for gail--half a scoop

The scoop:

His name is Corey and he is an online teacher who is, in fact, there everyday.

The caveat:

He wasn't actually there when I went in last night, so I asked a staff member. Figures.

The back story:

For the better part of a year, whenever I go into the Lancaster Starbucks, I see this man sitting at the same table, with the same laptop, the same travel mug, the same Patagonia fleece jacket, and same expression, etc., every single time I'm there. Obviously, there could be many plausible explanations for this, but as the predictability of his presence wore on, I became unduly fixated on discovering his purpose. And, since I was frequently at Starbucks with my friend Gail, constantly pointing this man out, it wasn't long before the mystery was something we shared.

Ever since she moved to Colorado a few months ago, I have been threatening/promising to walk up and ask this man why he is there everyday, a prospect I find equal parts hilarious and totally offensive, and Gail has wholeheartedly encouraged the idea. To the point of prodding even. The problem isn't that I'm all that shy or anything, it's just that as a manic mama, I'm a drive-thru kind of gal, and rarely go inside now that Gail is gone. Cut to last night when B and I went in to have tea and knit. True to Murphy's Law, the guy wasn't there, so at the risk of revealing my true stalker nature, I pressed the counter girl for his story. She gleefully revealed that he is Corey, an online teacher, and does his work there everyday. I resisted the urge to ask if he owns any other jackets.

Granted, this wasn't exactly a sleuthing triumph, but at least Gail and I can stop wondering, and the rest of you can see how wholly indiscriminate I am when it comes to overloading my mind. :)

seeing red

For reasons I cannot explain, I have always had a moderate aversion to the color red. In light of our political climate, I'd like to say it's because I'm quite enlightened and it's my subconscious way of subverting oppression and Republicans, but that may be stretching it.

When my kids were little, and I controlled what they wore, I didn't buy them red, and I've never been attracted to all the classic red things we are supposed to hold dear, like '57 Chevys, Kitchen Aid mixers (mine is white), and apple motifs in the kitchen.

But from time to time, starting a couple years ago, I have been compelled from somewhere deep within to buy the red version of something. Case in point.: In 2005, when treating myself to a very expensive pair of black and brown loafers at Nordstrom (albeit it was back when the juxtaposition of black and brown was still frowned upon), I suddenly became obsessed with the red pair, and bought them instead. They matched nothing I owned, but I didn't care. Most of my clothing is black, so I made it work.

And yes I was in among the mindless droves of GAP-lings lining up last year to shell out $40 for the (red) t-shirts.

Meanwhile, I have pined for this particular red colander at Fred Meyer for about six years. One might see nothing wrong with just satisfying the impulse to buy such in an innocuous object, but we already own two perfectly good colanders, and I think $20.00 is outlandish for something that will totally clash with everything in my black, white, and chrome kitchen, not to mention, not fit anywhere. And yet I have made a ritual of visiting the red colanders for years. To look, to yearn, never to buy. Until last Monday.

Over the course of holiday returns/exchanges, I wound up with a $12.00 gift card to Fred Meyer, for which I had no particular plan, and it rested comfortably in my wallet for weeks. Then last Monday, I had a little time to kill and went to visit the red colanders, and blow me down, they were on sale for 50% off! They've never been on sale in six years, so I felt like this was the universe's way of insisting that I have one, and I whipped out my gift card and beamed as I toted my shiny new, cumbersome, unnecessary red colander to my car. I passed my green colander along to someone else, and hung the new red one in its place, so everyone can see my perfect inability to color coordinate my kitchenware, lol.

Perhaps this intermittent attraction to red is hereditary, because Reilly, who shares my low opinion of the color, fell in love with a pair of red valentine pajamas at Old Navy the other night, and was so adamant about having them, she offered to pay for them herself. They are very cute, but nothing I ever would have suspected her of liking, let alone loving.

So here it is, our odd assortment of red must-haves, a collection unto itself.

monday monday, can trust that day

It wasn't so long ago that I kept us on such a manic schedule that Mondays were literally our only day at home, a fact which I found simultaneously comforting and terrifying. You see, of my many idiosyncrasies, racing thoughts is perhaps the most prevalent, and the one I describe as my kryptonite. In a nutshell, the problem is that I try to function at the speed at which I think, and mercilessly force everyone else, including my children, to try and keep up as well. But for some time, Mondays have been exempt from this cycle, and we have enjoyed some of our most quality time doing everything we normally do, just in slow motion.

Lately Mondays have gotten lost in the shuffle, and have found us scurrying around like any other day, which has been issue #405 on my list of things to address. Then today, we woke up to snow in some parts of the city, and the roads covered in ice. There were strict warnings not to drive at all. Like any addict, my first thought was missing my Starbucks run. Would making my kids walk a mile in 18 degrees be a wonderful rustic homeschool PE experience, or child abuse? Anyway, I settled for a homemade espresso. Sigh. As I enjoyed the waning moments of solitude before my kids began rustling in their bunks (fourth night sleeping through!), it occurred to me that this was my chance to recapture our magic Mondays. I consciously took several deep breaths, looked around my house so I could radically accept its imperfections, and pledged not to dwell on all the things I wish were different. Just for today. And I have made the following goals.:

* no yelling, no matter what
* eat breakfast and lunch at the table with my kids
* crank up our favorite music and do chores at a natural pace
* take a shower before I grow barnacles
* prep lessons while feeling consciously grateful that I have the privilege of staying home with my babies and teaching them, my way, everyday, even if it's a chore
* doing aforementioned lessons with the kids, hoping my new-found sunshine appreciation will radiate from within and motivate them with glad hearts, lol
* a light round of pick-up after lessons, again, set to music
* one hour of quiet reading, for mama too, sometime this afternoon
* call the Gilbert House to confirm that we're signed up for the science fair
* make four separate dinners for four picky eaters (spare me the lectures)
* take deep, deliberate breaths all day long, to keep anxiety at bay
* play a game with the kids
* no yelling no matter what

And if all goes well, we will reward ourselves by risking the two-block drive to my mom's to watch Jon & Kate tonight. (One of my recent attempts at good parenting was having our cable television turned off, and Jon & Kate is the one show we still follow.)

And eat Fruity Pebbles.

And work on conquering the other days of the week.

it's so hard to say goodbye

And while I'm on the subject of John Edwards, let me just say that I'm not laboring under any illusions of him securing the nomination. Okay I said it. (Voice gets quavery.) I do think that he has brought a lot of important issues to the table, issues that have been seldom heard over the shameful mud-sligning of our two celebrity candidates, and I do think his conduct has most closely resembled that of an actual adult (even if his appearance is far from it, lol). However, none of his golden boy flair changes the fact that the best we can hope for is 200 of those 1,700 delegates at stake come February 5th, which would, in essence, put him the position of kingmaker. (He's already the primary force keeping Hillary under 50%. You can thank him for that, B.)

I've said that I am holding out for an Edwards/Obama ticket, though at this point I'd be thrilled with an Obama/Edwards consolation ticket. The point is I'm not snuffing out this little light of mine just yet. But the realist in me is prepared for the fact that I may have to transfer my support entirely very soon. And at six-foot-one, I will be waving my Obama sign high, believe me.

crazy little thing called the constitution...

I know it's a cop-out to to post a link rather than offer, in my own words, some insight on this issue, but I haven't made my Starbucks run yet, and I certainly can't ignite you people better than John Edwards can. Please read what he has to say. This one really has my blood running cold.:

http://blog.johnedwards.com/story/2008/1/24/144856/068

to bean or not to bean

There is no way to euphamize this, I am a Starbucks devotee. If I had the time, I might flit through airports in a green robe banging a tambourine to spread the good news. (I can borrow this description because my dearest auntie is a hare krishna devotee, and she wouldn't mind.) The moment I toss my beautifully-labeled cup into the garbage, I become envious of anyone who has one, even if I am no longer in the mood for coffee, to the extend that I have almost entertained the thought of carrying my empty cup, like Linus with his blanket. Almost. But come one. Who does that?

As a measure of my addiction to their coffee, which I concede isn't even the best I've ever had, I will confess that I own a very nice Krups espresso maker, as well as a regular coffee maker, and every morning, I pretend not to see them, the way a senior in high school pretends not to notice passing freshmen, and I begin to plot a way to get a Starbucks coffee instead. My greatest obstacle is that, while I only live a mile from the nearest drive-thru, I refuse to leave my seven and nine year olds alone while I make the run, whether they are sleeping or awake. The law says that because Quinn is nine, I can leave him in charge of his sibling for up to an hour, a fact of which he is keenly aware and desperate to try. But I am just not ready. We live in town, northeast to be exact, and my mind can't help but conjure up all sorts of hazards that might arise in that fifteen minutes. But, my kids sleep in quite a bit longer than I, so if I let them sleep, I am forced to wait an eternity to get my fix. So I crash around in the mornings biding my time until they wake up. My friends think I am absurd and ought to make the run while they're asleep, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Can you see my dilemma?

Fortunately I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough. The kids have been staying up way too late, and now that we've moved them to their new bunk beds, we've also implemented an earlier bed time, and one of the ways I hope to tire them out for this is to WAKE THEM UP EARLY! The sooner they rise, the sooner they fall right? One of the main reasons I homeschool my kids is so they have the option of getting enough sleep, so it seems a little hypocritical to be ripping them from their sheets because I am brainwashed and need my Americano right now. On the other hand, it sure is nice to have them tired at 9:30pm, rather than asking for popcorn at 12:30am... Wow. Perhaps the answer lies in the question. It seems getting up earlier is a win-win-win situation.

Who knew that foaming at the mouth could lead to such clarity?

let there be light

The depth of my candor in last night's post has given me a case of the morning-afters, but I'm resisting the urge to delete it, hoping that all my squirming signifies some measure of personal growth. No pain no gain right?

The fact is, in spite of my misgivings, I'd have to say the process was at least 25% cathartic, if for no other reason than an obsessive mind such as my own loves to have messy things such as thoughts neatly compartmentalized into crisp white bins, or in this case, paragraphs.

Today things are markedly better, and I woke up ready to reclaim my life, even as I stepped over, and on, the sea of wayward kid bedroom overflow, toys displaced by the bunk beds. For the past week I've been cowering at the sight of this heap, but today I am ready to kick some ass.

I'm hopeful that with another coffee, (that's right, I'm back on coffee, I told you I live in the danger zone) and some Footloose, I can show this house who's boss.

if it weren't for this imp in my mind...

For those of you who have been thoughtful enough to inquire as to my recent reclusion, I thought the decent thing to do would be to explain. And, against my better judgment, I've decided to be honest.

As most of you know, my Goliath takes the form of manic depression, better known as bipolar disorder (which I am averse to calling it), and by golly if I didn't hit the skids in a major way a few weeks ago. Mind you, I am in the care of extremely capable doctors, the most stellar friends and family, and have been getting successful treatment for a couple years, but lo and behold that relentless bastard depression can still emerge from the recesses and grab ahold when you're not looking, even when you're doing everything right. So that is what has happened, and that is my blanket reason (note I don't use the word excuse) for everything I've said/not said/done/not done for the past, let's say, month.

To say that I'm a very busy person is a gross understatement, and pretty much every extreme tale of my burning the candle at both ends is true, only in my case, it's a stick of dynamite, so give yourself a bit of clearance. I am fortunate enough not to experience a backslide into depression but maybe two times a year, but as those of you with any history can attest, every moment spans a black eternity, and nary a second is to be minimized. I don't usually notice I'm wobbling until I start sleeping in and/or friends call to ask why I'm not out and about as much. But I never think to say that I must be backsliding. Because in my mind, in my decidedly compromised state, what has really happened is that all my friends, even the very ones who are calling, have finally abandoned me, alone and naked, shivering in the cold of my sudden confused bleakness. I question their motives, their sincerity, their ability to help, even as I wish I could enjoy their company, as I know I so often have. I am blessed with many friends, all of whom have proven themselves to be the truest of the true, with Brandy at the helm, tirelessly championing me to success in so many realms I can't even say, but when the dynamite blows, I find myself literally rocking in the corner wondering how it is I have lived thirty years on earth having never made a friend. Even in acute moments, or "episodes," as we call them, I am intellectually aware that I have friends, but emotionally, I don't feel any more connected to them than I do to the man on the street. What's worse, I shroud myself in guilt over burdening these gems, my friends, yet again, with my irrational and sometimes hurtful behavior, and am thusly even more inclined to avoid them. And yet they continue to reach out to me, to bring me coffees, to listen to me whine incessantly, and issue me so many free passes on everything from missed dates to criminally poor conduct all around. I'm telling you people, were it not for these friends...(getting teary)

So that's where I've been. Around the block. The block. As I traversed this harrowing landscape (read: scraped along), I was also transitioning my seven and nine year olds from our very overflowing family bed into bunk beds in their own room (can I get an AMEN?!?), which has definitely been one for the Fitzpatrick Family Follies in every possible sense. I have also recently conceded to the fact that denial is not an effective treatment for endometriosis, and have been forced to put that on the front burner, along with, once again, my children's education, joining the gym, and surrendering my mind to the fact that my house will never be clean enough. Period. Did I mention that in the interim I literally worried away my stomach lining and Sam had to take me to the ER for esophagitis, resulting in my giving up coffee (HELL-O caffeine withdrawal!)? So needless to say I'm a skoch behind on my prize-winningly absurd/obsessive/grandiose new years resolutions.

But I'm officially on the mend, and will resume running myself ragged in no time. I intend to cash in on all your offers of coffee, tea, knitting, movies, and anything else I can squeeze out of you suckers before you all get wise. :) See you soon.

speak no evil

It's simple but far from easy. Today I vow not to yell. No matter how much time it takes to get our shoes on, no matter how far behind we fall. I will keep a soft jaw, and remember that no to-do list takes precedent over being a loving, smiling, open-armed mama.


Serenity now serenity now serenity now...

what 11:47 am looks like for an insomniac...