… she's not coming down 'til it all makes sense again…

1 Comment

Moment of Zen


My Timex 1440, Year 2, in the pool, outta the pool, sweating at the gym, crashing into the side of the washer and dryer as I pull clothes, smashing into fence posts, bashed with the shovel, scraping against the briars and the brambles, in the shower, in the sun, in the rain, hail, sleet, nothing fazes this watch yet, go, go, go… I kinda like this silly, cheap, funky, simple little watch, and I probably kinda identify with it a little, truth be told.. I think I am my watch… tic tic tic…

I have to hand my watch over to Zack though, when it’s daylight savings day, or I want and errant 4:45am alarm BLOWN UP… He knows how to press all those little buttons and in the right sequence… I can’t even read parts of my watch without my glasses anymore. It’s very sad. I’d really like to just sit down with him for a couple minutes, and actually concentrate and try to learn how to use all the features, now that I think about it… I love timers and alarms, they keep me motivated… I use the stovetop and microwave timers every day just about, to get things done that maybe I don’t much feel like doing… play Beat the Clock cleaning the bathrooms, or pulling that stinky filter from the washing machine…

Anyways, so he was removing that pesky 4:45am alarm a few weeks ago, and he must’ve accidently programmed an hourly little chime instead. Which at first was annoying. BEEP. another hour… BEEP… another hour BEEP… But then I remembered a little Zen kinda thingie I used to have on my computer.. a quiet chime that marked the hour, and reminded me to get my butt off the computer and smell the roses and stuff… at the time I needed that little reminder…

You can also use it to time your meditation: Me, I don’t need that much any more, I’ve been using guided meditations on the mp3.., but still, a neat little tool.

But this hourly little chime on my wrist, I’ve gotten used to it, started to sorta use it to have a little moment of zen… stop and do a 360,  look around and see who and what’s around me that maybe I hadn’t noticed… or just take a breath… take stock of what I’m doing, what I’m spending my time on, my energy, my life… Because it is an exchange, we’re constantly trading our time on this earth for… what? things? pursuits? ruminations? regrets? dumb sh*t? cool sh*t? awesome sh*t? time with our kids? laughter? these are the things I’m learning to pay attention to… How am I spending my time, my life energy…

this morning when the chime went off at 7am, I was on the computer researching lilies and tulips and daffodils

at 8am, I was tossing a ball of yarn back and forth across the livingroom with Zack, Cassie was laughing at my lousy aim, Poppy had put her squeaky rubber bone on my chair so I would throw it, but I didn’t see it

at 9am, my husband was at the table, his hair all askew, drinking coffee, talking about work, which makes me sleep with my eyes open and glazed over

stopping and smellin the roses… oh boy…

Leave a comment >


Don’t tell my son I posted this, but we worked all day together on his 27 amendments poster board project for Civics, literally ALL DAY, we laughed, we cried, we argued, we compromised (he wouldn’t use the Snoopy and Woodstock stickers I wanted to stick on to give it another “layer”, he said he would get his butt kicked for snoopy stickers, but he finally, finally agreed to yellow cardstock “frames” around each picture… and we almost had to THROW DOWN over how to illustrate the distinction between the 6th and 7th Amendments). But about 6 hours into the project, I was walking by and he grabbed me and hugged me, a real hug, with no prompting or begging, and he said, thanks mom… I had to play it REAL COOL, and just say, you’re welcome son.. while inside, my heart almost exploded.  And then he brought me a tiny scrap of paper from the pile of cuttings, and he said, here, this is so you can remember this day forever. And then he laughed, as if to say, just kidding…  but I know there was actually a little truth underneath that. I know he noticed, and I know he thought about remembering…


the hoodie incident

I will tell you a story, but I will not do this justice. Because the Boy has to tell it. When the boy tells it, you will laugh so hard your head will hurt, which will cause you to cry… and he will just keep saying more stuff and adding to it, until you can’t breathe, and you will wish you could bring this scary, out of control laughter/hysteria feeling to everyone, because it is so freeing and head-clearing…

The premise of the story is so ridiculous as to not be believed. My son is a very intelligent individual, you will have to trust me on this one. I can show you his GPA if that’s what it takes…

he was in 3rd or 4th grade. his bus was always the last bus to come in the afternoon, and so, he had some time to kill, sitting on the bleachers in the gym… waiting, waiting, ever waiting…

he looks around for something to do.. he looks up, he looks down… the first thing he sees is the sleeve of his hoodie, he’s not wearing the hoodie, so there’s the sleeve, flopping around, not bothering anyone…

He picks up the sleeve and starts absentmindedly chewing on the wrist… chew chew chew… the sleeve’s getting wet, he starts to stuff it into his mouth… which caused him to think, hmmmm… I wonder… how much of this hoodie sleeve.. can I fit… into my mouth…. chew chew chew, stuff, stuff, stuff… so he stuffs hoodie sleeve into his mouth until it starts going down his throat, and he’s gagging and drooling and stuffing and chewing HIS OWN SLEEVE, until he gags himself completely, and empties the contents of his stomach up and out and all over his shirtfront. Which he then has to blot up with his hoodie, which he then jams into his backpack, brings it home, and probably sneaks it surreptitiously into the laundry pile, for me to stumble upon later…

Looking back, I honestly can’t remember finding that particular mess, but there were so many messes… so many, many messes…

and he tells me the story three years after the fact, he acts it out for me, the stuffing, the gagging, the wadding up of the hoodie… and I laugh and I laugh…


Chicken and Scrabble


Yesterday, this happened: 










Birthday Brownie

The Mancub turned 14, asked for no party, asked for no science center, no cosmic bowling, no park, no skating… nothing. He wanted to play wiffle ball with his dad, eat chicken strips, and play scrabble. A Chicken and Scrabble Birthday. I should write it up for Family Fun Magazine. Brownies by Ghirardelli, because why ever make anything else… he decorated himself. He hid under the table until we quit singing..








stop singing

That ketchup plate is lovely.




Making a wish

Scrabble was fun, Mum made filthy words and everyone was properly horrified…  He played Wiffle ball and football with his dad several times throughout the day, they got muddy, and carried mud and leaves into the house, and I hardly yelled at all, just sorta grumbled..  So then, since we were on such a roll and in such a great position, we  watched Nanny 911 together and judged other families. 





Costume That’s Not A Costume, or, Tales of a Contrare

Ohhhh boy, The Day has come. The Day When Man-cub decides that he is too old for costumes, but still wants to go trick-r-treating with his frenz… What’s a Momz to do… 

He says, I don’t wanna be a ZOMBIE, and I don’t wanna be ANYTHING from Star Wars, and I don’t wanna be a bum, a robber, a scarecrow, I don’t wanna wear a wig or a mustache or any foreign substance in my hair… 

He says, I want to go as a… um… his eyes dart furtively around the room… I want to go as a PILLOW!! Yeah!  And I wanna wear a pillow case over my head and I am a PILLOW!! 

I could analyze that one, but I lack certification… 

Oh yeah, son, are you sure you don’t want to be a… eyes dart furtively around the room… a SHOE, or a LAMP?  

He says, Mum, don’t be ridiculous.

Then he says, and he doesn’t even get the irony of what he’s saying, he says, I want to go as the TINMAN!!! And I say, SON, do you realize how much of a COSTUME that is, and how much STUFF you have to wear ALL OVER YOUR BODY AND YOUR PRECIOUS UNTOUCHABLE HEAD?! (Meanwhile, I’m thinking, last thing I want to do is spend my entire day constructing some embarrassing monstrosity of cardboard and silver spray paint…) And I say, SON, your friends will leave you in the DUST, as you try to keep up, wearing 58 lbs of clunky boxy costume…

At this point he gets mad at ME. Like I INVENTED the adolescent awkward stage?!  

So I get up early this morning and spend an hour on the innernetz, looking for this magical, unexplainable and elusive Costume-That-Is-Not-A-Costume. This is the best I can come up with, but it will require spiking glue in his precious hair: 








Think I can sell it to him? I gotta act like it’s a stoopid idea, I really gotta hone up on the ol’ reverse psychology skillz… Because the boy is a CONTRARE, is why…

“You see, Younger Bear

had become a contrary,…

 …the most dangerous

of all Cheyenne warriors…

 …because the way they live

drives them half-crazy.

 Except for battle, a contrary

does everything backwards.

 He says “goodbye” for “hello”,

“yes” for “no”,…

 …walks through bushes

instead of on trails,…

 …and washes with dirt

and dries with water.” ~~~ Quote from Little Big Man, Screenplay by Calder Willingham* my personal all-time forever-ever favorite writer…But don’t tell William Styron…

I don’t know what we’ll end up doing, but I do know it will involve a mad scramble at 4:30 this afternoon, a grumpy adolescent man/child, and a frazzled, SO-OVER-HALLOWEEN-YEARS-AGO momz… Also, if he puts on a football jersey and two smudges of black paint under his eyes and goes as a friggin’ STEELERS FAN, I will not be involved in that display in any form.  I have my standards.