The Puzzling Challenge...or the Challenged Puzzler?

My dear husband insists I am secretly in love with logic puzzles. One quiet evening, as I am innocently reading a book, he bounds in from the computer waving a sheaf of papers and breathlessly asking me where we can find two pencils. Eyeing him a little suspiciously I procure the requested items, much to his enthusiastic, almost boyish delight.

"You have to try this!" he exclaims, a little flushed, flopping down on the couch beside me. He hands me a sheet of paper with a grid containing numbers and lines. Some numbers are missing. Some lines are bold, marking the small grid off not only by column and row, but by nine-square sections as well. Apparently he has found a 'math' game for me to try.

"No! Not math," he assures me quickly as he sees my eyes glaze and lip curl in distaste, "it's numbers, logic!" he says. Like this is going to make me feel any more relieved at the moment. His new-found brain-busting, self-esteem crunching game for his mathematically (and logically) challenged wife, is a real hum-dinger. It's a down loadable puzzle game called 'Sudoku', and to me, it represents all that is overwhelming about my inability to think linearly, logically, and even competitively. The goal of the game is supposedly clear. Enter numbers 1 - 9 in the squares so that the numbers are not repeated in any given column, row, or grid.

He happily trots over with my first try, a puzzle that has been rated 'medium' on the scale of difficulty. Sure. For whom? Cal-tech number crunchers? A government super computer? As for me and my overly emotional and creative self, I have now been asked to humiliate myself in front of my spouse who is clearly far superior with this kind of thinking.

I'd rather color in the boxes. Think of nine items to draw in each. Make up quilting patterns with the grid. Use the numbers to randomly think of shopping amounts to spend. Somehow I'm just not quite getting into the spirit of the whole thing. My husband is insistent in a spontaneous and childlike way, so I rally and attempt to tune in once more to his explanations of how to do it. My eyes are swimming in and out of focus as I stare at the grid of seemingly random numbers. Then he hits me with the final mental stressor. There's only ONE possible answer. One misplaced number sets off a chain reaction that causes all the other numbers to be wrong. He quickly shows me how to start seeing 'patterns' in the random digits that would preclude certain numbers from being written in those spaces. The knot of tension that was slowly building in my shoulders has grown to a full-blown cramp. Now I am under pressure to unlock the puzzle with the one, heretofore, undiscovered key.

It's all quite fascinating. If you have a gun to your head and a crazed mathematician threatening you, you might find the wherewithal to attempt to burn a few braincells on the thing. Out of respect for my husband, and his insistence that I would 'love' it...I tried. Really. For about ten minutes even. At first, I had that stabbing hope that I get when I start some unknown and previously untried activity...that I will somehow be a 'natural' reaching some unimagined proficiency and proving to be a prodigy. So far I have applied that hope to bowling, golf, painting, and a few other activities, all with the same results. Mediocrity, outright failure, or worse...bumbling unpracticed amateurishness. One-armed kindergartners bowl better than me. One-eyed, no-armed golfers can hit the ball while I swing the club consistently...into the ground, or an inch above the ball.

This puzzle proved to be no different. Within moments I was staring glassy eyed at the numbers I had placed so carefully and the holes in my logic made Swiss cheese look like 400 count percale. I found myself doodling around the borders. At first, just small designs. My husband was feverishly working on his puzzle, bright-eyed and practically smacking his lips in glee!

"Ah HA!" he chuckles, forgetting I'm even there, "here's the first number right already!" He shakes off his enthusiasm slightly to see how far I've got...and chuckles kindly but condescendingly at the fact that for all the numbers I do have filled in...the one that is right is blank. I grumble an incoherent remark and scrunch lower scribbling and erasing furtively for a few moments. Soon my pencil finds its way around and around the cube on the paper in a large circle, and almost of its own volition inserts a diagonal line bisecting the circle in the classic 'no smoking' sign. I have subconsciously signed off on the puzzle. As my eyes swim back into focus I feel the burden lift off my shoulders to be 'logical', intelligent, or even remotely interested in the game. I pick up my book again and lose myself in some empty brain-fluff once more.

Maybe I can't figure out how to make the numbers in the grid line up just 'so'...but thanks to years of reading...I can write about how un-fun it was in a way that will make someone, somewhere smile! Hey honey? Fill yer boots babe! May you become the Jedi Sudoku master! You go boy! As for me and my numerically challenged brain? I'll stick to Tetris and the occasional word game. I'll cheer you on with your logical puzzle solutions, and add up your numerical conquests...with a calculator of course.

A Tight-Knit(ting) Community

What are people thinking? Is everyone ultra-civic minded...or ultra nosy? In my neighborhood, the latter, unfortunately, is true. I live in a small community of seniors who have little better to do than rush to the window at the sound of a car slowing on the street. In fact, I have sneezed inside my kitchen...and had the neighbor call 'Bless you!' from his driveway! I have the only small children on my block. I yell sometimes, though my bark is far worse than my non-existent bite. I know my neighbors can hear me at times, and I am unapologetic for my lack of patience. Perhaps it doesn't bode well for the moments they have had to knock on my door to return my toddler who has dashed out into the driveway during the ten seconds I was in the bathroom. However, it isn't my parenting that is in question here!

Here are another couple of examples. A neighbor had a roof replaced by a crew of older workers who did a great job. Four different calls were made to ensure that someone came by to make sure the permits were in order. We had a trailer parked in our driveway for a couple of months after the hurricanes, and one of our neighbors took it upon himself to drive out of his way on his last day as a part-time seasonal resident, to complain about it to the trustees of our development! We hadn't even met him yet! It's not as though we had the hulk of a rusting car up on blocks in our yard. Au contraire! I planted flowers this year. Another neighbor commented that she thought we must have company since there was a new van parked in our driveway. We pulled in at midnight, with the new van we'd bought, and I talked to her in the early morning of the next day.

Today I had to laugh out loud at well-meaning strangers. At lunchtime, my husband popped out to his car for a quick nap in the parking lot at work. If you know our lifestyle with small children and him working two jobs, you understand. I've napped in the car many times, even just while out on errands! So there he is, in the sun, the door propped open to catch a breeze, the windows up, and enjoying a doze in the sun-dappled interior of his little Geo-metro convertible. Several minutes into his nap he is awakened by the screeching of brakes as an ambulance pulls to a hurried stop next to the car.

Blinking in the sunlight groggily and trying to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth, he realizes they are there for him. Someone, in passing, has seen him in the car and called in a 'dead body' in the parking lot! The paramedics are rolling their eyes too...but remind him of the picture he presented with his head lolling gently to the side, his mouth open, head back, tongue and jaw slack. If you were driving by, or peeking from between dusty venetian blinds, of course you wouldn't hear the booming snores that always accompany any sleep my husband enjoys. It's not as though someone was concerned enough to honk a few times, or stop by the car and yell, "Hey buddy, are you dead?!"

Let's just call 911 for an ambulance to rush to the scene of a middle-aged man with fifteen precious minutes to power-nap before heading back to his fluorescent lighted cubicle. It's not as though, with an aging population and demographic of mainly geriatric residents in our city, the paramedics might have some strokes, heart attacks or aneurysms to attend to.

Thank goodness for all our neighbors with their good intentions. I never have to worry about anyone stealing my rusty garden tools, my battered mini-van, or creeping surreptitiously around my house. I don't have to worry about my teens sneaking out at night, or my husband seeing someone on the side. (Like he'd have the time or energy!) I don't have to be concerned that after a year of living with a tarp on the roof, my contractor might not have a permit to fix my leaking ceilings. I can heave a sigh of relief that no visitors will make it to my front door unnoticed. Fortunately, I can also put to rest my irrational fear of having a heart attack in my vehicle during a short nap and not being discovered. The world is, indeed, a safer place.

2005 Hurricane Season Predictions

As are most Floridians, I am watching the 2005 Hurricane Season Predictions with trepidation. It is certainly true that though past history does not reflect the activity we experienced last season, it is not unlikely that Florida will remain a target in the future. Perhaps we won't get a four time, all-star, trophy-winning devastator like last summer, but it feels the same. Experience has made us wary. If just Charley had hit us, we would have had a season to note...comment on in passing...and, except for residents of Orlando, wouldn't have had much to say. Instead, we found ourselves at ground zero for two devastating hurricanes, weeks after Charley's unexpected fury, and days away from our fourth storm, Ivan, spanked the panhandle.

Again, my husband reassures me that this kind of activity is unlikely, remote, and not liable to be reproduced any time soon. Yet, this year Dr. William Gray and the Colorado State University have continued the active trend of last year into this one, with 13 Named Storms, 7 hurricanes, and 3 major hurricanes.

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ATLANTIC BASIN SEASONAL HURRICANE FORECAST FOR 2005

Forecast Parameter and 1950-2000 1 April
Climatology (in parentheses) 2004 2005

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Named Storms (NS) (9.6) 13
Named Storm Days (NSD) (49.1) 65
Hurricanes (H)(5.9) 7
Hurricane Days (HD)(24.5) 35
Intense Hurricanes (IH) (2.3) 3
Intense Hurricane Days (IHD)(5.0) 7
Net Tropical Cyclone Activity (NTC)(100%) 135

PROBABILITIES FOR AT LEAST ONE MAJOR (CATEGORY 3-4-5) HURRICANE LANDFALL ON EACH OF THE FOLLOWING COASTAL AREAS:

1) Entire U.S. coastline - 73% (average for last century is 52%)

2) U.S. East Coast Including the Florida Peninsula - 53% (average for last century is 31%)

3) Gulf Coast from the Florida Panhandle westward to Brownsville - 41% (average for last century is 30%)

4) Expected above-average major hurricane landfall risk in the Caribbean

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http://hurricane.atmos.colostate.edu/forecasts/2005/april2005/


Of course, Dr. Gray doesn't, and can't predict landfall, but with these numbers, it seems likely that we are in for another busy and for some, stressful, season.

It's funny that this time last season I was ready to deliver our third child, born a month before being whisked away in a whirlwind of chaos to evacuate not once, but twice. Like the memory of my labor is still unfortunately fresh in my mind, I find myself in the same predicament this year. Same bat cave...same bat-weather. Here I am again, imminently due, with the pain of both labor and the havoc, devastation, and fear caused by the previous hurricane season fresh as can be in my mind. In fact...I believe this baby was conceived during an evacuation. That doesn't bode well for this season's elevated activity then!

As it is, it seems like yesterday we fled our little home, after battening down the hatches against seemingly impossible odds, with our lives and hearts packed tightly into our Jeep. We returned to heart wrenching scenes of devastation few of us would have expected to see in our lifetime. In fact, I have only to open my front door to be reminded that we bear the scars of our last battle in the form of still-missing siding. This morning, I awoke to the lovely sounds of hammers as my dear neighbor finally gets her roof tarp torn off and fully replaced.

So to imagine that our hearts are in our throats a little, is justified. We aren't stocking up on water yet...or making runs on plywood and tarps...but our innocence has been lost, and our fears are fresh and real. We leave ourselves to the fates of wind and weather, and pray for safety in a season that seems determined to remind us that life is short and can change in the blink of an eye...of a hurricane. God bless us, everyone.

I Think I Can...

There are few things that can compare to the contradictory life of a two-year old. They are trying so hard to exert their independence, and still need so much help. My days are filled with these two sentences, and all the powerful emotions that accompany them: "No! I can do it MYSELF!", and "I no can do it!" Both statements carry the full dramatic weight of his frustrations at being 'big enough' and 'too small' at the same time. I don't know if there's another time of life the contrast is as clear again.

I find joy in his attempts at Independence, and I relate to his angst when he thinks he should be able to do something but cannot. As one can imagine, he has the patience of, well, a two-year old. That makes life a little more difficult for everyone. He attempts a task, finds he cannot immediately snap it into place as mommy can, and figures he 'no can do it!' This following a lively "No! I can do it MYSELF!" Herein lies both mother and son's frustrations! I remind myself that I do have patience beyond that of a two-year old, (though it doesn't always feel that way), and resist the urge to quickly take over and complete the simple task. Instead, I try to encourage him to try another way, or offer to help him do it. It's amazing both how much easier it would be just to do it myself, and how happy he is when he can do it himself. The contrast makes up for the moment you wish you could just do it and be done!

This contrast in life has also been closely followed by another. My sons are in the house much of the day and near the end of a long one, they are anxious to head out and see the world. Even if it's just a drive to the gas station, a trip to grandma's, or to pick up a few things at the store. The happiness I feel at being able to provide a small activity such as this, to 'get them out of the house', is quickly replaced by the strain of bringing the brief activity to an end. It's hard to give a toddler a 'fun' trip and then explain, that even though he hasn't passed out from exhaustion, explored every possible item within range, or visited until people have aged into retirement...it is time to go home. The tears and wails that accompany this message makes you wish he would shoot the messenger! It amazes me too that his sense of direction is so incredibly attuned to a fun activity coming to an end...that he can actually tell when we are pointed in the direction of home. Even when ranging farther from his every day territory than I would say he knew. It's like he has a homing beacon that goes off as soon as we point towards home, and his shrill cry of "I no wanna go home!" is the siren. Which strand of DNA is responsible for that I wonder?

I appreciate the difficulties that present themselves in the life of my toddler. I understand his frustrations. I wish he wasn't so loud about them...and I wish I was always graceful in dealing with them. We'll both learn. In the meantime...I'll have TWO more two-year olds to practice with. LUCKY ME!!

Insomniac.

Not many things will suck the life out of you faster than a vampire in a "B" movie. Though, a two year-old on a rampage, a boss in full-blown menopause, working the night shift, and laying in bed wide awake when you are desperate for sleep do come to mind. You start the whole mess by trying to force yourself to relax. You must empty your mind of all thought...though you will soon think you are going mad trying to do it.

It doesn't help to cover up the neon digits of the alarm clock. The numbers march on relentlessly as you lay there realizing you are still awake. There is a good chance that after an hour or more of trying to 'relax' you are now more tense than you have been throughout much of the day. Do you have a partner in bed beside you adding to the mounting mental friction with deep sonorous snores? You feel the resentment creeping in though you try to deny it access to your fragile emotions. Perhaps the neighbor's dog is barking across the way. Is there a branch tick-ticking against the glass of the window? Is the wind lifting a stray piece of siding so that it creaks and groans in a discordant rhythm? Maybe there's a cricket chirping monotonously and endlessly in the hedge below. They are always the ones that are too desperate for a mate to pause in their plaintive cries to listen for a response. It grows to a shriek while you try to tune it out.

You turn on the nightlight and try to read your novel. You're exhausted, eyes are getting grainy, spouse is snoring endlessly, and you nudge them into a roll in hopes of cutting the sound off. You stare, gritty-eyed, at the extra feather pillow between you and picture it muffling the sound. All by itself of course. You roll over, toss your book, and turn the light off. You switch positions, turn this way and that. Jam the pillow between your knees while on your side, stick one foot out, twist over the other way. By all means, adjust the pillow a few more times. Flip it over to try to get a cool side, or a steeper angle again. You'll do this at least a hundred times yet. Against your better judgement, you peek at the clock. It confirms your fears, in fact, it's worse than you thought. Now it's too late to take your sleeping pill. There aren't enough hours left to come out from underneath it. You know it's about to go from bad to worse.

Try counting. Lose track around fifty and start again. You get bored. The three lines of that stupid song you heard on the radio and hate, is playing itself like a broken record, over and over in your mind. You start to clench your jaw. The numbers on the clock march relentlessly forward almost audibly. You start the inevitable countdown. The kids will be up in 'x' hours...the alarm is going to go off in 'x' minutes...I have a high-pressure sales day tomorrow, without a break...I have company coming and will not get a chance to catnap. I have three children under the age of three. If you start the checklists for any of these activities, you're done. You turn on the nightlight again, grab a pen and paper and try to empty your head of your 'things to remember that I need to not think about right now' list onto paper. After purging with illegible chicken scratch the life threatening things you need to remember, (take out garbage, cancel hair appointment, Remember power point brochures, buy milk and diapers), you shut the light off again. You are sure that now you will find the rest you so desperately seek.

You feel yourself begin to drift off. Your body relaxes and your breathing finds a comfortable rhythm. That's when you start to itch. It's just one wayward spot on your left thigh, you figure you can ignore it. Pretty soon it's a full-blown attack of fire-ants just because you are trying to will it away. Your whole world revolves around that one tiny spot the size of a pinprick. You give up and scratch. You're wonderfully awake again. It's too hot. You turn on the fan. Get back in bed. There's light seeping in the room through a hole in the blind. You find a sock to prop against it. You're thirsty. You get a drink of water. Back in bed you find one word repeating in your head like you're trying to memorize it for a new identity. Now you have to pee.

Your partner is still snoring. You're ready to take out your .22 gauge shotgun and find the cricket. The dog has stopped barking, but there's a cat in heat somewhere. You stuff in earplugs. Now you feel as though you are underwater. You are getting hungry. After a bowl of cereal and checking your email, you head back to bed. The rumpled sheets mock you. Your pajamas are all twisty and irritating. You get up to have a hot shower. There's a bug in the bathtub.

Heading back to bed you wonder if it's possible you are actually asleep and this is an elaborate and tormenting nightmare. You pinch yourself. It hurts. The throbbing in your arm becomes another focal point. You flip over to the foot of the bed to escape the echoing snores directly in your ear. Your spouse's feet are eight inches from your nose, and those toenails look deadly. You picture that emergency room visit and roll over. You try singing all the words to a song. You don't know all the words to a song. You feel like an idiot. The same three lines to the one song you hate are still playing over and over in your feverish brain.

Now you see the dawn lightening the room from shades of black to grey. The furniture is becoming more than just black shapes to trip over. The alarm starts bleating from under it's pile of t-shirts. Your spouse groggily hits the snooze, once, twice, three times. You are quietly weeping. The baby slept all night for once. You did not. Your day is about to begin. You are about to experience the life of a zombie for the next twelve hours. Maybe you'll be so exhausted by tonight you will sleep like a rock. The baby won't. Good luck...

Oh No...Boring Blogs?

I realize that where my last post may have been insightful to me, others may find it pedantic or simplistic. Perhaps so. Perhaps I too fall into the category of 'boring daily journal' weblogs that so many seem to disdain. Including myself! Be that as it may, I will attempt to procure some intelligent and meaningful content in the very near future. However...the issue then becomes, what is intelligent and meaningful to the masses? Should it matter what is meaningful to the masses, or what is simply meaningful to me? For whom do I write?

A little mix of both parties would be a good solution, but I do not profess to know or understand what is politically correct, current, or even 'cool' to discourse on these days. My world revolves around my tiny life. That's the trouble with blogs in general I think, they are a forum for the 'me me' pulpit-pounding and sounding-off of everyday people. The trouble is, most of us are boring. At least in the sense that we live unremarkable lives. I hope that at the very least, I am a well-written bore. I should like to think that I have the natural ability to string together sufficient words to get across points that, though pedestrian, at least make a reader smile occasionally.

But here I am...going on about 'me' again.

Unfortunately, I tend to write what I know...and I know, well, me. As I come across interesting articles, (or, heaven-forbid, other articulate blogs), I will comment on them from time to time. However, this is all still 'one man's (er woman's) opinion'...so does that not just come back to 'me' again? What is a comment-based columnist like Andy Rooney if not just a peddler of his own opinions? Albeit a wealthy and successful one. Yes, he is wonderfully humorous, even thought-provoking, certainly skillfully written, and engagingly, enjoyably, sarcastic, but in the end? They are still, in their simplified versions, all about the 'me' that is Andy Rooney!

Perhaps my pregnancy woes, toddler's antics and random thoughts aren't the most riveting information on the web, but certainly, they could be worse. There is worse out there than 'boring'! Frightening is a word that comes to mind, shallow, maybe I'd go as far as to say 'psychotic'.

In the meantime, I will do what I know, expound on my deeply felt, if not profound or informative, knowledge of 'me', 'moi', 'myself', and our little corner of the universe. You like it, you read it! You don't? Why are you still here?!

Sailing an Ocean of Bizarre Blogs

Not to be judgemental...but am I the only 'normal' human in the sea of weblogs? I hit the "Next Blog" browser button at the top of my post to see what happened by. It began cycling me through random blogs. I got many foreign pages, can't comment on the content of those, naturally. Yet I came across so much existentialist, political, overblown and empty philosophy I was nauseated. Everyone was 'out there' in the cosmos. There were silly college 'roomie' diatribes, dark poetry, and disturbingly random thoughts that made one dizzy trying to follow them. People trying too hard to be 'deep'. People not trying to be 'deep' at all. People sounding so disconnected that it's hard to imagine an intelligent and functioning human on the other end of the keyboard.

I understand that blogs, (outside of the many advertisements and ad sites I came across), are random slices of humanity. The creation of individuals' saying and thinking what they wish...but why so many disjointed and bizarre posts? One must navigate through the scummy waters of muddy thinking looking for hope on the horizon in the form of clear, concise, intelligent verbiage. Most people seem to jot down words like a drunken sailor trying to stumble his way to the bathroom, here, there, everywhere, until they've forgotten where they were going or why they were going anywhere at all!

I don't know why I expect to come across blogs of interest, for the web is wide and large. I only know that I would actually spend more than ten seconds reading, and not just trying to get out of and on to the next one if I could find an interesting one out there. It seems I will have more luck finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. As for my posts...someone would have to actually spend ten seconds reading a few lines to catch a little intellect behind it, and it seems that no one has that much time to spend outside of their own bizarre little musings! Maybe I'm just too 'normal', maybe I'm dangerously boring. Maybe I'm not weirdly infinite, random or flaky enough to be considered 'zen', 'hip' or 'now'. That's okay by me. I'd rather be well-versed, somewhat talented, and in possession of at least rudimentary writing skills, than jump on the 'deep thoughts' bandwagon.

Of course, who am I to judge? Perhaps what we need in this world is just a little more chaos that doesn't make sense. Perhaps a few more sarcastic and meaningless questions, or a few dozen of someone else's intelligent quotes listed in random order, makes for a better read than mine. Oh yeah, let me try too:

"If toast always lands butter side up...and a cat always lands on it's feet...what happens if you strap a piece of toast butter-side up on the back of a cat and push him off the counter?" There. Figure that one out folks.

Seriously, I just think it would be interesting to accidentally bump into a blog that had some substance. I imagine navigating my way across the void of weblogs looking for another small ship that is staying afloat by writing interesting, everyday things. Maybe that's just me. A simple gal fashioned by values of an era not tainted by designer drugs and all-night parties. A pregnant, stay-at-home mom thinking out loud occasionally. Hmmm. Maybe I AM the minority! I certainly appear to be by the weird, random sampling of 'intelligence' and 'wit' out there! I better be alright with that...because no one may ever find me here on this murky ocean of literary refuse.

It's peaceful on my little erudite and bookish boat. The water laps the sides gently and a light, warm breeze ruffles my hair. Though it's dark here, and I am alone, there are stars twinkling in the clear sky, and I am not afraid. It's good to be 'normal', unremarkable, and steady on an ocean of strange fish and lurking underwater creatures. Happy sailing everyone.

'Me'-time

I am currently a stay-at-home mom raising (soon to be) four children, three of which will be under the age of three. My life consists of diapers, bottles, breastfeeding, cleaning up the highchair, picking up toys, endless laundry, meals, paying bills, cleaning, and the huge production of trying to go anywhere for an errand. I spend all day, every day wrapped up totally in my children, my husband and my home. That's what I asked for all my life! This is the dream I lived for! I just didn't know it would be so exhausting.

Somehow though...I wonder...how did I get so far away from raising horses on a ranch in Big-sky Alberta?! Where did my mountains go? How did I, with all my insecurities, end up on the Atlantic coast with beach bunnies and seniors competing for the most obnoxious views at the beach??! Since when did I cancel the possibility of ever skiing down the slopes again? How did I manage to marry someone who's idea of outdoor activity is begrudgingly mowing the lawn and a golf game once or twice a year? Don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm Mrs. Fit USA. In fact, my biggest form of exercise at the moment is dreaming about it.

I picture myself writing and perhaps actually publishing, taking various fine arts classes, learning to figure-draw, maybe taking singing lessons, travelling with my husband and kids on terrific vacations, walking, swimming (and being seen in a bathing suit without threat of being harpooned), biking with my kids, kayaking or canoeing, boating, riding horses, working out, eating healthy, playing softball and badminton with my sons, hanging out at our pool. (Which we don't have yet!) I picture a few small plastic surgery procedures in the future to reverse some of the damage I've managed to do over the course of my pregnancies. Is that my vision of the future? I hope so! In the meantime...these years of sleep deprivation, two-year old temper tantrums, and potty training will eventually cease. Then I will be called upon to actually make some of my visions into realities instead of just day-dreaming them. It is certainly up to all of us to make our personal goals, hopes and dreams become actual life experiences at some point.

I've managed the first half of things. The second half will have other unique challenges. Somewhere along that line I have to fit in and around my husband's ideals and goals too! Plus, we have to find a way to pay for it all. Therein lies the rub.

All this being said, I am thankful for my exhausting role in life at this time. I am also thankful that it won't always be this way. I cherish the hundreds of squeezes to my babies' fat thighs, and the thousands of kisses to their soft fatty cheeks, silken necks, and downy baby-bird hair. I survive through the diapers and sleepless nights, and I enjoy the work of bath times, mealtimes and bedtimes as much as possible. These too are moments to cherish, and ones that will end far sooner than most.

I hope there is time yet in life to work on the other stuff. The 'me' stuff. Right now is just not 'me' time. But someday...it will be, and I hope to make the most of it!

Reality Televison: The New Date-Night?

Who says television watching isn't a time of closeness and communication between spouses?

My husband and I watch a number of television shows (taped previously on our digital recorder so all commercials can be 'zapped' through in seconds, YEEHAW!) Of these shows, a large portion of them are reality television shows. We try to avoid the gratuitous ones like the plague. "The Bachelor", "Big Brother", and "Fear Factor" to name a few. Our favorites? Most anything by Mark Burnett. The guy's a genius when it comes to connecting you to people and wringing tears from you at their sorrows and joys as if you were an actor following a script. It's as though he has the power to reach through the television and edit us all into the story. An unexpected by-product of this are the long, sometimes heated, and always lively discussions I have with my husband over who's getting voted off the island, or what the teams ought to be doing with their task on 'The Apprentice'. The truth is, we've never been so involved, or emotionally staked in television shows! How about "The Amazing Race"? Brilliant. "American Idol"? Sure! "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" Wow. How about the unexpected hit "The Contender"? There's a reality show I never thought I'd be able to 'get into'. What a laugh! Mr. Burnett reached right into my living room and hooked me the first episode. Last night I cried when Bonsanto went home.

We watch series such as "ER", "CSI" (All of them), and a few newcomers that have quickly become favorites, "Numbers", "House", and "Jack and Bobby". Extremely well-written shows with great characters and skillfully produced plots.

The truth is, with the technology available to record our prime-time favorites then watch them later, sans commercials, sans children...we have fallen into a most enjoyable pattern of television watching. It's like date-night every night! We call each other to anticipate the outcome of this or that challenge on such-and-such a show that night. We give our evenings to the children, and once they are in bed and off to dreamland...it's mommy and daddy time! We break out the popcorn, watermelon, soda or whatever snack we're having, and settle onto the couch together to get lost in the lives of others for a little while. With the power to pause at any whim we are free to stop for anything. This comes in handy with small children needing last minute drinks of water, a bottle refill, telephone calls, or pregnant me heading to the bathroom yet again.

We also pause for conversation. We laugh, cry, giggle, discuss, enjoy, argue, entreat, persuade, and share our feelings and opinions about whatever is happening. These moments often lead to emotional connection about our own lives, struggles and daily challenges. We pause to remind each other of something that happened that day, or a concern that comes up. With busy schedules, little children, my husband working two jobs, a limited budget, our nights out are few and far between. Thank goodness for our date-night television! We look forward to our shows like other's look forward to a vacation. That being said...the summer is coming and this week and next pretty much wrap up the season. Season Finale week is probably among the most disappointing in our year! It's a good time to have a new baby. Often we compromise our sleep staying up beyond reasonable hours to watch our favorites in the evenings. We won't be as tempted to do so during off season, and with a new little one on the way, that's a good thing! It's almost like we planned it that way...ha ha.

I like our television time. I look forward to our television time together. I love our animated conversations. I am thankful for the entertainment provided. I can't imagine living without the ability to record and watch those shows at more convenient times, allowing us to prioritize our time with our children while they are up and about.

I know many experts suggest that television watching is not an acceptable form of connecting with one's spouse. I beg to disagree. At least in our case. So...as we say goodbye to our time with TV this season, we know that next will bring us back to our comfy spots side by side on the couch, remote in hand ready to pause and discuss with all sorts of emotion. In the meantime, a new baby, long summer days in sunny Florida, four children, and life...will keep us entertained and busy. The time 'til next season will pass quickly and happily!

Hope and Mother's Day

I am not alone in the weblog universe! Through some mischance of fortune, someone, an unbiased stranger, (as near as I can tell, unless my mother is using an alias and being mysterious...) has read my blog!

I thank you.

That being said, I thank you as well for leaving a comment. I also thank you for leaving a positive and encouraging one! Today, life is good. It was, indeed, a pleasant and unexpected Mother's Day gift. (My husband was very excited to wake me and let me know that I had received 'A COMMENT'!) He assures me it was not him. I choose to believe that.

Happy Mother's Day out there to all devoted, or should I say enslaved, moms! All brevity aside, I wish to take a moment to thank my own mother for her years and years of devoted service to her children and family. In the end, her rewards have been mixed, as well she knows. I know, however, that her greatest joys in life are her successful (relatively?!) children who have grown up to be good God-fearing, more-or-less responsible and productive members of society. Really, all five of us are pretty darn good kids. Her legacy will live on in the lives of each of us.

I don't want to go into the many incredible sacrifices she has made for us, but just take a moment to thank her for her selflessness and consideration of her children. She is as generous and giving as one can be. She juggles much in the way of stress and burden, and yet manages to give more than her share of comfort.

In the oft-quoted words of every grinning fool squeezing unexpectedly into the background shot of a television camera, "Hi mom!"...and thanks, truly. Love you!

Confessions of a Closet Fame Seeker

It is odd to note that I check my blog site religiously every day for signs that I am not alone in the universe. I scroll down the posts checking for a number besides "0" in the comments section at the bottom of each posting, like a castaway scanning for ships on the horizon. Speaking of which...what is on my horizon? So far...lots of lonely words that no one will ever read! That's the trouble with being a drop in the bucket...a star in the night sky...bright, lovely...but lost against the velvet backdrop that holds millions of stars that look the same from way down here.

I confess that I am hoping for discovery. There, it's out. My inner-most thoughts splashed across this blog for the whole web to read. I am hoping that, like the ghetto kid playing street ball in a deserted lot in the the middle of inner-city Chicago, I too will be noticed by a random passerby with the connections to get me to the NBA of the literary world. I don't have much time on the court, but don't my shots look sweet?! Nothin' but net! Truthfully, I admit that though I know with full certainty that the fairy god-editor does NOT exist...I still weep in the garden in hopes that I will find myself 'bippity-boppity-booed' off to a three-novel contract ball, or fitted with tiny shining glass pens and sent off in a magical coach to my own column in the middle of a major publication.

Alas, it is about as likely that I will be discovered for my incredible potential sex appeal and wind up on a new reality television show called "Extreme Makeover: Mom's Edition (Reversing the Ravages of Nature)". Still, I putt about the keyboard in hopes of striking the eyes and hearts of readers with influence. Or...how about readers in general? I would be happy to begin with a simple following, a small fan club perhaps...something with which to sway the attention of the larger fish. Hmmm. Perhaps I will stick to writing for my husband and mother who happily check my blog site for new additions daily.

I know myself well enough to know that I will still scroll feverishly down my blogs hoping for signs that there is life on the net...some small sign that that I am not alone in the weblog universe. Perhaps the one person, other than my above-mentioned two readers, to note my tiny grain-of-sand posting on the endless beach of blogs, will be the one person who can tell me whether or not I have a talent worth pursuing. If we didn't dream, we would crumble under the enormity of our daily grind! That being said, I am thankful for my daily grind. Yet when I sit at the keyboard and send another blog off in its bobbing corked bottle into the tides of the unknown, I hope that somewhere, someday, someone will find me. They'll tell me I'm brilliant...and roll out the red carpet to my glittering future as a popular columnist /freelancer /screenwriter /novelist. It isn't asking much of the cosmos is it? Surely not.

Until then, I am here to meet your entertainment needs, fill my corner of the net with random warbling, and to keep sending out my messages in a bottle. May the waves, winds and web be good to me.