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!

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.

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.

Sophia Claire Crain

25 September 2007 - 7 February 2008

Sleep well, little angel.

Two Very Long Weeks.

Tomorrow (that's Friday 1 February) at 8:00 PM Central, I will have been officially not smoking for two weeks exactly. For some reason, I just haven't lit up, and the further I've gotten from my last one, the less I've wanted one even when I've wanted one, if you know what I mean.

I've got a pack with a lighter here on my desk, just like always, and my ashtray is here as well. There's a pack in my bag, one in the inside pocket of my favorite jacket, one in the "throne room", one upstairs in the games room, and two (one current, one backup) in Thumper (no smoking allowed in Skarlet The Zippy Red Car anyhow). I also have a full carton and a half-full carton here in the office. I haven't thrown out any cigarettes, any lighters, any ashtrays. All the stuff I need to spark up and feel the sanity that nicotine brings is right here where it's been for the six years we've lived in this house. If I threw it away, then it would be like I was a naughty child being punished, which would likely result in me sneaking off to the laundry room or the garage or the back staircase the first few times, then just going right back to it without missing much of a beat.

I feel better. The coughs that bring up a quart of gunk and make me sound like I should be in the TB ward have nearly ended. I am hungry ALL THE DAMN TIME but have fallen deeply in love with chocolate-chip chewy granola bars (100 calories per bar, 10 bars per box, 2 boxes for $3 at Target this week, woohoo); still, I can feel my jeans getting a bit snug and it's only been two weeks. (Guess next I'll have to dust off that godforsaken Bowflex that's in the holiday suite.)

The family is being very supportive. The twins know that Mumma's going to be a bit snarly because she's quit smoking, so now whenever a rant threatens, they run to give me a hug. Elder daughter sees my hands start to twitch and fidget, and then reaches over and holds my hand to shift my mind somewhere else (and really, how many 12-year-olds do YOU know who will hold their mum's hand in public?). Mark needs only to hear me scream "I WANT ONE" to jump into action -- his anti-smoking move is to drop me into a Rhett/Scarlet kiss!

Just thought I'd let you guys in on the reason why I've been a bit quiet lately. I'm pretty proud of myself, mostly because I have not reached in through anyone's left nostril to rip their lungs out, even though there are a couple of local realtor assholes who richly deserve it. So far, it's all good, going just a day at a time (with chewy granola bars and warm cuddles and hand-holding and big lovely smooches to help).

1 Day, 4 Hours, 9 Minutes ...

... or, if you prefer, 1689 minutes (which is 100,800 seconds). That's how long it's been since my last cigarette.

I started smoking in August 1984, when I was 17 and beginning my senior year in high school. I had a job at a nifty store at the mall called Cricket Alley. Pretty much everybody who worked there smoked, so I picked it up too. I mean, hey, I had to dress like them, answer the phone like them, act like them, sell like them ... I had to learn all of those things, and I suppose I just learned to smoke like them as well.

I've smoked through the last twenty-three and a half years pretty well without pause, except for stopping while pregnant with elder daughter because it made me ill (not with the twins, though, but that's another story which you should definitely find out about before you go hatin').

Mark quit a year ago next month, and I'm really proud of him. He was quite a piece of work for about six weeks, but we persevered and won. He kept telling me that if I was cooperative, I'd be quitting at the same time, but I thought that one of us would likely wind up on the floor in a puddle of blood (and there was a good chance it would be him), so I demurred and kept on.

For some reason, though, I've decided now it's time to stop. I don't know why the idea's got into my head, and I don't know how long it will stay. I *almost* quit a couple of years ago after the three-plane trip to England (OKC to Dallas to Boston to Manchester ... smoked in OKC, plane was late leaving Dallas, barely saw Boston, no smoking till Manchester ... I went about 10 days only smoking at the pub). Guess we'll see if I can really do it this time.

One day, four hours, twenty-one minutes ...

Perspective.

So today I get this email from my friend John in Kentucky. It's really rather awe-inspiring. Well, you know how I like to inspire awe (or pass along stuff that inspires awe, if I wasn't clever enough to come up with it myself, ha), so I've popped it in here. I apologize if the pictures are a bit small here, but you should be able to click on them to enlarge them. Hope you enjoy it.

We think Earth is a pretty big place.

In our part of the solar system, it is.

But when compared to some other parts, it isn't.
When you pop in our life-giving Sun, it's even less so.

Beyond our Sun, the universe gets even bigger. Antares is the 15th brightest star in the sky.

It is more than 1000 light-years away. NOW how big are we?

It gets better ...

This is a Hubble Telescope Ultra-Deep Field infrared view of countless galaxies that are all billions of light-years away from Earth. This is a close-up of one of the darkest regions of the photo above.
Humbling, isn't it?

NOW how big are we?

How big are the things that are upsetting you today?

KEEP LIFE IN PERSPECTIVE.

A Bright Start

You know me, right? I'm the girl who'd rather go to the mall than the laundry room any day, and this day was no exception ... let me explain.

We stayed up late last night to welcome in the new year, turning on (and up!) the stereo in the games room, covering the pool table with an old sheet (because I am INSANE about anything bad happening to the gorgeous blue felt), and popping the cute little widgets shaped like champagne magnums (only on the table, please ... if you get it all over the carpet, you will have the pleasure of picking it all up tomorrow, thank you very much). Mark decreed that the darling brats could stay up as late as they liked, but I went to bed about 1:00 (oh, don't start ... you must remember that I'm the oldest member of the household).

I woke up at 7:00 (a false start; I'd been so bright as to neglect to un-set the damned alarm clock), promptly went back to sleep, and then woke for real at 11:00, getting up to feed the little monsters that populate my immediate environment. We just generally hung out till about 2:30, when I realized that the laundry room is a disaster area of the sort that usually comes with a declaration from the governor and a National Guard detail, and decided we'd go shopping so that I wouldn't have to face the horror of sending my children to school naked.

Off to Penn Square Mall we went (Quail Springs Mall is much closer, but Kieran outgrew Baby Gap a couple of years ago, and he needed stuff ... the Gap Kids that used to be at Quail Springs has been gone for a few years now, and the only one left in town is at Penn Square), gift cards and other assorted plastic in hand. Everybody got new duds (including me), K.C. scored a sound-soother that she's been wanting ever since I got mine (it's lovely to sleep through a thunderstorm, except in the springtime, when God's Own Original Light And Sound Show always brings the potential for the blaring of the tornado sirens, a thought that makes it rather difficult to sleep through thunderstorms), and StrideRite enjoyed our visit for many new pairs of footwear for the twins.

After the procurement mission, everyone agreed on Red Robin for supper. The waitress was very nice, and (warning -- Proud Mumma Moment directly ahead) she mentioned more than once how very polite and well-mannered the children are. That is THE coolest thing ... it's almost enough to make me wish everybody else's progeny were little toerags all the time (but only almost).

At home again it was time to do a bit of work in advance of tomorrow's onslaught of phone calls. I've got a buyer in a short sale that isn't ever going to happen, two brothers looking to purchase a "crash pad" (their words, not mine), a listing to do for one of my friends' parents, a really fun client buying his first house, a vast and varied assortment of other realtor-duty clients, and a stack of mortgages (both purchase and refinance). If I get bored by or finished with that list, I suppose I could always go back and clear out the laundry room.

Cheers --