Running Red Momma

After watching one of those movies where no one stands up for the weak, I promised myself that I knew enough to not be part of the herd.  I promised myself I would be courageous for my beliefs and to look out for others.  The other morning a woman at my local rec center said we better hurry or, "We are going to have a black president."  I was stunned for a moment.  I whispered my promise in my head, but I wasn't sure what to do without just having a lecture.  Yes, I am sadly oriented that way.  I looked at her, with some arched-eyebrow and asked, "Why?"  She told me she wasn't ready for one yet.  "Hmmm, " I said.  That was it!??? I didn't defend the defenseless, I didn't put her in her place like I see in the movies.  I was stumped and that is all I said.  As I sat in my car, a dozen other helpful comments came to my head.  (That's too bad.  Or, I voted for him.)  Those all would have been good starts.  Why is it so much harder in real

After my fun a-ha, I wanted to have fun more often.  With all of the kids off school, we went skating with the family today.  I used my razor and sailed around the rink.  The music was pumping old tunes like Ghost Busters and such.   I had that great moment again where I found myself in a zone floating to music and wearing a big smile.  It reminded me of all those joyful moments of roller skating when I was a little girl.  I would just happily hum to myself and practice my turns in people's driveways.  Today I sang really loudly and grinned.  I would keep pushing my legs harder and harder to see how fast I could go.   I've been reading that women sometimes have a hard time remembering who they were before marriage, careers and kids.   I found that bookish girl with glasses today.  

Some of you know my special son...which he is, of course. About two weeks ago, he asked me how horses go to the bathroom. I should have stopped right there. No need to post photos. I guess in some twisted world I appreciated his sincere desire to "keep it real" like the horses out there. So, imagine my horror last night when I saw dark, brown chunks of something by his door. My first thought, was much like Better Off Dead , "please God don't let be a booger." Except, I feared much worse. I solved it like any other stupid mom. I smelled it. It was chocolate. I realized it was a chewed-up version of my much coveted, secretly-stashed Lindt chocolate balls. As if poo weren't enough in my life!

Yeah, so my sister mentions that you are the "funny one".  Except, I'm not.  During the holidays we played this fun game where one created some funny line to accompany an empty New Yorker cartoon.  (Yes, typical family style, we think for fun.)  Thereafter, one reads all of the lines and people take turns voting which is funniest.  My father, the sometimes stern sometimes preacher father, received multiple votes on a variety of turns.  Yup, this foreshadowing is obvious. I didn't get one vote! I sat there in my wounded silence and thought to myself, "I don't even have funny."  What is left?  Instead of arias, sonatas, points or esoteric PhDs, what am I? Hmmm, loud and crass?  Sure, my sister can mention that I was not lost in the family.   But, what a talent and jewel, you couldn't  ignore me if you tried .  I'm going to go on America's Got Talent. I'm forming my posse now. (That's an artist's profile of Better Midler, you get the

Every family creates identities for each member. Whether you want to or not, it seems to happen.  It can be as simple as the athlete, artist or brain. But what happens when you have eleven children?  The details get more specific.   My family covered all the places: obedient eldest,  singer, pianist, flutist, dancer/singer, uber-brain, uber-popular, super-runner, rebel and so forth.  What about the child who doesn't do any of these things?  And you are not able to combine any of these, like a super combo of a theater major, what do you do?    I can do some of these things. I do them only well enough to appreciate who does it better.  Hence, I was not THE designated go-to-person for that area of speciality.  Because there are so many of us, it was easier for people to sort us into these categories.  Yes, we could discuss how everyone is an individual and that isn't fair, but let's be honest.  People do it.   My sister had a friend over, who was trying to sort out all the kid