Richmond weather is going to kill me…

A week ago, there was still snow on the ground, but it was 75 degrees and my children went to school in shorts. We had three or four days of summer, but now it’s 40 degrees and raining.  No wonder I’m sick.

Hubby is in Indianapolis, but he’ll be home tonight and we have a romantic weekend planned in Williamsburg. I’m sure he’ll be feeling romantic when I snot all over him. Ew.

 

Wassup with Facebook?

WordPress has spoiled me, I guess, as everything here is easy to see and read, and manipulate. Facebook just looks like too much info crammed into too small a space (half of it advertising). But I suppose it’s better for meeting new people than a blog.

Any advice on how to use Facebook to my best advantage is welcome.

In other news – I’m still alive. I have been out of it for a good long while, but then I remembered how much I used to enjoy this site and wondered why I’d let it go. Winter blues, maybe. In any case, I have a few new adventures to post about – as soon as I go find out why Middle Son is screaming for me….

 

Eldest Son is Crying

My son went to school today in tears.

The snuffling, I Can’t Breathe kind of tears that wear a person out.

I can’t find his shirt. This is the reason my son can’t breathe.

I have torn this house apart. I have looked at every scrap of fabric that could maybe be his choir shirt. I’m exhausted from the search. The house is a mess. That shirt is simply not here.

He is singing at City Hall today, and I can’t find his shirt.

I have called all the people he’s seen in the last month – grandparents, uncles, etc. No shirt. I have looked in every closet, every laundry basket, every pile of clothing stashed behind the bed so Mom doesn’t see it. I have pulled out the ‘one day I’ll actually take this box to Goodwill’ box. No shirt.

He has no choir shirt. And he has three choir performances this week. I feel sick.

I called his teacher, and she has an extra that he can wear today. Disaster staved off one more day.  She gets to be the one to tell him his life isn’t over (he’s 12, see, so finding a shirt for him means new life).  But we have two more to go.

Where the HELL is that shirt!

 

Throwing Shoes

Someone Threw a Shoe at My President.

 

I have disliked this man since he was first introduced to me. I didn’t like him, didn’t like his politics, didn’t like his face. I didn’t vote for him.

 

I didn’t like the holier-than-thou affront which they hit us with, while hiding skeletons in their own closets. I didn’t like the call-to-arms they offered. I didn’t like the money dripping off of them, the unreachable legacy behind them. I didn’t like the way they tried to make decisions for me, without asking me first.

 

I did like the way he threw a ball. Well done.

 

I didn’t like the way they wage war. I think they were unjust.

 

But when my President had to duck from a shoe, I was embarrassed for my country.

 

Whether I like the man or not (And I think I do; while I strongly disagree with him, I think I actually like him), who was watching out for Our Man? The best trained defense force in the history of the world let some angst-ridden idiot throw not one, but both shoes at My Man?

 

I’m a little stirred up about that.

 

No matter what else, he is the President of the United States. He has earned and deserves my respect. I could not do his job, and he did better than I ever would have. He has earned the respect of his position and title, and all proud Americans will recognize that.

 

I offer my sincere apology to my President. If I had been there, I would’ve tried harder, been better. I wouldn’t have let you be embarrassed that way.

 

Because whatever ‘lame duck’ jokes get passed down, you did what I could never have done, and in a crazy time. I think history will treat you more kindly than the current world is doing. I think the future will show your worth.

 

Don’t get me wrong – I campaigned for Obama. But I love you. You are my President. You took me through some tough times. (Occasionally, you did it with a really silly face.)

 

I am a Patriot. You are the President. I would die for you, as you are more important than I am.

 

Sincerely.

 

Cam

 

 

 

9/11 Hero

Michael Israel in NYC.

 

September 11

 

On Vacation Again

I’m beginning to feel like one of the ‘Real Wives of the OC” or whatever nonsense that is. I keep getting to go on vacation.

I’ll try to post later tonight. Bear with me, ‘k?

 

What the HELL?

So, I’m checking up after my boys. They spend a little time online, so I go and sweep up after them (much like the real world).

Every once in a while I come across something I wish I hadn’t seen, and we all have to have a talk (nothing horrid – I employ filters, people!) (like when the object of the game was to make our President (GW) hit as many obsticles and bleed as often as possible. Eldest thought this was funny. Many hours of ‘room time’ later, I convinced him that the President of the United States of America was to treated with respect in our home, realistically and virtually. No matter what Daddy says about gas prices…)

I was completely unprepared for Mama Mia!. Hugh Jackman? Used to think he was SO doable. But so many more I respect. Meryl. Holy God, that’s Colin Firth. With the hottie from ‘Big Love’. My heart is broken wide open. We have another ‘Moulin Rouge’ on our hands? Aaaahhh!

What could they be thinking?!

 

We’re Back

I’ve been working on a lovely video of our vacation, with pictures of smiling children and gorgeous vistas. But youngest found this video on YouTube, and said, “Mommy, this is you and Dad.”

How can you argue with this? (Jack McManus. He rocks.)

At the risk of giving anyone the wrong idea, I am very much happily married to my Hubby, and we’re not arguing about anything. But I thought this video was sweet, as it exemplifies the gulf between man and woman that so often happens. And when she stuck her tongue out at him (mature disagreement, that) I laughed out loud. And her smug and bitchy attitude, coupled with his baffled expression, really hit home.

It gave me pause, that this is what our son thinks of us. I admit to feeling a bit of shame. I guess I should feel good, though, because both people look good in the end, and wind up together and smiling. Our son looks at us and our petty disagreements and foibles, and sees us smiling at each other at the end of the day. She’s beaming with love. He’s wearing a face of pure joy. (Please, just let me live with my delusions. It costs you nothing.)

That, and she plays tennis like I do. (My Uncle is a Pro, and I took lessons for two years, and I still hit myself on the head.)

We may not look like we care, but we do…

 

On Vacation

To the Blue Ridge Mountains. Yippee! See ya next week…