Funkytown

So I’m finally moving out of my funk and getting on down to funkytown…a much better alternative.  Thanks so much for all your words of encouragement!!  I think my favorite has to be from my MUCH younger neighbor “mdw”…he’s sort of becoming a second little brother and I appreciate the fact that he makes me keep it real. 

 So, keepin’ it real, here’s the deal  (just call me Busta Rhymes):  Sometimes funks happen.  And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.  And I’m too old(!) to try to fake it for any real length of time.  I prefer to call it by it’s name and then move on.  So that’s what I’ve done.  Boom.

 Now it’s on to a fun, relaxing weekend at the lake with our dear friends.  (Well, as relaxing as a weekend at the lake can be with 6 kids under the age of 10.)  And then to Houston to direct theater camp for a week…lots of fun there…if teaching 30 elementary age kids to hip hop is your idea of fun!  Actually, that is my idea of fun, but I know I’m gonna be completely worn out when it’s over.  Then I’ll have a week to recover before lather, rinse, REPEAT!!  Clearly I was ambitious when I was making my summer plans.  “Sure, I can travel back and forth to Houston FOUR times.  No big deal.  I love to drive.  And I really love spending $4 for every gallon of gas to get me there!  And living out of a suitcase with my 9 year old for a week at a time?  Easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl.”  Oh, I jest.  The truth is there isn’t anything I’d rather be doing.  (Except maybe a week at Disney World.  I’m not gonna sit here and lie.)  I love singing and dancing, I love kids, I love to TEACH kids…it’ll be a blast. 

 Y’all have a great rest of July…I’ll check back in at some point over the next couple of weeks.  (Unless the children do me in.  In which case someone please call for help.  Thanks.)

 PS.  Are you watching Project Runway??  New season!!  If you’re an avid watcher you MUST go over to http://projectrungay.blogspot.com/ for a hilarious take on the show.  (WARNING:  these guys are flaming and they’re not afraid to flaunt it.)

PSS.  We saw The Dark Knight last night.  Wicked.

I’m in a Funk

And I don’t mean funkytown, like it’s a good thing. I mean a good old-fashioned funk.

It probably has to do with the fact that I had a birthday last week. I used to look forward to my birthdays. I loved the celebration, the “me-time”…but no more. Last Thursday was one of the worst days I’ve had in months.

I woke up at 5:30 am with a serious anxiety attack. I was in Houston at a friend’s house, so there wasn’t much I could do to deal with it. At 7:00 I finally left their house to get some breakfast but I couldn’t really eat. I was in town to do a show, so I did that and then went to my in-laws where I dumped Sweet Pea while I took a 2 1/2 hour nap. That’s just pitiful. A couple of my girlfriends took me and Sweet Pea out that night, but I pretty much faked it. It sucked.

I thought that getting back home would make things better, but so far it’s been two days of the doldrums. I just can’t get on top of it, and if I knew what was wrong I might be able to make headway but I’m just blah and I don’t know why.

Is it age? Is this a mid-life crisis? I certainly feel older. My body is falling apart and my mind is just a big pot of mush. Ugh.

I’m not even gonna lie: I love youth. I guess I better turn that ship around, huh? Gotta find a way to love age. But what’s there to love? Flabby skin, brown spots, wrinkles, hair that falls out, the inability to sleep all the way through the night…I could go on and on.

Okay, let me try again. What’s there to love? Wisdom. Experience. Security. Confidence. Those aren’t bad.

I guess I’ll have to hang on to that: the wisdom that comes with knowing that you learn from your funks, the experience that tells me that this too shall pass, the security of knowing that no matter how flabby my sweet Hubs will be there, and the confidence that I really am ONLY 36, and 36 is the new 26, so I’m in it to win it!

Right?

Sometimes You Just Know

I had this post knocking around in my head for a while.  Once I finally wrote it I’ve been afraid to publish it.  I’m not sure why.  So this morning I’m browsing through a couple of my favorite blogs and I discover that my girl AnyMommy has done it again.  She’s posted the hard stuff.  The REALLY hard stuff.  And I got inspired.  If she can do it, so can I.  So thanks, Any!!  Here we go.   

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You know how as a mom you sometimes just know?  I mean, deep in your gut, you know.  It’s just a feeling, but it almost defies description.  It’s not necessarily rational, or even based on facts.  But it’s very real.  You just know.

 

In December of 2001 my Sweet Pea was just turning three.  She had been a very easy baby but over the last six months something had changed.  And it wasn’t just the terrible twos or terrifying threes.  (Although they definitely were.)  This was different.  Her preschool teacher called me to discuss some problem behaviors.  Right there I knew we had a problem; you shouldn’t have to talk to your child’s PRESCHOOL teacher about behavior problems.  This teacher was a God-send; very loving, very patient, and very astute.  I asked her if she thought Sweet Pea was hearing everything…she responded that she was  actually concerned about her hearing.   I made an appointment with our ENT, a dear friend and colleague of mine from the OR, but deep in my gut I already knew.

 

It was during one of those beautiful evening walks that I first had my suspicions.  Sweet Pea was in the stroller and there was a yappy dog up ahead making all kinds of racket.  I said “Sweet Pea, where’s the doggie?” and she turned around to look behind her.  This dog was loud.  And right on the sidewalk up ahead of us.  And she turned around.  I knew.

 

Another day a helicopter flew right overhead and she didn’t even flinch.  It was loud.  And I knew.

 

We went to the ENT appointment where they put us in that little booth for the hearing test.  Sweet Pea and I had done this just six months earlier, and at that time her hearing was normal.  But I knew something had changed.  The audiologist held a piece of paper over her mouth and said “point to the hot dog”.  And my Sweet Pea said “Can you move that piece of paper so I can see what you’re saying?”

 

I knew.

 

Our ENT didn’t want to rush to a diagnosis, so we continued testing all the way through a sedated ABR, where they see your brain’s reaction to sound.  At the end of that test the audiologist said “Well, your daughter has mild-to-moderate sensorineural hearing loss.”  I nodded, not surprised.  However, when she explained that we should fit Sweet Pea for hearing aids, you could’ve picked me up off the floor. 

I don’t know why THAT was the shock, but it was.  Hearing Aids?  That means there’s  more to this than a few nasty ear infections and the need for more/better/different antibiotics.  This is a lifelong deal.  Life won’t ever be the same.

 

Our child is hearing impaired.

 

There are lots of reasons children lose their hearing.  Some are detectable at birth, but Pea was born the year before mandatory newborn hearing testing.  In any case, Pea clearly had normal hearing for the first two and a half years of her life.  We know this because the child can TALK.  (I don’t know where she gets that!)  She said her first words at 9 months and hasn’t really shut up since.  And thank God for that because one of the hardest things kids with hearing loss have to deal with is speech.  She does receive speech therapy at school, but her issues are minimal.  We are also very blessed that she was clever enough to figure out how to read lips.  When they initially tested her for special services the teachers couldn’t believe how good her lipreading skills were.  What can I say?  Girlfriend is determined! 

 

I suppose whether your child is adopted or biological you imagine the fantasy kid.  You know, perfectly behaved, totally adorable, brilliant beyond words, and an Olympic athlete to boot.  And then at some point, whether your child is adopted or biological, you figure out that they are actually human.  Not a fantasy.  And that life isn’t going to be perfect.  It’s going to be LIFE…life with trials and imperfections and challenges and blessings and victories.

 

Some days the challenges almost do me in.  Because it’s not fair.  It’s not fair that she has to wear hearing aids and no one else does.  It’s not fair that she has to answer questions that curious children ask about her aids.  It’s not fair that in the swimming pool she is almost completely deaf and can’t really play Marco Polo because it’s a game that’s all about hearing.  It’s not fair that when I read books at bedtime she has to crane her neck so she can see my lips in order to know what I’m saying.  It’s not fair.  But it’s life. 

 

And just like I knew there was something wrong, somewhere deep, deep down in my soul I know she’s an overcomer.  A hurdler.  And she’s going to come out on top.  It’s going to be painful, there’s no doubt about that.  But every once in a while I catch a glimpse of the woman she’s going to become, and I just know.

Search Engine Madness

Don’t you get a huge kick out of reading the search terms used to find your blog?  I saw one today that got me really good.  Are you ready? 

Chicken Grumpers. 

I am not even kidding. 

Now in my humble opinion, Chicken Grumpers is an awesome phrase that could be used in so many situations.  For instance, instead of swearing, you might insert a Chicken Grumpers…you’re cutting the meat for dinner and you slice your finger…”Oh, SHChicken Grumpers!”

Or you wake up in the morning and you’re just not feeling it.  Your hair’s a mess and your face is broken out like the pox (even though you’re in your 30’s and puberty was over long ago!!)  And you’re squawking ’cause your Sweet Pea won’t get out of bed for swim lessons and you’re supposed to be at the pool in 5 minutes.   You’re worse than grumpers…you’re Chicken Grumpers.

Or you go through KFC and instead of original you get extra spicy.  And you clearly said original.  But it’ll be 12 minutes before the next batch of original comes out of the grease.  So you eat the extra spicy and get  a nice KFC-induced stomachache.  That’ll make you Chicken Grumpers for sure. 

Or (sticking with the restaurant theme) it’s Sunday and you pass the Chick-fil-a that’s right next to your church and you really want a Number One with Extra Pickles and then you remember…they’re closed on Sunday.  Damn those employees and their families!  Can’t they go to Saturday night church?  I mean come on.  You’re suffering from a serious case of Chicken Grumpers. 

See what I mean…so many opportunites, so little time.

Now how this person put in Chicken Grumpers and found my blog, I have no idea.  And I’d LOVE to know what they’re actually searching for.  Any ideas??

Death and Destruction on the Lazy River Beach (quite a title, huh?)

So we’re parked beachside at the lazy river.  It was sandcastle heaven.  They had a huge bin of castle-building tools…everything a kid could want, and enough to go around so sharing wasn’t necessary.  And boy howdy, were these kids building sandcastles.  Parents, too.  It was great. 

 

 

 

Happy children, happy dads getting in touch with their inner child, happy moms relaxing in nearby chairs with a pina colada in one hand and a book in the other. 

 

And then…

 

Godzilla.

 

Not big green giant Godzilla.  No, this Godzilla was in the form of a three year old devil child with water wings and an urge to destroy things. 

 

She started with a couple of little kicks which progressed quickly to big kicks and then to all out jumping and stomping.  ON OTHER KIDS’ SANDCASTLES!!!!

 

Oh the horror.  Life suddenly became slo-mo as we watched in terror.  Where were her parents??  Sitting together, smiling at their darling child as she explored the beach.  AND DESTROYED SANDCASTLES!!!

 

There were tears.  Lots of tears.  Panic-stricken children rushed to save their masterpieces, but in the end, an entire castle went down, along with a beautifully carved car and eventually our entire village.

 

 And all the while her mother watched with a maniacal smile as if to say Aren’t we all having so much fun??  I wanted to kill her. 

 

Finally her dad wised up that his precious one was DESTOYING THE HAPPINESS OF YOUNG PEOPLE EVERYWHERE and he took her for a ride in the lazy river.   At which point all of the kids huddled up on the beach for a pow wow.  We’re not quite sure exactly what was said, but I think it was something to the effect of “that beeotch better get herself on outta here before we have to get all up in her bizness”.  At any rate, when the huddle broke the kids were clearly all on the same team.  It was all for one and one for all.  No more destruction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, the joys of summer.

 

 

Until the spawn of Beelzebub returned a couple of hours later and the whole thing replayed again.

 

I’m not even kidding.

 

And her mother sat there…AGAIN…with her maniacal smile (maybe it was a squint but it sure seemed demon-like) while her oh-so-darling daughter wreaked havoc on the beach.  It was like reliving the first 30 minutes of Saving Private Ryan.  Awful.  Just awful.

 

It all happened in a split second.  She was so quick, so devious, so DESTRUCTIVE.  Finally after enough other parents told her no, and with enough of our dirty looks at her own parents, they got up and left.  Without a single word.  No apology.  Nothing.

 

Our children returned from a lap around the lazy river to carnage.  It was devastating.  We encouraged them to rebuild, but after all that work it was a hard sell.  In the end they decided to dig a pool, and they had a virtual bucket brigade as they filled it up.  It was a team effort.  A group of children bonded together forever by the tortuous affair that was Godzilla on the Lazy River Beach.

 

 

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

(Note:  This is one of the first blogs I ever wrote.  Since there were only about 3 people reading my blog back then, I thought it would be okay to repost.)

A few months ago, my husband and I visited the Statue of Liberty.  He has never been, and I haven’t been since I was 18 (a few years ago…) While the Lady looks great, I was most taken by the level of security that surrounds her. 

In order to board the ferry to get to the Statue, we went through “airport security”.  You know, take off all your coats, hats, gloves, belts, watches, etc. and walk through the metal detector.  Now since I have my friend The Pacemaker, I don’t get to walk through a metal detector.  I get the pat down.  Every time.  I’ve done it so many times it doesn’t bother me at all (although sometimes you get the aggressive lady who really wants to make sure you’re not packin’ in your crotch!!) It always makes me laugh me when I tell the first security guy I have a pacemaker and he stutters and says, “You??  Um, o-okay.” And I enjoy watching the looks on strangers faces who stare, and I know they’re thinking “She doesn’t look like a terrorist, but they must’ve found SOMETHING or they wouldn’t be doing that!”Anyway, we get through that, get re-bundled because it’s about 30 degrees outside, and get on the boat. 

 Once we get over to the Statue we find that in order to enter the museum and go to the observation deck (about 5 stories up) we’ll need to go through another security line.  So we wait for about 40 minutes in a covered tent (not heated, but at least not bone-cold).  The security area is in another closed tent, and you cannot see what they’re doing.  Once you finally go through the door you realize that’s it’s another “airport security” line, but this one has a bonus:  The Puffer.  If you haven’t experienced The Puffer, it’s a little closet that you stand in while air blows on your to make sure you don’t have any explosive residue on your clothes.  It’s easy, but it takes a minute to decide that you’re clean and there’s this moment when you’re standing there thinking “what if they mistake those muffin crumbs for something worse?” So we get through The Puffer, and then it’s the pat down all over again. 

Finally, after about 1 1/2 hours, we get to enter the Statue of Liberty.As we stood in line, I watched parents trying to explain to their kids what was going on…what we were waiting for.  I am struck by the fact that Sweet Pea will grow up knowing nothing different than long security lines everywhere you go.  Taking off your shoes at the airport…walking through metal detectors…even standing in The Puffer.  This is her world.  And it makes me very, very sad. 

So we climb 197 stairs to get to the deck, and we look back at lower Manhattan which is decidedly bare without the Towers, and we contemplate Liberty.  And I realize that little by little, there’s less and less of it.  And that in order to keep it, I have to give mine away, in a pat down and a puffer.

Sharing Time

 

We returned yesterday from a couple of days at the Hyatt Wild Oak Ranch in lovely San Antonio, TX.  Most of you know that we actually live in San Antonio, so you may be asking why we bothered.  Well, my friends, it’s a little thing called $49 a night.  How could we pass that up??

 

We had a sweet little studio, a beautiful pool, a lazy river, poolside bar, and no agenda.  Well, except for the two hours we spent with our new friend Brandon who tried to sell us on the many benefits of a Hyatt time share.  Now I’m not gonna lie, there are many benefits.  But it also costs MANY dollars. 

 

Have you been to one of these deals?  We never have, and we were dreading it (me more so than Hubs, but I think that’s cause he takes pretty much everything in stride and I don’t) but we knew it had to be done.  Lucky for us, we were assigned to a totally adorable young salesman named Brandon.  I think he’d been on the job for all of two weeks.  He was very laid back and not pushy at all.  That’s a good thing, ‘cause I went in with my dukes up, but I quickly relaxed.  We told him some stuff, he told us some stuff, we told him some more stuff, he told us some more stuff, and at this point I was actually getting convinced that this might be a good deal. 

 

New York, ColorADO, ITALY, SWITZERLAND…ALL MY VACATION DREAMS COMING TRUE…FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES!!!

 

Then we started talking money.  Good grief.  It’s 2008, the economy isn’t exactly booming, and they lay out a $40,000 deal with the expectation that you’ll put a huge chunk down, IN CASH, and then pay the rest off over 5 years (at the low, low interest rate of 13.9%).  Please.  We smiled ever so politely and said No Thanks.

 

Then comes the hard sell.  The car salesman.  The big guns, as it were.  The annoying, pointing-finger-in-my-face sales pitch from the manager of the place.  It wasn’t pretty.  In fact, if that finger had come close to my nose one more time…but we sat politely, and said No Thanks.  Again.

 

And that was it.  We left with an extra $150 in gift certificates to use at the resort and we were back at the lazy river in less than 30 minutes.  We ordered everything on the menu for dinner, plus drinks to boot.  (I wasn’t going to let those gift certificates go to waste!)

 

All in all, it was not too big a sacrifice for the great deal we got.  And the best part was, we were home 30 minutes after checking out of the hotel.  No pesky “travel day” blues; you know, when all of your fun vacation memories are erased by the last day of hellish airline travel, made worse by the depression of knowing that your vacation is over and life starts back tomorrow.  None of that…just good times. 

 

I think we may vacation in San Antonio more often.  J