Thursday, March 31, 2005

SuperDad to the Rescue.....Again. Part #1

I am currently single. I don't have the luxury of a man to fix things around the house. My son, bless his big heart, tries, but he's only 14. So, who do I call when the faucet leaks? SuperDad.
My Dad is just the best. When the washing machine breaks, or the furnace goes kapute he is there in a flash. SuperDad bursts through the door, toolbox in hand, with a big S on his chest and long red cape flapping gently in the breeze. No problem is too big or small for SuperDad to fix. As my Great Uncle Dave used to say "Your Dad could put the ass back in a cat".
Dad isn't just a wizard with all things mechanical, he's also very wise. He was there for me throughout my divorce, with support and strength. He's who I turn to for parenting advice. He's the Worlds greatest Grandfather to his three Grandsons. He'll tell it to me straight when I screw up and he doesn't judge me when I do. He's always there for me, through the good, the bad, and the really ugly. SuperDad rocks.
I currently drive a Grandma mobile. It's a '91 Plymouth Acclaim that I purchased from my Grandmother for $100. She's Old Reliable. 125,000 miles and starts every morning. So, when I was driving home from work Tuesday and the front right wheel on Old Reliable started wobbling to and fro, who did I call? SuperDad of course. "The passenger tire on my car feels like it's going to fall off. I thought I had a flat when I pulled into the garage at work this morning, but I checked it and it was fine. The lug nuts are tight and I couldn't see anything wrong with it. I left work and it seemed fine, but when I hit a bump it starts wobbling and I'm afraid the wheel is just going to break off" He asked where I was and 'we' decided I should drive to a nearby gas station with a repair garage.
Normally, I try to handle a crisis logically and methodically. I go into an autopilot mode. At least, I think I do, except for when I am lost in unfamiliar territory. I have a lousy sense of direction. I swear, I could get lost in a paper bag - carrying directions. I'm one of those - turn off the radio and don't you dare talk to me, type of people when I am lost. Like that's going to help the situation?
Apparently, I am the same way in a vehicle mechanical failure situation. I don't mean flat tire stuff, that I can handle, but a wheel dislocation during rush hour? Nuh uh! Logic went right out the window Tuesday and I went straight to panic mode.
I pulled back into traffic with my hazard lights on, creeping along, sure that at any moment the joints and arms that hold the tire secure to the car would collapse and I would be stuck in the street with a wheel laying on it's side and annoyed commuters honking at the inconvenience of my horror. The wobble was intermittent. I made it to the gas station and pulled into a parking spot. The vehicle emitted a relieved clunking sound when I finally stopped. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my upper lip.
I approached the (ehem) gentleman covering the register of the small convenient store/gas station. He was 40ish with a receding hairline which he compensated for by letting it grow longer in the back. This fact was accentuated by whatever grease he used to hold it all in place. The obvious gold chain around his hairy neck only added to his charm. I could picture him hitting on young women in a nightclub with tight pants and a 70's silk shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hirsute chest, much like Steve Martin in the SNL Two Wild and Crazy Guys skit. He probably still lives with his mother too.
"It feels like the wheel is going to come right off" I said....."Have you ever had a wheel come off when you are driving?" He quipped. "No" I answered "Then how do you know what it feels like?" He chuckled. I wanted to reach over the counter and bitch slap him. This silly, silly man did not know that you do not taunt a woman in distress, she'll gouge your eyes out in a heartbeat. I think he grasped a portion of the concept from the flaming daggers that were shooting from my eyes. He quickly told me that they would be happy to look at it, it would be a few minutes as there was a tire job currently being serviced. Whatever, dumbass.
I purchased a soda, since I had suddenly been unable to produce any kind of saliva due to my ordeal. My mouth felt as dry as a desert. I phoned Dad and updated him, after figuring out exactly where I was, he informed me that he would be there shortly. SuperDad to the rescue once again.
I then phoned my coworker, who also happens to be my best friend of 25 years, and told her of my plight. She had left work after me, but passed me as I sat waiting in my car. She offered to turn around and come help as best she could. I assured her I was OK and that Dad was on his way. I gave her a description of my Dad's truck and she started laughing, "He just passed me on the inbound side of the highway - he should be there in a few minutes".
Dad inspected the workings of the whole arm joint hold the tire to the car thingy and suggested that he follow me to his mechanics. "Just stay in the slow lane and keep it under 45mph. If it's the CV joint it would fail at low speeds" I trust Dad implicitly and know he would never put me in harms way. After informing Mr. Dumbass that I was leaving, off we went.
Gratefully, the old girl felt my white knuckles on her steering wheel and stayed true throughout the commute. Clairvoyant Dad knew I was nervous and called me on my cell. He told a story of an old Chevy work van that he had years ago. "I'd hit 60 mph and the steering wheel would shake so violently that I'd have to pull over". "Why'd you keep driving it?" I queried. "It was a challenge". He chuckled. Brave, courageous SuperDad knew how to calm my nerves.
Normally, Tuesdays are a bitch of a commute in Boston. I think people like to avoid Mondays, so the traffic on Tuesday is usually very heavy. But...not this Tuesday of course. Light traffic, I could have done 65 all the way home. Here I was, in the slow lane going 45. I could feel the eyes burning into my head of the passing drivers as they shouted "What the hell is wrong with you? You're on the HIGHWAY for crying out loud!" I know that's what I would have been thinking.
I parked outside the garage, only after heaving a huge sigh of relief that the images of crashing horribly on I93 had not come true. I was safe, SuperDad was right, as usual.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Alone at Last

My son is off visiting with his father overnight. This is a rare occurrence in our home. Visits have been infrequent at best over the last year.
Any parent needs time away from their kids. Time to recharge and regroup. It's an exhausting job, being a parent. Puberty especially. They can suck the energy right out of you from across the room.
My son told me (during one particularly trying argument) "I can't wait until I'm old enough to move out of here!" I was at the end of my rope at that particular moment, so my response wasn't exactly thought out. "I'll pack your bags for you!" I blurted. Of course, we made it through that one and will make it through the many to come as he continues on his journey to manhood.
I was given a printout that I have hung on the refrigerator:
Tired of being hassled by your stupid parents?
Move Out, Get a Job, Pay Your Own Bills....
While you still know EVERYTHING!
How true.
There have been times where I've wanted to run away from home myself.
So any kind of break where I have time alone is cherished. No sullen hooded figure slumped on the couch with remote in hand. No whining about there being no good snacks every 10 minutes the fridge door is opened. Fruit, pb&j, cereal and leftovers don't qualify. Chips, ice cream, yogurt and Lil Debbies are real snacks. Well, if you hadn't gotten up in the middle of the night and eaten the half gallon of ice cream in two days, if you hadn't left open the bag of chips so they went stale, if you hadn't eaten 6 yogurt's in one day and if you hadn't eaten the entire box of Lil Debbies in 3 days there would be SNACKS! I only wish I could burn off a quarter of the calories this kid puts away. I hit the grocery store at least twice a week for this growing boy.
Ahhh, where was I? Oh yes, peace & quiet. I am the master of the remote. Time alone at the PC without interruptions. It's only overnight. He'll be back tomorrow afternoon barring any arguments with his father.
So I ask you, why the hell do I miss him so much?

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Pet Peeves

These are some of my pet peeves - in no particular order.

1. Animal cruelty - I think anyone that is cruel to animals should be made to suffer the cruelty they inflicted. So you want to beat your animal into submission? You first.

2. Child molesters - castrate them, amputate all their digits, then put them in general population in prison. That includes Michael Jackson.

3. Bad drivers - This will probably have it's own post one day.

4. Cell phone talking drivers - this could fall under bad drivers, but it deserves a special place. These are the same idiots that cannot walk and chew gum at the same time.

5. Print pants - eeew.

6. People that talk with food in their mouth - again, eeeew!

7. Rude behavior - is it that tough to teach your kids to say please and thank you?

8. Bullies - probably belong to the same parents that are incapable of teaching their kids to say please and thank you. These are also the same parents that excuse their childs bad behavior as 'kids will be kids' like they have no control over it.

9. People that cut in line - I'd like to cut them.

10. People that talk while you are in a movie theater trying to watch a movie - do us all a favor and wait for the DVD, you can talk all you want in your own livingroom.

11. Prejudice.

12. Liars and cheats. Dishonesty in general.

13. Immigrants that refuse to learn or speak English - you're in my country, learn the language, or get back on the boat you came in on and go the fuck home.

14. Welfare mothers that just keep producing children so they can stay in the system & keep getting checks - get off your soap opera laden ass, get spayed and get a fucking job to support your own kids, I'm tired of paying your way. These are the same people that shouldn't be allowed to breed in the first place.

15. Ignorance - they're called books people! and there's this place where you can borrow them.....for free!

16. People that take up the entire aisle in the grocery store - I mean, C'mon! You leave your carriage in the middle of the aisle so no one can pass while you stand in the middle of the aisle 5 feet away. You are not the only one shopping here!

17. Laziness - I'm not talking an occasional Saturday where you never even get out of your PJ's. I mean someone that never gets off their own ass to do anything for themselves and then bitches and moans about their lot in life. Grrrrr.

18. Gossips - if you've got something to say about me, say it to my face. Otherwise just shut the hell up!

19. Fat females that dress skinny - News flash! Those low cut jeans and that belly shirt? Yea, those are for people that actually do situps and don't have a huge roll of fat hanging over their waistband. I mean - HAVE YOU LOOKED IN THE MIRROR?

I'm sure I could come up with a bunch more, these are just what came to me in the moment.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Acme Mole Extermination

My Dad takes pride in having a nice lawn. Regular fertilization, weekly mowing and watering during dry hot weather kept the lawn at our old house lush green and fairly weed free (cept for those occasional pesky dandelions). It was a lush blanket of green. It was a lawn to roll on, a lawn to pick out animal shapes in the clouds on. That is, except for the mole holes.
They were everywhere around the foundation. There was a spot at the top of a small hill where an old well once was that was a particular favorite place for the burrowing rodents. As a kid I loved all things furry even moles, until I found out the little fuckers have pretty sharp teeth. After being bitten hard enough to draw blood, I didn't think moles were so cute. I developed a dislike to them much like my Dad, though for different reasons.
I had no reservations with my Dad's desire to rid our yard of the burrowing fanged beasts. Nowadays they have simple little posts that you can tap into the ground to rid your yard of these pests. These posts emit sound waves that the blind bastards hate, so they flee the area. That technology didn't exist 30 years ago, so my Dad resorted to good old New England ingenuity.
Burning them out of house and home seemed like a good plan. Pour gasoline in the holes, light a match - end of story, right?
Dad filled each of the holes with a generous helping of gas. There were a dozen or so around the old well. He struck the match, smiled and tossed it in one of the holes. Nothing happened. Then, wisps of smoke rising out of a couple of the holes. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be standing over the area with a can full of gas, he thought. He picked up the still fairly full can and decided to vacate the area. Then he heard, no felt something. A gentle rumbling in the ground, building, getting louder. Better pick up the pace here as his steps quickened.
It was a very localized quake, probably would register as much as a large semi truck on the Richter scale. Then there was a loud WHOOOOSH as flames and smoke shot out of the dozen or so mole holes. It was over in a heartbeat. Dad stood in the middle of it all, gas can still in hand, the blood completely drained from his face. He looked almost ghostly he was so pale. Dad was shaken, had a few more gray hairs, but none the worse for wear.
Gotta hand it to that ol' New England ingenuity - we never saw another mole again.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Wiley Coyote has nothing on my Dad

We had 3 weeping willow trees in the yard of the house I grew up in. One of them was on the edge of the property. It was about 30 feet tall. Another was in the middle of the back yard. A behemoth of a willow tree, probably 100 feet tall and it branched out 50 feet wide. The third was next to the driveway. It was much smaller. It had two horizontal branches that grew out about two feet apart, one above the other. The upper branch had a fork in it that was a perfect backrest. I nailed a board about 12x12 to the bottom branch. (My ass actually fit on a 12x12 board, of course I was 12 at the time.) I nailed another board to the upper branch - it was almost like a highschool desk. I would sit in that tree for hours reading. I would hide there from my parents when I knew I was in trouble. I cherished my own quiet space with nothing but chirping sparrows for company.

I loved weeping willow trees when I was a kid. They are like huge umbrellas when you are under them, safe from everything outside of their cover. They gently sway in the breeze and the Orioles love to nest in their branches. The way they weave the long flexible branches together and made a little bag of a nest always amazed me.

My Dad however, was not so fond of them. They have very shallow roots that are easily visible and it's tough to grow a decent lawn under them, nevermind trying to mow it. They also attract a lot of bugs, especially little green beetles. You also have to trim them or the branches grow all the way to the ground. They are high maintenance trees. The behemoth was the first to go. My Dad cut it down and used it for firewood.

My tree was eventually cut down to make way for a beautiful rock garden. I was sad when it went, it held fond memories for me.

The third tree got revenge for the other two being cut down.

There was a violent windstorm that uprooted the third willow. The root ball was 20 feet across. The shallow root system and a big canopy to catch the wind made it an easy job. Luckily it missed the deck, but it made a mess of the backyard.

My Dad dug out his chainsaw to clean up the mess. The trunk of the tree was about 3 feet thick, easily straddled to begin the process of dicing it up. My Dad straddled the tree to cut the top off. Now this was a bad idea for a couple of reasons. The first being that the tree wasn't completely uprooted. It was laying on it's side but still had connected roots and as I said, the root ball was 20 feet wide. The second being that the canopy on willow trees weighs a lot. Do you see where I am going with this?

Dad thought it was a good idea to cut off the top of the tree first, as he straddled it. The chainsaw roared as it dug into the soft wood, slicing through it like a hot knife through butter. It was over quickly. The only problem was that my Dad had cut off the counterweight to the root system. Once freed, the trunk felt the pull of it's roots and started to upright itself. Now, when you are straddling a tree that starts to rise quickly right between your legs you don't have a lot of time to think. All he could do was hang on and go for the ride. He grabbed the trunk as it came up under him and held on for dear life with the chainsaw still in one hand. The roots thunked back into the hollow left when it was ripped from the ground. Picture it: my Dad, 15 feet in the air, clinging to the trunk of the tree with all his might, still holding the chainsaw, laughing his ass off because he was lucky enough to be unscathed. And there was no one else around to see it happen.

My Mom came home from work, she saw the tree - upright again. She turned to my Dad and calmly asked "Why did you put it back?"

The weeping willow tree stayed where it was. Shorter of stature, but proud in it's nature. It had gotten it's payback for the destruction of it's buddies.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I have developed a tradition over the last few years. I text message my parents constantly when they are on vacation.
I'm very close to my parents, especially my Dad. We usually talk on the phone at least once a day. My parents are the best. I don't know where I'd be today without the help & support they have given me over the years.
They usually vacation in Florida for 3 weeks a year. Normally they take my elderly Grandparents with them. I don't know how much of a vacation that really is. This year is different though, they went on a cruise to the Florida Keys and Bahamas with my Mom's cousin and husband. I'm staying at their house Grandparent sitting. They have an In-Law apartment downstairs. My parents certainly deserve the break and I hope they're having a good time.
I send them funny little text messages daily, just to let them know I miss them and everything is OK here. Yesterdays was: "This is the first week in the last 5 months that we have not had snow. It's been 50 degrees the last 2 days. They are forecasting snow for your homecoming Sunday though. Smiles." Just a little dig.
My Dad has gotten in the habit of making a huge vat of soup every week for the Senior Center in our town. He makes a mean soup. I'm talking top shelf here - he uses top sirloin beef, scallops and lobster...Only the best. The seniors love it and rave to my Grandparents about it. Personally, I think he's just trying to buy his way in for when he reaches Senior status. In honor of that, today's message was: "Town Crier Headlines: Riot at Senior Center. Hostages Taken. Police Chief says their only demand is: We want soup! We want soup!"
I'm not sure if they are getting these messages being at sea. I send them from online and I keep getting a "message undeliverable". Who knows, maybe they'll pull in to port, pick up a signal and suddenly get 30 text messages.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

File Under: What I wished I'd said but didn't

OK, so you know when you walk into the restroom in your building and you are hit with this Godaweful odor?
I know it was the woman standing at the sink washing her hands (well, at least she does that!) I have to pee so bad that, although I want to turn and leave before I lurch, I can't. I want to get the hell outta there before someone else comes in and thinks it was me that stunk up the place. I hold my breath as best I can and try to keep from passing out. I pee faster than the speed of light and end up washing my hands next to this woman (I said I peed fast!). She leaves. Screaming in my head are the words.......... "GOOD GOD WOMAN - WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EAT?"

Puberty and Brain Death

My son is growing into a young man. Puberty has been tough - tougher on me than him I think. He knows how to push my buttons, and does so with vigor every chance he gets. He knows that I have my limit on what I can and will tolerate though. Lately his mouth has been getting the better of him.

He thinks that I am the stupidest person on the planet. That's OK, that's a normal part of growing up. I may have my days where I wonder about how smart it was to produce a child and I question my sanity, but the one thing I won't tolerate in my home is disrespect. He doesn't have to like what I say, he can be as angry as he wants, but he will show me respect by gorry!

Last Wednesday morning he crossed the line. He mouthed off and said things to me that made my Grandmother turn over in her grave. I calmly looked him square in the eye and told him: "When you see your father Saturday, you ask him if you can move in with him. I refuse to continue putting up with your lack of respect and abuse. See how far you get with that mouth before he knocks your block off." The deer in the headlight eyes told me that he knew I wasn't messing around. The "Oh shit, I did it this time" face. He hit a sphincter factor of 15. I had made my point, he went off to school and I went off to work without further incident.

I left a list of things for him to do before I got home from work. Simple chores; make your bed, clean the cat box, take out the trash, approximately 45 minutes worth of work. He called when he got in from school, I cooly told him to do everything on the list before I got home and hung up. My way of letting him know he was not off the hook.

Now I understand how puberty makes kids go a little haywire. All those hormones surging through their bodies makes them moody and sullen. They're becoming their own person, establishing independence. What the experts don't tell you is that puberty causes them to go brain dead at times.

You see, they only have enough brain function allotment for school, the rest is choked off by raging hormones. Once they use up the 6 or so hours available doing math problems, english and biology.. etc. They just go completely brain dead. That includes everything that you have taught them up to this point. Common sense stuff like coming in out of the rain, wearing a coat when it's 20 degrees out and lifting the toilet seat are all blocked by the incessant rush of testosterone and estrogen.

Case in point:
My son knew he was on my shit list BIG TIME. He truely wanted to try and make up for being an obnoxious ass. He knows how good he has it living with me. No way he would want to go to his fathers. Seriously, his father can't handle a weekend, nevermind full time! The solution? Clean the entire house before I get home.
Good idea in theory, but there was something lacking in the execution.
So what do I find when I walk through the door?
My darling son cleaning windows. He has two windows out of the frames laying on the floor. How thoughtful. IF, you overlook the fact that it's twelve (yes, 12) degrees out. IF, you overlook the fact that he turned the heat off (yes, off). IF, you overlook the fact that not one single thing was completed on the list (not one). I wasn't in a mood to overlook the facts. His brain function had stopped.
"Do you think it's a good idea to turn the heat off when it's 12 degrees out?" Blank stare. "Do you think it's a good idea to open the windows when it's 12 degrees out?" Still nothing. "Do you think it's a good idea to start a big project BEFORE you have completed what I asked you to do?" Tears start welling in his eyes, his bottom lip is trembling. The nerves are once again firing in his brain.

I retreat to my bedroom and lay on the bed, too exhausted to even deal with this child at the moment. Then the guilt hits. He was trying to do something good and right. What did I do? I stomped all over him. He can't help the fact that he has brain lapses - he's 14 for crying out loud. He is doing the best he can with what he has at the moment. He was just trying to make it right. Arrrg! I'm a bad Mommy. I drift off to sleep for an hour.

I awake and enter the now clean living room. He has cooked hot dogs and mac & cheese. There are candles on the table, and a letter. A very neatly written letter with earnest and wise beyond his years words written on it. I read as the tears drop to the page. An apology, and a promise to be better. He's a good kid with the best of intentions at heart.

I hug him. We eat. I turn the heat back on, it's 55 degrees in the house. He will completely forget everything that transpired this day. He will will mouth off and disrespect me again.
He's 14 and brain dead. He will grow out of it.

Tomorrow is another day.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

From Heaven Little Angels Come

My cousin Tim and his wife Jocelyn had their first baby Sunday the 6th.

Tim and Joc (read Jos) are head over heels in love. Joc is a beautiful intelligent woman with a 100 watt smile. Tim, a handsome man, has a quiet way about him with a dry wit that can make you fall off your chair laughing when he tells a tale. (Something he inherited from his Dad, Big Ed-just don't tell Tim I said that, he doesn't think he is anything like his father) He works for the CDC and she is a Speech Therapist for special needs kids. They were married a couple years ago at one of the historic churches in Boston. They live in Maryland now, near Tim's family, my Uncle and Aunt. They're a beautiful young couple with a bright future. Life is good.

Until... They found out their little girl has Down Syndrome. The bits and pieces of news I got through my Mom went like this: First there was a question of something being off with the baby. A suspicion of Downs, the bloodwork would tell. Baby Maren has some physical symptoms - something with the rolls at the back of her neck, the wideset eyes the shape of her skull. She does not have the dropped ears, the line across her palm. The blood test comes back positive - Down Syndrome. Talk about a kick in the nuts.

My Mom called and told me, as she was breaking down crying, so was I. The way she sobbed when she told me "I've never heard my brother cry like that" talking about my Uncle "Big Ed", who I have never seen cry, killed me.

On a sidenote - I am a crier. I cry reading sentimental greeting cards, I cry every Sunday I watch Extreme Home Makeover, I cry reading Wil Wheatons Blogs, I cry at the sappiest things. I come off as this tough biker chick when I am really just a wus.

I go off on a web search to learn about Downs. I didn't know that there were 3 different types of Down Syndrome. I didn't know that there was a 1 in 800 chance of having a baby with Downs. Holy shite - 1 in 800 chance of having a baby with Downs? And those odds increase with age!
I found some great sites about it. Some personal sites with great advice and a peek at what life with a Downs baby is like, some professional organization sites with oodles of info and support. Loads of great info out there.

I stopped by my Mom & Dad's a day later and was chatting with Mom about my research. Hoping that Baby Maren has Mosaicism:

Mosaicism occurs when nondisjunction of the 21st chromosome takes place in one of the initial cell divisions after fertilization. When this occurs, there is a mixture of two types of cells, some containing 46 chromosomes and some containing 47. Those cells with 47 chromosomes contain an extra 21st chromosome. Because of the "mosaic" pattern of the cells, the term mosaicism is used. Mosaicism is rare, being responsible for only one to two percent of all cases of Down syndrome.
Some research has shown that individuals with mosaic Down syndrome are less affected than those with trisomy 21; however, broad generalizations are not possible due to the wide range of abilities that people with Down syndrome possess. I hope baby Maren has this type of Downs, I hope she has the ability to be very high functioning with minimal developmental disabilities.

I told Mom I wanted to send Tim & Joc a letter showing my support. I've been rolling it in my head since. So here is an open letter to them, a rough draft I will send to them via snail mail later. (No one in my family is aware I have this Blog yet, so I doubt they would know to read it here.)

Dear Tim and Jocelyn,

Congratulations on your beautiful daughter! Mum showed me a couple pictures. She is an adorable little peanut. I hear she is nursing like a champ. I hope she isn't up every two hours like Christopher was. I don't think I slept for 6 months!

I've thought a lot about what I want to say to you and I hope the way I feel comes across correctly. I understand how difficult it is to deal with the reality of a disability. The heartbreak of knowing your child has difficult challenges ahead. The guilt of wondering if it's your fault, if you could have done something different, if you could have prevented it.

It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done to change it. It is what it is, and it's going to be OK.

The first thought that came to my mind when I heard that Maren had Down Syndrome was that everything is going to be OK. She is the luckiest little baby in the world to have you as her parents. She will (as if she hasn't already) wrap her little hands around your hearts and you will be hooked for life. The love that the two of you share is very special - you can practically touch it when you are in a room together! That puts you way ahead of the game as far as being parents go. There isn't anything that the two of you together can't handle.

The only advice I can give is educate yourselves. I know Tim is already on it. When Christopher was born, I knew nothing about ADHD. I now have a veritable library on the subject. It helped me cope, gave me options and let me know that I wasn't alone. Knowledge is power and it gave me strength. I've done a little research and there are some great websites and organizations out there about Down Syndrome. They are making leaps and bounds in research nowadays and who knows what's around the corner.

Yes, Maren is one lucky little baby to have two great parents like you. She is going to have so much love and support from her family, and she is going to have a wonderful life.

Please, let me know if there is anything special you need. I never sent a shower gift, there must be a few things you didn't receive, so please let me know. You're all in my thoughts.

Sending love and positive mojo your way,


I think I'll let Mom read this before I send it to them to see what she thinks. It'll have to be next week since Mom & Dad are off on their cruise, lucky them. I'm here at their house grandparent sitting. But that's another post.

No Balls No Glory

So I've had this Blog for a week now and only posted twice.
I had all kinds of ideas in my head when I was thinking of creating a Blog.
Now that it's here, I'm blank. I think it's a case of stage fright.
What if my grammar is bad, spelling is off, I have nothing important to say...Etc....Etc....
What if I come off sounding stupid.....As Uncle Willie would say: The voice of self doubt has been running rampant through my head. I could what if myself to death. I could totally puss out and miss a great opportunity. What do I gain by being a chicken shit? - absolutely nothing.
It's time to kick the voice of self doubt in the nuts and JUST DO IT, as the famous slogan goes.
So here goes.

I am completely HTML illiterate. Luckily, Blogger is a gentle teacher, built for the PC simpleminded such as myself. This is a work in progress. Please bear with me as I figure out how to add links and customize the look to my liking. It is a great opportunity for me to learn something new and become adept at it. I look forward to figuring out what CCS or CSS, whatever the hell it is. Maybe I can get back into my photography and incorporate that as well.

That's more like it - a better train of thought. Amazing how changing your way of thinking can change your mood and attitude.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

It's Finally Here

Jumping up and down...doing my happy dance! Tonight Wil Wheaton is on CSI! I've been reading his blog since the beginning, read both his books, watched him on STNG....Stand by Me, et al. I must sound like a rapid stalking fan right now. I thoroughly enjoy his writing. There is a vulnerability with his brutal honesty, the humor and insight he has about himself is something I admire. His willingness to lay everything out for the world to read is courageous to me. Plus he has an astounding memory, I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday, yet Wil can remember every card in a night of poker playing and be able to write about it a week later!
I'll be planted on the couch watching for Wil tonight!

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Taking The Leap

I've been toying with the idea of creating my own blog for a bit now. I have several blogs I read daily and enjoy. I don't know if I have the ability to be as humorous or creative as those I have read. It seems to be a fun idea to have a place to vent or blow off steam & even ponder deeper thoughts. So begins my lame attempt into the world of Blogging.