The Space in My Brain Where Politics Goes is Empty

Ah! I just calculated and I have accomplished 210 miles since August 18, when I finished up my first thirty miles per week. No wonder I am tired every night! It really is nice to be tired so I can have good sleep. I don't jolt awake any longer worried about whether I left the grill on or not. That is a soothing thought.

Well, I've got nothin'.

Did I tell you all that as I was singing and playing guitar the other day the Girl came in with a paper held up above her head that said, "I vote for you!"

Pretty cool, huh? And she doesn't even watch American Idol. It is just in our brains to want to vote for someone, I guess.

I think I would only vote for John McCain because he winked at me when I walked by him in the Capitol building. But I don't put my heart in voting because I just let Dear Sir tell me who to vote for. It is much like how I feel about sports. If he likes Notre Dame, I will like them because I don't know what anything else is. And, I am not quite a feminist, although I appreciate what some feminism has accomplished, but pretty much think it terrible and the cause of many of our problems with society today. I do, however, like the fact that I can "let" Dear Sir vote for me. :) I was raised, as Dear Sir kindly pointed out one night, with little care for sports, news, or politics. I swear, if a good teacher in high school had not pointed out the beauty of Thomas Hardy's works, I would not be a literature freak as I am today. It is just too darned bad that I never knew that "V" is for "victory" and Nixon was not really holding up the peace sign. You learn something new every day.


Have Mercy

Here is a song of mine for you to listen to. It is all rough and everything---and you can't understand my words too well, but anyhow, I am working on that!!! :)


Phil Wickham

You people need to hear this guy. He is incredible. For the love of pete, listen to this song and buy the album on October 2nd. And---buy the last album too. You will NOT be disappointed. He is crazy good.


Excitement Just on the Block

We just got back from a walk, the crazies and I. We saw a smashed up snake (it was very fresh), two swans in our lake, a cicada that nearly sent my son over the edge, and then right when I thought the excitement was all over, Eraser Eater yelps at the top of his lungs from the other side of the street, "Holy cow! That's about the biggest piece of poop I have ever seen in my life!!!"

And who goes running nearly in front of an oncoming car just to see this phenomenon? The Girl. And what does she say? "Holy cow," in hushed tones.

And what does my Oldest say? "That is too big for a dog. It must be from a horse. But people don't ride horses around here..."

They have complete interest but very little to say about the smashed up snake, but a ton to say about the gigantic piece of excrement. I do admit it was quite large, though. Had to be from a horse...



Yesterday I had had it with Eraser Eater and his migraines. The Oldest kept calling them "margarines" and I had to keep myself from whopping him upside the head. He still calls the "Vietnam War" the "Vitamin War" too. I don't know how to help with that---read the word, maybe?

So--I got Eraser Eater to the eye doctor because I was convinced that the headaches were from a need for new glasses. He is one of the most compliant children---even in pain, he tries his best to put on a good face. The migraine was getting to him, I could tell. He sat there, in the dark room, with that lens/machine in front of his face and the doctor kept saying, "is this one more clear, or this one?" and he would say, "the first one", or "the second one", etc. Pretty soon his responses were getting less animated and more laborious. In fact, he sounded really strange when the exam was nearly over. "Are you ok?" I asked him smack in the middle of a slide of letters.
"No," he muttered.
"What's up?" I said. The doctor looked at me.
"I think I'm going to puke."
"Right now?" I asked, stupidly.
I swooped up his eight year old body, carted him to the bathroom, and let him toss his cookies. He had his hands all over the toilet seat and his head was resting there as well.
"My butt hurts!!" he yelped.
Oh good grief, I thought. He's gonna die or something.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
"No." A blast followed.
All I could think about was the rank he was getting on his forehead as he was carelessly marinating on the toilet seat.
When he was finished I bolted out of there and asked the doctor for some alcohol wipes. I took them and wiped down Eraser Eater's face. I cleaned him up pretty well and then he was able to go and finish the exam.

So, his prescription is not very altered. I mean, he needs new glasses, but I don't think that is the cause of the migraines. He was still hurting on the way home, moaning and groaning. I have had to pull over before. That boy has puked in parking lots, grocery stores, Trader Joe's bags, etc. He is good at it. And clean about it too, which is a relief to me. I just have to deal with the Oldest getting all bent out of shape at the noise. So--on the way home I remembered that I have some Tylenol with Codeine in the cabinet. A whole new bottle of it from when the boy hurt his neck at the church gym. I was afraid for a second so I thought I would call his doctor to see if it was ok for a migraine. Dumb decision.
The nurse immediately shut me down with the codeine.
"He needs to be seen," she said.

"Look, if I go to a Quick Care they are just going to prescribe Tylenol with Codeine anyway. I have some already. " I quickly saw my folly in calling. What a dork I am.

"You don't know that. There are other things they could prescribe."

"Ok, but what's the big deal? He is throwing up and stuff and I need something for the pain."

"Tylenol with codeine is a narcotic. "


"You don't just give it to your child whenever he has any little ache or pain."
I was very very tempted to give this woman the what for. I quickly regretted calling but since I was in the whole muck already I thought I may as well play out the whole thing to the full. Did she hear that I said he is in so much pain he is throwing up? If she had been available to deck, I would have done it. Call me a heathen.

"Well, he can't be seen until tomorrow, and I need his headache to go away now. What can he take? IB Profen? How much is advisable? What is the largest dose you can recommend?" Last night he had the migraine so badly that nothing was helping---not even a full 200 mgs of Advil. I could hear Eraser Eater moaning in the background.

"What does he weigh?"

"Around sixty-five pounds or so."

"Two junior Motrin tabs."

"I don't have Motrin tabs. I don't have the junior kind. I have regular I B Profen. What can I give him from what I have in my cabinet---I don't want to take my kid another place so he can have yet another opportunity to puke in a parking lot or something. Can I just crack one in half? Can you give me milligrams?"

"Hold on."

She got back on the line and said, "The doctor will call you back."

Oh for crying in a bucket.

Of course, fifteen minutes later a doctor did not call me. Apparently I was not worthy enough to even talk to the nurse anymore. Why do medical people think they are so untouchable? I don't get it. It bugs me that the doctor can not stoop so low as to call a patient. You have to go to them, they can't come to you, they can't give you any straight answers because of lawsuits. Drives me nuts. The receptionist called me.

"The doctor said, 'Two Junior Motrin tabs.'"

Oh yeah? I turned around and handed him two teaspoons of the narcotic.

All better.

I think the migraines are from the Game Cube. I am convinced of it now. I pulled the plug on it and there has not been one headache today. Hmmmm....


Let's pop open some champagne.

I got my guitar back and it looks beautiful!!!



It seems like no one on my blogroll is really blogging lately including myself. Some of you have quit too. How depressing.

I haven't felt this huge urge to write much. I have been doing the usual stuff: playing guitar, schooling the kids, making soap, and running.

I fell again yesterday on the same freaking spots I did at the beach. I was carrying a plateful of steak from the grill up the deck steps to the house. I tripped over my own foot. I landed on the same arm, got a bruise on top of my present bruise (that was green), formed two new bruises (one on my calf and one on my forearm), and I further bruised my butt again. Yes, my butt. Again.

I am a perfect mess. I almost cried because something hurt and I wasn't sure what. Maybe my feelings? I thought, Come on. Twice in a week? What is up with me?! Oh yeah, and I also pulled that same toe nail back AGAIN. Bleeding, falling off once it healed finally, I go and dismantle it AGAIN. FREAKING AGAIN!!!! That's why I almost cried. It was like all of the past two months assaults on myself rolled into one giant repeat. REPEAT.

When I walked in whimpering Dear Sir didn't even question me. "I really hurt myself!" I hollered. Did I mention I dropped the steak on the stupid deck and then I had to crawl back to the grill to, I don't know, get the crap off it? Some mystery germs lingering there that maybe a little heat would zap off?

"What happened now?" Dear Sir called from the Mac.

I told him.

"Again?" he said.

"Yeah, again. Don't get up or anything though. I am only in pain."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Oh gee whiz. I don't know. Nothing."


He was probably reading something about John Lennon anyway.

I took the remainder of my evening and put ice on my arm and oh yeah, my thigh that got bruised too.

Lesson: When you don't blog, you are away from the computer more. When you are away from the computer, you are doing something else. And sometimes that something else can cause you to bruise yourself in multiple areas. And sometimes that does not enrich your marriage either.

To get him back, I allowed him to take a nap today. Maybe today when I trip and fall on myself he will be nice about it and I don't know, baby me.



Hey, go over to Dear Sir's blog and listen to me sing. Don't ever say I don't promote myself. I've discovered I make some strange faces when I sing---and this recording is a better one! It sounds sort of jangly and rough too, but it's ok. Give it a listen. If you want to hear more I'll make more available.

Have a great Wednesday. School is eating me alive!


The Beach

The beach was alright. I mean, it could have been better I guess. I get really snotty when there is a lot of wind. I remember when Dear Sir and I were on our honeymoon out in the Oregon Coast and we decided one extremely windy day to go to the ocean (it was too cold to enjoy the beach). We saw this really pretty spot on the side of a spirally road and decided we would go and just stand by the water. I had some cramps when I got out of the car and didn't know what that was about until we battled our way (and I mean BATTLED our way) through the whipping wind and sand to get to our destination. It was like we were going in slow motion it was so preposterous, the wind. I was toddling over and trying my best to stand up, it was so bad. Every step was sort of torturous, but we thought it would pay off in the end with a camera in hand. Whatever. So, once we got to the perfect spot (it took us an eternity) the cramping was so incredible and I knew what it was all about immediately. I looked at Dear Sir fiercely. "I have to go to the bathroom!" I shouted through the whipping sand.
"What?!" Dear Sir shouted, cupping his ear.
"I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" I yelled as loud as I could. My embarrassment was unbearable.
"WE JUST GOT HERE! NOW?!" He yelled.
I was in trouble. I had to successfully walk through that stupid wind and sand again to get to the car. It was like a snow storm. And I had to do it without the safety of a diaper or the safety of someone who I was used to, in case an accident occurred.
Somehow I made it. I don't know how. I think the idea of having an accident was far too much for me even to imagine so it pulled me through. I tried not to writhe around in the car as we took forever to get to the cabin we were staying at. It was sort of a nightmare. I imagine all the guy thought of me at the time was that I had to make trips to the bathroom endlessly. On our way to the coast right after the wedding I demanded that he stop somewhere so I could go to the bathroom. I think I drank too much Sprite in the car. I was about to burst and he was shaking his head with a smirk on his face.

So, the beach was alright. The nasty port-a-pottys were very near, so I was in good shape. I neglected to put very much sun screen on the kids the first day so they are still aching and I continuously say I am sorry still. When we were about to leave yesterday I got dressed in the port-a-potty (I had to get the kids dressed there too before the ride home) and as I was walking out with bags and piles of clothes in hand, I slipped in the water from the showering people on this little dock and slipped and fell on my side. I have bruises on my arm and leg. I am sort of a mess. Then, I drove home because Dear Sir was tired of driving and I offered, and I almost killed us a few times because I guess I have discovered I am not so great of a driver. Or maybe I get nervous whenever a man is in the passenger's seat. My Dad really messed me up as far as confidence goes in the driving area. Then we thought we got lost but then we really weren't lost. It took us a long time to get home and the kids were AWESOME. Not a peep or complaint from them.

I got home expecting Tolstoy (our fish) to be dead, but he was just hungry. I got everything inside (with help from everyone) and unpacked.

The beach was very pretty though, and we came home with two huge buckets full of shells.


This Weekend

Sorry I have not blogged much. I can't visit your blogs either because I have to pack and get ready for our weekend at the beach. We are leaving in the next two hours. So---I will say that the gig went great, many people were pleased, and I guess my version of "Comfortably Numb" was much better than Floyd's. Sorry, druggies. Besides that, my guitarist, Ken, just plain rips that guitar solo. I mean, it was incredibly good. Crazy good.

Dear Sir is working on the video clips so when we get that stuff on YouTube I will let you know.

Guitar update: I heard perhaps Monday or Thursday. Can you guess I have heard that before?

Have a superb weekend. I will elaborate more on some stuff when I can come up for air.

Thank you for visiting, as usual.


I Am an Animal

I probably never talked about it much, but I am preparing for a gig tomorrow night. And that is all I will say about that. I got roped into singing "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd (now that is the only Floyd song I know) and it has magically turned into my favorite song we are doing.

We are supposed to head out to the beach on Friday night but I discovered there is a chance of rain, but I guess we will head out anyway. I can tell Dear Sir is looking for any way out he can get because he would rather stay home and read books.

At this point in my existence I just want to get tomorrow night over and I will be ok. So what should I wear? Anyone with suggestions?

You know, at times I talk like a valley girl to my Girl. She gets tired of it, I think. She shakes her head at me and smiles saying, "Mom..." She knows that I am from California and you know, this is my flipping heritage. You talk like a ditz, flip your hair out of your face, and insert a "like" about every other word. I do it on purpose though. It is not like I like, talk like that all the time? K? So...my Girl was being especially cute when she said "a gazillion?" After correcting her and rolling my eyes, I laughed heartily and said, "Really, like, a gazillion? What?! I mean, what other choice would it be, like, it couldn't be a thousand or something..." (I can't remember really what I said, I just said it like a moron valley girl).

She looked at me and shook her head like usual. "Mom, sometimes I wish you were never borned in that place..."

And so I will let you know how it all goes tomorrow at some point. Maybe the next day. BTW--school is eating me alive. I am turning into an animal. I am not human. For example:
I am looking in a cupboard for something. "Hey, {Oldest}, where are you at?" I call from inside the shelf.
"AT THE TABLE," says my Oldest, "Where else would I be?"
Ok. I know that is terrible. It IS terrible. I know that if I would have said that to my dad I would have had my neck twisted in half. If I told that to my mom, I would have had the same thing happen because she would nark on me. I almost cower at the sound of back talk, not because it is being said to me, but because I associate it with pain. Lots of it.

I stand up from looking in the cupboard. "Excuse me?!" I bark.
"Well," he says unthinkingly, "if you ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer."

"Bye Game Cube!" I say.
{Insert weeping and gnashing of teeth}

I almost bit him, but then I would then prove that I truly have turned into an animal but you know, I don't want Dear Sir knowing *what* he indeed has married. It will be our little secret.


School Has Started

The Girl:
"One hundred,
Two hundred,
Three hundred,
Four hundred,
Five hundred,
Six hundred,
Seven hundred,
Eight hundred,
Nine hundred,
....A Gazillion?"

My eyes roll. "A thousand," I say.
"Oh, yeah."


This and That 2

So I went to the grocery store to pick up some essentials, like Whoppers and ice cream and stuff. I had this loaded little mini cart and I was swerving around various people in my stay-at-home-mom polka dot dress when I got to a self-checkout "station" at the same exact time as another lady right next to me. Our carts practically crashed. I looked over at her all jovial like and she gave me a side-long glance.
"Wanna fight me for it?" I said with a smile.
"No." She turned in slight disgust, did not smile, and went to another line. I lost it. I laughed much longer than I should have and then found that the lane that we were going to duke it out for was actually under repair and useless. I got in line somewhere else and chuckled to myself.

Why, oh why do humans have no sense of humor?

I told Eraser Eater to make his bed on the top bunk and as he did so I was making another bed in a different room. The Oldest approached me.
"Mom. We have an emergency here. Well, it depends on how you look at it. Just come in and look. It has to do with {Eraser Eater}. It really is sort of funny. Like a cartoon panel. You should find the humor in it."
"What now?!"
"Just come in here...."

Eraser Eater was literally stuck in a slat on the top bunk. The slat was right above his butt and made him completely immobile.
"What the heck?!"
Eraser Eater could not move. He tried to see me but he was facing the wall, trying to get back up on his bed.
"My butt's too big!" he said, "I can't get up! I think you need to move the mattress, Mom, so that it will give me more room to get out of this hole!"
I did so. I contemplated bringing Dear Sir into this madness as I held the stupid mattress and Eraser Eater struggled to suck his butt in and pull himself up. The Oldest pushed him up from the bottom.
I am sure all of the powers of Hades would have been loosened if Dear Sir got in the mix. I imagined him freaking out, perhaps trying to get the WD-40 to oil him from the stinking slat. I imagined him saying, "There is no use. We have to take the bunk bed apart. Can you do it, Rach?"

No, I thought. Too soon. I figured if an hour or so didn't produce some results, Dear Sir can try his hand at it.

It took a good five or ten minutes but the boy did eventually get out of the slat by an act of the heavens. He turned beet red, yelped a little when he had to rub his butt over the slat, and I held the mattress and shook my head.

We went to a Lutheran church today to see what it was like. The Oldest asked where it came from and we told him they follow Martin Luther. "Oh," he said, "they are PROTEST-tants."

"Protestants," I corrected, "we all are."
"Not the Catholics," he chimed.