Actually, I'm not ill; it's more like the winter boogie blues.
"Old man winter's got a hold on me, too,
I've got the blogging pneumonia
and the winter boogie blues."
Taking a little break to re-group. I reserve the right, however, if something super blog-worthy happens in my life, to post.
Talk to you soon ....
The other day, my youngest daughter texted me: "Ashley wants to go with us shopping for the senior ball dress. Is that OK?"
Because I was in a hurry, I replied, "Y."
At home she asked me, "Why did you say 'why?'to my question about Ashley?"
"I didn't say 'why,'" I said. "I said 'yes.'"
"No, 'y' is short for 'why.'"
"Then what is short for 'yes?'"
"'Yes' is short for 'yes.'"
"Well," I said, "that is kind of lame. You guys need to make a shortcut for 'yes.'"
"Y."
I'm not sure if she asked "why" or agreed, "Yes, we should."
Communicating with teenagers is tricky. Do you agree? "Y" or "N!"
My girls are neither girly-girls nor tomboys, just somewhere in the middle. On any given day, each leans one way or the other, and then her style preference changes.
Last night I took my youngest child shopping for a dress to wear to her Senior Ball next Saturday. Mission accomplished. Lovely short-length teal dress with some understated ruffles around the skirt and some bling at the top. Very much like this dress, only dark blue/green. Little silver shoes to go with. Very nice. Oh to be young and have everything you try on look nice, and you just pick the one you like most. It was fun to see the different dresses on my (excuse and forgive me for saying this, but I can't help myself in this moment of mother-pride) Living Doll. She's adorable. OK, enough of that.
There were other girls shopping for their dresses whom I enjoyed observing as well (which kids call "creeping on" or "stalking," but I had no malevolent intentions, so I prefer to say "observing what was happening right in front of my eyes"). Two girls brought their gay male friend (I know this about him because they all kept announcing it loudly) to help them select and try on dresses, acting as a sort of Randy Fenoli of Say Yes to the Dress of Kleinfeld's fame, only in a Deb chain store in a strip mall on the main drag of a small Midwestern town. The antics of that group were hilarious. But I did notice our Randy taking a few peeks inside dressing room stalls whenever he could, and it occurred to me: what if a straight kid posed as gay for moments just such as this: nice work if you can get it?
Tomorrow: Wedding gown shopping in Indianapolis for the other daughter!
I'm so happy for both girls, and yet I'm missing my little girls who played with Play-Doh and Fisher Price Little People. Hug your little ones today, Mom. When you wake up "tomorrow," they will be wearing formals and registering for gifts.
Big Sigh.
Dragged myself out of bed this morning, headed for the coffee, made the coffee in a sleep-deprived stupor, turned for the cream, couldn't find it, opened eyes wider, couldn't find it, shut fridge door and saw it sitting out on the counter.
My husband, and I use the term loosely this morning, was up late last night, very strange for him, and apparently made himself some coffee and LOST HIS MIND and forgot to put the cream back.
Ruined. Ruined. Ruined.
RUINED.
Cream is down the drain. Marriage is hanging only by a thread.
This is a day that will live in marital infamy for the next 25 years.
You know, I did a meme for a while, so I know that it's tough coming up with consistently interesting conversation starters. I do not know how Linda meets this goal week after week. All I know is, once she opens up a topic, she does not leave you without 1 or a dozen jumping off points, which I so appreciate. Here's what's on tap this week; why don't you join in?
Were your parents strict, permissive, or somewhere in-between when you were growing up? Did you tend to be compliant or rebellious? What did you tend to get in trouble for doing? How did your parents discipline/punish you - spankings (and what did they use when spanking), revoking privileges, grounding, time-outs or some other manner? Did both parents handle punishment or did one tend to do it more than the other? (And which one was it?) Is there anything that you have admitted doing since you've been an adult that you got away with as a child? Or is there anything you were punished for that you have since learned your parents had to try hard not to laugh while they were meting out your discipline? If you are a parent, what is something you have done or not done (or vowed you would never do) as a result of your growing-up experiences with discipline?
My parents were, on one hand, strict, and on the other, permissive.
The religious denomination of my youth was very legalistic, so rules were a big part of my life. We did not buy on Sunday. We did not play cards. We did not do a lot of things.
You would think that such rigidity would flow over into things like dress codes, household chores, curfews, etc. You would be wrong.
It was a very complicated upbringing, but it was a loving one, and I was a mostly compliant, rule-following little girl.
Except for this one time and this one rule ....
My parents remodeled their living room and added a sprayed-on bumpy ceiling with little sparklies in it. I was quite fascinated by that bumpy ceiling. Quite. Fascinated.
My mom gave me a serious, stern talking-to about the new ceiling: "It must never be poked with a broomstick. It must never have toys thrown at it. It must never be approached without fear and trembling." OK, I made that last part up, but the ceiling, it was definitely something special. It had sparkles, you know.
But the main rule of rules about the ceiling was, "It must never, ever get wet. If it gets wet, it will melt and chip off, and we'll have to re-do the whole ceiling." I cannot communicate the somber tone of this warning. It was nearly a religious moment itself.
Now, my mom liked to talk on the phone. You remember those crazy phones with the three pound receivers and curly cords that tethered moms so that kids could run around just out of the reach of a swat.
Shortly after the Mt. Sinai exhortation about the ceiling, my mom got a phone call.
To this day, I do not know what possessed me. Like I said, I was normally a good kid. But I went and got a Windex bottle, climbed up on the furniture and began SPRAYING THE CEILING.
THE SACRED CEILING OF SPARKLES!!!!
I can hardly breathe just reliving the insanity of this act.
My mother got off the phone. She looked up, gasped, and after that, much of my life is a blur until about age 25.
Oh, the fear and trembling. Hell hath no fury like the mom of a mushy sparkle ceiling.
She began walking around the house, methodically shutting the windows.
Oh, the horror. She was going to spank me so hard she didn't want the neighbors to hear my wailing.
I was basically dying a thousand deaths.
Here is the honest truth: She yelled and yelled, but I do not remember the spanking (and there have been many in my life). I do not know whether she was just so shell-shocked that she did not have the physical strength to spank me or was afraid once she started swatting she couldn't stop, but I cannot remember being hit. I just remember the yelling and the windows.
That is one moment of discipline I will never forget. And you can bet I have NEVER sprayed a sparkly ceiling again. I live in mortal fear and reverence of sparkly ceilings.
Now I need to step away from this story, gather my wits and take some deep breaths.
And just in case I never said it, Mom, I'm sorry I desecrated the ceiling. If you will forgive me for that, I will forgive you for making me wear your big plastic rain bonnet on the bus to school in kindergarten. I think we're even.
Yes, even the Pope texts. More and more mature folk are texting. 
And so it was only a matter of time.... Yes, this came in an email. But it is so good, so good. Creator unknown. Enjoy.
Since more and more Seniors are texting and tweeting there appears to be a need for a STC (Senior Texting Code). If you qualify for senior discounts this is the code for you:
ATD: At The Doctor's
BFF: Best Friend Farted
BTW: Bring The Wheelchair
BYOT: Bring Your Own Teeth
CBM: Covered By Medicare
CGU: Can't get up
CGIP: Can't get IT up
CUATSC: See You At The Senior Center
DWI: Driving While Incontinent
FWB: Friend With Beta Blockers
FWIW: Forgot Where I Was
FYI: Found Your Insulin
GGPBL: Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low!
GHA: Got Heartburn Again
HGBM: Had Good Bowel Movement
IMHO: Is My Hearing-Aid On?
LMDO: Laughing My Dentures Out
LOL: Living On Lipitor
LWO: Lawrence Welk's On
OMMR: On My Massage Recliner
OMSG: Oh My! Sorry, Gas.
PIMP: Pooped in my pants
ROFL... CGU: Rolling On The Floor Laughing... And Can't Get Up
SGGP: Sorry, Gotta Go Poop
TTYL: Talk To You Louder
WAITT: Who Am I Talking To?
WTFA: Wet The Furniture Again
WTP: Where's The Prunes?
WWNO: Walker Wheels Need Oil
GLKI (Gotta Go, Laxative Kicking In)
Of course, here's the other end of the spectrum:
Are you a texter?
I was in Walmart today picking up two large cartons of bottled water. While lifting the 2nd carton, I got my finger caught in the thick plastic covering at the end where you insert your hand to carry it. The carton was in the air, and thanks to gravity vs. my noodle arm muscles, was rapidly spiraling into the cart with my finger still stuck. I felt like I had pretzel twisted my finger.
At the same time my brain registered, "MORTAL PERIL!!!" a woman and her child rounded the corner into my aisle.
She was just an average mom like me, with an average kid, who probably wouldn't have given me more than a passing glance had she known I was hurt.
But here's where my latent machismo kicked in: For some reason, I did not want her to know I was trapped in my water carton or that I was in an incredible amount of scary pain.
Later, when analyzing my reaction to her, I remembered that men do not want people to know they're sick, or heaven forbid, hurt.
I had reacted like a man.
I cannot explain why I held in the noises I should have made to express my pain. I cannot explain why I refused to grimace. I cannot explain why I faked a smile at her. I just know I did not want to appear ... weak.
What a tough load to bear--fully human and yet wanting to portray imperviousness to pain, without even understanding why.
So I believe I got in touch with my masculine side today. If I weren't on a vegetarian kick right now, I'd say, "Pass the beef jerky" or something manly like that. But thank goodness I've returned to normal, and I can cry and enjoy a brand new shade of lipstick with much oohing and ahhing. No shame!
Do you ever have random expressions of guy-ness?
Every night at some point, the point long-past dinner and a reasonable snack time, I want to eat.
But I don't want to eat because I know that it's not in the best interest of my health and weight management goals.
Knowing the right thing to do or not do does not remove temptation, as we know. So every night, I have this talk both inside and outside of my head that goes something like this:
"Wow. I'm hungry. I'd sure like to eat something."
Jorge does not answer. He has been down this path before.
"Can't believe I want to eat something this late. There's no way I should be hungry, but I just keep wanting to eat."
Silence.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I say, "Ack. I shouldn't do this, should I?"
This is a move which puts him on the spot; I'm requesting a response.
"What should I have? Or not have?"
Beads of sweat appear on his brow.
"I know you think I shouldn't be doing this." [Total projection of my feelings onto him.] "Don't try to stop me. You don't know how I feel."
Silence.
"OK, stop me. Tell me I shouldn't."
He shakes in his pirate boots.
Ok, we don't wear pirate clothes, but we should because we're very similar to this clip from Hook, featuring Dustin Hoffman as me, and Mr. Smee as Jorge. Behold the dynamics of my late night snacking frenzy, which is why I often add to my crazy kitchen conversation, "Stop me, Smee":
Re: your comments on what I'm calling my "2nd Cup of Coffee Remix" post (shot in the arm, resurrection post) was heartwarming and overwhelming. Thank you for all of the niceness you bestowed upon me. Humbled!
As I write this, it is January the twoth, and so far, so good on a couple of resolutions. 
First of all, I'm on my 2nd day of reading the Bible in a year. I've accomplished this once before, but not in 2010, so I thought I'd give it a go. Today, in the OT, Eve got into trouble, and in the NT, Herod killed a bunch of innocent babies. Wow, with summaries like that, you don't even need to crack your Bible if you're considering this plan.
(Why did I say "innocent babies" above? Are there evil babies? No. Not even the sibling in this, one of my favorite pics of all time, is evil. She's just having an Evil-Genius Power Trip moment. So scratch that redundant adjective.)
Fellow Losties will understand when I say I envisioned the Smoke Monster starring in the role of Satan in both stories. Anyway, I hope to keep this "reading the Bible" performance up because, as you know, being a Christian is all about performance. JUST KIDDING. I'm just proud of myself for doing something two days in a row besides breathing and eating.
Secondly, I'm already on my 2nd day of being a vegetarian. I know; My iron will is amazing. I warned you this was coming, but I only decided a few days ago to start Jan. 1. Honestly, I don't know if this will last. Today the family ate ziti that I had prepared, but I opted for a mix of rice, black beans, pepper jack cheese, a dash of hot sauce and one and a half eggs stirred up in a little skillet. I LOVED it. We'll see what happens when a pepperoni pizza comes waltzing by me on some lonely evening. I may succumb to temptation. 
Thirdly, I'm on an exercising roll. My daughter's wedding is June 18, and as I have reminded myself and many others: There's a frumpy Mother-of-the-Bride dress out there waiting for me. My fear is that the only non-frumpy ones will be sleeveless (EEEEK). So I'm on a mission to tone up the wings.
So those are a few of my resolutions. Not revolutionary resolutions, I admit, but still, good ones.
I know, I know. You don't make resolutions. Hardly anyone does anymore. I don't think I did for the last couple of years. Some desire to do so kicked up in me over the last few days, and I just decided to go for it. We'll see what happens ... now that I've said them out loud, GULP, I feel a little more accountable!
If you have new beginnings, let me know!
Remember that scene in A Christmas Carol when the Spirit of Christmas Present opens his robe to reveal the spirits of Ignorance and Want? Very creepy. And sad. 
My neglected blog now appears to me as if it were one of those orphans under the robe of Christmas 2010. Or The Christmas Snuggie of 2010.
Yes, I received a zebra-print Snuggie. Here's where I'd like to insert a saucy "Meeoww" making fun of this Snuggie, but I don't know what sound a zebra makes. My kids' animal books did not teach me that. I hope it's not "hee haw," because a racy zebra print deserves something way more flirty than that.
So here I am, January, 1, 2011, or as 685 clever people have pointed out on Facebook already:
1/1/11
And I am playing catch up on my blog.
Big news? On December 30, we had an earthquake here in Indiana. You may have heard about it on the news. I was awakened at 8:00 am by my bedroom mirrors and windows rattling. I thought it was thunder or Jesus returning, but when I bolted to the family room and saw that Zoe was still with us, I knew the Rapture had not happened.
Here she is reading instructions about what to do in case of earthquake emergency OR Jesus returning:
For New Year's Eve, the Five Crows plus The Two Significant Others went bowling. We have not bowled in years. I would like to point out that while I did not have the high score amongst the 7 of us, I did best myself by 4 points, from 75 in the first game to 79 in the second. Goal for 2012: Break 80 in bowling.
But my kids did state that I had the best "back it up" technique after releasing the ball of anyone. I have no idea what they're talking about.
Then we went to a much-revered Hoosier pizza chain called Pizza King. When that meal featuring slow conversation and arms so weakened by bowling that it was difficult to lift the pizza to the mouths was over, we said, "Whew! Time to head back home! What time is it? 8:30 pm?" It was only about 6:00 pm. But since it gets dark around 5:00 pm, we're all confused and feel the need to fall asleep at least by 7:00.
So we left, and then Jorge and I went to our friends' home where we played a rousing game of Password and were clearly whipped by the friends who have musical backgrounds and kept receiving, suspiciously, musical terms to guess.
Then we came home, went to bed, and I watched Dick Clark and checked Facebook from there. Highlight of the show: Mike Posner singing "Cooler Than Me" which has been in a loop in my head since October, and I am not exaggerating.
Today I ran outside, enjoying the sunniest, warmest January 1 I can remember, 37*. I have missed the big blue sky lately.
I'm wearing a pedometer daily now, attempting to get my 11,100 steps I'm told I need to get in, and I'm making yogurt smoothies daily and omelets with fresh spinach and mushrooms. I have discovered that if you microwave or saute mushrooms a little too long, they start to pop like popcorn, which makes your plain old omelet kind of exciting and festive.
Aside from marathon Scrabble games in which Kristin has become enlightened to the thrill of the triple word score in the corners and is rabid about getting them for herself, that's about all the excitement here to report.
Happy New Year, everyone.
Little blog, you may step out of the robe. Cause it's kind of creepy in there, and you could use some sun.
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