what does it stand for again?

Clearly, we all get older.  And recently, I have discovered personal indicators that remind me of it, all up close and personal.

I can no longer remember anything.

I used to have a great memory.  Friends would actually use me to remember what happened to them -- that's how good it was --  I remembered for myself and for others! Now, I have to look up my Drivers License number.

Things have come to that.

The first shot across the bow was pregnancy.  People always say that you kind of lose your mind when you are pregnant, forgetting things, etc., and my pregnancy was no exception.  I guess my frustration is that no one ever told me that my mind was never coming back!  Perhaps that would have been a good tidbit to know.

Evidence of my failing memory is everywhere:

I walk into a room to get something, and then inexplicably cannot remember what the hell I was going to retrieve.

Perhaps it's an errand, or a chore that I must remember to do.  Unless I write a note and tape it in an obvious location, say my windshield, the errand or chore floats into the ozone, completely forgotten.

I even call my children the other's name -- my daughter my son's name and vice versa. Sometimes my husband is victim of this as well.  Oy.

The other day I was told a funny acronym, that made me laugh, so I repeated it, hoping I would remember it.  AMF, YoYo.  ( = Adios Mother Fucker, you're on your own.)

Two minutes later, I have to ask what the acronym is again.  Then, again, I repeat it.  A little later, when I try to recall it, I come up blank.

Pathetic.

I ask one more time to be reminded of what it stands for, and then I write it down.  For without paper or pen, I'd be clueless, unable to share it here or anywhere.

I now always have lists, and alarms set on my phone to help keep me up to speed with what I should recall or be doing...

Uh, at least I think I do.

Who the hell remembers?

costco rage

Perhaps you are familiar with the concept of road rage, which is defined as: "aggressive or angry behavior by a driver of an automobile or other motor vehicle".

Now, I would generally agree that this is a bad thing, and not something that one should be proud of. That is, however, unless one frequents Costco.

Look, shopping carts and cars really don't require differing skill... You stay to the right, look both ways before turning into another lane or aisle, and you never, ever just stop in the middle of the road to just spend time contemplating whatever the hell it is that you are contemplating. Never!!

Why do people at Costco not know this? They stop their carts wherever they want, oblivious to the people behind them. They randomly turn carts this way and that into varying lanes like a free for all, and they certainly don't stay to the right. It's more like Rome, or Paris where everyone just goes, jockeying for position. Getting through the warehouse is like doing battle -- battle among driving morons. Infuriating!

Usually by the time I leave Costco, I have fantasized about running numerous people over with my cart, I'm muttering under my breath about how everyone is an idiot, and I'm once again reminded about my fellow Americans and that they vote. A dismal thought.

I think police should be allowed to watch the cart driving at Costco and give tickets where they see fit. It may save some poor schmuck from getting killed in real life by one of those same people driving a car, not to mention create revenue for endless cash strapped states...

Just saying...

groundhog day, all over again

Life with smalls is challenging.  Yes, for all the reasons you imagine, and then especially for those times when your envisioned day blows up, leaving you stranded.  Take, for example, when one of your smalls suddenly gets sick.  Usually the indication of said event occurs at 3 o'clock in the morning. Many times it involves projectile vomit.  Sometimes, it's just wheezing and coughing.  Either way, aside from feeling badly for your small, you can also kiss the following day, and all that you had planned, good-bye.

With my luck, I usually have an appointment that requires a 24 hour cancelation notice, lest you be billed.  Or, the thing that I have wanted or waited to do for eons was happening just that day -- poof -- gone.  Or a friend is visiting from out of town and you squeezed in a lunch before they headed to the airport.

Also, one must remember the corollary to one offspring getting sick: if there is another offspring, he or she will get sick too.  After the sleepless nights with the first, you now get the added bonus of sleepless nights with the second.  Bonus.

Now, for those of you who have yet to experience sleeping with a small in your bed, or even worse, a sick small in your bed, let me share...

Smalls do not sleep like regular grown up people.  They may be, well, small, but they miraculously take up an amazing amount of space.  Perhaps you are wondering how, so let me help -- this amazing spatial feat is usually achieved by the small imitating the hand of a clock: slowly moving their way around the bed in a circular motion.

Initially the night starts out with seeming normalcy, the small laying parallel to you.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, one is startled with a powerful head butt as the small flings him/herself perpendicularly to you.  Then there is the charming knee to chin, or foot to nose that occurs next, as the small spins again, landing with feet on pillow and their head on your legs.  I think you're getting the picture.  And in case you're wondering, yes, this - continues - to - happen- all - night!  Eventually one finds themselves clinging to the edge of the bed for dear life, like a raft in the middle of the ocean, shell shocked from the beating they've had to endure.

Now,  I've recently been living in a house of pestilence.  Some sort of plague found my two smalls and lasted for 5 days in toto for each of them.  That's consecutive, mind you, so we're talking 10 days of illness.  10 days of getting out of bed bruised.  10 days of all plans going down the toilet.  Day after day; interminable.

All I can tell ya is that it's a good thing my kids started feeling better.  Really.  If it went on too much longer, I might have maimed them.

time management

Ok, beat me with a wet noodle.  I've been lax in my posting.  I've been MIA.  I've been out to lunch.

I suck.

In my mind I think about posting something...sometimes...  Usually it happens when I'm nowhere near a computer, so the actual pressure to perform disappears before I connect again with technology.  Then there's the stress of having to come up with something pithy, or clever.  And, well folks, lately I'm all out of pithy, while clever left the building, uh, like weeks ago.

The last hurdle to overcome is the fact that I never seem to have enough time.  I know, I know, a banal excuse if ever there was one...  But hey, my lists just keep growing, and my ability to cross off things from said list apparently pales in comparison to life's ability to add to the damn thing.  Then there is the tired factor.  By the time that I actually do have time, I'm knackered; I can barely string a sentence together.  It's embarrassing.

So, today I post this.  My equivalent of "the dog ate my homework."  It is my excuse for being remiss to my blog.

It ain't eloquent, but it's truthful, and I'm gonna try to do better.  Really.  I gonna.  Fingers crossed...


I hope.

the new birth control

I am making a proclamation! Health, Sex Ed, or Birth Control need no longer be taught the old fashioned way we've become accustomed to...

From now on, all that we need to do to help our youth appreciate the responsibility of parenthood is as follows:

#1 - Have them plan and attend the birthday parties of a handful of smalls.

#2 - Have them install carseats in and out of a car numerous times, and to up the ante, time them.

=  Nobody will be suffering with an unwanted pregnancy.

Revolutionary!

chaos theory

cha·os the·o·ry (plural cha·os the·o·ries)

noun

Definition:

theory of apparent randomness: a theory that complex natural systems obey rules but are so sensitive that small initial changes can cause unexpected final results, thus giving an impression of randomness.

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The older I get, the more I find the theory of chaos to be true, unfortunately.  I wish it weren't so, but there you go.  


I'd love to cloak myself in the confirmation of karma: that what goes around comes around.  But, this just doesn't seem to be the case. I'd love to wrap it up all nicely with a bow, believe in destiny, God's will, or some such other construct.  That would make living with the chaos so much easier.  In fact, it wouldn't be chaos anymore, it would have purpose, and not feel like a random bolt of lightning just blew up your life, even momentarily.


Whether it be the malfunctioning of an appliance, a traffic ticket, a fender bender, or the loss of some important or valuable bauble, we all have felt the heartache, or should I say headache, of these sudden occurrences.  


And then there are times that make the former list pale in comparison.  The tragedy that leaves its mark for life, whether it be literal or figurative.  If we are a metaphorical nucleus, these are the electrons that we try desperately to avoid.


When and why these things happen when they do, or to whom they do, is anyone's guess.  Sometimes they appear to be deserved because of some moronic decision made in the spur of the moment.  Other times they seem to come out of thin air, somehow directed at you to make your life a wee bit more difficult or just fundamentally rock your world.

I have fallen prey to both kinds.

And while I reluctantly believe in the general randomness of events, I try to remind myself that the randomness isn't always equal to a negative.  There are random acts of kindness that one sometimes encounters and that some espouse practicing.  They might not feel as prevalent as the other, but still they occur.  A small comfort.

Yet, perhaps, the only true comfort one can find in the midst of disorder is perspective.

This comes top of mind given a recent random tragedy that happened at my son's school.  A mother, whom I did not know, apparently died from a fluke accident of the most routine kind.  The sort of thing that no one can believe, but, perhaps, could have happened to anyone.  An e-mail was sent out from the head of school, sharing the sad news with the community.  A wave of shock came over everyone who read it.

This woman left behind two children.  Two high school and college graduations that she will not attend, possibly two weddings where she will be unable to dance, and potentially grandchildren that she will not be able to hold, coochie-coo, or burp.  A tragedy, that, even as a stranger, profoundly breaks my heart, because I am a mother too.

So today I am grateful.  Not for the burden of powerlessness the chaos creates, but rather for the moment, independent of what the next moment brings.  For the day's smiles and the hugs at bedtime, and even for any and all irritations felt the last 24 hours.  

I'm lucky tonight.  And so are many of you.  Because, chaos or not, I have now.  And while I have many problems, none are too big to stop my breath, hurt my smalls, or cause tears to flow that feel like they will never be able to stop.  


Today, we are nuclei that have avoided an electron.  Our world, while problematic, is not rocked.

Hug the ones you love, tell the others that you cannot reach for, that you love them too; know that you have this moment, and chaos can't screw with that.

you feel lucky, punk?

I know it's uncouth for a middle-aged person to desire retribution on a 5 year old.  Hell, I'm embarrassed to admit it.  I even sometimes contemplate losing sleep over the impulse, but that feeling usually passes, replaced again with a burning desire to give said 5 year old a swirly. (Think toilet water and hair.)

Witnessing the transgression, I'm overcome.  I'm a mother lioness.  And mother lionesses hate to see their cubs hurt, especially by obnoxious 5 year olds who are so entitled, that even at their young age, they don't curb their behavior when an adult is watching.  

I fantasize making a voodoo doll of the little shit and sticking a pin through his eyes.

It's beneath me, I know.  I'm the grown-up, the literal bigger person, but in that moment, watching a small's soul get crushed just a little with some nasty, mean comment, I have an overwhelming urge to forego any thought of chronological age.  I want to channel Dirty Harry, make the little shit pee in his pants, ensuring he'll think twice about ever being that not nice to anyone again.  You feeling lucky, punk?

Come on.  I know you've felt, at least in passing, the same primal urge rise up in you too.

These moments give such clarity as to who these mean smalls are going to grow up to be.  I recognize people I know, people I dislike and, in turn,  I get a clear sense of who they were as smalls.  

Compassion is not the by-product.  I just don't feel it.  Big or small, I wanna punch them out either way.

Somehow, I find the inner strength to control myself.  I dazzle.  

Then, I make a note to self: stay away from the little shit's parents, because I just probably witnessed the kind of people they must be...