My Moving Story
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Life

The day we moved out of our Colorado house also happened to be the night before the closing.  After the meth-fueled movers cleared out all of the furniture, we thought we'd spend a couple of hours cleaning up.  We realized with great dismay that our furniture was masking a disturbing amount of filth.  Most notably was a charcoal-colored square on our champagne-colored carpet where our bed used to be.  It seems our black cat and our gray tabby had taken up residence in the cool haven inside the bedskirt.  I pulled out the 1/2 ton Rainbow vacuum and bravely filled up the water tank.  This will make quick work of this eyesore...or so I thought.  Three tanks-full of water later I was still extracting the endless murky mess.  If that were the only obstacle between me and the cool cotton sheets of the Residence Inn, I would have been doing fairy well.  I discovered in horror that I'd neglected to clean the oven and about a half-dozen other things.  At 2:00 a.m. I was lying in a heap at the top of the stairs.  My darling husband inquired about my well-being and I informed him that I was pretty certain that I was going to vomit. 

After pressing thru another hour of nausea and exhaustion, we gave up in total despair.  We decided to pay our cleaning service to come by and finish up the last of it.  At 3:30 a.m. I was calculating what time I'd have to get up in order to prepare my 4-year old, my 5-year old and myself for a 9 a.m. closing.  I was rehearsing how I would tell the buyer that the house wasn't in show condition but a cleaning service would be by on Friday to ensure that it was.  How could I disgrace my family, my realtor, myself, my country and the Queen of Clean?

When I arrived at the closing, Nicky had knotted my hair up to my scalp and I looked like I had just been released from the hospital.  The buyer was across from us, perched in her chair, flanked by her realtor and her attorney.  She was a widowed mother-of-two, but she looked like more like a rich girl going thru sorority rush.  This made my sorry-we-left-the-house-a-disaster speech even more difficult.  To my surprise, she laughed.  Then she asked if she could have the cleaning service come by after she had the carpet removed, the floors re-finished and all the appliances replaced.  There is a SpongeBob episode where he slowly cracks in half, splits down the middle and the two halves of him tip over and drop onto the floor.  That is the only way I can describe how I felt at that moment. 

It has taken me several years for me to be able to tell that story, and even now it's still not very funny.

2:02 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Sopranos Finale
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

The only thing David Chase had made clear is that the Sopranos will not end as we want or expect.  I guess that means Fat Tony will not go out in a blaze of glory.  My first thought about all of the characters is their karma.  I was going to relish the moment that Christofuh met his well-deserved demise.  Instead the amoral scumbag goes out in a drug-induced haze.  As far as I was concerned, Sil had to go.  He killed "Ade" and strangled some poor lady's husband while she was at church.  But Sil had his moments, he was a humble and loyal servant to our anti-hero.  On the other hand, Paulie Walnuts has no redeeming qualities.  He called his poor mother a "hoo-er".  He killed a helpless old lady in order to steal her life savings with which he would save his own worthless butt.  With these cards stacked against him, Paulie has to have been kept alive only to meet a dramatic and grisly demise.  Carmela?  Will she suffer no consequence for living in a mansion made of blood money?  I think being married to Tony has been punishment enough.  There's not enough time left to see AJ and Meadow end the insanity by living honest lives.  We just started to see both of them heading down the road less traveled.  I would have loved to see the series ended with some sort of redemption.   I'm quite certain that Mr. Chase had a very different vision.  The only thing we know for sure is that the final scene occurs in an ice cream parlor.  Since Tony has such a strong affinity for frozen confections, I am going to assume that he has come out of hiding and is celebrating.   Phil Leotardo has to have met his Maker or Tony would not be out in public.   Do we really want to see our favorite anti-hero never suffer the consequences of his misdeeds?   If Phil is no longer with us, then who would dare take down the boss?  Little Carmine?  Agent Harris?  I think Mr. Harris has a man-crush on Tony, maybe sort of like how Batman feels for Catwoman.  He loves her as he's turning her over to the authorities.  Agent Harris seems to have been brought back into the story for a reason.  I'm going to guess that he gets Tony in the end.   Prison would be a fate worse than death for the pampered mobster.  In conclusion, I must say that it is David Chase's creation and he doesn't like all the loose ends tied up.  That must mean that we will all be left wondering what happened, shaking our fists at the TV yelling, "Damn you, David Chase, I spend eight years of my life with you and this is how you leave me?"  Certainly we will all be talking about it for a long time.

4:52 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Glamorous Life
Current mood: irritated
Category: Life

8:14 AM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

The Petty Tyrant
Current mood: amused
Category: Life

I felt like Brett Favre before a Sunday contest, a warrior preparing for battle.  Instead of the light-deflecting black stripes, I was applying Lancome under-eye concealer to my game face.  Before me laid my neatly organized Laura Mercier make-up brushes.  This meant serious business.

For a girl that was only sent to the principal's office once in her entire academic career, it seemed ironic that this would be my third trip there in a year as a mature adult.  However, I had a feeling this time would be very different.  This time I was armed with knowledge and righteous indignation.  Failure was not an option.

My introduction to this small community was rather unfortunate.  I had a 4-year old who was still in diapers.  Now I have a 5-year old who is still in diapers.  Contrary to popular belief, one cannot force a child to use the toilet.  You can take away his diapers, but you cannot ultimately determine where he choses to go.  Where is Piaget when you need him?

In my humble opinion, the question here should be:  "Why is my son terrified of the toilet?"  Wouldn't that be the salient point?  If I address the root of the problem then I have a workable solution, otherwise I am just imposing my will on a helpless child who is screaming himself into insensibility.  When I meet Saint Peter at the pearly gates, I'm sure he would have something to say about that.

The five pediatricians with whom I've discussed this matter have had a lot to say about it as well.  It was not until we met a family therapist (who couldn't be a day over 24-years old) that we were asked "Has he been tested for Asperger's Syndrome?"  Can horror and relief be felt simultaneously?  I assure you they can.  No parent wants her child to be labeled with anything that involves a syndrome or disorder, but the implication here is that there is treatment. 

I'm not an HMO fan, but I must give credit where credit is due.  A lovely young woman at my insurance company referred us to a testing center in a nearby town.  They say first impressions are usually correct and when I walked into the testing center, I felt years of burden lifted off my slumped shoulders.  I had taken on all the shame heaped upon me by my petty tyrant and her cronies.  Now, I would have the backing of a professional diagnosis to throw in her face...I mean, politely present to her.  And yes, I'm referring to the elementary school principal. 

When the appointed day finally arrived, we were still about 6 testing hours away from a diagnosis.  What I did have was a recommendation from a PhD psychologist that testing for my little one was definitely warranted.  I had no pre-planned speech when I drove to the school that day.  I did feel a bit like Annette Bening in American Beauty, though, pulling the pistol from her glove compartment and chanting, "I am not a victim!"  Luckily, I would not need a weapon for this confrontation. 

It was clear to me from the moment I sat down in front of her.  Her countenance was completely different and her tone was a little too pleasant to be believable.  Our last discussion was concerning that fact that my son would not be allowed in school in a pull-up.  It was followed up with a contract that had to be signed by me, dictating exactly how I would go about getting my child out of diapers.  I considered refusing to sign the document, but I was advised by a wise consultant that my little one would suffer the consequences.  If I kept a low profile and pretended to cooperate, maybe this would all blow over.  I did keep a low profile but it had definitely not been quietly resolved. 

Today she had brought me there to apologize, I thought.  My last communication with her was via email, informing her that my insurance company had approved all the psych testing requested by Dr. Beauregard's office.  Once we had a diagnosis, the school would be required by law to accomodate my son, even if that meant attending school in a pull-up.  I didn't state that directly, but we both knew that would be the case. 

As I listened calmly to her speel, she began claiming ignorance.  She had "no idea" that there was an organic cause to my son's toilet phobia.  She said that her undertstanding was that it was a case of stubborn refusal.  Hmmm...those words never came out of my mouth.  How had she reached that conclusion?  My theory would be that a special ed exception for my son would disrupt her agenda.  I can't fault her for wanting to run a tight ship, but at what expense?

The purpose of our little discussion eventually became apparent.  Dr. Beauregard does all of the psych testing for the school district.  My petty tyrant requested that I give Dr. Beauregard her warmest regards and inform him that she constantly brags about him and the wonderful work that he does for her school.  I don't necessarily want to state the obvious here, but she didn't want me to tarnish her sterling reputation in the pediatric psychological community. 

And so the tables were turned.  I haven't chalked this one up in the "W" column just yet.  The next time a parent is having a baffling difficulty with his or her child, I would hope that the school would not be so quick to dismiss them.  Then I would feel like I'd fought this battle for a reason. 

4:10 PM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Poor David!
Current mood: amused

When David told me he was going to Hong Kong I groaned.  That is under ideal conditions a 24-hour flight.  Ideal conditions are certainly the exception rather than the rule these days.  My anxiety wasn't lessened when he built a portal on my yahoo page to all of our assets "just in case".  So when I got an IM from him that he'd made it safely to Osaka, I was thrilled.  Unfortunately he had a 3 hour layover before his connecting flight to Hong Kong.  Fortunately, he was able to rest in the executive platinum lounge at the Osaka airport.  Unfortunately, there were mechanical problems with the appointed plane and the 3-hour layover turned into a 7-hour layover.

Now it is beyond me how my beloved is unable to sleep on an airplane.  I am lulled to sleep like a swaddled infant rocking in grandma's arms.  Nevertheless he had slept maybe 3 of the last 24 hours.  Under conditions of extreme exhaustion, my better half (bless his heart) snores like a buzzsaw.  Apparently this was the case as he had fallen asleep sitting up in the lounge when he was startled awake.  Delirious as he was, it took about 30 seconds for him to become fully conscious.  There was a Japanese lady standing over him, shaking him.  "Mista Blown!  Mista Blown!", she was shouting.  He awoke to find the lounge full of diminuitive, dignified Japanese business travelers staring at him.  "Big, fat, loud, damn American", they seemed to be thinking.  He said it was like some kind of bizarre nightmare.

Poor David, he should have never told me that story.  Now for the rest of his life every time he starts snoring I am going to shake him and shout, "Mista Blown! Mista Blown! MISTA BLOWN!!"

3:50 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Is motherhood boring?
Current mood: bored
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

6:07 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Fah-reakyyyyyyy!

I was standing in my kitchen when I was hit by that all-too-familiar feeling.  Although I've never actually fallen down an elevator shaft, I would liken it to that.  However, it's more as if my mood is plummeting than my physical body...and it's in slow motion.  Nothing had changed in the last 10 seconds.  It's odd when this hits me.  Often it is followed by a flashback to a dream I'd had the night before.  I stood there for a moment, but no recollection of a dream came to me.  "Lovely", I thought, "it's going to be another one of those days".  Just then, my four year old walked up to me and asked, "Mommy, do you remember what you saw last night?"  "No..." I said, pretending to understand the question.  "Do you know what I saw last night?" he asked.  "Where?" I replied.  "In my dream", he answered.  My heart was pounding but I tried to act nonchalant as I inquired about what it was.  (Gulp)  "Our whole family was falling out of the sky," my little angel explained, smiling.  "But we had parachutes", he continued, "and all landed softly on the ground".  I still can't believe this even as I'm typing these words. 

As I said...frrrrrrrrrreaky!

6:33 AM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

RAok
Category: Life

He was an unlikely hero.  It appeared to me he was more likely to be engaged in mischief than helping others.  In my eyes, he had just sprouted a halo and two glorious wings. 

The mishap occurred as most do, while I was very distracted and in a hurry.  I had opened three of the four doors on the rental car in a vain attempt to cool it down.  The Texas sun beat down upon us mercilessly as I strapped my three-year old into his car seat.  We were running late to meet some people for brunch at a popular cafe.  I scooped up my two-year old who had been scampering about and secured him into the passenger-side back seat.  I was hesitant to close both the front and back passenger-side doors because of the heat.  However, I was going to run around the back of the car and jump into the driver's seat.  Before my sweating toddlers knew it, we'd be speeding down the road with the A/C on full-blast.  Theoretically, that is.  When I attempted to open the front driver's side door, it was locked.  How is this possible?  I distinctly remember pressing the little red button on the remote control key ring.  How odd.  I ran back around to the passenger side door to retrieve my keys from my handbag.  You guessed it--locked. Flashback to scampering toddler.  Oh...my...(ear-piercing scream).  He had been playing with the buttons on the open door as I buckled his brother into the car seat.  I had seen all the child safety programs warning parents never to leave their children in the car because of soaring summertime temperatures. 

Some companions were waiting in their running car as I was going to follow them to the restaurant.  Being quite confused as to my sudden outburst, they exited the car with great haste.  They stared in horror at my handbag sitting in the front seat as I pulled in vain at the locked door handle.  Their suggestions that I remain calm fell on deaf ears.  I ran inside to ask the hotel desk clerk to call a locksmith.  Luckily he had a "Slim Jim".  Yes, one of those handy-dandy car unlocking devices.  Unluckily, it didn't work.  I suppose with the preponderence of such devices, car manufacturers reconfigured their locks in order to foil would-be car thieves.  The harried clerk sheepishly explained this to me as he was unable to unlock the door.  I placed my hand on the window in front of my young son.  He offered a wan smile in attempt to console me.  He lifted his little hand and put it on the other side of the pane.  His face was covered with tiny beads of sweat.  My companions then began trying to coach the child in unlocking the car from the inside.  As he was strapped into a 5-point restraint system, he was unable to reach the button. 

At this point, I must have been in a full-blown panic.  A family was gathering in the parking lot, apparently about to embark on a Sunday morning adventure.  A young man from the group stepped forward and offered to help.  His appearance resembled that of a typical rebellious teenager.  He didn't have much to say other than the fact that he thought he might be able to open the door.  Grabbing the questionably legal car unlocking device he quite adeptly popped the door open within seconds.  Weeping tears of joy, I attempted to give him some money which he shyly declined.  Unable to restrain myself I threw my arms around him, profusely thanking him.  He mumbled something like, "Sure, no problem" and rejoined his waiting family. 

I was shaking for hours after that from the massive adrenaline dump.  I'm not sure how or for what purpose that young man became such an expert in unlocking the specially designed "Slim Jim"-proof doors, but I was thanking God for it.  I will never forget that nice boy.

2:42 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

RAoK
Category: Friends

OK, so this isn't totally random...but he didn't have to do it either.  It was just extremely cool.

I'm borrowing one of Anna's stories, but it bears repeating.  Anna and her friend Michelle went to a big party at (ahhhh!) Tanglewood Country Club.  Worst-of-the-worst Shermanites were on parade.  An upperclassperson took it upon herself to inform Anna and Michelle that they were too young to be attending the soiree.  Enter Lance Erwin.  Lance was several years older than the aforementioned hazer and certainly well-known on the party circuit.  I'm not sure whether or not he was aware of the unpleasant exchange but he saw Maria's little sister and her best friend standing there looking perhaps a little stunned.  I'm sure he thought, "We'll have none of this!"  He scooped up Anna and then Michelle and spun them around the dance floor as the nasty older girl watched in surprise. The young friends ended up having a fun time at the party.

Lance did the same thing for me when I went thru rush at OU.  He informed every sorority girl that he knew that I was on my way and to be nice to me.  I ended up having a very pleasant experience and pledging the house I pref'd. 

The things he did weren't exactly kindness to a stranger, but it was certainly very nice to know you had someone looking out for you.  And I'm sure he's still doing so, to whatever degree they allow you to do so in the higher dimensions.   

Thanks, Lance, for being such an awesome friend.

4:34 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

The Turning Point
Current mood: pensive
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

I have a refrigerator magnet that says, "Be nice to me, I just realized I'll never be a ballerina".  I laughed when I first saw it.  I thought it must be referring to the general disillusionment of women when they discover that life is not the fairy tale they sold us as little girls.  For me, it had a much more literal meaning.  It was a turning point in my life.  I was annoyed as a 13-year old that little girls wanted to grow up to be ballerinas.  It seemed what they really wanted was to wear tulle skirts and be twirled around by Prince Charming.  I knew that being a ballerina meant blood, sweat and tears; and that Prince Charming had no interest in me.  Nevertheless, it was my dream.  I had studied dance for only about 18 months, but I had managed to catch up with and bypass my classmates. Ballet was social hour for them, but for me it was serious business.  That also annoyed me. 

I had been researching ballet schools in Dallas for several months.  I had zeroed in on one that took boarding students.  The 2 ½-hour round trip from Sherman to Dallas made my studying there nearly impossible.  I had decided that since Russian ballet students left home at age 8 to live at the ballet school that I would have to do the same.  After all the poster in the changing room said, "If you believe it, you can achieve it…"  I believed it with every fiber of my being.  Failure was not an option.  My father and step-mother didn't have the heart to tell me I was deluded.  After all, ballet was what got me out of bed in the morning and propelled me through a day of bullying and spiritual tyranny.  I actually preferred the bullying to the spiritual tyranny, but that's a different story. 

I woke up before the alarm on the day of my venture into the real world.  I had an appointment to meet Madame Krassovska, the former prima ballerina and present owner of the aforementioned ballet school.  My stepmother would pick me up early from school and take me to Dallas because she had an appointment with her analyst. 

The ballet school was located in a little white house in an older neighborhood.  We were greeted by the delightful and charming grande dame who gave us a tour of the studio and living quarters. Madame Krassovska couldn't have been any nicer.  Class did not start for some time so she asked if I would like to rest for a while.  She showed me to a small bedroom with 2 bunk beds.  I was too excited to rest but I reluctantly reclined on the lower bunk.  "This is where the boarding students live," I thought as I surveyed the cramped space.  I didn't care, I just wanted to dance.  "Please, God…," I prayed.  Dance was going to transport me out of my miserable existence.  I had lived in Sherman for 8 years, but I was still and would always be an outsider.  The community had its not-so-subtle ways of making sure I knew.  Ballet was just another factor in the equation.  It was not cool to be a serious student of anything artistic.  Girls took ballet lessons solely to ensure that they would make the drill team or cheerleading squad.  I think it was OK to sing but only if you were in the First Baptist "Solid Rock" singers. 

I went to the ballet studio early to warm up at the barre.  There was a girl standing next to me whom I will never forget.  Her name was Sabrina Pillars.  Although we appeared to be the same age, we stood in stark contrast to one another.  She was a porcelain-skinned sylph with impossibly long limbs and I was J. Lo when J. Lo wasn't cool.  A male dancer summoned her to the centre and asked her to practice finger-turns with him.  She batted her long black eyelashes coquettishly, happy to oblige.  As I watched in horror, she whipped out a quadruple pirouette, en pointe, shot up into an elegant shoulder sit before plummeting into a breathtaking flying fish.  Instantly I realized that I was not a big fish in a small pond, I was a paramecium in a droplet of water. 

I knew that I wasn't at the level of the professional dancers I'd seen in the books at the library.  But I thought that's they way people danced when they were adults.  In the same manner that people go through high school, college, medical school and internship before becoming a brilliant surgeon, I believed I had enough time to study and progress slowly over time.  The ballet world is full, I mean FULL, of Doogie Howsers.  If you are not an apprentice by the time you are sixteen, there is no hope for you…or in this case, me. 

The days following my rude awakening were in a dreamlike state.  I was in a state of shock.  Over the subsequent years I experienced denial, anger, bargaining, depression and well, not-quite-acceptance.  I kept waiting for the consolation prize. 

I suppose it is possible to want something with your heart and soul, but for all the wrong reasons.  Ballet was going to elevate me far above my miserable existence.  Needless to say, that is not the purpose of ballet.  This was a lesson that would be revisited many, many times in my life.  Have I grasped the concept yet?  On a very basic level, I suppose.  I did move to the beach recently.  Well, ya can't blame a girl fer tryin'.

Currently reading : Competing With the Sylph By Lawrence M. Vincent Release date: November, 1981

5:17 PM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment