Running Red Momma

We decided to get out of the house this weekend--finally! We went to a local Christmas lighting ceremony. There was free hot chocolate and ice skating. What fun. As I had a very young baby, we set ourselves down to watch the older kids skate. Since I had recently lost some weight, it sure seemed cold that night. Although I was outfitted in my thickest coat, hat and snowboarding gloves, I could not stop shivering. I tried doing a small dance to stay warm. I drank hot chocolate. Alas, it was useless. I needed to get some warmth. After loading myself and the wee ones in the car, I thought to myself, "Sheesh that was cold! With the wind and cold, what must it be? 15 degrees? Maybe 20?" I excitedly looked over to check the temperature to gauge how much of a hardship I had endured. I scratched my head, 38 degrees? Not even at the freezing mark? For years, I have read books about ascending Everest. Someday, I imagined myself there. Yup, I canceled my mythical journey to Eve

Oliver's journey began a long time ago. I couldn't shake the sense we needed another child. Despite many valid concerns, I carefully prayed for a long time. Some of the story is personal, but the end note was a decision to move forward. The pregnancy was full of the usual complaints any pregnant woman would share with you. However, I was stunned by the ultra-sound revealing it to be a boy. I somehow had not made that part of my planning. None of our other health concerns became fact. However, a boy did bring up our fear of autism. (Boys have four times a greater chance of having it.) In our decision to have a baby, we had already discussed concerns of NICU, downs or autism. We felt that even if those events did happen that we should still have this child. In fact, our prayers would still be "answered." Yet when I realized we were having a boy, I was nervous. As the months continued, I observed I had become quite ambivalent about having a boy. It is a terri

Yes, I did give birth recently. I'll comment more on that another day. My brain is working on the trivial today. While working on being the sole food source for a youngun, I have watched more tv than is usual. Hence, I will share all of the tremendous wisdom I have gathered in the past week. Green Day needs a new look. The hot, rebellious look of punkness looks ridiculous on older dudes. The drummer looks like a middle-aged guy on Halloween. I would include a picture, but I am worried about copyright laws. It is more like eeewwww than oooooooo! There are some FREAKY fans of the Twilight series. Wow! There are fans and then there are women who bedazzle their t-shirts/pillows/whatnot in favor of team Jacob or Edward. You would think a 34-D is hot....yet it is not. For some of you, this is not a big number. For me, wo stop the conversation people I am past a B! Since I have gone there, let's talk more letters. Some nursing bras go up to K. Really? How do you walk? Coll

My son hid himself in the blankets of our bed yesterday. He shouted out, "Mom, Dad come I'm lost, come find me!" I whispered, "If I were a sibling I would pop him on the head and say, 'looks like I found you.' " My husband looked at me with puzzlement, " I wouldn't have done that. I don't think my siblings would have done that. What kind of family did you come from?" I gave him a deer in head lights stare-- hmmmm, I thought: a pack of hyenas, blame the brothers, lack of supervision in the home, is he serious, am I just cruel, what for the love is the right answer here? I never did answer the question. He could have been dead on fooling me. Or, he could be right, what kind of family did I come from? Or, worse, do I just have spontaneous evil that springs from the dark recesses of my heart?...........still waiting, guess I just don't have an answer.

We have seen the strange phenomena of trucks, yes only trucks, with low hanging double-sided sacs. Is this compensation? Is this local culture? Could someone please explain this to me. I don't think I get it. I just know I'm guilty of judgement--which I find hard to stop. I want to sing out "really, is there such a thing as stereotypes?" My children encountered their first "love sac" this week. My oldest daughter wondered what it was. My son, who knows his own equipment, smiled with recognition. My youngest turned to me and said it is a bum. Well, sheesh, thank-you mister, for providing necessary anatomy discussion. See, I was giving in to stereotypes. It could have been a middle-aged, career woman getting a kick from baffling people. Yeah, right.

I would love to say I have been so busy! Really, I contemplated topics on health care, modesty and middle-age. Alas, nothing felt sharp. Instead, I am going to share a shame, a blight on the level of detail worthy of Seinfeld. I was not much of a facebook person. My brother encouraged me to do so and it looked fun. I have enjoyed connecting with lost roommates, old friends and such. But, I am not always into the facebook "whoring" of some or the odd people who ask me to be friends. Really you want to be my friend? A while back a friend of mine, from my early days in church Sunday School became my friend. Later, his sister and mother became "my friends". Whatever, I thought, they are from my hometown. So, I let them be my friend. This is why FB can feel just wrong. Somehow, in this world of electric connections and small worlds, I figured out my original friend was no longer my friend. Already, I am a bit hesitant to share this, it really got to me. My husba

As much as I love the summer--which I do. I have forgotten the spectacular joy of fall. It has a sense of abundance and reflection that makes me grateful. The light is less piercing, the heat calms down and the nights are cool. The southwest still maintains temperatures in the mid 80's. So, I get the best of all worlds. One bonus from fall is the delightful colors. The sky is bright blue instead of a faded too hot. The grass is recovering from the summer and looks good again. My favorite set of colors is the produce. Right now you can eat corn, peaches, tomatoes, black berries, blue berries and green beans. We have had corn chowder, blue berry muffins, peach cobbler, tomato salad and so on. I have a challenge to anyone who reads this to try a little organic this fall. There are 12 foods that are of most benefit to buy organic. They are: peaches apples bell peppers celery nectarines strawberries cherries kale lettuce imported grapes carrots pears I know organic is more exp

Older gentleman at swings, "I'm getting my colonoscopy next week." Daughter, "Is medicare paying for it?" "I don't know, I'm just trying to get everyone off my ass," he sincerely said. I waited for the wink, the guffaw. Finally, I wanted to shout over the din of playground noise, "so to speak, har har." Really, if you swear all the time you miss opportunities for great fun.

Couples have personalities like people. I think our "couple personality" would be sarcastic with a touch of mean. I try to be nice, but I am always fighting the snarky inside. My favorite tv shows offer a blend of everything that is important in my life: broadway, pop-culture and mean people. I confess to loving a good snide comment. Ugly Betty and Glee contain all of these snaps of fun. Glee leans more to broadway whereas Ugly gets more into pop culture. Both of them channel the stingers. I left some previews that sort of capture a sense of the fluffy candy I like. Fall held/holds the promise of gleeful fun. My husband and I were so excited for the celebration to begin. We felt let down. Glee wasn't fun. Instead, it was more sex/relationships than I wanted. It is only a first episode I hope they can rebalance. The gold-digger song was perfect--look for it on you- tube. It could be such a place for musical joy and over-the-top characters. My ideal order is a show w

There are tales out there of spacey pregnant women. Science even backs the notion a pregnant woman's brain loses some power. Oy! I have been losing stuff to the point of crazy. I'm ready to throw until I find everything. Step back-- it could get ugly. I really want that home where it is like an Ikea closet. You open the doors and it has labels, links and matching containers. Each time I go the Ikea or Pottery Barn site, I believe brother! My husband reminds me that baskets will not solve the world's problems. I'm not sure. For now my missing in action list is pathetic and long. It includes: book bag for the library--I love the library this is serious beautiful, green leather scriptures my husband just bought me wedding ring (this sounds bad, left low by the lotion bottle). Sadly, we really can't find it. silver pendant which was a gift from my MIL--it slipped off my neck, I'm sensing a theme a DVD I rented and never saw numerous small things like sandal

Today was bike day at my children's school. The route to the school requires crossing one of the most accident ridden intersections in the city. Despite my concerns, I thought if I biked behind my five-year-old, we would be safe. That afternoon, when it was our turn, I told my son to start crossing. Instead of going across he started riding his bike diagonally through the six lanes of traffic. Immediately, thinking (or blindly reacting) to 45 mph traffic mindlessly driving to the interstate, I dropped my bike, with the two-year-old in the trailer. She was left on the edge of the street while I madly raced behind him. Despite my loud, hysterical screams and frantic running I couldn't seem to stop or reach him. My pregnant body could not get there fast enough. It was just like you would imagine in a movie. I had no power to change things. Time slowed, I didn't see anything except the fact my son's little body would be crushed as he came past the left turn lane. I

I always have crazy dreams when I am pregnant.  Usually, they are paranoid twists of my normal reality.  Sometimes they are a venture in paranoia.  I had a dream that I had hairy man nipples . What, for the love, is Freud trying to tell me?

It seems I don't grow much wiser with age. I used to hope for it. Now,  I am amused at the slowness of my human learning.  I just enjoyed the delights of a lovely BBC miniseries-- North & South.   It has all of the charm we ladies love: complicated love, men loving woman who refuse them, passionate declarations, costumes, compelling musical scores and of course... kissing while holding the woman's face. Yes, I rewatched some scenes on you tube.  I found it very romantic.  I don't know what it is about wide skirts and accents that gets me every time.   But, I also paused to think on my own relationship.   I am swooning over these scenes and maybe neglecting my own personal ones.  I have a sweet, dedicated husband who I can kiss all the time.  He has a deep, romantic baritone voice, plays the guitar, has a deep laugh, is kind, thoughtful, intelligent and hard working.  Yet, I have probably seen the kissing scene from this BBC actor a few extra-times.  What is it about wom

I fought blogging for a long time because it seemed so strange to stick personal details out in public. But then I found how fun it has been to record stuff that just doesn't belong in more serious memoirs. My weighty concern is a personal grooming curse. I have always been a hairy sort of woman. When I taught Asian students in my outreach programs, they would pet my arms and ask me what was wrong. "Genetic misfortune" or having one's family history be ape, I would explain. The malady has always given me the thought laser would be better than the oodles of supplies I purchase in a vain hope it will stop the undergrowth. Laser treatments seemed so extravagant I would stop myself. Until now...I have the most unfortunate of pregnancy complications. I cannot stop getting ingrown hairs in my rather large (think ape) bikini area. I speak of grotesque monsters with their own names. (If you want further descriptors, I could email--don't think I will provide photos.)

Recently, we watched my BIL finish a triathlon. He finished strong and got a medal which was fun. As we watched the buff male and female bodies stride by us, the muscles were far more interesting than a typical running race. Running usually involves lanky, spare frames that run forever. Mastery of three separate sports requires time, devotion and some decent equipment. We found ourselves looking at their bodies and trying to guess their ages. A triathlon will have the age written in marker on one calf and the gender on the other one. This kind of racing creates muscular bodies which seem to defy age expectations. We were stunned by how well kept some of the racers were. It was so easy to guess how old someone was and then just glance down at the person's calf. Just think how fun life could be if two simple stats could be printed on one's calf. This information could be of immense help to interested parties. The rules only allow two facts. So you need to get to basics.

Last year, as 39 crept into the door, I purchased an internet deal on facials. No big deal. I was feeling the quiet tickle of old-age on my face. Chemical peels seemed to be the answer. One year later and I had finally got around to redeeming the specials. I hate wasting money more than age spots. Having done this before, I was looking forward to a dark room and pleasant smelling stuff on my face. At the time, it did not concern me that I had a different esthetician. Sure, it burned a little more. It was probably working. During the weekend my face went from red like a sunburn to "who drug your face behind a skateboard?" I hunkered at home like a pimply thirteen-year-old. That Sunday, I was in charge of getting the children to sing loudly for Father's Day. No sweat, they always sing so cheerfully for me. In addition, I knew my local gathering of church goers was going to realize I was pregnant. (Yeah, did I mention I was pregnant?) This perfect storm of s

Driving along the road, an older American car pulled up along side of our car.  There sat a younger man delighting in his cigar.  Smoke tendrils curled around his contented face while he sat waiting for the light to change.  Looking through the haze, I noticed a long twirly-ish mustache which seemed to match his cigar but not his decade.   As he stretched back in his solitary delight, one could observe the decorations of his castle.   There on the rearview mirror were two peach fuzzy balls.  What on odd color and shape for an ornament one at first thinks.  However, as one kept looking, the deeper pink centers and general atmosphere of the car give the obvious a-ha! He's got ta-tas! Nothing says personal style like boobie balls.  This folks is why I love cars, people and America.

I actually had a few perfect moments last week.  It would be a slap to the universe if I didn't acknowledge them.  I took my children and one extra neighbor to the park which can sometimes be a lot of walking, running and watching.  However, I found myself sitting against a tree holding my youngest while the older ones played.  My littlest curled into me as we watched the others. The sky was bright blue, the sun was just right and I sat there for an entire five minutes. It really was perfect. Later that week, I went to see my parents for the weekend.  I finally have hit that point where I have rebalanced the mind set between my parents are perfect and my parents are so "wrong". Now, they are loving people who do they best they can.  I enjoy their company in a way I couldn't when I was younger. I am more okay with their quirks and individual ways. There are many simple changes that come with aging.  Hooray I say.  When I visit my parents for the weekend, it usually i

Lots of things swirl in my head. They are all of various sizes.  I worry if I buy products that aren't organic, but I am a budget freak.  I worry about too much plastic packaging.  I worry about offending people. I worry which economist is correct. I worry I don't read enough international news.   I worry I may have to start totally dying my hair.   I worry my daughter is becoming a tween soon.  But really, I worry about the state of pop culture. Mock me if you want.  However, let me give you something to think about.  Star Trek pushed the "reset" button with its new venture.  Wolverine was an attempt to reset. Batman has been reset.  Terminator is attempting this as well.  Battle Star Galactica was reset.  The geek in me is worried, very worried. Is this where we are? FREAKING RESET?  Yes, why am I so emotional? First of all, it is safer to get worked up over movies than to examine the stock market.  Secondly, I love creativity. I am worried we are in a morass of re-

We took a family vacation to Zion National Park.  I learned lots of things. My children can play well together when they have to do so. They don't need lots of toys/electronics. Eating junk food for a week will not kill you. Teaching kids the joy of hiking requires patience and love. Road trips can still be full of singing, laughing, I-spy-with-my-little-eye,"kids did you see that?" and just a little fighting to make you feel normal.  As I walked along the hikes with a cross-section of America, I observed something.  ( If you are large breasted, you may want to skip this. This is the title portion of the piece. )  The enormous typical middle-aged/older woman has got a lot of "girls" to carry around.  As I looked at the pull of gravity and the need for super bras, I thought to myself, maybe it is just right to be small.  For years, I have lamented my dresses that sagged and my swimsuits that gaped.  However, I did not want to be those women trucking those things

For a number of years, my husband and I have settled into an agreed upon set of radio tunes.  We have our obligatory NPR, his classic rock and my beloved brainless 80s music. A station we have listened to our entire marriage has lost most of its charm.  But, I was still shocked when he took it out of the line-up.  Instead, I could only describe the new station as B-hits of classic rock.  I complained when I got home.  "We ALREADY have a classic rock station honey!" I reminded him. "Yeah, but they call this  smooth classic rock," he defended himself.  Anyone hear the bell of middle age?  It's coming around the corner as we speak! 

I experienced a frustrating day with my toddler a few days ago. Time outs, choices and feeble attempts at humor did not convince her to dress. Instead, fear and brute force won the day.  As I agonized and guilted over my decision as I gave the play-by-play to my sister, she asked me if I tried being fun. I have been a mom for a while.  This is one area I cannot do.  I am careful to be educational, act firm, be loving and hard-working, not call names or yell, but dammit do I have to be fun?!!!  This is a too painful reminder of my many years of teaching high school.  I could use every strategy I knew, reward systems, group learning, investigations, projects and so forth but gosh darn-it I wasn't fun.  The former yahooo basketball coach could do the same crap day- in -day- out with a dose of insulting humor/fun; he was still considered a cool teacher. The sad thing is, I didn't know I would be an unfun grown-up. I thought I would be fun and silly. But I don't think I am.  I s

Driving along the road today I saw: Free Pie and Dessert 6 pm.   See I'm not a cake girl, I love pie--coconut, chocolate, apple, banana cream or cherry.  As I looked for more info, I realized it was a church function. And not mine.  Sheesh! Why don't we do pie?  That has got to be better than knocking doors.  Still, I really wasn't ready for a life change or ready to pretend I wanted some good ol' time religion.  I passed.  As I drove, I soothed myself with the assurance it was apple from a can, fake banana and runny coconut.  But really,  I think they are onto something.

My son has been learning to count.  He gets the teens but not the weird twelve.  Today, as we watched kids line up for the bus, he wondered who was a teenager.  I explained what a teenager was by the number of their age.  He looked at me and said it was the tight pants.  Teenagers wear tight pants.  Yeah, I guess that works.  Much better than my definition of snarly and disaffected. 

Many years ago, I couldn't dance to save my life or really impress anyone.  My older brother tried his hardest to help me find a beat at dances.  I still struggle to find that cool down beat.  If you have seen Eddie Murphy dance like "white people" that would be me.  Years later, I was trying to help my daughter get ready for a Christmas duet.  As I helped her find her pitch, I noticed my husband chuckling in the corner.  Finally, I whipped around to ask him what his problem was. He observed I always knew my daughter was off pitch.  However, I was consistently a half-step too low.  He is not being cruel-- this is not the first time I have heard about this problem.  It was like I was calibrated wrongly at birth.  That Sunday I thought to myself think higher, think higher.  I confidently plopped myself by him and sang "high".  I smiled and said, "well?"  "Still flat." Uggggg.   You see,  I have a secret dark list of things I never want to do b

I always find myself rushing about each day. Each second seems to count as I rush off to the next thing. One of my typical "mom mornings" found me in my usual spot. "Hurry, Hurry, get those shoes on, get that jacket...." I got one on the bus, one to preschool, dropped one off to a rec day care and hurried to my forty minute exercise break. I jumped in the pool to quickly get my stress reducing routine done. An older woman I know from church saw me and swam over to say hi. She told me she liked going to the pool because it got it her out of the house and gave her something to do. Wow. Same location, same time and same activity. Yet, we were here for such different reasons. I kept thinking about it as I swam.  I want to slow down and give things/people their space. I want to stop walking ahead of my children. I know you do it. Or, am I really that mean? I want to listen to their stories.  I want to not regret staying home/miss my former career girl life.

My daughter and I went to the ballet to see Romeo and Juliet. As I watched the ballerina, I was reminded of how much I had wanted to be a dancer when I was younger. Sadly, I couldn't jump rope without killing myself. Jumping Jacks were undoable. I wondered which way was it? Did the clear lack of coordination stop me from ballet? Or, could have ballet been the teacher to create more grace on my part? Yes, I was the kid in gym no one wanted on their team. Don't act surprised now. As I watched her hands/fingers help her dance, they told a beautiful story. They expressed: gratitude, delight, sorrow, regret, joy, beauty, longing and pain. Do you know what my hands can say? They can say stop that, shut-up, you are bugging me, or I'll give you something to cry about. Compare those two lists. Hmmmm. Do you think I could increase my vocabulary? Maybe if I knew how to dance, I would have nicer things to say.

As my sister and I have headed toward middle age, we have wondered how it is all going to work as we get older.  When do we wear elasticized pants?  When do we wear comfortable tennis shoes?  When can we eat ice cream for lunch because it doesn't matter?  Frankly, I'm looking forward to some of that stuff right now.  We arrived at 70.  We thought that would be the next era for us.   Along with that, as I thought about relationships, when does one put away the (close your eyes if you don't like frank talk)...well when does one stop wearing the thong?  When does your marriage embrace tasteful nightgowns?  I really couldn't see myself prancing out into the bedroom when I was much older.  My sister and I thought you must just hit this time where you put it all away.  I thought, it has to be around 50.  That sounds reasonable.   Yesterday, I found a woman way past that mark who still embraces all of life.  Guess, I gotta reset my clock.  

Years ago, my husband took me cross-country skiing.  No big deal unless you understand I have no tolerance for myself in learning things.  I am a perfectionist with no patience.  Can you think of a more toxic combination?  That day as I attempted to climb a hill in my slippery skis, I had it.  I sat myself down, ripped off my skis and hurled them over the hill.  I was proud to keep the swear words in my head.  My husband hid behind a tree watching the whole scene.  We had been married long enough for him to know the monster.  To this day, I have only played chess twice with him. (Yes, I was learning how to play.) Yesterday, my two-year-old daughter decided it was time to learn to dress-- it was time to walk away from the toddler years.  During her first attempt, her two legs got stuck in the same hole. As I walked in, she sat on the floor refusing help from anyone.  Her screams were enough to scare anyone away.  My husband chuckled, "Yup she is yours."  Besides the wonderful

It is sad to say that I seem to get more done when I am not on the internet.  I just get sucked in to facebook and blogging. What am I working on?  Yes, I am still trying to get organized.  I can't seem to get the stuff I don't want out of my house. It just stays in bags.  Sigh.   I am thinking of a possibly cultural no-no. I thinking of selling my wedding dress. I have great pictures of it.  It is not the right color, ivory, for my daughters.  It will not fit them as they get bigger.  They both seem to headed for a height much more than mine. I don't wear it anymore.  How taboo is that? And do I care?  It just sits there. I'm getting rid of my menus feature.  Originally, I put it there for my sisters.  However, I don't think it is helping anyone.  I thought I might change a menu to a list of acts of kindness I see in strangers.  That might be a positive note.

The introduction to Stevie Wonder's greatest hits album describes a scene in the desert where a man riding a camel listens to "Superstition" on his boom box.  Fast forward to the present at the Grammys.  Stevie Wonder sang with the Jonas Brothers last night.  At first, I thought what crap is that?  I'm sure "Burnin' Up" is hot with the twelve-year-olds.  But, through the muck of the vocals and sad guitar,  I wanted the boys to back-off and stop putting their heads right next to Stevie. Step away from the legend dude.  Were they really worthy to jam so close to him?  When they shouted "Come on Stevie!"  No, you come on, I thought.  Yes, I know the Grammy's celebrate the transcendence of music.  I sat there squishing my eyebrows,  suddenly, the noise stilled and music entered. Superstition's universal dance chords were being hit and I bopped my head in happiness.  (I know this seems like lazy blogging--but you can check out what I mean.)

Each person you meet has a struggle. There are those that struggle with exercise, overspending, or temper. I struggle with clutter. Just as some may have a public goal which declares exercise, I would benefit with an open goal of "getting it together".  Sadly, I am the person who loses keys, school forms and yes--sometimes important mail. I don't like living this way. I declared defeat and went to my favorite place, the library, to research my problem. I checked out four books on organization. One was from the cute guy with the accent: Peter Walsh . I got excited to read "How to organize just about everything."  It begins with obvious concepts of making a to-do list or dealing with mail.  All of it was helpful.  As I continued to peruse, I came upon some titles of this form: Become a brain surgeon, get into an elite law school or become a talk show host.  The broad sweep of topic spurred me on and I continued to read. Nestled between family calendars and

We (my husband) just purchased a blue-ray player.  Not a big deal for me. I'm not a techie. However, to demonstrate its amazing sound, we had a concert from Queen playing loudly in our basement. Yup, you may think that is not my kind of music. While I did have a brief love affair with weak hair bands for a while, I was snooty and didn't think I was a Queen fan. After singing along to a number of their songs, I gave in and accepted it. Go ahead. Go to i-tunes or youtube and look up Queen. You'll sing a-long and have a good time.  This band plays shake it, sing at the top of your lungs, nod your head real hard and sometimes dance music. I was ready for Wayne's World right then. Ohhh and that Freddie Mercury, what a talent.  He can sing, play piano, play guitar and dance.  BUT, watching him dance, I was struck by how different he was.  He just didn't come across as the typical arrrg/roar heavy metal singer. Heaven knows we need to celebrate the different in each pe

A while ago, we went to the Twilight movie. Yeah, sure this is old news.  But the honest truth is, I was so relieved to NOT be attracted to the Edward character. I worried that these vampire romance books would cause me to fall in love with a teenager on screen.  I'm not ready for a creepy "The Graduate" kind of vibe. So, during the opening days of the movie, I would see all of these women in the sequined, yes-I-am-still-hot-shirts and I thought to myself, sheesh who are they trying to attract? I am not really ready for the cougar stage of my life. Yup, I know I'm getting there. But, instead, I finally saw a movie with Patrick Dempsey. Nope, I don't see his weekly show.  But, I'm happy to say he is hot and my age.  No, I am not jonesing to BE with him.  I'm just relieved to be in my current decade and have a crush on a movie star my age--see how grounded I am?

I had many posts done in my head regarding the past week.  I went through so many emotions; they now are jumbled. Today, it seems like tired news to discuss the inauguration.   So, I will approach it from another perspective.  I wanted to celebrate the peaceful transfer of power.  As I watched the Bush family shake hands with the Obamas, I was struck by how easy it was.  They kissed, shook hands and then, one of the most powerful nations on earth continued its daily workings.  However strongly some may feel the two parties divide, when one gazes upon the many political unities which are on this earth, our two parties have many similarities.  Both believe in one elected president and elected congress. We have term limits--not lifetime rulers. We all believe in separation of powers and in the constitution. We all believe in a democracy for heaven's sakes!  Our country does not careen between a variety of concepts in government every few years.  We all know what to expect. We do not l

The usual rush and pull of the holidays has gone.  I am still looking back at some of the lessons we learned. The combination of daughter in ballet and a new PBS premier of Nutcracker created the perfect date. We waited for a lull in the holidays to view the recording. Much later, as we sat there watching the Nutcracker prince defend himself against the mouse king, my daughter whispered to me: "It's kind of weird,that guy, I can't watch it."  I have always tried to demonstrate my comfortability with the human body. I don't want my kids to have any hang-ups.  So, I tried to explain about the typical costume of a male dancer. His outfit was compared to a football players uniform, of course. However, that Nutcracker seemed enhanced . He was beyond the normal of ballet.   Sheesh, as the big screen lit up the room, I had a hard time looking at it as well.  Those tights just display everything for gosh sakes.  Why does each part need to be so clearly exposed? Why can&

Well, okay, my arms have always been soft.  But,  today while driving my two littlest ones, I was forced to examine my inner mojo.  Knowing I had to make a turn, I began signaling three blocks ahead of the turn.  For the life of me, I couldn't get in.  So, I wondered if the driver hadn't realized I actually needed to switch lanes.  I moved closer to the lane. Nope. I kept looking and trying, noticing the car carefully keeping pace to leave not quite enough room. Who does that, I thought? The car had no cars behind it.  I gave the driver a "what-the-hey-look" in one last attempt to get in the lane. Yup, you guessed it, I got "the bird"; the long, skinny, finger of a bitter middle-aged man showing me who was boss. Ho-ho-ho.  I felt so bad. It felt so mean. I started questioning my driving. Maybe, it would have been better if I had braked and blocked my WHOLE lane to get in after. Was I an idiot?   However, I have lived right by this intersection for five years

Don't be silly. I am not talking religion here.  I'm talking football....the other religion.  I was raised in Nebraska.  So, I guess those are the same.  I was raised in a cultish fashion where football was taught young and we DID believe.  However, Nebraska has had a rough ride for the last ten years. I still try to watch and support them.  My husband's following of Utah football has also been supported by me.  In my good natured fashion, I thought it would never be a problem.  They wore red and "hey, I do like football."   Yet, in my smug, private world I did believe in the superiority of southern/midwestern football.   Okay, here is where you need to come closer.  I will whisper it to you.  In my twisted mind of better football days, I wanted Alabama to kick Utah's butt. It would somehow reaffirm the strength of BCS conferences. And somehow, this would show me Nebraska would rise again. I waited for the moans of defeat from the basement.  They never came.