Forty-seven wishes

1. For Will to continue maximizing his potential.

2. To keep on embracing the true essence of myself.

3. To continue on the path to being healthy, both internally and externally.

4. Contentment

5. To only have one mortgage. Please. Only one mortgage.

6. Health for my family and loved ones.

7. Happiness for my family and loved ones.

8. To spend some quality time with those I love.

9. To carve out time to be creative in my own way.

10. To make our house a home.

11. A really relaxing, rejuvenating vacation.

12. A decent night’s sleep.

13. Tampa Bay Buccaneers: NFC South champs.

14. The ability to raise one sardonic eyebrow.

15. Tampa Bay Rays: AL Wild Card winner.

16. To hear the words “Jon Hamm, Party of Two” and be one of the two

17. A continued strengthening of my self-esteem.

18. The sudden appearance of an organizational gene in me. Please? I ask for this every year. Hope continues to spring eternal.

19. To spend quality time with those who aren't family by blood but family by choice.

20. To see snow this year. Preferably falling on the mean streets of Manhattan.

21. To be less guarded.

22. To get out of the house more.

23. To hear live music more frequently.

24. To tell the ones I love that I love them with greater frequency

25. To embrace my roles at church and serve with faith, grace and humbleness.

26. To control and manage my stress in a constructive manner.

27. A more tolerant, accepting, respectful, gentler society.

28. To have a week when my nails don’t look like a gorilla is my manicurist.

29. More than one decent night’s sleep in a row.

30. Longer legs and less wide feet (Hey, these are my wishes. They don’t have to be practical. Or feasible.)

31. To be more vulnerable.

32. To engage in some continuing education activities. No stagnating!

33. For more good hair days than bad hair days.

34. To be a good friend.

35. To find some dependable babysitters. (see Wish #22)

36. To make and cultivate new friendships.

37. To read more.

38. To make progress with my myriad scrapbooking/genealogy projects. That's the fun stuff, y'all.

39. To actually grow a plant successfully. Outside. (my aerogarden does not count.) Without killing it.

40. To be the best choir urchin director I can be.

41. To learn one new skill.

42. To hear the words “Copeland (as in Stewart), Party of Two” and be one of the two.

43. To make a difference for the good in my world.

44. To FINALLY do that karaoke thing.

45. To be kinder and not so hard on myself.

46. To celebrate a success everyday. I tend to focus on what went wrong rather than what went right. Call it the Glass Half Full Philosophy.

47. To have the chance to make 48 wishes the same time next year.

Alert the media -- it's Meme Monday

Just when you thought there was NOTHING new to learn about me, along comes Monday and another set of delightfully random questions. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Who is the last person you high-fived?
Will. We are the masters of the “up high/down low/too slow” routine. Although lately we’ve been into the fist bump. Much more hip.

If you were drafted into a war, would you survive?
Listen – if things get so dire that they start drafting women of a certain age, we’re all in trouble. But in the unlikely event I do get the notice, I think the lack of room service and indoor plumbing might do me in before the enemy does.

Do you sleep with the TV on?
I like to fall asleep with the telly on, but thanks to the sleep timer, it’s just for about 45 minutes. Sleeping with the television on can lead to weird dreams, especially if you drift off to something like Criminal Minds (SERIAL KILLERS!) or Law & Order: SVU (SEX CRIMES!). So I’ve heard, anyway.

Have you ever won a spelling bee?
Know.
Heh. Seriously. No. Hell no. I have many gifts, and proper spelling isn’t one of them. If you’ve ever IMd or texted with me for any length of time, you can attest to this.

Have you ever been stung by a bee?
Yes. Wasps too. Had minor allergic reactions to both. Scared me to death because when I was a kid, I read this book called A Taste of Blackberries which tells the story of a boy whose best pal dies because of an allergic reaction to bee stings. Talk about a great thing to stick with you for decades…

How fast can you type?
Really really fast if you don’t count typos. Or misspellings. Heh. I’m actually pretty fast. I had to work on the speed thing in college to reach a certain WPM to get into a required reporting class. Hours spent banging away on my faithful little electric typewriter paid off. But if you bought stock in white-out in those days, I probably made you very very rich.

Are you afraid of the dark?
Regular dark? No. But something like cave or cavern dark with bats and bugs and things that go bump in the night – you betcha.

Eye color?
Brown. The shade that deepens in color depending on what I wear.

Have you ever made out at a drive-in?
You betcha. I am a big fan of the car make-out. It’s fun and reminds me of being a young thing when grabbing time and location to play tonsil hockey with the object of one’s affection was always a bit of a challenge.

When was the last time you chose a bath over a shower?
It’s been waaaaay too long. I can’t even remember the last time I took a good bubbly soak. Hmmmm…

Do you knock on wood?
Yes. Just in case. You never know.

Do you floss daily?
No. Shhh…

Can you hula-hoop?
Once upon a time, I could. Haven’t tried in a while.

Are you good at keeping secrets?
I am very discrete when need be. Have anything you’d like to share?

What do you want for Christmas?
Jon Hamm

Do you know the Muffin Man?
No, but I know the Muffin Top Man. Me and Elaine Benes.

Do you talk in your sleep?
I don’t think so. I know I snore (shut it) but I think that’s the only utterance I make.

Who wrote the book of love?
Either Sir Shakespeare or Señor Neruda or Lord Byron. Sigh.

Do you make up your own words?
Heck yeah! Thought I made up one last night – concussive. But alas, someone beat me to it. I’m particularly fond of “conversate” and the classic “strategery.” If only Words with Friends thought the way I do about such words…

Soul Food

A chicken salad sandwich on wheat. Lettuce and tomato. With a side of salt and vinegar potato chips.

Iconic meal in my life. It was my go-to late night dinner in college. I often had late lab/writing classes in the journalism school and only after they let out would I have time to grab a bite. Usually at my favorite watering hole, where I’d pull up a stool at the bar, completely disregarding my mother’s long-ago comment that “nice girls don’t sit at the bar” and order a chicken salad sandwich. With salt and vinegar chips. And a cold beer in my custom mug, reserved for regular patrons. So so good. Comfort food.

I had a chicken salad sandwich on wheat, with a side of chips the other night for a late night dinner. But instead of the happy sounds of a bar come to life, my background was the sound of beeps. Pages. And the wheezed breathing of my little boy.

We had one of those infrequent but rattling episodes with Will, when a seemingly innocuous respiratory issue turned unnerving, with my kiddo having two seizures barely 12 hours apart, the last one so lengthy and scary that the paramedics were called and a trip to the emergency room taken. When you have a child with neurological issues, you simply don’t fuck around with things. We are so conditioned that I even have an old school backpack of Will’s loaded with things for a hospital stay. Pre-packing a bag. Not just for pregnant women any more.

Tests were run. Will’s health history was repeated over and over to various medical personnel. Calls made – I now have a “don’t call us, we’ll call you” rule for times like this. Time killed by aimlessly clicking a TV remote over and over and over.

It was during a rare quiet moment, when Will was sleeping in his favorite position – tuchus in the air, head on crossed arms, snoring thanks to the congestion – that the mister and I realized it had been a long time since lunch. I shuffled off to the hospital cafeteria, where I was greeted with steaming trays of food that had no appeal. Then I saw a list of deli items, which included my beloved chicken salad. Comfort food. For a time when I needed comforting badly.

And in the chaos and anxiousness of a emergency room, I ate my personal version of soul food. As much as I could, anyway. Situations like the one I was in have a way of curtailing one’s appetite. Great diet tip but I wouldn’t recommend it for the long haul.

Somehow, that combination of the chicken salad and tomato and salt and vinegar chips took me back to sitting on that bar stool. To my youth when my only responsibility was getting educated. Before shunts and seizures and medicines and my sweet boy were at the top of my responsibility list.

And just for a moment, it felt as if all would be OK.

We're home now, nursing that infection as best we can (damn thing is viral, so it doesn't appreciate the whole "better living through chemistry" concept.) Will is feeling better, as he's back to his usual antics -- a whole bottle of one of my health supplements and his favorite stuffed toy enjoyed time in the washer yesterday. I'm still recovering, as days such as the one we had on Sunday send me into a bit of caregiver's post-traumatic stress. To be expected, from what I understand. But as long as my kiddo's on the mend, I can deal with anything.

Been thinking about that chicken salad sandwich. A lot. But I think that it's best reserved for moments when I really need it. To feed my soul. An extreme special occasion, if you will.

For times when I need to know that all will be OK.