Crunch.......

 Time to pull out those wool sweaters and mittens, wash your mothball scented turtlenecks, and warm up the hot chocolate and irish coffee. It's football season.

Not so fast, though.  For sixth and seventh graders, football starts at the end of the summer, when we are still sweltering under the ninety-five degree heat and asphixiating in the eighty-percent humidity.

Those poor boys. Not only did it feel as if we were in the Amazon, but this was their first game and well... let's just say they need a bit more practice blocking.

Now I know very little about the game of football. But what I do know is that they start in a huddle, at some point a whistle is blown and then you hear that unmistakable "CRUNCH" as shoulder pads and helmets collide. During this game, there wasn't too much "crunching" going on. The scene reminded me more of "So You Think You Can Dance" than Monday Night Football. Over and over again the same scenario was repeated: white player holds up hands to block blue player. Blue player nimbly sidesteps white player. White player pirouettes like a top, slamming into the grass without grace like an overturned beetle. "BLOCK THEM!!!" screamed the coaches over and over again, and over and over again our defense landed helplessly on the ground. After the third quarter the scoreboard read 26-0. You can guess who hadn't scored yet. We tried to shout words of encouragement, all the while shooting dirty looks at the parents across the field who were now chanting and singing the other team's praises. One of our coaches pulled aside our biggest guy, "Shrek." "Listen, when that guy starts comin' at you, I want you to throw yourself down right infront of him! Do you hear me?? Lay down! There's no way he's gonna get past ya!"

Their end of the field :(

Unfortunately, even Shrek couldn't salvage the game. It was just going to take more practice. The other team obviously had more experienced players than we did. So, we were left to focus on the home team's end of the field while our goal post remained alone and silent the entire game.

Next week, guys. We'll get 'em.

Our end of the field.

May I Take Your Order?

Hopefully, the next time you pass me on the highway, you will notice that my new "used" Mercedes smells like a McDonalds on wheels. Motorists stuck behind me doing the speed limit (because, don't you know, you get better gas mileage when you drive 55?) will suddenly find themselves craving french fries and chicken mcnuggets.

My latest attempt to tread gently upon our planet is to buy a used diesel-fuel Mercedes Benz and fill 'er up with "biodiesel." According to http://www.biodiesel.org/, cars with diesel engines are fully capable of running on this type of alternative fuel. (Supposedly, it's the parts that surround the engine that can be negatively affected by it, but I am willing to take precautions.) As I've been researching my latest idea, I have been disappointed to find that there are not too many gas stations around here that actually sell biodiesel fuel.  There are individual people who will beg "waste oil" from various fast food restaurants and process it into usable fuel for your diesel engine. However, I am a bit wary of this option simply because it isn't regulated and there's also the whole "smelling like a greasy burger" issue.

There are websites where you can purchase your own "biodiesel kit" and take that old, used veggie oil and process it yourself to be used in your green automobile. I like to think that I'm intelligent enough to do something like that. I imagine myself at the drive-thru window ordering gallons of  leftover grease from my neighborhood Mickey D's and feeling so proud when I am eventually able to siphon it into my own gas tank. (The fact that I refuse to follow recipes or read instructions before I assemble basically anything might throw a wrench in my little plan, however.)

 No matter, though, there are co-ops and forums of like minded "veggie fuelers" out there on the web. Hopefully one of them will be able to talk me through it. Maybe I'll even start my own "French Fry Fuel Meet-Up Group" on yahoo. We can meet at organic farmer's markets, dressed in thrift shop clothes and fair trade sandals and swap blueprints of sustainable, hand-built houses while our kids thank us for providing them with a down-to-earth childhoods, free of materialism, screens, and ringtones. (It could happen.......!)

Perhaps I am jumping in too soon...

It is quite possible that it may do more research and try to convince others to switch to alternative fuels before I undertake such a task on my own. For example, the Las Vegas School District's entire school bus fleet runs on biodiesel. Maybe a better way to make a difference would be to encourage large users of diesel transporters to switch to veggie fuel.

Thank goodness I don't have a full time job right now. Starting Monday I will be visiting our town's public works department, our school district's bus corporation and the local waste management company.

You can thank me later when driving through our town makes you hungry instead of initiates an asthma attack!!

To find out more about alternative fuels go to http://www.thefuelfilm.com/

SUPERWOMAN!!!!!!!!!!

"Here I come to save the day!!!"

In merely three days, I have become "Suzie Homemaker." My house has never been more organized, our refrigerator so full, pantry so stocked!


My incredible fear of becoming useless and unworthy has driven me to "homemaking mania." Every "project" I have imagined starting in the past three years, has become the one I have decided to embark upon in the first few days of my official unemployment and childless state. The complete desperation with which I vacuum, scrub and shine should alert me to the fact that I may be going a bit overboard, perhaps taking on too much, too soon?


Let me give you an idea of what I have accomplished during the past two and a half days:

•  Made homemade zucchini bread with my freshly grown zucchini (my Nana's recipe...tastes like heaven)
•  Made homemade banana bread with the black slimy bananas which have been languishing in my freezer for six months for this specific purpose
•  "Power" shopped at three different stores to stock up on organic produce, bulk grain staples and ethnic products so I can try all the recipes I have collected over the past twenty years (didn't actually buy any packaged food items, I'm proud to say, although I have a feeling that might backfire on me)
•  Oh....organized all those recipes I've collected over the past twenty years and actually chose three to try this week (This entailed flipping through all of my magazines and cookbooks (eight!)and pulling out my favorite vegetarian recipes, then recycling the leftovers.)
•  Made homemade granola, stored it in an airtight glass container instead of a plastic ziplock bag, because now I have NO excuse not to be "green." After all, I have nothing better to do now than scrounge through my cabinets for possible reusable containers, do I?
•  Made homemade spaghetti sauce from the freshly picked tomatoes from my garden (which, by the way, is extremely watery!!!)
•  Used the leftover zucchini and made my own version of "fried green tomatoes"....except with the z, of course. Froze it because boys are going to be with their dad.
• Steamed MANY servings of brown rice and wound up freezing THAT as well because boys will be gone.
• Washed and cut celery, watermelon, yellow melon, strawberries, blueberries and grapes so my kids might actually eat something healthy. Ran out of containers in which to store them, so wound up using the damn Ziplocs. (I can wash and reuse, right?) Side note, can you freeze that stuff
•  Rode my damn bike to the farmer's market and bought the most expensive organic corn on the cob I could find only to let it sit in the fridge because- yup- the boys aren't home to enjoy it. Oh, and also bought pickling cucumbers so I can make homemade pickles.

• Made homemade pizza dough, with yeast and everything!! (again, into the freezer)
• Scrubbed the floor under the fridge, dishwasher and oven because...well, it was NASTY! I don't think I've ever done that before
• Did three loads of laundry and hung each load out on the clothesline to dry (Forgot to bring one load in overnight, so when I eventually did, found many critters making themselves comfortable in our various undergarments.)
• Sewed on a loose button, hemmed a pair of jeans and took in a pair of shorts so B couldn't walk around like a hoodlum with his crack and boxers showing
• Cleaned the shelves in the refrigerator (figured out where that "smell" had been coming from!)
• Replaced the pedal on my bike, fixed N's broken chain on his bike, hung up shelves in his room and resharpened the electric pencil sharpener
• Researched cheaper health insurance, car insurance and home insurance and made changes to save money (Yes!!$$$$$$$)
• Researched cheaper TV and internet services and switched to Dish Network and AT&T where I will now save $10 per month!!!
• Volunteered to tutor adult english language learners for two hours a week, signed up to substitute teach in my kids' district, as well as instruct aqua aerobics to senior citizens on Saturdays.
• Last but not least, went to an hour indoor cycling class and then a 45 min. pilates class last night and almost bit the dust.

So.....those of you who know me are not surprised by this. And those of you who have just read this are thinking, "Oh my God, how will she sustain this?"


I won't.
 In situations like this, I tend to go all out, 110% until I BURNOUT and then flop down like a dead, stinky fish. I am writing this all down so that I can give myself a warning....SLOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW down.


I know deep inside that being unemployed doesn't make me worthless and doing a million and one things at once doesn't make me a better person. It only makes me strung out and depressed in the end.


So, my dear friends, I am making myself a promise right now that I will CHILL OUT, and not worry incessantly about how much I'm doing with the time I have, but whether what I am doing is helping me become a better person.


P.S. The boys came home from school yesterday and after looking in the pantry and fridge and finding nothing "pre-packaged and ready-to-go" stated that there was "nothin' to eat."

New Beginnings

I'm really sad today. It has suddenly hit me how lonely and useless I am going to feel in about three days. School starts then and my boys will be starting the new year with fresh, clean notebooks and finely sharpened pencils. Normally, I would be doing the same. But since I was let go from my teaching position, that won't be the case this 2010/2011 school year.

I should be frantically printing colorful nametags to affix to the 27 desktops in room 208 and labeling clear plastic shoeboxes with numbers so each student has his own extra supply container. I should have entered and saved 27 new names into my grading software, leaving extra room for any newcomers who might move into our area. The art bins should have been filled with fresh, new crayons and tightly capped gluesticks; all the scissors clearly labeled "Room 208" with masking tape stickers. "Everyday Mathematics" Reference textbooks, lined up, should stand at attention along the wall below the math and science supply cabinets. Plastic trays named "Writing," "Vocabulary," and "Math," should tower on the edge of a file cabinet called ISAT Materials. Welcome to Sixth Grade! should burst from the wall outside the room which would house my eager, earnest instruction. Positive messages should line the inside of that sanctuary, with words like, "Be the Change You Want to See in the World," and "Learning is a Treasure That Will Follow its Owner Everywhere."



On Wednesday, when another body is standing at the door of room 208, smiling and greeting all those new nervous students, I will be pondering what I can do to pick myself back up, plant myself in front of a different door to a different classroom and enrich the lives of twenty-something different children.

The Kind Diet

Ever heard of the book, The Kind Diet, by Alicia Silverstone? I believe it might still be on one of the bestseller lists. I found it in the "new releases" section of my library and was excited because I had heard it was excellent and would reaffirm my vegetarianism and my "green" living attempts.

Basically, this book tells you what many other books and documentaries have touted before; that our typical American food is filled with toxic chemicals and is a huge contributor to the breakdown of our planet earth. Silverstone speaks about meat (including poultry and seafood), dairy, white sugar and processed foods in general. As I said, I have heard many of her arguments before and do believe them. That's okay for ME reading the book, but I have to wonder about anyone else learning about this stuff for the first time. First of all, Alicia Silverstone is an ACTRESS. She is not a researcher, nutritionist or a scientist. Secondly, she is a HORRIBLE writer. She ends many of her sentences with unnecessary exclamation points which gives you the impression that she is smiling and cheering as she tells you that the beef you are buying for your family is giving your six year old boy boobies.

Aside from the patronizing way she addresses readers, and the barebones evidence to back up a few of her claims, I was really excited to check out the recipes included in the book. I've been vegetarian since I was eighteen and love to try new recipes. The problem I always have is getting my kids to eat my veggie dishes. Actually, I have two problems. They don't eat anything "suspicious" looking (translation: most vegetarian meals) and they won't eat any meat I serve to them. I can't blame them for not eating the latter. No matter how hard I try, I cannot cook any type of meat to the correct tenderness. I overcook EVERYTHING. I think it's because I don't know what the right texture should be or what it should look like, it is like I am cooking "blind." (or tastebudless) My hamburgers are hockey pucks, meatloaf like bricks. When I cook chicken stir fry, the kids spend ten minutes methodically chewing each piece of meat so they can soften it enough to swallow! Forget about getting pork or steak in my house, I know after I cook it that it will taste lousy, so I don't even bother wasting my money in the first place. I figure that's what "Outback Steakhouse" is for!

Therefore, I needed to find some recipes my kids might actually eat and get some nutrients from. As I flipped through the back pages, I spotted a recipe for hummus. I've been endulging in this delectable middle eastern delight for over twenty years, but the boys have only recently aquired a love for it. Their love affair began when their nana brought home "Stacy's Naked Pita Chips" and "Sabre olive oil and pine nut" hummus. She bought the extra-super size products at her local Costco and happily shared them with us on our last visit. Let's just say that for dinner that night and lunch the next day, we feasted and devoured the entire bag of pita chips and basically licked clean the tub of Sabre.

"Why," I thought to myself, "I could make hummus like that...How hard could it be?" In the next instant I had dragged the blender from the back of the cupboard, retrieved a can of garbanzo beans (chick peas) and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil from the pantry and lemon juice from my fridge. Happily humming to myself, I drained the can of chick peas and dumped them into the blender. As I poured from the bottle of olive oil for one, maybe two seconds, I realized I had forgotten garlic. Because I was lacking fresh garlic, I made do with pre-chopped garlic from a jar. I scooped about one spoonful of the garlic out of the jar and flung it off the spoon on top of the beans. Finally, I added a one to two second pour of lemon juice to the top. "There, that should do it," I murmured. After securing the lid, I pressed "puree." The machine whirred and buzzed for a few seconds as the ingredients were spun around the bottom of the blender. Then, a high-pitched whining emitted from the motor and the blending stopped. I removed the lid and peered inside, finding whole garbanzo beans and garlic on the top. From the outside of the blender, I could see that the lower half of the ingredients were pureed and mixed. I shoved a spoon into the ingredients, gave them a stir and replaced the lid, figuring that would do it. Again, the machine whirred for a second and soon began its high-pitched whine. Hm.... Thinking the consistency was too thick, I decided to add more lemon juice. After dispensing a few drops, and giving the paste a jostle, it still seemed too thick. I lifted the top of the blender off and ran it under the faucet for a few seconds, adding water. That HAD to make it runny enough.

Just incase you haven't noticed, I should probably tell you that not once did I look at the recipe from Alicia Silverstone's book. Not once did I even glance at it. In fact, I do believe it was still on my nightstand next to my bed as I whipped up my concoction. I tend to take certain liberties with recipes, using them as sort of a "map" or "trail guide." Oh, who am I kidding, I use them as dust collectors propped against the "used only once" bread machine! I see a recipe, think, "That sounds yummy!" and then try to recreate it using only my sharp as nails memory. (Anyone who knows me will tell you I cannot remember my own children's names most of the time.)In my defense, I do love to taste the food I am preparing and after "guessing" about how much of each ingredient is needed, I am usually able to make it fabulous by "tweaking" based upon my tongue's preference.

Okay, back to my hummus. The water lay on the top of the pile of partially mixed beans, garlic, lemon juice and oil. I grabbed my spoon to "fold" the water into the mixture, forcing it to the lower part of the container. After the lid was firmly placed I punched the "blend" button. Same result as before. I was losing patience and ready to buy a membership to Costco when I figured it couldn't hurt to "help" the blending process along by pushing the ingredients down toward the blade while it was still running so all the beans would get processed. I pressed the "blend" button again and gently coaxed the beans downward with my wooden spoon over and over until the ingredients began to resemble hummus in both appearance and smell. There were still quite a few lumps in it, and I knew the main reason my boys loved the "Sabre" brand so much was because of its smooth as silk consistency. So, I continued to blend and gently push the mixture with my spoon.

Now, I do realize it is my lack of patience which gave rise to the following incident and I take full responsibility for it. However, if the damn food processor I had received as a wedding gift back in 1995 hadn't "given up the ghost" last winter, lumpy hummus never even would have been an issue!

Of course, I became tired of the steady, structured method of making hummus and proceeded to apply my own. I began pressing the buttons to make the blender go faster, finally hitting "liquify." The machine whirred furiously and emitted satisfyingly loud grinding noises; proof that it was producing a lovely, smooth blend of vegetable spread. Lifing the lid slightly, I could see a few small lumps and uneven patches so I guided the wooden spoon down the side to once again coax the beans toward the madly spinning blade. I began to see more lumps and pushed the spoon in a bit faster. Then, smaller lumps popped up as the blade spun them to the top. Frustrated, I smacked them with spoon again and again, cramming them to the bottom. Suddenly, as the teeth of the blade bit into the wood of the spoon, the utensil was sent richocheting off the sides of the blender and then up to the ceiling and onto the floor with a splat. Hummus was flung into my eyes, up my nose and onto my new Ralph Lauren polo. It had flown into my hair; I could even taste lemon and garlic on my lips. From the celing hung globs of yellowish mush and chunks of it slid slowly down the wood cabinets. I must have been shrieking during the melee as the kids came pounding into the kitchen, breathless to see what I had gotten myself into this time. When they saw the mess that blanketed the kitchen and me, they busted into fits of giggles, pointing and clutching their bellies.

"Stop laughing!" I chastized, "This is your dinner!" My oldest took one look at the ceiling and shuddered, "Ewwwwwwwwwwww....." The middle son plainly stated, "I'm not eatin' that."

Licking my lips and pulling a chunk of hummus from my hair I said, "Fine, we'll have the kind Nana bought, but you are missing out on this fantastic, homemade kind. Whatever!" No wonder none of their friends ever want to eat over at our house.

Later that evening, as I was relaxing on the sofa and enjoying my homemade hummus with fresh carrots, I felt something catch in my teeth and partially make its way down my throat. I gagged slightly as I pulled a fine, dark brown hair from the back of my tongue. Maybe I will try to follow the recipe next time.

Mitch

Our beloved cat, Mitch, is dying. (see pictures on right sidebar) He is 11 years old and has been a part of our family for over five years. He has two huge tumors under his chin along his neck and one along his left hind leg as well as one in his abdomen. He moves carefully and slowly, gingerly settling himself into his favorite spots. We are having more trouble finding him recently since he has discovered some fairly secluded hiding places. I have to wonder if he is doing it on purpose, to save the boys from possible devastation. Today I noticed that is right eyelid is swollen and red. His nose is pinker than usual, as well. I'm constantly giving him fresh water and encouraging him to eat whenever I can. He wouldn't even try to eat the tiny piece of cheese I gave him this morning. The vet gave me antibiotics for him just in case, by some miracle, his swollen lymph nodes are because of an infection and not cancer. I had wrapped a sliver of soft cheese around the miniscule pill, but he was not having it. He looked at me as if to say, "Don't bother..."

He doesn't seem to be in pain right now. I keep praying that somehow I will know when he is suffering and I will be strong enough to make that horrible decision. My heart is breaking and I want to scoop him up and hug him to my face forever and never let him go. The comfort he has brought all of us over the years is unmatched by any human. He has unconditionally adored us, forgiving us even when we go away for a few days and leave him with only a large bowl of food and a liter of fresh water. Every night he sleeps with one of the boys, the oldest,N, especially. It's like they have a special connection. Mitch is more his cat than anybody else's. I don't know how N will get over this impending loss. Mitch has been his santuary and safety net for so many years. We will all be empty inside. What will we do without him?

I only hope we can make him feel as comfortable as possible and show him that we love him beyond words and will always love him in our hearts.

Mother of the Year...continued

Remember when you were little and you wanted something really badly? You knew which parent to ask first, didn't you? Maybe your mom was into teaching "independence" and expected you to save your money so you could experience a sense of pride after you have acquired that longed-for object all on your own. Your father....now he was a different story. Daddy traveled for business a lot and wasn't home much. He missed out on lots of "firsts" and never even noticed the "phases" you went through. What did that mean?

He had guilt...Daddy guilt. You knew that if you went to him first, you had increased your chances of getting what you wanted by seventy-five percent, easily. So, with that life experience in mind, I approached Mr. M's wife first. I just happened to be riding my bike past their house and happened to see them out with their new puppy and figured she could "feel him out" (her hubbie) for me. When I told her about our desire, no, our intense yearning for a dog her face fell slightly. As it turns out, she was the one who had to talk him into the puppy in the first place. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, "What bad timing. Just this morning the puppy had an accident and Mr. M said he'd never let anyone have a dog in a rental house..." my stomach plummeted to my feet.

I tried to brush it off like it was no big deal. After all, it was my fault for not asking in the first place. But I think my dissappointment showed plainly on my face because B looked at me and then his eyes dropped to the pavement. It was clear he knew we wouldn't be getting a cute little furball of energy any time soon. When his eyes finally did meet mine it was if they said, "How could you do that to me, mom?"

I had raised his hopes higher than the Sears..I mean the "Willis" Tower and then just as quickly torn them down and dashed them into the asphalt below. There was no question about it...

I sucked.

Mother of the Year Award

I am a horrible mother. I nominate myself for "Worst Mother of the Year." I will display my award with shame above the hockey, football and soccer trophies on top of the liquor cabinet.

I have done a few things of which I am not so proud, and the past week, unfortunately, has been chock full of them. I tend to speak a lot before I think, even when I might not be completely sure what I am talking about. My brain is so full of all the details I MUST remember, that it is selective when retrieving information that is not absolutely imperative. It's like my mind sees every day memories as "optional."

My kids and I have gotten caught up in "puppy madness." Three separate families have recently acquired new puppies and it's all I can do to keep my boys from kidnapping one and hiding it in their bedroom. I swore we would never buy a dog, but adopt from a shelter or rescue center. There are some wonderful websites which will give you a list of animals available near your area. You can even search as far as 100 miles from your home. I am only aware of this because I have literally spent hours on two particular sites poring over profiles of sweet, cuddly, family-less puppies while the kids were at their dad's. On www.petfinder.com I found three possibilities. I knew we were interested in a small sized dog because I am only willing to deal with small sized poop. (I'm serious.) I was partial to females because I had grown up with female dogs and knew what to expect. We were also hoping to find one that might be part Cavalier King Charles Spaniel since my sister has one and she is an angel.

Of course, after a couple of hours I found the perfect pup for us. Luckily, she was at an animal shelter in Ohio located directly on route to my parents house! She was ten weeks old, part Cavalier and part something else tiny and cute. My insides quivered when I read that they would allow adoptions to people who live out of state. This was our new family member! I diligently filled out the online application and sent it right away to the contact person. My giddiness couldn't be contained...I needed to share my spectacular news with someone. Someone who would be just as exited as I was.
I called my middle son, B. I begged him to ride his bike over for just five minutes because I had a surprise to show him on the computer. He was at the door before I could think twice. We "oohed and ahhhed" over the picture of the little puppy. B had tears in his eyes as he pleaded, "Please mom, can we drive out to get him tomorrow? Please?????" After agreeing to get our puppy as soon as possible, I hastened to add that we still had to be approved by the shelter. (though I couldn't see why they'd reject us as we were the perfect family! Ha!) We squealed and hugged each other and began to plan where to keep the cage and what kind of dog food to purchase when suddenly B said breathlessly, "I'm so glad Mr. M is letting us get a dog! He is the coolest!"

Shit.

Mr. M was our landlord. He owns the beautiful house we live in. He is very cool, and he is very straightforward. When we first moved in, he told us no pets, but made an exception for our cat, Mitch. Well, Mr. M and his family were one of the families in the neighborhood with a new puppy. Every time we visited Mr. M and his family, they were playing with their new little fuzzball and having a grand old time. He was thrilled with the new addition and we were certain he would have a change of heart about the no pets rule.

Except, that on the evening I asked B to come over, I had forgotten that I hadn't spoken with Mr. M yet. I didn't know if he would really let us get a dog.

Om

I went to a meditation class last night from 7pm to 8:30pm. Yep, that's right....an hour and a half long. Of meditation. Of sitting. And not thinking. About anything. At all. For 90 minutes. That's 5,400 seconds.

CRAP. What was I thinking?? I had known about the class for awhile, it's actually a free workshop sponsored by our park district. I finally made the time to get my butt over there and try to learn to stop all the constant chatter in my brain. I figured this goes along with my goal of becoming a better person and respecting myself and the planet etc, etc, etc.

I showed up at the community center with my red, white and blue beach towel and my purse. (Just in case, you know, there was a "hidden fee" of some kind. Nothing is free-I'm wise enough to know that now.) There were about six other people there, and I was the youngest. (And I'm old.) We sat in stiff metal chairs in a small half-circle while the instructor stood and spoke quietly to us about the proper way to meditate. He was a small, soft-spoken Indian man with half-closed eyes and a wide smile. He wore grey baggy sweatpants, a matching grey Hanes t-shirt and velcro sandals. (which he decided to take off in the middle of our first meditation practice.)

We were to fill our diaphragm as we inhaled, allowing the belly to distend outward. Then, on the exhale, we were to allow our breath to release as slowly as possible imagining a lit candle in front of us, unwavering. Breathing was to be done through the nose only as our instructor warned us because "...mouths are for eating" and if we breathed through our mouths, he'd have to feed us through our noses.
Ah. Interesting.

Eventually, we were told, we would get to the point where the special breathing would come naturally for us, and the thoughts which tried to interrupt our meditation would float away on their own.

I began our first practice meditation trying to get comfortable in the lousy chair. He wanted our feet planted firmly on the floor and spines straight. Well, either the chairs are too tall or I have shrunk. My feet barely touched the floor; only my toes were able to reach. So I scooched forward and pressed my heels down and lifted my spine "as if the crown of the head is floating up to the ceiling." Gently closing my eyes, I began to meditate. At first, inhaling was not too much of a problem. I filled my belly up with oxygen and concentrated on exhaling as slowly as possible, barely allowing air to flow from my nostrils. Slowly, over and over I did this, squeezing the breath out of my diaphragm as I pulled my belly button toward my spine. At some point, I became incredibly aware of the size of my belly as inhaled. I knew that anyone who was "cheating" and looking around would be visually assaulted with my voluminous, beer belly like abdomen. All I could think of was other people eyeing my distended tummy and secretly judging it's size. "Stop" I told myself mentally, "Just breeeaaathe......innnnhaaaaaaale....exxxxxhaaaaaaaaaaale.....slowly....slowly....."
At that point I was sweating as I tried to inhale as deeply as possible, yet keep my abdominal muscles pulled in so my pooch didn't stick out so much. I couldn't keep that up for long, so I did what any beginning meditator trying to become a better person would have done.
I peeked.

Guess what? Nobody was looking at me. No one cared! Everyone else had their eyes gently closed and wore an expression of peacefulness. I chastised myself mentally; once for worrying about what others thought about me and again for "cheating."

The next type of meditation we learned was similar to the first, only instead of exhaling quietly and slowly, we were to exhale and hum at the same time. Supposedly, humming while you breathe out forces you to slow down. At this time, our instructor invited us to sit or lie on a mat on the floor or find the most comfortable position. I was primed and ready to leave the metal chair behind as I sat on a rolled up mat against the wall. This time, I allowed my belly to roll on out on the exhale because it felt good to let it all hang...and nobody was looking! I began to hum softly when I heard our instructor begin his humming. I could feel a vibration in my throat and head, like a slight pressure. Inhaaaaaaaaaaaale.......hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... and again, Inhaaaaaaaaaaaaale.......hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....
This was kind of nice. I didn't have random pictures flying into my mind, I was able to focus better with the humming. I wasn't worried that I had forgotten to buy milk for the kids for breakfast, or that I had didn't close the garage door earlier. My mind seemed....not quiet... but "occupied." As if it had to take care of this humming business and was not going to multi-task. I felt energized and tingly after the five minutes was up.

Our final meditation was difficult for me. It's called "Laughing Meditation." With this type, you inhale like before, but on the exhale you laugh and laugh and laugh. The instructor turned on a CD of this lady laughing so hard she sounded like she was going to pee. At one point, she was laughing in that way where you aren't making any sound, but you are still laughing and you can't breathe and tears are coming out of your eyes. I've laughed like that before and it's great. I LOVE to laugh. I love comedy clubs, appreciate good jokes, can double over during a good "embarrassing moment" story. Nevertheless, I need to tell you that it is quite difficult to MAKE yourself laugh. I really did try. I let out a few "Heh, heh, heh's" and then cleared my throat. "Ahhhhh, haaaaa, haaaaaa!!" Nope, nothing. It was hard for me to do this without having a reason to laugh. Quite a few of the other participants got into this and were having a grand 'ole time, chuckling, snorting and hootin' away. I have to admit, it was fun to watch them.

Even though the laughing meditation wasn't something I will probably try again, I am proud of myself for finding two ways to get better in tune with my "inner voice." I'm also going to make my friend go with me to the comedy club this weekend so I can laugh until I pee my pants.

Here I go....

So I can't believe I actually have enough guts to do this. I've been mulling it over for awhile, even thought it might be better as a website. But too many signs have pointed me in this direction. Writing helps me flush out all the trapped "noise" inside my head. I've always kept a journal. In fact, I have a huge storage bin full of spiral notebooks, leather bound diaries and lovely recycled paper journals. I fill one up and start another. I have yet to go back and read any of the ones I have placed in that bin.Because they are packed safely in my garage, the biggest threat to all of my uncensored thoughts before this blog was a moldy smell and mildewed pages. However, this blog is different. This is more dangerous, more threatening to my ego. Allowing other, complete strangers (Oh God....and maybe even friends...) to read this will be humbling and perhaps will hold me more accountable for my actions. A piece of paper doesn't check in with you to see if you followed through on the promise you made to yourself in your last entry.

I plan to write about the every day things I do to try to make myself a better person. It sounds cheesy and "pollyanna-ish" but I am serious. I will be forty in April and I am tired of making excuses. I want to be the best person I can be every day. That means treating myself and others with respect and also trying to treat our earth with love and respect, as well. Okay friends and family, wish me luck!

My thoughtful thoughts..

I need an Italian amore, or a Latin lover. I cranked Andrea Bocelli this morning in my car and realized my life would be much sweeter if I had a man with a foreign accent singing me love songs. In my head, I ranted about American men and how unromantic and crass they are. But then, maybe it's only the American men I've dated who are like that. I've dated two Morrocan men, and melted just hearing their voices. It is something about the way they say my name, "Meeeeshelle...." Even when they turn out to be complete morons, I still love to hear them whisper my name. My friends say I only date men with accents. There were the two Morrocans and an Italian New Yorker from Brooklyn. The New Yorker definitely counts as a foreigner with an accent. Most of the time, I couldn't understand him. But believe it or not, his voice still makes me want to....uh, you know.

I've been blasting my Andrea Bocelli cd nonstop since Saturday when I received it in the mail. My boys are ready to break it in half. I traded a book for it on swaptree.com. It's a great website if you want to save some money, recycle/reuse some of your books or cds and feel "green." It is incredibly easy to use. I have been able to get books, cd's and even games by sending my old "stuff" to other website members. I feel better (quite smug, actually...) that I'm reusing and not producing more waste! (I do agree that the library is definitely the best way to go, but when I want a book I can highlight or write notes in, I need my own copy.)

So....the other way I'm trying to save or make a bit of cash is by completing these surveys online. I went on the website wisebread.com and they listed a bunch of websites which will pay you to participate in their market research surveys. I was so excited to give my opinion and get paid for it, too! How hard could it be? I'm always spouting off with my own opinion about things, only this time people actually want to hear it! This is how it works: You earn points every time you complete a survey, and those points are redeemed for cash or gift cards. However, I have quickly realized that there is a catch. First of all, I don't qualify for a lot of the surveys they email me. I'll go through the first 5 to 10 questions and a screen pops up that reads, "We're sorry, but you have screened out of this survey....." blah blah blah. So, it barely counts towards my "points." The other catch is that a lot of these surveys are LONG and BORING.... My God, I can only think of so much to say about my washing machine. But, I'm still filling out the surveys, because every time you do, your name is entered in a raffle for $300-$500!

Woohoo!!

What a sucker I am; I keep waiting for the email telling me I'm a winner. Oh well, maybe I'll make enough money to buy tickets to the next Andrea Bocelli concert.

Are mosquitos good for anything?

I can't even type right now I am SO itchy. One of the kids must have let some mosquitos into the house and I am being sucked dry. I actually have a bite on my knuckle and my left elbow. I smacked the bastard mid-suck because I can feel the wetness of my own blood smeared all over my forearm. I met a friend at a neighborhood concert this evening and we lasted about half an hour. Even after applying three layers of "OFF", we were still attacked. They landed on her hair and were needling her scalp. They were biting through our clothes. I know that's how I got a bite on my right cheek...not the one I smile with.

Why do we need mosquitos? I suppose so birds can eat them for food...and other animals do too, blah blah blah. The whole circle of life thing..but I can't take it anymore. I don't even want to go outside. The bugspray isn't even a deterrant. They're like little suicide bombers. Don't villages send out those big monster truck things that spray pounds of toxic chemicals into the air to kill those suckers anymore? That is so awful that I actually want them to do that. I try really hard to be environmentally friendly,and while I am not crazy about the neighborhood spray thing, I feel that there is not much of an alternative. I'd rather die slowly from toxic pesticides than quickly because of blood loss due to the uncontrollable scratching.