tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68610637742570115822024-03-06T03:11:23.850-05:00Tara VersusTarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-51831547460770260932016-03-16T11:47:00.001-04:002016-03-16T11:48:05.540-04:00I'm Moving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, it’s true. I am moving. I have an insatiable thirst for
new experiences and I like changing things up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So this time, instead of rearranging the furniture or changing
my hair color, I’m changing my blog. It’s time. New name, new place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d love for you to come with me. You can do it <a href="http://thetarachronicles.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-36347248985874997812016-03-11T15:05:00.002-05:002016-03-11T15:05:37.002-05:00New York, Early Spring 1991<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another generally irritating day, where I had a list of
things to do and only accomplished half of them. I’m carrying this annoying bag
filled with the work of the day, and it’s so heavy that when it swings it
nearly knocks me over. I had to stop at the store to pick up a few things, so
now I’ve got another bag. It’s pouring down rain out, and the wind is threatening
to invert my umbrella. So there I am, struggling with these three things and
dropping my mail on the wet floor at the guard’s station as I struggle to
locate my ID and at the same time keep the soaked umbrella away from my pants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stumble into my apartment, violently thrust forward by the
weight of my bag as it slips off my shoulder. I sigh heavily with an air of
annoyance, and I feel the tears burning behind my eyes. All I want to do is sit
in my bed in the dark, with the covers pulled up to my chin, clutching my
lifelong friend Teddy. And cry. What an incredibly frustrating day! Nothing
went right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead I find my roommate stretched out on her bed with the
blinds up, listening to music. She’s doing absolutely nothing. Most of the time
she does nothing. She’s been sleeping all day. I am instantly pissed to find
her there, invading my right to privacy again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Hi!” she sings cheerily. She’s only a sophomore, and
already she has her life planned out as far as graduation from Harvard Law.
She’ll probably do it. The only thing she seems to worry about is not getting
into Harvard because she only has a 3.7 GPA. It really irritates me to hear her
complain about this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Last semester I was contemplating law school – I even have a
dusty white box in the back of my closet with about twenty bulletins. Criminal
justice is fascinating, and I’ve always been interested in helping people (and
the money doesn’t look too bad either). But then I changed my mind because I
knew I wasn’t ready to handle the workload, and I sure don’t have a 3.7.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It really bothers me that she worries over such a tiny
little thing, when she already has planned out everything else. This summer
she’s studying in Korea. Next year she wants to do the Washington
semester. She’s already got an internship
for next fall. I don’t even have that – I haven’t even begun the search for
one. That’s just another thing on my long list of “Things to Do.” It bothers me
that she already knows what she wants to do after only two years in college and
I’m still playing the guessing game after four. I want to know too! When I talk
about the uncertainty of my future and worry about graduation and finding a
job, she looks at me blankly like I’m a lunatic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So I stumble into my room. I can’t even look at her. If I
open my mouth I’ll say things I’ll regret.
I want her to get out. I swear she hasn’t left that spot since she
crawled into it last night. I toss my bag on the floor, rip off my jacket, kick
off my shoes, and fall into bed. I pull
the covers up over my head, and lie still. I wait. The tears are stinging my
eyes. I slip one hand out from under the covers, groping for Teddy’s leg
somewhere behind my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She either gets the hint or is getting hungry. She turns off
the radio, closes the blinds, and leaves me in the empty darkness of our room.
I close my eyes and try to envision something peaceful – a warm, sandy beach,
blue ocean, me, and nothing but the sound of seagulls soaring overhead. But, as
usual, it doesn’t work. Something is gnawing at the pit of my stomach, and I
just want to cry and cry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want someone to come along, take my hand, and show me the
way. I’m on some rollercoaster ride to nowhere and I just want to get off. I
wish the end of this road wasn’t so dark and scary. I wish I had some answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">©taraversus2016<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-64195213658786405442016-03-10T08:03:00.004-05:002016-03-10T08:03:47.525-05:00What's New Under the Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">As my youngest rapidly approaches the end of her elementary
career, I am reminded of not only how young she is, but also how
fast she’s growing up. And I’m not ready.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Several nights ago, Veruca got her first phone call from a
boy. She was all cool and simultaneously silly – and he’s “just a friend” and
he bet her $5 that if he called her, her mom would answer the phone. If that
isn’t the biggest crock of bull to get a girl’s phone number… and she fell for
it, hook, line and sinker. Whatever the exchange was, they kept getting cut off
(you know, cell phone service being what it is) and he kept calling back, and
eventually she turned her phone off so he couldn’t call again. Ha!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Last night at dinner she told us that he didn’t give her the
five bucks he bet her, and she was pissed. Okay – not really. More like, not
fair - that’s not how the game works. Todd told her to ask him for it – you
know, a bet’s a bet and she won fair and square. She said, can you tell him? We
joked about him calling on her behalf as her “attorney.” We had a good laugh
before I looked at her and said, <i>seriously
– he likes you – why do you think he asked for your number? </i>Which
apparently hadn’t been considered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s an awful lot of <i>liking</i>
being circulated through the fifth grade. This one likes that one, that one
wants to date this one… wait, <i>date</i>?
Who dates in fifth grade?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Annnndd… apparently the principal knows the answer.
Yesterday Veruca told me Mrs. Fitz came to the classroom to talk about some big
problems they’re having in school. In Veruca’s words, some kids are “having sex
in school.” Cue screeching brakes. (We were in the car.) I said WHAT?! <i>Just how is that even possible</i>? I don’t
know, she said, probably in the bathroom. This was her guess – and by now I’m
wondering just exactly what Mrs. Fitz said. Did she actually use the word
“sex”? She did. Still – I found myself thinking out loud… just <i>how</i> is that even possible? You know – <i>mechanics</i>, people! Meanwhile, in her usual
way of ignoring and talking over me, Veruca speculated it could’ve been anyone
from kindergarten through fifth grade, though probably 3<sup>rd</sup> or 4<sup>th</sup>
or 5<sup>th</sup> graders. Huh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Coincidentally, there was an incident about 10 days ago
where Veruca heard a boy in art class tell her friend to “suck my ---k” and she
was upset about it. She said she told the teacher and she did nothing. This is
where it pays to be a sleuth – because you absolutely cannot take anything a
10-year-old says at face value without some digging. (She only told the teacher
that he said a bad word.) Needless to say, I told her that he cannot talk that
way to a girl – or anyone. It’s wrong and in some parts of the grown up world
it’s considered sexual harassment – which is a crime. So, the next day she took
it to the assistant principal, who thanked her for coming forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So another big issue in school is profanity. Well, now <i>there’s</i> a surprise. Veruca tells me that
the back of the bus is Grand Central for misdemeanors of the elementary kind.
Meanwhile, back in school… Hunter dropped the f-bomb in the adjacent classroom
and everybody’s talking about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My son, whom I will now refer to as Opac (<i>OH</i>-<i>pock</i>),
is learning how to fine tune his communication skills not only by texting me
when he wants to stay after weight-training to play a little b-ball with his
friends, but also by not spontaneously exclaiming the f-bomb at his sister.
It’s a work in progress. The dollar in a jar isn’t working with him, primarily
because he has no money. Next offense will result in grounding. And it won’t be
pretty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Veruca couldn’t wait to tell him what her principal said.
She said, <i>guess what my principal said to
our class today</i>? And then she looked at me and said, <i>you tell him</i>. Like it’s my story to tell. Opac shared that all
kinds of stuff like that was happening in middle school last year, which really
did nothing to ease my discomfort about the whole matter. Who remembers this
stuff??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was in elementary school there was <i>liking</i> going on, though in nearly all
circumstances it was one-sided, and mostly boys on the receiving end. I
remember liking a boy in first grade who lived in my apartment complex. I wrote
him love letters which he received and graciously tore up. Next boy was in
third grade and surely unrequited, though I never told him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Middle school was quite different. I found myself both the
target and the <i>huntress</i>, but my first
grade lesson had taught me to be more <i>cool</i>. As in, act completely indifferent to anyone
who shows interest. I was “going with” a boy in 6<sup>th</sup> grade for no
other reason than that he asked me, and we never even held hands, let alone saw
each other outside of school. There was that girl who was luxuriating in the
rather obvious signs of puberty that made her an unfortunate and unintended reputation.
I flew obliviously under the radar with my underdeveloped body. My first
somewhat real date came years later, in 10<sup>th</sup> grade, again with a boy
I had barely noticed until he’d asked. I was 15. Fifteen! My son is fifteen.
He’s shown no signs of interest in anything not tied to a football. And for
that – I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Veruca, on the other hand, is acutely aware of the boys. A
rumor circulated back to her that Steven likes her, and she was on a search and
destroy mission to find out who started it. I suggested that she focus on her
studies, and less on someone she’s not interested in. Probably fell on deaf
ears, like almost everything else I tell her. And last night before she went to
bed, she told me that cell-phone-boy is her boyfriend. Since when? I suppose it
doesn’t matter, at least until he walks over from his development and knocks on
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll let Opac answer it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keeping watch on the neighborhood.</td></tr>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-90689901011626513382016-03-08T20:28:00.001-05:002016-03-08T20:28:09.158-05:00Momma Forgot There'd Be Days Like These<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had a meeting today at one of the college campuses where
Todd works. Well, <i>technically</i> he
doesn’t work at this campus. I’m doing some grant work and had a meeting about
some Veteran Services initiatives that they’re working on. The meeting was at
12:30. Seeing as our accountant is in the Baltimore area as well, I decided to
drop off the tax stuff to him before the meeting. We live about 50 minutes
north of Baltimore. On a good day. So I left at 10:30, figuring two hours was
more than enough time. Plus, I have GPS.
What could go wrong? I also had to stop at this restaurant in White Marsh where
we’d had dinner with my in-laws last week, and where Veruca left her prized
mint green Justice handbag hanging on her chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had no trouble getting to the accountant. I’ve been there
before, his office is literally around the corner from my in-laws, and, like I
said – GPS. In and out. Back in the car with 45 minutes until my meeting. I
contemplated stopping at the restaurant first, and decided I’d best focus on
the meeting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well. Missed the proper exit for the direction I needed to
go (an exit I take every. Single. Time. I leave my in-laws) and ended up going
the wrong direction. Six miles later I was able to turn around, and now I’m
going the right way. Meanwhile, the manager from the restaurant calls me about
the purse, and apologizes for no one calling me back <i>last week,</i> and tells me to please be sure to ask for James when I
come in. <i>Gotta go, James, I’m driving on the beltway and I’m lost again</i>.
Seriously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The fudrucking beltway is a great big circle. Didya know
that? THAT’s why it’s called the
BELT-WAY. So, not knowing this, ya know, because I’m not freaking FROM
Baltimore, I panicked when I saw signs for a “tunnel.” And now I’m all like – <i>shit! I don’t want to go through the tunnel!
How the hell did I get HERE?! </i>Because – and I swear I’m not stupid – I
didn’t know there’s more than ONE tunnel in Baltimore. And this tunnel I desperately
was trying to avoid was actually going to take me to the town I needed to get
to. So, I changed direction and ended back on I-95 going north (at least I know
my way this way) and ended up at <i>another</i>
tunnel! However, this is the tunnel I’m familiar with and I’m now not only
supremely confused, I’m swearing a string of colorful words because I’m now
late for this meeting, which is so <i>not</i>
a good first impression for the director of Veteran Services.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Long story short, I made it okay. Only 5 minutes late. I
apologized profusely and sat down after introductions were made, my face hot
and pink from the <i>f@#$-I’m-late</i> jog from my car. Trying to breathe normally, I
pull out my glasses and a pen. I click the top of the pen and it springs back –
the top flying over my head. I’m momentarily mortified and holding my maniacal laughter in by a thread until the director tells
me the same thing happened to her a few minutes ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An hour and half later, the meeting’s over. Back in the car
and feeling okay now. This is the easy part. The restaurant is around the
corner from Todd’s campus. I go in and ask for <i>James</i> and here is a classic example of how you can be so wrong when
you picture someone based on their voice. The 7-foot middle-aged giant who
greeted me looked nothing like a 30-something preppy guy in khaki pants. He
looked more like an off-duty cop. Or a bouncer at a strip club. Not that I know
what a bouncer looks like at a strip club. I’m just saying that’s what I
imagine one would look like. And after the day I’d had at this point, I
seriously had to internally kick myself to keep from sniggling. He handed me
some coupons for free stuff, ya know – the standard comp crap they give you
when you complain to corporate (not so long story).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve had worse days. I’m just hoping I don’t repeat this on
Thursday when I have to find Johns Hopkins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-80621107014606507612016-03-05T09:03:00.004-05:002016-03-05T09:03:37.687-05:00Overheard in a Fitting Room<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
10-year-old walks into a space-challenged fitting room after trying on a dress,
and wedges herself into the corner seat. The click of hangers and whoosh of
fabrics … a few seconds of trivial conversation turns to this.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dad really loves Stephanie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope so. I’m glad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You want him to be happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why did you and dad get divorced?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We didn’t get along. We fought a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But you don’t fight anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s because we’re not married anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What did you fight about?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everything. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on very much. But I’m
not sorry we got married – because I have you, and your brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You’d still have us, even if you married Todd instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I’d still have kids, they just wouldn’t have been you and
–<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yeah, cause then we’d look like Todd. Eww!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What?! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, his face is skinny...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What are you saying?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No – I mean, he’s alright but –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, <i>I</i> like him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-32170491483717673752016-03-01T09:58:00.002-05:002016-03-01T09:58:56.292-05:00Lost and Found<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Found 3 things recently that were lost. </span></div>
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<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">A rather brand new cell phone. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">A green “bowl.” </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">The cat.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This was all very exciting, though for different reasons.
Todd came in from the car one day and showed me this brand new cell phone he
found under the passenger seat. He asked who was in the car recently that may
have lost it? I’d never seen it before. After a moment or two of reckoning, he
remembered how <i>eight</i> months ago Neph
had lost a cell phone – which he <i>never</i>
found. Neph, like any person of his generation, is quite adept at losing shit.
Like his driver’s permit – which, apparently, one needs if one wishes to take
the driver’s test. This was quite funny at the time, since he had to get a new
one, and later found the original permit at a friend’s house after he got his
license.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*******</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the four-foot wall of snow melted from along the fence
line, I noticed something green in the corner of the fence from my perch on the
deck. It was a large, plastic green bowl and after a momentary lapse – I recognized
it as the base to the Christmas tree stand, missing since last year, and not
one person in the house knew where it was. Todd said, “probably somewhere in
the garage.” If you’ve seen our garage… I wasn’t going in there looking for the
veritable pin in a haystack. O blamed Neph – because, well, see above. But all
I could say to that was – what would HE want with a Christmas tree stand? So, I
went out and found a plastic bin that could hold water and the legs of the tree
stand without tipping over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why was this bowl in the corner of the fence, upside down?
Veruca used it some time ago to climb over the fence – you know – because why
use the gate? When I asked her about it last weekend, she said… are you ready
for this? <i>Oh</i>. This same child went
with me to shop for its replacement. <i>Heard</i>
me </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">exclaiming aloud about it. <i>Oh</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, back in the yard…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*******</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Todd decided it was time to refill our propane tank and so
went outside to unhook it and load it into the truck – because we like to live
life dangerously. What I didn’t know at the time was that he’d left the sliding
door open downstairs, which I learned upon our return home from having this
tank filled. Immediately I worried that Oliver had discovered this lapse, and briefly
considered that Todd had done it intentionally. I searched the whole house,
every nook and cranny. No cat. I called him and called him. I decided to
vacuum the entire house – because if there’s one thing that will flush him out –
it’s the vacuum. After 38 minutes of ear-deafening noise, no sign of whisker or
tail. Now I was really worried. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I went outside, searching the backyard – which is quite
large – and, having also noted that the gate too had been left open, searched the
front yard and adjacent properties. I took a can of cat food with me and a
fork, and tapped the can and called to him. I wandered into our old horse
pasture, all the way to the back where it borders the woods. Two stray cats
sitting atop a huge tree stump looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and
anxiety. I figured their presence was a pretty good sign that Oliver hadn’t
gotten that far. I slipped through the fence and into the woods, winding my way
into my backyard. Todd was standing on the deck looking somewhat guiltily at
me, and said he still thought Oliver was hiding in the house. He went out to
the front yard to look and I went inside the house feeling downtrodden,
absentmindedly tapping the can with the fork. When I turned the corner of the
kitchen island, an hour and a half after the search began, <i>There. He. Was</i>. The little shit was sitting expectantly by his food
bowl, looking gorgeous, well-rested, and <i>completely
apathetic</i> about the crisis. I burst into tears. He meowed at me until I opened the can. Dispassionate little jerk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-600493561708112722016-02-22T11:57:00.000-05:002016-02-22T16:31:02.406-05:00What is 'Merica?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I referenced ‘Merica in a Facebook comment last weekend, and
was accused of using it in a derogatory way. <i>Okay</i> – I did sorta kinda use it in a derogatory way – I referenced
stupid lower-middle class ‘Merica as being responsible for the rise of a
certain Presidential candidate. That’s kind of a rude and unfair
generalization. What I really should have said is that people aren’t making educated
decisions about the implications and consequences of electing this individual. Full disclosure: my
actual comment: </span><i><span style="background: #f6f7f8; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The stupid dumbass Americans
from lower middle class 'Merica. The ones who follow the crowd and don't really
"think." It's scaring the hell out of me.</span> </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="background: #f6f7f8; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It might not have been my finest comment. Needless to say, a
“friend” reposted my comment on her wall in a very unflattering post, which was
followed by a shockingly more vile comment from her husband which I won’t dare
repeat. To be fair, she never mentioned me. But clearly it was meant for me. And
then she unfriended me. In a couple of PMs, I reached out to apologize for anything
I said that offended her, that I believed she took it out of context, and told
her I just wished she’d told me directly that my comment upset her. I was
sincere. Her response? '</span><i><span style="background: #fefefe; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Merica is used alot by
Veterans (close friends of ours) and I don't stand for it to be thrown in their
faces and calling them or anyone else that used it low-middle class. I'm tired
of people in this country disrespecting vets, stepping on the flag, etc. just
because it's their "right" to do so and calling it liberalism. It's
just better at this point for me to unfriend those that are making statements
like this, I don't want to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background: #fefefe; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="background: #fefefe; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was so
confused by this that I shared it with Todd, to be sure I understood what it
meant. Was I being accused of calling veterans low-middle class? Was I disrespecting
veterans by using the term ‘Merica? I never mentioned veterans in my offensive
comment, but is that implied if I’m using it? How did veterans become a part of
this conversation anyway? Do I symbolically step on the flag by saying ‘Merica?
Am I a liberal if I use the term, or am I a Republican? I’m still confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: #fefefe; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Since I’m so obviously ignorant, I googled ‘Merica this
morning. According to Urban Dictionary:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The top definition – America. It’s considered a slang term
for <i>The United States of America. </i>There
are also other ways of spelling it – such as ‘Murica, ‘Murika, and Amurica. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">#2 – “</span><i><span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A whole new way of saying
America. …Merica is the whole experience of America summed up in a
stereotypical way. Eating anything deep-fried, shooting shotguns….. People
often say it when they see Americans doing things only Americans can do, such
as: trimming a hedge with a chainsaw…. and driving tractors in the</span></i><span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <i>middle of a freeway. It is often expressed in a proud and commonly
exaggerated manor</i>.” Another definition calls it the redneck/hicks version
of America. (Urban Dictionary misspelled "manner" by the way. Which really annoys me.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It also
hails from George W.’s “country” accent (their words, not mine. I’d have chosen
<i>Texan</i>, myself. Unless <i>Texan</i> is somehow not PC and then I guess I should've just said, <i>Texas</i> accent), wherein the <i>A </i>comes across as silent and thus we
hear only, <i>merica</i>. Which – by the way
– I found very endearing about him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, still
another definition is “<i>a term used by the
ignorant masses who have no self-respect, or respect for our founding fathers.”
</i>This definition is kind of confusing too, in the context of my comment
and the subsequent backlash. Does this mean <i>I’m</i>
“the ignorant masses” for using the term? Or was this definition incorrectly
written and they meant to say, “used <i>for</i>
the ignorant masses”? By either definition, it’s kind of insulting. In the
context of my friend’s statement, would that then mean that <i>veterans</i> are the ignorant masses? Because
that’s just all kinds of wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m still confused. Doesn’t everyone
use chainsaws to cut their hedges? I thought they did that in Disney. Are Disney
landscapers rednecks? And what’s wrong with riding a tractor on the highway?
That would be pretty badass, not to mention fun, pissing off all the speeders. And I love deep fried food. Does that make me a redneck? I better Google Jeff
Foxworthy and brush up on my definitions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am genuinely sorry for
making an ignorant statement. I’m like that meme that says I don’t think about what
I’m going to say because I like to be just as surprised as everyone else.
Except that I’m not shameless. It’s no excuse, but I often blurt out stupid
and/or inappropriate things and then mutter to myself – kind of like when Baby told
Johnny she carried the watermelon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still – for the public record
– I don’t think lower-middle class people are stupid. There are plenty of
stupid people out there representing all classes. I do not dislike rednecks, nor
was I implying that rednecks are stupid. Again, see above. I would never use “liberalism”
as my excuse to say or do something inherently wrong. My often foolish
ineptitude and undisciplined tongue are to blame. I have never, or would ever,
stomp on the American flag. There’s a little 3 x5 flag on a broken wooden stick
in my drawer because I just can’t throw it in the trash can. I don’t know what
to do with it, but I just can’t throw it away – kind of like your kid’s dried
up umbilical cord. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I did not – nor would I ever –
say anything derogatory about veterans. I have friends <i>and</i> beloved family who are or were veterans. I bow down to them for
doing something I’d never have the courage to do. I also don’t feel the need to
defend myself at length about this. However, if you knew that I’m immersed in
grant work right now and the group I’m currently working for – you’d know just
how ridiculous this whole conversation is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-27215355568471967452016-02-21T09:04:00.001-05:002016-02-21T09:04:45.895-05:00An Open Letter to My Friends<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have many friends who all come from many parts of my life:
childhood friends, school friends, friends whose
friendship I hadn’t earned in high school but whom I learned to cherish in
recent years, friends from my first college and my “sisters,” friends from my
second college, friends from my life after college, friends from my “mommy”
life, friends from my after-first-marriage life, friends through diabetes, friends
who come from Todd, friends I’ve made since I’ve remarried, restaurant friends,
and friends who are family (hopefully I haven’t left anyone out).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I cherish the many friendships I have found and kept. What
is wonderful about all of my friends is the diversity I have among them… white,
black, biracial, gay, lesbian, Asian, Indian, interracial couples,
unconventional relationships, liberals, conservatives, Catholics, Christians,
Jews, psychics, big families, small families, obnoxious loudmouths, quiet
lurkers ….. these I cherish because through our differences we learn so much
from each other. I value all of your opinions, and … being the Gemini I am… I
see two sides to every coin (usually more – which sounds a bit mentally
unstable, but you get the point).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I accept that we all have our own views of the world, our
own views of what’s right – and what’s wrong. I accept that our opinions may
differ. I see your public statements that affirm where you stand on moral and
political issues. I accept them. I may not agree with them, but I accept that
those are your opinions and you are entitled to them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have always believed
that I was entitled to my own – and that I could voice them as I chose to and
you, my friends, would either accept them or you wouldn’t. Some of you have
challenged me. And that’s okay too. I’ve posted things and then saw that
“so-and-so” commented and I thought, <i>oh
God, here we go</i>. But I know it’s a fair exchange of conversation, and in
the end we’ll still be friends. Because our differing opinions may divide us,
but they will not conquer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of my very best friends, whom I would walk across fire
for – she’s on the opposite end of the political fence… and guess what? She’s
still one of my most cherished friends. Another friend has been married for nearly
20 years to a man who belongs to the <<<i>gasp</i>>> other party. My in-laws didn’t vote for my candidate last
time. So WHAT?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have seen posts that offend me. I have seen posts I don’t
agree with. But – I have never once called anyone out on them. (There's this new thing - it's called <i>scrolling</i>.) I never once
considered “unfriending” anyone – based on a post or the simple fact that I
disagreed with a position. I never invited people to unfriend me if they had a
different opinion. That’s kinda harsh, in my humble opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is what makes friendships RICH. And GREAT. How boring our lives would be if we were all
the same. Something along the way made us friends. And something as stupid as
an opinion, even – and I’m going out on a fragile limb here – something as
silly as politics – shouldn’t change our friendship. The banter that arises
from it – the <i>lessons</i> – are supposed
to teach us tolerance and understanding and with an open mind we might just see
things differently than we expected. This is what I teach my children. <i>Tolerance</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t expect us all to agree. I don’t want us all to
agree. But – for the love of shit – can’t we all just agree to disagree?
Without insulting one another? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m really disappointed today. I was in a position of being
attacked and morally dissected by a complete stranger a few months ago, and it
put me in a guarded place. I have had friend requests from people I didn’t know
and had to really think about before allowing into even my <i>online </i>life. I spent part of a morning deleting new friends in the
diabetes community in a move of self-preservation. Over the past week, I’ve had
a series of bad news. I thought about logging out of Facebook, to avoid any
more blows, because emotionally I’m spent. But – like an addict - I can’t turn
it off. But it is getting ever so easy to consider, given the present
temperature of politics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear friends, I am friends with you because of who you are –
not because of who you vote for. I don’t care if you vote for Donald, or Ted,
Hillary, or Bernie, or fucking Mickey Mouse. And guess what? Before I start
singing happy campfire songs – I don’t care if you voted for Obama or not – it
doesn’t matter if <i>I</i> did or not – I
still think it’s pretty shitty to call our sitting president an asshole. And even shittier to call a friend as much for making a casual
statement you disagree with. It makes me question how much you value <i>me</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-88556994809856365412016-02-19T10:32:00.001-05:002016-02-19T10:35:02.100-05:00On the Island of F*d Up Dreams<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another night of interrupted sleep, and the dreams take me
to places familiar and strange. Last night I made Coq au Vin for dinner, and it
turned out so good that apparently my inflamed mind decided it was ripe for a
dreamland dinner party. Only it didn’t start out as a dinner party. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I cooked up this dish and placed all four pieces of chicken
on a single dinner plate with barely a cup of white rice – for Veruca, O, Todd,
and me. And my brother. But then my mom was there. And then two more friends
were suddenly there and I was like, <i>I
didn’t know you were staying for dinner</i>. No matter, surely we can divide
that plate up amongst us. In the kitchen, the table was set for a dozen people
and I turned around and there they were. And I’m like, <i>MOM – you could have told me you invited more people.</i> There’s not
enough food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I started prepping to make more Coq au Vin, thinking I’d
just begin serving the older gentleman – who was a peculiar (and rather <i>quiet</i>) combination of Bernie Sanders and
my lawyer – with what was already made. I turned back to the counter and found
two <i>more</i> friends eating directly from
this small plate of chicken and rice, and now there’s none left! And I was
furious. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stormed off to the basement to gather more food from the backup
refrigerator and got lost in this dank forest of dusty old things… until Todd
came looking for me. I crawled out from behind a pile of stuff with dirty, torn
Christmas stockings on my hands and started ranting at him about all the people
who have come to dinner and nothing’s prepared. I was saved by the alarm for a
2 a.m. blood sugar check, and thankfully didn’t have to make Coq au Vin for what
became more like 30 people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back to bed and back to school. I have these recurring dreams
about being back at NYU, where I don’t ever go to classes and
suddenly realize halfway through the semester that I’m going to fail out if I don’t
start going. But this is compounded by the revelation that I don’t even know
WHAT classes I’m registered for, let alone WHERE they are. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thankfully, I didn’t have this dream last night. Instead, I
was in O’s high school – there to pick him up but apparently he’d gotten on the
bus to go home. I walked out of the building and saw my neighbor, who
apparently is now the principal and head of the zoology department, and handed
him a foil-wrapped package of leftover meat (from a different dinner, I
suppose) to feed the lion. He reminds me that he cannot accept food from
outside the school, for liability reasons. I toss the package in the trash can
and I cross the street with Veruca to enter the “mall.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I tell her we must hurry in order to beat O home, but first
I consider stopping in this shop to buy him a shirt. We hurry past the store
and into a department store, where the aisles are crowded with people, and I’m
just trying to get to the door. Once outside, I bend over to tie my shoe laces
and somebody kicks me hard in the calf. We don’t get the chance to see who did
it, and the pain in my leg slows us down. We never find the car… because I wake
up again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I told Todd I think it’s my medication that weaves these
Alice-in-Wonderland-like dreams, and while it helps anxiety during waking hours
– it’s allowing it to run wild in my sleep. He suggested that this is a problem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 21.4667px;">*There is no political endorsement between the lines.*</span></span></div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-24952564357385300612016-02-14T11:53:00.001-05:002016-02-14T11:53:13.718-05:00It's Valentine's Day - Time to Shave and Cut Those Toenails<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Valentine’s Day! The most anticipated celebration of love
for those with high expectations and the most dreaded holiday for those whose
expectations fell into a loveless abyss decades ago. For those anticipating –
stay tuned. For those dreading, in the words of Jeff Probst – Go back to camp,
I’ve got nothin’ for ya.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whether you’ve been married for 100 years, or just started
dating, Valentine’s Day is a day to acknowledge your love for all its worth –
by spending half a week’s pay in a fancy, expensive restaurant, buying sappy
cards and edible underwear, teddy bears, heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, lingerie,
and priceless jewelry she’ll be afraid to wear out of the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Or maybe you prefer a low-key home-cooked meal, a beer, and
a movie on the couch. Nevertheless, there are a few key things that are very
important on this – the most important romantic holiday of the year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Brush
your teeth</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. This may seem like a no-brainer, but there is nothing
worse than tongue wrestling with someone whose teeth feel like fuzzy little
socks, or whose breath smells like your 10<sup>th</sup> grade history teacher’s
noxious combination of coffee and hoagie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wear
something nice</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. Nothing says I love you more than fresh, clean
underwear. If you don’t own a single pair without holes or skid marks, there’s
still time to get yourself to Walmart! Romance may be asleep, but it’s not dead!
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cut
Your Toenails</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. Really – we all know the pedicure falls into
that it’s-winter-who-gives-a-shit file – but Valentine’s Day should be Opening
Day. Unless you’re a Hobbit, no one wants feet that look like they’ve been traversing
mountains and brimstone, or gardening with 10 little garden hoes. Cut those
nails! Sofa hockey is not meant to draw blood, people!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shave</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. This
goes for both men and women. Guys – if you have any hopes of making out with
your lady, shave that 5 o’clock shadow of microdermabrasion. Nobody wants a
date to end with raw skin. Or, maybe they do – but for the sake of time, let’s
just say they don’t. And ladies – if you’ve taken the winter off, today is the
day you start shaving again. It can be very confusing otherwise to a man who
thinks he’s dining out with his beautiful girl, only to find Sasquatch in the
bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And speaking of Sasquatch, there’s this alarming new trend
in grooming <i>down there</i>. Ladies,
there’s nothing wrong with a bikini wax or some minor, shall we say – <i>trimming</i>. Bald? Too each her own. <i>However </i>– do not, DO NOT try bald for
the first time on Valentine’s Day. Just trust us on this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Men – we appreciate manscaping. It’s a labor of love and we
know it. Just take care with the scissors! You definitely DO NOT want to have
to forfeit the nookie because of one small slip of the hand. There’s only so
much creativity one can come up with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Remember – somebody loves you and, while they may overlook
those personal flaws most every day, a little effort goes a loooooong way to
igniting the spark that brought you together. Long Live Romance! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-57081042399888485012016-02-10T06:48:00.002-05:002016-02-10T06:48:49.210-05:00Gloria<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I recently visited Mom mom in “the home,” and we got to
compare some notes on aging. Gloria is 90 years old and, holding steadfast to
her earlier vanity, she’s the only one in her retirement building with brown
hair. She is fit as a fiddle, all things considered. She stands tall and regal
as a queen, and she is royally hard of hearing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I arrived at her apartment door and knocked. LOUD. No
answer. I stood in the vestibule she shares with another resident, staring at <i>the giant stuffed teddy bear </i>resting by
the window, and contemplated pounding on the door and how that might be
received by her neighbor (assuming <i>she</i>
can hear). The door was locked. I called my mom and asked her to please call
her mother and tell her to open the door. A second later the phone rang, I
heard Mom mom exclaim “Oh my God!” and moments later the door opened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom mom is an amazing specimen for her age. She will be 91
in May, and while she walks much slower these days and with a “cart” (a fancy
walker with a cup holder and pockets for stuff – like cigarettes) in case she
loses her balance, she is – contrary to anything she might tell you – healthy as
a horse. She’s had a heart attack, cervical cancer, she loves her beer, she’s
smoked all her life, and she now takes insulin injections for her Type 2
diabetes. She doesn’t check her blood sugars, and when I chastised her she
scoffed at me. And – as I said – she can’t hear a damn thing and I have to
shout at her, which makes me really self-conscious in public but I guess I can’t
really stand out too much in a retirement home where 85% of the community is
nearly deaf anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She told me my cousin bought her a hearing aid, which I
already knew, and said it doesn’t work as she picked it up off the coffee table
to show me. I shouted at her that it
might work better if she put it in her ear. She laughed at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She is blunt as all get-out…one of the things I love most
about her. She gossips to me about the residents… <i>this one is nice but not “all-there</i>,<i>” that one’s a “dumb shit,” this one is “just a smoking buddy” and they’re
“just friends.” </i> She doesn’t hold
back when she’s got something to say. She tells me how much she loves her
former son-in-law and what a good man he is, and how my mom should’ve stayed
married to him. Yep – my dad is <i>that</i> special
– over forty years later. She tells me what a “looker” my husband is. She has a
way of gushing that makes a grown man blush with embarrassment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She got out of jury duty by telling them – in so many words –
that she’s racist (which, of course, she’s not). I told her she could’ve just
told them she had bladder control issues and couldn’t be sitting for long
periods of time. She just clicked her tongue and dismissed that with a wave of
her hand. I guess vanity won out again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She once lifted a hanging plant from the front of the
grocery store and carried it right to her car and she told me about it! I
suggested that I would refuse to visit her in jail, and she said they wouldn’t
arrest an old lady – they’d just think she was senile and didn’t know what she
was doing. YET, she got into a CAR and drove away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She embarrassed me when I was about 11, while we were out
for dinner with the entire family. I was sitting at the bar between her and my
mom sipping on my Shirley Temple and during a lull in their conversation Mom
mom looked down at me and exclaimed, “Tara! You have breasts!” But embarrassment
doesn’t end like that with Gloria… <i>she
copped a feel </i>to confirm her proclamation. Unfortunately, death doesn’t
come easily to the mortified 11-year-old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve forgiven her. No matter what MY mom says, she knows not
what she does. I could tell her anything. Always. She may tell everyone else,
but she’s not easily shocked. She has given up on the usual conventions of
civility for the most part – a product of her age and just not giving a shit –
something I find alternately admirable and hilariously funny. She <i>does</i> care about her appearance. She was
dressed like she was going out when I got there. She wears nice clothes and
puts on a bit of makeup, and makes sure her “hair look nice” (because hair in
her world is plural). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We compared aches and pains and she dismissed mine. We
compared beauty products and I told her that the smell of hand cream always
reminds me of her. She has always used Jergens, and I know that smell as well
as I remember the smell of Play-Doh. She gushed over my skin that looks like “porcelain,”
and I reminded her I’m wearing makeup designed to do that. She said I got good
genes, and I agreed. She doesn’t look like she’s 90.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The beauty of my relationship with her is that it’s separate
from those with her children. It was not a Norman Rockwell childhood, for them
or for her. I know who she was, but I also know who she is today. She doesn’t
lay guilt on me, because I won’t feel it the same way. And she’s <i>really</i> good at it. She cries as easily
as she laughs, and every goodbye is always accompanied by tears. I get it. She
doesn’t see everyone as much anymore, but of course – she also never wants to go
anywhere either. And that’s her prerogative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My mom surprised her with a 90</span><sup style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> birthday party
last year – with a huge cake for all the residents and live music. Gloria sat
in her chair and received her subjects like a queen bee. She’d never had a
birthday party. Ever. Everyone wished her well and here’s to next year! To
which she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear, </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">oh God – I hope not! </i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">She wished not to
have one more year in "this place." But I’m glad He’s not ready for Gloria yet. I’m
still learning from her.</span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-58512365425322479872016-02-06T15:17:00.001-05:002016-02-07T09:56:28.634-05:00How Squirrels Kept Me Awake Last Night<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfAcphbFneMemFBTkLjxCAlu8fT-ilK4vbO0yHr__BMY525c2vNsfmi80wjgw3QN4eRoFGYMSFjLmNNswZVg1OyGFaZAUAhgUsrzHm6bWeOlOnxdWcdFUmfbwvqCY4NSKIsItxrAxqY/s1600/12696892_10209073506420608_1518830642_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfAcphbFneMemFBTkLjxCAlu8fT-ilK4vbO0yHr__BMY525c2vNsfmi80wjgw3QN4eRoFGYMSFjLmNNswZVg1OyGFaZAUAhgUsrzHm6bWeOlOnxdWcdFUmfbwvqCY4NSKIsItxrAxqY/s320/12696892_10209073506420608_1518830642_o.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was up this morning between 4 and 5 checking Veruca’s
blood sugar and, after a 403, decided a set change was imperative. Then – back to
bed where I laid WIDE AWAKE – thinking about safe diabetes management in schools and what I could do about this nationally – and about
legislation that <i>needs</i> to happen over
big pharma control over prescription drugs and the ridiculous rising costs of
life-saving medications. And then I thought maybe I should just get up and go
write about all this until I get sleepy again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But my eyes were tired and they wanted to be closed.
Unfortunately, my brain and body didn’t get the memo. Then I remembered The
Bloggess and her method of writing notes in her phone in the middle of the
night when she can’t sleep, which led to me wondering how I could do that with
the bright light in my tired eyes, and then thinking I could use voice-to-text
but then I’d wake Todd up – who actually was up anyway because when I left to
check Veruca I only snoozed the alarm and obviously I was gone longer than 5
minutes – but anyway I didn’t want to further compromise his sleep by
entertaining my brain. He’s usually indulgent with me, but man has his limits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, thinking about The Bloggess got me thinking about the weird
stuff she thinks of in the middle of <i>her</i>
nights, and then I remembered how she thought there were squirrels in her
closet and I wasn’t sure she wasn’t just joking about hallucinating that there
were squirrels in her closet… and then I thought, that’s just not very funny. I
mean, it IS funny, in a way… but not funny to anyone who’s actually <i>had</i> squirrels inside their house.
Squirrels that were not invited.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Years ago I lived in this two-floor apartment in an old
historic house in my town. The owner of the building was a dentist whose office
was on the first floor. Essentially the building was divided in half – my apartment
on the second and third floors, and our friends had the two-story apartment on the
other side. I once heard a lot of scratching noises coming from the cubbies on
the third floor, and decided it best never to open them. My friends told me
there were squirrels nesting in them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I happen to adore squirrels. They’re adorable. They have
these cute little faces and they sit up on their hind legs and nibble on acorns
clutched in their cute little hands…. What’s not to love? I didn’t really care
that they were in the cubbies, so long as they didn’t claw their way inside the
apartment. I bet you know where this is going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One afternoon I was walking down the long hall from the
bathroom to the living room, and I heard a disturbing noise overhead. The
hallway had a drop ceiling, with a couple of light panels. I looked up and saw
little squirrel feet in the light panel. I about shit my pants. I’ve seen The Breakfast Club, and we <i>all</i> know how those panels can drop. The
squirrel was running up and down the hallway on top of the dropped ceiling and <i>now</i> all I could think of was Clark
Griswald … and what I’d do if this thing ended up inside my apartment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, long story short, I ran downstairs and into the
dentist’s office and very calmly informed the receptionist that I had a small
problem upstairs that required immediate attention. He came up shortly, <i>with a broom</i>. What is it with people wielding
<i>brooms</i> at unwelcome critters? My
first year at NYU, we had a mouse in our dorm room kitchen and we called
maintenance and the guy came up with a <i>broom</i>
and a <i>bucket</i>. And proceeded to locate
said mouse and literally beat it to death. <i>That</i>
was a traumatic experience that led me to forever espouse humane methods of
delivering mice from homes. That and that time I found a mouse stuck to that
sticky pad exterminators use, and the poor thing was frantically trying to chew
its own foot off to get away. That made me cry. I made my friend get rid of it
and I told the landlord that was the most inhumane way to “get rid of” mice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So after reminiscing the good old days of squirrels in my
apartment, I moved onto memories of the squirrels eating all the seed from the
birdfeeder my ex hung on one of those iron plant hangers by the fish pond, so
we could watch the birds feed from our kitchen window. But the squirrels were
very adept at climbing this iron pole, and refilling this feeder every day was a
<s>hilarious</s> constant frustration for him. I came up with a solution.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I decided to coat the pole with Vaseline. Then I stood by
the window, and waited. I didn’t have to wait long as one squirrel sprinted
from the oak tree on the side of our house and took a long, flying leap at the
pole. His front paws made contact first, followed by his back legs and a second
later… he slid all the way down the pole in slow motion. He made a soft landing
and shook himself off incredulously, looked up at the feeder in confusion, and
made to reach for the slippery pole again. It was one of the most hilarious
things I’ve never videoed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, back in my wired brain… thoughts shifted back to
more pressing present items, like looking into a tent rental for the
anniversary party, getting the save-the-date cards sent out, and how to plan
out a fun surprise for a friend who could really use the “uplift.” And what to
bring to tomorrow’s sports banquet, and what I have to do to gather our tax
stuff together, and I have a week to finish reviewing the draft of the diabetes
guidelines, and OMG! – Veruca needs her blood tests done, and I have to renew
those prescriptions, and ….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-83039819393433267212016-01-31T16:28:00.000-05:002016-01-31T16:28:17.765-05:00The Stakeholders Meeting - Management of Diabetes in Schools<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was invited, as a parent of a
T1 child in Maryland public schools, to attend a Stakeholder’s meeting to
discuss school management of diabetes. I was really excited to go, anxious to
hear what issues they were tackling, and eager to share my thoughts and
concerns as I had heard them through the DOC (Diabetes Online Community). The
meeting was jointly convened by the Maryland Department of Health and Mental
Hygiene (DHMH), the Maryland State Department of Education (MSDE), and the
Children’s National Health System.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> **Let me clarify that I do <i>not</i> represent these organizations, I am <i>not</i> speaking on their behalf, and I <i>did</i> obtain permission to write this post
from the officials spearheading this initiative. I am simply a T1 parent <i>volunteer</i> with a <i>stake</i> in the goals set forth by the meeting, and my goal in sharing
this is to reach parents in other states who are struggling with diabetes management
in school. As I mentioned in a previous post, there is a breathtaking gap in
Type 1 management in schools across the US. The information contained here I
hope will serve as inspiration for parents in asking their own schools and
states to step up to provide the best possible care and safety for Type 1
students – parents can and should demand legislation and more state involvement
where it is lacking. **<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The agenda was comprised of
perspectives from the diabetes care provider, the State Board of Nursing,
School Health Services, and the Parent/Family, to include management
challenges, needs, and opportunities in the school setting. After
introductions, we broke out into workgroups made up of members from the various
stakeholder groups represented that day, each to discuss a different focus
area. Obviously I don’t need to tell you that there were a number of Very
Important People in attendance that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The topics on task for the day
included communications between Providers, Schools, and Parents regarding
medication orders, the School Health Services Form for Diabetes Management, the
implementation of 504 plans and IHPs, issues related to the training of school
nurses and other staff, the training and oversight of unlicensed persons,
challenges regarding care on field trips and other school-sponsored activities,
promotion and support for self-management and essentially what that looks like
at each school level. Each workgroup was given a specific focus area to
discuss, with very focus-specific questions. The workgroups – again, each
comprised of diabetes care providers, school nurses, representatives from the
State Board of Nursing, Parents/Caregivers, and government representatives –
were tasked to come up with recommendations for these issues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">These
focus areas can serve as a foundation for parents nationwide to open dialogue if and where it is needed: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The <b>School Health Services Form for Diabetes
Management</b> – how orders are written and transmitted, whether it is standard
or individualized, best ways to transmit orders, whether a new order is necessary
for every change in insulin dose, and ways to improve the form.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Communications</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
between providers and schools – including provider accessibility to schools,
the parents’ role regarding medication orders, and strategies to improve
communication between all parties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Training of school nurses and other school
staff</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> – including unlicensed persons who may be needed to fulfill
diabetes needs of students (carb counting, calculating boluses, managing care
on field trips, and strengthening policies for self-management), with
recommendations on how state and local programs can enhance this training to
unlicensed persons. Here too, the focus is on the child’s safety in the school
setting, and what happens when a school nurse is unavailable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Communication with and oversight of
unlicensed persons</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> providing diabetes care, strategies to address
barriers for how and what school nurses delegate, and how communication is
achieved when nurses aren’t on location. In addition, <b>how schools promote self-care at the age-appropriate level</b>, what care
and management looks like in elementary, middle, and high school settings, how
this determines the location of diabetic supplies, and effective collaboration
with parents and providers on these issues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Educational supports </span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">regarding
504 plans, Individualized Health Plans (IHP), how much and what type of
information is needed on those forms, accommodations regarding standardized
tests, challenges with regard to implementation that students and parents
encounter, how these challenges were addressed, and what communication
regarding education supports has been effective between the school nurse and
other personnel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diabetes Management Challenges </span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">as relates
to diabetes care on field trips and school-sponsored activities, what parents’
concerns are regarding safety in the school setting, how these concerns were
addressed, what expectations parents have of school personnel, as well as what additional
training/education might be needed to support students and parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The end
result of this Stakeholder’s Meeting, as well as ongoing committee meetings (on
which I continue to participate) is to have a new and updated <i>Management of Students with Diabetes Mellitus
in Schools, a Maryland State School Health Services Guideline</i> to be
completed and in effect for the 2016-2017 school year. I am not at liberty to
discuss the specific outcomes and recommendations stemming from these meetings
at this time, though I hope to share the final product once it is officially
implemented. But I have learned so much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Being
the “parent” often means feeling like we’re being judged on everything from
helicoptering to being the demanding or hysterical parent to being judged on
our child’s management. That’s not to say that schools <i>make</i> us feel that way, though I’ve heard many a parent tell some
tales that would curl your hair… I have been gloriously blessed with a
fantastic school nurse who needs absolutely no supervision from me. Type 1
parents don’t sleep very much. We are frustrated and angered by the blurred
distinction between Type 1 and Type 2, the lack of understanding from our friends
and even from family of how scary this disease is, and how it is
life-threatening on a daily basis. That may sound overdramatic, but the fact is,
and remains, that our children are alive only through our tireless diligence and
a drug that can also kill them. It’s no small wonder that <i>any</i> of us can function while our children are away from our care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That
being said, I have also now heard perspectives from schools and providers. I met people that genuinely care about the safety, well-being, <i>and</i> education of students with diabetes. Someone said she had actively pursued a pharmaceutical company to market a half-dose
of glucagon for children under 6 years of age to make it easier for licensed
personnel to administer the correct dose if necessary. Someone commented that in
an emergency situation where glucagon is warranted, there is no such thing as
overdosing. I’m not the only parent who would agree that it’s not worth arguing
details when it comes to glucagon, because <i>not</i>
giving it is <i>not</i> an option. I have heard that some parents haven’t even provided glucagon to the school, and the
reason is affordability – because some insurance companies are not covering it.
The cost of glucagon out of pocket is over $100 per kit, and I know we have at
least 4 – one at school, one in my purse, and at least one each at my house and her dad’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There
was mention of having education and training for all school personnel with
regard to glucagon – that in many schools they are already trained in the use
of EpiPens, so why not glucagon as well? Shouldn’t everyone know how and when
to use it, just like the EpiPen? Should schools require it, or <i>request</i> volunteers to learn how to
administer it? When we were still in Pennsylvania, our school nurse had a fit
over anyone but her using the glucagon kit. Her concern was liability, and she
may have been right, but it was always my feeling that I don’t give a rat’s ass
WHO gives my kid glucagon, so long as somebody DOES. I would never sue somebody
for attempting to save my child’s life. Alas, there probably is someone who
would and therein lies the problem the “officials” face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Also
among the conversations I heard was of one kid whose parents didn’t want to
manage his diabetes at all, and his A1c was 17. Imagine that the person who
knew this information had to decide what to do with it. It’s certainly a
different perspective, something I urge all parents to consider when they’re
feeling sensitive about how they’re treated by school personnel. Unfortunately
there <i>are</i> children out there with diabetes
who do not get proper care, either due to lack of parent education about Type 1
diabetes or accessibility to health care, or both. Consider how school nurses
and other personnel who DO understand diabetes handle situations like these.
What is their responsibility to this? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What’s
really exciting and coinciding with the Stakeholder’s initiative is Maryland Senator
Ronald Young’s Senate Bill 71, <a href="http://mgaleg.maryland.gov/2016RS/bills/sb/sb0071f.pdf" target="_blank">Public and Nonpublic Schools - Student Diabetes Management Program</a><i>,</i> which will require
“the State Department of Education and the Department of Health and Mental
Hygiene, in consultation with certain other organizations” to provide for all
of the aforementioned focus areas (I’m really overgeneralizing here). Senator
Young is very passionate about diabetes management and safety in schools. He
expressed his concerns over the gaps in diabetes care in some counties (sidebar:
Maryland public schools are organized by county, ie: Cecil County Public
Schools, Baltimore County Public Schools, etc.) with regard to safety both in the
school setting and on school buses, as well as field trips, after-school
care such as extracurricular activities, and the absence of diabetes care providers in some schools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There
are far too many points to mention for the purpose of this post; however, it
will provide for training guidelines for staff and employee volunteers to
become trained diabetes care providers, although not to be “construed as…
practical nursing or registered nursing” (the liability side of training
diabetes care providers). The bill will provide for a Diabetes Medical Management
Plan (DMMP) meeting for the student and all individuals charged with care. It will establish, among other points, where
and how the student will manage diabetes tasks, as well as allowing the student
to carry supplies and “possess a cellular phone to ask for assistance when
necessary.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While
my workgroup focused on policy related to unlicensed personnel providing
diabetes care to students, one nurse asked me my feelings on my child’s safety
on field trips, either in a self-care situation or with an unlicensed person
managing her diabetes. I expressed serious reservations about someone making
decisions about her care without communication with me, and especially because
in some locations cell phone service is compromised. Senator Young was in my
workgroup, so he heard my concerns. Still, his efforts with the above bill have
merit in the general sense, where some parents have few options due to work
constraints. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There
is so much more and in the interest of time and space, I will wrap this up. I
don’t pretend to know what kinds of legislation have been enacted in any other
states, but I strongly urge you to have a look at this bill. Senator Young
expects to have it enacted by July 1, 2016, and I hope by that date to have
more to share.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-6824776538705725242016-01-24T16:54:00.001-05:002016-01-24T16:54:33.755-05:00Snowfalls, Remembered<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Over a
glass of Knob Creek, and after an impromptu cleanup of an overflowing toilet in
the kids’ bathroom...<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All this snow – and a Facebook post by a friend who lives in
New York City – had me thinking about snowfalls past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While I was a student at NYU, I loved the days it snowed and
blanketed the city in pristine white. There was this one magical snow that I
have never forgotten. It was the end of 1990- the beginning of 1991 – I was
home on break but returned to the city one weekend to spend time with this guy
was I was dating. We decided to go to the movies – we saw Awakenings in an
intimately small midtown theatre and I was blown away by Robert DeNiro’s
performance. I was feeling hormonal and particularly emotional, and tried so
hard not to cry and embarrass myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It had started snowing during the movie so that the scene
outside the theatre was positively beautiful. The side street was white and
unadulterated by tire marks, and there was the occasional cab skidding by on 3<sup>rd</sup>
Avenue. Otherwise, just the snow falling silently all around us, ghostly steam
rising out of the manhole covers, and people leisurely walking –so black and
white, like a scene out of a silent film. I could hear the sound of my own
heart beating. He took me by the hand and together we walked the distance back
to our dorm. I don’t remember what we talked about, or even what I felt – other
than overcome by the magic of a silent, white New York on a snowy night,
telling myself I never wanted to leave. If you’ve lived there, you know those
moments don’t last. The next morning would be brown and potholes full of icy,
dirty water would have to be navigated, along with slippery sidewalks and cold,
gusty winds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t often remember whole events in my life, but certain
scenes just stand out. Kind of like old photographs in an old dusty album. They
are memories, but only tell a tiny part of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another snippet – a frigid, snowy night on 3rd Avenue again.
My roommate and I were distracted from our studies by the sounds of our
neighbors in the suite next door, making a ruckus from their window catty-corner
from ours. They had started an impromptu baseball game with a stranger in an apartment
across the street, baseballs crafted from snow collected from the rooftop above
the 12th floor. <i>Snow they carried down the
elevator</i>. Our friend was pitching the snowballs across 12th street and the stranger
was hanging out his 4th floor window hitting them with a frying pan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Most magical snowfall ever? The night Todd and I stole a
kiss under the moonlight while the snow fell silently all around us, just a few
weeks before we went public, the second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What’s your most magical snowfall? Tell me, I wanna know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-85050659378438080902016-01-22T16:56:00.000-05:002016-01-22T16:56:09.913-05:005 Things Your Mom Didn't Tell You About the 40s<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Weight
gain</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.
It’s terribly painful to experience superhuman metabolism for most of your
life, only to be bitch-slapped after 40 with cellulite that makes the moon look
smooth. It doesn’t happen right away either…it’s sort of a gradual, sneaking up
kind of phenomenon where one day spring day you can pull your summer shorts out
of the closet but not <i>up </i>over your
thighs. And then, to actually tear your jeans in the seat. TWICE. Extra points
for not realizing it while you were walking around the bowling alley for 2
hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vision
Changes</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. My mom always wore glasses, so I’ll give her a pass on
this one. However, not even my dad (who wears readers) told me I’d be damn near
blind in my forties. Can’t read a book, can’t read the computer screen, can’t
read medicine bottles, or nutrition labels on all the foods I need to count
carbs for. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And no more staring romantically into Todd’s eyes, unless he’s
standing on the other side of the room. Any closer than two feet and he could
be a gorilla and I wouldn’t know the difference. Well, except for all the hair,
but…</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Libido</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.
Seriously, WTF??! Why, oh <i>why</i> did NO
ONE ever mention the forty-something libido that goes to light speed and is as relentless as a mosquito bite?? <i>Who</i> has time for this but a 14-year-old
boy with a lock on his door?? If this gets any worse, my husband will stop
coming home. Well, maybe not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whose
body IS this? </span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom failed to mention all the aches and pains, especially
the unforgiving ones like back pain and sciatica. She didn’t tell me that the
mere act of trying to get out of bed would be an Oscar worthy performance. At
the very least, it’s a feat of magic on some mornings worthy of a Facebook
mention… if only nearly all my friends with the same problem actually gave a
damn. The body used to be able to do all sorts of things, which are now nearly
impossible without the musical accompaniment of pops, creaks, shrieks, and
grinding noises. Pinched nerves, shoulder pain, sore knees, carpal tunnel… I
don’t have time to list it all. And
while we’re on the subject of foreign bodies – who in the barnacle invented <i>hemorrhoids</i>?! Dear <i>God </i>– wasn’t natural childbirth punishment enough?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Memory
Loss</span></b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.
Walking into a room and forgetting what you went in there for? Used to be funny
– maybe somewhat annoying – but now? As an everyday occurrence I now understand
why Alzheimer patients get so freakin angry. Looking at my medication bottle trying
to remember whether I <i>really</i> took it,
just moments after I’ve thought of it. Trying to remember the name of that person,
the date of an appointment, what year we went to Greece, how old I was when mom
got remarried, what I ate for breakfast, and especially remembering all those
bodily symptoms when the doctor asks and – ready for this? – the date of my
last period. Because – we’re not quite old enough to discount pregnancy, which
they can and <i>will </i>ask before every Goddamn
diagnostic test. (And, while it’s not relevant to this post, I just have to
mention how much it pisses me off when <i>any
chance of pregnancy?</i> answered with a firm “no” is then followed up with, <i>how do you know?</i>) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-43197004629499889662016-01-20T09:04:00.001-05:002016-01-20T09:04:08.115-05:00Respect, Accountability, and a New Name<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s 10 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, the day after MLK, Jr.
day. Not a sound in the house… because my children are <i>still</i> sleeping. That’s because they were up late partying with
their uncle Matt, playing Wii, until Veruca came and woke me at midnight to
announce she was going to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why <i>Veruca</i>, you
ask? Because I’m changing her name. (As for the late bedtime, you can address
my parenting skills or lack of them, later. Just after you explain to me what a
perfect parent is.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I actually started a blog post 2 weeks ago about this very
topic… and it looks like this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~I have decided to rename everyone in the house. Out of
frustration, it’s all I can do to cope with the ridiculousness that is my
house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll start with the youngest. My daughter will now be known
as Veruca. Little Veruca wants what she wants and she is none too happy when
things don’t go her way. Little Veruca is worse with daddy, which isn’t
“really” funny but in a way I feel like karma has been served up rare and tangy
like my tuna tartare. Veruca doesn’t get away with much here. Plus her evil
stepfather calls her out on her bullshit in a much calmer way (read: not
screaming like a lunatic and foaming at the mouth) than her mother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This morning she laid in bed until the last minute. We did
an insulin pump set change and after 7 years of pumping you would think that would
go smooth as flan. Not. She will twist herself in a panic over <i>where</i> I’m putting the site, and then
insist the spot isn’t a good one – <i>as if</i>
I have no idea what I’m doing. It is positively maddening. Then she wanted a
sweatshirt that was in the wash, and complained she had “nothing to wear.” Or,
rather – that the sweatshirt was the only one that <i>goes with</i> her outfit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I walked out of her room and back to the kitchen, the
door slammed shut. Back down the hall I went, took a deep breath, and reached
for the door handle. She opened it suddenly, and tried to tell me it was “an
accident.” That’s her favorite excuse for missteps these days, like on New Year’s
Eve when I called her and she ended the call telling me that Owen couldn’t come
to the phone right now because “he’s taking a shit.” Oh yes, she did. It was an
<i>accident</i>. I can only guess where she learned the phrase
above – she certainly didn’t hear it <i>here</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nevertheless, we had a long, one-sided conversation where
she learned that the next time she complains about her clothes not being clean
and/or slams her door at me, she’ll be doing her own laundry. And then I
reiterated that communication (without raising your voice, too) is key to
getting what you need without conflict. Pat me on the back. I know Todd would
be proud. ~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, I guess I had planned to continue reassigning names,
but I got stuck on#2. I don’t really have many complaints about my firstborn –
other than his inability to say he’s sorry and his annoying habit of
interrupting. Which, for the record, are not meant to be downplayed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate being interrupted. It’s a peeve I’ve had as long as I
can remember – one of the most memorable being my 17<sup>th</sup> birthday. Every
time I opened my mouth, someone else would start talking. It pissed me off so
much, I just stopped talking. I mean, it was MY birthday and they wouldn’t have
been enjoying this fine dinner on a deck overlooking South Street if it weren’t
for ME. (The only-child syndrome notwithstanding. Which I was, until somebody
decided it was a great idea to give me a brother when I was old enough to be
his mother.) (Did that sound sarcastic and ungrateful? It wasn’t meant to be. I
love my big little brother – and his ability to put away an expensive bottle of
single malt.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Todd remembers it differently – and snickers as he recalls
how every time my mom went to take a bite of her chicken I’d start clucking
under my breath. I think he’s wrong. I do not remember this at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, the “I’m sorry” issue is a big fish to fry. My son,
at fifteen, will always respond defensively to any accusation and then make
excuses why he did the offensive thing, rather than apologize. His dad is
notorious for placing blame on others, rather than be accountable himself. I
don’t recall the words ever leaving his lips in the 13 years we were married.
As for me, and being always the target of blame, I rarely apologized to <i>him</i>. The reasons may be wrong, but they
are quite clear. To apologize to him meant he was right to blame me, and that
led to more accusations and more opportunities for me to BE wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What O took away from that? You don’t have to say you’re
sorry, there’s always someone or something else to blame, and – especially when
you’re the unfair target of blame – you refuse to be made further wrong. In
dad’s house, he is blamed a lot for Veruca’s reactions. As a young child, he
was chastised for not giving her what she was screaming for. In our house
today, everyone is accountable. However, that doesn’t make the “s” word come
any easier. It’s a work in progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The house is quieter these days. Neph has taken his leave
and moved home. I have mixed feelings about it. It was nice to have a “third
child” but he is, in reality, an “adult” with very definite ideas of what he
does and doesn’t want. He is the oldest son in his household, and with that
comes a sense of entitlement that is difficult to grasp at times. He has a
great deal to learn. As do my kids, but I’m hoping to do it with a lot less
drama – God willing. Accountability is high on the list here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And now, in an effort to keep my posts to roughly no more
than 1,000 words, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes by the late, great
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Life’s
most persistent and urgent question is, ‘ what are you doing for others?’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-41688513273496896152016-01-19T10:01:00.002-05:002016-01-19T10:02:51.250-05:00Conversations with Todd - Episode 1, 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me</span></b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">:
I love this – seeing the memories from years past. (Referring to the Facebook
memories that come through every day.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Todd</span></b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">:
What were you doing 25 years ago?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me</span></b><span style="font-family: "footlight mt light" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">:
I don’t know, I didn’t have Facebook then.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-26597506924958809962016-01-14T09:39:00.003-05:002016-01-14T09:56:58.516-05:002015 - A Year in Review<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It may be a bit backwards to post the year in review <i>after</i> the 16 things I’m looking forward
to this year, but I am a Gemini who is rebellious against convention, has an
unquenchable thirst for shock-factor, and an unfortunate lack of control over what
comes out of my mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Looking back on last year, it had all the appearances of a calamitous
beginning but thankfully it was only a temporary spell with no long-term
damage. We had a shit-ton of snow early in the year, which led to more snow
days than any sane mother should have to withstand, and then there was a
relatively short episode of the flu. Todd had it through New Years’, and the
kids had very mild symptoms about a month or so into 2015. I brought up the
rear as the last one to spend 4 days in bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> began
her last year of elementary school and <i>O</i>,
his first of high school. It’s surreal how fast time goes by – and I know I mention
that every year. She had one crush before the 4<sup>th</sup> grade ended – a “very
nice” boy who she said wasn’t the best looking kid in class but he was the nicest
and he made her laugh. Whether the sentiment was returned, we’ll never know,
but it was heartwarming to realize that she <i>is</i>
absorbing what I’ve taught her. Meanwhile, <i>O</i>
refuses to discuss girls. <i>At all</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Both kids dove into extracurriculars last year. <i>O</i> played community basketball at the Y
last winter, and in May – after he informed me that he <i>really</i> wanted to try out for football and we discussed a neurotic
mother’s concerns – he began weight-training three days a week until practice
began in August. <i>A</i> returned to cheer after 3 years. So, what promised to be
alternately a relaxing and petulant summer became an endless carpool from one
practice to another, some occasionally overlapping and creating a new layer of
stress for the divergent mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Todd and I got away on some day trips over the summer – to Ocean
City on the 4<sup>th</sup> of July, which was a great deal of fun but perhaps
not the best day to attempt to get into town – and to Cape May for a walk on the
beach, a hike up 104 steps inside the lighthouse which ignited a vertigo I hope
to avoid the rest of my life, some window shopping, some great pints and pub
food, and a race to the sunset by the water. Lovely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our tenants in the apartment moved out! They left a
gargantuan mess to be gutted and the unmistakable stench of urine, but the project
got finished and the apartment is beautiful now, to be utilized as our “guest
house,” rather than a tenant-occupied space. One could say we are slowly
learning a hard-won lesson about “giving” of ourselves to others. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had written about the addition of Neph to our quarters… what
first appeared to be an easy transition had its share of rough patches. One might argue that the immediate family
dynamic is delicate – it <i>is</i> young,
considering that the four of us have only lived together for 4 years – but it
is well-established in routine and expectations. To add a new dynamic – with a
dynamic not so subtly different – requires patience and work to keep the cogs
and wheels turning smoothly. For reasons I am protective of, as well as those
involved, suffice it to say that there just isn’t enough oil and a cog or two is rusty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, between weight-lifting and cheer camp, the kids
and I – along with <i>Nephtoo</i> – went to
Cape May with my mom for 4 days. While I swore halfway through the second day
of Veruca’s* sour attitude that I would <i>not</i>
do this trip again (even if Mom paid me) – I will say that it was lovely to
have the boys together, especially Nephtoo, because he softened my mood
tremendously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We threw our first party at the house since July 2011 – when
I was just “girlfriend” and we had just gotten back together – invited <i>everybody</i> and it was a blast. The house
itself has seen a lot of changes since that first party and while we still have
a ways to go on the lower level, I know Todd was proud of the improvements. I
loved having my aunts there! I so miss the family I grew up with, as our time
together is fewer and farther between, so it meant the world to me that they
were there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Todd was promoted to full professor last year – a well-earned
distinction –and continued his <i>multi</i>-committee
obligations while simultaneously working on a grant and developing his own
product. Meanwhile, I continued my <i>very
important</i> work as hospitality and beverage ambassador at the restaurant, in
addition to resident baker, and domestic engineer and writer of all things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Last year I made a decision to step up and into a more
involved role in Diabetes world. And, either through this decision or by
sharing the same blackballed status, I made several new friends around the
country who share my enthusiasm for awareness and education and believe in <i>uniting</i> for our common cause (rather
than fighting against each other for what-makes-absolutely-no-sense reasons). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While Diabetes Awareness Month promised to deliver some powerful
messages, the unfortunate – not to mention counterproductive – <a href="http://taraversus.blogspot.com/2015/11/bye-felicia-updated.html" target="_blank">support group debacle</a> really stole some of the thunder from our efforts. However, we were not
discouraged enough to quit. I wrote to my governor and acquired a proclamation
for November to be Diabetes Awareness Month. I attempted, and failed, to get the
attention of my local government for this cause – but, again, I’m not
discouraged. I joined my state’s efforts to improve diabetes management in
schools, and will continue to participate in this amazing committee – the outcome
set to launch this summer. (I will be writing more about this in another post.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The year ended relatively quietly – even if it was at the
restaurant. We didn’t have over 100 like last year, most of the guests were
newcomers (!) and the music was great but not wall-busting like last year. And
for all of that, I’m grateful. And the best part? Kissing my first love at the first
minute of 2016.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-37169030863370324282016-01-07T15:31:00.000-05:002016-01-08T11:19:50.975-05:00There Are Few Things I Hate More Than Soggy Cereal<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are few things I hate more than dredging soggy cereal
out of a bowl full of warm milk. These.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate cleaning out the drain in the kitchen sink. I hate
it! It grosses me out, little bits of discolored <i>former</i> food, cheese that somehow melted onto the strainer, soggy
pieces of gag-worthy edible rejects. UGH.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And, while we’re on the subject, that drain is rivaled only
by the dogfood floaters in the water dish. I literally cannot even look at it.
I have to lift it out of the water with a large spoon, which subsequently will
have to be washed at 140 degrees inside the dishwasher. That is, after I’ve rinsed
it under hot water. Because one does not simply attempt to wash that dumpling-sized
nugget down the <i>drain</i>. Because it won’t
go down, further intensifying the gag reflex (see above).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate the poop that sticks to the dogs’ fur. Or worse –
when it’s still <i>attached</i>. If you don’t
know what that means, I’m <i>not</i>
explaining it today.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate dirty toilets. I never loved dirty diapers either,
but poop back then was much smaller, and cuter. And wiping it off the cutest
little bottom a mother has ever seen? Just fine. But – splattered, smeared, or
stuck in or on the toilet – uh, no. Just NO. Every kid in this house has two
hands and at least half the brain to clean up their own shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate dirty underwear and socks. I do the household
laundry. It’s a choice. And I’m not so far gone that I need to wear gloves.
However, I will only pick it up by 2 fingers, ready to drop it if it tries to
bite me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate moldy, rotting food in the refrigerator. Even when I know
it’s bad, I will purposely put off throwing it out because I’m afraid to smell
it or look at it, which of course means it will look and smell FAR worse when I
finally do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hate eating off of others’ plates. I’m kinda throwing this
last one in here because I was thinking about how you never know who's sick, or may have sneezed over their food, or just saliva.... I won’t even eat off of my own kids’ plates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-70077372287742973162016-01-03T13:38:00.000-05:002016-01-03T13:38:02.667-05:0016 Things I'm Looking Forward to in 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Out in the blogosphere, bloggers were posting the <i>50 Things That Made Me Happy in 2015 </i> (or some variation thereof) and, as I’ve been
slacking a bit on the writing, I started jotting down ideas on New Year’s while
waiting for the crowd to appear. Stevie B leaned over and asked what I was
doing, and when I told him he suggested it might be a lot easier to go with 16
Things I’m Looking Forward To. You can thank Stevie B for making your reading shorter today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<ol>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
vacation.</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> With Todd. Alone. You may be surprised to learn that we
have yet to vacation alone together. We didn’t have a honeymoon. This is our
year. Cape May, Myrtle Beach, Vegas, Niagara Falls, Vineyard hopping in California…. <i>I don’t care where we go, I don’t care what we do…</i></span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ride</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. As in
JDRF Ride. I told someone fairly influential that I was doing it this year,
purposely because I knew there’d be no backing out from that moment on. This is
huge – it’s a destination ride – I was planning on Burlington but there are
other locations to consider (Death Valley, Tahoe, Tucson, <i>Amelia Island</i>,…)…. It’s a 100-mile ride and there’s a shit-ton of
fundraising to do (not to mention <i>training</i>),
but I really can’t wait!</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A new
job</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">.
I’m ready to step into something new and I’m knocking on the door of a new
opportunity as we speak.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Completing
the novel</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. I really, <i>really</i>
want to finish writing that first book this year.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
In-laws’ 50<sup>th</sup> Anniversary party</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. We’re throwing the
party of the century this summer for my in-laws’ renewal of vows and
celebration of a lifetime of love. Backyard, tent, handmade chuppah, live
music, dancefloor, and only the very best food on the planet.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dress
shopping</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> for the aforementioned event. And also for a JDRF Gala this
spring.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching
my son <i>start</i> in football this year</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. And
staying injury-free.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paying
off my legal fees</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. Just
$1000 left. Woohoo.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And, while we’re at it, </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Paying
down all our debts</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> so we can breathe easier.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">More
advancements</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> in the battle for the Cure. Something
mind-blowing.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Continuing
my own advocacy efforts</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. And adding Maryland to the short list of
DKA-awareness legislation efforts.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Art
Show. </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">*More details to follow. Need to spend some time on this
with two people who want to get this off the ground. Very exciting stuff.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An
in-ground pool</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. Yes.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching
Todd launch his product this year</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">. I can’t wait!</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Spending
more quality time with the people who matter</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> – friends and family,
and new friends along the way.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Love,
Laughter, and JOY.</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></li>
</ol>
<br />
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-72462939991436178532015-12-24T19:59:00.003-05:002015-12-24T19:59:58.184-05:00This Christmas Eve<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On this Christmas Eve, I reflect on where I have
been and where I am today. I’m also thinking of friends and family who are
troubled today, either by choice or circumstance, and may feel they’ve fallen
off (or have been pushed off) the path they believe they belong on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You see, 5 years ago I was living in an old
Victorian house, in a small town where I knew many people who didn’t really <i>know</i> me. I moved to this small town with
my then-husband and small son, and transferred my membership of the Mom’s Club
in another town to that one. I remember the day I called the president of the
local chapter in my new town – and we spent over an hour on the phone. Her
voice was familiar to me – she sounded like a combination of my two friends
Kathy and Michelle. I knew immediately that I’d found my new “home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d soon find a good handful of friends there,
who became my cheerleaders as my life shifted and I made some very scary
changes. It was then that I realized who was real, and just how <i>not</i> alone I was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The week before Christmas, December of 2010, I
went with my then-family to a local park for a live Celtic music performance
featuring a long-time friend of the restaurant. I sat there, next to my
children, and listened to the most beautiful music I had ever heard. It was like
listening to the music of my soul. I thought of my Nana. I spoke to her inside
my head and told her how I missed her, and how I wished she was here to guide
me forward in the midst of the enormous changes I was facing. As the music
swelled, so did the tears in my eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That night, all I could think of was being happy
again, no more fighting, no more anxiety, no more worries. I thought of the
friends I had reconnected with on Facebook, who seemed like their lives had
come full circle and they were “living the dream” I’d always dreamed of. I
thought of all I wanted for myself, and my children, and how no matter how hard
I fought, or how badly I wanted it, it wasn’t going to happen where I was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wanted to share that night with Todd. It’s
already known that I always loved him. He is a part of me that I could never
forget. We were already friends again, but nothing more. But I knew at that time
and place that a year from that day I would be sitting beside him. The details
are irrelevant now. But what matters to me today, is that I had an epiphany
that I couldn’t ignore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes what we think we want, what we think we
need, are not part of the path. Sometimes
it’s the other person in our lives who doesn’t see it that way. I guess what I’m
trying to say is, don’t close doors that haven’t yet opened. Don’t lose faith
that you are not on the right path. Don’t lose faith, period. I was in a place
of despair for so very long, that it took me away from myself, and I almost lost
faith that happiness and peace was within my reach. If that is you tonight,
know that we all have a destiny – a lesson to learn – a path to follow.
Sometimes it takes a moment or ten of silence to recognize it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even if it takes longer, you have to believe that
your time will come. That couple I met in Ava’s preschool, they made me want it
- more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I
didn’t believe it, until I stood face-to-face with the man I would die for
today. Fulfillment doesn’t have to be true love, it can be anything you want it
to be. You just have to believe. Believe you are worthy, believe that there’s a
plan for you, believe that it’s coming – no matter what.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Christmas Eve 5 years ago, I was up late wrapping Christmas gifts by myself, watching <i>Love Actually</i> and drinking wine. All I could think of was how badly I wanted better for myself, and for my children. Turned out it was the last Christmas Eve I would spend longing for what the life I wanted and deserved. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My wish for everyone this Holiday season is that
you find happiness and joy and peace within. You are all worthy. You are
special. And you deserve all of the above and so much more. Be patient. Be watchful. Be-lieve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Peace and love,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tara<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-90658884612820464442015-12-23T13:18:00.001-05:002015-12-23T13:19:06.538-05:00Life Under the Big Top - The Circus Continues<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s actually several days later, and I am again doing
laundry before my offspring leave for 2 days with their dad. What I found in
today’s laundry: a boy's belt, a door hanger with the word “Princess” on it, and a shirt <i>on a hanger</i>. This is my daughter – who
tries on clothes like a teenager – and then tosses them on the floor. These
then make their way to her hamper and I end up washing clothes that weren't even worn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve begun training the kids to deliver their hampers to the
laundry room, with the ultimate intent of sorting their shit themselves and
thus making mom’s job easier. We’re working on that. This reminds me of that
old phrase I often employed when Todd and I would discuss the status of my life
while I resided in the “marital” home – <i>I’m
working on it</i>. Thank God he never seemed truly annoyed by it, though I
purposely stopped using it because it would always give pause to every
conversation we had where I used it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before we stray too far away from laundry, let me warn all
you parents of soon-to-be-teenagers to <i>no-not
ever</i> put your head inside your teenaged son’s laundry bag. You’re
welcome. Anyway, Neph uses his laundry
bag for both clean and dirty laundry – which, of course, we all did in college
so no judgement there – but we are still <i>working
on </i>his instincts to throw dirty clothes directly onto the laundry room
floor or – even worse – into the washing machine to ferment until either he
remembers they’re in there or I get pissed off and remove them. I bought him the laundry hamper to encourage proper use of it. And <i>still</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have no new pet transgressions to report. All three are keeping
their food down, their paws to themselves, and eating with a certain level of
manners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today I am wondering how we will fix the nails that have
been pushed through the sheetrock in our bathroom after the roofers shook the
house down. I’m also wondering how to talk Todd into wall-to-wall carpeting in
the rec room. And why people must poop in public restrooms and ruin it for the
rest of us. And how camaraderie can be established between two strangers peeing in adjacent stalls. And so the circus continues…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even
When You Think You’re Doing Everything Right<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Saturday night we catered two private parties , and I hit
the jackpot by catering the one that I’d done before and was in my old high
school stomping grounds. It was only 20 people and so mom sent me with two
other servers to run this party for 20. I worked both sides (translation: food
prep and serving)… setting up the buffet with the food and butlering hors
d’oevres . As I was unloading cambros and filling the chaffers, I pulled out
the pork tenderloin that was to be drizzled with a whole-grain mustard sauce. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
asked Terri (one of the other servers) – where’s the mustard sauce? She grabbed
a container filled with a yellowish substance , which I drizzled over the
tenderloin like a professional chef (while noting how <i>yellow</i> it seemed). I dropped the pan into a chaffer on the kitchen
table and went back to the kitchen for the next item to put out. I opened the
cambro (a large box that maintains hot/cold food for catering) and pulled out
the next item – truffled Brussels sprouts – and noticed the container behind
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I pulled this out, Terri was saying, <i>where’s the fourth
salad dressing</i>? <i>Where’s the fourth salad dressing</i>? Terri was in charge of
setting up the salad station, while simultaneously pouring drinks for the guests.
The container in the hot cambro reads – “mustard sauce.” Oh. my. God. Because I
just poured SALAD DRESSING all over a
main course offering. Oh my God. Oh my God. I ruined my mom’s food. I ruined
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Terri’s like, “it’s okay, we can fix it,” and rips off
several paper towels to dab up the lime-cilantro dressing that was supposed to
be whole-grain mustard sauce. The funniest part of the whole party? Everyone
RAVED about this pork that “was amazing.” And every time someone commented about the fabulous pork,
Denise and Terri would giggle like a couple of lunatics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But the shenanigans didn’t end there. The pine greens and ribbons
packed in a crate with silver candlesticks were for me to decorate the table around
the chaffers. I did a fine job of it… except that I couldn’t find any tapers
for the candlesticks. Turns out the 3 fancy red glass votives were supposed to
be placed <i>atop</i> said candlesticks.
Well, nobody told <i>me</i> that –so I just
stuck the empty candlesticks in a corner in the kitchen…. and remembered them
about a mile away from the restaurant on our way back. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I also cut the apple
cake in slices instead of blocks (which would have been easier for picking up
as finger food) and realized I’d cut only 16 slices, instead of 20. Shit! All
told – the party was a huge success, the host was thrilled as usual and tipped
a very generous tip, and my mom didn’t fire me for kicking her pork tenderloin
up a notch. As IF.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A lot Can Happen in 20 Minutes
in Justice…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunday was shopping day for Todd and me… Justice, bedazzled
in pinks and blues and purples and with racks of clothing so close together
only a 4-year-old could squeeze between, made Todd dizzy and claustrophobic,
which only added to his hangriness. So he stepped outside and subsequently into
the lair of the beautiful young woman selling nail buffers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I sifted through
the racks, occasionally glancing out the window to see Todd smiling and chatting
amicably with her. Hearing her accent, he asked her where she was from – and she
said Israel – and further conversation revealed to her that we celebrate
Hanukah and Christmas… to which she said, <i>you
know about Hanukah?</i> Yes, he said, <i>I’m Jewish</i>. She buffed
out his nail with this device that did no better a job than my 99-cent buffer
from Walmart, while simultaneously asking him if he had a girlfriend (he told
her he was married) and then asking him how many wives he had, and then how
many girlfriends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We went to eat immediately afterwards, where Todd complained
about his one shiny nail and I got carded for ordering a Stoli and cran. Either
she was buttering up the wife for a good tip, or my new red hair just <i>radiates</i> youth. I’ll go with the latter.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Return
to the Battle of Normandy…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, Mother Nature decided to take her pranks a little
further than a 70-degree Christmas Day in the Northeast, and delivered a final
insult to injury in the form of Aunt Flo. Aunt Flo apparently likes holidays,
because this would be the third holiday in a row she arrived <i>right on time</i>. WHO has time for THAT?! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg847w0C4-4CAHZIJES-kysZ7Uq-nxK0Okpa18wUeBsNsS6qK9fXmotOvovWuS5tSiUn4E75mshvXDbOuks7L0D5pj8TzsPGVQ7LCkcwvo4Dr90gwISPQM9lV37MrkQGqNXiNMqekh1Xos/s1600/20151223_122225_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg847w0C4-4CAHZIJES-kysZ7Uq-nxK0Okpa18wUeBsNsS6qK9fXmotOvovWuS5tSiUn4E75mshvXDbOuks7L0D5pj8TzsPGVQ7LCkcwvo4Dr90gwISPQM9lV37MrkQGqNXiNMqekh1Xos/s320/20151223_122225_002.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*Disclaimer: I was not paid to either endorse or burn this
feminine product.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">**Disclaimer: No vaginas were harmed for this post.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">***FYI: Tampons do NOT burn very well. I guess this is a
good thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-39167274565309579342015-12-21T15:21:00.000-05:002015-12-21T15:21:16.023-05:00My Circus, My Monkeys<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I just went into my kids’ bathroom, because I’d like to curl
my hair and right now there are roofers on my roof and there’s a skylight in my
bathroom. So I go in and I’m like, <i>what
the fuck is that smell? </i>(Sorry for the foul language but there is really
only one word that adequately sums up my initial reaction to entering my kids’
bathroom.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I gingerly lifted the lid of the toilet and there it was. I
will spare you the gory details, but let’s just say I now know why the bathroom
smells like the water treatment plant. And not. one. kid. tells me about it. If
I had to guess, it was my firstborn…who didn’t appear to be in any particular
hurry this morning but now I know why he opted to put his contacts in in the
kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The dogs are done losing their minds over the sound of 12
people making our house quake from the top down, which is good cause now I can
concentrate on writing. But I really just needed a good twenty minutes of fresh
air before finishing my hair. Anyway…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everything was going swimmingly yesterday as we all managed
to wake up on time – even Neph, who didn’t have to get up and go anywhere
–decided to get up at 6:30 a.m. anyway to create a traffic jam in what is quite
a large kitchen with one of his many food <s>inventions</s> interpretations <i>in the middle of my breakfast and lunch
preparations</i>. Apparently he has not yet grasped the stay-out-of-a-woman’s-way-in-her-kitchen
concept. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So the two boys were buzzing around the kitchen doing what
teenage boys do, and soon it was time to drive Owen to the bus stop because
he’s “injured” and just can’t walk that far. Seriously, this kid has used that
broken collarbone for everything from avoiding trash duty to carrying his dirty
dishes out of his bedroom (and yes – I have already asked him how they got
there in the first place). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, Neph was singing the Twelve Days of Christmas (<i>oh yes, he was</i>) and when he got to <i>Seven swans a-swimming </i>Owen followed it
with …<i>Eight geese a-laying. </i> Oh – the painful irony! My kid not only
doesn’t know how to count, he doesn’t know all the words to this song, but Neph
– who doesn’t even celebrate Christmas and <i>pshawed</i>
Rudolph – does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, I got 4 loads of laundry done and colored my hair a
new shade (though anyone in the house has yet to notice – which is alarming,
since the color is medium red violet – oh, only <i>four shades</i> darker than the original color). Ava was asking me a
ton of questions (before school this morning) about <i>The Boy in the Striped Pajamas,</i> which she watched the night before, so I decided I’d better watch it in its entirety. I knew it was going to be
difficult to watch. But I didn’t expect to have to share those last horrifying,
slobbery-tear moments of the film with
Neph. I kind of prefer to watch tear-jerkers by myself, you know, so I can relax
into the despair rather than have an aneurysm trying to hold it all in, cause I'm private like that. Turd.
Neph sat his ass down<i> right on time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When Owen got home he tore the bottom tray of his braces in
half – the second set this has happened with and with 2 days left until he changes
trays. An hour later Ava was home and decided to make dog cookies, so she Googled
a recipe and whipped up the whole thing herself, and then abandoned the batter
for me to shape and bake. Once these were done, I sealed them in Tupperware and
went about my laundry again. I saw it
coming… I heard Neph make his way upstairs while I was hanging clothes in the closet,
and soon after Ava came running down the hallway hysterical because he just ate
a <i>dog cookie</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now 3 kids were standing in our narrow hallway all shouting
at me about dog cookies – are they really dog cookies?! Because Ava is a
prankster and it would not be beyond her to either lie about it or convince him
to eat one. Owen suggested that perhaps Neph should think twice before eating
things. Neph said they weren’t bad. I thanked him for that, and reminded him
that they were <i>for the dogs.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The dogs were pacing around the house for what seemed like
an hour, fraying my nerves. Seriously, I’d have thought poor Sabra would be
exhausted, since she hadn’t slept all day and spend most of it trembling
against my legs while the roofers broke the sound barrier inside our house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I think Pi really is losing her mind but my God –
she’s 83 years old! She has these moments when she just walks around the house
like she’s looking for something that she never finds. Her new thing now –
besides belching up a mouthful of water and bits of food – is walking <i>through</i> the water bowl. She did this
twice yesterday and it took a bath towel to mop up the tsunami. The day before,
she stepped into the food bowl and upended it – food went everywhere. This time
it was Todd’s turn to get pissed off, which left me sniggling and speechless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, while the dogs were pacing around, Ava and Owen
decided to start a pillow fight in the living room – where, by the way, the
Christmas tree stands with all the priceless Taylor-Backes ornaments, the
ceramic Christmas village lighted houses around it, the countless pictures both hanging and placed around
the room…not to mention 3 lamps. I ordered them to stop it and like all good
children, they kept going. Ava launched a large pillow at Owen and knocked over a
picture frame and I lost it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the chaos and a short time out later… Ava and I were
watching Elf past her bedtime because after several hours in the 300s and a
complete set change, her sugar was low and we had to keep correcting it every
15 minutes. Todd called me on his way home at this point and neither one of us
could finish a sentence between instructions to Ava, and Neph and Owen loudly
talking shop about video games. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, Pi walked too close to the top of the stairs and
fell down two of them. I ran to rescue her and then as I was coming back up –
the cat was leaning precariously over
the top step and then yaaaaaaak. An entire bowlful of cat food at my feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>This</i> is my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But wait – there’s more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-25791587820026854412015-12-12T11:04:00.000-05:002015-12-12T11:04:21.141-05:00How to Clear a Room in 5 Minutes<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Start a <i>heated
discussion</i> with a family member in a room full of people who aren’t family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Those close to us know that my mom and I are very close. I’m
sure my stepdad still shudders at the memory of those <s>screaming matches</s> <i>heated discussions</i> we had in my teen
years. It was ugly. But – I understand that these are a right of passage for
teenage girls and their mothers. (I <i>can’t</i>
<i>wait</i> to be on the receiving end in
the next few years.) I won’t bore you with messy details of the past, but
suffice it to say there were more than a few moments my mom pulled out the
suitcases and offered to pack for me. To be fair, I often used the old, tired
threat of - <i>I’m going to go live with my dad</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, I was in the restaurant kitchen a couple of nights ago. A
close friend of the family was hanging out with us as I made chocolate mousse, and
Andy (the chef) and my mom were prepping for dinner service. I happened to
mention something to my mom about some plans Todd and I had made, and
apparently the timing was bad or something and mom got all snotty about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, a server had entered the kitchen to gather things
for the dining room, and family friend was standing by. Ordinarily one to avoid
conflict, even with my mom in my middle age, I turned around and started
spewing my complaints about not being able to please <i>everyone</i>, and how (essentially) I was being pulled in many
different directions by everyone who had their own needs as well. I <i>may</i> have raised my voice. A little.
Okay, maybe a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was done, mom spoke calmly to me – kind of like one
might do to a bear that suddenly appeared on your patio – and suddenly I
noticed family friend rapidly retreating through the kitchen door. And then I
looked around and noticed <i>no one else</i>
but my mom, her blue eyes meeting mine with that look of pity/kindness one
gives to a mental patient. The restaurant kitchen, normally quite loud during
operations, was dead quiet…and no sign of Andy either. Just a pot of something savory
quietly simmering on the stove.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Feeling suddenly like a complete jerk, I went about silently
cleaning up my work area and people started slowly filtering back into the kitchen.
Mom offered to cook me something for dinner – to which I said, <i>no – I’m not hungry</i> (total lie) and, <i>you don’t need to be cooking for me</i>.
Still looking at me like I might snap again, she said – <i>But I love cooking for you. It’s what I love to do.</i> Still feeling
obstinate I said, <i>you’re not going to
poison it, are you?</i> What??! Where the hell did THAT come from? How did 16-year-old
Tara get in here??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Andy, who had returned to his post behind the line (restaurant
talk for where the food gets prepared), continued to work quietly as if he were
deaf and mute. Family friend never came back – instead opting to start drinking
out at the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To make a short story shorter – all’s well that ends well. We
all went back to our normal lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But – the holidays are here – and they’re filled with
emotions and frustrations and old family feuds and love, all rolled into a
tight little dysfunctional ball. If you find yourself surrounded by family and
friends alike, and you want them all to go away fast – pick a fight with
someone. Unless your family loves a good fight – then that might not be such a
good idea – like two brothers who really don’t get along – I don’t recommend they
throw a banana peel at each other (<i>true
story</i>). The cops don’t really enjoy breaking up physical altercations
between families. At least I don’t think they do. And mom won’t be particularly
happy when her priceless antique lamp gets broken (hypothetically speaking, of
course). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My method worked quite well, I think. Even if I had to
regress some 30 years to accomplish an unplanned goal (and thus, more fodder
for the blog mill).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861063774257011582.post-20328240908353516812015-12-08T12:06:00.000-05:002015-12-08T12:06:35.928-05:00Easy Like Tuesday Morning (and other tales of corruption)<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing like sitting down to a fresh screen, staring at a
blinking cursor. They still call it a cursor, don’t they? I’ve been trying to
sit down to write for days. My brain is forever multitasking and fresh ideas
pop in there constantly, and I swear I’ll try to remember them before they get
lost in the current … only to forget that brilliant and hilarious thing I just <i>had</i> share. I recently unearthed a little
notepad that’s really pretty with my initial on it – that I decided would do
nicely at taking down my random thoughts. Guess where it is now? (On the
ironing board in my walk-in closet. Next to a pile of shirts I don’t want to
iron.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s 8 a.m. and I’ve been up for two hours and I can’t even
tell you what I’ve been doing. Drinking coffee and …. and….. and….. staring at
my kitchen table wondering how I managed to cover it with crap. Again. Ava is
sitting at the island doing homework – <i>doing
homework </i>– she was supposed to have done last night. To say she’s not a
committed student wouldn’t be fair, would it? But, alas, she’s been warned not
to do this before, and here we are again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later now… had to drive her to school because
surprise!...she missed the bus. Again. What IS it with these kids? Her room
looks like her dresser exploded and she still manages to dress like a homeless
person with old t-shirts and leggings with holes in them…add to that her hair
which she prefers to air dry and only brushes it after I remind her, and the
look is complete. Why I spent all that money on new clothes this fall – ALL of
which are still hanging in the closet with tags attached – I wonder. Always a
hoarder, recently her under-bed vomited up every notebook she’s ever had since
birth. I ordered her to clean that shit up before she killed me in the middle
of the night. There you have it folks, diabetes kills another parent.<b>*</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If that doesn’t do it, my son’s hair will. His hair is as
coarse as horsehair and, at 15, he has chosen to wear it spiked up like a
wayward boybander. We bought this stuff that can only be described as glue, to
sweep his hair up to resemble hanging upside down. But it’s a tricky operation because too much glue and
then the hair gets glumpy and not spikey and then we have to wash and start all
over again. Yes, we’ve had mornings like this. And now his hair is getting “puffy”
on the sides because he needs a haircut, and so there is much fussing about the
placement of hairs and some days it looks<s> exactly the same as yesterday </s>“not
right” and we have to “fix it.” And, if you’re confused right now, let me
clarify that I am now a hair stylist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was actually excited to get our tree on Black Friday. I
realize that this was a terrible transition in topics and that trees have
nothing to do with hair, but I’m drinking decaf. I have never gotten a tree
that early. Like ever. A beautiful, warm, and dry day – coupled with
houseguests who came along to make it more fun – warranted a drive to the tree
farm to cut down a 10-foot Frasier for our living room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You know how there’s always that one aunt… well, I’m that
aunt. I have taken on this role with more bravado than Kanye West brokering
Grammys for Beyonce, and more pride than Nicki Minaj has for her backside. And
now you’re wondering what trees have to do with aunts, or even what any of this
has to do with obnoxious musical artists… and I’m gonna tell you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m <i>that</i> aunt. I’ve
always wanted to be one. I’ve idolized my own “<i>that</i> aunt” since the very first time she stuck olives on all of her
fingers and called herself a tree frog (see! There it is! The connection
between aunts and trees! And I didn’t even have to reach far for that gem) and have
waited <i>centuries</i> to be just like her.
So, I started – well, maybe not <i>started </i>(I've been an aunt now for almost 5 years) – with cultural corruption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I took Nephtoo (Nephew2) to the tree farm and made him cut
down a Christmas tree. Now, you might say that cutting down the tree is itself a
crime, but I say nay nay. Because my cat loves the delicious water in the tree
stand and he is completely enraptured by naps under the twinkling lights – I do
this for <i>him</i>. Because I’m selfless
like that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So <i>anyway</i>… I made my <i>Jewish</i> nephew go Christmas tree hunting.
And THEN Todd handed him the saw and let him cut it down. I took a
commemorative picture of Nephtoo’s “first Christmas tree.” We decorated later
that night and he helped hang ornaments like a BOSS. (And I also do realize
that “Nephtoo” sounds like some ancient mummy or an extremely wet sneeze, but <i>I</i> like it.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Neph (Nephew1) missed out on all this glory because
apparently he actually has friends who were home for the holiday. He seemed
nonplussed, though he was bummed that he was missing out on my very extra super
special Challah French toast the next morning because all he thinks about is
food. (It’s <i>killer</i>. Come to brunch
this Sunday and hollaaaa!!!! – you’re all invited.) In my <i>that</i>-aunt assaults on him, he has proven to be a tough nut to
crack. Mostly because he is<i> that</i> oblivious. Seriously, I worry about him
thinking too hard sometimes…. Imagine the wheels turning in there are in need
of a little oil. Case in point: he will ask you a question that no one who was
raised by humans couldn’t possibly know the answer to. As of this posting I can’t
remember a specific example (which is weird since we seem to be showered with
them almost daily), but I’m sure I will have one by tomorrow morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, I tried to <strike>corrupt</strike> get him to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer and he – get this – said he <i>wasn’t
interested</i>. He’ll spend 8 hours a day playing Marvel superhero games but
can’t be bothered to pay homage to the superhero of Christmas for one hour??
Plus he “had some stuff to do,” which is highly suspicious since the only thing
I can see him really needing to do is clean.his.room. <i>Which</i> he has <i>not</i> done.
And I know this because I was down there in the rec room the other day and he’d
left his door open, and there was a very ripe odor <i>jaculating</i> from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jaculating is a real word, by the way. And it is not missing
an “e” so stop right there, you filthy-minded perv. It was yesterday’s word of
the day and I’ve been dying to use it in conversation ever since. Perhaps I can
hurl that at a customer tonight in a way that is sure to render the sous chef
dumbstruck. I <i>live</i> for those moments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, in keeping with the tradition of offering up more
mundane and completely useless information with which to sue me, I want to tell
you about the most amazing purchase I made last weekend at the Walmart (yes, I
went there on a Saturday). It has a little glass bottle and you attach it to
this other thing and then plug the whole thing into an outlet (preferably near
Neph’s bedroom). It’s a plug in air freshener – the gift that keeps on giving!!
The rec room now smells like clothes line-drying on a warm summer day… with a minor
note of boy schtank. (Just kidding.) Seriously kids, this plug-in is the Bomb
(no pun intended). It’s like a fresh air apocalypse. Absolutely <i>nothing</i> can
compete with it. And with that, the cat just emerged from the tree
to accept the challenge... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>*</b>It’s a joke, GET OVER IT.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546980566609173089noreply@blogger.com0