...goin' up the country, baby don't you wanna go?

Once again, I've let weeks go by without an update...it's not as if I have any readers, but my original intent was to write regularly so that I could work at my writing and get in the habit of making near-daily entries. This has been the most ridiculous summer so far; busy but boring, one step forward two steps back, waiting...always waiting for something. A check to arrive in the mail, a deposit to hit the bank, an answer to a question, a date on the calendar to come and go. We've finally learned that we need to be moved by the end of October, so that did take some of the pressure off getting us packed and out of here this summer. My oldest will start school in the fall at the neighborhood school and will end up transferring (provided we get out of the city) sometime in October or November. He's actually relieved that he won't have to start the first day of 7th grade at a new school. I told him what it was like when I moved as a kid (I was in 4th) and it was half-way through the school year. He'll be presented as "the new kid" which makes it easier, in a way, as there will be much more attention paid him than if he were wandering through the halls alone looking lost on the first day of the school year. He's very tall for his age, about 5'8", he's growing his hair long, and I'm not just saying this cause I'm his mom, but he is a really cool and good-looking kid. I think he'll have many people vying for his friendship. Younger son will simply start 2nd grade at his Montessori charter school which he will continue to attend no matter where we are in the county.

We have realized that we do not have to limit ourselves to the large suburb we've had our sights set on, and we don't have to resign ourselves to staying within the city limits. There are tons of gorgeous townhouse communities all over the county, houses for rent, duplexes, whatever...I reminded Mr. Caff of the college town 30 minutes from here where his sister used to live, a really nice area that's a mix of rural sensibilities and that funky university "feel" (hippie shops, coffee bars, Agway, a beautiful lake, cows, horses, a buffalo ranch, homecoming parades, an annual Highland Fling, Division II college football) and he got really excited.

I am a country girl at heart...I grew up in what was then the furthest reaches of suburbia with a dairy across the field out back of my house. Traffic stopped twice a day for the cows as they went to and returned from the pasture and the smell of cowshit was omnipresent. We rode our bikes to the dairy to get half-gallons of milk in glass bottles, fresh creamy whole milk kept icy cold, and our moms would always give us an extra quarter for an orange Push-Up or an ice cream sandwich. Sometimes we'd sit on the fence and watch the cows being milked through a big observation window, swatting flies and scraping shit off our sneakers. Once my friends and I ran frantically back inside the dairy to tell the woman at the counter that there was a cow with its' "guts hanging out of its rear end" only to be told that the cow had just given birth that morning and that was the "afterbirth." Nodding our heads sagely, we pretended we knew what the hell afterbirth was and compared notes the next day on what information we could glean from our parents. (We all agreed that it was gross and hoped we didn't have that afterbirth stuff hanging out of us if we ever had babies). Learning to ride a ten-speed one-handed was easy; learning to ride a ten-speed while carrying a heavy half-gallon glass bottle of milk was a little harder. It was inevitable that you would drop at least one bottle on the tar-and-chip road in your life, leaving a puddle of milk and shards of glass on the side of the road after getting too cocky and not respecting the heavy slipperiness of a cold milk bottle on a hot humid day. My parents were never the type to yell about things like that and when it happened I was simply sent back for a replacement with another dollar and a reminder to be careful. They both knew the treachery posed by overly zealous chipping (the laying down of small pieces of gravel on a freshly tarred road) and how the chips piled up into deep drifts at corners and on the side of the road, lying in wait to grab onto your bike tires and throw you down, hard. My sister fell on a freshly chipped road one afternoon (no milk bottle, she was too young) and scraped the hell out of her knees. My dad took a look at it and said to just spray on some Bactine and slap on a Band-Aid even though my mom thought she needed stitches. The next morning it was still bleeding and my grandparents drove all the way out to our house to take her to the doctor (my folks were both working then and I was old enough to take care of myself and my sister during the summers once I turned 14 - my sister was 8) and I rode along. Grampa took her into the exam room and I sat outside on the waiting room chairs with Gramma and listened to my poor sister scream as the doctor cleaned piece after piece of gravel and dirt from her knees before putting in stitches...it was awful, poor thing. She kinda hated Dad for a day or two since the doctor said it was so much worse almost 24 hours after the accident...but if I recall, he bought her a pretty sweet Barbie car or house or something because he felt so bad and she forgave him soon after.

The fields opposite the cow pastures belonged to a horse barn and tack shop. They boarded horses and gave lessons and the "horse crazy" girls in the neighborhood boarded their own horses there or learned to ride on the owners' horses. I was never a horse crazy girl, went right from Barbies to rock and roll, but I certainly enjoyed looking at them whenever they were turned out. I rode my bike up the hill past the stables for piano lessons once a week and I always stopped for a few minutes to pet some horse noses and flanks. One hot summer night, I must have been 12 or 13, I woke up with a jolt and knew that something was wrong. I laid there for a second and realized that I could hear sirens through my open bedroom windows, lots of sirens coming from all directions, and I jumped out of bed to run into my parents' room. A siren was very rare out that far, and lots of them in the middle of the night was terrifying. My parents and sister woke up at the same time and my dad pulled back the curtain on their bedroom window that overlooked the open fields and said, "Oh my God, it's the barn..." and I ran to get a look. The sky to the south was a bright orange and the entire horse barn was ablaze. It was a horrible, awful site. We could hear lots of voices outside so we all put on robes and sneakers and grabbed flashlights and went outside to join the neighbors.

Lightning had hit the barn, setting the dry hay and old timber structure on fire in seconds. From all directions we could hear people shouting and the sound of pounding hooves racing down the road as panicked horses got loose and took off running into the darkness. The young girl across the road from our house had already retrieved her horse and they had him in the driveway covered with a blanket as he snorted and whinnied and looked ready to bolt at any second. My dad pointed out flashing lights on the highway half a mile over from the barn and some people walking by told us that there were horses running down the highway and they had closed the road in hopes there wouldn't be an accident. I can't remember now how many horses died but I know that the only ones that perished were those unable to escape the barn. When daylight came you couldn't see anything but a pile of blackened rubble and the air was filled with smoke. It was oddly comforting to look across the road and see my neighbor's horse in the driveway wearing a plaid blanket, standing quietly while the grownups talked in solemn, hushed tones over coffee, their children passed out in sleeping bags on the lawn.

Today, the dairy is long gone, closed when convenience stores began to spring up and large conglomerate dairy companies stocked them with milk in unbreakable paper cartons. The horse barn was never rebuilt although the owners lived there for many years after the fire. The fields where black and white spotted cows grazed peacefully on one side of the road and chestnut mares, palomino stallions and appaloosa fillies kicked up their heels on the other side are filled with a planned community of "patio homes" for "empty nesters." My parents sold their house just a little over a year ago and moved into a smaller place, too. The neighbors are gone many years now, some have died, others have moved far away.

The week before my parents moved, my last time at the house, I stood in the back yard and closed my eyes and for a moment, I swore I could smell cow manure. I could feel handle bar tape on my palm and a cool breeze on my sunburned, freckled face. I could hear the crunch of bike tires on gravel and the heaviness of an icy jug of milk pulling me to one side as I nearly wiped out turning the corner one-handed. I inhaled again and smelled cut grass and steaks on the grill and I could hear the ticking of my dad's car engine as it cooled in the driveway. I could feel the strings from my cut-offs tickling my legs as I walked into the garage and heard my dad whistling out on the patio while he sat and smoked and waited for the steaks. My mom shouted out the front door for my sister to come on home and I set the sweating glass milk bottle on the supper table. After dinner, I rode around the subdivision on my bike with my friends and raced home seconds before darkness fell. Too tired to watch t.v., I changed into my summer p.j.'s and lay across my bed, too warm and sticky to get under the covers, so tired from my day that I fell asleep as my head hit the pillow...

I want that for my kids, even if it's just for a few years, even if we're only renting a place. I want them to have some country summers with crickets and fireflies and an old-fashioned Fourth of July fireworks display at the lake. I want them to hear peepers in the spring twilight and experience the thrill in winter when the schools actually close due to heavy snowfall. I want them to see the homecoming bonfires and walk to college football games on Saturday afternoons.

I want them to live in a small town for a time and know what it's like to live without the urban grit, wailing police sirens, heavily locked doors, gridlocked summer tourist traffic, concrete heat islands, and tightly shut windows of city life.

And who knows? We may even put down roots and decide to stay. There are worse things than growing up in a small college town with a lake.

Growing old there doesn't sound too bad either...

Updates, Lifehacks, & I allow my esoteric side to come out

I didn't even look to see how long it's been since I posted last. My original intent was to update this blog daily and it's abundantly clear that I was (as usual) completely deluding myself about my available time and my level of self-discipline. I added a counter a while back and most of the hits are my own but there were a few from other sources and it seemed as if someone was interested in what I had to say since there were some return visitors. I hope I haven't blown my chances with those people by not updating more regularly and I'm going to work hard to carve out a chunk of time every day or at least several times a week to post some updates.

In explaining why I've been away from here and why I'm up to my neck in shit in the real world I could take up vast amounts of space but I'm trying to be more efficient in all ways so I will be brief and hopefully succinct. My husband is permanently and totally disabled since 2001 with RSD/CRPS which developed following a total knee transplant(L) due to severe bilat degenerative osteoarthritis as well as numerous other medical problems. By the autumn of 2001, life as we knew it was never going to be the same. Fast forward to now, and after much soul-searching, we are getting out of this money-trap of an old house and returning to the world of renters. The boys are fine with it, especially since it looks like we're going to get the beautiful townhouse we've been hoping for. Rent is $400 less than our mortgage, the utilities will be 1/3, there will be no worries about the leaking roof, leaky plumbing, rotting window frames, and the hundreds of things needed to bring this house into the 21st century. No lawn to mow (although I will miss my gardens, I already have some container gardens planned for our patio and terrace and front stoop and I'll just put that green thumb to use creating an indoor jungle for us). No driveway to shovel, no sidewalks to salt, no property taxes and homeowners insurance, no busy street a few houses away...I can honestly say that none of us (the kids included) will miss this place. But moving is hard, there's much to do (I'm having the first of several moving sales this weekend) and I'm busy all the time.

I don't feel like we're leaving a beloved home as much as we're starting fresh, clean and new. I believe that buildings hold onto the energies of those who have lived in them and this house feels filled with pain, anguish, rivers of tears, anger, despair, fear...it's true that the good times here did outweigh the bad; after all, both our babies came home to this house right out of the hospital and all the joy and laughter and love we have shared with them still echoes through these rooms.

Were it not for that happiness this place would be unbearable. My husband has lived in crippling, devastating pain for more than half the years we have been here...our hopes and dreams of our future died here...I went through a dark depression for a year sitting in this basement office, hiding from the world, convincing myself that no one really needed me and abdicated all responsibility without letting anyone know that I didn't pay a single bill for nearly 12 months. When I finally climbed out of this depression the damage was done and our finances were destroyed, I had killed friendships, alienated my family, and damn near lost everything. When a caretaker of many feels invisible, taken for granted, and alone, that person will often cease performing all that others have come to depend upon. It wasn't until my husband and children made me see how much I was needed and loved and cherished that I started my journey back to the living and saw the mess I'd made of it all.

So we are leaving this house and setting off on a different path. We plan on spending 3 years minimum at this new home getting ourselves back on track. It feels like we are entering the world again. It will be nice to look forward to weekends with the kids when we can choose what we want to do instead of always having some sort of half-assed, jury-rigged home maintenance that I need them to help me with.

Oh yeah - I said I was going to put in a lifehack so here's one: Mr. Caff uses Molskine notebooks and discovered that using a liquid paper correction PEN to write the contents on the binding of his black books, he has a bright, easily read (white against black) and neat way of labelling his many, many Molskines. After it dries and sits for a day, he then paints over it with a thin coat of clear nail polish and voila! A cheap, easy way to label his notebooks. Give it a try!

I'll try to write again soon...I'm not even going to take the time tonight to insert hyperlinks in the many places I should, although I promise I'll do better next time. But now it's time to go watch an episode of Dead Like Me on Showtime before bed.

Goodnight all.

"We have kept the Republic"

History may prove that Senator Robert Byrd was absolutely correct and the following 14 United States Senators, seven Democrats and seven Republicans, took the first steps in reclaiming our Republic on May 23, 2005: Democrats Byrd, Lieberman, Nelson, Pryor, Landrieu, Inouye and Salazar, and Republicans Warner, McCain, Snowe, Collins, DeWine, Graham and Chafee.

These men and women were responsible for reaching a bipartisan agreement that stopped the Republicans from taking away the Democrats' power of judicial filibuster, in case you missed the news.

I started looking for news stories on the agreement because I wanted to learn the names of all 14 Senators. The first headline I read stated that Conservatives are "outraged" at the seven Republican Senators who "sold out" the GOP. I'll bet they're outraged. Foaming at the mouth Cujo-style angry...how dare these seven defy them?

And defy the Social Conservatives they did. They publicly distanced themselves from the RRR (Radical Religious Right) forever with their actions and in doing so have joined the enemy. This quote is so ironically ignorant: "14 Senators are allowed to speak for America and pick and choose the nominees they find accceptable?" (Lanier Swann, Concerned Women for America.) Gosh, it was only four and a half years ago that 12 Supreme Court Justices spoke for America and decided Bush was the acceptable choice for President. These Conservatives have such selective memories, don't they?

Of course, what really angers the Social Conservatives is that they have been laboring under the illusion (delusion?) that they don't have to abide by this Nation's laws, and if they find a law that doesn't suit their purposes they just have it changed to their liking. Many Social Conservative activists truly believed that the filibuster struggle wasn't going to be a problem and Bush was going to deliver bushels of Conservative judicial nominees. Getting a little too comfortable they were...she said in a bad Yoda imitation.

What's alarming also is that apparently those seven Republican Senators are the only ones who get it. "It" meaning that the day will come - please God, make it sooner than later - when the Democrats take back the Presidency, and every single law they've passed, tweaked, or destroyed to serve their purposes will come back to bite them in their collective lily-white asses.

I read that Senator Santorum (the idiot Senator from PA, MY HOME, who continually makes me wonder just how low are the IQ's of half my fellow Pennsylvanians) said that the Democrats had "no right" to demand that Republicans follow the standard rules in changing Senate filibuster rules and that he used a Hitler comparison that made no sense whatsoever to illustrate his point. Please, God, if you're still reading, can you increase the intelligence of enough people here so PA doesn't re-elect Senator Stupid McRetard next time? Thanks bunches.

The Republican party is losing its base and quickly. It's always been the party of "business" and the businessmen are losing patience with the GOP's focus on social issues at the expense of all other matters. Like, um, fiscal issues.

And finally, FINALLY, the "no big government, stay outta my bidness" wing of Republicans have begun to understand that an Administration that passes the Patriot Act, which was designed to circumvent civil liberties and allow the government free reign in your "bidness" like never before, is the very defintion of "big government." I think this type of Republican watched the Terri Schiavo mess in horrified shock and realized for the first time that sharing their party with the Radical Religious Right was a big mistake.

What's happening is that the Republicans are showing us that they have not paid attention to anything for 20 years or so. Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, that is a fact. The GOP has allowed an extremist wing of their party to dictate policy in exchange for getting them elected, exactly like the Democrats did when they catered to the leftist elite and lost much of their base to the Republicans who were at the time a much more centrist party.

It's amazing, isn't it?

I'll be watching "the seven" Republicans very closely from now on. And I'm keeping my eye on the Democrats, all of them, because they'd better not blow this opportunity to derail Bush's second-term agenda.

I have a new nephew!

I don't know much as I haven't spoken directly with my sister, but she had a C-section at 2:00 p.m. this afternoon and her little boy was born. He was indeed a big baby, weighing in at 9.2, and he has loads of black hair. Sounds just like my youngest, who was born with so much hair I could have braided it. His name is Wyatt - I love that name. Big brother Hudson was jumping around in the background shouting "Out! Out! Baby Out!" while my mom tried to talk to me. He is very excited because his Dad's on the way to take him to the hospital to see his beloved Mama...I'm going down in the morning to see my sister and the baby, hopefully when there aren't a whole lot of other visitors. There's nothing more annoying than a roomfull of your sibling's in-laws cooing over the new baby, reluctant to share him with the "other side" of the family.

Here's a Lifehack regarding older siblings of new babies to share: Two weeks ago I gathered up a bunch of small toys from my house: a rubber snake, a brand-new stuffed animal that no one had claimed, and some Hot Wheels cars. I also stopped by the drugstore and snapped up a handful of little items such as a box of crayons, an activity book, a little bag full of jungle animals, altogether about 10 items. I also gathered up all the little gift bags from the past few birthdays and Christmases and put each item in a gift bag. I gave them all to my sister who took half to the hospital with her and left the rest at home in a handy but hidden spot. Now whenever Hudson sees the baby get a present, she or my brother-in-law can make sure he gets something, too. And if anyone shows up at their house and brings a baby gift Hudson will have something from the stash she has waiting there. This way Hudson will feel special too. No matter how much loving, cuddling, and "Now you're the big brother/sister" comments you give them, the older sibling is going to have a hard time with it all. A little token in a shiny gift bag can mean an awful lot when you're two and a half and your life has been turned upside down.

Welcome to the world, Wyatt. You are going to love coming to our house, playing video games and hanging out with your cool, awesomely older and bigger cousins as much as your brother loves it here. Your Uncle is a really warm and loving guy who gives great hugs. And I look and sound like your mom enough that you'll be immediately comfortable with me. Plus, your Uncle and I know a lot about little boys so you won't have to worry about burping and farting around us, finding words like poopy and pee-pee tremendously amusing, and enjoying the great feeling of smashing Cheerios under your shoes on the kitchen floor or sprinkling your head with your sippy cup just because you can. It's all cool with us.

Can't wait to get to know you, Wyatt.

On Baby Watch

My nephew is about to become a big brother any minute now. He came along 12 days early and his little brother is being very obstinate; today is my sister's due date and at the moment she shows no signs of imminent labor.

Little darling nephew is 2 1/2 years old and I just talked to him on the phone. I asked him how his mommy was and he said "OUT!" very forcefully because all my sister says now is "I just want this baby OUT of me!" I also asked him what he thought his brother's name was going to be and he said "Apple Doggie," which has been his choice for the baby's name since he was told his mommy was expecting. I hope he's not too disappointed that his choice has been overruled although I suppose he can call his brother Apple Doggie if he wants to. I love toddlers, especially when they're not mine, and all I can do is laugh my ass off when he acts up like he was doing while my sister was trying to talk to me.

They're at my mom's today as my sister has an appointment with the midwife at 1:00 p.m. and darling nephew was on a real tear in the background. During a 15-minute conversation, something was broken, he bumped his head and got a nice goose-egg, he hung up the phone twice and pushed random buttons until his mother yelled at him and made him cry, he opened the fridge repeatedly until my mother yelled at him and made him cry, and in general made a gigantic nuisance of himself. My father, in a fit of either wisdom or senility, booked a fishing trip a year ago (to be fair, my sister wasn't pregnant yet) and his ride was there when I called so he's out of here until Wednesday night. The only answer he gives when pressed about his insistence on going on this trip is "It's already paid for and I won't get my money back!" WTF? My mom gives in too easily because if he were my husband I'd have told him too goddamned bad, mister, you're not leaving in the middle of all this. None of the boys (my two and my sister's one) obey my mother at all and do whatever they can to drive her crazy, but they worship "Papa" and rarely disobey Papa's wishes.

The midwife will induce tomorrow if my sister wants her to do so, and understandably she is anxious to have this baby. But I'm all for letting nature take its course (within reason) and would never want an induction. I don't know what's going to happen at this point, but if she's not dilated a bit today at her appointment and everything seems alright with the baby, I think I convinced her to wait a little while longer and avoid induction if possible. I also told her to ask for a sonogram because this same midwife, as dear as she is, underestimated the size of my second son as a "seven pounder" and he weighed 9lbs, 8ozs and required vacuum extraction and nearly split me in half, I swear (my husband said he was terrified that he was going to lose the both of us and that the room looked like an abattoir until the cleaning crew came in). Too much information? Sorry...but birthin' babies is a messy business. Lots of fluids and guck and stuff.

I have a feeling this baby's coming within the next 24 hours though, in order to make his entrance in the most inconvenient manner possible because that's the way it usually happens. I'm running to the store shortly to buy my family some easy meals for the next few days because I think I'm going to be somewhat busy, and I LOVE it.

A new life is about to enter our small family group and I love my nephew something fierce so I can't wait to meet this little man and have another nephew to spoil and cuddle, play with and buy things for, kiss and hug, teach and learn from, laugh at and laugh with...and return to his parents for all the other stuff. I've been there, done that. Sat up night after night with a screaming infant, rushed sick babies to the ER, been covered with poop, pee and spit-up, held them down while they got their vaccinations and cried more then they did...I've been there and although I wouldn't trade a single experience there are many that I am glad I will not have to repeat.

Whenever I think of a newborn, I am reminded of the night when my oldest was about two weeks old, and my husband and I were sitting on the edge of our bed holding him and trying to get him to stop crying. We'd read all the books, waited till we were married eight years before starting a family, I was 31 and he was 35, and yet we were still completely freaked out. My husband looked at me and said, "We were woefully unprepared for this parenthood thing, weren't we?"

I looked back at him and burst out laughing, and so did he, and I realized at that moment that nothing can prepare you for the heart-bursting combined emotion of tremendous love and sheer terror that is parenthood.

Love to you, my boys; my sons and my nephew and my almost-here nephew. So much love...

Is there a Lifehack for "how to turn a bad day around"?

Seriously.

There's got to be a way to stop that runaway freight train once it starts. The story of my day, Friday 5/13:

1. Tossed and turned all night long on shitty mattress and box springs that needed replaced years ago. We're moving soon so there's no point in getting a new one now, but I have been waking up several times a night with my lower back in spasm, sometimes my entire back. After the third awakening this morning in such pain that I wasn't sure I could even get out of bed, the clock said 5:30 a.m. and that was good enough for me. I struggled for several minutes to get off my back, onto my side and eventually feet on the floor then shambled like a zombie (moaning like one, too) down the stairs and to the kitchen for coffee. Thanks to the coffeepot timer I was able to pour myself a large mug (insulated, with a lid) and flop onto the recliner. I turned on the television and was holding my coffee, raptly watching a story on the local news, when...

2. My crotch is on fire! Holy goddamned freaking hell I fell asleep and dropped the 20 ounce mug of piping hot coffee upside down on my lap...oh dear lord, the pain. Our coffee pot makes coffee hotter than any pot I've ever had and I am not kidding when I say I was instantly sobbing in pain. My youngest heard me and hollered down to see if I was okay and I said, No, please bring me a towel and a pair of underwear and a pair of sweats from my dresser. Five minutes later he comes down with a hand towel, a sports bra, and the jeans I had on yesterday. I wanted to shriek at him but I just thanked him and went down to the basement where I knew I had clothes in the dryer. My inner thighs are still sore, like a bad sunburn, but the rest of the sensitive area seems fine. I think. Now I understand why that old lady sued McDonalds when she spilled the hot coffee on her crotch. If I could sue anyone other than myself for being an idiot, I would.

3. Kids are at school, I stop at Country Fair for a bacon/egg/cheese biscuit and a french vanilla cappuccino, a newspaper, and a copy of Vogue because I plan to pamper myself for a few hours after the day's rough start. I eat breakfast, drink 4 sips out of my cappuccino, and promptly fall asleep in my chair from 9:00 until noon. Great. Husband was in another area of the house, watching t.v. with headphones and surfing the laptop and had no idea what I was doing. I guess sleeping for 3 hours isn't such a bad thing, but I effectively shot any chance I had at getting much done before the kids started coming home from school at 2:30. I still haven't read the paper or opened the Vogue although I reheated the cappuccino which was yummy.

4. Afternoon uneventful...I hang out with kids and husband watching G4/Tech TV for a while then offer to pick up Subway for dinner since we just got paid. "Hoorays" all around - 3 toasted barbecued steak and 1 toasted chicken bacon ranch and I've got coupons! Cool!

5. I decide I have to pee before I leave...HUGE mistake. I lift up the toilet lid and I see that one of my children (we still don't have a confession but we're fairly certain it's the younger one since this isn't the first time) has used nearly an entire roll of toilet paper after pooping. I buy Scott single-ply only because we have a chronically sluggish toilet so you can imagine how much t.p. this kid used. It must have been a really problematic b.m. or else he forgot a book so he decided to see how many wads of t.p. he could get out of a roll to pass the time. Anticipating the worst, I holler for my oldest, grab the two ever-present plungers and use them to corral as much of the paper as I can, then, gulping, I flush. The moment I flushed I knew it was a really stupid move. By this time, older son comes in and I have him take off the tank lid and pull up on the ball. The water level has now risen to the point where no matter what I do, every plunge is going to send gallons of t.p. 'n fecal stew sloshing over the sides and onto the floor.

Which happened. Repeatedly. We used every towel we had in the bathroom, in the linen closet, in the hamper...but by sheer determination I plunged that bastard toilet with everything I had left and was rewarded with the sudden emptying of the bowl. I let my son leave go of the ball and the tank filled nicely. He ran and got a garbage bag for me to load all the wet towels into and grabbed a roll of Bounty and all my kitchen towels so I could clean up the rest of the mess. This took at least 30 minutes. I will skip the details, but imagine the worst overflow you've ever had, the kind in which certain solid material escapes the bowl and finds its way onto the floor and into every nook and cranny of the toilet and that's what I'm talking about.

I changed my clothes, washed my hands and feet and washed the bottom several inches of my ponytail (you don't want to know) and realized that I had NO LYSOL SPRAY anywhere in the house. I had used a foaming bathroom cleaner but there was no way this job was done until every inch of that room was saturated with Lysol spray. On my way through the living room dragging a garbage bag full of towels I informed the family that we would not be having Subway for dinner, that there were Hot Pockets and Chef B. and leftovers, and that after I threw the towels into the washer (20 minute wash cycle, hot water, Tide w/bleach, and they WILL be washed at least one more time the same exact way) I was running across the street to the convenience store for Lysol and a roll of t.p. and then I was going down to the basement office where I would remain until I damned well felt like it. No one said a word. Very, very intelligent choice on their parts.

I started the wash, went and got the Lysol and t.p. as well as a gigantic Nestle tollhouse cookie ice cream sandwich and a box of toffee Crunch 'n Munch, sprayed the bathroom, got a large cup of coffee, took a couple of my pain pills since my back was screaming (and one extra because Mommy was pretty sure if she opened her mouth again she was going to literally start screaming and not stop) and sat down to write this entry.

Sometimes your day's going to both suck and blow and there's nothing you can do about it. And I realize that there are people all over the world who'd trade my shitty day for their shitty day in a heartbeat; fleeing a volcano, tsunami, or approaching army, cradling a starving child, shielding your kids with your own body as rubble from your bombed home rains down upon you...believe me, I don't take myself seriously.

But as Lifehacks go, any advice like this regarding how to turn the average crummy day around and stop the cascading series of annoying events? My first thought is to make an abrupt change in routine or do something impulsive to alter the day's flow.

I'd love some comments...

I've got all I need for Mother's Day

Every year for Mother's Day I ask for only one thing: that peace reigns o'er my house, and that no one makes me cry.

This is my 13th Mother's Day and as I type this peace reigns and I haven't cried.

However, it is only 9:10 a.m. and the day has just begun...in case you are wondering, I am 0/12 as far as receving a peaceful, tear-free day. Even my first Mother's Day, when my firstborn was all of 5 months old, was anything but peaceful and I probably cried at least 3 times. I had this brilliant idea that I would make brunch for my mom, dad, sister, my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and of course my husband, son and myself. It was a really stupid idea...why on earth would I want to cook a meal, clean it up, and lose precious time I could have been spending with my baby? I learned a valuable lesson that day: I call my mom and he calls his mom and I spend the day however I want to.

Today I am hanging out in the office for a while but life does go on so there's laundry to do and assorted household tasks, but when I went grocery shopping yesterday I bought a delicious gourmet fully-prepared frozen pan of lasagna and a box of dark chocolate brownie mix so my 12-year old, J., will mostly handle dinner while my husband supervises from his wheelchair. The younger one who is almost 8 is obsessed with a new Xbox game so he's in some sort of Zen state. Cool.

I am ever hopeful that there will be no fighting and I won't cry today. It's bound to happen one of these years.

Truly, Mother's Day, Father's Day, and all those assorted Hallmark-sponsored holidays are totally sick and nothing more than another way to get us to part with our hard-earned money. There are mothers who demand tribute on this day, and fathers who do the same on their day to be sure, but I am NOT one of them and neither is my husband. I don't want to be taken out to brunch with a corsage on my sweater, I don't want candy or flowers, I don't want my husband to spend any money on me because I'm not HIS mother, and my kids are not self-supporting so how are they supposed to afford presents? I treasure those beautiful handmade cards or bookmarks or magnets or earrings bought at the school store for .25, I really do. If they went out and cut off all my tulips and put them in a vase and gave them to me I would not yell, I would love it. They could empty the dishwasher and vacuum the kitchen and dining room for me and that would be better than a "world's best mom" Hallmark picture frame with matching coffee mug. Way better.

Or they could give me nothing, and this day could pass completely unmarked, and I still would not care. As Mother's Day approaches every year, and they start getting nervous about getting me something, I gently remind them of the "no fighting, no crying" request and honestly, I think it's harder than asking them to bring me a strand of hair from a ringwraith's horse's mane.

So I've decided that as soon as I publish this post I'm going to go upstairs and tell them that I no longer require peace in the house and they can act however they normally act. I'm going to find a really sappy movie and cry my eyes out in a preemptive strike against anything they could possibly do to make me cry. Or maybe I just won't freaking cry at all, or stub my toe and cry like a baby because it really hurts. Who am I to ask others to take responsibility for my own tears?

Because by asking for those two things every year, and somehow knowing that they are impossible, I am as demanding as the mother who requires a day full of food, presents and ass-kissing.

Sorry, little dudes, for putting so much pressure on you all these years. The first thing you each said to me this morning was "Happy Mother's Day, I love you, you're the best mommy in the world."

How great is that?