Don't Know Why

Seriously, I don't know why I've been avoiding this blog like the plague. I'm not even sure I'm spelling plague correctly even, but avoiding is what it is. To the point, even, that I have it on my favorites, and I avoid using even that! Fear, I believe, fear of find out that everything I did last year went down the toilet when I went back to work.

I don't blog anymore.

I don't know why I don't blog anymore.

I was really good at it.

I loved the people I met here.

I loved the blogs I read here.

I loved the back and forth banter here.

So, I won't call this a comeback, although I do hope it is. I do hope those of you who came before will come back again.

Merry Christmas, Kaye.

And a Happy New Year to all of you!

Just Bounce With Me

"No, come on, it's easy. I promise. All you gotta do is just bend at the knee, keeping time with the beat. Just bounce with me, and every once in a while pop your hip to the side. If you drink at the same time it won't look as bad, either. Just drink fast cos your beer goes flat if you don't."

Yes, those words came out of the mouth of...me.

Going out ten years ago was cake. It was a whole lot of cake. Chocolate even. We'd open the night at a restaurant bar, stay for about an hour, and then mosey on down the street (literally...it was across the road) to the local meat house for the "older" people, and dance and drink til "closing time" (remember that song?...I know who I want to take me home). Waking up the next day only produced slight soreness in the legs and a vague smell of tobacco and beer on your breath. Nine out of ten times, the stale smell seeping slowly through the air served as enticement and encouragement for a night of the same.

Good times...good times.

As luck, fate, and whatever the hell you want to call it, I found myself chaperoning a dance Friday night. Someone (me) came up with the bright idea to go to the neighboring bar (small, local, full of "mature" men). I mean, we were there, we were old enough (forty is old enough, right?), and the dance ended at eight so there was sure to be more than enough time for us to socialize and have a good time sans kids (snicker). So we went.

Well...remember a few posts back? My newly single boss? Female? Attractive? Single? Female?

Seems like all of those nice "mature" patrons of the local watering hole wanted to keep her and company with a nice supply of water. Round after round after round, and before you know it, we were leaving the safe watering hole, filled with lions wearing dentures and venturing out to the big town...teeming with cheetahs.

Or so we thought.

I have to say, I picked a good time to be married. The female:male ratio is like 1,000,000 to 2, and I have to say, the odds are not in the female favor. Cheese and rice, when did that population boom bust out at the seems?

All said, we had a good time. Drank lots of beer. Listened to a good band. Smoked. I must smoke when I drink. It goes hand in hand...literally.

I must say though, flashing forward ten years and waking up the next day, beer and stale smoke playing tag on the strip of my tongue, didn't have the same effect on me as it once did. There was no repeat performance that Saturday night. My legs creaked, my ass ached, I had gas.

But it was worth it.

We're doing it again this weekend.

This time the husband is coming.

It's some one's birthday.

Good times...good times.

To Everything Turn Turn Turn

My heart is big (almost the same size as my butt, actually). My heart is worn on my sleeve, it resides behind walls, it tears down walls, it's guarded, it's vulnerable, it's soft, it's hard, it breaks, it mends, it closes, it opens. I strongly believe that this is the case with just about every heart that beats.

Sometimes we are blinded.

Sometimes we are hurt.

Sometimes we are riding high.

Sometimes we just are.

Travis, as you all know, hurt my heart with his death. The part that holds his memory bleeds freely. And I thought it would never truly heal. Maybe I was wrong.

I have been using Travis.

He has been visiting my classroom, my students, my school, and me.

Last week our school's air conditioner was broken. Air conditioner? Yes, air conditioner. WE live in the south. It's still hot here. Really hot, and sometimes, unbearably hot. Due to the complete misery in the classroom, I took my classes outside for the teaching. And by the twisted fate of a broken air conditioner, I was able to share Travis's story with my class.

You see, we have a boy. I will call him boy. Not the best family, not the best situation, not the best choices available. He has two roads ahead of him. One filled with the same decisions his parents made. One that leads him to the same life he was brought up in. One that is easy for him to take because the way is already paved. Then there is the one that will be hardest. The one that forces him to break away from what he knows...to rise above all that he has known. Not an easy one. I was able to tell him the story of Travis. His struggle, his downfall, his rising from the ashes, and his ending. I told him of how even though claimed by death, he had become finally free.

As the words moved beyond my lips, I felt that I had lost all control over what I was actually saying. The story I was telling was ringing with power. I wish you could have heard it. There was true power there.

I think he heard.

I hope he heard.

My heart has started to heal.

Homecoming 2009

Where did the time go? Once upon a time they were in diapers and toddling precariously across granny's kitchen floor. Once upon a time they declared undying love and devotion while falling asleep in each other's arms. Once upon a time their best friend was just an arm's length away.

Now they are grown. Now they only love each other when mommy has had enough of the teen age waste land they create with their words of wrath. Now they have iPod, PC, boyfriends, and foot ball games.

Soon they will move on. Soon they will graduate. Soon they will go to college, find their true love, marry, and bring home babies of their own.

Their cycle will renew. Their cycle will reverse. They will remember who they are, and from whom they came, and to whom they first gave their hearts too.

And they will remember their best friend.

And they will remember each other.

Just like we did.

Here's to homecoming 09!

Wow!

What a frenzied flurry! My weeks are super busy, but I solemnly swear to personally (or hire someone else to do it) visit each and every one of you who graced me with your presence for my SiTS FB day. I am truly honored by your responses, and the time you took to read through my posts.

Tammy, Pam, Anita, Kaye, Tink, and the rest of you (yes, YOU know who YOU are) who have been stuck with me over the ages, thank you for your visit and the amazingly lovely things you mentioned about me not only here, but at SiTS roll call as well. YOU GUYS ROCK THE CASBAH!

I promise more time, and time freely given.

Thanks, guys.

Welcome to the Show, Come inside, come inside

The kettle is on...the coffee is brewing...I had my young daughter make muffins...the potatoes are stewing...

Ah, what? You're not here for the evening of amateur poetry night? You're a coneseur of SiTS and BiTS?

Well, you can come in too! It's been ages, I'm glad to see ya!

Just to tell you a bit about myself...I'm Alex, married mom of five ranging from ages 18 to 1, and in hot pursuit of my sanity. If you see it lurking under a rug, or in some hidden corner, throw a bucket over it and let me know before you head out. It always seems to escape me, especially now that I've returned full fledged to the "working" mom field (ha ha ha...that cracks me up...now that I've experienced being a SaHM the definition of "working" mom has forever changed). Please ignore the cobwebs, my blog has fallen into a slight state of disrepair. Nothing that scented candles can't cover up!

Anyway, welcome to my blog. I am honored and privileged to have been chosen as the Tuesday Featured Blogger. Welcome, welcome. May you enjoy my written word as much as I do (yes, there are times when I just crack myself up). Here are just a few of my favorites sure to bust your gut or water your eyes.

What is Old again is Now New
The Number you are trying to reach is no longer in service
You kiss your momma with that mouth?

Now that I've had my spiel, please feel free to read on. I've touched on just about every topic I could think of...and if you notice the lovely awards I've gotten over my blogging time, they are active links to brilliant people who think I'm brilliant too.

How could one go wrong with brilliance, especially if you have a great pair of shades.

Thanks for coming, and don't forget to take your gift dinner mints when you head out!

Reality

I've never been much of a reality T. V. fan (except, of course, when Chris Daughtry was on American Idol). The bickering, "off camera" plots, ugly, back-biting nastiness made my stomach roll and churn more than the Bering Sea (Okay, busted...I'm a sucker for The Deadliest Catch). However, this year my daughter has tickled my curiosity (along with the fact that her former English teacher is one of this year's contestants and she won't tell us the outcome...grrr). This year the reality T. V. is closer to home in more ways than one. This year something has caught the corner of my eye, and its roots are deeply embedded in reality T. V.

Biggest Loser is into its second (?) season.

I'm sure you've heard of it. Men and women struggling with obesity are paired up and paired off in a competition to take off pounds...and let me tell you...are they ever. You'd have to see it for yourself to believe it. Seriously, due to the week long intervals between shows, the pounds seem to literally melt off. However, if you've even tuned in to one show, melting is definitely what is not happening. These guys are working their asses off, and competition or not, the support they provide to each other makes one wonder if you're actually watching a back biting, hash slinging reality show of the twenty first century. When it comes time for elimination, contestants are literally in tears at having to make the decision to send someone home, knowing full well the hardships and temptations that person will have to face minus the support group they have come to depend on over time.

Having been in the boat they are in, and finding myself still taking a ride in that same boat, I sit and share the pain they are experiencing. Yes, I cry. Yes, my daughter laughs at me, but still, the tears come. Whew, the courage. Phew, the pain, Whoa, having to walk out and be recorded wearing those damn exercises bras. Jeez, is it really worth it?

Apparently, it is. And I say more power to them. Live long and prosper. May the road rise with you. Shake your booty. You're a brick...house.

Gotta love it.