So you may have noticed that you had to click an acknowledgement before wandering into my cyber-parlor today, yes? I decided that some of my friends - who are loved just as dearly as any other of my friends, so y'all don't be getting any stupid ideas about somebody being more loved than somebody else - might not really like some of the things that I post. These "loved as much as any of the others" friends are rather ... um ... lily-livered, if I can use that term. I'm not convinced that they'll stay quite so long or come back so often after they've seen that bit.
Six weeks and two hours and forty-three minutes ago, I quit smoking. I don't feel better, I don't feel happier, I don't feel much of anything positive. The fact that I haven't ripped off anyone's arm and beaten them to a pulp with the bloody stump is really the best part of it all so far. I know it will all be hugely beneficial to me physically in the end, and I know that the house and the vehicle and my clothes aren't so smelly anymore, and I know that this makes me less of a socially ostracized individual.
BUT DAMN IT, I FEEL LIKE HELL.
sigh
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Constant Cravings
Forgive me, Phillip Morris, for I have abandoned you. It has been five weeks, two days, fifteen hours, and forty minutes since my last cigarette.
Hail Marlboro, full of taste; the lighter is with you. Addictive are you among full-flavored filtered, and addictive is your low-tar offshoot, Marlboro Lights. Yummy Marlboro, nail in the coffin, satisfy us smokers, now and at the hour of our death from lung cancer or tuberculosis or emphysema or something else related to our having ingested you for years and years.
It seems that k.d. lang had it right ...
Hail Marlboro, full of taste; the lighter is with you. Addictive are you among full-flavored filtered, and addictive is your low-tar offshoot, Marlboro Lights. Yummy Marlboro, nail in the coffin, satisfy us smokers, now and at the hour of our death from lung cancer or tuberculosis or emphysema or something else related to our having ingested you for years and years.
It seems that k.d. lang had it right ...
Friday, February 22, 2008
Let's Dance ...
Ah, the rites of passage ... how I dread them. (heh)
Tonight is the Valentine's Day Dance at DCMS (and never mind that Valentine's Day is a week and a day behind us -- ignore that man behind the curtain and focus on what's in front of you, please!). Elder daughter is meeting friends there, of course, since they are all FAR too cool to arrange to meet any boys. (The pool for the date when that situation changes is available upon request.)
So, precious Kymber got home at 3:20 and quickly changed into a shirt that buttons down the front, then off we went to have her hair done. Back home, I did her make up and she got dressed, then we took some pictures so we can all see how great she looks for her first dance!
*** LATER THAT SAME NIGHT ***
Kymber had a great time! I asked her about dancing with boys, and she turned her nose right up, saying that a boy had come over and started dancing with her, but once she noticed, she promptly moved away. We can hardly wait till the next dance!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
On Weathering The Storm
Today, Kendall and I went to Sophie Crain's funeral (Laura was Kendall's kindergarten teacher, and we decided to give both Kieran and Kendall the choice of going or not). It was a beautiful service, filled with music and tears and many people who wanted less to say goodbye to a precious little girl than to say "we're here for you, we love you, we care, we stand with you, and we want you to know that" to the family she leaves behind. We sat with my friends Vicki and Betsy, near lots of other DC moms and teachers and such. Some gentlemen in Army uniforms sat a bit further down the pew from us, which turned out to be a good thing, as they needed tissues and hadn't brought any (so we shared).
Kendall was incredibly good ... we'd talked with her beforehand, letting her know that sometimes it's necessary to put a lid on her natural ebullience for the sake of decorum, and that this was one of those times (although she'd be perfectly free to hand out from her inexhaustible supply of hugs). She walked quietly, sat quite still next to me through the service, and somehow managed to convey a solemnity that I hadn't thought possible of most 7-year-olds (but *especially* not Kendall) through the entire enterprise. She was a bit different on the way out than she had been on the way in, and I was about to ask her if she was all right when she said, "It's not fair, Mumma, is it, that Mrs. Crain's baby girl died?" A hundred different things went through my mind in a very short time that seemed very long; what I finally said was, "No, sweetie, it's not fair, but sometimes life isn't fair, and there's nothing anyone can do about it." This nugget of maternal wisdom was met with a rather heavy sigh from the child, who was quite pensive the rest of the way home.
Fair? No, it's not fair. It's not just. It's not right. It's absolutely the saddest thing there is (or definitely high on the list, if not number one on this particular hit parade), and this was without a doubt the saddest funeral I've ever been to, bar none (and that's likely not just my opinion, either; United States Army soldiers were sitting down the row from me, sobbing like I wouldn't have imagined grown men would do in public).
Life isn't fair, though, is it? We shake our heads and mutter at Life, we shake our fists at it, but in the grand scheme, what are we? (Hint: Go download the Kansas tune "Dust in the Wind".) It's not about what's fair, or at least I don't think it should be. Nope, I'd rather spend my time making lemonade (or, if we're running short of water and sugar, I'd say that a salt shaker and shot of tequila would be an acceptable substitute). Let's face it, every once in a while, Life stirs up an unbelievable shitstorm, and there's nothing you can do but tuck your chin down and get through it. If you're lucky, you've got friends who will hold your hand and bear you up so that when the storm finally clears, you're not too different from when it began.
And on that note, an offer: Some people haven't got friends like that -- friends who will sit and listen without judging, friends who will know when to hold your hand and when to argue with you, friends who can ask the hard questions and get truthful answers from you (or at least make you think about what the real answers might be). Some people don't think they've got friends like that. Some people suffer from a lack of friends altogether, having only acquaintances that aren't really all that close.
The offer? If you ever need a friend, give a shout. I'll sit with you, and hold your hand, and listen to what you have inside. A very wise man once told me that if we weren't supposed to look after each other, there would only be one of us here, and I believe that with all my heart.
Kendall was incredibly good ... we'd talked with her beforehand, letting her know that sometimes it's necessary to put a lid on her natural ebullience for the sake of decorum, and that this was one of those times (although she'd be perfectly free to hand out from her inexhaustible supply of hugs). She walked quietly, sat quite still next to me through the service, and somehow managed to convey a solemnity that I hadn't thought possible of most 7-year-olds (but *especially* not Kendall) through the entire enterprise. She was a bit different on the way out than she had been on the way in, and I was about to ask her if she was all right when she said, "It's not fair, Mumma, is it, that Mrs. Crain's baby girl died?" A hundred different things went through my mind in a very short time that seemed very long; what I finally said was, "No, sweetie, it's not fair, but sometimes life isn't fair, and there's nothing anyone can do about it." This nugget of maternal wisdom was met with a rather heavy sigh from the child, who was quite pensive the rest of the way home.
Fair? No, it's not fair. It's not just. It's not right. It's absolutely the saddest thing there is (or definitely high on the list, if not number one on this particular hit parade), and this was without a doubt the saddest funeral I've ever been to, bar none (and that's likely not just my opinion, either; United States Army soldiers were sitting down the row from me, sobbing like I wouldn't have imagined grown men would do in public).
Life isn't fair, though, is it? We shake our heads and mutter at Life, we shake our fists at it, but in the grand scheme, what are we? (Hint: Go download the Kansas tune "Dust in the Wind".) It's not about what's fair, or at least I don't think it should be. Nope, I'd rather spend my time making lemonade (or, if we're running short of water and sugar, I'd say that a salt shaker and shot of tequila would be an acceptable substitute). Let's face it, every once in a while, Life stirs up an unbelievable shitstorm, and there's nothing you can do but tuck your chin down and get through it. If you're lucky, you've got friends who will hold your hand and bear you up so that when the storm finally clears, you're not too different from when it began.
And on that note, an offer: Some people haven't got friends like that -- friends who will sit and listen without judging, friends who will know when to hold your hand and when to argue with you, friends who can ask the hard questions and get truthful answers from you (or at least make you think about what the real answers might be). Some people don't think they've got friends like that. Some people suffer from a lack of friends altogether, having only acquaintances that aren't really all that close.
The offer? If you ever need a friend, give a shout. I'll sit with you, and hold your hand, and listen to what you have inside. A very wise man once told me that if we weren't supposed to look after each other, there would only be one of us here, and I believe that with all my heart.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Loving Sophie
It's quite rare that I can't find the words to say, but today is one of those days. Forgive me for posting nothing but a bit of cryptic text ... you'll have to clue in for yourself today, I'm afraid.
Jeff, Laura ... please accept our deepest condolences. What you are facing now is unimaginable and seemingly unbearable, but know that you are surrounded by people who love you and will do whatever we can to take care of you. Anything you need, you have only to ask.
Jeff, Laura ... please accept our deepest condolences. What you are facing now is unimaginable and seemingly unbearable, but know that you are surrounded by people who love you and will do whatever we can to take care of you. Anything you need, you have only to ask.
Sophia Claire Crain
25 September 2007 - 7 February 2008
Sleep well, little angel.
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