My Husband has Removed his Wedding Band

Not much more to report on this subject, except to say that time is passing. We are, as many readers know, getting a divorce. We are working on it. We keep checking off things that we have to do. Parenting course - CHECK, Sell house - CHECK, Declare bankruptcy - CHECK. Slowly, but surely we plod forward towards separation (that's an oxymoron).

The first time Patrick told me he had decided to take off his ring, I burst into big fat tears. This time, I felt peace. It is the right time. It's time for us to move on with our lives. We will always be best friends, co-parents and supportive of and about each other. But, it's time now.

General Kid Silliness

You gotta love the way kids phrase things. I try to remember to capture the little phrasings and speech constructions that Elena comes up with, mostly because they are so cute. Here are few I remember from the last month.

1) This morning my BlackBerry was buzzing as it does when it auto-turns-on at 7:00 a.m. Elena said, "Mommy, your BlackBerry is sending you a message!"

2) A recent question structure Elena is using goes like this. I say something with which she is unfamiliar or of which she wants to know more, such as, suppose I casually dropped the phrase "chocolate mousse" into a sentence. She would immediately WHIP her head around, tip her little face as if she were a beagle and say, "Mommy, what called chocolate mousse?" Of course, what she means is "Please elaborate on this chocolate mousse thing you mentioned, I want to know more." But, somehow in her little brain, it translates to "What called..."

3) Use of the word MIND instead of MINE. So cute at first, although not so cute when screamed and shouted at her brother repeatedly, mind you (no pun intended), as in, "NO WEEUM, THIS IS MIND!"

4) She's been collecting coins around the house, in drawers, under seats in the car, etc. She says, "Mommy. Don't I have soooo much money now? Aren't I so good at finding money? Now I can go to the store and buy everything I want!" Uh, yeah right, kid, you have about $3.62.

5) I love her use of the verb "aren't", as in...I say, "I'm going to go brush my teeth." And, under her breath in a voice that holds hands with a glower, "I aren't!"

6) Yesterday, I was watching an OnDemand Thomas the Tank Engine program with Liam. It ended and he was not happy, pointing, exclaiming in grunts and saying, "UH OH!" I told him, "I know Liam. It's sad when it's over, isn't it? But, I don't know where the remote is so I can't put on another one right now." (don't I sound like stellar mother for so many reasons?) Anyhow, he disappeared for five minutes and came back at my side, handed me a remote from another tv entirely and said, "mote!" I guess the kid understands more than he lets on!

First Metro-North Experience

Today I had to head into NYC to pick up a check from a client. I decided, since kids ride free until they are five around these parts, to take Elena on a special trip. I would go get the check, go to the bank, and then take Elena to get her special poop present. (Yes, I bribed her if/when she decided to poop on the potty on her own a few times, I would let her pick out a toy - oh the glamorous life of a mom). So, it was a pretty quick turnaround trip, but nice to be out with Elena alone. I had already taken Liam for a three mile walk in the morning, so he had his mommy outing already. (Wow, could I pat myself on the back anymore for being a decent mom today?)

Anyhow, she loved the train and took in all the sights and sounds. She charmed everyone around her. She was a hit. Her red hair took Manhattan by storm...we got more comments and compliments than usual! Here are some photos of the short trip:

A Real Mom Moment

Today, I took Elena on her first train ride ever. She was trepidatious at first and, in fact, burst into tears before we even left the house and had to be reassured that the train WOULD NOT be scary (I PROMISE).

The train was a huge hit. She loved it and was quite happy for the first ten minutes. Too bad we had another forty-five minutes before we would arrive in Manhattan. The entire rest of the trip there and the entire trip home was peppered with questions:
"Are we there yet?"
"Is THIS Katonah, Mom?"
"What station is this?"
"How far now?"
"Are we there yet?"
"Are we there yet?"
"Are we there yet?"

Despite the familiarity with which most moms just read the above passage, this was NOT my real mom moment. My real mom moment came at a much less glamorous time, in a much less cosmopolitan setting. It was in a bathroom stall. I took my daughter into a bathroom stall. It was a large, handicapped bathroom stall with a sink INSIDE the door, no less. She loved it. The novelty of peeing in a new location was almost too much for her. She was squealing and annoucing everything.
"This is fun, Mommy!"
"I weally, weally did have to pee. Do you think I weally had to pee, Mom? I had to the whole time on the twain."
"Can you wipe me or should I wipe myself? Yeah, you wipe me, Mommy, good idea."
"Mommy, this is sink is cool. I like this bathroom. Can you help me up? This toilet is tall."

I am not sure if there was anyone else in the bathroom. But if there was, they must have been chortling right along with me. That was my mom moment. For the first time in my life, I was the mom in the bathroom with the newly potty-trained child, instead of the outsider chuckling at said mom over the echoey voice of their child chattering on about private, bathroom topics. Nope, I was the one whose privacy was invaded this time. Especially, when I sat down to pee and daughter had to annouce, with awe in her voice, "Wow! Mom! You're so big!"

Saturday Morning Me Time

On Saturday, I went to a meeting at church and, as it turned out, was 45 minutes early. So, I called home to check in, and then went and had some much needed me time. What does one do when given forty-five minutes of me time that hadn't planned on and they aren't in the comfort of their own home with the usual distractions? Where does one go at 8:30 AM on Saturday for me time? Well, Starbucks of course!

When I showed up at the Starbucks, there were a bunch of kids there collecting for Relay for Life. They all piped up as I walked by, "WOULD YOU LIKE TO DONATE TO RELAY FOR LIFE?" I would, but actually had donated to my babysitter for the exact cause the day before, and I had no cash on hand. I told them I would see when I came back out.

I went in and ordered my tall coffee and madeleines, prepared my coffee with half and half and went back outside. I decided to get out a piece of paper and entertain myself with a To Do list. It always makes me feel organized and important to have a fat To Do list of goals ready to be scratched off in my pocket. I thrive on accomplishment, so having a list of things I need to tick off is an ideal situation, especially for a Saturday.

For me, writing a To Do list is a creative act. It's a little time spent imagining and the end result is a little gift to myself. Here, if you're bored, here are some things you need To Do. And, just like there are two kinds of grocery shopping, the kind where you go and get all the items that you have found you need over the week and the trip where you allow an hour or so to wander through each aisle and discover what you need, there are two different kind of To Do lists. There is the list that is basically a sticky place to put those things you must do and, as you think of them you write them down or you might lose them. This kind of list is often jotted on the back of an ATM receipt or an errant piece of junk mail.

But, there is also the list you must dream up or cogitate. This is a list where I start with a particularly nice pen, clean, crisp sheet of paper number it to ten and then spend time trying to fill it. It's not about finding necessary errands or must dos. No. Not at all. It's about holding a conversation with myself about the things I might want to try, or dream to accomplish. Here in this dreamy state, I stumble upon these things in the attic of my mind, dust them off and decide if they deserve to be captured somewhere for possible future use. This was the kind of To Do list I set out to work on this morning.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, the kids were so animated and funny, I found myself unable to get to my introspective place. Instead, I was drawn into their silliness. Next to me were their moms. Standing just far enough away to allow their kids their independence, but close enough to keep an eye on them (and to purchase monster cookies and hot ciders as needed). There was one boy among four girls. He reminded me of what Liam might become. The ham. Comfortable in his skin, but relying on those around him to laugh at his dramatic moves and looks. At one point, I leaned over to his mother and said, "I have one of those at my house. He's only eighteen months right now, but he's going to be just like that." She looked at me with a wide, proud grin and told me how sorry she was for me.

I finally left and went on my merry way. Later on that evening one of the mothers and her daughter who had been there at that Starbucks was at a church event with me. The mother came over and kindly introduced herself to me. She told me that her daughter had spotted me across the room and told her mom, "Hey Mom. There's that lady from Starbucks this morning." I was touched to be remembered, although mildly offended at being called "lady." Whatever happened to girl? I used to be that girl. When did that all change? Maybe when you become a mom other people's kids can't help but see you as their mom, an older person, another generation. I am struggling with being "that lady." Next To Do list I conjure up, I'm going to be sure to put something on there about reclaiming my girlishness!

Living with the 'Rents

Living with my parents at the age of nearly 38 is quite an interesting experience. Sometimes I liken it to the Native Americans who lived, all generations coexisting, in one long house. This is our long house. Sometimes, we refer to our arrangement as the village. Sometimes, even as the f#$%ing village, as in: It takes an f@#$ing village to raise a child.

For the most part, this is an extremely practical arrangement. We all share resources. I have great assistance in caring for the kids. My parents get to reexperience the reward of raising children. Most of the time, it's a lovely situation for all of us.

However, some days it's not. On those days, my mother and father are stressed and overwhelmed by the chaos. I sometimes get tired of living by their rules and in their house. I crave my own independent existence. On those days, I saltily storm about and every little thing I do gets on their nerves.

I think the therapist was right when she said there is no way to avoid it, living with your parents is an infantalizing experience. Sad, but true. I find myself acting like a petulant sixteen year old. Today, for instance, I slept in late and then felt like a lazy load sitting on the couch drinking my coffee while my mother scurried around getting my daughter ready for school. That's just not right, is it? Why am I such a brat sometimes?

Look at our cute little village:

Boys Love Cars

I've always been one who did not believe in gender biases. I also had decided early on that I did not want to foster traditional roles in my children either. So, I gave Elena cars and trucks as a baby and I gave Liam a doll, cookware and a stroller for his first birthday. Elena was great. She played with animals, art supplies, natural elements exclusively, she wasn't fond of dress-up or princesses or dolls (phew!). I proudly patted myself on the back for raising her exactly as I had planned. Good work, Momma! Then, came Liam.

When Liam was six months old, he growled in the car. Later we discovered he was actually "communing" with the downshifting of the car. He has always been into all things car. Anything with a wheel, tv shows about construction vehicles, trains, firemen, immediately ratchet him in. If Thomas the Tank Engine is on, he will happily stand eight inches from the tv until it is shut off. Suffice it to say he is all traditional "boy."

I was encouraged when he seemed to take to a pink a stroller our sitter brought over one day. Perhaps this would bring out the sensitive, feminine side of Liam. Then, last week, I went outside to find this:



Apparently, baby trucks need to be cared for as well. Awwwwwwwwww...

Try the Latest and Greatest...Dental Diet!

So, as you can read in my previous posts, I had some dental work done. I had a bridge put in after having some teeth pulled. While not horrific at all, I am suffering a side effect of weight loss. It could be just the pain of my gums and the swelling which hasn't healed, but that's not the only thing making food less appealing. So, first on the list is pain, but there are three other impediments to food enjoyment playing a role.

Interestingly enough, when my mouth changed and my new bridgework was added, it became more of a focus while eating than taste. The senses used to be busy savoring flavors and rolling textures around in my mouth, are now busy being perturbed by this new appliance in there, its clunkiness, its own taste, its cumbersome shape that gets in the way while I am eating ANYTHING.

I alluded to the second problem in that last sentence above. Because the appliance gets in the way of everything, I am forced to slow my eating WAY, WAY down. I have to keep all food well away from it, or if I decide to entangle it, spend a lot of tongue and lip attention to make sure I keep it clean. It's a major food trap. Eating slowly was something I had put on my list to work on this year. I am pleased with this outcome of the surgery and dental work. I only wish I wasn't feeling like a bridled mustang, or a Ferrari following a Sunday driving pair of blue hairs in a Cadillac. I am slower, but I feel annoyed and intentionally slower. In fact, all in all, I am having to eat with WAY more intention than I ever did before. (I am actually having to relearn speaking some sounds with WAY more intention as well, but that's another blog).

Lastly, the dentist put me on a periodental rinse since I was having some gum bleeding and pain. This stuff makes my mouth border on numb and makes everything taste bitter. EVEN AFTER AN EIGHT HOUR SLEEP!!! My coffee this morning tasted like I had stirred horseradish into it. My toast had a background flavor of ear wax. It reminds of that Bitter Apple stuff we used to put on my sister's thumb to get her to stop sucking it.

Oh well. Five pounds down. Can't complain. I wonder if people would ever start having teeth pulled or swishing with horrible mouth wash to lose weight? It's less invasive than a gastric bypass.

Happy BIrthday Boppa!

I am posting this a day early, but I wanted to blog a tribute to the birthday boy, my dad. I won't embarass him by telling you how old he is this year, but let's just say he's in the middle age years.

When Elena came along, she made a grandpa out of my father for the first time and when Liam came along, my father got to see the first male child born with his genes mixed in. When Elena learned to talk, she made my father a Boppa and Boppa he has become to all of us. Liam is so attached to his Bops, if he hears him downstairs, he will drop everything and shimmy down the stairs as fast as his oddly stumpy legs will make possible.

Boppa is my work mentor and advisor. Right now, as I am trying to navigate the world of self-employment, I desperately need his help on a daily basis. He is gracious enough to answer my persistent phone calls and edit my documents. My father is my business colleague and it's been wonderful to get to know this other side of him as an adult.

Almost two years ago, Boppa had a gastric bypass. He's now as svelt as he ever was. He's lost over a hundred pounds. He walks NEARLY EVERY night, rain or shine. He's renewed his relationship to life and health. We are blessed to have him in our lives. We gratefully celebrate this day, his birth.

One of My Favorite Phrases

Is definitely...

The 80's called and they want your...[insert outdated characteristic here]...back.

I stumbled across this website. This woman has a business. She's in the graphic design business. Just LOOK at the icons, design of the website, even her hair. I was laughing HARD out loud.



All I can say is, the 80's called in a collection agency on this one and they are looking to reposess your entire Website, picture and clip art icons.

Son of a...F%^$@ing Jiffy Lube

How is a girl supposed to ever trust anyone in this world? How am I supposed to raise children to grow up and be good people when such selfishness and dishonesty exists?

This.
Makes.
Me.
Mad.

Watch This

(although, side note, I do think it's pretty hysterical, when the guy at the end is denying his identity and makes up a fake name on the fly).

Don't Mess with the Redhead

Elena just yelled at my dad since he interrupted her. She put her hands on her little hips, set her jaw, and saltily snapped back:

"BOPPA! You just got right in the middle of my question!"

HAHAHAHAHA!

I Have Teeth Again!

I am happy to report that as of 9:30 this morning, I have "teeth" in my gap. The temporary bridge is installed. I was a bit punchy at the dentist, having hopped out of bed, rushed around to get ready and be there at 8 am. It was actually sort of fun and funny. When I got there, I said to the doctor, "I took three Advil, I know you're going to be drilling around in there, it's not going to be a problem, is it?"

He chuckled, smiled his twinkly smile, patted my arm sweetly and said, "Awwww, honey, not at all, we have Vicodin and Valium here if you want to be even MORE comfortable."

Now THAT'S a dentist!

My teeth are a teensy bit crooked, but I keep reassuring myself that this is a temporary prosethic, so I shouldn't worry. My mom got a haircut last week and the bangs were cut too short and slanted downhill, I keep telling her my teeth are just like her haircut. Can you see what I mean about the crookedness, or am I just being picky?

Need to Clear Something Up

Apparently, in my drug induced posting last night, I failed to mention that I will indeed be getting a replacement set of teeth for the gap. I go tomorrow morning at 8 AM to get a temporary bridge, and then, in six months or so, I get a permanent one affixed. I don't know too many more details, but when it comes to big dental work like this, I am better not knowing. I just show up and and am along for the ride. I am truly happier that way.

From the looks of that area of my mouth right now, however (and you will have to excuse the ridiculously poor joke here), this new dental appliance will be like a bridge over troubled waters.

ACK! Postscript! I just went and googled bridges! ACK! Scary process ahead! Stay tuned. I should have followed my own advice and just gone with the flow. ACK!

Toothless and Fancy Free...

Well, minus the fancy free part. I am, however, toothless in one part of my mouth. I had teeth #9 and #10 extracted on Thursday. For all the dentists who read my blog, you know which teeth these are. For everyone else, if you are staring at me it is my front right big tooth (#9) and the adjacent bicuspid (#10). I would break out the picture of the sockets, but nobody would be happy with that. In fact, I suspect I would get hate mail.

As part of this wonderful experience, I have been on Percoset. This immediately transports me to the feeling of recuperation after each of my c-sections. Happy, pain-free, spacey, drowsy, and completely out of it. I think my friend put it best when she described being on painkillers after having her wisdom teeth pulled as "losing days." I feel like I am in the midst of my own lost weekend over here.

Plus, to add to the weirdness, I seem to be obsessed with looking at myself in the mirror and oogling my swollen face. I look like I have the mumps. I have been, affectionately of course, calling myself Ratboy after the main character in the 1986 movie of the same title. In short, my face and sinus are so swollen that I look like I am wearing a prosthetic rodent nose. Add to that the fact that I am missing two teeth, so the one I have left sort of sticks out. I can do a mean impression of Ratboy.

So, due to my medicated state and this funny comparison, I find myself saying things like,
"Ratboy hungry!"
"Ratboy loves Percoset."
"Ratboy is in a little bit of pain."

My mom asked me why I had to be Ratboy and I couldn't be Ratgirl. Because there was no ratgirl, duh!

A Good Craugh

In our family, we have a family tradition of craughing. This is a combination of laughing and crying. It happens when you are so tickled by something that you laugh so hard you start spurting tears. Anyhow, we all had a good craugh together tonight over this test.

I took the test and it said I was left brained. I am not always the most analytical, but I usually test in the middle on these types of tests.

Then, my dad took it and the ballerina was going the other way! I was incredulous! Dad is a CREATIVE TYPE? Well, he is somewhat creative in many ways and he is like me. Maybe I am just jealous that I was not right brain.

Both Dad and I entertained each other for quite a few minutes by watching the ballerina turn. Then, we realized we could get her to shift direction. That was more good clean fun.

Then Mom took it and she was just like me. Only that darn ballerina would only turn counter-clockwise for Mom. It wasn't a big deal until my Dad was calling out from the other room:

"She's going clockwise now...wait, wait, she's turning the other way. Oh...wait! She's switching at the half turn!"

Ok, ok, show-off. She's doing the hokey-pokey. Obviously, your brain is a finely tuned machine that you can switch from left to right at will. Bravo Dad!

Or Maybe, Idiot Savant?

I just posted about my dense beauty, my little grunting boy. He, like his sister, has been a bit on the slow side acquiring language and instead, relies on a sort of combination of hand signals, grunts, physical pushing and inflected "question" noises. Oh, that and the word NO which he has down pat.

Anyhow, tonight, he walked up to my laptop, pointer finger rigidly outstretched and questioned me about the keyboard. Mmmmmmnnnnnhhhhh??? Mmmmmmnnnnnnhhh??? He said while pointing at various things on the screen or keyboard. Then, all of a sudden, that precise little finger hovered right over the number nine key, pressed it repeatedly while he annouced, clear as a bell, "NINE...NIIIIIINE....NIIIIIIIIINE."

"Um...Yes Liam, that is the number nine. HOW THE HECK DID YOU KNOW THAT?"

The rest of the evening I have had the Beatles White Album refrain from the tripped out version of Revolution in my head...Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

My Little Dense Beauty

My sister coined that term for Liam, because he is not the most communicative of children. He seems to have gotten all the looks and is not long on the smarts. He's engaging and sweet, loving and outgoing, but just plain hard to understand.

Ump! Die! Ain!
Does that not sound like he is reaching back to his Germanic language roots? He seems to be dropping all the first consonants from his "words" (I hesitate to call them that when they are a bit more like "sounds with some context").

Anyhow, Ump! Die! Ain! are used quite frequently. See if you can figure them out. I won't expect miracles, however, since it took me a good week to figure the third one out. Have fun with the dense beauty challenge!

Elena's Opinionated Animals

Elena has taken to assigning her feelings to her animals. I think she has done this off and on for a long time, but it seems to have reached a peak lately. Over the last week, the "sensitive" animals have expressed love, neediness, dislike, fear, unhappiness and anger for Elena.

"My animals are tired and DO NOT want to see anybody right now. They need to be sleeping. They are in cranky moods."

"My animals need to be taken care of, I am going to be very busy today taking care of my animals."

"My animals are very afraid of Grammy Gill"...and then, "My animals are going to be MAD at Grammy Gill." (poor Grammy Gill seems to get the brunt of the animal fury). Often when Grammy and Grampy Gill are planning on coming Elena is VERY busy. "I am going to be VERY busy later when Grammy and Grampy come taking care of my animals." Those needy animals are always stealing her away from her grandparents Gill.

My favorite was when the sitter came on Saturday and she was completely thrilled to see her, she said, "Loosa (Melissa)!! Today is my lucky day! I don't have to take care of my animals!" (with the implied...so I can spend the WHOLE day focused on and playing with you).

Tonight she is clearly happy and loving Easter she is preparing eggs to hide for her animals because, "This is what I am 'posed to do for my animals on Easter! My animals like eating jelly beans." (you don't say?)

A little while ago she came up to me with the stuffed bunny she got in her Easter basket and said, "My bunny loves me and my bunny loves you, Mommy."

I sure love my bunny.

Lady Macbeth Dyes the Easter Eggs

Easter Eggs 08 096, originally uploaded by Kikigill.

Easter egg dye is the debil. I have been doing silk tie egg dyeing/dying (sp? which is it?), Tonight we had some friends over to dye eggs the old fashioned way. When I said not to worry about getting her hands in the dye a bit, this is NOT what I meant.

Where's the Nard?

Last night I attended our Maundy Thursday service. This is a service where we celebrate Jesus' last night on earth, as a mortal. Wednesday night's gospel told of the first Christian who annoints Jesus with nard, a very precious ointment.

He was staying in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper. And while He was at the table, a woman came in with an alabaster vial of pure nard ointment. Very expensive. She broke open the alabaster vial, and poured it on His head.

Now some became outraged among themselves, saying, “Why was this ointment wasted? It could’ve been sold for over three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor.” And they were scolding her.

But Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Why are you causing her trouble? She has done a good thing to Me. You will always have the poor with you, and you can do good for them whenever you want. But you will not always have Me.

“What she was able to do, she has done. She has anointed My body for burial ahead of time. I tell you the truth, wherever this Good News is proclaimed, in all the world, what she has done will also be told, as a memorial to her.”

Then, last night, Maundy Thursday, we celebrate the eucharist and we wash each others' feet. We imitate Mary's actions at the last supper when she washed Jesus' feet and wiped them dry with her hair.

When we got ready to get our feet washed, I took off my shoes. I had stinky feet! Horrors! I was embarassed. I found myself thinking about that vial of nard and how we needed something to cover up the smell of our feet...our humaness. But then I realized that having stinky feet probably heightened my sense of humility in the moment. And that was a good thing.

Tie Dyed Eggs...er Silk Tie Dyed Eggs

I love this time of year. I love dying Easter eggs. I love Easter services. Tonight we dyed a test batch since tomorrow night I am having a small Easter egg dying party. I bought some of the regular dye for those who like a more traditional egg, but I also hit up the Goodwill store to pick out a bunch of silk ties for egg dying. I did this last year and was thrilled with the outcome...this test batch was G-R-E-A-T. See what you think:

















Happy Easter!

Meme - Words you Love, Words you Hate

I take my cue from Shelly's blog here. She created a meme about words you hate and words you love. Really simple. Turns out my family is sort of obsessed with this particular discussion topic. I can tell you right now that MOIST is at the top of my sister's most hated list. I used to know a bunch more hated and loved, but hopefully they will pipe in with comments and leave their favorites or least favorites there for the record.

Merriam-Websters did their own study of favorite words and came out with this list:
2004 Top Ten Favorite Words
defenestration
serendipity
onomatopoeia
discombobulate
plethora
callipygian
juxtapose
persnickety
kerfuffle
flibbertigibbet

Anyhow, without further ado, my assignment:

5 words you love:
GARROULOUS (not because I am, but because of the sound of it)
ANTIQUARIAN
TACIT and TACTILE (there is something about the sound of them)
SERENDIPITY
BUCOLIC

5 words you loathe:
PHLEGM
COLIC
VOMIT
PUS
SLIME

A word you use way too often:
NO!

A word you can't stand to hear mispronounced:
I pretty much agree with this whole list.
And, another, it's a phrase actually, "CHAMPING AT THE BIT" SO many people say "CHOMPING AT THE BIT"
Oh, and a shout out for my sister who hates, ORIENTATED.

Words that are new to you and their definitions:
APHORISM. From the Greek word aphorismos, meaning ''definition.'' Aphorism: poetic form of definition.

QWERTY. We can dispatch of qwerty quickly, for it is the word to describe the typewriter keyboard (the top row of letters from left to right).

FROTTON. The word frotton is on the list--and is taken from printing. It is a "dabber or burnisher used to press the damp sheet upon the inked block." The frotton is a small cushion of cloth stuffed with wool. But the French word frotter means to rub, and because the early 20th century was obsessed with sex (any different from today?), the root frott increasingly became used to speak about sexual perversions or "rubbings." Though frotton was coined in the 1870s, it was driven out of use by Ellis's book on the psychology of sex (1933) where he said: "The special perversion of frottage..consists in a desire to bring the clothed body, and usually though not exclusively the genital region, into close contact with the clothed body of a woman." It is, a later writer tells us, a "morbid development of the normal sexual excitatory effects of touching."

Another blog meme asks:

what are your favourite words, and why?
what does that tell us about you?
write about it on your blog and invite other bloggers to write about it.
link back to this blog (change therapy at http://moritherapy.org) and i’ll
gather the words and contributors in a list and publish it
stumble your “favourite word” post (as long as they meet my stumble criteria, which shouldn’t be difficult with a post like this)

I will handle that one later!

Zen and the Art of Bob Ross

Bob Ross slays me. I mean he totally cracks me up. He's the perfect blend of simple and amazing, interesting and dull, talented and trite. He's famous for his lexicon of silly little painting terms..."happy little trees" and "a nice gentle cloud that pops right out there." His show is punctuated by the sound of him thwacking his brush against the legs of his easel in the most comical way. He paints for thirty minutes and completes an oil painting that could easily feel at home in an art sale at the local Hilton on a Saturday.

I am watching Bob Ross right now with my father. Below are actual quotes from the show I am watching. However, if you haven't seen him before, you owe it to yourself to catch him on PBS or cable tv some night.

"Work in layers, one at a time, one at a time, don't get greedy."
"Maybe we just put some dirt in there, some rocks and twigs. Whatever, whatever. Let that float along, barely touching. That's right...perfect"
"This tree needs to really pop out. Let's go back in and give him a friend. Everybody needs a friend. You know I always say that...everybody needs a friend."
"This brush is not as much fun to clean off as the big one. I like to clean the big one and everyone back stage goes running."
"I get a lot of letters about my easel, asking if they could have an easel like I have. This one is just an old ladder! You can make one at home."

I tried to find a video for you on youtube, but alas, he is so easily ridiculed, there are almost exclusively Bob Ross parodies out there, instead of his real shows. It's a tragedy.

When Dad is stressed at all, Bob Ross is his refuge. I remember his interest in this show in the early 80's and then the late 90's, both challenging times in my father's career. Now is another challenging time. So, almost as a harbinger of the recession, Bob Ross has been coming more and more frequently to our tv set. It's the art and the amazing way he puts color onto the canvas, but it's also the hushed, hypnotic tones with which he speaks. Right now, I can almost not hear him for my dad's gentle breathing beside me. He's asleep. Thank you, Bob Ross for relaxing my father. R.I.P.

I'm So Tired

Cue the Beatles' song of the same name. I am just having one of those very sleepy weeks. I suppose it could be the rip roaring weekend we had. My father's band, Intraction, had its debut gig. Dad was calling it a "coming out" party until we recommended that he use some different lingo to describe it. Anyhow, it was very cool to see my dad wielding a 1971 Fender Precision bass and making music. They were good, too! It's always a little awkward when you invite over a hundred of your family, friends and acquaintances, but the band proved worthy.

Dad said one of his friends left him with the comment, "It's great to come to an event like this with low expectations...it's really easy to be blown away. You were great!" Not so sure that's the highest compliment I've ever heard, but hey, the rockstar liked it, so that's all that matters. (There was actually a little discussion in the family about that comment. The crux of the contention was: Would it make you happier to hear that you did a great job in comparison to low expectations or high expectations?) No matter, though, a great time was had by all. See what you think...

Momzilla Archive

Since I figure I may always be posting stories about my ex-mother-in-law I would like to reprise some previous tales of Momzilla from years past. I am so looking forward to the day when my divorce is final and I can get (somewhat) free from her double-taloned hold and screeching voice...So, without further ado, I give you Momzilla:


Originally posted in August of 2006...Momzilla Comes for a Visit

My mother-in-law is Momzilla. She's just horrid to her son. She's alright to me because she believes I am "a bit of a take-charge girl." I'm sure she talks about me behind my back, because she does that to everyone. She is just really unhappy in her own skin, so she has to come down on every other living soul around her. The only one in our family who is exempt is Elena. Thank God, because if she ever levied a blow at my baby, I would tear Momzilla limb from limb.

Last night they came over to visit the baby. By the time I got home from work, and they had only been there one hour, poor Patrick was a complete frazzled mess. The average person pushes Patrick's buttons. His mother plays ragtime on his. She knows every weakness and insecurity and preys upon them like a velociraptor. She frames lines of questioning meant merely to back him (or me) into a corner. An example would be these exchanges from last night:

MZ: "Patrick, you're working now?"
P: "Yup."
MZ: "What days?"
P: "Not sure, it changes every week."
MZ "You have to be more clear with them. They will take advantage of you!"
P: "No Mom, they know what times I can work and what times I can't, they are setting the schedule up to accomodate."
MZ: "Why are you not the one setting the schedule? You should be managing that store!"
P: "I don't want to manage the store."
MZ: "I don't understand why you could be so unambitious and lazy."
P: "Mom, I am not lazy. I watch Elena."

Then later to me:
MZ: "Does your mom come down to help Patrick out with watching Elena?"
Me: "Yes, most days she comes for a few hours in the afternoon."
MZ: "Why?"
Me: "To give Patrick some time off and to spend time with her grandaughter."
MZ: "What does he do while she is watching Elena?"
Me: "He'll run errands, do a project, take a nap...I don't..."
MZ: "WHAT!? A nap? I watched three children and never needed a nap. What is wrong with him? He's soooo lazy!"
Me (warning: I LOST MY SHIT!): "Mary! Please don't put your son down anymore in front of me. I love him dearly and I want you to know that he is an excellent husband and father."
MZ: "But...I don't put him..."
Me: "Yes YOU DO! You roll your eyes. You call him lazy. You say he is not using his schooling. You put down the fact that he is home with Laney. I love him and you are hurting my feelings. Please, please stop."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...AND BOY DID IT FEEL GOOD!


Post Date: SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2005
Mary Popped In
Yesterday, Momzilla (my mother-in-law see previous post here) called around eleven in the morning to see what we were up to and to see if she could come visit "her" baby. Well, I said, you can, but I have a friend coming into town and we are going to go shop, walk, eat, so if we are not home, we should be back by three or four. Oh, she said, I'll call you when I know if we are going to take a drive down or not. OK, I said.

Fast forward to 4:40 PM. I am feeling safe and sound. Melissa and I are sitting on the couch sharing the laptop screen, looking for boutiquey costumes for Elena. I decide that in order to be a good hostess, and to have an excuse to break my diet, I will prepare a peach cobbler. Being a very good wife and mother, a few weeks ago, I peeled and sliced about twenty ripe, sweet fleshed, local-grown peaches and froze them. I pulled them out, made an oat and brown sugar topping and put it in the oven. Fifteen minutes from peach cobbler showtime, I heard a horrifying sound.

It was a loud knock at the door. I was secretly hoping it was the pesky UPS man who annouced his arrival in that same manner. My hopes were dashed when the door opened on its own. My in-laws had popped in. Despite the fact that I was in pretty good shape, awake, showered, dressed, baby dressed, baby not wearing ugly stained outfit, baby napping, coffee brewing, sweet smells filling kitchen, peach cobbler timer dinging...I was still put off by their showing up unannounced. I knew there was a "chance" of them taking a drive down to our neck of the woods, but I kept playing the earlier phone conversation over and over again in my head to see if I had missed when she said they would be down and that they would not call first.

My mother-in-law prefers the pop-in. The pop-in should be outlawed. Pop-ins are always unwelcome. Today, for example, I stayed up late with friends last night. We even slept over at their house and then got up early and, although it was fun, I was completely bankrupt of all energy. As we were all crawling out of the car and into the house and into our napping positions, Derek-from-down-the-street came riding by on his bike and shouted to us. Please GOD, let him just be saying hello. Please GOD, make him stop talking and GO AWAY. I had three bags of overnight luggage and groceries hanging off my arms, one half-asleep trundling baby and one grouchy husband at the self-proclaimed "end of his rope." We finally herded the whole family inside, sans Derek and I wanted to cry I was so happy to be home.

I had a sudden need to use the bathroom (the kind that being back in your own home will inspire) and proceeded to spend some time in there. DING DONG...OH NO!!! Yes, the doorbell. It was Derek. "I can pat your dog?" Damn pop-ins.

Post Date: SATURDAY, MAY 13, 2006
Big Underpants
This one goes out to my friend Tiff. She's had a bit of a rough month, so this story is dedicated to her sense of humor. She once told me that mere mention of the word underpants can send her into hysterics. It comes from a high school variety show where one of her peers did a comedy act centering around the word "underpants." Classic Tiff. This is the story of some underpants...some BIG ASS panties.

So one day, my in-laws came over. They come over a lot and visit with Elena and help us out. My mother-in-law is a primo bargain hunter so she always has a few gifts to share. This particular visit, she had been to the local Filenes which was closing. They had "slim-pickings," but she was able to find a few things. She brought me a bra that could have doubled as a baby sling for the new baby. I think it was a 44 DD. I may be a bit more buxom while pregnant, but no where NEAR that size. I politely declined saying that lace bras with padding make me itch. Phew...that was a near miss.

She rummaged in the Filenes shopping bag some more and produced three pairs of underpants. I was looking down at the time, going through some pictures. She annouced that these were for when I "get big and pregnant." They were a size 12. Well, size 12 is smaller than my regular size of 16...in pants. Apparently, underwear are sized very differently. A size 8 is the equivalent of a size 16 pants size. So, a 12 is a touch bigger...Here is what a size 12 in underpants looks like:


Post Date: SATURDAY, MAY 20, 2006
Painting the House
I don't really know if it's appropriate that I write a vent here about my in-laws, but I've done it before, so why stop now?

Anyhow, for awhile now the in-laws have been making their visits when I am at work. This is nice because I either don't have to see them or I get to come home for a short visit, which is just enough. Well, Momzilla is on a campaign to get us to move out of this house. She is convinced that we have to paint the house if we ever want to sell it. So, she has offered to pay for the painting of the house, inside and out. Very kind offer, right?

Well, you would think so, wouldn't you? There are parameters to the offer:
1) It must be done by THEIR painter
2) It must be done quickly
3) We will owe them the money or it will be a gift depending on the conversation

The conversation we had yesterday went like this:
Me, "$7000 is too much money. We can't be on the hook to you for that much money. We'll never be able to pay you back."

MZ, "It's a gift to you. You don't have to pay us back."

Me, "Well, if it's a gift, I would rather we take the money to use for maternity leave, so I don't have to sell my car to pay for my time off."

MZ, "We don't have $7000 just floating around!"

Me, "Then don't paint our house for us! I would never ask you to! I haven't even talked to Patrick about it, so we will have to discuss it and decide, but I do not think I can accept it...it's just too much."

MZ, "Well, I have to tell the painter NOW. He would come and do the painting in two weeks."

Me, "If the answer has to be today, then it is no."

MZ, "When can you have an answer? Maybe we should just do the interior stuff, that's only $1200."

Me, "Maybe, we'll see. I have to talk to Patrick and I would want to get another quote."

MZ, "Well, this guy was going to do a lot of repairs."

Me, "I was wondering because $7000 seemed like an awful lot for a little house. I would rather paint it ourselves or give a credit to a buyer when we do go to sell it. It's seems frivilous to do it at this point. It's not urgent."

MZ, "Oh! You have a lot of rot and mildew! It's in bad, bad shape."

Me, "I just don't want to think about this right now while I am 8 months pregnant! I can't imagine cleaning the house to be able to enable ceiling painting throughout. Just let me talk to Patrick about it."

MZ, "But, I want you out of this house and neighborhood."

UGH!! Yes, I know you want us out of this neighborhood. I know you don't like diversity and want us to move away from it. I know you look at our neighbor, who is a 16 year-old hispanic girl and imagine she is a crack whore. She's not, she's a good girl. "But, I saw her hanging all over BOYYYYYYYYS," you hiss. That's what 16 year-olds do!

OK readers, what the hell do I do?

Momzilla Behind the Wheel

Momzilla, Magilla, the mother-in-law still drives. She has had cataracts removed recently which SHOULD, in theory, have alleviated some of the seeing issues that have made that pesky chore of driving at night NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE! Ugh...How do you stop someone who is super stubborn and bossy from driving? That, my friends, is the question.

One day, I was driving with the soon-to-be-ex-husband and we came up to an interesection. Across the way was Momzilla, edging out into the intersection, looking ticked off that the cars speeding by didn't part like the Red Sea for her. We watched as she inched forward more and more until she was hanging out in the interesection. It was frightening. It was devestating when we realized our daughter was in that car with her. I would argue with her, but honestly folks, that requires some degree of fortitude I just don't have in me right now.

Elena has only twice gotten car sick. Both times in her car. You know why? She has a lever-foot acceleration problem. Have you ever driven with someone who you figure must have a hinge in the middle of their foot because they push down on the accelerator, only to back off again, push down again, off again. It makes for a ride far more like a boat on rough seas than a Jeep riding down a smoothly paved highway. It makes me instantly sick.

And yet, this woman is the world's best projector of EVERY driving issue. It is not HER fault, it's that idiot or this moron who has no idea how to drive. It's that car up there going so fast, weaving in and out that made it hard for her to merge onto the highway (not, of course, the fact that she freaks out merging onto said highway and backs off the accelerator). She's highly critical of anyone else's driving. Suffice to say, I cannot drive her anywhere without her gripping the dashboard, drama-style, a panicked, incredulous face turned towards me, "You ALMOST didn't make that turn!" Anytime I coming up to their house, it is a game for me to figure out when to call to make it appear as if I drove the speed limit or under the whole ride, or I will get an earful. "You must have drove like a bat out of hell to get here!" "My goodness!!! How fast did you go? You're going to get a ticket."

To all that I reply, people in glass houses...you know the rest.

A Few Funnies

Liam has a car toothbrush. I thought this was a great idea, initially,, until you focus on the fact that my son likes to brush teeth IN the bathtub and gets confused as to whether it is a toothbrush or a car. I got kind of grossed out tonight as he was "driving" it the grout of the bathtub.

I was sitting doing work today in my room. Elena was jumping on my current "bed." I put bed in quotes because I am currently sleeping around at my parents' house (where I, embarassingly enough, live)...the bed, to which she was referring, is the playroom futon where I logged a few nights this week while Sissy was in town. This futon broke a few weeks ago, so "futon" isn't the exact right description of it, no, it more like a floor pad. Anyhow, I was sitting at my computer doing my work and I heard, "Mommy, I peed on your bed last night, but that's ok, wight?" Sigh...I suppose it's fine, Elena. Here she is, snuggling in my "bed":

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Must publish...eighteen-month-old attack...............ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Commemorating Sister

Today my sister is 32. She was a bicentennial baby. I remember well when she came to live with us. She was hardly impressive at first, just stealing Mom's lap and attention, but over time that all changed. We became friends.

When she was born, I was just going to kindergarten. Soon after, I would learn to read and read books to her all the time. We would take our evening bath together at night and she would laugh at my splashing silliness. So many pictures snapped over the next years would capture her beaming face, squished in the crook of my arm or squeezed in a sideways hug. On Saturday mornings, we could be found making graham crackers with peanut butter for breakfast and trying to avoid waking our parents as we would sneak down to watch our favorite Saturday morning cartoons. (Anyone remember Fred and Barney Meet the Schmoo?)

She would always be up for my games and shenanigans. She was a captive audience when I wanted to sing, dance or put on a show. Then, she would become the best at putting on shows ever, far surpassing her less theatrically-inclined sister! She and I would seek out fun wherever we went, swimming in the Lake, sliding down the stairs on a crib mattress, playing with Dad's microphones, destroying the house with "Mandy and Jenny" and their escapades. She was the best gift my parents ever gave me!

So, this weekend as we celebrated her birthday with a big karaoke bash, I watched with pride as she put on a show for us. As she had done for me, so many times before. I was proud. She was gorgeous and talented and it was wonderful.

We were sisters before we were friends, but friends we are and friends we will always be. Happy Birthday, Sissy!

I Knooooooooow, Riiight?

I have a new visitor. It's kind of like a disease. It's contagious like a yawn or a childhood illness.

It's a simple, three-word phrase I picked up after spending time with a friend who uses said phrase...

I know, right?

It came on like a pox. First once, then twice, then several times. As I got tired, and over stimulated (not that that happened at all, what with going to Foxwoods, getting no sleep, partying in Boston...nah...), it came on full force, a full-blown infection.

Every conversation I have had for the last two days has been interrupted by this new invader. Apparently, my tired, involutary mind is convinced that, "I know, right?" is the perfect insertion into any conversation. My voluntary mind, however, is warring against it. So, now, I sound like I have Tourettes Syndrome.

My sister: "We have to do another song...how about Buttercup, it rocks!"

My Involutary Mind: "I know, right?"

My Voluntary Mind in my head: OH NO! SHUT UP! There it is again. I totally wish I could stop saying that!

Me, out loud: "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr..."

My sister: "Eventually, you will give it up, it can't go on forever!"

I know, right?