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My big girl panties look like running shorts

This week is Operation Rejoin The Human Race.

Oh, I know, you weren’t aware that I left. But I did! Every now and then my natural tendencies towards hermit-tude intersect with massive life suckage and then I go underground (metaphorically—the clay in Georgia is far too hard for actual tunneling) and the extent of what I say in public is limited to things like, “The sunlight! IT BURNS!”

At a certain point, my darling husband starts looking at me with a gaze tinged with equal parts pity and fear, and then I know it’s time to pull myself up by my bootstraps. Or shave my legs again. Whatever.

This week has been highly cooperative in that the weather has been gorgeous. So, step one of my plan: Licorice and I have gone for a long walk every day. This is especially exciting because there’s a dead squirrel along our regular route. I KNOW. (more…)

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What happens when you pray for boring

I used to pray for patience, you know, because I figured that was what I needed. But it turns out that if you pray for patience you get a whole lot of “character building” experiences wherein your patience is “tested” and you want to say “lots of blasphemous and profane things” to whoever’s in charge. Go figure. (I swear to you I just typed “Fo gigure,” and almost left it like that, but after admitting to such poor behavior, I reasoned it was best not to further tempt fate just now.)

But hey, sometimes I learn things! Slowly, sure—always pretty slowly—but I am capable of learning and changing. So now I pray for boring. Boring is good. Boring is AWESOME. At least, I think it probably is. I don’t really remember. The first time Chickie was in the hospital, I prayed for her to come home. And then she came home and things were still scary and drama-filled and she ended up BACK in the hospital, so I started praying for boring. Now that she’s home again, any moment in which I am not actively caring for her or being screamed at by her (these two events coincide more often than you might imagine, incidentally) is one which is boring and therefore GOOD.

We’re still a long way from boring, but getting closer. (more…)

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Worth it

I’ve been to hours of rehearsals and have missed hours of rehearsals. I’ve driven to rehearsal and wiped tears off my cheeks the whole way there because it was my only time alone to vent the frustration and sadness I was feeling over my oldest being sick and scared and beyond the fixing I used to be able to do with band-aids and boo-boo kisses.

I’ve laid awake at night while Otto gently snored next to me, my prayers for strength and patience and grace all tangled up with mental repetitions of my lines for the show—lines I could’ve easily learned in an afternoon back when I was in college, but which now eluded me or got twisted up on my tongue as my older, slower brain darted from one worry to the next. I stared at the ceiling in the dark and hoped I wouldn’t make a fool of myself; hoped I hadn’t made the wrong choice, staying with the show, even in the midst of everything else.

I apologized to my girl for leaving her so much, especially this last week. “I would’ve been mad at you if you dropped out,” she said, simply. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re doing it.” (more…)

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The secret ice cream society

Chickadee’s been home for a week and a half, has successfully managed two half-days at school (and is attempting the whole day today), and while life stubbornly refuses to stop or even slow down while we find our new normal, over here, I am rediscovering the healing power of frozen dairy confections.

The list of things I can control at this point would probably fit on a post-it, with room to spare. The list of things I CAN’T control (but desperately wish I could) is a lot longer. Go figure! On any given day, I sandwich small stints of actual work between doctors’ appointments and carpool and play rehearsal and just plain sitting down with the kids a lot more often than I did B.C. (that would be: Before Crisis), just because my priorities have shifted.

My sanity has remained loosely tethered on getting Chickadee to eat and gain weight. The doctors have to go do their thing, I get that; but I’m her Mama, and I can fatten her up. Right? Maybe? Looking at her will hurt less when she no longer looks like a strong wind might snap her in two? (more…)

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So a few of you have asked…

… how The Vagina Monologues is going. It’s going! I am rusty, much rustier than I expected. I mean, sure, getting up on stage is just like riding a bike in that I guess you kind of have this kinesthetic memory that doesn’t forget how it all works, but on the other hand, I’m guessing that if you hadn’t ridden a bike for twenty years and then hopped on one, it wouldn’t be the smoothest ride, either. I’m working on it (and feeling ooooold).

But! The people are great, the show is fabulous, and I am having oodles of fun. Also: I now own faux-snakeskin skinny jeans. YES. Purchased specifically for the show, though it is my teenager’s deepest fear that I will spontaneously go all cougar and wear them out in public at random, for the express purpose of mortifying her. (Otto did get a funny little glint in his eye when I modeled them for him, but still, not gonna happen.)

While I’m telling you about the show, though, I’ll direct you over to my post today at Off Our Chests—I’m thinking about the implications of certain words and what it may mean to rethink some of our assumptions. (Hint: female anatomy ahoy, y’all.)

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It’s not contagious

We had a pretty uneventful weekend, here. We watched football (go Patriots!). We grumbled about the weather. I swore I was going to do laundry and go grocery shopping and then I did lots of laundry but neglected to go grocery shopping, which meant that this morning I packed everyone a delicious lunch of various odds and ends, and have hereby sworn that TODAY, no really, today, I SWEAR, I’ll go get groceries.

The kids saw their dad. Chickadee’s quiz bowl team defeated their most loathed rival team at Regionals but ultimately didn’t go on to State. While they were doing that, I was at play rehearsal and Otto staked out the District Science Fair, where all the kids who were busy at the Bowl were winning at the Fair but couldn’t be there. (Chickadee’s project—which was a DRAHHHMAAAAHHH of epic proportions for several months—has now taken first place in category at both school and district levels, and she is now on to Regionals still vowing that nothing less than first place will do. So glad she’s not putting any pressure on herself. Ahem.)

Otto and I didn’t do anything special, really. We shuffled the kids around and worked in our respective offices and played with the dog and ate popcorn and tended to the minutiae of daily life, and never once did I stop to think OMG OUR MARRIAGE COULD IMPLODE AT ANY MOMENT. (more…)

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Comments { 48 }

Picture me holding a lighter in solidarity

Hey, guess what. I like the Internet. I like freedom of speech. I do not like SOPA or PIPA.

Rather than blacking out my site or lecturing you, allow me to refer you to The Oatmeal’s excellent explanation of why this matters. Enjoy.

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Yep, it’s another menstruation-themed post

But at least today I’m not putting it here. It’s actually over at Off Our Chests, because writing about our little saga this weekend got me thinking about various tampon-related issues from my youth.

Or, rather, the youth of those who honestly had no clue what was going on when they finally came of age.

C’mon over and join the conversation. I happen to know from yesterday’s post that y’all have PLENTY of stories to share.

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PSA: Kotex Security tampons

“I would never blog this,” I told her, after.

“What? You HAVE to blog about it!” she said. “People should KNOW. It’s DANGEROUS.” I asked if she was sure, and she said yes. So please be mindful of the fact that my easily-mortified teenager gave me the green light on this one, and let’s acknowledge first and foremost that she 1) is a rockstar for overcoming possible embarrassment to let me share and 2) has delicate little feelings which I would ask you not to hurt if you feel the need to comment. Also, if you are male and ESPECIALLY if you are related to my teenager (Otto, my dad, and her dad who is pretending not to read my blog), maybe skip this one.

To begin our story, let us hearken back to the days of young teenage Mir. It was a different place, a different time. (Namely, it was the Stone Age.) When I got my first period I was ABSOLUTELY THRILLED (why? I don’t know), and I also used tampons right from the beginning and thought it was no big deal.

But my girl and I are a little different in this respect. (more…)

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Comments { 107 }

Blah blah blah new year blah blah blah

Hey, let’s all pretend this is the first day of the rest of our lives in a somehow more important way than every other day is the first day of the rest of our lives. Okay? Okay!

(Probably we should’ve done this on Sunday—the Actual First Day Of The Brand New Yay Year—but I was busy sitting in the car all day, eating all of the potato chips in the world and asking Otto “Are we there yet?”)

I’m over at Off Our Chests, today, pondering new year’s resolutions, and whether they make any sense to me. Do they make sense to you? Come on over and let’s talk.

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