Just have to share this one

I love love love to hear Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". Lots of stars and groups have covered the tune: Rufus Wainright, an acapella group from MSU, KD Lang, John Bon Jovi. Its kind of hard not to sing the song well, it's so full of emotion. But I've got to tell you, this version by 4 very famous Norwegian pop singers has moved me to tears. Wonderful, just wonderful.

101 Things in 1001 Days

The Mission: Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. represent some amount of work on my part).

Am I up to the 101 Things in 1001 Days challenge? Hmmm... I love a good challenge, and this one is a doozy. I'll have to think hard about my list, though.

I can't claim credit for this idea - it came from this site, but it's a great idea, isn't it?

If I start on this list today, my ending date will be June 11, 2010. That seems like a long way off, but you know, just yesterday it seemed like I was coming home from the hospital with my son, and he's nearly four now. Like the commercials say, life comes at you fast.

If you'd like to do the challenge on your own, here's how I calculated my date. I'll post my list as soon as I come up with it.

And to end the week on a high note

A group of bullies at a high school decided to pick on a new kid because he wore a pink shirt. They called him "gay" and threatened him with a beating. Word got around, and the next day, two seniors bought a buttload of pink shirts and handed them out to half the student population. Read the story here.

And you thought this stuff only happened in the movies....

Swirling

The child psychologist from Tony's special ed school just called. She wanted to discuss Tony's breakthroughs, and some of what she and the teachers have been observing. We're coming up on 6 months since he started there, and it's time for Tony's first official in-depth evaluation. The big one, since they've had a chance to really get to know him.

She also gave me her recommendations and insights, and asked me for permission to do another full diagnostic session on Tony. I said "Of course" and then I asked why. Is this common? Yes, it is, but there's more. She wants a confirmation on a preliminary diagnosis. Then she said the word.

Autism. They think Tony is autistic. Yes, he's made progress, but there are still too many red flags. The full diagnostic would include a speech therapist, who could sort out basic communication issues due to speech delay from the other issues he's presenting.

I knew this was probably coming, but still, it's hard to hear.

Have you met my daughter, the kid?

My daughter doesn't quite fit in. A lot of her friends are too busy trying to be fifteen instead of six. They like dancing to hip hop or High School Musical while duplicating Fergie's latest moves, they worry about their hair, they're all clothing and shoe freaks. Bella could care less about all that for now (thank goodness - it saves me a fortune). I'm sure that it'll turn with a vengeance eventually, but right now, she just seems to enjoy being a kid. She'll be packing her backpack with a water bottle, pirate map, stuffed animal, six marbles and a plastic stethescope to go on an adventure, and her friends are next door practicing on a "runway" in the backyard with full makeup and loads of bling.

So she likes being a kid. Revels in it, even. I think that's wonderful. There's plenty of time to be a hottie and worry about impressing the world. Why bring that on yourself before you have to?

Back to school

So. I put Bella on the bus at 8:30. All the parents were there with cameras, laughing, smiling, the kids looked fresh-scrubbed and ready to go. Bella was giggling and jostling with her buddies, calling out dibs on who she'd be sitting with. One of the other mothers came over to say she was so happy they were back in school and we all smiled and nodded. Then the bus pulled up, we all cheered, and I leaned down to hug my daughter.

"Have a great day, honey!" My voice begins to crack. "I love you.." I can't talk anymore. The tears rise up, splashing over. She looks up at me and smiles, shaking her head.

"Oh, Mom. I knew you'd cry." She kisses me, pats my back reassuringly, then climbs onto the bus.

No matter how thrilled I am to have her un-bored and out of my hair, my mind and heart just can't get past the fact that eight years ago, she was an impossible dream, and seven years ago I sat in my doctor's office with tears streaming down my face watching a tiny heartbeat on an ultrasound. And now she's in first grade, and time is marching on and oh damn, I've got to stop because I can barely see the keyboard through the tears.

I am such a sap.

Rest well, Miles

Young blogger loses his battle with cancer

Miles Levin

From the article:

A few months ago, knowing his high school graduation was probably his last milestone, he wrote: "I can rest assured that even if I succumb to the rogue cells, I will leave behind a legacy of victory. Dying is not what scares me; it's dying having had no impact. I know a lot of eyes are watching me suffer; and -- win or lose -- this is my time for impact."

He did have an impact. Fifteen-thousand bloggers were responding monthly this summer. In the end, they mostly sent him God's blessing. And they spoke of positive things like seeing the brightly shining stars on summer nights, the beauty of the will to survive, simple things that make you laugh, and the need to use words to soften the hardest of times.

Rest easy, Miles, and know that your life touched countless others.

Toilet training: Day 1

I just put big boy underwear on Tony.

He zoomed around the room like a total loon for a good 10 minutes (and I thought he was fast before...), then promptly pooped his pants and laughed as I chased him down. I dumped his poop in the toilet and he tried to grab it back out. Then some hit the floor and he stomped on it, enjoying the squish between his toes. I cleaned him and the bathroom up, and he's in fresh underwear for at least the next few minutes, I hope.

This ain't gonna be easy....

I love the smell of Karma in the morning...

Animal cruelty investigator rescues dog from locked and overheated car, and then leaves owner handcuffed to car while he takes the dog to hospital. Gathered crowd beats the owner until police arrive.

I love this picture

Great moments in parenting #6,235

A few nights ago, Bella awakened me out of a sound sleep at 2:15 am. I startled awake to see her standing by my bed. I said "Boo, what are you doing up?" Her answer:

"I farted and it smelled like spaghetti and it woke me up so I came in here to get in bed with you."

Caturday!

"I've never got over it."

"You never forget it. Never."

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

A picture can paint a thousand words, but a word can paint your soul

It was a lazy late-afternoon, and the kids were tired of the wading pool. It had been hot and muggy, but it was leaning toward evening now, and decidedly cooling off.

"Who wants a popsicle?" I ask brightly. A squeal comes from my daughter as she jumps out of the pool. My son is a bit slower, but just as excited.

"Pahsickoo! Pahsickoo!" He climbs out, running toward me. I wrap a towel around him and he repeats again, slowly and with a lot of effort.

"Wan pahsickoo? Tony? Pahsickoo Tony?"
"Yes Tony, you can have a popsicle."
"I want blue!" His sister chimes in. She always wants blue. Red is only second best, you know.

I grab the popsicles out of the freezer and head back outside. They're on the swing on the back deck now, side by side in the waning summer sun, swaddled in towels with their wet hair still dripping down their faces. I unwrap the popsicles, handing first to my daughter, who thanks me nicely, and then turn to Tony.

"Pahsickoo!!"
"Here you go, Tony." I smile and bend down to hand it to him.
"Peez!" He squeals, breathless, his eyes on the popsicle like it's a glowing beacon. I ruffle his wet hair and hand it to him, watching him take a cautious lick before stuffing it in his mouth. Wow. He said "please". That's been happening more frequently these days.

"Tony, can you say "Thank You"? I ask. He's mute, to involved in the popsicle to say much of anything. I sigh. I sense the futility of this, but his teacher says we need to keep trying.

"Tony. Tony, look at Mommy." It's a game we play - "Look at Mommy". I say "Look at Mommy" and he does, then he squeals "Wook away!" and I do. He can play it for an hour straight if I let him, but it was a good way to teach him to make eye contact. I use it whenever I need him to focus on me, and it usually works.

"Tony, can you say "Thank you?"

He's watching his melting popsicle now, utterly involved in how the drips slide down the popsicle stick, splashing onto his bare leg or the towel. I'm not getting a thank you this time. I decide to just let him eat his popsicle in peace. It's pretty sad when a simple popsicle has to be a learning experience, but there it is. Life with Tony is all about re-inforcement, focus, getting him involved. Only sometimes a kid just needs to relax and have a popsicle, y'know? He's finished now and hands the stick to me.

"Finish." He wipes his sticky hands on his towel. Tony never can stand to have dirty or sticky hands. In that area, he's light years ahead of his sister, who would cheerfully wallow in her own filth if I didn't force her to bathe.

"Wuke...home." The words are stilted, but he's yanking on my shorts and working hard to get my attention.

"What honey?"
"Wuke! Wuke home."
"Oh! Luke is home!" I look at the neighboring yard, and see that Luke, age 2 1/2 is definitely home, and playing in the back yard. Tony has actually played with Luke 3 or 4 times now. Really played, I mean. As in calling his name and chasing him and making eye contact and interacting. They've lived next door since birth, but till a few months ago, Tony didn't know Luke existed. Now he looks for him, and I'm oh-so-glad when he does.

Tony runs down the slope between our yards, calling Luke's name and the two of them set off in a dizzying chase, with his sister in fast pursuit of the both of them. I smile at my neighbor Beth, and the shrieks and laughter roll around us as we make small talk about our days and the weather and the neighborhood. She remarks about how terrific it is for Luke to have a playmate, and how far Tony has come. The neighbors say that a lot, whenever they see him. I suppose it's true, but they see it more readily, not bogged down in the daily battle of getting to where we are with him. He has come far, though. Sometimes it's a tiring journey, but his road is getting more wide open every day, and the paths he can walk down are branching, forking, twisting and reforming with every "Peez" and every extra second of eye contact. So we keep walking, he and I, and here we are now.

Time to go. I need to get some dinner thrown together before Daddy comes through the door, so I call the kids in. Tony makes an awful noise - I can't even describe it - but it's his unhappy noise. He doesn't want to come in. I walk over to him, scooping him up as he fusses and telling him it's dinner time and we'll come back later.

"Say bye-bye to Luke, Tony."
"Bye-bye Wuke! Bye-bye!" He's rubbing his eyes, his lips pouting. Luke waves goodbye and I start up the slope as Tony continues calling out.

"Wuke! Bye Wuke! Bye-bye."
"Tony, we'll see Luke again, I promise. Maybe after dinner, OK? We have to have dinner first."
"Wuke!"
"Tony, it's time for dinner."

He's silent a moment, still staring off over my shoulder as I walk up the steps to the deck. Then faintly, so faintly I thought I imagined it, he said it. I stop in my tracks.

"Tony? What did you say?"

He points at Luke's yard.

"Wuke."
"I know, Bubby, but we have to say bye-bye for now."

He rubs his face, still pouting, then stares up at me, with those fathomless dark brown eyes. His father's eyes. And he says quite clearly:

"Fwen."

I stare. I thought that's what he said, but he's never said it before. Never had a context for it before. Never applied it before.

"Tony, is Luke your friend?
"Fwen. Wuke fwen."

I sat down on the steps to the deck, buried my face in his neck, and couldn't stop crying. He squirmed in my arms, so I put him down, wiping my eyes as my daughter walked up the steps.

"What's wrong, Mom?"
"Nothing honey. Nothing's wrong. Something's right. Tony's got a friend!"
"Did you hurt your toe or something?" She's looking at me like I'm nuts, but she's used to looking at me like that, I guess, because she tags her brother and screams to him till he follows her in the house.

I sat a moment longer on the stairs, watching the sun start to set, painting the sky orange and red and deep pink tinged with purple. It was like nature just invented a whole new color, just for me, and for Tony. He has changed irrevocably now, and for the better. With one word, he threw a door open to a beautiful world that he could only see through the window before.

He has a friend, and the wonder of it still floods my soul.

How NOT to make bread

Seriously.

Behold the power of Hug

Gunman Crashes Wedding Party, Leaves With a Hug

Kudos to the wedding guests for keeping their wits about them. If some guy jammed a gun into my daughter's head, I definitely wouldn't be that calm. Or nice. Yes, I'm "The Hug Lady", but if you threaten my kids, all bets are off.

What a freaky story.

Cool pic

When someone says they "Hung the Moon", maybe they really did.

This is how my mind works

So I'm reading the comments on Alli, the new over-the-counter weight loss pill, and I get a great idea for a new reality show.

They could call it "Alli - Ooops", and you could have contestants take the drug, eat a triple whopper and a Cinnabon, and put on some white pants. Then have comedians come out and do a routine. The contestant who keeps from laughing out an orange, oily streak wins a million bucks.

Whadda ya think?

Feelin' hot hot hot

Wow, is it hot here. Unfortunately, this is the week that my daughter goes to full-day camp, so she's canoeing and swimming and hiking in 97 degree heat with 90% humidity. She's actually getting kinda gypped because they're scaling a lot of that stuff back due to the heat. Oh well, she's having fun anyway and that's what I paid for.

So, it's hot and I'm not particularly inclined to write anything worthwhile, so here are some links for your viewing enjoyment.

Pinkies out when partaking of a beverage at Burger King, please.

Cheating Darwin.

From "America's Got Talent" - one great performance.

And finally, a puppy has been born with heart-shaped markings in it's fur. So what? I can top that. Last weekend, we went to a neighborhood party where my son drank too much soda and ate waaay too many hot dogs and cupcakes. We came home and he promptly barfed all over his sister's bed. I stripped it down, and the stain on the mattress was perfectly heart shaped. I called Mr. Hug in and said "Look at this!" and he said "Who says he doesn't tell you he loves you enough?"

Enough for now, kiddos. I'm outta here to find a cool drink.

Starry, Starry Night

She sits alone in the dark on the steps of our deck, knees under her chin, arms wrapped around legs, shoulders shaking and head down. I just happened to see her through the window as I finished putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher. If she hadn't been wearing her white "My brother drives me bananas" tee shirt with the monkey on it, I might not have seen her at all.

Just a little while before, we were finishing dinner and her two best buddies along with an assortment of siblings and other neighborhood kids showed up at the door. She shoveled her pasta into her mouth in record time, jumped up from the table and and with a smile that blinded me said "Mom! The fireflies are out! Can I go? Please???" Of course she could. So she whooped and ran barefoot into our backyard which joins many others and none of us have fences so it's a great, open field for catching fireflies. She scooped up her firefly cage as she went, and I took a minute to savor the breeze through the window and the laughter of children as they ran chasing fireflies in the night.

Now she sits on the deck while the others are still running and shouting and laughing, and I don't know what happened. Stubbed toe? Finger to the eye? When you get a crowd of kids together, stuff like that happens. I sigh and wipe my hands on a dishtowel, then head outside to sit beside her.

"What's going on, sweetie? Did you get hurt?" She turns her tearstreaked face up to me, then throws herself in my arms.

"Oh Mom. They won't stop. I told them they had to stop and they didn't and they just laughed at me and..." She's sobbing again, so hard I can't make out any more words. I hold her close, wishing I could absorb the hurt and just diffuse it, sending it out into the night and away from her. I stroke her hair, waiting for her to calm. Obviously, it's her feelings that are hurt and not her toes, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. No, that means it hurts more. After a while, I wipe her tears with my shirt and ask again what happened.

"We were catching fireflies and putting them in my carrier and then I went to put one in and they had taken some of them out of there."

"Oh, so they were taking your fireflies?" I say, nodding sagely. This indeed, could make a six year old cry.

"They were taking them..." Her voice breaks. "They were taking them and then they were putting them on a rock and smashing them. They smashed them all. I kept telling them no, not the fireflies, and they smashed them and they were laughing about it. They killed them all and smashed the pretty stuff that makes the light." She's sobbing again, and I hold her tightly. Right now, I want to rush out there and slice those kids open with the sharp edge of my tongue. How dare they! But the truth is, kids do that stuff. When all is said and done, fireflies are just bugs and kids sometimes like to smash bugs. Only a few, very special kids recognize the wonder and beauty of a bug - particulary a bug that can light up the night and match the stars with their radiance.

So I hold her instead, picking her up and taking her over to the swing on our deck, where we swing and swing, holding hands and just talking in the cool night air. I tell her that some kids don't realize that beauty is all around them, if you just look for it, and sometimes it's in really small things like fireflies. I tell her that sometimes kids - and adults, too - get so busy chasing one thing, that they ignore the little things that make their lives beautiful. I tell her that even if it only makes your life beautiful for a few moments, those moments are the things you look back on as you get older, and those are the things that stay with you. Nobody remembers what they had for dinner that night when they were six, or what they wore, or what time they had to go to bed, or what was on TV. But they will remember how those fireflies looked and what it felt like to have the wind in their faces and the cool grass between their toes as they chased them. I tell her not to stop looking for the little moments of beauty, and not to let the other kids stop her from looking, and savoring those moments. Then I ask her if I could catch fireflies with her. We jump off the swing just as her Dad comes outside.

"What's going on?" He asks.

I explain the whole story, watch his body stiffen and put my hand on his arm when he starts to head off the deck to verbally smite the kids that dared to make his little girl cry. He gives me a disgruntled look, sighs, then turns to kneel down by his daughter.

"Don't worry about them, Boo. They don't know what they're missing. The fun of catching fireflies is in letting them go so you can catch them again. You just catch the ones in our yard. We have a rule in our yard that no one is allowed to hurt a firefly, so if they want to catch fireflies the right way, they can come over here."

"We were going to catch some now, Daddy. Do you want to come along?" She points to her carrier, and slips her hand in his. He slips his hand in mine, and I call for her younger brother, who opens the door and joins us on the deck. Then we run down the stairs, into the cool grass and the clear night, running and chasing beautiful specks of magic only to let them go, our laughter carrying on the breeze as the lights dance all around us, blurring with the stars.

Don't ask me what we had for dinner, because I don't remember.

Recipe Corner

Have I mentioned that my husband is from a family full of Chefs? He missed his calling, because he chose a different profession. Still, cooking is a passion for him, and God love him, he and his family took me under their wings and taught me to cook, since I could barely boil water when I met him.

My Mother was an excellent baker, and decorated wedding cakes that she could have charged a fortune for (but never did - I think most of them she did for free). I'm lucky enough to have inherited some of that, and I can bake pretty well. Together, Mr. Hug and I are a great team when it comes to entertaining.

Anyhoo....I'm going to try to post a good, proven recipe every now and again and today we'll start with one of my all-time brunch favorites (although it makes a great dinner as well). This originally came from a firehouse cookbook that my sister-in-law was good enough to send me, and it's a hit every time I make it or take it somewhere. The recipe makes enough to feed an army, so if you're feeding a smaller group, half the recipe.

Green Chile Egg Puff

12 eggs
1/2 cup of flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2 cups of cottage cheese
1 lb (16 oz) of grated Monterey Jack Cheese
1/2 cup of melted butter
2 4oz cans of mild diced green chiles (lots of flavor, but not spicy. Substitute chopped jalapenos if you're into heat)

Beat eggs until light and lemon colored. Add flour, baking powder, salt, cottage cheese, cheese, and butter and mix. Stir in green chiles. Pour into well-greased 9X13 baking dish. Bake at 350 for 35 minutes or until top is lightly browned and center is firm.

You can also make this ahead and reheat - it's just as good the next day.

Enjoy!

Conversations with my daughter

Cast of characters:

Boo = My daughter, age 6
Bubba = My son, age 3
Me = Hapless parent

At the kitchen table, paints and paper everywhere, Boo painting with a brush and Bubba using a brush and his fingers.

Me: Wow, Bubba, that's a neat picture!
Boo: (leaning over, glancing at her brother's picture, and in a bored voice) It looks like abstract expressionism to me.
Me: Uh....OK.

In the car, driving to dance class. Boo is eating a piece of bread.

Boo: Mom, I don't want any more of my bread.
Me: That's OK, honey. We'll throw it on the ground for the birds when we get out of the car.
Boo: Mom, if I feed the birds, will they respect me?
Me: Will they what? Respect you?
Boo: Uh-huh. They better give me some mad respect.

Near bedtime.

Boo: Mom, can I have a sister?
Me: (Spluttering) Uh...Boo, you know we're not having any more babies. You and Bubba are it. Besides, you have a hard enough time sharing with your brother, don't you think?
Boo: But Mom, if I had a sister, then I could train her to do my bidding. You know? Bidding. That's when they have to do what you tell them to.
Me: Yeah, I know that. That doesn't sound like much fun for a kid, though.
Boo: But it has fringe benefits. Like, if she wanted to dress all in fringe, I have to give her a bunch for doing my bidding.

My kid. Sheesh.

The burning question

I am making dinner for my kids and I must know the answer to this burning question:

Am I the only person in the world that cannot properly open a box of macaroni and cheese? I know they have this wonderful perforated semi-circle just perfect for my thumb to fit into, but I can't ever get my thumb to actually penetrate the box. On the off-chance it makes a dent, it then begins ripping in various directions and the box ends up looking like I opened it with an automatic weapon.Am I a freak of nature?

Please tell me there's someone out there like me.

They walk for life

I just finished working with our local Relay for Life, and what an experience that was. A neighbor recruited me for our local team - he's a 9 year survivor and a terrific human being.

I could relate this whole experience blow-by-blow, but nothing will be able to capture it adequately. Think about all the people you know who've been touched by cancer. Not just the cancer patients and survivors (and non-survivors), but their families and friends as well. You probably can't fit them all on one hand, or two, or a simple sheet of notebook paper, can you?

We had a luminaria ceremony at 10pm on Friday night, and just walking around the path and looking at the bags was enough to choke you up. Lots of names, some pictures, they all kind of blended together after awhile, until you saw one that hit home.

Many of our luminarias had the name of a local young man who'd lost his battle with leukemia at the age of 22. You'd see his name again and again...Zack Saint....Zack Saint...In Memory of Zack Saint....and then the one that brought it home for me: "In Memory of Zack Saint" and underneath, in a loose scrawl: "My best friend."

My best friend. All of those people represented on those bags were somebody's best friend. Or son. Or daughter. Brother. Sister. Mom. Dad. They were all part of somebody's world, and they all left that world too soon because of some form of cancer. As I walked around I saw bags decorated with butterflies, childish drawings, crosses - one bag had 5 names listed, all with the same family name. One bag showed a wedding picture of a bride and groom, with the woman's name beneath and a heartfelt, handwritten message: "I miss you every single day."

Then there were the survivors. "Forty two years cancer free!" Shouted the Grandmother, pumping her fist in the air. The crowd cheered. She was followed by the 31 year old mother of three, who was just told that her thyroid cancer has re-occurred and she has four months to live. Her voice stayed steady as she asked us to pray for her family, and remember her next year when we most likely walk without her.

I was taking a lap late in the evening, and ahead of me was a twenty-something girl on crutches. She stopped at the top of an incline (we were walking around our elementary school) and someone asked if she was OK. She replied that she always had to take a breather before heading down the hill, as going down a hill on crutches is much harder than going up. The passerby asked her how she hurt her foot and she replied: "It's bone cancer. I'm in chemo right now, but I didn't want to miss this. They're hoping they can save my foot."

I kept walking. I had considered sitting down for awhile, since I was tired and had been there a good many hours manning our fundraiser booth. TIRED. I was tired of walking and giving of myself and wanted a break. Who gives the girl on the crutches a break? And who do I think I am even considering my aching feet in the scope of that?

So we walked and we laughed and we held each other and we cried and when all was said and done, our local relay raised over $100,000 for every Zack Saint, every woman remembered through a wedding picture, every young girl on crutches, and all the others along with their families and friends.

I feel good, but I told my friend that next year, I'm making one big luminaria, and I'm putting it right in the middle of all the others, and it will simply say:

WHY

Here comes the sun

I was getting my daughter ready for bed last night, and she always wants a story, then a song, and then I turn on her lullaby music. Her lullaby music was a gift from a neighbor upon her birth - it's the "Baby Beatles" CD and it's wonderful. All instrumental Beatles music, in lullaby format. I could listen to it for hours.

Anyway, the first song on the CD is "Here Comes The Sun", and a few days ago I told her that I knew the words. She asked me to sing it, and now that has become our new goodnight song. So last night I'm holding her close and stroking her hair and softly singing "Here comes the sun and I say...it's all right" and she says "Mom, what do you mean when you sing "It's all right?"

So I say "Well, you know how when you're having a bad day and you're feeling kind of sad how it feels like a rainy, cloudy day inside you? And when everything starts going good again and you're feeling better, it's like sunshine inside you and you think to yourself that everything's all right now."

She looks pensive and says "Like when you're very sad and have a very bad day?"

I say "Just like that. You just have to remember that the sun will always come out and everything will be all right again."

She looks down at her fingers, tightly clasped.

"Like if you're really sad and feel like a cloud is inside you 'cause you broke the towel holder in the downstairs bathroom, but your Mom says it's OK so it's like sunshine when she says that and everything is all right again?"

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and try to stay parental as I got to the bottom of the towel holder incident. It was easily fixed, and she got a strong reprimand for not confessing it immediately. Still, it was an adorable moment. I still can't stop chuckling over it.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to Mr. Hug - one terrific Dad and an equally terrific human being. I love you, honey - especially when you don't succumb to the urge to skin and eat your young.

Land of the links

Just a collection of things that I found terribly fascinating. You might think they're total drek, but hey, it's my blog and I'm in control here. Total control. I rule my blog with an iron fist! Muah ha ha ha!!!

Can you tell I have kids home for summer vacation and it's making me slightly nuts? Can you? Really? Can you?????

Ahem.

Here are the links. Sorry for carrying on like that.

Read about the blue people of Kentucky.

Watch Paul Potts, a non-descript, mobile phone salesman from the UK take the stage on "Britain's Got Talent" and share his dream of singing opera.

Milk hitting coffee. Trust me, it's cool.

Care for a refreshing cucumber soda? I'm torn on this one. I really like cucumbers, but fizzy and sweet? Hmmm. I'd be willing to try it.

I'd love to post more, but Sorry, gotta go.

******** ********* ******** ********* ********

"As long as the world is turning and spinning, we're gonna be dizzy and we're gonna make mistakes."

~Mel Brooks

Angels among us

Meet Kaziah Hancock. For those of you with dial-up that can't see the video, let me tell you what Kaziah does. She paints portraits, and very good portraits at that. She makes pretty good money with her art, and has won numerous accolades for her work. That's not all I'm here to tell you about, though.

For a few years now, Kaziah has been working on numerous labors of love. She paints portraits of fallen soldiers, and sends the framed oil painting to their families - free of charge. Portraits like these:



Kaziah says it's not about politics, it's about letting their families know they'll be remembered, and that we mourn them. Currently, Kaziah and her team of six artists are working at a $3500 a month DEFICIT, as oil paint, canvas, frames and shipping are not cheap. What she provides the families of these soldiers, however, is priceless:

My son ran into our home with this huge package,
yelling — “It’s from Kaziah, I think it’s Adam’s portrait!” Well, we opened it with care — to break down in tears. Yes, Kaziah, you captured Jeff’s brother, Adam, as though we had unwrapped Adam from your box. Tears flowed with smiles. It was far beyond any expectation, far beyond such a noble, honorable act of a woman named “Kaziah.” ...Thank you so much for all you have done for the loved ones a soldier left behind.

If you'd like to donate to Project Compassion, you can do so here:

Project Compassion Soldier Fund
P.O. Box 153
Manti, UT 84642

The world needs more people like Kaziah. And this only goes to prove that love comes in all forms, but it always comes from the heart.

Hug Nation

I saw Hug Nation in the news today, and I just wanted to give them a big shout out. Yes, I sell "Hugs" for people to use when you can't be there to hug in person, but in person is always better. Always.

It seems to me that there's not a lot wrong with the world that some good hugging wouldn't cure. And pudding. Hugging and pudding - they practically go hand in hand. You can't talk about or experience either without feeling good. Maybe I'll run for President on the "Hugs and Pudding" ticket.

Whadda ya think? Tee shirts? Should I get "More hugs and pudding!" tee shirts made up? I'd wear one.

Check out Hug Nation, and the "Huggable Campaign". They've got the right idea.

Seen on the street

What a weekend!

The weather here was simply gorgeous, and cookouts were all over the place in my neighborhood. We held an impromptu one ourselves yesterday, which turned out terrific, except I tried to kill myself.

I dropped a Corningware dish yesterday (fell from my wet hands as I was drying it) and it hit my kitchen floor and exploded. I got shrapnel wounds on my temple, ear, eyebrow and a huge gouge in my upper arm that rode the line of looking like it might need stitches. It stopped bleeding soon enough and I've got a big bandage and neosporin on it. It's gonna leave an ugly scar.

How was your weekend?

You'd do less time for murder

So Mr. Hug and I have been married 15 years now. That's 22 years together, if you count the seven years we dated before we married. Impressive, isn't it? My own parents were married 42 years, and Mr. Hugs made it to 41, I believe, and both marriages only ended due to the death of one of the spouses. There's a lot to be said both for and against monogamy by a lot of people, but I have to tell you I have not one regret about being married this long.

Some people have asked me across the years what the secret is to staying married, and staying happy in that marriage. Truth is, I don't know entirely. Has it been all sunshine and roses? PUH-leeze. But if I had to look at our lives cumulatively, there's been a whole lot more good than bad. If you can say that about your marriage, then I guess you're doing OK.

Here's a great quote I'd like to share with you:

“The great secret of a successful marriage is to treat all disasters as incidents and none of the incidents as disasters.”

I don't know who said it, but it's true. You can make anything grow to epic proportions in your mind if you dwell on it enough. If you shelve it where it belongs and move forward, there's no time for it to take root, grow and overshade everything else you've been working for.

I think the best quote I've ever heard on the subject of marriage was from a couple who'd been married 70+ years. They were being interviewed on 60 minutes (I think) during a segment they did on marriage and monogamy. The interviewer asked what the secret was to staying married all those years, and the husband replied quite simply (with his wife nodding along):

"We never fell out of love with each other at the same time."

That's about it. When I feel like I don't have a drop of love in me at the moment, he somehow finds a way to loan me some of his. And when he's having a spell where he's about as loving as a bear with boils, I go into overdrive and figure I'd better have enough love to carry both of us for a little while. It's never an extended thing, and I doubt anyone could continually channel love into bottomless well, but sometimes one of you just has to put the air in the sails for awhile while the other sits on the deck and contemplates the sea.

Hungry?

How about some meatballs? No? Then how about some just desserts?

People. Honest to Pete, where do these people come from - and more importantly - why am I so fascinated to read about them?

Just wondering.

Sorry for the sparse posts

I just returned from a week long vacation down south, where I ate a ton of barbeque and my family and I were probably the only people in the south who won't drink their glass of tea with forty five tablespoons of sugar in it. We had a blast, and I'd like to give a big shout out to one of the four cities we stayed in (but hands down the best): Chattanooga, Tennessee. We had a hotel right on the river, walking distance from the Tennessee State Aquarium and all the great restaurants around it. It was just beautiful, clean (at least where we were), friendly, and reasonably priced. There's also a huge children's museum in the same area, but the aquarium alone would have been worth the drive there.

Our final destination was Memphis in May, the world BBQ Cookoff. We saw great teams like the Reservoir Hogs, Slab Yo Mama, and Pigs O War, to name a few. Got to smell and eat some great barbeque in the city of Memphis (I wholeheartedly recommend Leonard's, one of the oldest in Memphis) and of course, got to experience lots of southern hospitality.

So now I'm home, standing in a mountain of laundry and desperately wishing I could take an eleven hour nap. What are my odds on that, do you think? (My Grandma would say the odds were "Slim to none, and Slim left town").

Oh well, back to life.

Melt With You

Saturday morning, and it's beautiful.

I've made pancakes, and we're eating out on the screen porch. My husband hooks up the Sirius Satellite Radio, turns it to "Big 80's" and we commence eating with gusto. My three year old is waving his pancake in the air, spraying syrup all over himself and his edge of the table. The sun is streaming through outside, the birds are chirping, and a breeze is blowing. Heaven. Just plain heaven. My daughter is bopping happily in her seat to the music.

"I like this song!" She exclaims, with a mouthful of syrupy bacon.

I smile and say "I do too." And I do. It's one of those songs that always lifts my mood. Modern English: "I'll Stop The World and Melt With You". I sit back in my chair, turning my head to look at my husband. He smiles and we share a moment.

Back in May of 1992, we got married. We had loads of friends and family there, but the only parent in attendance was his Dad. My Mother-in-law had passed away a few months before the wedding, after a short but excruciating battle with cancer. My parents were unable to attend the wedding, so I had my brothers walk me down the aisle that day.

As we sat there planning our reception, our DJ was asking us what we were dancing to, etc., and then he started discussing the Father/Daughter dance, and did we want a Mother/Son dance? No to both, unfortunately. So I said "Hey? Can we dedicate songs to each other? Y'know...like a bride's dedication to the groom, and a groom's dedication to the bride?" The DJ said "Sure, it's your wedding, isn't it?"

My husband was quite underwhelmed by the idea, but he played along. We dutifully scribbled our choices on paper, folding it over and giving it to the DJ so that the other wouldn't see what we chose. It was schmaltzy, but hey, I'm schmaltzy. That's just the way I am.

Our wedding day dawned bright and beautiful, with just a spot of rain that ended quickly. We got to the church on time, said all the right words, and the deed was done. We took pictures, headed to the reception, made our grand entrance, danced our dance, stuffed a few fleeting bites of food in our mouths and made the rounds at all the tables. Somewhere in there, the DJ announced it was time for the Groom's dedication to the Bride. My new husband led me to the floor to the strains of Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight", and I smiled as I laid my head on his shoulder and we danced. As the music wound down, the DJ announced it was time for the Bride's dedication to the Groom. My husband didn't let me go, clearly expecting something soft and slow and romantic. Hey, I'm a Barry Manilow fan. He was ready to suck it up and drown in the schmaltz, if it would make me happy. The music started, and he pulled back in surprise.

Modern English. "I'll Stop the World and Melt With You".

"Where did that come from?" He asks.

"I dunno. It just seemed right." I say. And it did. Marrying him wasn't all romance and flowers and smouldering glances and heart-to-heart talks and schmaltz. Marrying him was about joy. Pure, unbridled joy and happiness. I was practically radiating with it that day, and people remarked on it as well. I was marrying not only my best friend, but my best partner in adventure. He loved museums and learning and camping and hiking and Mel Brooks movies. He grabbed me in the supermarket and waltzed me down the aisles. He sang horrible, off-key songs to me while holding my hair as I puked when I had the flu. When I had a bad day at work, he got angrier about my boss than I did. Whenever, wherever, whatever - there he was. I knew I would never be bored, never be at a loss for a good conversation, and though he might drive me buggy sometimes, I knew I'd never look back on my time with him at some date in the future and consider it a waste. I was right. And that song said it all.

"Oh no!" My husband's voice pulls me back to the present. My son has just tipped over his cup of water into his pancakes, and he's making a dam of them, to stem the river he just created. He's a bugger sometimes. My daughter is laughing uncontrollably - her fake laugh that's even funnier because she's forcing it so hard. My husband shakes his head, smiling and says "I live in a madhouse".

"Yes," I reply with a laugh. "Yes, you do."

And I'd still stop the world and melt with you.

I'll stop the world and melt with you
You've seen the changes and it's getting better, all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do
I'll stop the world and melt with you

The future's open wide
The future's open wide

Today's linkage

This one is fun - check out all the stuff in the microwave! The eggs, soap and Christmas lights are the best.

I just have to share these two stories - if they don't make you smile, I don't know what would:

GPS in cellphone tracks down a boy waiting for a heart transplant

Fifth graders raise money to give their school janitor his dream vacation

And on a sadder note, my soul mate, Johnny Depp, is finally marrying his longtime girlfriend Vanessa Paradis. I know he'll always wonder what "might have been" between us, but alas, Mr. Hug and I are celebrating 15 years of wedded bliss next week, so it's unlikely I'll be flying to Paris to talk Johnny out of his nuptials. He'll just have to learn to live without me.

That's all the news there is to print for today. Ciao!

I like this one

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

I'll be on vacation most of next week, enjoying the sunshine of the south and eating some great barbeque. I won't get my traditional breakfast in bed from the kiddos, but it'll still be a nice day.

The fact is, no gift they can give me could be any greater than the gift of them in my life, every single day. That's quite enough for me.

Hope you all have weather as beautiful as mine is right now, and a life as full of beauty as mine is, as well.

To be a kid again

My daughter told me yesterday that she wants to skip straight to fifteen and be in high school. Of course, my heart exploded immediately in my chest and my hair all fell out at the thought of her in high school, so I told her that wasn't such a good idea.

"Why not?" She asked. "I'm tired of being six."
"Sweetie, don't lose a minute of this time. Don't rush it, and don't try to skip over it. You'll get to fifteen soon enough, I promise."
"But I want to be there NOW!"
"Oh Boo, do you know what I'd give to be a kid again?"

She doesn't know, of course. And she won't realize it until her childhood is well behind her. Life's not fair that way, but that's how it is.

Summer is coming, the weather is turning gorgeous, and soon everything will be popsicles and swimming pools, sunburn and bare feet. One of the worst, most rotten things about being a grown up is that you usually lose "summer" as defined by a kid. Unless you're a teacher, (and many of them take a second job due to the pay scale), you're working during the summer. No more three months of freedom, burning your feet on hot sidewalks or riding your bike till your legs ache. Its times like this, when spring turns to summer, that I miss my childhood most.
I have many great childhood memories, but to narrow it down to three (for readability sake), I'd have to pick:

Hiking with my Dad - he loved the outdoors and we hiked almost every weekend. My hometown is surrounded by mountains on all sides, so there was never a shortage of trails. A few times a year, we'd go to Carlsbad Caverns (the biggest, deepest caves on earth) and hike the cavern - it's magnificent, and if you ever get a chance you need to go.

Saturday nights, after my bath/shower (so I'd be fresh for church in the morning, of course), my Mom would pop a big pan of popcorn and we'd all watch Star Trek (dating myself here, but yes, "classic" Star Trek) together. I used to toss popcorn in the air and catch it in my mouth - my record was 41 straight without a drop. My daughter and I now have contests with popcorn catching on our "movie nights".

Riding my bike all over, everywhere. In the summer (or on weekends), I'd leave the house around 10am and my Mom usually wouldn't see me back till it was getting dark. Sometimes I'd pop in for lunch, but right back out again, riding with the wind in my hair, visiting friends, walking around the five and dime - and if it was really hot sometimes I'd go to the town library and just sit and read in the air conditioning. I loved that bike - it was independence for me.

What are your three favorite childhood memories?

Her name was Betty

Today was my Mom's birthday - or more precisely, would have been.

She died in the very early morning hours after Christmas night of 2002. She was lot younger than she should have been at death, due to a nearly 50 year smoking habit and a family history of heart disease, diabetes and vascular disease.

My teen years with my Mom were filled with endless fights interspersed with the occasional moments of mother/daughter bonding. I know our relationship was particularly hard on her - she was extremely close to my grandmother, and while grandma was living, she wrote her every week (sometimes twice) and called her monthly. My mom had 4 sisters and she was definitely a "chicks" kinda girl. I had no sisters and 2 older brothers, so I really never got the "bonding with my girlfriends" kinda groove. I've always had a better time hanging with the guys, and my Mom never really related to that. Our relationship improved greatly just as soon as I moved out (and several hundred miles away) and we stopped butting heads. Once I graduated college, I saw my Mom exactly 4 times before her death in 2002.

I miss her.

My Mom loved old musicals. I grew up on Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby and Russ Tamblin and Carmen Miranda. We used to pop a big bowl of popcorn and settle in, usually on a Saturday night, and by the time I was 11 or 12, I knew the songs well enough to sing along. She always encouraged that. If you asked my mother, I could have been a star, I sing so well (I'm on the good side of passable, but hey, she was biased...).

My Mom had a wacky, bizarre sense of humor. She'd do anything for a laugh. She'd embarrass herself 10 times over if it meant you'd laugh. No one told a story as dramatically as she did. My friends loved to come to my house and see what she was going to do next.

My Mom was an Air Force Wife. My Dad went TDY a lot (temporary duty, usually 30-90 days) and she had to be a single mother all that time. I still remember her packing us all up, making her way through a maze of airports and plane changes and somehow we all arrived at Frankfurt, Germany in one piece. Of course, in the middle of a huge crush in the airport, I saw a man in uniform and just KNEW it was my Daddy (I was 4) and wrenched free of her hand, darting off into a sea of people. I heard her screams behind me and knew I was in trouble, but I had to find Dad. It took her several minutes to locate me, and I was just as scared as she was when she did. My Mother (with my brothers in tow) vaulted over several people and pushed another dozen aside until she collapsed on the floor at my feet, pulled me into her arms (while still maintaining a painful grip on my brothers) and just held me for the longest time. She didn't even yell at me, though I know I deserved it. She referred to that incident all my life as "the day you tried to kill me". I always thought she was being overdramatic on that one until I had a kid or two of my own.

I once, in a fit of nostalgia, videotaped myself singing "I'll be home for Christmas" and sent it to my Mom as a Christmas present. Two years later, she asked me to do it again. I said "Mom, I did that just a year or two ago!" She said "Yes, honey, but I wore that tape out. It doesn't play anymore."


When I found out I was pregnant, after all the years of infertility and pain, the very first person I wanted to call was my Mother. My husband kept telling me to wait for that magic 3 month mark before telling anyone, but I knew my Mom would be calling me long before then, and I wouldn't be able to hide my joy from her. I remember asking them to pay us a visit, her puzzlement (that's not something I asked very often, since we're so far away and at the time they had limited income), and then I said "Well, you want to meet your grandchild, don't you?" Silence. My Dad, on the other line, said "Are you telling us you're pregnant?" I said "Yes!" Silence. My Dad said "That's wonderful!" More silence. I said "Mom, are you there?" Still silence. Finally, my father walked into the other room and said "We'll have to call you back." My mother was sitting with her face in her hands, weeping so hard she couldn't even make noise. She was that happy for me.

Once I came home from work and checked the messages on the machine, and there was a hangup. I checked caller ID, just to see if it was anything important, and it was my Mom. I called her back right away. "Mom, did you call? Why didn't you leave a message? Is everything OK?" There was an embarrassed pause, then my mom said "Oh honey, I just wanted to hear your message." I said "My message?" and she said (with a catch in her throat) "I just missed hearing your voice and I didn't want to bother you...."

My Mother loved me. There were many times in my younger life that I wished she didn't love me quite so much, but it was always there and I never questioned it. I always knew it, but it wasn't until I held my daughter in my arms that I realized the depth of that love. It wasn't until I wrestled exhaustion and a sick child that I realized the sacrifices she made for me. It wasn't until I had the flu and had to take care of the entire family (who also had the flu) anyway because I'm Mom and that's my job, that I appreciated just how hard she did work at being there for all of us. I watch my daughter, and now my son, and I know their childhoods are flying by and someday I won't be their everything. I'll be that embarrassing Mom that they don't want to be seen with. I'll be packing them up someday, maybe watching them move too far away, seeing them every year or so, calling their answering machines just to hear their voices. How did she bear it? I can't even bear thinking of it.

I miss her today. Probably every bit as much as she missed me. And oh, what I wouldn't give to see one of her goofy emails in my inbox today or have her hang up on my answering machine again.

Only a moment

It was Tuesday night, late, and I was tired and cranky and standing in a line at the hotel desk, waiting to get checked in. The strap on my overnight bag was digging into my shoulder, I'd just navigated a maze of detours all around the city streets leading to this hotel, found the parking garage - 3 lanes away across bumper-to-bumper traffic and to top it all off, the hotel didn't validate parking so I had to pay $16 a night for the priviledge of parking the only place I could near there. I just wanted to go upstairs and lie down.

The woman next to me is waving her hands frantically, full of energy granted her by her anxiety and temper. Apparently she was an employee of that hotel chain, but in another city. She had booked her rooms with a friends and family discount, but the man behind the desk was having trouble finding the reservation.

"We have a block of rooms. Didn't they call you? I have ten people outside with luggage and we need to get settled! I'm an employee and my general manager called ahead to make sure you had the room for us. Look again. Maybe it's under this name."

She supplies another name, the man behind the counter looks dutifully in the computer and she mutters "I can't believe this" as she runs a tired hand across her brow. Counter guy is taking his time, and her frustration is palpable.

"We're here for a funeral. You know that big fire yesterday that killed all those people in the apartment complex?"

"A fire?" Says Counter Guy, smiling blandly.

"Yes. The fire that was all over the news down here. That was my daughter's apartment. She's in the hospital and my granddaughter is dead. She was only six."

Counter Guy looks up from his computer, fake smile still on his lips, and nods politely.

"We have to bury my granddaughter" she says again, like she has a hard time still believing it. She puts her face in her hands.

Counter Guy looks up, smiles and says "Here are your key cards, take the elevator to your left and I'll call the bellman to assist you with your luggage. Enjoy your stay."

Enjoy your stay? He didn't just say that. I look over incredulously, and he's still smiling like some kind of robot attendant, without a shred of soul beneath that starched, pressed uniform.

The woman turns tiredly away from the counter, and I can't help it. My hand reaches out and touches her arm. She looks up at me warily.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I say. And I am. I have a six year old girl. I am so sorry for her, it hurts. She must see that in my eyes, because she swallows hard and starts blinking back tears. I move instinctively, without a thought to the fact that I'm tired and she's overwhelmed and we don't even know each other's names. I wrapped my arms around her and she held me tight and we didn't give a damn who was staring at us in the glaringly lit hotel lobby.

After a moment, we let go, and she said quite simply and with feeling:

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I needed that hug."

"I wish I could do more than that for you", I say, helplessly.

"Honey, you were a moment of compassion in the middle of business as usual. And I needed that so badly tonight."

I wished her well, told her she was in my thoughts, and we went our separate ways. It was only a moment, but it lasted much longer for me, replaying in my mind again and again that night and even to today. Would it have killed Counter Guy to show her one moment of compassion? A kind word, a hand squeeze...just something. How can you see a human being in agony and just pretend it isn't happening? How does it not affect you?

I guess I'm just one of the ones that can't look away. And I hope in her long journey through healing to peace, she'll remember that moment of compassion and the many others that I hope will come her way in these hard days. I hope she wraps them around her like a big, fuzzy blanket whenever someone's plastic smile chills her bones. Most of all, I know that someday she'll carry that moment forward, wrapping her compassion around another, because she's just like that.

One who can't look away.

Sorry for the gap

I was away in Baltimore most of last week, attending a trade show. I ran into some terrific people out there, and I'd like to give a shout out to their products.

First of all, there was Green Eggs and Hammocks, home of the X-Chair. I have one now (trade show floor model) sitting on my screen porch, looking great and taking up very little room. It's also just about the most comfortable chair I own.

Next, I bring you the simple, but terrifically fun harmonica necklace. I gave one to my daughter and a few neighborhood kids, and they were an instant hit. Such a simple thing, but so much fun.

The weather here is just gorgeous, and my kids were out all weekend soaking it up, with me panting after them and trying to keep up. Yes, they keep me young, but they also suck every ounce of energy from my body, I swear! I'm heading outside now to chase my three year old and watch him eat a popsicle. It beats sitting in a cubile, let me tell you.

And now I'll leave you with a little diversion called Feed the Head. It's a lot of fun, and touching different parts can make all kinds of weird things happen. Be sure and knock on the forehead, then feed the dots through the mouth. OK, so it's bizarre. But fun, I promise.

Later gators....

I feel linky today

So we'll start off with a few links to get you to smile.

Nora, the piano playing cat (scroll to the bottom for the link).

The Funeral, starring Carol Burnett and Robin Williams. Be sure and watch all the way to the end - they repeat the scene, but this time Robin goes off-script and throws in some ad-libs. Genius. Just genius.

It's gorgeous outside, another pretty day in a string of them. I'm out on my screen porch smelling the mulch and all is right with the world.

This time last year, I was a full-time worker drone in a very large company - a senior level administrative professional, supporting a handful of very overworked people with stress levels that can only be described as "nuclear". Oh how I miss those days.....not.

Tomorrow is Administrative Professionals Day, and if you happen to be one, I salute you. If you happen to be supported by one, get out there and do something nice for them, beyond the flowers and the card. It's not an easy job, and Administrative Assistants are usually taken for granted (until they go on vacation, anyway).

I'm going to sit here working in my new corner office (a.k.a. "screen porch) and enjoy life!

Happy beautiful Friday

We finally got over our N'oreaster and it's seventy degrees outside. Dare I hope that spring has finally come? I was joking around with my neighbor on Monday as we stood in the SNOW at the bus stop - I told him I was going to dig the groundhog out from under his shed (he's had one there for a while now) and I was going to berate for falsely predicting an early spring. Not that I make a habit of berating small, feral animals (other than my children), but sometimes it just has to be done. Anyway, he's off the hook because it's a genuinely gorgeous day outside. To make it even better, I got my tax refund today.

Life is good for me.

On another note - life isn't so good for the parents, family and friends who will be attending the funerals of the Virginia Tech shooting victims over this next week. Please remember them in your thoughts and prayers, and if you can, make a donation to The Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund:

Virginia Tech Foundation, Inc.
University Development (0336)
902 Prices Fork Road
Blacksburg, VA 24061

Let's all hope for brighter days. And as always, Hug the ones you love. Today.

He rode the school bus alone today

He rode the school bus alone today, and I'm the one who put him there. I'm the one who carried him on, bewildered, forced him into the car-seat, kissed him and reassured him in vain and then watched his tear-streaked face through the window as the bus pulled away.

All my fault.

It's for the best, I know. He's getting the help he needs, I know. He loves riding the bus home from his classes, and has for a few weeks now, so I know he probably stopped crying less than two minutes down the road.

Still, I long for a simpler time. A hundred years ago, on a farm, there would have been no special classes. No standardized testing, no Rossetti Infant/Toddler Language Scale. Instead, he'd be biding his time doing the chores he was capable of doing, chasing farm animals and playing in the sunshine. When it came time for him to go to school, his teacher or me or his Dad would just shrug and say "he doesn't learn as fast as the others". We'd go on with our lives and he'd go on with his, and eventually, it would all even out. Some strange part of my mind chides me and tells me that if I'd just kept my mouth shut, he could be running and playing right now without a care in the world instead of riding a bus to the school where they try to make him speak more clearly and interact with others.

Foolish thoughts. It is what it is. In a little over two years, he has to start kindergarten. By then he needs to be able to communicate, to tell you his name and where he lives and how old he is. He needs to understand eventually that letters make words and words tell stories and stories can change your life. Right now, he lives in his big bubble, and he peeks his head out every now and then to sing his ABC's with no context, to repeat stories and mimic the funny voices I use when I tell them, or rattle off long strings of dialogue from his favorite movies.

In the summer, I can put him on the porch with a few cups half-filled with water, and he'll spend an hour or more pouring them into each other, fixated on the water as it flows and splashes, dipping his hands in it, putting his finger in the larger drops and pushing and smearing the water around, feeling it play between his toes as it runs down the table his cups are on. Its fascinating to watch him, as though he sees the water down to a molecular level that you and I are just too busy and impatient to grasp. At times like that, a psychologist would watch him and say he's showing an autistic behavior. I watch him and I think he's smarter than me. Smarter, more patient, and seeing the world in a way I'd love to experience, if only for five minutes. I wonder...does he look at me and wish the same?

He'll be home a little after noon. His face will light up when the bus pulls up in front of his house, and I'll run onto the bus and kiss his face while he impatiently wriggles to get out of the seat straps. Then he'll wrap his arms around my neck and all will be right in our world again. It'll just be him and me, without a care as we read and play and pour water and watch Blues Clues. I close my eyes, repeating over and over that he only needs to be strong till then, but the truth is, he's the strong one.

I'm the one who's hanging on.

The Random Element

I'm watching the news right now, as some of you are, and I know you're feeling what I feel. Anytime there's a horrible event like this, it eats part of your soul, particularly if you are a parent. If you are a parent of one of the students killed at Virginia Tech today, you'll feel like today took all of your soul. My heart goes out to each and every one of them, and to those who survived as well.

What happened today represents every parent's worst nightmare: the random element. Yes, we’re all afraid of child molesters and drug addicts and people with guns, but we can take steps to shield our children from that, to a degree. We make sure we don’t live near known child molesters. We warn our kids not to talk to or go anywhere with strangers. We tell them to stay away from people who use drugs or play with guns. We can’t keep them completely safe, but we can take steps, be proactive, go on the offensive and lessen the danger.

This gunman walked through the halls of a dormitory on a normal, run-of-the-mill Monday morning, and for reasons unyet determined, decided to create a hell on earth for a little while. Nothing could have prepared any of them for that. Nothing could have warned them. It was random, and unexpected, and utterly terrifying for me or any parent to contemplate.

The serial killer that’s standing behind you in line at the grocery store. The girl with the flat tire that you stopped to help, who has a drug habit and a concealed knife. The man who coaches your child’s soccer team before he goes home to download hours worth of sickening child pornography. You can’t know. You can’t predict. Random. And when they strike, people are not only left with a hole in their life that will never heal, they’re left with a lifetime of second guesses. If only I’d….what if I’d have….I should have….Why didn’t I….it's a tough burden to bear. Survivor's guilt, they call it, but really, survivors are victims, too. Whether they survived a hail of bullets or survive the police showing up at their door to tell them the awful news about their loved one, they are victims of this tragedy.

There will be much speculation in the days to come. Fingers will be pointed, motives will be reached and discarded and discussed with great fervor by those who find it hard to believe the random element was as random as it was.

Maybe because we don’t want to believe. Maybe because if things really can be that random, none of us are really safe. Including, and especially, our children.

Hug your kids today. Please.

Culinary Mayhem

Lord, how I love Paula Deen. I could listen to her talk all day long. I want to go to her restaurant and order two of just about everything on the menu. With a side of angioplasty, of course.

Check out this recipe. It's fried butter. Fried balls of butter and cream cheese. Does she wake in the middle of the night with dreams of this stuff? Be sure and serve these at your next dinner party, followed by a big plate of Fettucine Alfredo and then top off with this for dessert (NOTE: this should not be attempted if your house has less than 2.5 bathrooms).

Ye Gods.

Conversation with a six year old

Driving home from dance class last night....

Bella: Mom, how do you know the speed limit?
Me: There are signs on the road, honey. You just look for them.
Bella: What's the speed limit if you're just going around the block?
Me: It depends on the block. Ours is 25.
Bella: What if you're only going three houses away?
Me: Well, then you wouldn't have time to get up to 25.
Bella: What if you were driving across the street?
Me: Now that would be silly, wouldn't it? I could just walk across the street faster.
Bella: What if you lived across the street from a hospital and you had someone with a broken leg in the car and you had to drive there?
Me: Uh...well, I guess if it were a very busy street, like a highway...uh...I suppose I'd drive them, yeah.
Bella: And when you got to the hospital, what if they had a coffee cup and dropped it out of the car and it broke and they stepped on the broken parts and cut their foot and there was blood everywhere and they slipped in it and broke their other leg?
Me (shaking my head to clear it): Um, well, that would be bad. I guess we'd get a wheelchair.
Bella: And what if sharks smelled the blood and they came?
Me: Bella, sharks only live in the water.
Bella: What if the hospital was near a harbor like Baltimore? And what if a ship, a really big ship hit the dock and knocked the guy with a broken leg out of his wheelchair into the water and the sharks ate him!
Me: I have no idea where this conversation is going.
Bella: Mom, pay attention. We're talking about an emergency, here. You need to know how to be prepared.

Oy. My kid.

Saw this in the news today. Call me nuts, but isn't this stuff supposed to kill germs?

That's all for now, kiddos. Go hug somebody!

These dreams...

I had a dream last night that Rob and I were in the car driving too fast on a winding mountain road. Suddenly, the guard rail disappeared and we went flying off the side of the mountain falling, falling, falling to our certain death.

It seemed to take forever to fall, and I was trying to get Rob's attention, to tell him one last time that I loved him. I thought that was important. Unfortunately, Rob was too busy clutching the steering wheel and screaming his head off with his eyes bulging out in terror. It was very frustrating, and I woke up still mad at him for it.

He, of course, thinks I'm nuts. Go figure.

Welcome to the Hug of the Day

I'm going to do my best to update this every weekday. I'll share a link or two that I've found interesting (and occasionally a link or two that caused me to shoot Diet Coke out my nose), and if you're still awake, I'll remedy that with a few lines about my life and the bizarro universe around me.

So without any further ado.... here are today's links:

This girl needs a Hug.

Hug an owl!

And finally, a great big HUG to the researchers in the U.K. who may have found a cure for diabetes.

Thanks for reading. Now go hug somebody!