So you want to be a rock n roll star?
Well listen now, hear what I say
Just get an electric guitar
Take some time
And learn how to play
~ The Byrds
Picture it... 1988, a club -- dark, smoky, kinetic. Electric. Air sticky with sweat, cigarettes, hair spray, pot, Drakkar Noir, Obsession.
New York, maybe.
No. Definitely.
New York.
A band takes the stage. Keyboards. Guitars. Drums.
The drummer counts off the beat. Instruments start to move, creating sound. Breaking into the density of the air. Cutting off the murmuring conversations.
Out of the darkness comes a voice. Low, husky, strong. Sexy. Attitude dripping from every syllable.
Midnight gettin' uptight
Where are you
You said you'd meet me now it's quarter to two
I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you...
The voice becomes embodied; a figure moves confidently into the light. Eyes brimming with passion and intensity. Commanding attention. Demanding focus.
...I hate myself for loving you
Can't break free from the the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why
I hate myself for loving you
Joan Jett?
Benatar?
Patty Smythe?
Nah.
It’s me.
Albeit only in my dreams.
Music is the traveler crossing our world
Meeting so many people bridging the seas
I'm just a singer in a rock and roll band.
We're just the singers in a rock and roll band.
I'm just a singer in a rock and roll band...
~ The Moody Blues
So I’ve been checking out Rock Star: Supernova as a mindless summer diversion. Watching. Listening. Observing. Noting. Giggling (at the disarmingly charming Tommy Lee, natch.)
Imagining myself as a rock chick.
With an ass and hips that demand to be clad in black leather.
A discreet tattoo. Located someplace that’s for me to know and you to find out. (No superfluous piercings, though. Ouch.)
Dark hair tumbling over rolling shoulders.
Lots of black eyeliner. Layers of mascara. Deep purple lips.
Tambourine in hand, keeping time on my rhythmic hip.
Soulful intonations into a microphone. Being in synch with the music and its players.
Part of a whole.
Yet still individual.
Oh yeah.
Rock on.
Wait. Better consider the vocals. The real foundation of a girl singer in a rock-and-roll-band. The reason I’m up on that stage in the first place.
Would I have...
...the dramatic delivery of Grace Slick
When the truth is found to be lies
and all the joys within you dies
Don't you want somebody to love
Don't you need somebody to love
Wouldn't you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love
...the edge of Chrissie Hynde
In the middle of the road
Is trying to find me
I'm standing in the middle of life with my plans behind me
But, I got a smile
For everyone I meet
Long as you don't try dragging my bay
Or dropping a bomb on the street
...the soulfulness of Cass Elliott
But you've gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind of music
Even if nobody else sings along
...the rawness of Liz Phair
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you
It's inevitable... it's a fact that we're gonna get down to it
So tell me...
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
...the pureness of Karen Carpenter (OK -- so not a rock chick, but her voice is as close to that of an angel as anyone’s)
Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothing ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothing to do but frown
Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down
...the attitude of Debbie Harry
One way or another, I'm gonna find ya'
I'm gonna get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna win ya'
I'm gonna get ya', get ya' ,get ya', get ya'
... the forcefullness of Pat Benatar
Well you're the real tough cookie with the long history
Of breaking little hearts, like the one in me
Before I put another notch in my lipstick case
You better make sure you put me in my place
In reality -- my voice is nowhere near the caliber of a Benatar or Mama Cass or the divine Karen Carpenter. (Hey now! I can actually carry a tune pretty well. I’ll sing something for you sometime to prove it... just ask me.) But here, in this fantastical context, I can sound like any one I damn well please.
Wonder why this desire, this yearn is so powerful for me...
Maybe it’s because it’s something radically different for me -- from the way I’ve lived my life and am living my life.
Maybe it’s because this image of myself as a Rock Chick brings to the surface elements of who I want to be. And who I am, somewhere deep within.
Maybe it’s because even in fantasy, the rush of such an experience is exhilerating, heady, seductive. Hot.
It’s rather nice to know that the girl who sang into her hairbrush, harmonizing with Tom Petty on “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” is still around. A little older, a bit wiser -- but still finding the rhythm around her intoxicating and infectuous.
I’ll likely never make it on stage with a live band. Closest I’ll get will probably be a drunken night of karaoke. But you damn well better bet that although I’ll be crooning into a mike in front of some slightly intoxicated friends -- in my mind, it’s CBGBs, baby. Standing room only. And I’m the featured attraction.
7.26.2006
Standard Operating Procedure
Next Thursday is going to mark something rather significant for us.
Will is scheduled to have surgery to have his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears.
It's his first standard, ordinary, typical kid-type medical procedure.
And I'm not quite sure how to behave. Complicated medical stuff, I know. Regular stuff like this -- not so much.
Ususally when the hospital and doctors and nurses are involved, it's very sudden, unexpected and highly-charged. The prime example of that being when Will underwent brain surgery in the emergency room because his shunt had completely stopped working. Fucking scary, that. I was alone with Will, as my husband was on the road and my dad was recovering from his own emergency gallbladder surgery, with my mom needing to tend to his stubborn self. Whew. That was the day I decided that childrens' hospitals need to have some sort of progam to administer sedatives to parents, as I pretty much came unglued watching Will begin to malfunction. A salt lick of valium would be ideal.
Unnerving as it is, I've gotten used to that sort of thing. It's part of the package that comes with a little one with a complicated health history. Never totally complacent. Never totally comfortable. With anything.
So the fact that he is actually scheduled to have a surgical procedure is a new thing -- and I'm not really sure how to react. As with any thing involving a medical procedure and one's child, I'm naturally concerned and have been doing my homework. His doctor is well-regarded and apparently the prep and after-care take longer than the surgery itself. And it's a day-procedure, so no overnight stay is needed (hooray!). Sounds pretty cut-and-dry. Which is all music to my ears.
It's just interesting wearing the garb of the parent of a child undergoing a standard-issue operation. I'm not used to it. And I'm trying not to get too comfortable in it, as I know that my ability to wear it will be fleeting.
That's just the way things are.
Will is scheduled to have surgery to have his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears.
It's his first standard, ordinary, typical kid-type medical procedure.
And I'm not quite sure how to behave. Complicated medical stuff, I know. Regular stuff like this -- not so much.
Ususally when the hospital and doctors and nurses are involved, it's very sudden, unexpected and highly-charged. The prime example of that being when Will underwent brain surgery in the emergency room because his shunt had completely stopped working. Fucking scary, that. I was alone with Will, as my husband was on the road and my dad was recovering from his own emergency gallbladder surgery, with my mom needing to tend to his stubborn self. Whew. That was the day I decided that childrens' hospitals need to have some sort of progam to administer sedatives to parents, as I pretty much came unglued watching Will begin to malfunction. A salt lick of valium would be ideal.
Unnerving as it is, I've gotten used to that sort of thing. It's part of the package that comes with a little one with a complicated health history. Never totally complacent. Never totally comfortable. With anything.
So the fact that he is actually scheduled to have a surgical procedure is a new thing -- and I'm not really sure how to react. As with any thing involving a medical procedure and one's child, I'm naturally concerned and have been doing my homework. His doctor is well-regarded and apparently the prep and after-care take longer than the surgery itself. And it's a day-procedure, so no overnight stay is needed (hooray!). Sounds pretty cut-and-dry. Which is all music to my ears.
It's just interesting wearing the garb of the parent of a child undergoing a standard-issue operation. I'm not used to it. And I'm trying not to get too comfortable in it, as I know that my ability to wear it will be fleeting.
That's just the way things are.
7.25.2006
Time may change me/But I can't trace time...
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
~ Bob Dylan
Once Will was born, the times, for me, as a person and as a mother, had indeed changed. Constantly. Unpredictably. Markedly. Moments marched on, marking the days, weeks, months of Will’s stay in the NICU. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years came, were acknowledged, went. We rang in the advent of 2002 with apple juice along with other parents and hospital personnel in quiet celebration so as not to wake our sleeping darlings.
But... the more things stayed the same, the more they changed in Will’s world. And he knew nothing else but change.
Some days, there was no news -- which was always good news.
Some days, there was so-so news, with information about a necessary procedure or blip on the proverbial radar screen.
Some days, there was great news about weight gain or a clear chest X-ray or decrease in medication.
I was never able to completely and solidly rest in any of this information, for it could turn on a dime. While I was never complacent, I was never completely comfortable either. Coming face to face with the mortality of one’s child has an unsettling and lingering effect on a parent. That other shoe hung perilously on the tips of my toes, waiting to drop at any moment.
Still does.
Every night, I check on Will as he sleeps, even to this day, holding my hand lightly on his back to feel for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. And any change in his demeanor or good health -- fever, runny nose, cough-- instantly makes me clench inside. For while it’s usually symptomatic of normal, regular childhood stuff, there’s always a chance that it’s a precursor to something more serious. A recent upset tummy sent us racing to the Emergency Room, as that is a first sign of a shunt malfunction. False alarm -- just a stomach bug. Who knew?
It’s still hard to determine what’s a regular kid issue or what’s a uniquely (and more serious) Will issue -- I sometimes feel like the quarterback in the game of Will’s life, often making a play change based on what I see on the field while the clock ticks down.
Normal is indeed all relative.
While my life as the mother of a NICU baby was the product of One Big-Ass Change, it was the little things that stealthily made their way into my life fabric -- things I never even considered before...
...I became a devotee of hand cream (L’Occitane Shea Butter -- nothing better), as the three-minute washings with Super Hospital Soap and the Nifty Scrub Brush required before entering Will’s room wrecked havoc on my skin. And, as a Woman of a Certain Age, it's become a necessity.
...I took to wearing button-down shirts, in the event that it would be a day where Will and I could have some Kangaroo time and he could snuggle on my chest. Like the Girl Scouts say -- always be prepared...
...I knew what days would be good ones to eat in the cafeteria, having become all too familiar with the menu rotation (stay away from the Cream of Broccoli soup...)
My husband and I became amateur, more-than-slightly overinvested neonatologists. Infections, breathing issues, low heart rate, head taps -- all prime topics of conversation. As time progressed, we were able to analyze the numbers and actions on the monitor that kept track of Will’s most vital signs. We knew when an IV tube was not working properly, and how to re-set the timer that regulated the flow of medicine. We read X-rays, assessed blood test results, and evaluated medicinal reports. Much of this we picked up by osmosis, simply by being attuned to our environment and asking questions of absolutely everyone. But we also acquired information on our own (Google is my life-long friend) so that we could not only understand what was happening to our child, but also so we could be the best possible advocates for him.
My world had shrunk to a microcosm of its former self. Everything rose, set, ebbed and flowed within that bunker tucked inside the hospital. Our neighbors, comrades, supporters were the parents of Will’s roommates; we got to know one another through the experiences of our children. We spoke the same language, felt the same emotions, understood the same thoughts. Not that the other people in our lives weren't important -- because they were. They helped to keep us grounded. But these bonds -- the ones formed over isolettes or in the breast pumping room -- were those that were created from a common, shared experience. We were all walking the same mile in the same shoes, albeit perhaps on different routes.
Our prayers soon expanded to include the needs of Will’s friends and their parents. It was actually a liberating experience when we were able to focus on the needs of others, in addition to our own. Progress forward.
But for every little milestone we celebrated, every blessing we received, every success we cheered, there was always something to remind us to never take anything for granted. Out of the blue, right after the turn of the year, we received a very sobering reminder of just how precious and delicate life can be, as one of Will’s little roommates passed away. He too had experienced so many of the ups and downs that Will had, due to his own precarious health situation.
So many mixed emotions accompany such a tragedy -- heartache for the family; sobering realization that there but for the grace of God go I; guilt that my child is surviving. I wish I could say that this was a unique situation, an isolated incident -- but it wasn’t. And it sucks. Big time. Parents should never outlive their children. My little brush with Will’s mortality was as much of a taste of that as I ever want.
But damned if I still don’t remember every bitter nuance of what it does taste like.
Yuck.
Ptooey.
Never underestimate a mother’s sense memory. Even a hypothetical one.
And that is a permanent change. That I can never shake. No matter how hard I try.
Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials.
~Meryl Streep
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
~ Bob Dylan
Once Will was born, the times, for me, as a person and as a mother, had indeed changed. Constantly. Unpredictably. Markedly. Moments marched on, marking the days, weeks, months of Will’s stay in the NICU. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years came, were acknowledged, went. We rang in the advent of 2002 with apple juice along with other parents and hospital personnel in quiet celebration so as not to wake our sleeping darlings.
But... the more things stayed the same, the more they changed in Will’s world. And he knew nothing else but change.
Some days, there was no news -- which was always good news.
Some days, there was so-so news, with information about a necessary procedure or blip on the proverbial radar screen.
Some days, there was great news about weight gain or a clear chest X-ray or decrease in medication.
I was never able to completely and solidly rest in any of this information, for it could turn on a dime. While I was never complacent, I was never completely comfortable either. Coming face to face with the mortality of one’s child has an unsettling and lingering effect on a parent. That other shoe hung perilously on the tips of my toes, waiting to drop at any moment.
Still does.
Every night, I check on Will as he sleeps, even to this day, holding my hand lightly on his back to feel for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. And any change in his demeanor or good health -- fever, runny nose, cough-- instantly makes me clench inside. For while it’s usually symptomatic of normal, regular childhood stuff, there’s always a chance that it’s a precursor to something more serious. A recent upset tummy sent us racing to the Emergency Room, as that is a first sign of a shunt malfunction. False alarm -- just a stomach bug. Who knew?
It’s still hard to determine what’s a regular kid issue or what’s a uniquely (and more serious) Will issue -- I sometimes feel like the quarterback in the game of Will’s life, often making a play change based on what I see on the field while the clock ticks down.
Normal is indeed all relative.
While my life as the mother of a NICU baby was the product of One Big-Ass Change, it was the little things that stealthily made their way into my life fabric -- things I never even considered before...
...I became a devotee of hand cream (L’Occitane Shea Butter -- nothing better), as the three-minute washings with Super Hospital Soap and the Nifty Scrub Brush required before entering Will’s room wrecked havoc on my skin. And, as a Woman of a Certain Age, it's become a necessity.
...I took to wearing button-down shirts, in the event that it would be a day where Will and I could have some Kangaroo time and he could snuggle on my chest. Like the Girl Scouts say -- always be prepared...
...I knew what days would be good ones to eat in the cafeteria, having become all too familiar with the menu rotation (stay away from the Cream of Broccoli soup...)
My husband and I became amateur, more-than-slightly overinvested neonatologists. Infections, breathing issues, low heart rate, head taps -- all prime topics of conversation. As time progressed, we were able to analyze the numbers and actions on the monitor that kept track of Will’s most vital signs. We knew when an IV tube was not working properly, and how to re-set the timer that regulated the flow of medicine. We read X-rays, assessed blood test results, and evaluated medicinal reports. Much of this we picked up by osmosis, simply by being attuned to our environment and asking questions of absolutely everyone. But we also acquired information on our own (Google is my life-long friend) so that we could not only understand what was happening to our child, but also so we could be the best possible advocates for him.
My world had shrunk to a microcosm of its former self. Everything rose, set, ebbed and flowed within that bunker tucked inside the hospital. Our neighbors, comrades, supporters were the parents of Will’s roommates; we got to know one another through the experiences of our children. We spoke the same language, felt the same emotions, understood the same thoughts. Not that the other people in our lives weren't important -- because they were. They helped to keep us grounded. But these bonds -- the ones formed over isolettes or in the breast pumping room -- were those that were created from a common, shared experience. We were all walking the same mile in the same shoes, albeit perhaps on different routes.
Our prayers soon expanded to include the needs of Will’s friends and their parents. It was actually a liberating experience when we were able to focus on the needs of others, in addition to our own. Progress forward.
But for every little milestone we celebrated, every blessing we received, every success we cheered, there was always something to remind us to never take anything for granted. Out of the blue, right after the turn of the year, we received a very sobering reminder of just how precious and delicate life can be, as one of Will’s little roommates passed away. He too had experienced so many of the ups and downs that Will had, due to his own precarious health situation.
So many mixed emotions accompany such a tragedy -- heartache for the family; sobering realization that there but for the grace of God go I; guilt that my child is surviving. I wish I could say that this was a unique situation, an isolated incident -- but it wasn’t. And it sucks. Big time. Parents should never outlive their children. My little brush with Will’s mortality was as much of a taste of that as I ever want.
But damned if I still don’t remember every bitter nuance of what it does taste like.
Yuck.
Ptooey.
Never underestimate a mother’s sense memory. Even a hypothetical one.
And that is a permanent change. That I can never shake. No matter how hard I try.
Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials.
~Meryl Streep
7.20.2006
Red Letter Day
Drinking out of a sippy cup without prompting or help (or throwing): Exciting
Picking up chalk and marking on a chalkboard for the first time: Fantastic
Eighty (that's right -- 80) unassisted steps: Amazing
Will's day in therapy: Priceless
Picking up chalk and marking on a chalkboard for the first time: Fantastic
Eighty (that's right -- 80) unassisted steps: Amazing
Will's day in therapy: Priceless
7.16.2006
Power Walk Down Memory Lane
So I changed the route of my morning walk today and this took me right by some of my old high school haunts: the park where we would go park and drink beer (sangria for me; in those days, I didn't like beer) and then leave the bottles in the nooks and crannies of an old banyon tree. Affectionately known as the Beer Tree.
The Beer Tree is gone, alas, replaced by a very institutional and not-much-fun oak tree.
I also strolled by the little inlet where my high school boyfriend and I would park and make out. And right at the turn into the inlet, I noted a condom wrapper on the ground.
A little further up the road, I saw the obviously well-used contents of said wrapper.
I laughed all the way home.
Glad to know some things never change.
The Beer Tree is gone, alas, replaced by a very institutional and not-much-fun oak tree.
I also strolled by the little inlet where my high school boyfriend and I would park and make out. And right at the turn into the inlet, I noted a condom wrapper on the ground.
A little further up the road, I saw the obviously well-used contents of said wrapper.
I laughed all the way home.
Glad to know some things never change.
7.13.2006
Breaking News...
Will took not one, not two but 20 steps all by himself today in his physical therapy session.
His PT was lightly holding onto the back of his shirt, and he was holding onto a piece of foam, just for security. She slowly let go and he toddled on, just until he realized that what he was doing. And then his tuchus hit the ground so fast if you blinked you missed it.
But there, for a moment, my baby was moving forward, all on his own. Under his own steam. WIth only the love of those around him as support.
I laughed.
I cried.
It was a hell of a lot better than Cats.
His PT was lightly holding onto the back of his shirt, and he was holding onto a piece of foam, just for security. She slowly let go and he toddled on, just until he realized that what he was doing. And then his tuchus hit the ground so fast if you blinked you missed it.
But there, for a moment, my baby was moving forward, all on his own. Under his own steam. WIth only the love of those around him as support.
I laughed.
I cried.
It was a hell of a lot better than Cats.
Funny Stuff Out of Someone Else's Mouth
A church in Memphis has erected a five-story Statue of Liberty, but instead of holding her torch, she's got a crucfix. That doesn't make any sense, but if a five-story vampire comes at these people, they are so covered.
-- Bill Maher
I'm from Jersey, so I don't take any crap from a cat.
-- Victor Sandonato, who now lives in Utah, after learning that Lewis -- an infamous Connecticut cat that has reportedly attacked a least a half-dozen people -- might be moving to a nearby animal sanctuary.
-- Bill Maher
I'm from Jersey, so I don't take any crap from a cat.
-- Victor Sandonato, who now lives in Utah, after learning that Lewis -- an infamous Connecticut cat that has reportedly attacked a least a half-dozen people -- might be moving to a nearby animal sanctuary.
7.12.2006
More Random Randomness
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
I just realized, thanks to a lovely photographic reminder from my husband, that we set sail on our Alaskan cruise in six weeks. Six weeks. Wow. Can't believe that this just snuck up on me like that. I'm still getting sand out of, well, everything, from our recent week at the beach. I love having something to look forward to -- and this is a doozy of a something. The thought of spending time in a place that's cool and surrounded by icy glaciers is oh-so-appealing right now, as I sit underneath a ceiling fan with the air conditioner blowing and an outside temperature that never goes much below 80 degrees. Ahhhhhhh. Seattle, Alaska, Vancouver. Can't wait.
_________________________________________
Summer TV Diversions:
*Project Runway (Make it work!)
Oh, how I love me some Tim Gunn.
*The World Series of Pop Culture (I must find a way to get on this show... all that useless knowledge bouncing around in my head would enable me to kick some serious tuchus on this one -- she says modestly...)
*Catching up on past seasons of Deadwood and Entourage -- can't believe these shows haven't been on my radar until now. But they both come highly recommended as things I would dig, so I'm giving them a whirl.
*Rock Star: Supernova -- fantastic guilty pleasure. And not just for my inexplanable fascination with Tommy Lee.
I started out with Last Comic Standing, but lost interest and got a little bored right at the outset. Although I think I want to revisit it, if only to watch a young man named Josh Blue. Josh is a funny, funny guy who happens to have cerebral palsy. And that hits me really close to home. However -- I can't think of a better role model for Will than this fellow -- a man who's not letting his condition slow him down or keep him from pursuing his dreams. Actually, he's a pretty damn good role model for me too.
_________________________________________
Buccaneer Training Camp opens two weeks from tomorrow. Per the countdown clock at GatorZone.com, the University of Florida Gators open their season in 52 days. Football time is almost upon us, people -- can you smell it in the air? Can you tell I'm ready to tee it up and kick it off now? Bring it on.
I have no idea what to expect from my two beloved teams this year. Hope always springs eternal with the Gator Nation around this time. I'm still a bit skeptical about the Bucs, given the roster restructuring of the past few seasons (and yeah, I'm still bitter about the unceremonious dismissal of John Lynch, four years later...), but I've stuck with them for so damn long that I know no other mindset.
_________________________________________
On the agenda for today: mowing the lawn. My husband's forearm afflictions prohibited him from his outdoor duties last weekend. So guess who gets to man that mower... and it's not one of those fancy pants electric ones either. No way. This baby is a twenty-year-old, cast iron, heavy-as-hell, gas powered classic. With a sticky pull cord and an oversized grass catcher. It was actually my dad's, but when he and my mom sold the family house and moved to their condo, we got custody of all his outdoor toys. I've been behind the mower before, last summer and fall, when my husband's ruptured Achilles tendon kept him off his feet for several months. And I understand that watching me mow is all kinds of hilarious. So I try not to broadcast when I'm going to do it, so that I'm spared the drive-bys from friends with a sick sense of humor. Although it's really not bad exercise -- it's an activity with a purpose, and one in which you can see immediate results. So here's hoping that the weather holds and that I can make the lawn look halfway decent without creating any crop circle-like designs.
And please, call first before you drive by. Just so I can make sure I'm in the backyard when you come cruising along...
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
I just realized, thanks to a lovely photographic reminder from my husband, that we set sail on our Alaskan cruise in six weeks. Six weeks. Wow. Can't believe that this just snuck up on me like that. I'm still getting sand out of, well, everything, from our recent week at the beach. I love having something to look forward to -- and this is a doozy of a something. The thought of spending time in a place that's cool and surrounded by icy glaciers is oh-so-appealing right now, as I sit underneath a ceiling fan with the air conditioner blowing and an outside temperature that never goes much below 80 degrees. Ahhhhhhh. Seattle, Alaska, Vancouver. Can't wait.
_________________________________________
Summer TV Diversions:
*Project Runway (Make it work!)
Oh, how I love me some Tim Gunn.
*The World Series of Pop Culture (I must find a way to get on this show... all that useless knowledge bouncing around in my head would enable me to kick some serious tuchus on this one -- she says modestly...)
*Catching up on past seasons of Deadwood and Entourage -- can't believe these shows haven't been on my radar until now. But they both come highly recommended as things I would dig, so I'm giving them a whirl.
*Rock Star: Supernova -- fantastic guilty pleasure. And not just for my inexplanable fascination with Tommy Lee.
I started out with Last Comic Standing, but lost interest and got a little bored right at the outset. Although I think I want to revisit it, if only to watch a young man named Josh Blue. Josh is a funny, funny guy who happens to have cerebral palsy. And that hits me really close to home. However -- I can't think of a better role model for Will than this fellow -- a man who's not letting his condition slow him down or keep him from pursuing his dreams. Actually, he's a pretty damn good role model for me too.
_________________________________________
Buccaneer Training Camp opens two weeks from tomorrow. Per the countdown clock at GatorZone.com, the University of Florida Gators open their season in 52 days. Football time is almost upon us, people -- can you smell it in the air? Can you tell I'm ready to tee it up and kick it off now? Bring it on.
I have no idea what to expect from my two beloved teams this year. Hope always springs eternal with the Gator Nation around this time. I'm still a bit skeptical about the Bucs, given the roster restructuring of the past few seasons (and yeah, I'm still bitter about the unceremonious dismissal of John Lynch, four years later...), but I've stuck with them for so damn long that I know no other mindset.
_________________________________________
On the agenda for today: mowing the lawn. My husband's forearm afflictions prohibited him from his outdoor duties last weekend. So guess who gets to man that mower... and it's not one of those fancy pants electric ones either. No way. This baby is a twenty-year-old, cast iron, heavy-as-hell, gas powered classic. With a sticky pull cord and an oversized grass catcher. It was actually my dad's, but when he and my mom sold the family house and moved to their condo, we got custody of all his outdoor toys. I've been behind the mower before, last summer and fall, when my husband's ruptured Achilles tendon kept him off his feet for several months. And I understand that watching me mow is all kinds of hilarious. So I try not to broadcast when I'm going to do it, so that I'm spared the drive-bys from friends with a sick sense of humor. Although it's really not bad exercise -- it's an activity with a purpose, and one in which you can see immediate results. So here's hoping that the weather holds and that I can make the lawn look halfway decent without creating any crop circle-like designs.
And please, call first before you drive by. Just so I can make sure I'm in the backyard when you come cruising along...
7.08.2006
Nobody likes me; everybody hates me. I'm gonna go and eat some worms...
We may be the most pathetic family around today.
My husband has injured his right forearm -- may be carpal tunnel, may be something else. At least it's better than his ruptuting his Achilles' tendon, which was last summer's health crisis.
Will has been vacilating between happy-go-lucky, whiney-pain-in-the-ass, and needy-needy-needy. Oy.
And I have had a bit of a stomach virus for two days now. Tummy ache, feverish and the requisite aches and pains. I'm always game for new ways to lose weight. But this way = yucko.
Plus our air compressor went on the fritz today. With a high of 94 degrees projected for the afternoon. It's fixed now -- for the moment, although I have a feeling that it's merely a band-aid on a bullet wound. The air conditioner repair dude took a thermal reading of the temperature in our attic. 130 degrees. Yep. You read that right. We are due for a new air handler and duct work, as our current system is, as they say, on borrowed time. Oh happy day.
Add to that the fact that my car battery died a couple of days ago, thanks to an errant hatch light inadvertently left on -- thus completely screwing up my plans not only for the day, but for the week. I hate getting behind on errands.
But... Will did make some progress in speech/feeding therapy this week, actually chewing some peaches and picking up and biting, all on his own, a piece of red licorice. Which is HUGE, considering he will touch literally everything but food, thanks to his oral and tactile aversions. I'm probably the only mother in the world who wants her child to eat candy, cookies, ice cream. There will be joy in Mudville when that happens, believe me.
However, to make matters even more complicated, I discovered, quite by accident, that my local grocery stores (I frequent three, just to keep things interesting) are discontinuing carrying Will's favorite toddler food. Since he has the oral defensiveness issues, he is still eating very soft foods. And it looks like his beloved mac and cheese is no longer being offered on the shelves. So now I'm off to scour the internet for it, until such a time as he can actually chew without not only gagging, but having a stress attack.
Boy, do I sound like Debbie Downer today. Wow. I'm attributing some of this to just not feeling well, but...
I'm just at a low point right now with Will's progress -- impatience is setting in for me, which it does periodically. It's just so hard to see him struggle with things that come so naturally and easily for other children. And the stress of having a special needs child can weigh on me more heavily some times -- like now. But his therapists, who certainly know more than I do, assure me that he is making forward strides, and that at some point, everything will all come together for him. I just wish that "some point" would come sooner rather than later. I know, though, that this too shall pass.
And that my blue funky mood will also pass, eventually. Sooner rather than later, I hope.
As it stands now, though, my umbrella is poised and ready for the downpour of the little black cloud seems to be following me overhead.
Maybe if I stand outside, that rain will do some good and water my Sahara-dry grass.
Always gotta look for a silver lining.
My husband has injured his right forearm -- may be carpal tunnel, may be something else. At least it's better than his ruptuting his Achilles' tendon, which was last summer's health crisis.
Will has been vacilating between happy-go-lucky, whiney-pain-in-the-ass, and needy-needy-needy. Oy.
And I have had a bit of a stomach virus for two days now. Tummy ache, feverish and the requisite aches and pains. I'm always game for new ways to lose weight. But this way = yucko.
Plus our air compressor went on the fritz today. With a high of 94 degrees projected for the afternoon. It's fixed now -- for the moment, although I have a feeling that it's merely a band-aid on a bullet wound. The air conditioner repair dude took a thermal reading of the temperature in our attic. 130 degrees. Yep. You read that right. We are due for a new air handler and duct work, as our current system is, as they say, on borrowed time. Oh happy day.
Add to that the fact that my car battery died a couple of days ago, thanks to an errant hatch light inadvertently left on -- thus completely screwing up my plans not only for the day, but for the week. I hate getting behind on errands.
But... Will did make some progress in speech/feeding therapy this week, actually chewing some peaches and picking up and biting, all on his own, a piece of red licorice. Which is HUGE, considering he will touch literally everything but food, thanks to his oral and tactile aversions. I'm probably the only mother in the world who wants her child to eat candy, cookies, ice cream. There will be joy in Mudville when that happens, believe me.
However, to make matters even more complicated, I discovered, quite by accident, that my local grocery stores (I frequent three, just to keep things interesting) are discontinuing carrying Will's favorite toddler food. Since he has the oral defensiveness issues, he is still eating very soft foods. And it looks like his beloved mac and cheese is no longer being offered on the shelves. So now I'm off to scour the internet for it, until such a time as he can actually chew without not only gagging, but having a stress attack.
Boy, do I sound like Debbie Downer today. Wow. I'm attributing some of this to just not feeling well, but...
I'm just at a low point right now with Will's progress -- impatience is setting in for me, which it does periodically. It's just so hard to see him struggle with things that come so naturally and easily for other children. And the stress of having a special needs child can weigh on me more heavily some times -- like now. But his therapists, who certainly know more than I do, assure me that he is making forward strides, and that at some point, everything will all come together for him. I just wish that "some point" would come sooner rather than later. I know, though, that this too shall pass.
And that my blue funky mood will also pass, eventually. Sooner rather than later, I hope.
As it stands now, though, my umbrella is poised and ready for the downpour of the little black cloud seems to be following me overhead.
Maybe if I stand outside, that rain will do some good and water my Sahara-dry grass.
Always gotta look for a silver lining.
7.01.2006
On Holiday
Ten adults
Eleven children
Three grocery carts full of provisions
Sunscreen for the face, the body, the eyes, the hair
All day spent in a bathing suit and cover-up
Two changes of toenail polish color
Ten books brought
Four books read
Smelling like sunscreen, chlorine, salt water, sand, sweat, grill smoke and barbecue sauce
Wine coolers in the pool at two in the afternoon
Afternoon rainshowers
Naps under a ceiling fan
No cell phone reception
Sea turtle nests on the beach
Brown bunny rabbits playing in the sea grapes
Watching dolphins playing in the surf from your perch at the edge of the tide
Actually swimming near manatees in the middle of the Gulf
Stretching out hamstrings while collecting shells
Tending to sunburned shoulders as part of the evening’s ritual
Red velvet cake for dessert
And for breakfast
Unspeakably fresh bay scallops, cooked with butter and garlic, melting in your mouth
Pelicans overhead
Fish underfoot
Belly laughs filling the air
Memories shared
Memories made
Good friends
Good times
Eleven children
Three grocery carts full of provisions
Sunscreen for the face, the body, the eyes, the hair
All day spent in a bathing suit and cover-up
Two changes of toenail polish color
Ten books brought
Four books read
Smelling like sunscreen, chlorine, salt water, sand, sweat, grill smoke and barbecue sauce
Wine coolers in the pool at two in the afternoon
Afternoon rainshowers
Naps under a ceiling fan
No cell phone reception
Sea turtle nests on the beach
Brown bunny rabbits playing in the sea grapes
Watching dolphins playing in the surf from your perch at the edge of the tide
Actually swimming near manatees in the middle of the Gulf
Stretching out hamstrings while collecting shells
Tending to sunburned shoulders as part of the evening’s ritual
Red velvet cake for dessert
And for breakfast
Unspeakably fresh bay scallops, cooked with butter and garlic, melting in your mouth
Pelicans overhead
Fish underfoot
Belly laughs filling the air
Memories shared
Memories made
Good friends
Good times
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