He graduates this week with an MBA from Georgetown University. I'm a proud Mama.
None of the things I'm about to say will be new to him. He's heard them all before. Many times. I hope.
T, you have worked incredibly hard to get where you are today. You have an amazing work ethic and I am certain that you will accomplish many great and wonderful things.
More importantly, I am proud of the person you have become. You are a responsible man; full of integrity, compassion and love. It is an honor, privlege and one of my greatest blessings being your Mother.
Congratulations. I wish I was there to give you a big hug. You've made being your mother easy. I love you.
Have you ever started a blog crawl that took on a life of it's own, going off on tangents like a crazy professor so that, say, you start here and end up three hours later on some random site considering a purchase?
It's like one of those marathon best-girlfriend conversations that start out with "hey, you want to go walking?" and ends up three hours later with the two of you having drafted the charter for a organic farm or shopping at an awesome boutique two towns over.
Anyhow, inevitably on that blog crawl, you passed by something REALLY COOL and figured you'd come back to it, right? But three hours later, the path back is totally overgrown and as you try to retrace your clicks you become confused and disoriented, bumping around and crying because nothing looks familiar. You're convinced that that REALLY COOL thing is lost forever, and the the desirability of it begins to reach mythical proportions in your mind.
I know what you're thinking..... "Annie, get off that computer and get a life, or at least get after that big pile of laundry."
With Mothers day being right around the corner, I can always count on Hubby asking "What do you want for Mothers day?"
I usually have a long list of things that he could surprise me with. This year though? Nothin. I can't think of a single thing that I want. Imagine that!
Maybe there's one thing.
It would be so lovely to be in the same place, at the same time with these two guys. Fat chance of that, though.
Seriously, we haven't all been together in the same place but once in the last four years. That blows! (does that sound just as bad as "that sucks"?) If so, sorry Mom.
Anyways, this is one of the few pictures that I have of me and my boys. It was taken four Christmases ago. It's dark, blurry and not one of the greatest pictures. But at least I have it and it helps to look at it when I am missing them.
Today would be one of those days. ~sniff~
So hubby, about that gift? I guess I'll just settle for a nice quiet brunch up at Sundance.
And when all the stars and planets and the moon align and we are all together as a family again, I'll be sure to take a ton of pictures. Minus the blurriness.
After nursery yesterday, I came home with a sore back and a blouse that was smeared with snot. Lots of snot. In multiple places.
I know church is supposed to be Sunday best, but now that I will be working in the nursery I will have to rethink my Sunday wardrobe.
Sadly, I really don't have any clothes that I am willing to wear and risk getting ruined. I know, poor me. It makes me sad to think of the time and energy that I put into putting together some pretty spiffy church outfits. All for naught, folks.
What I need is a Super kid-proof outfit. Something stain resistant, flexible enough to play Ring around the Rosies. It has to fit perfectly so I don't have to worry about accidentally flashing or mooning anyone and lastly, it has to look amazing.
I think Project runway should try to tackle this.
I promised hubby that I would quit complaining about being called to serve in the nursery. So that's the last you'll hear about that. But you can be dang sure I'm counting the days til I'm back wearing my spiffy church clothes again.
Oh. And I sure hope all that snot washes out okay.
Do you ever wake up in the morning and think "my hair sucks"? Maybe that's a little blunt but I feel this way alot.
I've heard it said, that once you're over fifty that you should start sporting a shorter do. How short? I don't know. But I wanna know. What are the rules?
Sometimes when I let it get a little too long, I braid it and call it my "polygamist hairdo". Hubby is not amused.
Lately, I have fallen victim to annoying hair loss. It's not alot, but enough to make hubby ask "Hey, are you keeping a pony in here?" Although he's never said anything, I'm sure it bugs the heck out of him. I can see the disgust in his face as he picks my long hair off the floor (throughout the entire house), inside his car and possibly once or twice in his dinner.
I love my long hair but I don't want to be one of those ladies that keep it at a longer length than they should. My hair stylist tells me not to cut it. "Rock this length for as long as you can". she says.
So really, I need your opinions. To cut or not to cut?
I wanted to showcase my mad dancing skills at my nephew's recent wedding. Hubby was less than thrilled to do so. Not to be deterred, I proceeded to beg and plead for anyone to dance with me. I headed towards my teenage nephews who were gathered around the refreshment table. They saw me coming and knew what I was after. They quickly scattered. The slugs.
My Dad took pity and whirled me around the dance floor. Boy can he cut a rug. He even dipped me. Here I am holding on for dear life.
My Mom wanted in on the action so I had to grab my brother in law, Steve. Here we are; the blind leading the blind. He was a good sport.
Finally, overcomed with jealousy, Hubby insisted that I give him a turn. For half a song. Really? That's all you're gonna give me?
I'd buy a boat, so I could be the captain. (sorry babe) I'd buy fresh flowers from Pikes market. And since they're so inexpensive, I'd get them every week. I'd like to live in one of those homes that are actually on the water. And pretend that I am in movie with Tom Hanks. That is unless it rocks too much and makes me seasick,then I'd take one with a view of the Space Needle.
I would forget about an umbrella and wear a hat EVERY day. I'd hang out with my beautiful niece and pretend like she's my daughter. I'd search the whole city for the perfect bowl of clam chowder. When I found it, I'd order some "to go" every single night. I'd would park the car and walk everywhere so I would be able to eat all that clam chowder. And lastly, I would work up the courage to try somefresh oysters. Just to see if what they say about them is true. ;)
I've been dealing with it for the last few weeks. And boy, is my tail dragging. I just keep popping my vitamins in hopes that I don't get sick.
It's a drag not being able to go to sleep when I am so tired. It's strange because I will fall asleep in front of the tv, but the minute I get my little self into bed, I am wide awake. Talk about frustrating.
There has been an upside to having insomnia, though. I've been able to get in some good reading during the past few weeks of sleeplessness. I would recommend all of these books. My favorite, "The Art of Racing in the Rain", makes me want to go out today and buy a puppy.
Tonight, I'm going to start reading "The girl with the Dragon Tatoo". Unless I fall asleep. (please, please, please.)
I've always thought it would be fun to live in the library. And the more I think about it, that's not such a bad idea. It's quiet. I bet I could catch some zzzz's there.
The best marriage will be full of dreams deferred and dreams remembered, because living and loving get in the way of dreams sometimes. In the best marriage, you can share your dreams, always part of who you are, and be content with both the realized dreams and the fantasies that are there to flirt with.
Happy Anniversary, babe. Here's to twenty five more.
I've been thinking that I want to learn how to make homemade bread. Do you make your own bread, friends? If so, is it really complicated?
My mother rarely made homemade bread. If I were her, I don't suppose I would have either. The eight of us would have it gone before it even had a chance to cool. I remember her going to the bread outlet and buying day old bread. She would buy a dozen loaves and freeze them.
The bread of my childhood was my grandmother's savory dill bread. She called it dilly bread. I didn't care much for it when I was young, but I am fairly certain that if I could have a slice today, I would enjoy it.
My mother's cooking was pretty standard for the '60s and '70s. On Sundays we would always have meat, potatoes, gravy and a canned vegetable. During the week it was all about soups and casseroles. Mom could make eight sandwiches using one can of tuna.
Now, that's resourceful.
Except for my mother's macaroni and hamburger dish, I don't really have a yen for the food of my childhood. And neither do my grown children who now try to "introduce" us to exotic foods they refused to eat at our table. It wasn't me who picked celery and onions out of everything and begged for Top Ramen at every meal.
I tried to serve my boys nutritious foods, while they were growing up, but, except for broccoli, they balked. They only ate broccoli, because in a stroke of genius, I called the florets trees and said only giraffes could eat them. By the time our boys hit there teens, our menu was limited to five items: hot dogs, hamburgers, spaghetti, tacos and enchilada casserole.
I can't tell you how an empty nest has improved our diet. Hubby announced the other day that he would like to try going vegetarian a couple of times a week. (after his annual checkup next week, we may just have to do that) Because if his cholestrol numbers are off the chart....
We love foreign foods--Thai, Indian, Middle-Eastern. For us comfort foods are not from a nostalgic past that wasn't all that good. Comfort food is now.
I have spent the last hour reading blogs. And I am having grumpy thoughts.
Because nearly every blog is always happy and perfect.
I rarely post what I am truly thinking here. Why? I don't want people to know how sarcastic, mean and downright grumpy many of my brain waves are.
It is like people asking, "How's it going?" Most people don't want to know how you are doing, so I just answer with that four letter work beginning with "F" - "fine". Besides, compared to so many people, my life is GREAT, so I feel guilty about the everyday things that create misery.
I'd much rather read a truthful account of a bad day than a fluffy, happy, looking on the bright side account of a bad day. Yep, I rejoice in other women's grumpy words, grumpy thoughts and bad hair days, because it makes me feel like I am not alone.
I have zero interest in sports outside of two weeks every two years. Then if I could have my way, I'd never leave my house at night so I could stay permanently glued to my TV set.
I love watching people who work really hard to experience the sheer joy of victory. And the feats of strength! So amazing.
It warms my heart and I get a lump in my throat when I see a gold medal athlete sing their national anthem during the awards ceremony. Even if they are just mouthing the words, I give them an "A" for effort.
And will someone explain to me the point of curling?
For years (I mean YEARS) we have been sitting on the same row at church. Right side, three rows from the back. It is our row. Next week I have decided that we are going to start sitting somewhere different every Sunday. Hopefully, we will be able to meet and talk to different people. And get a different view. We are going to shake things up.
I spent up to my late thirties being nice and trying to pacify people. It took some time, but eventually I threw out the "nice girls don't make waves" attitude that I had since childhood. It's a switch.
The last decade has been different. I have no use for mean spiritedness. It leaves a bad taste. I stopped putting up with so much BS and saying what needs to be said. I have embarrassed my children on a few occasions by speaking up for the underdog.
I'm generally a nice, mild mannered girl. Not only do I try to respond to kindness but to generate it too. But something just happens in me that I can't stop when I see someone being mistreated. The bulldog comes out in me.
I found myself in a situation this week where I was the underdog. I stood up to this person, (in a nice way) but I stood up to them. I was able to think quick on my feet and said what I thought needed to be said. Needless to say, this person isn't too happy with me now. Oh well? I am glad that I'm not that "casper milk toast" girl anymore.
Is there anything more sublime than submerging your tired body into a deep tub full of hot hot water for about an hour or so? I've been doing alot of that lately.
Hubby claims a shower is more exhilarating. He likes to stand under the hot water until there is no hot water. "Baths are disgusting," he says. "You're sitting in your own filth."
"How can you relax standing up?" I ask. "It's like waiting in line in the rain." I exaggerate. He exaggerates. We've never come to any kind of consensus.
For many years growing up, we had one bathroom for ten people and one bathtub. Mother was a quick bather. Put in five inches of water, wash yourself, and get out. So disciplined and so wrong.
My father knew what to do with a bath. He got in and stayed in. He came home from work, ate dinner and then took a long bath before going to bed. The trouble was that the toilet was in there. I always had to pee when someone was bathing.
We now have three and a half bathrooms for two people. I only bathe in the master bedroom tub, which is the deepest of the three. I pee in all the toilets though, marking my territory like a dog. Mine, mine, mine.
Hubby still hasn't learned to enjoy bathing. His loss. Because in my opinion, they are so civilized, so perfect.
Over the holidays we went to Scottsdale Arizona to see our youngest son. It was warm and we had a good time. The first few days were a little "ify" though. All because a little toothache decided to get in my way of having any fun. It was my first time ever having one.
Have you ever had a toothache? Can I just say "Holy freakin cow". Talk about pain.
"Please" I said to Hubby, "Just shoot me."
Let me tell you, I could not concentrate on anything but that throbbing tooth. It consumed my every thought. After two days of suffering, we decided to call the dentist back home and have him call in some prescriptions. Thankfully, after a day of taking the antibiotic, I started to feel some relief.
This picture was taken after I had taken a painkiller. It's only the second time I have ever taken one in my life. That night is a blur.
Seriously people, I don't remember a darn thing. But I hope I was fun, engaging and good company.
I suppose it's a good thing I don't drink.
And just so you know, said tooth is history. But not to worry, after $4200.00 and three months of healing I'll have a new implant and a new tooth.
But I must say, it's sad and demoralizing.......especially for a flossing queen.
I have been unplugged for a couple of weeks, mainly because I was out of town defrosting and enjoying myself. But mostly because I just need to be unplugged occasionally. It's good for a marriage.
January and the new decade has come in like a lamb. I know that's a March metaphor, but I'm always expecting January in the form of a monstrous lion's jaw aimed at my face. That is not the case this year. I have even been so bold as to think resolutions, which I generally think of as the loser's path to disappointment and destruction.
But hey, it's a new decade. And the way I have felt this past week, this might be the last full decade on this earth for me. ;)
I heard it on the radio so it must be true, that the first Monday of the year is considered the most depressing day of the year. They said it's because we miss the holidays, and start to worry about how we are going to pay for Christmas purchases.
I felt it. I was really sad..... sad that I couldn't get my head out of the toilet for more than a minute at a time. Damn that food poisoning. I guess that's what you get for skipping church to go out to breakfast. Lesson learned.
So here they are folks. I'm putting them out for all to see. This is all I got. Wish me luck
1. Love Hubby
2. Read the complete Old Testament. Read, read, read.