Things I've recently learned:

1.)  No matter how much your husband loves you and how many times a day he tells you that you're beautiful, it's still good to show him you can get dressed and wear makeup occasionally.

He knows when I'm stressed beyond reason so last night he suggested that I meet him after work to have a quick dinner alone.  Even though I didn't feel like it, I showered, spent extra time on hair and makeup, and put on a rather low cut, new, rather girly blouse.  He ooohed and ahhhed over me all evening and made me feel like a million bucks.  It also made me feel guilty when I realized how long it had been since he'd seen me in something besides cotton pjs or jeans.  Bless his heart.

2.)   You get what you ask for...

Never cry, whine, complain, even bitch about not getting enough snow unless you're ready to get snow.  Mother Nature loves messing with my mind... evil bitch.  We have about three inches of snow on the ground, and it's still snowing.  The kids had a snow day.  It wasn't due to the snow, actually, but the downpouring of rain that turned to ice yesterday right before the snow started falling.  And this all happens on the night before my busiest day in months.  Doctor appointments, garage appointments, and screaming bored kids destroying anything not nailed down... "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

3.)  You cannot wear metallic blue nail polish and be in a bad mood.

I decided to paint my toenails today.  B chose this metallic blue polish that I'd forgotten about.  It almost makes my toes look like they're in the beginning stages of frost bite.  But according to B, it's the only polish that matches the tattoo on my ankle.                  

If it shocks you that the bitchy conservative Republican Christian has a tattoo, how shocking is it that the tattoo is a crescent moon and star commonly used as an Islamic, Pagan, or ancient Turkish Shamanism symbol... as well as a symbol for the Greek goddess Diana?  Yeah yeah... I'm not that open minded.  I was drunk, and it was cute. 

It's a dreary morning.  It's raining/sleeting/snowing, and yes, I'm getting out in it.  I really have no choice.  Remember that huge post about my homecoming with the public library?  My very first book check out in probably twenty years... my books are overdo.  I completely forgot to take them back Thursday.  There is just so much going on. 

I also have to drop off something at the dentist office.  They sent us the wrong treatment plan for the teen female.  Get this:  This is the third time a medical establishment of one type or another has sent us the wrong paperwork.  The third time we've gotten someone else's personal information.  I'm talking addresses, phone numbers, social security numbers, diagnosis, etc.  I'm happy to report that not all of the companies are from this area.  Only one of them, in fact.  But still.... can you say HiPPA violation??  The one instance that really freaked me out a bit was when Screw recently had a check up with his doctor.  It had been a couple years so they did a round of blood work, etc.  When the lab sent him the results of his tests my eyes didn't even focus on the top of the paper work.  Of course I went straight to the results.  I thought I was looking at mine!  He had chronic anemia!  There were also signs of osteoporosis and low liver functions.  Signs of kidney problems and cholesterol issues.  The list was long, and I was freaking... until I looked up and saw they were the test results of a seventy-one year old woman!  He's still laughing about it.  I can't help but think... poor woman.

I honest to goodness cannot see the floor in my laundry room.  I'm not joking.  Just when I think I've made progress everyone mysteriously finds dirty clothing in their rooms.  Even though, when asked, they were POSITIVE they didn't have any dirty laundry hiding up there.  Can you ground kids until they're eighteen?

I'm thankful for all the sweet support here on MoTime.  Sometimes it's rough, but you have to just work with what you have.  And even though I usually know what I have to do long before I blog, it helps to get it out of my system.  And yes, we all like to be reminded things will be alright.  InMyLife, thank you for reminding me that I AM a good mother!  RomaCittaEterna, we couldn't be living lives more different right now if we tried, but somehow you always have perfect insight.  Frewin, don't let these posts fool you.  It is still all about me.:)  Doc Martin, does your prescription pad contain scrips for vacations in secluded locations?  That's what I need... desperately.

And David... I want you to know that pic on your site of the eclipse progression... it took my breath away.  I'm so torn... on one hand I think you're getting excellent exposure by posting your photos on the internet.  But then on the other hand, I want to yell at you to take the photo down right now!  You should be submitting that stuff to be published!  You have gifted sight.  Every time I visit your site I find another photo that proves it.  And it makes me miss you. :)

Ok, B is standing here with hand firmly placed on hip, foot tapping the floor... the library is calling her.  And she's becoming extremely irritated that I haven't gotten dressed yet.  So much for a slow Saturday.

Dinner time is always spent trying to listen to all the kids talk at once.  We've tried to teach them everyone will have a turn to talk about his or her day.  What we really mean is B will eventually put a bite of food in her mouth so when she does, hurry up and say what ya need to say!  She's insane, that girl!  Last night while talking about our day I mentioned a conversation with my older sister about some plans we had for today.  The older female has been really torn over the situation with my nephew.  She'd gotten close to him before he started partying and being really wreckless with his life.  Now, he doesn't even speak to her.  ANYWAY... at the mention of his mother, she said, "By the way, has aunt J mentioned anything else going on with J-O-S-H since their last big blow up?"  That's when B looked directly at me and said, "You know it doesn't matter if you spell things.  I still know what you're talking about.  She's talking about Josh."  The six year old has kicked my ass once again.  The scary thing is she couldn't be more like me if I'd cloned her.  Unfortunately she seems to be mimicking only the controversial side of me.  She's such a smart ass.  But she does it with such ease and eloquence!

The cars outside are rushing down the hill in the rain this morning.  Just like I watch them do every morning.  The traffic always gets heavier and more frantic right before the beginning of every hour.  It's easy to realize who has to be at work by 6am, 7am, 8am, etc.  And who is running late. 

The snooty neighbor across the street has been scarce lately.  I'm sure he'll be back out in all his glory just as spring arrives.  His house is an older home like ours.  This neighborhood is filled with older more historic homes.  Of course his home is in pristine condition on the outside.  I don't know how retirement is treating him personally, but his house and lawn are loving it.  I wonder if he remembers me.  I know I've complained about him here before, but I'm not sure I ever mentioned he was my elementary/middle school principal.  Obviously I wouldn't even assume he'd remember me except that I spent five days a week for two years kissing his ass.  I worked in the office more than I went to class.  He sat me down with his checkbook once to see if I could find a mathematical error.  No joke.  It wasn't through any sort of program or anything.  Back then it was easy to get out of class if you were a perfect 4.0 student involved in every single activity, president of every club, volunteering for every project... willing to do whateer it took to be perfect.  (It's nauseating to think about it now.)  He later became the county school superintendent, cheated on his wife, and got divorced.  If I'm not horribly mistaken, I believe he lives there with his sister now.  I think it must have been their family home.  She used to be a teacher at the same school and later went on to the principal position at the city independent school.  Her husband was a teacher as well (my History teacher) and they divorced after she caught him banging my English teacher.    Whether he remembers me or not I'm sure having me next door chaffes his ass.  His emmaculate home and lawn.  I swear I think I've seen him on his knees in his yard cutting his grass with scissors.  We are always going to have something out of place.  A bike, a random shoe, something... Don't even get me started on our landscaping woes.

As far as homes in the neighborhood go, ours is one of the more well kept, but as far as needing minor repairs, we're probably in the middle.  There's a home directly to his left that is older as well, and it needs quite a bit of work.  I'm sure he hates it even more than living across the street from us.  I can see them both from my kitchen window.  Where I sit with my coffee every single morning.  The thing I notice more than anything as I'm watching the cars go by between our houses... that poor woman in the house next to his does laundry more than I do.  If that's even possible.  I can see her dryer vent from where I am.  I can't remember the last morning that I didn't see steam billowing out of it by 7am.  What he needs to realize as he's glancing our way with looks of total disdain is that sometimes it's hard to find the time to even shower and feed ourselves.  But as soon as we have some free time I'm sure we'll both hop on a ladder and get that trim painted!

I want to try to slow myself down today.  My mood and emotional state seems to be running at full speed making me feel anxious and frustrated.  There is absolutely nothing life altering going on so why I feel like there is... I have no idea.  But I need to take a step back and breathe.  If I can't find a way to do that I'm going to short circuit soon.  As my calendar continues to fill with obligations I'm feeling more and more overwhelmed.  I have a few hours today that aren't make it or break it hours.  The world won't end if I'm not productive for twenty minutes.  Maybe longer because I've already spent twenty minutes blogging this. 

Happy Friday.

I have written this post three times this morning.  And every time it ends up being too lengthy and bitchy... or maybe not bitchy.  More an "oh woe is me" type post.  The fact of the matter is it has been the week from hell.  Between heartbreaking financially draining medical and dental appointments, fights with gas companies and skillet-licking morons at insurance companies, and worrying about the ever growing number of people in my family with full blown cases of flu, I'm on the verge of a complete breakdown.  The more I get done is the more I have to do.  I think it multiplies while I'm sleeping (for two whole hours a night).  Even when I'm home I'm too stressed to enjoy a single moment of solitude.

I want to re-open my business, and I want my Dad to stop being a wussy and agree to partner with me in it.  I want something to miracously cure our twelve year old because we've had to face the fact that his problems are not just laziness and a bad attitude.  I want the two teens to wake up one morning with straight glowingly bright perfect teeth.  And I want the mother of the little girl in B's class to teach her child some manners and compassion.  I want the gas company to kiss my lily white ass because there's no way they can convince me it takes five hundred bucks a month to run a hot water tank.  Screw the winter, it's time for spring.  If you aren't going to give me snow with it, take the cold temperatures, sleet, and rain and head north where it belongs.  I want a clean house and an empty laundry hamper.

The total meltdown is near, and the only thing keeping me from it is the occasional bursts of anger and bitterness that overpower the sadness and anxiety.  I have entered into a state of constant fear and worry, and if Screwboy didn't keep reminding me that everything is ok, I'd have lost it by now.  I have faith in him that I have never felt before toward anyone else.  He has never let me down.

I don't even know where the anxiety is coming from.  Nothing is out of control around here.  If you don't count the dirty laundry, anyway.  I think it's the fact that everything picked this week to hit me.  Sneak attacks are the worst.  And I'm just so tired.  Unfortunately there will be no time for resting in the near future.

Parent conferences for the two high schoolers were last night.  It was a last minute rescheduling from the week when school was cancelled so Screwboy didn't get a chance to get the time off.  Not that he needed to, it was a complete waste of time.  The teachers are apparently so overworked by this time of year, they don't really care if you show up or not.  I actually had more than one imply that they wished the parents of students doing well would opt out of attending.  Which was basically saying I shouldn't have wasted their time since both of our students are honor roll pupils.  I was slightly offended.  It didn't kill them to spend two minutes complimenting our kids' hard work.  Even the good kids need attention and unfortunately they're the very ones most overlooked during the regular school days.  So much time is spent on the problem students during the day (I know this because we have one of those, too)  that I think parent/teacher night is the perfect time to let the hard working students hear a little praise as well as their parents.

I told you... no matter how many times I rewrite it, it's too long and bitchy.  But I have to get it out somewhere, and I know Screwboy is tired of hearing it.  Let's see... blog and get it out or throw things and punch people... you all lose, I guess.

I have written several posts over the past few days, but they never made it to the "publish post" button because, while quite detailed, they said nothing.  One was a political rant due to the possibility of putting someone in office that will make it easier to obtain abortions.  But I realized that the post was coming from my broken heart, and it would have only sparked emotional debate.  Intellectual debate with passion behind it is fine... but debating emotions is pointless.  No one wins.  Just so you know I'm not a horrible person who thinks in black and white, even about abortion... I'll just tell you the heartbreak and frustration came on Valentine's Day when a family member went into early labor and the baby was born dead.  She had a heartbeat mere minutes before she was born but sometime during those final seconds before entering this world, she died.  And because the mom was barely into her second trimester, there was some debate from the hospital over the birth certificate and funeral arrangements, etc.  She was a very cute little girl born with ten sweet fingers and ten adorable toes.  She was not a fetus.  She was someone's daughter.  Her parents would have made a good life for her.  I truly believe that.  But I also know it would have been really hard for them.  I won't go into details, but mom was really young and dad grew up way too soon in life.  I'm happy to say the doctors do not believe the parents should face this situation again should they decide to have more children later.  This complication was just "... one of those things...".  So anyway... baby Ava was laid to rest by our family this past Saturday.

Things with my sister and nephew seem to only be getting worse... for her, anyway.  She has realized that she can't just simply write him out of her life because he's chosen a lifestyle she doesn't agree with.  And as usual my nephew is taking full advantage of the control he's always had over her.  He's extremely emotionally abusive toward her, and I'm beginning to fear (suspect) it may become physical.  Meanwhile, she just continues to be the ostrich she always has been.  You don't have to face anything if you ignore it with your head in the sand.  He has cut off all communication with me.  He has made it no secret that he hates me for going to her with my concerns.  I don't regret doing it.  The people he became involved with were not only influencing him to the point of his failing in school, but he was exposing himself to a very dangerous alcohol, drug, sexually promiscuous lifestyle.  And, just like so many really young people these days, they have the attitude that they're too young and too pretty to contract HIV or any other STD.  He's my nephew.  Of course I'm going to do whatever it takes to remove him from that situation.  Including cutting off his funding for school.

Even though things sound bad right now, we really are doing well.  My family has surprised me during most of this.  My parents aren't quite as close minded as I've always seen them to be.  I think life has taught them more love and acceptance than I realized.  My Dad, anyway.  You want to get an idea of the irrationality of my mother?  Read the book or see the movie, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.  I kid you not... take away the booze but leave everything else right down to the relationship with her husband and the nervous breakdown, and you have my mother.

ANYWAY... my plans for the day aren't that interesting.  The kids have a day off... B's take on the holiday...

(B)  "Mom!  Tell L that tomorrow is President's birthday!"

(ME)  "Well, originally, sweetheart.  But now we just celebrate all the Presidents... not really a specific birthday."

(B)  "Well, that's boring."

So I get to spend the day trying to clean up the weekend destruction with the kids underfoot.  And I have to move the tv so that I can clean underneath it.  I know cats can bend and contort and get themselves in all sorts of tiny spots.  But how she got underneath the sixty-one inch tv to pee... I have no idea.

Ugh... and I'm still trying to find a way to admit to the sixteen year old that I washed his cellphone.  I'm HORRIBLE about checking pockets.  And the thing is... I remind them over and over... I don't check pockets!  But still... I should check pockets.

And just in case any of you remember how I want to research my family tree, I have made really good progress.  I haven't used a pay site yet because I'm enjoying doing the research on my own.  Census reports are pains in the ass, but I've found quite a bit of personal detail on a few ancestors.  It has been really rewarding... extremely interesting.  And I will admit to enjoying really riding my Dad hard on certain details!  Like, there are A LOT of branches in the ole family tree that just don't split and branch out like they should.  I think he's gonna spank me like I'm five again if I don't leave him alone soon. 

It has to be just wonderful to have a daughter like me. ;)

When I was little, attending Kindergarten was not mandatory.  Because of the way my birthday falls in the year, I wasn't old enough to enter Kindergarten when I should have... along with my age group.  My mother, in all her wisdom, did not want to hold me behind, send me to Kindergarten the next year, and have me be the oldest kid in my class.  So I entered the First Grade right when I should have.

I began my education behind everyone.  I do believe my mother did the best she could with her limited emotional health, but she was never exactly the type to push education or show any of us extra attention.  So I started school knowing how to recite the alphabet and numbers up to about ten, and that was it.  I could write my name from memorization only  because my older sister taught me how to do it the summer before I entered school.

It's amazing how well I remember the sting of humiliation.  Kids can be so mean.  One little girl, Carol, was my angel.  She was teased constantly because she was so skinny.  So I think she felt my torment.  We all had alphabet tape across the top of our desks.  She would sneak out of her seat and show me which letter I was supposed to be writing at any given time. 

To this day I tear up thinking about it.  My First Grade teacher quickly realized how far behind I was and didn't waste any time going to work on me.  She was hateful.  She was an unhappy woman, and even children that age could see it.  But I'm so thankful I had her as my very first teacher.  She was exactly what I needed.  She might not have been as nice as you'd want your child's first teacher to be, but she was a good teacher.

Back then the state wasn't as focused on special education as it is today.  You had your students with "severe" disabilities all grouped together in one class, and the poor teacher had to find a way to teach them all.  But we also had a special reading class as well as a special math class for those students with "minor" learning disabilities that weren't considered severe enough to keep them from the regular classes.

Mrs. Gregory could have put me in the special reading class.  Most teachers would have in order to keep from having to deal with me.  But she didn't.  She was wise enough to know I didn't have a learning disability, I just hadn't been taught.  She broke her class into two reading groups.  One group read on class level, and the other group read above class level.  So everyday when the children with actual learning disabilities would leave to go to Special Reading, she would call the first group back to the reading table, and they would read from their particular material.  Then she would call the second group to do the same.

And then she would call me back to the reading table.  All by myself.  I was teased horribly for the first few weeks or so, but as my teacher began to praise my efforts, I think the kids began to cheer me on, too.  I remember the very first book I ever read.  It was called Janet and Mark.   And from the moment I opened that book there was no slowing me down.  By the time the first grading period was over, I had completely skipped the first group and was placed into the second group. 

After Christmas vacation that year, at the beginning of the second semester of school, I was singled out again.  This time, during the reading portion of the day, I was sent to the Second Grade classroom to read with them!  I had completely passed the First Grade reading primers.  At the end of the school year, I was presented with an award.  Only one other kid in the entire school received the same award, and he was a Fifth Grader.  It was a certificate of achievement, and it even had the principal's signature on it.  But the best part was the gigantic shiny silver dollar glued to the bottom of the paper.  I thought I was hot stuff! 

When I got home that day, I ran as fast as I could across the field to my Grandparent's house to show them my award.  My Grandfather just went on and on with praise, and you'll never guess what he did next.  He went into the house and came back with ANOTHER GIGANTIC SHINY SILVER DOLLAR.

An addiction was born.  For the next twenty years I read everything I could get my hands on.  By the Third Grade I was a hardcore Nancy Drew addict.  I only read the Hardy Boys once I ran out of Nancy's tales.  Thus, the second addiction to scary mysteries.  The kids in the primary grades were only supposed to check out books from one particular section of the library, but after a note from home, Mrs. Sibert allowed me to check out any book I wanted.  The school only went up to the Fifth Grade.  It wasn't like there was going to be very mature books in our little library, anyway.

By the time I reached high school, the social class divisions weren't as clearly separated as they had been in previous years.  We were extremely lucky and a great group of kids.  With a couple thousand students in my high school, my graduating class had over four hundred kids in it.  There were very few students with average grades.  Most students graduated with really high GPAs or only barely received enough credits to wear the cap and gown.

Because of that, I never felt like a nerd for loving books the way I did.  I was far from being the only cheerleader with a 5.0 GPA.  We didn't have a special time to go to the school library in high school.  If you needed to use the library but didn't have a study hall, you had to use it before or after school.  Most of us went before school because we had better things to do after school... like cruise the town square and flirt.  Besides, who needed to sleep later in the mornings... we could sleep when we were dead.

Over the years my love for reading never dwindled, but my time to read and visit the public library did.  I developed the habit of driving right by the library to the nearest bookstore.  It was easier to just run in, buy a book, and be on my way.  But in recent years, I've been visiting even the bookstore less and less.  No time to read.  Not always so much extra money in the budget to buy books.  And when there was, it went toward learning instruments for kids!

I haven't been successful in passing along my love for reading to the boys in my family (yet), but the girls have caught the bug.  So over the unexpected school break, I decided it was time to MAKE THE TIME to introduce them to the Public Library.  When the librarian found out I've NEVER held a library card in this county, she was devastated!  "You MUST use the library!  And use it often!"  I love her already.

The teen female obviously felt awkward.  She wanted to enjoy it but was afraid it would make her a "nerd" if she did.  She'll come around.  I can tell.  The teen male refused to go... "only nerds use the library".  (ugh)  This, coming from the jock with the 5.0 GPA... weird.  :)

But for me... that familiar smell as soon as I entered the building.  Old books and ink.  The warmth.  Libraries are always so warm, it seems.  I've been away for years.  For me... it felt like going home. 

In case you've been abducted by aliens and don't know it yet, this is an election year in the United States.  You wouldn't know that I'm passionate about my political views by reading my blog.  When I first decided to have a blog I knew that I didn't want it to be just another soapbox.  I knew it would be personal.  Every once in a while, I do give in and preach on one topic or another, but mostly, it's filled with useless information about my life.

I do understand the need to have a voice in today's political climate.  And the need to have it heard.  So many average people feel they do not matter.  Their concerns are never heard.  And unfortunately that's true.  So I enjoy reading all types of blogs, articles, and essays.  Even the politically motivated ones. 

But come on, people.  Get a freaking clue.  Yes, everyone has dreams, hopes, and assholes... ooops, I meant "opinions".  Thankfully, that's our right.

But what I don't get is the anti-American stuff I read on American blogs!  If you're from another country, and you hate the United States, that's your right.  I repsect your opinion whether I believe its founded or not.  But if you're an American citizen, and all I ever read on your blog is how horrible we are as a nation, guess what... I'm not reading your blog any longer.  Want to know why?  Because it pisses me off.

THERE ARE WAYS to express your disappointment, anger, and frustrations toward our current lawmakers.  Yes you can sound like an American and an adult and say that you don't agree with things that are going on in our country as well as things going on in other countries under our flag.  You can let your opinion be known, you can express your disappointment and fear, and still be proud of this place we call home. 

However, if you feel that the very freedoms you exercise in having the right to never allow a positive thing leave your mouth in reference to the United States, then I suppose you do have a problem.  My suggestion is to pack your bags and head to the nearest border and see if you can find another country who will allow you to sit in your ivory tower and cast your aspersions down upon the very country that gives you the right to have them.

I realize I'm probably being offensive, but I've spent the day reading this stuff, and it has made me physically ill.  It's been a long time since something has gotten to me like this.  Like I said, I can sit down with you and discuss dozens and dozens of issues I have with our government... with the choices our lawmakers have made on our behalf... with things we're allowing to happen right here in our own country as well as abroad.  Some of them will upset me, offend me, even make me cry.  But I'm still very proud to be an American and extremely thankful for all the luxuries it affords me. 

Personally, I believe no matter what country you're from, it's OK to be proud of that.  Be proud of who you are and where you're from.  Take pride in SOMETHING.  Geez... if I had to deal with the constant agony, pessimism, and humiliation that some of you apparently feel, I'd go crazy.   Really.

You could insult me.  Use any physical or emotional offense you know, and it wouldn't break my heart or hurt me as badly as feeling unimportant.  When I feel taken for granted, it makes me feel useless, worthless.  Those nasty little emotions don't poke through too often anymore, but when they do, they're crippling.

But we all feel them occasionally, I guess.  When situations and attitudes stay the same.  No matter if you work your ass off to be perfect or let everything go to hell in a handbasket. Neither one will change anything about how the day will end.  It can make life seem so futile.

And yet if we feel this way, it is because we've allowed ourselves to feel it.  I guess it's wallowing at it's most disgusting.  But is it as humiliating as wallowing if you don't allow anyone to see it?  If you don't blog about it, talk about it, or show it?  It feels just as disgusting even if no one ever knows you're feeling it except you.

Geez, if you're a mom, you feel unappreciated and unimportant one a regular basis.  You'd think one would be used to it.  But it's different when it's on a larger scale.  When it's felt from every direction. 

Maybe that's one of the many reasons we blog.  I mean, it does appear that people have more to say when they're feeling tortured in some way.  Maybe at that point we don't really care where it comes from as long as someone shows us attention.  Even a total stranger.  A comment from someone you don't even know telling you that you do mean something is better than no one saying it at all.  (DO NOT leave me tons of comments about how important I am.  Even I'm above patronizing that obvious. ;) )

This is just me thinking "outloud" the way I always do when I'm working myself out of a serious funk.  RomaCittaEterna deleted a post this morning because she didn't want to sound like she was whining.  If I did that, my blog would be empty!

There's a commercial on tv using a slogan something like "The dishes can wait.  Life can't".  It's cute.  Of course it loses its value when you can think of absolutely nothing going on more intresting than the dirty dishes.

This week has shown me once again that Motimers cycle together.  It seems like when one of us hits a snag in our lives, we all hit a snag.  If there's one positive post, there are suddenly dozens.

Motime isn't like Blogspot or any other blogging site.  We thoroughly enjoy each other and spend hours sitting online just to comment back and forth with one another.  The phrase "blogging community" cannot be applied to most sites.  There's nothing "community" about them.  But here at Motime that is exactly what we are.

I admit I do have a certain group of blogs that I visit almost daily.  But many mornings I will find myself visiting every blog on the recently updated list and then wondering around the links I find on those pages.  Sometimes I can come across a blog I've never visited and read that person is going through a rough time, and I feel it with them.  Other times I can stumble onto a blog post that is upbeat and positive, and it will immediately lift my spirits.

If you've had a rough week like I have, hold on... it's almost over.  If you've had a really good happy week, hold tighter... carry it into the weekend and spread it around.  The rest of us are counting on it.

We settled into bed at about 11pm last night.  I watched the evening news long enough to see the weather forecast.  We had some thunderstorms coming our way with the chance of them becoming severe.  I was only a little worried about it because while I live in a house capable of withstanding stronger winds, and I'm not in a flood prone zone, my parents are just the opposite.  So I was a bit tense.  My wonderful miracle man just snuggled in with me and reassured me they would be fine.

I felt sorry for him because it took him a while to fall asleep.  He has a horrible cold so his head is terribly congested.  And going to sleep at midnight when you have to be awake at 5:30am is tough.  I might be used to it, but he isn't.  Normally he doesn't have to actually get out of bed and go mobile until about 7:30 or so.  Mornings like this can be rough for him.

It took me forever to fall asleep between worrying about my family and listening to him struggling to breathe.  I wasn't too worried about my lack of sleep because all my morning was supposed to consist of was getting him up and out the door.  The county has called school off for the rest of the week.  Illness.  The entire area is drowning in the flu and multiple viruses.  Belle had six students in her class yesterday.  That's out of twenty-two.

I was startled out of an already restless sleep at about 1:45am.  The community emergency alert siren was sounding.  I turned on the tv, and sure enough... "take shelter now... tornado warning".  Just great.  I got the kids safely downstairs and then watched the radar for a while.  Even when the tornado threat passed, the storm was still severe.  It ebbed around 7am or so, but the rain is still heavy at times.

All the warnings have passed, and the damages are still being assessed.  The last update I heard was seven confirmed storm related deaths here, but a total of thirty with the surrounding states conbimed. 

We're sitting here eating frozen waffles and cereal, and I'm praying Screw will make it through his day ok.  I know he's sick and exhausted, but the Pharmacist can't really miss work when the entire tri-county area will need medications and supplies.  When the whole town is sick with the flu, I can't really think of anyone more capable of kissing it and making it better.

I can say, with a fair amount of certainty, that I had a conversation with my spouse this morning none of you have had.  Ever.  Why do I think this?  Because you aren't married to him.

This morning I had to spend a good twenty minutes discussing whether or not a body regrows its teeth once it becomes a zombie.  Because, in his opinion, people without teeth are screwed.  If it doesn't regrow missing teeth it can't possibly feed on human brains because there would be no way to get into the cranium otherwise. 

Okay... I suppose I should take the blame for some of it.  I'm not sure brain eating zombies were part of his normal conversation pieces before he met me.  But he's the only person I know who can talk about something like that while sounding logical and completely contained.  You'd have thought we were discussing the stock markert.

Life is never dull around here.  That's for sure.

Why does THE great epiphany always happen in the shower?  This is bothering me a great deal today. 

Why?

Because, I'll be honest.  I don't like to shower.  There.  I've said it.  I don't like to wash my hair.  I love how I feel AFTER I've showered, and I love having fresh clean hair.  But I hate the tasks themselves.  Sometimes they're just such chores.  I know I sound extremely lazy.  Just being honest.  Although I will admit, over the years after using several SHOWER showers, I don't mind showering in those as much as bathtubs with shower heads in them.  Which makes me even lazier considering it must be that whole having to step INTO the bathtub.  I'll defend myself only a little by saying that maybe it comes from the times when I've been so fatigued that it honest to goodness did hurt to lift my leg that high.

Who knows.  I only know that while I do it every day, I don't like to shower.  I'm a girly girl.  I can admit that.  So there is only a million things I have to do every time I cleanse my body.  The shampooing, conditioning, defrizzing, exfoliating, moisturizing... it's just endless sometimes.  Add to that my deep passionate aversion to razor stubble on any part of my body which forces me to shave EVERY single day, and it's exhausting to take a shower. 

If you're a man reading this, you might not "get" it.  After all, I've been in sexual positions with Screw that would make me blush to post on a porn site, but until yesterday morning, I had no idea he doesn't condition his hair.  I wouldn't have even found that out if he hadn't offhandedly ask me why we have so many bottles of conditioner in the shower but are constantly running out of shampoo.

Anyway... unless I've showered earlier in the day and am just too tired to think about it, sometimes baths can be doubly exhausting simply because I always shower before I take a bath.  The thought of soaking in dirty slimy bathwater makes me want to hurl.  So I cleanse before I soak.

Where the hell was I going with this?  oh yeah... the epiphany thing... Because I'm in the shower so long I have plenty time to think.  And that's when the best ideas hit me.  This wasn't always a problem because in my younger, less drugged years, I could just jump out of the shower and act on whatever amazing idea had inspired me while trying to shave my kneecap without cutting myself.  But these days... I don't have the memory, creativity, patience, or god-given clarity to remember the damned idea between the time I lather, rinse, and repeat to when I use whatever miracle product I've been duped into believing will make my pores "appear" smaller.

Yesterday while in the shower I realized I'm extremely serious about wanting to trace my heritage back as far as I can on both sides of my family.  I decided after I got out of the shower I would make a couple phone calls for specific dates to use in order to get my search started.  I've been talking about it for years, but I'm REALLY serious now.  I want to do this.  BUT... not so serious that I remembered how serious I am about it for even twenty seconds after the water stopped running.

Until the shower today.  And wouldn't you know it... right as the witch hazel cleanser hit my eye, BAM... I remembered I want to trace my ancestors.  How do I still remember even though I'm not in the shower?  Because I was determined... I spent the next ten minutes reciting, "You're serious about a family tree... you're serious about a family tree... you're serious about a family tree...."

But hell if I can remember who I was going to call or what dates I was positive would get me started in the right direction.  Maybe my shower tomorrow will remind me... right before I step out of tub onto the rug and forget again.