My Attempts At "Centering"

I’ve been dealing with Divas all the live long day! Divas that I am parenting.

Diva #1 is short, dark and male and talks like Elmer Fudd would, if Elmer was crabby and complaining incessantly about the weather. “I’m tiwed of all the wain. When will it be sunny so I can go out and pway??” Diva #1 made no bones about the fact that he much preferred the Kraft brand of macaroni and cheese over the homemade version that I made for lunch today. Then I played a CD that I bought for myself this weekend. It’s an instrumental assortment of airy songs promising to help me in my quest for peacefulness and a harmonious existence, or some such. I don’t really know what that means. What I do know is that its songs have names such as “Zen Garden” and “Sunset Paradise.” I was hoping this music would help to relax me so I would not commit a felony because of my hormones and the little male Diva following me around the house complaining about the macaroni and cheese. So I played this CD, to which Diva #1 stated he hated that kind of music; that it was too “sad” and made him want to die and go to Heaven right now. And then he threw himself on the floor, striking a SAD AND DYING POSE, and was highly insulted that I wasn’t taking it seriously and calling an ambulance. I was clean out of compassion. But fortunately the cat cuddled up next to him, giving him the empathy he’d been yearning for, and I went back to eating my macaroni and cheese and listening to my Zen music.

Diva #2 is taller and female. I picked her up from school today, and she was still fatigued from jet lag and her "boring" classes. I was forced to listen to a litany of reasons why France is so much better than the U.S. all the way home in the car. She stated deductions such as there is no legal drinking age and that they dine on delicacies like escargot which sounds way cooler than eating snails. She insisted I drive her to Trader Joe’s for chocolate croissants which she had a taste for, but then complained that they were not nearly as delicious as the “true French ones.” As long as we were at Trader Joe’s, I decided to pick up a few bottles of inexpensive wine. And having attended one wine-tasting at a vineyard in France, Diva #2 declared herself a connoisseur, and proceeded to advise me on my wine purchases, insisting that the French varietals were the absolute best. Isn't it wonderful that I had my own Personal Sommelier accompanying me on this visit to Trader Joe's, to critique my every move down the wine aisle?! She was annoyed when I settled on an Italian red to go with my dinner tonight of ziti with Bolognese.

(BIG SIGH OF SELF PITY.)

Diva #1 is now happily watching a DVD, the 11th one that I suggested. It's amazing that I had to only suggest 11! And Diva #2 is wistfully looking at her France pictures and texting her traveling buddies about how she wishes she could move permanently across The Big Pond. My middle child is wisely staying out of trouble.

I will pour myself a glass of Italian sangiovese from Trader Joe's, and turn on my “Serenity” CD, so I can attempt to achieve a bit of inner harmony before I begin the dinner. Cheers. And Peace Out, Baby.

Homecoming

Believe it or not…….Butterfly made it home from Europe alive and well and with a few Euros still in her pocket! She slept almost the whole 9 hours on the plane home from Germany, so she felt wired and excited when she arrived home. Over a dinner of hamburger casserole and brownies, she shared her stories, showed pictures and distributed gifts.
I am very glad to have my daughter back. Having a child an ocean away can be a bit anxiety-producing, especially as I was receiving texts on our Date Night about upcoming parties with Jersey Boys and Midnight Mediterranean swims and getting lost in Düsseldorf airports.
WELCOME BACK, BUTTERFLY! WE MISSED YOU!!!

Spring Break Ends Badly

In a rare act of spontaneity, I had a two hour lunch with a friend yesterday. We decided to drop our older boys off at the movie theater, then head to an Italian restaurant to share farfalle chicken alfredo, caprese salad and wine. Yes, I had wine at noon and felt thoroughly naughty! But I enjoyed it immensely, as well as our conversation. The food, the ambiance, the toast to our friendship. It was good for my soul. Every woman needs to have a fabulous two-hour lunch with a good friend and good wine every now and then.

Then today, on this last day of Spring Break, Little Squirt and I met another friend and her son at the theater to see “Horton Hears A Who.” Which reminded me never to go to that particular theater during Spring Break again. NOT EVER. The place was crowded and filthy. (And don't ask me about the bathrooms.) Little Squirt and I went in to find our seats while my friend bought their refreshments. It was packed. I finally spotted four seats in a row at the end of an aisle, and I walked over the legs of 14 Birthday Party Preschoolers to get to there. As I was almost to the empty seats, a rude, ill-bred father who clearly had no respect for common decency dropped two of his children over the guardrail and into the seats, and leaped over to join them. It took every bit of self-restraint I had not to throw my Pepsi at him. So I clambered back over the gauntlet of Preschoolers once again, stepping on sticky bubblegum and loose popcorn and enduring the kicks, only to find two groups of two seats together in the second and third aisles. My friend and I plopped our two little boys in front of us and sat behind them. We lay our heads back on the seats, suffering neck cramps, and I thought about yesterday’s glass of wine. They should definitely serve wine in movie theaters. Especially to stressed-out mothers during Spring Break.

Butterfly will return home tomorrow from her France trip. Super Hubs is breathing a huge sigh of relief, as he has watched her debit account drain moment by moment. It’s been a Father/Daughter dance performed in perfect rhythm. He adds to the account, she subtracts from it. Almost immediately. Add/Subtract. Add/Subtract. She has clearly channeled Paris Hilton this week, spending recklessly and spontaneously. I’m not certain that she’s seen anything of France other than the inside of all the boutiques. I am curious to see her pictures.(Did she actually have time to take any pictures, what with the shopping and all??) She sent me a text today that said she was looking to purchase a cool outfit to wear to the “Last Night Party.” The 32 outfits she packed from home evidently won’t do. And later she texted me to say that she was enjoying good wine (It’s legal there) with classmates and then planning a midnight Mediterranean swim, and an "all-nighter" to soak up every last bit of her trip.

Huh? Reveling in shopping. And traveling. And wine. And socializing until the wee hours. Embracing every last bit of life with abandonment. Wherever does she learn these things? I have no idea. (Wink. Wink.) Hmmmm.

Want France

Rock Star and his friend were dying for hamburgers today, so I took the boys to Red Robin. It’s not fois gras and truffles in Provencal like their sister is probably enjoying, but Bon Apetit anyhoo. They enjoyed it, by gosh.

We finally heard from Butterfly in France, with much drama via voice mail. Apparently her debit card was “not working,” and she was in a panic, because, People, she had more French shopping to do! After much back and forth with the bank, we discovered that she’d reached the cap the bank had put on her account, unbeknownst to us. (The real story is probably that there are not enough Euros in all the cash stations in Nice to support her spending habits!) So we removed the cap, with the caveat that Butterfly remember to be thrifty with her Euros, as we are not The Hilton Family. But I am mighty proud of my daughter's selfless attempts to boost the French economy.

Then I got a text message from Butterfly, telling me she was having a wonderful time photographing lavender fields and visiting vineyards and wine tasting. And that she was in love. (I’m hoping with the local ambience and not some local French boy named Francois.) And that the class was on a bus, headed to an “Uber Rich” place. (I’m assuming she means the Principality of Monaco.) And that tomorrow they would hit the beaches in Nice. (Keep your top on, please. For Mommy.)

So I’ve been in a wistful, dreamy mood all day, longing to go to France. I was there once with my family when I was twenty. And it was lovely. As far as I remember. In all honesty, I didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have, and I spent the better part of the trip with my nose in a romance novel; my attempt at a hideaway from my annoying younger brothers.

I’ve been bitten by the France bug, pretty darn bad. So tonight I will nurse my Chablis and listen to “Claire de Lune” and pine for lavender fields. More on my France-lust manana. I mean “demain.”

Loose Pockets

Spring Break!! Today is actually the first day it felt truly Spring-like, here in the Midwest. The weather has warmed up, the snow is in various stages of melting, and I saw a couple of robins chasing each other around my birch tree. The boys and I are spending the week sleeping in, lazing about, and enjoying time with friends. Nothing overly exciting. I have been thinking a lot about Butterfly, gallivanting around France.

The French teacher chaperoning this trip explicitly urged the students not to buy lots of gifts for others, as the Euro is worth about $1.50. Translation: The American dollar sucksright now, to be quite candid. Everything purchased in France will be expensive. So, on the teacher’s recommendation, we sent Butterfly off to this “all inclusive” trip with $100 in Euros, and a debit card to be used for emergencies. But we noted by internet that Butterfly had made two rather large cash withdrawals in Paris on the first two days of the trip. So we are wondering: What in Sam Hill are the emergencies??
“I need to buy a small chateau on the Riviera.”
“I have to purchase The Mona Lisa.”
“I’ll take the entire Dior Spring Collection, please.”
WHAT?????

My daughter, The Shopping Queen, running loose with a debit card in Paris. What in the Wonderful Name of God were we thinking??

Happy Easter

Christ is risen!

Testosterone Overload

Butterfly, as I write this, is happily ensconced in a Four Star Hotel in Paris. I am living vicariously, imagining what she is doing all the day long. Soaking in the view from the Eiffel Tower? Buying exquisite perfumes along the Champs-Elysees? Enjoying croissants and cappuccino at an outdoor café? Flirting with the good-looking French men?……NO! No and No. I won’t go there in my mind.

I miss my daughter terribly! And apparently so do the cats, who spent the better part of the day curled up on her bed. I am outnumbered by the men-folk in the family, 3 to 1. They are not interested in seeing my fresh manicure, or shopping at Nordstrom’s, or what’s the story with the Cruise’s daughter, Suri? Instead, they talk about All Things Boring. And Things That I Know Not Of. Such as sports. And Nascar. And more sports. And when we went out for deep dish pizza tonight, nobody was interested in my plans to redecorate the Master Bathroom. And they all refused to give me advise for what earrings I should wear with my Easter outfit. Instead, Rock Star processed what part of the country he plans on living in when he wins a Grammy some day. And Little Squirt made inane comments, such as, “Dad, do you know you have hair in your nose? You should take it out.”

There’s too much testosterone floating around in the household at present. We need more estrogen. Maybe I can call some of Butterfly’s girlfriends, and see if they’ll hang out for a few days. Perhaps they’ll agree to mess up her bedroom, play her music very loudly, and use up all the gas in our car. Then it’ll feel like my daughter is here, and I won’t miss her so very much.

France or Bust

After a flurry of shopping, packing, re-packing (and more shopping), Butterfly is off to France today, with 10 other classmates and 2 escorts. Here in Chicago we frequently have bi-polar weather. Yesterday was sunny and warm. Today we woke up to snow. Isn't that lovely on the first day of Spring??! But the bad weather will not daunt the spirits of these High School juniors, as they head toward the Mediterranean, with promises of sunshine and warmth.

Easter Egg Dying

In The Criminal Justice System.........

As a good, upstanding citizen who’s never had any trouble with the law, it was slightly disconcerting to me when I noticed a police car pull up into our driveway on Monday evening after dinner. And it was extremely anxiety-producing and nearly vomit-inducing when he rang the bell and asked if this was the house where our teenage daughter, Butterfly, lived.

“Why? What happened??” I cut to the chase, forgoing the polite introductions that Bree from "Desperate Housewives" would deem appropriate in this situation. I wanted to shake him by his official collar and demand that he tell me the truth right away. Was she dead? Alive? Wanted for murder?? Or just the recipient of an Excellent Teen Driver in the Community Award? What prompted this official “visit”? What? WHAT??! I held onto Super Hubs for support, bracing myself for the worst.

“Her friend, Hayley, did not come home from school today. She’s not returning her parent’s phone calls. They’ve reported her as a runaway, and believe she is with your daughter.” Ahhhh. I breathed a sigh of relief. Butterfly was not in trouble, or worse, hurt. She was only an accomplice in helping her best friend avoid a punishment. Hayley was a frequent visitor to our home, telling tearful stories of fighting with her dysfunctional parents and the desire to move out. It was an emotionally chaotic home.

I explained that Butterfly was at the house of another friend, practicing their dance for Orchesis. ”Can you please see if Hayley is with her, and if so, have them come back here so I can take Hayley back home?” The police officer requested.

I called Butterfly, who confirmed that “The Runaway” was with her. I told her to drive home right away. Then Super Hubs went off to do some work, leaving me to entertain Mr. Police Officer, during the wait for the girls.

“Did you want to sit down? Have a drink while you’re waiting?” I asked, unsure of the protocol. What did one do with a Police Officer in the foyer for 20 Awkward Minutes? Was he like a priest, who would want me to come clean with all my transgressions, such as the overdue library book I was deliberately holding onto? Would he be wildly impressed with my perfect driving record? Or the fact that Super Hubs had jury duty recently? Did he want to shoot the breeze (pardon the pun) and talk about the latest “Law & Order” episode? Should I ask politely if he would care to move his cruiser into our garage, so the neighbors didn’t make any false assumptions?

“No, ma’am. I’ll just wait right here,” he said, standing by the front door. And so we waited, Mr. Police Officer and I (with Little Squirt coming in every now and then to gawk and ask if he could shoot his gun and try on his hand cuffs.) We made small talk. I offered him a drink again. And a snack. He politely refused, perhaps believing I'd taint them with a poisonous substance. Who knows the kind of criminal mind he dealt with on a regular basis?? So we just stood there together; The Police Officer and The Housewife Who Was Feeling Insecure Over Entertaining A Police Officer; the awkwardness palpable. I agonized over what the neighbors must be thinking.

And then Butterfly showed up, followed by Hayley, both girls’ eyes wide with trepidation. But he was kind as he informed Hayley he would have to drive her home, and hoped she would work things out with her parents. And Butterfly, with tears in her eyes, said how she appreciated me, and that I am a “nice mother.” And I wistfully watched Hayley get into the back seat of the cruiser, lights flashing as it drove away.

I would harbor them all, if I could. All The Runaways from toxic families. I would move them in, and welcome them with open arms. I’d pour love into their broken hearts, encouragement into their dreams and hope into their future. I really would, if I could. But instead, I prayed for Hayley and her family. I went upstairs, drew a hot bath, sunk down under the bubbles, and prayed.

An Old Irish Blessing

May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
With joy that long endures.
May all life’s passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours!
Happy St. Patrick's Day, My Friends!

Easter Week Live

In All Seriousness....What Is Not A Friend?

Last night’s dinner out with friends was just the medicine my soul needed, as Jim, My Reader Friend suggested! We enjoyed delicious food while listening to an Irish band, and I did have that wonderful Dirty Martini. Just one, perfectly made. And we talked and laughed, and then finished our evening over at a coffee shop. The Healing Power of Community, at work in my body and soul.

And now I’m going to get a bit intense, here, without my usual sarcastic wit. All my resting time over the past two weeks of being ill has given me opportunity to reflect on the topic of "Friendship." I am so blessed currently to be in a season of life in which I have an abundance of wonderful friends. They are all dear to me, yet each fall within different “spheres” in my heart; a few close ones in my inner circle, a larger number floating outside of that, and then others that I am not particularly intimate with, yet enjoy some special interactions or fun on more of an occasional basis. The many layers of friendships.

And yet, I have also been reflecting on friendships that are not feeling good to me right now. I have been struggling with one or two friends that make me feel small, somehow. Friendships in which I feel, perhaps, a bit invisible. As if my life and my feelings and my dreams are made to feel much less important than theirs, in subtle ways. Relationships in which I feel like I do most of the giving, listening, encouraging, and moving towards. Ones that don’t shoulder mutuality. I am talking about Toxic People. People that struggle with feelings of worthlessness, and it plays out in the ways they treat me.

I read a fabulous book called “Cold Tangerines” a few months ago. And recently I heard the author being interviewed on the radio. And she talked about such Toxic Friendships. People that are unwilling to point us towards the goodness of God in our lives. People that are unable to rejoice in our successes. Friends whom, when they leave our presence, make us feel soul-drained. Unsafe. Crazy.

So I am reflecting on that. I recognize that I have qualities in my personality that often attract unhealthy, selfish friends. I am a nurturing caregiver by nature, often at cost to my own emotional health. And I’m not okay with that anymore. I’m in a growing place. And last night’s dinner with good friends reminded me of how much I need to surround myself with people that are “medicine to my soul.” Life is too short and precious to settle for anything less.

Just Following Doctor's Orders...Sort Of

Well, I finally waved the white flag of surrender, conceded defeat and headed into the doctor yesterday. I had improved from this Wicked Flu Thing for a few days, but was back to feeling icky again. I had a full week of evening meetings which I normally thrive on. But this week I just sort of “dialed” them in, scared my comrades with my hacking cough that mimicked The SARS, and felt over-all achy. When I discovered another fever of 101 yesterday, I headed to the doctor.

I despise going to the doctor and avoid them at all cost. (Ironically, I am a Registered Nurse.) I’m always mortified because my blood pressure goes sky-high as does my pulse, and they get all worried about me. But it’s Because. I. Am Afraid. Plan and simple. Afraid that I will walk in with flu symptoms and leave with a diagnosis of terminal cancer. (Working at Children’s Memorial Hospital on an oncology ward for three years scarred me for life.) Nevertheless, I did go into the doctor, dragging Super Hubs with me every step along the way. Another bonus was that he could be my voice for me. This bug that I have had has taken my real voice captive and transposed it with the voice of Joey’s Agent, Estelle, from “Friends.” It sounds kind of like if Demi Moore had a pack a day habit, only not nearly as sexy. That’s the kind of creepy voice I have at present.

So, bless her heart, the doctor was sweet and compassionate and gave me drugs. Double bless her heart! I am now on an antibiotic for my pre-pneumonia condition, and a steroid for my asthma. And I was ordered to bed rest for three days. (Hah! Clearly the woman did not know who she’s dealing with!) I’ve been taking my drugs and drinking fluids and trying to rest. But then I see that the laundry needs to be done. And I have to make a few phone calls. And Little Squirt needs time and attention and more to do than watch “Star Wars” marathons all day.

And then….there’s Date Night tonight. And what kind of date would I be for Super Hubs if I spent the evening sleeping under my comforter?? So I am going to cheat on this bed-rest thing (just a little) tonight, and join friends for dinner. Because that’s sort of resting, is it not?? I mean, I’ll just be sitting quietly at the restaurant, eating and conversing with my disgusting cigar-chain-smoking voice. It’s not like I’m going to jump up on the bar and sing karaoke and “crank dat!” No. I’m just going to calmly eat my dinner and enjoy the companionship of good friends. And what could be more healing to a People-Person like me? Right?? So I’ll just enjoy dinner and friends and maybe one martini. No, just kidding. That would be bad when I’m sick and on drugs..... Or would it? Doesn’t alcohol kill germs? One martini wouldn’t hurt. It might indeed help! We’ll see.

One of these days I’ll stop writing about my illness. I swear. I realize this is a not a Geriatric Blog (Do they actually blog?), although it could pass for one lately. One of these days I will post about my amazing escapades and brilliant deductions! I’ll inspire you with my wisdom and fabulously exciting life! I’ll do all that when I’m feeling better, and not carrying around cough drops in my purse and tissues up my cardigan sleeve like I’m 92.

Death By Chocolate?

Two of my animals are in the doghouse, please pardon the pun. The first offender is Kinsey the cat, who has taken to peeing on my bed. She did this several time yesterday, but it took me a while to put two and two together. I noticed a little odorous spot, but was all in denial, “No WAY would one of the cats pee on our new bedspread. They are far too considerate of my feelings and bedroom decor!” But then I caught her in the act. She was hunched over, down on her hind legs, micturating without a care in the world, as if it was just a giant Ralph Lauren litter box.

So we are not on speaking terms, and she’s been banned to the laundry room temporarily, at least until I figure out a better option. Euthanasia by benadryl??? Seriously, I realize that I probably need to take her to the vet to see what the Underlying Cause is. But I am aware that the Underlying Cause will not be discovered until after the vet has ordered thousands of dollars worth of CT scans and MRIs and blood work and ultrasounds and barium enemas. And perhaps, after being handed a vet bill the cost of my car, the Underlying Cause will be just plan old “Defiance.” Or “I’ve Got the Freakin’ Feline Lazies and Don’t Wanna Go Downstairs to the Litter Box.” Or “I Hate Your New Gold Ralph Lauren Bedspread and I’m Telling You That By Pissing on It." It’s why I hesitate to run her off to the Vet. I’m hoping her enforced “Time-Out” in the laundry room is giving her time to feel compassion and empathy for me (The Keeper of Her Free Room and Board), repent of her sinfulness, and vow to not only make things right again between us but to leave a special mark on the world. (That does not involve urine.) Super Hubs does not know about this yet. So please don’t tell him that he slept under a cat-pee soaked bedspread last night which I didn’t have time to wash. But it’s been cleaned today. And if anyone wants a free cat, just let me know……..

The other naughty pet is Rudy the dog. I had a bag full of chocolate eggs in my purse , a present from one of my Drama Team friends. And I left the purse on the floor last night, when I came home in a hurry from Drama Training to watch “Law & Order.” This morning, in the mood for a delicious energy boost of chocolate to munch on while I sipping my coffee, imagine my dismay when I found candy wrappers all over the floor of the kitchen and dining room. And no more chocolate. PLEASE DO imagine my severe distress when I discovered this offense, after spending the night under a cat pee-soaked bedspread! And what’s with the theory that chocolate is toxic to dogs?? I could only be so lucky!

Life is not kind to me this week! It seems there’s been some sort of conspiracy of the mammals in this house to plot to do nasty things to me. So now I want to drop-kick the whole furry lot of them out the window, so I can eat my chocolate under a clean Ralph Lauren bedspread in peace.

Help Needed

Butterfly has been looking for a job for about 6 months. I use the term “looking” very loosely, although she firmly believes she has pounded the pavement and been diligent in seeking employment far and wide.

I believe this “job search” really involves Butterfly picking up a carload of friends, and heading to a few “cool” places that she caught wind of a hiring rumor. Such as the LA Tan. She drove with two girlfriends, got a tan, flirted with the hot teen manager, then remembered to fill out a job application as an afterthought. On another day she went to Jamba Juice, sipped a relaxing Razzmatazz (without bananas) while she giggled with her girlfriends over In Touch magazine, filled out an application, text messaged a few boys, then headed home after a couple of hours. Another time she headed to the mall to “find a job.” She came back home four hours later with several shopping bags and one empty application that she hadn’t had time to fill out because it interfered with her purchasing.

The job applications seem to end up in an abyss. A few weeks later, I’ll encourage her to follow up with a phone call to the place of business, and she’ll tell me they are not hiring anymore. So what the heck happened??? It makes Super Hubs, The Man With The Strongest Work Ethic on the Planet, absolutely nuts. He will frequently launch into a tirade about the value of “putting the nose to the grindstone.” He often tells The Teens a long rambling story about working a high school job in a Laundromat during the hot summers with no air conditioning, and how he had to ride his bike the 12 miles to get there, uphill the whole way. And The Teens will roll their eyes and ask for an advance on their allowance, because they need to go out and see movies and eat pizza and buy Abercrombie.

Butterfly is heading to France in two weeks with her French class, a trip she was supposed to help us finance with the supposed job she was supposed to have obtained many moons ago. But “The Perfect Job” never materialized. So she’ll enjoy the Eiffel Tower and croissants and the sights along the Mediterranean on her Daddy’s Dollars. But when she comes home…..then we are going to make her seriously look for a job. I really meant it. No more messing around! Nose to the grindstone! So if you hear of any places that are hiring, can you please put in a good word for her? She’s really a hard worker…..if fortified with jamba juice and the promises of frequent breaks to text message her friends. Please??

Bakery Back-Pedaling

“Where is my donut??” Feisty Little Squirt greeted me at the door this morning with this demand; big brown eyes flashing. Because of his congestion and loose cough, leftover symptoms of the flu, he stayed home from church this morning with his sister. As a consolation prize, we promised to bring back a donut with chocolate icing; his usual after-church treat.

Oops. We were negligent on that end. When church let out, Super Hubs and I became chatty. Actually, I became chatty with the masses while Super Hubs hovered on the outskirts, looking frequently at his watch and trying to catch my eye. But I had friends to catch up with! I have felt isolated all week because of the flu, and so my extroverted self was in her glory being gabby with everyone that would listen. And in my quest for the title of Conversation Queen, we forgot to buy the donut. An unforgivable offense in Little Squirt Land.

“We forgot the donut. So sorry! Can I make you hot chocolate instead?” I tried. Fast and furious, Little Squirt grabbed a dollar from my wallet and said he would go to the “donut store” by himself. Amused, Super Hubs and I glanced at the newspaper, while keeping half a watchful eye on our five-year-old.

In a few minutes, Little Squirt was in his winter coat, boots and mittens. “I’m going to the Donut Store now!” he said defiantly. “Okay, Honey, have fun!” I said. Puzzled that I wasn’t more concerned, Little Squirt said, “But I don’t know how to get there. Can you give me a map?”

“You don’t need a map. Just go that way.” Super Hubs pointed north. To which Little Squirt headed into the garage and slammed the door. And stayed there for about five minutes, in all his stubbornness. Then walked in, looking sheepish, dollar bill tightly clenched in his fist. But to save face, he said, “The Donut Store was all out of donuts.”
Conceding defeat, he sat down to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate. The next best thing.

Feelin' Groovy

Slow down, you move too fast. You’ve got to make the morning’ last, just kickin’ down the cobblestones, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy!
I am feeling good! No, better than good. I feel FABULOUS! Not completely back to normal, mind you, although I’ve actually never been completely normal as my close friends will testify. But I’m feeling much more Kelly-like. More ME. And that feels darn good. In fact, it feels groovy!

So, I’ve had the lyrics to the old song by Simon and Garfunkel, “ The 59th Street Bridge Song” floating around in my mind all day. Because I’m feelin’ it! The sun is out, the sky is blue, Spring is just around the corner…..or just around a couple of corners…...or just around a whole lotta corners (let’s be realistic, for Pete’s sake, this is Chicago.) But nevertheless, do-it-do-do-do, feelin’ groovy!

We had Music Class in a portable classroom erected on the school parking lot when I was in the lower grades. I loved skipping out there twice a week, climbing the steps up into the mysterious trailer that somehow contained a piano, and a bunch of desks, and the wonderful Mrs. Stone. She was a amazingly interesting teacher, who imparted to us a love for the musical arts. This was the 70s, and Mrs. Stone was a big fan of Elton John. So we learned all the lyrics to all the Elton John songs, thanks to Mrs. Stone. I loved to sing. And I loved nothing more than singing “Jeremiah was a bull frog” at the top of my lungs for Mrs. Stone. Which she appreciated, WAY more than my parents.

And one day Mrs. Stone taught us the lyrics to that Simon and Garfunkel song. And in my little pea brain, I remember wondering what a “groovy” was. I’d never heard that word. What did a “groovy” feel like? Was it furry? I had no idea. But I loved the beat, and sang along happily about “feelin’ groovy” with the rest of the class.

But today I know. I know what a “groovy” feels like! It feels like I’ve told The Flu to hit the road! It feels like I’m reclaiming my life! It feels like I’m serving spaghetti carbonara with white wine for dinner tonight! It feels like Spring is around one corner or several…Who Cares? It’s a-comin’!
I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep. I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its pebbles on me. Life I love you, All is groovy!

I Am Revolting!

We are still alive, if you were worried. This has been a wicked flu! Rock Star remains the only one without symptoms. He’s taken to braggadocio about his “immune system of steel.” The youth certainly have us beaten on that. Butterfly was down for just two days, and went back to school today, prepared to greet her beloved public. Little Squirt gets lethargic when his fever elevates, but once the motrin kicks in, he’s doing his “Power Ranger” moves off the couch.

I have spent six days straight resting. I had my big “morning out” grocery shopping with Rock Star today. When I got home, I was so light-headed and exhausted that I needed a two-hour nap. What am I, eighty?? Super Hubs spends his time shuffling through the house looking for tissues.

But now, we have a life to get back to. Super Hubs will return to work tomorrow, and I have a jam-packed weekend. This flu has stolen almost a week of my life, which I will never get back again. So enough! I declare a Mutiny! Flu- Be vanquished!! (If only it could be so easy.)

Hit Full Force

Despite my best efforts to keep my germs isolated, The Plague has spread through my family, claiming three more victims. The only one still standing is Rock Star. And he has stepped up to the plate like a champ. While the rest of us were still sleeping this morning, I heard him wake up at 7:30 and head downstairs to empty the dishwasher, let the dog out, and eat three bowls of cereal. (Presumably to keep up his strength.)

I caught him studying my “Five Ingredients Or Less” cookbook, and he apparently told his guitar teacher that he would need to learn to pay the bills. (He must have a premonition that this flu bug will keep us all down and out much longer than we’re hoping.) He gets annoyed if one of us wanders downstairs. “What are you doing?? Go back to bed!!” he scolds as he covers his face with his t-shirt.

But until he really learns to cook, we are taking meal donations. So feel free to don your HazMat suit, put the casserole on our front porch, ring the bell, then drive away. Far away. We’ll give you five minutes to make the escape before we open our germ-infested front door. Although Rock Star has aspirations of making BLT’s for dinner tonight. He asked me, “Do I need to cook the bacon before I put it in the sandwich?” ….Like I said, meal donations are always welcome.

The Siege Continues

This is SO not good. Day #3 of high fever, congestion and cough. I have no energy for anything except napping. With occasional sipping of drinks sprinkled in between the napping. My only companions are the cats who keep company at my feet; Kinsey at the left, and Peppermint at the right. My family flees when I leave the sanctuary of my bedroom on the rare occasion.

And now Super Hubs has a dry, hacking cough. And is freezing. I am hot and he is cold. Then I am cold and he is hot. So that brings me to this scary conclusion: The Teens will be in charge of our household for the next few days. Oh.Dear.God…………

Pass Me A Tissue

Forgive my silence on the Blogosphere the past few days. I’ve got The Plague.
On Thursday, when I began feeling a little “off,” I thought it was because of my poor sleep the night before. But yesterday, I felt a tad yuckier, and today my symptoms are full blown. They consist of a horrible, hacking cough, body aches, fever and chills. I believe it’s the flu. Which serves me right for being the only one in the family to refuse the shot, and allowing myself to get run down the past few weeks.

I have not really been this ill in a few years, thanks to my blessed Irish/Italian constitution. But, my gosh, what ever gave me the false rosy retrospect that spending time in bed with an illness was equal to a vacation? Assuredly it is not! All I have done in the past 8 hours is hover under my blankets in a shivering ball, only coming up for air once to eat a grapefruit. And why is it so freaking freezing in this house? And then hot! Too, too hot! I am SO not looking forward to menopause.

I am too light-headed to read, and the t.v. is annoying every one of my senses. The only family member who will come anywhere near me is Little Squirt. He keeps sticking the thermometer in my mouth at odd moments and bringing me stuffed animals. If I get lucky and have enough energy to whimper, “Can somebody get me a drink?”, Super Hubs or The Teens might throw me a water bottle or something. Their compassionate, merciful sides have been overtaken by their fear of contagion.

Okay, I’m finished complaining now. And this is all the energy I can muster. I am going back to bed for a four-hour nap. Stay well.