When I grow up

When I was a little girl I frequented doctors offices.  Either for my sister, who had a cleft lip, or for my nephew, who had luekemia.  I sat and watched them go through procedures with a strange sense of fascination and I learned very quickly that it was the nurses that did all of the work.  They were the ones that wiped away the tears, the ones that held the hands of the patients, the ones that brought the medicine, and the ones that brought the smiles.  I decided that's what i wanted to be when I grew up.

Then I went to grade school.  I had to write a story using the word "out" as many times as possible.  I wrote about Johnny the Outlaw who lived way out in the Australian Outback.  He hid his loot in the outhouse out on his farm.  I used the word out 67 times.  The teacher had me read the story out loud to the class.  She praised me and told me how talented I was.  I decided that I was going to be a writer.

In middle school Lorena Bobbit literally threw her husband's manhood out the window.  The court case was all over the news.  Defense attorneys and prosecuting attorneys talked endlessly into the news cameras.  I agreed that what Lorena did was totally acceptable given the circumstances, but she was obviously guilty.  She admitted that she was guilty.  I didn't understand how a lawyer could willingly represent a guilty client.  I went into high school with my heart set on Harvard Law.  I was going to be a DA.

In 9th grade I had to write another story.  This time it was a nonfiction assignment where I had to go out and observe my surroundings.  I rode the bus to the mall, watched people, rode the bus home from the mall, and turned in a 2 page handwritten paper on the experience.  My teacher asked me to make another copy so that she could have it printed in a school publication.  Screw that lawyer crap.. I was meant to be a writer!

My senior year I met a young man that changed my life forever.  He was unspeakably beautiful.  His eyes looked right into my soul.  I ran my fingers through his curly black hair and breathed in the scent of his skin.  I never imagined a love so deep could exist.  Nursing, lawyering, writing... none of that mattered.  None of it was what I wanted but I didn't realize that until I held that 6lb 14oz squirming bundle of pure perfection.  I was meant to be a mom.

Two years later, the decision to be a mom was only solidified with the birth of my beautiful daughter.  The feeling that I had when I held her in my arms with my son in my lap can only be described as completeness.  I knew right then that nothing would ever be as satisfying as being their mom.  I still believe that.  If I die the moment after I publish this blog, I will die knowing that I did not one, but two great things with my life.

When John went to Korea, I was left in North Carolina with two small children, only a couple of friends, and absolutely no family.  I was still a stay at home mom.. but Jay was in pre-K and Kaitlyn was in pre school.  I turned to my computer for solace.  Again, I took to writing.  I journaled, I wrote short stories, I wrote naughty stories, I wrote poetry.  The short stories and journals got deleted.  The naughty stories went to John.  The poetry reminds me of a very dark time in my life.  Those feelings of wanting to be a writer tugged at the back of my brain.  I decided to wait until my kids were in school full time to go back to school.  I wanted to be realistic though.  I was a mom, a caregiver, I would be a nurse like originally planned.

Nursing didn't work out.  I decided that it involved way too much math and science for my taste.  I changed my major to English.  I would teach in a high school and foster young minds.  That didn't work out either.  I decided I don't like teenagers enough to spend all day with them.  Somehow, writing always came back to haunt me.  I switched my major to journalism and in May I will hold a pretty piece of paper that says I have graduated with a Liberal Arts degree with a minor in Journalism. 

It has taken me almost 10 years to get my 2 year degree.  I went back and forth.. nursing, writing, law, writing, english, writing... it has admittedly been a long road.  But, I have no regrets.  Every twist and turn that I have taken has brought me to a deeper understanding of self.  One way or another, writing has ALWAYS come back to me.  Writing is as much a part of me as the hand that i use to write with.  It comes as naturally as breathing.  The thoughts and ideas that flow out through my fingertips jump around through my brain so much that they are hard wired into who i am.  I tried to go different routes that interested me, but I have learned that they were merely detours that led me back to the main road.  I know, without a doubt, that I will be a writer... when I do finally grow up.

The Empty Chair

I have always hosted big Thanksgiving dinners.  I believe that the best way to honor the holiday is to continue the tradition of sharing a meal with family AND friends.  I can’t begin to count the number of single soldiers that I have welcomed into my home so that they could have a home cooked meal at my table instead of standing in line for a glob of instant mashed potatoes.  I do remember all of their faces though.  I remember the banter, the laughter, their gratitude, and the feeling that I got knowing that I made a tiny difference in their holiday. 

Yesterday, as I stood in my kitchen and watched my guests, I realized how much has changed since the Twin Towers collapsed.  My husband was the only soldier in my home, the remaining 13 people in my home were either women or children.  I realized just how thankful I am for those women.  Three husbands are deployed, one recently deceased, but all of those women were sitting around my table, chatting, laughing, and taking care of their families regardless of the missing men.  Was I that strong during Thanksgiving last year when John was gone?  I don’t think I was.  I think, when I look back on this Thanksgiving in the years to come, I will remember the banter, the laughter, but the gratitude will be my own because those women made a difference in MY holiday.  Family isn’t what DNA we share or which branch of the family tree we sit… family was what I saw last night.  It was the closeness, the togetherness, the love and the memories.

The men that couldn't be there were still honored because among the 30 pounds of turkey, 12 cups of stuffing, 10 pounds of potatoes, two dozen deviled eggs, 25 petite soufflés, 84 ounces of M&M’s, 30 homemade rolls, 5 pounds of candied yams, corn on the cob, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole,  bottles of red and white wine, beer, a gallon of hot apple cider, there was one empty place setting at the head of the table.   Sitting in the chair across from the empty wine glass, empty plate, and untouched utensils was a pair of tan boots, a Kevlar helmet, an M-16 machine gun, and an ACU jacket for the soldiers, and a white candle for Mike Holiday...  The setting was there to honor all of the brave men and women that couldn’t be home for the holidays… either because they are currently deployed ,or because they were sitting at the feet of their God watching over their families on this Thanksgiving. 

Veterans Day

I went to a memorial service yesterday for three men I never knew that were close to my heart.  They were soldiers, killed in the line of duty far from home in a foreign place called Afghanistan.  I went to support my friend.  I went to support my sister Army wives.  I went to pay my respects.  I went to honor their memories.  I went because it was the right thing to do.

These three heroes left the earthly plain almost a month ago, but their loss was still fresh on everyone’s minds, and heavy on their hearts.  There were no flag draped coffins.  At the front of the church, in front of the American flag, there were three helmets upon the pulpit.  There was a soldier there to give a eulogy for each fallen comrade individually.  It’s hard to accept that these soldiers, the men who go and fight for our country, are human beings… and it’s harder still to watch them tear up, or even hold back sobs, when they speak of the brother in arms that they lost.

At the end of a military funeral/memorial service they do what is called the “final roll call”.  The First SGT stood at the front of the church and called out names of other men in the unit…. After each name was called, someone in the pews would respond with “Here First SGT”.  When he got to the names of the dead, there was no response.  He called their names three times, and with each time the silence was more deafening.  John says that the final roll call is to signify that they are still a part of the unit, but they were unable to make the services because they had made the ultimate sacrifice.  That they did.

Today is Veterans Day.  It’s more than an excuse to close your business, take a four day weekend, or to get drunk.  Today has been set aside for a small population of men and women that risk their lives every day, that have given up a piece of their very being –either physically or emotionally- or have sacrificed themselves for something they believed in.  Thank you to ALL Veterans, past and present for standing up to protect me, my family, and my Country.

My Boy of Fall

When I was 17 years old I remember sitting on my dad’s recliner in the living room watching TV.  A Pampers commercial came on and the babies were all cute and squishy.  Then an anti abortion commercial came on, and after that a Baby Your Baby commercial came on.  By the end of that minute and a half, I was bawling like a baby myself.  As I wiped the tears from my eyes, wondering why I was crying over stupid commercials, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had a period in quite some time, and I had been suffering from the “stomach flu” for about a month and a half.  Since then, my kids have always been able to make my eyes well up and overflow with tears on a moment’s notice.  I cried when I sent them off to preschool, elementary school, middle school.. and this year, high school for Jay. 

Yesterday was Jaydan’s last football game.  I’ll admit, they did not have a good season, but they had a good team.  They didn’t go completely defeated, they won one game, but they obviously didn’t do too hot.  Last night they played Mullen HS in Denver.  I’ve been told they are one of the top rated schools in the state.  The entire team was worried, none of them were too sure about themselves, and several of the parents just wanted it to hurry up and start so that it could be over.

The boys amazed us.  It was like it was a completely different team.  They held the other team back for the first half of the game, and while they still lost… they played hard.  I went down to the sidelines after the game was over to help Jaydan with his gear, and the energy down there was amazingly positive and happy.  I looked at Jay and mentioned that they were all in an awfully good mood, and I had about four boys respond excitedly that it was because that was the best game they had ever played.  I heard several of the boys telling the coach that next year, they would come and play down with the freshmen early so that next years team wouldn’t have to suffer like they did. 

Jay rode home with me because he didn’t want to ride all the way home from Denver with a bunch of smelly guys.  Once the bus got back to Rampart, one of his buddies texted him and we went back to the school to turn in Jay’s gear.  I pulled up and he started getting his stuff out of the trunk.  As soon as I parked Kenny Chesney’s “Boys of Fall” came on the radio.  I sat in the car and watched my son with his teammates.  They hugged each other, they talked smack, they laughed, and they helped each other out.  It amazed me that this was the same group of kids that played together way back in September at Gateway HS in Denver.  Back then, they weren’t a team.  They were a hodge podge grouping of children with a similar interest.  There were a few superstars that obviously didn’t understand the concept of teamwork.  There were a few that had never played before.  And there were a few that played but didn’t have enough confidence to bring it forward.  Between then and now those kids grew into a team of hardworking young men with a special bond and memories that nobody that them will ever understand.  And yes, I cried like a baby.

Here is a link to the video to the song...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlXDo5WhQXI&ob=av3e

Suburbia

Suburbia

            In the 1950’s June Cleaver set the standard for the American woman.  Today, post Women’s Rights Movement, the perfect woman is expected to have an education, a career, a family, and still have time to look good while doing it all.  Realistically, many women do not believe that there is enough time in the day to do everything that is expected of them, so they will go from one extreme to another.  But, it is possible to be a modern day June Cleaver.  Just follow these simple guidelines and you’ll soon be the poster girl for the Mrs. Suburbia competition, which as you may know, is hosted annually by the Jones’.

Appearance, obviously, is the first step toward transitioning yourself to perfection.  Retire your threadbare jeans, ratty sweatpants, and screen printed T-shirts, from now on you will be wearing nothing but knee length skirts, dress slacks, ugly cardigans and always a pearl necklace.  June Cleaver would be nothing without her pearls, and so would you.  Don’t have the money for a whole new wardrobe?  Not a problem, simply hit up the local Goodwill store and rummage through the racks of Grandma’s cast away clothes.  A good wife is a thrifty wife!  After your attire is suburban appropriate, the next makeover is you.  Letting anyone, including your husband, see you without makeup on should be treated as a capital offense.  Forget about the sloppy ponytails and hooker red lipstick.  From now on it is hair sprayed locks and shimmering lip gloss! 

Husband gets up at 6am you say?  Not a problem… simply set your alarm for an hour sooner, that will give you time to cook breakfast for your family!  Proper nutrition is a very important aspect of keeping your family healthy and happy.  Throw out those boxes of cereal and donate the frozen meals to a neighbor.  From now on, all meals served to your family will be prepared fresh and hot to order.  While you cannot prepare a hot lunch for them while they are at work or school, you must prepare a fresh lunch for them each morning while they eat breakfast.  If they request take out or fast food for dinner, you may secretly be grateful, but, you must pretend to act shocked and disgusted before you give into their whims.  Rest assured the pearls will not clash with the décor at Burger King.

            Simply because you have assimilated into Suburbia you may still reserve the right to cheer at your child’s sporting events; you just have to resist the urge to be obscene.  While it may be tempting to shove the referee’s yellow flag up his ass and out through his nose, violence is strictly prohibited while mimicking the life of a modern day Stepford Wife.  It is best to clap enthusiastically when appropriate, and to shove your hands in your pockets when it is not.  While in the company of other suburban mothers it is best to avoid providing grain for the gossip mill.  Actually, having your child in multiple sports and music lessons will raise your social standing.  If you manage to get your children to football, volleyball, piano lessons, guitar lessons, voice lessons, and Tae Kwon Do without accepting help from your spouse you will be treated with respect by your peers.

            Remember your wants, needs, and desires come second to those of your husbands and children’s.  If you are working on a project of your own and your husband wants to go hiking (for example) you must drop what you’re doing and go hiking for the good of the family.  Wear your pearls if you have to, just as a reminder of why you are doing it.  It doesn’t matter if he’s in better shape than your or if you have to jog to keep up with his long stride, you have to carefully pick your way along the dried out creek beds and animal trails that he chooses and you better pretend to have a good time.  There will be no bitching, complaining, or huffing and puffing about something you cannot change.  And, when you make it to the top of the mountain it won’t matter if you’re too sick from your fear of heights to eat, that simply means there will be more to fill your darling husband’s tummy.

At some point, your friends will start to miss the pre-suburbanite you.  They may make fun of your pearls.  Your children and husband will start to become weary of the new, improved, better dressed and always smiling you.  You, too, may also begin to covet your daughter’s denim blue jeans and your son’s smelly sneakers.  You can peek into the back of the closet at the 5” red “ @#!$ me ” heels that you wore last Valentine’s Day, but do not give into the temptation to throw the pearls into oncoming traffic.  If you take the time to notice, you will see that people around you are starting to treat you differently.  Your friends won’t cut their eyes over to you with weary amusement when they say something like “One slip of my hand and it was all over.”  The employees at the grocery store will come to assist you without you having to hunt them down.  You will notice that people are treating you like a lady.

Once your family members realize that you’re sticking to your plan of becoming the perfect housewife and mother, they will get used to the idea that your sole purpose in life is to spoil them.  You will never be bored again.  Your son will feel free to yell at you when he’s upset with his father.  Your daughter will think that it’s okay to treat you like a servant.  Your husband, freaked out by the new you, will start to hang out in the basement to give you space to vacuum and mop in peace.  You might feel a little sad or even perhaps a tad bit lonely, but just rub the pearls around your neck to remind yourself why you’re making such an effort to be perfect.

You see, perfection through the eyes of society is not hard to achieve.  Sure, it comes with a little price to pay.  Your children lose respect for you as an authority figure.  Your husband avoids you because you’re not the woman he married.  You lose the sense of self and become uncomfortable in your own skin.  Your laughs, your smiles, and your every happiness is not your own but the laundry will be finished, the dishes will be done, and you will look damn good for your husband so you will have fulfilled your obligation to society to be the perfect housewife.

Stepford Wife: Day 7

I'm done.  I'm over it.  There will be no more Stepfording around here... ever.  Truth be told, I started cheating yesterday.  Slept in a little, slacked off on the breakfast thing... cooking wasn't gourmet, but shit got done.  Taking time to reflect I've seen a few changes... one, people get used to being spoiled way too easily, and I fall into spoiling people way too easily.  I never thought I was a willing doormat, and I don't guess I really am because there is only so much I will take.  But is that my own fault?  When Kaitlyn treats me like a servant, when Jaydan yells at me because he's pissed off, when John leaves his dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is clearly open and being loaded.. is that my own fault?  Do I act like Kaitlyn's Mammie?  Am I really afraid of Jaydan's teenage hormones that I allow him to yell at me?  Do I really cater to John so much that he simply assumes that I'll run around after him like a toddler?  I think maybe it is so.  I think maybe I am a doormat.  Really, not a whole lot changed in my behavior over the week, except that I dressed nicer, did my hair/make up, and got up to cook breakfast, oh, and held my temper a little more so than usual.  But today, when I was trying to play around with Kaitlyn's hair to get it Marilyn'd she was treating me with such disdain and disrespect that I lost my shit.  I ripped the curlers out of her hair and stormed out of the house.  I guess asking a full 7 days of holding my temper was too much to ask!

The Wash Cloth

While in my creative nonfiction class today, we had a writing prompt in honor of Halloween.  We were asked to write about a personal ghost story, or something that just really scared the crap out of us.  I decided to write about one of the first ghosts I ever interacted with... and I thought I would share it here.

My Grandma was not your typical grandmother.  She didn't knit sweaters or bake cookies... she cussed you and out and threw knives at you.  So, you can imagine my anxiety when I was told that we were going to live at Grandma's house when I was in middle school.

One night, when both of my parents were working, I started to feel very ill.  I decided to go to bed and piled tons of blankets on top of myself.  I remember wondering how it was possible to shiver with cold, and be sweating profusely at the same time. 

At some point in the night, my grandma came into the room.  She sat at the foot of my bed and looked at me.  I smiled inwardly when I heard her mumble "Anuk".  She leaned over and put her cool hand on my forehead.  That had was so soothing, so refreshing, that it could only be likened to a cool drink of water in the summer time.  She left the room, but returned momentarily with a cool wet wash cloth.  She placed it on my forehead, and stayed with me until dawn when my fever broke.  I fell asleep, and I slept hard for a few more hours.

When I woke up, I went upstairs to get a drink.  Grandma was sitting at the head of the table, like she always did, I kissed her on the cheek and thanked her.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me last night."

"What are you talking about? I just got home!" (She was still working at the 4 Queens at the time)

She sat there at the table, eyes wide and face pale, as I recounted the night to her.  She got up and went into her room, and came back with an old photograph of herself in a silver frame.

"Is this who was in your room last night?"

"Yes, Grandma, that is you."

"No," she whispered, "that's my mother.  You sleep in her room!"

I went downstairs a short time later to get dressed.  My heart skipped a beat when I looked and saw the wet washcloth folded next to my pillow.

Stepford Wife: Day 6

Wow.. I sucked at Stepfording today.  Nobody got breakfast.  The house did not get cleaned.  I didn't drive my kid to music class, and I only stayed for a minute at the middle school for what was supposed to be a volleyball game but turned out to be a practice.  I got bitchy with my husband and I had an overall pissy attitude all day.  In all fairness, I woke up feeling like I got run over by a steam roller in a shit field.  I fell asleep last night around 10, and when my alarm went off at 5 this morning I reset it to 6.  When I finally rolled out of bed, my head was throbbing, I felt sick to my stomach and my kidneys were killing me.  I forced myself out of bed at 6 and made sure that the kids were up and moving.  I drove Jay to school and when I got home I curled up in a ball on the couch.  John was still sleeping, and since he never gets to sleep in I didn't want to bother him.  I felt bad though, he was in the middle of talking to me once he got up and I fell asleep again.  Oh well, I guess that was my body telling me that I'm NOT a robot... no matter how hard I try.  I just hope  I don't miss the Fools Ball games this weekend because I'm suffering from another damn kidney infection!

Stepford Wife: Day 5

So, it's Tuesday and I've been able to take the time to notice the people around me with this whole immersion thing.  Do you know what I have seen?  People, strangers and friends, are treating me differently since I donned the Surburbia attire.  It's like there is something about an ugly cardigan and a string of pearls that suddenly makes people treat you like you're "worth" something.  For example, I went to King Soopers and I was looking for something, three employees came up to me and asked if they could help me.  I've been going to that King Soopers for five years... I normally have to hunt people down!  People that DO know me for me.. oddly enough, are either treating me like they would a stranger, or they are highly amused by it all.  There is no in between.  Oh!  Great example!!  At TKD tonight, Randy Shumway was saying something about something, but he said "One slip of my hand and..."  Any other day he would have cut his eyes over to me, with weary amusement, but this time he kept talking.  I told him "You're killing me, Randy" but it took him a few minutes to process what I was talking about.  It's all very strange to me.  I feel like people are treating me like a LADY.  It's very odd lol.

Stepford Wife: Day 4

I'm starting to be uncomfortable in my own skin.  This is so not me!  I feel like a Plain Jane.  There's no hint of me in the clothing that I wear.  The only piece of me that has clung on for the past few days are my heels... I won't sacrifice my sexy heels!!!  I miss my smelly sneakers though, and 5 year old patched up and threadbare jeans.  No amount of mint lotion will soothe my aching feet from four days of  heels, and how sad is it that it's only been 4 days and I already have to recycle the clothes? I have Tshirts and sweaters for days.. but the suburbanite attire is sparse at best.  All I can really say today is that I miss me, and I think my family is starting to as well.  I know my friends are.  Eric says it's like invasion of the body snatchers, Cree says she wants her friend back....  Maybe I'll be daring tomorrow and wear some Come Fuck Me red heels... lol. 

Stepford Wife: Day 3

John asked me to stay in bed with him this morning.  I had a bunch to do, and I knew that it would set me behind schedule for the whole day... but I didn't argue too much.  The first half of the day wasn't very eventful.  We got up and moving around 9am, I made breakfast (strawberry shortcake waffles, eggs, and bacon) cleaned up a little, and got caught up on most of my math homework.  John went for a run, went and got a haircut, and watched a movie with Kait while Jay was at the Raiders/Bronco game. 

Later in the afternoon, John asked me if I wanted to go for a hike.  Again, I think this was a little test to see how much he could get out of me.  He asked while I was in the middle of doing my homework, and I wasn't exactly in my jeans and Tshirt lets go hiking wardrobe.  In all fairness, I usually tell him no or that I have too much going on... because I DO... but I compromised and asked to finish the section I was working on before we left. 

When we first arrived at the trail head to Pulpit Rock we ran across an elderly couple.  They were walking hand in hand, in somewhat coordinating outfits, and simply enjoying each others company.  We stopped to chat with them for a few minutes, and I thought to myself.. wow, that's what I want to have with John in another 20 years.  Unfortunately, once we got on our way, I was again reminded of another reason WHY I find excuses to NOT go hiking with him and the kids.  Let's face it, I'm NOT 12, 14, or a big bad Green Beret.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE a nice hike through the woods or up a mountain trail where I can take my time, look at the changing leaves, watch the ground for bunnies, and try to spot interesting rocks scattered along the trail.  But, hiking with John is everything I DON'T like.  I have to half jog to keep up with his long stride.  The "trails" he picks are no more than dried creek beds or animal trails.  I watch the ground at all times, but that's to make sure I don't slip on loose gravel or fall off of a cliff.  When I fall back several yards, he stops and waits for me.. but it makes me feel even worse about myself.  I know that if I weren't holding him back he would have been to the top and back three times over.  About halfway through I normally get very verbally bitchy at him.  When I consent to going for a hike with John, either the two of us or as a family, I expect.. hope for... family togetherness.  Every time I am disappointed, and I verbalize it... this time, when I realized that they were leaving me FAR behind, that there would be no hand in hand strolls through nature, when my heart was beating so fast I thought it might come out of my throat.. except that my throat was pinched so tight air wouldn't come through.. I just told him to keep going and to stop waiting for me.  It makes me feel inferior when he stands on top of the hill, breathing easy and relaxed, looking down at me while he waits for me to catch up... just so that he can repeat the process again in 5 minutes.  When we got to the top of the rock formations, I tried to get up higher, but my unnatural fear of heights kept me from scrambling up any further.  He and Kaitlyn wandered around while I sat by myself looking out past the I25 at Pikes Peak.  John and Kaitlyn ate a late lunch up there, I was too sick to my stomach to eat so I gave John my sandwich.  We hung out up there for a little while, and came home.

Now John is at the V Bar watching Jay's guitar teacher perform a 30 minute set.  I opted to stay home with Kaitlyn, wait for Jay to get home from Denver, and knock out a little more homework.  Overall, I guess today wasn't much different than any other Sunday.. aside from the John going out and me cooking breakfast.  Until tomorrow!

Stepford Wife: Day 2 (belated)

I was SO tired yesterday, I just couldn't bring myself to blog!  I don't think that getting up part of yesterday was as bad as the day before, probably simply because it was a football weekend, which I have been doing since school started.  What was hard, however, was managing my time AFTER I dropped Jay off at football practicwe at 7am. 

I was a bad Stepford Wife and set my alarm a little too late to cook breakfast for Jaydan before I had to drop him off up at Rampart.  Instead, I *gasp* swung by McDonalds and got him a breakfast meal there.  I rationalized that he needed the protein and carbs in that meal as opposed to the muffins that I had intended to bake anyway.  The boy needed calories to survive, right???  That was about all the easy I got that day!!

When I got home John and Kaitlyn were still sleeping.  I unloaded the dishwasher, started the apple struesal muffins (I won't even lie, I'm not THAT Betty Crocker, the came out of a box), and switched out yet another load of laundry.  I woke John and Kaitlyn up at about 8:30 so that we could be to the 9:00 game on time.

The game was VERY difficult.  I'm a jeans, Tshirt, and ponytail kind of girl.  However, I showed up in grey slacks and a sweater.  Instead of sneakers, I had a pair of sensible black Mary Jane's.  Rampart Freshmen played against Cheyenne Mountain Freshman, and Rampart achieved their first win of the season.  I, of course, cheered my son on, clapped, jumped up and down when they got their touchdown, and joined in the festive mood of the other fans when we won.  I was thrilled to finally be on the winning side of the game... but, I felt a little cheated.  I wanted to make way more noise and be way more inappropriate than  i actually was.  When my son recovered a fumble I wanted to jump up and down, shout his name, and do a little victory dance.  When he sacked the QB I wanted to yell something along the lines of "That's my baby, the one who just knocked yours on his ASS!" And I cannot even begin to tell you how many tackles that he made that made me want to fluff out my tail feathers and strut up and down the field!!  When an unsportsman like conduct call was made on his team, for no apparent reason at the time (I later found out it was because my darling baby dropped the F Bomb on the side lines) I wanted to yell at the Refs and tell them where to shove their stupid yellow flags.  Instead, I behaved and restrained myself as best as I could.  Instead of pumping my fists in the air , I clapped enthusiastically when appropriate, and shoved my hands in my pockets when it wasn't.  I opted for cute little hops when the excitement bubbled over, instead of doing a victory dance or jumping up screaming "THAT'S RIGHT!  NUMBER 66 JUST ROCKED YOUR WORLD BECAUSE THAT'S THE WAY MY BOY SHOWS YOU HOW THE RAMPART RAMS DO!!!" 

I did have to step out of Stepford to put my daughter in her place.  I think that she is getting a little too used to the never angry June Cleaver type.  All day  I got a whole lot of sighs, slamming doors, and stomping offs when she didn't get her way.  In good conscious I could not allow her to continue that behavior.  There is only so much that I will do for school, and allowing that sort of disrespect without consequence is far beyond that line.  I didn't go off, yell and scream like usual, but I told her pretty much the same thing I just said, though I will admit it was more forceful and probably a little more scary than usual. 

When John and I finally rolled into bed, we were both too tired for me to censor anything.  He looked at me and said "You're sleeping in tomorrow, right?"  I was about to list off a bunch of things that had to be done, but he simply repeated the question to me while subtly nodding his head.  I took the hint and said yes, I would sleep in.  Hey, if my husband tells me to sleep, it would be VERY un-Stepford like for me to disagree, right???  I really think this whole thing is starting to freak him out.. but more on that in the Day 3 blog!!

Stepford Wife: Day 1

OH BLOODY HELL!!!  Who these suburban housewives that always have it all together???  There is NO WAY they can possibly be truly happy!!!  They wouldn't have time to!  No wonder all these men with the "perfect family" never freaking get laid... their wives are too damn exhausted!!!

My day started at 5am when the alarm on my phone went off.  The phone, for good reasons, is across the room on the windowsill.  When I opened my eyes and looked out of my bedroom window, I saw that it was as dark out then as it was when i went to bed.  I hit snooze... twice.

At 5:15 I rolled out of bed and turned my phone off... but not before sticking my tongue out at it.  I even cussed it out a little bit in my head.  That'll show Apple for making such annoying alarm tones!  John's alarm wasn't set to go off until 5:30, so I stumbled through the dark into the master bath in our bedroom and shut the door before turning on the light.  I stubbed my freaking toe, but at least it didn't wake John up.

I had the foresight the night before to put my clothes into the bathroom, because God knows I highly pissed off when John wakes me up in the morning at the ass crack of dawn when he's getting ready.  I slipped into a knee length black skirt with a Grandma flower print on it.  A white ribbed shirt and fitted black jacket finished the ensemble.  In all my brilliance I went to bed with wet hair... so for the next 30 minutes I spent some much needed quality time with my straightener and a brush.  I slapped some make up on, opting for lip gloss instead of lipstick because I'm pretty sure the proper Stepford wife does NOT wear Come Fuck Me Red before 9 p.m.

By this point it was nearly 6am (seriously and hour to get ready?!?!) and time to wake Jaydan up.  I found my black heels, slipped them on, and went to wake Jay up.  On the way, I flipped on the dryer so that he could have warm clothes to put on once he got out of the shower.  Once I was sure he was awake, I fought the urge to climb back into my bed and went into the kitchen to start some much needed coffee.  I pulled some bacon out of the fridge and got that going while I mixed up some pancake batter and dug the blueberries out.  Jaydan got out of the shower at 6:30 and I put his food in front of him before I went to wake Kaitlyn up.  Once she was in the shower, I cooked her breakfast as well.  I drove Jay to school and came back a few minutes before John got home from the gym.  I heard the garage door open, poured him a cup of coffee, and handed it to him when he walked in.  I then started cooking HIS bacon and pancakes.  I had to leave by 8am for school, and had not stopped going since 5:15... oh, and I hadn't managed to feed myself before school either!

After school I went grocery shopping, ran by the Class Six to pick up some wine and some beer for John.  I'm pretty sure he was testing me when he asked for it.  I just smiled and said "Yes Dear".  I came home and unloaded the groceries, switched out the laundry, folded the laundry (shit, I have another load to fold before bed!) washed my comforter, switched the sheets off my bed because *censored* but that's all good, it was worth it!  I took a 40 minute break to catch up on one of the shows that John and I watch together, because he wanted to catch up on this weeks with me.  (I could have a worse husband lol)

After that, I started dinner.  Grilled chicken and mozzarella ravioli, homemade garlic and herb breadsticks, and a nice salad.  In the meantime I coached Kaitlyn and Christine on their National Anthem duet (they made some progress today) and switched out yet another load of laundry. 

Now, dinner is done, the kitchen is clean, I have yet to finish the laundry or bring the comforter upstairs.  Instead, I choose to sit at my computer sipping on a glass of wine to recount my day.  It was a constant Go Go Go day, and I'm sure the rest will be more of the same.  I have come to realize that I am NOT a robot and I cannot be a TRUE Stepford, but I will do my best to emulate "perfection".  It was pretty funny to see the look on John's face when he walked in from the gym at 7am to see me, hair done, make up on, and in heels wit ha cup of coffee in my hand for him.  I'm not sure if he was scared it had arsenic in it or if I had been abducted and swapped by aliens.  When Jennifer came over, the look on her face was about the same lol.  Tomorrow should be interesting.  Jaydan has a football game, and how do I be Little Mrs. Perfect and a football mom at the same time?  Does Mrs. Suburbia really yell at the top of her lungs "COME ON JAYDAN, HIT SOMEONE FOR MOMMY!!!" ????  I'm sure that the whole cussing out the refs will be a bad idea too.... and, what does June Cleaver wear to sporting events?  Aw well, we shall see!

happy birthday Brenda!

Thank God for Facebook, otherwise I would never remember anybody's birthdays!  There are a few that I can remember... but overall, yeah, I normally forget.  Today is my sisters birthday, and while every day is a blessing, birthdays for Brenda are a special blessing for our entire family.  In 1995 we discovered that she was in a late stage of non hodgkins lymphomia, and the doctors told her that she only had six months left to live.

The news rocked her world.  She had two teenage boys, a school age daughter, and a baby boy that needed her... basically, she had no time for death to get in the way raising her family -- and she told the doctors as much.  They pretty much shrugged their shoulders and said sorry about your luck.  But I do not come from a family of quitters, and nobody would accept the diagnosis.  She left California and moved to Oklahoma where our brother had found a cancer center and oncologist that would take her case.  Within a short time, for the first time that I could remember, all of my siblings were in the same state at once.  We had no idea what the future held... but we knew that we wanted to hold onto her.

I was only there for a short while.  I had just had Jaydan, and John and I were on the verge of starting our lives together as husband and wife.  I was there long enough to witness her weight loss, her vomitting, and the exhaustion that came with the treatment.  I don't think it actually hit me until Easter of that year though.  We all gathered at our sister's house out in the country to celebrate together... and there were a lot of us.  My mom has seven kids, and of those seven kids none of us has less than 2 kids of our own, and the older of those kids have had kids... so, there were a LOT of people there.  Growing up, Brenda was like a second mother to me.  Her oldest son, Jeremy, was more my brother than he was my nephew.  I always knew that when Brenda was around, there would never be a dull moment.  She was insane, she would pretend to be a witch, or hide behind a corner to scare you, and just stand there and laugh a true belly laugh afterward.  She's the odd one that sticks a spoon to her nose at the dinner table and carries on a conversation with you with a straight face.  

But that Easter, she wasn't chasing kids or laughing with the adults.  She sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around her despite the warm spring day.  Her skin, that once radiated life, hung from her bones and looked almost gray.  Her hair was short and looked like straw, it had lost all of it's luster and health.  As I chased the kids around the yard and helped the younger ones find the eggs, I tried to not look at her.  I hated what the monster inside of her body was doing to her.  I didn't want to see her like that, and I wanted her back.  I wanted her to be out there helping me help the kids.  I wanted her to sneak up behind me and scare me, I wanted her to laugh.  I hated that in the back of my mind I wondered if any of that would ever happen again.  I can say this though, even though she looked so sickly, the life in her eyes never dulled, and that gave me a tiny sliver of hope.

Through the years we watched her go through treatment.  We rejoiced when she went into remission, I cried myself to sleep when she went out of remission.  Cancer became an almost tangible entity to me.  I pictured it as a tall lanky man with a long pointed nose like a rat.  He wore a long black overcoat, black boots, and a fedora that covered the top half of his face.  Sometimes he carried a walking stick, other times I could almost see him standing against the wall sneering at me.   It seemed like every time we got the upper hand on Cancer, Cancer fought back and backed us into a corner.  I was grateful that I had moved from Oklahoma to North Carolina.  I didn't want to watch her be sick anymore.  I wanted to call her on the phone and pretend that everything was OK.  The last time I found out that she had gone back into remission I rejoiced with prejudice.  I had heard that song before, and I knew that the Cancer could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting for us to drop our guard so that he could once again invade her body. 

But, Cancer never came back.  I guess he realized that he picked a fight with the wrong woman.  I know that many out there cannot say the same thing.  I know that many of you have lost the people that you love the most to the same sinister beast that haunted the shadows of my mind when my sister was sick.  For that I am truly sorry, and my heart breaks for your loss.  But, today, on another birthday, I cannot be more happy that I can say that Brenda is around to blow out another candle and eat another slice of cake.  I thank God every day that she is still here, because selfishly, I don't know what I would do if I knew she was gone.  She's my inspiration.  She's my hero.  She's my sister.