Poem #43

Whoa. I got behind yet again. Where the heck did November go? I've been scribbling thoughts in my notebook, some of which will become poems on this-here blog and other thoughts which will assemble themselves into a story of some sort.

Orange-yellow paint offends
so she sits with a paintbrush to fix
and the child behind her
paints as well
reminding her
that they are artists
but she is far
far away
painting over the yellow-orange
and painting over
a part of herself
As she sits
and stares at the wall,
Lady paints the blues
paints the walls blue
paints the blues away

Poem #42

No ignorant armies here
to clash by night
just day dreamers
ruling over
all we see
in helmets of plastic
blue and red
adorned with brightly colored
Easter eggs

Poem #41

Not one for fancy titles here
not clever irony
not unclever irony
just "Poem" and a number
giving my words a number
assigning them a number
based on the order
in which they assembled
in my brain
like special members
of an elite club
this will forever be known
as 41.

Poem #40

The gate stands strong,
plastic rooted into the wall
separating living room
from kitchen
kitchen where food lives
where freedom is
and they wait
impatient East Germans
with tiny fists
banging against the unfairness
of the gate
waiting, ever waiting
for the gate to open
for the wall to fall.

Poem #39

I'm not sure what to do
I'm over 1/3 through
I've looked up and I've looked down
but not a comment to be found.

Does anybody read them?
Does anybody need them?
Or am I writing just to me
my silly little poetry?

Poem #38

half a pink pill
only half
one fraction of before
to fix chemistry
I was never good
at chemistry
never good at getting
equations just right
maybe the pink pill
is smarter
maybe the white pill
will be smarter
knowing something about chemistry
that I do not.

Poem #37

diving into words
and new ideas
and the novel idea
that perhaps
the different way
in which I think,
in which I write
isn't so terrible
be different
as though
I ever had a choice

Poem #36

As my astute reader will notice, I haven't been posting my daily poem this week. I have been having some issues lately regarding depression and medication. This has been reflected in my absolute obsession with my own brain of late. This trend will likely continue, but today I am posting the rest of the poems for the week so that I can get on with it.

She is Poochie-pink memories
and Pretty in Pink memories
she is Strawberry Shortcake thoughts
and we remember her red hair
and Molly Ringwald's
Sixteen Candles red hair
We talk
of Bill
We talk
of Ted
and the strange things
afoot at the Circle K
we remember a past
separate
but somehow equal

Poem #35

I need a little bad thought spray
to make the bad thoughts go away
I tried to find it at the store
I guess they don't sell it anymore.

Poem #34

Thinking far too much
about my own brain
thinking about
my own thoughts
which is
like touching
my own fingertips

Poem #33

learning the hard way
(is there any other way?)
not to mix
home and work
when the boss asks you
about a file
never say
"let's play Blue's Clues
to figure it out"
blue paw prints
on company property
are discouraged
lesson learned

Poem #32

red
red like cherries
sweet marashino cherries
atop a sundae
toes
stay hidden
beneath layers thick
of stockings and boots
waiting their turn
patiently
patiently
through the long winter

Poem #31

Thinking thoughts
writing words
am I only cannabalizing
thoughts
I already had
words I already wrote
Am I nature's girl,
recycling
ever-recycling
but never really creating
anything new?

Poem #30

Go to sleep,
sleep
a destination
a place to wind up
such a lovely place
usually
except when the brain interferes
why must the brain
have a say
it is sleep
sleep brain
just turn off
for once
monitor heartrate
keep kidneys functioning
but let me rest
let me go to sleep
sleep a destination
brain a roadblock

Poem #29

Homemade soup
for cold days
chicken with dumplings
permeates the house
and smells like grandpa's house
where there was always food cooking
Sunday morning crepes and sausage
that I could never hope to make
at home
but the promise of which
would rouse me from slumber
to head to grandpa's house
oh, grandpa's house
and holidays
always the smell of food
always always
and I try to see grandma there
but I can't reach her
she is as gone to me
as the smells are to the house
quiet house
no cooking
and I can't even think
about going back inside

Poem #28

Finding comfort
in the smooth hollows
of the body
I know well
large hands rough from working
fit into my hands
smaller, smoother
an intricate puzzle
we are always able
to solve

Finding comfort
in the softness
of purple sheets
comfort upon comfort
in happy places

Finding comfort
in places so comfortable
and familiar
stepping back often enough
so as to never
take the comfort
for granted

Poem #27

I am bereft of poetry,
can't make the words
ballet on the page
can't imagine a single image

I am poetry-light,
creativity stolen
or fallen away
like change
from a pocket

where once there were
shiny half-dollars
of metaphors
and symmetry
now there
is only lint

Poem #26

Make me
Make me please
Make me into
someone pleasing

But there is no making
no shaping now
there is just me
making
making
what I can

Poem #25

No horrors
like the horror of the night
lost in the woods
crying driving
circle after circle
passing road
after road
familiar and unfamiliar
all leading nowhere
and everywhere at once

orange cone nightmare
narrow lanes
closed lanes
road blocks and exits
that never lead
where she needs to go
all taking her
further from home

Poem #24

Certain that it is over,
done
that certainty that creeps inside
and knows, just knows
as you know
that any film
featuring music by The Doors
means that a Vietnam War
scene is soon to follow
Over.
Done
and that hollowed-out feeling
will eventually be filled back in
but not today.
Today it is over.

Poem #23

We the sweater clad
in cubicle islands
stay afloat during the rainy season
(midwestern monsoons)
by relating
talking
being
huddled around one another
for the warmth
of friends

Poem #22

Researching
the history of me
through photos of me,
of them,
the them that made me
staring into faces
and knowing
knowing
I don't know you.
You don't know me.
But you are me,
parts of me.
Which of you
brought me this curiosity,
this need to know
and explore
and do?
Which of you
ruminated on brain chemistry
and felt certain
your brain
was different
like my brain is different
all creative and crazy?
Which of you
photographed strangers
in my blood line?
Or is that all mine?

Poem #21

I wanted to wrap you
in rainbow-soft
words of contrition
but I can't

the words elude me
and the sentiment
is false

I wanted to cradle you
within an apology
but they were just words
just words
just words
and the bottom fell out
as it does,
as it always does
and suddenly
I can't say the sorry words,
can't feel sorry

Poem #20

I awoke this morning
with a dull ache
that permeated
Typical, I snickered.
Even my pain
is dull.

Poem #19

You called me
horrid names
like misanthropist
and such

And I'd be crushed
if I didn't
hate you people
so damn much

Poem #18

No one cries
at Chuck E. Cheese
land of eternal happiness
for screaming children
raining tokens
everywhere

No one cries
at Chuck E. Cheese
animatronic band
singing cheerful songs
as children
eat sausage pizza
and Spiderman birthday cake

No one cries
at Chuck E. Cheese
Certainly not kindergarteners
enjoying their first playdate
out of school
chasing one another through endless tunnels
while the adults look on, smiling

No, no one cries
at Chuck E. Cheese
certainly not an adult
who stands with other adults
who talk amongst themselves
somehow forgetting
the awkward redhead
in the black skirt
who doesn't cry
because no one cries
at Chuck E. Cheese

Poem #17

words like gremlins hide
just beyond reach
creating chaos
in the spaces
of my brain
hidden in crevices
like crumbs
fallen beneath the oven
stubbornly out of reach

the gremlins steal my words
steal my thoughts
and taunt me
never letting me touch
the words I really need

Poem #16

Fall into fall,
into cold
that settles
into your bones

fall into dreariness,
never-ending days
as dark as night
where rain falls
falls falls falls
every moment of fall

fall into fall
but don't expect
anything
to cushion
that fall

Poem #15

I won't be long,
I promised
when all along
I meant
I won't belong

but then we talk
sharing secrets and confidences
in brief exchanges
wondering whether
creativity is actually
a form of mental illness

and we both decide
that, perhaps it is
but we both worry
that we're ill
we remember that we worry
and that if we were ill
we wouldn't worry
wouldn't know
of our own craziness
and take comfort
and somehow
we belong
if only for a moment
to ourselves

Poem #14

If success
is simply
failing to fail
then I am completely,
totally,
half-way there.

Poem #13

I ran off into the bathroom,
for sanctuary
against wrestling munchkins
whirling Tazmanian devils
leaving overturned furniture
in their wake

In the shower,
all should be quiet
solitude
but I was sharing the shower
with godzilla
and a truck
and three tiny basketballs

and I pushed them aside,
away from my hot spray of water
until munchkins and devils
needed them before bed

Poem #12

It is the dawning
of the age of Aquarias
when the cold comes,
permeating the house
my skin,
my bones
and nothing
oh nothing will warm me
but the hot water
bath after bath
soaking into oblivion
during the bluster,
the wretched darkness
outside
that spawns within
the age of Aquarias

Poem #11

Not royalty,
but spread out
on royal purple soft sheets
queen sized bed
beneath your tiny form
fevered head
resting upon my pillow
and I wouldn't wake you for anything
Spread over the bed
are Jedi knights,
casualties of the war
they fought as you lay down,
resting
until sleep overcame your tiny body
All around you are remnants
of half-eaten crackers
ground into the soft purple sheets
but I wouldn't curse them
not a single Jedi,
not a single crumb
across my royal purple sheets

Poem #10

Across the parking lot
we walk,
hand in tiny hand
dodging rain drops
and eager parents
in shiny minivans

His oversized
GI Joe back pack
slung over his shoulder
his step eager
his smile wide

We walk toward
matriculation
we walk toward
his future

And when I let go of his hand
for him to walk inside
one of us cries

Poem #9

Standing on the stage
overlooking the crowd
and I smile,
a small smile
knowing what they want
but wanting to make them wait
loving and needing
the low hum
that begins

a sea of cell phone
latter-day lighters
in the dark room

the crowd chants
those two words
I know are coming

And I close my eyes
listening, just listening
and preparing myself
as the crowd chants
"free verse free verse"

Poem #8

Sully learned a new word;
he says it every day.
He says it during meal times.
He says it during play.

He says it to his father.
He says it to his brother.
He says it to the family cat.
He says it to his mother.

Sully learned a new word.
And yes, I think that's fine
But what a word, oh, this word:
Oh, enemy! "Mine!"


Yes, a poem about the spawn. There will likely be more. This is the junior spawn, a nearly two year old who has discovered the pleasures of "Mine!!!" He says lots of other things, but this is his favorite at the moment.

And it is a rhyming poem. So much for free verse.

And now I have the idea for my next poem already.

Poem #7

I fear that someday soon
I'll have to visit them
in museums,
observe them in cages
Brainy girls
with spectacles
smart chicks
reading heavy books
containing multi-syllabic words
Intellectuals
protected by thick glass
to keep them from extinction
They're so beautiful
in natural habitats
so beautiful, all
with their heady brilliance
I couldn't bear
to see them caged

Poem#6

And this, kids, is why Kimberly doesn't try her hand at rhyming poems.

What if Medusa
tried to seduce you?
What if she sighed
and looked in your eyes?
Would you play with her asp-y hair
or would you be too stoned to care?

Poem #5

I am living on Writer's Block
no distractions
or ideas here
a quiet neighborhood
undisturbed
unrelentless
peace and quiet

I am living on Writer's Block
desperate for some interaction
with characters
or plots
I would settle
for stumbling on creative word play
lying about on the sidewalk

But here in Writer's Block
such things don't exist
it is an exclusive neighborhood
and today it seems
too exclusive
for Writer's Block
is a party of one

Poem #4

Today my dad and stepmom came down and painted our bedroom while Jeff and I "helped" and kept the boys from touching the paint. I love the new look.

Brush strokes
on the bedroom walls
all painted now
no hint of mint
the sky of spring equinox
long ago eclipsed
by summer and now fall
fall into darkness
and wetness
outside
but inside,
inside my room
spring blue skies

Poem #3

Just three poems in and I find that the poems are now arriving in my head fully formed, just like they did in the past when I poemed every day! They may not be brilliant, but they are flowing so I am taking advantage of that while I can.

I am living
in a Star Wars universe
surrounded by
Storm Troopers
and Han Solos
(or is that Han Plurals?)
and I am Yoda,
short
and possessing great wisdom
but unable to
fully articulate it.


Perhaps inspired by the fact that I have now seen every Star Wars film repeatedly (thanks to Jude, who has become a creepy little Star Wars savant). Regardless, this poem experiment is fun.

Poem #2

A haunted breakfast
Count Chocula darkening
my breakfast bowl
chocolate-shaped bats
like tiny Pac Man ghosts
reminding me of a time
when everything was sweet

Poem #1

So here goes a first attempt. They'll all likely be free form; I'm not much into rhyming poems, though I may change my mind at some point over the next 100 days!

Trying to make it just right
just write
when once it flowed freely
now forced somehow
is it inside
just blocked somehow
or is it gone?

maybe the muscles have atrophied
from years of neglect
it doesn't seem right
it doesn't seem write
but write
just write
and maybe
in the end
it will be
just right

That's it. No editing. Just wrote what was in my head. Not a great first attempt, but I have plenty of days ahead to redeem myself.

Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel . . .

NOTE: This blog was half-written on September 6 and is being finished on September 30. Where the hell did September go??

So May 3 was my last blog. May 3. As in before summer even started. Now here I am, celebrating the end of the summer by eating Chinese food and watching Wait Until Dark. The food is tasty. The movie is suspenseful. All should be right in the world. And things are mostly right. But far too quiet. The boys -- all of them -- are elsewhere. Oh, and the peace and quiet and general solitude are wonderful -- for a brief time. Then I miss them.

I was once a very solitary person. I read lots of books. Saw movies alone. Ate in restaurants alone. And none of that bothered me. Now, if I am able to finish a chapter of a book without being interrupted with a loud "Mom!" I feel like something is very wrong. I watch "family-friendly" movies and every restaurant experience ends in someone spilling milk on the table. Somehow this is all right. I wouldn't have it any other way.

This summer has flown by in the way in which summers do. Jude and I took a kindergarten reading readiness class for 6 Saturdays. We read books and learned letters and I was able to see first-hand Jude's eagerness to learn. He has learned to write his name and he does so all the time. Seeing the pride he has in having learned something new is incredibly amazing.

Jude has started kindergarten. That is such a huge, huge step.

My typical introspection has hit all new heights this summer. I have decided that 35 is the age at which I need to start having the experiences that I always intended to have "someday." No sense waiting any longer.

Independent of that, though, is the need to jump back into writing (not just the "writing" I do for and through my website, but novel writing and poetry writing and all the writing I have always loved but which has gotten shoved aside lately due to life.

So the next post will be a poem. I have decided to write 100 poems in 100 days, starting today. I totally stole the idea from Facebook/someone else's blog and should you find that site, you'll probably find more capable poetry on more literate subjects but I think this project will be fun.

Or frustrating.

Either way, read at your leisure. Or feel free to skip. After all, 100 poems means not every one will be a gem. Including, I'm sure, number 1.

An Hour, A Shower, A Complete Lack of Power

It was my own fault really. I leaned over and looked into their tiny faces and asked for ten minutes during which to take a shower, explaining in very simple terms that we needed to get ready for the party. I was selfish for wanting ten uninterrupted minutes of warm shower.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door and, oh, maybe thirty or forty seconds went by when I heard a blood-curdling scream (yes, my blood turned into cottage cheese)coming from the living room. I ran from the bathroom to find Jude lying on the floor, crying. He was sobbing so hard that he couldn't catch his breath.

"What happened?" I asked, holding him and trying to calm him.

"I fell," he said. He didn't elaborate.

"How did you fall?"

"I climbed up there," he said, pointing to a chair. "And tried to jump to there." He pointed to the computer chair -- a computer chair with wheels that sits upon a hard wood floor.

I assessed him and found no broken bones or bleeding and really was quite interested in finishing the shower I'd started so I began anew. Then I heard the bathroom door open and when I looked out, I saw Sully smiling back at me from the other side of the shower curtain. I turned back around and the shampoo bottles fell off the rack and landed on my foot. I let out a couple choice words, as the full bottles managed to land just right on my foot to cause pain. Oh, fun.

I limped out of the shower, certain that this was the weakest injury any human has ever suffered, got dressed and threw both boys into the tub for their bath. I rarely give them baths together and about three seconds in, I remembered why. I set Sully into the water and then helped Jude get his ear plugs in (ear plugs are a must for the next several months because of Jude's ear tubes) and he climbed into the water. He wanted to play with Sully and Sully's response was to begin to cry. Then cry a bit more. Then hold his breath and turn purple so I yanked him out of the tub and began drying him.

I sat on the bathroom floor, holding Sully, drying him, calming him as Jude played in the bath and before Sully was dry, he was sound asleep in my arms. I didn't trust my foot to stand upon as it began throbbing and was bruised so I sat on the floor. Jude told me I could go get Sully dressed and I assured Jude I wouldn't leave him in the bath alone. His response: "Mom, I'm not scared of monsters."

That made me laugh and made the wait on the bathroom floor more comfortable. Sully slept on me. Jude dressed himself and we spent the next half hour waiting for Jeff to come home.

Footnote: (Ha! See what I did there?) My foot is sore, bruised and not broken. Just another silly/stupid injury but not even close to the whole car door concussion thing.

To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time

I apologize in advance for the very "Carpe Diem" tone of this blog, but it has definitely been that kind of a month. It has been a long time since my last post, far too long and I have missed the interaction of girl and computer, just sitting down and composing thoughts via this medium.

The title of the blog is, of course, ripped from the Robert Herrick poem which begins "Gather ye rose-buds while ye may." I have spent countless nights in my life worrying. Concerned. Stressed about work. Worrying about money. Concerned about getting older and yet not really growing up and that is time lost, time I won't get back.

My computer crashed. It happens. All of the data contained within was lost and that makes me sad. I am trying desperately not to focus on that, however. I lost the same novel I have been working on since before Jude was born. I still hadn't finished it, and was never completely satisfied with it and now it is gone. But the idea isn't gone, and I have decided to take the novel fragments I have retained in written form and turn them instead into a screenplay. Uncharacteristically, I am turning something negative into something positive.

Pictures of the children were lost, as were stories I had written. But there are so many pictures of Jude and Sullivan that have been printed or sent to grandparents or friends or that live on in other ways so I am trying not to focus on that aspect of loss either.

It has been a time of loss. Strange loss and funny loss and sad loss. Jude complains sometimes about loud noises outside and I just smile at him, so happy that noises that he had not heard before are suddenly apparent to him and even annoying to him. He had a successful surgery and is a very happy, very loved and very loud child.

Every day, Sully loses a bit of his babyhood. He is running and has a whole mouthful of teeth and is even talking some (a handful of words, but I dearly love each one). I hate how cliche it sounds, but I really just want to enjoy every moment with them.

This week, my grandpa died. It was sad, but not unexpected. He had been very sick with cancer, suffering. In pain. Of course those who witness such suffering always say in their most honest moments "I don't want to go like that. When I die, I hope it is quick." Of course agonizing pain is not a goal for anyone except the most masochistic among us, but there is something to be said for the ritual that is "saying goodbye." Consider the alternative.

Thursday morning, the day after Grandpa passed away, I went into work. My boss got a phone call and ran out. This was not an unusual sight; he is extremely busy working for the firm and for the city and has a lot of meetings to attend. However, it was not a business meeting that drew him from the office. It was a call that his wife had been in an accident. She was a pedestrian, crossing a street when she was struck and killed by a school bus full of children on their way to school.

I had met her on social occasions and my impression of her was that she was nice, friendly. And my boss is certainly the nicest of all bosses I have ever had. I can't stop thinking about it, though. The idea that perhaps they had breakfast together and then he came into work early and she went for a walk and that was it. They would never see each other again. Never talk again. Never hold hands or kiss. I looked at Jeff when I got home that day from work, filled with every emotion that such an incident produces and he looked at me and we made those promises to one another never to take the days for granted, to always say "I love you" and to not let anger linger.

Of course we felt this way. It was shocking and sad and there was no chance for him to say goodbye to her. Certainly there is no good way to go. Cancer is ugly and horrible. Swift deaths are ugly and horrible.

I feel like Renton in the opening monologue of Trainspotting, the whole "Choose Life" speech -- well, up until the heroin part! I am feeling the urge to embrace my husband and my children, my new friends from work, my old friends living their own lives, my parents, my siblings, my writing.

Because I was horrified to read the obituary for her: she was survived not only by her husband, children and grandchildren, but also by her parents. No parent should ever have to bury a child, even a child of 57. It isn't right.

No clever ending to this blog except a promise that you'll see me soon because I have much more to say. For now, I am off to hug my monsters and kiss the tops of their heads, breathing them in while we're all still here.

Weekend (and Weeks) Update

So it has been many weeks again without a blog. Life happens. Life keeps happening all over us.

Jude has had an ongoing hearing problem and we went to see a specialist regarding it. Apparently Jude has a build up of fluid in both ears that will require his getting tubes put in. Now how this has happened without Jude ever having had an ear infection (or at least never having complained of an earache), I don't know. What I do know is that I am not crazy about my child having to have surgery -- even minor outpatient surgery. Yet I know it needs to be done and it will be done this month. I hope it helps.



Jude and Sullivan were shipped off to Grandma and Grandpa's house Saturday night. I'm sure between the boys and my two nieces that the scene was very "Animal House" but I appreciate an evening alone with Jeff. We had a lovely dinner. We got to watch "Tropic Thunder." (Quick review: a funny flick. Certainly not the most brilliant movie I've ever seen, but it has its moments. Amusing.)



Then Sunday I slipped into 35. Now 35 seems like quite a grown up age, much moreso than 34. I am sure I will start feeling like a grown up any day now! Thirty-five has been tough (two days in!), as I have taken the opportunity to torture myself with the goals I've yet to achieve, the dreams I've yet to reach. I'm trying to focus instead on what I have. That can be difficult to keep in mind. I am gifted at torturing myself. Family and friends and relative health. Maybe 35 will be the year that my optimism sticks. Okay, maybe not. At 35, I still laugh at Robot Chicken and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I still obsessively watch MST3K. I still don't quite feel like an adult. I'm not sure when those adult feelings will kick in, but I'm in no hurry.

Song of the day: I am stuck on "Ain't No Reason" by Brett Dennen. I love it and thus it is my song of the day.

We Are Family

If you are reading this, chances are good that you are in my family. And I mean that in the wonderful figurative way of "we are as close as family" but I also mean it in the literal sense because I have an enormous family. Really, really enormous. Ever expanding.

As I mentioned before, my Uncle Dennis passed away. The funeral was Tuesday. The turnout was enormous. He was -- and is -- quite loved, which is a wonderful and remarkable thing. But the crowds were a bit overwhelming; they always are to me. I stood off to the side at the funeral home, talking to my step dad. I confided to him that there were just so many people there that I didn't even know. He pointed to a woman in front of me and said "I know that's your mom's Aunt Edna."

To which I replied "There's an Aunt Edna?"

Having such a large and complex and twisty family is what I am used to, but it is still a little strange. For example, my mom's cousin is married to my dad's niece. I've got weird stuff like that all over in my family. Not really too weird to me since it is what I know and since my parents aren't married. Well, they are, but not to each other. So in addition to my own labyrinth of a crazy family, I get step aunts and uncles (though the step part never really mattered so much to me). To me, they are just my aunts and uncles and cousins.

It is a small world. My BFF went to high school (or was it junior high?) with my cousin. Of course I know he won't remember the conversation we had about that or even my cousin's name unless I mention it again, but I find it rather amusing and part of his charm that he has such a lousy memory for details but is otherwise semi-brilliant.

But I digress. (Should I change the name of this blog to "I digress"?)

True story: when I was in high school (9th grade), I was approached by a senior who started talking to me and then she said "I think we're cousins." Twas news to me, but yep, we were. (Insert your own small town/inbreeding joke here.) But the problem isn't inbreeding. Inbreeding results in small families.

I sat next to my cousin Jenny and talked to her about the impossibility of raising a four-year-old (yay, Jude is not the only child who was ever difficult!). The conversation wrapped around to the lovely turnout of the funeral. Then we discussed our great aunts, Esther and Vi.

And, I pointed out, we also have a great aunt Edna.

To which she replied "There's an Aunt Edna?"

Movie Review: I have nothing. For the first time in a long time, I haven't had a chance to watch any movies. So, I am on the hunt for anything good.

Song of the Day: I'm taken with "Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds.

The Week in Review -- Last Week, That Is

As usual, this blog is behind. Just a week behind, though and not months as usual, so at least that is something!

What would lead a relatively normal (hey, I maintain that I am at least relatively normal) woman to spend her Friday night soaking in a hot bath, watching a DVD? Well, any number of reasons.

1. I never have. And we have a portable DVD player that never gets used. What better use than perched (safely!) on the edge of the pink bathtub where I could watch it?

2. The DVD was from the box set season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The particular episode "Once More With Feeling" is one of my favorite of the whole series. So, I soaked and watched and attempted to relax.

3. It has been a challenging week. I have the headache to prove it. Monday, my boss and then my other boss decided to talk to one another and then to me about the influx of new files we have. Apparently the files than have been backed up for more than 6 months (and I have been there for 3) need to be caught up RIGHT NOW. This is my job. This stresses me a bit. This, as it turns out, was the least stressful part of my week.

The children and I are all (still!!) suffering from Fifth Disease (it's real -- go ahead and look it up). It has been kicking our booties this winter, particularly mine. The kids have had the rash and poor reddened cheeks for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks. Not much to do for it, though, other than let it run its ridiculously long course.

Wednesday, we had a doctor's appointment for Jude. He has been having problems for some time and as I have never had a four year old before, I don't know if there is really something wrong or if it is Jude being difficult. He turns up the television constantly, swearing he cannot hear it. Yet, he seems to have no problem interrupting/hearing/maitaining a conversation. Still, we took him to the doctor because of our concerns.

Jude had a preliminary hearing test, a screening generally reserved for older kids and adults. He did not pass. He seemed to understand the test and did well performing it, but his hearing results showed below normal. So, our next step there will be with an ENT (otorhynolaryngologist) at the end of February.

Of course following this bit of info, I have had to rethink each "Jude, why don't you listen?" that I asked of him.

So we settled in back at home, absorbing this bit of news. Thursday evening my stepdad called me with the news that my Uncle Dennis (my mom's youngest brother) wasn't expected to make it through the evening. Two hours later, Bob called back to let me know that Dennis had passed away.

Uncle Dennis has been sick for some time with cancer so it wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was still difficult, particularly witnessing how difficult it was for my mom and my aunts and uncles to handle.

On Friday evening, we decided to have a quiet family dinner out, just the four of us. Jude ordered a pizza (a tiny, child size pizza) and Sully basically ate what everyone else was eating.

Jude picked at his pizza, barely eating and then asked for a snack. His request was, of course, denied. He then stated that he was full and didn't want any more food or a snack. Since he clearly didn't plan to eat any more, there wasn't much we could do.

So, we packed up and headed across the icy tundra of the parking lot. Jude was holding my hand and two steps into the (very crowded) parking lot, he began screaming at the top of his four-year-old lungs "I'm starving. It isn't fair. I'm so hungry." I was beyond mortified. When he got home, he got neither more food nor a snack. He claimed again he was full.

After the week that was, I longed to just soak in a hot bath. Since I finally finished and returned my boss's Vonnegut, I decided to watch a DVD in the bath instead. This is one lazy-step beyond watching a DVD in bed, which is the epitome of decadence to me.

Song of the Day: for a tough week, let's go with "Give Me Something to Sing About" from that Buffy episode. I love the sentiment; don't give me songs. Give me something to sing about.

Now I think I'm headed into the bathroom. The warm water is calling me. No DVDs though. How lazy do you think I am? Oh, seriously. It isn't like I spend all my time soaking in hot baths, just lounging around once the children are in bed and oh, don't look at me/the computer that way. Sigh. Fine. I'm going to watch "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." Are you happy?

I need a laugh.

What Are You Reading?

So, if you were to ask me what I'm reading, I would likely lie. Nothing against you. I don't read books very often; I used to devour them before I had children. And I have the most wonderful discussions about books with a coworker. She and I have strikingly similar taste in books and are together lamenting the decline of readership in America, though, I did admit to her my own lack of book reading in the past few years.

If you were to ask, I would tell you with a little laugh that I had borrowed a book from my boss, a Kurt Vonnegut I hadn't read before. And that would be completely true. At my office Christmas party, I was a bit social and I drank a bit of wine (white wine. I can't be more specific than that; I lack sophistication in all matters of wine consumption). Beyond that, though, I spent an extensive amount of time browsing my boss's library, an eclectic collection of some damn good books.

On Monday after the party, I admitted to my boss that I had been browsing through his books and was interested in the Vonnegut books he had. We had a long talk about the party and about Vonnegut and he lent the book to me.

It is a delightful story and I fully intend to start reading the book any day now. But right now, my brain, addled by sickness and general sleeplessness, is incapable of processing anything more than "New Moon."

Last year, I admitted to having read "Twilight," fascinated by the sheer publishing power this book had. And I was sucked into the story, so much so that I had to also read "New Moon" and will eventually get around to the other two.

To some, the protagonist, Bella, is melodramatic; those people either have never been or cannot recall being teenage girls. Teenage girls can definitely be melodramatic, moody and absolutely certain that their love lives (or lack thereof) are the most important things in the world. Every time I turn a page and am tempted to criticize poor Bella, I recall my teenage crushes, recall each heartache visited upon my teenage self and I realize why the book is such a sensation. I am not in any way negating the essence of teenage girls or trying to generalize; I just recall my own experiences. I am alternately drawn to the story, and ashamed that I am drawn to it.

I am very close to the end of Moon and plan to start Vonnegut any day now. So, if you want to ask what I'm reading, just wait a few days and I'll be happy to discuss it with you.

It is with sadness that I announce that Dung! is now defunct. For some reason, the username and password no longer work and so there will be no further updates. I will miss being the Queen of the dungheap, but I am sure as the year progresses, a new blog will emerge.

Late Last Night

Just a quick post as I am eager to get to sleep and see if my coughing of the past 20 (!) days will finally cease when I lie down.

Last night was a rather comedy of errors around here, the sort of strange series of pratfalls that would almost be funny if they didn't involve people I love so fiercely.

We were eating dinner and Jude, who has his mom's natural grace (okay, total lack thereof) somehow managed to knock his tray (yep, dinner tray) over, falling forward onto the hardwood floor and hitting his face. We rushed into the bathroom to check for loose teeth and bloody anything and he was crying, saying his chin hurt. But crying in that hysterical way that makes my heart nearly stop each time I hear it. He cried so hard that he began throwing up. Jeff was helping him while I hovered and neither of us saw Sully come into the bathroom.

Sully wandered in to see what was happening and managed to trip over Jeff's legs and bang his head hard on the pink bathub. Jeff scooped up Sully so I could take over Jude and his vomiting and Sully did the awful thing he hasn't done in a long time: he stopped breathing.

I could hear Jeff saying "Breathe, damn it, breathe" and my heart stopped again when I looked out into the hallway and saw Sully fall limp in Jeff's arms. I know I mentioned it before but I cannot possible articulate how awful it is to behold. And he didn't seem to want to start breathing again.

So I stopped my Jude puke duties and rushed to Sullivan who finally decided to start breathing. He was purple and listless, his eyes dazed and there was a huge knot on his forehead.

Today, both are back to normal.

Or at least what passes for normal around here.

Song of the Day: "I Want To Be Sedated" by The Ramones. Because sometimes I really do. Oh, and I like to sing along to it.

It's Never Too Late

I am tardy. Quite tardy in updating this blog, but I plan to rectify that, as I have missed this forum in which to prattle on and on about this and that. Last year (!) I had an epiphany regarding Jude that was rather profound and which has slightly altered my relationship with him.

Jude is four. A very frustrating four. I have learned over the course of many, many months that there is apparently no statement I can make to Jude to which "Why?" is not an appropriate response.

"Jude, it is dinner time." "Why?"

"Jude, we need to pick up this mess." "Why?"

"Jude, we're going to grandma's and then to papa's house." "Why?"

Well, you get the idea.

Jude is constantly running late, a procrastinator. Frustrating with his general inquisitiveness because it extends to EVERYTHING. He is sensitive, cries when his feelings are hurt and is physically incapable of not making a mess. In short . . .

Jude is just like me.

No, that's not fair. He is his own person to be certain. But each bad quality I see in myself is magnified when I look at Jude. And suddenly I remember what it was like to be a kid and cry because my feelings were hurt and being told that I needed to "toughen up." Well, thirty years later and I am still not tough.

But I get so frustrated with Jude. I don't know if this is typical for parents with four-year-olds, but I can't believe mine is such a special case in terms of frustration.



I've lost my temper with him and when I do, I recall others losing their tempers with me. I think of the idea of a mother with infinite patience, a calm tone and healing hands and that angelic creature is completely not me. I'm human, frustratingly so. But I want to be a good parent and I work very hard at it.

Sully, by contrast, is quite smily. He is walking all the time, into everything and chatters a good deal. This pre-speech sounds like a bunch of squeaks and noises of happiness and I love it. In temperament, we are not similar, but I love him very much. He is a calming presence in our chaotic home. I've grown accustomed to the chaos, though.



I find it is most difficult for me to write in quiet anymore. I need the sounds of someone pounding on the Bob the Builder toolset. I need to hear the sounds of lego castles being built and destroyed.

Most of all, I need to hear the sound of tiny feet on hard wood floors, exploring, laughing and crying. Here.

Movie Review of a Movie You've Already Seen or Never Plan to See: Elf. I realize it is after Christmas, but Jude has just discovered Elf and he has declared it to be "a funny movie." I agree; Will Ferrell is very funny. It is funny and touching and enjoyable.

Song of the Day: "If You're Not the One" from Daniel Bedingfield.