candle time

Please join me in sending birthday wishes to LFG today. Otherwise known as Larry (his real name) and my confidante, buddy, alter ego and sometimes whipping post for well over half of my life. (Sometimes I'm the whip and sometimes I'm the post. Sometimes he talks such circles around me that I'm not really sure what the hell I am. I'm sure he'd say the same. About the talking circles anyway.)


This is one of those "milestone" birthdays, and one which I, thankfully, will not reach for another two years. Not that milestones are bad, exactly. It's just that I've reached my milestone quota for the last year and am not accepting any new applications until January 1st of next year. In the meantime I'm perfectly happy to sit back and comment on other people's milestone moments. That's just the kind of gal I am.


I have to say that in reading comments over the last few weeks - as you've all gotten to see us go at each other - that I really love the idea of co-writing a post with him. Maybe a He Said/She Said type thing - describe your relationship in a hundred words or less. No? A thousand? Possibly? (As he said to me a couple of weeks ago while reading a (really long) email that I wrote - "Damn, you're long winded. I don't think I could write that much if I was getting paid by the word.")


Well, we all know I can. Without being paid a cent. And I bet he could too.



Wouldn't that be fun?

on track

Sometimes you understand that you're turning the corner as you actually do it. And then there are times when you're a mile down the road and you realize that you don't even remember turning the corner. It's just nowhere to be seen in your rear view mirror - not that you're really looking anyway. The road ahead looks much more interesting.


And that's where I'm at. Where I've been for the last several months, as a matter of fact. The last post-marital blow up was, indeed, the final straw, solidified the end of May by one last typical FX trick - a trick that didn't even get a rise out of me, so little did I care. May I take this opportunity to say how thrilled I am that the only reaction these things bring out in me anymore is the sort of bemused detachment that one might feel watching The Jerry Springer Show? I'm even more thrilled that I'm seated in the audience and not sitting center stage. Those lights are hot and they always make my mascara run.


My counseling session tonight was just a little on the brutal side, and the themes that came up aren't new at all. What is new is that I'm finally ready to do something about them - have, actually been doing something about them. This is the Summer of the Shrinking Comfort Zone, and, rather that kick and scream as I have before, I'm biting the bullet and just doing it. All my kicking and screaming in the past haven't changed a damn thing, so why not just shut up and get on with it?


One kid gone for a month.


Another leaving tomorrow for the first of two trips.


My relatively new realization that sitting at home on the nights the kids aren't here isn't the best idea. So, kicking and screaming, I've stepped outside of my box, forced myself to engage,even during times the kids are here. I've gone past the point where hiding from the world is helping me, and finally get that I need to bust out.


Last weekend was a perfect example. Multiple things stacked on Friday night. Ran like crazy Saturday with out of town friends. A beer driven bitch bash straight out of a chick flick Saturday night. Of course on Sunday I collapsed, but at least I got out into the world and made nice.


It may not be obvious to everyone that I've turned that corner. But it sure is to me.

the valium diaries

Thirty six hours.


In thirty six hours, Surfer Dude is off on the camp adventure of a lifetime. For four weeks.


Thirty six hours.


In thirty six hours, I'm going to make Girl, Interrupted look like the Brady Bunch. For four weeks.


I've calculated how many days Gumby is going to be gone, too. Between spending time at the lake with the grandparents and going to visit his best friend in Texas and the days in between that he'll spend with his dad, I feel like I'll not be seeing him much at all until we go to California the middle of July. I'll spare you all the hourly countdown - for now - but when he goes, they're both gone. And that leaves me with Sasquatch, who, in typical teenage fashion, isn't home much at all.


What the HELL am I going to do with all this free time????

fighting fires

Picture this.

An elderly - and quite demented - gentleman, who evidently had retreated back into his boyhood fantasy of being a fireman. A nurse - sweet, kind, and wholly unsuspecting - who walked into his room to give him a warm blanket. Out of the goodness of her heart, I might add. Whereupon he whipped out his "fire hose" and doused her - but good - as she dodged, ducked, dipped, dived and dodged, trying (futilely) to escape the seemingly bottomless water tank.


Her mantra - as she skidded out of the room - sounded just a little demented itself. "It's the only sterile bodily fluid, it's the only sterile bodily fluid, it's the only sterile bodily fluid..."


Gee. And I thought I was only a shit magnet.

well, this is different...

I'm really sorry. I'm not mad. Or sulking. Honest.


It's just that after a year and a half of being blindsided by negative things, I've finally experienced some positive blindsiding. Out of fricking nowhere. And I have absolutely no idea of how to deal with it...

20 questions

Alright, I'm admitting it. I've boxed myself into a corner.


I'm not writing about my kids - because I've done a lot of that lately.


I'm not writing about work - because I feel like I've gone to that well once too often in recent weeks.


I'm not writing about angst, anger, revenge, karma, payback or any of those other things - because I'm just not in that place anymore.


I'm not writing about the day to day battles that we all face - because they never go away anyway.


I'm not writing about the factions that I strive to never make feel that I write about them - because, let's face it...some people still care far too much about what I say. Que sera sera.


I'm not writing for my future, my dreams, my suddenly evolving- and wholly unexpected- fantasies. Because it's not "safe".

So the question becomes this...if I can't say what I want to on my blog...what's the point?

pass the bag

I bought plane tickets today for Surfer Dude to go to camp. For a month. In another state.


Tomorrow - as soon as I can find a non-stop flight - I'll be buying tickets for Gumby to visit his best friend's family in Texas. For ten days. In another state. Oh, wait. I already said that.


Sasquatch is almost never at home during the summer, dropping by only to empty both the fridge and my wallet.


For a woman who spends most of her non-working hours in the vicinity of her kids, I just found myself with a whole lotta "me time" this summer.


I think I'm going to be sick.

I could have danced all night...

What does any self respecting trauma junkie do after a grueling twelve hour shift in the ER?


Well, she does her Fire/Medical ride-along, of course. Designed to give ER staff a better understanding of what goes on "pre-hospital", we're now required to do four hours of time with the paramedics as they respond to calls. I didn't want to give up any precious hours on a day off, so I stacked mine after a regular shift. This could have been really bad, but I lucked out and got the busiest station in town - and an amazing and nurse friendly team to boot. Our town combines fire and medical, which means that if a fire had come along I could have gone out on that run too. Alas, no fires, but can I just say how very much I enjoyed the paramedic end of it? There's something about barrelling down the road at some god-forsaken speed, sirens blasting and cars scattering as fast as possible in your path to satisfy the most blatant adrenaline cravings.


Damn. I may be falling over exhausted, but that was a blast.

branching out

This is going to be a very interesting summer.


My folks get here in about a week and a half for a visit, and then in July we'll go home for a couple of weeks. There are not words to say how much I am looking forward to that.


One of my kids has the chance to spend a month out of state in a once in a lifetime opportunity. It's not a done deal yet, but he wants to go, and in spite of my angst I simply cannot say no. I want to, but I can't.


One of them has been invited to spend some time with his best friend in yet another state. I've been dragging my feet on making the plans (chalk it up to still more angst), but the time has come to put on my big girl panties and just do it. I know he'll have a blast. It's me I'm worried about.


One of them is actually contemplating getting a job - in between that summer school session that completely snuck up on him and his physics challenged brain. I wish him luck with this "job", since his list of requirements could conceivably prove daunting to any potential employer. The notion that he would have to be there on time and trained is puzzling to him, and I fully expect that his "dream job" of the summer is going to translate into holding his hand out for cash at the Bank of Mom. Silly rabbit.


All three of them are grappling (with varying degrees of success and no small amount of humor) with their father's very last minute announcement that he is moving in with his girlfriend in less than a week.


And me? Well, now there's a story. Freaked out about the idea of my kids being gone. Worried over the usual summer logistics. Excited about out of town visitors and trips away. Completely over anything the FX does or doesn't do - except as it relates to my children. Pondering the idea of some actual time for me. With a couple of projects of my own up my sleeve. And a very unexpected outlook on the world.


Oh, my god...has the sky always been this blue?