 2000 here. so i figured, if the world tanks, at least i'll know about it in advance.

it's disconcerting to cross time zones when you travel. when you fly to chicago from columbus, you arrive in chicago at the same time you left columbus. weird.

i know people who keep changing what shift they work. one week, it's the day shift and the next week, it's the night shift. i don't know how they do it without being dead tired and discombobulated all the time. ("discombobulated" - weird, weird, weird!)

most tv shows film about 6-8 weeks out. so that means, right now, most tv shows are filming their valentine's day shows. and it's only new year's. weird.

usually on new year's eve, i fall asleep on the couch about 10. next thing i know, i wake up and it's a whole new year. it's a new month, too. seems like i should wake up with new clothes on or something but i never do. i always have on the same ratty pajamas.

one thing that stays the same - year in and year out - is how weird everything is. it keeps life interesting.

it keeps giving me things to blog about.

stay tuned.

:)

s - t - r - e - t - c - h

what's wrong with the world is, nobody stretches anymore.


if i had to nail down everything that Christ taught into one word, i think it would be "stretch." no, not "love," but "stretch."

if i nailed down everything that Christ taught into the word "love," i don't think it would catch anyone's attention. i think if i said, "you know what, guys? i think it all boils down to love," i think the rest of you would say "sure. we know that." but if i said, "you know what, guys? i think it all boils down to stretching," i think you might say, "what the?"


it's easy, really, to commit to being more loving. when our spouse or our friend or our family member tells us that what we did was thoughtless or hurtful or neglectful, we usually respond with, "oh, wow......i'm sorry. i didn't mean it that way at all. i promise i won't do that again."

and then we do it again.

the reason we do it again, i think, is not so much because we lack the love but because we lack the stretch - the willingness to endure the pain that doing the loving thing almost always entails.

i have a family on my current caseload whose father yells all the time (i'll save the miracle of the fact that there's actually a father in the home for another post). this man is a basically decent guy who has a childhood history of all kinds of horrors. he loves his family - he does - but he's not willing to stretch above and beyond his own pain to stop inflicting it on others. i told him so last night......

"sir, you're like all of us, myself included - you're selfish. and you need to stretch."

"excuse me?"

"you need to stretch."

"stretch?"

"stretch."

blank stare..........

"you need to stop thinking and stop saying how much you love your family."

"i need to what?"

"stop thinking and stop saying how much you love your family."

blank stare.......

"instead of focusing on the love, focus on the stretch. as soon as you feel like you don't wanna do the loving thing, do the loving thing anyway. push yourself. force yourself. stretch yourself."

"it's hard," he said.

"stretch," i said.

"i'll try, " he said.

"nope," i said, "do it."


i have this same conversation over and over and over with all of my clients - and with myself. Christ wasn't telling us to love when we felt loving - He was telling us to love when we don't. most of us fail miserably at that.

my resolution this year?

touch my toes.

the opposite of humility

what could possibly be a greater example for us of humility and vulnerability than the almighty creator of everything that exists incarnating Himself as a helpless baby born in a broken down barn?

what could possibly be a greater example for us of humility and vulnerability than the almighty creator of everything hanging on a cross between two common criminals?

what could possibly be less humbling - and therefore, more self-centered - than deciding that the strong are entitled to overpower the vulnerable?

if you walk up to anybody at all today and ask him or her if he or she believes that the strong should be permitted to overpower the vulnerable, you'll probably get "no" for an answer. (unless you're talking to hitler or josef mengele)

you'll probably get people citing all kinds of examples, like, it's not ok for a slaveholder to hold slaves. it's not ok for a boss to sexually harass his employee. it's not ok for a paternalistic society to repress women.

it's not ok for a mother to abuse her child. because, after all, what could possibly be more humble and vulnerable than a child?

unless it's an unborn one.

in which case, it's ok for a mother to kill it.

stop being selfish about new year's resolutions

it bothers me how people scoff when the subject of new year's resolutions comes up.

they dismiss resolutions with a wave of the hand. "why make resolutions?" they say, "i'm not gonna keep 'em anyway."

maybe that, right there, oughta be your resolution - quit saying you're gonna quit.


what kind of person plans to quit? plans to fail? plans to let everybody down?


i was lucky, in many regards, with the kind of parents God gave me. one of the luckiest ways is how they both stick to it. first of all, they recognize that they need to improve (who doesn't? you? ha!) and then, they improve. period.  my parents have the greatest follow-through of any two people i have ever in my whole life known. if they say they're gonna do it, they do it. you can take it to the bank.

i think the world would be a whole lot better place if we could all count on each other like that. if we could wake up on january 1st (and then, every day following) knowing that the people we love love us enough to change.


my parents didn't do it for them. they did it for me.


now........it's your turn.

my most politically incorrect post EVER

sorry, democrats, but the poor little match girl doesn't exist.


(oh, she probably exists somewhere, but good luck findin' her.)


the picture that most americans have in their minds of the poor and the needy is all wrong. it's a nice picture - in an ironic way - but it's wrong. most of the time.

most of the time, the poor and the needy aren't all that adorable, and i don't mean physically. most of the time, they are angry and bitter and have a sense of entitlement that enrages even my priest.

most of the time, they are not poor and needy because they led solid lives which included fairly reasonable financial decisions until out of the blue, on Christmas Eve, their house burned to the ground.

many of their children aren't shivering-in-the-cold sweethearts with runny noses and dirt streaks across their faces. many of their children are locked up in juvi.


i'm not saying we shouldn't have compassion for these folks - we should. i'm not saying we shouldn't help them - we must.

what i am saying is, who we're helping isn't necessarily gonna warm the cockles of your heart.

which is just as well.


cuz warming the cockles of your heart isn't the point.

how to return a gift

don't.


that's it - don't!


the notion of returning a gift because you "don't like it"  or "don't need it" is anathema to me (not too often you can use the word "anathema").

how dare you???????

returning a gift because you need the same thing in a smaller or a larger size is permissible. beyond that, there is no valid reason to be returning the gifts that someone lovingly and patiently picked out for you.

even if they didn't pick them out lovingly and patiently. yes..........even if they picked them out solely out of a sense of obligation. obligation works both ways.........and now that you have received a chia pet that plays jingle bells when you water it, you are obligated to keep it.

you are not allowed to re-gift it. if you are invited to a white elephant party or a dirty santa party (sounds dirty to me) or any other kind of dang fool party wherein you are asked to bring a gift that you got for Christmas that you don't like, you must go out and buy a gift that you don't like and give that. sorry, but those are the rules. i'm not the one makin' 'em up.

(well, yes i am.)

returning or re-gifting a gift, just because you don't like it, is the diametric opposite of what a gift is. what if mary had said to the wise men, "seriously, guys? more myrrh? the last thing i need is more myrrh."

so, whatever you got for Christmas, treasure it. you don't have to like it, but you do have to treasure it.

you don't have to use it - you just have to treasure it.

(actually, you do have to use it........when the person who gave it to you comes over.)

Christmas - and everything - with 5 grandchildren

50 fingers and 50

toes

who knows

who does such wondrous things but


God?

the flashlight(s) of the ghost of Christmas present(s)

you know how they always say it's the simplest things - like the box the toy came in - that kids like the most?

i gave charlie and olivia a coupla (very cool) flashlights for Christmas. you'da thought i'd given 'em the eiffel tower.

first thing charlie says is, "come on, gram! let's go look for ghosts!" (like that's what every family is doing on Christmas morning)

so, off we go........down the hall.........with all the lights (except charlie's flashlight) turned off.........looking for ghosts.

nope, none here. let's try olivia's bedroom! surely olivia's bedrooom has ghosts!

we tiptoe softly into olivia's room. "shhhhhhhh!" charlie admonishes me. (you'd think i'd just know to do that by now, wouldn't ya?)

he looks in her closet........nope.

under the pile of whatever it is she left in the middle of the floor.

nope.

by now, the rest of the family has joined us. grandpa rankin is doing his best eerie ghost voice. and he's pretty good at it, too. so good, in fact, that my mom scolded him......."now, don! don't scare 'em to death!" my dad looked at my mom like she was nuts - which she is - and made the scariest ghost face he could at her, with his eyes all rolling back in his head and his tongue hangin' out. he got in her face and went, "aaaaaaaahhhhhh, ooooooooo, eeeeeeeee" at her.

i bet that ride back home was interesting.

anyway.......back to the action.......charlie tells me to crawl under the bed and see if there are any ghosts under there.

"i can't crawl under the bed, charlie! i'm too big!"

"ok, then. grandpa? you crawl under the bed!"

"i can't crawl under the bed, charlie. i'm too big!"

"then olivia. olivia, crawl under the bed."

olivia looks this way and that. she meets my gaze. i nod - letting her know it's o.k. dad does his ghost voice........

livvy bends down. thank heavens her flashlight is neon pink cuz otherwise, i don't think she'd agree to this......

"do you see any ghosts, olivia?" charlie half-screams.........


"YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!," olivia fully screams. "YES!!!!!!!!! there's a ghost under there!!!!!!!"

charlie runs outa the room.

my mom says, "see, don? i told you!"

i look under the bed (olivia says, "i thought you said you were too big, gammy?????").


there, under olivia's bed, right by the headboard, is a black wig, just laying there in a creepy lump. it's part of the twins' imaginative play costumes that they have. and it's doing a very good job of looking creepy and scary!


or maybe it wasn't part of the twins' imaginative play costumes........


maybe it really was.............

a toddle house Christmas

i have only the vaguest of memories of this, but the story has been told and re-told so many times that i feel as if i can recall almost every detail exactly.

one year, when my brother and i were very young, my parents almost screwed up Christmas. which, if you know my parents, that, right there, is impossible to believe. but they say it's true.

what happened is, the weekend before Christmas that year, for some reason nobody can remember, the extended family got together and did Christmas early. when the real Christmas Day rolled around, my parents were like a coupla deer caught in the headlights, totally unprepared.

they realized that they hadn't planned anything for Christmas dinner.

nobody was coming over.

no one can seem to remember whether or not we had gifts to open, but mom says she's certain that she and my dad wouldn't have let that lapse, too. but dad's not so sure......he sorta thinks they gave us all our stuff the weekend before. mom says no way would they have done that and dad says maybe they did. i say, if you screwed up everything else, might as well screw up the gifts, too! :)

in any case, what we had stretching before us was a december 25th with zippo, nada. and when you have december 25th stretching before you with zippo, nada, you suddenly realize that of all the days of the year, december 25th is not the one to have zippo, nada.

my dad got on the phone and started calling every restaurant in town. none of them were open. of course none of them were open. this was the late 1950s, people, and the world still had the good sense to close everything on Christmas.

i don't know what my mom was doing while my dad was on the phone, but she was probably cursing under her breath that my dad had let this happen.

as dad finally got off the phone, utterly defeated, a light bulb went off in somebody's head. nobody can remember whose, but i like to think it was mine........

it had snowed like a gazillion buckets of snow - as Christmases past always had the good sense to do - and so somebody (me) said, "let's go sledding!"

and so, we did.

we piled in the car and drove to the local college, wittenberg, and spent the snowy afternoon tumbling and spilling all over its gentle hills.

we were the only ones there.

on the way home, my dad did what he always does - even to this day - when he has a little time to kill......he took a detour and pointed out to us stuff in town that we already knew was there. (even at age 3 or 4 or whatever i was, i knew better than to say, "daaaaaad..........this is bor-ing!")

as we were meandering here and there, we came to "the toddle house restaurant" and saw a lone cop car in the parking lot. a light was on inside.

we went in.

yes, the toddle house was open - i guess somebody's gotta be open, to feed the cops - and so, we took our places behind the counter, next to the cop, and we dined on Christmas Day on cheeseburgers and fries.


which, when you get right down to it, was a perfect way to mark the day that nothing was open for mary and joseph, either. nothing, that is, except a rackety manger that probably had a shaky little toddle of its own.


so, yeah. i learned a lot that Christmas - all of it, important.


and i hope, by reading this story, that you have, too.

how to make candy

i don't know because i've never done it. as far as i'm concerned, you don't make it - you buy it.

my motto about buying it instead of making it doesn't apply just to candy. it pretty much carries over into every aspect of my life. my motto is, if there's someone you can pay to do it, pay 'em to do it.

and i'm not a cheapskate when i pay 'em, either. if i'm gonna buy candy, which i hardly ever do but at Christmas it practically seems mandatory, then i'm gonna at the very least buy godiva. none of this whitman's sampler nonsense.

speaking of whitman's sampler, the woman who cuts my hair told me this week that she's going to a white elephant gift exchange and she found this ginormous box of whitman's sampler candies at t.j. maxx or somewhere like that. she said it's so big that she almost couldn't fit it in her car. i'm not sure what kind of car she drives, but dang......that is some. box. of. candy!

she said it's so big, it's funny, which is why she thought it would be perfect for a white elephant exchange.

and, when you think about it, i guess it really does makes sense to buy something big for an elephant - white or otherwise.

how my dad wraps/how i wrap

a coupla days ago i posted about my dad and how creative he is with his gift wrapping. i'm creative, too!

my creative contribution to the world of holiday wrap comes not in the form of the wrapping itself, per se, but in the tag. for the life of me, my pen will not let me write, "to: (fill in the name) / from: nancy." it just won't let me do it.

take this year, for example:

my parents don't have a computer so they can't read my blog through the year. last year, i had all of my blog posts published in a hardcover book, complete with dust cover. this year, i did it again. and on the tag it says, "to: mom and dad / from: not chaucer."

that kind of thing.

if the gift is mittens or maybe a nice, warm scarf, i'll write: "to (fill in the name) / from: frosty.

something ohio statey? "to: (fill in the name - and it's usually eli) / from: gordon gee. this year, there's something funny under the tree for somebody from jim tressel. sorry, but i just couldn't resist!

one of the things i give abby every year is a calendar. a flat calendar is pretty hard to disguise, unless you wrap it in a box or something, which i don't. so, last year, after i wrapped the calendar and it was a cinch to figure out what it was, i wrote on the tag, "sure. but what kind?"

this year, on her calendar, i wrote, "blah, blah, blah." i mean, after about 20 years of calendars, what else is there to say?

so, in conclusion, i think you can see that my dad and i sort of have the market cornered on the creative gift wrapping department.

"to: dad / from: your chip off the old block."

it's not Christmas - it's Advent.

for most of my life, i have wondered why, when company is coming to stay at our house, we spend lots of time getting ready for their arrival and then, when they actually do arrive, the joy is just beginning whereas with Christmas, we spend all of Advent getting ready for Christmas and then, when Christ - the Savior of the whole wide world - is finally born, it's over.

i remember asking my parents over and over - year in and year out - why dec. 25th isn't the start of the celebration - not the beginning of the end of it.

historically and Biblically speaking, it shouldn't be. historically and Biblically speaking, the 12 days of Christmas should just be getting cranked up - with an eye towards Epiphany - but instead, by dec. 26th (and sometimes even on the night of dec. 25th), you can see people's Christmas trees on the curb.

i happen to have first-hand knowledge that the swedes screw it up even worse than we americans do - december 24th is the pinnacle of Christmas for them. they even think of december 24th as Christmas Day. by the 25th, most swedes are asleep.

it's wrong. period.


and this year,

i'm not going to do it.

the outrage of it!

on my current caseload of 10 clients, i have one welfare mother who bought her kids a 72" flat panel t.v. for Christmas, plus an x-box 360, plus an iPad, plus a bunch of other stuff.

i have 6 kids who qualify for free school breakfasts and all 6 of them eat breakfast at home before they go to school and eat breakfast.

i have 3 who finagled the system so that they received Christmas charity from more than one source. one of those 3 is getting Christmas help from five different agencies.

all of this should bother you and me and all of it probably does.

however.

this year, i have decided to look in the mirror. i have decided to see if there is a plank in my eye. guess what? there is.

no, there's no plank of ripping people off in my eye. i don't do that. honest, i don't.

but there is a plank - a pretty gigantic one, at that - of thinking i am superior to people who rip people off. and of the two sins - ripping people off or thinking that i am superior because i don't rip people off - well....... i don't think there's any difference. i think they're the same sin - selfishness.

selfishness and pride pretty much go hand-in-hand and while one may take the more blatant form of ripping off the system, the other is just as destructive, if less obvious. mattera fact......my sin might actually be worse, because at least my welfare moms are "out there" with it. whereas i, in my smugness, keep it all silent and to myself.

that is,

until now.

you need to read this.

both of my parents are perfectionists and over-achievers. there has always been a part of me that wished i had been born to a couple of slackers.

but one Christmas, in particular, stands out in my mind as the year that even my dear old dad out-did himself. literally.

it was 1975 and my folks had surprise-arranged for all of us to go to pasadena for the rose bowl, which ohio state was playing in. trying to perfectly surprise-arrange a new year's trip right on the heels of trying to perfectly arrange Christmas was no easy feat......not even for my over-achieving dad.

on top of all those arrangements, he had end-of-the-year business at his business to wrap up. my dad worked for most of his adult life as the president of a small paper company in springfield and sometimes, like at the end of the year, the pressure was incredible.

who knew paper could be so difficult.

that was also the year that my dad tramped all over the buckeye state in search for the perfect leather jacket for my brother.

that damned leather jacket.......


anyway, the saturday after Christmas, which was 2 days before we were scheduled to leave for pasadena, my dad and i woke up especially early and were sharing coffee and breakfast together in the family room, when suddenly, out of nowhere, he got up and left the room.

don't ask me how, but i knew something was wrong. i knew it.

i followed him up the stairs and asked him what was wrong.

"nothing's wrong," he said, "i'm just going to the bathroom."

"why don't you just use the bathroom downstairs?"

"i dunno."

"you always use the bathroom downstairs."

"i dunno."


an hour later, i found him sprawled on his bed, in nothing but his underwear. be. lieve. me................my conservative dad does not sprawl on his bed in nothing but his underwear. to tell you the truth, he doesn't sprawl at all - he's always too busy doing something perfectly.

"dad????" i said, panicky.

no answer.

"DAD????!!!!!!"

no answer.


i checked to see if he was alive. he was. praise God.

i ran to the basement, where my mom was busy ironing clothes in preparation for the trip.

"mom! come quick! something's wrong with dad!"


(i will never forget the sound of that iron dropping on the hard basement floor.)


mom and i ran back upstairs and my brother soon joined us in our parents' room. my dad was out of it. he was out of it. no response, no nothin.' he must have had a stroke.

my mom picked up the phone and called our family doctor, who dashed right over to our house. (i know, right?)


we all 3 waited outside the room, as the doctor instructed us to do, while he examined my dad.

i will never forget the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest.


pretty soon, dr. anton came out into the hallway and said.........

"he's

going

to

be

fine.

he's

o

k."


the diagnosis? too much perfection, too much over-achieving. my dad couldn't take it any more and so, instead of having a heart attack or a stroke, his brain checked out. it totally checked out.

and it remained checked out for the rest of that day. by evening, he was beginning to "come to," and by the next day, he was fine.

to this day, he doesn't remember that one.


but what he does remember - what we all remember - is that no trip, no Christmas, no business, no jacket, no nothin' is worth all that.


so, yes..........

even though i am not done with every last detail..........

i'm done.

it is sufficient.

it's good.


merry Christmas, everyone.

10 things you didn't know about wrapping

1. my dad is thee best Christmas present wrapper ever.
2. he actually measures - with a ruler. and he cuts - not like a knife, but with a knife. perfectly clean edges!
3. he makes his bows. he went into hallmark one year and pretty much gave them a tutorial. not sure how much they appreciated it, but he did it anyway.
4. he uses things from nature - even before nature was cool. things like bits of bark and berries and dried queen anne's lace. he used dried orange peel once, along with some cinnamon sticks. i'm not sure that present ever got opened cuz we were all too busy oohing and ahhing over dad's creation.
5. every now and then, he'll let the store wrap a gift. he always chooses the fanciest, most elegant wrap theme. stuff like foil and big, glossy bows. it is the diametric opposite of how he wraps his own gifts and i always look forward to it. it gives me a little insight into how my dear old dad ticks.
6. he avoids gift bags. not enough creativity, he says. and he's right. gift bags are easy, but they're not creative. you know that rule of thumb about what makes a good children's toy? the rule of thumb is, if 99% of the play is in the toy, it's a bad toy, whereas, if 99% of the play is in the kid, it's a good one. well, that's what my dad thinks about gift bags......99% of the creativity is in the bag, not in the bagger. actually, it's more like 100%.
7. my dad loves to hide his gifts in places that go along with what the gift is. the year i got my easy bake oven, he hid it in........what else.......the oven! only problem with that was, after cleaning up all the mess from opening up Christmas gifts, he still had an easy bake oven to assemble!
8. my dad, who has always loved trains, proposed to my mom on Christmas. he told her that he had intended to buy her an engagement ring but he ended up spending all of his money on a lionel train that he simply couldn't resist. was she mad? oh, yeah, baby........until she discovered a diamond in the coal car.  :)
9. if you think my dad is a good Christmas present wrapper, you should see how he decorates the tree.
10. which reminds me.......abby and eli's Christmas card this year says, "if you think our hands are full, you should see our hearts."

no, virginia, there is not a PTSD

post traumatic santa disorder, that is.

no, virginia. there isn't one.


wouldn't you think that after how many years of lying to your kids about the whole santa/north pole/reindeer/chimney thing, that once they find out it's a big lie, they'd freak out? but they don't.

in all my years of being a clinical social worker, i have never once - zip, nada - worked with a kid who was traumatized by finding out that santa isn't real. a kid calling another kid reindeer names can scar him for life, but finding out that the big man in red is really your dad who ducked out on december 24th to run to the corner drugstore to get you a bunch of fun junk to put in your stocking doesn't propel you into traumatized depression.

why not?

maybe it's because the experts who keep telling us that kids who watch too much t.v. (or at least, the wrong kind of t.v.) will turn out to be serial killers don't know what the hell they're talkin' about.

maybe it's because you can read a kid a fairy tale and despite what the library experts and the national organization for women say, the kid ends up recognizing that it's. a. fairy. tale. - not the God's honest truth.

maybe the reason kids' whole rest of their lives don't get flushed down the toilet once they find out there's no santa claus is because kids play pretend all. the. time. it's in their dna. just the other day, charlie and olivia turned my torso into a ski jump. yes. they. did. (ouch!)

maybe it's because they have an i.mag.in.a.tion.

imagine that.


whatever the reason, no kid on earth has ever run screaming to a therapist because he found out there's no santa claus. 

no, virginia, there is not a PTSD.

there's no PTCPD (post traumatic chia pet disorder), either. (although for the life of me, i can't figure out why not.)

Christmas gifts NOT on sale

for all of my life, i have searched for only Christmas gifts not on sale. it seemed rude to me to buy somebody something cheap. i avoided sale items like the plague.

i still do, but it's becoming very hard to do in this everything-is-on-sale-all-the-time world that we live in. which translates to nothing-is-on-sale-ever. (you do understand that, don't you?)

i walked into a store yesterday and asked the clerk if there was anything not on sale.

"excuse me?" she said.

"not on sale. got anything?" i asked.

"well..........."

"full price. no markdowns. got anything?"

"um..........."

"ok, how about this: how about you take the price of something i like and mark it up?"

she flatlined.



the woman who cuts my hair says she always leaves the price tags on the stuff she gives people cuz she wants them to know how damned much money she spends! she was remarking the other day about how tough it is to find price tags that appear expensive enough.

"i know what you mean, sista!" i exclaimed.

"good," she said. "then you won't mind when i tell you that the price of my haircuts has gone up."

stuff in my coffee? yes. but only at Christmas. really. i promise.

i take my coffee black. full throttle, no sissy stir-ins.

however........for the past few Christmases, i have developed a frightening habit........i drink it with cream. CREAM! and that's not all.......

i am becoming addicted. ad. dict. ed. (there. i said it.)

as with most addictions, i started small. one little drop of nestle's coffee-mate at a friend's Christmas party. two little drops at the next party. ten by Christmas Eve.

i am now up to "i'll have a little coffee with my cream, please." (there. i said it.)

yesterday, i ordered a peppermint mocha at starbucks (a place i usually avoid, but when you need a drink, you need a drink). i at least had the good sense to order the "skinny" version. i'm not that far gone.

but i'm on my way. i know the signs. a furtive glance to my left and my right before i snatch the caramel macchiato from the dairy case. telling the clerk at speedway that the "chocolate cupcake" (i am not making that up......go to a speedway and see for yourself!) cappuccino is "just a black coffee."

"accidentally" spilling half the bottle into the cup.


i have a good friend - linda. and linda likes to drink bailey's irish cream in her coffee. but. only. at. Christmas.


yeah, right, linda.

yeah. i'm on my soapbox again.

i have said this before and i have offended plenty of people before (which reveals much more about them than it does about me) but why in the world, if you are not a serious Christian, do you celebrate Christmas? doesn't that bother you?

it bothers me.

i do not celebrate hanukkah. i do not celebrate ramadan. i do not celebrate any religion's holidays except my own religion's holidays. where's the rocket science in that?

i would feel so, so..... so i don't know what if i knocked out haunukkah just so i could scoop up some delicious potato latkes and a gift for 8 nights in a row.

the fact that Christmas is such a dominant holiday in our culture is not a good justification for your decision to celebrate it if you don't believe it. or, more to the point,  if you don't practice it. like your mother used to say, "if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do that, too?"

in your defense, i can understand completely how you were raised and steeped in a Christmas-celebrating tradition and i can hardly fault you for how you were raised.

but i can fault you for now.

and i do.

in this i-am-offended-by-everything-everybody-does culture, let me add my offense to the heap:

i am offended that you cheapen my Lord with your $50 sweater from Gap.

which you have no intention whatsoever of wearing to church.

one big long hallway

there's an old elementary school in columbus that is just one big long hallway, period. it's the strangest thing i've ever seen, but i like it.

it's one big long hallway, with all of the classrooms off of it. the gym, the library, the music room, and the office are off of the one big long hallway, too. totally weird. usually there's at least one other hallway sticking out somewhere.

the other cool thing about this school is, along the back of the school, running the entire length (width?) of the building are woods. all of the rooms have lots and lots of windows (not true in modern buildings), and so the view from the rooms on that side of the hallway is stunning. especially at this time of year when all the trees are bare. i love bare trees. not that i don't like trees with leaves, cuz i do so don't accuse me of being prejudiced against trees.

even the view from the rooms on the other side of the hallway is pretty good because the genius who designed this building put interior windows on both sides of the hallway, which means that you can look from one classroom across the hall into the other and from there, out the window. and so, you can see the woods no matter where you are! genius!

walking from one end of this building to the other takes about 3 minutes, which is probably a design flaw right there, except not in the kids' minds. the kids love being able to stretch a thirty second walk to the office to 3 minutes and not get into trouble for it.

the additional benefit to a school being designed like this is the automatic, built-in exercise that it provides. the solution to obese kids in america is one big long hallway.

provided, of course, they can stop looking at the woods long enough to walk it.

stupid purses with two straps!

there is no reason for purses and bags to have two straps. except for maybe if you break one, then you still have one left, but if you go around with a one-strap-broken purse, i feel sorry for you.

i hate two-strapped purses but it is practically impossible to find them with just one. i say, gimme one strap and knock 5 bucks off the price of the purse!

two straps are forever getting tangled up in something. usually, my hands. i hate two-strapped purses.

my brother bought me a coach purse one year for Christmas.....when we were just kids.....i mean, maybe he was in college, but still. where on earth did he get the money to buy me a coach purse? i loved that purse - for many reasons - but mostly because, you guessed it, it only had one strap. what's weird is, you gotta pay the prices that coach wants you to pay in order to get only one strap.

there's something wrong with the world.

anyway.......

if you're out and about and you happen to see a purse that only has one strap, do yourself a favor and buy it.

better yet, do me a favor and buy it.

it is Christmas, you know.

:)

catholics are weird

catholics are weird. here's proof:

• i can't understand the layout of the missal. granted, i'm a convert, but it's been 21 years since i converted and you'd think by now i would understand the layout of the missal but i don't. this does not make me weird, it makes catholics weird.
• they can't do potlucks worth a damn. last night is a prime example.....i went to a potluck at my church sponsored by the k of c. ok, so right off the bat, right, you figure there's gonna be food. and beer. well, negatory to the latter and not much more than negatory to the former......would you believe that i was practically the only one who brought food????? the k of c cooked a ham and some macaroni and those cheesy church potatoes that're mandatory at every church's potluck - even at weird catholic potlucks. they also had a thingie-do of corn (looked to me like they opened the cans and dumped out the corn, period). somebody brought a salad and somebody brought, i kid you not, half a container of what looked like leftover ham salad. catholics are weird.
• father lutz ate his macaroni and cheese out of a paper cup. wt?
• i sat at a table with three women and one man in a wheelchair. i didn't know any of them, but that was the whole point of my being there - to meet people. (well, that and eat. but as we have already established, eating isn't top on the list at a catholic potluck.)
• ok, so i sat at a table with three women and one man in a wheelchair and it was bizarre. those four folks took "catholics are weird" and ran with it!
• one of the women was named "r." or maybe it was "are." or maybe "rrrr." either way, it was easy to (r)emember. the other lady was "t." i kid you not! when t introduced herself, right after r did, i about fell outa my chair, which, by the way, was wobbly. not that there was anything surprising about that.
• so, ok, we've got r and we've got t and that's not even the best part......the third woman was half-toothless and she grinned an insipid grin the whole night. she just grinned! never said a word! and, as if that wasn't bad enough, get this.......her name was "boots." boots! what the hell is wrong with these people????? i mean, right????
• but the icing on the cake - practically literally - was the man in the wheelchair. the man in the wheelchair is married to r and that's a damned shame because let. me. tell. you........he was so gorgeous i about died.
• now, i don't mean to be insensitive or unkind or anything lawsuit-worthy like that, but this guy was gorgeous and...... how often do you see gorgeous people in a wheelchair? i mean, think about it.......you just don't. i don't know why that is, but it's true. i mean, isn't it? for some God-only-knows-why reason, people in wheelchairs are usually not all that attractive. i mean, can we talk?
• anyway, mr. cross-between-robert-goulet-and-brad-pitt was thee most normal (which, grasp the irony in that, right?) person in the whole place last night. he had a normal name - mark - and he had all his teeth. he spoke to me in a reasonable tone of voice and he asked me reasonable questions. like, how long have you been attending holy family, nancy and what do you do for a living. nor. mal.
• he must be a convert, too.

how they do it

since abby and eli don't seem to be writing the book, i guess i will. well, the blog - i'll write the blog:

those two, as i have said before, are amazing. once you see them in action with twins and triplets, you need never again doubt the existence of God. if His hand isn't in the middle of all this, i don't know whose is.

examples:

• they turn down the covers for the twins prior to nap and prior to bedtime. they light a little light and close the curtains/blinds so that when the twins walk into their rooms, it is a cozy oasis just begging for someone to snuggle into and fall asleep. if you can walk into those rooms and stay awake, there's something wrong with you. and melatonin's probably not gonna fix it.
• everything is laid out where it's supposed to be. not where it's not supposed to be.......where it's supposed to be.
• the house is lovingly and beautifully decorated for Christmas.
• the twins' playroom has switched over from thanksgiving to Christmas and the books and play materials reflect that.
• charlie had an accident the other day - the bad kind - and his dad helped him clean up. nothing too surprising about that, but dad also sang a boisterous, funny, making-it-up-as-he-went-along song about "never gonna have a b.m. in my pants again, old chum!"
• each day, there is another Christmas surprise tucked somewhere in the house for the twins to find. a couple of days ago, it was a box of tiny candy canes, hidden in their play kitchen. no sense waiting for Christmas Day to have a glow in your eyes!
• abby and eli keep track of the results of every diaper change and every feeding in a notebook especially for that purpose. it's good info to have in case somebody ends up not feeling well or to tell the pediatrician. not to mention it helps mom and dad remember who had how much on which feeding.
• despite having two and a half month-old triplets, today is the birthday party for the twins, who will turn 3 on the 12th. everyone's piling into the van to go to "the little gym at polaris" for some frolicking good times. does it matter that they will have to lug food and cake and diaper bags and more diaper bags and more diaper bags? no, it does not. what matters is, it's the twins' birthday party, for pete's sake, and why should anything stand in the way of that?

and that, right there, is pretty much the secret, i think, of how abby and eli manage this zoo of theirs with such aplomb......why should anything stand in the way of it?

nothing does.

and nothing ever will.

because something stands in the middle of it.

well, someone.


i'll let you figure out who.

MICHElon!

have you heard that stupid ad for michelin tires where the guy keeps saying, "MICHElon!"? it drives me crazy.

however, michelin tires do not drive me crazy. they drive me straight. they drive me safe. they drive me good.

they do all those things even better when i have 4 new ones that i didn't have to buy.......my wonderful parents sprung for them for me.

yay, PARents!

sad

i don't know why, but i am having the hardest time that i have had since per left. i know the holidays probably have something to do with it, but that's not the major part of the explanation. on the other hand, maybe it is, because i don't know what the major part of the explanation is.

i have lost joy. it's that simple. i have lost joy. there isn't anything that sounds good to me. even writing has become a struggle whereas in the past, i couldn't get enough of it. not only that, but the words don't flow as easily as they used to do. i don't know what to say. except that i'm sad.

i have fallen into some bad habits - not dangerous ones, mind you - but depression is a slippery slope and who knows where my bad habits might take me if i don't snap out of it.

one of the bad habits is what i eat. with very few exceptions, since per left (january 2010) i have not cooked anything for dinner other than string pasta with a rotating 5 or 6 different sauces. i know that might not sound so bad - and it certainly could be worse - but it's not normal. it's not normal to eat spaghetti practically every single night for dinner for almost 2 years. it's just not.

i also don't sleep in my bed anymore. i sleep on the couch. i've been doing that for about 3 or 4 months now - and i don't know why. it's not that sleeping in "our" bed stirs up unpleasant feelings, because it doesn't. it truly doesn't. to tell you the truth, i wish it did stir up unpleasant feelings - because then, at least, i'd know why i'm not sleeping there! as it is, i fear that my choice to sleep on the couch is symptomatic of something deeper.......a giving up, if you will. a "so what," so to speak.

not that i am giving up. don't panic.........i'm not. i have too much faith in the Lord and what He has planned for me in the next life to do something stupid like giving up believing that the best is yet to come. i may have run out of joy, but i haven't run out of hope.

but, i'm concerned about myself. i'm starting to feel a little like miss havisham from charles dickens' novel, "great expectations." (sorry, i don't know how to underline on here.) as you might remember, miss havisham got dumped at the altar and she essentially stopped living at that moment. she never took her wedding dress off, she stopped all the clocks in the house, and she started to decay. i feel a little like that.

but i won't decay. don't panic........i won't. i have too much loathing for satan to let him destroy me.

i probably should have my Christmas tree up by now - and last year at this time, i did - but this year, i don't. i don't know why it's harder to decorate this year than last. i truly don't. it's a mystery to me why i am getting worse, not better.

i haven't even done the simplest thing - like taking down the autumn wreath or removing the pumpkins. ordinarily, they would be long gone before i return to work on the monday after thanksgiving, but it's not lookin' good for the home team at this point. i've been telling myself that the reason i still have the autumn things up and none of the Christmas stuff out is because i am starting a new tradition......i am waiting till december 1st to decorate.

but i don't believe that even myself.

i have avoided listening to Christmas music - something i usually chomp at the bit about.

my house is getting dusty. i don't care.


on the flip side, i am still doing the laundry for abby and eli and their big family. i am still going to work. i am still tending to the cats and the dog. i still get the mail and i still pay my bills. i still watch the small amount of television that i usually watch. i watched the ohio state game yesterday. i am not totally gone.

i am under a doctor's care and i have become an american.......i'm on prozac!

but i am sad in a profound way that i have never before in my life been. i guess you could say i am lucky.

and the irony of all of this is, i feel grateful to have the privilege of carrying this cross.  because carrying this cross has opened my eyes and my heart and my soul to what really matters in this life - the next one.

i am eager to get to the next one.


which is why i am not going to do anything to hasten its arrival.

how the halloween grinch stole thanksgiving

it was easy, really. all he had to do was get rid of the center, which would have held everything together, and boom.....thanksgiving was stolen.



first, the halloween grinch made sure that halloween got top billing over thanksgiving. he made sure that people plan halloween parties in excrutiating detail. he made sure that costumes are an enormously big deal. he made sure that haunted houses are open for an entire month and corn mazes even longer. he made sure that the stores and the aisles were filled with so much candy that they practically smack you in the face the minute you walk in.

then, he made sure that sitting around the table on thanksgiving lasted only a coupla hours (and then we're on our way to the real enchilada - black friday!). he told the stores to get rid of the halloween stuff and put out the Christmas stuff. he told them to squeeze a few orange and brown cocktail napkins next to a couple of ceramic turkeys - in a token nod to thanksgiving - and call it a (thanksgiving) day.

he told them to decorate the store in red and green, not orange and brown. he told them to pipe in Christmas music because research shows that people spend more money if they pipe in Christmas music.

he told them to feature turkeys, of course, in the meat aisle, but he asked them to be sure to have a lot of holly and mistletoe decorations around the turkeys, not a lot of pilgrims and indians. as a matter of fact, don't have any pilgrims and indians, just holly and mistletoe. there.......that's better.

he told them to open their stores on thanksgiving, and they did. he told them that they'd make a whole lot more money that way, and wow, that sure sounded good! that sounded even better than the roast turkey sounded!

then, he told everybody else - all the mommys and all the daddys and all the aunts and all the uncles and all the grandparents and even all the children that getting in line at midnight is a whole lotta fun - because if you do, you can get a whole lotta stuff - and they believed him, so they got in line.

somewhere in all of there, he told them it was ok to eat their thanksgiving dinner, but don't forget to nap and don't forget to watch football! and, oh! don't forget to say what you're thankful for. that's important, too. (but don't get bogged down thinkin' you have to thank God. you can thank anybody. whatever floats your (gravy) boat.)




the families that i work with in my job have many things in common but the main thing that they have in common is actually something that they don't have and the something that they don't have is the thing that produces all the other (dysfunctional) things that they have in common.............they don't have a center.

just like the grinch who decided that hey, if he wanted to make halloween more important than thanksgiving and spending money more important than Christmas, then heck, this is a free country, he can do whatever he wants. and families decided that hey, they can do whatever they want. and they don't need some stupid "center" to hold them together.

families can do whatever they want. if they wanna have two mommys, they can have two mommys. if they wanna have two daddys, they can have two daddys. a mommy and a boyfriend? sure! a mommy and a boyfriend and then another boyfriend and then another? - sure, as long as it makes her happy.

kids who raise themselves because their mommys/mommys and their daddys/daddys and their mommy's/daddy's/boyfriends/girlfriends are too busy to raise them themselves? sure.........as long as it makes 'em happy!

going to church? nope. not if it doesn't make you happy!

having structure and organization and dependability and tradition and things you can count on in good times and bad? and an actual bed time? nope. not if it doesn't make you happy!



one of the greatest and most destructive lies that our secular/relativistic culture has bought into - hook, line, and sinker - is that nothing matters unless the individual says it matters. and if the individual says you can build a home outa whatever you wanna build a home out of - as long as it makes you happy - then you can build a home out of whatever you wanna build a home out of .

hell, even the 3 little pigs figured that one out.



if only the halloween grinch - i mean, grinches - who stole thanksgiving would figure it out, too.

food DOES equal love

not because the italians said so. and not because your grandmother from appalachia said so. and certainly not because my mom said so.

my mom thinks food equals bad. the less of it, the better. in her opinion.

you know how when company comes over and so you usually cook more rather than less? well, my mom cooks less. my mom's theory is, everybody's fat, so why make 'em fatter.

my mom watches her weight like most people watch t.v. in other words, constantly. if she goes up as much as half a pound, boom, she's on a "diet." she is thee most food-disciplined person i know. not to mention insane.

neither my brother nor i totally escaped food-relationship insanity. i mean, what chance did we have, right? but given the pauper's example of a proper serving of food which our mother gave us, i think he and i turned out pretty well, all things considered.


despite the fact that i grew up being shown that food equals bad, i have come to understand that nothing could be further from the truth. and not because the italians said so. and not because your grandma from appalachia said so.

but because Christ said so. i mean, basically, right?

Christ used bread - his body - to exemplify the penultimate in love. he used wine - his blood -  to do the same thing. food equals love.


happy thanksgiving, everyone.

those who can, do. those who can't, teach. those who can't teach work at the butterball hotline.

it's a turkey, people. you're supposed to be smarter than it is.


all the hoopla - every year, without fail - over how to cook a turkey is explanation enough why there's no peace in the middle east and why our national debt is in the trillions (and climbing). if we can't even cook dinner, it's hopeless.

cooking a turkey is not the rocket science that everybody seems to think it is. basically what you need is a turkey and an oven.

you can argue all day, if it makes you happy, over whether to baste or not. whether to brine or not. whether to stuff, whether to unstuff. cover with foil/don't cover with foil. fresh herbs, dried herbs, no herbs. (speaking of no herbs, i had a great-uncle once named herb. well, herbert, to be exact. nobody in my family could agree on which herbs, if any, to rub under (over?) the skin of the turkey, but we sure could agree on this - don't invite uncle herb(ert) to dinner.)

what kind of salt  - regular, kosher, or sea - is one of the newer entries into the GREAT TURKEY DEBATE. olive oil vs. butter is also gaining some attention.

once the turkey is done, the science is far from over. now you gotta figure out when to carve it........immediately, 5 minutes from now, 10 minutes from now, 30 minutes from now, or never. norman rockwell was a fan of the latter.


i threw a naked turkey into the oven one year with my eyes still closed from sleep. i remembered to put it in a pan, but that was all i remembered to do. several hours later, it smelled like heaven in here. coupla hours after that and it tasted like it, too. (i thought about calling the butterball people and rubbing it in their faces, but rub them with what - salt? herbs? dried?..... )

please tell me you're not a black friday fanatic

what they really should call it is "black and blue friday." not because people sometimes end up with bruises on their arms as they fight their way through the crowds (though that, too) but because their souls are bruised. their souls are bruised by the idea that money matters.

oh, sure, money matters. but it doesn't matter more than staying at home with your family, where you belong.

it doesn't matter more than allowing other people to stay home with their families, where they belong.


if you are a black friday fanatic, you have probably mapped out your mission. you have probably studied the ads -  ad nauesum -  and you probably know where you're going first and where you're going second and where you're going third. you probably feel pretty proud of yourself for being so organized and so thrifty. after all, you're not doing it for yourself - you're doing it for your family.


i remember when the day after thanksgiving wasn't known as "black friday." somehow, our parents managed to put food on the table even though they didn't break the door down with "bargains."

they still managed to pay the light bill and the phone bill and the gas bill.

on the day after thanksgiving, we took a walk or played cards or went outside and hung lights.

mom wasn't dead tired.

dad wasn't dead tired.


funny.

there was stuff under the tree.

no, i don't cut fat and calories on thanksgiving.

i do that all year. i'm not gonna do it on thanksgiving.

i have watched my weight ever since 5th grade. yes, ever since 5th grade. that's an insane amount of watching. i'm not gonna do it on thanksgiving.

on thanksgiving, to tell you the whole truth, i am not only not gonna cut fat and calories, i'm gonna add them. i am gonna go the whole milk, real butter, and full-blown fat content cream cheese route. i'm gonna put regular cool whip on my pumpkin pie - and i'm gonna have two slices - maybe three. so sue me.

i am going to eat the dark meat and i am going to drench it in gravy.

rolls? HA! i am not only gonna do rolls, i am gonna do cinnamon rolls - with icing! and i'm gonna chase 'em with a pumpkin roll!

i will put stuffing on top of my mashed potatoes and i will not drizzle gravy over all of it - i will dump gravy over all of it. and then i'll have seconds.

by the time i'm done with the corn pudding and the green bean casserole and the sweet potatoes that are laden with brown sugar and pecans, i will be ready to go back for thirds.

and fourths.

and fifths.

in honor of fifth grade.

you should be a writer

people are always telling me that i should be a writer and they tell me this after they've just read something i wrote.



people don't really mean that i should be a writer. what people really mean is that i should make money being a writer. i don't wanna make money being a writer.

do you wanna make money riding your bike? or walking in the woods? do you wanna make money baking cookies with your grandchildren on a rainy afternoon? what about learning a foreign language? you wanna make money doing that?

writing (i think it's writing!) relaxes me. it helps me unwind. de-stress. when was the last time punching a time clock de-stressed you?

besides. don't forget about the time-honored value that writing has of allowing one to "express yourself." if i ever start "expressing" myself by throwing my money around, please. by all means - shoot me.

not that i think that money is evil. it's just that we all need far less of it than we think we do. as long as you've got something to eat and something to wear and a soft place to put your head at night, you've got all the money in the world.

besides.

i can't use money to say that i love you.

this is what coping looks like.

of all the questions i get asked as a counselor, probably the most common one revolves around how to cope better, with the assumption being that if a person copes better, he'll feel better.

people think if you're crying, you're not coping. or at least not coping as well as when you're not crying.

they think if you're coping, you'll go out and have fun.

you'll wanna put up the Christmas tree and if you don't, well, surely by this time next year you'll wanna put it up.

coping and feeling good aren't as related as everyone thinks. a swimmer who is trying not to drown will probably thrash around in the water in an effort to cope. but he probably won't feel good.

God doesn't talk much about feeling good but He talks plenty about how to cope. Christ showed us how to cope - carry. your. cross. even if you do have blood dripping down into your eyes.

pop psychology tells us that we shouldn't carry our crosses even if we do have blood dripping down into our eyes. especially if we have blood dripping down into our eyes. pop psychology tells us we should cover our crosses in comfy 100% natural cotton grown on some green farm somewhere. we should add some padding to the cross. medicate it. rub a little mentholatum on it. better yet, throw it on the ground and get somebody else to carry it. after all, it's their fault anyway that we even have this stupid cross to carry in the first place.


Christ carried His cross so that in carrying ours, we would not be doing so in vain.


i call keeping that in mind the real kind of coping.


the real kind of feeling better, too.

schools couldn't function without the drinking fountain

kids like recess and kids like lunch and kids like gym but none of 'em like any of those things better than they like the drinking fountain. schools couldn't function without the drinking fountain.

drinking fountains, in general, are not all that enticing. if you're at the food court in the mall and you have a choice between the free drinking fountain and buying a bottle of water, you'll buy the bottle of water every time. and if you don't, there's something wrong with you.

drinking fountains in churches are almost always terrible. the water isn't cold and it comes out of the thingamajig too low. you practically gotta make out with it to get anything out of it.

drinking fountains at target or kohl's or bed, bath, and beyond are, well, beyond awful. they're always right by the bathrooms! who wants that?

but drinking fountains in schools? ahhhh........that's a whole 'nother story. drinking fountains in schools are a school kid's dream come true.

drinking fountains in school are your ticket outa here. "can i please get a drink" is every school kid's favorite question. it even beats "can i please go to the restroom" because if you ask if you can go to the restroom, everybody knows your business. but if you ask if you can get a drink, who cares. the end result is the same - you get out of the room - but you still have your dignity intact.

walking down the hall on your way to the drinking fountain is probably thee best walk you will ever in your whole life take. you can go as slow as you like and you can peek into all the other classrooms on your way. if you see someone you know in one of the rooms, you can get his attention and make goofy faces at him. and then he gets in trouble for laughing. and by the time the teacher comes out in the hall to see who was out there making the kid laugh, you're long gone. it's the perfect crime.

as you turn the corner and eye the drinking fountain, you slow your pace even further. you don't wanna hurry a good thing. you wanna stretch this out as long as possible. and besides, you aren't thirsty anyway.

but alas, as slow as you go, ultimately, you gotta face the music. you gotta catch up with the drinking fountain and you gotta get your drink.

but before you do, you look both ways. the hall is empty.

you turn the drinking fountain into a spittoon.

and then you sneak into the bathroom.



you return to your classroom, dignity intact.



ahhhhh........the glorious, wonderful school drinking fountain.  :)

why we shouldn't care WHEN you put your Christmas tree up

what's practically as traditional as Christmas decorations themselves is griping about people who put theirs up "too early."

"too early," in most people's definition is before thanksgiving. if you string your lights before you carve the bird, most of us would like to shoot/eat you and not the bird.

how.ever............why? why the hell should it matter to me when you put up your own damned Christmas tree? if i don't want the federal government telling me what kind of insurance i have to get, why in tarnation do i think you want me telling you when it's ok to put santa on the roof?

besides, why isn't it actually better to put your wreath on your door before all your crummy relatives barge through it to wolf down the thanksgiving dinner you've spent all day making? (and besides, all they did was stop by kroger and bring you a lousy package of cookies!)

why isn't it better to celebrate longer?

why should when you celebrate have one iota to do with when i celebrate?



well, one thing's for sure.......this year, i pledge to be tolerant of those who put up their happy Christmas decorations whenever they damned well please.

and i pledge to stop being scrooge. and enjoy them.

after all.......if the worst this world can do is herald the coming of the Savior of our rotten, sinful souls for two months instead of just one, then, well.....

where's my hammer?

the thanksgiving book

granted, abby is trained as an early childhood educator, but still. it kills me what a great mother she is.

yesterday, when i dropped off the laundry, i noticed that the playroom had a book about thanksgiving displayed in an artful and accessible way. when i was a young mom, i displayed abby's thanksgiving book(s) in an artful and accessible way, too. they were thrown on the floor.

but, no. abby had the book on the toy shelf, above the section of the toy shelf where the rest of the books go. in other words, kind of like how they display books at the library. only this wasn't the library. this was their home. the home with 2 toddler twins and 2-month old triplets in it, don't forget.

the rest of the play area was organized and "theme-friendly." that's my term, not hers, but suffice it to say that the whole thing coordinated. the theme is thanksgiving and the play materials reflect that.

when i was a young mom, my "theme" was thanksgiving, too, and abby's play materials reflected that - she had mashed potatoes on her dollies and stuffing on her stuffed animals. (come to think of it, having stuffing on her stuffed animals is theme-friendly!)

as i walked from the playroom to the family room, i saw the triplets on their backs, on their "play mats," and they were developmentally appropriately swatting at the little toys that dangled over their heads. they were dressed in coordinating outfits and all was right with the world.

well, not really. they weren't dressed like pilgrims. and the toys they swatted at weren't turkeys.

bad mother, abby. baaaaaad mother.

penn state is not as uncommon as you think.

everyone is, rightfully so, outraged by the penn state scandal.

everyone, wrongfully so, thinks that penn state is the exception.


penn state is not the exception. most people cover up sexual abuse. trust me, i know. i work with sexually abused children. i know. trust me.

parents routinely disbelieve their children when their children tell them that they have been sexually abused, especially if the abuse is committed by a friend or a relative, which it usually is.

relatives deny it.

teachers waffle.

courts disbelieve.

blah, blah, blah.


the number one factor that determines the extent to which a child is likely to have a successful recovery from sexual abuse is whether or not he or she was believed when he or she disclosed (the abuse). and the number one task that the clinicians who work with these children have is to get through to the adults that yes, you morons, yes........the abuse happened.

people look the other way all. the. time. and yes. they look the other way in 2011 just as they did in 1911.

do not fool yourselves.

do not believe everyone who self-righteously says that they wouldn't sweep sexual abuse under the carpet.

believe me. there are a whole lot of brooms out there.

the only flaw in the plan is you don't wanna do it.

apart from natural disasters and illness, there is not a single human problem that cannot be prevented or solved by following the 10 commandments. and even natural disasters and illness can be made better by following them.

but nobody wants to follow the 10 commandments.

nobody wants to follow them, but nobody has a better plan. nobody has come up with a better plan for successful living than the 10 commandments, but damned if we don't keep trying.


and yes. the label that i am filing this post under is "things that make no sense."

if you're lucky, this will happen to you.

(my son-in-law, eli bowman, wrote this. about himself. about all of us....... if we're lucky.)


Here's the truth about your health. It can be taken away from you before you even know it. You can be doing all kinds of things right and all kinds of things wrong, but somewhere down the line you are likely to get some kind of curveball. That curveball may vary in severity, but it catches you off guard just the same. I got a curveball today, AND an MRI. 3 bulging discs pressing on nerves and 2 degenerative discs to go along with arthritis in my spine. I can't pick up my babies on my own, my already exhausted wife is working twice as hard now while I'm home to make up for some of the things I can't do and won't be able to do for awhile, and I can't play around with the twins the same way as before. There are lots of things I just "can't" do anymore. I ultimately have two options. The first would be to feel sorry for myself and to bring that self-pity into my physical therapy sessions where it would lessen the effectiveness of the treatment. Then I could go home and bring that depression into my home and burden my family with it. This would make the next several months terrible for anyone I loved and cared about. They would have to watch me suffer through painful therapy while defeated emotionally because I'm thinking that my youth has just left the building. I could do that to them and myself. I could choose to be a shell of a man for 7-12 months...or I could take option two, which is to put on the armor, apply the war paint, yell for someone to beat the drum, and march head on into this thing while looking it straight in the face and yelling "You and I both know that I am going to beat you!". So I choose to be the one who gains the upper hand. I choose to take my health seriously, and forsake the habits that only lead to less years with my grandchildren. I choose to listen to all the doctors and do EXACTLY as they say, to the letter, without shortcuts, even if alone. I choose to wear my back brace at work, because it means that I care more about being around for my family than I do about what Jane Doe in Underwriting thinks about the way it looks. I choose to play with my kids, even if it means standing up or sitting down in a chair instead of rolling around on the floor. I choose to be as helpful as possible to my sweet wife, even if that means she has to hand me a baby while I'm standing by the changing table so I can change a diaper JUST to hand them back to Mommy so she can lay them to bed. I choose to have a healthy back again. So let's draw out our war plans, Docs, and rally the troops. Tell them it will be a painful battle that will last for months or possibly even years. Tell them that they're fighting for the greatest cause one can fight for...love. Give them the war paint...now give it to me...and let's go win my back...back!

scentsy has synesthesia

scentsy, for those of you who don't know, is a wickless candle company thingamajig.

i attended an in-home scentsy party yesterday and i came away with 4 things. well, 5:

1. a purchase (Christmas is coming, so no details allowed)
2. too much (delicious) food
3. wonderful friends!
4. the discovery that somebody at the scentsy company has synesthesia and, ok, so shoot me......
5. too much wine

#5 will not be the subject of today's post.

but, #4 will be.


synesthesia, for those of you who don't know, is basically when the senses get all fouled up. and so, what happens is, people who have synesthesia (i do) can smell sounds or taste sounds or hear numbers or feel colors or crazy stuff like that. without LSD!

so, yesterday, i discovered that somebody - or maybe more than one somebody - at the scentsy company has synesthesia because, get a load of some of these fragrances:

silver bells

lucky in love

my dear watson

be still

just breathe

echo

flutter

love story

whiteout

eskimo kiss


i don't know about you, but truly? off the top of my head? and even off the bottom of my head? i never knew that "whiteout" had a smell. i mean, i knew that the stuff in the little bottle to cover up mistakes has a smell, but that's not what scentsy's "whiteout" smells like. what scentsy's "whiteout" smells like, is, well.......nothin. and that's what it smells like to someone (me) who has synesthesia! imagine what it must smell like to those of you (most of you) who don't! i guess it must smell like double (or) nothin! or somethin.

i didn't smell "eskimo kiss" or "just breathe" cuz i wasn't sure if the scentsy people had brushed their teeth before making those fragrances. (the scentsy people don't disclose stuff like that.)

anyway........so, now you know........

"echo" and "flutter" smell like something.

which just goes to prove that somebody at scentsy has synesthesia.


or maybe just good (business) sense.