Musical Thoughts

Certain songs trigger certain memories.  Some happy, some sad. Some bring you back to childhood, some bring you back to being a teenager.  Lately, I have been paying more attention to these songs, the ones that take me back.  More often than not, I have a smile on my face when I hear them.  Some make me sad.  Some I just turn off and can no longer listen to.

"Last Dance" and "I Will Survive" take me back to my early childhood.  My mom would put the records on for me and I'd just dance. (I still look like a 3 year old when I dance, only then it was cute. Now, not so much.) "Greatest American Hero" was another good one.  The theme songs from so many shows bring a smile to my face.

REO Speedwagon, Chicago, James Taylor, Air Supply-these artists and groups take me back to high school.  Boyfriends and mixed tapes, the highs and lows of those first relationships and first loves; the drama-these all bring a smile to my face. Some of those have more significance than others.  Certain songs played during those "firsts"--those moments in one's life that you will never ever forget.  I still have those mixed tapes in boxes in my basement.  I have no cassette player anywhere near my house, but I cannot bring myself to throw them out.  Other tapes, I loaned out and never got back. (Not that I hold any grudges.)

Other songs, they mean more.  "I Got You Babe"--as cheesy as it is, my late husband and I did a karaoke video to that song on our first vacation together.  When we got married, I walked down the aisle to "Endless Love". Our first dance was to "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You".  These songs mean the world, but I no longer can listen to any of them. Anytime they come on the radio, I immediately change the station.

When Andrew was a little over a year old, he used to wake up in the middle of the night. And, I had no idea what to do with him. He wanted to watch TV and eat Teddy Grahams. So, I let him.  We'd sit in our family room and do that.  However, I didn't put on any children's shows for him, hoping he'd want to go back to sleep. I would put VH1 on.  We'd watch Macy Gray singing "I Try". I always smile when I hear this song.

I met my husband Steve online. The first time we spoke on the phone, I was in a Bed Bath & Beyond. Etta James was on the radio there with "At Last". I love that song.  If you ask him how our relationship began, he goes with the song "Fooled Around and Fell in Love" by Elvis Bishop.  I'll save the details of our first date for another blog, but it's a great song and makes me laugh.

When my sister was in college, she went to Spain to study abroad.  During that time, she took ill several times and it was so hard with her being away, calling me, crying from the hospital and there was nothing I could do.  When a certain Killers song would come, I would burst into tears instantly. I have no idea why, but I would. To this day, if I hear it, I still tear up.

Right now, my boys all love all different types of music.  But I smile when I hear songs they love.  It makes me think of them and that always makes me happy.  Well, mostly. A couple of them are on a country kick.  Carrie Underwood is making a big impression. Because she is hot.  And, I don't want to let my mind go where their minds are going with her being hot.  Because they are boys.  Thinking of a hot girl.

Pasta Neurosis

Noodles come in all shapes and sizes.  Spaghetti, Angel Hair, Fettucini, Rigatoni, Macaroni, the list goes on and on. They come in different colors too. Do they taste any different. No, they do not. Are some easier to eat than other? I believe so.  My late husband called those "stab-able" pastas. For example, Rigatoni or Penne would be a "stab-able" pasta.  Chefs say that certain pastas are better for certain sauces. Meat sauces go better with sauces that have ridges, the sauce sticks better to the noodle.  ( I watch a lot of Food Network) However, do the noodles themselves taste any different? HUGE debate in my household.

Yesterday, we had no dinner plans. Issac was scheduled to play a baseball game at 530pm. I was super psyched because it was my day off and I'd be able to watch him play.  But, alas, we were hit with tons of rain. Game was cancelled.  This left us with an issue: we'd actually all get to eat dinner together.  This is not really an issue as it is more of something to be happy about.  However, trying to make 6 people happy with 1 meal is near to impossible in this house. (and in many households, from my understanding.) When I grew up, we ate what was served. Period.  There was no discussion or complaining or asking if there was something else.  I decided to ask the kids that were home what they might like for dinner.  I actually got a couple of responses for Spaghetti and garlic bread.  Wow.  A couple kids agreed on the same thing.  Awesome.  I knew I needed to hit the store to pick up some garlic bread and frozen meatballs so I decided to do that when I picked up Andrew from practice.

I texted my husband to tell him that we actually had reached a decision on dinner.  He offered to go to the store, I said I would do it.  His only had 2 requests:  grated parmesan cheese and spaghetti shaped noodles.  I said fine, no problem.  I wasn't going to argue.  He's been on dinner duty for months and even though I have lots of pasta in the pantry, he knows the kids quirks better and if they'll eat if it's spaghetti noodles, then fine.

Andrew and I ran into the store and grabbed the few things we needed, including my coffee cream. (for those who read the previous blog, you know of my crisis with that) I wasn't sure if I should buy 2 bags of meatballs and 2 loaves of bread or 1 of each.  But, as I have learned, if I only make 1 of each, we run out and if I make 2 of each, we have a crazy amount left and 1 would have been enough. We came home and Steve and I got dinner going.  I told him how I bought 2 different brands of spaghetti so that the 4 princes who live here would be happy for not only this dinner, but one more.  And, much to my surprise, I found out it was not, in fact, the boys who wanted the spaghetti noodles, but rather Steve.  He is the one who insisted on having spaghetti over every other shaped noodle in the pantry.  Like, seriously??? You have to be fucking kidding me.  As if trying to feed everyone here isn't difficult enough, I have to deal with the other grown-up being noodle particular?

I am really not a fan of the longer noodles. I find them more difficult to eat. (It sure as shit doesn't stop me from stuffing my mouth though.) I just think the other ones are easier.  But, I will make this sacrifice for my family, one of many that I do.  I will forgo my love of rigatoni, penne, tri-colored pasta, etc... if it will make all of my boys happy.  I just hope they realize Mother's Day is around the corner.

The Choo Choo Dance to the Bathroom

Woke up today to the sound of the rain hitting my window. I was snuggled in my bed, listening to the sound of everyone else getting read to leave the house. Monday is my day off and how nice to not have to get up right away and head out into the gross weather.  I laid in bed for a while and decided to get up and start my day. I came downstairs to make myself some coffee. I turned on my Keurig and got my coffee going. I went to the fridge and to my dismay, there was no cream. No big deal, I thought. I went out to the garage fridge because I always have extra out there. I opened the door and to my horror, there wasn't any. None. Nothing.  No extra cream.  I am drinking coffee with 1% milk....I might as well be drinking it black.  My oldest son, Andrew, must have finished up the cream and didn't bother to tell me.  Yes, my son drinks coffee. No, it isn't stunting his growth.  If you don't think kids/young adults should drink coffee, then don't let your kid drink it.  See, I am not one of those super patient, politically correct mothers. I never have been.

Yesterday, I went to breakfast/brunch with my 2 big boys, Andrew and Issac.  We had to wait 40 minutes for a table. While we were waiting, in came the "perfect" family.  Husband, wife, (both beautiful looking) 4 kids, (3 sons, and the youngest, a daughter) and grandma.  These kids were VERY close in age and were all adorable.  Mom had a flat belly and a gorgeous smile.  Dad was hot and really young looking.  But, all had dark hair, not your stereo-typical blondes.  They had a reservation and were seated before us.  Twice during the time we were still waiting, mom took different kids to the bathroom. (This, after she took all 4 to the bathroom before they even sat down in order to prevent mid-meal potty breaks.) She was still smiling during this and was still walking like a model in her heels. (They had just come from church...everyone dressed beautifully.) We were seated soon after this. We ordered our food and there went mom, again, on another potty break, but this time, making a choo choo train formation with the kid.  I told my boys she was unbelievable, that I'd be having a fit by now.  Issac asked me if I ever did a choo choo train dance to the bathroom when they were little. I told him no way.  The reason behind the pre-meal bathroom visit was to prevent running back and forth constantly.  Granted, all kids do that, need to make the extra visit, usually right when the hot food arrives, so that mom never gets a hot meal. I told him I was never happily skipping thru a restaurant on my 4th bathroom run. Shit, I didn't do it on any bathroom run.  Normal people don't do that.  He looked at me like I was a witch.  I told him and Andrew right there-I just wasn't that mom, I'm not that mom, I will never be that mom.

I give this woman a ton of credit.  She seemed to have popped out her Barbie-esque babies one right after the other. And, her body looked A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.  The kind of woman that you would normally give really dirty looks to.  But, her dress was totally appropriate, nothing revealing. Heels weren't crazy high, she had tights on. Hair was in a pony tail and her make up was nice. Her kids were all put together and super cute and well behaved. Most importantly, she was so patient with the kids and the whole situation.  She is the total opposite of me.  When my kids were that young, I would've been flipping out--about getting them to not be screaming, about getting them to sit still, about getting them to eat, about getting them to do their business in 1 or 2 trips, about getting my husband to split the trips, about not getting to eat, my list could go on and on. And, I certainly wouldn't have been dancing my way to the bathroom, smiling at everyone on my path.

These kids probably acted the way they did because their mother is a calm, happy person. (I don't know her...she may be heavily medicated.)  Articles I've read state that kids will reflect their parents behavior.  Happy calm parents equal happy calm kids.  Tense, stressed parents, equal, well, my kids.  Now that I'm getting older, I realize that there are many benefits to taking a deep breath and trying to remain calm. I wish I had known this when I started having kids. I was young and stupid.  I had no idea what I was doing. Many days now, I still have no idea what I am doing. I am just winging this whole motherhood thing-flying by the seat of my larger pants.  But, I do believe that if you are calm and happy and relaxed, your kids (if there are no serious issues) will tend to be calm and happy and relaxed. And, if not, there's always Xanax.
XOXO

A Coke & a Playboy

When I had my oldest son, there were complications. We discovered a couple days after he was born that I was loaded with gallstones. I had thought my gallstone attacks during the pregnancy were crazy heartburn. Realized, they weren't. The attacks got progressively worse after Andrew joined the world. So, one month later, I went back to the hospital for surgery. When I woke up post-op, I was told I had also had a herniated belly button, so they fixed it while I was under. No biggie, just don't lift anything over ten pounds for six weeks. Cool. One problem. Andrew was already over ten pounds. So, now what?

Enter the great-grandparents, my grandparents. I don't really know what I would've done without them. They said this was no problem. Once I arrived back home, (I ended up staying for five days at the oh so glamorous Rush North Shore), they took over. Mondays thru Fridays, from 6am until roughly 630pm, they were at my house. Every. Single. Day. For. Six. Weeks. My Bubby was not going to let me lift Andrew and disrupt my recovery. She took care of him. She took care of me. She cooked, she washed dishes, she fed him, she fed me, she fed Papa, her chauffeur. Bubby didn't drive. Papa would not only drive her to my house, but he sat with us all day, every day.

Bubby & Papa had a long marriage, 55+ years.  Something they did worked. Back then, if something wasn't working, you fixed it, you didn't discard it. (They were strong. They suffered tragedy and loss, sickness & health, good times & bad.) Or, in this case, she'd keep yelling. He'd let it go in one ear and out the other , until he couldn't take anymore, and he'd yell one thing back. That was it.  Then, she would just talk to herself for a while. This was always the way it went. Except for this one time...

During my six week hiatus from lifting, New Years Eve happened to fall. My husband and I were invited out with friends. We weren't going to go. My brother and sister offered to babysit and sleepover. (They were 13 and 10 at the time.)  We said ok. (Maybe not a brilliant move, in retrospect.). Bubby got wind of this and flipped her shit. (At least someone was thinking clearly.). She said she and Papa would babysit. I felt badly as they were babysitting daily. She said it was fine. (She never said no to me. Ever. She did anything and everything for me, always.) They'd  just "supervise" my brother and sister. So, they all arrived. We left. We came home right after midnight to discover the funniest Papa story. Ever.

During our evening out, the peeps at my house were having their own NYE celebration. And, during this time, Papa wanted some pop. Bubby said no. Apparently words were had. And, he decided, he was putting his foot down this time. He took a can of Coke into my powder room, the bathroom my husband did his quality reading in, and decided to celebrate NYE the way he wanted. Papa enjoyed his can of Coke and a Playboy in peace. This was a ballsy move, Coke. Bubby had said no, and he did it anyway. You didn't fight Flo. But, he did.

Yesterday would've been Papa's 97th birthday. He was a brilliant man who loved history. He would sit and discuss it for hours. He was such a strikingly handsome man in his youth. One thing I'll never forget is that he taught me when you're gas tank in your car reaches half a tank, fill it. Consider it empty. That way, you'll never run low. To this day, I still do. I feel so blessed to have had him and even more so that all of my boys got to know him and spend time with him.

I hope he had a wonderful birthday, wherever he may be in the great after life, celebrating with all who are with him. More importantly, I hope he got to have a Coke and a Playboy.
XOXO

Entropy

My oldest son is home this morning. The state is issuing a test to all juniors in high school so everyone else had the day off yesterday and gets a very late arrival today.  I reminded him that this Sunday, he has nothing going on, and that I am SO excited to watch how he will be cleaning his room.  He walked away, while eating his Cap'n Crunch, telling me he had something to send me. A couple minutes later, I received a text. It was a picture he copied from somewhere. Here is what it said:

Why You Should Not Clean Your Room

Situations of greater entropy are statistically favoured.  Things that are statistically favoured tend to happen, especially over time.  A disordered room has greater entropy than an organized one.  Thus an organized room will tend to become disordered over time.  The only way to reverse this is by continually putting in energy from an outside system. (i.e. making the effort to clean your room regularly.)

HOWEVER, at some point, a disordered room will be maximally entropic.  At this point, continually failing to clean one's room will not generally result in a more disordered state.  Thus no additional input of energy is needed to maintain the state of the room.

Therefore, cleaning one's room is futile- a task for the modern day Sisphus.  It is much more energetically efficient to allow the room to stay at its natural, maximally entropic state towards which it will always tend (and to expend that energy on more interesting things.)

Oy vey.  As if I don't know how to speak bullshit.

I asked my son, knowing what the answer would be, what entropic meant. He gave me his wonderful smile and mumbled some noise.  I asked him again what it meant.  Again, he smiled and then asked me what it meant.  I told him he sent me the picture, I wanted to know what it meant. Of course, he had no idea.  I asked him where he found the picture. He said he just looked it up.  I asked him why he took the time to look something like this up rather than taking the time to clean his room. His response, "It took me 30 seconds to find it. If I could clean my room in 30 seconds, I would."

Merriam's Dictionary define's entropy as the following:

a measure of the unavailable energy in a closed thermodynamic system that is also usually considered to be a measure of the system's disorder, that is a property of the system's state, and that varies directly with any reversible change in heat in the system and inversely with the temperature of the system; broadly :  the degree of disorder or uncertainty in a system

He should've saved himself the 30 seconds and said he wasn't cleaning. :o)

Method to My Madness

Yesterday morning, the forecast called for rain, rain in the late afternoon thru the early evening.  Crap, I thought to myself.  It was my day off and my oldest had a home baseball game. I wanted to be able to see him play. I got out of the shower and had a decision to make.  Blow dry my hair straight, or let it go as is.  Now, I know, this seems like a stupid thing to have to make a decision about.  But, there is a method to my madness.

It never seems to fail, that when I blow dry my hair straight and there's a chance of rain, it rains.  My hair gets ruined.  Superficial of me to worry about this, I know.  I don't really worry about it, unless I have somewhere important to go.  Yesterday wasn't one of those days. Just errands to run and laundry to do.  But, in my silly mind, my thought was, that if I dried my hair straight, the skies would open, the rain would come and the baseball game would get called off.  So, I made the oh so major decision to let my hair go as is.  Anyone who has seen my hair on a day like this would agree. I just wasn't born with free flowing locks that air dry nicely.  Life could be worse.

I left the house looking pretty blah, as I do on most Mondays, since it is my day off.  I went to Target, one of my most favorite places to go, especially alone.  I did my shopping and went to load my car. The skies looked iffy, but still no rain.  I made a couple more stops, still no rain.  When I went to pick up carpool after school, a few drops were coming down, but nothing that would stop a game. My youngest wanted to go with me to see the game. We grabbed chairs and jackets and headed over to the school.  We arrived in time to see the two rival schools take the field.  I was feeling a little self conscious over the state of my hair with the beautiful highlights. (Thanks, Helene!) They definitely deserve to be shown off in a much better way than I was sporting yesterday.  By game time, I looked like I stuck my finger in a socket.

My youngest saw the concession stand was open and he was happy to support them.  Our home team was looking good.  The game was going well.  The skies did start to darken up. The wind started to move in.  My boy went 3 for 3. (Had to get the mom brag in.) Once the hubs arrived to watch the game, I needed to leave due to a wrenched back, but, as dark as the skies were, that threatening rain never did arrive while the game went on.  The team beat their rival!!

So, as much of a "sacrifice" as it was to go around all day with my hair looking a wreck, I got to see my boy play. I knew if I let my hair go we'd be all good.  This was one very happy mom. Seeing my baby do what he loves and seeing him smile when he saw me arrive.....priceless.

I'm Such a Bitch

"I know, I know....I stood up for myself, I'm such a bitch."

I pinned a picture that said that last night on Pinterest.  I love Pinterest. I really do.  It's addicting. I pin all sorts of pictures of how I'd like my home to look, recipes I most likely will not make, jewelry I will never own and lately, lots of quotes and inspirational sayings.  This particular quote was from someecards.com  If you haven't checked out the website, I highly recommend it. They have all sorts of sarcastic and funny cards for almost anything you can possibly imagine.  This card struck my fancy.

I'm a non-confrontational person. Always have been. I don't like fighting face to face with people. (unless you are really special lol) And, while I don't like to confront, I do believe in standing up for myself.  Yet, I also believe in being the bigger person.  Sometimes, it's hard to do both.  At what point, do you decide to be the bigger person? After you have done your best to defend yourself? How do you really know when you've done your best? Do you let it go and  become the bigger person, or do you continuing fighting? How do you know if it's worth fighting for?

I think over the last year, I am finding more of my inner voice, my inner self. I've tried for so long to be the bigger person. (insert your own joke) I've tried and tried.  Sometimes, it has worked out for the best. In fact, most times it has. I guess Idina Menzel had it right--let it go.  But, sometimes, being the bigger person just bites you in the ass.

I think it depends on the other person(s) you are dealing with. What if the people you are fighting/disagreeing with are just assholes?  Because, let's face it, some people just are.  I like to believe most people are actually decent human beings. But, there are those people out there, who think they are better than everyone else, are more deserving, whose shit doesn't stink. (as my Bubby used to say) Normally, I'd say fuck it. They aren't worth it...take the higher road.  But, what if you just can't? What if you just need to say what's on your mind?  It might stir up some drama.....too bad...some things are just worth saying.  And, if you know, in your heart of hearts, that you are right, you have to stand up for yourself.  You have to.  You must be true to yourself because if you don't stand up for yourself, you cannot expect anyone else to.

So, you've stood up for yourself. And, somehow, you're the bad guy. You're the bitch.  Here's the mistake I made. I got bullied into thinking that standing up for myself was the wrong move.  It wasn't the wrong move.  I needed to say what I was feeling, what was on my mind. For all this time though, I was doubting my actions. I was wondering whether  I should've taken the higher road. So, I tried after the fact. I tried to apologize. I made peace offerings. And, all I did was end up looking like a schmuck.

It took me until yesterday to realize that I did the right thing by standing up for myself.  And, I am proud of myself for doing so.  I admit, it was a little scary at first...it comes easily for some people. I wish it did for me.  Now that I've done it, gotten over that first time hump, I realize the fear and anxiety of it was worse than actually doing it. (like going to the dentist)

Life is too short to not be who you are.  So, I guess a bitch I'll be.