Freaky Friday

I have some silly dreams.

In one particularly wacky dream, my mom asked me to purchase a ticket to The Louvre – which, for some odd reason, was located on a yacht in New York City. I was going to have to fly to New York to get the tickets and ordinarily that would pose a problem considering how I feel about flying (I'm not afraid of being in an airplane high above the earth. It’s the idea of being fondled by some icky TSA agent that terrifies me.) For some reason, in the dream, I forgot all about my fear and readily agreed to the task. A few minutes later my boss (who looked very much like my former director) walked into the room and told me that I had to go to Europe as well as New York. Please don't ask me why a preschool teacher would have to jet off to Europe for her job. These things can't be questioned!

Because it was only going to be a simple day trip, I knew that I would only need one carry on bag. I first seriously considered a brown paper grocery bag, but then decided that my son’s backpack would be a better choice. What to put IN the bag was a little more challenging. The only item that seemed to make sense was a breast pump. After all, you never know when you might meet a starving baby as you are traveling. Never mind that lactation was halted here almost 5 years ago. Somehow, someway I was going to nourish a starving infant!

Only after packing was complete, did I realize that I should find out what my boss wanted me to pick up for her in NYC and Europe. I grabbed a pen and an old receipt to scribble on and then asked for specific instructions. In reply she began singing a nursery rhyme- one that I wasn’t familiar with. I tried my best to write the words of the song, but the pen kept going out.

That’s all I remember. What would Freud say about such a dream? Are there any hidden meanings in there? Naw, I don’t think so. It was just silly.

I have had dreams that were more than a succession of nonsense images without purpose. There were several dreams that were, beyond doubt, screaming signs. After experiencing the consequences of ignoring the forewarnings, I eventually learned to pay heed to those types of dreams. Thankfully they are rare.

Then there have been a smattering of dreams that gave just enough of a glimpse of future events to thoroughly freak me out. The following is a recent example.

One Friday night, not very long ago, I did something colossally stupid. I flipped on my alarm clock. I guess it was just force of habit. Saturday morning, I was roused from a very nice nonsense dream when the alarm did its job and yelled at me. Annoyed, I turned it off. I was determined to go back to sleep, but my bladder demanded that I get out of bed for a little bit first. Then before getting all snuggly again, I took a moment to check my email (oh yeah, I do love my iPhone now that I’ve learned how to use it!!!) There wasn’t anything of interest in either my email or facebook, so I put the phone back on the nightstand and let myself drift off to sleep again. That’s when it happened. I dreamed that I was standing near my closet, with my phone in my hand. In the dream, I noticed that there was a new email from a friend in my inbox. I read the email and smiled.

That’s it. That was all there was to the dream. Nothing special, right?

At 7:30ish, I woke a second time, grabbed my phone from the nightstand and went about my morning routine. With the dream still fresh in my head, I clicked open my email. Sure enough, there was a new one waiting for me…from the same friend that I dreamed had sent me an email. My hand shook ever so slightly as I opened the message and read nearly the exact same wording that I’d already read in my dream.

Cue twilight zone music. <- I was going to insert a video of the theme music right there, but it totally creeped me out. Sorry, you will just have to hum it to yourself instead.

So, does this mean that I’m officially psychic? Or was that dream as random as the one where my mom asked me to get tickets for the New York Louvre on a Yacht?

I don't suppose it matters. Getting mystical previews of emails won't help make the world a better place. OTOH, I can't see how it would hurt anyone either. So let's try an experiment. After I post this, I will go to off to dreamland. After you read this, leave a comment. That will cause an email to be sent to my inbox. If I dream about the email before I actually get online to open it, I'll let you know!

If I dream about feeding starving infants...I'll schedule a mammogram.

Throwback Thursday

It's been a while since I've writing much of anything. Since I don't want to leave my poor blog space too unattended for too long... here is bit of musing that I concocted a while back.

Not the shoes that I wear
Not the style of my hair
Not the tears that I hide
Not the leaps that I’ve tried
More than this…I’m undefined.

Not the pigment in my skin
Not the shape that I am in
Not the careless phrase I say
Not the compliment I pay
More than this…I’m undefined.

Not the foods I consume
Not the contents of my room
Not the lessons that I choose
Not the battles that I lose
More than this…I’m undefined.

Not my path with all its turns
Not the way my heart still yearns
Not achievements, not defeats
Not the goals I strive to meet
More than this…I’m undefined.

Pick a Day - Any Day

One of the MommyBloggers that I follow asked that we post our day – Start to Finish.

Okay, I think I can handle this. At least I thought I could until I heard my mom's voice in my head warning me not to put so much information on the web. Soooo...in an effort to confuse any potential stalkers, I've decided to change actual times to vague references.

Way too early: My alarm clock gets all annoyed at me for daring to still be asleep at such a magical time in the morning. I reach over the Queen (who is obviously going to keep sneaking into our bed until she is 32 years old) and press the glorious button that makes it SHUT UP! Then I sleepwalk my way over to wake Danielle and Emily – who each have their own alarm clocks, but won’t get up without their mommy singing to them first. Okay, I don’t always sing. In fact, I rarely sing. I usually just speak the first words “Rise and shine!” In reply, they grunt.

For the next 15ish minutes: Bathroom stuff. You don’t really want details of that, do you? I didn’t think so. After I’m properly spackled (not really…I actually don’t like heavy make up at all, but a girl does need mascara to face the day!) I turn on my computer and let it do its morning wake up routine while I fix my breakfast.

Lets take a half hour here: Sludge time! Into my blender goes a spoonful of flax seed, two spoonfuls of rolled oats, a sprinkle of fennel seed, a smidgen of cayenne and a dash of cinnamon. The top is put on and I let it pulverize while I retrieve the frozen fruit (well, I also add a lil bit of frozen broccoli but we can pretend that is a fruit right?), yogurt and fruit juices from the refrigerator. I blend all of that together and then sip on the resulting sludge (which actually doesn’t taste all that bad) while I check my email/facebook/blogs…and my farm. Yes, I confess that I have a virtual farm. It sucks my time and rewards me with fake plants. I don’t understand why I play. I just do.

Now that I'm actually awake: I try to rouse Derek and Anna. A few minutes later, I wake them up again. Danielle and Emily go to the front of the driveway with their granny(or sometimes gramps) to catch the bus. Let me just stop right here for a second and say THANK YOU Granny and Gramps!!! You are the best!

We're running out of time! Let's move it!: Lately Derek has been eating Frosted Chocolate Mini Wheats for breakfast. The fact that he has something that he actually likes to eat makes the morning much less frustrating now. I think that I need to send a thank you letter to Kellogg’s. After the kidlets are dressed and fed, we either walk to the front of the driveway to wait for the bus...or drive there. The weather decides that for us. Yes, I know that humans are capable of standing outside in temps that fall below 60 degrees, but WHY? Okay, okay, 60 isn’t too terrible IF there isn’t a wind. Yeah...I’m a wimp. Oh, another shout out here: We have a terrific bus driver. I know when my children get on the bus, they are in good hands.

Me time: Freedom! For the past 17 years I either had a child at home to take care of or a job to go off to (and of course there was work and school for the decade before that.) Don’t get me wrong. Those were all amazing years. I’m enormously grateful that I was able to stay home to raise my children. I loved teaching preschoolers. It’s just that now, I finally have ME time. Who wouldn’t be happy about that? So... how do I spend ME time?

Most mornings I wash the breakfast dishes right after the kids are on the bus. Then, if I’m subbing, I leave for the preschool. If I’m not subbing, I start cleaning the clutter that my adorable brood have strewn all over the house. I wipe down the table and the counters, sweep the floor, throw on a load of laundry, tidy the bathrooms, maybe even vacuum. No, no, no...I don’t do all of that in a nice timely order like what I’ve listed. That would make too much sense. In reality I’ll start clearing off the table and then after bringing a forgotten cup to the sink or a napkin to the trash, (umm...hold on a sec. Can someone please tell how I am able to teach 3 year olds to clean up after snack time, but can’t seem to teach my own children that basic skill?) I grab the broom and start sweeping around the island, and then I notice a dish towel so I lean the broom against the counter and bring the dish towel to the laundry room and since I’m right there near the computer, I check email/FB/blogs/Farmville for a sec. Or maybe a bit longer than that. Then I remember to go start the water for my tea. While I’m waiting for it to steam on the stove, I’ll remember to either finish sweeping, clearing the table or washing the cup from the table – and the spoon that was under the couch. No, I don’t know why the spoon was under the couch. I stop asking those questions long ago. Then once the tea is properly brewed, I have the perfect excuse to go back to the computer and sit while I sip. By then, the washer is done so I put that batch into the dryer and start a new batch.

Exciting life, no?

Sometimes I’ll have errands to run. Sometimes my hubby is home. I love that he has days off in the middle of week. ‘Nuff said.

Two by two my babies come home: The high schoolers arrive first. Without fail, Danielle drops everything she is carrying onto the table. Emily usually makes it to the couch before unloading. I remind them to pick it all up. Sometimes they listen. Sometimes I remind them again...louder. If I don’t already have something simmering on the stove at this point, I start cooking. Once that is started I tell one of the girls to keep an eye on it and then walk up to the road (or drive – again depending on the weather) to get the younger two off of the bus. They either come back to the house with me, or stop off at their grandparents. Either way, homework must be done right away. It would be nice to let them have some time off for a bit first, but experience has shown us that putting it off doesn’t work well. If our school boundary lines are moved next year, home work may just drive me over the edge since the extra bus time will put Derek getting home with his ADHD meds wearing off.

The rest of the day: Three evenings a week I bring a child or two to CCD class and then I sit in carline for an hour. That’s when I’m supposed to write. It’s not going so well. :::sigh:::

At home we all get ready for bed. I don’t read to my younger two as often as I used to read to my older two and I’m starting to feel awful about that so that is something that is about to change. Most nights, I come back to the computer and wait for everyone to fall asleep before I climb into bed myself. Although she is slowly getting better about going to sleep on her own, occasionally Anna will climb on my lap to fall asleep. Once she is sleeping deeply enough that I can move without waking her, I put her in her own bed. Finally I get to drift off to dreamland. Before I know it, my alarm clock is whining at me again.

Liar, Liar - Pants on Fire

This is my first response blog post. When I read It's Time for A Voice of Reason, I knew that I wanted to follow up on the subject. Let me state right away that I’m not responding in an effort to dispute what he has written. In fact, I think he makes more than a few valid points. I particularly agree with his position regarding those who search for dishonesty being bound to find it. I also fully concur with his assessment of where constant badgering and nagging will often lead.

What I’m unsure of is how common that type of behavior actually is. Maybe that is something that goes on in most households. Maybe it’s rare. Oddly enough, being a woman does not give me instant access and understanding of the behaviors of all other women. Where it does occur, I wonder if I should allow for the possibility of a sad history behind the Lie Seeker’s quest. It’s possible that she’s been given more than enough reason to be suspicious of his every move. Then again, maybe she is just a control freak. Regardless of the reason, two wrongs never make a right…right?

The thing is... When I think of dishonesty my mind doesn’t jump right to relationships. Has my husband ever lied to me? :::shrugs::: Possibly. Okay, okay, probably. Even so, it’s not something I ever really think about. We are fairly in sync on most issues – including lying. I simply have no need to suspect every word out of his mouth – therefore, I don’t. The children, however, are a separate case entirely.

Kids lie. At least mine do. It drives me bonkers. I see it as a failure on my part. Why haven’t I taught them better? I’ve tried my very best to set a good example in this particular area by being honest with them. When wrongdoing is discovered, I explain that coming forward with the truth will ease the consequence. On the flip side, if all I get are lies, punishments double. The hope is that eventually they will equate lying with losing.

It's taking a while to sink in.

Sunday evening, when it was time for my two youngest to turn in their DSi’s, my son told me that he couldn’t find his – despite the fact that he had it in his hand only 20 minutes before. That’s a trick that he has used in the past. I’ve caught on – even in my old age. I explained the rules again, just so that we were extra clear. If the game systems aren’t turned in on time, they stay locked up for longer. If he truly misplaced his game, then all he had to do was turn it in the moment he did find it. BUT if he was just hiding it somewhere so that he could sneak in a few minutes of extra game play or if he found it and choose to play with it instead of turning it in right away, then he would lose his game playing privileges for a week.

Can you guess which option he chose? Yep, the DSi is currently locked up for a week. When he is “bored” this weekend and wishing he had the game, I’ll have to ask “Was it worth it?”

Getting my children to think about how dishonest words and actions tend to hurt them more in the long run is a goal of mine. The world can be a very unforgiving place. I don't want them to learn the hard way that trust, once broken, it is very difficult to repair. I want them to avoid the fate of The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf. Come on, you all know the story right? The boy lies and lies until he can't find anyone who believes him anymore. My favorite rendition of that tale is in Yo, Hungry Wolf by David Vozar. It's fun to read and the children really like it, but even though they see how the little boy is no longer believed after repeated lies, I wonder if they really understand that it works that way in "real life" too. People will only give you the benefit of doubt for so long. Once you are seen as a "liar," the label sticks. Eventually even your truths will be tainted as potential falsehoods in the eyes of those you have mislead a time too often.

My children haven't reached that stage with me. I don't think they ever will. They are good kids (really! I could bore you all with how brilliant and kind and inspiring they each are, but then we'd be way off subject and well, I wander enough as it is!) I know that sometimes they lie because they don't want to disappoint us. They lie because they want to avoid getting into trouble. I understand those things. Still, I believe that is an important mark of character for a person to own up to what they've done (or haven't done) is spite of the consequences. That said...now I think that I need to reflect on what I've done. You see, before I read Spud's post, I never questioned my heavy handed attitude toward lies. Now I'm wondering...am I partly to blame? Instead of teaching them how wrong it is to lie, am I teaching them to try and lie better?

I don't have any answers yet and I'm not sure that I'll be changing that particular parenting tactic...but it is something to consider.

To have loved and lost...

Have you seen the McDonald's commercial for the Angus Chipotle BBQ Bacon burger? A guy takes a bite of his burger and drops some sauce on a napkin. Then the voice over person says..."It's better to have loved chipotle and lost some, then to never have loved chipotle at all."

Every time I hear that, I just wanna scream "NOOOOOOOOOO! Don't fall for it! You will regret it!"

To understand my intense reaction to, what may seem to you, a seemingly harmless commercial, you have to understand that I have once loved...and lost. It wasn't a simple love. It was a madly, deeply, truly kind of love. The intensity of my passion cannot be summed up into words here. I won't even try. You'll just have to imagine it for yourself.

I didn't set out to fall in love. In the beginning, I honestly didn't think anything would come of the encounter at all. It was just supposed to be a harmless indulgence. Well, maybe not completely harmless. There was some part of me that knew it was wrong on a certain level. There are always consequences for our actions. Some of the risks were already well known to me, but love? No, the risk of love didn't enter my mind. Perhaps if I had stopped to consider beforehand that there was even a chance I'd fall so deeply and so quickly, I would have walked away before the obsession began. Instead, I wandered blindly into what turned into love at first... bite.

Oh, BK Angry Whopper! Why did you do this to me? I lived most of my life without you. I should be able to live the rest of it just as easily now that you are long gone. Still your memory mocks me. In moments of weakness, I find myself longing for what can never be.

:::deep cleansing breath:::

I am strong. I will survive despite knowing that I will never again experience the pleasure of that burger again. And I've learned a great lesson from my loss. No longer will I allow myself to feel so strongly about something so temporary. My heart has been hardened. I can't - I won't allow myself to enjoy another burger as fully as I did my precious Angry Whopper, but that is a good thing. I know now that "limited time" romances are never worth the pain and regret that inevitably comes when the promotion is pulled away.

Besides...it's much healthier to get the salad anyway. :)

One Word

S.A.D.

Yes, those are my initials. It's funny because I'm usually the opposite of sad (which, as every 4 year old should know, is happy.) My motto is "if there isn't anything in your life to smile about, smile anyway so that you attract the happiness." Unfortunately smiling isn't always so easy.

S.A.D. stands for something else: Seasonal Affective Disorder. While I don’t believe that I suffer from that particular type of depression, it is true that the gloom of winter usually finds me…well, sad. The wet blanket of clouds that hide the sun, the biting wind that chills my core and hurts my hands and the fact that illness seems to linger around my home longer during the colder months always tends to weigh me down just enough that my smile is a touch slower than it is during sunnier times. This year, we managed to avoid most illnesses until right before the Christmas break. My son missed the very last day of school before the holidays thanks to a tummy virus. Luckily the rest of us don’t usually succumb to that particular bug easily. Instead we were each treated, in varying degrees, to a nasty upper respiratory infection that came complete with fever and general body aches. It waited until Christmas Eve to hit me. I’m sure you can all imagine how wonderful Christmas is when you are shivering with fever and clenching in pain while waiting for the children to finally fall a deep sleep so that you can, um, unlock the door to let Santa in. I couldn’t turn to my wonderful hubby for help because he had to go to sleep early for work (yes, he sometimes works on Christmas. Actually the schedule seems to have him working on Christmas more often than not for some unlucky reason.) Besides, he doesn’t have much experience in… unlocking the door for Santa, so I wasn't sure he would have really have known exactly what to do even if I had been able to beg off of that particular duty, I mean, joy.

I toughed it out, waiting until all of the presents were in place before finally downing a dose of nighttime cold medicine (have I ever mentioned how really awful I have to feel before I take that kind of stuff?), soaking in the hottest water I could fill the tub with and then finally climbing into bed. The next three days are somewhat hazy. It took nearly three weeks to finally start feeling like myself again. Even today there is a tiny bit of cough that sneaks up on me at least once a day. Yeah, I know :::whine, whine, whine::: Get over it, right?

Monday evening I was sitting in a car line listening to the music from my iPhone playlist compete with the chilly rain that was pitter-pattering on the roof of my van. It was just cold enough to feel slightly uncomfortable, but the motor of my van stayed off because, well, have you noticed the price of gas lately?

Car line is my quiet time. It is when I’m supposed to be working on my book. Instead, all I really wanted was to end the day and go to sleep. I wondered "Where has inspiration gone? Is it hibernating? Will it ever return?"

Rain by Breaking Benjamin began playing and I thought "Yep…that’s what I’m feeling right now. "

But that was Monday. My mood lifted a bit as the week worn on. Yesterday as I was listening to the radio, I heard the DJ's talking about "My One Word" and I wondered...can I change my word from SAD to something more in line with what I want to be? The idea behind One Word is that rather than make the same old list of New Year Resolutions that we start with the best of intentions and then let fall away, we look at the person we want to be by the year's end, choose one word to describe that person and commit to it. Then whenever we hear, see or think of that word, we should be reminded of the direction we want to steer our lives. That sort of sounds like the "cue" word I used to use with my oldest daughter when she was much younger. I let her pick out the word and she knew that whenever I said it, she was supposed to stop and think about her words and the tone she was using. hmmm...she is 17 now and I'm thinking seriously that we need to start using cue words again. But I'm getting off subject...

When considering my "one word" what leapt to my mind first was TRUST. Of course, choosing that word wouldn't mean that I'd suddenly start trusting everyone and everything around me. If I did that, I'd have to quickly change trust to naive. No, my trust is reserved for the One that guilds my life. The thing is, deep down, I know that I do already trust in that way. Sure I need reminders every now and again, but even so, the word trust doesn't really describe how I want to change. So, which word does? What is my one word?

Well, why not the most obvious? I want to be new. I know what you are saying "Hon, you are 43. That's waaay closer to old than it is to new." Yeah, yeah, but that's not the kind of new I mean anyway. Let me explain. Right now there is a philodendron in my front yard that is looking pretty droopy thanks to the recent cold temps. This is the second year in a row that we've hit lows that harsh. The first time it happened, last winter, I wondered if he was gone for good. Then spring came around and after I cut away the dead leaves, I was happy to see that Phil had a new stem growing, ready to replace what had been lost. By the summer's end, he was brilliant again.

That's what I want. It's time for me to cut the rotten and dead away from my life so that I can make room for the new to bloom and grow. I know that it will come in cycles. Just as my poor Phil has to take the toll of winter before re-inventing himself, I know that I'll find myself facing challenges that will shape me. For now, I'll just trust that I'll overcome the frost of life...and find myself new once more.

It's a Swamp Thing

There is a small section of our yard that is bordered by the pond fence, the driveway and the ditch. It has a name of it's very own. We call it the "nutrient patch." I suppose that it could be considered a compost area/wildlife feeding ground. We toss the leftovers there and the food either breaks down to rejoin the soil or is consumed by creatures furry, feathery or scaly. I used to have dreams of turning that little area into a vegetable garden. After all, the soil there must be amazing by now! Unfortunately that patch (along with much of the surrounding ditch) has been taken over by a notorious weed by the name of Horsetail Rush. For those who are unfamiliar that reedy weed, let me assure you that it is the absolutely most impossible plant life on the face of the earth to kill. There is a chemical that will destroy it, but it will also make the ground sterile for several years. Defeated, I've decided to simply continue feeding the ground and wildlife while admiring the tenacity of the ancient genus that thwarted my plans.

A couple of nights ago, after clearing the table, I walked outside to add a plateful of nutritional goodness to the patch. I was slightly startled when a huge, I mean, well fed, possum emerged from the reeds. As though embarrassed at having being caught noshing, he waddled back toward his home as fast as his portly legs could carry him. I felt kinda sorry for him. After all, it is a good 300 yards to the swamp. He might've starved to death before he reached the cover of woods. Or had a heart-attack.

Hold on...it just hit me. We live less than 1000 feet from a SWAMP! :::gasp::: How did I not realize this before? Oh, wait. I did. I actually have been aware of that fact for quite some time. My husband even grew up here. I grew up in a much less swampy area. <-said in my most snooty voice. It's probably a whole mile between my childhood home and the swamp. Well, maybe not quite a mile.

Oh come on! This is south Louisiana. The swamp is all around us.

Some people apparently seem to think that it's a horrible thing to live "in the swamp." I'm not one of them. In fact, I think it's kinda cool. Exotic even. There is a unique beauty here in the swamplands that is life affirming to me. Some of the very best memories of my childhood are of my father taking us kids to the camp in the swampy woods. Nature both amazes and inspires me. The tree line photo at the top of this blog was taken from my backyard. If you've ever gotten lost enough on the web to stumble upon my Myspace, you might have noticed the same photo. There I call it "Swamp Sunset." In my fictional world of Rhonia, my hero hails from a place called Mireterre. Mire = swamp, terre = land.

You wouldn't think that I should need to convince anyone that I have a special affinity for this land that I live in, but apparently I do. You see I was recently misquoted in our local newspaper. That sentence attributed to me makes it appear that I see the swamp as a horrible place.

Let me give some background here. Our school board is considering moving boundary lines, which would force children who live in this area to begin attending a school in neighboring community. Both schools are very good. The school that our children may be bussed away to has an excellent state rating. Still, parents here are very much against the idea. Our school was built for our community. It's seen generations of local families. The father of a friend recently said that Grandparents Day can often feel like a class reunion. It means something to them that their grandchildren are getting an education in the same school that they not only sent their children to, but that they attended themselves. The problem is that the area is booming. Enrollment is rising and the classrooms are becoming more and more crowded. A large part of this is due to a newer subdivision, which is located in an area that was not originally part of our school zone. Understandably, many parents who grew up here are now feeling that their children are being pushed out to make room for newcomers.

In an effort to bring public awareness to the issue, I wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper. Later that week, I received a phone call from a reporter. We talked about a promise of new classrooms that parents were given a few years ago when we were urged to go to the polls and approve a measure to untie money for School Board use. If those classrooms had been built as planned, the school would be able to handle the current growth. We talked about the upcoming changes in the Pre-k program that should free classrooms for other grades. We discussed the frustration that parents felt at a recent school board meeting. We talked about student/teacher ratio.

Out of everything that the reporter and I spoke about, here is what he apparently heard: “I just cannot see my child getting on a bus and going 30 minutes into the swamp,”

Seriously?

I guess I can see how he got that. What with me hating the swamp and all. :::sigh:::