Bees & Mothers

Fatima''s been down for the count this past week between bouts of the flu, or something similar, and the snow storms. Fortunately, there's been lots of laziness and sleeping. However, there are times even sleep and rest get tiresome. Oh, the irony.

Anyway, Fatima always has books handy, so today I began and finished, Sue Monk Kidd's "The Secret Life of Bees." Amazing.

Toad - this is a must-read for you. It's a tear-jerker about mothers and daughters set in South Carolina. It's about the lack of love, the abundance of love, the feminine God/dess, and life's second chances. I will buy and send to you - the child of my youth.

P.S. Riley eats cheese just like you do. It's a wonder either of you have regular bowel movements; however, I won't further embarrass you on the Internet with talk of your BMs.

Your mommy and your little sisters miss you. But especially your mommy.

Mum Fatima

It is Well With My Soul

History has it that the late Horatio Spafford penned a very famous gospel song after two extraordinary traumas in his life. First, the great fire of Chicago, (1871) ruined him financially. Then, his four daughters were killed at sea on a cross-Atlantic trip on board ship after a collision with another ship. He found out about their deaths from the now-famous telegraph his wife sent him which simply stated, "Saved. Alone."

After all of this, he was somehow, unbelievably able and inspired to write the following:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Today Fatima ventured back to the nearby clinic to get her boobs rechecked after an abnormal finding a couple weeks ago. Thank God, the original abnormality was just a flook. A flook. Boobs are fine and dandy and "we'll see you next year for your regular mammography!" said the chirpy radiology tech.

Many praises went up both audibly and silently; however, I doubt that if I had heard bad news, I would have ever been inspired to say anything good. At all. To anyone, about anyone, & especially about God.

Now I've had issues with "perfection" in the past and thought I was pretty much over all that, until I was driving home and something random caused me to remember that song and the story behind it. So now, of course, I have "survivor's guilt" that nothing is wrong with me - and that even if something had been wrong, I would have just been bitter about it. As though nothing bad should ever happen to me. Oh, hell, no.

Fatima is very happy, very appreciative, very thankful - but also very spoiled, and in need of a little spiritual maturity. And a very strong margarita would be good too....

Happy-to-be-alive-Fatima

McShoot Me McNow

Why? Why on earth would I ever, in my right mind, decide to take a class called Financial Analysis when I'm a Financial Analyst? Well, for one thing, it made perfect sense at the time. It will help me with future promotions, I'll be on my way toward my graduate degree, and most of all - I'll know a lot about the subject material. In fact, I'll probably smirk often at the professor's obvious lack of knowledge about her subject material. NOT!!!

Somewhere along the way, someone neglected to tell me that the world of finances in the Government works NOTHING like the world of finances in the real world. Nothing. At all.

Took my first quiz today and almost cried in class. I felt like I was looking at a technical manual for an airplane written in Taiwanese. Good God.

Now, how embarrassing is this going to be if I, a Financial Analyst, end up failing this Financial Analysis course?

Oh well. Here's to my next career!

Fatima Flippin Burgers!

Weigh-In #2

This morning I lost another 2 pounds!! Okay, I confess. It was 1.7 - but let me explain that had it not been for the fact that I had on a watch, a clip in my hair and had just used heavy amounts of nose spray, then for sure it would have been a complete 2 pounds. Oh, and I was wearing socks. Too funny. I'm happy.

Less Fat Fatima

Hubby's Weirdness

I told you that everyone near and dear to me is going to get their turn on what I think is the weirdest thing they do. Now it's Sammy's turn! There's so many quirks of his to choose from, I feel stymied trying to pick out just ONE.



But here goes: he mouths words when he's mad. Let me 'splain: I don't mean like when he's mad at me or someone in the room to whom he can yell. I mean like he's mad at someone he just hung up on; or someone on the TV; or he found out something about someone and he's "mouthing" the future ass-whipping mouthing they're going to get; or mad as he's walking over to a neighbor's house pre-mouthing what he's going to say when he gets there; or mouthing what he's going to say to a teacher or principal (like when the two older girls were younger and we foolishly believed what they told us about their mean teachers).



These scenes are quite hilarious because he's so terribly serious about it. I mean you can feel the anger coming off of him, but you can't help but laugh at him because he looks like a buffoon. You see, he's a pretty easy-going guy; I'm the one with the temper/yelling/anger/cussing people out issues. So to see him like that gives me a brief glimpse of myself.



And I can tell you two things from that:

1. Its' not pretty

2. It's humorous, rather than intimidating, because most people just look plain stupid when they're angry.



So, I've enclosed a picture of one of my favorite mad persons: You can't HANDLE the truth!



Fatima loves me some Jack Nicholson!

Thank You Jeebus!!! I Do Believe!

Yankee Candle came through again making my day - which started out shitty (read previous post). So in the past I've told the kindly folks at YC about all my likes, dislikes, favorite scents, first time I had sex, first time I inhaled, my children's ages, husband's SSN, my real hair color, etc., so that they will know ALL about me and send me my favorite scented candles for my obsession.

I was anxiously (I do everything anxiously) awaiting the arrival of just ONE "Patchouli" candle, only to get a package tonight with a "sorry" explanatory letter proclaiming that they're deeply sorry they're out of Patchouli, but will I please accept two "Eucalyptus" candles instead? Accept them? Hell, I'd have slept with the delivery man had I been home when he delivered the glorious package. Two. Two Eucalyptus candles - which can only be bought on the Internet; they cannot be found in the stores anymore. I've had this explained to me several times with nice salesgirls offering me tissues while I cried, and my teenagers running in the other direction out of sheer disgust and embarrassment.

Nirvana has been reached this very day. One candle is currently burning in my L/R. One is burning next to my bed so that I can breathe better and watch Gil Grissom (my children's next step-father) on CSI all at the same time.

Hubby is on his way home, as we speak, with Chinese food (the kind I can eat on WW). And now all that would make my day complete would be for the doorbell to ring and for Willie Wonka and all of his chocolate goodness to be standing there offering me a chocolate bar and the golden ticket!

Fatima in Heaven

Public Transportation - I think Not

I missed my 7:03 bus by approximately 32 seconds (bastard on-time bus driver); therefore had to sit in my car and wait for the 7:23 bus. Yay - it came on time. No problem, right? Wrong. There was a four-car accident somewhere on I-95 which caused me to get to work at 9:15 instead of 7:45. Thank God I at least brought a book to read.

I then walk my 3-1/2 blocks to work from the bus stop, almost getting hit by a driver who hasn't learned that little "pedestrians have the right of way" rule yet. He got the one-finger salute, but I'm sure he just laughed.

So just when I think it can't get worse, there's a traffic jam on Lombard St. (which means nothing to most of you) and the freaking Lightrail can't move on through the clogged intersection so the driver of the Lightrail starts in on his LOUD horn, over and over and over again. "Right, buddy, like that's going to make the jam somehow magically be able to move!" It's freezing cold, but I finally make it to work, only to realize I left my ID badge at my desk and don't have it to show the guard in my building. DANG!

My day can only go up from here........

Stupid Lightrail driver gave me a headache with his incessant honking!

Pissed Off Fatima in need of an Excedrin!!!

I'm Bitchy and I Need Sunshine

That's pretty much all there is to say today. I need much uninterrupted sleep; quiet time, no work, no family pressures or whining, no work pressures, no trips to the fucking doctor any more, no measuring food, no barking dogs or loud teenage boys making noise in my neighborhood, I need my daughters back from their adult-lives, I need a massage, hot stone therapy, a big glass of good Sangria, a nap (or did I already mention that?), no husband talking incessantly to me about absolutely nothing; a day full of non-stop CSI episodes that I haven't yet seen with Dave Matthews songs playing softly in the background; I need to see a news story with something good to report; I need to not see any more celebutante's asscracks because they're too lazy to have their personal assistants pick out their thong-o-the-day; I need to hear plenty of laughter; I need to have no one die or get sick or get sent overseas anymore; I need to get my nails done; I need for my skin to stop being so chapped from this shitteous cold, windy weather. Oh, and did I mention that I'm tired and need a nap? I need energy to continue to go through the motions of just getting up in the mornings. I think I just described what heaven must be like......

Tired, tired, tired Fatima

Yes, I'm a Hypochondriac

http://www.savagechickens.com/blog/2006/05/worried-sick.html

Ok, I've tried and tried. But there's still a little morbid demon in me telling me bad things. These chickens say it best. It's not that I'm a hypochondriac - but perhaps I just have a brain tumor that's TELLING me I'm a hypochondriac. Either way - I lose. What a way to live......

The Blessed and The Cursed

I recently heard a song with some lyrics in it about being so blessed when there's so much suffering in the world. I've often struggled with this especially from a spiritual standpoint. How does the same God allow wondrous blessings to some and allow horrible, unmentionable sufferings to others? I read this morning about a child porn ring that was uncovered in Austria (thank God). But we all know it's not going away. It will rear it's ugly, monstrous, vile head again and again and again and again. And why? For what purpose?

Then my friend's dear tiny little daughter has to have some yucky scary tests next Tuesday. She'll be terrified and we won't know yet what the results will be, so we're all a little scared too. And I can't imagine something bad happening to that child (who happens to be Riley's best friend). And I can't imagine how children are raped and murdered in Darfur. And how do the homeless in Baltimore stay warm in this 9 degree weather when I'm freezing in my nice, expensive Lands End jacket, Pierre Cardin scarf and Isotoner gloves? Where's God's fairness and compassion in all of that? And how do little old people get through each day all alone when all their relatives and friends have died off? And then who am I to ask for anything? Anything at all? Yet, we're supposed to "petition" God. Who petitions for all these others? I guess we're supposed to. I don't know.

But I do know that today I fear my own tests, Grace's tests, I fear for the little old street man who lives across from my building - will he still be alive when I leave work this afternoon? How on earth does he survive this cold? How do 18 year olds handle getting shot at every day in Iraq? They haven't even seen any other states besides the ones they were born in, but yet they're in a foreign land looking at bloody carnage every day. Who petitions for them?

So Fatima's blue today, feeling sorry for myself, little children, little old people, homeless people, young people, lonely people, and the list goes on. And feeling guilty for being so blessed when others are so not blessed - but still wanting everything to be okay in my comfortable life. I don't want it disrupted at all. Who am I to think nothing bad should ever cross my path?

Fatima Wants to Go Home

Don't Worry, Be Happy

I will NOT be depressed and revert back to my childhood ways of "envisioning all the way in which I'm going to die." I will not be depressed, even if it kills me. Ha! That's kinda funny in its own weird way. My next boob-smash and ultrasound will be Monday, Feb 12th - so think wonderific thoughts about my boobs! My boobs should be the only thing on your mind(s)!

Love, Fatima

Weirdness #3

Daughter #3 has a fear of curtains. Yes, curtains. Now, that's something we could probably contact the Guinness Book of World Records and have posted as the "Most Bizarre Phobia."

However, I will say that we didn't help matters much. When we realized she had this fear of curtains, we would torment her by saying, "If you don't eat your green beans, or clean your room (or fill in the blank), then you're going to Curtainland and they'll turn you into a washcloth."

It worked!

So, now that I look at this - who is weirder? Her or us?

Mean-Mom-Fatima

Boob Job

Got the news in the mail yesterday that there was a "finding" on my mammography from last week. So, after much crying and feeling sorry for myself and my toddler - I will take tomorrow off work and be pro-active. I have to make phone calls, get appts for more mammographies and ultrasounds, blah blah. There's a history in my family for breast tumors (benign) - so please send out prayers for Fatima that it's only benign and that my baby will have me around for a few more years. Called my mom and now she's worried to death. That was selfish on my part. I knew she'd be upset, but at the same time, there are just times you need to talk/cry to your mommy. And now I feel bad for her because I probably prematurely upset her.

I'll fill everyone in later on what's happening with my mammories! I say "cut 'em off and let's get new ones from that hunky doctor Dr. 90210." But that might be a little extreme at this juncure.

Pray for Fatima!

More Weirdness....

Daughter #2's weird habit. She puts BBQ sauce on rice. Now, I know that I have my own culinary oddities, but this one is just weird and gross! Eeww. Next time she eats it I told her I'd serve it up with these tasty bug skewers (below).

Mean Mom Fatima

Weird Habit

These wonderfully simple cartoons are thanks to: http://www.nataliedee.com/

I told you before that my oldest daughter has this bizzare 4-step process for putting on lip crap. I'm not real sure of the order, but first there's a sunblock thingie and then a primer, or maybe I have that mixed up, then some very light color and then some gloss. I might even have that entire thing wrong, but it doesn't matter. It's weird, not to mention annoying when you're in a hurry. The other weird thing she does is clean her ears with Q-tips for like 30 minutes straight. This could explain her hearing loss. Perhaps there's 72 pounds of built-up wax pressing against her ear drum. ????

Anyway, I'm going to start noticing weird things that my friends and family do and then post them for everyone's amusement. Next it will be daughter #2, then #3, then my husband, my sister, my mother, Cow, and other friends. Of course I expect responses back about my behavior as well - not that I have any weird quirks, but you you'll lie and make some up.

Fatima Bored

First Weigh-In

Lost 5 pounds!! Hoo hoo. That's all.

Weightlifting workout tomorrow. Gotta eat right Saturday, because I know I'll indulge a "little" on Superbowl Sunday.

Fatima Slighly Smaller!