Mommy Always Wins

My Lappy's back and there's gonna be trouble...

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 04:23:00 +0000

Hey la, hey la, my Lappy's back!

Southeastern Wisconsin folks? If your Lappy has a PC-aneurism like mine did? Contact Dan at Wisconsin InfoTech. Dr. Dan has a great bedside manner, and has lots of years of experience so you know that he knows what he's doing. (Unlike me who went and got a virus on the laptop I was able to get on loan from work in the middle of this PC-less fiasco...)

I was not compensated in any way for this post. Unless you count the fact that Dan in no way laughed at or ridiculed me, or even brought to my attention the fact that I forgot there were "before" pictures on my hard drive.

Of my lumpy backside... {::shudder::}

The ones I took so as to have "before" proof that my new cellulite cream did (or did not) work.

That's how good he is.

Sorry 'bout your eyes, Dan.

Dirge.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 05:02:00 +0000

Panic. Mass panic.

Then disbelief. Followed by frustration, then, slowly, acceptance.

Yes - this is what happens when your laptop, your link to the outside world and the source of your income and a lot of your entertainment, goes into PC cardiac arrest.

Its been nearly a week and I'm happy to say I am now coping well. The funny thing was, once my dear beloved boyfriend, Lappy, was admitted to the Windows-based ICU, I was forced to boot up our ancient desktop PC.

She's a cranky old bird. I blew the dust off her then talked to her in soothing tones, rubbing her monitor while telling her I loved her and that she was the only one for me. I think I heard her hip creak as she slowly booted up.

I only needed to log into my work email and send a message to my bosses letting them know of my PC-less situation. Only, in my inbox, I found a meeting invite and like the selfish crazy person I am, I clicked the "accept" button.

I think that desktop PC is a sassy old Latina. Cuz she rolled her eyes at me and said, "OH NO YOU DI'INT," then promptly froze.

Poop.

A few Ctrl-Alt-Delete's later (Mac users - you just HUSH, mmmkay?) and I was back in my email, explaining my situation and when I hoped to be online and working again. I hit "send".

Wouldn't you know that bitch holds a grudge.

This time she straight up flipped me the bird and I was forced to close out of my work email and instead send the message from my personal account. I'd like to think it was the way I massaged her vericose-veined mouse that put her in the mood to allow it to go through, but it could have had something to do with the fact that I can't access my work email through Firefox. But whatevs.

Dr. Dan, my PC neurosurgeon, ensures me that my Lappy will be ready this week and with a little luck, even tomorrow.

Thank God. (Or should I say Bill Gates?)

I drink alone...*

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 06:14:00 +0000

*OK, don't go gettin' your panties in a wad and calling an intervention or anything. I just love pop culture references and if you aren't singing the song already, I don't know if I can be your Internet-friend. I'm just kidding. No I'm not. Yes I am. I don't drink alone, I drink with my friends. Ha ha, I don't drink with my friends, I don't have any friends. I'm just kidding. Yes I do. Just kidding.** (And yes, that would be ANOTHER pop culture reference. Do you get it? Do ya? Do ya? OK good.)

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yeah.

I have a lot of good thoughts while lying in bed at night. You know, in those moments before sleep takes over and delivers me to that crazy place called Dream Land where I dream about not just teeth, but half of my lower jaw falling out and then later, being robbed while reading a book in an extremely vast lobby of a bank that is carpeted with a plush off-white pile so thick that when I try and run away it feels like I am running in sand. (No, I swear. I don't do drugs. I always dream like this.)

Yeah, in those moments, I have conversations in my head that make sense of my life like I'm talking to a good friend. Its great - I get my points across, I always make sense and I always agree with myself. And after writing that post the other day, I spent the other night thinking about how fine the line is between being alone and truly being lonely.

My entire life, as long as I can remember, I've been self-sufficient. In the early days of my relationship with the Hubster, I remember declaring that "I don't need a man to take care of me, but I'd like one to want to," which, in my nearly-still-a-teenager-brain made such COMPLETE sense and proved how absolutely DEEP I was. But the point I was trying to make was that wanting someone or something could be so much more powerful than needing them. I mean, I can change my oil by myself, but that doesn't mean I want to. If someone does it for me, well then how sweet is that? (Honestly, let's be real here - I live in cold-ass Wisconsin, where I'd be damned before crawling under a stone-cold automobile to lie on frozen pavement only to get all messy and oily in the winter...I mean, why would I do that when I can pay some 16-year-old kid at the Quickly Lube $20 to do it for me? But I digress...)

I've done a lot of things on my own. I've wandered the shops of Sea Port Village in San Diego and taken walking tours of haunted houses in Georgetown. I've dined alone at sushi bars in Tampa and had a martini by myself at the House of Blues in Chicago. I've flown solo to Nashville to room with people I'd not yet met, and spent a week in Dallas making new friends at a week-long conference. I took a rock climbing class, and a motorcycle riding class and a Pilates class without the support of a friend beside me.

Would I have liked to have done these things with someone else? Someone who could keep me company so as to not feel like a cliche while sitting in a hotel lobby bar? Of course. But I don't think that makes me a loser for heading out solo. I'd like to think I'm brave.

Some people prefer to wait until the timing is perfect - until their six very best girlfriends agree that they're all going to have this really super duper great weekend adventure. But I'd rather...how you say? GET'R DONE.*** (Oh yes. I went there.)

Just the other day I told my Hubby I was going to go to New York City in August. He didn't bother to ask me who I was going with. He just said, "Sounds cool." I know I'll find many folks I know once I get there. But I wasn't going to wait until I found a travel companion to reserve my space. I'll figure that part out later.

I've had lots of people tell me, "Oh, I could never do that kind of thing. No way."

Liars.

They so totally could. If its what they really wanted to do. They don't really need someone to get on that plane with them. The fact that its more important for them to be socially comfortable than participate in something? Just makes us different, and I respect that. I "get" that.

But the fact that I can do these things and not think twice about them doesn't mean I like to be alone. Its the hours in between all of these busy things where people strive for companionship and comfort and peace and love.

I guess I could just do that stuff by myself as well, but I don't really want to.

*George Thorogood
**Judy Grimes
***Larry the Cable Guy

Slacker.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 20:30:00 +0000

You can easily scroll down this page and find that I don't regularly post here anymore.

I had someone ask me the other day if I'd been writing more, now that I'm home more. That'd be a big NO.

Its not that I don't want to, its just that I'm not sure if this is the right forum for me anymore.

This isn't a "Good-bye blog!" type of post. Its a "here's why I haven't been posting" type of post.

In the two years I've been writing here at this lovely little spot on the Web, I've gained quite a following. (And don't let that lonely little feed counter chicklet fool you - it may show only 180-some subscribers, but I know, from comments I regularly get both in real life and online, that many people who don't subscribe in a feed reader read what I write here.) That following includes family and friends...people I've known my entire life...and co-workers, old and new.

Its easier for me to bare my soul and just write what I feel when I think no one I know is listening.

Maybe that's weird, or maybe that's what binds those of us in the blogging community. I don't know.

But the truth is, a lot has changed in my life in the past few months. I knew it would throw me for a loop, and GOD has it ever. I went from being on the verge of a freakin' break down only to add more to it while working, packing and moving.

And sometime just after we moved? We decided it was finally time to just let some things go.

I put in my notice to leave my full-time job.

It was a HUGE relief. No more hour-long drives to get downtown, no traffic to fight, no clothes if I didn't feel like getting out of my PJs.

Only they weren't willing to accept my resignation. Cuz it turns out? There aren't that many people in the entire state who do what I do. Huh. You don't say.

So we worked out a deal where I would work part-time, from home. Sounds like a dream, right? They were going to hire someone to replace the old full-time me, and hopefully keep me on PT hours to do some of the more mediocre (yet important) things that can get overlooked in light of all the busy-ness of the work day.

But that was more than three months ago.

So, yes. Its been nice to be able to dilly-dally over breakfast in the morning, and to close up shop at 3:30 in the afternoon if I so choose. But this new lifestyle brings with it different challenges. Like, oh, if you have a hubby who sometimes works overnight shifts, well that means that you may just have to juggle taking care of the kids AND work so he can sleep. And that? SUCKS.

We've discussed sending the kids to the sitter's on some of those "Daddy Sleep Days", but that would mean getting them up and dressed and fed and out the door by a certain time and dammit that sucks too.

Above and beyond that? Its just plain LONELY being a cop's wife. For five years now we've worked shifts opposite each other and its really wearing on me. Its exacerbated by the fact that we now live out in the boonies and I no longer actually see any of my co-workers. Our kids are very young yet and they need more attention than I seem to be able to give.

I swear, as God is my witness, I will one day eat my dinner again before its cold.

Just sayin'.

I go days without really seeing my Hubby except for maybe a few hours while we eat or run an errand or two. When he is off, I want to cram as much fun into life as possible. Because, let's face it, being by yourself with two kids, no matter how great they are, isn't usually much fun. Adult fun, anyway.

So, yeah. Without going into it further, my life just isn't what I thought it would be, you know? I realize that makes me a freakin' cliche...that hundreds of thousands of other people the world over feel the same way. I mean, that's been the basis of how many movies and books?

Instead of writing what I really feel about it all, I just keep cleaning my three bathrooms, keep picking up toys, and play one more game of Solitaire.

Cuz that's apparently the type of slacker I am.

Colorful characters

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 20:41:00 +0000

My kid will want to kill me one day for sharing this, but what kind of Mommy-blogger would I be if I didn't?

I now work part-time from home. Its great to get up in the morning, have breakfast with my jammie-clad kiddies and then retreat to my office in yoga pants and a sweatshirt for a few hours of work. The only issue I have with the set-up is that my office has a door, which, as any mother knows, increases their child's interest in what they're doing exponentially.

So yesterday I'm working away when Will comes downstairs. I notice what look like scratches on his face.

"Will, buddy - what happened? Where did you get those scratches?" The kid, in turn, looks at me as if I've grown an arm out of my forehead.

"I no skatches, Momma."

I lean closer. Aha. Its marker.

"Honey, did you color on your face?"

"Nope. Nit-o-nis colored on me." Asking a two-year-old why he would let his brother color on his face is futile. I might as well ask the cat. Instead, I call on Nicholas.

"What Mom?"

"Did you color on your brother's face?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry."

"Why would you do that? You know you don't color on anything but paper."

"I know. But I already colored on my peter and my butt, so..."

"YOU WHAT?!?" My kids know the proper names for their body parts, but I'm sure you can guess what he was talking about.

It was just this moment that Jay came downstairs and heard the conversation. Without saying a word, he picked the boy up and pulled down his pants.

Sure enough, his little boy bits were red. As were the scribbles on his derrier.

Choking back a laugh I asked, "Why would you color on that?"

"I dunno. Just cuz." He shrugged. I may as well have asked why he was wearing gray socks.

Jay and I both doubled over in laughter as we realized what Nick had said...that marker touched his little brother's face after it had touched his nether regions.

I am in such big trouble in a couple of years.

Blueberry pancakes

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 02:07:00 +0000

"Mom, know what you say all the time?"

"No, buddy. What do I say all the time?"

I turned from the dishwasher to see him cock his head slightly to the right. "You say, 'You don't say!'"

I'm sure his impression of me was not far off. I could picture myself cocking my head similarly and laughed. "Do I?"

"Yep. Why do you say that?"

Shaking my head, I turned back to unload another glass. "I don't know, bud. I guess I just do."

"You know who else says that? That lady in the Chocolate and the Factory. You know...not the girl. But the girl's Mom. That one naughty girl who turns into a big blueberry?" He was coloring at the table with the fervor that only a five-year-old can have. "I think we should have blueberries for dinner. Like blueberry pancakes? That would be good."

I shook my head as I recalled the line from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and realized he was right. About the line, and the pancakes.

"You don't say."

Only two.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 03:56:00 +0000

I sat and watched my youngest boy run and play.

We spent the evening eating and playing at McDonald's. Its truly my definition of hell on earth, but I was ready to do anything for a break from the dark and cold that's been keeping us indoors and making us all stir crazy. I could have sat outside the glass-enclosed germ box, but Will is only two.

My husband laughs at me when I say that. "Hey - take it easy on him! He's only two."

"He's almost three."

"Yeah? But he's not yet. He's still two for another month."

True, he's usually the instigator of the UFC-style take downs that occur in my living room, but he's my baby none-the-less and I'm going to milk this last month of babydom for all its worth. So I sat in the cootie laden aquarium, close to the play structure, with my book.

I watched as he came flying down the slide without a single ounce of fear. Over and over again he climbed the stairs, crawled through a tube and flung himself into the dark tunnel of the slide. Every time, without fail, he'd come out at the end, jumping up and down, clapping his hands.

"I did it! I did it! By myself!"

I told him I saw...that I was watching...but before the words were even out of my mouth he was off again, climbing stairs. I sat back with my book.

His brother, by contrast, tired of the slide after just a few times and found the video games at the far end of the room. At one point, I saw Will walk over and put his brother in a head-lock. (Parents with girls will know these as "hugs".) Satisfied that neither of my children were the ones screaming, I went back to my book.

A few minutes later I did a kid count. There's Nick...no Will. Must watch the end of the slide...he'll be out any minute.

Except there was no Will. Don't worry. He's in there somewhere. He probably just met up with a little buddy inside the tunnel...watch the end of the slide...

A few minutes later there was still no Will. I contemplated looking like the spaz of a Mom who takes her purse and goes crawling into the tubes and slides to look for her missing child, but again told myself he couldn't have gone very far.

I gave it just a few minutes more before my brain started asking itself, But what if he did sneak out the door as someone else left and he's out in the restaurant crying, looking for his Mom? Or what if someone took him?!? They could be long gone by now! YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO LOOK FOR HIM -- YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT GUT INSTINCTS!

I decided that the less-spaztastic thing to do would be to have the older boy go in and look for the younger. So I got up and walked over to ask Nick to do just that and there's Will...playing the video game...too short for me to see behind the console, explaining in his made-up not-quite-English English how the game works to some other boy.

He's completely fine. Without me.

And he's only two.

The difference between men & women (again)

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 16:02:00 +0000

"I'll get up with the kids, hon."

What it really means:
(Women) - "I'll get up at 7:30 a.m. with the five-year-old, even though I was up until 1 dealing with a sick two-year-old. I'll start the coffee, feed the kids, the dog and the cat and break up the fights that occur over the last stale donut hole and who gets the blanket from the back of the couch while they watch Hip Hop Harry."

(Men) -

Cuz normal is boring.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

Unique Eater from Mommy Wins on Vimeo.

Weekly Winners, the Xmas Edition

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 23:22:00 +0000

It was a rough holiday - the Hubster worked (and a double on Xmas Day at that) and well, I worked my tail off shopping and wrapping and cooking and packing it all up and driving it down to Milwaukee only to pack it all up and bring it all back home. Three days in a row.

I'd like my Xmas to start now, please. ;-)

Brotherly love
Xmas Eve '09

My brother's girlfriend made this beautiful blueberry pie.
It was scrumptious!

My brother Jeff, rockin' out

Some families sing carols and drink egg nog on Christmas Eve.
We drink beer and play Metallica Guitar Hero.

And then little Will sees his uncles having fun and wants to join in with what was one of the best gifts of Xmas - his own little guitar!

The boys opening gifts from Santa Xmas morning

Twas a very Nerf Christmas. This is my brother Mark doing what any good uncle would do - shooting his nephews as they ran around screaming.

D'OH! Got him!

For more weekly winners, check out Sarcastic Mom!

Merry Christmas!

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 06:03:00 +0000

Despite leaving this space on the Interwebs a bit lonely lately, I still want to wish my online friends a very Merry Christmas! I'll be back after the holidays!

{W}rite of passage: Character

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 01:50:00 +0000

Mariana Askerville paused in the driver’s seat, digging through her purse.

“C’mon, dammit, where the hell are you?!?” She began to pull things out and toss them half-heartedly on the passenger seat of her ’95 Dodge Shadow. Finally, there at the bottom, where it had come unattached from her key ring, was her security badge for the parking structure.

Throwing everything back into her knock-off Coach bag except the badge, cell phone and sunglasses, she cranked the radio – a good song was on. The type of song that made you feel better at the end of a long week.

She was beginning to feel better about things as she backed out of her space, and by the time she had gotten to the bottom of the structure’s ramp, rolling down her window to swipe her card, she had all but forgotten all about her sorry sack of a manager and the mind-numbing tasks he’d had her waste an entire afternoon to complete.

She was singing along as she pulled up next to the kiosk. Leaning out of her window, card in hand, she looked longingly at the bright sunlight that awaited her mere feet away. In order to open the gate, one had to push a red button, listen to a pre-recorded message about entering cash, credit or debit card and wait for a green light before the sensor would recognize the magnetic card being waved in front of it. The entire process took maybe 20 seconds, but on seventy-degree Fridays in May, that 20 seconds felt like 20 minutes.

“C’MON, DAMMIT,” she swore loudly, ducking back inside her car. The ancient guard arm lifted in a jerky way, taking its sweet time before stopping briefly in the “up” position. Knowing she had only moments to make her escape before the arm slapped back down, she hit the gas, lurching forward over a speed bump into the sunlight.

She rolled somewhat to a stop, looked quickly for pedestrians (like, when were people ever walking down this street?) and hit the gas again.

Suddenly there was a squeal of brakes and too late, Mariana saw the dark blue Jaguar coming all too quickly from the right.

“OH SHIT!!!!” she shouted, stomping the brake pedal with both feet. She was answered by a loud crash, and then the sound of metal scraping metal.

When both cars came to a halt, she sat behind the wheel, stick straight, not believing what had just happened. Eyes wide, she looked to her right and found a man behind the wheel staring back at her. He looked furious.

Looking quickly from side to side, she was unsure of what to do first. Dumbly, she looked down at her arms, her torso and then her legs, holding her hands palm-up as she did so. Seeing no bodily damage, she looked up again and the man was gone.

Not good, not good, not good. She couldn’t see any damage inside her vehicle either and figured she should get out. That’s what one did during something like this, right?

Suddenly, it occurred to her that she might have injuries she couldn’t see.

Oh my God, what do they say you should do after an accident? Don’t move your neck? Too late for that. Stay awake? No problem there. Her heart was racing a hundred miles a minute.

Slowly, she eased her driver’s door open and swung her legs around and stood up. Suddenly, there was the driver of the Jag, almost in her face.

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” he shouted. “WE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!”

Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide. “We- we- well…I’m SORRY. Are you OK?”

“YES, I’M OK, DAMMIT. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE?!? WERE YOU WATCHING WHERE YOU WERE GOING?!? You could KILL a person not looking where you’re going like that!” As he continued to yell at her, he got closer and closer, and she backed up until the frame of her car pressed into her back.

“Is everyone alright?” Kenny, the parking structure’s attendant stepped cautiously from his plexiglass booth. “Do you need me to call the cops?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mariana replied at the same time the man shouted, “NO!”

The man’s attention was diverted for a moment and Mariana took the opportunity to get back in her car and shut the door. At the sound of the door closing, the man spun back around to face her. The sight of the horror on her face made him pause. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just a bit…shaken. Are you OK?” He leaned toward the open window, sincerely looking shaken but no longer irate.

“I-I think so,” she stammered. “I have a cell phone.” She held it up where he could see.

At the realization that both parties appeared to be OK and all anger had been diffused, Kenny took a few steps backward toward his office, trying to dismiss himself from the scene. Not turning his back, he stood there, unsure of what to do with his hands.

“I’ll call,” the Jag driver said, pulling out an iPhone and touching its screen quickly. When he had it to his ear, the first car honked.

Horrified, Mariana looked in her rear-view mirror to see a long line of cars snaking up the structure’s ramp and around the corner. At ten after five on a sunny Friday, she could imagine each driver’s impatience, and felt their ire like a weight on her back.

“Maybe we should pull our cars out of the way?” she suggested, nodding down the street. The man ignored her as he gave the dispatcher details, repeating the building’s address and the location of the exit of the parking structure.

Kenny nodded in silence, wanting to appear in charge when he so clearly wasn’t.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, the man looked up. “Wha? Oh, yeah…” Seeing the idling cars he whirled around to look over his shoulder at the street. “Yeah, we should pull over there.” He walked back to the driver’s side of his car, got in, and turned the key. The engine caught without hesitation.

He backed slowly away from Mariana’s oxidized red Shadow, and once he was clear, whipped the front end around to back up to the curb on the opposite side of the street, back they way he’d come. Once he had moved his vehicle, Mariana started her car, they key to which had to be held to the starting position for a second or two before it roared to life, but that was the case any day. She slowly pulled out of the structure to park along the curb closest to the building.

Turning the key off again, she took a deep breath and then let it out again, noticing her hands were shaky and that she wanted to cry. Instead she grabbed the wheel with both hands until her knuckles were white, feeling each driver who whipped past her giving her the stink eye.

She mentally tried to calculate the cost of the Jag but had no point of reference. Surely it was worth more than she made in a year, maybe even two. Tears pricked the back of her eyes when she remembered she had let her insurance lapse. It had been either that or her rent.

She looked up to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks and took a few deep breaths – in through her nose, out through her mouth – before she felt him staring at her.

WHAT?!? Haven’t you ever seen anyone have a panick attack before?!? she thought angrily.
She decided that she could use some fresh air while they waited and pushed the door open again. Standing in the street, she realized he was still staring. Not wanting to meet his eyes without proper police protection, she turned to walk around the front of her car so she could lean against the passenger side of her car, looking away from the Jag driver.

And that’s when she saw it.

She had known it all along, of course, pushed to the back of her brain the moment the adrenaline started pumping.

He wasn’t staring at her…

He was staring at the ONE WAY sign she had parked in front of…

The sign pointing the OPPOSITE way he’d been driving.

Christmas card photo FAIL

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 19:04:00 +0000

Well, Mommy doesn't always win...

A boy and his dog

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 03:31:00 +0000

Tomorrow is Nick's fifth birthday.

He's FIVE.

I don't know where the time went, but suddenly, in the past few weeks it seems, he's gone from preschooler to BOY.

He says things to me like, "Mom, that's a good sandwich right there!" and "Mom, I love you more than Daddy does. I loved you my WHOLE LIFE!" and, after coming home from a hair appointment, "Looks good, woman!"

He reminds his little brother of the rules. "Will, if you don't eat your dinner you have to go to BED! You don't want to go to bed, do you?!?" (And Will listens to him! I'd complain, but, well, I don't have to argue with the little one as much so whatever.)

He's amazingly smart. Because his birthday is on a holiday, we had a party for him this past Saturday. Jay and I got him a Leapster 2 and my Mom bought him a few games. He's already mastered them. And they teach math skills. And reading. (And building rollercoasters.) He's told me that tomorrow he wants my help to write up a letter to Santa. He's been scanning last Sunday's paper for the games he wants to ask Santa for.

And probably one of the greatest new changes? He loves his dog.

She was the family dog before we even had kids, and for the past year or more he's been feeding her when we ask him to. But recently he takes the initiative...tells us when she needs a treat...calls her to come follow him when he goes to play outside or in his room. And at night? She sleeps at the foot of his bed.

It just melts my heart.

Happy birthday, dear boy.

Peep tea

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 04:05:00 +0000

Southerners, you may have your sweet tea, but I'll bet you've never seen anything like this. I introduce to you Peep Tea:

Ingredients for Peep Tea:

2 slightly weird but funny as hell brothers
6,387 packed boxes, 82 of which are marked "kitchen"
2 hr lag during which you have movers at your house and nothing to move

Instructions:

On your moving day, combine everything you own into two trailers. Have enough extra filling that the second truck and trailer is so overloaded Beverly Hillbillies style that you have to leave it parked on the street in front of your old house to deal with later. Have enough people to help you unload the first trailer's contents into your garage, then have everyone except you leave, allowing you to marinate in your anger at not having had a freakin' moving company just do the job for you.

While the husband character makes the 45-minute drive back down with his buddies to get the second load and the brand new bedroom set you ordered, have a friend that's better than you deserve come and help you to move every box that you just took off the first trailer into the appropriate rooms in your new home.

When your slightly dramatic mother and two slightly crazy brothers arrive, you will be pouring out the contents of various boxes and combining them into what you believe may be the proper new places. The arrival of these new cooks may cause your dear helping friend to leave, but the recipe's not ruined. Just make a mental note that you owe him - big time. Also make sure you are completely unable to decide on where anything goes except for the tin foil and the plastic wrap - those belong in that one drawer over there.

Call your hubby. Understand that while he's doing as best as he can, you have three people "helping" you unpack things that don't exactly need to be unpacked first.

Upon hearing you have nearly two hours before any real moving will begin, one brother will most certainly open a box to find packets of Pop Rocks, which the second brother will just have to eat. ("Dude! Pop Rocks!" may be uttered. The lack of this phrase, however, while funny coming from a 6'4" man, will not result in flat or dry results.)

The brother who finds the Pop Rocks will also find a bottle of wine shaped like a cat. This will be a key ingredient, so just shake your head when he thinks he's going to find a corkscrew.

Swear out loud when he actually does.

(Somewhere in here you should try to feel bad after making inappropriate jokes about wine bottles shaped like cats when you realize it was your slightly dramatic mother that gave it to you on your last anniversary.)

Laugh when you both realize the wine is old, the cork dry and the corkscrew crappy. Although the cat wine is a key ingredient, tease him for thinking he can still open the wine bottle.

Tell him you will NOT be the new neighbor that calls 911 in the first 12 hours in your new home when he sticks a steak knife into the dry cork.

Call him something that rhymes with "plumb ass" when he then sticks a cheese spreader into the cork. Laugh at him again when you realize this cheese spreader has a cheerful snowman on the end and its carrot nose has pierced his finger.

Wish you had some cheese.

Gape at him with your eyes wide and your mouth hanging open when he actually opens the stupid bottle of cat wine with the cheese spreader. Be sure to mention the bits of cork floating in the wine, though you know this roughage is probably good for you.

Next, while you're still wishing you had cheese, this unique chef-brother of yours will find a plastic water bottle and the barrel grating mechanism from a hand-crank cheese grater. This is an important step: He will "triple filter" the cat wine through this cheese grating barrel.

Once satisfied, you should pour it into the first glasses you find, especially if they are large plastic ones from a hotel with an indoor water park.

Try not to die laughing when your second brother, while scavenging through kitchen boxes like a hobo, finds a box of peeps and eats three before he loudly proclaims them to be stale. Remind him that Easter was six months ago.

Chew your cork while you realize that they do, however, make the perfect garnish.

Waylaid

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 01:35:00 +0000

First we were packing.

Then we moved.

Then got swine flu.

And I quit my job.

And all of a sudden I looked up and it was November.

I'll be back...I promise. Til then, check out the view we regularly enjoy from our new front windows. ;-)

Blog? What blog?

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 16:20:00 +0000

I've been meaning to do a post on the state of my life right now. I've taken pictures, documenting the giant pile of gravel that was deposited in my driveway, the little digger/scooper thingie that was parked next to that pile for several days, the huge hole that was dug behind my house, the pile of dirt from said hole, the mud created by said machines, piles of dirt and gravel and the dog both in my driveway and in my house. I've photographed each stage of the basement-fixing process, down to the brand new cement that is where said giant hole used to be.

The gravel's gone and in its place there is now a humongous snowmobile trailer currently being filled with all of our belongings. (I'm still of the mind that being over 30 brings with it no other advantages other than to never again have to call and round up friends to move your shit, but apparently Mommy doesn't always win.)

I've taken pictures and even video of our house as its being packed up. There is literally lawn furniture where our comfy living room couches used to be and the dining room echoes now that the piano is gone and there is nothing hanging on the walls. I've taken pictures of my kids playing on, around and in boxes, as well as the two of them laughing like crazy people while jumping on mattresses that are on the floor.

Oddly, I just can't seem to find the time to download, manipulate and upload those pictures. So I'm offering you this artist's rendition of my life right now:

We've spent every spare moment of our lives meeting people, writing them checks and generally signing our lives away. When we're not busy doing that, well, we're packing shit in boxes. And yes, there is logic to packing throw pillows with bar glasses, I swear it. I just might also be swearing at myself while unpacking it all next week.

I'm sick of take-out food, and I think my ass has gained two new friends because of it. Their names are Laverne and Shirley, and they live down the street just north of my badonkadonk. Yes friends, back fat. Its never pretty.

Honestly? My freaking two-year-old asked for Taco Bell last night. How sick is that?!?

My four-year-old? Woke up crying at o-dark-thirty, pissed as all get out that Mommy was packing up all his toys. This morning he told me he was angry with me. "Mommy, you're bad. You make me ANGRY." Great. I'm feelin' the love.

I'm not about to get into work crap right now, but let's just say I also woke up from a bad dream this morning. One in which I was in a meeting with IT folks who were yelling at me and doing a lot of head shaking at my requests for what I needed to do my job. I've lived this bad dream many times lately.

I am so beyond stressed I can't even form a thought or an opinion on anything, except to say that I watched Glee for the first time this week and, well, that's an hour of my life that's been sucked from my soul that I'll never get back. (Did dude really sing The Thong Song?!?)

So that, in not so much of a nutshell, is my life right now.

Who's pouring the drinks?

Book review

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 14:55:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I was given Once in a Blue Moon by Eileen Goudge to read and review. Like the voracious reader I am, I began reading it right away. Like the posting procrastinator I am, I'm just writing this up now.

The story begins when sisters Lindsay and Kerrie Ann are young, living in a cheap motel with their drug-addicted mother. When Lindsay is 12 and Kerrie Ann just three, they're taken from their mother. Lindsay, who was more a mother-figure to her sister than their mother ever was, was adopted by loving parents. Kerrie Ann wasn't as lucky and spent her childhood in a series of foster homes.

Years later, both adults, Lindsay has been searching for her sister. She doesn't have much luck until the day Kerrie Ann appears in her bookstore, looking for a relative to help her get back on her feet. A newly recovering addict, Kerrie Ann has let history repeat itself when her own daughter was taken from her.

The story goes on to describe how the relationship develops between the two women throughout Kerrie Ann's legal battles, and one of Lindsay's own.

I have to say it was a good story and I found myself relating a lot to Lindsay. (Not that I've ever had or lost a sister, but that I was the older kid who ended up taking care of the younger kids.)

But the one thing that bothered me about Blue Moon was how easily Kerrie Ann seemed to flip from being a recent addict with all the shakiness that implies into a life with a steady job, family and home life. In reality, such transitions are very hard, even when approaching them one at a time. If we are to believe Goudge's work, Kerrie Ann made this transition with only a few tiffs with her sister over showing too much cleavage.

Once in a Blue Moon is now available in stores.

Don't they always like to play with the box more than the actual toys?

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:28:00 +0000

I get knocked down, but I get up again...

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 17:48:00 +0000

Why yes, I did just quote an obscure nineties song. And you're welcome very much for the ear worm.

So we were up.

Then we got kicked in the teeth.

And then...slowly...slowly...we began to climb our way back up again. If it weren't for the 382,000 things up in the air right now, I might just be excited.

So -- Monday we got word that our offer was rescinded cuz of issues with our basement. The basement doesn't have any current problems, but because of the age of our house (its a ripe old 96) no one could guarantee how long the basement would go without having issues because of some bowing of the walls. (In two, small 6-8' wide sections.)

We cried.

Before Monday, we had made arrangements with our realtor to head out to see another dozen or so houses last Wednesday. You know, so as to have an actual place to sleep after October 27th. But Monday night the last thing I wanted to do is to see another freakin' house. I told Jay to cancel our appointment with our realtor. He wisely ignored me.

So, convincing me that we could still make an offer and have it be contingent upon the sale of our house, Jay and I saw thirteen more houses on Wednesday afternoon. Four actually made our short list. (Thank GOD.)

Friday night, Jay asks me if I want go see any of those four again. Our realtor could take us out either Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning. I told him to set it up. Whatever.

In the mean time, Jay called several basement dudes to come assess our "sitch" and to give us a quote on what it would take to fix it. Either we could negotiate with the buyers to split the cost, take the entire cost out of the purchase price or we could fix it ourselves so it wouldn't show up on a future inspection. The first two bids came in HIGH. $8000+ {AAAAACKKKKK!!!!} We were feeling a little less than sure that we'd ever move.

Jay calls back lady realtor to make our arrangements for Saturday and gets a recommendation from her of another basement dude. Her basement dude and another basement dude are scheduled to come out Saturday morning to give us estimates.

Now...here's where I must tell you that Jay worked overnight on Friday. Meaning he got home around 8:30 a.m. Saturday morning. He napped for about two hours while I took the boys to swimming lessons, then got up to deal with said basement dudes.

On the way home from swimming lessons (which always make the boys tired and therefore very crabby) I call Jay to see if he'll be awake when we got home, and if he wanted me to pick him up anything for lunch.

"Yeah, go ahead and get me something. You know what I like. Oh, and by the way. Realtor lady confirmed. We're dropping the boys at my Mom's at 2:00."

Time check: 12:45.

Nap check: NONE.

Oh...and other Saturday morning news?

Our buyer came back and made a counter offer.
OHMYHELLOHMYHELLOHMYHELL.

Their offer to buy (at the same price, with the same closing date) was contingent upon getting the basement walls fixed. By October 27th.

So...we go. We look at houses. We make notes as to what we don't like. Halfway through the afternoon?

I swear the heavens opened up and a light shown down upon the minivan in which we were riding. Angels sang. And it was good.

JAY'S CELL PHONE RANG.

It was the realtor's basement dude. With a quote. For $5000. AND HE CAN GET IT DONE BEFORE OCT 27. WE CAN DO THAT.

Holy farking farkitude. We signed the counter agreement AND OUR HOUSE IS AS GOOD AS SOLD.

But wait...wait...the story doesn't end there. Ho no. Cuz, like, my life can't ever be NoRMAl.

We saw four houses that afternoon. The last two? TOUGH TIE. One was in a subdivision but had EVERYTHING we wanted and more. The second was more rural and had more land and a pool. What to do...what to do?

Well, if you're us, you throw "But don't forget this one has [blahblahblah]"s back and forth at each other while riding in the realtor's minivan until you get back to the park and ride where you left your car. And then when realtor lady says, "Well, let me know if you decide you want to put in any offers. You can get me all weekend on my cell," you say something like, "If we do, it'll probably be on the [blahblahblah] house." Cuz you've finally agreed. Kinda. And then your hubby would say something like, "And we probably won't call you until next week because I work a double tomorrow." Which would lead the realtor to suggest, "Well, do you want to write up an offer now? I think we should offer [blahblahblah]," which will make your eyes bug out because its quite a deal less than what its listed for. Then you'll say, "REALLY? ARE YOU SURE?!?" And she'll say, "Definitely." And she'll show you market analysis of every house that's sold in that subdivision over the past two years and what it sold for. And you'll see that she isn't crazy.

And then you'll go "OH MY GOD WE'RE WRITING AN OFFER!" which you won't go sit in an Applebee's and write up like NoRMAl people would, simply because your hubby has gotten two hours of sleep and you're afraid he might fall over into his mozzarella sticks.

And then you'll spend an agonizingly loooooong Sunday letting your poor children finally nap and then start to pack like wildfire, realizing that no matter what happens, nine years worth of life needs to be packed up and out of your house in twenty three days. All while your poor hubby STILL hasn't slept.

And, update? Since I started writing this I'm told that the sellers came back with a counter offer, still less than their listing price that we'll very gladly accept. And they can close by October 27.

OH MY FARKING HELL WE'RE BUYING A NEW HOUSE.

Suddenly, I think we're "up" again.

Very, very UP.

dark days

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 12:27:00 +0000

Yesterday was, by far, one of the worst days in my adult life. I should have known that nothing ever comes easily for me -- that sometimes it seems as though I need to work 4x as hard as everyone else to achieve the same goals -- and that it was stupid to actually get excited about a pending sale of our house. Regardless as to how anxious that buyer seemed to be.

We've been so overwhelmingly busy these past few months - literally every waking hour not spent at work has been consumed with some home project or another, some meeting about the house or another, or working to find a new house. There's been very little time to enjoy anything.

Saturday, back when we had an accepted offer and a month to move, I found a last-minute sitter for the boys and our realtor and I trekked throughout an entire county (a 483 sq mile county) searching for the perfect house.

Nothin'.

The homes I saw were either extremely overpriced or in mass need of TLC. We saw TWELVE houses.

TWELVE.

Nothin'.

Not even a "maybe".

The realtor suggested we up the dollar amount in our search criteria, find a home we loved and simply make an offer of much less than their asking price. (Somewhere she, with 18+ years of experience, felt those homes should be priced to begin with.)

Sunday morning was our inspection. Nothin' like fast-trackin' everything...we'd gotten the signed accepted offer Tuesday night and got the phone call Friday night that the inspection was to be at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning. (First of all - who the hell DOES that?!? A Sunday?!? REALLY?!?) So for the umpteenth time, we cleaned the house top to bottom and left the house with tired kids to go out for breakfast.

We had no reason to think that anything BAD would come back in the inspection. There were a few little things we knew about, like a garage door that needed fixing (and we'd already scheduled someone to come over and help with its repair before getting the offer). But lo and behold...there was a deal-breaker.

Now, the way the inspector wrote it up sounds like its merely "something to watch". In two places in the basement (places, honestly, we either never used or where we stored things) there is bowing in the walls.

Jay swears the walls were always like that, and the inspector says some is normal in a home of this age. But there's no mention of it in our inspection from nine years ago. However, that being said, our realtor wonders if we were duped back then and maybe we never got one...the inspection, back in June 2000, was done a month prior to closing and we were not invited. Apparently the buyers always attend the inspection, so that they can ask questions and the inspector can show them areas of concern. Or at least this is what we're told now. Who knows...

Long story short, the buyer backed out, and we're faced with either fixing something that's really expensive (or so we think - we really have no idea) or being upfront about the issue and hoping we find a buyer who thinks its no big deal and who still wants to pay what we're asking.

We have another showing this afternoon. I'm at the point where I simply can't deal with it anymore. I've never...NEVER...been the kind of person who ignores or avoids something. I've always faced any obstacle in my life head-on, making decisions where needed regardless as to how tough they were to make. I've never been afraid to work hard - my whole life has been about working hard.

But something tells me maybe this wasn't meant to be. For some reason, I'm not meant to have the life I've always wanted...its not in the cards to have a nice home I can enjoy with my hubby and my kids...and to have a few more kids at that. It seems I'm not meant to have simple evenings at home with my boys, just chillin' out, making dinner and watching TV. I'm not meant to have a big yard, where my little boys can grow to be big boys...where they can get dirty and hurt and learn that its not a good idea to jump off the garage roof onto the trampoline.

I'm apparently doomed to this life of working Momitude. Forever.

And it really really sucks.

It flashed through my brain last night that I should just quit my job and we should stay in the damn house where we are. I'd never miss another morning with a warm-bodied cuddly two-year-old who only wants to curl his head into my shoulder while watching Sesame Street. I'd never forget to bring a snack to pre-school, or if I did, I could run to the grocery store down the street and have one back to school before snack time.

I could be the field-trip Mom. The Cub Scout Mom. A cop's pretty wife.

I even have an office in which to write.

We'd still have a teeny tiny yard, and have completely overgrown our house...

...but maybe that's better than what we're going through now.

fairytale

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 12:37:00 +0000

(Alternate titles: Freak out, EEEEEEEEE! and OhmyGodwesoldourhouseandnowwe'regoingtobehomeless)

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you probably know that selling our house and buying a new one is something we've been working toward for a long long time. And if you've been paying attention, we've given this house a lot of TLC.

So FINALLY, FINALLY finally finally, we and the house were ready and we called a realtor.

We met with said realtor and they came to take pictures.

We signed a buncha papers.

And then, on Saturday, September 12, our home's listing went live online.

Last week? We had seven showings.

After a LOOONG week cleaning and dealing with showings (that we were really excited to have), I was ready for a Sunday spent in pajamas. I had no laundry to catch up on, no dishes to do, and dammit, I wanted to watch crap TV and eat popcorn.

Instead, we had showings 5, 6 & 7 and I spent the afternoon entertaining the kids out of the house.

Through naptime.

Coming home late Sunday afternoon I was exhausted. Our house had been on the market for just over a week and I was beginning to think the selling process just might kill me. The boys took late naps and I finally got my TV time.

It was 9:00 and the boys were still up cuz of those late late naps when the phone rang.

WE HAD AN OFFER.

Ohmyfreakinghellwehadanofferaftereightdaysonthemarket.

The buyer hadn't even seen the upper flat of the duplex yet.

Ohmyhellohmyhellohmyhell.

We made arrangements for the potential buyers to come through and see the upper on Tuesday afternoon (9/22), the same day Jay and I went looking at houses for the first time.

We left a counter offer where the buyer-to-be's realtor could see it -- and before we got home that evening we had confirmation they had signed it.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD.

WE HAVE AN ACCEPTED OFFER. AFTER ELEVEN DAYS.

The catch? Closing is set for October 27. THIRTY-TWO DAYS FROM TODAY.

[Insert heavy curse-laden freak-out here.]

Oh? And by the way? Every home we saw the other day was pretty much crap.

Oh and by the way by the way? Jay now works the entire weekend, including his split double on Saturday.

OHMYGODWESOLDOURHOUSEBUTNOWWE'REGOINGTOBEHOMELESS.

I know, I know. Selling your house is the hard part. Right? But we now have an ENTIRE house to pack up in a month's time, AND we have to find a place to stay until we find that new home of our dreams. I haven't rented in so long...is it even possible to find a place on this short of notice? And can you rent for a month at a time? And will I actually have any hair left after this entire thing is over?

Somebody hold me.

So here's the real fairytale part: Tuesday afternoon, before the freak-outed-ness settled upon me, I was sitting at work counting down the minutes until the end of my work day, when we could finally start looking for our dream house. Hubster called.

"Can you turn on FM106?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"Uh, yeah. Why?" Leaning back, I turned the volume up on my radio.

"Cuz I played a song for you."

"No you didn't." I mean, people don't really do that, do they? Other than those saps who call Delilah on Saturday nights.

"Yes I did."

And just then I found the station. The song we danced our first dance to at our wedding was playing. And I got tears in my eyes. "No you didn't."

"I didn't think they'd play it so quickly. I mean, I thought we'd be driving together when it came up, so you missed part of it, but well, I had them play it for you. Cuz I love you and I meant it when I promised you that you'd have the house you deserve some day."

Oh my God -- big sappy girl tears.

Take notes from him, boys. Take notes.

Motorcycle Mama

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 13:06:00 +0000

Its official! See that lil' M?

This Momma's goin' ridin'! (And quick! Cuz in Wisconsin? We could get snow like next week.)

And yes, I did just share my DL photo with the Internet. While still bad, it beats the pants off of my LAST photo.

W00T W00T!

Domestic Diva FAIL.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:34:00 +0000

I've been a bit absent from the scene lately, but for good reason.

Our house is for sale!

I had hoped to compile a Wordless post today that contained nothing but a picture of the sign in our yard, but we don't yet have one. However...

The listing "went live" on Saturday.

We had two showings yesterday.

And another scheduled for today.

I am somewhat freaking out and somewhat praying that the interest continues and that the folks who've seen it already want to come back and see the upper unit.

And I am in need of about 12 straight hours of uninterrupted sleep. (Cleaning your house top to bottom including the basement is for the birds. Unfinished asements? SHOULD have cobwebs. You can quote me on that.) I have never before had all of my laundry done at one time (and still don't), but apparently, our closets and dressers only "work" based on my usual system of "there is always dirty laundry." Cuz with it all clean? There isn't room to put it all away! There aren't any dirty dishes to be found...I think my sink is lonely.

Don't worry! In the midst of all this over-achieving cleanitude, I have somehow still found a way to be a slacker.

While unloading the dishwasher the other night, I noticed something strange in the silverware bucket.

What in THE HELL is THAT?!?

Oh my hell, I WASHED A PIECE OF CHICKEN.

Yum.

Where I was.

mommy_wins@sbcglobal.net (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:33:00 +0000

Eight years ago today, I was in the office early, getting ready for a big golf outing I was organizing for the following day.

Even at 7:30 in the morning, Milwaukee skies were the brightest blue with only traces of wispy clouds. The temperature was truly still summer-like. I remember taking my sweet time as I walked boxes and bags of miscellaneous things out to the trunk of my car. I remember hoping that maybe someone wouldn't show and they'd ask me to fill in to even out a lopsided foursome instead of spending the day as the marketing lackey, destined to hand out name tags and quite possibly becoming the drink cart girl.

On one trip back to my cubicle, Randy, a friendly if not goofy sales guy, wheeled back quickly in his chair, so as to catch my eye and shout, "Hey! Did you hear? A plane flew into the World Trade Center. They think its like a tourist plane or something."

I hadn't heard. But how horrible! I imagined a small plane, carrying two or three people, hitting the building, bouncing off and crashing in a fiery heap at the ground.

I don't remember when I heard that it was an actual airliner. But I do remember that my car was loaded and I was back at my desk when I heard the news.

A second plane had hit the other tower. And they knew it wasn't an accident.

This was unheard of. What did they mean a second plane hit the other tower? Hadn't that pilot heard that another plane had just crashed? What in the HELL was going on in New York?!?

I don't remember the morning DJs using the words 'terrorism', but maybe they did. What I do remember was listening intently as their normally inane sports-ladled diatribes, laced with laughter and box scores turned serious and urgent.

I didn't notice until I whirled my chair around to go ask Randy where he was getting his news that nearly a dozen people were hovering at the entrance to my cubicle. I had one of the few radios in the office, back in a time when nothing streamed online.

A wall of dazed faces greeted me with silence, heads cocked as people are wont to do when they're trying to listen. I turned up the volume.

I called my fiance at home. Hubs was a retail manager at the time, and happened to have the day off. He had seen the infamous footage of the second plane flying straight into the second tower.

"Colleen," he'd said, "they did that on purpose."

I don't remember what came next - whether it was the plane crashing into the Pentagon, or the plane going down in Pennsylvania, or the first tower falling. I do remember the office phones being eerily silent, and feeling panicked that there was nothing I could do but sit and wait for more reports of carnage. I imagined all those people and their families and cried.

At one point I theorized that these planes were heading west, and who knew when they would stop. I feared for Atlanta and Chicago and heard that buildings downtown were being evacuated. The one-story building I worked in was in the 'burbs, but that did nothing to ease my anxieties or resolve my NEED to just get home - to be with people I loved before the end came for US.

There had been a meeting scheduled - a conference call with the company President - for who the hell knows what. Some company meeting we all assumed was now off in light of the circumstances, only we got an email saying it wasn't. Milwaukee's Mayor had scheduled a press conference to start around the same time and I said out loud that I was going to hear what the Mayor had to say and then was going home. To hell with the goddamn company president. He could fire me if he needed to. Strangely, almost everyone else sat through that entire hour-long meeting.

I remember the Mayor divulging that the buildings downtown (including the one I would, ironically, start work in almost exactly one year later) had been evacuated as a precaution only - that all planes in the country had been grounded and accounted for. THAT scared the shit out of me. This was so big - so important - that NO ONE WAS FLYING. IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY. HOLY SHIT.

After the "meat" of the press conference, I went back to my desk and grabbed my things. I started walking to the front door and my car when I heard someone say, "Hey - they're letting us go home early. That's nice, isn't it?" Fuck nice. I was going one way or another. Just because they had our airplanes accounted for didn't mean that whomever had done this didn't have other tricks up their sleeves.

The freeway was nearly empty. I fought back tears so that I could drive safely, but nearly jumped OUT OF MY SKIN when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a huge black bird fly overhead. For a split second I had thought it was a plane - a plane that wasn't supposed to be there - and my relief at the fact that it was just a bird did nothing to relieve my tension but instead just made me sob.

I watched HOURS of coverage with Jay that day. Hours of smoke rising and people jumping and papers fluttering to the ground. Crowds running and ash falling and folks crying, trying to reach loved ones by cell phone.

We watched, unable to do anything else, while citizens of New York City made make-shift communications centers - posting papers containing photos of loved ones - "Have you seen my wife?" and "This is my son!" SO many papers. Just unbelievable.

Late that afternoon I stood out on our porch, unable to keep watching. Crying. And then it hit me.

It started slow...a single lawn mower roaring to life.

"How in the HELL can people just MOW THEIR LAWNS?!?" I shouted, angry. Jay hugged me from behind while I cried, fearing that there most certainly had to be a military draft coming. I knew that Hubs is the type of person who'd want to enlist. I cried selfishly, not wanting to lose him, then cried some more for being selfish when some people had already lost so much.

"Hon," he'd said. "Those people today? They hate us for being who we are. For being Americans. For living in a country where you can be anything you want - do anything you want."

Another lawn mower started up. Maybe I wasn't the only one with nervous energy.

We stood there, holding each other, on that porch for a very long time, the TV on in the background, the reporter going over and over and over again the footage we'd already watched half a dozen times.

Before we let go of each other, we were being serenaded by a chorus of small engines. We were on the porch of our home. Together.

And somehow? The simple fact that we could do anything, mundane or otherwise, was quite a bit more beautiful.