Has $1 ever sent you over the edge?

My girls are funny, beautiful, smart, sassy, stubborn and their wills and imaginations are limitless. And, I love them both with all my being. That said, for the love of Pete(r), Paul and Mary they are materialistic and senseless. I know, they are 9 and 4 and they are products of ME. So, whose fault is it? Can I totally blame their father? I can, right? He definitely contributes to it. He loves them unconditionally and really does not have the power to match either one of them. I mean he holds them to safety and social standards that we have agreed on and makes them brush their teeth and go to bed timely and attend (mostly) to their school and other chores. His powerlessness does not mean that he is weak in any way. As I said, they are products of me. The three of us, but especially the girls, are made of whatever kryptonite equivalent it takes to render our superman powerless. When in such a state he will bend to the will and wishes of the power-zapping sweetness of the smaller creatures. I seem to have lost much of my kryptonite-ish makeup somewhere in the last decade ... my theory is it that portions of it came out with each fetus and the rest went with the placentas. Maybe that is why some people save theirs or eat it or make tea from it. [I was in an interesting prenatal class my first go around. Needless to say, we didn't follow all of the midwife suggestions, even though she gave us pages and pages of instructions and alternate ideas and was so keen on us doing any of these things she volunteered her help to dig the holes or preserve the placenta til I was ready to ingest it.]


Blame aside. Lia, the nine year old, asks for things. Some big, some small, some necessary, some some some some some... it never stops, is how it often seems to me. Gia, the four year old does too, but I haven't had her around as long and she isn't nine and a half (which is some magical grown-up age, in case you didn't know, that is somehow equivalent to being 21 or 50), so it isn't quite as agitating. Yesterday Lia wanted me to 'order' lunch for her at the snack bar in the building, because the teachers do and it is only $3.50. They are both in summer school in the building where my office is. I considered it for an entire minute, as I thought how lovely it would be not to have to pack lunch, which seems to always be more effort than one could imagine for some bizarre reason or another. After that little dream of not having to tote lunch boxes, I woke up and saw the pitfalls of the $3.50 lunch order. (always including white rice, some meat substance that might be tasty, but most likely would be something they wouldn't eat or I wouldn't want them to eat, the fact that we couldn't know what the lunch was until we got to the building and ordered it, so it could be something they didn't want, or I didn't want them to have, and I'd have to run back home or to a restaurant and buy them something, defeating the goal of me being able to actually work from 9-2, while they are in class and doing crafts and music and computer and reading and math; that they would each need a lunch, doubling the tempting $3.50 to $7.00 for some white rice and two hungry kids that have my phone number and would have no qualms about going to the school office to call me and tell me they were still hungry, and then all that food being picked on and thrown away and me having to bring them granola bars to satiate their hungry bodies and minds.) Ran it by my husband, just to be sure I wasn't warped and he simply said, no you are right. Lovely. So packed lunches. That was yesterday's topic.



This morning, while I was packing lunches, Lia came into the kitchen [to help] and said:



"The snack bar also has drinks for only a dollar, like lemonade and other stuff, not just sodas."



As I was pulling grapes off the stem and packing them in their containers, I turned and started:



"Only a dollar? Lia, if I bought you one drink a day every week day for a year that is $260. That is like a new bike for you and Gia. [Lia does not have a bike her size and we have been discussing resolving that 'need' soon]. Plus those drinks are all full of sugar that doesn't need to sit on your teeth all day before you come home and brush them."



Before I could continue my rant and talk about the value of the drinks and saving the planet by not buying all the pre-packaged stuff. Okay, I admitted it was a rant, didn't I?

Out of no where, in bounds Gia:

"I want a new bike! That pink princess one at the store!"



Gia just got a bike, last week. A new-to-her red radio flier bike with a bell, which she loves. But alas, it is not pink and does not have a princess anywhere on it. So I stood there, grape stems in hand, rant totally derailed and speechless. Arrrgh.



***In my defense, my conversations with Lia had already included full on sales pitches regarding two new videos that are now available on DVD Bluray, or perhaps we could just rent them; signing in on the computer to the contest on a package to add up points to "earn" a guitar; getting toothpaste that a friend has because it is better for whitening your permanent teeth than the new kind we just bought the last time, which Gia could finish using because she is little, wherein we heard from another room (yes exceptional hearing in that one) "I am NOT little I'm FIVE now!" [she is so not even close to five]; new shoes because feet are growing; particular styles of school clothes necessary for the fall; and yes, this was all well before 8 a.m. and the lunch packing drink discussion! Needless to say, as soon as the elevator door closed and I was safely on the other side of the big steel door after dropping them on their floor for class, I called our superman and blamed him. It is his fault, right?

Viola and Oopsie!

I've read insightful and informative (totally hilarious) posts about starting a blog by Marinka. Perhaps I should have taken notes. In my defense, I read them when I was not even considering starting this blog-o-mine.

My nine year old was able to text on the cell phone I gave her to contact me if there was an emergeny at the sleepover she was headed to about 10.2 seconds after it was first in her anxious little palms. Before she came home from the sleepover (early the next morning, becasue, yes that is the kind of mommy I am) she had accomplished texting, photography, videography and had an address book full of nine year old's numbers. Point being, I'm thinking blogging: old dog, new trick? No problem. I'm sure I can do anything, right? Who says those 30 year olds in the job market now competing against those, um, us "more experienced" folks have an advantage? Oh yeah, just about everyone. But that is opening a new can of worms.

Ah lament. I wish Marinka would have said, "YO, newbie blogger-to-be check the date thingy! and watch out! You can publish something without knowing what you are doing and the world will forever know and will laugh and poke fun at your sorry duggan for eternity! Okay, not really eternity, because you are not worthy!" Okay, she doesn't live here on my lagoon, so she would never say duggan. Pretty sure she would've used the equivalent NYC lingo when warning my sorry duggan though. Actually, she very well may have warned against such inexperienced blog mistakes in her posts. Again, I didn't take notes. (I know, I know, it is still there, I can still go take notes. Perhaps I should. I read her posts whenever they pop up on my reader. Okay does that sound to sin*gle wh*te fem*ale? movie plot-like? That is probably another blog faux pas too. Damn, why didn't I take notes?)

So, when I just published my debut blog post! I was all smiles: Viola!! Oops!

Although I do take great comfort in that my lovely friend Stacey -you may know as AnyMommy - had it happen to her recently (not the date thingy, just an oopsie, there goes a post into the world that wasn't quite ready to be cast out there) and she is smart and is a phenominal writer, person, mom, friend, wife, everything! And, she has been blogging for quite a while and is much younger than me too. So, I guess it can happen to any one. Even the young, pretty, smart, phenominal writer, more experienced blogger ones.

Oh, but look - I fixed it! I contacted my wonderful, talented and sweet friend Deece and she said, "hello, edit it" -- actually, she calmly said, you can edit it and then told me how! Love her! (Yes, she is also much younger than me, but we need to stop dwelling on this age thing.) I also love all of her lovely handmade items and ideas at Ayorata and her Etsy shop too! As for the comma in my title, I can edit that too, I know. It does look funny and should probably be deleted, maybe, but, it does separate everything nicely. So it shall stay, until I obsess about it again and rethink it and, perhaps, change my mind.

To Comma or Not to Comma?

Welcome. I would like to introduce myself to you. I know it is the polite thing to do when I meet someone new. Afterall, I did, mostly, grow up in the South. Before we get to the 'my name is' part of this post, however, I just want you to know that the title of this post pretty much sums things up about me. You see, it is about the comma in the description in my blog title, which I just wrote prior to writing this post: Midlife, Motherhood, Miracles, & Madness. You see the comma in question, right? The third one, (yes 3rd) the one that follows miracles, the one before the '&' -- you see it now? Yes, that ONE. Should it be there? Should it not? Dilemma.

Yep, that is the sum of me at times. Not the comma. Although I often do pause when I shouldn't and proceed too quickly, or forget to pause when I should just pause (and, perhaps breathe). See, I stress about the "shoulds" and "should nots" in life. Incessantly. I can, and often do, stress about nearly anything, large or small. Now should I stress about such things? Who knows. Probably not. See? Stressing about stressing. I know, I know, looney, right? Exactly. That is me. A Loon. A Loon, living on a lovely lagoon. (ah, what is there to stress about again?)

Now, there are enough large things in life to stress about and the small things should just be water off a duck's back (me being the duck in this scenario -- as although I am sure water runs off a loon's back just as well, it just doesn't sound right, does it? Water off a loon's back? No. Anyway. -- the little things, like the commas and whatnot, being the water). I totally agree. Totally. I have had some of those large things in my life, and still do, that demand and deserve my full stress attention at times. Don't we all? But, I wanted to make this disclosure up front and now, so you would not be caught aback by the ramblings over the small things in life that you may see. Okay, you will definitely see them if you come to my lagoon. They constantly come spilling out of me and I'm certain many will land right here. Afterall, small things do make up much of life, right? And, sometimes maybe it is necessary that we give the small things attention, so that the big things aren't able to fully infiltrate our souls and suck the last living breath we have right from our chests and leave us crumpled on the floor. (Oh, I justify too. A lot. Just about anything that I need to justify, especially when it comes to my girls. Or chocolate. Or a good friend.)

So, other than being a bit of a Loon that justifies her actions, thoughts and compensatory behavior, who am I? Hmmm. Well, I am only midway through this life, so I am not sure I have an adequate answer to that question. Although, I am working on figuring that out. Funny, a quarter of a century ago, I was certain who I was. There was not a doubt in my mind.



For now, and until I totally figure out who I am (or you do and let me know), please just call me Nadine, as many dear dear people on this planet already do. Or, if you prefer any other term of endearment (that is truly a commonly accepted term of endearment among adults, i.e. not poopoopeepeeheadyou, which is being voiced, allegedly, as a term of endearment in our home right now).

I am pleased to meet you. Thanks for visiting -- and just ignore the absense of the second comma in that other paragraph up there before the 'and' like I am right now. Seriously, you don't have a red pen in your hand, do you? If so, I hope it is a sharpie!


Y'all come back now, ya hear.

[If you are manuevering midlife too, then you probably know what old tv show that is from. Well, maybe, if you have already had your coffee and all pistons are firing. Tell me, those of you that may be sitting pretty with me in the middle -- you don't feel comfortable in clothes like *she* wore in that sitcom any more, do you? At least not when you are around another fellow, be the fellow male or female, human, right? It is lovely here in the middle of life, watching.]