Friday, September 24, 2010

Dang it

I got another "coupon" for Page to Fame.  Another free submission, due by Monday morning.  Uggg.  It makes me want to try again.  Maybe third time's a charm?  I don't know.  I'll think about it this weekend.  Last time I wasn't really surprised when my submission didn't go forward.  I thought it was a good idea, but I really did wait until the last minute to write it and submit it, so I have no one to blame but myself for the 60% of people who said the writing and grammar needed work.  I could try again.  I probably will.

Thank goodness it's Friday.  I love Friday nights.  Friday nights are like that first afternoon of summer- endless possibilities lie before you.  You could do anything!  Of course, it's me, so I usually end up on the couch watching Ghost Whisperer and Medium and falling asleep around 9:00pm.  But there's always the possibility that I could do something.  That's the thing about Friday nights.

My mom was in my dream last night.  She talked to me, so I know it wasn't a visit but it was still comforting.  Thanks Mom.  I bought you some earrings and a necklace, some new sunglasses and a tank top- I'm sorry you didn't like them.  I guess I'll keep them since I already threw away the receipts. 

Thanks Lindsey for not letting me sit and wallow.  I know Mom wanted us to eat Taco Bell and Yogenfruz and buy belts and accessories.  She would've been happy.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Tough Day

Happy Birthday, Mom. 

I used to use your birthday as one of my banking pin codes because I had a hard time remembering it. 
I'm sorry your life didn't turn out the way you wanted it to.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you we were trying to have a baby before you died.

Mostly I'm sorry that I can't call you and wish you a happy birthday today. 

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The sun'll come out...

I have my momma's scowl.  Eh, I don't know if it's a scowl exactly, but I do know that whenever she was thinking about something or doing something, especially an activity that required a downward glance, a little frown would tug at her lips.  As she got older and went through a couple of big weight changes, the little frown became more pronounced.  It didn't mean she was unhappy; no, she was just doing something. 

I noticed the same little frown on my face the other day.  I was getting ready for work and had looked down into the drawer for my eye liner or mascara or something of equal importance.  When I looked back up into the mirror, there was my mom, staring back at me.  It kind of shocked me a bit.  And then it was okay.

Remember that scene in "Beaches" where not-Bette-Midler is dying and suddenly has a panic attack because she can't remember what her mother's hands look like?  I don't believe I'll ever have the problem when it comes to remembering my mom.  We have the same feet- I noticed that a long time ago.  And we sit the same way when we're reading on the couch or in a chair.  Which leads to the fact that we get up the same.  I'm not suggesting that there are zillions of different ways to get out of a chair, but I noticed a long time back that my mom and I move the same way when doing that particular action.  Our hands and nails are similar- not exact replicas, but very close.  And now I have the frown.  I am my mother's daughter.  I've never been able to deny it.

Once, when I was in high school I think, I asked my mother if there was anything about me that I got from my biological dad.  I used to joke that mom didn't "have" me- she created me like a starfish- just cut off an arm and I grew from that.  Anyway, when I asked, she replied, "Your stomach.  You carry all your extra weight in your stomach, just like him."  After a bit of a backwards glance, I wandered off and thought, "Oh really?"  I guess it was a bit of a double whammy then, huh?  It was never destined for me to be skinny.

Thanks Mom.  For the hands and feet and frown... and even the stomach (I mean, thanks Craig).

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Some things never change...

I was a bit of an attention hog when I was younger (yeah, laugh it up- I know you're thinking, "When you were younger?  What about now?").  But it was much more dramatic when I was little (stop laughing- I can hear you).  I'm not sure why.  I don't know if it's a personality flaw or if I truly didn't feel like I was getting enough attention in my life.  Like, one time I remember convincing somebody in the 4th grade to let me use their crutches all day.  How did that kid get around the rest of the day?  Idunno.  And apparently I didn't care.  But I did use them all day and I let my teachers and kids from other classes ask me what happened.  I can't remember if I made something up or told them I was faking, but I do remember having burns under my arms for a couple of days afterward from the crutches.  I didn't do that again.

I also remember when this girl broke her arm at day care.  Now, the way I remember it, it was Stephanie who broke her arm, falling off the slide on The Hill.  Marissa, however, remembers it differently.  Stephanie actually pushed another girl off the slide and she's the one who broke her arm.  I wonder why I remember it differently?  But I trust Marissa because she seems to have a better grasp on 'things that happened at day care' than me.  Anyway, when whoever it was broke their arm, I remember wanting a cast.  So I grabbed a plastic shovel, the kind used at the beach and in sandboxes worldwide, and starting hitting my own arm, in the hopes that I could break it without too much pain.  It didn't work.

Later, maybe in 4th or 5th grade, I hurt my wrist at gymnastics.  Now, I feel okay coming clean about this because I'm pretty sure that my dad already knows what I'm about to say.  Mainly, it didn't hurt that bad.  But I played it up- I couldn't do anymore gymnastics that night (we had already done trampoline and only had the vault left... and I didn't like the vault).  I somehow convinced Dad that I needed to go to the doctor.  I got a wrist brace that I had to wear for a few weeks, and got some much needed attention.  At one point, the doctor sent me out of the room to talk to my father.  I'm pretty sure the conversation went something like this:

Dr. D: She's faking.  There's nothing wrong with her.
Dad: I know.
Dr. D:  I'm gonna give her a wrist brace.  Make her wear it all the time and she'll get tired of it.
Dad:  Okay.

And he was right- it was hot and itchy and, surprisingly, I couldn't move my wrist.  I didn't do anything like that again... though there has been the occasional wrapped foot or knee, because sometimes you just need a little sympathy.

Why do I bring this up?  Well, one of my students is hobbling around on crutches right now.  She has no cast or brace, but is wearing one of those shoes that goes over your cast.  She's walked across my room a couple of times and I've seen her walking down the hallway on both feet while some friend or another uses her crutches.  It makes me laugh, thinking that her mom and doctor probably had the exact same conversation.

And that some things never change...

Monday, September 20, 2010

What's in a name?

Obviously, I did NOT get back in the saddle.  But when I don't write, I feel like something is missing.  Then I think about writing and I want to write but I can't think of what to write, so I don't write.  I also don't write when I think of all those people out there blogging about important things- issues and concerns, political or environmental, or telling really funny stories about stuff that has happened to them, and I'm just me, blogging about me and my feelings or my day-to-day goings-on.  Which don't seem that interesting in the grand scheme of things.  But here I am anyway, ready to write again.  Settle in.  It could get interesting.  Or not.

I guess first and foremost, the biggest change since the last time I wrote is that we announced that I'm pregnant.  I feel funny saying "we're" pregnant- while I get fatter, Dave is working his butt of getting skinnier.  Hmm, that kind of pisses me off.  But I digress.  This is really beyond-super exciting for both of us and I'm glad we can finally talk about it other people.  It was a bit of a struggle, but that's neither here nor there at this point.  We're having a baby.  In March.  There is a person growing in my stomach.  This week, it's the size of a navel orange.  Weird to think about.

On another, less interesting note, I got bit by something at school yesterday and my left ankle is the size of a navel orange, too.  Ironic?  Maybe. 

Nanowrimo starts in a month and a half.  I wrote a novel last November and I fully intend to do it again.  I don't know what this one will be about yet.  I'm hoping to jump-start my creative juices before then.  This year I vow to stay on top of things- 1667 words a day, come hell or high water.  It doesn't take that long when you do it each day. 

As I'm writing about Nanowrimo, it got me thinking- what do I want to be when I grow up?  I like teaching.  I really like teaching in Guatemala.  But is this what I want to do with my whole life?  I don't really think I'm good enough to do this forever (not looking for 'yes you are's', just being honest).  I'm a little too sarcastic and definitely not patient enough.  I think that, given sufficient resources, I would like to direct theatre.  A community theatre-type thing, like The KLT.  I would really love that.  Yes, that's what I'd like to do.  Anyone want to pony up the money for me to make this dream a reality?  Anyone?  Hellooo...?

I'm having a baby.  Just thought I'd throw that in, one more time.