Personal Status: My Chi is Blocked

Over a week has passed since I wrote about my inability to get out of my own way – that I was having difficulty getting started on the myriad of projects on my growing “To Do” list. While my brain fog is lifting, I still find myself more often than not just sitting and spinning in place.

An anonymous soul emailed me after that posting, and suggested that my Chi, or life force, was blocked, and that maybe addressing my life from a Feng Shui perspective might be helpful.

As I learned, the ancient Chinese believed Chi permeated all things and linked them together, describing it as the flow of energy around and through the body. Once I understood my Chi’s rhythm and flow, I could create an environment around me that was stable and promoted longevity through Feng Shui.

Feng Shui is the ancient spiritual discipline which makes use of a process that affects someone’s internal landscape just as it affects their physical environment, such as their bedroom, office or living room. In Feng Shui, a person enriches their soul by directing the energies of the universe and natural elements such as wind, water, fire, earth and metals to it.

Fearing my Chi was not only blocked but possessed, I agreed to conduct a Feng Shui inventory of our master bedroom (I originally wanted to utilize the process for our soon to be finished home office, but was told the bedroom was the seat of the soul in our home).

If our bedroom layout was in harmony with the Feng Shui method, my Chi would flow freely and I would be surrounded by love, health, happiness, contentment and prosperity.

Based on the Feng Shui guidelines, our master bedroom failed miserably -- Feel free to follow along to see if your bedroom is blocking YOUR Chi:

1) Bed should face door but not be in direct alignment with door: The bottoms of your feet facing the door mimic the coffin position. FAILED (we will need to move our bed into the walk-in closet).

2) The only thing that should be above your head when you sleep is a soft canopy; no ceiling fans, beams or chandeliers. FAILED.

3) No electric appliances at your bedside in the bedroom. FAILED (Can people with strong Chi see in complete darkness? Do they not need alarm clocks?).

4) The bed should be elevated to a proper level so energy can circulate around it; you should not store anything under the bed. FAILED.

5) No pictures of friends or family members should be present in your bedroom. FAILED.

6) Sleep with ALL doors closed when you sleep, including those to your closets and bathroom. FAILED (Now I’m supposed to walk around in the dark and crash into the closed bathroom door in the middle of the night?).

7) No house plants in the bedroom. FAILED.

8) Sleep on only the highest-quality sheets made from natural fibers. FAILED (is the Egyptian cotton market in bed with the Feng Shui people, no pun intended?).

9) No computers or phones in your bedroom. FAILED (how will I call for help after I trip into the closed bathroom door? How will Jim find me in the dark?)

10) Do not sleep under sloped ceilings, as your energy is being heavily constricted and under constant pressure, which can contribute to emotional instability and low energy. FAILED (maybe our energy is low because we keep walking into the walls at night).

11) Eliminate all sharp angles (sha chi, or poison arrows) pointing at you when you sleep; be sure to neutralize all the sharp energy aiming at your bed, such as furniture or sharp wall corners. FAILED. Jim never took the opportunity to bevel all the sharp edges off our chest of drawers or nightstands.

And my final personal favorite:

12) Closets should be clean, organized and uncluttered (if my closets were in this state, I wouldn’t be looking for help in the first place). Enough said.

So there you have it. My poor Chi is blocked because our crazy bedroom is not in balance per Feng Shui standards. I feel so much better now!

Preparing for the 2012 Apocalypse

A question that arises at least once or twice a week in our house from Jamie is “Mom, Dad, is the world going to end in 2012?”

“No, Jamie, for the millionth time, the world is not going to end,” I said exasperatedly yesterday. “The world didn’t end in 2000 when everyone thought it would, and it isn’t going to end in 2012.”

Jamie ponders my answer, but I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings with the tone of my voice. “But Mom, how can you be sure it won’t end? Look at all the bad things happening today," he pauses. "Some of my friends are scared, too.”

From a ten-year-old’s perspective, I really need to cut him some serious slack, because his reasoning was dead-on: Massive tornado outbreaks, flooding, earthquakes, forest fires, tsunamis, political unrest in the Middle East, suicide bombers. To be honest, from an adult perspective it might even be hard to fathom that something sinister isn't afoot. 

Jim always stresses this different approach. “You know, Jamie, the Earth is a big planet and has been here for a really long time. If the world were going to end, it would be something none of us would have control over. And I know it’s hard to understand or even to do, but you have to learn to not worry about things you can’t control, and just be happy with your life as it is right now.”

Jamie will generally fall silent, then remind us a few minutes later the exact date is December 21, 2012.

And damn if he isn’t right, according to eschatologists, whose job it is to determine the ultimate destiny of humanity via the studies of futurology, philosophy and theology. December 21, 2012 represents the end date of a 5,125 year long cycle in the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar.

What do we have to look forward to? According to thousands of fascinating websites dedicated to doomsday theories, everything from spiritual enlightenment, a shift in our inner collective consciousness, Armageddon, massive solar storms, super volcano explosions, visitors from outer space, being sucked into a black hole, and my all-time personal favorite, the discovery of the Ark of the Covenant which now lies hidden in an Illinois cave.

But silliness aside, Jamie is becoming old enough to understand mortality, that we won’t all live forever but that he wants all of us to. He’s beginning to ask more questions about how old my grandparents were when they died, and if they were sick or healthy. On days when our family dog is moving slightly slower than normal, he asks how long Canaans are supposed to live and if Buck is a healthy dog.

I don’t remember how old I was when I was afraid to fall asleep (maybe third or fourth grade?), because I was worried I wouldn’t wake up the next morning. It only lasted a few weeks and I don’t remember talking to my mom or dad about it, but instead worried to myself in silence.

Jim and I are confident this too shall pass, but in the interim remind ourselves to be patient and understanding of his fears, and to point out all that is wonderful and positive in our world that we should celebrate, without oversimplifying or acting patronizing toward his feelings.

And as always, we will keep the lines of communication open for whatever Jamie or Jordan brings our way: We never know what they might teach us.

Inquisitive Young Minds

While at the mall over the weekend, I overheard two moms discussing their toddlers, bemoaning the fact that each of their children had discovered the magical word ‘why’. They continued they felt like they were close to driving their cars off the road within minutes of any outing, as the ‘why’s” started the moment the engine started.

I didn’t have the heart to completely break their spirits; to tell them the questions never stop, they just become more complicated, confusing and obtuse.

Here’s a small sampling of rapid-fire questions from Jordan and Jamie over the past week (for the record, the majority of questions were followed in such quick succession with other questions Jim and I escaped answering most of them):

-   Who hacked Playstation?

-   Why is it called Good Friday if it was such a bad day for Jesus?

-   Is driving hard?

-   What are those birds doing?

-   Is this milk (bread, ice cream, food product) expired?

-   What are you watching?

-   Do I have a fever?

-   What are you eating?

-   What just happened?

-   Where are my shoes?

-   Does this (food product) smell okay?

-   Do you know the cat threw up?

-   Can I have a cell phone?

-   Why do people smoke when it’s bad for them?

-   Are you speeding?

-   Would you break the law if we were poor?

-   What did you do with our Tooth Fairy teeth?

-   Can we flood where we live?

-   Is Barack Obama happy?

-   Why is who you vote for a secret?

-   Is the weather bad because 2012 is coming?

Jordan and Jamie are apparently too busy to notice Jim and I are both in the fetal position by the end of the week, crying and rocking in the corner with earplugs on.

Spring: A Feast for the Senses

Lilacs. Tulips. Freshly-cut grass. Fresh fertilizer. Pungent mulch. Mud. Dead worms. Wet dogs. Beautifully blooming pear trees that smell like dead fish. Ah, the scents and stench of Spring.

As of today, the month of April has had a total of 19 days of rain out of 26. Our backyard had enough standing water to form a small pond that two mallard ducks frolicked in earlier this morning.

A towel hangs permanently by the back door to wipe our dog’s paws every time he comes back inside, no matter how quickly he tries to slink by. Our older cat, wiser and faster, slips in behind Buck as he is being humiliated with a blue fuzzy towel.

Why the heavy security at the back door? The lovely bright white ceramic tile that covers half of the first floor of our home: It’s not the stains that are worrisome, but the smallest amount of moisture that turns the tile to a dangerously fashionable slip and slide.

And, oh, the dandelions. Our backyard is a humiliating sea of yellow, in stark contrast to our neighbors’ lush green lawns. Apparently, the weed blocker we failed to use in the fall had been doing its job quite well in the years’ past, as we awoke Easter Sunday morning to a swath of goldenrod. Until I can kill all of them, I simply squint my eyes and pretend they are daffodils (I will kindly ask all my neighbors to do the same).

An avid gardener, I’m itching to pull out the lawnmower and decapitate all the weeds and plunge into the flowerbeds, with a minivan back seat full of flower flats. As the daylilies and hostas have already broken ground, it is almost time to re-level the birdbath and clear away the remaining clumps of autumn leaves hiding between the boxwoods and other shrubs.

But as the cool daytime temperatures remind me, overnight frosts are still a great possibility, and there still remains a two-car garage that needs to be cleaned before I can turn my eyes to the ‘fun chores’ of Spring.

In the meantime, Jordan and Jamie are growing marigolds and pansies from seeds given to them for Easter from Grandma Sandy and Grandpa Bobby.  Perched on the kitchen windowsill, the small flower pots remind us the warmer, sunnier days of spring are just around the corner.

Dralle Laundry Service

It was a business we didn’t know we owned, yet it was becoming increasingly popular with each passing day.

As the sorted laundry piles grew in height and width on Easter Monday, Jim and I became confused: The ratio of days passed to clothes worn was completely disproportionate in volume. Quite simply, there were just too damn many dirty clothes.

As Jim and I work from home, our wardrobes for corporate headquarters are rather simple and casual, and it’s not as if we’re going into the coal mines every day. Deskwork can be dull, but hardly dusty. Jordan and Jamie, while their lives are very active, don’t exactly roll around in the mud before returning home in their t-shirts, hoodies and jeans.

There were enough towels in one pile to require a three-way load split, enough jeans and dark t-shirts to split in half, and a load of brights that filled the wash tub to the brim. Don’t even get me started on the almost whites. Where the hell were all these clothes coming from? Were we taking in the neighbors’ laundry for some extra cash? Had Jordan and Jamie added another business in lieu of their lemonade stand due to the inclement weather?

And then it hit us: A combination of costume changes performed by Jordan (her after school wear, her pre-shower wear and then her pajamas, all worn for less than thirty minutes and then thrown into the hamper or onto her closet floor), and clean laundry that never quite made it back into the dresser drawers because it was easier to just toss it back in the hamper.

In order to scale back on the new family business, punishments shall be meted-out after new loads of laundry are properly put away under direct supervision, costume changes have been banned until further notice, and spontaneous pet washing shall be kept to a tidy minimum.

And the innumerable towels, you wonder? Well, first there is the post-school soak in the bathtub with a slew of Bath and Body Works products where you use two towels – one to wipe the floor and one to dry off with. Then four more showers for our family, a spare towel or two for in-bedroom manicures and pedicures, a few towels to dry dishes, some beach towels to make a tent for stuffed animals at a weekly sleepover and then the spontaneous washing and drying of the family pets and there you have it – one hundred various towels in hampers and baskets throughout the house.

So until further notice (or until something furry and muddy rushes back into the house), the Dralle Laundry Service is officially on hiatus. I bet our electric meter visibly stopped spinning …

Friday Night at the Movies

The question sounded innocent enough but was a loaded one from Jordan: “Mom, can I go to the movies tonight?”

Jordan and her friends wanted to see “Soul Surfer” without an adult chaperone. To our first-hand knowledge, we knew it was okay with her best friend’s parents, but were unsure which other girls would be meeting them at the 7:00 p.m. show.

After lengthy discussion, Jim and I agreed Jordan and her bestie could go to the movies and meet their friends, while Jamie and I would prowl the mall and spend some quality time together.

It felt strange from the moment I pulled up to the theater entrance and entered this bizarre and new world: Friday night at the mall. Tweens were streaming from minivans and waving over their shoulders as they dashed through the doors away from parental view.

After reviewing pickup instructions, Jordan gave me a peck on the cheek and off went the dynamic duo, giggling and running through the rain with the masses.

While Jamie and I cruised the mall, I was definitely skewing the age curve along with a few other out-of-place parents. We browsed, snacked on pretzels and brownies and had a great time catching up on a week’s worth of news. As 8:30 drew near, we made our way to the food court and the designated pickup spot.

Gaggles of tweens were everywhere – five to fifteen to a group, the smaller groups either all-boy or all-girl and acting goofy and obnoxious; larger groups being co-ed and acting relatively mature, polite and laid back, munching on sushi or sharing multiple dessert plates.

There was too much of a din to overhear any of the conversations, but facial expressions and body language ensured it did not take a rocket scientist to figure out who was talking about whom. Cell phones and I-pods were strewn across tabletops everywhere, and based on the volume of bags hanging over the backs of chairs, adults everywhere should buy stock in Bath and Body Works, Aeropostale and Zumiez.

Within ten minutes we spotted the BFFs, toting a large drink and bucket of popcorn the size of Jordan’s head and still laughing. As we left the food court the tweens began to disperse, heading to different lines at the movie theater for the second or third part of their evening.

“That was the best movie ever!” Jordan exclaimed before we even reached her. “It was so touching I almost cried at the end.” We made our way through the mall as the stores were closing their doors for the day, other tweens leaving for the evening with their parents as well.

One step further from tween, Jordan is fast approaching her teen years and all the experiences and responsibilities that go along with them. So far, we crossed the first major hurdle with grace, and we can only pray those that follow will be just as easy. 

Best Holiday Wishes ...

Easter 2004

To friends and family, best wishes for a wonderful Easter Sunday!

Easter Eve: Traditions Reborn

Ever since last summer, when Jordan and Jamie admitted they no longer believed in Santa, an entire cast of childhood characters and associated traditions disappeared from our lives.

Jim and I of course knew that day would come sooner or later, but like all parents we would have been perfectly content to have their childlike awe last a little while longer.

So as Santa, his reindeer and elves, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy packed their bags, we realized how much we would miss Jordan and Jamie waking us up to tell us that Santa’s reindeer and the Easter Bunny ate all the carrots, or that the Tooth Fairy wrote them a special note to go with their new toothbrush.

Christmas Eve left me slightly melancholy when the kids didn’t put out a plate of cookies and carrots for Santa and his transportation team, and the morning was equally strange, as the kids knew all the presents were from Jim and me, not old Saint Nick. As Easter approached, I stopped short as I found myself going into the ‘secret spot’ in the basement to dig out the kids’ baskets and plastic eggs.

I then remembered my mom and dad hid chocolate candy eggs in our living room until my sister and I were well into high school, and I received a Fanny May Valentine’s heart in the mail all the way through my grad school years at college.

Before it was too late, I ran to the store and picked up a couple egg-dying kits and pounds of various chocolates and jellybeans to fill the more than one hundred plastic eggs I had packed away last year. Disbelief be damned, we are coloring eggs and having an Easter egg hunt!

The Dralle Easter Egg Hunt would only take place if Jordan and Jamie both agreed to sit on the Easter Bunny’s lap at our neighborhood clubhouse this morning. That’s right, we’re resetting the disbelief clock and I’m going straight back to the cutest photo opportunity available.

I didn’t expect too much resistance regarding decorating eggs or posing for the EB portrait – I mean, really, an hour of time in exchange for chocolate-filled plastic eggs strewn about our living room and dining room? That was a no-brainer no matter how you slice it.

The challenge I’ll be facing is how I’m going to keep Buck-Buck the wonder dog from mistaking all the eggs as his tennis balls before Jordan and Jamie wake up, or keep Sparky the kitten from batting the eggs around while we sleep from Saturday night to Sunday morning.

All in all worth the effort to recapture a fond tradition or two…

Dinner with the Family: Quality Time?

It was just one of those weeknights when we had a fridge and freezer full of food, a pantry packed to the gills, yet we had nothing to eat for dinner: Hamburger buns without burgers, bacon and sausage with one egg, hot dogs with zero condiments, a lovely roast that had not been defrosted, a pre-made lasagna that would take two hours to bake and it was already after six.

Normally this is something I wouldn’t notice because Jim has ALWAYS been the family cook, and a great one at that. But ever since his knee surgery, I have been trying to spend more time in the kitchen preparing dinners.

It’s not that I can’t cook – Jim and I joke that we make the perfect food couple because he can cook the main meal and I can make killer appetizers and to-die-for desserts.

Growing up, mom was always busy trying to get dinner on the table before dad came home from work, so there wasn’t a lot of spare time to teach my sister and I how to cook. Instead, mom spent her time with us before dinner teaching us how to make appetizers, or after dinner teaching us how to make desserts (our first recipe was the all-time favorite Nestle Tollhouse Cookie).

While Dawn and I graduated to brownies, cupcakes, tortes and whipped cream frosting, our interest in the main courses waned as we taste-tested batter and licked the bowls and spoons at a time before anyone was concerned about eating raw eggs and getting sick (we never did).

Back to dinner this evening, and I realize we are also in a bit of a dinner rut: No one really had a taste for anything in particular, but everyone definitely knew what they didn’t want. None of the old standbys sounded appealing, and no one could agree on what to order or where to order from.

Discovering some chicken, rice and a veggie, I was able to pull together a quick dinner fix, and was immediately reminded why I hate cooking dinner: After thirty minutes of prep time, clearing the table of backpack explosions and then setting the table, the meal itself lasted no longer than seven minutes, and everyone was gone.

Appetizers and desserts seem to be more appreciated: They are lingered over with cocktails, coffee and conversation. However, the actual meals, holiday meals in particular, that can take days of preparation, from list-making to shopping to cooking to presentation, seem to be consumed in mere moments and POOF! they’re all over.

By the time I made it to the table, everyone’s plate was piled high and dinner was in full swing. By the time I jumped up to grab more napkins and refill drinks, Jamie was already midway through his second helping.

Three bites into my meal, both kids asked to be excused, put their dishes in the dishwasher, fed the pets and were off to either start homework or jump on the computer before round two of homework began.

“Do they actually chew?” I asked Jim as the sound of their footsteps thundered over our heads. He laughed as I walked over to the oven and set the temp to the magical cookie number, 350. Within minutes, the bowl in front of me was full of creamy batter and teaspoon-full portions were being dropped onto ungreased cookie sheets.

The sound of the first timer going off brought both fugitives back to the kitchen, looking for either the first batch of cookies or a spoon or empty bowl to lick. Jamie poured four glasses of milk and Jordan brought the dish of cookies back to the table, both chattering about their days, upcoming tests, who dumped who, and the joys of a four-day school week and upcoming long weekend.

I looked across the table and winked at Jim – cookies work every time. 

Algebra Homework with a Fourth Grader

“Mom, can you help me with homework after dinner?” Jamie asked. “I don’t get the math part exactly.”

Math, a four-letter word in my world. I did well in math through sixth grade, mastering the basics with ease. Then I hit seventh grade and was introduced to algebra. Suddenly, numbers were mixing with letters and I was trying unsuccessfully to solve problems to determine the unknown.

I was immediately lost. Math was my last class of the day, when my brain was already tired. My fellow students dutifully copied the equations from the blackboard, followed along with the lesson and seemed to arrive at the right answer.

My hand constantly shot up in the air. “Why do we just add what we want on one side and the other?” “What if I pick the wrong number?” “Why can we rearrange that equation but we couldn’t do it to the other one?” All my questions were answered with the same response: “Just do what we’re doing and it will make sense to you later.”

Nope, wrong answer. I needed to understand WHY we were doing the various steps in a specific order; I needed to understand the logic. Most homework was completed in class, so when I received it back with every answer wrong, I was allowed to correct my answers with the teacher’s help (“Just do it this way, Laura”), so my homework arrived at home with zero mistakes for my parents to see.

I managed to fake my way through junior high and high school algebra (we won’t discuss geometry), somehow scraping out Bs and Cs but never grasping the basic concepts and struggling with every equation.

I arrived at NIU and prepared to fail my first course, Algebra 101, which I successfully did three times in a row, with the help of a tutor! Homework consumed hours of my time, and I had myself convinced I could not learn algebra, and I had the failing grades to prove it.

As I needed to pass this algebra course to graduate, I decided to take it as a summer school class at a community college, and focus all my time and attention on barely passing with a high C, the equivalent of an A for me, or so I thought. I braced myself for eight weeks of misery.

What I wasn’t prepared for was an instructor who knew how to teach algebra, not just repeat lesson plans that did not include questions from students. I wasn’t prepared to be in a class of fifteen, where the instructor knew my name and was personally invested in my success. Quite a stretch from the 250-seat lecture hall at NIU, where equations were scrawled on an overhead projector by a graduate assistant I couldn’t identify in a lineup if my life depended on it.

When I asked questions, I received real answers. Equations were explained to me, step by step, and within the first two weeks I was shocked to discover I truly understood algebra. I cried like a baby when I received my first pop quiz back in week three of class and a big fat “A” was scrawled across the top of the paper. Thanks to Mr. Kruzinski and his infinite patience, I passed my Algebra 101 class with an A-.

Jamie’s confusion was shockingly genetic in nature – he didn’t understand why balancing the equation was important and why it worked. These basic concepts are the building blocks of algebra that were never explained to me, and I knew his frustration would set in immediately if he didn’t grasp the concept quickly.

One hour and ten math problems later, Jamie proudly packed his textbook and homework in his backpack and gave me a huge hug. “Thanks, mom. That was easy. You’re really good at this.”

I take back everything I said about never needing to know how to do algebra in my every day life. 

Lessons Learned over Spring Break

As the weather for Jordan and Jamie’s spring break was about as lovely as this week’s forecasted weather, we had to be very creative with what type of outings we would take and how many play dates we could squeeze in.

With so many indoor activities and play dates, Jim and I had the opportunity to observe and overhear many more conversations and exchanges than usual, as we were almost always in earshot of the kids.

What we learned was quite eye opening, so I thought I would share a few of our favorite observations:

1) Children Do Not Have Filters

As most elementary school teachers will tell you, children aged twelve and under lack any form of social filter, especially when it comes to discussing their families’ cares and woes: Misbehaving siblings, dads who spend too much time on the couch and moms who are always crabby are the tamest and mildest stories we heard. Be warned: To most children, your family’s life is an open book to be shared with all.

And, oh yes, if you think telling your children that a subject is private and not to be shared, you are practically begging them to broadcast the news over the school P.A. system. Children simply cover themselves with the blanket mea culpa  “Please don’t tell my mom/dad that I told you this.”

2) Children Can Be Sneaky

Shocking, I know. This revelation led Jim and I to only allow Jordan and Jamie to touch the computer keyboard when friends were over.

Why? Children who are grounded from the computer at home do not readily confess this fact when at a friend’s house, and will exploit the opportunity to check their Facebook page, maybe play a round or two of Angry Birds, or worse yet, view something on YouTube their older sibling loves but they are not allowed to watch. This record will not show on their own home computer’s history, making it appear they are self-policing and not using their own computer. Like I said, pretty sneaky.

3) Family Pets Are Performance Artists

As all Dralle family members and friends know where Buck, Alle and Sparky’s pet treats are kept, new visitors are great audience members to snag treats from for doing nothing more than looking cute and/or hungry.

Our dog Buck has looking like he hasn’t been fed in years down to an Oscar-worthy performance, and cats Alle and Sparky have tumbling runs that would make Cirque du Soleil Vegas acts look amateurish.

To keep our critters from blowing up like goldfish, all pet treats are hidden before friends come over to play.

4) Sleepovers Have Nothing to do with Sleep at Our House

When on Spring and Christmas breaks, we allow Jordan and Jamie to stay up past their normal bedtimes, watch movies and play videogames, which they have now learned to compensate for by sleeping in late. But some of their friends are still programmed to wake up early, regardless of what time they went to bed at the sleepover.

The solution? Sleepover friends now know where all the breakfast food is located, and where the family room tv remote can be found. I’m no longer surprised to wake up and find my ‘other’ children eating breakfast while my kids are still upstairs sawing wood.

5) Not All Children Behave Equally

I know, another shocker. While we are very fortunate that Jordan and Jamie have very polite and well-behaved friends where we live now, that was not always the case.

So friends were divided into two groups: Inside and outside friends. Inside friends had great manners, were well behaved and we knew their parents well. Outside friends, while fun to play with, would treat our house like an upholstered jungle gym, jumping on furniture, climbing the outside of our staircase to the second floor landing, terrorizing pets and tempting our children to follow them down the merry path to misbehavior.

By the end of spring break, all the children, including ours, became outside friends as cabin fever set in. Should your children be home this week for Spring Break, may these lessons help provide some insight and humor to deal with the days ahead.

Just think, summer break is just around the corner …

Monday and a Case of the Blah Humbugs

I couldn't quite figure out what was going on with me yesterday, but it had best not be an indication of how the week is going to go. Call it what you will, but I just couldn't seem to get out of my own way.

I only had a million and one things to do but couldn't find the impetus to start any or all of them. From laundry to dishes to a website rewrite to cleaning the basement or the garage, I could not get my butt moving on a single project. Instead, I just kept mindlessly walking around the house and mentally torturing myself by looking at all that needed to be done, but wasn't.

Our house is currently in a state of transition: After almost two years, my mother-in-law and all of her stuff moved out of our house, basement and garage last Friday. Within the next week, my son will move back to his ‘old’ bedroom after he decides on a new paint color (because simple beige does not cut it for a ten-year-old boy).

The big move left many sectors of our house in a state of polite pandemonium: As Bonnie’s belongings took up residence in our garage and a major portion of the basement, our storage items were quickly and haphazardly shoved out of the way two year’s ago, when we realized she had a hell of a lot more stuff than we had planned for.

Our two-car garage became a barely one-car garage, as we stored our new items in there and our bedroom closet. Jim’s knee surgery added to the clutter, with walkers and crutches and icing machines and raised toilet seats and contraptions to make his knee bend.

The movers quickly and efficiently whisked away furniture and hundreds of storage boxes from throughout our home. Left in their wake was a lopsided-looking basement and garage piled high in the center with children’s bikes, shelving units, storage boxes, garden equipment, a snow blower, lawnmower and various unrelated items.

And as I wrote about it, I become more stressed but not motivated enough to do something about it. Even as I sat down to write today’s blog, the headline was funny but dragging the rest of the words out of my blocked brain was almost an exercise in futility.

But I did come up with a number of creative diagnoses of my condition: April Apathy, Monday Moodiness, The Blah Humbugs, Mentally Motivated yet Physically Impaired (MMPI), Wrong Side of the Bed Syndrome, Delayed March Madness, Who the Hell Bought Decaf, Preliminary Hoarding Complex and/or Laura’s Lazy Day.

I made dinner, supervised Easter cookie baking and decided to give myself a one-day only pass. Tuesday is another day, and I know those boxes aren’t going anywhere unassisted.

A Very Quick "Notable Quotable" from My Family

 “What’s Quivic?” my son asked a few months ago.

“Is it the game they play in Harry Potter?” I asked and answered simultaneously.

“No, Mom, Nana got a package from Quivic,” Jamie explained, bringing the box into the kitchen.

Every time I see a shipping box from QVC, I still laugh out loud. “Oh, Jamie, that’s pronounced Q-V-C, not Quivic. It’s from a tv show where you can buy things.” From that point forward, QVC became Quivic in our family.

So today I would like to hear from you – what is one of your family’s funniest inside jokes, words or phrases? 

The Last Diet You'll Ever Need - Part II

As I mentioned in my blog yesterday, I have discovered the most amazing diet program in the world. It is a collaborative effort between two people, and would demand great sacrifice on the part of the dieter and me, but I guarantee it will work.

To recap, or in case you didn’t see it on Entertainment Tonight or CNN, the “Jimmy James Diet” is basic and straightforward. First, the dieter needs to move in to my home. Second, the dieter will eat every meal seated next to my son, Jamie, until your ultimate weight loss goal is achieved.

Due to the overwhelming number of emails I received regarding the diet program, I put together a short list of FAQs to address some of the most pressing concerns:

Program Founder "Jimmy James"

Q: How can you GUARANTEE the “Jimmy James Diet” will work?

A: Look at that face – could you possibly say ‘no’ to that smile or those eyes, asking for a bite of your pizza or sip of your pop?

Q: Seriously, what if the diet doesn’t work?

A: Again, look at that face - do you want to disappoint him?

Q: How will this diet work when I travel or head to the office?

A: As much as Jamie would enjoy it, this is not a portable program, it is a residential program: Jamie will not ride shotgun with you to work, perch in your silk ficus tree in your office or curl up in your cubicle cubby, waiting to pounce as you reach for a Snickers bar or head to the break room for birthday cake. I did say it would take extreme sacrifice.

Q: How am I supposed to keep my job AND lose weight on the “Jimmy James Diet”?

A: May we suggest telecommuting, a short-term leave of absence, a number of vacation and sick days strung together, or maybe a sabbatical?

Q: How does this program work when Jamie goes to school every day? When do I get to eat?

A: Not often. The program is very structured: Breakfast at 8:00 a.m., lunch at 3:30 p.m. (when the school day is over), dinner at 6:00 p.m. and healthy evening snacks at Jamie’s discretion.

Q: What are the room accommodations?

A: A fully-furnished, non-smoking guest bedroom on the second floor, located directly across the hallway from Jamie’s bedroom and the room furthest from the kitchen. “Sneaky snacking” is strictly prohibited, and did I mention the hallway floors are very creaky?

Q: Is an exercise regimen incorporated in the “Jimmy James Diet”?

A: Great question! Yes, during the school year, throughout the day, you will be chasing Sparky the wonder cat to retrieve your socks and/or one shoe. Between the hours of 4:00 to 6:00 p.m., you will be grinding your way to good health on a skateboard with your personal trainer, Jamie.

Q: Why isn’t your entire family skinny if Jamie eats with you at every meal?

A: Over the years, Jim and I have learned to tune-out “the face” and protect our plates; while Jordan takes great pleasure in defending hers with flying spoons and the one-arm wraparound protective stance. Program participants, however, won’t be here long enough for that to happen.

Q: What is the cost of this program?

A: Priceless.

Q: Is there a couple’s discount if my husband and I participate together?

A: No, this is a one-on-one program. Besides, we wouldn’t want the end result to be our participants reaching their weight-loss goals and Jamie looking like one of Willie Wonka’s Oompa-Loompas.

Registration for the “Jimmy James Diet” program will begin April 15^th, and applicants will be reviewed on a first-come, first-serve basis. The pre-screening interviews will be conducted by Jamie himself, and the final participant selection will be made solely at his discretion.

As for the summer program, if you have a backyard pool, own a boat and/or summer home, or live on waterfront property or near a major skatepark, please write the words “immediate acceptance” in the promo code section of the application.

“The Jimmy James Diet” program awaits you – for further details, visit Jamie’s website at www.jimmy_james_pays_for_college_quickly.net.

We look forward to hearing from you!

The Last Diet You'll Ever Need...

I have discovered the most amazing diet program in the world. It is a collaborative effort between two people, and would demand great sacrifice on the part of the dieter and me, but I guarantee it will work.

In case no one has informed you yet, summer is just around the corner. And even though as I write this it is a mere thirty-three sunny degrees, I know shorts and bathing suit weather could literally be next week, as our weather has been so crazy lately.

But I digress: The miracle diet, coined the “Jimmy James” diet, is basic and straightforward. First, the dieter needs to move in to my home. Sorry, that’s the only way it is going to work. Second, the dieter will eat every meal seated next to my son, Jamie, until your ultimate weight loss goal is achieved.

How does this work, you ask? Funny enough, it actually starts with an innocent question from Jamie: “What are you eating?” Upon answering, he immediately follows-up with “Can I taste that?”  Translation: I will like it, and I will eat directly off your plate until the entire meal is gone, or you smack my hand with your spoon.

Even beverages are unsafe around this wily character, from pop to water to morning coffee. “Can I have a sip?” translates to “How much can I chug before you snag your can/glass/cup back?” If you don’t move quickly, your drink is gone.

This food exchange takes place at every meal in our home if more than one person is sitting at the kitchen table. Jamie, age 10, is 4’ 8” tall and currently wears a size 8 men’s shoe. Based on the knee pains he has been experiencing, his need for more sleep and a more than usual ravenous appetite, these growing pains normally lead to a marked growth spurt which will help his shoe size match his height.

Grandpa Bobby jokes that Jamie is like a garbage can – you step on his foot and his mouth opens for a snack, and we always remark how our Grandma B would be so proud that Jamie was such a ‘good eater.’

I can’t remember the last time I cleaned my own plate, but I do know that it is clean after every meal. I know Jim has started making a sandwich and a half every time he grabs a snack, just to save himself the time (and his snack).

Jamie’s standing story with us is that he is testing to make sure our food and drinks aren’t poisoned, because clever gypsies may have put something in them to cast an evil spell on our family. Then he takes a huge scoop of my yogurt or rice pudding and runs like the wind.

Like I said, it will be a sacrifice for the dieter, and it will mean we will have to take you in as a part-time resident. Moving in to Casa Dralle is an experience unto itself, what with all these invisible gypsies lurking around the kitchen and Jamie leering at your plate at every meal. But I guarantee the results will be remarkable, and you’ll have a buddy for life.

Let the Music Play ...

As my husband’s iPod hates our minivan (they literally don’t play nicely with each other, and only spew static instead), we keep the peace and lock-in to the same radio station on every road trip. The station plays what I guess would still be called “Top 40” music to anyone over 35; younger readers would refer to these songs instead as the hottest YouTube video hits they’re watching to learn song lyrics.

Christina Perri’s “Jar of Hearts” and Pink’s “Perfect” and “Raise Your Glass” play constantly, along with anything by Katy Perry, The Plain White T’s, Usher, Ke$ha, Rihanna, Eminem, Chris Brown, Lady GaGa, Neon Trees and Jay-Z.

“Mom, how do you know this song?” Jordan asked as we were driving to school and I was singing along to Pink’s newest release. “How do you know ALL my songs?”

“When did I become dork mom?” I asked half-seriously. “Believe it or not, I do listen to all kinds of music, including your music. Besides, this station plays the same hundred songs over and over again; it’s hard not to know the words.”

When I’m seriously editing, conducting research or writing, my brain can’t handle having music in the background with lyrics, so I tend to listen to what can best be described as dolphin music: Ethereal, calm, organic. When Jordan and Jamie find me working, that is the sound streaming from either the iPod dock or the television.

Oddly though, Jordan and Jamie’s musical tastes are as varied as Jim’s, which absolutely cannot be pigeon-holed by any stretch of the imagination. Jim lives to have music playing, and his brother recently mentioned he remembered Jim at our old house, before the kids came along, jamming in the kitchen and always cooking.

How varied? A quick look at his iPod recently-played list included the Beastie Boys, Lyle Lovett, Ray Charles, Buena Vista Social Club, Jamie Cullom, Kid Rock, KISS, Johnny Cash, Aerosmith, Cowboy Junkies, Melissa Etheridge, Modest Mouse, New Town Kings, Toots Thieleman, James Brown, Noise Therapy, The Rolling Stones, James Taylor, Nine Inch Nails, Bonnie Raitt, Clint Eastwood, Lucky 7, Duffy, The Commitments, Sting and Ghalib Ghallab.

I don’t think Jim could have been prouder when Jordan sang along to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” while driving home from preschool, or laughed harder at the irony of Jamie singing along to Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl.”

While it’s fun to hear the kids jamming in the back seat to The Black Eyed Peas and Lady GaGa, Jordan and Jamie can also belt out a mean version of Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” especially when they scream the chorus  “I LOVE YOU, BABY!”

We hope their love of music continues to evolve, embracing cutting-edge as well as classic pieces. But sometimes, just sometimes, we miss hearing them sing along with Jim Henson’s Bear in the Big Blue House, with Tutter, Pip, Pop, Ojo and Treelo, and their sweet little voices singing goodbye and good night to Luna. We never knew that time, like their taste in music, would change our lives so quickly. 

The Rites of Spring: Indoor Ant Parades

The last quiet morning of Spring Break was interrupted by my son standing next to my bed, waiting for my eyes to open. Not quite asleep, not quite willing to be awake, I knew it wasn’t an emergency because Jordan didn’t storm the bed like a soldier at Normandy Beach.

Still waiting patiently, Jamie leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. When I begrudgingly opened my eyes, Jamie smiled and said, “Oh great. You’re awake. There are ants all over the desk in my room. I mean, they are EVERYWHERE. Sorry, Mom.”

So much for sleeping a bit later. As I walked past the hallway mirror I noticed I forgot to take out my ponytail the night before, and it had slid so far to the right side of my head it looked like the handle on a bowling ball bag. This is going to be one sexy day.

Jamie did not overstate the facts – tiny brown ants were everywhere on his computer desk. Ah, the mark of Spring in the Dralle house. Our home, built on an enormous anthill, has an annual parade of visitors on the first warm day of the season, usually after a sizable rain storm. However, an extended parade route to the second floor of the house seemed unusual.

Until, of course, I started to strip the desktop of its contents: As Jordan and Jamie’s computer is temporarily housed in Jamie’s room, a million or so children had traipsed through that area over the last week, playing games and checking Facebook and emails. While candy wrappers and chip bags did make it into the garbage can, tantalizing crumbs remained on flat surfaces everywhere.

Ants are fascinatingly brilliant creatures outside my home, structuring colonies with groups of workers, builders, soldiers, drones and queens, and have colonized almost every land mass on planet Earth. They solve complex problems through highly developed systems of communication and forage for food and construct colonies through a division of labor. I remember watching a Discovery Channel special about one species of ants that was so ferociously territorial that it attacked the camera lens of the documentary team trying to film daily life at the anthill.

Inside my home, they are common pests to be squished and eliminated. Armed with the soapy bleach water bucket, I washed down all surfaces in Jamie’s room and vacuumed, vacuumed and vacuumed some more. Once complete, I sprayed the room down with an eco-friendly human and pet safe ant spray, loaded with pungent ingredients like vanillin and wintergreen, cinnamon, and rosemary oils. 

Within twenty minutes, while the parade was seemingly over, Jamie’s room smelled like a cinnamon/black licorice bomb had exploded. I didn’t believe it would make Jamie high, but it might make him hungry.

As a precaution, I spent the afternoon scrubbing, vacuuming and cinnamon bombing the kitchen and adjoining family room. Spring and summer house rules were now officially in effect: No eating except in the kitchen, rinse the recycling carefully and all crumbs go into the garbage can or washed down the sink. As our white ceramic tile kitchen floor will highlight any future parade routes, ant traps were strategically placed in corners and taped in place, preventing Sparky the wonder cat from smacking them around like hockey pucks.

Sunday evening’s torrential downpour should have triggered a mass exodus from the outside anthills to our back kitchen door, but surprisingly so far not a single critter has been seen.

Feeling victorious, I vacuumed the parade-staging areas this morning and dropped additional cinnamon/black licorice carpet bombs. I may have won the battle, but not the war. Soon my spring landscaping efforts will disrupt the various ant condominium complexes around the house, and they will revolt by marching up the side of the house and through the window screens.

But I will remain steadfast, armed with my soapy bucket and new little friend in a can. Until then, a very full and disorganized garage is calling my name. Ah, the rites of spring. 

What Insomniacs Do While Chasing Sleep

I’m not sure if the loud noise that woke me was in my dream or if Sparky the wonder cat was busy knocking my nail polish bottles into the bathroom sink again. I squinted at the clock and it glared back in a garish red LED glow – 3:00 a.m. on the button.

By nature I am a night owl. I have a theory that what time you were born determines if you are a morning or night person, and as a 3:10 a.m. baby, that makes me a functioning vampire.

Unfortunately, I have the added sleep issue that if you wake me from a deep sleep, regardless of the time, my body decides it’s time to stay awake and start the day (even if my vampire day only ended ninety minutes earlier). Fortunately, I also have the uncanny ability to then fall asleep ten minutes before my morning alarm goes off, regardless of what time it is set for. 

Like most insomniacs, I follow a pretty standard schedule: First I’ll spend a little while doing sleep math, checking the time and subtracting how much time I have left if I fall asleep within ten minutes of completing the equation. When I get tired of not being tired, I get up and check on Jordan and Jamie, zig-zag tiptoeing down the hallway to avoid all the creaky spots on the floor.

Next I’ll head down to the first floor and make sure all the doors are locked, then fold whatever load of laundry happens to be sitting in the dryer. Depending on my mood, I’ll either flip open the laptop and get a very early jump on my email, or I’ll flop down on the living room sofa, stare down our darkened street and let my mind wander and talk to itself until it gets tired of hearing itself babble.

What always makes me laugh is how far my mind wanders when given complete and absolute silence: I solve all the world’s problems, make lists of the million different things I want/need/wish I could do, remember all the things I’ve forgotten to do during my waking hours for the past day, compose entire book chapters in my head that I’ll never remember in the morning, give pretend interviews to Barbara Walters and Oprah regarding my best-selling book, or know the first things I would do after our family won the Lotto.

I know I have been up way too long when the eastern sky begins to slowly fade from the inky darkness to a backlit blue tinted pinkish orange. Morning twilight, the most beautiful and peaceful time, as birds slowly rise to meet the sun. I know the day that awaits me will require extra coffee, but it seems fair payment somehow to bear witness to the start of a new day.

Tired or not, I greet the morning sun and officially start my day. On my way up the stairs to wake my daughter, I make note that all of our family pets snore.  I need to remember to mention that to Oprah in my next interview.