The Day After.

I think we will survive this. We had a long talk today. Bing came home early from work and we did the whole sit-down thing. She insists on holding hands when we have these talks and while I hate it, I admit that I love it too.

It is very hard to scream at someone when they are holding your hand....

She said everything that I needed to hear. That the truth was that she HAD known that she had messed up before I found out. That a few minutes after she let Liv go, she regretted her decision and sat sitting outside until she got back. When Liv got home, she said that she seemed okay, a little quiet, but she let it go. (She doesn't read Liv like I do.) She said that she had been too chicken shit to tell me about it because she knew that I would be upset, so just decided to see this as a lesson learned and one that would never happen again.

And then, of course, I found out what happened. And exploded.

She said that she agreed with me completely. That she had been totally wrong and intended to let Liv know that too. She had just foolishly hoped that it would all be swept under the rug. She swore that she would never make such an idiotic decision again. She told me that if nothing else, she learned that when it comes to Liv, I take no prisoners.

She asked me to forgive her. I told her that, yes, of course, I would. I apologized for calling her a toad.

Yes, in the heat of my anger, I actually called her a toad. I think I called her a "fucking toad" if my recall is on target.

We agreed to get past this.

I let her kiss me.

We are okay again.

She asked if there was anything she could do to make it up to me.

I suggested that she be my sex slave for a week.

She responded that in case I hadn't noticed, she is already about as whipped as whipped can get.

I said that a back rub might be okay.

She thought maybe two or three back rubs, at least.

So, we were okay. Or, I thought so anyway.

And then I went outside to water my herbs and caught her crying in the back yard, all hunkered down next to the lilac bushes.

I slid down next to her.

I asked her why she was crying.

"Jesus Christ, Liv could have been abducted! She could have been hurt or killed! That sweet little baby! I can't believe that I did something so incredibly stupid!"

I hugged her.

I know. I know. But, it is over now. It will be okay. We just...learned a lot, yes?

She nodded.

"I just feel like such an idiot. You were so mad! And I deserved every bit of it. I LOVE you both so much. Do you know that? You two are everything to me. I'm the one who wants to protect you!"

That was all I needed to hear. I told her that. I just needed to be able to trust that she understood how serious this was and to know that she will never let it happen again.

So, deep breath for both of us. We keep hugging each other. She has talked to Liv and told her that she made a bad call in letting her go to the store on her own, that she was very glad that it all worked out so well. That she was proud of how well Liv handled it all.

Liv didn't say much. She just wanted to read aloud to us her report on Saturn.

We sat perched on the sofa, Bing and I, listening to the sound of Liv's sweet voice reading about rings and orbits and diameter.

That's our girl.

The Day I Nearly Clocked Bing.

That would be today.

What a lousy way to start the day. The toilet overflowed. Plunging didn't help, although it did HURT my already aching back. I called Bing, who is in her last week of school. She asked me if I overstuffed it with toilet paper. I assured her that I did not.

She replied that I tend to use too much.

I asked her how the HELL she knew that since to my knowledge, she has never seen me go to the bathroom. (Yes, I am sort of a prude that way.)

She wisely didn't answer, but gave me the number of the plumber. He came right out and fixed it. For you home repair types, it involved a coat hanger and something called "decalcifying the knobs." Whatever. It cost 60 bucks and he fixed our kitchen sink while he was here for free. Am I charming or am I charming?

But, that isn't why I nearly clocked Bing.

This was why:

I took Liv to the library to get some books on Saturn. She is VERY into research reports. I give the Montessori method credit for this. And, hey Prox...if you want to read an excellent article on what Montessori is supposed to be...there is this great article called The Cult of the Pink Tower in Slate this month.

So, Liv and I are at the library. We are checking out and there is this snotty teenage girl standing next to us at the check out counter. She is bitching at the librarian about how slow the computers are.

Liv is acting very oddly. She is pressed up against me, her face pressed tightly into my arm. Very weird. In general, she tends to be fascinated with bratty behavior, not frightened of it.

We check out and get out to the car. I had promised her spaghetti at Fazoli's for lunch, so I head there. She is stone silent in the car. I try to get her to talk. No luck. We get to the restaurant and finally when her spaghetti is sitting uneaten in front of her, she says, "I have something I need to tell you."

I so fucking hate that sentence,

She asks me if I remember the bratty teenager at the library. I say sure.

"Well," she says. "I sort of know her."

I raise my eyebrows.

She tells me that once when Bing was babysitting her and I was at a meeting that she wanted to go to Grandy's (a five and dime store about 5 blocks from our house) and Bing said no, that she didn't have time to take her, but that Liv could ride her bike there.

I stopped her. BING let her ride her bike to Grandy's??? Liv is not allowed to ride her bike anywhere other than up and down our block and Grandy's is not only several blocks away from our house, but you must cross a very busy street to get to it.

Liv nods. "I didn't even ask her. She SUGGESTED that I ride!"

I am so mad that I fear that smoke must be coming out of my ears, but I keep my face composed and she continues.

"And on the way home, when I was riding my bike with my bag of candy, well...that teenage girl rides up next to me on her bike and asked me if I wanted to go with her."

GO WITH HER WHERE???

"Go with her where, honey?" I ask, keeping my voice dead calm.

"I don't know. I told her no thanks and then I rode my bike very fast all the way home. I was so scared that I dropped my candy!"

I asked if the teenager followed her. She said no. I asked her if she told Bing what happened when she got home. No. She was afraid that she would get in trouble. And she didn't tell me because she didn't want Bing to get in trouble.

But, then she saw that girl in the library and it frightened her.

I told Liv that she did EXACTLY the right thing, but that she must promise me that she will NEVER, EVER ride her bike except on our block again. She agreed. We went over the stranger danger stuff. The stuff where she is to scream, kick, bite, yell "Fire!", do anything to keep from getting into a car, etc.

I ask her if she wants to go back to the library and see if that girl is still there. She is adamant. NO.

I thought hard about this. I mean, the girl was obviously not old enough to drive, was quite stout, had a filthy mouth, bad grammar, and was probably harmless. Probably. That is the catch phrase. But, it seems to me that that is what is ALWAYS said about someone after they do something terrible. So, I called the library when we got home. Told them my situation. The librarian who was attempting to check her out could not remember her name and since she stalked away before the computer came up, they had no record of her name. But, she assured me that she would recognize her if she saw her and contact me.

I didn't make a huge deal about this with Liv. But, I did call Bing at work, got her out of a classroom and screamed at her over the phone (in the basement where Liv could not hear.)

HOW DARE YOU PUT MY CHILD IN HARM'S WAY!! HOW DARE YOU PUT HER IN A SITUATION WHERE SHE COULD HAVE BEEN HURT OR KILLED! SHE IS SEVEN! WE LIVE IN A CITY, NOT SOME SMALL TOWN.

Bing's half ass reply: "She is nearly eight and it was only a few blocks. I'm sorry. I can see that you are mad about this. I won't let it happen again. I swear. I am so, so sorry."

I told her that I will have to think carefully before I let her take care of Liv again. I know that hurt her. Right now, I could care less. I still am reeling that she thought it was OKAY to let a little girl ride her bike to a store several blocks away across a busy street. What in the hell was she thinking?

I am keeping my distance from her tonight. She is walking on eggs around me. Very careful. I don't even want her in my bed at this point.

I know that I will cool off. I know that I will forgive her. But, this sort of sloppy caretaking is how kidnappings occur. I need to make her see that. We were very lucky. Very lucky.

When I was Liv's age, I tooled around town on my bike all day long. I rode alone on country roads.

We don't live in that world anymore.

How do I make her see that?

Any ideas? What would you do?

First Kiss With Bing

Ok, Terroni....

Although, I think you were being a smarty pants in my comments....I will take you up on this...

My First Kiss With Bing

It was in the parking lot of a grocery store. I know. I know. The romance of it all is simply breathtaking, yes?

We were just friends. Had been for years. I had NO intention of being anything else. I found out much later that she had always had the intention of being much more than friends, but being smart about my pot-without-a-lid personality, was keeping her distance.

Also, I had just broken up with someone who I been living with for SEVEN years and she thought I was probably going to be doubly determined to not wear any stinkin lid.

So, she wasn't really trying. I was totally oblivious to the fact that she even wanted to go in that direction.

We were talking about what kind of candy to buy when we went into the grocery store. It was for a movie. We were cheap and didn't want to buy candy at the theatre. I even remember the movie we were going to see. Well, not the title...but it was a James Bond one.

We were sitting in the car. I was counting my change and deciding on a butterfinger or a reese's peanut butter cup.

She finally gave me this long look and said, "I just want to tell you that you are driving me crazy."

She told me later that she wanted to DIE the second she said that.

And me being me, well...I thought she meant that my dawdling was bugging her!

I said something cranky like, "Well, I only allow myself one candy bar per week, so I want it to be good."

And then our eyes met and I realized that she meant not annoyingly crazy but like...the other kind.

And we just...kissed.

It was brief. It was very nice. Afterwards, she and I smiled at each other (me in kind of a frozen terror...WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING!)

She shrugged. We both got out of the car. We bought the candy bars. I ended up with a butterfinger. She got sweet tarts.

We went to the movie and didn't discuss it again until YEARS later when she asked me if I remembered it.

Of course, I did.

We now kiss much more frequently and with more verve.

I wish it were more romantic, I really do. But, it was just a silly little kiss in the parking lot of a Baker's Supermarket.....

First Kiss

Zirelda asked me what my first kiss was like. Not as memorable as I would like it to be,but here goes....

I was in fifth grade. All of the girls at school seemed to have crushes on certain boys. I didn't. I remember asking my mother about this and she replied that it was because I was such a good girl. That very good girls didn't start thinking about boys until they were about 16. I was relieved. Whew.

But, a boy named Mickey March had a crush on me. He was not shy about proclaiming his undying love for me. All of the girls thought he was so cute and wondered why I didn't "go around" with him. Going around was the equivalent of walking around the playground during recess together. Not holding hands or anything. I went to a Catholic school and the nuns had eagle eyes about stuff like that. Sometimes, a gang of girls would meet up with a gang of boys to go roller skating on the weekends. I never went.

One afternoon, Sister Adeletrude (not her real name, but can't you just picture her?) sat reading a poem called The Owl and the Pussycat to our class. Mickey held up a huge piece of paper and showed it to the classroom as she read. It said something like,

I AM THE OWL AND MARIA IS THE PUSSYCAT

The other girls tittered. I was nauseated. When it came time to line up to get a drink of water, Mickey announced that on the last day of school, he was going to kiss me.

I fretted for the entire week. The school year ended on a friday. I spent the entire friday avoiding him as if he were the plague. I didn't let him near me.

As we lined up to go home, the girls were in one line, the boys in another. He smiled menacingly at me and pursed his lips up in a smacky kiss.

My fate.

The bell rang and all the children ran out like bats from hell. Especially me. I had never been the fleetest in our class, but I certainly was now. I lived exactly eight blocks from the school and I ran the entire way with Mickey hot on my heels.

He almost caught me two houses away from mine. He lunged for me, missed, and fell. I ran into my house, made it into the bathroom and threw up. I was THAT scared.

I peeked out of the curtains and there he sat on our neighbor's yard. He was breathing hard and looking at his hands. They looked as if they were bleeding.

I went outside and threw a wash cloth at him. Asked him if he needed a band-aid. He didn't answer, just gingerly wiped at his hands. I could see that he was crying.

This is going to sound all soupy and I apologize in advance.

I sat down next to him. Asked him why he did that to me, why he chased me like that.

Mickey, being a fifth grade boy, told me to "fuck off."

It was the first time I had heard the word fuck and I was deliciously scandalized.

Jaysus. I do love the flawed bad ones. If he had exhibited that sort of behavior before, I might have allowed him to kiss me.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He had to save his manly honor. He wrenched away from me and said, "EWWW!" Like it was me who had chased him all the way to his house.

I grabbed the wash cloth and went back into my house. When I peeked out a few moments later, he was gone.

He didn't come back to school the next year. He and his family moved out of state that summer.

I never saw him again.

The new Pirates movie, good wine and one quick meme.

A great day. We went to the new Pirates movie.
I thought it was okay. Liv liked it a lot. Bing wasn't impressed at all. It DID generate some good conversation on the way home between us, though.

Bing: So, suppose that instead of guys, Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp were Willa Turner and Jackie Sparrow.

Me: Okkaayy.

Bing: Which one heats you up the most?

Me: Are you kidding? Sparrow. No contest.

Bing: Wow. That surprises me. I mean...why? The Will, I mean Willa Turner character is everything sexy. Hot looking. Brave. Smart.

Me: I wouldn't say smart so much.

Bing: And Jack Sparrow's character was smart?

Me: Well, who ended up with the map in the end?

Bing: Ok. Point taken. But, c'mon. Willa is much more desirable than Sparrow. And loyal. Protective. Loving. Generous.

Me: Yes. But, Sparrow is more...fun. More interesting.

Bing: And that wins over all those other attributes?

Me: Well, you asked me who could bring on the heat. Not who I thought was the more saintly or good hearted.

Bing: So, you'd rather have dinner with Jack Sparrow than Will Turner...well...if they were women pirates.

Me: Hell yes. Who wants to eat dinner with some limpid, moist eyed sentimental romantic when you can eat with a dead bang conversationalist who would probably take you somewhere dangerous afterward.

Bing: This from the woman who won't even ride on my motorcycle with me.....


I can't help it. I just like the flawed characters over the good ones any day. It's that simple. Bing will never get that about me. I'd rather be entertained and intrigued than taken care of and open heartedly loved.

Which, I suppose says something sort of telling about me...Besides, Orlando Bloom may be sexy, but Depp is smart sexy. And that makes all the difference to me. Hard to explain. Anyone else like that?

So, now...we are home and have grilled out our turkey burgers and are now waiting for friends to arrive for pumpkin bars tonight. An old friend of ours from Michigan is in town with her boyfriend. They are coming for dessert later and bringing a 1982 Chateau Margaux. A fine way to spend Memorial Day.

And I thought I'd get a meme under my belt while I am waiting too.

Carrie tagged me for a meme a few days ago. I am to tell six weird things about myself. The truth is that there are more like 60 weird things about me, but I will try to select the most interesting:

1) I am a dead eye shot with a gun or a bow and arrow. I don't own either. I know this because when I used to live on a farm, my Uncle talked me into trying both once and I shocked the hell out of both of us by hitting the tin can right square in the middle on my first shot (he is a cop and couldn't do it) and hitting a bulls eye with the bow and arrow. I guess if I am ever in a serious situation where I have to be a good shot, I am your gal. However, I do not own a gun and never intend to.

2) I need a LOT of sleep to function. I am not one of these people who can get two hours sleep and be fine. I will be a zombie. I need AT LEAST 8 hours a night or I am pretty much a mess the next day. I actually do best with about 9 and a half hours per night.

3) I smoked from the age of 14-24. I quit two days before my 24th birthday and have not smoked since. I am now 48 years old. But, I still crave a cigarette whenever I am under a lot of stress and I often dream that I am smoking and wake up smelling smoke. And LOVING every minute of it. Nicotine is a powerful addiction.

4) I have a ghost in my house. We call her Madge. She only shows up when something is wrong with the house. I last saw her right before our shower pipe started leaking into the crawl space of our house. Bing has only seen her once and I am not kidding when I say that she wet her pants.

5) I do this weird ritual before I leave my house. I tap my hand three times on the kitchen counter and say, "No problems while I'm gone." If I forget to do this, I have to go back and do it or I get very upset and neurotic that something terrible will happen while I am gone. I have actually left WORK to come home and tap my counter before.

6) I am not a good cook, but I am a brilliant gardener. I can get just about anything to grow from herbs to vegetables to flowers. I am especially adept with herbs. I know most of their medicinal values because the women in my family have handed down herbal remedies in my family for centuries. My mother taught all of her daughters how to grow herbs and what they are used for. I am teaching Liv too. I can put together an effective poultice and I can grow a perfect vegetable garden but I cannot make a dinner. I can bake a few desserts, but if I invite you over for dinner, suggest takeout. Unless Bing is cooking. I prefer most of my vegetables raw.

I just read over these 6 things and they don't seem all that weird to me, so perhaps I am being careful in an effort to be liked....

It happens.

I am supposed to tag six people, but I think I will skip that. If someone needs filler for their blog, have at it.

And hey...I hope you all had a great Memorial Day. Back to work tomorrow. It seemed like the warm weather would never get here, but now that it is here, I find myself almost wishing that Liv was still in school! What am I going to do with her all summer? I have her signed up for swim team, softball and violin lessons and one week drama and art classes, but there is still all that time during the day to be filled...

What do you do to keep your kids busy in the summer? Do you set up a lot of activities or just let them be kids? In fact, I am curious...what were YOUR summers like as a kid?

The Spider Story

Well, I just can't get in the mood to do a meme. And, it has been a shitty day. Orna had her ashes scattered today in the little hometown in Iowa where she grew up. Her daughter invited us, which I thought was really nice, considering she doesn't really know us well. She simply invited all the neighbors who took turns caring for her mother while she died. I was the only one in the neighborhood who could make it.

It was a two hour drive. Bing was miserable, suffering with her allergies. Crabby about getting up early (the scattering was in a rose garden of her old homestead on a farm out in the middle of nowhere.) I was feeling particularly blue. Liv surprised me by breaking down and crying during the short ceremony as her daughter scattered Orna's ashes and we all threw rose petals into the wind. Afterwards, we were invited to a luncheon at the homestead and none of us really knew anyone.

It turned out that most of Orna's relatives are pretty much small minded bigots who had no idea that Bing and I were partners. There was some talk about gay marriage and how it equates to screwing your pets. Not sure I even followed that idiotic conversation much. I was raw with pain with missing Orna, my back was killing me, and I was trying to comfort Liv and keep her occupied as there were no children AT ALL attending for her to play with.

I can see why Orna never talked about her family and told me that she understood perfectly how I felt like the orphan at the table with mine. She would have hated this party with people talking about how if we don't support the war in Iraq, we should just leave America.

I truly felt like we were totally out of our element and frankly, these people scared me. I stood up mildly for my opinions but tried to be respectful as well. I was dismissed like a pesky fly.

We only stayed long enough to pay our respects. There WAS one good moment: Liv had a splinter in her thumb and one of the older women took a raw potato and rubbed her thumb for a few seconds and then put duct tape over it and swiftly pulled it off. The splinter, which had been lodged pretty well in there, slipped right out.

So...ONE good thing. But, I am bluer than blue right now and think I will tell my spider story. It is interesting, I think, and will take my mind off the fact that my friend will never see the gorgeous bleeding hearts that she gave me blooming like mad in my garden.

The Spider Story.

It happened several years ago. Bing and I had recently broken up (we got back together again, obviously) and I was living alone with Liv. Liv was recovering from a terrible cold. She had spent her 1st birthday laying sick as a dog in my arms with a fever of 103. She had kept me up the entire night before and I was sitting in the rocker with her on a blistery hot afternoon, trying to get her to take a nap so that I could get some sleep too.

Liv was a horribly light sleeper. I used to have to turn the phone off when she slept as it would wake her up if it rang. If the doorbell buzzed, that was it...all hope of sleep was over as once she was up, she was up. I had mastered the art of rocking her to sleep and then s l o w l y rising up and carrying her into her crib, not making a sound and gliding with minimal movement to her bed.

So, there we were, rocking gently at 2 p.m. Her fever had recently broken, but she still had a nasty cough that had literally kept us both up the ENTIRE previous night. I was so tired that I felt physically sick with fatigue. I felt her going slack in my arms and was plotting my way to get up and put her to bed. And then I could sleep, which I wanted so badly I was nearly crazy.

My bare legs were stretched out in front of me. I felt a sort of tickle on the bottom of my foot. This was rapidly followed by a very painful, very stinging PINCH.

I didn't move. I was THAT trained not to make any sudden movements. But, then in the corner of my eye, I saw this! Leaning down, I managed to turn my empty iced tea glass over it and trap it. By this time, my foot was hurting so badly that I felt like a knife was slicing through it. I knew that this spider had bitten me. I was not having any trouble breathing, no alarming allergic reaction, just that the center of my arch on my foot felt as if it was being sliced into.

I somehow managed to get Liv into her bed without waking her up. I lurched out of her bedroom and made it to my bed, where I took a closer look at my foot. The entire center of my foot, my arch, was swelling rapidly, puffing out like a large blister. I tapped it and um...okay...the squeamish may want to skip this part: pus came shooting out. A LOT of pus.

I squeezed until it was all gone and then slid on my slippers, got a baggie and somehow managed to slide the spider into it. I sealed it immediately and called my next door neighbor, who just happened to work for the county extension service. He came right over and identified the spider as something called a yellow sac spider, not poisonous, but many people suffered "uncomfortable swelling" from their bites. He asked if he could have the spider for his collection at work and I gladly let him have it. He looked at my foot and it seemed better, only looked as if I had a large mosquito bite on my arch now. He said that yellow sac spiders were uncommon in the city and usually were found in barns in the country, so he thought it unusual that it was in my house.

I went to my bed, fell into it and slept until I heard Liv on the baby monitor two delicious hours later.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and realized when I tried to stand that my arch had gone all puffy again. Once again, I had to um...MILK the bite. I did this for two days. It would seem fine and then as soon as I was off my feet for more than a few minutes, it would swell up again.

I finally went to my doctor. He gave me some gunk to put on it. It helped a little, but I was still waking up each morning with a swollen pus-filled arch.

The next week, I went to a Native American pow wow with a friend of mine from the Omaha tribe. I had shared my spider story and she took me to a healer in the tribe. This guy must have been 100 years old. But, he knew just from looking at my foot that it was a spider bite and told me that I must have a "third eye." He asked me if I had the power to tell the future, if I often knew things before they happened. I assured him that I did not. (Not that it wouldn't have been frackin handy.)

He told me that I obviously wasn't trying hard enough as the only people who were susceptible to these kinds of spider bites were "woman seers." He gave me this little bottle of what appeared to be baby oil. He told me that it was a type of "snake milk" and that I should apply it every evening for ten nights and that it would clear up.

If he had wanted money, I would have thought him a charlatan, but he said it was free, that he wanted to "please my powers" and that he respected me. He actually bowed twice to me. He told a few people around him in Omaha dialect about me and they all came up and touched my hair and patted me.

I was extremely weirded out, but my friend told me that they thought me to have special powers and to be respected so that I should be honored. I stood there smiling tightly and was very glad when we left. Two woman actually gave me gifts, one gave me a blanket and the other gave me some beautiful beads. I still have both. The blanket is on the back of my sofa and I often wear the beads.

But...the snake milk or whatever it was...well..it worked. Like a charm. In fact, within two nights of applying the serum, the bite seemed to be completely healed. Nevertheless, I faithfully applied it (and it stunk!) for the whole ten nights.

My foot is fine now and I have never seen another spider like that. But, I am now deathly afraid of spiders, worse than Ron Weasley, for that matter. And I try to make Bing kill them whenever I see them. She refuses to do this and often catches them and sets them free outside. Even in the winter. I tell her that this is ludicrous, that they will die of exposure in minutes, that it is actually kinder to flush them down the toilet. She can't do it. Cannot kill insects. She re-locates them.

Thankfully, we don't have many bugs except for lots of lady bugs in the early spring.

So, that is my long winded spider story, told on a day when I was feeling blue and missing my friend.

How about you? Any interesting bug stories in your neck of the woods?

One small rant

Just something that bugs me.

Why must they have those icky pictures of close ups of people's zitty chins on the yahoo page? Yahoo is my home page and frequently there are these close ups of zits on people's chins and then they are magically wiped away and the ad says something like "better than botox?" or "better than pro-activ?" I plain refuse to look at the product name because it pisses me off that they even got me to look at the zitty chins.

There are also pictures of women with lined faces (alarmingly close to my own) and then they are wiped across slowly with unlined soft youthful faces. Do they really think that I believe that their product will make my 48 year old face look like I am 28? Hey, I may have facial lines, but I am not as dumb as a doorknob.

Or there will be a pair of luscious full pink moist lips and then they will slowly shrivel up into old woman dry cracky ones. It totally grosses me out.

And those television ads on TV about toenail fungus. They show the little fungus men lifting up the big toenail of a foot and jumping in! That makes me want to puke. It is almost as bad as those big mucous blob people in commercials where they set up house in a lung and then are coughed away when the host takes a certain medicine.

Just for those stupid commercials...I will NEVER buy those products. Ever.

I don't have a problem with erectile dysfunction, so I don't need help there, but those commercials are embarrassing. And the guy is usually around 60 with some young woman of 25. They show them canoodling on giant penile shaped rocks and hint that when ever this guy needs to be ready, he can be if he only takes that product.

Now, there ARE some clever commercials out there. But, this is a rant...so I will leave that for another day.

And oh...um..have a great weekend.

A very quick congratulations....

Congratulations to GI Jane and her partner, Sheila. Their son, Flynn, arrived last night at 11:57 p.m. TEN whopping pounds and 2 ounces. 12 hours of labor. (Or as Jane put it: "I feel like I spent the better part of my life in that room. NEVER again.")

Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

I want to also add that when I spoke to Jane this morning, she noted that Flynn did not resemble Draco Malfoy in any way, shape, or form. That he had a shock of thick black hair that was more like Harry Potter's.....

She also said that after she counted his fingers and toes, she also checked his back for hair. Apparently, she also kept dreaming that she gave birth to a monkey too. No worries. No back hair. Just on his head.

She said he screamed his head off right away as well. I told her that this was a good beginning. When we were saying our goodbyes, she said, "I'll call after the season finale of Lost."

I snickered. Asked her if she really thought she would be able to watch a two hour show now.

A long silence. "Well," she said. "Why not?"

I am guessing that she won't be calling....but she can always tape it....

Yes, another meme....

I have some time on my hands and so...decided to do Jenny's meme.

What animal would you like to come back as and why?

I don't know. I can't stand the thought of wearing fur or hair all over me....that leaves out a lot. I'm scared of big areas of water. So, no fish. I think that an ant would have a terrifying life. No insects. I am totally stumped. But, I will probably have to go with a dog because everyone seems to like them and I am just that insecure.

What was the best night of your life? Lurid details, please.

I'm smiling. NO. I won't tell. Just imagine having delicious, sexy psychedelic sex with someone you are crazy about. Now imagine that you are in your early 20's and have that lovely, smooth skinned, perfect bikini body that you will NEVER see again once you hit 30. Imagine laying tangled up together after a good time is had by both. There. Yeah. It was THAT memorable. But, the best part wasn't even the sex. It was the talking before, during, and afterwards. The time when you could not BELIEVE that this sort of fairy tale was actually happening to you.

If you instantly became qualified for any profession, what would you do?

I would write a novel that is not only a best seller, but gets kick ass reviews from serious critics. Money AND attention. It is all good.

What is your favorite article of clothing?

My soft jeans that are one size too big. And a white cotton man's shirt. Slopping around. So comfy and cozy.

What form of dancing are you best at(or worst at?)

I have two left feet. But...I can do the two step. For some nutty reason, I had no trouble doing that. And I like slow dancing. Real slow dancing.

Would you at any time of your life done playboy for a million?

Sure. When I was in my early twenties. I had a great body and really, really needed the money. It took me nearly 8 years to pay off my student loans. And I have no problem whatsoever with nudity. The only thing that might have stopped me is that I don't really have a big chest. I'm probably too flat for a men's magazine to sell....

What is the cleanest part of your house?

My kitchen. I clean it after every meal. Every day.

And the dirtiest?

Probably the basement laundry room. Dusty. Spideys. Storage. Or...wait maybe the garage. Pick either.

If you joined the circus, what would you be?

I feel like I could be the fat lady right now after eating Taco Bell for dinner. But, I suppose...a ticket taker because I am scared to death of clowns and this way, I could avoid them.

Do you have a criminal record?

Absolutely not. I am far too nerdy. But, I have always been attracted to the Sawyers (Lost) and the Jack Sparrows (Pirates) of the world...in female form.

If you could get away with murder, would you?

No. I don't want to carry that weight around. Can't I just arrange for someone to throw a pie in her smug, self righteous, so-wrong-about-nearly-everything-and-won't-admit-it-in-a-million-years face? Never mind. Her karma is on it's way. I need to believe that.

What item of makeup can you not live without?

Blusher. I am a very pale white girl. I look sickly without my blusher. I would also sorely miss my lipstick. I go for coral reds. No eye makeup. I hate it. Just blusher and lipstick and I'm good to go.

What the weirdest thing you have ever eaten?

I honestly can't think of anything too weird. I have a very strong gag reflex that prevents me from eating anything that I don't like. I would never survive the eat-crazy-food-like-moose-nostrils on those reality shows.

Would you be a surrogate mother, carry a baby for anyone else?

No. I think I would get too attached. Someone else will have to do that good deed.

Ok...that is it. Jenny never mentioned tagging anyone, so I am relieved. I never know who feels like it and who doesn't. If you want to do this one...be my guest.

More Bing bashing

Well, I suppose it would be much nicer to do the meme that I owe Jenny or answer the question from Zirelda about my first kiss, but I am in a pissy mood towards Bing and maybe I will just let it all hang out.

Because, this co-habitation thing is not all roses, you know. Some days, I would really like to wring her neck.

I love Bing, don't get me wrong. She is a fine, upstanding person and a good mate. But...there is room for improvement. And I am very sure after this mornings bitch session between us, she would be the first to raise her hand and assure you that I am much harder to get along with than she is.

I am. I admit it. I am not a good co-habiting choice. But, hey...I warned her. And she still chose me, so she is frackin stuck with me now.

THINGS THAT BUG ME ABOUT BING:

1) She has her very own laptop computer, but she bugs me about getting off the computer so that she can use it. I mean, jaysus...her school bought her a laptop for her very own. Use that. Stop coming into the office and saying in an even voice, "Hey, are you about done there? Because I'd really like to check my e-mail."

Go to your book bag. Reach in. Pull out your laptop. Set it up. Presto. Get off my back. I will be done when I am done.

2) She brings little surprises home for Liv that are well...ok....they are well meaning, but frankly, stupid. Like yesterday, she brought home this poster about dinosaurs and how tall they were in comparison to each other.

One problem: Liv liked dinosaurs in kindergarten. She is now in second grade and has moved on to Harry Potter, my little pets, horses, and webkins.

I can't figure out how Bing can live in the same house with us and not know us. She will often bring me home a carton of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream for a treat. I don't even really LIKE Cherry Garcia. I like Marsha Marsha Marshmallow or Caramel Sutra. Cherry Garcia is BING'S favorite, not mine.

Liv oohed over the dinosaur poster and then privately asked me if she had to put it up in her room. Her wall is plastered with Harry Potter and Misty the horse pictures. She also has a poster from The Wizard of Oz. She is WAY past dinosaurs.

3) Food. Food. Food. Bing claims to be a very healthy eater. So, why is it that whenever I buy anything like goopy ice cream, Mystic potato chips, or chocolate chip cookies....SHE eats more than Liv and I do? Last weekend, at the grocery store, I had a craving for blueberry pie, so I bought one. Bing went on and on about how I should make my own since the kind you buy at the store have lots of ingredients our bodies do not need. I overrode her and bought it anyway. I had exactly ONE piece. Today, when I came home from my client's, I went to have a slice for lunch. It was gone. I called Bing on her cell phone. Asked her what happened to the pie.

"Well, I didn't eat THAT much...." she said.

Yes, you did. You ate most of it. Liv doesn't like pie and I had only one slice. You big liar. Keep your mitts off my pie, woman.

4) Bing only makes it to about half of Liv's games/meets. Liv is on a swim team and plays soccer, tennis, softball and basketball during the year. Bing goes to about half of them. She says they are boring. If she does go, she often looks at her watch continually and asks how much longer it is going to be. I actually prefer her to not go sometimes, just because it is like taking a cranky ten year old. I realize that for many years, Liv was not a big part of her life. Well, now she is. Step up to the plate. It is called helping me parent. You signed up for this gig, now just go to the damn games and have a fucking FUN time. Because I said so, that's why.

5) Bing seldom reads this blog. She says she has no time. She has time. She just thinks I am boring, I fear. And in retrospect, I am sort of glad that she doesn't read this blog...because I can say whatever I want. This particular post is a good example. I would feel bad if she read it. But, the thing is...if she had a blog, I would WANT to read it. I would be curious. I wonder why she isn't more curious.

6) Bing HATES going to my family outings, but just takes for granted that I will go to hers. In fact, she would be the first to tell you that her family LIKES me better than they like her. When her mother or one of her sisters calls, Bing will talk for like one minute and then hand me the phone like they are my family, not hers. This bugs me. I am also the one who remembers her family's birthdays or the fact that her sister's kid is making his first communion, etc. Why do I have to be in charge of all this?

Okay...I think I am done.

Don't get me wrong, as I said. I LOVE this woman. I just think she needs to be tweaked a little to see some improvements....

God, I would hate to see what her list would look like about me...okay, in all fairness, I will devote the next blog post to seeing things from her point of view.

Why? Because I love her. Because I am fair. Because I am...um....her better half!

So there.

What bothers you about your mate? C'mon...don't be shy.

Air conditioner wars

I knew it was coming. Bing is an air conditioner person. I am not. I usually give in only when the temps get high enough to melt butter on my counter. It just bugs me to give in and turn the damn thing on.

As soon as the temps started hitting the 80's, Bing started whining about the air conditioner. Liv is a fence sitter. She doesn't mind the a/c, but can live without it too. I like to fling those windows open and keep them open until the heat and humidity force me into a corner. I am not complaining about the a/c...honest. I LIKE it in July and August. But, in MAY? No. It is too soon. The air is still fresh and cool in the mornings.

I knew we were in trouble when I noticed that Bing could not sleep with the windows open. She worried about break ins. She said that her allergies were acting up. She came in from mowing the yard and bitched and bitched about how hot it was until I finally told her to go take a cold shower and she would feel better.

"I would feel better if we could turn the damn air on!" she retorted.

I tried ignoring her. It is very hard to ignore a person who tosses and turns all night in a full sized bed next to you. Someone who WAKES me up from a sound sleep to inform me that she cannot breathe through her nose because it is all plugged up because she has spring hay fever.

This morning, as I was making Liv's lunch for school, Bing came in from her shower and was packing her bag to take to work.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I kept you awake with all my sneezing and coughing last night," she said.

I told her that it didn't bother me until SHE woke me up to tell me that her nose was plugged up.

"Please, can we just turn the air conditioner on?" she asked.

I told her that a cold front was supposed to come through tonight and the temps were supposed to drop into the 60's the rest of the week.

She didn't answer. Just sniffed as loudly as she could.

"Think how much money we will save if we don't turn it on, " I said.

She is very into saving money. I figured this would appeal to her frugality.

She blew her nose noisily. I thought to myself that this woman was in the wrong profession. She could give Meryl Streep a run for her money in the acting department.

"Oh, FINE!" I sputtered. "Turn the damn thing on!"

So now I am sitting here freezing to death and breathing cold, chemical tasting air. We set the thermostat on 76 but it feels colder to me. I am SO tempted to turn it off but I made a promise and I swear that if I have to listen to her bitching about the heat one more second, I will lose my mind.

Do I sound resentful?

What are your everyday fights about?

I also wanted to add that I am not heartless. I have tried and tried to get Bing to see an md about her allergies. She says that she doesn't want to take drugs. And, I have noticed that her allergies are kind of selective (once when she was gone for a weekend, I shut the air conditioning off and turned it on about an hour before she got back home...she sighed when she walked in and exclaimed how nice it was to get back into air conditioning, said that she could actually feel her sinuses clearing up. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the house was just as full of pollen, etc as the place where she came from, thereby making MY argument that it is all in her head valid.) I DO think that she is simply uncomfortable in any weather over 80 and yes, I try to respect that. But, I guess that I DO resent it a little bit. And I miss my cool breezy house with all the windows open...

Meme # hell if I know...let's call it 229.

Okay..tapped by Elle for a meme. It is a Saturday night and we just got home from our neighbor Sven's high school graduation party. I had three glasses of a very fine merlot and am now feeling kind of swooshy and gooshy....so hey...LET'S BLOG, BABY!

When I am an old woman, I hope to:
1) Be wealthy enough so that Liv never has to wipe my ass for me. I mean this. I am very serious. I helped to take care of my neighbor, Orna, before she died....and yes, I had to help her wipe her ass a few times. It was unpleasant for both of us. I tried very hard to act nonchalant about it, but it is hard to hide the fact that you are actually looking at a body part of a person that you NEVER dreamed that you would be gazing upon. Orna hated it, said that it was her one big regret, that she didn't invest in long term care insurance. So. With that in mind, I am looking into long term care insurance. I NEVER want Liv (or Bing, for that matter) to have to wipe my ass. Let a stranger do it.

2) Die peacefully in my sleep, so the wiping-of-the-ass problem never even comes up. I want to go to bed on happy terms, in no pain...and just die in the middle of a great dream.

3) Be the cool old hippie woman on the block who gives giant hershey bars on halloween.

When I am an old woman, I will not:

1) Be the neighbor who everyone avoids because she will not stop yammering. I don't want to be anyone's annoying old relative either...the one that you tell your kids that they HAVE to visit because it is the respectful thing to do. I don't want any kid to be afraid to sit on my lap and if they are, I want them to feel free to NOT sit on my lap.

2) Have a dog, cat, bird, or whatever that I talk to in a baby voice. I will NOT do that. Ever.

3) Feel like I can say or do anything just because I am old. Manners are manners, no matter what your age.

I am supposed to tap three people for this one, but I think I will just let anyone grab on to this meme if they feel like they need filler for a blog. Some days are like that, you know? You just wish you had a meme so that you don't have to dip into your head too much. So...if you need it, here you go, mateys.

And now, I am off to put Liv to bed and then take a bath with my new rose scented bath oil. Maybe watch some mindless TV. I think Zach Braff is hosting SNL tonight and I love that guy. If I can only manage to stay awake, this will be a good night.

Night, y'all.

Meme #3

My friend, Randi sent me an e-mail of some questions. Rather than pass around the e-mail, I thought I would do a blog about it.

It is called thirty questions.

1) What time is it?

It is 8:09 p.m. here in Cornhusker country.

2) What are you most afraid of?

Being a bag lady in my old age.

3) Have you ever seen a ghost?

Yes. Twice. And I actually have a ghost in my house. Her name is Madge (previous owner). We only see her when something is wrong with the house. The last time I saw her was in the basement right before our shower started leaking into our crawl space. Bing has seen her EXACTLY once and she was so scared that she actually screamed like a little girl. Liv has never seen her and doesn't want to.

4) Where were you born?

Iowa.

5) Ever been to Alaska?

Yes. I have been to every state but Oregon. And that will change soon.

6) Even been toilet papering trees?

Nope. I was a total Hermione Granger geek in high school. I would have considered that beneath me. I did picket the lunchroom to get rid of styrofoam plates...

7) Croutons or bacon bits?

Both. Lots.

8) Favorite day of the week?

Saturday. Play day. Catch up on chores day. Hang with Liv day.

9) Favorite restaurant?

This place called Mister C's. It is festooned with Christmas lights year round and has this totally cheesy wall paper of old Italy, but they have delicious filet mignon and Liv loves their Shirley Temples. Unfortunately, they are closing in the fall.

10) Favorite flower?

Lily of the Valley.

11) Favorite perfume?

Chanel #5.

12) Favorite ice cream?

La Loo's goat's milk ice cream in the Vanilla Snowflake flavor.

13) Favorite drink?

Alcoholic drink: apple martini (but you all knew that, didn't you?) and other drink: Chai tea.

14) Favorite fast food place?

Arby's. One regular roast beef with a potato cake and a Jamocha shake, please.

15) What color is your bedroom carpet?

We have wood floors. I do have a brown and tan rug next to the bed.

16) How may times you failed your driver's test?

Never! I have never failed a test in my life. And now I have labeled myself a braggart. So be it. I am STILL a nerdy Hermione Granger.

17) Last e-mail was from?

GI Jane. Talking about a new fun development: Roids!!!

18) What do you do most often when you are bored?

I am honestly rarely bored. I always take a book with me everywhere or a catalog that I get in the mail. I am never bored. I know that sounds all hoity toity, but I don't have frackin time to be bored.

19) Bedtime?

Usually around 9, unless Lost is on. Then 10.

20) Who do you e-mail the most?

My sisters.

21) Favorite TV show?

Lost.

22) Ford or Chevy?

I could care less. I do like nice dark colors on my car though.

23) What are you listening to right now?

Soundtrack from Garden State.

24) How many tattoos do you have?

One. And it is one too many. Young and stupid days.

25) Do you have any pets?

We have three beta fish (Steve, Party Doll and Mr. Monkey face), a hermit crab (Herbert), and a filthy mouthed parrot that used to belong to Orna (Bert). He is also a shit thrower. At people. But, not at me. I told him that I would not buy him any more rope to chew on if he kept that shit up. He nodded politely, said, "Shitty day!" and has never thrown it at me again. We have an understanding. I am also the hand that feeds him. Smart fucking bird. I don't know where he learns all his swear words.

26) What would you like to accomplish before you die?

I just want to die knowing that I didn't mess up my kid in any big way.

27) How many brothers/sisters do you have?

I have three sisters. 2 older. 1 younger.

28) Favorite book?

That is very hard. Probably...Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. Or A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. Or..Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott. Too many to say.

29) Do you have a nickname?

Like I would admit that HERE?

30) Favorite sport?

FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL. GO HUSKERS!!!

I am supposed to tag three people...so, let's see....how about Sassy Sundry, because I am just getting to know her...and Jill, because she always has good reasons for everything and ....Jenny.

Peace at 2:35 a.m.

I woke up in the middle of the night. The house was dark, quiet. I squinted over at the alarm clock (can't see a thing without my glasses.) It was 2:35 a.m.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding across the wood floorboards, kind of chilly in the house this time of night. Went to the bathroom to pee. Got a drink of water, my soft gulping seeming too loud in the deep quiet of the house.

I did what I always do when I wake up in the middle of the night: went in to check on Liv. The back porch light sliced through a crack in her frothy white window curtains and came to rest across her shoulders. She was deeply asleep, laying curled up on her side, one of her feet sticking out of her Zippy the monkey sheets and patchwork quilt. I took her foot in my hand. It was like a little ice cube. I tucked it back in under the covers, knowing that within minutes, it would be out again. But still.

Liv's breathing was deep and even, her light brown hair sifting across the pillowcase. I leaned down to kiss her cheek. She stirred just a little, a half smile forming across her face, her fingers scratching across her sheets.

I glided out to the kitchen and opened the blinds a little to peer outside into the back yard. The yard was too dark to see rabbits, but I knew they were out there, casually munching, hopping around in the slim moonlight.

By this time, I was getting cold. I sleep in a plain white princess slip and my sleeveless arms were beginning to raise goosebumps, my legs felt chilled.

I headed back to the bedroom. It was darker in there, our heavy curtains shutting out most of the light from the front porch and street lamps. I felt my way back to the bed and slipped in next to Bing, who had meandered over to my side as she always does when I leave the bed for even a moment. She is a heavy sleeper, but something in her knows to scoot back over to her side. Our sheets are a deep forest green and my side of the bed is warm from her body. It is only a full sized bed. On my crankier days, I want a bigger bed. On other, sweeter days, I like sleeping so close together.

Tonight, I cuddle as close to her as I can, warming my legs next to hers, turning on my left side and putting my chin on the tip of her shoulder.

"I love you," I whisper.

She doesn't awaken, but murmurs a bit of a dream. Says something like, "I don't know where that part is. It seems to be missing a piece. But, that tune is kind of nice..."

She teaches computers during the day and gives piano lessons in our basement at night. She often tells me that her dreams are full of computer terms and percussion. I've caught her smack dab in the middle of her dreams.

"Don't worry," I whisper. "You'll find it..."

I stretch out my calf muscles and settle back into my pillow, loving the fact that I still have another 3 hours of sleep left. Comfortable and warm in my nest, I drift back to sleep, thinking briefly before I drift off that I need to buy some eggs on the way home from taking Liv to school the next morning...Liv has been on a scrambled egg kick all week for breakfast.

Sleep comes gently in this peaceful, quiet, happy house.

The Draco Malfoy baby blues

I have this friend. I call her GI Jane because she was once in the military. She is now out of the military, has been with her partner, Sheila, for five years and they are expecting a baby, due date Memorial Day. Sheila already has a 16 year old daughter from a previous marriage, but Jane's mama-clock kicked in on her 37th birthday and they decided to have a baby together. Jane has a degree in public relations and last year earned her M.F.A in fiction writing. She landed a plum job as a news writer at a TV station a mere FOUR days after her masters was in hand. Sheila is a bank manager. When their son (they knew the sex asap) arrives, Jane plans to take her maternity leave and then Sheila will leave her job to stay home with him.

Jane calls me every night after Lost. So, when the phone rang last night and I saw Jane's number on the caller id, I assumed that the baby was coming or had already arrived, since it wasn't a Wednesday night. I picked up the phone and it was Jane. Her voice was decidedly grumpy, so I knew that little Flynn Laurence had not arrived yet.

She said, that no, she wasn't calling me with news. She was calling because...well...because she had had a dream last night and she wanted me to help her analyze it. I told her to go ahead. Tell me.

A long silence.

"I don't think I can yet," she said. "Can we talk about other stuff for awhile and just slip into it casually in a few moments?"

Okkkkayy.

We talked about Lost. About my total love of Sawyer (I swear if his character was a woman I would be done for) and her total love of Kate. We discussed how Jack's eyes just keep getting more limpid each show.

We discussed my blog. Jane told me that my thing for the Johnny Mathis song was just plain creepy and that I need to stop it, right now. We discussed how our mother's days had panned out.

We discussed how she finally has the big giant gazoombas that she always wanted. Unfortunately, she also has this big giant belly to go with them. She said the boobs make her feel like Jayne Mansfield and the belly makes her feel like Horton the elephant. She said that idiot people keep coming up to her and touching her belly and she has just about had it with that. That the next person who does that is going to get their butt felt up and see how they like THAT shit.

"So," I finally said, "Are you ever going to get to this dream?"

She sighed. "Well, it's just...it made me realize that I am a terrible mother and this kid isn't even born yet. Maybe I should just send you the adoption papers and you should get your guest room painted baby blue."

I told her to just tell me the frackin dream already.

She said that she dreamed that she had the baby and it looked exactly like Draco Malfoy.

I stifled a laugh.

"Even if I can't hear you, I KNOW you are laughing at me," she growled. "I can feel you snickering. So stop it. That isn't the worst of it."

"I'm not snickering," I told her. "Ok. Maybe I am chortling a little, but not snickering."

She then proceeded with the rest of the dream. Apparently, in her dream, once she saw her Draco Malfoy lookalike son, she cold bloodedly went to a "baby grocery store" and tried to exchange him for a better looking baby, one who wouldn't act like a little asshole and be a death eater when he grew up.

"I can't believe I did this even in my dream!" she wailed. "I was so cold hearted about it. I actually tried to foist him off on someone else and steal THEIR baby instead!. What kind of monster mother am I?"

I told her that this was a very common occurrence, that often pregnant women have very vivid, very weird dreams. Some women dream that they give birth to puppies. Others dream that their baby turns into a plant. It was no big deal.

Jane sighed. "It's just...I hope he didn't dream that with me. I mean, what if he is just laying there in his soft little nest inside of me and then WHAM...there I go dreaming that I hate him and want to give him away. I keep picturing him watching my dreams like little miniature movies and there I go dreaming shit like that. He'll have a complex and he isn't even born yet. I am fucking him up already! I am a very bad mother!"

I told Jane that I would write a blog about this and ask everyone who has been pregnant if they remember what they dreamed about. She agreed. Said that she reads this blog nearly every day. (My analytics say that it is actually about twice a week, you lying big fat pregnant woman..but hey, ok.)

So...what did you dream about while you were pregnant?"

We talked for a bit more and then I told her to go put her feet up and call me after Lost. She agreed and we began saying our goodbyes.

Right before we hung up, I told her that I thought Draco was actually kind of an interesting name.

She called me a horrid, filthy name. And then went off to soak her swollen ankles.

More on that.

It gets worst. I ordered The Best of Johnny Mathis cd from Borders. Just. For. That. Song.

I will have to buy a scarf and some really big sunglasses to wear when I go in to pick it up. I hope that I don't run into anyone I know and have them ask what I bought..

I saw my bff, Harriet yesterday and told her about bawling over a Johnny Mathis song. At first, she looked a little horrified, but then being the true blue friend that she is, she said, "Anybody messes with you, girl. You come to me. I'll take 'em down, roll 'em in flour and fry 'em up."

Yeah. You tell 'em, buddy.

And on a lighter note...there in my e-mail today was something from Doris Noraker. The name sounded kind of familiar, but I couldn't place it. Then, I remembered...she was my piano teacher when I was a kid! I was curious. Opened up the e-mail. It said:

WAnt to be biGGer and really get the ladies? We have XXwow big man creme for you.

Ah. That silly Doris....!

But, how weird. It was actually a name I knew.....!

Listed under stupid songs that make me cry for no good reason that I can think of...

Well, damn. Where the HELL is my tough ass image going? There I was, driving home from a client's office today, idly listening to the radio.

This song comes on. It is called The Last Time I Felt Like This by Johnny Mathis.

I listen to the first couple of bars and then there I go...bawling again. What in the name of Mike is wrong with me? I never used to be this sappy. And this song is really, really sappy.

I don't even really like Johnny Mathis. So, why am I crying?

Too many memories flying over me about warm days when I thought that maybe things could be just perfect.

Not that my life is bad. It is good. But...yeah. It hurts, right...there when I think about this.

So, let it go. Center on what is good. Let go. And for christsakes...quit the bawling!

There. In control again. Well, until the next sappy, stupid song.

The Motorcycle.

She calls it Sal. Bing does. It is her motorcycle. Don't ask me what kind it is or how much power it has or whatnot. It is purple. It is huge. It's name is Sal and Sal scares the shit out of me.

Bing has wanted a motorcycle her whole life. She finally bought one on her 40th birthday. I wasn't in the picture yet as her partner, but I was her friend and I told her that I hated it.

I still hate it.

It lives in our backyard shed in the winter and as soon as all worries of frost are over, Bing hauls that thing out to the garage where it sits until the snow flies again.

Okay. Bing looks good on it. There. I said it. I admitted it. I like to see her swing her leg over the side and her foot gain purchase on the other side, bobbing a little. She snaps her helmet and leers playfully at me and well, yeah, she's very bad ass. Very cool.

I would be just fine if she just sat in the driveway on it.

But, no. She has to go places on it. That is what scares the frack out of me. She has this helmet on to protect her. Nothing else. If she goes flying off that bike, there is nothing to protect her. Can't they make some body armor for her to wear?

She doesn't even like wearing the helmet. Says that she loves the freedom she feels when she rides. I always forget to call it her helmet. I call it her hat. She patiently corrects me every time. Winks at me, smiles a seductive smile and asks me if I want a ride, baby.

NO. I do not want a ride. You couldn't pay me to get on that thing. This disappoints her. She swears that once I try it, I will beg her to take me on rides all the time.

I'm half afraid that she is right, so I have never taken her up on it.

Bing knows that Liv is NEVER to have a ride, we have discussed this. Even when Liv is 40 and Bing is some saggy faced 87 year old rider, she is not to let Liv near Sal or any other motorcycle.

Sal came out of the shed yesterday. A very special Mother's Day gift to me, I suppose. I frowned. Bing laughed. Told me to calm down.

She started it up, revved it a little on purpose just to bug me. Leered at me, asked me if I thought she looked hot.

I replied that no, she just looked like a fool. (Secretly, I did think she looked kind of hot, but wild horses could not have dragged that fact out of me.) She threw back her head and laughed. Winked at me and took off down the driveway, off to play Born To Be Wild.

I closed my eyes for a second and mentally put a big safe bubble around her.

I looked down at Liv. "Don't ever ride a motorcycle, Liv. Promise me."

Liv paused. "Well," she said, "I'll try not to, okay?"

No try. Do.

We walked back into the house and even though I left the church years ago, I said a short prayer to Saint Jude to keep Sal intact and Bing safe.

I hate that frackin bike.

The Mother's Day Post

I was never a big Mother's Day fan until I became one. My mother and I had a truly terrible relationship. She disowned me when I came out when I was 21. But, we had never been truly close in the first place. I was very close to my Da. He died when I was a child. With my mother, I always felt like a huge disappointment. Now, no sympathy, please. I turned out just fine. Well...ok...there are some issues, no one escapes a bad relationship with their mother unscathed. But if nothing else, I learned how important it is to love my child unconditionally. So, yeah...a learning experience.

Bing and I do not both celebrate mother's day, just me. Liv said that she felt that we each deserved our own day and Bing said that she would be fine with father's day. Not because she is this big burly dyke, but mostly because it was just a day to celebrate a parent and I had mother's day sewed up. So, she'll get her due on that day.

This is how my mother's day is shaking out:

Liv approached me last week as I was weeding in the garden. She hunkered down next to me, pulling a few weeds and chatting.

Liv: I have a dilemma.

Me: Can I help?

Liv: Welll. I found this recipe on the food network (I can't believe that I actually have a child who watches this channel!) for a special cake that I want to make for you to celebrate mother's day. I asked Bing if she would help me bake it and she said she didn't have the time, that we could just buy you one. But, I really, really want to bake it for you. So...I was thinking...if I get money out of my piggy bank, could you take me to the store for ingredients and supervise me baking the cake?

I sat back on my heels.

Me: Liv, you know I stink at baking.

Liv: You wouldn't have to do much, you could just make sure I don't set the house on fire or something.

I agreed (mentally annoyed at Bing that she couldn't be bothered to even do this much.)

Liv showed me the recipe that she had painstakingly written down in her newly learned cursive writing (or as she calls it: joined writing.) It was an apricot cake with lemon icing.

I dislike apricots. Liv loves them, of course. I said nothing.

We went to the store and bought apricots, buttermilk, unsalted butter, cake flour, lemons, powdered sugar. It wasn't a hard recipe, just used lots of stuff that we don't have laying around the house. We looked at colored cake writing frosting. Liv paused over the blue, her favorite color.

"Which color would you like?" she asked, holding up the blue hopefully.

Green is my favorite color.

"Blue, of course! Our favorite color!" I said.

I smiled as she pulled a 20 dollar bill out of her little frog purse to pay for the groceries.

Thursday, Liv came home sick after school. Sore throat. Fever.

She stayed home on Friday. By late Friday afternoon, she said she was feeling better and could we bake the cake now?

I agreed. She baked the cake. I supervised. I will never forget the sight of her bent over a plate of apricots, diligently slicing them into slivers, her head bent, mouth twisted up. Hands careful with the knife. She looked up occasionally at me to smile, proud of herself.

At last, it was done. It stood on our counter, freshly iced. On top of the cake, she had written in hot blue icing: Happy Mama's Day! XXXOOO. She also drew a smiley face and a moon and some stars.

It was a beautiful cake even if I don't like apricots that much.

She had rings under her eyes, still not completely well. I told her to go into her bedroom and lay down, that I would clean up the mess. And believe you me...there was a mess. She frowned. Said no, it wouldn't be fair. I shouldn't have to clean it.

Now, I KNOW exactly how inept her cleaning skills are. I told her that this was an order from her mother. GO LAY DOWN. She made me swear not to take one bite of the cake. It was not to be eaten until Sunday. I crossed my heart and she went to her room and was asleep on her bed in minutes. I cleaned up the kitchen and smiled as I breathed in those apricots.

Now, today is mother's day. I woke up to a delicious breakfast of apricot cake and Starbucks coffee. Bing gave me a nice card. Liv gave me my gift: my very own beta fish, a brother to the one that she gave me last year. Now, we have three beta fish. Since they can't live in the same bowl without killing each other, we have three separate bowls. They are Steve, who lives in Liv's room, Party Doll, who lives in our living room. And now....Mr. Monkeyface, who will live in my bedroom.

I am blessed. I know this.

Bing and Liv both suggested that we go see a movie today. They suggested Dreamgirls. It is at the dollar theater and they both love motown music. I am not a fan of motown. I would much prefer to see the new Molly Shannon movie, Year of the Dog. But, I knew that Liv wouldn't really get this one and Bing would probably fall asleep at a movie that she will regard as an "artsy fartsy girl show."

So, I said that sounded fun.

I see that Bing has put some bratwursts to soak to beer in the fridge. We will grill out when we get home. She also tells me that we will stop at the farmer's market on the way home for some "roastin' ears" (Nebraska speak for corn on the cob) and cucumbers to slice.

There is ice cream in the freezer to go with the cake. And some apple pucker and grey goose vodka for me to make an apple martini.

I don't much care for bratwurst. But...you know, it doesn't matter. I'm with two people who are trying hard to make this day special for me.

So, it is. Very special. Only an ungrateful wretch would whine over this.

Instead, I think I will slurp up my martini, watch Liv turn cartwheels in the back yard and Bing carefully turn the bratwurst on the grill.

And I will be happy. Because this is my life and I am very, very lucky.

P.S. I actually liked Dreamgirls. I am not often moved by music, but when Jennifer Hudson sang, "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going", I nearly cried. What a soaring voice. And her face, so etched with pain and defiance. What an actress! Bing and Liv both loved it, both admitted that the wanted to get up in the aisle and dance. I wasn't that inclined...but that song, well...it is staying in my head and will not be usurped. And yeah...the bratwurst was pretty good with a good stiff apple martini.

Meme#3

Well....MamaLee tagged me for this meme...

I've tried to really think of the whys behind it all, but I dunno, this one was sort of hard for me.

Five reasons why I blog:

1) I honestly began it all because I owed so many people e-mail. I have three sisters and several out of town friends and I pretty much stink at staying in touch. So, the truth is this blog was born out of my extreme laziness. I figured I could write all my life's happenings and get everyone off my frackin back. Now, they all profess to read the blog, and sometimes they send me e-mails giving me their opinions (my sisters think I am too brash, my friends generally like what I have to say), but they seldom comment.

2) I discovered along the way that this blog was a good way to get my eebie jeebies out. It became almost like a pensieve from the Harry Potter books. I could just pick a strand out of my head and release it.

3) I also discovered as I wrote that this will be a good thing for me to leave Liv. She would have to be dense as a doorknob to not realize how nuts I am about her, if and when she ever reads this. I am not a heart-on-my-sleeve woman, in general. With her, I become a total and complete sap. I love her with every fiber of my being and she will know that from even a fast perusal.

4) It is a good exercise in orderliness. There is a balance that must be struck in a good post. You need a beginning, a middle and an end. Once in awhile, you can fudge it, but not often. I find that having a blog helps me to be a good writer in many ways. It requires a certain amount of discipline and I am amazed that I can actually stick with it.

5) My friend-circle has enlarged and it is good for me. I am learning so much about what other's lives are like that are not like mine. I have a reader who is very religious, very conservative, and on paper we should dislike each other. But...I can't help it. I like her. I'm getting a crash course in acceptance and walking in someone else's shoes. It is very good for me. I have a few younger readers who keep me from getting too bogged down in this whole motherhood ride. I look at their lives and see that their worlds are just as complicated as mine, just in a different way. And I sort of sought them all out and they me. I must have done this on purpose when I started blogging and yet, I didn't actively know it. I've grown as a person because of them. So...a perfect reason to blog: to educate myself. Although, as I said, to be honest, that was not my intention to begin with. Let's just call it a perk.

So, that is why I blog. Now, I am supposed to tag 5 people and I am looking over at my blogroll and wondering who I would really like to tap for this one, to know WHY they blog. Hmmm...okay. I will name these people, but only if they want to...no pressure.

1) Bones. Because he is a thoughtful writer and kind of edgy too. I think his reasons might be intriguing.

2) Deb. Because she is a new blog friend and I am interested in any of her whys and hows.

3) Jenny. Because she makes me laugh and I know she would have some irreverent, funny take on all of this.

4) Melanie. Because her blog sort of takes me to a place where I feel comfortable and accepted and I wonder how she got that way.

And last, but not least:

5) Terroni. Because she is like my little sister and I have this deep need to boss her around.

And now I have to go try and talk Bing out of getting that monstrosity she calls a motorcycle out of our shed. I can hardly bear to even look at it. Motorcycles scare the hell out of me and well....I'll leave that for another blog.

Tee shirts

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have managed to be the sort of person that people like to send odd or funny tee shirts to.

My friend, GI Jane sent me one just today. This prompted me to think that perhaps I have enough tee shirts to make up a blog post. I don't often wear them. Because then I'd have to deal with people looking at my chest!

But here are just a few of the ones I have. Most have never been worn and someday after I am dead, Liv will find them in boxes in my basement and wonder just how nutters I really was and they will all end up at Goodwill.

1) In case of rapture, can I have your stuff?

2) Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons....for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.

3) Bring out your dead...

4) I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay.

5) It's time to play spot the looney.

6) Member of the hysterical society.

7) I heart Mr. Darcy.

8) Life is a circus and I'm stuck in the freak tent.

9) I'm willing to admit you're wrong.

10) Deadlines amuse me.

11) I'm not bossy, I just know what you should be doing.

12) Everyday I perform the miracle of irrelevance.

13) Forget world peace. Visualize using your turn signal.

14) National Sarcasm Society (like we need your support)

15) They say I have A.D.D but they just don't understand. Oh, Look! A chicken!

16) My therapist says I'm in denial (as if that could ever happen)

17) I can't believe I own a minivan.

18) What I really need are minions.

19) Regrettably, all the good paying jobs start before I get up.

20) Shut up Simon

21) Someday my ship will come in. I'm sure I'll be at the airport.

22) Duck Duck Goose World Champion.

23) Somedays, it's not even worth chewing through the restraints

24) I'm not fat. I'm an American.

25) Hasselhoff saved my life.

26) Crikey!

27) Don't make me get the flying monkeys!

28) Nobody gets in to see the wizard. Not nobody. Not no how.

29) 667 (evil and then some)

30) You probably don't recognize me without my cape.

31) Searching for an enabler.

32) I'm with me.

33) This is letting my freak flag fly.

34) As a matter of fact, I did sleep in these clothes.

And for my number 35, and thank you so very much, GI Jane: More cowbell!

So, any one have a favorite? Which is the best?

I vote for 35 because I laughed when I opened up Jane's mail today and also because she is due to have a baby around Memorial Day and I know how frackin crabby she probably is right now.

So, which one? Anyone have a favorite?

Oh, what a beautiful mornin'

Liv just HAD to go check on the herb garden this morning. We've had so much rain lately (nearly 6 inches in 24 hours.) But, the last two days have been sunny and mild and things seem to be drying out. Our vegetable garden seemed relatively untouched, but our herb garden took this weather hard. Liv worried and worried over those tender little shoots.

She came bouncing back into the kitchen this morning, cheeks blazing, her spring nightie ruffling around her legs.

"Come see and smell!" she said, pulling on my hands.

I tried to be a good sport. I really did not have any interest in checking out the garden at 6 a.m. I'd just gotten out of the shower and dressed, my hair soaking wet. But, seeing her face, I decided to do the good mother thing and grabbed us both sweaters and cartons of one of our favorite breakfasts: Vermont honey yogurt.

We trooped out to the herb garden. They were doing nicely, nicely, thank you very much. The chives were actually thriving, riotous and hogging all the space, crowding out the parsley already. Liv leaned down and picked several small shoots of chives and popped them into her mouth. I could smell her breath immediately.

"I suggest you do a parsley chaser with those," I said. She didn't know what I meant, but obligingly grabbed some parsley.

"Won't it be great when the cherry tomatoes come up?" she said. "Then we can have bowls of tomatoes for breakfast and snacks!"

Where did this hippie, fairy girl come from? How did I pull off these eating habits of hers? I mean, a delicious breakfast for me involves a bowl of cocoa puffs.

Liv is more like Barbara Kingsolver's daughter than mine.

I nod and smile. Sure. Tomatoes for breakfast. Yum.

I take a deep breath and have to close my eyes. Honestly, it is just seductive. The lemon verbena is sending out big whafts of soft lemon drop air. The lilac bushes are just beginning to bloom and next to them, my lily of the valley. We have our own little slipper of heaven right here in the backyard.

Liv leans against me, we both take slow bites of our yogurt.

"It would sure be fun to stay home from school today and work in the garden," she sighs.

I agree. But, no, I say. We are working stiffs, the two of us. We can see the garden this afternoon when she gets home from school and I am done doing my miles to go before I sleep thing.

Time to go in and start the day.

Have a good one, y'all.

Favorite months and a good book.

I just started reading Meredith Hall's Without a Map. To say that I like this book doesn't seem enough. I am loving this one. The prose seems almost lyrical and yet the subject matter is dealt with so matter of factly and with such deliberate density that it seems almost a trick to fuse them together. But, Hall does. It is basically a memoir of a woman's story of becoming pregnant at age 16 in a way that could have happened to any of us. I wept at the third page and was pulled in so fiercely that I know it will be one of THOSE books, the ones that you jones for while you do other tasks.

And it was odd how it came into my hands. I was at Borders with Liv and we were meandering around. She came up to me with this book.

"I think this one is calling to you," she said.

I glanced at it, lifted the cover and read the jacket. Hmm. Not really my sort of book, but Liv seemed sure. So, I bought it.

Now, I am thinking that I will learn some good lessons from it. I've already learned that my life reverberates through Liv and that I have to watch everything I do or say. But, this books reminds me that I need to always stay connected as deeply as I can with her, not smothering her, but making sure that she knows I am here in a constant, steady way.

To learn something like from a book in the first chapter is quite a feat for the author, I think.

Anyway, read it. It is just that incredible.

And now to easier, looser things.

Everyone has a favorite month and a least favorite one for their own personal reasons. My favorite month is October and my least favorite, July.

What are yours?

Let me go through the months to tell you why they mean what they do to me.

January
I like this month because it is after Christmas. I have just had my fill of family and friends trooping around my house. I am sick of celebrating and frivolity. I slide back into my newly uncluttered nest with ease, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but there is a certain joy in taking down the decorations and settling back into regular life. And no more shopping!

February
February is a short month. It is brutal, weatherwise, yes. But, it is blissfully short. And there is valentine's day to sort of break things up. It is a hard month to get through if you live on the prairie because one blizzard after another comes blowing in, but it is short.

March
March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lion too in Nebraska. But. There is always a small taste of what is to come in Spring for a few days. My Da used to call it: feeling and hearing the chinook. The blizzards pack less punch, they seem almost lackadaisical, bored. I go through my seed catalogs in March.

April
T.S. Eliot was wrong. I don't think that April is a cruel month at all. I love April. It rains a lot, sure. But, by this time we are so relieved that it is rain and not snow that we don't care much. And the sun comes out so brilliantly and feels warm on your back. The air is cool and comfortable. In April, there might be a stray snow or ice storm, but it is like a bully shaking his fist at you as he leaves the park. You know it is just bullshit. In April, I start hankering for Spring and by late April, it is usually here.

May
May is like that song from Camelot. It is lusty. The month of yes-you-may. A time for every frivolous whim, proper or im. Making love in May is glorious. You can roll around together on TOP of the covers instead of huddled under them. I put my garden in during May. Everything is green and emeraldy. My mood is light.

June
June is a taste of honey. It is hot, but not scorching yet. A time to rediscover the barbeque outside, the picnic in the park, swimming. Wild flowers adorn my kitchen table brought in by Liv's hands. We eat cool salads and go for long walks in the evenings or take Liv to the bike park to ride. The vegetables start springing up, all green and shooty.

July
Ugh. July. It starts off with firecrackers and I hate those. I hate the smell of sulfur and it just hangs in the air for days after the 4th. It is blistery, smoking hot. And humid. The air seems to just settle on my skin and stay there. The bugs are bad. The only way to be comfortable breathing is to do it in a fridge house. The air inside tastes chemicalized and stale. The air outside is fecund and thick. Liv complains that there is nothing to do. We are tired of swimming, tired of bbqs. The days seem to be unnaturally long. The garden is popping out vegetables faster than I can pick them.

August
Relief in small gulps. One day will not be so hot. School is getting ready to start up again and I look forward to not having Liv attached to my hip all day and all night. We go school shopping. The days get a little shorter. TV seems interesting again. BBQ's and swimming start to have appeal again, mostly because this may be the last day we do it. The sunsets are breathtaking. I bring in all the vegetables from the garden and spend a few days canning and freezing and feeling good that I am "providing" for my family. The Cornhusker football games start. We wear red tee shirts and shorts, but hey..football is football.

September
A lovely month, still warm...but you get a peek of Autumn. Some days you need a sweater and those feel great. You start remembering how nice a bowl of chili tastes. The sunsets are still spectacular. All of the patio furniture gets taken into the shed. We put the garden to bed for the winter. Liv comes home and does her homework at the kitchen table, her hair shining under the lamplight, her mouth crooked with concentration. More Cornhusker football. We wear our red sweatshirts and jeans to the games. We do the wave at the stadium in our sea of red.

October
Absolutely the most beautiful month of all. The oak and maple leaves in the backyard are suddenly all yellow, red, purple, golden and orange, even pinkish. We go out and rake and crunch through them. We wear our warm sweaters and the rain that falls is cold and surprising to the skin, like little ice cubes. Going to bed feels cozy. It feels good to sink under those covers and cuddle up. I kiss Liv goodnight and slip a pair of socks on her feet to keep her toes warm. We drink hot cocoa on the colder days. The radiator kicks on in the middle of the night. You hear the ticking and gurgling in the radiator next to the bed and reach out sleepily to feel how warm it is. And yes, more football. Jacket weather when we go and we have our first cocoas at the game instead of lemonades.

November
Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday. I'm not sick of my family yet and there is lots of good will and lots of good things to eat. The pumpkins in the backyard are ready to be picked and made into jack-o-lanterns. We eat beef stew, chili and homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner, cupping our hands around warm cups of cider. We dip our bread into the meal and it feels warm going down our throats. We feel thankful. It snows for the first time and we go out and catch snowflakes on our tongues, exclaiming on how it burns so heavenly.

December
Christmas. A-bustle. We are all sneaking around buying and hiding things. Liv makes her santa claus list (well, maybe just one more year at best for that.) We decorate the house, bake cookies and decorate them. The whole house smells like gingerbread. Family and friends make sudden and happy visits. There are lots of chattering voices in the house. And on Christmas Eve, there is a sweet and deep silence that makes your throat catch and hold. There is snow. And snowmen and snow ball fights. Mittens hiss on the radiator. You wake up in the morning with a freezing cold nose and slip back under the blankets to warm up before venturing out into the day.

So, what are your favorite and least favorite months and why?

Why I can't sell my car.

It is probably about time to get a new set of wheels. This one is older, getting long in the tooth, is not going to have just the cheap stuff go wrong with it for much longer.

But, then...you could be describing me.

I was reading Dennis' blog and that got me thinking about health. About how as we age, things just fall apart. Not that Dennis is falling apart, he seems okay, relax. But, it did get me thinking.

I wish that I knew when I was 28 what my life would be like when I was 48. I would have appreciated that bod I had much more.

At 28, my hair was so shiny that I once had a co-worker ask me what conditioner that I used because it looked so gorgeous.

At 48, I have short salt and pepper hair and even if I coated it with crisco, it would not shine like it used to.

At 28, my skin was really, really soft and supple. I had no wrinkles on my face and one lover commented that rubbing my back was like rubbing silk.

At 48, I have saggy skin. My face has lines. It doesn't look like Grandma Moses, but it isn't supple anymore. My hands are really showing my age. My skin isn't bumpy, but it certainly isn't silky. It is very dry and after every bath, I lather it up with baby oil and it sucks it in like it's parched.

At 28, I had the perky boob thing going on.

At 48, I um...don't. They aren't perky about anything. They like it best when I am laying down and they can fall into my armpits.

At 28, I had the stamina of a colt. I could keep going and keep going and keep going. I was my own personal energizer bunny.

At 48, I get physically tired much more easily. And I have been known to go to bed at 8:30 once in a while. I am lucky to catch the monologue on SNL. I used to watch the whole thing when I was home. And home on a Saturday night? Not likely.

At 28, I sometimes commented on my bones aching.

At 48, I know that at 28 I had no idea what the fuck I was talking about. I now know exactly what it means to have your dogs bark and your knees buckle and your whole body feel like it has a painful pulse.

At 28, I took an aspirin occasionally.

At 48, I actually have a PILL CADDY. I take pills for diabetes, for rheumatoid arthritis, for anemia,for sciatica, for meniere's syndrome and vitamins just to keep me going.

At 28, I could play a hard game of anything.

At 48, I can watch a hard game of anything.

At 28, I could stay out all night and party

At 48, I am your neighbor who wonders why the HELL you are still up and making noise at 2 a.m. Can't you see people are trying to sleep here?

At 28, I had pedicures.

At 48, I have such ugly toenails that I would be heartily embarrassed to have anyone see my gnarlies.

At 28, I spent money like I had it and I really didn't.

At 48, I am very careful where that money goes. I have a child to send to college. I have a retirement to think about.

I'm still the same in a lot of ways, but to be honest, this bod is not what it used to be. I'm not limping around or anything, but I miss that whippersnapper woman who used to live in this container.

I don't think an oil change is going to do it for me. It's going to take a lot more than that.

But, I still work. I can still get you where you need to go, it just might take a little longer and I don't have all the snazzy parts that I used to.

I'm WAY smarter. I'm a nicer person, more caring, I think. So, in many ways, this model is a better one. But, you have to appreciate that burnished look and not want some shiny chrome.

I'm more patient. More understanding. I "get" the world in a way that I didn't when I was 28.

But, damn I miss those perky boobs.

And um...yeah..other stuff. But, mostly the boobs.

I wonder what I'll be like at 68. I'll probably be bitching about how great life was when I was 48 and I didn't even realize it....

Singing the vegetables to sleep.

Liv and I have been putting a vegetable garden in every year since she was three. This year we added an herb garden. But, it is the vegetable garden that she loves.

Me too.

We plant our favorites: tomatoes, peppers, beans, peas, lettuce (3 kinds!), radishes, and always a new one each year. This year, we bowed to Bing's pleading and will attempt to grow okra too.

We get the seeds in the ground and then comes the task of weeding and making sure to get rid of the weak ones. I usually do this. I have a better eye and a harder heart. Liv can never stand to tell a plant that it just isn't hardy enough. She is a fierce weeder, though, and I like that in a person.

We tend our garden and when it is up and running, then...well, we like to sing the vegetables to sleep at night. It all started on a night when she was nearly four and could not sleep. Finally, I took her outside and she and I stood in the yard looking up at the stars, the constellations. I knew several of them, thanks to my Da.

Since then, we often bring a blanket out and lay next to our vegetable patch and well...we sing. Whatever we wish.

Sometimes it is Clementine, I've Been Working on the Railroad, or It Isn't Easy Being Green. Other times, we pick Moonshadow, Moondance, Rocky Mountain High. We just sing. Liv calls it, "singing the vegetables to sleep."

I call it bliss.

Laying on a blanket, just the two of us. Looking up into the summer sky and finding the easy ones (the big and little dippers, The little bear, polaris) and the harder ones (lynx, leo, hercules, lyra, lupus, aquila, draco.)

Just me and Liv. And, yes, the mosquitoes.

We have our best talks then. We talk about places we want to visit, what some fair weather friend did to hurt her feelings, how much we love strawberry pie. We save most of our big discussions for nights when we are stretched out next to each other, she in her summer nightie, me in mine. We talk about how drugs are a bad thing, how important it is to be kind to people. Why I love being her mother. I often tell her to remember these days when she is sixteen and will for some stupid reason think that I don't love her.

She is adamant that she NEVER will think that. How silly!

I tell her that I was once sixteen and that yes, it will happen. But, she must always remember these nights. Hopefully, we will still be doing this, but perhaps not. What is fun to do with your mother when you are seven is not fun when you are sixteen. But, I want her to remember.

She says she will. She may or may not. I can't bear to go there.

And we sing. Not loudly, but softly and with sure voices. And the odd thing is that I have noticed that the vegetables on the side by our blanket really ARE hardier than the rest. I think they like our attention, like sharing the night sky with us.

Once Liv went around and tied scarves around the tomato plants to make them feel "all gussied up...like a PARTY!"

When we planted the herb garden, our neighbor, Hal, came out and said he guessed that before long we would be laying outside singing again.

I was sheepish. Were we that loud?

No, he said, but he and his wife liked to come out without turning their porch light on and sit on their steps and listen to us.

"We really like Bye, Bye, Blackbird,", he confessed.

So we will sing that. Yes.

Once or twice we have fallen asleep out on our blanket. I woke up once when cold raindrops began to plop on my face and remember tucking the blanket around a sound sleeping Liv and carrying her back into bed.

One day, not in the far future, it will be time to sing the vegetables to sleep again.

And that makes me happy all over.