I Have a Wife!

Yes, the day finally came. I have a wife. Actually, my cute little pet name for him is "Housebitch." But I don't really think he's very fond of it for some reason because he frowns at me every time I say it....

Truthfully: my husband retired from the military after about 24 years, give or take a year here or there. I'm very proud of him and his service; glad that all the moving's over; glad to have him home. Sort of.

Now, I consider myself a feminist - but let me tell you something ladies, those men back in the 50s & 60s were on to something. Do you know how wonderful it is to come home to a home-cooked meal? Or, how about asking him to pick up groceries (like I did this morning), and HE DID IT! My bed is made every night; laundry is kept up with; dishes are loaded in the dishwasher as opposed to sitting in the sink. My dry-cleaning is dropped off AND picked up. All the library books are returned on time, and he made a deposit for me at the bank yesterday.

But having a wife can be a little annoying. Like, he calls me to tell me recent TV news. He calls me to ask where stuff is (doesn't he live in the same house I do?) He calls to tell me about a re-run of Extreme Makeover that brought tears to his eyes. (!!!) He calls and tells me about funny skits from MadTV. He calls to see when I'm coming home. Good grief. The other day I got a call from my teenager telling me that he went with her to get her nails done. He must have been REALLY bored that day!

I'm enjoying all this now, but I fear the day's coming when I come home to find him sleeping with the pool boy - and then everything will come to a screeching halt and we'll find ourselves on Jerry Springer. Seriously, I'm sure I'll cry big crocodile tears when he finds career #2. But meanwhile, I'm enjoying living in the lap of luxury.

Fatima Spoiled

Recipes!!!

Okay folks - I'm not going to start my own web page just for recipes as there are so many great sites out there already - everything from Atkins to Weight Watchers, Vegan, Vegetarian, South Beach, and my favorite, which I mentioned before: www.allrecipes.com. Therefore, just send any and all recipes you want posted on this blog to: youngharv@comcast.net; I'll try to continually update and have a "Recipe" posting once a month. That way everyone can enjoy.

Hell one day, we can all take credit for a "Blog" based cookbook. Of course, I'll keep all the proceeds, but you'll be mentioned in the "Thank You" section.

Also, the recipes don't necessarily have to be low-fat or healthy, or Weight Watchers, etc., they can be anything. Let's face it, we all like to indulge periodically, and we all have holidays, birthdays and office parties to cook for. So, be creative - and please add drink recipes if you'd like as well. A couple years ago, my adult daughter and I made a spiked Apple Cider Punch for Thanksgiving which we got from one of the cooking shows on the Food Network. It tasted just like Apple Pie (until we tried to stand up!) We may have added just a tad more Rum than was necessary........I don't remember.....

I'll start us all off with a recipe that's sure to lower our cholesterol - and for those of us on the East Coast - it should help warm us up as well. Last Friday in Baltimore, it was 12 degrees on my way to work, with a wind-chill factor of 2 below!! This year I swear I'm lobbying Congress to let workers go home when the temperature dips below 32 degrees. I'll keep evryone posted as to their original replies! :)

Morning Glory Oatmeal Porridge
2 c. rolled oats, 2 ½ c. water, 1 c. fresh squeezed orange juice, ¼ tsp. each ground nutmeg and cinnamon, tiny pinch of sea salt, 6 Tbsp. pure maple syrup, 6 Tbsp. chopped nuts.
Place all ingredients except maple syrup and nuts in a medium saucepan and stir to combine. Bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 5 minutes, stirring once or twice. Remove from heat and let sit, covered for 2-5 minutes. Stir in maple syrup and top with nuts. Serve hot.

Fatima-Goldilocks

WORST WEEK EVER

This week:

1. Tuesday - got my yearly pap smear

2. Thursday - joined WW and saw my weight - Good God Almighty!

3. Friday - Toddler got sick & started running a fever

4. Saturday - Got a mammography (ouch)

5. Sunday - moved teenager back into her dorm room - accompanied by an entourage of suitcases that would make even the paparazzi think Paris Hilton was moving in.

Other than the death of a loved one, does it get any worse than this? At least I walked in to work Monday morning without getting fired :)

Fatima Annoyed

Food Tampering & My Mother's Cooking....

......are basically one and the same. God love her. She's nutty as a holiday fruitcake, but I love her. Only me and my sister, and our immediate families are allowed to make fun of her. Anyone else says a disparaging word, they get their ass kicked pronto.

But as to her cooking.......oh my. When I was growing up, I could never quite figure out what was wrong with it. All my friends' sandwiches tasted better than hers. Didn't matter if the sandwiches were turkey & cheese, tuna fish, chicken salad, etc. - they were ALWAYS better somewhere else, but for the life of me I couldn't pinpoint the exact ingredent or ingredients that were lacking in my home. When we attended potlucks, everyone else's potato salads and cole slaws were far and above our household's. What the hell was going on?

One day I left home and got married. As we were walking down the grocery aisle for the first time as husband and wife, my first husband stared in horror as I took one particular item off the shelf and he quickly came running over to me.

Him: What are you doing?!?

Me: What? We need mayonnaise.

Him: Honey, that's not mayonnaise, that's Miracle Whip.

Me: What's the difference? It's mayonnaise, isn't it?

Him: NO! It's like a sugary white goop - but it's definitely NOT mayonnaise.

It took a few days, but the lightbulb finally came on when I made my first sandwich with real mayonnaise. OH. MY. GOD. That's what was missing in my childhood. Flavor!

Turns out Miracle Whip isn't quite the lovely miracle from God that real mayonnaise is. And real butter, not diet; and real salad dressing and real sour cream (my mother is, and always has been, on some diet or another), and real cream cheese! I could now begin to live a real life with real food and real flavor.

So, now I find myself on the Weight Watchers' Core Program. (Yes, I finally made it to a meeting after 7 or 8 days of procrastination. Shut up) And, lo and behold - if I don't want to count points - and I don't want to - I must succumb once again to fat-free butter, mayo, cream cheese, salad dressings, etc. My heart sank. And then I read the fine print. In addition to all the wonderfulness that I can eat, I get 35 points to play with throughout my week. Guess where they're going? Not to chocolate cake, or beer, or brownies, or enchiladas.

No sirree. They'll be spent on real mayonnaise and real butter. I will NOT go back to the horridness that was my childhood palate. As George Bush senior would say: Not gonna happen.

I'm not going to put my starting weight out there just yet. I may after I've lost 20 or 30 (or 100) pounds, but for right now, that's between me, the lady who weighed me last night and God. But I will post updates, good and bad, comments, etc., and hope you'll do the same. I'm also going to add (somewhere, somehow) a place for folks to post recipes - so if you got 'em, please share. One of my favorite web places is: http://www.allrecipes.com/ and I'm sure they have plenty of meat, veggie, fruit and soup recipes. Share your ideas, thoughts, experiences, etc. After all, that's why I started this blog in the first place. Send a recipe my way every now and again.

As for exercise, there's a gym on the second floor of my building in Baltimore, and I've been a member since I came back to work here last year. I try to hit it on Mondays and Wednesdays for an Interval class; Thursdays is Yoga, and Fridays is a Weightlifting workout. I wish I could say that I get exercise on the weekends too, but I'd be lying - not that I'm above lying. I usually reserve weekends for family, groceries, laundry, cleaning, entertaining, etc. However, we do have an entire gym in our basement - so there's really no excuse not to get in a little something on Saturdays & Sundays as well.

Fatima is Motivated!

Yankee Candle Whore

In addition to other addictions and compulsions, most of which are now under control (with the exception of food), I realized the other day that I'm now an official Yankee Candle whore. They're in every room of my home, bathrooms and basement included. The company keeps sending me email sales notices and specials, and coupons in the mail. Oy. They're like my crack pipe, and the CEO knows that his next cruise upgrade is riding on my next purchase.

Remember from a previous posting that I mentioned I had the "root canal from hell" before Christmas? Well, this past Monday, I got a letter in the mail from the Endodontist's office. I opened it to find, much to my joyful surprise, a rebate check!! Happy, happy, joy, joy. I had overpaid them and they sent me a check for $75. I happily put it on the end-table to my left and went about going through the rest of my mail.

Moments later I smelled smoke and jolted straight up - only to realize that I had just tossed my beloved check right on a "Macintosh Apple" Yankee candle; burned the damn thing right up. What to do........what to do........ Lie.

I called their office manager and fabricated this long, involved story about how I got their check but the envelope and check were mysteriously damaged in the rain and would they be so kind as to send me another one. Why did I lie you ask? Because I was too ashamed to admit that I was stupid enough to put a perfectly decent check ON TOP OF FIRE. Luckily, the office manager was a lovely lady and very courteous, and stated happily in her sing-song voice that she'd be happy to send me another check if I would just RETURN THE DAMAGED ONE. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Now I was forced to trot my happy fat ass in the kitchen and perform CIA-like maneuvers to said check to make it look like water damage as opposed to fire damage - simultaneously thinking to myself, "why on earth didn't you just tell her the damn truth, you idiot?"

Because like with all addictions and compulsions......I was ashamed. Ashamed to admit to this apparently chirpy sane woman that I've spent THOUSANDS of dollars on wax and have nothing to show for it, but a bunch of empty jars with spiffy names on them - Autumn Leaves, Midsummer's Night Dream, Christmas Cookie, and Home Sweet Home - just to name a few of my favorites.

And just tonight, my husband comes in from the other room asking, "How do I get wax off my arm and off the floor?" I said, "Why the hell is there wax on your arm and all over my kitchen floor?" He had innocently bumped into something in the kitchen, which then of course sent a candle flying.

And now my addiction has caused the blood-letting of my family, while I eagerly anticipate the arrival of my latest purchase "Patchouli."

There's a new one out as well, "Sweaty Man-Ass" - see picture.

Fatima........ashamed

Conversations with Riley

In our house, we have a little routine Monday through Friday regarding our toddler. It's pretty simple. I get up first and get ready for work while everyone else sleeps (damn them). And then, my husband and my 3-year old get up later, and he gets her ready & drops her off at daycare. I pick her up in the evening on my way home from work. Makes for a nice, fair distribution of our parental responsibilities.

But this morning, I must have made too much noise and woke her up. She came downstairs crying, "Mommy! Mommy! I don't want you to go to work!" And now, my morning is screwed up because (1) I'm a creature of habit, (2) I have to go to my annual 'female' appointment before work, Grrrrrrrrr, and (3) I hate hearing her cry for me like that. You'd think after three kids, I'd be over that crap. No.

So, I finally get her calmed down, and our conversation begins.

Riley: I don't want you to go to work!
Me: I'm not going to work yet. I'm going to the doctor first.
Riley: (horrified) I don't want you to go to the doctor!!!
Me: Why? I'm a big girl, I'll be okay.
Riley: I don't want you to go. He'll shoot you.
Me: What?! He'll shoot me? What do you mean?
Riley: No. He'll shot you.
Me: Ohhhhhh......You mean he'll give me a shot?
Riley: yeah...
Me: No, honey, he won't give me a shot.
Riley: What he do to you?

And then I think to myself, Dear God, how in the hell could I ever possibly tell a toddler what he WILL do to me?!?!?.......and that I'd give one of my fingers or toes just to get out of this stupid, degrading, humiliating, sticky, messy, sometimes painful, but necessary, appointment every year?!?

If she was horrified at the thought of a shot, she'll sure as hell pass out from fear if I were to tell her the honest-to-God truth about what was REALLY going to happen to her mommy at 8:30 a.m., and how some strange man will be touching, probing, and poking around in places that should only be touched by someone with whom you share a mortgage. Urggghhhhhh.

My husband watched one procedure many years ago when I had a miscarriage. The male doctor asked him if he wanted to come in the room with me for my exam. I don't think he really wanted to but after he got the evil-eye stare by me, he grudgingly accompanied me. I was naked on a table with only a thin blue gown slightly covering me. In walked the doctor, who, without candles, dinner, or a kiss on the cheek began his exam. My husband actually turned around to give me some privacy, and told me later, "God. I felt so bad for you. How humiliating. Is it like that every time?" I laughed and told him that it's only embarrassing the first couple of times and then you get used to it over the years. But he was right. To an outsider, i.e., a man or a child, it would look like some inhumane, humiliating torture.

Our baby daughters would never want to grow up, and would certainly never go to the doctor again, if we were ever truthful with them about lovely female events such as: menstruation, breasts, breast exams, lumps, bumps, mammographies, birth control, EPT tests, pregnancy, stretch marks, labor and delivery, and then finally - - menopause. I haven't yet had the pleasure of menopause yet (43), but it's looming somewhere over the horizon. I can't see it yet but I smell it - kind of like the dog doo you accidentally step on in the middle of the night when house training your new puppy. Oh boy!

Poor Riley. She doesn't know what fun she's in for.....

My Old, True Friend - Heffa Cow

Last night, I saw my girlfriend, Paula, whom I haven't seen in about 6 months. Why? Who knows. I guess because we're like most women these days. We work full time; come home tired; have husbands, kids, hobbies, other demands. We email each other several times a day so it's not as if we've really missed anything major in one another's lives. But somehow it's just not the same as seeing each other every day.

We used to work together, but neither of us liked where we worked. She was the first to leave. And without her, there was no compelling reason for me to stay, so I left about 9 or 10 months later.

Seeing her last night (her sister had one of those "dreaded home sales" parties) brought back all the reasons I love her dearly. She's perhaps one of the smartest people I know and she has a wonderful, wicked sense of humor. Side note: ever notice that the smarter the person, the better sense of humor? However, it can go the other way too. Sometimes people are genius-smart, but if they're unhappy, their senses of humor usually involve building themselves up by putting others down in a snide & cynical way and calling it humor.

But not cow. That's my little pet name for her. It's either "Cow" or "Heffa." She responds to either one. I love her unconditionally, and vice versa. She can tell me to shut the fuck up, or tell me she loves me within the same two minute time frame. We engage in practical jokes, make fun of others (see previous paragraph!), exchange knowing glances at odd things people say or do, shop, eat, talk about our strange families, cry in front of each other, call each other to vent about stupid bosses, co-workers, etc.

I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to my "Cow." My life would be very boring and I would be dreadfully sad. I would demand to raise her kids so that I could tell them every day how special and dorky and loving their mom was. I would tell them all the funny things we shared, and when they got older, I would tell them all the dirty jokes we traded over the years. I would tell them how at her going away party I gave her a t-shirt as a gag gift that said, "I Love Lesbians," only to get it back two years later for my birthday. She'll probably receive it again around Christmas 2008. She once bought me a tube top; and I once gave her two rubber penis erasers for her pencils at work.

She's one of those rare jewels that everyone should have in their life at least once. She would come get you if you were too drunk to drive and not lecture you. She would loan you money, watch your kids, and bake you a birthday cake - and it wouldn't be a nasty angel food cake either! Inside joke.

And because she is one of the most special people in my life, I'm attaching a picture of her so that she can be special in your life too. It's a picture of her best side.

I love you Heffa Cow. May your life be filled with joy, laughter and plenty of nerdy "Tammie" shirts with fall leaves or candy canes all over them.

Fatima Loves Cow!

Motown Rocks

I think one of the many reasons I loved the show, "Murphy Brown," so much was because it always started and ended with Motown music. That music reminds me of when I was a very little girl (born in '63), so I grew up hearing a lot of it. We'll get back to Motown in a moment after a brief diversion.

So, today I'm in exercise class. Our instructor has cute little names for her classes, and today's class is called "WWW" - which stands for Weekend Weight Workout. I guess she named it that because it's held on Friday, you know, before the weekend? Okay, we're all on the same page here.

Anyway, another brief diversion. Have you ever looked in a mirror where two pieces of the mirrors meet and you can either look gargantuan or much slimmer than you actually are? Okay, so I'm working out and everyone in the class is facing the mirrors at the front of the room. And of course my reflection is split between two pieces of mirror. I can't even get my own freaking piece of mirror! But anyway, I look up and I look like I'm 50 pounds lighter. And here's where my diversions all tie together. What exercise remix song was playing during this odd occurrence of me looking wonderfully thinner and fit? "Reflections" by Diana Ross and the Supremes.

I'm hearing "Through the mirror of my mind, time after time, I see reflections of you and me, reflections of the way life used to be......." and while I'm listening to this, I look great! I literally saw a reflection of the way life used to be; the way I used to look.

I'm not entirely sure why I chose to write about this today. But honestly, I think because at the time when the endorphins were running high, I actually thought it was a sign. Like, as in, I can do this. I can get back to where I used to be. It's not impossible, and it's not too late. I can look in a mirror one day and look like that again, "the way life used to be."

Sweaty-But-Optimistic-Fatima

Putting it off.....

I'm putting off the WW experience until Saturday morning for no other reason than I'm being lazy. I enjoy coming home after work, getting into my jammies and cuddling with Sam and the kids, so that's what I'm doing tonight instead of being weighed in and seeing that horrible, horrible number on display. Nothing like a reality check to see your weight in bright red LCD.

However, I'm only putting it off until Saturday at 10:00. I wonder how many Ben & Jerry's pints I can consume until then. But more importantly, why didn't I get in the line on career day in high school to become an ice cream taster like this guy? I don't recall that as being one of my future career choices..

.

The City of Brotherly Love

Fatima will be speaking at a conference in Philadelphia today. Joy. I always love getting up and speaking in front of hundreds of people - NOT. Why is it we fear public speaking? Actually I think there's only going to be about 30 people there - (100 was just a slight exaggeration on my part), and I know most of them or at least have emailed or talked with them on the phone in the past. No biggie. I know the subject matter, and have my notes ready. So, say prayers and send out good vibes towards the North East (specifically the Embassy Suites Hotel conference room located on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philly).

I'll be back home in jiffy - back in my soft cotton jammies cuddling with my baby in no time at all. She totally surprises me every day. Yesterday she went to the dentist for her first checkup and loved it. Never cried, thought it was a hoot, and tripped out on the fact that she got a new toothbrush! As a treat, I bought her a "Big Girl" book yesterday on dinosaurs because she loves them and can actually pronounce some of their names. I can't even do that. Maybe she'll be a Paleontologist one day. Or maybe just a barmaid with an interest in dinosaurs - who knows? Either way, her mommy will adore her. I promised to take her back to the Smithsonian (AGAIN) so she can see "the bones." She's a little bummed out that dinosaurs are extinct and asked me why. "Uh, cuz there was either a flood, or the earth froze, or lots of volcanos erupted and killed them all," was my answer. She looked at me like I was a major doofus.

I'll let you all know either tonight or tomorrow if I bombed or rocked at the conference. Hell, either way I get a paycheck, right? How bad can it be? :)

I Got the Thursday Night Blues.....

Fatima is joining Weight Watchers on Thursday. I've tried it before but counting points wasn't my thing. Now, really, how lazy is THAT? And again, I became obsessed not only with the food I was eating but with the portions and all the damn points as well! "Oh, Dear Lord, I can't have this 1/2 bagel and waste 3 whole points!!!!" Stupid sentences like that became part of my life and I just found it ridiculous. However, it works for many so I'm not saying the program is stupid, it was just stupid for me at the time.

I've heard through some reliable sources (okay, only from my sister) that their new Core program would be something I would probably like. This is not an endorsement for WW - it's just something I'm going to try. I believe there's no point counting on the Core program. Hopefully not. I'm a Financial Analyst, and the way I see it is that I look at freaking numbers all day. The last thing I want to do in my personal life is deal with more numbers! Hell, I don't even balance my own checkbook. I have to think HARD to figure out a 15% tip at a restaurant.

Anyway, I'm just about all healed from my graceful fall last week. Still a few bruises to body and ego (!) but am ready to go back to exercising. So, between the WW Core program and some weights and Yoga - I just might lose a pound or three.

Think good Karma thoughts for Fatima!!! Peace.

P.S. As for the cartoon below, that's what I plan on doing every time I have to weigh in. It's gonna take me half an hour just to get ready to weigh in. Off will come any jewelry, hair clips, tampons, shoes, hell I might even take off my makeup if I think it will help!

Good News for a Change

In what one could only describe, statistically anyway, as a miracle, two boys came home from being abducted - one of them from 4 years ago! I still can't get over it, and can only imagine the elation those families must feel.

I'm generally not in favor of the death penalty, but when it comes to children, there are no rules as far as I'm concerned. Let the cannons, rifles, nooses, poisons, etc., go. Make them suffer for what they did to tiny, innocent children.

God bless those children and their families, and let God decide what to do with Mr. Devlin.

Fatima's Faith Restored!

Ode to Heidi

Well, I went back to bed this morning at 0-dark-thirty, and finally managed to catch a few more zzzzzzz's until the pitter-patter of little feet woke me up at 8:30.

I fiercely love my 3 year old, but please, for the love of God, if you're not already on birth control, go out TODAY and get some! However, if you don't' mind existing on 2 hours of sleep a day, then, hey don't worry about it!!

Anyway, while I was up at 3:30 I posted a bunch of my favorite links, which I'll add more to eventually. But had to give my girl, Heidi, some props and put down Better Than Ezra's website. I love them too, but she idolizes them the way I adore Dave Matthews. Scary. We're not stalkers or anything, but I do tell my children that Dave will be their step-father one day! Ha. Keep dreaming, Fatima, keep dreaming.

P.S. Heidi, we went out to eat at Pizzaria Uno in Bel Air last night, and there was a guy in the bar playing acoustic guitar. Not bad either. He played "Good," by BTE, and I got stupid looks from stupid people in their stupid in their stupid 20's wondering I knew the words to that song. What those stupid people DON'T realize is that rock and roll is from MY generation - not theirs. Stupid nose ring punks. Not that I'm bitter or anything. :)

Up at the Butt-crack of Dawn

Ever had one of those mornings when you just cannot go back to sleep - and you know that no matter how hard you try, you know it just isn't going to work. So I figured I'd get the hell up and do somthing useful or worthwhile.

I've not really done anything useful (the entire rest of the family is sleeping and I don't and to wake them up); so I surfed the web. Nothing useful or interesteing there either. I'm now updating Fatima - and as you can already tell - I probably need to go back to bed, because this is even boring me to tears!

But I will say something positive - you don't get to see too many of these when you sleep in until noon. Yes, this is a Maryland sunrise right of the Chesapeake Bay.

Fatima's going to catch a few more zzzzzz's. Peace - enjoy the picture.

Michael Stipe's a Genius

For those of you who know who he is, disregard. For those of you who don't know who he happens to be, he's the lead singer and writes just about all of the R.E.M. songs in collaboration with his two other band members.

Now, I don't know why I'm drawn more so to male poets than I am to women poets, but I am. There, it's out there; I said it. I suppose it has to do with that old gender notion that women are supposed to be loving, nurturing, poetic, gentle, etc. And that men should be strong, burly, spit, and consider any type of poetry to be girlie and to be avoided at all costs so as not to be considered "one of them."

So when I read beautiful, heart-wrenching lyrics written by men, their lyrics take on a little more meaning to me. My sincere apologies to Aimee Mann, Sara McLaughlin, Tori Amos, Natalie Merchant, Gretchen Wilson, Stevie Nicks, Sheryl Crow, the Indigo Girls, Alicia Keys, etc., because I love you all too! It's just that I sort of expect women to speak from and through their soul; we're more used to it and it's one of the few things in our society that "us women folk" are "allowed" to do.

In my pondering today on my way to work as to why I cling to food for solace, or comfort, or whatever - I happened to be listening to REMs song, "I'll Take the Rain." No matter what we cling to, whether it be self destruction in some sort or fashion, cutting ourselves (there's one I haven't tried yet!), alcohol, smoking, drugs, overeating, etc. - these things all seem to be our friends at first and therefore we cling to them.

When we make changes, it upsets us, pisses us off, upsets our entire equilibrium, we feel jittery and annoyed at everything and everyone. But eventually we get over that, and then our lives come back to us one hundred fold better than they were. So, as I was thinking of these lyrics and how they could apply to my eating (either over-eating or just eating not-so-healthy foods) REM's lyrics helped me realize that what I'd been clinging to simply wasn't any good, and that if and when I let go, I'll go through the dark tunnel described above, and I'll pe pissier than usual for a few days while my body detoxes, but I'd still rather take the rain:

I used to think, as birds take wind,

they sing through life, so why can't we?

We cling to this and claim the best

If this is what you're offering

I'll take the rain, I'll take the rain.

Choose Your Words Wisely...

Another epiphany. Of Biblical proportions. I realized today that I've been disappointed in myself for probably most of my life. Not angry, although that too at times, but mainly disappointed.

Definitions. One definition of "disappointment" is: a person or thing that disappoints. As in parents saying, "Tommy, I'm very disappointed in you." My translation: I'm not just disappointed in you for this one act, but I'm always disappointed in you.

Whereas, definitions of anger tend to be more time-limited, as in "I'm pissed off at you right now because of something you said or did, but you and I both know I'll get over it."

I grew up hearing "We're very disappointed in you for........" Like I've stated in the past, all this adult crap we have to wade through isn't about blaming others. But it is about a way of thinking we grow up with that can become our only way of thinking if we don't stop and recognize it and then do something to change it.

I'm weary of being disappointed in me, my choices, my rewards or consequences, good vs. evil, chocolate cake vs. tofu, blonde vs. brown, size 8 vs. size 14, etc. It would be nice to begin to live a life with a great deal more of compassion, forgiveness and love toward self. I tend to give others a hell of a lot more breaks than I do myself.

Perhaps - - I will "resolve" in 2007 to be good to Fatima and love her, especially the scared, little brown-eyed girl still in her - who was, by the way, WAY cool and WAY precious.

Peace out.

Something for Stephanie to Laugh At

I didn't go to work today. I had an OCD moment while I was getting ready for work. I simply had to stand on a stool and clean the uptake vent in my bathroom. Why? Who knows. I just have these cleaning moments when all else must take a backseat to include bleeding kids, something on fire in the kitchen, my bus coming to pick me up for work, fire alarms, etc. This was one of those 'urgent' moments when the vent HAD TO BE CLEANED RIGHT NOW! Something in the vein of "No more wire hangers......ever!"

In all my maturity and wisdom, I thought it would be quite alright to stand on my toddler's little step stool and pull out the vent, rinse off and replace. Easy enough, yes? No.

Spent about 5 hours this morning in the ER. I fell backwards ON MY BACK onto the side of the rub. NOTE: I just had lumbar decompression and fusion surgery in August. Anyway, good news is that all is fine; no slippage of any of the pins/rods in my back, no additional herniations, no trauma to my kidneys, colon, lunhs, blah blah. Bad news is that I'm sore as hell and bruised up like I've been in a bad biker bar fight.

Too bad Steph isn't here to be amused at my bruising. Sounds sadistic, which she's not. But as long as I'm okay and badly bruised - it's a good day in Toad's life! :)

Fatima-in-pain

Sunday Blahs

My mother used to always say that it would be much easier to lose weight if we just didn't have to eat three times a day. To which I would either outwardly or inwardly roll my eyes depending on my mood du jour. I roll my eyes because I still hear her make this comment to this day, and because it's just too simplistic.

I'm beginning to rethink my eye-rolling. In attempting to eat only when I'm hungry, eat healthy foods, make good choices and not obsess over food, it becomes a little difficult when faced with the task of eating, cooking, shopping for food, chopping, dicing, etc., ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME. To put it another way: how would one give up smoking cigarettes, if one was constantly faced with the task of messing with filters, ashtrays, picking out tobacco, papers, assembling cigarettes - only to then not get to smoke them?!?!? I give out props right now to recovering alcoholics employed as bartenders. WTF?? Get out now! Go fry up some food at Denny's or sell trendy shirts at the Gap, but for the love of God - get away from the very thing that you're obsessed with.

It's dull and gray outside, and I just feel dull and gray inside. And furthermore, I'm just a little pissed off that perhaps my mother may have been on to something all along.......

Like Fatima, Like Mother

The Two-Headed,um, I mean Red-headed Sister

Good night Irene. I should have had brothers and sons. They're not petty. At ALL. (Unless they're gay and then it's okay). So, when my evil twin, Skippy, (that's my sister, and no she's not even a twin) read the lovely diatribe I wrote about my girls, do I get a "Oh! That was just beautiful?" or "It brought tears to my eyes," or "What a wonderful thing to put in writing about your daughters?" Hell no. It was "Well? Where's my tribute?" Oy vey. It's all about me, me, me. We're kind of alike in that way. No brother would have even read Fatima, let alone asked for his own story.

So, bear with me as I stroll down memory lane. Unlike many only children who would like to stay that way, I was unusual - surprise, surprise. I wanted to be normal, and normal families had tons of kids, especially all my Catholic friends. And all I wanted was ONE lousy sibling. Just one! Do ya think you could just spit out one, God? For the love of God (no pun intended). And then finally. I was 10 years going on 38 when she was born and I immediately nick-named her Bookie. No idea why. My first impression was that she looked like an American flag. White skin, blue eyes and red hair. What the hell? I loved her immediately, but I kinda wanted a mini-me; brown eyes, light brown hair and light brown skin; tans up pretty well; tall. Oh well, that lasted about a day or two until I figured out that just wasn't gonna happen. And then all the relatives kept on and on and on about the red hair - like they'd never fucking seen red hair before!!! Did they go on and on about my baldness and then the tufts of mousy brown hair I managed to grown when I was finally two? I think not. But I don't remember - I'm just going to assume they didn't.

Our mother never was, nor has she ever been even slightly hippie-ish or an earth mother, but for some torturistic reason she insisted on using cloth diapers for Bookie - even tho the plastic ones where out then. Why? I guess she thought I'd love washing out baby shit in the toilet, over and over to the point of puking and swearing I'd never ever have rugrats - or at least if I accidentally had kids, I'd give them a lot of cheese and bananas and then they'd never shit.

Bookie was fun, and more importantly a good sport because me and my father played innumerable tricks and pranks on her. We put life-sized tarantulas in her dollhouse, threw blankets over her head when the poor little thing was trying to learn how to walk and then howl when she'd walk into a wall. Nowadays, I think they call that child abuse, but I think we're well past the statute of limitations on that. We'd let her watch "Fantasy Island" which scared the be-Jesus out of her every Friday night. I would always make the big mistake of laughing at her and making fun of her, so mom would then let Bookie sleep with me. Thanks mom. I also tricked her into getting me things I was too lazy to get myself (no wonder I'm lazy), Mom made me take her EVERYWHERE I went so that made it a little trickier to score, uh, unmentionables when you're 16 and you're toting your 6 year old sister with you. My friends thought it was hysterical. I did not. There was the one time she so innocently wanted to see the high school I went to. So I took her. And locked her in my locker. OMG. If anyone did that to one of my kids, they would get their asses kicked pronto, but I don't really remember that fact getting back to mom and dad, so I'm sure I either had to bribe or threaten Bookie. It's amazing now that she'll even walk into an elevator - you should have heard her scream in that locker.

In addition to all the silly pranks, she was my little buddy. My parents let me watch her a lot - in fact, I think a little too much as dad was climbing up the corporate ladder. We were only 10 years apart, but let's face it, a 14 year old doesn't exactly know what to do in a crisis situation. However, we both made it through, like most of us did. We hung out and even with a 10 year age difference, we kept each other company. Me telling her the clothes that matched her babydolls, and her telling me the clothes that matched me! We watched cartoons and I made her watch I Love Lucy and Gilligan's Island even tho she hated them. She'd ask stupid questions, like "if the professor can do this or that, then why can't they get off the island?" I believe she was 5 or 6. So for punishment for her steadfast logic at everything, I used to let her stand up in my car and hang out the sun-roof! Oh, my. I almost faint with "what could have happened if we were in an accident" daydreams.

Time marched on - she played soccer, was a child prodigy, read 24 hours a day, always made straight A's, knew about shit at 13 that I still can't even pronounce, went to MANY years of college - in fact I think she has 3 or 4 degrees of some sort and is now an attorney. She also happens to be married to a hunk, although I can't really think of him like that, because, well, it's just not right. She has a sharp, quick wit - not to outdo mine - but it's not bad all things considered. And, she's beautiful. Her hair turned into a strawberry blond, she still has fair skin, and light cerulean eyes with dark edges - the kind most girls dream of having.

I'd like to take just some of the credit away from our "Fairly Odd Parents" and hope that some of Bookie turned out the way she did just partly because of yours truly. Enveryone needs at least one bad influence in their life.

And my sentiments toward her are the same as our daddy's would be if he was still alive to say: "I'm very proud of you kiddo."

Bookie - I love you.........even tho you still have that damn red hair.

Sister Fatima

Toad, Tweet & Tiny

Okay, so this is not what what blog is supposed to be about, but I was informed by my middle child, "Tweet," that not nearly enough is ever mentioned about my kids on my blog. To which I told her "then start your own damn blog."

But being the good mother that I can sometimes be, here goes nothing:

Toad (24 years old)
Sweet, sensitive, and old soul in a young person's body, loves all things natural and holistic, aromatherapy, massage, stone therapy, sometime toker of a little ganja, her 3 year old sister's BEST FRIEND, the child of my youth (19), the child I grew up with in addition to her growing up with me, the one who laughs at the same things I do, likes mostly the same movies I like, she too is a Dave Matthews Band fan, and a Fleetwood Mac fan (like I said, she really has an old soul and should have been born in the 60's); abhors violence of any kind or type - but is capable of it, I do believe, if anyone ever mistreated her baby sister, respectful of us (most of the time); loves her family and her extended family; has good values; seems to have an uncanny way of understanding people and understanding that they're not going to change; they simply must be accepted the way they are not. Generally isn't one to hold grudges unless it's against her husband (!) but hey, that's marriage. Loves to watch "The Princess Bride," and "Fried Green Tomatoes" with me over and over again; she's the world's worst procrastinator; takes forever and day to get ready; thank got she eloped or we'd still be waiting for her to get her lips perfect to walk down the aisle(she's the only person I know with a 4-step lip process.....(??); has a love of Pier One like I do; can sing rap and hip-hop songs that I don't know, but that helps bond her with her 18 year old sister; they speak some other sort of street/urban language I know nothing about and then laugh at me; she won't let me wear certain things, but if I wear them anyway, just glibly smiles, slightly shakes her head and walks away. I love her like no other; she was my first. the first one to love, to worry about, to stand over her crib and cry at just looking at her, the first one I prayed to Got not to ever take because I would give my life if He would just spare hers. Oh, and she still likes to cuddle with me.

Tweet (18 years old)
The baby I had at a "normal" age of 24. The one who, when I was pregnant, once thought I couldn't love more than her sister because I didn't think I possessed that much love in me to love more than one child......I was dead wrong. I loved her with a scary passion. Always in fear that something bad would happen to her, so I'm sure I smothered her in all the wrong ways - at least in my mind. Outwardly, I tried to let her live a normal life - friends, sleepovers, skating parties, boyfriends, football games, etc. always praying she'd just make it home alive. I couldn't imagine that I had been blessed with TWO healthy, beautiful baby girls - and was sure something was going to come pull the rug out from under my feet. It was at this point in life that I was sure God hated me for some reason or another, so again I begged him not to take her, but me instead. I was always in some weird fear that some horrible monster would take her and do unspeakable things to her and I would simply die immediately from grief. Thank God I outgrew that lovely stage!! She is now beautiful, generous, everything I wanted to be in High School/college but never really was (popular, well dressed, lots of friends, etc) she's hard-working, hilariously funny - so funny that there are times I can't stop laughing at something she's said, she has a mean side which annoys me but she gets it from me so I can't complain too much; has very eclectic taste in music; she can go from Tupac and Busta Rhymes to Alan Jackson and Kenny Chesney, and then over to Justin Timberlake and Usher all in the same 15 minutes. She deeply loves her friends, Nick, her family - but not our dog Zoe - she never has been, nor will she ever be a pet person, but that's ok. She was the most beautiful, sweet little girl and people made huge fusses over her all the time. I think they still do, but I think she's just grown accustomed to it and it doesn't phase her anymore which is a shame. She will be successful at something, because she LOVES her money!

Tiny (3 years old)
My midlife baby that I prayed for for at least 15 years. She was truly a miracle; born when I was just 11 days shy of my 40th birthday. She was born breach almost in the parking lot of the hospital (they finally wheeled me in at the last damn minute with NO painkillers); she's a bless and a joy and a miracle. she smiles at me every morning and is always so happy to see me at any time that it touches my heart and if I gave into it every time would bawl my eyes out. I again pray for her happiness, health, safety - that no monster will ever get within 1000 yards of her. She is brilliant beyond her years and has recently taken to correcting me on types of dinosaurs!!! I'll be tired and go, "Oh, that's a Stegosaurus," and she'll look at me disgustedly and say, "No mommy, it's a brontosaurus." Hell, I think it's time she start mothering me if that's gonna be the case. Not to mention she has the vocabulary of a 12 year old!!! She's one of the main reasons I started Fatima to start with - gotta get healthy so I can see Tiny grown up.

Okay - girls - does this suffice? You "decorated my life," you are my friends, and I love you with a love you know nothing about right now - but I hope you will one day!

Mom (Fatima)

Let Go

"Maybe it's human nature to think one's own situation is the unique and incomparable one, the transcendent exception." Sue Monk Kidd, "The Mermaid Chair"

I always had the tendency to believe that if I was going through any tragedy or crisis, I was certainly walking through that valley alone. Surely, no one could possibly know anything of my doubts, traumas, insecurities, guilt, fears, etc. Wasn't possible. Everyone else was very well-balanced and functional, except for me. It wasn't until I did some extensive counseling and research in my early 30's that I found out that hey, by golly, we all suffer! And I also now find it quite humorous to think that I alone felt that I must have been chosen to be a martyr of sorts (listen to Tori Amos' "Crucify Ourselves" sometime). What really helps the sufferer is honesty. Brutal honesty with one's friends and family (or a counselor in lieu of the others); not keeping all the hurt inside and feeling like we're alone in our sadness and grief - because we're not.

It is like an unbelievable lightness to tell someone something painfully truthful and be vulnerable - and still be loved and understood. And sometimes, miraculously, you find out that they've been feeling the same way, or that they once experienced the same thing. I think that's why I prefer to be around "real" people who have some issues, faults, problems, etc.

I hate "perfect" people - and we all know who they are. The ones who don't drink, smoke, dance, have bad thoughts, have perfect posture, never overeat, have never inhaled, never broken a promise, never call out sick when they're not, their marriages are perfect, ("Oh! We never argue!), never missed a soccer game, their makeup's always perfect, they only eat "soy" things, etc. The visual image that I have for "them" is that of a Stepford Wife, or it could be a Stepford Husband for that matter (appropriately named Skippy or Biff.) I hate them because they're liars. I hate them because I can't trust them. They're the ones, who shall remain nameless in this blog, who are preaching on TV on Sundays, and then hiring gay prostitutes on Friday nights; the happily married men who engage young boys in sex on the Internet, or the perfect little miss size 3 who insists on telling us Fatimas how we should all diet and exercise, when they smoke in order to stay skinny...........(???); or the bored perfect mother and housewife who is boffing her personal trainer - but damn her house looks perfect!

C'mon folks - let's just be honest - we all have our issues and we need to get them out of our closets and off our tongues. Let it go. Just let it all go...............

I'm big on quotes. You'll find that out. Some are meaningful; others just pithy.

"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." Lao Tzu

So, today I went and did Yoga because I let go of Fatima for an hour and became a "yoga chick" just for one hour - and enjoyed the hell out of it!

Let go! Fatima

The Amazing Web

No, not the World Wide Web, but one made by a wondrous spider, Charlotte. I took our toddler to see "Charlotte's Web" today. I always love things that remind me of good things that happened in my childhood. One of the good things about being an only child until you're 10 years old is that you read.............constantly, over and over again, sometimes even reading the same book(s) cover to cover until they're worn thin.

Obviously a favorite for a young girl was "Charlotte's Web." I always liked books where either animals or other inanimate objects had their own little secret lives and talked. I had a very vivid imagination, and I often conversed with these "others," but only in my head, thank God, or I'd have been institutionalized long ago.

In the movie, Fern's mother goes to see the pediatrician to voice her concerns over Fern's infatuation with Wilbur and Charlotte after the first "miraculous" web incident. The doc, played by one of the Bridges brothers (??), told her "Well, aren't all webs miraculous in their nature anyway?" He reminded her that even tho she could knit it was only because she'd been taught - whereas the spider just spins out of instinct, and that any and all webs are miracles.

But sometimes, only children see the true miracles of life and that's why they live in wonderment and awe. The doc also told Fern's mother, "I know what Fern has. It's called a childhood phase, and unfortunately, she'll grow out of it."

It's true and unfortunate - we all do outgrow our amazement at the tiny things in life that make life worth living.

By the way, our toddler loved the movie (and kept asking me very loudly at the end why I was crying!) - and I hope one day that she'll also read the book. It's somewhat doubtful in this day and age of hi-tech that she will. Highly doubtful. But I hope she will. And if she does, I hope she loves it as much as I did.

Bad Way to Start the New Year!!!

I didn't win the damn lottery!!! Not that I really expected to win anything, but still. I was so hoping to check my numbers this morning and at least win one of the measly $500 prizes. But, no. I guess I'll always have to earn my money the hard way - work. Sucks.

Then, I talked to my oldest daughter who lives in Italy - and now I'm even more depressed. I'm happy for her and my son-in-law, but sad for us cuz we miss them.

On the flip side, I'm taking our little one to see Charlotte's Web today, so that will involve fun and popcorn and spilled soda and "Mommy! I have to pee!" episodes, so I'm sure that will prove entertaining as always.

I have been trying exceptionally hard NOT to obsess or even think about food, or my choices for right now - that can come later. I've got to get my mind off food (good food vs. bad food) as if food holds some sort of evil or good character to it. At any rate, once I stop obsessing over it and find other "interests," then I feel I can begin to really evaluate and make some good choices for my health's sake, not my weight's sake.

Okay, dudes, I'm out for right now. Gotta go make breakfast, do dishes, etc.; all that boring crap that comes with waking up in the morning!

Peace!

Fatima-still-poor!!!

WAKE THE HELL UP - ALL YOU DRUNKS!

Ha. I figure if my 3 year old can wake me up at 9:00 a.m. on January 1st, then everyone else should be up as well.

So, since I was up anyway.....I decided to check the lottery results because Maryland had this big, bad-ass "Countdown to Millions" giveaway last night with a lot of prizes. It was actually more like a raffle as opposed to a lottery. Anyway, I get up and they're still selling tickets until 6:00 tonight! I dunno, maybe I had it wrong - but I could have sworn they were supposed to announce the winners last night at midnight. I was hazing in and out of sleep watching the CSI marathon and drinking dirty martinis to the point where I was calling them martoonies and thinking it was hilarious. NOT.

Peace and Happy New Year!

Fatima