Project Runway

No, this has nothing to do with the show. So, if you found this blog because you were searching for the latest Heidi Klum favorite, or Tim Gunn savaging of young wannabes, you’re out of luck. This is about my birthday, which is coming up in a couple of weeks.

I don’t have much luck during my birthday. I don’t make a big deal out of it, either. But it’s a bit hard to take when family forgets sometimes. It’s even worse when you get a used appliance for a gift (“Well, you liked my travel iron so much I decided to give it to you for your birthday!”), or even when you get a gift you had given someone, still in its original gift wrap.

But this year will be different!!

I have decided to celebrate my birthday, on my own. New dress, new shoes, new attitude. I will celebrate that I’ve had another wonderful year on this rock, and be grateful for all of the ups and downs, the good and bad. I will walk the runway like I own it, no matter that there is a run in my stocking or even if the heel breaks off my shoe and I become fashion roadkill.

True fashion roadkill, on many levels....

None of that will matter, because I’ll have made it to the runway.

Nitpicking

Well, yesterday was my tri-annual trip to the dentist. I go three times a year because I tend to be more susceptible to plaque than most people.

Too much info, I know.

Anyway, yesterday’s visit was with a new dental hygienist. I will call her Olga. No, I’ll call her Brunhilde. Anyway, I was to be tended to by Brunhilde, who was fresh from dental school. Now, I don’t mind being anyone’s “first” guinea pig. Everyone has to start somewhere, right? Brunhilde was a nice gal. She was very talkative, and by “very” I mean she asked a lot of questions. That’s not very conducive to a successful dental cleaning. But she took everything in stride, and was very funny.

I needed the sense of humor, trust me.

She began by asking me if I would like a deadening gel. I have never needed one before, and told her so. She shrugged and said ok, and began what I like to refer to as “The Reckoning”. I call it that because I reckon she got to scrape under my guns at least 75% of the time. By mistake, not design. By about the tenth time of that, I put up my hand, and when she sat back, I asked her for the deadening gel. And by “asked” I mean begged. I was trying very hard not to cry, but she had a gift for unerringly finding my nerves. She got a swab, and proceeded to spread the gel all along the gumlines. Unfortunately, my tongue was also along the gumlines. I began to feel the familiar swelling that come with Novocaine™. Pretty soon this should no longer bother me, right? WRONG!! My tongue was numb, but the inside of the gums was still having a party. And the worst part? I couldn’t talk well enough to let her know. I laid there, praying she would ask me if I was feeling ok so I could shake my head “no”. Finally she stops and says, “Ok, time to floss and then polish!” I smiled weakly and mumbled that I was sore.

She asks, “Did you just call me a wh*r*??”

I shook my head frantically, trying once again to be understood. Thankfully, she got it, and laughed at what happened. I was still mortified when the dentist came in to do his check-up. When I left, she thanked me for letting her do the cleaning, and asked what she could do differently to make it more comfortable. Of course, I had to tell her!

1. Don’t ask the patient questions during the cleaning. Just keep the conversation as general and monosyllabic as possible, and not too many funny jokes, or the patient will choke!
2. When using the gel, make sure to swab each gumline thoroughly, and reapply gel to swab before continuing. Also, move the tongue out of the way first!
3. Watch for body language. Gripping the chair with white knuckles is a clue.

She was very glad to get my input, and I already made my next appointment with her for next time. After all, I did break her in 🙂

Old Habits Die Hard

Goodness, there are so many, aren’t there? No matter how much logic or how many facts you learn to help you break them, you just can’t seem to let go.

For example, yesterday we went to the mall. On the drive there, I glance at my side mirror and see that Little One has her fingers, (not her arm or her hand, mind you), out her window. Naturally, visions of her entire arm getting snagged into a tree and being ripped off come to mind, and I proceed to freak out and scream at her to PUT HER ARM INSIDE THE CAR!!!! Why did I have that vision, you may ask? Well, when I was young, still living in Puerto Rico, my dad would take us for a drive or to visit relatives, and of course, the windows would be down. That meant, of course, that my sisters and I would fight over the window seats, which in turn would mean the one who got the seat could stick her arm out the window and feel like she was flying like Superman (No, I had never heard of Supergirl at that time. Besides, who cares??). Needless to say, my mom would yell at us to put our arms back in the car, and one day, we got the nerve up to actually ask why.

And then, my dad spoke. It’s one thing to have my mom tell us a fantastical story. We would question her endlessly with why. But when our father spoke, it was gospel. No one questioned it. NO ONE!!

So, imagine our surprise when my sister (the gutsy one) asked my mom why we couldn’t have our arms out the windows, and my father proceeded to explain:

“Your arm can get snagged on a tree branch or a bush, and get ripped off, leaving you with only one arm, and nowhere to put your purse when you grow up.”

Not just the words, but the chilling delivery of that pronouncement underlined in triplicate the veracity of that statement. Never again did I put my hand out the window. NEVER AGAIN!!!

I’m sure I have other quirks laying in wait to surface when one of my kids pull some idiotic stunt. Until then,I shall try to cut my caffeine intake and try to relax over things I can’t control…

Yeah, I’m laughing at that, too 😉

Flowing Like a River

I woke up in tears today. My baby is growing up way too fast for my liking. Today she celebrates her 12th birthday. That’s in calendar years. If we were going by attitude and experience, she would be 40.

I’m also crying because I had forgotten that Eldest and Son would be going on an ROTC trip. So I shall be handling footie massages and facials and manicures for a bunch of squealing girls on my own. But it’s her day, and Little One is sure pulling her weight around the house, so I can’t complain too much.

Time flows like a river, as do tears of joy 🙂

A Fine Romance

We are all raised to believe that a romance is when a guy posing as a prince comes to rescue a girl posing as a damsel in distress. She weeps in helplessness, he comes in and finds a way to rescue her from whatever malaise she suffers, and they ride off into the sunset, happily ever after.

What horsepuckey!!

Yes, I said it. HORSEPUCKEY!!!

Don’t get me wrong. I read trashy bodice-ripper novels all the time. They make excellent bathtub reading material, and help to keep me sane by giving me some much needed brain candy. But I know Real Life™ doesn’t work that way. A true romance has pitfalls, and anger, and sadness, and joy, and laughter, and misunderstandings, and things that make you go “Hmm….”. Real romance may have flowers and candy sometimes, but more often than not, it has oil changes and beer. Sometimes it has jewelry, but more than likely it will have an installed dishwasher.

True romance is about knowing each other, and still wanting to be with each other, warts and all 🙂

Superstition Silliness

Here in Texas we love rain. It’s like a long-lost friend: you remember it fondly, and rejoice when you see it. This past weekend we got a healthy visit from our long-lost friend. Let’s just say, my front lawn no longer looks like a fire hazard.

Anyway, a few days before that, we had a freak storm come through. I went to pick up the kids at the high school, when the skies opened, the wind whipping the rain sideways. It was glorious!!!! Unfortunately, not for the kids. Eldest was in ROTC uniform, and son had his instrument and couldn’t shield his face from the onslaught. But they make it to the car, and off we go slowly, not just because of the school zone, but because some people around here freak out when there is water falling from the sky.

We get home, and I instruct the kids to take hot showers ASAP. Son goes off with no complaint, but Eldest decides to just change into her PJs and a robe. Whereupon Momma freaks out:

Me: Eldest, you need to take a shower, now!

Eldest: But Mom, I’m already dry.

Me: Doesn’t matter. Go get in a hot shower.

Eldest: But why??

Me: I don’t want you catching a cold.

Eldest: …….

Me: It’s an old wives’ tale. Just do it!!

Eldest: Mom, you know I’ll be fine.

Me: Go take your shower before you catch your death of cold!!!

Eldest: (sigh)

Yes, I well know that you get a common cold from a virus. I also know the reason we associate catching a cold to being wet is due to winter, and dry air lowering the body’s resistance to the virus. I KNOW THIS, PEOPLE!!!!

But it doesn’t matter. It’s ingrained, and I will enforce it until the day I die. Or until the kids move out.

Whichever comes first 😉

On Etiquette

No, I don’t even pretend to be Emily Post. I don’t even pretend to be the most well-mannered person. But there are some things that just get under my skin, and tend to make my blood boil out through my pores.

If you call me, call to talk to me, not to another person in the room, with whom you choose to get into an argument while I listen to the taudry details of whether or not you owned a particular brand of skillet. I do NOT care.

If you decide to drive on the left lane, please be aware that you are supposed to go a bit faster than the other people in the other lanes, because it is for passing. Don’t be a left lane vigilante and force the rest of humanity to go three miles under the speed limit out of the goodness of your heart. If I want a ticket, I will damn well earn it.

If the check-out line is for ten items or less, and you have 11 or 12 items, it’s no big deal to me. If you have a cartful of stuff, it becomes an issue. If you insist that you have a right to check out in that line because you are a taxpayer, or because you are in a hurry, it will cause a detonation of your milk jug all over your head.

While I am glad you wear boxers, I am NOT glad to see it. It is referred to as underwear for a reason. Unless you happen to be Heidi Klum or Jason Statham, pull your pants up and use a belt. You look like a convict.

If you are driving a vehicle that is capable of major damage, and even death, don’t use your freakin’ cellphone. Pull the hell over and answer it. And while you’re at it, put the damn thing away if you are eating at my table. I will toss the cellphone in the trash disposer if you insist on using it while eating dinner in my home.

Sigh…ok, I think I will stop for now. Too early for a beer.

But not too early for cookies 😀

Finding Your Center

I am not the most competitive person on the planet. In fact, sometimes I frustrate Hubby because I am content to participate, but not necessarily yearn to win, be it a board game, or playing outside, or even playing cards. Heck, you can forget about dominoes!! His grandfather was a champion, and wrote a book on the game!!

Sometimes, though, I do like to win.

I remember back in 7th grade, our PE teacher, AKA Attila, decided we girls were not to play manly sports. As you can possibly imagine, that pronouncement did not go over well with the female contingent. But no one listened to the students back then. Anyway, Coach Attila gets it into his head that we little helpless females will learn archery. He honestly thought it was a girls activity.

We start to practice, and some of us discover we have an aptitude for it. Breathe in, find your center, pool the quiet, and let go. There’s something about the twang of the bow as you let go a sharp projectile aimed at an imaginary picture of your coach. Some of us were so proficient, that the guys who were off playing flag football asked if they could try it.

All of them got trounced, including Coach Attila. That was an awesome day.

Fast forward to 2004. While on a visit to Poland, we stayed at Zamek Kliczkow. One of the oldest castles in Poland, it had been converted into a hotel. And on the weekends, they had archery demonstrations.

The Archer was situated in what was once the moat, and invited all to come down and try their hand at bows and arrows. We all went down, since the kids were agog at the medieval trappings on display. First up was Hubby, and he did pretty well. And then it was my turn….

That is my archery trophy, presented on my birthday, courtesy of Eldest when she was only 9 years old. The only trophy I will keep forever.

Sometimes winning is the only thing 😉

Heavy Hearts

I miss him already.

We dropped off the kids this morning. Each one hugging and kissing their dad, as I kept a fixed smile on my face while feeling my heart leaden. We came home to pack his bag, and gather sundry last minute stuff for his trip. And tonight, after the kids have gone to bed, I will walk around the house, picking up everything he left behind, and praying for his swift return home.

Hopefully, time will fly at the speed of light.

Remembering

My family says I have the best memory. I remember the most obscure, most trivial things. Like the time my sister tricked me into eating mudpies because they were full of minerals and iron. To this day she doesn’t remember that. But my tummy and I sure do.

Tomorrow marks the tenth anniversary of 9/11. I know most people remember what they were doing on that calm Tuesday morning. I remember what I wore (denim shorts and a yellow T-shirt, my hair up in a clip), what I fixed for breakfast (scrambled eggs and toast, and oatmeal for Little One and Hubby), the pot Little One was using for a drum (Calphalon anodized 1 qt.), getting Eldest ready for her second week of first grade, putting her hair in braids and packing her lunch (ham sandwich, carrots, fruit cup, and a juice box), watching Son build his daily Lego masterpiece (Duplo tower). And I remember Hubby calling me from Ft. Bragg to tell me to put the TV on the news.

I remember sitting there, watching the smoldering coming from the World Trade Center, saddened by the thought that some poor guy underestimated his little plane and thinking there would be casualties from this accident. But then the smoke and fire was just too much, and it just didn’t look right. I remember calling my dad at his office in El Paso, and telling him what was going on, and as I watched, I saw a huge airliner hit the other tower, and sadness turned to horror, my voice reflecting it as I relayed the happenings to my dad. My dad, the calmest person I know, instructed me to hang up the phone, and to call Hubby immediately. I was crying, trying to keep it together because two little souls were worried about their momma. And my dad barked at me again, repeating his orders until I could function. I called Hubby and what I heard chilled me.

“We are under attack.”

It wasn’t the words, it was the tone of his voice. I was speaking to a soldier now, not a husband. One who had prepared for war at a very young age, thanks to his father. And one that was ready and willing to go, if and when the time came. He calmly told me to keep the kids occupied, and away from the TV until we knew the extent of the attack. And then he told me he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

Fast forward to yesterday. I overheard a woman speaking to her friend how she just didn’t understand why we don’t move on and not think about 9/11/01 any more. To her, it was just so long ago, and we should just put it behind us. I admit, I was very angry. Forgetting is the first step in repeating, after all. But 9/11 was not “long ago”. Not when you have a gaping hole still seeping in the middle of New York City, one that wounds the Nation’s soul. A gaping hole that keeps being salted by the likes of political correctness.

Remembering gives us hope. Remembering gives us a goal. Remembering honors those who were killed, and those who died to protect us.

Forgetting lets the terrorists win.