The Land of Blahs...

I am NOT in the holiday spirit. Not. At. All.

Oh sure, most of my Xmas shopping is done, I'm making plans... I'm even looking forward to decorating the apartment and Doug's house. But I'm not feeling it.

I talked to Mom tonight and she's not feeling it either. I asked her if she'd bought the turkeys for TGiving and Xmas yet and she seemed surprised. She hadn't even thought about it. She's done no shopping at all.

So... we're going to fake it til we feel it, I suppose. I drug the box o Xmas crap outta the boogey man hole tonight and started going through it. Maybe getting some of it arranged will help a bit.

And speaking of the boogeyman hole... get this.

I decided to get out the Winter clothes for the kids this past week. I sorted and straightened and made a pile for the babysitter's kid of stuff that Cady had outgrown and a pile for Cady of stuff that was either hers last year and still fits or that Madison had outgrown (and let me tell you... Madison has outgrown EVERYTHING).

I made a big ol pile of jeans on the floor in the girls' room and told Cady she could choose 10 pr of jeans that she LOVES and keep them. The rest were going away.

An hour later, she'd narrowed her choices to the pants she can't live without.

For giggles, I had her count the ones that were going away. Guess.

Higher. Way higher.

Yeah... 32 PAIRS OF JEANS!

32 Pairs that she WASN'T keeping.

How the hell did that happen?

So yeah, away they go. Because it is, after all, almost Christmas. Which means more crap.

It's reverse bulimia of stuff. Must purge before the binge.

Those oh so dreadful song lyrics...

You know the ones... they're morally reprehensible and serve no purpose but to pollute young minds with thoughts of violence, greed, infidelity and irresponsibility.

I mean, for gawd's sake, check out THESE lyrics that my daughter brought home from school today... I know you know the song, but have you EVER paid attention to the actual words?


http://www.momsminivan.com/lyrics.html
In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Lived a miner, forty-niner,
And his daughter Clementine.

CHORUS
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
Oh my darling Clementine
You are lost and gone forever,
Oh my darling, Clementine.

Light she was, and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine. [Chorus]

Drove she ducklings to the water
Every morning just at nine,
Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine. [Chorus]

Ruby lips above the water,
Blowing bubbles soft and fine,
But alas, I was no swimmer,
So I lost my Clementine. [Chorus]

In a churchyard near the canyon,
Where the myrtle doth entwine,
There grow roses and other posies,
Fertilized by Clementine. [Chorus]

Then, the miner, forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine,
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I draw the line. [Chorus]

In my dreams she still doth haunt me,
Robed in garments soaked with brine,
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I draw the line. [Chorus]

Listen fellers, head the warning
Of this tragic tale of mine,
Artificial respiration
Could have saved my Clementine. [Chorus]

How I missed her, how I missed her,
How I missed my Clementine,
Till I kissed her little sister,
And forgot my Clementine. [Chorus]

Or how about this one? Did you know it's about the plague?

http://www.zelo.com/FAMILY/NURSERY/ringroses.asp
Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
Achoo!, Achoo!
We all fall down.


Don't even get me started on Little Bunny Foo Foo... all that head bopping and goon creating.

Disgraceful, I tell you! Do we pay NO attention to what we're teaching our children?

I'm a retro girl...

It's true. I'm a bit behind the times. I still tend to hum Rick Springfield under my breath far more often than I do ... well... whoever is popular now.

I adopted the grunge look along with everyone else in the early 90's... and I've steadfastly stuck with it to the point that my neice wants to 'report me' to What-Not-To-Wear and Kendra has threatened to burn all my black v-neck t-shirts.

But ya know... I'm 34 years old. I really should be updating something... somewhere... yes? I realized the other day that I still have a Rollins Band t-shirt that I wear pretty often. And I think of it as an 'older' shirt. It's 17 years old! The SHIRT is the same age I was when I bought it!!!!! F*ck.

And my favorite jeans? I was lamenting the other day about the quality of them because they're falling apart. But ya know what? I bought them in 1994. They SHOULD be rags.

But honestly... can any of you picture me in anything except what I've been wearing every day since 1991? Really?

Someone needs to take me shopping. Any volunteers?

Help?

I don't 'get' the games that everyone plays on their PCs... WoW and Evercrack? I have Frogger on my PS2 and that makes me happy.

So someone explain to me why I am obsessed w/the Sims. I really thought that the people going so crazy over it when it came out, and soooo anticipating Sims2 were slightly dim. Barbie dolls for grownups, right?

But holy cow. I d/l the original off Limewire the other night and I play until I crash. I *gasp* found myself talking about the characters as if they had personalities! I have become a crazy person.

I'm buying Sims2 tonight for the playstation. Someone shoot me.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

Ok, not really. But this is interesting and so I'm sharing it.

http://www.rd.com/content/the-new-science-of-being-thankful/

What if, instead of wallowing in our misery, we all chose to focus on being valued by a dear friend, for example, or the memory of a colleague’s face when she receives a surprise birthday cake at work, or the smooth ride we’ve had to work in the past week? As science is now proving, feeling grateful can actually make us healthier, literally. Practicing gratitude, acknowledging the blessings in our lives and making it a point to recognize the good things can change us positively. We’ll sleep better and exercise more. We’ll feel more optimistic. We’ll be more alert and active. And if we do this over a period of time, we’ll realize that we’re making progress toward our life goals.

I like this idea. And for the past couple of years, since my life essentially melted down and I had to claw my way back up, I've been making a concerted effort to be thankful for the little things rather than worried about the OTHER little things. And so far it's working.

I'm happier. I'm more centered. I'm a better mom. I don't sweat the small stuff, and I'm noticing more and more that I don't even notice the small stuff - can you notice that you're not noticing? Well, I have.

Other people are noticing too... I was called happy and social the other day. ME! No kidding. Craziness.

So yeah... being thankful, even if it's for a stunningly gorgeous moon rising over the horizon, or the sunrise greeting you when you open your front door... thankfulness tends to create things to be thankful for.

Put your head down and keep moving...

That's been my philosophy since Stupidhead lost his mind and decided that his calling was making my life hell. Sometimes, like today, I feel like I just can't keep moving forward anymore. Not because of any huge dramatic THING but just because.

But, of course, I can't. Because I'm a mom - and a single one at that - and Moms just don't get to stop.

And then I hear about these people... the Raramuri, or Tarahumara - the running people. Apparently, this smallish population of native mexican people make running a way of life. They practice persistence hunting... running for up to 160km (100 miles to you n me) without stopping. That's right. They will RUN FOR 100 MILES without stopping to kvetch about their sore footsies.

And why on earth would they do this insane thing? Because eventually their prey gets tired and they can get close enough to kill it with their rudimentary weapons - sticks and stones.

There's inspiration to be found there somewhere... now I just wonder if I'm the Indian or the deer... ;)

Freak accidents

This is a sad blog, so feel free to skip it.

As some of you already know, I had to have Orca put down on Tuesday night. She was playing in the pasture with another horse and took a kick that was at just the right angle... just the right amount of force... just the right amount of torsion as she turned away... and her leg was broken. Just like that. A blink. A kick. A horse just being a horse, and she's gone.

I got there right after the vet, and he didn't even need to show me the x-rays. Her leg wasn't right and anyone familiar with how the leg between the stifle joint and hock should be shaped would have known that the bone was broken.

She was in the prime of her life. An athlete like no horse I've ever known. That stupid horse would do laps of the pasture... just running. Not kicking up her heels, not playing, just ... running for the sheer pleasure of the wind in her mane. I loved to watch her almost more than I loved to ride her.

It's unfair and I'm going to rail against god a bit until I'm done being angry about it, but I have to be thankful for a couple of things too...

Orca was my dream horse. She was the horse that I dreamt of as a girl when I was riding all those scrubby ponies and the horses no one else could ride and begging for riding time from friends with horses and cleaning stalls for the opportunity to try not to get killed on some unbroke psychopath. All that time, I had this Thoroughbred that lived in my head. She was going to be 16 hands tall, and LOVE to jump. I wouldn't have to teach her how, because she'd just know how to pick spots and sail over fences. She'd have a star on her forehead and one sock - a small one, not too flashy. And she'd love me and no one else. No one else would even want to ride her - but she would come to me when I called her and nuzzle me and do anything I asked.

And she came true. Not everyone gets that lucky, yanno?

And I have to be thankful that my prayers weren't answered this time. The whole time I was driving up to the farm, I was making promises to god. Promising that I wasn't going to be greedy. That I would accept lame for life as long as I didn't have to choose death. I promised that if all she was ever suitable for was a pasture ornament, I'd accept that.

And that was selfish. Because you can't take a thoroughbred - or even a Paint who's only 90% thoroughbred - and punish them like that. You can't take a marathon runner and tell them to be happy that they can no longer walk. You just can't.

So I'm thankful that god knew that none of us really wanted to do that to Orca and took the decision out of my hands by making it a break that couldn't be fixed.

I'll miss her more than I can fathom. I will never replace her. She was my first love.