ME

I don't know why I avoided this Sunday Scribblings Prompt for so long. Ordinarily, it would be right up my alley. Honestly, why do I (or anyone else for that matter) Blog?

So we can talk about ourselves ad nauseum without boring the people in our real lives to tears.

I am always classified by the people who know me in Real Life as an "extrovert," so why was there such hesitation from me to address this prompt?

I think it's because I have two distinct "Selves."

There is my Work Self, and that is my Self that I want to be the most. At work, I am confident, outspoken, daring, decisive, productive. My co-workers constantly remark about my Energy and Knowledge. My co-workers have been known to describe me as a "Gerbil on a Treadmill" and "Uber-Perky" (which kind of annoys me because that makes me look like a Spaz, which I'm NOT, but I DO work with people who are, mostly in their 50s and 60s...I'm the Lone Gen X'er in a Sea of Baby Boomers!) They are amazed that every little thing that has been published in the last decade I can not only REMEMBER, but also pull up an old email or Microsoft Office file to prove it. I make them all Tired. They constantly come to me requesting advice or direction. My Boss also trusts me completely and relies upon my opinions and advice to make decisions. He runs EVERYTHING by me or through me. I have even "listened in" surreptitiously on conference calls I was not supposed to be on, just so I could feed him information via email, so he could respond to questions when he was put "on the spot."

And then there is my Other Self. The insecure, sad, scared, timid, socially-awkward Self. COMPLETE OPPOSITE of my Work Self.

I HATE this Self. People who know me--REALLY know me--like my parents and my sister and, yes, even my ex-husband--also HATE this Self because it doesn't make any sense. There is absolutely NO reason for me to be insecure, sad, scared, timid, or socially-awkward. They look at me, their jaws agape, wondering what the HELL is wrong with me. I have EVERYTHING. I'm smart. I'm respected. I'm successful. I'm funny. I'm not afraid to get up in front of 200 people and give a presentation. I can play piano, make quilts, prepare Brunch for 70, sew Halloween Costumes, Breastfeed while working full-time for 18 months, and feed my Babies nothing but homemade, preservative-free Baby Food. I make boat-loads of money. I can navigate airports, and understand Cab Drivers in strange cities. My children score off the charts on Standardized Tests with little to no intervention from me.

Despite all of these "Mad Skillz" I continue to immerse myself in hurtful self-dialogue. WHY do I do this? I have no idea. My "Work Self" clearly recognizes it as stupid and unproductive and ridiculous. Yet, there it is, and I have NO EXCUSE--I was never abused or violated or bullied in childhood. I have no "Sob Story." There is absolutely NO REASON for my madness; yet, that "madness" cripples me and keeps me up at night.

Mess

Ouch.

I will begin this prompt with an admission, followed by a list of excuses.

My house is messy. Not dirty--I vacuum, mop, dust, and scrub those surfaces that are most often used/noticed (floors, countertops, toilets, shelves). Trash is removed and emptied on a regular basis. General clutter; however, is my nemesis. Papers and junk mail routinely pile up on kitchen countertops and the dining room table. Books and magazines stack up on the coffee table. Clean laundry requiring ironing will hang on a rack in the laundry room for weeks at a time.

My house is never suitable for company. Fortunately, I work so much (and volunteer so much... and sleep so much...and read so much...and watch TV so much) that I rarely have the time or opportunity to invite "company" into my home.

Most of my friends--especially my Single Working Mom Friends--have equally catastrophic homes. Consequently, our favorite satellite TV shows are "Clean House" and "Hoarders" because they make us feel superior.

At least our houses don't look THAT bad!

While I was away on vacation, a friend of mine and her teenage daughters took care of our dogs and watered my plants. I came home to find my kitchen counters cleaned and tidied, the dishes in the dishwasher washed and put away. My friend is a Stay-at-Home Mom who keeps an immaculate, "showcase" home at all times. I think she looked at my dirty oven and cluttered countertops, and it made her "twitchy." She couldn't help herself--she HAD to clean them! I didn't know if I should be horrified and ashamed to learn that my house was so messy that she felt compelled to clean it, or if I should enthusiastically "re-hire" her for when I go to Philadelphia in August, so she can start on my garage.

I saw plenty of "showcase" homes when I was House-Hunting. I watch Home Improvement/Make-Over shows and "ooh" and "ahhh" as much as the next person, but ALL of those shows convert spaces into looking like Hotel Rooms. I don't WANT to live in a Hotel Room! I get particularly "bugged" when they put a whole bunch of store-bought "dust-catchers" on shelves to represent a "theme." HUH? I'm sorry, but the STUFF on my shelves should be items I personally-selected that actually MEAN something to ME and my kids and NOT something you snatched off a shelf at Cost Plus or bought online from HomeGoods!

When I walk into a person's HOME, I feel "uncomfortable" if it looks like a Hotel Room.

When you walk into MY home you see Dog Beds (so you know we are Dog-People NOT Cat-People.) You will also see bookcases in every room and books scattered about coffee tables, end tables and other raised surfaces. (So you know we are "Bookish" people.) You will also find my mother's quilted creations hanging on the walls, along with other "artwork" (framed prints and personal photos) reflecting people and places that actually mean something to me and my children.

You will see furniture that I "inherited" from my Grandmother. You might have to step over kids' backpacks and Video Game Systems and Controllers. But, you will find an impressive collection of cookbooks and an assortment of prints and signs tacked to the walls expressing our collectively sarcastic sense of humor. You will find a collage frame in the entryway filled with pictures of my mother. You will find stacks of papers on the kitchen counter and in my bedroom related to my JOB because I am fortunate enough to HAVE a job that allows me to work from home once or twice a week.

Yeah, so my House is MESSY, but so is LIFE. I have limited amounts of "down-time" as a Working Mom with a Demanding Career. I choose to spend that time engaging in "other" activities that do not always include "de-cluttering" my Living Space. Sometimes I sleep-in on Saturday mornings until Noon. Sometimes I get up at 7:00 am just so I can treat my kids to Homemade Cinnamon Rolls. Sometimes I chuck it all and Go Fishing.

I work because I HAVE TO. It never, ever occurred to me that there could be/would be any other kind of life. My mother, as brilliant as she was, had limited opportunities, and she HATED that. She LOVED the fact that my sister and I had CAREERS and while she was alive, she bent over backwards to support them.

So, if my House is "messy," my response is "Who Cares?" And, if so, "WHY?"

It's MY HOUSE. Also, I'm doing the Best I Can.

I am a Mother and an Employee. I also used to be a Wife. I couldn't do anything well when I tried to be everything all at once. So, I chose my battles.

Housework, obviously, did not make the "Short List."

Tattoos and Me...

I don't have any tattoos, and I never will. I don't dislike tattoos on other people, I just can't see myself with one. It does not "fit" my personality or lifestyle. I have several friends with tattoos, and I like their tattoos and think they look good--on THEM. But, me getting a tattoo? Too weird!

Tattoos have come a long way in the last few decades. They used to represent either jail-time, Biker-Gang membership, or military service. Nowadays they are far more mainstream. But, for uptight, prissy people such as myself, there is still that stigma of "trashiness" that first pops into my head when I see a tattoo. I try to be open-minded and non-preachy, and I have learned to set aside my biases, particularly when people I know and like display tattoos. How can I say tattoos are "bad" when this person, who I really respect and like hanging out with, has several?

I try not to judge.

But, I DO judge people who complain about "being poor" and not having enough money to buy school supplies for their kids or school lunches for their kids, yet they are sporting new and expensive tattoos every time I see them. The most heavily-tattooed people I know happen to be "Welfare-to-Work Mothers" who have received subsidized housing, childcare, and healthcare. That kind of BUGS me. They can drop $500 on a new tattoo, but can't pay $200 for after-school care for their kid? How is that possible? Their kids get "scholarships" to attend Boy Scout Camp while I have to write a check and forego a haircut and cut back on groceries for two weeks so the check will clear.

I would like my checkbook to reflect my values, so dropping hundreds of dollars on "inking" myself (or buying expensive jewelry for myself) seems selfish and shallow. I also know that I cannot drop hundreds of dollars "marking" myself in a permanent way that I can't take back (at least expensive jewelry can be pawned...) I sort of like the idea of always having an "undo" button for my life. I lecture my kids all the time about consequences. You get a tattoo and BAM there is no going back! When you are 85 and in a nursing home with sagging skin and back fat, those "cool" angel wings adorning your lower back, just above the waistline of the low-rise skinny jeans you had when you were 22 are going to look rather ridiculous.

I understand that people tattoo themselves as a form of "self expression" and put lots of thought into their design choices. I understand that tattoos are a form of artwork and can even have cultural origins and significance. They just aren't a form of artwork I want to own. Quite frankly, I'd rather buy new furniture, a cordless drill, or a palm sander. Oh, look! It's my Christmas Wish List!

When I look back on my life, I can see how I have morphed and changed so much during the last 2 decades. I can't commit to a tattoo because 5 years from now, I may have morphed and changed some more and could regret it. Nothing feels more hopeless and chastising than regret, so I choose to avoid things that might lead me to that state.

I work for a conservative agency. I have serious "self-esteem issues" when it comes to my body parts. The LAST thing I would want to do is call any sort of attention to my body parts, which, from my perspective, is something tattoos tend to do. I would rather be recognized for my writing or my public speaking skills and not for my ankles or my cleavage. Judge me on my brain, not on my looks. And, yeah, I know, it's "narrow-minded" and "snooty," but if you are going to tattoo yourself, you are just going to have to face the fact that a certain segment of the population is going to think that makes you look like "trash." I prefer to avoid such a label. Call me a coward, but I am struggling through this life with a limited support system. I am not "tough enough" to repel such backlash, when I already feel burdened repelling all the backlash I get (real or imagined) for being a) divorced, b) a working mother, c) a Civil Servant, and d) a Conservative. I get PLENTY of darts thrown in my direction already--I certainly don't want to be a target for any more.

So, that being said, let me talk about how I spend Quality Time with my kids. I have no problem finding opportunities to spend Quality Time with my daughter--after all, she is my little "Mini-Me," so we find all kinds of hobbies and interests we can share together. We garden, we sew, we compost, we bead bracelets, etc. But, I also have a 12-year-old son going through puberty whose interests are largely limited to football and computer and video games. Lately, he has expressed a lot of interest in learning how to cook, so that has been a good way for me to spend Quality Time with him. But, it is really hard for me to feign interest in his video games and movie choices because he loves Fantasy and Sci-Fi--two genres I LOATHE. But, he does like a lot of the same music that I like, so lately we have "bonded" over bouts of RockBand on the Wii system he got for Christmas. He plays the guitar, and I play the Drums (badly, I should add...) Every once in awhile, we will stay up on a Friday night until the wee hours of the morning playing RockBand. Recently, he had us go "On Tour," which was upsetting because it required me to play up to six songs in a row with no break (not good for an Old Lady with Carpal Tunnel Symptoms in her hands). He told me we had to go on Tour, because you make more money that way. He then showed me how to go to the Rock Shop and SPEND that money on my character. And that's how I got hooked!

I GOT TO GO SHOPPING WITH FAKE MONEY!

My "alter ego" (or "Evil Twin Sister," as I like to call her), has a Barbie doll figure (of course--RockBand--like all Video Games--only allows for Female Characters that are painfully skinny yet still manage to have Big Boobs), and I dressed her up in a ridiculously-expensive, low-cut Goth top with fishnet stockings and a mini-skirt and Sexy Boots (also ridiculously-expensive). My son got all indignant and said, "Mom! You are a DRUMMER! You can't play drums in that skirt!"

I rolled my eyes and reminded him, "it's just a GAME, and that's not ME, it's my Evil Twin Sister!"

And then I learned that tattoos are FREE in the Rock Shop, so I headed over there and got upper arm and chest tattoos (some sort of scrolly-hearts and angel wing things), and my son got all mad and said, "Now THAT'S just DISTURBING..." and refused to play RockBand with me for the rest of the night.

So, now you see why I can't get a tattoo--it would just be "too disturbing."

But, if I ever did get a tattoo, I would probably get some sort of flowering vine that wrapped around my ankle, or maybe a tiny little intricate heart design somewhere the sun doesn't shine...(not that I've actually put any thought into it or anything...)

Pilgrimage

My Mom died in March 2008. She was 64 years old. She died from "complications" of a very complex surgery she (we) chose to elect in an effort to prolong her life (there was a "troublesome" growth on her pancreas--not cancerous now, but likely to become cancerous later). My Mother was terrified of Pancreatic Cancer--she did not want to die a slow and painful death. The surgery was supposed to avoid that outcome--extend her life. Instead it killed her, and we were left behind stunned and in shock and completely unprepared. None of us had truly anticipated that outcome. We refused to consider the risks of surgery because we were all so focused on ridding her pancreas of that "troublesome" growth, we neglected to assess the other potential outcomes.

When I was still a small child, maybe 4 or 5 years old, my Mom reached over to answer the phone one day, and wrenched her back so badly that she slipped a disc. Living in a small town with sub-standard medical facilities, that slipped disc went undiagnosed for TEN YEARS. She was pretty much given prescriptions for Valium and told to "rest." I honestly have no memory of my mother being anything other than a Chronic Pain Sufferer. By the time her back problems were finally taken seriously by doctors, the slipped disc was 80% extended out of her spinal column, and she had been walking around like that, taking care of 2 active children, for TEN YEARS, causing permanent and chronic nerve damage. She had back surgery when I was in High School, but by then the cortisone shots and other "experimental" treatments for back pain had invited other complications, including a "frozen shoulder," loss of bone density and unstable vertebrae in her neck that also had to be fused surgically. And then, just when you thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, she was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis--a particularly severe case because medical ailments never seemed to strike her with anything but unusual complications.

Despite those challenges (or perhaps because of them), she was the Lioness in our household. She was never "just a Housewife" or "just a Mom." She was so much more than that. She was passionate and spirited and bold and courageous and gifted. She was the Heart and Soul and Voice of our Family.

But, basically, I grew up with a mother in a constant state of suffering. All things considered, she suffered well because she was stubborn and determined and incredibly, incredibly intelligent, talented, and devoted to her family. We were everything to her, and not in an icky-sweet co-dependent kind of way. She was fierce and strong and bold. She suffered in silence, stubbornly fighting doctors and pain. She refused to give in. She pushed us; inspired us; drove us; lectured us. She was both our harshest critic, and our staunchest supporter. She was NOT the "TV Sit-Com Mom." She was not a cheerful "Brady Bunch" Mom. There were dark days where harsh words were exchanged--words that were burned into my memory, and then buried deep. There were days when I "just knew" I needed to "be especially good." There was one Christmas (but only one Christmas) before she FINALLY got her back surgery--when I had to decorate the tree all by myself (and that's a BIG DEAL because my Mom was HUGE on the whole Christmas thing). There were times when I was stunned and shocked by her support of Dr. Jack Kevorkian and abortion. But, she was also much more intimately acquainted with true suffering than I was...

When we cleaned out her closet and bathroom cabinets after her death, we found numerous prescription bottles, mostly full, of powerful painkillers--valium, vicodin, demarol, oxy contin--prescriptions she tried NOT to take. They made her mind "fuzzy," and that was just something she could not tolerate. For all of her talk about "Quality of Life" and the "Right to Choose," she had enough prescription pills to overdose a football team at her disposal.

She wanted to live.

When she was in the hospital, she suffered a seizure, and they had to do an emergency tracheotomy, leaving her hooked up to a respirator. She couldn't talk, and that was a torturous complication for her. Pain, or no pain, communication was her greatest strength. We tried giving her a notepad and pen to write things down, but the pain medication affected her fine motor skills, so we couldn't read her handwriting. I brought a whiteboard from my daughter's room, which, ironically, was a Christmas present to her from her Grandma, and some Whiteboard markers. She could write messages to us on the Whiteboard more easily.

The last message she wrote--to my Dad, who was with her, as she struggled to breathe because her lungs were filling with fluid, and her internal organs were beginning to hemorrhage, and she knew recovery was unlikely: "I would do it for you..."

She was begging him to "Pull the Plug"--end her suffering. (Which, of course he could not and would not do...)

She left behind not only us (husband, daughters, grandchildren), but also a house full of unfinished projects and unfulfilled plans.

Five unfinished quilts sat in her sewing room. Three of them only needed to have the binding sewn on. I finished those in time for her Memorial Service, so we could display those quilts during the service. Her best friend--despite being very ill and fighting her own battle against ovarian cancer--finished a quilt for my nephew that was similar to the one she made for my son, her first grandchild. She appliqued letters cut out of fabric onto the back of the quilt that spelled out, "To Nicholas with Love from Nana." I'm still working on the fifth quilt--a quilt all in white, with an intricate, hand-quilted "Tree of Life" design, also for my nephew because she made one for my first baby just like it.

I received a message recently on my Facebook account from a woman I am related to only by marriage--her husband's mother is my grandmother's aunt. I came to know her through genealogy research--a hobby that my mother introduced me to. There is an entire shelf in the "office" of my parent's house that holds books on genealogy. One of her wishes was to travel to Pennsylvania and Ohio and seek out the locations of the old "Family Homesteads" and cemeteries. She talked about this often, but knew it was impossible. Her medical conditions made travel over long distances impossible.

We had my Mother cremated, and my father, my sister, and I all have urns with her ashes. I carried my little urn in my purse when I traveled last year. I went to Washington, D.C. and Springfield, IL. I scattered her ashes near the Lincoln Memorial and Lincoln's home in Springfield (he was her favorite President). I also journeyed to Seattle, WA--where my sister and I were born. My father, my sister, and I all agreed that the time where Mom was probably the happiest was when she lived in Seattle--where she was a young wife with beautiful babies and her whole life ahead of her. Healthy, strong, and pain-free. Some of her ashes were scattered along Alkai Beach and within Seattle's Arboretum.

But I also realize that wherever I get to go--places like Washington, D.C., Yellowstone, Springfield, IL, etc.--those will all be places that my Mom would have loved to visit, too. If she were still here, she would have expected me to come home and "tell her all about it."

Instead, my Pilgrimage is to visit all those places my Mom would have wanted to go, and leave some of her ashes.

It would be so much better for me to come home and "tell her all about it," but instead, my pilgrimage is to GO, take her with me, and get to live out the life she would have wanted me to have.

For Richer for Poorer

Hmmm...considering that getting divorced cost me tens of thousands of dollars (in fact, it is STILL costing me to repay a loan against my retirement account for the money I had to give away thanks to community property laws and my own stupidity), I should probably stay away from making this post about marriage vows.

Like most Americans, I have never known what it is like to be truly "poor," and for that I am grateful and appreciative. I know what I have. However, I did get married young, before I finished college, and my then-husband was working dead end jobs in retail, just above minimum wage. I took a "Government Job" after graduating, and my starting salary was $21,000 per year. That was in 1991. We lived paycheck to paycheck because we had student loans, credit card bills, and a car payment. As soon as we would start to get ahead, my then-husband, the ex, would "quit" his job over some minor transgression, and spend a month or two out of work, before finding something new. I remember going to the grocery store, calculator in hand, keeping a sub total of every dollar spent to make sure I didn't exceed what was left in our bank account. I used coupons religiously. But, I didn't mind because there was always enough for the essentials, and my salary increased every year between Cost of Living adjustments, promotions, Performance Awards, etc.

Two children came into the picture, and my then-husband took care of them during the days while I worked. My job was now a career, and since I had the most earning potential, it made sense for me to pack up my breast pump and march off to work each day while he stayed home with the babies. (Minimum wage employment wouldn't cover the cost of full-time childcare for two kids anyway.) Even though my salary had more than doubled by this time, we still lived paycheck-to-paycheck, but the essentials were covered.

"The essentials," though, were far greater than those we had initially. As your income increases, so do your expenses because the more you make, the more you spend. When we were first married, rent for our 1-bedroom apartment was only $360 a month. Now we had a $1,200 mortgage payment and utility bills that exceeded $200 a month, plus the cost of diapers and baby food.

My ex had gone back to work when the kids were in pre-school, but then was laid off. He spent nearly two years out of work, not even attempting to look for a job. The marriage was strained. He resented my job, I resented him for not doing anything about his own situation. For richer for poorer. But in what context?

The divorce put us into a financial tailspin, but I had to get out when I did for reasons of personal safety. It took 4 years for me to "recover" financially from divorce. I had to let the house go because I couldn't pay both alimony and child support and sustain the mortgage. We both returned to "renter" status in smaller spaces. Payments on the loan against my retirement will still cost me $700 a month for another 3 years, so a big chunk of my earnings is not accessible to me. I have a bigger house now (with an even larger mortgage payment), but I also have a much bigger paycheck. My kids are happy and safe and well-adjusted. My ex was able to finish school and get a teaching job and buy a small house of his own, taking advantage of home builders in financial crisis that were willing to do anything to unload new construction. We are both in "better places" emotionally and financially.

I still feel like I live paycheck-to-paycheck, and wish I had that additional $700/month to spend on vacations and furniture, a new computer, college savings plans for my kids. But, I also know I am fortunate to have a secure job and a good salary, and I know that I have it so much better than so many.

I've looked over my bank statements for the last several months and noticed there is a lot of "waste" in my expenditures--eating out at restaurants when I'm too tired or uninspired to cook. Mid-week trips to the grocery store to buy snacks and convenience foods. Impulse purchases to take advantage of "unbeatable" sale prices on clothes I didn't really need. These are all things I was not able to do years and years ago.

I have much to be grateful for, so I am making a conscious effort this year to go back to my old grocery shopping patterns: planning meals in advance, sticking to my list, and shopping with coupons and a calculator in hand. The money I save on groceries and non-essentials this year (I'm estimating it to be about $150 a month, if I'm diligent), I want to set aside for others--donations to local food banks, charitable giving to organizations that assist victims of domestic violence or disabled veterans returning from the War, and my church that provides food, clothing, and educational materials to an impoverished community in Mexico that cares for orphaned/abandoned children (most of them girls).

Sure, I could go shoe-shopping with that money, but I feel guilty doing so, under the circumstances. I will still buy shoes and clothes for me and my kids--my contribution to "stimulating the economy"--but I will buy at the same level I have in the past. I am finally at a place in my life where there is money between paychecks, and I can afford to (and should) give some of it away.

As for a Family Vacation this year? We're going camping. I spent a good $500 on camping equipment last year, so now we're going to go out and get our money's worth out of all of that gear!

I Believe...

I believe miracles do still happen.

I believe that a positive attitude can change everything.

I believe that hard work and doing the right thing will be rewarded.

I believe in forgiveness and second chances.

I believe in self-reliance.

I believe in gratitude.

I believe that if you want something done right, you should do it yourself.

I believe that some things are better left unsaid.

I believe in consequences.

I believe in learning from your mistakes.

I believe that good things happen, but sometimes they take awhile.

Late

What a timely prompt! Christmas Day is fast approaching, and I am late. Late finishing up my Christmas shopping, late getting started on my Christmas baking and candy-making, late getting my annual Christmas Newsletter printed and mailed, and staying up late trying to get everything done! I am also late posting this for Sunday Scribblings!

I could try to blame my job or my mood or the weather, but the truth is this happens to me every year. I always think I have plenty of time, but despite list-making and good intentions, nothing ever works out according to plan, so I spend the week before Christmas a stressed-out Mad Woman. I keep trying to "relax" and remind myself that I can pull this off. It's only the 3 of us for Christmas this year, so there really is no need to run around like a crazed lunatic, except that I do anyway.

My Mom never had these kinds of problems preparing for the holidays. She was so organized--the ultimate Project Manager and List-Maker. She mapped everything out, and she very strictly adhered to her Plan. I fail miserably with my attempts at the same. Of course, about 10 hours of my day are sucked away by the Job, so that certainly puts a damper on my ability to accomplish much. Some years, I make lists, but don't designate deadlines, so the list falls by the wayside. Other years (like this one), I never find the time to even make the list!

But, I forgive myself. I will get done what I get done. I'll make a list and start my Christmas cards earlier next year--I promise!

I don't want to be a crazed lunatic for the holidays. I made biscochitos and Santa Bread this weekend, and I have the day off on Monday and will do some more baking then. Most of my shopping is done--I just need to pick up a few stocking stuffers for my sister and my son. All of the gifts I ordered online arrived and are gift-wrapped. My grocery shopping is done. So, I still have a few days to enjoy and anticipate Christmas! Here are pictures of Santa Bread, before it is baked, so you can see how the dough is shaped.

And after it is baked, so you can see how cute it looks! Mmmm...my house smells like fresh-baked bread! Aren't you jealous?

I like having a few days left to just enjoy the holidays--to watch Christmas movies, read books about Christmas, and drive around town searching out ridiculously extravagant (and, ultimately, tacky) Christmas light displays. The kids and I will have a relaxing, low-key day with a simple menu--prime rib roast, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and yorkshire pudding. Nothing fussy or difficult--all things my kids will actually eat (I wanted to do an updated version of Beef Wellington, that substitutes a chopped mushroom pate for goose liver pate, but my kids looked at me like I was crazy--so, maybe next year!)

I have the day off from work today--the first day off I have had in a loooooooong time, and it was very much needed. (Although, I am still checking in on my emails periodically because I am addicted to work.) Once the kids get up, I'm going to spend the day just doing stuff with them. My son has birthday money to spend, and my daughter wants to make a gingerbread house. I'm trying to savor the few remaining days until Christmas. I always feel sort of "deflated" on Christmas night--a feeling like the holiday ended too soon, before I had a chance to enjoy it. All of the scurrying about beforehand detracts from it somehow. It's like there is all this work to do to get ready, and then, suddenly, Christmas Day is here, and it's over.

So, I'm making a conscious effort this year to make these last few days really COUNT.

Traditions

This is going to be a long post, since I have Christmas on my brain, and a To-Do List a mile long to make sure we cover all of our family traditions this year!

My mother's father's family was German, and she spent her childhood Christmases with her grandparents, aunts, and uncles in Ohio. But, my great grandmother was a notoriously bad cook, so there are no "family recipes" on German cooking to pass down (perhaps that is a good thing). My grandparents moved to Arizona when my mother and her sisters were young, so, away from extended family, new traditions had to begin. Unfortunately, my grandparents weren't the warmest of parents and did not have kid-oriented Christmases, so when my mother had a family of her own, she compensated by creating our own Christmas traditions, which evolved over the years, through trial and error.

One Christmas, during my Little House on the Prairie phase, we decorated our tree by stringing popcorn and cranberries, which were later placed on the trees outside for the birds to eat. Another year, we did a Victorian Christmas, complete with "crackers," mincemeat pies, and Plum Pudding with Hard Sauce.

Living in New Mexico with a mother who was fascinated by local culture, artwork, and history, we adopted local traditions, like having posole, tamales, enchiladas, and other New Mexican fare on Christmas Eve. We also put out farolitos on Christmas Eve (brown paper lunch sacks filled with a bit of sand to weight them down, and a votive candle). Entire neighborhoods in our community would line streets and driveways with these "little lanterns" to "light the way for the Christ Child." (People in New Mexico argue all the time over whether they are farolitos or luminarias--I say farolito because "farol" means lantern and "luminar" involves bonfires, so farolito, "little lantern," seems more fitting than "little bonfire.") We would all pitch in to get the farolitos up in our own yard, and then we would drive around on Christmas Eve enjoying the miles and miles of farolitos in other neighborhoods, Christmas music playing in the car stereo. We have been known to wear Santa Hats, Elf Ears, or Reindeer Antlers while doing this! One year we all wore Santa Hats and Groucho Glasses (including the nose and moustache, of course!)

We never put up the Christmas Tree until the week after Thanksgiving, and we always put lights out on the trees and bushes in the front yard. Santa presents always made their appearance unwrapped, or in a plain white gift box tied with red or green yarn. We still received "Santa Presents" into adulthood. We watched all of the Christmas specials on TV with at least one viewing of It's a Wonderful Life. We read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas from a beautifully-illustrated book before bed on Christmas Eve, when we were allowed to open just one present. Some years, we were able to persuade my parents to let us open ALL the presents on Christmas Eve, but this only occured if we would be hosting Christmas Dinner with our good friends the next day, which required lots of cooking and table-setting, so sometimes my parents would relent.

We always got out my mother's wedding china and silverware, which meant polishing the silver because it was silver-plated (one of the few chores I enthusiastically participated in each year because I loved her silverware and dishes). My mother passed down the wedding china to me a few years ago after replacing it with more contemporary Dansk dishes and a complete set of Christmas dishes. She knew how much I loved her china and was pleased to hand it down to make room for her current taste in dishes (her wedding china was really selected for her by my grandmother).

There were always craft projects and holiday ornament-making growing up. My mother often got these ideas out of magazines, and she kept us occupied all month long with these projects, which were often given away to friends and teachers as gifts. I still have several of them for my own tree--counted cross-stitch designs in frames, patchwork hearts, stuffed and trimmed with lace, Victorian Christmas scenes decoupaged onto wooden cut-outs).

My mother made homemade candy (taffy, prailines, caramels, peanut brittle, fudge) and cookies (shortbread, meringues, apricot-nut bars, and a half dozen others). The older we got, and the more accomplished my mother became, the "fancier" the cookie trays became. We packaged them up and delivered or mailed them to relatives and neighbors. Everything was always entirely homemade and while the recipes changed from year-to-year, they were always elegant and something we only made at Christmastime.

Christmas music was always playing in the house non-stop, and my mother had an enormous collection. My grandfather worked for Goodyear Aerospace and every year Goodyear gave their employees a holiday album, compiled by various popular singers. But my mother had all kinds of other albums as well--folk singers (Peter, Paul, and Mary's Christmas Album is still one of my favorites), handbells, music box collections, children's choirs, jazz, classical guitar, piano solos...the list went on and on. Her collection grew every year. I spent two Christmases in college working in a department store, listening to hour after hour of Christmas music while dealing with rude customers, so that experience kind of ruined Christmas music for me, so I don't listen to it much unless I'm decorating the tree or baking. There were also stacks and stacks of Christmas books--from childrens' stories to collections of Christmas traditions and celebrations around the world. Now I have a huge box of holiday books for my kids, as well as for myself. We get them out and flip through them all month long. I always read O. Henry's Gift of the Magi, and it still makes me cry, every year!

I still do most of these things with my own kids, but I have adapted them to fit into my reality which involves a full-time job and limited time to cook and bake and sew. We rarely do craft projects and homemade ornaments, for example. The only candy I make is Toffee, coated with chocolate and chopped pecans. Sometimes I'll do fudge and divinity. The only cookies I make are shortbread, gingerbread (to decorate), and biscochitos (a traditional New Mexican cookie--full of shortening, seasoned with anise, and sprinkled with plenty of cinnamon sugar). Sometimes I'll add macaroons or some fancy recipe I found in a magazine, but not often. Everybody I know seems to be on a diet anyway, and my kids aren't big cookie eaters (I know! They are so weird!), so I don't do nearly as much baking as I used to. I'd like to continue with the New Mexican Christmas Eve menu, but my kids aren't big fans of Mexican food (too spicy!), so I'll have to add quesadillas, and save the tamales and enchiladas for myself! Posole is a stew made with hominy, pork, chile, onions, and tomatoes--again not something my kids will eat, but it is so good with homemade tortillas, and I can always freeze the leftovers and have it on New Year's Day (for good luck)!

So much of our holiday traditions revolve around food. Now that I'm a "grown-up," I've developed my own specialties that I am known for, just like my Mom had hers. These are mine:

1. Homemade Egg Nog. The recipe I use has a cooked custard base (no raw eggs), and is absolutely "to die for." The kids drink it plain, the grown-ups add kahlua. My little nephew had his first taste of it last year, and he said, "Mmmmmm....more?" We called it "Christmas Milk" for him!

2. Cheese Ball. These are so easy, it's embarrassing, but people--including my kids--love them, so I give them as gifts to co-workers, and I always send at least one to my in-laws. My cheese ball combines cream cheese with sharp cheddar cheese, a couple cloves of garlic, chopped black olives, and a little evaporated milk. I shape them into balls and roll them in a mixture of finely chopped pecans and smoked paprika.

3. Santa Bread. This actually evolved from one of my Mother's ideas for Teacher Gifts one year. We bought frozen bread dough, and using instructions from a magazine, shaped the dough into Santa faces--we rolled out a large oval, then cut "fringe" all around, about an inch wide and two inches deep. Then, we twisted the strips and made them into "curls" that looked like hair and a beard. A few small pieces of dough were rolled into eyes, a nose, and a twisted moustache. The dough was brushed with egg white and water (for "shine") and baked to perfection. I do the bread dough from scratch now, using a dinner roll recipe that requires more sugar than most, eggs, milk, and butter for a rich, sweet dough that tastes great on Christmas morning with butter and jam. These used to go to family and friends, but sometimes the list includes co-workers and neighbors. I still make one for my in-laws every year and also for the kids' teachers. The teachers love it so much, that sometimes we have to make a few extra for the Teacher's Lounge, so their previous year teachers can have it again! I make anywhere from 10 to 18 Santa Breads each year--that's a lot of bread dough! But, people rave about it, and it costs next to nothing, except time, plus it's good for my ego. (Amazing how nutty people can be over something so simple as homemade bread!) The kids love it, too, and now they even help make it--they like making Santa's curls and eyeballs! They'll ask me, "when are we going to start making Santa Breads?" and people around us will ask, "What in the world is Santa Bread?" And then we have to tell them the story. It's taken on a life of it's own--it's practically legendary at the kids' elementary school! Some of my friends and co-workers will actually call me up and ask, timidly and hopefully, "Are we getting a Santa Bread this year?" Honestly, it's beginning to get out of control! I work full-time! I can only do so much! I have to start early in December and keep half of them in the freezer in order to get them all done by Christmas Eve. Fortunately, each recipe makes 2 Santa Breads, but still...! Ah, well, I love the attention, so I do it every year, without fail.

Divorce hasn't had too much of an impact on our holidays. I still have 2 weekends of the month to cram in holiday festivities with my kids. If I don't have them for the week of Christmas, we just wait and celebrate when they return. We lose the Christmas Eve ritual, but that isn't as important now that they are older--at least they always had it when they were younger. Not being a part of my ex's family has altered my traditions somewhat--he had a large family, so they were the people I made cookies and candy for, since my Mom had our side covered. I do miss being a part of my in-laws celebrations and baking for them.

I hope that when my kids are grown, they will look back and associate certain things with me, just as I do with my own Mom. Traditions are meant to be shared and repeated--they should bring people together, whether it's watching movies or driving around looking at Christmas lights. There should be elements of music, food, and story-telling.

My Dad is going to Arizona to spend Christmas with my sister this year, and I was thinking I could make up some of Mom's cookie and candy recipes to send along. I have most of her recipes, but I'm not sure I can do them justice, and I'm not sure any of us can enjoy them without a tremendous feeling of sadness and loss. I'll have to think on that for awhile.

I also have to figure out what to do about Christmas lights now that we are in a new house. This house has a very stark, barren front yard without trees or bushes, so that means my only option is to put lights up on my house, which will require a ladder, and multiple extension cords, not to mention actually FINDING my boxes of Christmas lights which are still buried in my garage, behind all of those boxes from my move that have yet to be unpacked.

Perhaps I'll just wait until Christmas Eve and do farolitos instead...

A Winter's Tale

I have spent my whole life in New Mexico, so I don't truly know winter. I grew up in the Northern part of the state--the part that actually gets snow and has ski hills and outdoor ice skating rinks. We often experienced snowstorms that left multiple feet of snow on the ground, and we would wait for my Dad to finish shoveling the driveway, so we could build caves and forts in the snow piled there. We would head to the school and sled down the steep hills, right into the street! Once I moved to Albuquerque, though, snow was much more unusual. Most of my neighbors don't even own snow shovels because the snow usually melts within a couple of hours. My kids have never built a proper snowman because when there is only two inches of snow on the ground, you can't do much with it. One year we built a "snow alligator" instead. We broke off the tips of icicles to use as claws and teeth! Because it doesn't snow often here, the city is ill-equipped to deal with a major snowfall. Only the main roads and highways get plowed and sanded, the side streets are never cleared. Ice is more of a problem than the snow. Two inches of snow can cause school cancellations around here because the buses can't get to their stops. Since it is never cold enough for the snow to really "stick," it starts to melt right away, but then freezes at night. We always hope for the snow to fall in the morning, so it will be gone by the afternoon!

Two years ago, we got 18 inches of snow just after New Year's. It was the most snow Albuquerque had received in 56 years! It shut down the highways and brought everything to a grinding halt! I was glad the snow came on Friday afternoon because I didn't have to drive anywhere! I had to shake the snow off of my trees and bushes to keep the branches from breaking (trees and bushes here are very spindly because they are usually drought-tolerant species). My neighbor came out and offered to help me shovel my driveway. I just laughed and told him I grew up in the Jemez Mountains, so 18 inches was nothin'! Two days later, I had to go to the grocery store, and the parking lot was a slushy mess--it was never plowed, so cars driving through just packed down the snow, and it would start to melt and then re-freeze. People were sliding all over the place! Because the interstates had been shut down for days, trucks couldn't make their deliveries, so the shelves were bare. They were out of potatoes, bread, and even milk! I was disappointed because my kids were spending that week of their Winter Break with their dad, and I had so wanted to play in the snow with them, the way I remembered doing as a kid! My neighbors drove up and down our street, pulling their kids on sleds attached to the bumper of their SUV with ropes!

Winter here is pretty mild, as are all of our seasons. It generally stays in the high 40s and 50s by day, and rarely gets below 20 or 30 degrees at night. Because we are at a high elevation (5,200 feet), we get our share of freakish storms. The year we made the snow alligator, the snow had come in April, and the week before it had been 70 degrees! Three years ago we had a bitter cold snap that lasted several days, and it actually got down to 10 below! Of course, that was the night I got a flat tire driving home after midnight. I had to call for Roadside Assistance and, thankfully, the guy was really fast at changing tires! (I had to wait 45 minutes for him to show up, though.)

I don't like the starkness of winter. We have sunny days throughout the season, but the trees all look so barren without their leaves. With our desert climate, there is already so little green in our landscaping, that I hate to lose any of it! I do like the coziness winter brings, though. We eat soup and grilled cheese sandwiches a lot, and I make hot chocolate from scratch while we watch movies on the weekends. I love to watch the snow fall when it does appear. There is something inherently magical about falling snow--but only when you are inside with plenty of heat and comfort food! So, I guess Albuquerque has the best of both worlds--we get to enjoy snow once in awhile, but it doesn't usually stick around long enough to be a problem, and our coldest temperatures are gone by March!

Grateful

As I was thinking about what to write for this post, I was reminded of my favorite Ann Lander's Column that ran sometime around Thanksgiving:


Things to Be Thankful For

Be thankful for the clothes that fit a little too snug, because it means you have enough to eat.

Be thankful for the mess you clean up after a party, because it means you have been surrounded by friends.

Be thankful for the taxes you pay, because it means you're employed.

Be thankful that your lawn needs mowing and your windows need fixing, because it means you have a home.

Be thankful for your heating bill, because it means you are warm.

Be thankful for the laundry, because it means you have clothes to wear.

Be thankful for the space you find at the far end of the parking lot, because it means you can walk.

Be thankful for the lady who sings off-key behind you in church, because it means you can hear.

Be thankful when people complain about the government, because it means we have freedom of speech.

Be thankful for the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours, because it means you're alive.



When I read this column, it sort of slaps me in the face because it reminds me that all of my complaints are petty and small compared to all of the things I have to be thankful for--especially during these times of "gloom and doom," with daily news reports about lay-offs and bank failures and veterans with traumatic brain injuries--all of which are far removed from my own situation.

I joke that I lead a very boring life, but the reality is that I lead a life that is free of hardships, and for that I am thankful. But, I also recognize that I got to live this sort of life not just through luck, but through the choices I made. The choices I made were largely based on certain values that had been instilled in me at a young age. I would not be where I am today, if it weren't for certain people, and I am most grateful for having them in my life.

I am grateful that my grandparents lived through the Depression and valued hard work, responsibility, and financial security through saving your money and living modestly.

I am grateful that my father, whose parents only had high school educations, was raised to value education and encouraged to go further than his own parents had, even if it meant struggling to pay for that college degree.

I am grateful that my parents had high expectations for their daughters and allowed us the independence to succeed or fail based on our own actions and decisions--there were no bailouts in our household. If we chose not to study for a test and failed, there would be no phone calls to the teacher to ask for a grade change. If we failed, it was our own fault. Consequences were always discussed in our household.

I am grateful that my fear of consequences kept me on the "straight and narrow." I did not place myself in risky situations, nor did I engage in behavior that could have negative results. Unlike most of my friends, I was always thinking about the "What Ifs." I still do.

I am grateful that my parents did not hand out compliments and praise for nothing. It made me very recognition-oriented because the only time I got the attention I craved was by achieving something significant, like straight A's or Leadership Awards or a full-tuition scholarship to college.

I am grateful that my mother lectured us in our teens--unabashedly discussing very adult topics like sex and drugs with an attitude that we were mature enough to handle it, even though, at the time, we were horribly embarrassed and uncomfortable with it. She certainly scared us, but that fear kept me a "good girl." She spoke to us and treated us like mature young adults--not like we were stupid teenagers, incapable of having anything intelligent to say. They say children will rise to your level of expectation, and she had very high expectations of us, and we certainly did not want to disappoint her.

I am grateful that my mother spoke to us about her own hopes and dreams--and her regrets. She wanted us to go further--attain all the things that she didn't, and so we did. Her honesty, while sometimes painful, taught us many valuable lessons.

I am grateful that I was the "Main Breadwinner" during my marriage because it kept me from quitting a job that sometimes I did not particularly like. I stuck it out for 10 years because I had to "pay the bills," but during that time, I established a reputation with my co-workers and managers as a hard-working employee, and I volunteered for other assignments--mainly to get out of doing the work I didn't like--which gave me more experiences, new skills, and greater "exposure." It laid the foundation for my career, and I was rewarded with a new job as an analyst that suited me perfectly. And, because I didn't change employers, my pay increased, and my benefits increased, and my retirement plan remained intact because I didn't have to start over somewhere else. Responsibility and patience pay off, and just because you don't like your job, that doesn't mean you should do shitty work. My job may have been shitty, but my work never was.

I am grateful that I have always had managers who cared about my development and encouraged me to take on different assignments. They recommended me for Teams and Special Projects, and allowed me to go on Details that altered the path of my career, even though it made their jobs a little tougher while I was away. I have never, ever had a "bad" boss.

I am grateful that I have two healthy children who are growing up to be interesting and funny people, and that I knew enough about parenting to know it was important to just "be myself" with them. They don't just see me as "Mom," but also as a human being who makes mistakes, laughs at inappropriate things, and isn't afraid to tell them the truth about things. They have seen me cry; they have heard me rant; they have been subjected to my lecturing. There are no surprises in this house--I may not be perfect, but at least I'm consistent because I'm not trying to be a phony.

I am grateful my Dad lives nearby and can still come to "rescue me" when a pipe bursts or my car won't start. (He also buys me tools. Whee!)

Most of all, I am grateful that whenever I am fumbling around, feeling like a helpless failure because I don't know how to do something, I hear my mother telling me, "Nonsense! Don't be ridiculous! You can do anything, you just need to figure it out."

She was right. It may take awhile, but I'll eventually figure it out.

Change

First of all, I refuse to make this post about politics. I'm so sick of hearing the words "change" and "Washington, D.C." in the same sentence. It's an oxymoron.

I'm also one of those self-centered bloggers, so if I'm going to write about "change" it is going to have to have something to do with ME!

I have used my blogs to whine and moan about marriage, divorce, and men because those were whiny, moan-y posts I needed to make at the time.

Women are like that--we can't "move on" until we pontificate and express ourselves ad nauseum, preferably to an audience, which is why I blog because it is far better for me to foist myself on random internet strangers than my own friends and family, who I want to remain friendly with. I don't want them to get sick of my whining and moaning, so I reserve my crap for here. Sorry! (But not really...)

That being said, I am coming up on my 5th year of being divorced, my 12th year of being a parent, and my 40th year of being a human being, and it is time to make some changes. I have developed some bad habits lately, fueled by my relative wealth, boredom with my life, and bad ways of coping with stress. These things are not only unhealthy, but they actually end up contributing to my boredom with my life, and they aren't going to do much for my kids and my life expectancy, not to mention my relative wealth (which is being squandered by my impulsive ways).

To summarize, I drink too much cheap wine, eat too much fast food, and spend far too many hours with my butt parked on the couch. I don't spend as much "quality time" with my children as I should, and I don't pay any attention to my checking account balance (there always seems to be money there, so I just spend it haphazardly without thinking about it much). I've been in my new house since July, and there are still dozens of unpacked boxes in my garage and stacked randomly in my bedroom and living room. I'm no longer involved in a custody dispute, and it's high time I "let go" of certain obsessions involving ill-fated relationships with unattainable men, so there really is no excuse for me to be sitting on my couch moping around (or, for that matter, whining and moaning to the internet) anymore.

So, change is coming.

1. Exercise. I was told in no uncertain terms by my doctor that she fully expects me to have a heart attack any day now. Ordinarily, I would have protested, but now that I'm 40 and have ridiculously high blood pressure, I probably should take her somewhat seriously. I have all the high-risk factors for heart disease and breast cancer: too much alcohol, high-fat diet, sedentary lifestyle, and a family history for both. Shit. So, I'm going to get serious about what I eat and how I spend my non-working hours (when I'm working, I'm tied to a computer or a telephone, so I pretty much have to park my butt in a chair). I can exercise on weekends, and I can surely manage to fit something in at least 2 other days each week (especially since Grey's Anatomy has gone from bad to worse and sucks so bad I can't even watch it anymore).

2. Budget. One of the greatest things post-divorce was discovering that I didn't have to balance my checkbook anymore because I was the only person spending money out of the account for a change. Plus, I got two promotions and make more money than I ever could have imagined possible at this stage of my life. I also spend money like a teenager--I see shiny objects, and I buy them. I don't feel like cooking, so we eat out at restaurants. I find things for sale on the internet, and I buy those too. Never big ticket items, just lots of "little things" that add up to, well, ridiculous sums of money for things I didn't really need. That leaves me without money for the Big Ticket Items that I really want, like a new couch, a Pool Table, a trip to Yellowstone, and airplane tickets to visit my sister and a certain person who lives in the Pacific Northwest. It also leaves me without money for the Big Ticket Items I truly need, like new tires and a tune-up for my Camry, which has aged along with me. So, I'm going to get serious about tracking my expenditures and sticking to a budget, especially when it comes to groceries, which leads me to the next change...

3. Cooking. I cannot believe how much I squander on groceries! Half the food I buy, I have to throw out because it goes bad before I can use it. Back in my Starving College Student days, I used to plan every meal for the week before going to the grocery store. I would "estimate" the cost and go grocery shopping with a calculator in hand to make sure I didn't "over-spend." I only bought the items on my list. Nowadays, I just go, throw things in the cart, stock up on sale items, and before you know it, I've spent $150 and still have to make another trip to the grocery store later in the week to fix a meal I want to fix but don't have ingredients for. This is insanity! I love to cook, yet I complain that I make the same old stuff for dinner every week because I'm too uninspired and disorganized to plan ahead and be prepared to try something new. I have STACKS of recipes from magazines, yet I never make any of them. So, on the weekends, I will now be required to map out our meals for the week and make a grocery list with very specific items--no extras, no surprises. And I bet I will not only save money, but we'll eat out less and probably have more nutritious meals.

4. Get Organized. Weekdays are a little crazy in this house with school and the Job and what not, but weekends most certainly are NOT. There is plenty of time in those weekends to take care of errands, make lists, do chores, plan for the week ahead, etc. I've never been much of a goal-setter--I sort of drift through and somehow manage to have opportunities and accomplishments land in my lap, but I bought a "self-help" kind of book (yeah, I know--SHUT UP!) and one of the first things I was required to do was make a list of 25 things I wanted to be, do, or have. I made a great list. It was great because it was all just so EASY! Every last one of those things was something I could easily accomplish with a little thought and effort. I'm not one for challenges. I like easy.

Oh, don't get me wrong. My life will still be boring, but I won't be bored living it. That's the difference--I haven't been living. Instead I have just been half-heartedly going through the motions and not taking the time to wake up every morning with a mission to accomplish lots of boring little things. Consequently, I would go to bed each night feeling like I had wasted yet another day.

No more.

That being said, it's time to get off this computer and start my day. I've got things to do, lists to make, boxes to unpack, vegetables to buy, floors to mop, and a family to care for. The fog has lifted, and the day stretches before me, filled with options!

Scandalous

Hmmmm...this is a tough one for me to write about. I don't think of myself as a "scandalous" person (in the words of Eliza Doolittle, "I'm a good girl, I am!"). Everyone I know has stories to tell about the wacky, crazy things they did in college. I have none of those stories. I was always conscientious and cautious--a "rule-follower." I have never been a risk-taker, but in the past 6 years, I must admit I did 4 scandalous things. No, I will not tell you what those 4 things were. There is no one person in my life who knows about all of those 4 things. My family and closest friends may know about 1 or 2 of them, but nobody knows about all of them. I am good at keeping secrets and hiding certain details.

There is one person who knows about 3 of the 4, and that person, surprisingly (or maybe not) is my ex-husband. It is a bit disconcerting to realize that the one person who knows the most about me is the man I chose to divorce. I wonder sometimes if my desire to leave the marriage was borne out of my desire to leave my mistakes behind and start anew--become the person I wanted to be that I couldn't be if I stayed with him because he possessed too much knowledge of my weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I couldn't move forward when he held so much "ammunition" that he could use against me.

I break free, and I find myself a different person--a woman with secrets and things to hide, and hide them I do. It's nobody else's business, after all, what mistakes I have made in the past. What matters is the outcome--the lessons I have learned, the consequences I have faced.

While my "scandalous" choices are choices I am not proud of, I can honestly say that I don't really regret them. I suffered, other people suffered, but we all emerged from the ashes. I endured heartbreak, fear, guilt, and shame (largely self-inflicted), but I perservered, and I ultimately landed on my feet. Those "scandalous" choices also set certain things into motion that needed to happen. I learned some very valuable lessons. I did more damage to myself than I did to others. Those choices cost me more than they cost anyone else. I have served my sentence, done my pennance. So, I do not dwell on those scandalous things much, and I do not feel compelled to share them with anyone because that will not serve any useful purpose.

But, I can say with conviction that I hope the remainder of my life will be "scandal-free."

My Style

When I first checked the Sunday Scribblings for the week, my first inclination was to "pass" because I have always considered myself to have no real style unless BORING can pass as style. But I started thinking about how I have "evolved" over the years, and I realized that I DO have certain standards and tastes that I gravitate towards. But, I also have a very "eclectic" group of friends and family members that have very unique Styles. Because their Style was so much more remarkable than my own, I always assumed I had no style. But that's not true. I DO have style--it may not be flashy, and it may be subtle, but the older I get, the more I notice that I adhere to certain "rules" when it comes to choosing clothes, jewelry, makeup, etc.

So I'm "listing" those things that I have discovered in my closet and my jewelry box that were deliberate purchases:

1) Narrow, "pencil skirts"--either just above the knee, or a few inches above the ankle.

2) Cardigan Sweater sets.

3) Proper string of pearls (would love to have some real ones, but will make do with fakes because I am a cheapskate). Pearls must be all the same size, or small, fresh-water pearls. Nothing big or "chunky" or "modern."

4) Sling-back pumps in black, navy, or taupe.

5) Pointy-toed shoes with narrow little heels.

6) 3/4 length sleeved shirts/sweaters (as a short person, I hate wearing long-sleeved anything--I always push up the sleeves, roll-up the cuffs, anything to push fabric back from my lower arms.)

7) Floral prints, particularly on dresses. Empire Waists a plus. I am a sucker for a "lovely" print. The prints that I like the most probably resemble Victorian Wallpaper. When it comes to dresses, I like them to be either very "classic" and "clean" or very feminine. I like soft fabrics that "drape" and "swirl" nicely in a dress.

8) Charm Bracelets.

9) Gold Hoop Earrings or Pearl Studs because they go with everything (hate diamonds, as a general rule.)

10) "Antique" looking jewelry. I like delicate, feminine, intricate. My favorite "Brand" of Department-Store jewelry? 1928. I am especially partial to Cameos and Crosses.

11) Washable fabrics (no time to hand-wash or dry clean--I am a BUSY woman!)

12) Skirts and/or Dresses. I hate wearing pants. I will wear "Capris" during the summer months, but, as a general rule, I usually don't own or purchase pants. I have been known to show up for a Campout and pitch a tent wearing a skirt.

13) Anything made out of velvet--especially "stretch" velvet.

As I look back on this list, I realize that everything on it was probably heavily-influenced by my mother and grandmother and their definitions of "good taste." But, that does not mean that it is not truly my own Style. Yes, I grew up with pretty stringent rules and standards of what constituted "good taste," but I have had plenty of opportunities to challenge their rules and standards, and, believe me, I DID.

But nowadays my goals are to be comfortable, look presentable and respectable, but still wear fabulous shoes.

Wedding

I love weddings, despite being a divorced and bitter Old Hag (ha ha). I love wedding dresses and wedding cakes and wedding flowers and wedding music and wedding invitations. Let's face it, weddings are the Ultimate Party!

I was at Target yesterday, looking for some cheap stationery and came across these pre-packaged, do-it-yourself "Wedding Invitation Kits." You could run the invitations and envelopes through your home computer printer, and the sets also featured co-ordinated boxes of Thank You notes. They were hip and trendy and SO DARN CHEAP, it made me love Target even more than I already love Target. Of course, I also realized that my mother and my grandmother would have been HORRIFIED if any one of their progeny resorted to such a hideous option. They came from generations that custom-ordered engraved invitations from a quality stationer! Their standards for what was considered "proper" and "classy" influenced and intimidated me when I was planning my own wedding, years ago.

The one thing I DESPISE about weddings is the COST. To me, the amount of money people can spend on weddings these days seems absolutely ridiculous, so that's why it makes me happy to see do-it-yourself invitation kits on clearance at Target. Weddings should be special occasions and should be an event people will remember, but they don't have to be outrageously expensive, either. I cringe when I watch Hollywood's depiction of the perfect wedding. Remember the absolute avalanche of flowers in the Southern church when Julia Roberts got married in Steel Magnolias? Beautiful, but as a recently-married person, all I could think was HOLY CRAP that's like ten thousand dollar's worth of flowers! And what about Kimberly Williams wedding in Father of the Bride? ICE Sculptures? Seriously, ICE SCULPTURES!?!? The price tag of those affairs is something absolutely unattainable by the majority of the population! Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would have a wedding anywhere close to those!

I got married young by today's standards (21). My older sister was attending Physical Therapy school, and my parents were paying Out-of-State Tuition to the tune of about $20K per year, plus the cost of housing for her. I was within one semester of graduating from college, and fairly self-sufficient, since I was already working part-time and my tuition was covered by scholarship money. My wedding cost a grand total of $5,000. While I was planning my wedding, I was very conscious of the cost of everything from food to flowers. I recall being supremely pissed off at the Wedding Dress shop that ordered my dress of choice (cost less than $500) in a size 10 when I was a size 4 and had specifically requested they order a size 6 (it didn't come any smaller). When I went in to pick up the dress and they immediately tried to book me for "alterations," I knew right away that they had purposely ordered the dress 3 sizes too big just to weasel another $250 out of me for "alterations." HMPH! They obviously did not know who they were dealing with! I learned how to sew my own clothes in the 4th grade, and I took that enormous dress home, ripped out seams, added darts, and altered it to fit me perfectly...for FREE! (I also made my own veil and headpiece with $35 and a trip to the local fabric store.)

So, I had a low-budget wedding. My parents didn't go into debt, I was never a "Bridezilla," and it was a pretty nice day, all things considered. What I remember (and value) the most out of that day was the fact that my grandfather, although suffering from Congestive Heart Failure, made the trip (against his doctor's orders), to attend his granddaughter's wedding. My wedding photos are some of the last photos we have of my Grandpa because he died shortly thereafter. My other favorite memory was the feeling I had when they opened up the doors to me to walk down the aisle, and I was overcome with the smiling faces of family and friends who showed up not for the food, or the music, or the dancing, or the booze (because there wasn't any of that--my reception was held at the church and was alcohol-free with "light refreshments" and no dancing.) They showed up just because they were my friends or my parents' friends or my Grooms' friends or my Grooms' Family. I had no regrets about my low-budget wedding, even after attending the larger, fancier weddings of my friends over the years.

There is a well-known, affluent family from my city who made their fortune distributing a particular brand of beer (which shall remain nameless). The family now owns a professional basketball team and some hotels in Las Vegas and the sons have appeared in TV commercials eating $6 hamburgers, washing them down with bottles of wine that cost more than a new sofa. A few of my college Gal Pals went to school with the Daughter from this family, and none of them liked her--found her to be the Typical Little Rich Girl (arrogant and pretentious). She got married with much fanfare (The band KISS played at her wedding) a few years after I got married. HER wedding probably cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Forgive my friends and me, but when we learned she got divorced less than 2 years after that public spectacle, we snickered (because while we are not pretentious, we are arrogant and, also, catty--ha ha!)

The best wedding I have ever been to was the Low-Budget Affair of one of my college sorority sisters. She and the groom had only recently finished school and were working at crappy jobs (she in retail, he in direct sales). They were a lovely pair, full of potential, but they came from "broken homes" and none of their parents could provide much monetary assistance with wedding expenses. They had their wedding outdoors (which is always risky) at a restaurant that overlooked a Golf Course. They got a "deal" on the location because the restaurant purchased liquor from the Groom's employer and the Groom was their salesperson. He knew the bartenders and the waiters and waitresses at the restaurant and invited them all to his wedding. They were all poor, starving college students, so their gift to the Bride and Groom was to "work" the wedding at NO COST. The Manager of the Restaurant provided the food at "cost." The Groom and his Groomsmen wore khaki Levi Docker's with light blue oxford cloth button-down shirts and navy blue blazers, purchased on sale at a local department store. The bridesmaids wore plain navy blue linen sheath dresses (very Jackie-O) purchased for less than $40 each at The Limited (I know because I had the very same dress in Yellow that I wore for YEARS with a cream-colored linen blazer to work and just a long strand of fake pearls for church and weddings). The bride wore a funky dress that she picked up for a steal off a "sales rack" (because it was a really funky dress, but she was one of those women who could pull off a "funky" look, so it worked perfectly for her.) Just as the ceremony was about to start, the clouds rolled in, blocking out the glaring sun, which made everyone more comfortable on a hot day. A cool breeze blew in, but no rain. Perfect for an outdoor wedding because nobody was squinting in the photographs, and everyone was comfortable.

It was a truly beautiful wedding with less than 100 guests, all of whom had a great time. The wedding was beautiful because the Bride and Groom were surrounded by people who liked them and loved them. It was unpretentious and simple and the people who attended were there not out of "obligation," but because they were truly happy for this particular couple and wanted to wish them the best. There were so many personal touches, done partly in an effort to "save money," and partly to personalize the wedding itself. It was a truly lovely event.

Nowadays, I think people have far more options to create weddings in all kinds of different price ranges. I've been to weddings held in a National Forest, weddings held at the base of a ski hill, and weddings held in a tiny little chapel connected to a photographer's studio. I once even witnessed a wedding reception in a local park with picnic tables outfitted with plastic tablecloths and take-out Fried Chicken and potato salad. I've also been to weddings held in large, old churches followed by receptions in swanky hotels. I've been to wedding receptions that lasted over 6 hours, and receptions that were over within an hour.

While I think it is unlikely that I will ever get married again, I still secretly enjoy thinking about how I would do another wedding. I still enjoy weddings and look forward to the day my children have weddings of their own. I hope to participate in the planning, but, hopefully, without dictating (something Mothers are known for). Maybe the wedding will be in my own backyard. Maybe I'll own the fabulous Bed and Breakfast of my dreams by then, complete with English garden and pond. Perhaps I will actually be in the wedding business, renting out my B&B for such events.

Weddings can be full of Pomp and Circumstance, but they can also be sweetly intimate. Whatever the "style" of the wedding, it in no way guarantees the success of the marriage. I admit that I am biased against huge, expensive productions--I consider them to be a bit of a bad omen. Throwing such great sums of money around seems a bit like gambling to me--a risk I wouldn't want to take.

Sometimes, the simpler the event, and the fewer the guests, the more genuine the wedding.

Coffee

Years ago, when my kids were little, and I was sleep-deprived, I couldn't leave for work without two large travel mugs full of coffee. I had a 30-minute commute and would suck down the equivalent of about 4 mugs of coffee during my journey. I love the way coffee smells, but I have to drink it with milk (or, better yet, cream) and artificial sweetener. I refused to buy my coffee at coffee shops, particularly Starbuck's (which I consider to be an Evil Empire, forcing thousands of small, independent coffee shop owners out of business.) It seemed like an atrocious waste of money, especially when I could make it at home--I even had an Espresso machine, so I could make my own lattes.

I only drank coffee on weekdays. On the weekends, I rarely drank it. And I didn't drink it for the caffeine buzz because I honestly couldn't feel any effects from the caffeine. I could drink coffee at 11:30 at night, and be sound asleep by midnight. I think I probably drank coffee all the way up until my divorce. My ex drank coffee--tons of it. He had to have non-dairy creamer (not milk) and about 3 spoonfuls of sugar in his. After he moved out, I stopped drinking coffee. I think I made it for him, really, rather than for me--I just drank it because it was there. I suffered no withdrawal symptoms. I just got up one morning and didn't make coffee. Simple as that.

I've always been more of a tea-drinker, and I drink my tea the same way I drank my coffee--only with a little less milk and about half a package of artificial sweetener. I can also drink my tea "straight up" without milk or sweetener--something I could never do with coffee. I love everything about tea--I love tea cups and saucers and tea pots that come in all shapes and sizes. Admittedly, I most often drink my tea in a coffee mug, but I own plenty of tea cups and they are the first thing I look for in antique stores. I have this lovely dream of owning a Bed and Breakfast someday, with a fancy Tea Room for the locals. I will serve up the tea in my vast "collection" of tea cups and saucers, acquired from antique stores. I rarely drink tea on weekdays--I'm always in a rush on weekday mornings and tea is not something that can be rushed. Tea is for drinking when you can curl up on the couch or read the newspaper on your back patio. It is made for those times when you have peace and quiet. Tea does not belong in Travel Mugs or paper cups. It belongs on a table, in a proper cup.

It is no wonder that tea drinkers in the United States are discriminated against. Coffee is the beverage of America. It's bold and brash and arrogant. If you have a cup of coffee in your hand, everyone else can smell it. Taking a "coffee break" is a perfectly acceptable excuse to leave your desk. Tea? Not so much. If you order "hot tea" at a restaurant, they either bring you a tiny little pot of hot water or a single mug of hot water with a single tea bag. If you ask for more hot water, they expect you to re-use that same tea bag. Yeck! I hate weak tea! I use my tea bags once, and throw them away! Coffee drinkers, on the other hand, get unlimited refills, without having to ask. Tea drinkers have to flag down a waiter or waitress and request additional hot water and additional tea bags, and sometimes they CHARGE you for an additional tea bag! Why is that when coffee beans cost far more than tea? I know some tea drinkers who actually carry extra tea bags around in their purses for this very reason. Hotels will put tea bags in the little caddy next to the 4-cup coffee-maker, but you can't drink tea from a coffee-maker because it will always taste like coffee. And they put out exactly two tea bags--one regular and one decaf. Phffffft!

My mother was a tea-drinker. She drank tea all day long, probably anywhere from 6 to 10 cups a day, and then she always had iced tea with dinner. She was an Earl Grey fan, and while I like Earl Grey, I'm happiest with plain ol' English Breakfast. Sometimes I'll try the flavored teas, but I'm still most content with a basic, traditional, black tea.

My father attended a conference in Victoria, British Columbia about 15 years ago, and my mother and my sister accompanied him on his trip. I was unable to go--can't exactly remember why now because this was before I had children--probably a work conflict. They visited Butchart Gardens and had "High Tea" at the Empress Hotel. I was immensely jealous, and vow that someday before I die, I will spend a weekend in Victoria! It was during this trip that my mother discovered Murchie's Tea--that's what the Empress Hotel serves. She brought back boxes and boxes of Murchie's Tea, and gave me a box containing a sampler of the various blends, including the Empress Afternoon blend served at the Hotel, and the Golden Jubilee blend, created for Queen Elizabeth. While she would still buy tea at Trader Joe's or specialty shops, Murchie's became her regular supplier. Shipping and handling wasn't cheap, but to her it was worth every penny for good quality tea. She never drank Lipton's or Bigelow tea ever again.

She had placed a large order with Murchie's just before she went into the hospital. It arrived a few days after she died. I can only imagine how my Dad felt the moment he opened up the box that was delivered to his doorstep. At her Memorial Service, we put out a tray of tea bags in a multitude of blends, so everyone could enjoy a good cup of tea in her memory. She had an entire cabinet in her kitchen filled with various teas--all kinds of flavors, many of them gifts from friends and family because everyone who knew her, knew how much she liked her tea. My father, a coffee drinker, asked me if I wanted the Murchie's tea, and I jumped at the chance. Even though I didn't drink tea very often, it was something that I closely connected with my mother, so of course I wanted the tea. There are two boxes (with 75 tea bags per box) of Earl Grey, a box of English Afternoon, and a box of Golden Jubilee in one of my kitchen cabinets.

I drink much more tea now than I used to--because whenever I fix a cup of tea, I think of my mother. While I don't drink tea every day, I drink it almost every day, and, like my mom, sometimes I fix it in the middle of the day or after dinner, not just in the mornings.

I may never drink coffee ever again--it's my way of showing solidarity and preserving my mother's memory.

Sunday Scribblings - Photograph

I have always loved photographs. Even as a kid, I wanted to record every "special event" and every meaningful person or object in my life. I got my first Kodak camera (the kind that took 110 film) when I was in Elementary School. I took pictures of our dog, my best friend, the basketball backboard my father custom-made for my sister, my parents 1970 Chevrolet station wagon (which would become the first car I learned how to drive many years later), and the great clouds of smoke pouring into the sky as a forest fire burned off in the distance.

When I was in high school, I took pictures of friends and boyfriends, and I took pictures on all of the trips I got to take as a result of being in various extra-curricular activities. I was a "small town girl," so flying to Dallas for a competition was exciting, and I took pictures of the tall buildings in the Big City because they were the first ones I had ever seen up close. I also took a picture of a "Virgin Strawberry Daquiri" because, well, because it was there in front of me, and I wanted to remember that I had ordered it.

In college, I took pictures of new friends, and I also took pictures of places. I was away from home for the first time and found myself wanting pictures of the mesas and canyons of my Hometown--I had come to truly "appreciate" them now that they were part of my past instead of my present. I would go home for Spring Break and Fall Break and various holiday breaks and take pictures of the scenery. I also took a lot of pictures of old houses. My Hometown was mainly post-WWII vintage, but the city of my university had entire neighborhoods of Victorian houses and old churches with stained glass windows and copper shingles. These were things I loved because I had never seen them before, so I took pictures.

My parents always had photo albums in the house, and I kept my photos in albums, too, but my favorite albums were the "old ones" with pictures of my parents as children and distant relatives I had never met living in houses I had never visited. I loved delving into the photo albums that recorded our "baby years." When we would visit my grandparents, I would paw through my grandmother's photo albums, fascinated by the clothes and the cars and the activities. My Grandfather in his Navy uniform, home on Leave because his first child had been born while he was stationed overseas, piloting dirigibles seeking out German submarines lurking in the waters surrounding South America. My mother, wearing Shirley Temple Ringlets in a posed studio shot. My Great Great Aunts standing in front of a WWI-era car, decked out in fur coats and hats featuring a jaunty peacock or pheasant feather. My Great Grandfather, a 32nd Degree Mason, dressed for a parade. The "Baughman Family Estate" lost during the Great Depression that is now the "Firestone Estate" (yes, yes, I could have been an heiress...)

I think it was my Grandmother's Photo Albums that sparked my passion for photographs. Whenever we brought out Photo Albums, stories got told, and I loved the stories. Photographs capture history, style, physical features, a pretty dress, but they also create a "placeholder" for someone who will tell the story behind that photo. Why was it taken? Why did the person taking the picture want to remember that particular day? Whenever we take a picture, we are doing it to record a memory. We are saying to ourselves, "I want to capture THIS moment."

But pictures are nothing without a narrator. It saddens me when I read about people purchasing boxes of "old photographs" at the Garage Sale of a total stranger. To give up your photographs means that you don't know anything about them, and that's why you can choose to part with them. But, to me, that is heartbreaking because the photograph has so much more power when there is someone there to explain it's reason for existence.

I'm not alone in feeling this way. Look at the massive industry "Scrapbooking" has become. You can't just slap your photos into albums anymore--you have to decoratively display them on acid-free paper, and you must, must, MUST include a caption or a poem or some other notation that describes why that picture was taken--why it was important.

My mother died on March 14th, suddenly, from complications of a particularly high-risk surgery she had chosen to undergo in a valiant effort to "buy her more time." Sadly, the surgery only served to cut her life shorter instead of extending it. It has been a very rough month for my sister, my Dad, and me. We struggle with the decision (made collectively as a family) to opt for surgery. We struggle with not being at all prepared for the outcome. We struggle with the vastness and enormity of the tremendous hole that has suddenly been punched into all of our lives.

Since we were the people closest to her (and the people who grieve the most), we were also tasked with the responsibility of "arrangements." Oddly, this was a good thing. It kept us busy. We had things to do, arrangements to make. We had to pick out flowers, design a program for the Memorial Service, select and purchase an Urn for her remains, burn appropriate music onto a CD, write an obituary, plan and prepare food for visitors who would stop by the house after the service...

The list went on and on.

We were also assigned the task of gathering photographs to pin onto two large, fabric-covered bulletin boards that would be posted in the Chapel of the Funeral Home. So, out came the photo albums. My Dad spent an evening scanning photos of my Mom as a baby, a child, a young wife, a young mother, a grandmother. We were actually hard-pressed to come up with a comprehensive collection of her. My mother hated to have her picture taken. Our Baby Albums are filled with pictures of us with our Dad, but there are very few with Mom. She cleverly managed to avoid the camera lens. She coached our softball teams, yet the Team Photo in our albums contains only the faces of the girls--no coach. We were getting frustrated by this--saddened that our mother's "phobia" was now depriving us of something we desperately wanted to find. But, at least we had the Shirley Templesque photo, the high school Graduation Gown photo, the wedding photo, a few "Mom and babies" photos. Finding more recent photos was especially difficult. Her many health issues had caused her to gain significant amounts of weight in recent years, so now she REALLY hated having her picture taken. She would THROW AWAY photos that we sent to her if she was in them and didn't like how "she looked." Not to be thwarted, we scrounged through our own albums and skimmed through the "digital archives" on our computers.

And we found photos--oh yes, there were photos!

The one thing my Mother loved most about her life was being a Grandma. The only recent photos of my Mom always, ALWAYS involved her holding a Grandbaby or--even better--reading a book with a Grandchild. Those photos got taken and were not destroyed--not even by her. Those photos went up on those boards. We were proud of those boards. Through photographs, we captured every stage of her life and showed her engaged in the activities she enjoyed the most--all of her roles as friend, sister, wife, mother, and grandmother.

We somehow managed to survive the Memorial Service last weekend. We were all exhausted, but in a good way because it was "over" and because we got things done and did them in such a way that we think she would have "approved." We were also sad that suddenly we found ourselves with "nothing to do," and that's a bad place to be in when you are grieving.

I went back to work, my kids went back to school, and our lives fell back into their usual routines. But then I picked up my kids from school on Wednesday, and they each had our town's Parks and Recreation Summer Catalog in their backpacks. They both greeted me eagerly, saying, "Mom, Mom! There is a picture of Grandma in here with us!" They were jumping up and down with this weird, bittersweet excitement (because they were "famous" all of a sudden--this particular publication is intended to reach every household in a town with a population of 55,000). Sure enough, I flip through the booklet and find an image of my mother, with my kids, attending an "Art Show" at the Parks and Rec Art Camp my children attended last summer. My Mom was there because the Camp ended at 2:00 pm, and I didn't get home from work until 5:00 pm, so she showed up every day that week to pick up her grandkids because I couldn't be there.

It's not a good photograph. My Mother would have hated it. It wasn't "flattering." As someone who takes a lot of pictures and can be objective, I think it is a crappy photograph for a Parks and Rec publication (you can't see anyone's faces--it's basically a picture of my Mom, turned awkwardly, the back of my daughter's head, and my son with his mouth hanging open while they look at some kid's artwork that isn't particularly spectacular). But, even though it is a crappy photograph, it still spoke volumes to me--it magically-appeared somewhere I would have never expected it to appear, and my Mom's photograph is in that publication because she was doing what she always did--taking care of me and filling in where I could not, and she was smiling because that is exactly where she wanted to be at that moment when that photograph was taken.

I want to tell the 55,000 residents of my city the story behind that photograph.

Sleep

My sleep habits seem to be defined by stages in my life--by my current priorities and worries. How well I sleep, how often I sleep, how many hours I sleep--all impacted by what events are important in my life at the time. I remember being in college and pulling those "all-nighters" during finals week. Or meeting someone new at a party and staying up until all hours of the morning talking and flirting and perhaps heading to the International House of Pancakes (open 24 hours) for coffee and Belgian waffles. Finding a potential "Mr. Right," staying up all night laughing with and confiding in the closest set of Gal Pals I have ever had, and getting good enough grades to keep my scholarship, were the priorities for which I would go without sleep back then.

Eventually, children came along, and I slept the sleep of an expectant mother--someone who was "new at this." I was awakened every night at 2 am while pregnant because the growing baby inside me always chose that time of night to be most active--a portent of the fact that once he was born, he would awaken at this time of night for the first six months of his life wanting an additional feeding or some attention. I never minded (because I was "new at this," and it felt good to be "needed"). Then I progressed to the next sleep phase--the phase of "Working Mother Determined to Breastfeed Despite Having a Full-Time Job." Even after my babies started sleeping through the night, I still got up at 2 am to dutifully express breastmilk for them to have during the day while I was away. I'd go back to sleep for a few hours before getting up to start my workday, feeding the baby on the couch before I left, wearing nylons, high heels, business-like skirt, and my pajama top. During the night, I could awaken in a split second at the slightest sound, yet fall back to sleep in mere seconds, too. Nothing kept me awake except for my childrens' needs. Once they were satisfied, I slipped right back into dreamland, although this often meant that babies slept curled beside me in my bed because I couldn't be bothered to put them back in their cribs. I couldn't bear the "cry it out" method either--I worked full-time--I needed my sleep, so Mom's bed was baby's bed because it was just easier that way. Baby #2 came along, and while her older brother had been banished into his own toddler bed, there were those nights when he wandered back in to Mom's bed, where we slept as a family through fevers and head colds, bad dreams, and separation anxiety. I had a husband who worked the night shift, so there was always plenty of room in the bed for the 3 of us, although hindsight tells me that, over time, my children, my husband, and I began to exist in separate groups of 3--again, perhaps, a portent of things to come.

My children have never been "easy" at bedtime--they were always wanting "one more story" or a song, or a glass of water, or needing to tell me about something "important." Because I was afflicted with Working Mother's Guilt, I always acquiesced because I knew that bedtime was the one time of day that my children had my undivided attention. When I arrived home from work, their father left for work, so I was running errands, doing housework, and fixing dinner without help, all while trying to keep an eye on them. I was unable to provide them with my full attention--I was always multi-tasking or pre-occupied or distracted. Bedtime became their one opportunity to have me to themselves. It was the only time I sat down and stopped thinking about other things, and that was okay, even if it meant that my kids' bedtime would begin at 9 pm but always truly be 10 pm, even on a school night. That extra hour of their bedtime routine is important, and I don't have any desire to change it, even though it means my bedtime becomes midnight or later, and I survive on 5 hours of sleep a night.

Now that my children are older, the hours between 10 pm and 5 am are no longer dictated by their needs--night-time feedings, childhood illnesses, and nightmares--leaving me free to sleep uninterrupted for those 5 hours, right? Wrong. Because now I'm a grown-up, full of grown-up responsibilities, and I am shouldering them single-handedly with no one to share the burden. My restless mind is tortured by sleep. I would lie in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep because of the worry--the fears. If I did manage to fall asleep, I had dreams that bothered me--filled with confrontations with two men in particular who left me with much unresolved anger--anger I was either unable to express or prevented from expressing. It would be manifested in my dreams, and I would awaken, agitated, pissed off, and ready to fight, even though the altercation was completely fictitious. In my dreams, I got to scream, and yell, and say ugly things I would never have said while awake. But, those confrontations were not helpful--they only left me upset--too bothered to go back to sleep because they were not real. If I were worried about a particular problem--like money--I would wake up, groggy, and not thinking clearly, start thinking about the problem and then, because I was only half-awake, the problem would become horrifying and insurmountable, and would keep me awake. I would eventually fall back asleep, and once I had really woken up, had my shower, and thought the problem through, I realized that my night-time panic was irrational and ridiculous, and that my sleep-deprived state had given that particular problem far more weight than it deserved. And I would be angry that I had been deprived of sleep that I undoubtedly needed because I don't possess logic and reason at 2 am.

So, for the last few years I survived on 2 or 3 hours of sleep most nights, catching up occasionally, from sheer exhaustion, a few days each week--usually on the weekends. That began to change last summer, when both my custody battle and my money issues were finally resolved. My sleep patterns changed yet again. I sleep 5 hours a night without any problems at all. I have no trouble falling asleep because my worries are, for the most part, under control. I still have the occasional "freak-out" moment like Thursday night when the hot water line to my kitchen sink burst and flooded my kitchen, and for some odd reason, I was panicked about getting a hold of my landlord the next day to have it fixed. Why I was so reluctant to call my landlord is beyond me, but at 2 am it seemed like a horrible thing. I was worried he might be out of town, and I'd have to call a plumber and pay an exorbitant amount of money before I could have hot water again. I was pissed that I was so flipping "helpless" and ignorant about plumbing, that I had to call my father to figure out how to turn off the water. I was feeling desperately like I needed to buy a house of my own--and SOON, but I'm not ready because I haven't saved up enough money yet, and the idea of packing all of our stuff up and physically moving it is daunting. I was angry at the houses for sale in my neighborhood that are 25 years old, made by a cheap-ass builder, and they all have hot water lines and cheap pipes that burst for no good reason, leaving me with no option but to buy a more expensive house in a newer subdivision with a dinky lot and a backyard devoid of landscaping that I will hate. These are my 2 to 4 am ramblings.

But last night, I slept okay. My landlord came over and fixed the water line while I was at work. The kids are at their dad's for the weekend. I spent the evening with some other Cub Scout moms, drinking Hurricanes and assembling all of our sons' various patches, badges, neckerchiefs, and other Cub Scout memorabilia into lovingly-arranged shadow boxes, to be "presented" to them when they have their "cross-over" Ceremony next week and become bona fide Boy Scouts. (So, you see, there was a plus side to my kitchen flood because while frantically yanking things out from under the sink, trying to locate the valves to shut off the water, I found the Pat O'Brien's Hurricane Mix I had purchased in New Orleans last summer! Admittedly, my son's shadow box is not yet completed, but I've got a week to finish that up without being under the influence of rum.) I slept a full 8 hours last night and my dreams consisted of mundane things like walking past my bathroom mirror and catching a glimpse of myself, only I was thinner and in better shape--perhaps a portent of my future self, now that I am diligently trying to exercise daily. In another dream I had a glimpse of the back of my friend M's head, and his hair was thinning, and I teased him about it. Again, perhaps a portent of things to come?

But at least my sleep is filled with peaceful, non-threatening images, for a change. Everyday things that really could happen, instead of crazy "drama" that I hope has been banished from my life, leaving me free to sleep, without interruption, for the first time in a decade.