Is there a 12-step program for those of us addicted to Facebook? I'm bent and broke and I need support.
My addiction started innocently enough. A friend from several years ago sent a note via Facebook stating they were relocating. I had to go to Facebook to access the message. I then had to open an account on Facebook to read the message. I needed to know where this family was headed (in the military community - we're always on the move and you never know when you'll be neighbors again) so of course I joined Facebook and read the message. I took her new information and didn't give Facebook another thought. End of story.
Or so I thought.
Several months later, I received a message stating my crazy friend on the West Coast sent me a book suggestion on Facebook. Strange - but I like to read so I again went to Facebook. Oh, cool, she has a list of books she's read. That intrigued me. I wanted to do that, too. Oh, what's that's - "find friends?" Sure, let's give it a go. With the input of my email address - suddenly a list of about 40 friends and acquaintances appeared with Facebook accounts. The owners of the emails addresses were varied - everyone from people I talk to every day to a little league softball coach from seven years ago. I carefully selected who I wanted to send a friend request to - there is sort of a desperation involved - "Be my friend!" What if they say no? Oh, what the heck - I clicked about 20 potential new Facebook friends.
As I started adding friends - I started perusing their friends. Hmmm. I know some of these people. I then started sending them friend requests.
I started to get new requests from other people. The Spartan would come from work and ask who I made friends with that day. Sometimes they were his friends - but now they were my friends because I had the Facebook account, not him!
Then I discovered pages and groups. One click could bring my entire high school Facebook crowd. JOIN! College alumni. JOIN. The best pizza ever? JOIN! The Things I Would Do to Dylan McKay. No brainer. JOIN!
Now I've got Facebook friends from every part of my life. Grade school. Synchronized Swimming. High School. College. Prison. Every duty station. Every place of employment. I've got relatives that are friends that I'm sure we've never shared a conversation as adults. A couple of kids I used to baby sit -(not so much kids anymore - and not so much younger than me it turns out!)
My criteria for friendship is not hard - but it is solid. I ask myself "Would I cross a street to say hi to them?" If so, then, baby, you're in. Not everyone passes this test. Remember - in my test I would have to cross a street to make contact- so an email requesting friendship is the same thing as minimal effort.
Sadly, your request can be turned down. I've had a former boss delete a friend request. I know this because a month after I sent her a request I noticed the line "add as friend" was back. If you have requested their friendship it reads "friend requested" in italics.
(I told you I was addicted.) Why would she not add me to her friend list other than she's a cold hearted sadistic witch of a woman who is unhappy in her own life and jealous of my stupendous success? I'm just guessing.
I also had a 40 + year old boy, yes, boy, deny my friendship. I noticed him on several of my friends' pages so I requested his friendship. We went on one date. 26 years ago. To a movie. He has totally blocked me from accessing him on Facebook. I can only surmise he didn't especially like "Revenge of the Nerds" or he is in love with me and can't face his feelings. Or both.
I am in total need of help. They say admitting your addiction is the first step. I wonder if here is a Facebook page for this problem.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Silence is Golden???
It has been eerily quiet in our house the last couple of days. I made a simple request. Can everyone go one week without saying the words "I want" or "I need." To hear the hooligans talk, one is left to assume they live in a hut, have no access to any electronic equipment, are forced to go naked and eat only grubs. I do feel badly for them. In actuality, we don't have a home sauna, HBO, $150 Coach shoes and we don't eat out every night. Poor things.
A typical conversation from Son #1 will start simply enough and somehow merge into "I want a new phone. Brandon got a new cellphone that is so cool. It has numbers and letters, can make a peanut butter sandwich, my bed, replenish the Kool-Ade supply, cut the grass, make good grades, solve world hunger, make soccer goals and has been elected to the Papal Council." I sort of zone out after I hear "I want."
The Bubster, son number 2, isn't quite as direct as his brother. His conversation will start out seemingly innocent enough. "I think I got an A on my French test. Jeff did pretty well, too. His mom told him if he made the honor roll all year they might send him to a fantasy football camp. I want to go." Yeah. Who do I make the check to? I'll give him credit, though...he builds up to his wish - he doesn't blow it at the beginning of the conversation.
Now Queenie...hmm. She's hard to predict. She's quite social and spends a lot of her time talking anyway. (I swear I don't know where that comes from.) She usually intersperses conversation with dew drops of I wants and needs so subtle you didn't know you were besieged with requests until long after the conversation is over. She can start a conversation by mentioning a grilling practice and end with she's going to bed - yet somehow manage to convey she needs cleats, a new bed, a book bag, a three hole punch, to go to a movie Friday and a Mini Cooper when she's 16 without blinking an eye.
Back to the request. Could they go a week without saying "I want" or "I need." I soon found out I didn't raise any dummies. They propositioned back "Can you go a week without saying 'I want you to' or 'You need to' (Notice the variation. Apparently I am bossy.) We all agreed to give a try.
I haven't said a word in two days.
A typical conversation from Son #1 will start simply enough and somehow merge into "I want a new phone. Brandon got a new cellphone that is so cool. It has numbers and letters, can make a peanut butter sandwich, my bed, replenish the Kool-Ade supply, cut the grass, make good grades, solve world hunger, make soccer goals and has been elected to the Papal Council." I sort of zone out after I hear "I want."
The Bubster, son number 2, isn't quite as direct as his brother. His conversation will start out seemingly innocent enough. "I think I got an A on my French test. Jeff did pretty well, too. His mom told him if he made the honor roll all year they might send him to a fantasy football camp. I want to go." Yeah. Who do I make the check to? I'll give him credit, though...he builds up to his wish - he doesn't blow it at the beginning of the conversation.
Now Queenie...hmm. She's hard to predict. She's quite social and spends a lot of her time talking anyway. (I swear I don't know where that comes from.) She usually intersperses conversation with dew drops of I wants and needs so subtle you didn't know you were besieged with requests until long after the conversation is over. She can start a conversation by mentioning a grilling practice and end with she's going to bed - yet somehow manage to convey she needs cleats, a new bed, a book bag, a three hole punch, to go to a movie Friday and a Mini Cooper when she's 16 without blinking an eye.
Back to the request. Could they go a week without saying "I want" or "I need." I soon found out I didn't raise any dummies. They propositioned back "Can you go a week without saying 'I want you to' or 'You need to' (Notice the variation. Apparently I am bossy.) We all agreed to give a try.
I haven't said a word in two days.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The List
When my husband makes his daily "to do" list - he draws a little square in front of each activity and checks it off when he has completed the chore. But we never have to look at the list to know what he has to do or where to find him.
We have a joke in our house - if your looking for Dad - look no further than the yard - he's probably out picking up sticks. Or sweeping the street. Raking leaves. Picking up debris. If it's a nice day - washing the windows. He's an easy man to figure out and these are the things he likes to do.
If it is dark, cold or rainy you might find him filing away bills, credit receipts, tax papers or rabies vaccinations. Or crunching some type of number into a statistic. Or analyzing this month's water bill to last year's water bill for the same month.
After dinner you can find him making coffee for the next morning. Everything from filling the water and coffee chamber to setting out a spoon and sugar. If there is a pan that needs scraped and cleaned - he's the man for the job.
Scheduled car maintenance is a holy day of obligation. If the car maintenance sticker says February 26 - you better believe the car is in for service on that day. Tags for the car about to expire? Not on his watch. Never.
At the kids' sporting events - he's the go to guy with the clip board making notes on all the stats that he will compile in booklet form for the parents at an end of season event.
He cleans the litter box and shares his morning milk with the dog, although he claims to dislike both immensely. The pets go crazy when he gets home each trying to outlove him.
I make fun of him relentlessly for all these activities. Spontaneity is not his strongest attribute.
But he takes care of all of us. And that is just the first entry on my list of why I love him.
We have a joke in our house - if your looking for Dad - look no further than the yard - he's probably out picking up sticks. Or sweeping the street. Raking leaves. Picking up debris. If it's a nice day - washing the windows. He's an easy man to figure out and these are the things he likes to do.
If it is dark, cold or rainy you might find him filing away bills, credit receipts, tax papers or rabies vaccinations. Or crunching some type of number into a statistic. Or analyzing this month's water bill to last year's water bill for the same month.
After dinner you can find him making coffee for the next morning. Everything from filling the water and coffee chamber to setting out a spoon and sugar. If there is a pan that needs scraped and cleaned - he's the man for the job.
Scheduled car maintenance is a holy day of obligation. If the car maintenance sticker says February 26 - you better believe the car is in for service on that day. Tags for the car about to expire? Not on his watch. Never.
At the kids' sporting events - he's the go to guy with the clip board making notes on all the stats that he will compile in booklet form for the parents at an end of season event.
He cleans the litter box and shares his morning milk with the dog, although he claims to dislike both immensely. The pets go crazy when he gets home each trying to outlove him.
I make fun of him relentlessly for all these activities. Spontaneity is not his strongest attribute.
But he takes care of all of us. And that is just the first entry on my list of why I love him.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mornings Aren't for the Weak
A snippet of a morning in our house...
Light knock on the door before I open it. "It's 7:15. Time to get up." Child #1 shows no sign of life.
2nd Bedroom "Bubby. Time to get up." Child number 2 rolls towards me, eyes still closed. "I AM UP."
3RD Bedroom. I don't even get to say anything as my daughter cuts me off "Oh hi, Mom. Can I go to Annie's after school and go and get some new shoes tomorrow. Marci said she doesn't like Nick any more but I thought we could have pizza for dinner on Sunday since my birthday is Wednesday. I might go running in the morning but I need to talk to Mr Summers about my history paper. Do we have any Pop Tarts?"
10 minutes later...
No courtesy knock for child number one. "Son, get up!" I hear faint grumblings and what sounds like a book falling off a bed.
No courtesy knock for #2, either. Just a call. "Bubby. It's 7:30." Again, same defiant response. "I AM UP." Although I can't see him, I know his blanket is up to his chin and his eyes are closed.
No need for 2nd call to #3. She's my Posturpedic Queen. She's happily eating her PopTarts, reading the paper, petting the dog. "Have you ever had a pedicure? I think I'd like one but I have to get some cleats soon. Janie dropped her Ipod down the sewer drain but she's getting another one. Can we go somewhere on Spring Break?"
7:35. I'm pulling out the big guns. I send our toy fox terrier to do the dirty work. She runs up the stairs to #1 and commences to lick his face out of his sleep coma. I hear "Get down, Corky." She leaves his room and immediately runs to the another room to wake up #2. I can faintly hear Bubby responding to her barks and whines and slowly hear him get out of bed. Success!
Meanwhile I hear Posturpedic Queen singing, texting, playing with the dog, yelling at her brother to leave her stuff alone.
7:40. Bubby is at the table, eyes closed, but he is eating breakfast. No word from #1. I make my second climb to his room. He looks at me and give me a thumbs up. I don't know what this means, but I take it as progress. Queenie has appeared in her third set of clothing for the morning.
7:45. Bubby has left a trail of crumbs as he stumbles back upstairs. We may or may not need to check on him. This is the iffy part. He may go back to bed. Wait, I hear him say something to his sister. I won't repeat what he said but communication usually means he's up for good. This is a good sign. Queenie is looking for an accessory to match her earrings. I think I hear a groan from the first bedroom.
7:50 Queenie is in the foyer waiting for the bus waving and yelling at everyone that walks by. Bubby appears with toothpaste around his mouth, somewhat dressed and exhausted from his morning ritual sits on the steps, places his head against the wall and closes his eyes. In a distance I hear a bathroom door slam shut.
7:55 Queenie informs me she is leaving, she wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the store, she needs some new socks and that Henry in math sure is cute but he sags his pants and that just wont do. I nudge Bubby and tell him to get his shoes on, wash his face and his lunch is in the fridge. With his eyes clothes he says "I AM." #1 son is foraging in the kitchen yelling because SOMEONE ate all the Pop Tarts.
8:00 I see Queenie get on the bus but hear an entire chorus of "HI Queenie!" as her friends welcome her to the bus. #2 has his shoes on his feet, has used his arm to wipe his face and is leaning against the door struggling to stand. I remind him to get his lunch. #1 appears dressed, clean, book bag and lunch in hand and in a remarkably polite manner asks "Can I drive?"
8:02 Boys both leave, I reward Corky for her hard work in the endeavor with a treat.
8:03 #2 comes sauntering back as he has forgotten his lunch. "If you'd get me up on time I'd have time to remember my lunch."
Momma needs a treat.
Light knock on the door before I open it. "It's 7:15. Time to get up." Child #1 shows no sign of life.
2nd Bedroom "Bubby. Time to get up." Child number 2 rolls towards me, eyes still closed. "I AM UP."
3RD Bedroom. I don't even get to say anything as my daughter cuts me off "Oh hi, Mom. Can I go to Annie's after school and go and get some new shoes tomorrow. Marci said she doesn't like Nick any more but I thought we could have pizza for dinner on Sunday since my birthday is Wednesday. I might go running in the morning but I need to talk to Mr Summers about my history paper. Do we have any Pop Tarts?"
10 minutes later...
No courtesy knock for child number one. "Son, get up!" I hear faint grumblings and what sounds like a book falling off a bed.
No courtesy knock for #2, either. Just a call. "Bubby. It's 7:30." Again, same defiant response. "I AM UP." Although I can't see him, I know his blanket is up to his chin and his eyes are closed.
No need for 2nd call to #3. She's my Posturpedic Queen. She's happily eating her PopTarts, reading the paper, petting the dog. "Have you ever had a pedicure? I think I'd like one but I have to get some cleats soon. Janie dropped her Ipod down the sewer drain but she's getting another one. Can we go somewhere on Spring Break?"
7:35. I'm pulling out the big guns. I send our toy fox terrier to do the dirty work. She runs up the stairs to #1 and commences to lick his face out of his sleep coma. I hear "Get down, Corky." She leaves his room and immediately runs to the another room to wake up #2. I can faintly hear Bubby responding to her barks and whines and slowly hear him get out of bed. Success!
Meanwhile I hear Posturpedic Queen singing, texting, playing with the dog, yelling at her brother to leave her stuff alone.
7:40. Bubby is at the table, eyes closed, but he is eating breakfast. No word from #1. I make my second climb to his room. He looks at me and give me a thumbs up. I don't know what this means, but I take it as progress. Queenie has appeared in her third set of clothing for the morning.
7:45. Bubby has left a trail of crumbs as he stumbles back upstairs. We may or may not need to check on him. This is the iffy part. He may go back to bed. Wait, I hear him say something to his sister. I won't repeat what he said but communication usually means he's up for good. This is a good sign. Queenie is looking for an accessory to match her earrings. I think I hear a groan from the first bedroom.
7:50 Queenie is in the foyer waiting for the bus waving and yelling at everyone that walks by. Bubby appears with toothpaste around his mouth, somewhat dressed and exhausted from his morning ritual sits on the steps, places his head against the wall and closes his eyes. In a distance I hear a bathroom door slam shut.
7:55 Queenie informs me she is leaving, she wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the store, she needs some new socks and that Henry in math sure is cute but he sags his pants and that just wont do. I nudge Bubby and tell him to get his shoes on, wash his face and his lunch is in the fridge. With his eyes clothes he says "I AM." #1 son is foraging in the kitchen yelling because SOMEONE ate all the Pop Tarts.
8:00 I see Queenie get on the bus but hear an entire chorus of "HI Queenie!" as her friends welcome her to the bus. #2 has his shoes on his feet, has used his arm to wipe his face and is leaning against the door struggling to stand. I remind him to get his lunch. #1 appears dressed, clean, book bag and lunch in hand and in a remarkably polite manner asks "Can I drive?"
8:02 Boys both leave, I reward Corky for her hard work in the endeavor with a treat.
8:03 #2 comes sauntering back as he has forgotten his lunch. "If you'd get me up on time I'd have time to remember my lunch."
Momma needs a treat.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Oh Yes They Freaking Do
I don't ever mind waking up in the middle of the night. I do it about three times a week. On these nights I usually fall asleep with no effort and then within thirty minutes I find myself wide awake. I then quietly meander my way downstairs to my own private party.
Sometimes I play on the computer - you can find messages and emails from me all hours of the night. Every once in a while I'll pick up a project that I started during the day. Much of the time I'll read for several hours. But I hardly ever turn on the TV. No reason, exactly. I think I just like the quiet.
But last night after finishing a book by Amy Sedaris, I found myself turning on the TV. My TV fate sealed when Bridget Jones's Diary was on Oxygen. Yippie!
I love this movie and watch it every time I see that it is on TV - which is about every other week. The Bridget Jones movie has the distinction of being one of the few movies I like over the book. That almost NEVER happens.
I could actually skip the whole movie except for my two favorite scenes. I adore the scene where Bridget is leaving a dinner party and Mark Darcy walks her to the door. After a lot of fumbling and what have you - Mark admits he like Bridget "just as she is." Perfect Pompous Jerk actually is a nice guy. Who knew?
The second scene is almost at the end of the movie after Bridget chases Mark in her underwear to find him buying her a new diary. (Really, if you've never seen this movie - put it in your NetFlix queue NOW!) They kiss. Bridget looks at Mark questioningly and says "Nice boys don't kiss like that." And the response "Oh, yes, they freaking do." Eeeeh! I want me some Mark Darcy.
I think I like this movie so much because I was a budding Bridget in my younger day. No self esteem, no fashion sense, overweight, made terrible choices in men, and boy did I like to drink. I had a good time, oh yes I did, but deep down I probably thought I'd end up eaten by cats alone in my apartment.
Somehow, I managed to catch the eye of a handsome straight laced Marine officer candidate. I don't know what he saw in me (see above list of attributes), but believe me when I say I thank God daily for whatever it was. Through the course of our relationship, I came to realize that he did like me "just as I was."
So, for you nay sayers - when you say good looking, honest, hard working men don't marry schlumpy, unfashionable beer drinkers - all I can say is "Oh, yes, they freaking do!"
Sometimes I play on the computer - you can find messages and emails from me all hours of the night. Every once in a while I'll pick up a project that I started during the day. Much of the time I'll read for several hours. But I hardly ever turn on the TV. No reason, exactly. I think I just like the quiet.
But last night after finishing a book by Amy Sedaris, I found myself turning on the TV. My TV fate sealed when Bridget Jones's Diary was on Oxygen. Yippie!
I love this movie and watch it every time I see that it is on TV - which is about every other week. The Bridget Jones movie has the distinction of being one of the few movies I like over the book. That almost NEVER happens.
I could actually skip the whole movie except for my two favorite scenes. I adore the scene where Bridget is leaving a dinner party and Mark Darcy walks her to the door. After a lot of fumbling and what have you - Mark admits he like Bridget "just as she is." Perfect Pompous Jerk actually is a nice guy. Who knew?
The second scene is almost at the end of the movie after Bridget chases Mark in her underwear to find him buying her a new diary. (Really, if you've never seen this movie - put it in your NetFlix queue NOW!) They kiss. Bridget looks at Mark questioningly and says "Nice boys don't kiss like that." And the response "Oh, yes, they freaking do." Eeeeh! I want me some Mark Darcy.
I think I like this movie so much because I was a budding Bridget in my younger day. No self esteem, no fashion sense, overweight, made terrible choices in men, and boy did I like to drink. I had a good time, oh yes I did, but deep down I probably thought I'd end up eaten by cats alone in my apartment.
Somehow, I managed to catch the eye of a handsome straight laced Marine officer candidate. I don't know what he saw in me (see above list of attributes), but believe me when I say I thank God daily for whatever it was. Through the course of our relationship, I came to realize that he did like me "just as I was."
So, for you nay sayers - when you say good looking, honest, hard working men don't marry schlumpy, unfashionable beer drinkers - all I can say is "Oh, yes, they freaking do!"
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
My mornings used to be relaxing
I love my morning ritual. I wake up a good hour before my kids need to get up (yet a full hour after my husband rises) and have that entire time to myself. I get my coffee fix, walk the dog then rush to my computer to see who has thought of me via email during my slumber. I can't quite explain the rush I get from seeing a number under the mailbox indicating that is how many messages I have received. Almost akin to receiving that pile of mail on your birthday - but every day!
But my school district has made me want to avoid the computer in the morning like a lukewarm cup of coffee. They send Edline reports every single morning. Edline, Blackboard, Parents In Touch, etc. They are all the same thing. They are your kids' current grades, assignments, homework, test grades, projects, missing work, cafeteria dues, parking lot rules, library fines...pretty much everything you would ever want to know about your child and school.
In theory, this is great. You can see every bit of information about your child's school progress in one glance. Awesome. But who wants to see this in black and white first thing in the morning? Invariably, I will see someone didn't turn in homework, got a 77 on a test and owes $66 in lab fees. And this is just one kid! Multiply this times three - and you can see our mornings don't get off to a good start.
The husband says don't read them first thing in the morning. In his black and white world - this works. But they are still there in my inbox and the number 3 will stare back at me biding me to open the mail until I give in and read the reports.
Of course, we can back to my school days. I didn't tell my parents anything - nor did the school. I didn't want them to know anything and they probably didn't want to know, either! But, it made me responsible for everything. A failing grade was mine alone - my parents bore no responsibility for it. I had to deal with the consequences of not turning in homework, projects, assignments and permission slips. If I brought home a sub par report card - I knew my ass was going to be at home for the next nine Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps not studying - but certainly not raising hell with my friends.
What's the compromise? Hell if I know. Let me know if you do! Until then a big number 3 will glare at me all day.
But my school district has made me want to avoid the computer in the morning like a lukewarm cup of coffee. They send Edline reports every single morning. Edline, Blackboard, Parents In Touch, etc. They are all the same thing. They are your kids' current grades, assignments, homework, test grades, projects, missing work, cafeteria dues, parking lot rules, library fines...pretty much everything you would ever want to know about your child and school.
In theory, this is great. You can see every bit of information about your child's school progress in one glance. Awesome. But who wants to see this in black and white first thing in the morning? Invariably, I will see someone didn't turn in homework, got a 77 on a test and owes $66 in lab fees. And this is just one kid! Multiply this times three - and you can see our mornings don't get off to a good start.
The husband says don't read them first thing in the morning. In his black and white world - this works. But they are still there in my inbox and the number 3 will stare back at me biding me to open the mail until I give in and read the reports.
Of course, we can back to my school days. I didn't tell my parents anything - nor did the school. I didn't want them to know anything and they probably didn't want to know, either! But, it made me responsible for everything. A failing grade was mine alone - my parents bore no responsibility for it. I had to deal with the consequences of not turning in homework, projects, assignments and permission slips. If I brought home a sub par report card - I knew my ass was going to be at home for the next nine Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps not studying - but certainly not raising hell with my friends.
What's the compromise? Hell if I know. Let me know if you do! Until then a big number 3 will glare at me all day.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Touch...Touch...Touch...Steal?
Kleenex has a new commericial - a variation of everything you touch during the day. It's rather interesting and I especially like touch "I Q-U-I-T" touch "delete." So, Worker Chick goes through her day touching everything and then she grabs a random tissue. Likes the feel of it - next thing - Worker Chick has a new box of tissues.
I'm not saying Kleenex is promoting work desk theft - but that is exatly what they are doing. How many times has someone rifled through you desk for a pen, stapler or paper clip? Or you go to the break room and your Diet Coke that you've been dreaming about is missing. Or the umbrella you have stashed in the closet for rainy days is suddenly being used by "Klepto Chick" in accounting? (You can tell because you've secretly marked it with a red thread.)
Come on, Kleenex. When I have a cold I want my own box of tissues. I don't want Stinky from the Mail Room taking my box on his rounds.
Tissue theft is just one of the reasons I refuse to get a job.
I'm not saying Kleenex is promoting work desk theft - but that is exatly what they are doing. How many times has someone rifled through you desk for a pen, stapler or paper clip? Or you go to the break room and your Diet Coke that you've been dreaming about is missing. Or the umbrella you have stashed in the closet for rainy days is suddenly being used by "Klepto Chick" in accounting? (You can tell because you've secretly marked it with a red thread.)
Come on, Kleenex. When I have a cold I want my own box of tissues. I don't want Stinky from the Mail Room taking my box on his rounds.
Tissue theft is just one of the reasons I refuse to get a job.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Childhood Theories
When I was growing up - I would often dream that my family was moving. I never knew exactly where we were moving to in my dream, and I never actually saw a house - but the theme was always the same - and I was never happy about it.
I lived in my childhood home from the time I was 4 until I went away to college. I never once heard my parents discuss moving, leaving the neighborhood, or in fact, anything to do with relocation. But still I would dream this every month or so. Probably until I went away to school.
Here it is - some 25 years after I've graduated from high school - and I have lived in 20 different homes. I married a Marine and we move about every two years.
I think in the big cosmos of things - somewhere deep in my soul - I knew I would always be moving and relocating. I've given my children the exact opposite childhood I had. I attended parochial schools for 12 years - mostly with the same group of kids. You knew moms, dads, siblings, cousins, cars and even what pets they had. My eldest son will graduate from his 3rd high school.
Do my children dream at night that they have had the same bedroom their entire life? Do they find respite in their sleep knowing the backyard in Louisiana is their dream sanctuary? Are their daydreams filled with the endless years of the same furniture layout?
I want to compare notes with my kids in 25 years.
I lived in my childhood home from the time I was 4 until I went away to college. I never once heard my parents discuss moving, leaving the neighborhood, or in fact, anything to do with relocation. But still I would dream this every month or so. Probably until I went away to school.
Here it is - some 25 years after I've graduated from high school - and I have lived in 20 different homes. I married a Marine and we move about every two years.
I think in the big cosmos of things - somewhere deep in my soul - I knew I would always be moving and relocating. I've given my children the exact opposite childhood I had. I attended parochial schools for 12 years - mostly with the same group of kids. You knew moms, dads, siblings, cousins, cars and even what pets they had. My eldest son will graduate from his 3rd high school.
Do my children dream at night that they have had the same bedroom their entire life? Do they find respite in their sleep knowing the backyard in Louisiana is their dream sanctuary? Are their daydreams filled with the endless years of the same furniture layout?
I want to compare notes with my kids in 25 years.
Resolutions in February
I really don't make New Year resolutions. It has always seemed a little silly - if you want to do something - do it now. Don't wait six months, 30 days or 1 week to start something. (I feel the same way about the idea of driving to a track to run. Run to the track for God's sake! Not that I run or even know where a track is.) But, I digress. When I make up my mind to do something - I want that something to start right now. That's not to say everything I start is successful - or that I even start everything I desire to do - it just means once I make up my mind to try something - I do it now and without a lot of fanfare. I do it now - sometimes with varying degrees of success.
Thus my decision to blog. Because people really want to know what's going on with me. I'm sure of it.
Then I had another idea as I was watching How Clean is Your House - an obsession of mine - I decided that I need to wear heals more often. I noticed Kim Woodburne, the mistress of clean on the show, wears heals to clean - so why shouldn't I wear them, as well? I went out and bought a pair of 2" heals that will look adorable with jeans. I haven't worn them yet - but who wears shoes when your sitting on your butt typing on your blog?
Thus my decision to blog. Because people really want to know what's going on with me. I'm sure of it.
Then I had another idea as I was watching How Clean is Your House - an obsession of mine - I decided that I need to wear heals more often. I noticed Kim Woodburne, the mistress of clean on the show, wears heals to clean - so why shouldn't I wear them, as well? I went out and bought a pair of 2" heals that will look adorable with jeans. I haven't worn them yet - but who wears shoes when your sitting on your butt typing on your blog?
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