Jordan's Most Excellent Day

At some point Tuesday morning, I received a phone call from Jordan’s industrial technology teacher. Ms. Janik wanted to share the good news that Jordan would be receiving a Unified Arts Award at the sixth grade awards assembly on Thursday morning, and would we be available to attend.

We chatted briefly, and Ms. Janik’s words of praise could not have been kinder: Jordan was a wonderful girl to have in class, always happy, helpful and kind to her fellow students. Ms. Janik was especially pleased with the relationship Jordan developed with Maddie, a special needs student who she partnered with during class. The only condition was the award was a surprise, and to please keep the news a secret.

I shared the great news with Jim and promptly slid back into a coma, sleeping the remainder of Tuesday. Feeling no better on Wednesday, I again woke up long enough to get Jordan and Jamie off to school, Jim off to physical therapy, and drag myself back to bed. I needed to be well just long enough on Thursday morning to attend Jordan’s assembly.

We arrived at Drauden Point Middle School promptly at 10:00 a.m. for the 10:15 assembly. As the three sixth grade classes filed into the gymnasium and into the bleachers, their eyes scanned the six rows of folding chairs for familiar faces. Jordan walked in behind us and spotted Jim immediately. “What are you doing here?” she asked with an ear-to-ear grin.

Principal Flynn greeted the enthusiastic sixth grade class and parents, reminding the students how it seemed like only yesterday when they were the new students, roughly six inches shorter, fumbling with their combination locks on their lockers and getting lost during passing periods.

In the one-hour assembly, students were recognized for Perfect Attendance, Unified Arts, Athletics, Honor and High Honor Roll, and Student Citizenship and Panther Pride Awards. I could barely see Jordan’s face when her name was called for the Unified Arts Award in Industrial Technology, but you could have knocked her over with a feather.

Smiling broadly and blushing, she walked carefully down the bleachers and accepted her certificate of appreciation with pride, the sound of her classmates’ applause filling the air. Jordan waved at both of us before climbing back up to her seat to receive hugs from her friends.

Jim and I listened with shared pride as her fellow classmates’ names were called, many of them familiar to us from her grammar school years. There were many shared laughs and congratulations in the parent section, and even a few tears, knowing that our children’s first year of middle school was almost over. Where in the world did the time go?

Jim asked the same question as we returned home and I fell onto the bed, as exhausted as if I had sprinted home the three-mile drive with a fifty-pound backpack. He had scheduled an appointment with my doctor for Friday morning, concerned that I was showing no signs of getting better.

I awoke before Jordan came home to congratulate her again and ask about her day, and she shared that it was one of the best school days ever. Jamie came home a half hour later and shared in his sister’s excitement, and then they both went off to the kitchen to finish their homework together.

And I returned to the sick bay, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Our Furry Dream Team to the Rescue

Dr. Buck

I am always struck by how intuitive our family pets are when someone in the family is feeling under the weather.

Whenever the kids are sick, both our dog Buck and two cats, Alle and Sparky, are somewhere in or around the bed, generally pinning Jordan and Jamie onto the bed by lying on top of the blankets that cover them.

When Jim recovered from knee surgery, Buck planted himself directly against Jim’s injured leg, while Sparky took great pleasure in riding the contraption that bent and straightened Jim's leg as Alle looked on disapprovingly.

Intern Sparky

Over the past few days, I was kindly treated by the fuzzy side of the Dralle medical team, each day noting the animals became slightly more stressed that I was not moving from my side of the bed.

Buck Buck the wonder dog found and brought to me every tennis ball he could find in the house and set them on the floor on my side of the bed, then promptly curled up at the foot of the bed.

R.N. Alle caring for Jordan ...

Alle, the eldest of our pets and self-proclaimed matriarch of the family, first walked the perimeter of the bed and meowed questioningly and tentatively, unsure if I would be spending another day in the sick bay. Once I didn’t move to pick her up, she immediately jumped onto the bed and curled up on my chest, rubbing her fluffy cheeks against mine while I stroked her back. After a few minutes, she climbed down and nestled in beside me under one of three comforters.

Last in line, Sparky the kitten was most confused, meowing plaintively from the floor, as if trying to explain the sun was far too high in the sky for me to still be under the covers, let alone with his brother and sister.

Once up on the bed, he immediately noted Alle and Buck had taken up their posts for the day. Without missing a beat, Sparky assumed his position on the top of my pillow, gently kneading it this way and that until the contours matched our shared needs. He then set his mind to rearranging my hair on the pillow before finally settling in, his head resting on top of mine, his long, sleek body drooped across my shoulder.

Pinned in place, I was too tired to read and not really interested in watching any sort of television that required mental processing as I knew I would be drifting in and out of sleep. The remote barely in reach, I watched an almost entire episode of “Clean House” before sliding into that weird daytime sleep, where you are not quite asleep enough to tune out what is going on around you, yet you are clueless as to the passage of time.

And as Jim and the kids continued to check in on me throughout the afternoon and evening, the furry nurses dutifully manned their posts, leaving briefly to do their business, grab a bite to eat and return to their patient.

And once again, I hope today is the last day I write from my king-size desk, under multiple comforters and flanked by a furry nursing staff. Enough is enough already…

I'd Like to Feel Better NOW, Please ...

After spending a lost weekend in bed sick and sleeping while the world past me by, I awoke Monday morning with a clear head. Finally! No more headache, a few body aches here and there but nothing like I felt over the weekend, I was ready to take on the day.

Wrong. While the mind was willing and ready to go, my body had a completely different idea. Once I began to move, I felt as if I had run three marathons back to back, took a quick break, and topped it off with a triathlon. As I continued with my morning, making beds and throwing in loads of laundry, I found myself winded and needing to sit down.

The last time I was really sick was a bad case of the flu a few years back, which wiped out our entire family in phases with me taking the biggest hit last. Bedridden for seven straight days, I lost over ten pounds and felt weak for over a month until I finally got back on my feet.

Fearing the worst, I tried to push myself through the exhaustion, thinking once I had momentum on my side I would able to muster through the rest of the day.

Wrong yet again. Pushing through the physical weakness simply brought the headache back, and I knew it was bad when I was too tired to take a shower. Feeling pathetic and resigned to the fact that I was not quite better yet, I flopped back in bed and went under the blankets.

I don’t have any more time to be sick, and I’d like to be better now, please. 

A Wasted Weekend in Bed

It began Friday morning: The alarm went off and I felt like I had been jarred out of the deepest sleep. I splashed my face with icy water and slammed a cup of coffee before waking Jordan, trying to shake the heavy cobwebs from my head. 

I returned home from dropping off Jordan and felt worse rather than better. Another cup of coffee down, I woke Jamie and sent him on his way. Still feeling thick headed, I sat down with the laptop to go through the morning emails. Within minutes I was nodding off sitting upright in the chair. 

As Jim left for physical therapy, I headed back upstairs to bed: An hour or so of sleep, I thought, would shake whatever had temporarily possessed my body, and I would awake feeling good as new.

Wrong. I awoke four hours later to every inch of my body hurting, from my head throbbing to my muscles aching. It felt like I had been run over by a large truck, picked up, then beaten by a baseball bat. No nausea (thank God), but I barely had the strength to walk from the bed to our master bath.

I spent what was supposed to be the Saturday we celebrated my birthday and Mother's Day in bed, sleeping the majority of the day, waking every so often to catch a fragment of whatever was playing on HGTV.

I remember Jordan and Jamie taking turns checking on me, bringing me water and kissing my forehead when they thought I was sleeping, and Jim feeling my cheek for a temperature and covering me with the blankets I kept kicking off. I woke long enough late Saturday evening to hear about Jordan and Jamie's days and eat part of a sandwich, and fall back into a deep sleep.

I woke this morning with a clear head but aching body, my joints stiff and sore. How is it possible that the bottoms of my feet hurt as much as my scalp? How deep are my hip sockets? Grateful to no longer have a headache, my brain feels like it can take on the world, but my body has other ideas.

As the weather is cloudy, damp, cold and generally gross today, we will spend it together playing Wii and coming up with ideas for summer break. As I write this I am beginning to feel sleepy again (God knows from what, typing sixty words per minute? Walking downstairs to get a cup of coffee?), but I'll give in, knowing that I don't have any more time to be sick beyond today. There's simply too much to do this week.

The Dandelion Slayer

He arrived on our front doorstep at high noon and rang the bell, his glistening white truck over his left shoulder. Decked out in a cap and khaki-green uniform, already tanned from head to toe, his teeth sparkled white and his eyes glinted slate blue. Our hero had arrived, The Dandelion Slayer.

Armed with a wealth of information and four hundred feet of hose, The Dandelion Slayer greeted us warmly and walked our property line with Jim to survey the extensive damage. Seemingly unfazed by the daunting task at hand, he returned to his truck and unfurled the hose that would deliver the lethal dose of chemicals to our shameful lawn.

And his timing could not have been more perfect, as the unseasonably hot and humid weather had only helped the dandelions multiply and grow more fertile, even after whacking their heads off with the lawn mower not three days before: They resisted with a vengeance, their headless stems standing defiantly straight and tall against the lower blades of living grass.

The killing fields ...

Within two hours of the application, the stems had already begun to wilt in the beating afternoon sun. Die, die, die. As Jim proudly surveyed the damage, he also took the time to apologize to a fellow neighbor who shares our property line. As he would be hosting his son’s sixteenth birthday party this weekend, we promised him the lawn would be cut prior to the party and look much less ghetto. Our neighbor laughed and joked that at least when it was yellow it was pretty.

A massive thunderstorm struck late Wednesday evening and helped the chemicals further penetrate the parched ground. We were warned that of course one round of treatment would not eliminate our problem, and we would not magically wake up the next day to find a fertile, lush lawn free of weeds. We explained in kind that anything would be an improvement, thank you, Dandelion Slayer.

As weed seeds can germinate every seven to ten days (the bastards), part of our responsibility would be to rake up and dispose of the offending browning corpses so they would not green back up to re-offend again and again and again.

Small victories...

By morning, our lawn looked like it was covered in dead beige skinny snakes, all coiled in mangled piles and curled-up groupings. I dutifully spent an hour aggressively raking/ripping at the lawn, bagging piles of dandelion remnants and sticker weed leaves. Five bags later (!) and the lawn (almost) resembled those of our neighbors.

So I leave you today with a few tips that were left behind on a note from the Dandelion Slayer, in addition to a puppy treat for our dog:

Summer Lawn Care Tips:

1) Start raising your mower in May so by mid-June your lawn is at least 3.5” long. This will help prevent the soil from drying out.

2) It sounds self-obvious, but if your lawn is not growing, do not mow it.

3) If you do plan to water your lawn, only do so early in the day (6:00 to 10:00 a.m.) or before sundown.

4) If you water, one or two good soakings a week (forty-five minutes to an hour) is better than a little each day, as it will promote a deeper root system.

Thank you, Dandelion Slayer, thank you!

Summer Vacation!

In less than a few weeks (Monday, June 6^th, to be exact) Jordan and Jamie will attend their last full day of school until school resumes on Thursday, August 18^th. Translation: Seventy-two days of summer vacation to fill for a soon-to-be 12-year-old daughter and 10-year-old son.

Last summer was the first summer that went by way too quickly for all of us – great weather, great friends and great adventures and opportunities kept us busy from June through mid-August. As Jordan and Jamie were older, many of their activities were self-directed, and great ideas were brought to us for participation and approval.

We greet this summer with Jim sporting a brand-new left knee, which will allow him to more easily join us in our trips to the zoo, our evening walks and jaunts to the puppy park. While he’s still participating in physical therapy three times a week more than three months after his surgery, Jim’s joint status continues to improve and bodes well for our family activities.

We are fortunate to live in an incredibly family-friendly clubhouse community, with daily access to a swimming pool, tennis, basketball courts, great parks and lakes for picnics and fishing. Our park district even hosts a free day camp a few days a week at our local elementary school, where Jordan and Jamie can go to hang out, play organized sports or join in arts and crafts.

We will once again participate in our local library’s summer reading program, and I will host my own version of home summer school to ensure both kids’ minds do not turn to oatmeal in the seventy-two days they are out of the classroom.

We will unofficially adopt many of Jordan and Jamie’s friends, who will spend days and nights in our home and out on our back deck, killing gallons of lemonade and buckets of popcorn, and dining on Dunkin’ Donuts or homemade waffles with whip cream for breakfast (depending on how late all of us stayed awake watching movies the night before).

Multiple barbeques, family birthday and graduation parties, baby showers and weddings will fully round out the summer. All I ask, on behalf of all families, is for the beautiful weather that will allow all of us to spend summer vacation outside as much as possible.

The Five Phases of Spring Cleaning

I recently realized the five stages of grief -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance – were the exact same phases we experienced in the spring cleaning on steroids process at our house over the past few weeks:

Denial: There is no way our house has become this destroyed and disorganized in the process of trying to make it a better place to live. How did we end up with seven dustpans but only one broom? We can't have ten bikes, we only have two children. I know I didn’t buy and/or save (insert any random item here that no house would ever need).  We can't possibly have five storage totes of fall decorations and twelve Christmas trees of varying sizes and shapes.

Anger: Why did we ever start this process in the first place?! Did we really need to reorganize every single room and closet in the house, AND clean the garage and the basement?! Have we ever heard of pacing, for God’s sake?! Oh, and let’s not forget all the landscaping outside and preparing for the garage sale…do we need to put price stickers on ALL this crap?! And who the hell put (insert random object) at the bottom of the basement stairs where someone can trip over it?

Bargaining: Okay, let’s just take a moment and breathe. It’s not like “House Beautiful” is coming over for a photo shoot AND bringing Martha Stewart AND the producers from “Hoarders: Buried Alive.” We’ll just take on this monumental list of tasks one at a time until we are finished just in time for the fourth of July weekend. It will all get done in due time, and no one is going to die (yet) if we don’t finish everything all at once.

Depression: We will never be done. Every time I cross something off the master list, I open a box or a crate and it adds three more things to the list. Every single thing I touch turns into another project. Can we ever really be expected to keep a perfectly clean house with two active kids who host innumerable sleepovers and keep creating laundry and dirty dishes, a home-based business with way too much paper and not enough storage, two hairy black cats and a hairy black dog with white tile flooring across half of the first floor? We’re doomed to failure.

Acceptance:  We will eventually finish all items on our master list, and we will get everything back in order. And the second we cross the last item off our list, a myriad of new projects will pop up and we’ll start a new list. That’s just our way of life, just like everyone else’s. We can’t expect to finish everything on the crazy timetable we originally set for ourselves. Our house will never be 100% perfect because it is not a house, not a museum, it is our home. 

And that’s exactly the way we like it.  

The Placebo Effect

My son Jamie had a great field trip scheduled for Wednesday, a two-hour Wendella Boat Tour of the Chicago River and Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago.

Wendella Boat

While excited, Jamie was concerned about getting sea sick: A child who has only vomited five times in his entire short life, he HATES it and I would go as far as say he has a phobia about it.

Jim and I explained the concept of motion sickness, and that neither of us was ever bothered when we spent time on the water, whether it was a cruise ship or the time we went yachting on Lake Michigan and got caught in a gale force storm. While everyone around us turned green and clung to anything vertical, Jim and I sat and enjoyed the wet version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Not convinced heredity was on his side, Jim further explained the size of the boat would not equate to that much rocking movement, and as someone who could ride every rollercoaster and sickly-spinning ride, Jamie had never demonstrated any version of motion sickness.

To be safe, Jamie asked, could he please wear a motion-sickness patch like his friend had when he went on a boat for the first time. I was uncomfortable giving Jamie an over-the-counter medication that might have worse side effects than the motion sickness he feared, but I agreed to have our pediatrician give Jamie a patch.

And then I lied. I told Jamie I called our doctor and she gave me a capsule form of a motion sickness drug. Rather than wearing what looked like a circle band aid, we would simply need to break open the golden caplet I stuck in a prescription bottle and rub it on his neck in the same place we would have placed the patch.

Obviously pleased and relieved that he would not suffer sea sickness, he went to bed happily and chattering about what a cool day he was going to have in the city with his friends.

He awoke an hour early Wednesday morning, unable to contain his excitement. His first question was if Dad had picked up his prescription the night before, and I crossed my fingers and said that he had.

We packed Jamie’s sack lunch, extra snacks, a disposable camera and a hoodie just in case the weather turned cool. Just before he walked out the door, I broke open the magic caplet and applied the sea sickness medication (a.k.a. anti-wrinkle cream for my very expressive face) behind his left ear. A quick kiss and he was gone, secure in the fact that he would not barf.

Chicago's Skyline

Jamie was so fascinated by the boat tour that he said he never ate his lunch. His favorite part of the day was when the boat moved from the Chicago River to Lake Michigan through the Chicago Lock. He ticked off the names of his favorite buildings (Marina Towers, shaped like corn cobs, cracked him up), and he used every available picture in his camera.

“How was your stomach?” Jim asked.

“The water was really still in the river, but it got a little bumpy on the lake. But the stuff worked, and my stomach felt fine! No barfing!”

“Want to know a secret?” I asked him, and he looked at me quizzically. “You weren’t wearing sea sickness medicine behind your ear, you were wearing my wrinkle cream. Dad and I knew you wouldn’t get sick, but we also knew you wouldn’t believe us, so we fooled you. Congratulations, you don’t get sea sick.”

Jamie looked at us and laughed. “I thought I saw those things in Mom’s drawer before, but I wasn’t sure. That’s pretty funny.”

I’m not sure if these caplets are doing my eyes any favors, but a dime-size section of Jamie’s neck looks absolutely fabulous.

A Mini Milestone

On the day after my 45^th birthday, I celebrate another ‘mini’ milestone, my 50^th blog entry.

With the exception of a very unplanned sabbatical while Jim recovered from knee replacement surgery, I have taken the opportunity to write and post on “The Zen Shark” daily.

I’ve enjoyed reading all the comments and emails I have received, and I appreciate everyone who has been following along as I have written about me and my family.

Over the past week I have been averaging 75 page views per day, and I thank everyone who has forwarded my blog to their friends and family.

What has been the most fun for me is receiving my blog’s statistics page and reviewing a map of the world to determine where the page views are coming from. As of yesterday, “The Zen Shark” is being consistently followed by readers in Lithuania, Italy, Canada, Russia, Denmark, Singapore, Malaysia, Austria, Ireland, Australia, Germany, Israel, South Korea (!), the United Kingdom and the Philippines. 

Once again, thank you for your ongoing support! I'll keep writing if you keep reading!

We All Celebrate in Different Ways ...

As my birthday always falls on or near Mother’s Day, the family and I usually pick a day to celebrate both blended together, just the four of us, sometimes weeks after the actual dates have passed.

I’m not one for making a big deal about my birthday or Mother’s Day, or when we get around to celebrating it, even though I will make a huge deal out of everyone else’s special days. I always ask Jordan and Jamie to make me a card or write me a letter, we usually spend the day outside fishing or walking or somewhere with numerous furry creatures, and I specifically ask Jim not to buy me anything (which he has ignored each and every year of our marriage).

Field of Shame

This year, on my 45^th birthday, I took enormous pleasure (no sarcasm intended) cutting the grass in our 8,500 square foot backyard, decapitating hundreds of dandelions with every sweep of the mower. Oh the joy of chopping off those little bastards’ heads and sucking them into the catch bag. Once complete, six yard-waste bags were filled with festive-colored clippings of bright yellow and lush green, awaiting curbside pickup the next morning.

Hearty little flowers...

A total landscaping dork, I am even more excited about the lawn service coming tomorrow to chemically eradicate the remaining dandelions with heads, clover and gnarly sticker weeds. The service will also fertilize and seed in an effort to resurrect the remaining hundred or so blades of actual grass that still exist on our lawn. I only hope the rain holds off long enough for the potions to work their magic.

I took a picture to prove that I am not trying to be funny when I share Jim’s comment as he looked at the lawn with a look of total shock and disbelief over the weekend: “I swear to God it looks like we planted these on purpose. We couldn’t do this intentionally if we tried.”

I quoted Andrew V. Mason when I said, “if dandelions were hard to grow, they would be most welcome on any lawn,” but I realized I wasn’t laughing and neither was Jim.

It wouldn’t be half as bad if our neighbors were having the same problem – however, you can literally mark our property lines butting up to our neighbors’, as that is where the definitive line of demarcation exists. I am not exaggerating when I state that our neighbors’ backyard lawns are lush and green (albeit much smaller than ours) without a single offending weed.

I rounded out my birthday with a trip to Home Depot’s garden center with the kids for a few bags of cedar chunk mulch for the front flower beds, as the hostas and sedums were quickly breaking ground and needed some protection from the still cool May evenings.

With the mulch quickly spread with my helpers, we moved inside for dinner, my favorite birthday cake, and a final quick survey of the backyard lawn from the gazebo. The existing dandelions had closed-up for the evening, revealing an almost purely green lawn to be proud of.

Happy Birthday to me …

Spring Cleaning

Our neighbor stuck a note in our mailbox late last week, announcing our subdivision would host its first garage sale of the season the following week, and would we be interested in participating.

Participating? How about damn near jubilant, thanks for the invite? With Jim’s mom moved out, our home office back in its own private room and easy access to our basement and garage, we now have wiggle room to finally sort and stage everything else that should no longer reside at our house.

From chairs to lamps without shades to random fish tanks to so much crap that I know we did not buy but ended up in our basement anyway, Saturday was a frantic day of purging, cleaning, moving and pricing various pieces of furniture and other articles for the upcoming sale.

Some things of course are keepers – all Jordan and Jamie’s clothes from birth through the age of about five will remain in sealed storage bins until my sister is ready for them, along with their “Bear in the Big Blue House” toddler chair.

Sadly some things can’t even be given away for free and will be brought directly to the curb – like multiple, slightly-used car seats and baby carriers, and the two beautiful drop-side cribs my children managed to not become mangled by and have since been recalled.

And then there are the electronics: Multiple printers, scanners, VCR decks, fax machines, answering machines and telephones that served us so well in our old office, have now been replaced by a single, sleek and spatially-efficient all-in-one unit.

Even with the almost one week’s advance notice, I know we won’t be completely ready for the sale on Thursday, and will probably need to host a second sale in June, but at least it will clear much more needed space.

I fantasize about having enough space in our unfinished basement for Jordan and Jamie to skateboard freely and enough space in our two-car garage to park ONE minivan and twenty bikes, the monster blowup slip and slide, and more outdoor games and landscaping tools to shake a stick at.

The spring cleaning on steroids continues …

Happy Mother's Day!

I must admit, Jamie was so excited to give me my Mother’s Day gift he made at school that I opened my present on late Friday afternoon.

With his permission, I would like to share the card and poem he wrote for me this year:

World’s Greatest Mom ...

Wow, that is the truth!

Only the greatest mom alive.

Really never regret this poem.

Look in the mirror and you will see.

Do you see yourself? You

Should because you are the one and only

Greatest mom in the world,

Really a great and helpful mom.

Everyday is a warm smile from you.

And when we laugh it brings joy,

The moment you say something it warms the heart.

Even when we yell you still forgive.

Something special about you,

The thought of you in my head.

Maybe you’re a ghost in my thoughts and

Oh, I can’t get you out.

Mother’s Day is near and I just want to say
I love you and thanks for all the things you did to make me a good child.

Flowers from Jordan ...

To my beautiful mom, Happy Mother’s Day! I owe everything I learned about being a great mom from the best teacher in the whole world, and I am thankful every day that Jordan and Jamie have you in their lives along with me.

And to all my fellow moms (and many moms-to-be), best wishes for a beautiful day with your families.

Danger: Wardrobe Malfunction While Driving

It was one of those strange weeks this past week where I had two earlier morning meetings two days in a row. I know and appreciate how lucky I am to see my two muppets off to school every day without worrying about getting myself ready to get out the door, so Thursday and Friday required a bit more planning on my part.

My bathroom upstairs was prepared first: All makeup was retrieved from Jordan’s bedroom floor and placed back in my makeup bag, along with brushes, combs, my flat iron and my perfume. A few strategic curls and makeup via my personal paint-by-numbers method and I would be ready to head downstairs for phase two.

After waking Jamie, who was surprised to see me with my head ready to walk out the door but still dressed in pajamas, we went downstairs to have breakfast and get him ready for his day.

After sending Jamie on his way, I headed to our first floor powder room: Clothing and accessories selected, briefcase packed, cell-phone charged, grown-up shoes located (translation: heels), all waiting and ready for me to jump into and head out the door. I was out and on my way within five minutes.

Day one and done; a morning that went off without a hitch. Why would I remotely expect day two to go any differently?

Well, because when I woke up Jamie he reached the kitchen table and realized he had forgotten to complete one of his homework sheets.

As Friday morning’s meeting was later than Thursday’s, I had opted to change my schedule and start getting ready while Jamie was eating breakfast. In retrospect a bad idea, but hindsight is 20/20.

Wild bed-head and raccoon-eyed from mascara remnants, I sat with Jamie at the kitchen table, frantically recalculating exactly how quickly I could get out the door and look socially acceptable.

I sped through my morning routine at a breakneck pace, giving up on my hair completely and wrangling the Einstein bush mass into a high ponytail. Forcing the tortoise-shell barrette closed, I took one more quick glance in the mirror and accepted this lovely look would just have to do.

I climbed into the minivan and pulled away from the house, noting that I was almost completely back on schedule. I turned on the radio and intentionally slowed my breathing as I pulled up to the stoplight.

And then I heard it: The undeniable click of my barrette popping open, shooting from the back of my head and ricocheting off the driver’s side window. Simultaneously, my Einstein hair returned, bursting forth against the strain of the plastic that had once held it tamed.

I checked the rear view mirror to assess the damage. WOW. My hair triangulated from my head, going from flat at the top to wild and crazy curls at the bottom. I attempted to force the barrette back into place to no avail. Click, pop. Click, pop. Click, pop.

I pulled in to a parking spot and began to rummage frantically through my briefcase, glove box, under the floor mats. Oh, my country for a rubber band, I thought, bordering on delusion. One final attempt and I jammed the clip closed, hoping it would hold long enough for me to walk into the building and find a rubber band, a piece of string, a pipe cleaner.

With every click of my heels on the pavement, I waited for the slight tremors to reach my head, bursting the barrette and blasting my hair to kingdom come once again.

Ducking into the copy room, I pounced on the first rubber band I found; a sad, overstretched noodle, it would simply have to do. I quickly created a ponytail in the reflection of the copier glass and went about my business. Vanity crisis averted.

Oh yes, did I mention this is the monthly meeting where I serve as the group’s PRESIDENT, sit in FRONT of the room, FACE everyone, and generally lead the Pledge of Allegiance?

Timing is everything … you just have to laugh.

Dreams: Movies of the Mind

Since the age of 17, I have had the same recurring nightmare during the months of May and December: I am sitting in a large auditorium, surrounded by my college friends, attempting to take a final exam for a class I never attended for the entire semester.

Hardly an uncommon dream, some sleepers are haunted only during their high school and college years, while others, like myself, are plagued far beyond their days of academia. This year I made it four full nights into the month of May before the familiar movie played in my head.

Popular dream interpretations include the dreamer has forgotten to do something important in their daily life, can be seen as a metaphor to paths not taken, of goals not achieved with the passage of time, or may reflect a sense of the dreamer knowing what she should do but is reluctant to do what is necessary.

However, last night this popular dream was part of a double feature, and I had a nightmare that I can’t remember having since I was first married almost twenty years ago. While I only had the dream once, it was so bizarre, tactile and vivid that I was never able to forget it:

I’m an older teenager, in my parents’ backyard, cleaning up after some sort of graduation or birthday party. Suddenly the lawn turns into a river and I find myself over my head in muddy, dark water that is pulling me toward the fence line.

Before I reach the chain link fence, I break the surface and I see something large moving under the swirling water, and I immediately begin to panic because I’m being sucked in the direction of the mass.

Suddenly a hippo bursts from the water, and I see my legs in front of me, floating directly into the open mouth of this massive, pissed-off creature. I cling so tightly to the fence that my fingers start to bleed as the water begins to move more swiftly, and now I’m kicking and screaming as the hippo moves in closer to me.

The dream lasts no longer than twenty seconds, but is terrifyingly vivid: I am wet, cold and shivering from the water, I can taste the mud and feel the steel of the fence rings between my fingers, I can see my bloody hands and the glistening hump of the hippo’s back, his craggy teeth and his brownish-pink tongue.

I awake both times sitting bolt upright in bed with no clue where I am, clammy, heart pounding and head throbbing. I look beside my bed half expecting to see a hippo in the water, impatiently waiting for me to dangle my feet off the bed and pull me under once and for all.

Once my heart rate slows, it is almost funny that I am being stalked by a hippo. Seriously, a hippo? Not a tiger or bear or even a great white shark, but a hippo?

Michael Vigo’s almost six-hundred page “An A to Z Dream Dictionary” and his associated “Dream Moods” website painstakingly laundry lists and analyzes almost every imaginable element of a dream to assist others in interpreting their movies of the mind, from the mundane to the truly bizarre.

As my hippo dream is two-fold, I must isolate the two main themes to utilize Vigo’s text: The hippo and the attack. According to Vigo, the fact that I am being attacked by an animal is a warning to be careful of those around me. I am to take notice of whom I know in my waking life that shares the same qualities of the animal that attacked me in my dream.

Oh, but wait, it gets better: The hippo symbolizes my aggressive nature and hidden strengths, and that I have more influence and power than I realize – or – I am being territorial because someone near me is overstepping their boundaries.

Bottom line interpretation: I am an aggressive, power-hungry woman protecting her territory from someone who shares the same physical and emotional qualities as one of the most dangerous animals in Africa (?).

Color me silly, but somehow I think I would have noticed some enormous person with brown, craggy teeth hanging around my family. I know I have been preoccupied and not quite myself in the past few weeks, but I don’t think a person of this description would have escaped my notice.

Until further notice, I will be keeping a safe distance from all UPS trucks in the neighborhood. 

Coming Clean: My Bizarre Food Addiction

My name is Laura, and I have been addicted to rice pudding for more than three years.

It started innocently enough: After major oral surgery and the removal of seven teeth, the thought of eating was not remotely appetizing; a challenge I was unwilling to undertake. Unfortunately, the horse pill antibiotics I needed to take twice daily required a full stomach, so I alternated between Jim’s chicken noodle soup and rice pudding.

As my mouth healed quickly, I noticed I didn’t have a taste for any other food but rice pudding. Admittedly, I have a very strange appetite to begin with: If I’m not hungry (which is often), I simply don’t eat. If I don’t have a taste for something specific, I’ll skip the meal completely or grab a bowl of cereal.

Then I noticed I always had at least two containers of rice pudding in the house at all times. Over the years I’ve tried to stop eating it, but would find myself literally craving the dessert and leaving the house to buy it, no matter what the time.

Last week I unloaded our kitchen trash compactor which we use for our weekly recycling, and was appalled to see the number of empty Jewel Chef’s Kitchen Rice Pudding containers. Seriously appalled, bordering on frightened. How much calcium, rice and cinnamon could one body need?

Okay, in my case, apparently A LOT. I evaluated the evidence and made the rational decision to quit cold turkey. I ate my last spoonful at 3:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon and haven’t touched the creamy vanilla treat since.

Sadly, there are no support groups or rehabilitation programs for rice pudding addicts. Forging ahead on my own, I instead opted to trade this desire for dessert for a desire for health: I began jogging Monday morning, squeezing the workout in between when I get Jordan off to school and wake Jamie to start his day.

Yes, it’s quite a 180 to trade food for exercise, but this is uncharted territory for me. I’ve tried to quit many times before cold turkey, but for some reason the feeling of being outside in the morning quiet has been quite invigorating and dare I say enjoyable?!

In discussing what I thought was a unique problem, I was relieved to discover that I was not alone. While no one else admitted to a rice pudding addiction, others confessed to food affairs with everything from honey-roasted cashews, Swedish fish, M&Ms, Dots, white chocolate-covered Oreos to cinnamon raisin bread and butter, stashing their snacks in night stands, the far back of center desk drawers, glove compartment boxes and empty ice buckets, far out of reach and unbeknownst to coworkers and family members.

Admittedly, as I write this, my legs are sore and my mind is trying to convince me to jump in the car to buy a small container of rice pudding. Yet with short sleeve and bathing suit season a mere few weeks away, this new attraction to a healthier behavior and lifestyle keeps my car keys hanging safely where they belong, my fridge filled instead with small containers of chocolate and vanilla yogurt.

Four days down, a lifetime to go …

Corporate HQ Relocation

I’ve always said Jim and I have the best commute to our corporate headquarters: We step out of bed, and when our feet hit the floor we are within mere steps of our office, depending on how quickly we are moving.

But in the past few years our house has been in a state of flux: Jim’s mom moved in to the guest bedroom for two years, and a friend of ours bunked in our official home office for about a year, prodding us to move our base of operations into our master bedroom. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t horrible. The major problem we faced is that we constantly found ourselves in the master bedroom: Jim in bed on the laptop so he could ice his injured knee prior to surgery, while I sat at a cramped folding table covered in paper, files and large pieces of computer and other electronic equipment.

Nightstands became miniature filing cabinets; actual two-drawer lateral filing cabinets were dragged up the stairs and into the walk-in closet. All flat surfaces were soon piled high with manila folders and books as personal affects were placed in storage for safekeeping.

Interior decorators would not accuse our bedroom of being a sanctuary by any stretch of the imagination or meet the criteria of Feng Shui design. At the end of its long journey, the space that served us so well will be fondly remembered as the multi-purpose sleeping room.

We spent a good portion of this weekend moving filing systems back down to the first floor; sorting, recycling and shredding reams of paper that were of the utmost importance a year ago and now were rendered scrap.

While we are still shopping for the perfect desk set, our computers and office equipment will be imperfectly staged on a series of folding tables, octopus-like cords plugged into power strips everywhere. For the time being, it won’t be what we want, but will definitely be what we need; to separate our professional from our personal life.

Our bedroom will also undergo a massive overhaul as it is restored to its original purpose, with a fresh coat of paint to serve as the jumping-off point. Nightstands will once again hold photo albums and recreational reading, and surfaces will be adorned with family pictures and fresh-cut flowers.

Our morning commute will increase by a flight of stairs and thirty additional steps, but we will adjust our alarm clocks accordingly to wake us one minute earlier. 

Bin Laden's Death: Children's Differing Perspectives

Our family was winding down and watching television before bedtime Sunday night when the network news broke into our programming: A major announcement was forthcoming regarding a developing situation regarding Osama Bin Laden.

I looked over at Jim, whose eyebrows were in the exact same position as mine. Another terrorist plot thwarted? Yet one more threat via video release? We waited tensely as news anchors and field reporters bantered back and forth as information slowly leaked from the White House.

And then the formal announcement: Osama Bin Laden was found and confirmed dead in an Abbottabad, Pakistan mansion, after a gun battle at the hands of U.S. Navy Seals. 

Jordan and Jamie’s reactions were as polar opposite as could be. Jordan jumped off the bed and ran around the room. “It’s over! It’s over! Osama is dead! No more terrorists!”

Jamie sat quietly with his arms folded across his chest. “Jordan, it’s not over. What if the other terrorists are mad and come after us? I’m happy he’s dead, but what about our soldiers? Dad, are we safe?”

Jim and I sat in quiet shock. Osama Bin Laden was dead and both our minds were racing. Yes, of course we were happy he was dead and none of our own soldiers were injured or harmed, but at the same time worried about the repercussions we as a country might face at the behest of Bin Laden’s followers.

We all listened to President Obama’s brief statement and network commentators’ analyses for about an hour, slowly realizing the historic events unfolding before our children’s eyes, moments they were experiencing and would long remember far into adulthood.

As both grew tired of the repetitive coverage, Jordan fell asleep quickly and easily while Jamie was restless. “Do you promise we’re safe?” he asked for at least the fifth time.

Jim and I refuse to lie to our children; never have, never will. We have always told them age-appropriate, need-to-know-basis facts. I chose my words carefully as I explained that it was possible there might be some small-scale attacks in the months’ ahead, but I thought our immediate family was very safe.

Hearing an answer that sounded slightly scary but honest, Jamie buried himself in his covers and drifted off to sleep. An hour later, Jim and I fell asleep with the television still on, footage of a growing and joyous demonstration in front of the White House streaming across the screen. 

"Extreme Couponing" - Attaining the Impossible

I watched The Learning Channel’s “Extreme Couponing” for the first time last night with great fascination: Women with stacks of little pieces of paper that convert their hundreds of dollars worth of groceries to mere pennies if not free.

Their stories were interesting: Many made ‘extreme couponing’ their stay-at-home jobs, saving their families thousands of dollars a year in lieu of a salary. Others had fallen on hard times (a spouse’s loss of job or seasonal pay) and needed to stretch their food dollars as far as they could to feed their families.

I try to use coupons, but am generally not very successful. I’m famous for clipping them and leaving them at home, or worse yet, bringing them to the store and failing to turn them in at check-out.

Before the kids were born, Jim and I used to have a weekly contest to see who could save the most with coupons. Once we got into the competitive spirit, we were probably saving ten to fifteen dollars a week on a one hundred dollar grocery bill (Jim remains the all-time champion, knocking twenty-two dollars off our grocery tab in one trip).

But these women are true professionals, spending forty to sixty hours a week clipping coupons and scanning websites, pouring over weekly sales inserts and mapping out their grocery trips like third-world expeditions.

These power shoppers then purchase items in volumes that small armies could not use in one year. Called “stockpiling”, these coupon-crazed families build inventories within their homes, and then have the ability to ‘shop’ in their basements and crawlspaces without needing to go to the store. One woman estimated she had three-year’s worth of inventory on hand for her family of five (food, toiletries, paper products and household chemicals).

After watching three episodes back to back, I found myself tempted to give this shopping methodology a try. Armed with scissors and a streamlined grocery list, I applied what I thought I learned in ninety minutes of programming on my last trip to Jewel.

This shopping method was obviously going to take a lot more time and effort than I had put into it, but all was not for naught: After coupons and preferred card savings, I knocked twelve dollars off my final bill, purchasing only the items I knew I needed and not buying things just because I had a coupon.

Over the next few weeks I will dedicate a bit more time and effort to this process and see what happens. Who knows, I might save enough money to purchase a half tank of gas!