So my dad kept the kids for the weekend [after bowling] and Gary and I basically moseyed around doing stuff of little consequence. The highlights were a small treasure in the mail, bowling with friends [and getting the bumpers up for my turn,] watching Jack dance non-stop between efforts to heave a 10 pound ball down the alley, the ongoing chatter of friends, turning off my phone and computer most the weekend, and a trip to the Crocs store.
Actually, I think bowling was the funnest part. We invited some friends who live close, and despite Karen's "healing processes" keeping her from bowling, she cheered us along like there was no tomorrow. Karen & Greg's twins are affectionate, funny, and bright - they were fun to watch as they lunged those balls and supported each other's efforts.

But most entertaining was Jack, a whirlwind of energy. I swear that if that kid had wings he would be like a mosquito - constantly bouncing off you, whomping you for attention, then harvesting some terror by buzzing around and letting you know he was there yet making it impossible for you to track his exact location. He was, absolutely, a can of Red Bull.

I wondered, "Does this kid get sore?" God knows my ass hurts after bowling, and the next day my arm hurts. He just danced, and danced, bugged us for his next turn, then danced, then squealed with delight when his turn came, then he lugged any ball between 8 and 12 pounds to the alley, and lunged it like a dead fish. That ball turtled it's way down the alley with inertia made purely from Jack's screams of encouragement. That kid can move mountains!

My sister sent me a mermaid ring in the mail. It was beautiful - but it only fit on two fingers, my wedding finger, and my pinky on my right hand. [Because my fingers are smaller than hers she thinks I have mini-fingers!] It is a reminder of our mermaid queendom, and really perfectly reflects my memories of dancing in the cool pool water of summer, making up stories and adventures.
The ring was perfect and so much like me.

I have more to share, but it is time for bed. Gizmo has done his tricks to try to get me to stay down stairs, but I must emerge from this weekend adventure with work resting on my shoulders.

Labels: birthday, Evelyn, mermaid

So, today is my birthday. I have gained another year and am teetering on the edge of 40 (which, I hope, is finally making my parents proud because I am catching up to them :-P). The week has been filled with anticipation (of the "Hurricane"), weathery teases (T.S. Fay clinging to Florida like a baby to mama's thigh), school cancellations on days that were harmless, and NO cancellations on days that even I wouldn't stand outside to catch the bus in, minor surgery, and, of course, my birthday. We had intended to head to Carmen & Warren's home in Naples, but with the weather so wishy washy, we just were not sure what to do, so we canceled (sounds like the school system!) And now, I spend a part of my birthday, updating the world on my blog. Actually, I have been redesigning www.mycomputerangel.com with Wordpress, hoping to make my site a bit more interactive and searchable... Between calls from family who love me and wish me a good B-Day, it is going well.

Earlier this week I had minor outpatient surgery to remove a growth under my skin that was triggered by an injury over 14 years ago. I am fairly certain that I had actually chipped a piece of bone in my elbow, despite the xray and doctor's "your fine, just some phantom pain," it continued to pain me. Ever since then it has been growing a mass around it [my medical opinion]. It has been painful - making it difficult for people to casually touch my elbow. I tried a cortisone shot before my marriage which resulted in less pain but a horribly atrophied elbow that lost all pigmentation and caved in (took 2 years to regenerate and the mass was even bigger!) So, with mixed anxiety and relief my dermatologist sliced me up and popped that sucker out. [Picture not included for the faint of heart]. On my way out, seeing that I don't have insurance and have to pay cash for any Dr. related issues, I picked up my funky morsel floating in formaldehyde and brought it home. Yes, behind the doctors back - HEY I PAID FOR THE THING! As I analyzed the pictures, since my eyes are turning 39 and not as sharp as they were, I noticed that it looks an awful lot like the profile of a grumpy old man, with an oversize schnoz and his wide eye shut. Seems to me he's a bit dejected about his release, and from the wrinkles and masses, he was a busy fellow. Over the last 14 years he got to the size of 1/2 a quarter! I came out of it with 3 stitches - the most ever!

My dad came by today to take me and the clan (not Gizmo though) to my birthday lunch. I really don't know what my favorite food is any more - and between seafood and Cheesecake Factory, the Cheez won. I had to tolerate an hour ride there since my dad was driving and he LOVES taking every back road ever invented from point A to point B. In fact, I am surprised that he didn't have the GPS going, because he likes to set the sucker to "shortest route", then "freak it out" by repeatedly turning when instructed to go straight. I usually bring my lameboy or a game of solitaire to keep me entertained, seeing that most of the route is polluted and impoverished in L.A. (lower Apopka), and I can only take so much lack of regard for the environment. Arriving was a relief - I was starving, and I decided to order my favorite dish, WHICH is now NOT my favorite dish after I tasted the Portabello burger that Gary ate in front of me. The Portabello burger that he let me sample only 4 times, refusing to share halfseys, and licking his lips every few seconds like the dog when he's discovered a steaming pile of cat poo. It was a challenge not to jump over the table and offer him all kinds of favors in trade for the rest of that beautiful sandwich, probably something the dog thinks when he sees us eating meatballs or something that smells tempting. [Yeah, Yeah, I promise to lick your face REAL hard next time if you let me taste that meatball!]

Anyhow, Gary took a picture of me enjoying my "not-fries" salad [the kind that won't go on your fork and results in your hubby looking at you awkwardly and asking, "What, you playing checkers on that plate?"] and my "not my favorite anymore" Navajo Sandwich, and as I pulled the pictures down from the camera I noticed just how BEAUTIFUL my skin looks. In fact, it took 30 years to get that skin, seeing that I have spent the majority of my adulthood peppered with adolescent zits that have be infuriatingly difficult to get rid of. I saw this picture and said, "Wow, that's me at 39!" and for once I was actually impressed that I didn't have to photoshop anything - and can I also mention that my grandmother's genes have done wonders to keep me free of wrinkles? But ultimately, it was my sister's homemade "Secret Magic Face Stuff" that she prepared back in April [and is getting painfully low, hint hint]. So, my amazing little sister, thank you for my BEAUTIFUL Birthday face!

The trip home, my dad was a bit more thoughtful and decided to run a little more of a direct route home. As we came to the end of Maitland where they are currently constructing some puzzle of an exchange he noted that the road went straight (something it has never done - it usually ends at a T) and the rest went like this:

Dad: "Oooo look, is that road OPEN? Look, the road goes straight!"
Me: Shooting him a stinky glance, "Don't you DARE go straight!"
Dad: "Well I gotta go straight sometime, I can't be gay forever!"

Yeah, that's my dad's humor. Now you know where I got MY goofiness from. My birthday isn't over. Since plans to Naples were shot by Fay, we are going bowling with friends so I can show off my three stitches and beautiful birthday face. Happy birthday to me! And you bet I am putting the bumpers up - It's my birthday and I can have bumpers if I want to!

Labels: birthday, Evelyn, family, food

JP has returned to the classroom, starting the 8th grade. The week leading up to the infamous return to school included the usual motherly duties of shopping for clothes (the kid had to be coaxed out of the dressing room with threats about taking away gaming opportunities or favorite foods), the purchase of school supplies (literally $150 worth of office stuff - all likely to be lost, consumed, or recycled within the first month of school), and the cutting of the mop for what I identify as the "man-do." The mop conversation with the stylist went like this:

Stylist: "So, what do we want to do?" she looks at me.
Me: "Hmmm, he has all the great cowlicks, but they get unruly. Kid?" I look at kid.
Kid: *shrug*
Me: In my head, "Good LORD, doesn't this kid care about styles or is he going to end up on Beauty and the Geek someday?" ... to the stylist "That's why we are giving him an official haircut, otherwise I can just BUZZ it all off like usual. Do something cool."
Stylist (while swishing her hands through his mop): "Hmmm, yeah, he has quite a few cowlicks. Does he want a *** cut or a *** cut or maybe some ***'s?" she looks at me.
Me: "Well kid, you want what she said?" I look at kid.
Kid: *shrug* dejectedly looks at the door, roll of eyes, ...grumpy brows quiver as he looks back at me.
Me: *sigh... shrug*
Stylist: "Alrighty then..."

The end result was great, and pictures had to be taken because god knows you can never do your hair the way the stylist does. Of course, when I asked him to stop looking so damn serious he gave me "Magneto," an on going result of facial jousting. Justin complained about the hard-hat of gel on his hair most the day, informing me that I was out to torture him [OMG - he figured me out, gotta change the plan!] Frankly, he looked handsome, sophisticated, older, and ready to return to the droves of stinky pre-teen middle-schoolers. Justin had a whole new look. One week later, his hair looks like I simply gave him a buzz cut.
__________________________________

Justinator got a new CD of music, and has been impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger for over a week. It has brought me stress relief to laugh at his goofiness. I guess he inherited his goof from me.
It sort of sucks that I have been so busy with papers the last few weeks that I didn't get to report JP's birthday party in a more timely manner. All I really got to do was take pictures and tweet a few of the horrors along the way. I put his birthday chant on my Picassa- we stuck 13 candles in a tin plate and had him blow them out. NO, I am not cheap! We took him to Dairy Queen for an Extreme Chocolate Blizzard - and they donated the proceeds to the Children's Miracle Network. Later in the week we had a bowling party with his friends, which I REALLY enjoyed! No wonder why I loved hanging out with the boys in school - their sense of humor is fun, competitive, but still collective in nature. We had cake, and Justin blew out his only candle (1 candle for good luck). More pictures of the party and kids (not a lot).

Labels: birthday, humor, JP

Well, now that my web-friends are growing, and I am opening up to exposing my blog in more places I have started to have second thoughts about using my full name as the domain. Certainly, you can still get here with my original domain name, but I expect your feeds will have to change (Sorry). The new domain reflects the name of my blog since 2004 - Mind-ful Fun-da-Mentals and I have both domains. http://mindfulfundamentals.com/ and http://mind-ful-fun-da-mentals.com

Please note the NEW RSS FEED will be http://mindfulfundamentals.com/atom.xml
I wanted to start adding connections from other locations but needed to move the blog first. So I hope to expand some features and learn more along the way.

Love you all!

The entire strangeness of what is brought into a dream just blows my mind. Now let me first say that I have been wanting to blog this for several days now, along with a few other tid-bits, but I have hesitated for several reasons.

1. I am beginning to realize that some of my students, clients, family, friends, etc are following my blog and now it all turns back to the faces I wear and what I am willing to reveal. The face I wear as a professional is WAY different from the face I don't have to wear with my sister or my son. Thus, my wonderful blog is now feeling the constriction, like rubber bands, winding themselves around its openness and ability for extracting all kinds of creative energy out of me.
2. Being honest here - sometimes what I want to say is not what I am GOING to say. If you could just HEAR MY HEAD in all it's animated glory... well, I can't begin to think what you, dear reader, would think... so I leave it at that.
3. What, for heaven's sake, would happen if I spilled the beans that shake around in my head out on the table and someone found it distasteful? I'm terrified that possibly I may not hold up to the level of expectation or that I might challenge the beliefs that others have about my pristine little goody-goody personality. Sometimes these things keep us employed... But, if Dooce can do it, I feel encouraged. I just apologize now, and if you don't like absurdly crude dream details, skip what falls between the lines.
   

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WARNING - DO NOT READ IF UNDER AGE, INTOLERANT, OR SHY
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anyhow, my dear hubby and I were fiddling around in the kitchen on date night, laughing and chatting about whatever, when he - in the middle of some story I don't remember the details of - said that Kev (old band mate) dropped the line "Bowl of Dicks" in reference to him being hungry. Something like, "Go get yourself a bowl of dicks." Now, mind you, I have no clue about the masculine chatter and the purging of insults or derogatory comments that seem to flitter out of men's mouths the moment there are more than one of them, but I guess this is how guys talk. So I said, "A bowl of what? A bowl of licks? What did he mean by that?" and of course my metal-head Adonis just laughed his guttural laugh and smacked my ass. We carried on with the rest of the night, and eventually I took my drowzy head to bed and innocently took to sleeping.

The next morning, as I move through that state of sleep-consciousness, I dreamed that Gary and I were eating at a place similar to Kobe (Japanese Steakhouse) where they cook up all kinds of things punctuated with flamboyant gestures and flaming knives. The man behind the iron skillet hands me a porcelin bowl of what I first percieve as mushrooms, but upon deeper consideration (I guess I was deciding if I wanted some) I realize that I am staring into a bowl of, YES, that's right... Dicks. Little ones, big ones, skinny ones, fat ones, shrimpy ones... you name it, it was likely in there. I couldn't take my eyes off the mass of sauteed penises, all plump and steaming. A flicker of a thought - as I eventually passed it over to Gary (who didn't look suprised at all) - "My GOD, please tell me those aren't baby dicks in there too? How the hell did they get those?" Everything else in that dream, as you can imagine, is a wash.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OK - It is safe to return
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So - while I am feeling ornery and verbose - I have to also share a story about giving the "stink- eye" this last week, only because it is SO unlike me - and because my students, after weeks of me talking about tolerance, and perception checking, and improved communication, made it clear to me that I was not following the order of things so heavily noted in my lectures! Regardless, SOMETIMES you just have to get rid of the energy that is in your gut because life isn't fair and it isn't hurting anyone but ME to keep it in. [and Mami, I know I promised pictures of JP and his man-do and birthday, but I will have to post that later! If you REALLY need a fix - click HERE!]

As the story goes, I am at Costco, waiting in the infamous gotta-get-my-gas-as-low-as-it-can-go line when the woman in front of me decides to start backing up so she can swing into another opening. I look in my rear mirrors to check that, YES, no one behind me. I am officially the END of the line. I put my car in reverse, but simply idle there for a few seconds, JUST IN CASE this lady decides to try and plunk her trunk on my new beautiful Honda. She doesn't [yeay], but in those few moments, an old man in a blue sedan-like of an "old-fart" car, in an effort to decide which lane is shortest, decides that he doesn't know WHY my brake and backup-lights are all on, so he pulls behind me and start slamming his horn. Meanwhile, I am still sitting there and two full lanes open up to the right of me, but I JUST WAIT, like the patient little soul I am. He then, pulls back (in the same manner that he was pissed at me for "POSSIBLY" doing) and pulls up along the next lane, mouthing all kinds of obscentities at me, flailing his arms, pointing fingers, while his quiet granny wife sits wide-eyed amidst the storm of "bitches" and "idiots" flying from his lips. At that moment, as I looked over and smiled at him, TRYING to wrap my mind around what I possibly did to light a fire under HIS ass, I read his lips - almost in slow motion - "f-uuuuck-ing bi-otch." It was RIGHT THEN that my little flame shot out like a Florida Fire Ant. OOOooooooo, what an a-hole!

Now, if you want to push my buttons, the way under my skin is to peg me for something that I AM NOT [or that is not in the Evelyn Schema of self beliefs]. To me that is a daggar of injustice that somehow just won't let go in my mind. Of all my almost 39 years in existence, when anyone tells me what they think I am, I am doing, or what they believe my intention to be, without checking it out with me, I am a raging bull in sheeps clothes. Somewhere late-20's I decided I was not worthless, I was not unlovable, and I was not selfish, and I took a little piece of me back. I bring out those blades of fury if you toss something my way that is unjustified, because I am my inner child's greatest protector, and by golly, I am going to protect that little piece of me that once felt so wounded, misunderstood, unworthy, and lonely. She is not going to feel that again.

Retracting back to the story... this old fart gets out of his car pretending he DID NOT just hurl obscentities and gestures my way just 20 seconds earlier, and starts to pump his gas. In the safety of his little car-bubble he could say what he wanted, but once outside it was another day with the Beavers. Somewhere inside of me I just could NOT let it rest at that. It immediately brought me back to being a 12 year old American-Colombian in an all girl Colombian Catholic school for several months, and a memory of the geography teacher shaming me in front of 40 girls with a hateful comment about "ALL American girls are NOT virgins" which caused me weeks of adolescent trauma and confusion [another story]. That was the first, and until this event, LAST time I ever used the stink- eye on anybody. Well, that little stink started to creep right up from my gut and writhed its angry little tenticles to the tips of my optic nerves. I gave that old man the stinkiest, angriest, piss-faced evil eye that I could muster. Between shakes of fear (because I don't know what got into me, officer) and little beads of nervous sweat on my forehead, I kept that stink-eye going through his entire 10+ gallons of gas, the return to his car, the buckling of the seat belt, and his nervous and almost fearful glances between each step as he realized that my gaze was not about to break. "HELL-to-the-NO" [as Whit would say] that SOB was not going to win. I'd rather prove him right and stink him right down to skid-marked skivies. Better yet, stink him down to his very dreams! As he pulled away, he passed me one more glance to see if I was STILL stink-eyeing him [and I was until his car was out of sight] and this time, when he mouthed, "what a bitch" from behind his protected car-bubble glass window, I felt GOOD!! Power to all the woman I am! At least he was finally accurate, I was giving him ALL BITCH so at least his comment could be justified. And I hope and pray that his poor wife has the guts to stand up to his brute, irrational, chauvinistic banter.

Better yet, although I am NOT a man hater, overtly angry, or a full-fledged feminist - I don't apologize for this final stream of letting go.... I imagine that his shrivled little pecker may have made a showing in the bowl of dicks I would be served later that night. :-)

Labels: adventure, dream, frustration, Gary

I finally figured out what I want for my birthday, and it started with a student who stopped in after the mid-term to tell me to see Carol our Registrar. Carol has some little guys that need a home and apparently my hubby told her to "talk to the wife." So, that is exactly what went down. She came and talked to me, and showed me Peanut.

I've felt bad for some time now that Gizmo is alone. Vicky [fairy godmother] encouraged me to get two pups when we got Gizmo, but timing and money were not in our favor, nor was the big man of the house. Now, I can see that Gizmo could use the energy of a housemate. So, the invitation simply made my heart jump, especially since Carol informed me that he was their favorite; loving, smart, and already trying to copy his mama's tricks at 3 months of age. She has been working on house training and all the temptations just poured from her lips. I never imagined I would love having pets as much as I do. So the conversation went like this:

"Hey," I call from the cell phone, "I figured out what I want for my birthday!"
"Really," says hubby, "What do you want?"
"A Peanut!"
"Uh, just one peanut? Not a whole lot of them?"
"No," I say, coyly, "This one wags it's tail, and he is cute, and Carol said he needed a home."
"Ugh, WHAT? Another DOG?"
"No, it's a Peanut Pup!"

Needless to say, the word was NO. But at least I get to post a picture for all eternity of the Birthday present I wanted but didn't get. Only thing left to do was gorge myself on homemade tortizzas and watch movies, while Gimzo bonked me silly because he doesn't have another puppy around to bonk instead. Yeah, so there is that...

Labels: birthday, food, gizmo, puppy

And it starts again...

As I work through pages of journal entries and attend to the posting of grades, I again struggle with the ongoing inattention of students to the responsibilities of their own education. I watch dollars slip through their fingers, and knowing so deeply the challenges of keeping my head above water, learning to manage and balance, I watch as they build debt that I never hope to see unless invested in a home. In fact, many of them who actually finish, see a final balance equivalent to our modest mortgage. I can't force them to do anything, and I ethically refuse to pass them if they don't do the work, and so I struggle with my part in their education. I sometimes wonder if I should work for a non-profit instead. But again, I LOVE the diversity of this environment. I love the small bits of growth that I see in self-awareness through teaching, modeling, and encouragement. I love having the students who DO invest the time, who care about the outcome, who REALLY want the success they profess to see ahead of them. I am noticing that I just don't have the energy for the work I invest in their education as much as I had. I detest going back and adding grades that should have been put in my book weeks earlier. I loathe the time it takes to go backwards when so many students try hard to keep ahead of the game. I cringe when a student approaches with an excuse, even when valid, because I know that means I will bend for their benefit, but it isn't reciprocated with timeliness often. And, I HATE when I see final grades of F in my grade book. I don't take it personally. I know it has nothing to do with me and more to do with the student and all the things they have going on in their life.

I guess I write this under a pile of papers [pressure], and a pile of exhaustion - meandering wishes that I could just do it all at once - easily. I have the pup at my back, bonking my skin with his wet nose, or making his way under my arm to divert my clicking, and writing, and reading, to insist that I attend to him and stay away from the pile of papers. No amount of music playing can make this easy. I love reading the students narratives, especially the ones who take advantage of the assignment to really grow aware of themselves or chew on the material. I love the narratives because they touch on my own story, and I see clearer that we all share similar stories and narratives. The collective subconscious is more evident - the existential theories of the human condition, placed on paper, through the eyes of students of all ages. I suppose that this is both my favorite and least favorite task, reading the narratives, then mustering through those that are retakes of class content, copies of other people's writing, lifeless efforts to simply get by. Then, those small morsels of information that are windows into the life of the narrator, pieces of themselves left bare for just a brief moment, fearless and fearful just the same. I then feel honored that I was witness and trusted.

So - I leave with that... a pile, some eye strain, dog bonking, a red pen, a spreadsheet, a yawn, and a sigh.

Labels: comment, frustration, teaching

This morning, in the lull of sleep and awakening, I found myself tearing through a carnival of a dream, so much so, that I am not sure I wasn't running around frantic all night long and I feel really worn out this morning. If you are not into reading the details of a dream - then skip this one...

My first thoughts (already an hour and half since I awoke - unfortunately - because the dog can't wait and neither can breakfast) was that I was traveling and I came upon a mall of clothing entirely for "real size women." As I went through stores I could see the manikins are size 10-12-14 and not size 2-4. I begin thinking about all the women I know who would love to find clothing and displays that are accurate to the average woman. As I emerge from the other end of the mall I am fussing with some light weight luggage and quite aware that I have my passport.

I am waiting with a young man [likely a student of mine] to go on to some sort of game show, but the wait was long and although they kept saying it would just be a few minutes, I gave up and asked if I could leave my luggage and run to the restroom. I then took off looking for a bathroom, finding one with lots of stalls, almost like a girls locker room. Something about the bathroom made an impression on me [and in the past, bathroom dreams for some reason tie in to a deeply hidden memory of being victimized/molested by a teacher in 4th grade - however I have noticed that the disgust and terror I had once felt in dream bathrooms has almost all but disappeared] I then emerged, hearing crowds of people laughing and cheering, and an announcer finishing up the description of the tasks to be completed. I was at the top of the set, looking down and I could see my competitor in front of a bizarre contraption. Two plates spun around on opposite ends of an arm allowing him to grab a meatball and put it on a plate while the other plate swung around, anticipating another meatball. He was practicing his hand at it, while filling up soda glasses and keeping a pot of sauce from burning. Waitresses were running by taking the meatballs and dumping them on a plate of spaghetti, then running them to audience members. A bit frustrated I ran down the bleachers to the seating area, squishing in between the crowd, and plunking my purse and small bag under the seat. The producer called me up, "hurry we are starting. You'll figure it out." My thought was simply that my competitor already knew what to do and I did not, so it was a bit unfair that I was called to task.

As I approach the contraption I somehow see myself on a hill looking down to the ocean. I see a massive shark at the cliff line. Production people are feeding it massive hunks of meat. I think to myself that this is much like Universal. I decide to head down but the find myself walking along those long steep streets of California, a blended environment between Grandpa's house and San Francisco. I take a side street and pass a Church. I hear music coming from the church but the windows are boarded up and the door has a security door half closed in front of it. I walk around to a window and see a beautiful black woman playing the organ. I stand and listen then get distracted and begin walking towards an intersection, heading down yet another steep hill.

I have skates on, and a small crowd of kids catch up to me from behind. I know them, or at least one of them, and she grabs my arm as we skate down hill together laughing. I let go to do a skate trick [my knees, even in my dreams know they can't do that anymore] and I get out of control and veer into a grassy area. We walk down together and I enter what I think is my grandfather's house but instead it is a room. Inside I see a familiar face - he looks at me and I realize it is Brad Hicks [my first ever boyfriend - the one whose tongue I practically bit off when he tried to french kiss me!] He recognizes me and we hug. I ask if he is still married and I proudly show him my ring. He doesn't say much, then a tall, freckled and red-haired man comes up to us. He looks at me surprised, and I ask, "Gary [Hicks]?" He smiles. He tells his brother he needs a hair cut and each of them grab one of my arms and we begin walking out to the street.

I see Brad go on ahead as we reach an apartment complex. Gary walks with me to the door. Brad has already completed some "secret knock." When I go in the room is very dark. I see a table to the left. Sitting at it is Satan, a gypsy, and two other shadowed faces. It looks like they are playing cards with tarot cards. In the right corner is a computer with someone at it. Another person sits at a desk. Gary goes to the table and sits across from Satan. Gary seems very depressed. There is a door in the back that I figure Brad has gone through. I walk around looking at all the strange stuff then sit in a chair. A man with scruffy hair is sitting next to me. He puts his arm over my lap and breathes me in like he is smelling a flower. I am a bit uncomfortable. Another man turns around and I see another familiar face, Sammy. He has the same bowl haircut that he did when we were kids. He was the first boy I ever held hands with and went to a movie with [Xanadu & we never kissed]. Brad comes out from the back and asks if I want to join them for lunch. I follow them both out and we walk, Gary staying close and Brad up ahead. I lose Brad in a crowd. Gary says to me that he went in to the building where they used to give you "a green dress." I see a very fancy entrance - like to the Waldorf or something. To the left of the doorway is a niche in which a golden statue of a woman's body stands. It is wearing long pearls, and a short flapper dress - all gold. The only hint of green - to represent the green dresses - is a gleam of emerald from somewhere on the statue. I follow Gary in. It is crowded and there is a show somewhere down below - I sit in a chair and someone grabs it and wheels it backwards towards the sides, just above a stairway going down.... I wake up.

Labels: dream

Today is the 13th anniversary of the birth of Justin. In the last two hours before having the opportunity to write this my head was filled with all kinds of stories to write about. I called my sister to inform her that I officially had a teenager today. She said, "It's your birthday too!" "No, No" I replied, "I still have a week-ish to go." "Yeah, I mean today is your BIRTH-day."

I was struck with numerous thoughts on this, one of which occurs EVERY August 7th. Justin is, by far, the BEST gift I have ever gotten. I appreciate all the work, and time, and energy that goes into all that is parenting and being mom. Anyhow, this is for "the child" who, any day now, will inform me that he is no longer "a child" and that I really need to get a grip; but calling him so keeps things in perspective.

Dear Justin,
The moment you were born I stared at every toe and finger in amazement. Those tiny little things, with nails I needed glasses to see, gripped my finger with the strength of an ant carrying the world. I remember wondering what you would turn into, what you would look like as things grew and filled in. 13 years seemed an eternity away, and I simply couldn't fathom who you would be and the relationship we would have. All I knew was that it was my job to make sure you were happy and healthy. I spent hours watching you sleep, and breathe, and play. As your spirit began to find a voice, and your body a way to express itself, your sense of humor and vibrance filled my life. Despite tantrums, and stubbornness, and all the challenges that made up your effort to be who you needed to be, I never once asked myself what I was thinking, having a kid. I knew, the day the nurse came out to inform me that the pregnancy test was positive ["Oh," I said, "Positively NOT pregnant." and she stared at me a moment like I was a complete dunce and said, "No, you POSITIVELY ARE pregnant."] I knew that you were everything I could ever want. You were welcome in my life in every way, and I enjoyed EVERY moment of pregnancy, EVEN the heartburn, the big ass, the buddha-belly, and pushing for 11+ hours. It was worth every moment.

This is my list of 13 things I LOVE about you:

1. I love that you bring out my goofy-silly-playful side that at one time my sister was only privy to. It means that I get to laugh in ways I used to miss.
2. I love that I can play games with you, because playing games makes me think and takes me out of my head.
3. I love how smart you are and that your odd-ball brilliance makes it so no one can really miss the joy of having you around.
4. I love how you still take a hug when you want one, reminding me to stop and enjoy the love I have in my life.
5. I love that you still sleep in the craziest positions, all over the place, and that you claim that it is the dog that pushes you around on the bed.
6. I love that you know what I like to do and advise me what to try.
7. I love how your voice is crackling and changing. I still have a recording of a message on my phone that I listen to every month about a chess game you won against Sam, and it reminds me what you USED to sound like, so at least I get to keep that.
8. I am not sure I love that your feet have grown bigger than mine, or that you are taller. You don't realize that it is a reminder that you aren't a kid anymore - but I guess I like how proud you are about finally growing taller than me.
9. I love that I can depend on you to take Gizmo out on walks and entertain him when he thinks he needs to be stuck to me like a fly on poop.
10. I love that your movie commentaries are sounding more and more analytic and deep. Suddenly you are thinking about what really goes on in a movie.
11. I especially love that you and I can talk to each other with all kinds of accents, and that you do a great imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger or a British accent which means some day you are going to read Roald Dahl to your kids and keep them mesmerized just like I did with you.
12. I love that you can take down all the "bosses" on the video games that I play, cause you know I can't stand the anxiety of having one of those suckers keep taking me down and chase me!
13. I love how you tell me all kinds of fascinating things that you have gathered from your Popular Science magazines, and that you share with such urgency and delight.
    

You are, by far, my favorite kid in the whole wide world! I love you, even when you are exhausting, and funny, and pesky, and grumpy, and everything in between - Forever!

I yuv you yachts,
Me (your mom)

Labels: JP

Evelyn in 1954
Evelyn in 1968This is just TOO funny. I was visiting TxPoppet's Canned Laughter website and caught a glimpse of a comment she made about a yearbook picture in a tweet. I followed along and ended up in a giggling fit. I noticed I look like Grandma with those horned-rimmed glasses! AND 1994 - I was already in my 2nd year of teaching elementary school. IN FACT, pregnant with Justin late that year! Thank god I didn't have to go through the tedious puffing of bringing life into the world while sporting that 90's do. I may have scared Justin into his first breaths!

Somehow I was sensible enough to avoid the "high-hair" of the 90's, although my history with clothes will prove I wasn't as coy with my threads. My sister and I talk about how I convinced her to go to school (80's) with long underwear under her short skirt - saying it was in fashion (as were leg warmers, bright colors, and tube skirts). Unfortunately, Monica heard no end of it at school, and came home angry and distressed that I would embarrass her that way. That was the LAST TIME Monica took dressing advice from me, and I expect that is one of the most intelligent choices in regards to our relationship. I was all about unicorns, Pink Floyd, Jean Michel Jarre, drawing, and boys. To this day I have no clue what fits me the right way. I remain a Birkenstock girl: comfort and as little constriction as possible. Sometimes I fantasize that my family dragged me in to the "How Do I Look?" or "What Not To Wear" shows so that I might have SOMEBODY tell me how to wear stuff [note: I call clothes "stuff"] that is right for my body. Monica, with her belly dancing experience, has really emerged as my dressing diva. She is much braver than I am in expressing herself with clothes, and perhaps, more comfortable with her body than I could every find myself to be. Anyhow, it may have worked to be a 50's girl - a bit more modest, although I think the panty-hose would have killed me.

Which one looks more natural to you?

• 1954
• 1968
• 1994

PS. I got a neat reference on Canned Laughter about my 100th post! Got to be Blamous! [Blog-Famous] for just a tickle of time! If you want a really sentimental anecdote you have to read her post on Impressions.

Labels: childhood, Evelyn

I write, eyes struggling to look at a blurred computer screen, brain straining to interpret what my eyes are doing. We went and saw Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D today, and despite my aversion to rides (unless on a bike I am steering, or a car I am driving) and other things startling me, it was quite a fun movie. I am however, REALLY struggling from the aftermath of eyestrain and brain function. As you can see - it had quite an impact on all of us.
Meanwhile, I can't help to point out the lovely bar of soap that emerged from our soap pile. Justin returned to a shower vacant of soap - so I instructed him to dig one out of the bottom drawer. This is the first time in the 8 years we have lived here that HE has requested a bar of soap! In fact, soap would last a year - yes - just one bar - unless we had company! Don't ask me what he was doing; I expect from the length of time he kept himself in the shower and the amount of steam that bellowed out from under the bathroom door, Justin was simply good at sterilizing himself with the power of pure agua [and the ongoing overwhelming and overused chlorine of city water]. Anyhow, the bar of soap looked dirtier than he was. He handed me an ivory bar that looked like it had come from the bottom of a cowboy's dusty satchel in the 1870's. I had no idea that ivory soap, 99% pure soap, could go as rancid as a peanut in the summer sun.

Labels: adventure, JP, water

Labels: gizmo, JP

Yeah - that's right. Nee Nee Nee - with joyfully teasing eyes, pink tongue staring annoyingly from pursed lips, and the wicked tone of an older sister.

My parents took a trip this summer and brought back some lovely pottery from an artist in Vermont (or maybe Maine?) - Odyssey Stoneware. Mom let me pick, since my birthday is fast approaching, and I will be ONE YEAR short of 40! [good lord - how did that happen] So, I studied the pieces carefully; turning them, holding them, even sniffing them once to ensure there was no sense left unsettled. I took the mug I clearly recognized as my sister's piece. And I left her, the larger, bluer piece... the one I would have taken, yet, I selfishly sent it away to find a spot on her shelves.

Monica called, "Hey - what does MY MUG look like?"
"Oh, just like something you would LOVE," I replied, like the daunting older sister I am well schooled in.
"Heeeeyyyyyyy!" she whined, "You need to send me a picture of my Mug!"
Yeah - I could... or I could hold off for a while and just let my mother's description do it justice.
Ultimately, I kept the mug my sister would have wanted, because I knew that each time I used it I would think of her, and when she had MY mug, she would think of me. It's the only way to be close from 2052 miles away.

Labels: Monica, sisters