What's in a name?

My daughter's name is Isabella. We call her Bellie. It's a nickname my sister gave her and it just stuck.

I'm certain she won't always want to be called Bellie. I figure she'll tell me when she wants to be called something else and that will be fine with me. It's up to her as far as I'm concerned.

But for now, she's Bellie.

Except to her father. He refuses to call her by the nickname. He says he's 'not comfortable' with it.

I tried for a while to get him to understand that everyone in her world calls her Bellie but I gave up because it wasn't worth a battle.

Apparently, it is a battle my daughter is willing to pick with him.

"Mama, Dad calls me Isabella."

"I know."

"I want him to call me Bellie."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yes I did. But he still calls me Isabella."

"Maybe you could tell him again."

"Will you make him call me Bellie?"

"I'm sorry I can't help you with this one."

"It's alright. I'm going to call him Mike. Then when he calls me Bellie, I'll call him Dad again."

You know that feeling you get when...

...you find $20 in the pocket of a pair of jeans you haven't worn for a long time?

I have that feeling today. But it's not about money...it's about time.

See...I was supposed to go to a seminar all day today. Well, I registered for it. But I canceled it yesterday. So I have 8 hours I didn't think I'd have.

Here's the funny part...it was a seminar on time management. Heh heh.

I figure I've got it mastered...I mean, I just came up with 8 hours I didn't have before. Bet they wouldn't have shown me how to do that in the seminar. (I also bought myself another 12 days on the passport issue by having my mail held instead of forwarded. Whew!)

So now I have a few minutes to deal with a meme tag. Thank you very much, Burg. But since I only have a few minutes (it would be a shame to use this 8 hours up blogging...), I will cut and paste the details of the meme from Burg's site.

"This my dear friends is a game called Chinese Freeze Tag - straight from the blog of Jill by way of Stephanie. What are the rules, you wonder? Well then, allow me to explain. What you are about to read are ten - hopefully - interesting facts and/or habits of mine. After you are done reading you will find a list of ten people in no specific order. These are the names of the innocent bystanders whom I have tagged and thus drawn into this game. They will then be forced to write their own blog listing ten interesting facts about themselves, and also select another ten people to tag - No Tag Backs! Very simple, hopefully interesting. Now, sit back, relax, and be amazed.”

Ten interesting (or strange, in my case) things about Jenn...hmmmm....

1. I can only think of time in 15 minute increments. I can tell someone I'll meet them at a quarter til the hour but it would never occur to me to say twenty til or even 5 til. Why?

2. My middle name is Robin...after the bird. For real. My dad saw the first robin of spring on the day I was born. (awwwwww)

3. In the back of my mind, I've wondered when this company I work for will realize I don't know what I'm doing. For almost 13 years now.

4. (sheesh...are there really only three interesting things about me? think...think...think) My physical development was all but stopped when I was in high school because I ran track. Apparently, I used all that energy to run so I didn't really get boobs or hips til I went to college. (that's what they told me anyway...)

5. For most of my twenties, I wouldn't wear shoes that showed my toes. Because, growing up, my siblings teased me that my toes looked like white Cheetos. When I got older, I discovered toenail polish. So now they look like Cheetos with toenail polish. But whatever, they get me where I need to go.

6. I secretly think the trailer park is rubbing off on my daughter. Her most favorite food is American cheese and her favorite "restaurant" is Old Country Buffet. (O the shame.)

7. One of the most thrilling experiences I've had was the chance to go up in an airplane with a pilot doing aircraft acrobatics. Strange, huh? It was post plane crash and my favorite trick was called the Hammerhead. The pilot flew straight up in the air, let the plane stall, and then - as if the tail of the plane were stuck - swung the nose down and flew towards the ground. I loved it.

8. In my opinion, kissing is the most intimate thing in the world. (Not that I'm knocking a good romp in the hay....but kissing...that's my favorite.)

9. I won't leave the house without mascara on....I have white-blond eyelashes.

10. I love, love, love amusement park rides. The scarier the better.

Now...to tag 10 more folks...keeping in mind Lynilu won't be one of them...

I tag: Lu, Kai, Denise, Sandra, Patti, Popeye, CCW, Cheeky, Melissa, and Pat.

All that and a...

...bag o' shit.

Yeah...that's not how it goes. I know. It's just that everything is so chaotic today and well...read on:

Me: Will you be bringing (daughter) to music class on Saturday? If not, I can pick her up to get her to class but I'll need you to get her from music class. Let me know.

Him: You can pick her up. Why can't you bring her back?

Pretend answer: It's none of your business. Just answer the damn question.

Me: I have to be over to the new place by 11:45.

Him: You should be able to make that if you drop her off.

Pretend answer: Last time I did it, we didn't get to your trailer til 11:45. So unless I somehow figure out how to be in two places at once before Saturday, I don't think I can pull it off.

Me: I can't risk being late.

Him: That doesn't make sense. Why would you set up a 11:45 meeting?

Pretend answer: Two reasons...one, to screw with your schedule and two, because I wanted to be the first person ever to do such a thing.

Me: I tried for a later time but it didn't work. The decree states that you have to provide all transportation to extra-curricular activities during your parenting time. The fact that I'm willing to pick her up at all actually benefits you.

Him: Oh come on Jenn. You created this whole problem with me bringing (middle daughter) and now you throw out the decree. You said you would provide transportation both ways and now you say you won't. What's up with that? That still doesn't make sense. Who makes appointments at 11:45? You didn't even ask you just said I need you to do this. Can you bring her to my house on Friday night?

Pretend answer: To clarify, it was actually the music school that requested you not bring your 11 year-old daughter and leave her unattended in a downtown school. I offered to do the driving when I could manage it...and keep in mind the decree is in place as something we can 'fall back on' should we not come to resolution on an issue. So I'm completely within my rights to do so. Again - about that freakishly odd 11:45 appointment....I'm on the cutting edge of appointment making. It was overdue that someone broke through the barrier of 11:45 appointments. Yep...I did just say I need you to do something and nope, I'm not bringing her on Friday.

Me: I've already explained the situation. You can drive her both ways or you can pick her up from music class. It shouldn't happen again.

Him: You still can't ask can you?

Pretend response: You are abnormal. And I admit to having issues around asking you for things. It has something to do with years of living with you and feeling indebted to you for my existence. Because you told me I owed you for the fact that you gave up everything to be with me...oh....about a thousand times. I'm sure it will resolve itself in time.

Me: Look...everything is fairly chaotic right now and you aren't helping the situation by bringing all this stuff up. I tried to work around the schedule but I didn't have any success. I do everything in my power to avoid conflict with you. Trust me on that. If you could just see fit to pick her up this weekend it would be most helpful and appreciated.

Him: Still not asking. You could leave 10 minutes early. I would love to come to the class each week but that has been taken from me.

Pretend answer: You're right. I'd rather eat my foot than ask you for a favor. Because I know from experience that if I ask for something...you'll know I want it and do everything in your power to make sure I don't get it. Funny....you weren't at music class last weekend and that had nothing to do with me. And if your conflict is that you don't have anything to do with middle daughter...drop her off at granny's for an hour. Not my problem.

Me: Get over it. I'm not pulling her out of class early because you don't want to pick her up. Would you PLEASE help me by picking her up at music class this weekend? It would be such a favor. (Yes...this is snotty. I lost my cool a little bit here....I'm not proud of that.)

Him: I want to be at the class all the time but you bullied that away from me and hurt (middle daughter) too. Thanks for the Sarcasm, it shows me I'm right that you have problems with asking. I will pick her up at 11:15-11:20.

Pretend answer: Again...make arrangements if you want to come to music class. Child care for your middle daughter is not my concern. AND I have no problems asking for help in general....it's dealing with you that makes me want to vomit. But I am impressed you interpreted my response correctly. I was worried you might think I was serious. Sometimes, it's so easy for meaning to get lost in emails.

There was no real answer...I didn't respond.

Mission accomplished.

I am PISSED

In the American sense of the word. ANGRY.

I'll get over it. Here's the deal...

I went almost 9 weeks ago to take care of passport stuff. Get my daughter's and fix my name on mine. I waited til so late because my DAMN divorce took so long. I needed my passport name to match the divorce decree and the custody orders or I would have just kept the old one. There are all sorts of silly rules about one parent traveling with a minor. (OK..they're not silly...I really do get it.) And I needed the orders or his permission to get my daughter's. But then, had I done hers earlier...it's not as if I'd pop her on a plane alone. It was just a mess.

Now, I'm fairly aware of things going on around me so I knew there was a rush on passport applications due to the new Canada/Mexico requirements.

So I asked the agent to expedite the applications. She argued that I didn't need to...I'd get them in time. I told her I preferred to expedite...I knew I was cutting it close.

She convinced me that I would be fine and not to worry.

AND I LISTENED. I am usually smarter than that.

Not so that day. I listened to a lady behind a counter in a government office. Who had no vested interest in whether or not I could take a trip.

I called today to find out the status and expedite (as the lady assured me I would be able to do at any point in the process) if necessary. Of course, it's a GIANT clusterfuck at this point because I'm moving this weekend and do you suppose the USPS will forward a passport?

Nahh. Or at least they couldn't guarantee it.

The guy on the phone was actually really friendly. Just like the lady behind the counter. He told me a lot of the agencies are giving out the advice not to expedite at the time of application and it's causing a huge problem.

He also told me not to worry because if all else fails, I can just go to Chicago and get the passports.

JUST GO TO CHICAGO? It's an 8 hour drive. (Ok...I've been known to do it in 6...but that was before I became a responsible mother.)

I suppose I could fly. But does anybody have some extra time they could loan me?

You'll probably never hear...

....any woman say these words: YAY!!! Today I get to see my gynecologist!!

(Men - feel free to click your browser's back button at this point....fair warning.)

Even if you figure the doctor sees....um....women all day long...there's just something so awkward about that 'scoot down' moment. You know what I'm talkin' about.

And if you're me...it goes more like this: Scoot down. A little more....ok...more.

For some reason, I'm just hesitant to put it all out there in the spotlight. Y'know?

Then there's the conversation part. Apparently, they teach them to try to take the patient's mind off reality for a while by making small talk.

I've not mastered that either. And I usually completely forget any questions I might have thought of prior to the appointment.

But yesterday, I had some birth control questions. Something might have changed in the last 4 years...ya never know. And it's NOT worth another trip to the doc later so I needed to ask them.

Here's how that went:

Me: Can you tell me about some options for birth control?

Doc: Sure - what are you using now?

Me: Um...nothing. (Don't they read those forms we fill out!?)

Doc: Wow. Lucky you didn't get pregnant again.

Me: Well....not really. Easy enough to do without having sex.

Doc: Where are you in the pregnancy planning phase?

Me: Huh? Nowhere. I mean...I'm not planning a pregnancy. I guess you could say I'm in the wondering if I'll ever have sex again phase.

Doc: Nice tattoo....I see a lot of tattoos and I've never seen one like that.

(It's on my ankle...before you ask.)

Me: uhhh...thanks. So I used to use a diaphragm but that didn't work so much. I have a three-year-old daughter.

Doc: So no go on the diaphragm. You've really been abstinent for 3 years? Is that a religious thing?

Me: Ahhh...no. It's been more of...uhhh....an accidental thing. I went through a fairly lengthy divorce.

Doc: Nice cervix...looks good. A lot of you girls are doing that. I have quite a number of patients who have 3 or 4-year-olds and divorces. What's up with that? Why did you leave your husband?

Me: Uh. Thanks. Um...(I actually forgot for a minute...I blame it on the cervical compliment and the freezing cold speculum..is there some law against warming them up?)....he was emotionally abusive.

Doc: That's too bad. So now you're ready to go again and we need to figure out how to keep you from getting pregnant.

Me: uhhhh....I guess. I mean yes to the keep me from getting pregnant part. I'm sort of just trying to figure out my options at this point....

Doc: But I'm sensing abstinence isn't your first choice.

Oh.

My.

Gawd.

There should be a place on the forms to check an option for no chatty conversation. I'm perfectly willing to feign a supreme interest in the ceiling tiles for 5 minutes a year.

How about you all? Any funny stories?

Fat Boobs

"Mama, you have fat breasts and fatty tummy."

Huh!?

"Why do you say that?"

"My daddy told me."

Him again?

"Oh. Well. It's not any of his business to talk about my body. That's only my business. But since you've brought it up, let's talk about it. Can you show me where my fatty tummy is?"

"Um....your tummy is right there. (she considers...) But it's not so fat."

Gee. Thanks.

"And how about breasts?"

"I have breasts!!!"

"Welllll....you do, but there isn't any fat in yours yet. Mine? Well they do have fat in them. But they also have...ah...breast tissue and some other stuff you'll need when you grow up."

"Mama! I want breast tissue. When I grow up, will you give me some of yours? So I can nurse my baby when I have him?"

And I was worried talking about my boobs might be a little too much information for her.

Photo Op

Tarte Tatin

As promised to my daughter, we made Tarte Tatin today.

She was a big help.

Here's the recipe....I think Heather asked for it.

Ingredients:

Pate Brisee (Butter Crust)
Makes One 10-inch crust
1 3/4 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 lightly beaten egg
1 tablespoon cold water
6 ounces unsalted butter (room temperature)

Tarte Tatin (Caramelized Apple Tart)
3/4 cup unsalted butter
2 cups granulated sugar
2 squeezes of lemon juice
7 pounds large golden delicious apples, granny smith or any hard cooking apple

What ya do:

Make one recipe of butter crust.

1. Place the flour on the counter or large cutting board. Add salt and butter. With a flat plastic pastry scraper, chop the butter and flour together until a rough crumbly mixture is formed.

2. Form a well in the center of the flour mixture. Add the egg and water in the well. Roughly chop the flour together with the egg and water using the pastry scraper, until the chunks of butter are the size of very small grapes.

3. Gather the dough quickly together in a ball, touching it as little as possible (body heat will warm the dough and thus begin to toughen it). With the heel of your hand, smear the dough across the counter one section at a time until the dough just comes together. Gather it back to the ball shape (loosely) and repeat smear technique til dough is more 'solid' but not smooth. It is very important not to over work the dough. Small chunks of visible butter mean you'll have a flaky crust so don't be tempted to make your dough smooth.

4. Form the dough into a ball and flatten to a disc shape. Wrap in plastic film and put in refrigerator. (30 minutes to an hour)

5. Movin' on to the apple tarte...cut the butter into thin slices and melt over medium heat in the base of either a tarte tatin mold or a large skillet you can put in the oven. (I've never seen a tarte tatin mold...I used a skillet.) Once the butter has melted, add the sugar and lemon juice (squeeze). Stir til mixed.

6. Peel all your apples (while trying to give your daughter the idea she's helping when you're really just trying to keep her hands away from the peeler). Stir the sugar mixture on the stove occasionally.

7. Halve and core (melon baller works great for the cores) the apples. Slice a small piece off each apple end to create a stable base.

Here's what the apples should look like:

8. Arrange the apple halves upright in tightly packed circles on top of the butter/sugar mixture. Make sure the pan is full and tightly packed. Here's what it'll look like:

(The apples will shrink as they cook so you'll want some extras prepared so you can stick them in the pattern as there is room. I had 6 halves laid aside that I used.)

9. Heat on top of stove for 35 to 55 minutees or until a medium colored caramel is formed. (At first, the caramel will be pale and liquid from the juice of the apples. Keep cooking so that the water evaporates and the sugar and apple juice caramelizes and is absorbed by the apples.) The color of the caramel will be a light to medium cinnamon color. (And it's not thick like caramel...it's thinner.)

10. Once you've got that cookin', take your pie crust out to warm up enough so you can roll it out. Jiggle the apple pan every now and then while it cooks.

11. When the pie crust is workable, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. (This was about 40-45 minutes into the apples cooking for me.)

12. Roll out the dough to a 1/4 inch thickness and cut out a circle about 2 to 3 inches larger than the diameter of the pan/mold. Transfer the circle to a tray and chill until ready to use.

13. When the apples are ready (most juice/water has evaporated and the caramel is a light to medium cinnamon color) set the circle of dough on the apples so that the rolled dough overlaps the pan by at least 2 to 3 inches. Flip the outer 2-3 inches back over the crust to form a rough rimmed crust.

14. Toss (ok...don't toss...gently place) it in the oven and bake until the crust is thoroughly tanned throughout and the pastry is crisp and browned (about 30 minutes).

15. Remove from oven and let cool for about 5 minutes. Then turn it over onto a heat resistant serving tray. (Or if you're a chicken like me...just serve it out of the pan. But the idea is to have the crust on the bottom so you can see the pretty apple pattern.)

16. Serve to your daughter who will take a bite and say "Ewwww!! This is TOO YUCKY!!"

17. Remember that, sometimes, being a mother is a thankless job. But the apple pie is damn good and if she doesn't like it, there's more for you.

**Update: She tried it again later and ate three bowls. Guess it's not "TOO YUCKY".

Moments

Ever so often, as life whizzes by at the speed of light, moments happen.

Those flashes in time that you don't want to forget. You can read how crazy my life is right now in the post just below. But my daughter wanted to have a picnic for dinner. So we did....she keeps me young.

As I was sitting behind her on the porch, trying to memorize my view of her since she'll be grown before I know it...I decided to grab the camera. Here are some of my moments....

(You can tell she's almost three by her choice of footwear and the fact that she's eating a toasted cheese sandwich with chopsticks.)

(to heck with chopsticks!!)

(Stop takin' my picture, Mama!)

My head's above water...

...barely.

The next few weeks are going to be insane. INSANE.

We're moving...just to a different house. That'll be next weekend or early the following week.

Between now and then I have to completely pack the house. With lots of help from my daughter. She loves to pack. I just have to watch her so I know how to label the boxes. I'm sure I'll be looking for something really important in the new house and it'll be packed with her stuffed animals.

While preparing to move I have to reassure her that, in fact, we will be taking everything from this place to the new one. She's not quite sure I'm being honest about that.

I gave up on trying to make this a seamless situation...without any disruption to her life. Because I feel disrupted. She can tell. Everything's all messy.

I also have to make sure not to forget some important utility hook-up. And change my address with the post office. And set up phone/cable/internet service.

My other brother is coming from Seattle to help. That'll be nice. He'll also whip my youngest brother into shape. So that's a bonus.

Then just over a week later, I'm off to London for a vacation. Which also takes some planning...especially since my girl's birthday is during our trip. I have some leads on birthday ideas (yes, I really want help) but nothing final yet.

All this means that during the period of time between April 9 and May 21 - I only work 13 days. But I somehow have to squeeze out over a month's worth of work.

So I'm blogging. Denial. Procrastination. Stupid.

Whatever. I've been through worse. Heh heh.

Just an old sweatshirt

As you know from a previous post, I've been sorting through my clothes.

I found an old sweatshirt. It's well-worn, has holes in places, and has been sitting on various closet shelves for the last 10 or so years. I've moved it from home to home.

It's the sweatshirt he had on when we first met. I was cold so he let me wear it. I was a very young woman....early twenties.

He captured my heart for a moment. A heart recently bruised by an infidelity. So easily wooed.

We eloped.

We were married for almost two years, when one day as we sat on the couch...he watching football, me reading a book...I said, "I can't do this anymore. I need you to leave."

At the time, I felt it was mostly his fault. For gambling...for not being able to keep a job...for various other reasons.

Older eyes look back and see we were both too young to weather the storm. But I didn't have older eyes at the time.

He left. He took the new truck and his belongings. I kept the junker car and everything else. I paid $1000 for the divorce and he signed everything willingly. That divorce was much different than my second. There were a lot more flowers....weekly, almost.

We went our separate ways. There was no animosity though. Only a realization that what we had was no more....that turned into a sweet fondness for each other and the youth we had shared.

We kept in touch and ever so often, we'd bicker about something minor but we always got past it. We were friends for a while. Until I couldn't do it anymore because he didn't want to be friends. He wanted to be married to me.

I heard from him from time to time after that. Nothing major...just connecting with the past, I suppose. The last time was right after Christmas about 4 years ago. He emailed me...just wishing me well.

I didn't respond right away. I was not sure what to say. Eventually, I answered...telling him about my new husband and family.

The next day, I got an email from his brother. We had been friends and actually, he introduced me to his brother....the first man I would marry.

The man that ended his life at age 33....on a cold January day he walked down a lonely road to stop his pain...at the end of a rope hanging from a tall tree.

The man who left my email response up on his computer before he left to walk that lonely road.

I remember my brow being furrowed for several days....but I couldn't find tears. I couldn't reconcile the reality. It didn't make any sense. And even though I had chosen not to be with him....I never thought he'd be gone.

I know that I didn't really have anything to do with his death. I struggled for a while...wishing I'd sent a different message. But I know he was just not able to be here. And I couldn't take back the message...no matter how hard I wished.

He could not find happiness. Which was strange because he often made people very happy...he loved to spread joy. He just didn't have any for himself.

So when I look at that old sweatshirt....I always remember...good things and sad things. And I remember I can't ever talk to him again. And I miss him. I miss the man who knew me then. I've since found tears and they are just a memory now. But I still miss the girl I was and the man I married.

This time when I found the sweatshirt, I emailed his brother and asked if he'd like it. Yes, he would. So I packed it up and shipped it to him.

It's just an old sweatshirt, after all.

Around the world and back again

Ok. Not really.

BUT - in the last two weeks I have taken two trips which involved 8 flights. That's 8 take-offs, 8 landings, and 8 middles. Some of which were hella bumpy...as my brother would say.

So that's good practice for my next one. Though, I truly am in denial about the length of that one. I'll face it another day.

I just got back from San Diego...lovely. I had a 'balconette' in my room so I pulled one of the chairs out and could see the sea from my room. Once I looked past the gigantic Navy carrier...which was sort of cool on its own.

I ate too much, drank too much, smoked too much and generally had a great time. Got to see folks on my team from work that I don't usually see in person. That was cool.

Also...I learned that I can cook. From scratch. Who knew??! I already promised my daughter we'd bake an apple tarte tatin this weekend but beyond that, I'm not sure if I'll be whipping up any of the other stuff any time soon. I'm trying to decide if it's worth it to be called "Her Highness"....jury's still out on that. But anyway, there was rack of lamb, grilled prawns....and all sorts of fancy stuff. We went to the San Diego Culinary Institute as a team building event....that's where this discovery took place.

Later on, I apparently thought it a good idea to purchase a tank top with "Whiskey Girl" written across the chest in rhinestones. Ah, the Whiskey Girl pub....good times.

I'm thinking about wearing my new shirt with a pair of cut-offs when I go to pick my daughter up at the ole trailer next time. Maybe with a ciggie dangling from my lips, really big hair, and lots of heavy eye make-up. And some platform heels? Or maybe just flip-flops.

Something to ponder.

Speaking of trailers, Daddy-0 figured out I was out of town and behaved accordingly. Schmuck. Told my daughter all sorts of crap about how his business was here and he didn't go anywhere like Mama does. His "business"? He works in a call-center for the bank. Makes me snarky. But just for a minute.

I know he can't bake an apple tarte tatin. And that's more fun anyway.

Door to England

Conversation with my daughter:

Her: I want to go see Mia.

Me: I know. But she's in England.

Her: In London?

Me: No...she's in Reading. Which is not too far from London so we can see her when we go.

Her: I thought we were going to England. (She pronounces it 'Inguhlund'.)

Me: We are. London is in England. Like Minneapolis is in Minnesota.

Her: Just inside the door to Inguhlund?

Me: What door?

Her: The door to Inguhlund. Is London just inside that door?

Me: There's not actually a door to England.

Her: Then how will we get in?

Tantrums

I hate tantrums. Specifically, my daughter's.

They have been so very rare these past two and a half years. She is typically reasonable.

Recently, however, she seems to be prone to them. I can usually cut them off at the pass by walking away and ignoring her. The signs are very obvious. She usually decides herself that there's no point in having a hissy if I'm not watching.

She starts by absolutely refusing to do whatever it is I'm asking her to do.

Put her shoes on....go to the loo...eat her dinner....whatever. She'll just say 'No, I won't.'

That's the moment at which a mother with the patience of a saint would calmly decide how to avoid the tantrum. And sometimes, I can do that. Most times. (It's not the patience of a saint I have...it's just deep chest breathing and the knowledge that tantrum avoidance is much easier than tantrum negotiation when you get right down to it.)

But sometimes, for instance....at the end of a long work week, I'm not so good at it. And I draw that stupid line in the sand.

So I'm typing now to avoid going back into her bedroom. Because when she told me she wouldn't go to bed (this after the dog pooped on the living room rug after I walked her, the cat barfed on the bath mat, my manager's boss called what I considered a huge victory a 'minor success', then barely avoiding about 4 other hissy-fits - my daughter's, not mine - throughout the evening), I told her she had one more chance and if she didn't listen, I was leaving her bedroom and wouldn't come back tonight.

Still no. At least she stands her ground, I guess.

So I kissed her on the nose, told her I loved her, walked out and closed the door.

She's hysterically crying to the point of wretching and gagging. But she has stopped beating on the door. (Strangely, at night, she apparently forgets she can open the door.)

Did I mention she's dramatic?

I absolutely know it's wrong to give in to a tantrum. So here I sit.

Reminding myself that she is almost three. That this is considered typical. But see...to date, she hasn't been typical. She's been exceptional. And that's just not a biased mama opinion. Everyone who deals with her says it. I can tell when she's being a pill...she can be that, to be sure. But this tantrum thing...it's new.

So I try not to recall that this is the exact behavior her older sister (middle daughter of the idiot) constantly exhibited when I first met the idiot and for quite some time thereafter. That it's the behavior that was rewarded by the idiot and his family. That dimes to donuts...this is the behavior that works for my daughter when she's with him.

Because if I remember that...I'll want to hit him in the face with a shovel. Really hard.

And that just wouldn't be very upbeat of me at all.

So, instead, I think I'll have a glass of wine.

(She's stopped crying now and I'd lay down money that when I sneak in there to peek, she'll be asleep.)

Aw shucks.

(Picture me blushing with my head down and scraping my toe in the dirt.)

As I already commented to Lynilu, while I am apparently able to air my life to the neverland that is the Internet, direct attention freaks me out a bit. I prefer to blend.

So the fact that she tagged me for the Thinking Blogger Award is a little embarrassing. In a good way. It's really excellent to know somebody believes I think. Heh heh. Thank you, Lynilu.

Alrighty then...now I get to tag five bloggers for this award. But first, understand that I love humor. Most of my regular reads make me laugh. But I don't laugh at just anything...it has to be clever. So that's the angle I'm taking for my nominations.

- some rules:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog.)

These are in no particular order....

Melissa at Spoke in the Wheel - You just lay it all out there. Your journey has been inspiring to 'witness' and your ability to really dig into things, emotionally and mentally, is impressive to me.

CCW at Destined to be a Crazy Cat Woman - You've been really brave on your blog...well, both of them. It takes a lot of strength to do what you do and your sense of humor is a mighty strong one. I admire your ability to express yourself - especially when life gets so tricky.

Popeye at ...and hope and history rhyme - you're a fairly new read to me but your posts are deep and honest. Ok, they're not all deep. But what I appreciate is that you think about things in the past and how they might have affected your present and future. Even though you're happy now.

Lu at Building a Room - I realize your story hits close to home for me but the way you work through it on your blog is something to see. You are honest and real - even when you don't think honest and real are pretty. And, girl, you are like the Little Engine that Could. (Even if you don't think so yourself.) Some day you'll be at the top of the mountain.

Burg at Deeper Shade of Red - ok...so mostly I go there for laughs. You're hilarious. But in a smart way. And when you're not being funny, you're getting down to the nitty-gritty of life. It takes some thinking to get that in words.

It was difficult to pick only five. But sometimes, life is hard. Heh heh.

Interview Me

I was making the blog rounds and found something cool at Melissa's. I figured there isn't much you don't know about me (well, ok, there's some...) so it would be safe to have her interview me.

So I'll answer her questions in a minute. But first, if you've got the nerve, here's how you can play along. Leave me a comment saying "Interview Me". Then, I'll ask you five questions (which you can find in my comment section) that you can answer on your own blog. I promise I won't be obnoxious in my questioning. Once you've answered your interview questions, you can have people ask to be interviewed in your comment section. Sound good? Ok...ready, Go!

1. If you had it to do over again would you marry Douchie Doucherton? Taking everything into consideration....

Short answer is no.

But before you all remind me I wouldn't have my daughter...let me clarify. I adore my daughter - you all know that. However, her father is a toxic man. Not only to me, but to his daughters as well. Both the older daughters have suffered directly from his poison...I watched it for over 5 years and did everything I could to help them before I finally made the choice to cut my losses and try to save my own daughter. The oldest one no longer sees him (because it is too painful for her) and has serious rejection issues as she heads into her teens. The middle one - well, she probably won't reach her full potential because the only thing she wants is his approval. He's good at creating that dynamic. And he doesn't really care at what cost.

So now, I watch my daughter suffer the 'split' in reality that is her life. No, no...she doesn't suffer all the time and she's a very strong child. But I don't think any child deserves what she's got ahead of her. I can do much to help her but she will still feel pain from her father. I cannot protect her from him and that is as near to intolerable as anything I've ever experienced.

All because of whom I chose to marry.

(Honestly...looking back and knowing what I know now...the best answer would have been to marry him but to leave him before he knew I was pregnant. I thought about it but didn't act on it. That is a decision I will always regret.)

2. What's the greatest lesson you learned from your family? (Besides airline safety!)

Unconditional love is real....and I am unconditionally loved. Because of that lesson, I am able to unconditionally love.

3. If you could have any meal with no regard for price or location - what would you eat and where?

Hmmm. I think it would be seafood....somewhere by the sea. So it's really fresh. Yummmm.

4. What is your favorite thing about a man? Doesn't have to be about a particular man - it can be men in general.

Just one thing? I can't pick just one thing. I'll break it down into categories. Is that cheating? Too bad...it's my blog.

Physically when he's dressed? His eyes.
Physically when he's...um...not dressed? That part right above his hip bone. Mmmm.
Mental trait? An intelligent sense of humor.
Emotional trait? Kindness.

5. Of all the things your daughter does what is your favorite? I imagine there are all sorts of things that make her who she is, but what thing do you love the most?

Sheesh. You're tough. Ok...my favorite thing about my daughter is that she's aware of other people's feelings. And she reacts appropriately to those feelings. That's when I feel most like she's going to be alright in the long run.

So there you have it. My interview.

Your turn.

I like the color fucshia.

I really do.

On a crayon. Maybe even on a dress. It's good in a sunset, too.

Let me tell you a little story about fuchsia.

You can see my hair in my profile picture. That's what it looks like 7 months after a trip to the salon.

It was time for a haircut...or at least a tidy-up. So I made the appointment.

And went.

I don't do a lot to the color. It's red. Obviously. If you look closely, it's sort of calico...lots of different colors. Naturally. But I have been known to get a little extra 'umph' every now and then in the color department.

I figured it was time to get some umph. I told the girl what I wanted. The same as my own hair with just a little bit more....well...more.

When I left the salon, I had fuchsia hair. Maybe she was color blind.

I kid you not. Fuchsia hair and no cool highlights either. Just plain fuchsia. (Before you ask...there are no photos...sorry to disappoint.)

But you can ask Sandra. She saw it. And she said it looked good. I think the word she used was 'fun'. T'was a valiant effort, Sandra.

You might be wondering why I didn't make them fix it right there on the spot. When I first noticed it was fuchsia in the salon. Well, my trust had sort of been broken. I wasn't sure I wanted them messing with my hair any more. There was also the hope that the color would fade. Reds usually do.

But to what? Lavender?

When I got home and my daughter told me I looked just like Ariel...but with purple hair...I called the same salon, different location, and explained my situation. They fit me in immediately.

My hair has been 7 different colors tonight. Fuchsia, Ronald McDonald red, neon orange, bleachy orange, yellow, brownish auburn, and now....red.

My scalp feels as if it may peel off my head any second. At one point, I thought I was going to puke from the chemicals on my head. I cried once....at the prospect of becoming a brunette. (No offense to you Brunettes out there...it's just not me.)

All this over my flippin' hair. Which was FINE to begin with.

Girl stuff sucks.

Please, feel free to laugh. That's what it's all about, after all. Seriously, I'm laughing now.

Soldier Boy...

...Oh, my little soldier boy.

Heh heh.

I got off the plane in lovely San Francisco and headed out to smoke a ciggie while waiting for my bag. The one I decided to check because it's such a pain in the ass to put liquids in a baggie.

Anyhoo...I got outside and plopped down on a bench. Pulled out a smoke and tried not to act surprised as it was lit by a person I hadn't noticed even being there.

I took a drag and glanced to check that I wasn't being helped by a scary person.

Oh. Whew. It's just a young boy....maybe high school aged.

"So, where are you from?" he asked.

"Minneapolis.....you?"

"Florida. I'm stationed in Florida. I just had to come here on emergency leave to get some stuff then I have to drive back to Florida," he replied.

Huh. So he's not in high school. I glanced at him again...thinking to myself wow...this kid goes to war? He looked so young.

He told me his name and reached out for a handshake. I obliged.

He continued, "So are you gonna be hittin' all the clubs while you're here? Maybe we could hook up somewhere. Y'know...have some fun?"

I actually turned around to look behind me. Was he talking to me?

"Huh. I'm not sure what my plans are. But you should definitely hit the town...it's a great place," was my smooth evasion.

Silence. Silence. Silence.

"I lived in Florida once. When I was in high school," I said. Trying to make up for my brush-off....as if conversation is a nice consolation prize.

"Couldn't have been too many years ago," he responded.

SCREECH!!! (that's the sound of car brakes...just for illustrative purposes)

I hadn't really been looking at him up to this point...I was watching for my sister. But now, I swung around to see if he was joking.

He wasn't. Which made me chortle. Yeah...you can't often say that you chortled...but I did.

Try 20 years, Soldier Boy. I told him my age.

He didn't believe me. He thought I was just trying to blow him off with an excuse. So I showed him my driver's license. I wouldn't normally do that...but I felt bad.

"Wow. My buddies would be really impressed if I hooked up with an older woman," he said.

Koo-koo-ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson. That's me...an older woman. When did that happen? How did I miss it?

Thankfully - his buddy drove up right then. I wished him good luck and waved as he left.

Oh...and if you're ever in San Francisco and have an extra $53 you don't know what to do with....you can get this for breakfast:

I have a problem...

...obviously.

I've just spent the last 5 hours sorting through clothes I had stored...and those in my closet and dresser. I figured I'd come up with something to donate to Goodwill.

8 bags. Stuffed full. One of them entirely with lingerie. (I decided it was time to start over on my collection....y'know...didn't want to wear anything I'd worn with um...gag...wretch....ewwww.)

Which makes me wonder...will people buy underwear at Goodwill?

Here Comes Peter Cottontail...

...Hoppin' down the bunny trail....

Serious bribery was involved to make this picture happen. That's a big flippin' bunny. My daughter told me "I'm very worried about the stranger bunny."

But she got her bunny ears so she was happy.

She's impatient. (But she picked the dye-kit and it was ridiculously complicated. It's all about the glitter for her.)

Now we're talkin'. (Look how serious she is!)

Ewwwwww! She hates having her hands dirty.

This is the 'Hippity-Hoppity' Dance. Much funnier live...just use your imagination.

Check out the thumb action.

This is her dancing face. Seriously, she always has the same expression when she boogies.

Woops! Lost the bunny ears.

Alone

Life is hard. Right? Yeah...it can be.

I've got stories about my life that would curl your toes....you've heard some of them. I'm not bragging or complaining because most of us have stories like that.

We've all found ourselves in situations we want to keep private. Because, surely, nobody else would understand. Or relate. Or even care.

But I'll just talk about me for now. After all, that's my area of expertise.

So many times in my life, I've felt as if I needed to live a double-life. As if my very survival depended on me keeping certain things a secret. Family drama....personal strife....whatever.

Because if people knew, they'd judge. And find me lacking. Or crazy. Or a liar.

Which, in my mind, would have been worse than living alone through whatever it was that was happening.

Is there anything more lonely than feeling alone when surrounded by people? I think not. Actually, I know there isn't. It's an awful place to be.

I can count on one hand (not counting my sibs) the number of people I can be 'naked' with....those to whom I can tell anything. Those I could trust to help me 'bury the body'. If it ever came up, y'know.

This was something I had to learn and it was painful to learn...to trust. I had to open myself. It was a very raw feeling. Like alcohol on an open wound sometimes. I think it's because it's a very raw reality. To be open like that left me vulnerable to new pain. The pain of making mistakes in judgement. The pain of betrayal.

Over time, I learned that it was worse to be afraid than it was to be brave. That fear really is crippling. That courage isn't the lack of fear, rather it's feeling the fear and doing it anyway. With that knowledge came mistakes so I also had to learn that when the pain hit, I could survive it. I would have scars and sometimes callouses. But I would survive.

As time passed, it got easier....to take the leaps. And to get up and dust myself off when I fell flat on my face. And fall on my face I have. And will again.

The most interesting thing I find is that when I do decide it's safe to share the craziness that is my life, people aren't always that shocked. And more often than not, they have their own story to tell.

Everyone needs someone like that....someone to trust. Like air...it's a necessity. Without it, we turn inward.

Trust me on that one. We don't have to be alone. We can choose to be alone...and sometimes, that's safest.

One of my father's favorite sayings is "It doesn't have to be that way." He's right.

Dread

I fly out on Monday to go to San Francisco.

Not only will I be on an airplane...my least favorite place to be...but I'm flying there to do a little public speaking. With my boss.

I have my presentation finished and it's something I could speak about in my sleep. In fact, I'd rather speak about it in my sleep. And not in front of my boss.

Don't get me wrong...I like my boss and she likes me. There's just something about it that rattles the nerves.

I can do presentations all day long over the phone or to groups I know. But put me in front of a new group and I panic. The good part, and I know this from experience, is that nobody else can tell. It's just me.

For about the first 15 minutes, I literally cannot see or hear. Then, somehow, everything comes into focus. And I look at the audience and am always surprised that they are paying attention as if I have something to say....or have actually been saying something.

So, apparently, I do not speak in tongues and drool while I'm in my fugue state.

Not to mention the audience for this one....all senior executives. I'll be 'peddling my wares' to them. Selling. Marketing.

I hate selling and marketing. Cannot. Stand. It. It's a huge part of my job and I manage to bull my way through it. I must have some sort of alter-ego that knows it's critical to my professional survival that I do these things.

So to recap....

1. I'll be flying
2. for public speaking
3. that involves selling and marketing

But I get to see my sister. Always a bright side, eh?

Who's on first?

Regarding vacation time, our divorce decree reads:

"Commencing the summer of 2007, both parties shall have two non-consecutive weeks for vacation with the child separated by at least three weeks. When the child turns 5 in 2009, this is to be two consecutive weeks. Respondent is to inform petitioner of his choice of weeks for summer vacation by April 1st each year in writing. Petitioner is to inform respondent of her choice of weeks for summer vacation by April 15th each year in writing."

I got an email from him last Thursday: I would like to have her the week of December 24th-31st. So that would be the 21st-31st I believe. Also can I have her overnight June 14th and for the day of June 15th. Then she doesn't have to run out of the house.

(Is December during the summer? And where would she be running in June?)

I responded: May I ask you to check the decree regarding the vacation orders? And I don't understand the request for June.

He answered: I checked the decree and it looks like I should be ok with the Dec request. Am I missing something? As far as June goes I wanted to make it a long weekend.

(He wants to make a long weekend? What? Based on our good relationship and my desire to have her spend extra time with him? I chose to ignore that part of the email until we get the other resolved.)

I responded: Yes. You are missing something.

(Does that make you laugh as much as it makes me laugh?)

He responded: Not sure what I'm missing.

(Good God. He's retarded.)

I responded: We each get two non-consecutive weeks during the summer separated by at least three weeks in between.

He responded: It doesn't say during the summer it says commencing the summer of 2007. That means starting doesn't it?

(Still retarded.)

I answered: It's summer vacation. That's why it reads: Respondent is to inform petitioner of his choice of weeks for summer vacation.

This communication has been going on for a week now. It doesn't stress me out at all...rather, I think it's kind of funny. In a 'I can't believe I married that guy but thank goodness I divorced him' way.

Do you remember?

That first time you fell in love?

When you had never been hurt?

When you couldn't even fathom what heartbreak felt like?

I do.

I remember it. It's sweet.

It's warm all over....from the inside out. It's seeing their face in your mind and getting the tingles.

It's in your mind's eye...

The shadows across their back and the feel of your fingers tangled in their hair.

It's counting every minute til you get to see them again. It's that smile on your face that doesn't make sense to anyone.

It's wanting to share moments.

It's fearless. It's security and safety mixed with excitement and passion.

Because you have no idea of the pain that comes with the end. You don't even have a concept of the end. It's an impossibility to you.

Like the small child who has not yet skinned a knee. She runs without a thought....her arms outstretched....pure joy on her face. Just feeling what her little body can do. Racing into the unknown without any doubt.

It's anticipation of the very best kind. So very rich.

Now, some of you may have been lucky enough to have met the one you were meant to be with right out of the gate. You could probably stop reading now.

For the rest of us....

...when that first love ended...no matter the reason...the pain, seemingly unbearable, did pass.

But remember when you thought it wouldn't? When you knew for sure you'd never survive it?

When your first waking thought would be of that pain and loss?

And every moment of the day was consumed by it...

Until...without realizing it...you'd have moments during which you did not think of it. Then it would pop into your mind and you'd think 'oh yes...that's right...I'm in pain'.

You might wake up in the morning with a pleasant feeling....until you remembered.

Then, as life passed, those moments of other-thoughts would get longer. Those pain shots would become fewer.

You healed. But not without scars.

Wiser the next time, you fall again. Same tingles....same anticipation.

But those scars...that part that loved before...you hold it back. To protect it. Even if you try to offer it up, it can be difficult. Maybe it's not pretty enough or special enough. Maybe it just hurts too much. Maybe you just can't find it to give.

It doesn't make the next love any less. Not really.

But you're wiser now...perhaps it is a more seasoned love.

You have experienced an end. And that crystalline pain that comes along with it. You cannot 'un-experience' something. It has become part of you.

Again, you will fall. With everything you have to offer.

Maybe that's it. Maybe that love is the one. If it's not, though....you live through it.

Time goes by. And you begin to know that you will always survive the end. That knowledge becomes part of you.

Somehow though, the wisdom that you will survive does not make the act of surviving any easier or softer to endure. In fact, life just going on seems a bit anticlimactic. And really damn foolish.

There's a piece of you that still believes in young love. Fearless love. Even if you stop looking for it. Even if you don't know you believe. Even if you fight against it to avoid the possibility of pain.

And sometimes, you stumble across love. You're lucky enough to find something in someone that feels like home. Even if you've never actually been home.

You want to run into the unknown, arms outstretched, just because you can.

But you also know, since you know endings are real and they do come, you will be alright if you just stand still.

And it's difficult not to give in to that knowledge. There's not much wrong with alright.

It's bearable and simple. It's life as you know it. It's a comfort zone.

But you remember young love.

When you had never been hurt.

When you couldn't even fathom what heartbreak felt like.

I do.

I remember it.

GAH!!

Just GAH!!

I jinxed my team at work by bragging. Both trainers are now out sick...like hospital sick.

I started the morning with an almost-panic about an international phone number. I'm not retarded. I can handle this stuff.

I didn't get enough sleep last night...worrying about my employees...one of which is a very dear friend. So I freaked. The good thing is my 'freaks' are fairly mild. And short-lived.

I managed to wing it through the first training call...the international one. But I was a little bit embarrassed at how American my bank is. We're 'going global' and it's working. Til you get to the details. Which, of course, I can't get into here.

I will say I was pleasantly surprised at the sense of humors exhibited by our German customers. I suppose it doesn't really matter that they were laughing at me. That was my schtick for the call. Whatever works, right?

Anyway...if you could send some 'un-jinx' juju my way....I'd really appreciate it.

**Update: I somehow got through the call with the Germans (whose second language is English) without any trouble. My second call was with domestic customers - and one of them said this: I can't understand what you're saying...your accent is too strong. (She actually mimicked me....poorly, I might add.)

I chuckled and said "Yah. You betcha. I've heard that before. " And tried to talk with an accent from Deliverance. So she could understand me.

Oh, alright. I didn't. I just spoke slower. The customer is always right, doncha know.

Meet Millie the Vicious

This is Millie.

I took her to be groomed yesterday. She's been groomed before. At the same place. They loved her.

I asked for the basics...a bath...a trim...nothing strange.

When I went to pick her up, I found a dog that appeared to have been trimmed by the groomer's teeth. Or maybe some children's scissors.

And not completely. Only partially.

"Your dog is vicious. Do you coddle her at home? Treat her like a child?"

Imagine the most blank expression possible. That's what was on my face. I was completely taken aback.

(Millie weighs about 4 pounds. I've bathed her. I've clipped her 'bangs'. She lets my daughter do anything to her.)

I found my tongue and asked what happened.

Not one, or two, but four groomers started talking to me all at once. Here's what I managed to get from them:

"She's hardwired wrong..."
"She's unmanageable..."
"You need an animal behaviorist..."
"You need to teach her not to bite..."

Ok....Ok....I get it. She couldn't be groomed because she was biting. My daughter was with me so I was completely mindful of how I should respond. I didn't want her to see me being rude.

Meanwhile, Millie was up on the counter wagging her tail and licking my hands, neck and face. Rolling about showing her tummy for rubbing.

I really don't think they made it up....but their presentation was atrocious. Then they slapped the bill on the counter. Which I completely intended to pay.

But first, I had to have a say. Not because I'm a jerk. Because I was irritated at their delivery. I did feel badly that they had a difficult time with my dog.

So I told them I would have preferred a phone call asking me to come get her early rather than a half-assed attempt at grooming that resulted in a dog looking as if she was put through a shredder. (I didn't say half-assed.)

The 'senior' groomer told me it was either a bad grooming or hurt the dog with the scissors.

Oh Reeeeally? Hurt the dog with the scissors? That's an option? My jaw fell open when she said that. And maybe that's really how she felt but to say that to a dog owner....huh?

I repeated that the best option would have been to call me. That I would have come and gotten her early. That to expect someone to pay for a service that wasn't rendered was not really very professional. That I was going to pay the bill because I felt bad they had the difficulties they did.

Then they started bickering amongst themselves about which charges they would remove from my bill. I got out my wallet to finish the deal. I was over it at that point.

They were still arguing (with each other) and I was still standing there with my wallet open when one of the groomers came over, grabbed my bill, wadded it up and threw it on the floor.

Stunning, eh? I was momentarily shocked.

Not one to argue with not having to pay....I grabbed Millie and fully intended to huff out the door. I took a few steps and was stopped in my tracks. Just exactly like a dog is when they outrun their leash.

I turned around to see what was going on....my daughter was standing there holding the leash. Really tight...just like I've taught h