Have I Got A New Post For You

Wow.  Look at all this great writing.  Isn't it interesting.  What a great thing we have here.  Here's a quote for the ages:

"what a great time I've had today.  Thanks folks."

1. read blog
2. comment on blog
3. follow blog

• even more great stuff
• to do list

How great we all are. Thakns folks.

Testing Once Again, See How We Do

And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know. And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know. And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know.

And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know.
And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know.
And over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  I can't remember th erest of the words but that's OK I know.

What a Week -- And Its Only Wednesday

I'm afraid you'll find no humor, no sarcasm here this evening.  I try to keep things light on this blog, but just can't manage it tonight.  It would be too dishonest.

Life has been difficult these past few weeks.  Although I don't touch on it much, I have two kids with some special needs.  Over the past year, both have them has had their share of issues.  And over the last few weeks one in particular has showed some serious decline.  It all came to a head a week ago and we've been dealing with the fall out ever since.

While things are marginally better, we're all pretty jaded and exhausted.  When you have a child with special needs it not only affects them or you, but everyone in the household.  I find myself running around in circles as I try to put out fire after fire.

So right now, I just ask for your thoughts and prayers while we sort through the mess that is our lives.   Hopefully I'll be in a more Zen-like mood soon next time you come to visit.

A Definite Downer,

Doing the Time Warp

As the rest of the world was stuffing their faces and watching some hopefully funny new commercials during Super Bowl 2010, I was at the local mall with my oldest.  By the way, if you ever need to go shopping, that's the time to do it.  We parked right out front and practically had the whole place to ourselves.

Anyway...halfway through the mall, my daughter started a chant .

"Please can we go into Forever XXI?  Please, please, pleeeaaase?"

In a moment of weakness I acquiesced and in we went.  Within a few minutes I had an eerie feeling come over me. Why, it was like I had died and gone to that great '80s haven in the sky.  I seriously thought Madonna or Flock of Seagulls or Duran Duran were going to jump out from behind a wall and start reenacting some vintage MTV video.

Since THAT didn't happen, I settled on the fact that I was having one of the most amazing deja vu experiences ever!  Rack by rack, I walked by things swear I wore when I was young.  I even have pictures to prove it.

As far as the eye could see, there were cropped jeans, cropped jackets and leggings galore.  There were long sweaters with banded bottoms and neon print jackets too.  The only things missing were the shoulder pads.  You remember the ones, don't you?  They made us all look like very pretty, very feminine linebackers.  Oh, those were the days.

Now I realize some of you are youngsters.  At this point in my little tale you're probably uttering a not-so-quiet, "Heh?  What the hell is this lady talking about?"

But for all you old farts like me, this was a bittersweet walk down memory lane.  Sweet because it brought back so many memories, and bitter because I realize how long ago it was that I was young and was decked out in stuff that could have come from Forever XXI.

Chuckling and Crying (all at the same time),

This is So Lame

Calling all bloggers! I need your help.

I've been mulling over an idea -- well, more like two ideas -- lately.  Come to think of it, its been more like months but I move very, very slowly. Remember?

I really want a blog makeover.  While the youthful, peaceful blond on my header may be sweet, she most definitely is not ME.  I'm a middle aged, overweight brunette.  Actually there's more gray than brown these days, but lets just move on, shall we?

Every time I visit one of your sites I keep thinking, "That's it!  Mine's gotta go."  I also threaten to move to Wordpress on an almost daily basis now.

But suffering from Mommy-Onset ADHD like I do, thinking and threatening is a far as I get.  Since funds are at an all-time low, I had the ingenious idea of doing it myself.  After all, how hard could it be to learn a little code?

After THAT exercise in futility, I am officially ready to admit I have a problem.  And I'm willing to seek help.  The only thing is, this little confession creates a whole new set of problems.

I have no idea where to start in my search.  I start hyperventilating just thinking about choosing a designer.  Ferreting out who's good and who's cheap is daunting.  And who could move my stuff to a new platform without wiping out all my friends?

Then I started thinking.  Wait a second.  I have all sorts of bloggy friends that are not shy with their opinions.  So I'd love for you all to weigh in on what you think of the different platforms and who you used (and if you'd use them again.)  Do you have to get a second mortgage to pull it off? If you don't want to dish for all to see, just shoot me an email at zenmommyhood AT gmail DOT com.

You guys are the best!

Forever Grateful,

Call of the Wild

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to why I like to write so much.  As I look back, I realize I've been in love with the written word for as long as I can remember.

Being the shy, retiring type I am, I also dreamed of being published. My earliest works are still on display at my parents' house -- from STOP etched into the living room end table to my more stream-of-consciousness ramblings scribbled on the inside of my mother's sewing cabinet.

As I grew, so did my portfolio. Unfortunately many samples from this period have been lost -- most confiscated by intolerant teachers, not recognizing the raw talent right beneath their noses.

During those days, multiple choice tests confounded me. But give me a blue book and a pen, and I could write my way to an A almost every time. Not that my style was always appreciated. Biting sarcasm mixed with a good dose of irreverence didn't go over so well on my essay on Christopher Columbus or the Economics of Third World Countries.

For me, a pivotal moment came when I landed an internship at a local newspaper. A stroke of luck placed me in the advertising department, where my mentor told me, "Just write like you speak."

That cinched the deal. My style was a natural fit for a career in copywriting. I also dabbled in greeting card captions, event marketing and other equally meaningful endeavors. I not-so-secretly dreamed of becoming a comedy writer. Ah, those were the days.

Then came motherhood and everything changed. I no longer had endless hours to ponder self expression, so my hiatus began. Playing peekaboo replaced prose. 

Now eleven years later I've finally found some time to steal away from my crazed existence just long enough to write down a few words here and there. And once again I'm hooked.  I just hope all of you out there enjoy my ramblings half as much as I love writing them. 

And the Bad Parent Of the Year Award Goes to...

Bet you guessed Brittany Spears.  Nope. That was a couple of years ago.  How passe.

Or maybe Brangelina.   Will they stop having kids already?

Or maybe one of those moms on Jerry Springer.  You know, the one that needs a paternity test to figure out which five guys is the father of her 3 year old love child.  She's also the one to get into a fist fight with the other two ladies trying to figure out the same thing.

And the answer is...none of the above.  As of this afternoon, its settled.  Its me.  Big time.

It all started on Wednesday when I got a call from school.  I should be used to these by now.  But the nice nurse at Pond Boy's school called to tell me he had a little accident in gym.  Seems he had a run in with a basketball and he jammed his finger.

She said he was fine, it was OK and he was coming home with some ice.  No biggie.

I promptly examined it, and yes indeed it was swollen.  But so are a number of other injuries we see around here.  So being the decisive person I am, I told him, "Let's wait till you dad gets home."

Now there's one thing about my dearest hubby.  He's a minimalist in the way he approaches problems.  Most things are fine until proven otherwise.  So when, after examining the injury, he proclaimed "nothing but a sprain"  I should have said something.

Like that happened.  I was too busy making dinner, supervising homework and after-school activities and thwarting the Little Stinker's efforts to torture the cat.   I got sidetracked, OK?

Fast forward to three days later.  I'm in the kitchen with Pond Boy when I notice something funny about his hand.  Was it always that blue?  I don't remember it looking like a balloon before?  I know my memory is a little fuzzy these days, but something was most definitely not right.

So one trip to Urgent Care and two hours later we got the verdict.  Its broken.  Its also out of place.  He was put in a splint and first thing Monday morning we'll be making a visit to the hand specialist.

So now you all know my dirty little secret.  I let my son go three days with a broken hand.  Isn't that special?  I'm the proud recipient of the Worst Mother of the Year award.  And its only January.  Can't wait to see what the rest of the year will bring.


Feeling Really, Really Stupid,