I'm typing by screen light right now. My Little Sunshine is socked out napping after a wild morning on the beach. Nanny and Papa are having some grownup time while I chill out up in the room with my little dude.

The day started out with a bang. Sunshine woke up at 6:30am, which is now his usual rise and shine time. When I get back from Vegas, I'm going to work on deprogramming that bullshit, because I am NOT a morning person. 7:30 or 8am was bad enough on this old girl. Anyway, we had a tough time getting Sunshine to sit down and eat some of the lovely continental breakfast the hotel provides, so I finally gave up and headed out to the beach.

We weren't out there ten minutes before I heard a mother's panicked scream. I knew the first time I heard, "Juliana!" it was bad. Then, when I saw her face, I knew there was a missing little girl. The mother ran frantically, screaming her daughter's name. At one point, she was screaming at her husband, "Was she in the water?" He didn't know. He had obviously been left in charge.

TV Producer kicked in. I asked my mother-in-law to watch my son. I grabbed a phone and dialed 911 as I ran to the father. I asked for a description and relayed it to the dispatcher as I walked down the beach, searching. People started running everywhere. Mothers all over the beach knew the sound in that lady's voice, and no one was dicking around. I saw how quickly things get screwed up in investigations. I heard other people sharing the description. I had commited it to memory instantly. Juliana. Five years old. Brown hair. Teal, two-piece bathing suit. It was like a game of operator. I heard brown bathing suit. I heard pink bathing suit. I walked down the beach, searching, correcting. Get it right, people. This is important.

Finally, I saw a police golf cart. The mother was still running. The father ran by me. "Did you find her yet," I asked. He screamed, "No," as he ran in the opposite direction. I wanted to puke. I almost did. A few minutes later, I saw him about 200 yards down the beach, wearily walking, holding his little girl in his arms. I started to sob, and I looked over to see the same thing happening with my mother-in-law, although we both kept it together enough that Sunshine didn't notice. The daddy was clinging to his little girl. She had no idea what she had done. She was just exploring. I was thankful he found her, because I know he felt responsible for her going missing.

I screamed at the police, because I knew that mother was miles down the beach by now, growing more desperate with each passing second. The cops picked up the reunited daddy and little girl, and drove off in the direction of the mother. I didn't see her, but I imagine she collapsed into the sand at the sight of her child safe in her daddy's arms. I know how that whole scene affected me, and I didn't even know them.

The beach breathed a collective sigh of relief. Everyone went back to what they were doing before the incident disrupted the calm of the morning. Except this time, we all held our children a little closer and kept one eye open for danger. It's easy to let your guard down while on vacation. We often forget just how many dangers there are out here on the beach. Anything at any moment can change our lives forever. I was thankful for the reminder. I'm notorious for getting swept up by the breeze.

We had a small incident of our own an hour or so later. Sunshine got a bit of head injury. After lots of kissing and rocking and a few minutes out of the sun, we were good to go again. The little man loves the water. He has been belly-flopping, jumping the waves, and swimming with the "whales." It's been wicked cool watching him. Although I'm having a blast, there's a twinge of sadness just under the surface. This is another one of those good moments that just isn't as good without Soul Mate.

I imagine my little guy will be waking up any minute now. I'm going to check my email, read a couple of blogs, and then head back out to the beach. I hope you're all having a great week. I'll try to check in periodically from my little corner in the sun. Happy trails!

Labels: Beach, My Little Sunshine, Vacation

It appears suspended South Carolina Treasurer Blow Nose T-Rav is headed to rehab in Arizona. As he goes to deal with his demons, his daddy is going on the record.



Now, one might think that ole RavDad would be circling the wagons in favor of his son. One would be wrong. RavDad, the former state senator and congressman, has ratted his kid out, man.

RavDad has been quoted in newspapers and on TV newscasts statewide as saying his son is in "pretty bad shape" and that the family suspected his drug problem. RavDad says his son has been depressed from time to time, and that that was unusual for him. He says the family is just devatated at "what has occurred." Well, that's one way to put it.

I don't know. Part of me thinks it's pretty shitty for a dad to go confirming his son's a coke head in the media before he's been convicted of the charges against him. But the other part thinks, rock on, man. His son, the state treasurer, is 44 years old. He doesn't need to be coddled or protected. He did something very stupid, which has set that influential family back quite a few rungs on the ladder.

Note: Photo courtesy wyff4.com

If you've been reading this drivel lately, you know that Soul Mate is in Las Vegas for the summer. If I didn't already tell you and it isn't obvious, he's covering the World Series of Poker. Despite the fact that he's trying to cover a large and prolific team of players mostly by himself, he's doing some great writing. That's often tough to do when you're trying to feed the beast. Even if you don't like poker, you might like what he's doing, because he incorporates some of those universal truths in his poker writing.




If you haven't already, head on over, and check him out.

Note: Photo courtesy Image Masters, ripped off the PokerStars blog

Labels: Poker Loneliness, PokerStars, Soul Mate, World Series of Poker

We've had some wicked storms here the past couple of days, so my internet was down for a while, and then when I got my internet back, I couldn't figure out why my wireless connection wasn't working on my laptop. Good thing my husband can figure out such things over the phone (thanks, babe). Now, I'm back in action, but just for a short while. I'm headed to the beach with My Little Sunshine and Mama and Papa Otis on Thursday, then I'm off to Vegas for a couple of days to visit my man.

I haven't sat down for two days. I've been frantically trying to do the daily stuff with Sunshine, plus get all the stuff we'll need for the beach, plus clean my house for a parental visit (haven't gotten around to the cleaning yet unfortunately). My car put a slight wrench in things this week. I use that phrase because this cute little wrench showed up on my dash a few days ago. "WTF is that," I thought. Well, thankfully, I'm a big fan of user's manuals. Apparently, it's a Maintenance Minder that tells me when my car needs something. It was telling me it needed oil, so thereyago.

I scheduled an appointment for an oil change. Um. then some other little thingy popped up on my dash. It was an exclamation point surrounded by a squiggly thingy. Then, under that, there was a squiqqly thingy at the right rear of a lighted car. Again, WTF? After staring at it for a few minutes in the TCBY drive-thru in the pouring rain, I figured out that that meant bad news for my rear passenger-side tire. Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was a monsoon outside. It was dark. I had a babysitter at home with my kid. My husband is in Vegas. I was freaked, but of course, that didn't stop me from trying to eat my TCBY while driving on a bad tire in the pouring rain. That's just the special kind of idiot I am.

After sitting in the Honda dealership for two hours this morning, the dude informed me that there was a nail in my tire and they had to patch it. I was instantly thankful for those cute little lights. That little Maintenance Minder thingy is something I never knew I wanted until I had it. I would have never noticed that tire was low. I would have gotten on the interstate with my son and my in-laws going 70 miles an hour. I don't want to think about how terrible it would be changing a flat on the side of the interstate or even worse...

In other random thoughts, I hate Wal-Mart. I mean, I've always known that, but last night reaffirmed that for me. I have a vague recollection of reading a similar tale on a blog recently, so feel free to share your own Wal-Mart nightmares...

Anyway, I had to get Sunshine a lifejacket for our trip, and a friend had told me Wal-Mart had a great selection. Since I was in a hurry, I thought I could get the lifejacket and some groceries all at the same time. Stupid me. Never, ever go to Wal-Mart in a hurry. I could have gone to Target and four grocery stores in the time it took me to navigate Satan's Store.

First, they have ten sections that have "summer" stuff in them. Some of the stuff is repetitive, but some of it isn't. I had to go to all ten because I needed a couple other "summer" things. Then, their grocery section doesn't make sense to me. It could just be that it's unfamiliar, but I think it's also illogical. Third, they have 20 fucking check-out lanes, but only four are open. And they all have ten people waiting in them. And since all the idiots ahead of me thought that it would be "convenient" to get groceries and other items in the same place, I was in line for 30 minutes. 30 minutes! Come on, Sam Walton heirs! You can hire a few more minimum wage employees! Oh, but I'm on to you. It's a master plan of yours to sell more shit. You pack your check-out aisles with "useful" things. Batteries. Wet Ones. Lotion. Sunscreen. Then there's the reading material (boredom sets in after ten minutes or so). Candy bars (you could starve to death in that line). Bottled drinks (dehydration is a definite risk). Pain relievers (your head will feel like it's going to explode). I watched the woman in front of me put no fewer than five of these useful items in her cart while she waited. One every five minutes or so. That's an extra 20 bucks off that one impatient customer. Remind me to never go back there. Scum bags.

Another reminder you don't have to have a license to be a parent...
I took Sunshine and our dog, Scoop, to the state park down the road from our house the other day. We had a great time walking around the lake, picking up rocks and sticks and acorns, spotting frogs, talking about trees and flowers...
We ended our journey at a playground. When we got there, there was another family with a little boy who was probably about two years old. They were really fun, involved parents. There was also a doting grandmother taking pictures. They were, from all appearances, a nice family from somewhere in the northeast. Then, Weirdo Older Guy shows up with two little girls. It's hard to say whether they were related, because they all looked very different. If they were related, it's hard to say whether the dude was their father or grandfather. Either way, he was creepy and irresponsible.

The two little girls were sweet, although, I was very annoyed that they wouldn't listen when I asked them not to pet my dog. I repeated over and over again that she was afraid of strangers, and that I didn't want her to bite them, and I shoved my dog's face into my leg, but they wouldn't stop trying to pet her. That's my first red flag about the guy. I would not let my child pet a strange dog, especially when the dog's owner is repeatedly and loudly asking them not to.

The little girls almost clung to us. They wouldn't stop talking to us. They were always in our personal space. They were sweet enough. They were little girls. They had very vivid imaginations. Weirdo Older Guy initially stood back and watched from a distance. Then, he, too, started invaded my comfort zone. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the younger of the two girls needed to go to the bathroom. Giant red flag number two: WOG left the older of the girls (about six years old) at the playground as he made the trek to the restroom, which was really far away, certainly out of eyeshot and likely also out of earshot. As he walked off carrying the younger girl, he even joked with the older girl that he was "abandoning" her. The other mother and I shot each other utterly appalled glances. Then, we both started feeling very uncomfortable. On the one hand, I didn't want to leave the little girl there, but on the other I felt very strange being there with an unattented child.

The second WOG returned, the other family left. They made it a point to speak to me, just above a natural volume and shoot me another glance. I stuck around a little longer, only because Sunshine was having fun playing "restaurant" with the older girl. When WOG started getting way too close to my kid, talking to my kid and getting strangely affectionate with the younger girl right next to my kid, I freaked out. Again, this playground is kind of off-the-beaten path. It's away from the popular swimming area and any of the trailheads. It is next to a parking lot, but a that time, there weren't any people there. I dragged Sunshine and Scoop to our car, all the while trying to come up with a reason we were leaving. Although we've broached the subject of Stranger Danger with Sunshine, I was a little too rattled to have that conversation there on the spot. It might have been a good "teachable moment blah-blah-blah," but I just didn't have the energy for it then and there. WOG is still giving me the heebie-jeebies, and I'm still hoping those little girls are OK. Something just wasn't right there. At the very least the dude is utterly irresponsible. At the very worst...

So, thereyahaveit. My post-storm, pre-trip thoughts. Admittedly random. Total effort to put off cleaning and packing and everything else. I'd call that effort a success at this point.

Labels: Hondas rule, My Little Sunshine, Parenthood, Random thoughts, Wal-Mart

I am a voracious reader. I always have been. Even before I could read, I could sit forever, just thumbing through the pictures and making up my own stories. These days, I can go longer stints without having a book in my hand, but once I do, it's easy to tell if I'm enjoying it.

I'm not one of those people who will tolerate a slow-to-start book or one that's just OK. My husband will read a book even if it's not that great. That's not me. An author has a good 25 pages with me. If the first 25 pages (or even a majority of them) are interesting, I'm in. If I find myself getting distracted by the dust flying around in the room, you can guarantee the book will soon become a dust collector. If the first 25 pages are interesting, you can guarantee I'll finish the book in record time.

If I enjoy a book, I become heavily invested in the characters. You'll often find me laughing or crying as I read. If it takes me several days to read a book, I'll go to sleep thinking about the characters. I've been known to stay up all night because I can't put a book down. That used to drive my parents crazy, but it makes my husband laugh. When I've read up to the last word, it doesn't end there. I dream about what happened to the people in the book after the last chapter. I think about what I would have done if I were i their shoes. I often think of the characters fondly, like old friends who have moved on.

Right now, I'm reading three, make that two now, books at once. I tore through one of them during My Little Sunshine's nap and after he went to bed last night. It's called The Year of Pleasures by Elizabeth Berg. What might have been a terribly sad story ended up being incredibly uplifting and inspiring. Instead of suffering through the socially acceptable year-long mourning period after the death of her husband, Betta Nolan embarks on a year of pleasures instead. She breaks out of her comfort zone and hits the road. She starts a new life in a small, midwestern town. Does she mourn? Sure. Every day. Some days, she thinks she'll die from the pain of it all. But she learns that by giving of herself and finding joy in one thing every day, she can not only survive, but also thrive in the wake of such a terrible loss.

Also on my nightstand right now is We're Just Like You, Only Prettier: Confessions of a Tarnished Southern Belle by Celia Rivenbark. She's a North Carolina writer who is absolutely hysterical. I've been working on this one since Soul Mate left for Vegas. I've been reading one chapter a night before I go to sleep. It's a collection of stories, so I can read a few pages, laugh a little, and put it down. I don't have to tear through it, because it's a bunch of little jems about southern life that go together only because of the subject matter.

Finally, I'm reading Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. This book has really touched a nerve in me. I'm so inspired by it already that I have two other Kurcinka books waiting in the wings. I'd been looking for something that could explain some of the things that were going on with My Little Sunshine and to help me help him better. I had actually even described him to another mother as "spirited," even though I had never heard of this series of books. "Spirited" just fit him better than hyper, aggressive, sensitive, moody, or any of those other words that carry a negative connotation with them.

I have an amazing little boy. He's very smart for his age. After spending a few minutes with him the other day, our accountant asked me if he was going to be going to kindergarten in the fall. "Um. No, ma'am," I said. "Sunshine is only two. Well, almost three, but, no. He's not quite ready for kindergarten yet." She looked at me with her mouth wide open and didn't say anything for a few minutes. It was obvious she didn't quite know what to say. I jumped in to help her and said, "He's really tall for his age," even though I knew it wasn't his appearance that made her think he was five years old instead of two. It's just more tangible to speak in those terms.

He's very perceptive. He amazes me with his ability to read people, to size up their moods in mere seconds. His behavior changes drastically with the vibes he gets from other people. On days when I wake up on the wrong side of the bed, you can bet Sunshine is going to have "one of those days." He's feeding off of the negative vibes I'm trying so hard to hide from him. Along with perceptive comes sensitive. Like I said, his behavior changes rapidly depending on the mood of the people around him. He also feels things very deeply. He didn't just wail when his daddy left for Vegas. He wailed and very thoughtfully expressed what he was feeling. "I'm sad about my daaaaaaaddy," he would scream. "I miss him, and I need him to come back to my hoooooooome!" Some nights, it went on for hours.

When he's happy or excited, it's equally as pronounced. He is often "bouncing off the walls" with joy he can't possibly contain. He gets so excited, some times he just jumps up and down and shrieks. Once, he was so excited about a pretty little girl paying attention to him, he nearly ripped her arms off. It started out sweetly enough. He grabbed both of her hands and started talking to her. Then as she responded positively to his attention, he started jumping up and down, still holding her hands. I watched as the smile on her face turned to horror, and before I could intervene, she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Sunshine felt terrible. He immediately said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry 'bout I made her cry." He didn't mean to hurt her. He was just so excited, he couldn't stand it. I started to have visions of Of Mice and Men. God help me, I thought.

Sunshine has also been prone to aggression, especially in situations that make him uncomfortable. He's very sensitive to change, so a different babysitter at Spazzercise, too many kids in the room, too many older kids who wouldn't pay attention to him, any of those things could send him into a fit of kicking or throwing toys, or, worse, hitting or kicking other kids. It's been really frustrating for me, because I have needed a way to discipline him without spanking (which I don't want to do) or breaking his beautiful spirit. I don't want to change my beautiful boy. I just want to help him get along in the world a little easier. Society doesn't look too kindly on some of his more extreme personality traits.

When I passed by this "spirited child" book in the bookstore, it immediately caught my attention, because that's how I wanted to describe my boy. Then, he started acting way too "spirited" for me to flip through it, so I had to scoop him up and leave without buying it. When I got on Amazon.com and read an excerpt of the book, I nearly cried. The words jumped off the page at me. This woman had been spying on my family! I mean, she had to have been. No matter that she wrote the book long before Sunshine was even a glimmer... well, you know.

Here's a small chunk of what she has to offer:

"On good days spirited kids prove to be more delightful than you ever imagined. They make you laugh, pull your attention to the bugs and bees you would have missed without them, give you an excuse to play, and encourage you to take naps. On bad days they refuse to do anything you ask--usually in a loud and angry voice; they spit at you, kick you, and rob you of your sleep with their demands and the worries they arouse. Often they make you cry. They may also leave you feeling a little crazy, even stunned, wondering how, if it's like this now, you will ever survive adolescense."

Um. Yeah. Been there. Done that. I'm not even going to go in to what he just did while I was trying to write this blog post. I'm not tearing through this book, because I'm really trying to soak it all in. I've been tempted to get out my highlighter and go nuts, but I haven't, because I want my husband to read it as well, and he's annoyed by my highlighting tendencies. I'm just a few chapters in, and already, I've noticed a change in my outlook. I've noticed an increased level of patience. Most important, I've noticed an increased level of acceptance that my kid is a little different than others. I'm learning that it's OK that he's so much "more" about everything than other kids, that it's beautiful, and with a little help, all of these traits will make for a very passionate and productive adult.

I highly recommend all three of these books. Since I just finished Year of Pleasures, I need a new thinking piece of fiction. I have my funny non-fiction and my serious non-fiction. Of course they won't last long, so bring on any suggestions.

Labels: Books, My Little Sunshine, Reading

I was talking to an old friend at the station the other day. The conversation, of course, started with good ole Blow Nose T-Rav (scroll down for that full story if you'd like to know more), but it quickly moved to another equally interesting news story making headlines here in South Cackalacki: an unfortunate fall from grace, if you will.

A couple of days ago, a poor cab driver found the naked bodies of a man and a woman in their twenties. Upon further investigation, police decided there was no foul play involved in the deaths of these two people. Their clothes were found. On the rooftop of a four-story building. That discovery and the autopsies led investigators to rule the deaths accidents.

The news stories have not directly stated what appears to have happened in this case, but I have drawn a conclusion. I don't think this is too much of a leap (pardon the pun). Don't shed too many tears for the loss of these young lives. They died doing something they loved: showing love for one another. Sure, they might have made a couple of poor choices along the way, but if the mood moves you, sometimes you can't help it, man. They must have been really enjoying themselves, since they didn't notice that they were dangerously close to the edge. They were so caught up in the moment of freaky-deaky public nooky, looking down on the concrete jungle that is Columbia, South Carolina, that they didn't care about anything else. Hell, the danger probably made it even better.

What do you suppose they thought in the last seconds of their lives? Well, if the girl was from 'round here, I assure you she was praying to die. I mean, how can a proper Southern woman explain to her mama what she was doing all nekkid up on top of that roof? She couldn't, I tell ya. I don't care if she was in the ICU hooked up to a million tubes. Her mama woulda let her have it. No ma'am. That girl was thanking her lucky stars as she hit that pavement.

Oh, and the autopsy? Well, the coroner ruled the cause of death as unmitigated shame, with multiple body trauma as a contributing factor. As for the guy? Well, he was pissed he was gonna die. He wanted to tell all his buddies at the gym he got busy on the roof. Well, at least you made the news, buddy. Your friends know anyway. You just don't get the glory.

Bless y'all's hearts.

Labels: Wacky news stories

Since my last post was all Debbie Downer (sorry, Uncle Ted), I decided to put something more fun above it. MGM tagged me with a birthday meme a few days ago, but I haven't gotten around to doing the easy steps it takes to do it.

Here are the rules:
...go to Wikipedia and type in your birthday (only the month and day) and then note 3 events, 2 births, 1 holiday, and then tag 5 more friends.

I'm a geek, and I found this really interesting, so I'm not going to follow the rules. I'm just going to list everything I thought was neat.

First, there were several things related to journalism that happened on my birthday, August 4:

1735 - Freedom of the press: New York Weekly Journal writer John Peter Zenger is acquitted of seditious libel against the royal governor of New York, on the basis that what he published was true.
1821 - Atkinson & Alexander publish the Saturday Evening Post for the first time as a weekly newspaper
1987 - The Federal Communications Commission rescinds the Fairness Doctrine which had required radio and television stations to "fairly" present controversial issues.

There were a couple war-related things that happened on my birthday:

1914 - World War I: Germany invaded Belgium; in response, the United Kingdom declares war on Germany. The United States proclaims neutrality.
1944 - Holocaust: A tip from a Dutch informer leads the Gestapo to a sealed-off area in an Amsterdam warehouse where they find Jewish diarist Anne Frank and her family.

A couple of civil rights issues:

1964 - American civil rights movement: Civil rights workers Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman and James Chaney are found dead in Mississippi after disappearing on June 21.
1993 - A federal judge sentences LAPD officers Stacey Koon and Laurence Powell to 30 months in prison for violating motorist Rodney King's civil rights.

Crazy crime shit:

1892 - The family of Lizzie Borden is found murdered in their Fall River, Massachusetts home.
1975 - The Japanese Red Army takes more than 50 hostages at the AIA Building housing several embassies in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The hostages included the U.S. consul and the Swedish charge d'affaires. The gunmen win the release of five imprisoned comrades and fly with them to Libya.

Random cool things:

1693 - Date traditionally ascribed to Dom Perignon's invention of Champagne.
1971 - The US launches first satellite into lunar orbit from a manned spacecraft.

Here's who shares my birthday:
1901 - Louis Armstrong, American musician (d. 1971)
1920 - Helen Thomas, American journalist
1955 - Billy Bob Thornton, American actor and writer
1955 - Alberto Gonzales, American U.S. Attorney General
1961 - Barack Obama, American politician
1962 - Roger Clemens, American baseball player
1971 - Jeff Gordon, American race car driver

Here's someone who died on my birthday:
1875 - Hans Christian Andersen, Danish writer (b. 1805)

My birthday is August 4, which makes me a Leo. I looked up Leo on Wikipedia, and the description fits me pretty well with a few key exceptions:

Leo is the fifth sign of the Zodiac and is popularly associated with the keywords magnanimous, generous, hospitable, caring, warm, authoritative, active and open.

Leos are typically pictured as very dignified and regal. They are hard-working, ambitious and enthusiastic, however they are prone to laziness and can often take "the easy way out."

They are known to be exuberant, extroverted, generous with a natural dramatic flair and very creative. They are typically very self-assured, and love taking center-stage in whatever arena they are in.

Fiery determination and the desire to be important often rule their life. They usually pursue their goals doggedly and use their charisma to sway others to their cause. Open and honest, tend towards the philosophical and tend to hold great idealisms about how things should be.

Under a Fixed sign, Leos are usually determined, stubborn, loyal and traditional. They are often resistant to imposed changes, and tend to hold onto people and situations for a long time.

Leos, like the Lion they are named after, are thought to be born leaders, with charisma, enthusiasm and determination. They do well under pressure and are good at defusing crisis situations.

They are often lovers of the finer things in life. They are associated with gold, jewelry, fashion, luxury items and adornment. Because of their creative nature, they tend to not stick with the boring and mundane, and look for excitement in life.
The downside to a Leo is usually their pride. Due to this, they are sometimes prone to being conceited, jealous, snobbish, boastful, overbearing with a disdain for those under them.

Due to their positive nature, they are typically very gullible and tend to believe the best will happen. When it doesn't, they are prone to depression, may react nastily to affronts and could be deeply hurt by malice and hostility. If faced with negative situations Leos are also known to react with extreme conffidence, which can get them into even more trouble.

Typical Leos truly enjoy the game of romance. Their avoidance of the mundane may prone the Lion to a "wandering eye" and their love of beauty can drive their movements from one lover to another. They are typically very sexual creatures and highly attracted to the partners of their choosing. However, some Leos are only loyal to themselves or only to the extent that the relationship benefits them.

Actors born under the sign of the lion are seen as polished performers who love the limelight. Leos often enjoy working with children, and many become teachers whose students serve as their captive audience. There is often a talent for investing, finance, and money management that can lead to success in banking, the stock market, or big business.

Leos also tend to have a fondness for competition, dance, gambling, risky endeavors, parks, recreational activities, nature, the outdoors, and work with animals. Leo's ruler, the Sun, is the giver of life, and some born under this sign gravitate toward the healing and helping professions as physicians, dental hygienists, counselors, psychiatrists, cardiologists, politicians and in public relations.

Arts and crafts, theatre groups, philanthropic societies and religious organizations often attract their interest and participation.

Physiologically, Leo governs the upper back, forearms, wrist, spine and heart. Its natives are usually thought to be subject to a number of ailments: pain in the back and lungs, spinal complaints, diseases of the heart and blood, sickness in ribs and sides, convulsions, pleasantries, violent burning fevers including, in former days, when they were prevalent, plague, pestilence, jaundice, and some afflictions of the eyes.

Leo rules the back and heart, so people with Leo active in their charts are associated with over-exertion, general problems with stress in the back and ailments of the heart. They are usually believed to have a strong constitution and may usually be seen to overcome their problems, many of which may be of their own making, due to overindulgence.

So, if you are a nerd like me and you find this fun, share some of what you found about your birthday in the comments, or if you have a blog and want to play, leave me a comment when you post the information on your blog. And if no one nerdy is reading my blog, then maybe I'll just start typing random dates into Wikipedia and see what I find. That could fill some time.

Labels: August 4, Birthday meme, Leo, MGM, Wikipedia

I could write about this topic for days, weeks even, but I've chosen not to up to this point. If there were such a thing, I think I could be the President of the Poker Widows Club by now. Over the past couple of years, I have spent month after month here at home while my husband covers poker tournaments around the world. Whenever I start to feel sorry for myself, and lest you think this is going to be the post where I give you the Waaaah-waaaah-wine-and-cheese speech, I have to remind Pathetic Me that this was my choice, too. We chose this career path for my husband so that he could live a dream, and I could stay at home with our son. We never could have afforded that with two careers in television news. Journalism isn't exactly on the list of the nation's highest-paying careers.

To the outsider who hasn't seen him in action on his 14-plus hour days, his job sounds fucking awesome. He gets to go to some of the coolest places on the planet, watch people compete for millions of dollars, and tell their stories. He loves the game of poker, and anyone who loves the game would love to live this life. Until they live it. Living it is much harder than dreaming about it, especially when you have a family. While I sit here feeling lonely without him, he often finds himself feeling lonely in a crowd of hundreds. You might have had to experience this feeling to understand what I mean. Sure, he sees and talks to a lot of people when he's on the road. Sure, he has quite a few friends he's made who travel on the same schedule, or even more gruelling, than him. Sure, they hang out and have drinks. But, being away from your family for weeks at a time sucks ass. Plain and simple. Especially when your kid is at an age where he's learning something new and cool every day. Especially when he's old enough to get that you're gone, but not old enough to get that you're coming back. The guilt is crushing sometimes, even if you know that you're doing what you can to support your family.

It's hard being a poker widow. There are days when I feel like a single mom. There are days that I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. There are days when I don't think I can get out of bed I'm so exhausted, physically and mentally. But I also understand that it's not any easier on the other end. I've helped my husband cover a tournament before, and it was hard fucking work. He's on his feet all day long, running back and forth, trying not to miss any of the action. He often goes the whole day without eating more than a candy bar on his way down to the tournament area. He often works 16 hours on four hours sleep. He doesn't see the sun for days, weeks sometimes. Our group of friends was shocked to see him at our son's birthday party last year. He had been in Las Vegas for seven weeks, working this insane schedule, and he looked like complete shit (sorry, hon, but you did). He was pale and gaunt and his eyes were nearly puffed shut. A summer on the road takes its toll on a person. Those physical effects were obvious to anyone, but there was so much more under the surface.

I don't know if there's ever been I time that I've felt so alone. I've always lived a life where I was surrounded by friends. Right now, I'm in a major transition period in my life. I made the mistake 14 years ago of centering my entire life around my job. Since my husband and I worked together for many of those years, it was easy to only be friends with our co-workers. We all shared the same passion. We admired each other. We respected each other. And we had a great fucking time together. The friends I made working in TV news were and are some of the best friends of my life. However, many of those friends have moved on. The friends who are still here are still deep into that TV lifestyle and many of them have their own families to deal with. It's hard to find time to connect with them. Add to that the fact that my closest friend/neighbor moved across the country, and I'm spending 95 percent of my time alone with my kid. If it weren't for my friend, Teacher Mommy, I might go the whole summer without hanging out with another adult. I'm lucky to have her to pull me away from the ledge, to listen, and to give advice. She's been there, done that in most cases.

Even though Teacher Mommy calls me all the time, and we hang out together with our kids a lot, there's still something about coming home to an empty house. Watching TV or reading by yourself every day. Going to bed alone every night. It kind of feels like swimming underwater in the deep end. All outside sound is garbled. If you talk, no one hears you, and even if they could, they couldn't understand you. Everything is blurry. Your movements are slow and pronounced. Time seems to stand still. It's almost like being in a trance or a timewarp. It's like you're waiting around for your life to begin. That's so weird for me. I've always been the kind of person who has tackled life and wrestled it to the ground.

I never imagined feeling this way. I certainly never dreamed of being a woman who was dependent on a man for anything, especially not emotional and financial security. I know I could make it on my own. I'm educated. I'm experienced. I'm not afraid of change. I could make it without my husband indefinitely, but I don't want to. He is my other half. Without him, I don't feel whole. The good times don't feel as good, and the bad times feel worse. I need him to be my partner. That is both scary and liberating at the same time. As much as I want to think I could take on the world alone, I know I don't have to, and that's a good feeling.

This is going to be a long summer. Even though we are so far apart, we are still on the same team. We're fighting this battle together, even though it's from two different fronts. We'll get through it. I know that. We'll find a way to make this work for us. It's just hard to remember that sometimes through the haze of loneliness. My name is Student of Life, and I am a Poker Widow.

Labels: Marriage, Poker Loneliness, Soul Mate Summer

My friend E already blogged about this, but I just can't resist it. I spent a couple years covering this guy, and I never quite got it.

I was the political producer for my last television station. I often went to debates and political events to meet the candidates and learn about the issues that were popping up in the campaigns. I first encountered Thom@s R@venel at a candidate forum at a mall here in the Upstate. A local radio station sponsored it, and we shot every second of the thing in order to have all the candidates on record with their positions. This was early on in R@venel's race for the U.S. Senate. He funded this campaign himself, with the millions he had made as a real estate developer. His daddy's political connections and friends certainly didn't hurt the young R@venel's rise to personal wealth and fame.



This was my first encounter with R@venel. It seemed odd to me that he hadn't entered politics yet, given his family's long history in the state of South Carolina. He was 40ish then and wealthy. Very wealthy. He spoke like he came from an old-money family from Charleston (CHAAAAHL-ston as they say). When he walked in, I noticed he didn't have an entourage, which I thought was strange. He looked younger than he was, and he was cute in a frat-boy kinda way. He seemed nervous, distracted really, and that puzzled me a lot. I mean, I really expected him to have an entitled sort of swagger, but he didn't. He had some definite opinions, but he often stumbled in expressing them, and he didn't speak with as much authority as I would have expected from this successful and connected man. It also seemed so out of the norm that this 40ish, wealthy, attractive man from CHAAAARLston was single. Even if you don't like women, if you come from a family like the R@venels, it is expected that you marry yourself a nice, connected Republican woman, preferably blonde. That's just how it is.

I think I interviewed him a couple times and went to several of these forums, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. There was something about this man. Why hadn't the family pushed him into politics earlier? Why wasn't he as polished as you might expect the son of a man who had a big ole bridge and lotsa other stuff named after him to be? Why didn't he look me in the eye when we were talking? Was he looking around for someone better? Perhaps, but I was giving him the opportunity to talk to the biggest audience in the state, so that didn't seem likely. Was someone out to whack him, and he just needed to keep an eye over each shoulder? Perhaps. I mean, he had a lot of money and all, but he didn't have a gold digging wife who would have profitted greatly from his demise. He was kind of a two-face, too. Not like stab-you-in-the-back two face, like Seinfeld two-face. One second I thought he was quite dashing. Then, I turned my head back and he wasn't anymore. I'll admit I found it a little charming that he didn't act all "guess-who-my-daddy-is," but still. I just didn't get it.

Well, if the allegations are true, it makes a little more sense now. Mr. R@venel apparently likes him some blow. The treasurer of the state of South Carolina and the chairman of Rudy G's presidential campaign in the state now faces serious federal charges. State police say this investigation has been going on for awhile. They claim they couldn't have done anything about it before he was elected state treasurer, but they did hand it over to the feds since he does hold a statewide office.

Frankly, I have a hard time believing this story. Is he really that stupid? Really? The story goes like this:

Millionaire developer/politician likes to party with friends and blow, so he arranges to buy less than 500 grams of it from some dude. Investigators want to make it clear that he wasn't planning to sell the blow. He was going to give it away. Blow for blow, perhaps? Blow for votes, perhaps? Blow for business? So, he was the hook-up for all the rich blow fiends in Charleston and Columbia? Really? Seriously?

Now, I'm not going to say this isn't possible. Of course it is. American politicians have done many worse things. Many. But, it just seems really stupid. I mean, if you like blow, by all means, man, get you some blow. Find yourself a nice, trustworthy dealer who won't rat you out. Throw him a little extra dough here and there to make sure he won't rat you out. But let your fucking friends get their own blow. Don't go around arrogantly passing out blow while you're running for office. It is not a good thing for the voters to find out that you're a blow freak who happens to be dealing with their tax dollars. That doesn't go over very well. He just didn't seem that arrogant to me. Maybe I was just blinded by the teeth or something. I don't know.

So, now, Mr. R@venel has been suspended from his state office, and he has resigned from his position in Rudy G's campaign. That's probably for the best, since ole Rudy is getting beaten in the polls by a guy who isn't even officially in the race. Bless his heart. I guess his campaign chair was busy snorting blow off the bathroom counter to rally support. Awwww.

I can't wait to see if any other big names are involved in this thing. It would not surprise me at all to see our Lieutenant Governor go down. There's something about that guy, too.

*Note: the photo is from AP

Labels: Politics

I don't think I'll ever make any friends in this neighborhood. First there's that whole "I'm-Resigning-From-the-Board-Because-You're-All-a-Bunch-of-Crazy-Mo Fos" thing. Second, there's the whole Bob Jones University contingent. Finally, there's that whole Pool-Moms-Are-My-Nemesis thing. That's the clencher. That's what will keep me from ever being invited to the neighborhood Pimpered (intentional) Chef parties. That's why I'll never be in the in-crowd. It's why I really need to expand my horizons in a big and bad way.

It's really fun to watch them, even though they kinda make me want to puke. It's like a fucking hen house. More like a beehive, really. The Queen Bee is a sight to behold. She's clearly set the hairstyle. The majority of the hive members have their died-blonde hair swept up into a haircomb. A couple of them have chosen to make a statement with the same white sun visor. They all have fashionably hairsprayed bangs and the same fucking pair of over-sized sunglasses. They're all wearing big dangly earrings and makeup. They all have large, colorful, oh-so-stylish pool bags that match their outfits. And of course their towels are absolutely adorable...and matching.

Queen Bee arrived in a get-up her Non-working Worker Bees all gushed over for no less than 15 minutes. She was wearing shiny, red super-high platform sandals and a striped bikini with a matching layered skirt that covered her little bubble bottom. She never took the skirt off. She must have some deep, dark secret buried under there. At least that's what I'll chose to think. At least that would make her remotely interesting.

The Non-Working Worker Bees gather around her pool chair, laughing at her every word, occasionally daring to pat her arm for emphasis of just how funny...and stunning...she is. They sit in a row on either side of Queen Bee. They look like they're all sisters. They're not. The resemblance is their payoff for hours of hard work. They never get in the water with their kids. The only interaction they have with them is when the kids are forced to get out of the pool for adult swim and come over begging for food or drinks. Or one of the Baby Bees hurts another Baby Bee's feelings. The Queen Bee always moderates, no matter whether her Bee is involved. The Queen and her workers are shameless about scanning the poolside, looking for women to bash. They stare. They laugh. They look down their noses over their one-season-out-of-fashion sunglasses at anyone who's not a part of their hive.

The Wanna Bees stay close to the hive at all times. They know the boundaries. Most of the time, they are in the pool, directly in front of the hive. The pool's edge helps hide their fluffiness, unfashionable bathing suits, and unpainted toes. It doesn't do much to hide their non-blonde, non-salon cut and uncolored hair. Bless their hearts. Don't they know they're missing the number one requirement for entrance into the hive? Perhaps someone will drop them a hint. They occasionally turn their backs to the hive to interact with their children, but only for a quick yes or no. There's no time to play with the children when there's Queen Stroking to do. A Wanna Bee has to put in her time if she ever wants to make it in this crowd.

They lounge there all day with a look of entitlement on their faces. They've earned the right to sit here and do nothing for hours on end. I mean, they dole out the occasional nooky session and obligatory blow jobs. They're no dummies. They know who's paying the bills of the credit cards that pay for that hair, those shades, those earrings. Gotta keep the man interested. These ladies aren't paying cash. They wear those big sunglasses to hide the fact that they're in debt up to their eyeballs. Even though it's not really their problem. They're not working eight days a week to stay afloat. I mean, there's no time to work with all the primping and preening and blowing they've got to do to sustain this lifestyle. You think that's not work? Well, you're obviously not a member of the hive then.

I'll never make any friends here, because my aspirations lie a long fucking way outside of that hive. Even if I wanted to skate a little while and try to become a part of the SAHM in-crowd, I could never do what it takes to become "friends" with those women. I could never do my hair or put on makeup to go to the pool. What a fucking waste of time. I could never sit around the pool all day long. I got shit to do. Besides, when do they work out? They are all either blessed with amazing metabolism or they puke in the pool bathroom or pop diet pills like candy. That's not me, man. I gotta work at it. Plus, don't you get bored having the same three conversations all day every day? Queen's hair, Queen's get-up, the blow job Queen had to give to get the get-up... Fucking mind numbing.

I'd like to think I'm misjudging these women. I've never met a single one of them. I mean, I could be missing out on some fantastic friendships. Whatever. I went to high school. I was in the hive then. I sure as hell don't want to waste my adult years making honey with people I don't really like or respect. I'd rather play with my kid any day than bother with trifling bullshit. Besides, they wouldn't want to be my friend, anyway. I'm opinionated. I'm vocal. I care about things other than my appearance. What a waste of their time I would be.

There's gotta be a club for former professional, politically inclined, low-maintenance stay-at-home moms, right?

Labels: Friendship, Moms, Women

It seems my son has developed another ... um... eccentric habit. My husband first noticed it. Now, I can't escape it. It's everywhere!

The other night after Soul Mate put My Little Sunshine to bed, he came downstairs and said, "I think the boy is wiping his boogers on his wall." On one hand, this possibility didn't surprise me at all. When we moved his crib, the wall was quite dirty where he had apparently been rubbing his grubby little hands on it for the better part of two years. On the other hand, I didn't think my kid was a booger grubber. I mean, he seems to have allergies, so he often has a runny nose, but I haven't caught him picking it very many times at all. He's usually pretty good at blowing his nose in a tissue. Especially considering he's a nearly-three-year-old boy.

However, he's apparently a more private, Surreptious Picker. When I got Sunshine out of the bed the next morning, I had to investigate the booger situation. I'll be damned if there weren't at least ten of the nasty little slime balls caked to the wall! Ten! Dried slime balls! Ugh.

If that's not bad enough, I also investigated what I had thought was merely Spit Art on my back driver's side window near where Sunshine's car seat is. Turns out, it's not just spit. It's an artistic blend of spit and snot. Snot! I've been driving around G-Vegas with Booger Art on my car. Booger Art! On my new car! My son's very proud of it. Every time I noticed recently that he was playing with the window, I'd ask, "Whatcha doin', buddy?" His reply was always, "I fine. I just painting." Yep. Painting you were. Your chosen tools are a little unorthodox and not exactly my idea of a good medium. Now I'm debating whether to scrape the boogers off myself or leave them for the Army of Immigrants at the car wash. I'm just not sure that's the kind of Welcome to America I want to give. My kid, my problem, I think.

Labels: Memorable moments, My Little Sunshine

I guess you're either born with the storytelling bug or you're not. Soul Mate and I have apparently produced a kid perpetually covered in Calamine lotion. He's got the bug bad...and he's only two. He loves hearing stories. He most prefers people telling him stories, real or imagined, but he also really likes listening to stories on CD. In fact, he often requests to listen to these stories instead of watching TV, which thrills me to death.

Lately, My Little Sunshine has started telling his own stories, real and imagined. If we've done something that is cool in the two year old world, he'll tell the story over and over again. He especially likes to tell complete strangers (waitstaff, checkout counter folks, ticket-sellers or takers, etc) what we've been up to. I guess he gets that from us as well.

Today, we were at lunch and he told one that made me laugh. Probably just 'cause I'm his mama, but I'm going to share it anyway.

Sunshine: "I was playing golf the other day..." Um. Yeah. He's two. We live in a very middle class non-golfing kinda neighborhood. He's never been on a golf course. However, he does have a plastic set of clubs that he likes to use like baseball bats...but anyway...

Soul Mate and I glance at each other through the red, plastic Coke cups.

Soul Mate: "You were playing golf?"

Sunshine: "Yeah. I was playing golf and a bee landed on my clubs."

Me: "And then what happened?"

Sunshine: "The bee stung me and my Nanny ran down the hill..."

Soul Mate: "Are you telling stories again?"

Sunshine: "Yeah. I did." He often says this in place of "I am" or "I was." He usually says it while shrugging a shoulder. He often says it to confirm that he was, in fact, doing something he was not supposed to be doing. At least he's honest, I guess.

Soul Mate and I then started encouraging him to tell stories about things that actually happened. He has a wicked memory. He remembers the most minute details of things that happened up to a year ago. It's freakish almost, but super cool. It's hard at this age, because we want to encourage his imagination, and we do, believe me, but we want to make sure he knows when it's appropriate to tell stories and when we have to tell only what actually happened.

We are so supportive of his budding imagination that Soul Mate and I have become Wiggles for the past week or so. One morning, Sunshine woke up and decided that he was Murray from the Wiggles. I listened to him in bed as he acted out a very elaborate scenario. "I'm Murrary," he said. "I'm a Wiggle. I wear a red shirt, and I like to sing and dance and play the guitar," he continued. "When we go for a ride in the Big Red Car," he explained, "I have to sit in the back, so I can play my guitar. Greg sits in the front so he can drive." This went on and on for more than an hour. I didn't discourage it. He was happy enough in his bed. He didn't even bother to try to get out. He just wasn't sleeping.



When he woke up the next day, he continued the character sketch. Except, then he added me to the game. I am Greg, the Yellow Wiggle. The one that may or may not be leaving the band because of some disorder that causes him to pass out. I've been driving that fucking Big Red Car for days now. And singing. And dancing. And calling my kid Murray.



A couple days later, we were talking about Soul Mate, who was in Vegas at the time. "His name isn't Daddy, it's Jeff," Sunshine corrected me. Now, if you're not familiar with The Wiggles, Jeff is the narcoleptic Asian Wiggle, who wears purple. Jeff falls asleep everywhere, and the other Wiggles have to wake him up. Yes, my husband is a guitar player, but he's also a sleeper. And he's been known to pass out every now and then. Oh and fall. He falls. A lot. But he would tell you it hasn't happened in awhile, so he really isn't a faller anymore. Ask anyone who knows him, though, and they'll tell you Otis falls. He'll never live it down, really, so I found Sunshine's choice both fitting and freaking hilarious.



Funny thing about all this is that even though I encourage it privately in our home, it gets kinda funny explaining it to other people who aren't in on the skits. The other day, this realtor who often comes to our home trying to sign us up (he's probably been recruited to get those "evil drinking gambling party throwing people" out of the 'hood) rang the doorbell. I told Sunshine to say, "Hello Mr. Schmuckedy Schmuck." Instead, Sunshine said, "Jeff's (his daddy) at work." Funny thing about that is Mr. Schmuckedy Schmuck's actual name is Jeff. He looked at me with this very confused look on his face. I muttered, "Uh. Yeah. Um. Jeff is Otis. Um. Sunshine has decided we're all Wiggles, and um, Otis is Jeff. I'm Greg, and this is Murray. Um. Just don't ask OK. Otis, I mean Jeff, is not here right now, so, uh, I gotta go."

I've also had to explain to his "Nanny" that Jeff is actually her son who fathered Sunshine and not her other son, who happens to be actually named Jeff and is actually Sunshine's uncle and not father. That can get really confusing for a mother and grandmother who is already having to translate toddler talk on the phone from half a country away.

Yeah. The kid has the bug. He's covered in bites. And I love it more than I could ever express. Bless his heart.

Update: I was looking for Wiggles pictures to add to this post, and I discovered something that has completely devastated me: The Wiggle Greg has, in fact, been replaced. Notice in the photos (if you're a Wiggle fan) that the Yellow Wiggle is now Sam. I'm sad. Long live Greg.

Note: All pictures of The Wiggles came from The Wiggles' web site.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Soul Mate, Storytelling, The Wiggles

If you have a little one in your life who loves trains, you might need to do a toy check today. The makers of some Thomas and Friends play sets have announced a voluntary recall of quite a few products, some of which we have here at Mt. Otis. The toys are being recalled because they contain lead paint, which can cause some icky illnesses.



The recalled items are in the picture above, and here's the link to the Consumer Product Safety Commission news release. It has a list of the recalled toys. However, to me it isn't comprehensive enough, because there are so many different versions of each of these trains out there. I tried to get on the company's web site, but it is not responding. I'm sure paranoid parents like me have crashed it with the weight of their worry.

It'll probably be impossible to get through right now, but for more information on the recall, contact RC2 Corp. toll-free at (866) 725-4407 between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. CT Monday through Thursday and between 8 a.m. and 11 a.m. CT Friday, or visit the firm’s Web site at recalls.rc2.com The release says the company will send you a replacement toy. We'll see if that actually happens.

Check your toys and be prepared for a trip to the toy store. I know that's where I'm headed this afternoon.

Labels: Thomas the Train, Toy recall

Thank you, Anonymous, for giving me something to discuss. I appreciate your contribution to my blog and to my cold-induced writer's block.

As Anonymous pointed out, there's news in the Genarlo Wilson case out of Georgia. For those of you who don't know, Genarlow Wilson is a young man who had consensual oral sex with a 15 year old girl when he was 17 years old. Both parties consented to the act, and both parties consented to that act being videotaped. That act and an antiquated Georgia law sent this promising young man to prison.

There are so many things about this case that are sick and wrong, but one that drives me crazy is that if Wilson and his partner had been videotaped having intercourse, Wilson could have been charged with a misdemeanor and not a felony, if he was charged at all. Because he got a blowjob and not the whole shabang so to speak, he's been in prison for more than two years.

A judge has thrown out Wilson's ten year prison sentence. However, the Georgia Attorney General in his infinite wisdom has filed an appeal to keep Wilson in prison. If you didn't already see the link in the comments, here's CNN's coverage of today's developments.



Why are we paying to keep this kid in prison? If this was a rich white kid would he ever have been charged? It's summertime, folks. There are a whole lotta hummers going around right now. Hell, your 15 year old angel could be blowing the quarterback right now. I'm sure you would prefer that your little angel wasn't diddling with that jock's johnson, and you sure as hell wouldn't want it to be videotaped, but would you want the boy to go to prison for something your daughter did willingly?

I appreciate and applaud all efforts to prosecute true sex crimes in America. This is difficult and important work. However, there's got to be some pedophile out here these prosecutors could go after instead of a talented kid with a bright future. You've already fucked up his life enough. Could you move on and let him try to rebuild his life while he still has time? Isn't there more important work the state Attorney General could be doing? There is no shortage of real crime in the state of Georgia, sir. Please, for the love of all that's holy, empty out the cell Genarlow Wilson is occupying and put a real criminal in it.

Labels: American Justice System, Genarlow Wilson, Georgia Attorney General

Nuthin'. I got nuthin'. Except for a whole lotta snot. Yep. That's it. Snot.

It only took about 30 seconds. I placed him on the first step in the big pool. He stepped down to the second step. I warned him about the third, but he didn't care. Down he went, into water up past his chin. No signs of fear. No signs of panic. Just pure, unadulterated joy.

Two minutes later, My Little Sunshine was begging to jump off the side of the pool into the water. I made him put "floaties" on, but as soon as they were in place, he was off! Into the water he went. I let him go under the water for half a second, then I pulled him back out. He came up with a very surprised look, but I calmy instructed him to blow out the water like a motorboat. For the first time in a long time, he took direction. Again and again and again, he jumped off the side of the pool, into the water. "I do it again," he screamed as he wiggled his way up the steps each time.

He quickly gained confidence. Before I know it, he was telling me, "I do it BY MYSELF! You move out of the way, Mommy. I do it BY MYSELF!" I refused to allow him to dive in alone. He's not even three, and this was the first time he'd even put his toes in the water in a full year. Last summer at this time, he clutched me for dear life every time I brought him into the big pool. "I go back to the baby pool," he would beg.

So, last summer at the pool wasn't very fun for me. I was a water baby. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I never had a fear of water, so I was very puzzled when my son was afraid. I wasn't mad. I just didn't understand it. I didn't push him, however. I've seen parents push their kids into complete terror, dunking them under the water, throwing them in. That's just silly and unnecessary. I figure Sunshine come into his comfort zone in his own time on his own terms. I guess that's happened. He wants to swim so badly. He has this very determined look as he kicks his feet as hard as he can and wiggles his little body in some tadpole-looking fashion. The arms are a little harder to grasp, especially with the floaties on, but, man, he didn't care. He was happy as a clam.

He cried when I made him leave to eat lunch and take a nap. He also told me in the car that he missed the lifeguard very much and needed to go back. That made me giggle, since he had just met that lifeguard this morning. The other lifeguard was there last summer, but he's too little to remember her.

I feel like this is going to be a big growing summer for Sunshine. If today's any indication, he's going to do a lot of that growing in the pool. Time to sign up for swim lessons!

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Pool, Summer

Not that these guys need any help from anyone to get traffic on their site, and not that I would provide a gigantic bump in their numbers, but...

You may have heard of Neal Pollack. He has a blog and a book called Alternadad. I've been reading his blog for a while now, but I hadn't checked out his new venture. Until tonight.

I learned a writer I greatly admire is one of the contributors to Offsprung. Here's how the producers describe it on their site:

A humor magazine! And community! About parenting! On the Internet! Offsprung is all these things, and so many more. Welcome to the perfect online antidote to a parenting culture gone barking mad.

I've only read one of the blogs in this community, but that's all I needed to read to add it to my Bloglines. I met him as Joe Speaker at a poker blogger event in Vegas (my husband is a poker player and writer). I've only briefly spoken to him in person, but I've been stalking his writing from afar since then. I had lost track of where he was doing his work lately, so I was happy to find a link to his daddy blog, Don't Forget to Flush, on Offsprung. Kent, his real name, is a fantastic writer who loves the hell out of this kid. He's a single dad who shares custody with his ex-wife. If you love good writing, kids, baseball, music, or poker, you'll love this blog. Now go read it.

Labels: Don't Forget to Flush, Offsprung, Parent blogs

It's been a Comedy of Errors here on Mt. Otis tonight. The plot is centered around The Three Ds: Door, Dog, and Daddy.

My Little Sunshine and I had a big day today. We went to Spazzercize in the morning and then ran a bunch of errands. After lunch, Sunshine went to sleep and I went to work on a freelance project. When Sunshine woke up, we went to this crazy place that has a bunch of those giant blowup jumpy things and jumped our asses off. By the time we got home and had dinner, we were both completely zapped.

I plopped Sunshine in front of Monsters, Inc., and I went outside to turn off the sprinklers. Enter (or exit as it was...) D Number One. I shut the door behind me because I didn't want the dog to escape. The kid, so I thought, was fully engrossed in the drama of Sully and Mikey. Thirty seconds later, I emerged from behind the bushes, soaking wet. When I walked up to the door, I was surprised to see my son's nose pressed up against it. He had a big freaking smile on his face. I reached for the knob, turned it, and...turned it, and... SHIT. The kid fucking locked me out of the house. Husband half way across the country. Quiet inner panic.

If Candid Fucking Camera had been in my neighborhood, they would have had a hell of an episode! There I was, hair and clothes dripping wet from my Stupid Sprinkler Move, tapping on the glass, begging my two year old to unlock a door! He doesn't even know how he locked it to begin with! I'm pointing and screaming, "Turn that little knob THAT way. No. No. THAT way (point, point). Yeah! That's it! No. No! Back the other way, baby. The OTHER way!" The panic level is rising. "OK, baby. Mommy really needs you to turn that knob, or I can't get in. Please, Sunshine, please. Turn the knob. There you go, buddy. No. The OTHER WAY!!!" Just as I started to think I was going to have to go to my neighbors' house and beg them for a hanger or a credit card or something, Sunshine did it! He figured out how to unlock the door! I nearly fell onto the floor in a heap of emotion when I finally got back inside. Imagine having to call my husband and tell him that I had to break into our house to rescue our toddler who I left unattended (for 30 seconds!) to turn off the sprinklers. OMG.

Just as I had gotten over the Door Drama, D Number Two (Dog) enters from the trap door in the stage. I had Sunshine all tucked in, and we were reading bedtime stories in his big boy bed. It was odd how the dog curled up to him on the bed, because the dog sort of has a love/hate thing for this kid who took her place as the baby of the house. She doesn't really ever snuggle with him. I didn't think anything of it and continued reading "Stinky Face." As I was leaving the room, the dog moved to the end of the bed. "Come on, Scoop. Let's go," I said. Nothing. Not a hair on the dog's body moved. After calling her about ten times (now the kid's up and asking what's wrong), I finally tried to pick her up. Bad move. She snaps at me and runs under the bed. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. Kid is screaming, "I want her out of here!" I'm screaming, "Come on, Scoop. Wanna go outside? Want a treat?" Nothing. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. Finally, I decide to go for the last resort: The Squirter. I run down the stairs, grab a spray bottle, run back up the stairs, calm down the kid, get under the bed and start squirting. The dog snarls and snaps at me and moves a few inches with each squirt. After she had gone under every inch of cover and I was nearly out of water, she finally came out. Calm the kid down again. Try to walk out.

Enter D Number Three through second story of the set. As I'm trying to leave Sunshine's room, he says meekly, "I want someone." Trying to diffuse the situation, I reply, "Honey, it's OK. Mommy's here. Everything's OK." He peeks out from under his comforter, "Something hurts me." "What hurts you, honey" I ask. "My feeeeeeeeeeeelings," he cries. Cue the tears. Once the sobbing started, we got to the heart of the matter. "I want my dah-yah-deeeeeee," he screams in his best Southern accent! I try to console him, but he wants nothing of me. I walk downstairs, defeated, and the fucking dog wants out. I open the door and set off the alarm. SHIT. Run into the kitchen, disarm the fucking thing, run back into the living room where the dog already wants back in. She didn't really need to go out in the first place.

The screaming continued for about twenty minutes. When I get an IM from Soul Mate, I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't going to tell him about this incident because I knew it would make him feel bad for being gone, but I couldn't help it at this point. I broke down and asked Soul Mate to call the house. Turns out, a 30 second conversation with his daddy was all Sunshine really needed. He just wanted to hear his voice. I haven't heard a peep out of him since.

All Three Ds, exit stage left. Please do not return for an encore. I'm not up to it tonight. Thankyouverymuch.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Soul Mate, Stupid Stuff I Do

I'm currently listening to my son through his baby monitor. He's talking to his dad. Only his dad isn't here. He's on a plane. My Little Sunshine has been in his bed for the past hour-and-a-half, refusing to go to sleep. I can't say I blame him. The little guy has a lot of shit going on right now. First, he's in his big boy bed for only the third time for an afternoon nap. Second, he wants his "cork" (pacifier), but it's gone bye-bye to the babies. Third, he wants his dad, who has gone bye-bye for work. Finally, the bitch across the street won't stop working in her lawn with very loud yard implements. (She's actually a really nice lady, but she's really screwing up my plans for today). Any one of those things might be enough to set a kid off. All of them combined: kiss of death for Mommy's Shower Time.

Even though I'm pissed that he won't go to sleep so that I can clean myself up, it's really interesting to listen to him. He's changed topics for the thirtieth time in the past hour. He's currently acting out a scene between Sully and Mikey from Monsters, Inc. He's playing both characters, but he's acting it out like he's reading a book. '"Why you so hyper, Mikey,' Sulley said," I hear my son say. By the way, he's been Sully and I've been Mikey for the past week. Everytime I address him by his real name, he gets highly offended and proclaims he is Sully.

A few minutes ago, Sunshine was telling his daddy to be calm so he could drive him to the airport. "Don't make loud noises in the car, daddy," he instructed. "I'm driving you to the airport," he continued, "and I need you to be quiet." "You hafta go to work, daddy. On the airplane," he said. "If you don't be quiet," Sunshine warned, "I'm going to put you in Time Out." Think he's heard that before?

About an hour ago, Sunshine sang some song about a turtle named Tiny Tim about 36 times. At the top of his lungs. It was so loud, my mother-in-law could understand every word of it. Mind you, she was listening to it via the telephone via a baby monitor from hundreds of miles away in Missouri. Over me talking. Yeah. It was freaking loud.

I am really praying he goes to sleep for a few minutes at least. I can't even imagine taking him out in public without a nap. He's wild enough when he's well-rested.

Now he's singing a song he's clearly made up. "Gabe, Gabe, Gabe! A baby, a baby," he's screaming. What? This is getting painful. I really hope this is not a sign of things to come. Serenity now. Serenity now. Serenity now.

Labels: Big Boy Bed, My Little Sunshine, Nap Time

Seven years ago at this very moment, Soul Mate and I were partying it up with our family and friends, celebrating a marriage that was just hours old. It was an amazing time. People traveled from near and far to witness us exchanging our wedding vows in a beautiful place: Pretty Place at Camp Greenville. It is at the northernmost point of South Carolina, at the North Carolina state line and along the Eastern Continental Divide.



The ceremony itself was embarassingly short after a long-ass hike up the mountain. I don't believe any of our guests actually hiked up the mountain, although I wouldn't put it past a few of them. Many of the out-of-town guests rode up on buses which we provided. Unfortunately, the air conditioning died on one of the buses, and some of our guests suffered through the heat as the bus slowly chugged its way to its destination. Fortunately, the longer they traveled, the cooler it got.

Before the ceremony began, I was freaking out a little. Not about getting married. About the morning I'd had with my family. They can get me worked up like no one else. When it came time to get dressed, I was gagging, on the verge of puking my guts out all over my white, nicely-pressed wedding dress. Fortunately, my mother-in-law is a kind soul. She dabbed my face and neck with wet paper towels while a few of my friends fanned me with shoe box lids. All the while, I was bending over a trash can, just in case.

I remained on the verge of puking until I stepped out of that room, stood at the top of the aisle, and looked down at my future husband. As soon as I looked into his eyes, a switch flipped in my head. I knew everything was going to be all right. No matter what happened before that moment or what would happen beyond it, I knew it was all going to work out. I walked with confidence and hope for our future. I walked for him. I was ready to begin the rest of my life.

The vows went kinda like this: "Do ya?" "Yeah." "Do ya?" "Yeah." "Kiss the bride." He did, and we were officially married. The technical stuff was all out of the way, and we were ready to celebrate. We hopped into his black Accord Coupe and prepared for the drive down the mountain. We paused just a moment to exhale. The hard part was over. In our immediate future, we saw a party, consummation of our wedded-bliss, and a kick-ass honeymoon in Maui.

Our reception was a great time. My husband and I couldn't believe how well all our friends and family from different phases of our separate lives meshed so well together. Had they all lived in the same place at the same time, many of the strangers would have probably been great friends. On the surface, they might have thought they had little but us in common, but in reality, they were all very similar people, with similar souls and values and hearts. They were, and are, all very good people. And they were happy for us. We were happy to have them with us for that moment in time.

We kicked the keg early on. We drank the hotel out of bottled beer several times. They had to run to the bar across the street to restock. The bartender even remarked in broken English as my new husband and I went up for a drink late in the evening, "your friends, very heavy drinkers." We even saw him at some charity event three years later, and he remembered us. We initially thought he recognized my husband from television, but that was not the case at all. He said, "I remember you. Your friends, very heavy drinkers!" Yes. Yes, indeed.

We've been through some really big ups and some really big downs since that amazing day and night. Underneath it all, our love shined through, even during the toughest of times. We're about to embark on another of those tough times. We will go through it separately, half a country away from one another. It won't be easy. We will each have times where we are on the verge a breakdown. At the end of those difficult days, though, we will hit the pillow of two different beds knowing that we will make it through together. We always do.

Our lives have changed dramatically over the past seven years. I know they will change even more over the next seven. I am buckled in and ready for the ride. Happy anniversary, hon.

Labels: Anniversary, Marriage, Soul Mate

Some random observations for the first day of June:

1. Sheryl Crow was right about people washing their cars on their lunch breaks. Dude. It's insane. I happened to be at the car wash today during the lunch hour (since I don't actually get a lunch hour). There were at least 50 cars scattered all around the main building of the car wash. All were surrounded by people shining and scrubbing. I rarely ever washed my last car, so I had never witnessed this lunch break phenomenon. Now I have, and I've concluded all I want to do is have some fun.

2. I had to Google "high-efficiency detergent" today. I'd never heard of such a thing, probably because my former washer was pretty old and pretty cheap and was little more than an old woman with a washboard. My new one has fancy buttons with lights and requires special detergent. I'm movin' on up.

3. Understanding goes a really long way. My kid was busy throwing toys at Spazzercize again today. I was clearly out of my wits as I was collecting him and leaving. The owner and class manager chased me out of the building. "Michelle, don't you stop coming," the owner said. "This is good for you, and this is good for him," she continued. I nearly broke down right there in the parking lot. It meant a lot to me that she understood what I was going through, and she knew I was on the verge of a breakdown. It was one of those uplifting moments from one mom to another.

4. It's not a good idea to shower and then go outside and do manual labor in South Carolina in June. It's in the mid-to-high 80s here right now. My flowers desperately needed watered, and so I decided to do that. At 2:30pm. In June. In South Carolina. Stupid, stupid girl. It's hot. Damn hot. I just negated all positive benefits of the shower, since I sweat like a man. I now need another shower.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Random thoughts