2008 Posts Jan – November

Betrayal

I have been decidedly absent from this blog.

Sorry about that. I have been dealing with some stuff (read shit).

I am not sure just how open I am going to be but let’s just say that the truce I signed with body has ended and the cease fire is over.

I am being assaulted again.

On an entirely different front this time…

Oh well, I will update more information as soon as I know more.

Until then, send me good wishes.

I am traveling to Florida to eat some Turkey and will be gone from all connections.

So have a great turkey day!

Peace Out.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-38921320642206597122008-11-12T12:14:00.002-05:002008-11-12T12:26:34.620-05:00Brain dumpSo much to write about so little time.

I actually came up with a meme.

5 reasons I am a freak.

1. I love musicals

I fell in love at seven when my parents took me to see Annie and have been going strong ever since. I am considering a SIRIUS subscription solely on the basis that they have a 24/hour Broadway channel. Heaven!

2. I love romance novels

This is one of those things that seemed to be a much bigger deal when I first fell in love than it is now. This is a huge genre. I once thought that the romance novel love affair would end once I found real love but it hasn’t. And I will add smugly that I can in fact see my own love in all the fantasy and somehow that has made it even better.

3. I love fantasy – books, movies I am not choosy

Lord of the Rings to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If it has an element of paranormal – I am in! I used to play Dungeon and Dragons when I was in elementary school and I loved the imagination involved. I love to suspend cynicism and skepticism for just a while and enjoy the story.

4. Sometimes I don’t use a tissue

Ha ha just kidding. That doesn’t make me a freak!

right?

5. I love to sing

See #1. My all time long-standing dream is to actually be IN a musical. But it will probably never happen because I think I would actually be greatly disappointed. I prefer to imagine the wonder of the thing. Plus I am at heart a coward.

So I am tagging all (3) of you who read this blog and are looking for something to write about for NABLOBAMA.

Get your freak on!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-77159046345989932572008-11-06T12:20:00.002-05:002008-11-06T12:32:19.242-05:00Setting the tone.So I didn’t watch the election coverage.

Instead my husband and I retreated into our DVR and hid. Did I mention I was terrified?

At approximately 11 o’clock my mother called me screaming.

“Turn on CNN” she said, “He won!”

I hung up with her and turned on Fox instead.

And then I believed her.

I didn’t turn the TV off again until just before two am.

I thought both candidates gave excellent speeches.

They both seemed to be reaching over to pull everyone in together. Obama more than McCain, but that is how it should be. He is the one we elected to do the job.

I was not overwhelmed by Obama’s speech but I think that was actually his point. I truly believe that he began campaigning to the rest of America with that speech.

And I can’t remember when a candidate acknowledged those that didn’t vote for him in his acceptance speech.

I know Bush didn’t.

So I am glad to be an American.

Proud of the country that made this choice. Opted in to this future.

And I am hopeful that those who made a different choice will look with open minds and understanding toward a future that includes them too.

I am not gloating. And I am not celebrating too loudly.

I did both of those things when my vote helped elect Clinton.

Now I am aware of the other side in a way that I never was before and I know good people who are sad that their candidate will not lead them into tomorrow.

And while I am so glad that my candidate is the one who will be doing this I am willing to do whatever I can to make sure that they understand that my choice included them.

My choice was for them too.

Barak Obama will be the president of these united states come January. He seems to be willing to accept that challenge.

And so am I.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-48755053206483865412008-11-04T11:07:00.002-05:002008-11-04T11:29:15.255-05:00The Teacher of our countryI have been having fun trying to explain exactly what it is that mommy and daddy are so excited about.

And more importantly what the sign is in our front yard.

My four and two year old are very interested in that sign.

So, we told her that there are two men who would like to be the “teacher” of our country. And tried to put it in daycare terms. Barak Obama is Miss Tami and Joe Biden is her assistant teacher, Miss Carrie.

We chose Miss Tami as our example because she is my daughter’s teacher and both of my kids love her. My husband and I both think that if Miss Tami asked her, Maya would disappear with her forever. And we wouldn’t blame her one bit.

Miss Tami is wonderful.

So Barak Obama is Miss Tami. The teacher of our country. The one who guides your day and answers your questions, etc. He’s the guy that mommy and daddy would like to be our next teacher.

And much like on movie night the kids get to pick which movie they would like to watch, mommy and daddy will be picking Mr. Obama as our teacher today.

So this is the question I got today.

“Who is the other movie choice?”

So I explained that he is named John McCain.

And so she asked, “Is he the bad guy?”

My husband quickly said yes. My daughter waited for me while I thought about it.

“No, he is not the bad guy. But Obama is the better guy. The best guy. And that’s why mommy and daddy are voting for him. We think he will make the best teacher for our country.”

And she said “oh.”

And then she said, “Nate and Sammy like him for teacher too.”

Nate and Sammy are her classmates and I am friendly with their parents but have never discussed politics with them.

But somehow knowing that they are also for Obama – made my morning.

I hope they are among the many. The majority.

The decision makers.

Or else, in 2012 I am nominating Miss Tami.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-48603886566369701642008-11-03T20:13:00.004-05:002008-11-03T21:12:36.069-05:00On the eve of something…I have been ignoring the election for the last few days.

And I realized today that it is due to one simple reason.

I

am

terrified.

Down in the depths of my stomach terrified.

I am not sure what I will do if Obama is not the next president.

I didn’t realize just how much this means to me.

I very much want to believe that this is the country I live in.

The country that would choose Obama.

A country that would elect change.

A country that actually represents what our fore fathers intended.

Freedom

And Justice

And equality for everyone.

I want this country to be the package we have been promised.

The promise we were given as children.

The victory that my parents fought for and my grandparents bled for.

I don’t believe that this election is about race but I do think it is about opportunity. And I do think it is about stepping forward. Stepping toward a tomorrow that is colored with promise and opportunity.

And equal opportunity.

And a chance for a future that is hopeful for everyone.

And as someone of color, I find that this is about race for me. If Obama were who he is, and standing for what he stands for and he were white he would still be my choice.

But he isn’t. His skin is the color of my family.

I would love to believe that my brother could be president, that my nephew could be president.

I have been told this. Promised this.

But deep down I knew it wasn’t true.

I didn’t believe it. Not really.

Obama has made me hope for this.

He represents the promise kept.

Equality and opportunity.

I don’t think I wanted to admit how much this meant.

I chose to ignore it.

And now it scares me to my soul.

A people is standing up to be heard.

I pray they are loud enough.

I want us to have the America that Obama promises.

We deserve it.

All of us.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-43133095424438103042008-10-28T09:49:00.004-04:002008-10-28T10:25:03.701-04:00The Abortion ConflictI am terribly conflicted about abortion. It troubles me that it is such a divisive issue and that there seems to be so little common ground on which both sides can stand.

And everyone is always angry when they talk about abortion.

Let me start by saying that I have driven two girlfriend’s to get abortions. I have waited in the waiting room and held their hands as they cramped and cried. And I have watched as they returned to their normal college existence and moved on.

I myself, have never had an abortion. Nor would I choose to.

There are is one thing I am sure of about abortion:

Women will get abortions, regardless of the law.

I would never get an abortion but I will fight for the right for someone else to have the right. That might seem contrary but the truth is I am not conflicted.

And yes I can say that. I know many anti-abortion activists will tell me that I am a hypocrite but I don’t see it that way. There are many very important things that I do or don’t do that I would never assume to make someone else comply with.

And I don’t think that the anti-abortion activists are all wrong. I do think that killing doctors and bombing abortion clinics is wrong. But I feel that thinking of all anti-abortionist like that is kind of like what most of America does with the Muslim faith. They view the entire faith based on a few extremists. I try not to do that.

I try to listen to the arguments and try to find some common ground.

Abortions are nasty things. Horrible things. And I do believe that there are very few people who are “pro-abortion”. Again, don’t judge a group by it’s radicals.

So believing this I have to do what Barak Obama is doing. I have to look for the common ground. I have to try and see what we can agree on.

So, what can we do to stop the number of abortions in this country?

I think we have proven that abstinence only programs just don’t work. If you disagree with that statement then this is where we will officially diverge.

But if abstinence only programs don’t work, what will? How can we make sure that unwanted babies are never conceived? How can we make sure that all babies born have good homes to go to?

There are hundreds of thousands of children in foster care right now. How many of these children are being adopted into loving homes by pro-life zealots? I think that is the truest way to practice what you preach (and this is one of the reasons I respect McCain.)

I don’t know the stats but I do know that there are thousands of couples waiting for babies right now that talk about abortion as though it is preventing them the family they so desperately want. When in truth there are thousands of babies available to love, they are just the wrong color. You can’t be pro-life, but only worry about white life.

In order to make any progress here, we have to zoom in on the things that we can agree on and work outward from there. Flippant remarks, name-calling and sarcastic banter is not the way to have a discussion. Not the way to make a point or more importantly, to make progress.

Commit to being part of the solution to the abortion conflict. No matter what side you are coming from, we can come together on this.

We are going to have to if we want to make any change.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-37842756462330177762008-10-21T14:23:00.003-04:002008-10-21T15:16:33.047-04:00In real life I am a princess…Last week was national adoption week.

apparently.

I missed it.

Never even knew it existed. And still I feel the need to address it. Honor it.

Being adopted was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

If I had not been adopted I would not be who I am or where I am.

So therefore, it is the best thing that happened to me. It was the first step toward getting me where I am and where I am is pretty damn good.

Having said that I will also say that being adopted is sometimes hard.

Some of the difficulties are trivial:

my brother is model good looking and I often wished as a teen that I could have enjoyed some of those genetic good looks

To the not so trivial:

Most people thought my father was my stepfather and wondered how I could be so fair growing up with “black” parents. I suffered from racism from all sides.

And even with all that. I never thought to look for my birth parents. Never felt a need or a loss or anything challenging like that.

I have always known I was adopted. I don’t remember a time that I didn’t know. It is a part of who I am but it is such a small part. Such a tiny insignificant part.

But I had some “adoption trauma” moments.

When I was a preteen I became convinced that my aunt Sheila was my mother and that she had given to me my mom to raise. Some old family story about how she watched me when I was a baby convinced me that I was her love child.

I was terrified that she would want me back. I stopped hugging her and wanted no part of her for most of a year. Then my hormones calmed a little and I forgot all about it.

Then as a teen my dad and I had some pretty tough times and I started to imagine what my birth father would be like. In my imagination he was a king, a rich, nice, sweet king and he would bestow a bunch of money on me and leave me independently wealthy.

I never dreamed that he would be my dad, just my bank.

And that’s as close as I ever came to any real issues with my adoption.

Then I read an article in Brain, Child (awesome mag btw) written by a birth mom about how much she misses her child and how she still thinks of herself as her daughter’s mother…etc. And as a mom I started to think about this wonderful woman. This woman who had given me into a life I adore.

And I wondered if she worried about me.

And I wondered if she felt an empty part of her because I was and unknown. A lost child.

So I called my dad and told him I was thinking about finding my bio mom. And he said “It’s about time, I don’t know how you waited this long” and went about finding whatever records he could behind my mom’s back because we both believed that even now, she wouldn’t take to the idea.

Turns out we underestimated her. I told my mom. And she said, “I can understand that, she has grandchildren now.”

And I said, “no, you have grandchildren. She has no claim on them. None whatsoever.” and that was all it took for my mom. Apparently one level of removal was enough for her.

She would not have been nearly as understanding if I had made this decision at 18 but now, she’s okay with it.

So. Using the information I had gathered from the little bit my parent’s knew, I called the adoption agency that handled my placement and left a message for the woman the receptionist guided me to after explained what I wanted.

I waited.

Two weeks later, I called again and left another message.

And I waited again.

Then I poked around on the internet and registered at some sites that help children find missing bioparents.

And I was done.

And I sit here wondering if I will ever go further…and doubting it.

I am my mother’s daughter.

That’s enough.

It has always been enough.

So to the mystery woman who gave birth to me, named me Jennifer, cared for me, and then handed me over to the NJ adoption agency at the age of 6 weeks I say a heartfelt thank you.

And to everyone who is looking to adopt I say good luck. Like I said, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Happy belated National Adoption week.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-25849380714826239552008-10-14T16:04:00.001-04:002008-10-14T16:08:33.051-04:00It was seven years ago today…That I married my love.

Much like many Americans we are really feeling the pinch of the economic crisis so there will be no lavish gift or exciting date night this year.

But we will be together.

And we have decided to renew our contract for another year.

I love him in a way that I never thought was possible to love another person and I love him more today than I did when I married him 7 years ago. I never thought that would be possible either.

So it really is a happy anniversary.

I am on my way out of town and will be unable to blog while gone. So I want to acknowledge the little soul that would have probably already joined our family but was officially due on October 18th.

My heart hurts whenever I think about the fact that we will never meet.

And I miss you.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-86071889983902326142008-10-08T12:11:00.004-04:002008-10-08T12:27:48.663-04:00If you choose not to decide…So when I was growing up my brother used to be in LOVE with Rush. He still is as far as I know.

I hated them.

Hate

hate

hated them.

I can’t think when there is music on. Even to this day if I am doing anything requiring any thought the only music I can tolerate is instrumental only.

So I spent most of my youth trying to think AROUND some very loud music. He was into very loud music. (Rush was actually one of the more mellow bands he listened to.)

So I hated the music.

And so I hated Rush.

Now that I am older I can control the when and the volume – I like Rush.

They are skilled musicians and their lyrics are sublime.

sublime.

And so I asked my brother for some cd’s and he burned them for me and I occasionally sit around and listen to Geddy Lee and the gang.

That’s all. Sometimes I listen.

And today I was wondering what else I missed out on because it was presented poorly and how I can avoid that mistake for my kids.

And then I realized that I have no chance.

The way my brother listened to Rush as a teen has helped to shape who he is and what he values.

It made me not like Rush.

No real harm done. And it helped Michael a great deal.

balancing.

Always balancing.

Anyway I thought about Rush today because there are still a great number of people out there who have not yet decided who they will vote for in less than a month!

And I am hopeful that they will either support Obama or stay home.

But as Rush says:

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice

If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice

You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill

I will choose a path that’s clear

I will choose freewillonly mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-73206702712940253692008-10-07T13:24:00.003-04:002008-10-07T16:52:03.936-04:00PassionI am fairly good at a lot of things.

I can play a decent game of tennis, dance to the rhythm and carry a tune.

I play the drums, when I am near them.

As a child I tried piano, tap, ballet, gymnastics, softball, field hockey, soccer and played the flute in band.

My parents exposed me to a lot.

And I was never very passionate about anything.

Not really.

My brother has music in his veins. My sister-in-law has Yoga in her soul. My husband will be a Ford Mustang in his next life.

I am not sure what I am passionate about.

Not like that, not in a hobby kind of a way.

I’ve never encountered anything I wanted to do that I couldn’t do reasonably well, so I’ve never really been challenged.

And of the things I did, I never really felt the desire to be any better than mediocre…

Except writing.

I love to make up stories.

And I love to read what I have written to someone so they will enjoy the world or person I have created for a few moments.

But this is a passion I have no room for at the moment.

It is a passion that I cannot support.

So I am looking for a little passion.

Something small that will not consume me but will still help me with something to look forward to.

Can you help me out?

What’s your passion?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-55413973447906423302008-10-03T13:54:00.000-04:002008-10-03T13:58:26.318-04:00Good News!While not the train wreck I predicted I can still name two people who swung into the Obama camp last night because of Joe Biden. And one of them voted for Bush in both elections!!

Yipee!

Overall I thought the candidates did what they were supposed to. I did think that it was unfortunate that Palin never once had to answer a question with thought instead of a scripted and rehearsed response but she handled herself well…

But I was tickled by this and thought I would share.

Oh and I think Biden did a great job of following his orders which was to not look like he was picking on the poor hockey mom from Alaska while still calling her on some very key points.

Overall it was tragic only in its pure lack of tragedy.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-81542544240789472322008-10-02T14:36:00.003-04:002008-10-02T14:46:49.164-04:00Truly?

This site amused me. So here is the link.

I hope this evening’s debate proves to be just as fun as I anticipate it will be.

I am almost heady in my girlish excitement.

There is most likely going to be a train wreck tonight…

And here’s the thing that stops the giggle.

I truly feel that I would make a better choice for VP than this woman.

And I am truly saddened that she will be our benchmark going forward…

And I don’t have anything against her personally. But she is a piss poor choice for vice president. piss poor.

And she should have known better. And I know that there are all those people that say that if someone offers you the vp spot you don’t say no – but she should know how to say no. She believes in abstinence only for God’s sake.

And I am trying really hard not to turn this into a joke because I feel like McCain already did that and I find it so so sad that there are so many people who don’t get the joke.

Lots of women are out there right now feeling pretty good about our sex because of where she is.

I don’t. But I do feel like she is the best example of sexual equality we’ve seen in a long while. Except. Well. Can you be an example of sexual equality if you were selected because of your sex???

Is there such a thing as reverse sexism?

no.

there isn’t.

And I had a great deal of respect for McCain going into this. I did.

And he lost it all with his VP choice.

I cannot contemplate a world in which there is a president Sarah Palin.

I will not.

Please vote people.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-80336852523835778642008-09-26T11:01:00.002-04:002008-09-26T11:19:12.360-04:00Barak the VoteI am not sure how to start this post.

The Presidential address and all that is going on in Washington scares me. Terrifies me actually.

And I watched the president of the United States of America tell me that our economy is collapsing and that we have to do something RIGHT NOW to protect our country.

And I was scared. What he said frightened the hell out of me. I am still scared.

And I am pissed.

Because not once in his speech did he address the point that we should all be FURIOUS about. While this is a genuine emergency now – why didn’t we take steps to prevent it reaching this point?

Unlike 9/11 we saw this coming.

And I am not blaming this administration for creating this problem, because they didn’t. As far as I can tell, with my very limited understanding of the situation, this is a problem that started more then 30 years ago and became exacerbated by the de-regulations that Clinton allowed. But this is not about cause or blame.

This is about what we do next. I have my answer. It it lies here. I love this commercial. I watched it this morning and became even more certain in my vote in November.

I hope that our politicians will come to some sort of agreement that will not send us spiraling into a dark age. But more than that I hope that Obama wins in November.

Because I am afraid for our country in a way that I have never been before. And I am tired of being afraid. This administration has used our fears to justify a lot.

They told us that we had to go into Iraq to prevent another attack on our country. They told us that there were weapons there that were pointed at us.

They told us we had to approve the Patriot Act to protect our citizens after 911.

They have played on our fears and created a domestic policy that is built on those fears. And so I am questioning the president’s call for haste in this instance because I have seen what his calls for haste in the past have gotten us. I do not doubt there is a problem here – but I am cautious about the solution.

I am tired of acting from a place of fear. I am instead looking toward the future with hope for change.

This election is SO IMPORTANT.

So if you haven’t registered – please do so – NOW – and make sure your voice is heard.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-80105359217397905442008-09-22T15:30:00.002-04:002008-09-22T15:44:59.897-04:00Back in the saddleWeirdly enough while on vacation I dreamed (dreampt?) of horses. and riding.

I am a horse person. It is in my soul.

Unfortunately it is not in my budget. So for now I just dream. Good earthy dreams where I can smell the heat of the horse and the grass in the early morning…

I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising that I dreamed about this while on vacation. I was well and truly relaxed for the first time in, well, a long time.

We had a wonderful wonderful vacation down at the beach.

I was a kinder gentler mommy. The mommy I would like to be all the time but can’t because of – well – life. The kids had a blast playing with (and eating) the sand. They were happy to sink into the sand for a half and hour and only cried out when one or the other became the victim of a random act of sandness. (little boy likes to throw it as well as eat it).

We went to the beach, the pool, the park and the board walk and while I was not excited to be home I was not sad either. The vacation was nice and while it reminded me how much fun I am not having in my everyday life…it also made me appreciate what I do to make sure that I can enjoy the occasional week off to enjoy my family.

Truly I wish America was more like Europe in their vacation policies. I think a healthier work/life balance would make for more productive workers. I think if we had more vacation we would be able to better apply ourselves when we are at work.

Of course I am blowing a hole in my own theory by spending my first day back catching up on blogs and blogging. But I have hope for the rest of the week…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-14140741011079048372008-09-11T09:16:00.002-04:002008-09-11T09:28:37.367-04:00Shall I compare thee…I wave goodbye to my daughter from the side yard of her school. Her class room is sublevel so I am in fact waving down to her.

As I approached the window yesterday I began with:

“Juliet, where fore art thou Juliet

which was greeted with a charming blank stare.

“it’s from a play” I explained.

“Like Alladin?” was the response. (I recently took both kids to the local theater for a child’s production of Alladin, so…)

“Yep, just like Alladin.” I wonder how Shakespeare would feel about that?

As I turned to leave my little pixie said:

“mommy I love you so much I want to crawl inside your mouth!” *giggle*

Looking down at her with an indulgent smile I said

“sweetie, I appreciate the sentiment. And the lack of action.”

And cracked myself up.

I am still laughing actually.

I love being a mom.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-63128165777453613872008-09-10T11:08:00.002-04:002008-09-10T11:10:55.559-04:00funny video on politicsRegardless of party I think you will find this cute.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-35904726002112645082008-09-09T15:32:00.002-04:002008-09-09T15:55:49.010-04:00If you are not part of the solution…I am getting ready to go on vacation.

The one real vacation we had planned this year. I was so excited. We are renting a house in Delaware near the shore. The housing community has a pool, tennis courts and a shuttle to the beach and the outlets.

Turns out the husband decided not to request the time off and instead decided to be sneaky and “massage” his reports and not claim the time as official vacation. So they didn’t know we had these plans when they scheduled him to attend a show next Thursday. So he will need to leave our rented home three days before our vacation ends and fly to North Carolina.

And he will leave me with my two little ones and both sets of grandparents.

And he is currently in Atlanta and won’t be back until Thursday night at midnight.

Which means, once again, I have been left alone to do all the shopping, planning and packing.

BUT IT GETS BETTER

Because I am not alone. I have two (very adorable) toddlers to “help me” and no way to go anywhere significant because they must come with me.

And I am pet sitting one dog and two cats across the street. And our neighbors don’t have a fence. So the dog has to be walked on a leash three times a day. Did I mention I have two toddlers and no spouse at home? (and that their house is dark at night and I am a scaredy scaredy cat?)

And I am getting tired of the whole “single mom” lifestyle I am living lately.

I am thinking about taking a lover. Or applications for a second husband. Or even a wife.

Today I am feeling like gender equality is just a shitty illusion. It doesn’t matter what your title or your salary – you are still the mom, housekeeper and general do everything person. And you are the person everyone else expects to do all of these things.

Tomorrow I might feel better. Maybe.

But I am having a hard time lately with my life role. I am a stay at work mom. SAWM. I find comfort in the fact that there is an acronym for this because lately I feel like such the exception.

All of my female friends and all of my female neighbors are home most of the time. So they have play dates and get togethers and I can never be part of that. I will always be the odd one out. I will never get to fully be a part of that circle.

I am an exception.

And I take exception to that.

I am not sure what all that means. But it has to mean something. All this doing is wearing me down.

In other happier news…I volunteered to go read a book and teach my daughter’s class a song today.

My little doggies name is Rags

He eats so much that his tummy sags

His ears flip flop and his tail wig wags

and when he walks he zigs and zags…

I had such a great 1/2 hour of my day. Four is such a fun age! They all seem to be so far.

And in a few days I will be relaxing by the beach…seems wrong to be whining.

oh well. I’m doing it anyway.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-73542186746450431822008-08-28T12:58:00.005-04:002008-08-28T13:21:37.852-04:00I never promised you a Biden Post

Oh okay, so I did.

Here’s the clif’s notes version of my thoughts on the subject.

I have stated before that I feel that it is imperative that Obama surround himself with BTDT people. Experienced, intelligent people. People who don’t all think like he does but are as intelligent and THINKING as he seems to be.

And the good news is that Obama seems to feel that way too. I was rooting for Biden in the early days of the race for the dem ticket. Biden is a man who has walked the walk and knows the talk – even though he clearly doesn’t know when to NOT talk the talk. He does tend to say what he really thinks doesn’t he? And that’s why he won’t be president. Ironic that his comments about his now running mate effectively ruined his chances – isn’t it?

But I think Obama chose an excellent vice president. In fact of the pool he had to choose from I think he made the best choice. For his administration and for our nation. Biden will make a strong and excellent VP.

I am just not sure Obama selected a good running mate.

And let me say with no malice intended that most of America is not very…um…informed. They don’t understand what Biden is bringing to the candidacy. He is not a Washington star (except maybe in Washington), most people don’t know (or understand) what he has done and continues to do for our country. To most Americans he is just a senator from Delaware. And Delaware is a tiny, not really good for much, state.

And I am sure that the democrats are hoping that Biden will help them carry Pennsylvania since we are kissing cousins but I am not so sure their confidence is well placed.

Only time will tell.

I for one am more certain that this an administration that can make a difference if elected. I for one was worried that he chose a running mate with substance and not for flare. This is a vice presidential choice that is well made. Obama/Biden can make some real progress.

If they get elected.

And I for one am going to vote for them. Oh, me and the 18 million Hillary supporters. Or at least they better after the speeches that Bill and Hillary gave on the subject. If you only saw the excerpts you didn’t get the whole story. They were each very impressive.

Hillary’s speech was truly presidential and Bill proved that he can (and will) in fact fight the good fight with Obama despite what happened leading up to this point. They are true party supporters and it was fun to see.

If you’re into that kind of stuff.

Which I am.

Apparently.

Because Clif would be appalled at how long winded I was…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-32276566836926125792008-08-25T11:00:00.002-04:002008-08-25T11:06:48.668-04:00Happy Birthday GrandmamaIt is my grandmother’s birthday. She has been 100 years old (if you ask her) since I was old enough to ask and so I am pretty sure today she turns 126 or there abouts. Or 91ish in real life.

I was going to write a post about Biden and what I think his selection as Obama’s VP means but instead I will post the birthday letter I wrote to me grandma. Because she rocks and is amazing and wonderful and I am honored to have known her, let alone loved and been loved by her.

oh, and for purposes of this letter you should know (if you don’t already) that I am adopted.

Dear Mama Rita,

Daddy told me recently that when they first brought me home you didn’t think of me as your grandchild and said as much to daddy. He went on to say that he made it clear to you that if you couldn’t love me as much as you loved Michael then he wasn’t sure when you would see us again.

It made me cry. Not because I wondered how you could feel that way but because I know the ending of the story.

You quickly came around and you loved me. And as dad said, pretty soon he had to remind you that you had a grand son too, because you were so taken with me, and I with you.

The story surprised me only because I have never once doubted your love for me and I hope you can say the same for me.

Because I love you. And I have loved you always.

Happy Birthday Lady.

With Much Love from your granddaughter.

Me.

Take the time to honor those in your life with the words in your heart. She is old and won’t be here much longer (I hope for her sake) so I am taking every opportunity I can to make sure she knows how much I love her.

Have a great Rita’s 91st birthday day!

And don’t worry, I will chime in on Biden tomorrow…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-80855531943569598272008-08-19T11:50:00.007-04:002008-08-25T10:57:44.880-04:00Marriage in Real LifeI’m following along from Absolutely Bananas, which may be illegal (I don’t know the rules). But oh well, I am a rebel.

Hmmm. I have often told people that my husband is not perfect, but he is perfect for me. And I can honestly say that there is nothing that I would not tell my husband. And I can think of very little that he doesn’t already know about me.

We are each other’s secret keepers. He is the first person I think of when something exciting happens. He thinks that I am sexy, funny and smart and I think he is insane for thinking that but I go along with it because that’s my kind of insanity. And the truth is, I feel the same way about him.

He is my best friend. And he is a terrific person and father. And as much as I am enjoying raising kids with him I am always aware that he and I will be it some day and we have to make sure we don’t lose sight of that.

Together we make sacrifices for our kids and we put their happiness and health before our own but I don’t put them before us, if that makes any sense. They are these wonderful, amazing, awe-inspiring creatures that we marvel over together. Our love made that. They are the embodiment of Us. But someday they will leave. And it will just be us again.

So he leaves empty clothes hangers on the doorknob and he changes the atmosphere of a room when he walks into it (by turning on the fan, changing the tv channel or even adjusting the lights) but he is always there for me. And he knows me. Truly knows me. And he’s still here.

And one thing that is essential in our marriage: we are each other’s greatest cheerleaders.

I will root for him until I lose my voice if I have to. I will remind him about all of the wonderful things that make me love and respect him more every day. And I make sure to do this when he needs it most and when he doesn’t need it at all. And he does the same for me.

I do feel that many marriages fail when one person thinks they are somehow better than their partner. I do not feel superior. I do not feel inferior. We are partners in this together, each strong in our own way. And we bolster each other’s weaknesses and support our individual strengths.

Marriage is hard. It takes work, and compromise and COMMUNICATION. Communication is key. If you don’t keep the dialog open then you will be lost. We talk about everything and nothing and we talk several times a day. We learned early on that if you don’t talk about it that it will just become something between you, and nothing should ever be between you. Make the time and be brave. Talk about the things that you know might hurt their feelings but have to be said. But make sure you do it all with love. Words are powerful weapons and need to be treated as such. If you can’t talk, you will be lost…

Again, marriage can be hard. But for me, the alternatives were impossible to consider. I cannot imagine traveling through this world with anyone but him. He makes the colors brighter and the journey fun. Even as his temper flares and I am forced to watch the Speed channel for the 500th time – I am happy.

And that is my marriage in real life.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-5162013625209378362008-08-22T11:49:00.004-04:002008-08-22T12:01:36.185-04:00The “I was gonna post” postI was going to post here about how I was going to post today because most of the people who’s blogs I read regularly seem not to have posted today. So clearly everyone needs something fun to read and I was going to do my part for internetmanity, humanernet, humaninternity. (I wish I knew how to do that fun cross out trick right about now…)

But.

Then I thought about the fact that everyone who I regularly read hasn’t posted because they are on vacation or are busy doing something in (gasp) real life!

And.

Since they are the people who read my blog, they won’t be reading blogs either. So I don’t have to post.

So I am not going to bother.

(but I did anyway. see how I did that? Lately I am too damn crafty for my own good)

If you are “out there” reading, and you have had experience with an ectopic prenancy, I have a question. How long did it take you before your system was regular again?

I am about to go insane and should really own stock in ept by now…and it’s been 5 months for Chrissake!

Hope you are all enjoying your vacations.

Traitors.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-26476149127673889342008-08-21T16:21:00.005-04:002008-08-21T16:35:39.329-04:00Things to Avoid doing with your 4 year oldI should lead here with 1. spend time together. Based on the week I have been having with my daughter but I won’t. (but still I did – see how I fooled you?)

1. Don’t watch movies about orphanages (Annie) or Orphans (James and the Giant Peach). How do you explain the concept of an orphanage to a toddler. No matter what you say you end up here: “But where are their parents?”. I also include James and Giant Peach in this category because trying to explain that the insects were his family is tough!

2. Don’t have conversations about marriage and love. When my daughter talks about marriage now she leads with “one day I will find a boy or a girl that I love so much that I will want to spend my whole life with them”. While it is nice that she is paying attention I feel like I somehow brainwashed her??? oh well.

3. Don’t disagree with them. Lately I feel like I should just concede from the start to make it easy on both of us. She is so very sure about her opinions that I am sure that she somehow went from 3 to 16. oh and yes, I know that I am in trouble. BIG BIG trouble.

4. Don’t discuss morality and ethics. So far we have gotten to the concept that sometimes good people do bad things but that does not make them bad and sometimes bad people will do good things. And that when you steal because you need something for your very survival it is somehow not as bad as stealing something just because you want it. And then I am lost. And she is loster. And my husband is laughing his ass off.

5. Don’t lie to them. They remember everything and talk about leading by example. Just. don’t. do. it.

I’ll stop here basically because I have run out of venom (which is good) and time (which is bad). Are there any things that you have discovered don’t mix well with toddler?

Let me know so I can do my best to avoid them.

Oh and tomorrow I will try and post some things that are great to do with a four year old. The top of that list at the moment is sleep…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-66435433784466229972008-08-15T21:19:00.003-04:002008-08-15T21:32:03.984-04:00Two scenes in the life of a four year oldScene 1

Mom and two kiddos are driving home from school. The oldest, and the girl, has received a sweets bag from one of her teachers.

“mommy, can I have a candy when I get home?” says the girl.

“after dinner” says the mommy

“mommy sweets too?” asks the little boy.

“no, sweetie, this is your sister’s special treat and -”

“no mommy,”interrupts the girl “I’ll share with him. I want to share with him.” she says.

mommy sits in stunned silence in the front seat.

“because,” the little girl explains further, “if I don’t share with him, he won’t have any candy and he might be sad.”

mommy tears up and can’t say anything at all.

Scene 2

Later that day Mommy is putting her little girl to bed. Feeling especially loving she cuddles on to her little girl’s bed and kisses her gently on her forehead.

“mommy loves you very much.” she says kissing her again. “and I want you to know that I was very proud of you today”

“Why?” asks the little girl, snuggling in and enjoying the kisses and the cuddles.

“because you shared your special treat with your brother” mommy explains “That was a great big sister thing to do and I am very proud of you.”

The little girl smiles and kisses her mommy. They both enjoy a special cudddle moment. And then-

“so what does that mean that I get?” the little girl asks expectantly.

And the moment is gone.

“my most sincere congratulations.” mommy says with a light pat on her arm as she pulls away with a hidden smile and a shrug.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-91319803332067386042008-08-14T12:00:00.005-04:002008-08-14T12:14:56.570-04:00I’m backSo I feel like I have had many posts floating around in my head and absolutely no time to write them down.

Things have been hectic at work and the death toll here is at 3. Meaning I had to fire 3 people in the last two weeks. And it is a horrible thing to have to fire someone.

But it is better for the company and probably, in the long run, better for them… at least that’s what I tell myself.

And I have had other employee drama that I won’t even go into but makes me wish my firing gun were bomb instead of a rifle and I could just make a clean sweep…

But not really.

I had an occasion to sit down with my scrap books last night, thank you mothers and more, and got to relive my kids. From birth until, whenever I last stopped scrap booking. In my daughter;s case that was 1yr and in my son’s 1 month… Actually that sort of works in terms of the differences in their ages and all.

And during this process I got to read their birth stories. I wrote a one page description of the day (or in Maya’s case – days) of their birth.

It was a fun trip down memory lane. And I enjoyed every minute of it.

And it made me remember just how much I loved those infant months. Such a perfect little bundle of potential and love. So dependent and cuddly. I can remember the smell of each of them. Perfection.

Lately I have been leaning toward adopting an older child as the final resolution to our family circle. There are a number of reasons but the main ones are:

a) because not that many people adopt children older than infants

b) already potty trained

c) No frantic chasing around, pulling your hair out, post-ambulatory, pre-logic and reason stage.

But I got to tell you. I could do it. As much as there are so many reasons not to, I could so have another infant.

And when I looked at those little baby photos the money, and timing, and other incredibly realistic reasons just disappear. poof.

And I am back to wanting to take another roll on the genetic craps table.

Ready to risk explosion and hospitalization and the truly staggering hospital bills that come along with it.

All of that.

for that little person I created.

And I got to tell you as I watch my children get older and my daughter become this little individual I become even more convinced that we should have another baby.

Because, my husband and I, we do damn good work.

only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-50404895215649205612008-08-12T15:30:00.001-04:002008-08-12T15:32:56.320-04:00AAAARGGGGH!I am so frustrated right now!

I am not sure what is upsetting me more but unfortunately I have a lot of areas to choose from.

AAAARGH!

(and to top things off I am now a pirate)

I Promise to post more tomorrow but I needed to send this virtual scream out into the internet.

Can you hear it echoing?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-81047300620292571852008-08-06T09:16:00.003-04:002008-08-06T09:49:45.185-04:00Hold the Veggies PleaseThe name of my blog may seem misleading once you’ve finished reading this post. But maybe not.

I am not Christian. Nor am I Jewish. In fact I am not religious.

At all.

I describe myself as agnostic. I am exploring the world and the religions that exist within it to discover if there is one group of thoughts and ideas that match what I feel to be true. For me that means I am still asking the questions. Still trying to find my own personal answers.

I want this for my children. I want them to be good moral people. But I want it to be because they KNOW that it is the right thing to do. Not because some huge powerful force or writing in a book tells them to be that way.

I want to raise good humans. Good caretakers of the world and the beings on it. I want my children to understand how important love and respect are so that they will treat others well.

I also want to raise questioning beings. Children who do not always choose the easiest way and know that the best choices are usually the hardest choices to make.

So I will probably raise two evangelical Christian republicans. But until they make that choice (which is their choice to make) I am doing my best to make sure they understand what I want for them.

And so today I asked my daughter’s teacher not to show Veggie Tales in class.

Let me say that this was an awkward conversation. It is hard to know just how offended people will get when you tell them that you do not want your children watching shows or reading books with God in them.

But to their credit they handled it well. And apparently when my daughter was much younger I had a conversation with them about some religious book they had in the class room and so my daughter’s teacher said:

“Oh I know that about Maya”

and it made me feel that in my trying to make sure she is not labeled with one religion or the other, I am still labeling her. Oh well.

So my kids are the kids who can’t watch Veggie Tales.

And let me say that I don’t make decisions without knowledge. And so I did in fact watch Veggie Tales with my kids one day.

The main three veggies were working in a manufacturing plant and were being treated unfairly. They rebelled against the main guy in defense of one of their friends. (Good moral teaching – strength of character,etc so far I’m on board.)

Then the bad guy rounded them up and threw them all into a big melting pot in an effort to burn them alive. (what?!?!?!)

And then a great white light blasted out of the melting pot. The evil henchman sauntered over to see what that was all about and relayed to his boss that he saw a bright light and “another person” in their with them. And this person was all in white and shiny, etc etc.

(And they lost me.)

hmm. So these main characters weren’t able to save themselves but instead had a visit from a higher power in their magical melting pot and were saved?

So I explained to my daughter about Jesus and God and how some people believe…etc etc etc.

And these are discussions I am happy to have with my kids. But I want to have them. Because I am not sure how to answer questions about the man in white that saved the veggies that doesn’t make this mysterious person sound like any other mythical super hero. I am not sure how to impress upon them just how much more important Jesus is to some people than say, Spiderman is.

Because if you think about objectively. Jesus is a superhero – maybe the first ever. And he has some pretty great super powers, not the least of which is his ability to come back from the dead.

So I will work on my delivery and in the mean time, for the first time in their young lives, I am encouraging my children to stay away from the vegetables.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-35168163295037511822008-08-04T15:38:00.000-04:002008-08-04T15:39:48.709-04:00It is doneonly mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-64309843952647367732008-07-25T11:00:00.003-04:002008-07-25T17:15:31.789-04:00Why I hate Verizon or How I spent my ThursdayWhy I hate verizon

oh mere words can barely tell

the place that I would put them

’cause they’re too evil just for hell

Verizon saps the joy

from my tiny little life

and fills it up with lost connections

missed appointments and, well, strife

I hate the frustration

and the waiting

and the waiting

and the waiting

That’s all Verizon is to me

so I waited and I waited

But it wasn’t meant to be

No blazing net connection

no dazzling TV screen

Instead I am still waiting

for my promised FIOS dream

I am sad to say Verizon

does not care about my day

and tells me they can’t reschedule

until very far away

And while I hate verizon

There is one thing that’s for sure

much as I hate Verizon

I hate Comcast even moreonly mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-29937287514922409742008-07-17T10:12:00.003-04:002008-07-17T10:25:48.147-04:00Planes, trains and etc.

I am leaving on a jet plane. And I will not be back again until – well, Tuesday.

I will be loading my wee ones onto a plane today where we will meet their father in Florida.

I am a little nervous.

And the fact that my two year old was called into the principle’s office twice yesterday doesn’t help.

I have traveled with my kiddos alone before but one was a little bittle infant and somehow that seemed far easier.

Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll see.

Overall I am just relieved to be going. Vacation and I are long time, long trusted friends. I would love to have vacation as a job.

Not sure yet how that can work because they do in fact seem to cancel each other out but I am going to give it some serious thought.

While on vacation.

Did I mention that I am going away?

On vacation.

I will be with my folks who seem to have been busy this past week planning ways to make sure that I have the best vacation ever.

I love my parents. I love their house with it’s pool and hot tub. I love that they will wine and dine us and most importantly –

I love that they love to babysit!

I will be going with my mom, my cousin and my aunt to lunch and then to see Mama Mia. And later that day, or the next (isn’t vacation wonderful?) I will be going out on the town with my love. While Nona and Pop pop commune with the kiddies.

Yipee just doesn’t cover it but you get the point.

I think vacations are what life is actually all about. Those are the things you remember and what you draw on to get you through the monotony of everyday life.

I am happiest when I have that next vacation to look forward to – this even made my favorite things list – and the memories of a recent vacation can carry me happily through my regular life for a while.

So. I pity you your ordinary life as you sit and do what you do everyday. I was there yesterday and will be back there on Tuesday but for a few glorious days – I am going to be on holiday!

Peace out.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-89180222282719221902008-07-11T09:46:00.002-04:002008-07-11T12:14:23.701-04:00What’s in a name?I hate my name. I always have. It became apparent to me at a pretty early age that I do not look at all like what people expect when they hear my name.

I often heard:

“Oh, I thought you’d be blonde.”

Which I translated into:

“Oh. I thought you’d be cuter.”

So during college I tried to go by my middle name. Nicole.

I think, overall, that this is a name that better suits me. It is a stronger name. Less fluffy. I never got that slightly disappointed and confused look when I introduced myself as Nicole.

But it didn’t stick.

My mom tried. While I was home on break she would try to remember to call me Nicole.

My dad didn’t. Neither did my brother (but he was away at college too at this point and didn’t call me much of anything).

But to them – I WAS my name. Didn’t matter if it suited. It was who I was. How they thought of me. They didn’t think of my name as anything other than my name. Which is true of friends and family whenever I mention that I don’t like my name. They don’t get it. Because to them I am Tiffany. Not “a Tiffany”.

“A Tiffany” is not who I am, I have instead defined the name as myself. If that makes any sense to you – then congratulations.

But all of this name reflection gave me great pause as I sat forming a baby for nine months. This is a HUGE decision. And I have always played the name game. I love to name things. I love to give names to inanimate objects. My house is named Ashley, my car is name Mackenzie (but I just call her Mac), etc. One of the things I like most is choosing a name. Giving something a label that matches how I feel about it or what I think about it.

So you can see why naming a baby is such a monumental task.

What if the name didn’t suit the person the baby would one day become? What if I chose a name that was perfect for my toddler but a horrible name for a grown woman.

So this is what I did.

I started thinking about who I wanted my child to be.

I wanted her to be strong.

I wanted her to have a poet’s soul.

I wanted her to be empathetic.

I wanted her to be empowered to fight for what she believes in.

I wanted her to be passionate.

I wanted her to love life and take the time to enjoy it.

The list is long. Longer than I have written here. But once I had given some thought to what I wanted for my daughter, I thought about the women I knew that possessed some of those traits. And so I thought of the women I admired most.

And so my daughter is named Maya. For Maya Angelou.

And it turns out that this is a popular name right now. And it is not because of the poet. I’m not sure why it gained such popularity but it did. And Maya is one of 3 Maya’s in her daycare.

But she is the only one named for one of the greatest writers of our time.

Good name. Great connotation and connection.

And I am sure at some point, she will hate it.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-24156645610217538992008-07-10T15:45:00.002-04:002008-07-10T15:53:12.507-04:00Hey Ho HowdyAny one read Sandra Boyton – hmm I think I butchered her last name. oh well. Hey Ho Howdy is one of the dinosaurs from her book. He is a happy fellow with a guitar and he is always friendly.

This is just a quick note to say hello.

I am crazy busy at work the past few weeks so I have been limited in my blogging. And WHERE THE HELL DID JUNE GO?

I have been bad about reading blogs and worse at commenting. so…

How ya been?

I will think of something that is fun tonight and post tomorrow.

promise.

Quick Cute kid moment:

Me to my son: “we can’t do that tonight, sorry charlie”

my son to me – with as much indignation as a two year old can muster:

“not charlie mama – D!”

I laughed out loud before assuring him that it was just a saying.

And then I had to try and remember where the saying came from.

Do you know?

hint: something’s fishy about this question…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-41817185774425193662008-07-03T15:10:00.004-04:002008-07-03T15:47:14.460-04:00A few of my favorite things

When A tube pops. When A life stops. When I’m feeling sad. I simply remember a few of these things, and then I don’t feel so bad.

I am ignoring the obvious here. My daughter, my son, my husband, my extended family not because they do not matter but because they matter so much it seems silly to list them here.

The following are things that make me smile. Always, no matter what. It’s a fun list – you should try it.

1. A child’s laugh.

Any child. Any laugh.

2. A hanging swing or hammock.

I made a promise to myself that I would never walk by one without stopping and I have kept it. Sort of my version of stopping to smell the flowers.

3. A vast open field.

I cannot pass a huge field without dreaming of the ride I would take across it if I were on horse back.

4. The smell of baking cookies.

Yum.

5. Any song from Annie.

Almost any musical will do this but Annie is sure-fired.

6. A puppy, kitten or any other animal baby.

I like almost every animal in it’s baby form. Even lizards are cute when they are tiny.

7. Infants.

Love the sound, smell and sight of them. Always have, always will.

8. Old couples in love.

Even when I wasn’t one, I still thought this was such a sweet sweet sight. An elderly couple holding hands will evoke that same “aaaawwww” smile that infants do.

9. A picture of either of my kids as infants. (see 7 and quadruple it)

Okay I couldn’t help it. They are damn cute.

10. Nature.

Our planet is this amazing place and I see things every day that amaze and astound me. I am happiest with dirt under my nails and grass under my ass.

11. Vacation.

This includes the planning for and dreaming about stages as well. I am happiest when I know when our next vacation is so I know how long I have til the fun starts.

12. A great book.

A good book will do, but a great book? That can make my year.

13. Motown music.

My parents were huge motown fans (still are) and almost any song from that era will make me smile and groove. My kids will most likely be Motown fans too. Great stuff.

I’m sure there’s more but this is where I stop. To do one of my other favorite things – read blogs.

And so of course I challenge you to think about your favorite things. This was a fun list to write and I invite you to do the same.

Again, happy 4th!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-85857708344829358502008-07-03T08:29:00.003-04:002008-07-03T08:45:01.056-04:00911So I need to (and want to) say thanks to all of you who posted words of support and comfort to my last post. I am feeling better and thinking about the whole “blogging while depressed” thing and whether I should be put on restriction. It’s almost like a drunk call.

It’s a moment. And it passes. But not if you’ve placed it up on the net for all to see for the rest of days.

But it felt very nice to get the comments and calls. So thank you.

I was watching some very disturbing September 11th video this morning. And I was crying. Sitting at my desk in my office. Crying.

And it felt good.

Because this is something to cry about. And I knew that anyone who walked into my office and saw what I was watching would not only understand but they would feel the same way.

We all felt the same way.

We all remember where we were that day. We all remember how we heard and who we were with. We all felt similar things.

panic. concern. panic. loss. concern.

All of us. All Americans. All of America. And much of the world. Unified.

We all held our breaths hoping for the best and cried openly and without shame when we took that breath as the worst happened.

We all put out our flags of support. We all grieved the lost.

We honored the heroes and mourned the innocent. All of us. Together.

That is the America I am choosing to honor this July 4th.

That unified America. That great America.

Those few days where color did not matter, race did not matter, politics did not matter. Those few days where we showed each other that the dream that built this country can indeed come true.

The America that I hope we will one day be able to achieve without the loss of life and catastrophe.

So I wish you a Happy Birthday little country.

We are young and we are learning but we have so much potential.

I wish you all a safe and happy July 4th.

editor’s note: I in no way agree with those that say we needed 9/11 as a “wake up call” because that is such a ridiculous notion, there is no word sufficient to describe it. I am just commenting on the moments of unity that came from these very senseless acts of violence.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-4064371952658799682008-07-01T15:08:00.004-04:002008-07-01T15:29:05.546-04:00slippingI feel the balance shifting again.

You know that ever precarious balance between happiness and sadness. Comfort and…well, discomfort.

The weight is sliding toward me and I can feel the pressure.

It’s showing itself in lots of ways.

1. I am crankier with my kids.

I hate it when I am cranky with my kids.

2. I am unhappy with my friendship circle.

The fact that I don’t actually have one is what’s making me sad. To be exact.

3. I am thinking about my work to life balance and it is troubling.

Does anyone ever say – “oh I appear to be having too much fun living my life – I

should probably get to work?” I mean other than politicians. Sometimes. maybe.

Okay, no one ever says that.

4. My house is driving me insane.

We have a lot to do and it is so hard sometimes to do what I am always telling my

husband to do and focus instead on all that we have done since we moved in. Golly

aren’t I annoying? What am I a cheerleader?

5. The events of recent months are weighing on me.

For a while I felt like I was bothered by my ectopic pregnancy and subsequent loss

of baby and fallopian tube just because I thought I should be. Just because I

knew it should bother me. But it does. It legitimately bothers me.

And now that I am hormonally recovered – I annoy myself.

I have taken 2 pregnancy tests every month since this happened 3 months ago. I’m not sure if I am worried or hopeful.

This is a very painful game I am playing with myself.

Every time I get a gas pain I freak out that it is another ftube baby.

I sometimes think my body still thinks it is is 5 months pregnant.

I am tired.

All the time, tired.

And for today I am feeling a little like an escape is in order. But I get about 1/2 hour of every day to myself. That is when my husband puts the kids to bed and during that time I am making dinner.

Tough.

I am thinking I am in serious need of some me time.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-5861082090718789712008-06-27T10:36:00.001-04:002008-06-27T10:38:04.184-04:00Fun with Art – click to change colors – Enjoy!Just because I thought this was fun. Make a pretty picture!

Get the <a href=”http://www.widgetbox.com/widget/create-your-own-jackson-pollock”>Jackson Pollock by Miltos Manetas</a> widget and many other great free widgets at <a href=”http://www.widgetbox.com”>Widgetbox</a&gt;!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-30990147760929455762008-06-27T10:32:00.000-04:002008-06-27T10:34:42.143-04:00yesFun with Arts and (crafts?)only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-18053525739872973502008-06-25T10:10:00.002-04:002008-06-25T10:16:53.008-04:00It’s a diseaseI changed my blog again. (in case you can’t tell)

It’s an illness.

I rearrange the furniture in my house at least one room a month. I am trying to find the best fit, the best flow.

My husband gave up and accepted this long ago.

And recently he listened to an NP article that he feels helped him understand it a bit more.

He claims that it is one way for me to be artistic. It is my artistic expression coming out and that is one way I allow myself artistic freedom.

I like that so much better than it’s because I am a little neurotic and I grew up in a home that was ever changing. Literally changing.

We moved a lot.

My kids have known one home. They were both born there and in living in this home for six years I can claim with a degree of confidence that this is the longest I have ever lived in a home.

And I want to move.

So I move the furniture. And the room becomes new and different. And, I hope, more functional.

I would love to hear that I am not the only freak out there.

What are your odd behaviors and how do you explain them to yourself?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-63531643931748524062008-06-23T09:43:00.003-04:002008-06-23T10:26:28.397-04:00The Sibling DifferenceSo I am adding my comments to Mommy wants Vodka’s post here because it made me think. She was talking about her two (and a quarter) kids and how different they are.

My brother and I are very different.

Always have been.

My brother was homecoming king. He ran with the “rich and the famous” of our groups in our little town. He was a model. Cuter than a teenage boy should be and an even handsomer man.

He was in to heavy metal (still is). Played football. Liked to go out drinking. Messed around a lot with a lot of girls.

Basically my polar opposite.

I was into poetry. I was on the school literary magazine. I tried beer in 6th grade, didn’t like it and didn’t drink again until my senior year.

I had one boyfriend during high school and two best friends and a few ancillary friends but nothing close to the huge entourage that followed my brother.

And he has a temper. A quick and fast temper. He and my father had huge amazing storms of temper that collided and were awesome in the their power.

I was the peace keeper. I was the responsible one. I was the one that my parent’s trusted to do as they asked.

I was grounded once during high school and it was because of my brother. (feel free to comment here Mike) He wouldn’t return a rental movie and I was afraid my parents would be mad if it was late so he told me to take the car myself if I was so worried. He was laying on the couch with his girlfriend and wanted me gone. So my older cousin went with me and my permit and we returned the movie and came straight home.

Straight home into a shit storm. A shit storm so epic it traveled to Georgia from New Jersey and involved my aunts, uncles and my grandmother.

All over a rental movie.

Anyway my point is that we are as different as day and night but we still have the same experiences (different perspectives on them maybe, but the same) and we still have the same foundation. We have the same parents.

We are both a lot like both of our parents. Some of the good, some of the bad and some that is just ours.

And I hope that the same is true of my kids. I do think that birth order matters but I also think that children are born with personalities. They have a lot of what they will ultimately be right from the beginning.

And I love that my brother and I are who we are. And while I wish we were closer – and not just in physical distance – I am proud of who we both turned out to be.

Well I obviously turned out better but who’s comparing?

And I see the differences in my children. And I hope that they take only my strengths and that they turn into these wonderful terrific amazing people. But then I remember that they are born with it. They are already amazing and terrific people. And I am pretty sure that there isn’t much they can do to make me change my opinion.

Except maybe, become teenagers.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-9812857400367380812008-06-19T12:10:00.003-04:002008-06-19T12:20:36.113-04:00Nothing is freeI just got some very cute dresses and clothes for my daughter from my dad.

Nothing is free.

I just had to call him to tell him how cute I think they are.

And they are not my style.

mostly.

But you do what you have to.

The price of gifts from my father has always been the same.

Obscene amounts of gratitude.

No effusive noises of appreciation?

No gifts.

And don’t get me wrong. I am like this too. But I like to think I am not so much about the crazy ass kissing part of this as I am the basic manners of the thing.

You don’t have to tell me you liked what I did for you – you just have to say thank you.

And tonight I will have my daughter call pop pop to thank him for the clothes. Because that will make him happy.

But I will not make her lie.

And I will not make her tell him anything but thank you.

And this weekend I will most likely take a picture of her in my favorite piece and email it to him.

Because nothing free is free and this is a lesson I learned at a very early age.

From my father.

My father also taught me to meet someone in the eye when you are speaking to them, to cross my legs when sitting in a skirt, to always wear lipstick (this one I still don’t do) and that you always ALWAYS send a thank you note.

He also taught me a great deal about humor, and business and stopping to enjoy the music of life.

What did your father teach you?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-88145463554168523342008-06-18T15:55:00.007-04:002008-06-18T16:32:46.781-04:00white privilege

First let me say that I uploaded the wrong image and in so doing changed the title of my post.

My blog about Obama received some responses that I did not post here. Not because I edited or screened them but because some people chose to email me and I figure if they didn’t want the comment here – they didn’t want the comment here.

But let me tell you that I removed some of the quotes from my post. They are the quotation marks I usually put around the word “black” when I refer to Obama. And I removed them because many people take them the wrong way. As though I am trying to imply that he is posing as something he isn’t. I am not doing that. And I refuse to call him mulatto. Look it up and if you have ever used it to describe someone before – stop!

I am actually commenting on the fact that the “one drop rule” is still in effect here in the U.S. and Obama and those like him are still black – no matter what their true ethnic make up.

The girls in the picture are my niece and my daughter. They are both born of people of color. My niece is of a darker hue – but blonde. My daughter is olive skinned but brunette. My daughter has “good” hair. My niece has GREAT hair.

No one will ever guess that my daughter (and forget about my son, my genes didn’t even graze him) has black grandparents (no quotes there). She may go through life as I have – alternating between enjoying or suffering from white privilege. This is a relatively new phrase for me. Basically it means that I am a “black” person who can “pass” as a white person and as such can take advantage of the awesome set of amazing stuff that comes from that racial status.

It’s possible that my daughter will simply be “white”.

But she’s not.

Whoa.

What a tangle of race relations.

I have no interest in letting my daughter forget who and what she is. But I also won’t force her to integrate other people’s form of racism into her world. She has not asked me why her uncle and her grandfather are “brown” (that’s a quote from her) she just knows that they are.

No questions asked.

And color is amazing. Check out those little girls. They are cousins.

Color is amazing but has far less power than we tend to give it.

They are just two little girls.

Who love each other.

You can see that in the picture.

They don’t notice that one is darker in any way but fact. Someday I hope that is the case with everyone.

I am including a poem I wrote about my personal struggle with this – because I can.

Black Denial – 2004

I am not black.

I say it with a deep sigh that comes up from my soul and escapes on the wind of my breath.

I am not black.

I carry this secret with me

Even though it rings false on the bells of my heart.

I am not black.

To latinos I am them.

Angry and insistent voices tell me

I do indeed speak Spanish.

“Look” they say, “you are like me.”

“si?”

I am not Latina.

Many try to see themselves in me.

Others try harder to find the differences.

I am not black.

Made clear in the exclusions of my youth

that mocked my cries of racism.

I am not black.

Made clearer when refused admittance

based on my skin tone. High yellow what?

The only reverse of racism is acceptance.

I am not white.

Once I wished for the sun kiss that would make that statement unnecessary.

I am not white.

My grandmother’s grandfather bought his freedom in the fields of North Carolina.

My mother sat in the colored section despite her light skin of confusion.

I am not white.

I am so many things that no one but me will understand.

“What are you?” Is the frequent question.

I am what we all are.

I am a human being, spouse, worker, lover, singer, writer, child, sibling, friend.

I am wonderful, beautiful, magical.

I am so much more than a color.

I apologize for my own personal little civil rights movement but for some reason this has been in my mind lately. If you are interested, I would love to hear about how you are handling color and ethnic differences with your children.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-74013519198950746222008-06-16T10:29:00.002-04:002008-06-16T10:51:55.569-04:00Highs and LowsI may have mentioned this before.

My sister-in-law was bi-polar. Manic Depressive.

In other words she was pretty messed up.

She was sexually abused in her early years and when she confided in her parents, they did nothing. They even continued to talk to the “uncle” that did it.

Did I mention she was pretty messed up?

I shouldn’t cast judgments on my in-laws. I wasn’t there.

But I do it anyway because I know how I would have reacted and it is nothing like that.

I’m not sure if maybe they didn’t believe her – or what – but they didn’t even talk about it or get her counseling. My husband found out about it years later and by accident.

She was bi-polar and she was bi-sexual. She had relationships with women and men that looked like women. Or at least were so wimpy there was no way she was a threatened.

And she was brilliant. This amazing personality that floated up high and drug you along on a trail of power and fancy. She played with our dogs on the ground – throwing her whole person – all that she was – into that play.

And she was moody. She once decided that she didn’t like the way my husband was treating her (he was being too helpful and considerate) while on vacation with us at my parent’s house so she packed up her bags and checked in to a hotel. They didn’t speak again for several months.

But more than any of these other things she was my love’s big sister. She was his first playmate. She was the one that shared each Christmas memory and giggled with him under the covers.

And she is gone. I am sure you knew that by my use of the past tense but she is dead. Has been for almost seven years.

She took her life away from us a few months after my love and I were married. My wedding was the last time we ever saw her.

And I am so sad for her father – as he celebrated father’s day yesterday. And I am so sad for my children – who celebrate her birthday every year but will never get to meet her.

And I am so sad for my husband.

so sad.

A part of him died that day. A large part of his childhood and his innocence.

dead.

And I am so pissed at her for doing that to him.

And I smile as I type that because truly he was (and still is) the only one that seemed to understand why she ended her life.

And he misses her but doesn’t ever seem to be angry or have regrets – so what right do I have, really?

This week a friend of mine confided that she had tried to commit suicide five years ago. And I find that this knowledge does not in any way affect the way I feel about her or for her.

I am also so glad she failed.

And that made me think.

That I am not so sure that I am not glad that my Sister-in-law succeeded. I know that sounds weirdly phrased but that’s the best I can do, given the emotion.

I cannot imagine what my life would be like if she had survived her attempt. What her life would be like.

So it is not that I wish she had not taken her own life. It is that I wish she had never felt that need, that desire.

And she had tried and failed once before and was humiliated. SO in a way I am glad that her final attempt worked. That she succeeded.

Now her ashes sit in a closed in my in-laws house and her spirit is free.

Maybe she made the best choice she could. Given the circumstances.

Maybe.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-9816844552242434272008-06-10T09:49:00.004-04:002008-06-10T10:18:27.569-04:00Civil RightsSo. Long before the Obama Clinton race became so heated I was asked by a very intelligent man what I thought the effect of a “black” democratic nominee would have on our country.

He may have actually worded it in terms of if he becomes president but I think that his nomination by the party and his endorsement by so many people and states and super delegates is significant enough that I am now giving it some thought.

He prodded me when he originally asked the question but I hadn’t considered the answer and discovered that I refused to until I had reason. Maybe I am more hopeless than I thought but I didn’t even want to consider the changes until there was in fact a possibility for change. And part of my wondered what the hell he was talking about.

So here is what I think:

Racist white people probably won’t change because their national leader is half black. They will either comfort themselves with his half whiteness, wait patiently until the negro leaves office or the more extremists may conspire against him. Any direction they choose, will not matter. There will be no amazing uplifting of the identity of racist white America because of a black president.

That’s not where the change will happen.

I work with a 60 year old black woman. She reminds me a great deal of my grandmother at that age. She has a sharp sense of humor but she is a quiet unassuming woman.

I came in several times this spring asking her what she thought about “our boy”. Her initial reaction amazed me. She was 100% sure that there was no way a black man would get the nomination. She was not bitter or angry in her assertion – just confident. She was certain that there was no way a black man could win.

And she is not alone. Such is the way of much of black society.

I live in a town that is not particularly racist. I also live in a town that does not have much of a racial mix. That makes it easier I think. And I understand what Biden meant when he said that Barak Obama was well spoken and appealing to white culture. He is a very “white acting” black man. And please do not rail against me for the statement. I could have spent a great deal of time making it a prettier statement, a much less charged statement. I chose not to. Barak Obama fits in. To white culture. And it seems, to black culture. He knows the secret hand shakes and can gain entry.

And that is I think what will change the face of race relations in America. For centuries now the black mentality has been that of oppression. The civil rights movement stopped moving but the race divide widens in most cities everyday.

The bad section of almost every major metropolitan city is also a dark section. And yes we have black attorneys and doctors and teachers and anything else they choose to be. But true equality is still elusive.

I see hope for this when I see Barak Obama. I hope he will win the presidency. I would love for the face of America to not require sunscreen for a while. And I would love for our president to know what soul food is.

This is a man of our future. This is the face that young black men and women will look to to see where their bar has been set. A black president will mean that a black man can in fact do anything. Achieve any goal.

And I worry now that he has the nomination that his defeat by an old old white man might mean that folks will assume that that is what happens to the black man.

But this is huge! And I hope we can hold on to the import of just this moment. This accomplishment.

And retain the hope.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-43903604385276063262008-06-09T21:54:00.003-04:002008-06-09T22:04:23.931-04:00What I learned today…1. I don’t know how to read a pregnancy test

2. I am not pregnant

3. I wouldn’t be upset if I was pregnant

4. I would definitely like to have a third child (today anyway)

5. My husband is not ready

and

6. He may never be

Hmmmm. That’s a lot for one day.

I’m going to bed.

With my husband. After kissing my little ones good night.

It was a good day.

And next time, I will read the package – BEFORE I pee on the stick…

My love asked my why I am so sure that I want a third child now, after the miscarriage, when I was not so sure before we got pregnant.

I had to think about it and I think that miscarrying before you have an infant is very different than when you have other children. I am not saying one is harder than the other – I have no idea and I don’t think in my heart that is true – just different.

I know what I lost. I know the love I feel for my children and for one day my heart stretched to accomodate that next little princess or practically perfect little boy. And now I have stretch marks and a little empty space that wasn’t there before.

My life feels a little empty. Just a tiny spot of empty.

But infants are tiny.

And they are the entire world.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-14074263170779814702008-06-06T08:54:00.003-04:002008-06-06T09:12:48.518-04:00Making the CutMy daughter was looking at my son as I changed his diaper last night and said. “His penis looks just like daddy’s”

I find it amusing because I am sure her father would not take the comparison well. tee hee. But also because my son is uncircumcised. And many people tell me that they chose to circumcise their son so that he would look like his dad.

penis. testicles.

Apparently for the moment that is the only measure of sameness that my daughter needs.

We’ll see if this becomes an issue later. For him I mean. She can stop looking at penises. Forever. Or at least until she is um, thirty.

I am kind of a brat about this as a topic. If someone asks me why I didn’t circumcise my son I usually say “for the same reason I didn’t circumcise my daughter”

Another good question I get is if I thought about how he will feel about it when he gets older. “If he would like to get circumcised when he gets older – he can make that decision.” There is inevitably a wince in reaction to this statement. And sometimes it is followed up with – “but it will hurt when he is older” to which I respond – “it will hurt now too.”

And then there is my all time favorite one:

“Aren’t you worried about the cleanliness?”

To which I become the most smart assish (word?).

“hmm, closed warm folds of skin, does that sound like anything else you know of? I didn’t circumcise my daughter for it, I won’t circumcise my son because of it either.”

And then I usually step off my soap box and get friendly again. I am not sure why but this is one of those things that ticks me off. And don’t get me wrong because I don’t ever question someone else’s decision to do what they do (to their faces) and I certainly don’t feel like the penis of any other child is truly my business. So I am always so interested when people question me about my decision.

And I was shocked by how “standard” the practice still is. We had to take several steps while at the hospital to make sure that everyone knew not to do this. We also had to answer more than two calls from the insurance company while they tried to figure out why the procedure wasn’t on the bill. And this is with a doctor who, it turned out I found out at the delivery, agreed with us about our decision. I can’t imagine having to deal with someone who didn’t.

On this same topic – I am legitimately having problems with keeping the little girl healthy down there. She often suffers from that “not so fresh feeling” and it usually stings her to use soap which greatly compounds the problem. Does anyone have any suggestions? Do you think a four year old is too young for a twice daily “whore’s bath”?*

(* this is washing crotch and arm pits at the sink for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about.)only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-88380842953113850092008-06-04T08:27:00.003-04:002008-06-04T08:44:38.496-04:00The power of twoFirst let me say sorry. Such language I used in my last post.

Such language! My mother raised me better than that.

But I was a little pissed off.

So sorry. For the language. Not the sentiment.

And I also want to take a moment to offer up huge amounts of hoorays and go girls to Aunt Becky who recently announced her pregnancy after two recent miscarriages.

As I said on her blog recently I wish her Gorilla glue strength stickiness in this pregnancy.

So back to me.

I am home with my boy who has strept throat. I am not sure I spelled that correctly – oh well. We were home together yesterday too. Yesterday he was wet noodlish and ever so endearing.

Today he woke up well rested and back to his old self. So today I kept his sister home too. Because she will keep him busy (that’s the theory), and because yesterday she was down right devastated to be left at school “alone”, and because he is no longer contagious.

But mostly to try and keep him busy. Because I am swamped at work. And in my delusional world of happy dreaming having her here will mean I can work on my presentation due tomorrow.

But I can’t blog in peace so my hopes are fading.

I have been sheilding my keyboard from four sets of fingers for the past few minutes.

sigh.

We’ll see how the day progresses.

Wish me luck.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-21584302920839862832008-05-30T13:49:00.003-04:002008-05-30T14:02:54.736-04:00Verbal VomitSo let me first say that if you work with me or for me you should not read this post.

No, really.

Just walk away.

Okay, now that they’re gone, let me begin spewing.

I am so fing frustrated right now that I could spit.

I cannot seem to get ahead and no matter what I do or how I do it my boss seems incapable of not sticking her nose in.

I recently described her as a dog marking her territory by pissing on everything I do. She has never once, (six years here) handed me anything I worked on and said – “that’s great as is”. And you might point at me here. You might. But you shouldn’t. I am not the problem.

Two moments of wonderment this week:

“Okay, well why don’t you start the article and then we’ll send it to (her friend) to make it pretty.”

um.

okay.

Because I was not a fucking literature major with a minor in creative writing!!!

Because clearly my writing skills are sub par. Because I am apparently not capable of stringing more than two fucking sentences together without her assistance!!!!

Okay.

And then as the ultimate insult. She held a “grammar seminar” last week. A grammar fucking seminar. For adults. Working adults. Adults who work for her and have better things to do with their time!

Okay so here we are at her grammar seminar and she has worked up tests and examples and every single example of a poorly written sentence? Mine!

Now you need to understand that I write 98.9% of every piece of anything that our company produces. Everything we do starts at my desk.

Obviously my writing samples are easy to use. But why didn’t she just make examples up?

Why actually use my writing as an example to the entire company of poor writing to the entire company?

It’s demeaning. And it’s disrespectful. And I know that she did not mean it to be.

But it was. And it is.

I am not sure what to do with all this crap that is building up about my job.

Overall, this is a pretty good gig. She is a great person. And she understands (and supports) my family structure. I also take a great deal of pride in what I have done and continue to do for this company.

But Jesus Fucking Christ. Something has got to change.

And soon.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-63451661228978773342008-05-27T07:26:00.003-04:002008-05-27T15:15:25.174-04:00The Tattoo Story – Finally

So there it is in all it’s glory. It has settled down some since then and is no longer shiny.

I will go an get it colored in sometime next month.

I think it is a beautiful thing. And I do not think I will ever get another tattoo. My previous statement holds. I see no reason to seek out pain.

ordinarily.

But this felt right and good and calming. I chose my flowers with great care. These are rare and beautiful flowers, they are a flash of beauty in an other wise dusty and bleak world. They are rare and exotic. I was unable to find an example of this tattoo online.

So I arrived at the parlor with lots of pictures and my story. I introduced myself to the lady I had chosen based on her portfolio online. Her name is Ana and she had a picture of herself with her horse in her gallery.

When I walked in I told her what I wanted and took out my photos. She was immediately excited. Turns out that the “night blooming cereus” is her favorite flower and she has a plant in her house in Hawaii.

Then I told her why I wanted the tattoo. Turns out she also had an ectopic pregnancy that resulted in emergency surgery.

As she said – you won’t hear that from a male tattoo artist. It was fated really.

“I’ll draw up your photo and while you’re under the needle we can swap OR stories.”

And that is exactly what we did. and while she inked me she kept exclaiming about how great she thought it was looking. She also used her “sacred heart” needle because it was a love tatoo. And it was a little more than I expected and it was totally right for what it was. I sat under the needle for two and a half hours.

This was what I needed. When I needed it.

And I have this forever memorial. And it is also a celebration. And that is how all memorials should be.

I had some bad moments this weekend. I was walking along with my husband and the kids were running ahead. Out of nowhere came this thought:

“You know I would be 5 months now and I would be showing.”

He looked at me from behind his glasses and hummed a little “hmmm”. Not sure what to say to that.

I looked away too, because I wasn’t sure what was supposed to come next either.

And then a few weeks ago I hung out with a woman who has the same due date as I did. (I have to wonder why they told me my due date when they knew I wasn’t going to make it…)

When she said the date it didn’t just affect me. It attacked me like a man hidden behind a corner just waiting for me to come his way. I was caught so off guard by this that I had to go to the restroom to cry. Sob actually.

And I couldn’t go near that woman again. Looking at her physically hurt me.

I had to leave the restaurant.

So. I am healing. The scars have stopped itching, the tattoo no longer hurts and the laughter has returned.

But I am still healing.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-25803462068271423792008-05-26T19:26:00.015-04:002008-05-26T19:42:31.141-04:00A Picture Post

Let me say from the start that we had a great time. A really wonderful I love my family kind of weekend.

We did a lot of playing in the dirt…

We had some good times…

And some mad times…

Some just too cute times…

And we saw some wild horses… Isn’t he just beautiful!?!

And then, we were ready to be home.

only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-49582423890676536972008-05-23T08:41:00.004-04:002008-05-23T08:55:42.724-04:00A Camping we will go…

Howdy Pardners!

We are heading off to a western themed camp park for the holiday weekend. I have been teaching the kids that whenever they see a cow boy this weekend they need to say “Yee Haw!”.

I am a little torn about this camping trip.

When I was younger and childless I used to go camping. Camping.

Roughing it in the woods where you used the honor system to leave your $5 a night in the state camp ground drop box and you had a porta potty – maybe a real bathroom somewhere close.

I really liked that kind of camping. I would fish and hike the woods or just relax and read a book by the tent.

But I gotta tell you, I really like this other kind of camping too. Because my kids LOVE it. They loved the fact that they slept in a bus. They adore the water park like kiddie pool. It’s like a Disney Land camp ground.

And I feel like this is what is the better choice for all of us right now. And maybe I am wrong. Because I am positive that they would be fine digging in the dirt and going exploring. But this other option – this tent in a theme park. That works well too.

So we will say Yee haw to the cowboys (and cowgirls), swim in the pool, hang out on the beach, go miniature golfing, fish off the dock and generally have a blast.

And maybe next time we will choose a state park and just enjoy the world as it was created.

Or maybe next time we will do Disney Land.

So many vacations. So little time.

I hope you have a great weekend, whatever your plans.

Adios Buckaroo.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-84550278480150669102008-05-20T13:19:00.006-04:002008-05-20T13:54:54.353-04:00I couldn’t get back to work fast enough…

I was at a meeting last night for our daycare’s parent group and one of the mom’s made the above statement.

I was struck by two things.

1.She clearly has no guilt associated with that statement

2.I feel the same way

So the fact that I always feel that I should follow up any declarations of the above sentiment with the sentence “don’t get me wrong I love my children” clearly illustrates that I am not yet guilt free about 1.

And the fact is that I do love my kids. Both of them. Dearly.

And the fact is that it is better for both of them that I work. I am not a stay at home mom sort.

My husband got a promotion and a raise. It made me think “Maybe I could stay home now” but you know, I could have stayed home before. If I had really wanted to. I didn’t then, I don’t now.

Because that’s not the relationship I want with my family. And while I do miss some extra special moments with my kids I also make some extra special moments with my kids whenever I do have the time to spend with them. And that time is special. Extra special even.

And I would never say that my choice is the best option for all women everywhere. And I have always believed that the only real mommy war was the one we seem to fight with ourselves. Every family is different. Every child is different. Every woman is different.

And sure, I sometimes wonder about what my kids are missing out on. I wonder what sort of charmed childhood I am depriving them of.

I wonder how moms who stay home to raise their kids look at me.

And I wonder how long it would have taken me to require medication if I had chosen to stay home myself.

Again. Loving my life, my accomplishments and my choices.

But always questioning.

I am a true Agnostic. Apparently, in every aspect of my life.

Questions are good. And finding out that I am comfortable with the answer already – even better.

Here’s hoping you are enjoying brief moments of contentment in your life.

If you would like to share your thoughts about why your family has chosen the life path you are currently on, I would love to hear them.

Ooh and big thanks to memegrl for finding a non denominational malaria campaign. Apparently I was not looking hard enough. Check it out Malaria No More. And try to look past the American Idol spin…;)only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-6937680055147042952008-05-19T15:29:00.003-04:002008-05-19T15:37:59.046-04:00Cleansing PainFirst let me say that I got the bill for my “emergency surgery”. drum roll please….. The total? This little event of gynecological wonder cost my insurance company over $42,000.00. My love and I will shoulder a not insignificant part of that burden ourselves.

$42,0000.00!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! To NOT have a baby.

Wow.

So I thought about that this weekend when I went to pick up my Rx for birth control and was told that it was $51. $51!?!?! With insurance??

But then I thought about the alternatives to birth control (birth and ectopic pregnancy) I have explored and they are both a whole lot more money.

And the up side is I will probably have a pretty good deduction on taxes for 2008.

Anyway.

This post is about my tattoo. And about the fact that I laughed out loud this weekend. For the first time in – well I can’t remember when.

I was relieved when the weeping stopped. Very relieved. But I cannot tell you how relieved I am that the laughing has started again…

I will be getting the color on my tattoo next weekend.

I may wait until then to post a picture but I will tell you that it is bigger than you expect it to be and prettier than I expected it to be…

Oh and it hurt.

More to follow.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-34808282021978207002008-05-14T12:39:00.002-04:002008-05-14T12:54:09.318-04:00Practically Perfect

So I got a legitimate chance to use this photo of the boy this time.

This post IS about him.

He had his evaluation by the state last night. (for those of you following along at home this is just THREE weeks from his original diagnosis of oral motor dysfunction by his pediatrician. Not bad for a state run agency.)

Three very nice ladies piled onto the floor of my family room and played and talked to him for about an hour. They also watched him eat a snack and drink from a big boy cup. He was in heaven in the center of attention and enjoyed every moment of his new found fame. He was also incredibly good when play time was deemed over and he was asked to go upstairs with his dad for a bath.

Here’s the good news. He is bright, social and fun. He seems to understand and assimilate more information and concepts than is normal for a boy his age. They legitimately enjoyed playing with him and thought his summer Mohawk was adorable.

He scored at age or above age in 3 of the 4 major categories for evaluation. But his doctor was right. He does have oral motor dysfunction.

He flunked expressive speech. He scored above his age by two months in comprehensive language which they said is even more problematic because a kid that so clearly understands all that he understands is going to be even more frustrated by his inability to communicate.

So. He will have a speech therapist once a week for an hour. Here’s hoping this helps the little boy begin to use his mouth to form words we can all understand. He is brilliant, I am sure he has wonderful things to say. I can’t wait to hear them.

In other news he was also diagnosed with poor or lacking muscle tone which means that his muscles and joints are very loose. This is what is causing the majority of his problem and effects his entire body. The things they noticed about him to determine this were fascinating and made me wonder why I hadn’t noticed any of that before.

The short answer is, again, he’s very bright. He has consciously and unconsciously established “work arounds”. He is already learning to work with the body he has and compensate for his lack of muscle tone. This is the body formula he will have always. He is not going to work out and suddenly have better muscle tone. This is his biological make up. But it only means that he will have to work a little harder to make his body work the way it should and should only have a large effect on his early development.

Fascinating stuff.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-13672079796698908622008-05-11T20:36:00.005-04:002008-05-11T20:58:36.876-04:00Happy Mother’s Day to me…

This is my boy. He has very little (okay nothing) to do with this post but I LOVE THIS PICTURE~

So I thought I would share it.

I had the absolutely most fabulous day with my daughter on Saturday.

I woke up yesterday feeling silly.

giddy I love life silly.

And my love took D to a picnic with his card geeks so it was just me and my girl.

She was feeling silly too. Ya know how when they wake up you can tell that it’s going to be a bad morning? Well she was just as happy as I was. And for the very first time that I can remember our two very fabulous moods coincided.

She had a birthday party at noon at a Stables (how cool is that? A PONY party! I am totally stealing this idea). So at 10 am I decided we’d head toward Borders and get a present, get a snack and then meander toward the party.

As I asked Maya for the third time to please get up into her car seat so I could put her straps on I realized that there was absolutely no reason for me to be so up tight. We had plenty of time. So whatever that thing is that keeps me moving at warp speed all week? I switched it off.

Seriously.

I just decided that there was no reason to be in such a hurry. We had plenty of time and we might as well have fun.

So that is what we did.

We picked out a present, bought a book for D and then headed over to the cafe where I let her pick out a chocolate donut even though I knew she would be having cake in less than an hour.

While at Borders she asked me what a column was. (Because I had told her the trash was right next to it.) So I stood up and walked over to the column and said.

“this is a column. And there is the trash can.”

And the simple act made me very aware of the fact that I rarely have time to fully answer her questions. Any other day I simply would have pointed to it. But this day I stood up and explained that columns usually hold something up and that there are a lot of them in Greece.

She was so pleased with this silly giddy mommy that she forgot that lately she has been giving mom a hard time.

Instead she held my hand as we ran through Rose Tree Park, and played with me while we made up definitions for the pretend words she kept using while we tried to make rhyming words.

And then we went to a pony party. And I taught her to always walk around the front of a horse and I told her what each kind of horse was that she saw. And while she may have no idea what the difference is between an Apaloosa and a Paint they are now words in her lexicon. And she had fun listening to me talk about horses because I had fun talking about them.

And I made a new friend in the mother of one of her classmates. Again, I was just feeling GOOD and so it was easy to talk to her.

And so I had a great afternoon and that lead up to my evening in the city with my husband while I tried to get my tattoo. And that is another story.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-44724471044516286462008-05-09T13:20:00.004-04:002008-05-09T13:31:31.709-04:00Impressionistic Art

I know I said I wouldn’t talk about this anymore (and I have been good to my word – right?)

But I found the flower that I want as a tattoo. It is a desert orchid. Rare and beautiful.

I will be getting two of these beauties and one bud tattooed on my right shoulder THIS SATURDAY!

I have to say that I am very nervous. I hate pain. But at the same time, I am relieved. I feel like this will be a cleansing and a closing of this book.

I am honoring my babies. Both of my flowering beauties and the one that never got the chance.

I’ll be sure to post pics.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-12284991780077467092008-05-08T09:38:00.003-04:002008-05-08T13:35:20.640-04:00Excuse me, hands off my cervixI was reading this story about gynecologists.

It made me think of the one time I went to the gynecologist (his name has been changed to protect his privacy) and he said, and I quote:

Dr. Strange: “You have a perfect cervix”

me: “um.”

Dr. Strange: “no really, it;s like text book perfect.”

me: “um. thanks?”

Dr. Strange: “Nurse Nunya business, come in here and look at this! She has a perfect uterus”

Nurse Nunya: “um”

me: closing my legs and looking terribly uncomfortable. “um, I have to go.”

And I never returned again.

Have you ever had a weird gyno story? I seem to have a few.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-7392990845702845872008-05-07T07:17:00.002-04:002008-05-07T07:25:30.612-04:00No, I didn’t really mean itI feel as though I need to clarify my post of yesterday.

I did not really ever think that I would ACTUALLY leave my daughter on the side of the road.

The very thought of this stops my heart.

I was just exaggerating. Much like when one says they are starving when what they mean is that they are very hungry. They are not actually starving.

And I would never actually consider leaving my daughter anywhere, much less on the side of a road.

I add this point of clarification because my husband was decidedly disturbed by my post and I think he was trying to figure out ways to never leave me alone with our daughter in the car.

I assure you (and him), she’s safe with me.

She may be annoying and manipulative at times, but she’s mine.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-83090977292305371852008-04-29T09:46:00.005-04:002008-05-06T13:58:34.840-04:00Son of EclipseI was waiting next to a Mitsubishi Eclipse while on my way to work today. I was alone in the car (a very rare event indeed). And I had a moment to think (also rare).

The boy I fell in love with had a cherry red eclipse when I met him. He called it his girlfriend. He loved that car. (I know I have written about this before, bear with me).

When we first moved in together I knew we were making progress because he let me drive her. I didn’t like that car. Not because I was jealous but because it was small and uncomfortable and he drove it like an ass. He wanted me to drive her, he wanted me to like her. I didn’t want to.

About two weeks after we moved in together I parked said car in the garage and managed to scratch the entire driver’s side from fender to fender. The fact that we are still together is testament to just how much he already loved me. He barely said one bad word. I was beating myself up sufficiently. The fact that I knew how much that car meant to him was enough.

The boy I fell in love with was a lean, one pack a day smoker with a snazzy red sports car. He liked to drink, party and had tattoos. He was a lot of things I didn’t want in a life mate. But I loved him anyway! Total, forever kind of love.

Fast forward 6 years. He’s not so lean. He stopped smoking on Christmas eve the year we started dating and never picked up another cigarette. And the snazzy red sports car was traded in for a boat of a sedan that he needed for work.

He is a man. My man to be exact. And he is still a lot of things I was not looking for in a man, which only proves that I was looking for some of the wrong things.

This man is an excellent provider, supporter, lover, father and most importantly – friend.

And two years ago we replaced his snazzy red sports car with a shiny black Mustang. A very loud Mustang. And he drives it like an ass.

I love that car. Even though, if I had my way, I would never drive it. I love it because he loves it.

This is the man that I married. He has more tattoos now, has proven that he was born to be a father and loves me better than I could have ever imagined was possible.

I couldn’t have chosen better if I had known what to look for.

He turned 33 this Sunday.

I got him an ipod nano (black, to match his car).only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-65230823137680214292008-05-06T09:20:00.002-04:002008-05-06T09:29:50.240-04:00Will I be punished?I am afraid I thought about leaving my daughter on the side of the road this morning.

I was going to go back for her.

Eventually.

Does that count?

She was screaming. SCREAMING. For 10 minutes straight.

All

because

she

didn’t

want

to

sit

in

her

brother’s

seat.

It’s her fault that they even switch seats now. She started this terrible terrible idea by climbing in to his seat weeks ago and strapping herself in. (With a wicked grin on her face, I might add.) So now, if he is listening better and gets into the car first, he usually steals her seat. Too bad.

Of course she was not at all interested in the logic of my explanation.

This on top of the events on the way home last night (pulling over so she can pee in the grass) made me think that the girl needs a little bit of a wake up call.

So. Needless to say (I hope) I did not leave her on the side of the road. But I also sure as hell didn’t stop and let her switch seats.

I also had a talk with my love last night about how he spoils her. He has been “helping” her with her dinner by spoon feeding her when she gets too tired or bored to feed herself.

He doesn’t do this for our 2 year old (who actually needs help). And, (he agreed) it needs to stop.

Anyway. She made it safely to school.

And I am mostly calmed down.

mostly.

But if you live near me you may want to keep an eye out for an adorable four year old on route one this evening during rush hour.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-64045660774222939782008-04-28T15:41:00.002-04:002008-04-28T15:49:20.117-04:00Early InterventionSo my boy has been diagnosed with Oral Motor Dysfunction. Basically means he is not using his mouth properly. And in his case the biggest problem is with his speech. Which is great because this is more commonly diagnosed along with failure to thrive. But the linebacker does not have any issues with thriving.

I just talked to his intake person who will assign his case to a case worker who will then contact me for an inhome visit where we will set up the next visit that will be his evaluation.

I have to admit that I am a little weirded out.

I KNOW that this is a good thing. D is very frustrated by his inability to communicate and while I think he would most likely work through this on his own, I also wonder why I would make him do that if he can get help.

And then there’s the identification of special needs. And please please please don’t attack me on this. I just worry that early intervention might pigeon hole him somewhere that I don’t want him to be.

Either way I am excited to learn what they can offer a two year old in terms of helping him control his mouth for eating and speaking. And he’s so eager to be talking that I am sure he will appreciate the help.

Parenting is such a wonder.

Like I wonder what the hell I am doing…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-17865977590751060702008-04-25T09:04:00.004-04:002008-04-25T10:10:29.385-04:00Vengence is MineI have been thinking about the past. Thanks to mommy wants vodka. You should read her post. Truly terrifying (and hilarious) stuff. And don’t judge me too much by my comment there. They were desperate times.

Normally, I am truly a go with the flow kind of gal. But I did have a brief moment of complete insanity.

It involved a boy. My philosophy statement about him has been that “he felt as though the world owed him something and he was determined to collect through me.”

A fairly repulsive human being actually.

I was with him off and on for over two years. And while I look back at that time and shudder I also know that I would not be where I am and who I am without that experience.

“That which does not kill us…” and all that.

But truly. Being with him made me stand up and realize that I was worth a whole lot more than what he had to offer. And being with him made me understand that being alone was truly not a bad or scary thing. He did in fact help me become who I am today, to a certain degree.

And maybe I would have gotten here on my own. But I don’t think I would change a thing because my freedom proclamation coincided nicely with the time I met my love. And when I truly wasn’t looking I found my soul mate. My best friend.

So I thank the asshole. For inadvertently helping me find happiness. And I thank the bitch who called our apartment at three in the morning just to make sure I KNEW for sure that he was cheating on me.

Thank you.

And I hope you burn in hell for all eternity. Or alternatively, I hope you are still together. Same thing.

In other news it is my love’s birthday this weekend. I am happy to say that I have no idea what to get him. I might just let him read this post…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-91806136687707665832008-04-23T10:59:00.002-04:002008-04-23T11:07:56.971-04:00DivisionI am so frustrated!

Let me say first that I was enjoying this whole “close” election thing. Until today.

Now I am done.

What gives?

How much longer can this go on before we completely clinch the Republican for the election in November?

McCain can just slide on in.

The pack has turned in on itself and any “old” rival can take over.

I hope that the decision is made soon because I know the nation is getting weary.

And I love Hillary Clinton. And I think that she would make an excellent president. But I do not think she stands a snow ball’s chance against McCain.

She needs to do what George H. should have done when “W” was conceived and PULL OUT.

There I said it. She needs to withdraw.

And it is not because she is a woman, it is because she cannot beat McCain. And that may be because she is a woman and while that sucks BIG TIME it is also the truth. She needs to accept the facts. We all do.

So I say , “please stand down Mrs. Clinton.” Our country needs strong leaders who are willing to sacrifice to the greater good. Be that leader.

Obama is the best bet we have in November.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-36337086891478310222008-04-16T11:33:00.002-04:002008-04-16T11:46:52.424-04:00Now I’m where I want to be and who I want to be…That is a line from a song from the musical Chess in case you were wonderin’.

One of the blogs I was reading asked about your life goals and whether you are doing what you planned.

I also watched part of the last lecture yesterday.

Seems like time to evaluate my life and answer the question.

Am I doing what I want? Am I accomplishing what I set out to accomplish.

The easy answer is yes.

The only thing I have ever been sure of is the fact that I wanted to be a mommy.

And I am a mommy.

The fact that I am a full time working mommy does not detract from my goal. I never set such strict regulations for my dream.

And it’s a good thing. If my goal had been to stay home with my kids, I am convinced I would not be as happy as I am now.

My mom stayed home. She enjoyed it.

I wasn’t opposed to the idea but this brings me to another thing about me that I was always sure of. (mostly because others were always happy to point it out as a flaw)

I am bossy. (I prefer assertive myself)

So it works out nicely that in my little office – I am boss.

It makes me happy to make decisions, generate business, help employees grow. I need the stimulation and the emotional fulfillment.

I don’t think just any job would be enough. This job suits me. This office suits me.

And another goal. Brought on by the thousands of cheesy romance novels of my youth. I wanted to have that.

That bodice ripping moment followed by that feeling of love and security that each and every Harlequin writer tries so hard (and fails) to capture in print.

I married my love. My real love. My imperfect perfect for me love.

I am the heroine of my own romance novel.

What can get better than that? No, really.

So. I had some very loose expectations and goals for myself. And I have managed somehow to arrive at a destination I didn’t even really know I was looking for. Happily.

I have a few more things to do. No question.

But I like where I am.

All in all?

Good stuff.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-80042543575400934002008-04-14T15:01:00.002-04:002008-04-14T15:09:14.637-04:00yesA – Alcohol. ’nuff said.

B – Bread – warm and squishy is best. dripping with Butter.

C – Cats. I do love cats. I love the warm purr as they snuggle into you.

D – Dogs. Also a big love for me. I love that they love you so much.

E – Electricity. ‘fraid of the dark.

F – Fleece. I know winter is almost over but I still love to snuggle into a fleece blanket on a cold night.

G – Grins. This is the best word to describe toddler smiles.

H – Horses. They are part of my soul.

I – Ice cream. Nothing better on a hot day. I still remember driving home in our convertible bug with ice cream streaming down my hand and face and not caring one bit.

J –

K – Kisses. Long and slow. Short and fun. Somewhere in between. kisses are yummy.

L- Love. corny but true nonetheless.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-91770953341142123992008-04-05T19:04:00.003-04:002008-04-11T12:17:46.516-04:00The Birth of a SisterSo after waxing a bit about my boy I feel I should give the girl her due.

M is the best daughter I have ever had. She is also an excellent big sister. I am sure if there were awards for this, she would win one.

One morning this week I was at my wits end and D was crying because I had taken a toy away and told him it was time to go. I was not in the mood to console him (mom of the year. right here.).

So instead I sent his sister. She trotted into the kitchen and out of sight and within seconds, his crying stopped. Immediately. When the two returned moments later they were both happy and smiling. I asked her what had happened.

“I gave him a big hug and patted him on his back.” she replied while tilting her head sideways in a questioning way. And then said, “Because he was crying.”

Well of course. Aren’t I an ass?

M was an easy baby. She slurped happily at the breast and would doze off in my arms almost immediately when full. That last drop of milk still on her lips. That is a picture I will hold in my heart for always. I can still smell that moment.

She was quick to smile and not too quick toward tantrums. Her terrible eighteen month threshold lasted only a little bit into her second year. Only a few months of having to physically pick her up off of the floor as she screamed because IT IS TIME TO LEAVE THE STORE somehow sent her into fits and rendered her physically incapable of following direction.

At age four she is officially into Princesses and Pink and has to be convinced that she cannot wear a dress everyday. We have taken to pointing out the very nice days and telling her that she will be playing and she may not be able to do everything she wants to in a dress and remind her that she would not want to get it dirty. I am not sure which is more of of a motivation, the lack of play or the dirty dress but I am pretending it’s the play time because I was never a dress girl.

She likes to have her fingers painted and always chooses very STRONG colors. Orange, Blue, Red and Purple to date. Again, that could go either way. Either she is attracted to bold vibrant colors because she will be a strong vibrant woman, or she’s a future tramp. (oh okay, of course it could be both)

She is a considerate girl. She always asks for two of whatever goodie she gets so that her brother is covered. She always tells me “thank you for dinner mommy” whenever we have the rare opportunity to have a family meal.

She often hugs me tightly around my legs and snuggles her cheek into my belly. I am still trying to figure out how she got that tall! And will say “just because” when asked what the hug is for.

She is sneaky. She will often declare. “I am hungry” because she has just spied a piece of chocolate somewhere because she knows without ever being told that “I would like to have that chocolate” probably won’t work. And she lies. When we were having our last bedtime potty joust she lied about having ever even sat on the potty. Bold faced but betrayed by her mischief smile.

She is a daddy’s girl. She LOVES her daddy. They are best buds and have a fun and very silly time together. If she had her way daddy would put her to bed everynight (I recently agreed with her on this one and now her daddy does put her (and her brother) to bed every night…tee hee.) and it would be her Utopian ideal to have daddy at school with her, all day, everyday.

But she also adores her mommy and we have a great time together. She will dance with me and sing with me and she often requests the made up songs that have gotten us through many a daycare shuttle. She loves to help. In the kitchen, with her brother, with my beading. Almost anywhere. And she enjoys the quiet time she gets to spend alone with either mom or dad on the weekends while D is napping to ever admit that she still occasionally needs a nap.

She loves her daycare “school” and has many friends there. Her “best friend” seems to depend entirely on her mood that day but she has many to choose from. She seems to be friends with boys and girls, although she did recently declare that she does not like Diego because he is a boy. (Again, could go either way there”. She has fun. She likes going to school and she likes coming home. All of her teachers and her classmates seem to enjoy her. See above if you wonder why.

So there is my girl. She is a sweet and thoughtful thing and she supports the old adage about “little ears” to the T. She is always listening. Always connecting.

I am so very fortunate that she is my daughter.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-83584773460221013862008-04-09T12:51:00.002-04:002008-04-09T13:04:24.009-04:00Ghost TownsI have been following a couple of blogs that have been abandoned. I don’t mean the ones when the author has signed off, moved or decided that blogging is just too distracting. I mean just one normal post and – poof.

I feel a strange sadness each time I click on the link and the last post is still several months old and no updates have been made.

The author’s smiling face may greet me. Her (or his)family may be also be there. Frozen in time.

I have no idea what to do in this situation. Do I let the blogger still carrying the link know? Do I send out a search warrant? Should I worry?

I am a bit of a history buff. I love to explore ruins and abandoned cities. I love to imagine the world that existed there. I am a big fan of ghost towns. The question of what happened is something that I find incredibly intriguing.

This is somehow different though. I feel about these blogs in a similar way to friends who I have left behind unexpectedly. People with whom I have lost contact through no apparent fault of my own but who have, without explanation, decided that they will no longer talk to me.

Strangely, I have a couple of those folks in my history. I have no idea what travesty I committed. And they won’t say.

Abandoned towns. Abandoned blogs. Abandoned friends.

All with the question: where did they go?

And why?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-42207200845623282812008-04-02T12:42:00.002-04:002008-04-02T13:38:42.778-04:00Dean – A Love StoryMuch like many parents I wasn’t sure what would happen when the second child arrived. I wasn’t all that confident that I would feel the same way. Would love as strongly. Feel that same connection.

And when Dean arrived. I didn’t.

Maya was already this person. This personality. He was just a blob.

Such a good baby. Such a sweet little soul. Oh I loved him and if you had asked me then I would have told you that I felt the same way about him as I did about my daughter.

I would have been lying. And I don’t think I knew it. No one really knew it.

Except maybe Dean.

Dean suffered from second child syndrome. He was the baby we just tried to appease as we met the needs of our vocal and often whining 2-3 year old. And some day when I was not quite paying attention the sweet and adorable baby turned into an equally charming young toddler and I am not sure I saw all that.

I certainly wasn’t watching as closely as I did with his sister. With Dean it was more about milestones and less about Dean. Is he sitting up, is he walking, how many words does he say?

I am glad to say that this has changed. A change brought about in small part by my daycare but also by me, my husband and most importantly, by Dean.

For a boy of few words – he says a lot.

So my little boy turned two and I know a lot more about him than I did when he was one. His life has doubled since then. My attention to him has too.

Dean likes: Spiderman, Superman and any other “man”. He likes trucks and cars and loves his daddy’s Mustang. He still loves Dora but he and Diego are becoming fast buds.

He ADORES anything meat. He will scarf hotdogs and steak and chicken and – well, meat with happy abandon and will eat so much he gets sick if you let him.

He still wants to try everything his sister does but he is is becoming more selective in the items he agrees with her on. He is good at sharing and taking turns and understands fully when you tell him that he will get a turn. He points to his chest and says “Nudge” which is his closest attempt at his name and also our nickname for him.

He loves musicals (Yes!) and sings and dances when Annie comes on. He also requests said CD in the car at least twice a week.

He is ferocious in his hugs and says the word clearly when he wants one. He snuggles up to you when you are sitting on the couch and will often pat me gently as if to reassure himself that I am still there, eyes still on the TV.

And I can say with open honesty that I do in fact love him just as much as I love his sister. Only differently.

He is becoming independent and assertive. He is becoming patient and understanding.

He is becoming Dean.

And I am honored to be his mom.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-5412525487882447952008-04-01T16:46:00.005-04:002008-04-01T17:04:44.019-04:00I gotta wear shades…If you have not seen Obama’s speech from March 18th RIGHT HERE in Philly. Click Here.

Did you click?

Did you decide not to click because you support McCain or Clinton?

Doesn’t matter.

Click.

Have you seen it?

This is what I am talking about people.

I will have a much more eloquent post on the morrow but until then let me say that this is the future I want for my children. Anjali wrote a great piece on her family heritage and the “present” her children are enjoying with their granparents right now.

It is for all these reasons that I am hopeful. SO HOPEFUL.

We are a tremendous people and if we can begin to recognize that it is our diversity that makes us strong, that is our very lack of only one simple definition that defines us – we will be phenomenal.

This future understanding, this future of acceptance, is what I see when I see when I look at my kids,at Anjali’s kids, my brother’s kids, and when I see Barack Obama.

More later.

Oh and my Nephew Noname?

It is official:

Miles Everest.

Welcome Miles.

I am so pleased to have you in the world.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-34711074189893191792008-03-31T12:27:00.002-04:002008-03-31T12:43:32.148-04:00It made me cry…I have not regained control of my emotions. I still cry at the drop of a hat. I am hopeful that this emotional roller coaster will end soon. My scars have healed. My life is moving on. Surely my hormones will catch on soon.

Here is what made me cry today: (and it is only noon!)

I saw a photo of a starving child in Africa by accident this morning. I cried.

My friend Anjali wrote about the perfectness (is that a word?) that is her family. It made me cry.

My husband left me a birthday present on the dining room table while he was home for (literally) 9 hours last night. It was not the content, just the thought. I was tearing and couldn’t open it.

My husband bought a sitting with photographer for our first set of professional family photos for my birthday. It was the gift, and the thought on that one.

My week old nephew was crying while I was on the phone with my brother. I was smiling and crying.

I sneezed this morning and then gagged. This was a morning routine my entire pregnancy with both kids. I was crying as I mentally reminded my body that I am not actually pregnant.

And I am tired of writing about sadness and loss and this will be final post on this subject. For a while anyway.

My love and I made two important decisions recently.

One:

We will wait until this next time year to put our house on the market and move to Havertown but we will in fact move there before Maya starts school.

Two:

We would like it if I was heavy with our next child by that time.

So A Toast to New Beginnings.

I am 35 today. I like to think that I am starting a new year. Fresh start.

And yet, while writing most of this post?

I was crying.

And I am done.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-6424663430724987662008-03-21T15:00:00.002-04:002008-03-21T15:07:58.173-04:00I’m bringing home my baby bumble beeI went to the doctor for my post op check up. Everything looks good I am healing and can resume all regular activity.

I got to sneak a look at my file and looking at the surgery pics and reading the report from the lab that dissected my tube was depressing.

d

e

p

r

e

s

s

i

n

g

And then I got a call from my brother and my little nephew has joined us on this side of the velvet belly!

He was born around noon our time and seems happy and healthy. No name yet but no surprise there since Raya went nameless for almost 2 weeks.

And I got to hear him cry.

Do you know that physical reaction you have to all newborns when you are a new mom? I don’t mean the breast contraction but the emotional tug? well.

d

e

p

r

e

s

s

i

n

g

And yet so very exciting at the same time!

I am thrilled to be a new aunt and I CANNOT WAIT to meet my new little nephew.

But my ftube-baby was described as a “product of conception” on the test results I saw this morning.

I am having a no good very bad sort of fun all excited kind of day!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-43944677231229533182008-03-19T22:13:00.004-04:002008-03-19T22:37:05.160-04:00No Longer So Cock SureSo I am truly wondering if this is where the saying came from. I have never given it any thought before.

But I am brooding about breeding.

I feel as though my body betrayed me. I thought we had a pretty good deal and a strong understanding of the way things were supposed to be. This body guided me through two fairly problemless gestation periods.

I had no idea what I was doing but my body seemed to so I didn’t worry. I waited each day to learn what it would teach me about being pregnant. It was a patient teacher. Two pregnancies. Two healthy happy children.

The third time was definitely not the charm!

My bubble of reproductive perfection has definitely burst (along with my falopian tube)

…sorry…

So I am cautiously trying to sign a new contract with my body. This time with an understanding that every good contract has a loop hole.

In other news…

I am driving home from work.

My son (almost two!)is ecstatically yelling what sounds kind of like “Super Man” as he fondles his new pj’s with said superhero displayed in happy detail.

My daughter is humming a tune that has no rythm and no real words. She begins to “sing” to this tuneless song at first talking about princesses, flowers, things she sees out her window.

Then she adds this line…

la la la “and I am going to get my gun and shoot you dead” la la la la

She continues on about some other insignificant something or other but I stopped hearing her.

Did she just say that?

So I asked her. “What did you just say?” acting cool. No big deal.

And she repeated it. Well she repeated the first part about the gun but she “forgot” what she said after that.

What!?!? Did she just say that?

Again.

Being the cool ultra-hip mom that I always pretend to be, I come up with this fairly calm not-going-to-freak-the-hell-out response.

“Let’s not sing songs about guns. m’kay?”

“okay mommy.”

um?

So clearly this is a daycare pick up. One of the bad things that she gets from being around a lot of different kiddies with a lot of different backgrounds kind of like the stomach flu. Only not so much.

Which of her friends at school is talking about guns and shooting people?

And where the hell are they hearing it from.

Is this an older sibling thing…?

So I am pretending for the moment that she has no idea what she is saying and won’t until somewhere in her early twenties when I finally let her date…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-22437897576807370082008-03-17T13:49:00.002-04:002008-03-17T13:54:14.464-04:00The way to a happy marriage.Separate bed covers.

I was just reading a blog where another mom was complaining about her husband being a covers hog. My husband and I have had separate comforters since before we were married. We now have a very big bed and we each have our own queen sized comforter but before that they were just full sized.

We still snuggle together while falling asleep but no one (me) wakes up shivering in the middle of he night because “someone who shall remain nameless” (him) has rolled himself up in the covers again.

I suspect this is why we are still so blissfully in love…

Just my bit of advice for a Monday morning.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-67545834929769512892008-03-16T18:39:00.002-04:002008-03-16T18:50:36.050-04:00A conversation about size”mommy you’re fat…”

This from my four year old daughter as she sits on the toilet. I am in the shower and accordingly, I am naked.

“what did you say?” I ask as a stall, I heard her just fine.

“mommy you are fat”

um.

“yes baby, I know I am fat.”

pause as she moves on to another topic and I wonder if I handled this right.

So after some thought I add:

“you know Mai it’s not a good thing to tell someone they are fat. They might not like it.”

This after I envision the many weight check ins she is giving random people at the store.

“but you are fat” is her response.

“yes, I am. And it is okay to talk to mommy about being fat but it’s kind of … bad manners…to tell other people that they are fat.”

“oh.”

digesting

digesting

digesting

“but you do have a fat belly.”

“yep”

I struggle with this. Not my weight. She’s right. No struggle there.

But to her pointing out my weight is much like pointing out the color of my hair – just a fact, neither good or bad. It just is and I don’t want that to change.

But I know it will. She will become judgmental just as she will become judged.

And one day she will use the word “fat” as a weapon, just as I am sure it will be used against her.

And that is not a prediction of her future weight, just her future girlhood.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-57837821511566937262008-03-14T11:22:00.002-04:002008-03-14T11:38:00.163-04:00Let the healing begin…I am just a little sore.

I have three holes in my gut and have finally stopped screaming inside my head.

I am starting to heal.

My body realized there was no longer a baby in there some time on Tuesday and so I miscarried whatever was left of anything baby. (moan) But it was good because I was getting worried I might have to have a D&C on top of all the rest.

I have been on a roller coaster.

Part of me has been lost.

Literally.

So Tim and I are talking about the next. Not necessarily the next baby but just what’s next.

We were on the fence about a number three and strangely I think that this has pushed us over the edge. Somehow it feels like this means there is meant to be a number 3.

I vacillate between trying to have a non-tubal pregnancy and adopting. A big part of me does not want my biological baby book to end on such a rotten chapter.

Another big part worries that I will have another tubal pregnancy and then no more tubes. And somehow the idea of being “barren” even if I never intend to have another is absolutely horrifying! And then I vow not to let the fear rule me and start all over again.

So. I am somehow still able to be nothing but happy for my (4) friends who have either just given birth or will soon. Babies are wonderful. Welcome Siri and Jaela to the world – you are lucky to have such amazing guides on your journey.

My nephew is due any day now. I am so excited to meet him!

And I bleed in my heart for the little soul I carried for a very brief moment. Not even a child, just a collection of cells.

A tiny little mass of potential…

So I have decided that I am going to get a tattoo. I have always wanted one but never wanted to deal with the pain. I had actually talked to Tim about having one done post mortem so it would visible at my wake (I know morbid, but true).

After this experience, the pain doesn’t worry me much.

So the next question is – what should I get?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-73023715086545958042008-03-09T12:46:00.001-04:002008-03-09T12:47:41.081-04:00ectopic pregnancyYep. I had an ectopic pregnancy and the fetus ruptured my fallopian tube. Thanks for the sentiments!

Couldn’t figure out how to reply to a comment…only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-12518980056028598852008-03-08T10:32:00.002-05:002008-03-08T10:48:57.743-05:00Tubes and bladdersSo it’s a good thing you get two fallopian tubes and two ovaries.

fallopian – I had to look up the spelling.

At around 1pm on Wednesday I started getting really really bad gas pains. I was also bleeding, a little. So I went to the pharmacy and bought GasX and a pregnancy test. Took the pill and the test, it came back positive.

So I hauled my butt over to my gynecologist. Who confirmed that I was pregnant and that my cervix was closed, so I was not in the middle of a miscarriage.

I asked him if I was having an “oh shit I’m pregnant moment” and he said.

“Well you’re pregnant, but you shouldn’t get too excited about having a baby just yet.”

Fast forward several hours and I am at the Springfield hospital emergency room with my husband. An Ultra sound tech and a Ob/Gyn have been called in. I am in such pain child birth seems like a walk in the park. Seriously.

Everyone suspects I have an ectopic pregnancy but can’t find any real proof. The Ultrasound tech describes me as “complex” and calls in a doctor in Israel as a consult on my pictures.

I am transferred to Crozer in Chester and scheduled for “exploratory surgery”. At the time they weren’t sure what was going on but the doctor’s idea to wait a few days and see what happens was dismissed by me because I was sure that if I had to deal with that amount of pain again I was pretty sure I would die. Turns out I was right about that, my fallopian tube had ruptured and was bleeding into my belly by that time.

So Crozer Keystone. I wake up after a two hour surgery to be told that my tube had ruptured and had to be removed. There was a lot of reassurance about how I can still get pregnant with just one tube.

This is a moot point since I will never have sex again. Ever.

So I am home with three holes in my belly, one less fallopian tube and a lot of pain.

Oh and a husband who is absolutely phenomenal and seems to be okay with the no sex thing (at least for the moment).

What is going on lately? Never a dull moment.

Oh and TGF Percoset!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-39504099630318852372008-02-29T08:56:00.002-05:002008-02-29T09:02:37.514-05:00Sharing the LoveSo I caught Tim’s funk. Oh it was nasty. We were out of commission as a family for 5 straight days. Tim ended up having a seizure after carrying Maya upstairs on Sunday night and I woke up Monday morning coughing up blood.

All in all it was a nightmare.

But we are all much much better and moving on.

I returned to work on Wednesday and went to school to find a letter about the boy in his school folder. The letter basically illustrates all the things he has been doing wrong for the past few months and seemed like a first step toward expelling him from the school!

To say that I was not in the right frame of mind to get such a letter is an understatement.

Anyway after talking with the director about it we will be meeting with her and his teachers on Tuesday to see what we can do to get him in line with the program. She did admit that if he doesn’t improve they are considering asking him to leave.

His biggest problem is that he thinks “no” is funny and is amused by time out. They are in fact having a hard time with him…

He’ll be two next month. Already a juvenile delinquent.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-66657788940378415082008-02-20T11:14:00.004-05:002008-02-20T22:02:51.176-05:00On illness and the ilkMy husband is ill.

This is a rare and unusual occurrence and it makes me appreciate him more. And it makes me appreciate me more. I have the patience of a saint!

And my mother is visiting. And I have become aware of the fact that my parents have stopped making (many)critical comments to me. And her visit has made me aware that this does not mean they have stopped being critical of me, they’ve just stopped making the comments.

And part of me says, what the f? And the other part of my smiles and sighs and says think what you want as long as I don’t have to hear about it.

So two things.

I have taken my car back. I no longer allow snacks to and from school and no milk sippy cups are allowed EVER (see my previous blog on this). I also make a point to clean out all school stuff each night so that nothing piles up. I am also limiting the number of toys per child to one at a time. So my car feels like a car again and I feel less like a slob.

My mom’s comment: “Well I know your dad will be happy to hear that!”

hmmmmmmmm???????

And I got a cute new do. And I am becoming much more comfortable about the statement. I like it and I like the way it makes me feel. I have become a more active ummm “female” because of it. Or due to it. Or whatever.

My mom has said very little. Which also speaks volumes.

So I am okay with this new strategy. It works for me.

Oh and it is works for me wednesday.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-38256302790164062092008-02-13T09:59:00.004-05:002008-02-14T16:58:23.293-05:00How did this happen? Or my life as a non sequitor.So the title is a bit misleading. I know how this happened. But I am not sure how I let “this” become “me”.

How did I become this category? This “full time working” mom. This mom who literally needs a village to help her raise her kids. This mom.

So I got a cute new hair do. (Thank you Rosalie)and my husband’s proclamation is “not at all momish”. Which was my goal. I am trying to break out of the mold.

The moldy moldy mold. I have hair that swings and has streaks and is cute. I am trying.

And I have had a lot going on. My husband left his job. His new job, the one he had for all of six weeks. And I can say “good riddance”, but the cost of that foray into unhappy employment cost us a good deal of money. Well into the thousands of unrecoverable expenses. And now he is working for a company that could potentially be his perfect fit. I am too pessimistic to be optimistic about it yet but I find myself thinking “yahoo!” from time to time so it is good stuff.

In other news, My husband went to the Dr because he is having pain in his side. He had a CT scan, and blood work and a chest xray because when he went in the Doc said his lung sounds were uneven.

The good news? His lungs are fine and he has diverticulosis. Not the same as the itis of the similar name but close. He now has to eat more greens and avoid spicy foods.

The bad news? The CT scan showed a gumball sized “something” on his kidney. So Monday he had an MRI. (which the doctor called in from his vacation to insist he do THAT day).

The good news? It’s not cancerous. May be a cyst, may be a benign tumor but they will just keep an eye on it and see if it does anything in the next 3-6 months…which is also the bad news. I hate waiting. (did anyone else hear Inigo from The Princess Bride when I wrote that?)

Okay I am done with the good news bad news game. I mean if you thought it was annoying to read, just imagine what it has been like to live.

Along the same vein – I got a concerned email from my dad about my mom’s weight and health. It seems that the effects of her near death experience(s) has warn off and she is now back to just watching TV and eating (his words). She is coming to visit and my dad asked me to talk to her. I have to say that if nearly dying twice didn’t do it – I don’t know what I can possibly say that will…

And now for a complete change of topic. I had to sign a non-compete at work. This form included language about all “ideas” or “inventions” that I create while employed here being owned by the company. I had a lawyer friend look at it because it seemed to me that the language was not specific to ideas related to the company and he agreed.

I mentioned it to my boss before signing it. She mentioned it to her lawyer who advised against changing any of the language. She passed this along to me with a verbal “agreement” that she does not feel that anything I create that is not work related belongs to the company. SO WHY NOT CHANGE THE LANGUAGE you might ask?

Well anyway, I signed it. And got a nice bonus and a swanky new title. But I have to say I just have a bad taste in my mouth because of this (it may also be the bad coffee I am currently drinking…). And so it goes.

I have to go now because I don’t want to put too much in to this blog since it is company property…

Okay. To be fair? She also put together a phenomenal bonus and compensation package and made it so that I will get a percentage of all proceeds should she sell the company.

I might have sold my blog to the company, but I got a great price.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-39774384535512752212008-02-13T11:46:00.004-05:002008-02-13T13:15:37.757-05:00My president (revisited)So I too am officially casting my blog vote.

And I have a lot of reasons. First let me say two things:

1. Huckabee scares me to the core.

2. I think McCain would not be a bad president and while I disagree with him on many key issues, I actual admire him a great deal for many of his past actions and statements.

But I lean much more toward the democratic side. (surprise!)

So having acknowledged the Republicans, I move on to the dems. First a great big THANK YOU to Edwards for pulling out when he did. Loving Edwards for being the big man in the situation and making a decision for the whole instead of for himself.

And I don’t think he will be a VP but he seems to be a stellar guy. Now that he’s gone, I find that I like him a whole lot more.

And that brings me to Clinton. I LOVE Clinton.

And as a woman I would love a female president but more than that, I think Hillary is true presidential material. I feel that she knows what she is doing and how she will do it. I think that she has great ideas and platforms and has the strategies needed to see most of them come to fruition if elected. I know that she lacks the polish and panache of her husband but I think she makes up for that in true conviction and fortitude. She strikes me as a woman who can get the job done.

But if given the choice I won’t vote for her.

Not this year.

Not this election.

And before I go over the whys I want to talk about Barak Obama.

Mr. Obama inspires me. (And it is not because he is sort of black and so am I). I have read his memoirs and I find him interesting, human and most importantly, dedicated. He seems to be my truest reflection in a candidate. He speaks my issues, and seems to value the same things I value. And he is new and different and fresh.

And it is his rookie status that, in my very humble opinion, makes him the best candidate for this election. He has the opportunity to bring a cohesiveness to our government that it sorely needs. He has not been around long enough to burn (many)bridges or form (many)alliances. He is our clean slate. (you know, relatively) And I think in this America, in this election, that is his strongest asset.

Also he is an excellent orator. And he is a vote for change. And so is Hillary. I think as a nation we are ready for change. I think the world is ready for us to make it clear that we are ready for change. And I think either candidate is good for this purpose – this declaration against sameness. But I think Obama has the best chance to beat the Republican nominee.

I know people (Anjali) will get annoyed when I say this but I think Hillary is the best chance we have for a Republican president. And I am so glad it will not be Romney, and I don’t think Huckabee has a snowball’s chance but I would rather it not be McCain either.

And I don’t think that saying that this nation is not ready to elect Hillary is saying that this nation is not ready to elect a woman. I think it is just saying that this nation is not ready to elect Hillary Clinton.

As a nation we know her already. And too many of us have already passed judgment on her as a first lady.

And just a note on the election in general. Here’s the thing that I keep coming to whenever I think of the next administration. Whoever takes office – they have their work cut out for them. We are a nation in trouble. With all that we know that this administration has done to our nation and the world, there can only be so much more we don’t know. And our next president is severely handicapped in that regard.

It worries me that our first election for change will be ill-fated.

But I still have to make my vote.

And as my new bumper sticker says – I am an Obama Mama.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-19609474848544313702008-01-23T09:59:00.000-05:002008-01-23T10:19:20.183-05:00prospero anosI can’t believe that January is almost over. I have so many things to do that I can’t even make the time to make a list. And still I’m taking the time to blog? Damn straight.

We have made the tentative decision to move this summer. The number of things that means we need to accomplish at our present home because of this is staggering!

But the pros are getting more and more pro. My commute time will be so F-ing, amazingly, terrifically, wonderfully short! I imagine myself soaking in a tub every time I think about it. That’s how good it will feel.

It takes me about 1/2 hour to get to work now. My commute in Atlanta was far far worse but somehow driving alone for an hour is nothing like driving with two toddlers for half that time.

“mommy he’s not sharing”

“noooooooooooo”

“MOMMMMMY!!!!!”

“I have to go potty and no I can’t wait until we get to school.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“BUSSSSSSSSS!

“MOMMY!”

Don’t get me wrong. I love spending that time with my kids but it occurs to me that I could be spending it with them OUT OF THE F-ING CAR if we lived closer.

I could get home in time to actually cook a Family Dinner – what is that?

I would be close enough to do the shuttle to and from school when they start attending kindergarten. I could eat breakfast.

At home.

So the cons are mostly monetary. But we love our current area. The new place we are considering is much pricier than where we are now. We will actually more than double our current mortgage. And the housing market is in the pooper. Which would be good for us if we were not also trying to sell a home…

So we’ll see.

But it sure would be nice to have a house that fit our HUGE furniture. And a garage. And a second bath…

oh I hope this works out…

In other news. The little girl’s birthday was a SMASH. She squealed like a pig in slop all day long and the fairly (okay, very) pricey price tag of the event was worth every penny for her happiness.

I guess. 😉

Trying to make her understand that while she is 4 for a whole year, that whole year is not one continuous birthday has been a challenge.

She is nothing if not persuasive when she is trying to wrangle for something.

The boy is still not saying much but we don’t hold that against him. We’ll give him a little while more before his mom freaks out completely.

And Nona is coming to visit in February while my husband is gone for 15 days. Yes, 15 days. As in half a month. This time also includes Valentines Day which I mention purely for the guilt factor, because it worked on him.

What am I going to do without my best friend for 15 days?only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-64462458916965629182008-01-15T13:49:00.000-05:002008-01-15T16:13:21.935-05:00Sister WifeI am reading a book called Escape. It is written by a woman who escaped (hence the title) from the FLDS(fundamentalist latter day saints)community with her eight kids at the age of 35(?). She was married to a 50 something man as his 4th wife at the age of 18.

I have always sort of considered polygamy a victimless crime (kind of like recreational drugs), with the danger factor only enhanced (or even created) by the fact that it is illegal. By this I mean that these women and children, and men, have very little recourse if something happens to them because their lifestyle is illegal.

But I feel a lot differently about this now.

This woman is a victim. Her sisters, brothers, mothers, cousins – all victims. The only difference between her and me – the parents we were born to. And I have to tell you honestly that it’s a good thing that it was her and not me because I don’t think I would have had the strength, especially after the birth of eight kids.

It is a fascinating read. fascinating. terrifying. disturbing.

And I find myself saying things that start with “they do…” and “they do…” and I hate using the word “they”. But I have to say that they are “they”, they are not me.

And even though Big Love (love that show) made me wonder (ever so briefly) if it might be nice to have a sister wife sometimes – ACK! Double Ack!

So to those of you out there in bloggerland I say read the book. Be aware of what is going on in Salt Lake City Utah and neighboring towns.

Be aware.

and be grateful.only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-31257606858153625052008-01-04T20:09:00.000-05:002008-01-04T20:17:52.450-05:00It started out shitty……and rolled down hill from there.

I had to take my coffee to work in an old 12 oz Avent bottle (yes, with the nipple on it)

I stood outside our office door trying to figure out why I couldn’t unlock our door.

The answer: it was already unlocked.

I’ve had to deal with the fall out of firing an employee on Wednesday and I’m trying to figure out which are more annoying: the employees who are not afraid of me at the moment or the ones who are.

2008 is shaping into a VERY tough year for me work wise. Looks like I might have to earn that very nice bonus promised me next year…

And this is how my child day ended.

Maya:

“I love you and you’re my sweetieheart.”

me:

“ahhh”

Maya:

“and sweetieheart means there’s a hole in the ceiling.”

Somehow that made more sense to me than most of what has happened to me today…

And the thing is. There IS a hole in the ceiling. The plumber comes out Wednesday.

Here’s to the beginning of my non-kid day. I can hear a shot calling to me from the kitchen.

Happy weekend!only mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01688156531185052240tbrown@docubank.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-66687644356615797052008-01-01T17:26:00.000-05:002008-01-01T17:30:02.796-05:00yesConfessionsSo I have to admit it. I wasn’t sure I would love this one as much as the first.

I love the first one so much and the first one is so special. so very little. so very loved. so very first.

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