So, whaddya want from me?

A local AP tutoring firm contacted me, with an email line stating they had "Desperate Need for AP Spanish Tutor." Interesting, I thought, and I responded that I would be interested, provided that such contract employment would be on my terms, not theirs (business for me, currently, is not hurting).

My terms being that 1) all classes are held in my home classroom, and 2) my pay is $50/hour.

I received a response inquiring where my classroom was located. Then a follow-up asking me to send my CV and three references. Sure, not a problem...striking me a bit as funny as HE had searched ME out to offer ME a position (evidently responding to my CraigsList ad). However, I said I would send everything only pendent upon my pay being commesurate with my going rates.

He emailed back requesting a meeting with me as soon as possible. I told him that, due to my teaching schedule, I am unable to meet with him before Friday morning. Knowing full well, of course, that his only purpose in seeing me face-to-face was to try to talk me down from my going rates.

He then began to get upset, evidently, in his email, wondering what kind of time I would have to dedicate to his students if the earliest I could come to him is Friday morning. I fired back that I stay at home teaching so that I can be a mother for my two young children as well, 'sir'. That permits me to have students while having my children at home and working around my schedule as, most importantly, a parent first. My students all understand and, above all, respect that in me.

I then said that, if that is not an acceptable arrangement for your company, then we are perhaps not a good match.

He didn't appreciate that response, as I received a rather snide comment back about my "TEACHING SCHEDULE" permitting. I do have students Monday-Thursday afternoon/early evening, then children pick-up from school, dinners to prepare, etc. I have my limits; hence what I have chosen to do--while earning more money than I did at the Uni working their hours. Plus, by now my feathers are a bit fluffed; I did not go to him asking for employment. He, instead, was "desperately seeking a Spanish AP tutor" and sought me out. Then had the nerve to switch the table to feed his own ego? make me seem like the bad guy? I'm not exactly sure, but it didn't work as he has lost one hell of an excellent prospective tutor that he sought and then proceeded to chase away.

It was today that I realized how far I have come in such a short time in my business. Whereas two years ago I would have jumped like a puppy through whatever hoop this man had set out and complied with whatever pittance had been tossed my way, I have learned that my name has gotten out, I have regular students and recommended students alike who I have earned all by myself, with no need for a school or an agency for matchmaking. I don't have to take the crap he was trying to deal out anymore, and I would not have enjoyed working for someone like that. My sympathies to those who do work for him.

In my final email of this exchange I did thank him for his interest...! Queen of the subversive jabs am I!

(and just to let you know---I really, really derive great pleasure from coming out on top of such pettiness!)

friends with benefits?

A girlfriend and I sat around on a lazy Friday afternoon, having opened up some dark chocolate, Neufchatel cheese and a bottle of Cabernet; and we decided to start solving the world's problems.

The root, of which, is--of course, as always--sex. Or the lack thereof.

"On Oprah a few days ago a sexologist was on. I should have called you. She was talking about the newest thing for people in their 40s, 50s, 60s..."
-Yeah, I hear even the retirement homes are hopping now!
(snicker) "Uh-huh. She said that having a "friend with benefits" is proving to be a healthy release for lots of people. She even has one herself."
-Great!

Thinking, of course: Where do I sign up?

"I don't know, though. How do they get around the emotions? How don't they get attached?"
-Evidently it's possible.

And I took another long sip of Cab.

*----*

I had long believed that my developing a relationship like this with another, on a purely-sexual, no-deep-emotional-attachment level could have saved my marriage, just to have the human need of physical contact and sexual energy fulfilled. This is, in our society, unacceptable and considered infidelity if the marriage is not outright defined an open marriage. Thinking it through past the initial excitement of suggestion, however, I realize a great part of sex can be the emotional vínculo, the bond and trust between the two individuals that can, ideally, carry into other aspects of the relationship. Is it possible to simply have sex as "fun"...and have it remain fun? Or is "love" required to make it fun? I guess the answer depends on the individual. However, those issues have played a great part of why my marriage has not, in fact, worked out: my basic intimately-physical and intimately-emotional needs have never been met. There is an absolute lack of chemistry in the bedroom and lack of desire to work to learn how to make it work.

I suppose it is merely frustrating to me to realize that my prime is rapidly passing me by while I cohabitate with an individual that does not even know where certain key pleasure-filled nerve endings exist on a female--and I have given up trying to teach someone who insists "I know what I'm doing." And ending up in tears after every single coupling due to needs not having been met, him leaving to shower off immediately as if my essence were too 'dirty' for him, I came to realize that I deserve to feel better than that. I deserve to have had an orgasm in my marriage. Even one would have been nice. I deserve not to have to do all the work all the time.

I would rather abstain than feel so frustrated, so this is where that decision of over two years ago leaves me.

Don't ask what I was thinking when we initally got together ten years ago. You'll dope-slap me for having been so naive.

The question:

Could you have a bonding and a friendship with a sex-friend (that's what this is called in Japan; yes, of course there are names for this world-wide, cross-cultural phenomenon) that neither individual would want to extend to economics, raising children, medical issues, fixing the home, and the other menial duties required of a live-in mate? Is it indeed possible, now that we are in our 30s, 40s--mid-life arenas with other areas of our lives being fulfilled--to draw a line...and remain on one side of that line without possessiveness, jealousy and all those other evils setting in?

Here's the link to the short article write-up of the Oprah broadcast that featured this topic.

tequila shots and line dancing

I will not line dance *ever* again after doing tequila shots.

I guess I just need to concentrate on the steps, and I found that tequila most certainly inhibits my ability to, um...concentrate.

My senior year college roomie and I got together for one night of fun in Vegas. We worked hard that year we lived together, back in 1993 and when all was said and done, we balanced the hard work by playing hard, too. Secrets we share are those only she and I will ever know. It was a refreshing reunion.

A workmate of hers met us at a locals-only bar in Vegas. Yeppers--I was charged more for entrance just because I produced an out-of-state ID. Should've brought my military dependent's ID. Oh, well. Her workmate would not even hear of me paying, not only to get in but also for drinks. And for shots.

And so it went.

Haven't done that since I was 20-something.

Nothing out of control, mind you. I have never been one much interested in drinking myself into oblivion (that is my control-freak nature), but a buzz is nice. So I get out there for the line dancing lessons, in the back row--yeah, I forgot that the back row turns into the FRONT ROW always at some point.

Duh.

Left, right, turn, stomp, shuffle...the steps were simple enough but it required concentration and memorization--plus some degree of familiarity with the general steps would have been nice. I am a salsa dancer, not a line dancer. So I held my head high, did what I could and moved my hips well.

Well enough to get some attention.

One man came over to our table, after Mr. Shot Buyer had left for the night (we weren't out too late!) and asked me out on the floor. At least I could somewhat follow, and he had me spinning and prancing all over the entire floor. Enough so that neighboring tables clapped when I sat down and another came over and commented that it was the first time he had ever seen anyone in flip-flops dance like that...and NOT lose her shoes.

I blushed...I think.

He took my roomie out, as she protested and said, "Yeah, well, don't expect me to do THAT" and then came back and spun me around the floor a few more times.

He liked my glasses. He wore glasses, too. A sign of wisdom, perhaps? Or just bad eyesight? I suggested wisdom as a function of age. I don't think he liked that suggestion. (I have been out of the game waaaaaay toooooooo long.)

There are few more things I truly enjoy doing than dancing. I really love to go out and dance, no matter what the music playing. It was fun and then, alas, it was time to go home.

Just nice to know I've still got some moves.

intimate friends

In New Orleans, I once duct-taped my breasts together.

Rather, a very close girlfriend did the taping. I merely stood there with my arms up. And duct tape can do anything, right?

This has nothing to do with the coincidence that I happened to live in N'awlins at the time of this formal military dinner dance I was attending. It had everything to do with the fact that, in the spaghetti-strapped sparkly gray dress I had donned for the evening, I wanted to have cleavage. Or something that could possibly resemble more endowment than that I had been naturally or genetically given.

I have had two children and, both times had close friends in attendance. Girl friends. The kind who you can trust at the time you are in the most pain your have ever experienced in your life and denying yourself pain medication to give you all the support that only a Community of Women can provide its members. The ones who can see you naked and giving birth and be a part of and appreciate that miracle. But that is different.

Yesterday my new piko ring arrived...finally. It had been over two months since getting my piko pierced, something I find incredibly sexy, and I ordered myself something very nice and classy. After all, if I have a hole through my abdomen, I want something nice going through it.

Getting it in, however, was no small task. She-ra, in compliance of her position as Enabler Extraordinnaire, not only stood with me as I got the nail pushed through my belly button in April, she was here in the morning to await the arrival of The Piko Ring.

With her camera.

As it is a top-down design, I was hoping to thread it through by attaching the piercing to the top of the bar with which I was initially pierced. That did not work. She-ra then suggested following the tecnique demonstrated during the piercing, when my skin was pinched tight so that there would be lesser distance for the piercing to travel to get through the other side. So here is She-ra, trying to pinch-grasp my belly skin and hold the ring steady so I could try to connect the new one to the old one and "pull" it through the track.

Yeah. Great theory, did not work.

So, with She-ra watching I somehow just took a deep breath and pushed the silver bar out with my new golden diamonds. She-ra stood facing me and exclaimed, "I see it!" as the gold pushed through to the other side.

My hands were shaking so hard that I could hardly get the ball screwed on the bottom, but I did and my new piko ring is now in place!



Sure could have used a shot of something after that.

Meanwhile, She-ra has now been elevated in stature as One with Intimate Knowledge of My Body. No, true, she did not duct-tape any of my body parts together. But she not only was my accomplice in getting the nail through my gut, she was my cheerleader in the daunting task of changing the piercing for the first time.

No more piercings for me. Ears thrice, piko. That's it. I think I'm getting too old for this.

(shudder)

Tequila, anyone?

stabbing myself in the gut

Okay, so I did it.

I got my piko pierced.

She-ra might have a slightly different notion of what happened, as all I heard while having the piercing go through my skin was a huge gasp and all the air sucked out of the room. (If she writes an account of her point of view, I'll link it...)

She-ra is Strong Woman. She-ra never react to nothing.

So this surprised me.

It was a good experience and much, much less painful--oh, come on, not even coming close to entering the Childbirth scale, people--than everyone says it is.

Or I just have a high pain tolerance.

So now I must go and find a bikini. Or a monokini cut-out one-piece (preferably the latter of the two). I was mildly chastized by the piercer for admitting that I never wear bikinis because I don't particularly like my tummy. She said that anyone who looks like me after having two children should most definitely wear one. That was nice. And admittedly, yes, I am lucky. Something to be said about not being able to eat most of the US's junk and convenience food supply probably has something to do with it, and genetics another part. I said I am simply trying to feel more comfortable in my skin, and this is a good first step. And so we have it.

Unfortunately, I went to try on bikinis later on this evening and the women's do not fit. To be blunt, I just don't have enough boob--remember, I buy my bras at the Teen Department. But I am putting money on it that a girls' size 14/16 extra-large will fit fine. Scary, but true. She-ra is not doubting this, either. So now the hunt is on. My children love to go swimming, and Mama Llama must be there, too.

So I might as well look good.

the week thus far

All things considered, lack of sleep inclusive, this week has not been bad so far. The weather brightened immensely this afternoon, skies opening to allow rays of sunlight to warm the atmosphere and touch my kwanzaa cherry tree, about to burst into full bloom. The warmth is tickling my tulips, teasing their buds, enticing them to open to show their glory. My baby maple has new baby leaf buds, and my lilacs and rhododendrons are getting ready for a nice Mama Llama birthday bloom at the beginning of May, customary and, in my book, required blooms for my birthday to be considered complete.

My high degree of stress-induced energy, coupled with two extremely dreary, chilly and damp days this week, has permitted me to whirlwind-clean my home, organize my classroom, fix a broken bicycle chain, organize various to-dos, make necessary phone calls and still have time to play with my children in the afternoons. I am not sleepy when I ought to be due to not having slept more than a few hours in the past few nights. My new class went very well tonight; I can still teach up to past my normal bedtime hours (surprise, surprise!). Last night's honors were very nice and the nominating councilwoman made a beautiful statement on my and the PTA president's behalf regarding our nominations. The hard part was how alone I felt there amid a roomful of people who had family around; I really didn't know anybody, I sat by myself in a row quite literally to myself, nobody to take a picture of me for a memory sake--but perhaps it is best that way, as a memory that only I will have and will tuck away for my own safe-keeping. I didn't stick around for the reception.

I am taking most of the day for myself tomorrow as the temperatures are supposed to be considerably warmer (although today I was down to --gasp!--one layer of clothing and sandals!!!) and only teach one student tomorrow night. I must then prep my things for my flight, which leaves at 6:00 in the morning (meaning taxi to the airport at 4 a.m....good God that is early for a flight that is NOT for vacation purposes). I should be back by 11 p.m. Friday night, but will be bringing my laptop with if I can get a moment to check in while awaiting flights...or in case I get stuck somewhere I really do not want to be.

Deep breaths. I am ready. I even have buttons sewed on (all thanks to She-ra), for goodness sake.

Better not forget my lipstick...Lipstick IS Power.

tears

I read the story and sobbed. Hard.

What has happened to us?

Northern Illinois University, site of the "latest" campus "shooting event"...incredible that we can even use "latest" and "shooting event" in the same clause... I just don't know what to think. What have we done to ourselves? What has happened?

I feel these attacks personally. I had to teach in that post-broken-innocence, that all teachers (and students) now face in each and every classroom in the United States. I have had threats, I have been fearful, I have wondered what would have happened if I had said the wrong thing one night when a certain student had forgotten to take her meds.

And I have two children who I am trying my hardest to raise as loving, trusting souls...but must I put a caveat on everything I teach? "Yes, trust...but then again, you can't really trust anyone. You're in this alone. Really." That is not the world in which I want my children taking part.

But I have no choice.

Maybe I'm thinking too deeply about this. I just hate and resent, truly resent how utterly helpless I feel facing all we have to face now.

How can I change it? What in the world can I do to change this?

Lemonade from lemons, revisited

Okay...

So the fudge...yeah, well, it being chocolate and all, I just didn't have the heart to send that out to Wasteland, so I stuck it in the fridge to get a fresh, more chilled perspective on things this morning.

I dipped my finger in...

No, still had not set. But damn, it's good.

Could be marketed as "Almost Fudge Chocolate Sauce." With walnuts, of course.

I can spoon some over my Haagen Dazs Chocolate Sorbet (no soy in that baby)...or just spoon some into a bowl...

ahhhhhhhhh. Qué rico. A little piece of heaven. Almost orgasmic.

The sun is shining, the spring daffodils are starting to peek their heads out in my garden, and two little phlox flowers are actually blooming today, as is my rosemary. And I still have chocolate.

It is a very Merry Christmas Eve, indeed.

material

Ok, oooooooo-kaaaaaaaaay.

So I am not just thankful for love, peace, goodwill, etc. That is good. That I love. That, yes, I am thankful for. But I also find it necessary to post less profound pedacitos of Thanksgiving I hold dear to my heart. This list I will also limit to 10 in the best interest of available megabytes.

Again, no particular order, I am thankful as all get-out for:

1. Great sex--or rather, the dream that this might actually, one day, come to be.
2. Buckies or any other little coffee house that can fill my being with my daily shot of decaf iced mocha.
3. Dagoba 73% Conocado chocolate...one of the few soy-free chocolate bars I can actually find. Couple that with a good red wine and...well, refer back to #1...almost.
4. The colors black, purple and red. White on a muggy August day. But mainly black, purple and red.
5. My garden...my bugs, my dirt, my caterpillars, my herbs, my rocks, my mulch, my lawn, my compost bin, my trials and errors, my time with God in the midst of His creation.
6. All my electronic toys and gadgets that I just loooove to fiddle with.
7. My sunlamp for these daaaaaaaaaark autumn into winter days.
8. My music...in all forms it takes--the memories of my violining and singing years, the music that now fills my home and car, the music invented by my children.
9. My body. Never given me much to worry about, not overweight (perhaps a bit under, though), could use some touch-ups here and there but I would never really do it, healthy, rarely sick, in good physical shape (but still can't do the splits. Working on that...can now stand on my head, so there is hope yet), figured out how to work Life around food allergies and I feel like I'm doing all right.
10. Toenail polish and lipstick.

Something to spook your socks off

A public figure in a port town, he constantly was faced with decisions. Whether or not to close the port. Whether or not to stand up for principles over corruption, in a country and culture operating under the thick influence of corruption. Whether or not to call off search and rescue efforts due to inclement weather conditions. Such decisions can create strong allies with those respectful of one’s commitment to humanity and justice. Even more powerful are the enemies that inevitably form once their interests are violated.

In 2005, serving the first of a two-year mandate in the Town, he opted to follow the law and ignore several bribery attempts in various scandals that shook the area. One exemplary case revolved around medical professionals fraudulently filling forms required for law enforcement officials’ proof of eligibility to serve. He turned all evidence over to the Powers that Be, and several were brought to justice, some currently serving prison sentences.

His position often called him out of full nights’ sleep. He had to live separated from his family, his wife and his young children. He had to travel frequently to the capital for legal proceedings in which he was tried under money laundering charges stemming from service under a past president’s regime. He had to constantly deal with the press, especially when there would be a death at sea. He had to answer to fishermen or tourist agencies that depended on the sea to grant them their daily bread each time he closed the port. Once every so often he would be able to get out for a run; he enjoyed running and could easily run the length of the shore between the fishing and the tourist ports, a distance of about ten miles. However, as his daily decisions continued to garner him both the strongest of supporters and the worst of critiques, threats began to reach his ears and he felt he must only leave his quarters either accompanied or packing heat, usually both.

In the next year his health began to deteriorate. He began to experience intense stomach pains. Having always led a rather stressful existence, ulcers were a normal health consideration, and his doctors continued with the same diagnosis for the new pain. He stopped smoking, he stopped drinking and he began to eat well. His physique radically improved, yet the pain only continued to increase. Toward the end of his two-year charge in the Town, he underwent a gall bladder removal. Soon thereafter he returned to his home, leaving the Town and all those issues, optimistically, behind. Three weeks later he fell deathly ill with vertigo while out running and was admitted for a two-week stay in the hospital. He was found not guilty on the money laundering charges, although many others tried alongside him were sent to prison. He recovered from the vertigo, but the stomach pain ensued. Endoscopy after endoscopy, blood test after blood test followed, with a diagnosis of metaplasia--pre-stomach cancer.

The stressful life continued, as work continued to drain him of positive energies. He was held at gunpoint as a thug attempted a robbery on his car. Both he and his wife were involved in minor car accidents within the City. Legal proceedings revolving around the possible interception of telephone calls then took precedence and, although the hearings still have yet to begin the stress of pure anticipation eroded his soul.

It seemed that one bad thing after another continued to occur and, all the meanwhile his stomach pain increased, to the point of barely being able to eat. Bowel movements became problematically loose and he was beginning to lose hope that he, at 39 years of age, had much time left on Earth.

An old friend, of whose daughter he happened to be named godfather, approached him one day and mentioned the possibility of a hex having been placed on him. Both being Catholics, living in an extremely Catholic country, he laughed off that extremely Nancy Drew-esque possibility yet his companion persisted. Over the course of a month he continued to press him to visit a special doctor, a shaman, one who is known for being able to see what is wrong, beyond that which traditional Western medicine will, in what can be its limited scientific scope, be capable of identifying. Finally convinced that he had absolutely nothing to lose, he allowed himself to be taken to this doctor. In a very short time he was told that he had been stricken with powerful curses and was to be sent immediately to visit a type of a sage, a seer, a priest--the appropriate title is elusive but this man had the ability not to cure, as the shaman would, but instead to define and to cast out or undo spells, tasks that fall beyond the scope of a shaman's abilities.

Extremely dubious but feeling, again, that there was nothing to lose he found himself at 6:30 a.m. the next morning at the steps of this seer. There were five others already awaiting his attentions, and there was nothing he could do but wait. He was invited in at 6:30 p.m. and the sage spent two and a half frightfully irrational hours with him.

The region in which he served his two years is one of great Afro-creole influence. Witchcraft is famously practiced there; world-famously, individuals have been known to travel to this area in search of cures for maladies which Western medicine had written off as terminal. White witchcraft invoking the Christian God, Biblical study, love and natural remedies acts as a powerful antidote to black magic that calls up diabolical powers to act in pure hatred against its victims, and both are actively and naturally sought by the population of this area; indeed, the embracing of such powers is as natural as breathing and as accepted as eating.

It was discovered that three different individuals, on three completely separate occasions and in three different locations had created powerful spells of hate toward him. The sage presented him with three bags in which a doll, hand-printed hatred chants on evidently-aged paper, and various “charms” were enclosed. Among these charms were dead frogs, snakes, bullets, items collected from what had been a meeting between him and each of these individuals, and one bag even included a photo of him that was a couple of years old, taken of him when he had assumed his position in the Town in 2005.

He was dumbfounded. His rational mind refused to comprehend the pure quantity of items that were laid in front of him, the demonstrated hatred toward him. How could he, a well-educated Catholic believer and a moral man, fall victim to or even believe that such witchery could do such damage, let alone exist? He logically determined there was no way this photo could have been obtained by this sage or by anybody merely working with him. His identity was unknown to this man previous to the visit. How could he have been so hated? He was presented with evidences of identity of those who created these black death wishes, who are indeed currently serving prison sentences for crimes committed. Also spoken of were explicit details of his life that are not public knowledge and with such detail that he left, two and a half hours later, completely stupefied.

Somebody wanted him to die. Three people wished him to die. The curses varied, but in common they all attacked his gut, with snakes in the entrails of the dolls. There were written desires for him to die in an accident or to be shot. The priest undid these curses and told him that he could only undo that which was the Devil’s work. Any naturally caused bodily degradation would require medical attention and treatment. Homework readings of Bible Scripture were assigned for mental cleansing. The sage said that any other person would be dead already after trying to fight the power of this hatred already for two full years; he did not see how this individual had thus far overcome the evil working over his being. The human body and soul cannot tolerate the manifestation of so much pure evil.

This which I relate above occurred this past Wednesday and Thursday. He was reported on Friday to feel at about 75% less abdominal pain than he had felt in recent months, without any production of gas whatsoever in digestion, also a rarity now, and he purportedly could eat chicken that day.

Believe it…or not.

Happy Halloween!

by the way...

Oh, yeah....

the catcher on the post below was the operative word "try."

Try to strip? Hmmm....

Oh, by the way...this was posted in the "lessons and tutoring" area, NOT any other area into which I do NOT venture, thank you very much! Some of the "lessons" and "tutoring" being offered is highly questionable in nature...but makes me think....man, I should either change career paths or up my rates!

>>wink wink>>

existing again

I have felt anonymous all week. An interesting statement, considering all of the week's events but I suppose, in the overwhelming wake of so many significant happenings, I am merely trying to find my specific place amid the locura.

Besides the accident. Besides the warning bell of head lice having severely hit a playmate's house and therefore having to wash THE ENTIRE HOUSE in a merely preventative measure...

okay, insert funny story here:

I got The Call on Tuesday afternoon right before I was leaving for a class. So as soon as the kids came home I checked The Young Prince's head and it was COVERED in dark brown spots. Without a further thought I marched them both straight to the bathroom, ordered them to strip all clothing IN THE BATHTUB and then, after the shampooing session was over, to come to me with the nit-comb and, outside, I would go through their hair.

La Princesita was first, and I couldn't believe it---there was absolutely nothing in her hair, on her scalp...nothing anywhere. So once I got The Young Prince out, I saw that neither was there anything in his hair or on his scalp. Strange, I thought. I didn't believe this could just "wash out" so easily. Then I stopped to think, and humbly came to the realization that I perhaps just had a really dirty kid.

Ugh. Great commentary on my parenting skills, right?

Well, the night before they had been in that accident, on the side of the road with lots of dirt and dust kicked up. And to the farm before then.

I called my friend, who said it sounded doubtful, especially in that the color is not dark-brown.

Great. So my kids are filthy. But at least, I think, we're in the clear..for now. I continued, nonetheless, to bag up plush toys and it will be like Christmas again in 30 days. It took three days to wash and dry everything I threw into the laundry room, and I have itched non-stop for days.

Okay...digressing to my week.

Three more outlets blew in the kitchen, to join the oven outlet we have the refrigerator outlet, the microwave outlet and the master telephone outlet. So the fridge and telephone are now hooked up on extension cords and, well, let's just say thank God I am the Crock-Pot Queen.

Mr. Electrician came out yesterday and at least had the decency not to charge me extra for the diagnostic, which will come out of the...are you ready?...$1,500.00 bill for a brand new subpanel and breakers for the kitchen and garden room. I know, we need it. But ...ouch.

That will be fixed next Wednesday. The roof will be worked on tomorrow. While I am working...someone is going to have to pay for all of this, after all!

So...

I went to the gym this morning. At the very end of my workout, I had seated myself atop my final machine to do leg curls and put the bar down atop my horribly bruised right knee (oh, another story...). I commented to the lady next to me, as she saw my reaction, "Just getting old." This opened the door to about an hour-long conversation in which we both met a new friend. She is a woman from El Salvador, married to a man from Massachusetts, an excellent hold on her English, and a mother of two. We ended up exchanging names and numbers.

I showered at the gym, then ran to the market to grab a few things before picking up Young Prince at preschool. At the cashier, I was greeted, she inquired about my children, and we had a lovely chat. I left almost bouncing out of the store back to my car. My heart felt light, my lips couldn't help but smile...

I have not ceased to exist!

Today is a good day. It is Friday--that helps. I am not doing one load of laundry today. My patience level is sky-high. It is windy--I could easily go out and dance around in the falling leaves, twirling my Little House on the Prairie skirt out wide...my heart feels as light as a child's.

la locura

The craziness. It has officially Hit. I think it was yesterday that I felt It the hardest, between all the school drop-offs and pick-ups and students (at least they were here and I did not have to travel) and the food preparation and the printing (my textbook, thank you very much!!!) and remembering to feed myself (thank you Paula for the g/f s/f popcorn treat!!!) and potty breaks for the Young Prince and laundry and...

Yeah.

Phew.

Makes me tired just to remember.

It all starts again this weekend, Saturday through Monday. The kids have classes, swim lessons, I have new classes, I *need* to be producing more on the workbook front (that which is accompanying my text) and finishing my editing of chapters 5-9 of this 1st edition, while planning out the next level for my text, chapters 10-?

Only one child in school this morning. I can't say yet if that is good or bad for me, but knowing that it is good for the Young Prince, that is all that really matters.

La Princesita and I have been playing Mancala at night before turning off the lights. It is a thinking game. This is an image of what the board looks, taken from Wikipedia.com. She sits on one end and has one large mancala cup and the six little cups on her side, and I have the opposite side. The object is to get the most marbles in your mancala cup at the end of the game. You must take all the marbles from one of your little six cups and drop them, from the next cup, one by one in a clockwise direction. If you drop the last of your marbles in your hand into the mancala cup, you get another turn. If you drop the last of your marbles in your hand into an empty playing cup (NOT your mancala cup) on your side of the board, you get to collect all marbles on your opponent's side, plus that single marble that was used initially to win those marbles (the one you dropped last from your hand when going clockwise). Requires some strategy and thinking. It's definitely good for both of us! It is also so much fun to play with La Princesita, now that she can logically follow and strategize a bit. Maybe I should find a Battleship game. Oh, and MasterMind!

Next...I need to get her going on cribbage!

Christmas with a twist...

'Twas the eve before Christmas and all through Vienna
Not a creature was stirring
Except Mom with insomnia.

The stockings were hung on the chimney; one, down it fell...
I can't seem to make it stay up--oh, what the hell!

The children, nestled up next to Mommy all snug,
"Enough! Stop kicking!" "But I just want to hug!"

And the whole family trying to get over this cough,
To try to get some sleep around here sure can be tough.

While we waited all evening for the clatter outside
Of Rocking Santa, through the streets, on his firetruck ride

But he never showed up, and the children became quite sad.
And Daddy and I, with two disappointed kids, were quite mad.

We heard him get close, so near that we ran to the street
With the children shouting about how this was so neat!

Yet he turned a corner left, not right, I do fear
And thus, it turned out, he would never appear.

So as we awaited and tried to keep the kids mellow
I made us all hot chocolate topped with marshmallow

Reassuring them, saying, "Santa could not forget us!"
But it appears that this year, it was Orchard Street hiatus.

The question then: tomorrow will Santa have come down our chimney?
Perhaps...but with the flue closed, we should leave out a key.

We are hoping Santa does not follow a diet gluten-free
So he can enjoy at least one homemade Christmas cookie.

Yet my children, so wise in their years, know of Christmas the art...
That the Santa spirit is the giving that comes from the heart.

It is a spirit that long lives within and surfaces each year
Yet should not be limited to only when Christmas is near.

Yet it is only at Christmastime that such spirit is referred
to as Santa, to maintain the young wonder and mystery preferred.

So yes, on Christmas Day our children's eyes will shine bright
As they see gifts that appear with the morning's first light.

And perhaps there will be a little something in the tree...lo!
For Mommy and Daddy too...what a surprise! Ho Ho Ho!

Now here I am, wishing all of you *other* insomniacs so dear
A wonder-filled Christmas and a joyful New Year!

Feliz Navidad

The year has flown by, and here we are again, Christmas right around the corner. My daughter is now officially on Winter Break for the next week, Christmas cookies are being gobbled up left and right, and we are jolly and happy.

We have been successful in avoiding a great deal of the Holiday Hubbub this year, which has made this season all the more enjoyable. It has been refreshing to focus in more on family, friends and the New Year rather than what is next on the sometimes seemingly interminable List of Things To Do.

Professionally, I have my new in-home classroom all set-up and ready to go, with a little straightening up of Play-Dough, paper scraps and coloring books, with a couple of well-placed pieces of cloth to cover all those trite details. I am preparing for my next Perú trip in 11 days (who's counting????) and hopefully there will be a good fit with the school down in Lima. I am officially done at George Mason...and that does feel good, although I know that I will miss the students.

Personally, I am on the mend after my emotional breakdown of last month. I have the official word on my allergy to soy, plus I am to avoid gluten. I am now on a thyroid complex that hopefully will even out my slightly hypothyroid, and am treating my adrenal stress with a sunbox, a withania complex and a vitamin coctail taken with a glass of sea salt water--which tastes, suprisingly, really really good (if it does not sound good to you, that means you are not in adrenal fatigue!). Last night I slept through the night for the first time in weeks, and it felt really good. Today I feel like A New Woman. Just in time for Christmas.

Watch out, world. This desperate housewife will soon be desperate no more!