Time passes
Tiny hands, corn niblet toes, wide-eyed kisses with sweet bubbling lips and a tiny exhale. My babies. There are moments when I remember each one's childhood so vividly I physically ache with the longing as I recognize that time has gone by. I'm continually struck by the irreplaceableness of it all.
My sunny-bunny 3-year-old girl and her joy at dancing in the sprinklers.
My daring 4-year-old son, climbing the outside of the jungle gym, dangling like a monkey and roaring like a tiger.
My adventurous 5-year-old in his lanky green snow hat, sword fighting imaginary monsters with a pretzel stick.
Where did they go?
Where are those soft cheeks, the kissing of which I used to have unrestricted access?
The 7-year-old still snuggles me and let's me smooch her cheeks and rub her back and tickle her feet and pet her hair and massage her neck as much as possible ; the 14-year-old allows hugs only and only the occasional smooch on his cheek, but he MUST be grimacing at all times; and my 17-year-old has transitioned to one-armed side-hugs-- he's too tall for me even reach his cheeks anymore, let alone kiss them.
My sweet girl tells me tales of all she is doing in school and rarely misses a detail or any found opportunity to share, and share, and share what she is learning.
My engaging middle boy occasionally admits he attends a school and details of his travails there are delivered sparingly, and only when asked. Then begged. Then cajoled. Conversely, any SCRUBS episode can be and often is recounted ad nauseum, from memory and without request.
And my ever-growing oldest boy, my monosyllabic young man, is filling out college applications.
Time marches on. I watch with awe and surprise as I discover another hunk of gray hair emerge from some heretofore hidden but now completely obvious place on my head. I have no crows feet; just the tracks some overlarge bird left at the corners of my eyes. They're there-- under my glasses.
And one day flows into the next. Right now, while I'm wrenching stinky teens from slumber, pushing them out the door to school, I pause and take a moment to revel in the small arms of my little girl as she wakes to my good morning hug and fills my morning with chatter about her dreams from the previous night. She still needs me, but even better? She still wants me in her life.
And I'm clinging to every little gift each of these moments provide.
I’m good enough… I’m smart enough…
... I'm just not strong enough in my beliefs that I will ever be satisfied.
I'm talking about tattoos. I've always wated a tattoo. And when I say always, I harken back to when I was 18 and I wanted a flying eagle on my shoulder. Only old former-navy dudes and bikers had them. I was all about breaking the gender-role thing and wanting so much to be retro, so why not get a big old sprawling eagle on my shoulder? But I didn't.
At 19 I wanted some kind of tribal lizard on my ankle. I was convinced it would be cool and easily hidden so no one could mistake me for white trash.
At 23 I wanted the lizard on my abdomen instead. And by 25, I wanted a bear paw mark there too. At one point, I thought about some kind of homage to my baseball team but then you're basically willing them to suck for as long as you live. I've wanted the tree of life or the triskelle or OOH! I know! Cherry blossoms. Or lotus blossoms and coy fish but it has to be symbolic and have meaning and be colorful and ...
This is why I don't have a tattoo. And my constant state of flux over the last 23 years-- MOREOVER, my knowledge of my constant state of flux's very existence has kept me from getting something permanently inked on my body.
I can't decide if that is a good thing, or a pathetic thing. Really? Twenty-three years of wanting to do this, and never being satisfied?
Then again... I've changed my bedspread how many times in 23 years? My interior design style? My notion of fashion? What if I get sick and disgustedly tired of my own skin-- and you can't just molt, you know.
So when I see people who have committed to ink-- really, really explosive ink like this, or this, or WOW-- this, I am stunned. Not in a bad way. I mean, no, I wouldn't want to get a big gaping zombie wound on my abdomen, but I do admire the individual ability to commit wholeheartedly to a design, knowing it will be there, forever, ad nauseum, until you die and decay. Yay you guys. Seriously.
I'll admire you from over here, pretending to design the next big tattoo idea I won't follow through on.
As luck would have it
"Excuse me?" I stammered, distracted, as I simultaneously unwrapped my daughter's straw and wiped up a small spill on the formica table.
"You won!" the voice on the other end of the line repeated. I could tell the speaker was smiling, the way her voice lifted with the word "won." My 11-year-old stared at me. "What's wrong," she asked at my confused expression. The 7-year-old was too busy tucking into her orange chicken to care.
"Excuse me-- I'll be right back," I said to the girls as I slipped outside the restaurant's patio door. Into the phone, I asked loudly, "Are you serious?"
"Yes!" the chipper voice replied. "You won our end-of-campaign giveaway: two nights, three days at the Paris Resort & Casino in Las Vegas, and two tickets to the taping of the radio show Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me." After forcing the poor woman to repeat the information six more times, as I stared dumbfounded at my girls eating politely in the restaurant. I won something? Me?
The last time I won anything was a vigorous game of Candyland and I don't care who disputes it, the card had double blues. Not my fault if they didn't see it before I slipped it back into the deck.
But this... this wasn't mere trickery of young children; this was an actual SOMETHING. Something that required pure luck and no skill-- two elements of which I'm naturally devoid. How luck decided to sit on my shoulder for one split second, I don't know. But I'll take it.
Do you know what it means to go on a free trip to Las Vegas WITHOUT having to sit through a time-share presentation? It means ACTUAL VACATION. For two. Me and... well, after some consideration-- the drinking, the gambling, the presumed debauchery-- I figured yes, my 7-year-old would have a blast but *sigh* probably I should take my spouse.
After calling him and springing the good news and sharing a moment of utter giddiness, my husband and I checked our calendars: FREE. Zip, zilch, absolutely nada planned. When does that ever happen, in a family of NINE, that there is nothing planned for a Thursday, Friday and Saturday?
That night we confirmed our trip. We toasted each other. We allowed our excitement to grow. We won a trip! To Las Vegas! Just the two of us!
...and that's when the landslide happened. One kid has an award ceremony on Thursday. And then there's that musical she's been rehearsing for-- the show, the ONLY show, is that night. And after that,that very same night, is the Harry Potter midnight showing. Two kids take a train to LA the next afternoon, just after yet another kid has her 2nd grade class Thanksgiving party... the very party I'm supposed to be organizing and volunteering at, which is followed on Saturday by the last soccer game of the season...
...ahem. So other than THOSE things, those vital, once in a lifetime things? We had nothing planned.
So we're heading to Vegas, baby.
And returning with an awesome "Thank you" gift for Grandma. :^)
Pay attention to the game
All the pundits are telling me what I think and have thought for the last year... but, see, no one is actually ASKING ME what I think or feel. Or most of the rest of us, for that matter. There are entire corporate-owned cable networks designed to create and craft my opinions, that then slowly feed them to me.
Hey, cable? I'm not eating.
In fact, I'm regurgitating.
1. So the House went to the conservatives. Okay. Welcome to OFFICIALLY owning part of the blame. You've sat on the sidelines for 2 years now, COMPLAINING LOUDLY and saying the progressives weren't letting you play. Or they're doing it all wrong. Or the sun was in your eyes and you had a bad cold and your constituencies made you come to the game even though you didn't want to play and it's stupid and ENOUGH. We get it. No more sidelines. You have skin in the game now, so instead of sitting back and being obstructionist, DO SOMETHING.
2. Stop bitching about the plays made by the first string, plays you considered crappy, and trying to force a re-do the same play now that it's your down. That play is over. MOVE ON. In other words, shut the hell up about health care. It happened, you hate it, don't waste our time trying to revamp it right now because the president won't sign the legislation anyway--how about you just MOVE THE BALL FORWARD. Go ahead: Give us something new.
3. You know what I THINK this election was about? JOBS. It's all about how there aren't any and how we need to grow the economy and gosh, if only we could do something to change those darn unemployment numbers. It's too bad that this country's infrastructure is totally PERFECT, right? Because I mean, wow, if only we could use a high speed rail system. Think of all the issues that would solve! All the people it would employ in all the various sectors of the economy to build it and how when people are employed they spend money on things like houses and furniture and cars... People pay taxes on houses, right? So if more people had money and could buy homes, they would pay taxes on those homes? So that increases the tax base. Larger tax base, pay off debt quicker, able to reduce taxes. Interesting. Might even help out with that glut of foreclosures out there. Oh, we don't have a high-speed rail system that other top notch countries have (like China and Japan and Europe and...Turkey)? Huh. That seems like a no brainer. Because, historically speaking, investment in infrastructure has been a GOOD THING, economically, on all levels.
4. Hey broadcast media, would you all shut the hell up and just do some work, please? Quit telling me my opinions. Ad nauseam. First, because you're wrong. I'm not drinking whatever Kool Aid you're trying to feed me. The world isn't going to Hell in a hand basket.The sky isn't falling, we're not all living in ramshackle tents on the street. That's Haiti, actually. This is over-privileged America, where the grass literally IS greener, thank you Miracle-Gro. Second, yes, things are tough and things suck for lots of people but the suffering most of us experience currently is due to malaise. Those who are suffering the most probably didn't even realize there was an election-- they were just trying to figure out how to get food on the table and who was picking whom up from soccer practice and how to fit in an extra AA meeting this week and how we're going to pay the damn medical bills this month. The constant hammering of how everything sucks is just making everything suck more LOUDLY. I'm not saying acknowledging it is bad, but good lord, ease the fuck up. The Chicken Little bit is causing anxiety to skyrocket.
5. Finally, well... I guess I'm just stunned. I don't know why it wasn't brought up sooner, but clearly the conservatives hate government. But it's a necessary function of a civilized society... So why did we, as employers, just hire a bunch of employees that distrust, hate and don't believe in the merits of our core business?
Regardless... here we are, we voters, in the middle of a chill economy, our asses frozen to the metal bleachers while watching this ridiculous game unfold before us. All I'm asking is that this bunch of yahoos MOVE THE DAMN BALL FORWARD. We are, after all, on the same team.
Aren't we?
Perpetually anxious/simultaneously exhausted mom of a blended family of 7 kids & 2 pets. Writer about same. Wife to one amazingly patient husband. Drinker of wine. 




