Waaaay overdue!!!

Speluncae Gratias...an award/meme from our favorite club-wielding Cavey:

Now here's the deal - you must divulge 10 truths about yourself, and then pass the award along to 7 others. I tag you ALL if you're reading this and especially if you're on the blogroll. I've been so swamped I've not had a chance to catch up with all of you in weeks!!! Which leads me to....

TEN TRUE THINGS ABOUT ME:

1. I am, always have been, and always will be a horrible procrastinator. Why? I don't know. I hate it. But I think much of it has to do with having always been a "gifted" kid who didn't have to try or study much in school. Had I done so, I'd have taken over the world by now. Law school made me "average" - but I had one baby going in and was pregnant with the next one on the way out, had a 110 mile r/t commute from Irvine to LA each day, and I learned to accept it. And I was in the minority of people in my class who passed the Bar the first time out - 1997 was a brutal passage rate year. The other major thing is that I do my best written work under pressure. So it always works out. But I hate it all the same. The stress isn't worth it. Yet I still do it.

2. I don't make friends with other women easily. Now, don't get me wrong. I am a very social person, not one of those loner types who sits off in a corner feeling either above or beneath her company. It's just that a) I don't like all the typical female drama/gossip/cattiness, and tend to avoid those who engage in it; b) I don't like women who have an "agenda" and think it would be cool to be my friend because of what I do, how much money they think I have (snort!), and/or who I know; and c) referring back to points a) and b), I seem to piss other women off because of their own insecurities and jealousy. And I don't get that - really. On the surface, I'm a slightly chunky 41 year old mother of three, never could be accused of being a stunner, but I still turn heads here and there, from what the Beloved tells me. But I've never cared much about that stuff, so long as the Beloved still likes me. :) As for what really matters, I'm pretty down to earth (honestly, what you see written here is pretty much what you get, save the pen names to protect the kids' anonymity). I am equally comfortable hanging out with my cleaning lady (who has become one of my closest friends since I moved to NY) for drinks as I am with my local elected governmental official friends and those who fund their efforts. I just like women who are comfortable in their own skin, and who don't feel the need to compete with me about husbands/ money/looks/weight, join self help groups or book clubs, or - Lord help us - watch Oprah to figure out what their purpose in life is. I think the fact that I'm a lawyer makes other women feel threatened in some way, or incomplete in themselves. It's very odd.

3. People find me intimidating. Now, this is both a good and a bad thing. I think it's laughable, because I really am not like that at all. The Beloved says I am like a tame and occasionally frightened little rabbit on the inside, but I have scary eyebrows and sharp cruel fangs on the outside. But for professional purposes, it's good to instill fear in other lawyers, and to be looked at as a voice of reason as well as authority (especially as a woman lawyer). Personally, it's good because people don't generally want to mess with me, but bad because they tend to shy away from me because they're afraid of what I might be thinking about them or say to them. Apparently I have a very serious expression, even when I'm thinking happy thoughts, unless I'm actually laughing out loud about something. The kids occasionally think I'm angry at them when I may just be pondering all the crap I have to do, but haven't, because I've been procrastinating...but they're learning that it's my usual Mommy is thinking face.

Finally, this whole intimidating thing doesn't do me any favors with other females in my life (see #2). See? It's a lonely world for freaks like me.

But as a consolation, little kids and babies LOVE ME. I have some sort of magical calming power with upset little ones. They know I like them and want them to be happy, and they respond in kind. The Beloved is even better with the wee ones, but I've got some game.

4. I'm a terrible packrat. I have clothes in three of the six bedrooms' closets. I have expensive designer shoes that haven't fit since I had preeclampsia during my first pregnancy and gained a half size and went from a narrow to a wide foot. I figured the Princess might wear them someday. Same goes for those Size 28 Guess button-fly jeans. She just snorts and laughs. I've procrastinated about having a garage sale to get rid of all sorts of crap since we got here in 2004. Shocker, eh?

5. I have man hands and hobbit feet. Further to #4, I blame my good German and Irish immigrant forebears. I have thick, sturdy fingers and my once svelte size 8 AA's were stretched and swollen beyond recognition (courtesy of the Princess) to 8.5 D's. I thank the Lord every day that they didn't get bigger with Therese or The Boy. I'd have to buy the boxes and throw away the shoes.

6. I spend way too much time on the computer/Blackberry. Self-evident, really. Not to the point where I'm not around the kids, of course, but I think back 10-15 years and I'm disgusted with how much time we (as a culture) DON'T spend with our families and friends because work and leisure time alike find us pasted to these freakin' machines. I watch virtually no television, other than PBS kids' shows with the baby in the mornings

7. I would love to live in either England or Italy. Maybe just for a few years. Maybe forever. I've spent a few weeks in each lovely country and felt more at home in the landscapes and lifestyles there than here. (We've always preferred to rent a villa or stay in an off-the-beaten-path B&B so we can plan our own days and experience the neighborhoods more so than the major tourist attractions.) I love the USA, but I could use a break. At least until 2012 or - gasp - 2016.

8. I have been to 11 U2 concerts. I may have mentioned this before...but just thought I'd throw that in.

9. I bake when I'm stressed out. Hence the chunky bits....bread, cookies, complex meals...that, or some solitaire, compulsive laundry loads and folding/matching socks - whatever mindless activity that will take my mind off of what's bugging me.

10. It took me an hour to come up with this!!! See, I told you I'm kinda boring and low key...

Now all of you have at it - you wouldn"t be on the blogroll unless I like ya!

Got Stock? (As in St. SIMON?!?)

Hahaha....

Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, and the Feast of the Scapular of Mt. Carmel. On this day in 1251, our Blessed Mother appeared to St. Simon Stock and presented him with the scapular and promises special favors and protection to those who wear the scapular.

I've had to fight to wear mine each time I've had a baby or any other sort of minor surgery - the best was my knee arthroscopy about 4 years ago. My good Irish Catholic orthopaedic surgeon, who is a quiet, sweet and soft-spoken man, told the OR nurse to back off when she got testy with me for refusing to remove it (in case of emergency breathing issues under anaesthesia, they want a clear shot at your throat). He then very reverently removed it and wrapped it around my wrist, lacing it through my fingers so that it rested in my palm, and crossed my forehead. As usual, I got a little verkelmpt. But for the first time since they rolled me into the OR, I felt completely relaxed, at peace, and ready to go under.

The (very Americanized)young Indian anaesthesiologist was intrigued by all of this, and asked me what "it" was, and what it meant. I told him the deal and he said "That's really beautiful! I've never heard of that and I've never seen one of those before Cool!" and then to his colleague, "Man, I never knew you were such a religious guy, that's great!"

So wear your scapular - don't be shy - there's so much to be gained for your own soul, and for Team Rome! Here's mine:

It's the Cross of the Crusaders....quite fitting, when one lives in the DOR, really. :)

The Princess wears Our Lady of Lourdes/Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, the Beloved carries - but does not wear - his Confirmation name saint, St. Jude (a natural choice, given who his bride is...) and our Little Therese has the Holy Face, which was blessed at the EWTN 25th Anniversary celebration in Birmingham by the late Alfonso Cardinal Lopez-Trujillo, who led the Pontifical Council for the Family. She ran up to him as he crossed the street and asked him to bless it, he bent down, took it in his hand, blessed her and beamed at her and said "it is so beeeaauuutiful! And so are you, precious little one!" Again, I was verklempt.

So....that's ours. What does yours look like? And if you don't have one, why not? Spend the $5 for this wonderful devotional - keep it tucked in close, and if you're asked, hey - you might just reach into a heart or two.

To the Little Boy

Dearest Little Boy,

It's me, Mamma.

Please start talking to Mamma. I'd love to hear your little voice saying stuff to Mamma. The hooting, squealing, giggling, and screeching are good.

"I love you, Mamma" would be great.

The nice speech therapy ladies always tell me how much they love you. But it's nowhere near how much I love you. And even though you haven't said so, I know how much you love Mamma and Dadda and your big sissy and your glasses-having sissy, because your oh-so-tight hugs, sweet and gentle kisses, babba and Sesame Street-time snuggles, and neck-sniffing nuzzles are nothing short of phenomenal. They tell me all I need to know, but there's so much more I want to know...and I can't wait for you to tell me all about so many, many things.

But guess what? Even if you never say a word, I will love you forever beyond measure.

Just thought you should know.

xxxooo,
Mamma

HMD #35....Denouement

Well, well, well.....look who's back in business!

Sort of.

We had a rollercoaster ride of a holiday weekend around here. The weather finally became tolerable (sun, low 70's) in time for the 4th, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the rest of this week, as we have houseguests who deserve to get out and see more than toddler tv on the flatscreen all week. That said, the heater is still kicking on at night because the house temperature sinks to less than 60*. The Boy is wearing thermal jammies, and the down blankies are still on all the beds...but the sleeping weather, I must say, is excellent.

Anyway.

Since writing the last HMD, we have had a sad, angry Princess who refused to discuss the Tall One Who Must Not Be Named at all. And if the subject arose, she got quite nasty and slitty-hatey-eyed, and ran from the room. This got HeloMom thinking. You know...the old adage that the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy. So, one night last week, I finally cornered her, (sitting on a stool in her full length flannel nightie sipping on a cup of tea to warm up in July...snort!) shortly before midnight and employed my best interrogation/cross examination skills and got her talking.

Very reluctantly, very slowly, through lots of tears, she admitted that she felt like she had a huge hole through her midsection - she was missing a big (okay, maybe tall) part of herself - her best friend. But she couldn't let go of being angry at him for betraying her by lying and letting her down, as her former pack of female friends had done before him. We examined what the lies were about (really more a matter of "been there, done that"-style exaggerations and boasts to impress her by making himself seem "cooler"), and eventually agreed that while BAD to do, they didn't really revolve around anything more than his own insecurities and relative immaturity. He wasn't lying about anything material or detrimental to her, to their relationship, or anything of serious consequence. The real consequences came back down on him - he has been despondent, and, as he put it one day while finishing up yardwork "I hate myself far more than she could ever hate me for what I did..."

When I thought the conversation was over, she looked at me with tears pouring down and said "WHY? Why did he do this? Why didn't he know that I loved [!] him already the way he was and he didn't need to impress me?!?" I told her I could not answer, and suggested she ask him those questions herself and tell him how she felt, just as she'd told me. She handed the cell phone to me and demanded that I summon him immediately (She might as well have ended it "...to my Presence Chamber"). I should have made her do it herself, really, but she was afraid he'd say no to her (doubtful) and would listen to me.

So - sucker, hopeless romantic, or overly meddlesome parent that I am - I sent the text at 11:55. He arrived at 11:59. He lives about 7 minutes away.

When I opened the door, he walked into the kitchen, and she was nowhere to be found. He eventually followed the sound of sniffles into a dining room, where she was on a chair, curled into a little flannel ball. He walked over, cradled her, and carried her out to the living room where they talked everything out for the next hour. When I peeked in, she was fast asleep, snuggled up against him. He looked more relieved than overjoyed.

They have both apologized and forgiven, and are going to try again, with the proviso that when he leaves for college, each may date other people, so long as they advise the other in advance.

HeloMom is cautiously optimistic. We are currently debating Transubstantiation via text message while he's lifeguarding, and she's taking accelerated geometry with a tutor. He has befriended Padre Pyro on Facebook and may go straight to the source for better information than an amateur apologist like me can provide.

Sigh....

P.S. For Old Bob - HIGH FIVE!!!

Summer, wherefore art thou...so rainy? And creepy...

Another week has blown by - literally. It has been cold, gray, rainy, and crappy here for the past week. We had a severe thunderstorm on Friday that knocked our internet service and telephones out until Tuesday afternoon. (More on that in a bit). My basement is leaking, my hair is frizzy, my flowerbeds got crushed by hail yesterday, and I truly believe I am suffering from a bout of S.A.D. in the summer. Sheesh!

In Princess/Athlete land, no real news, but he does still hold out hope. He came over and did some yardwork for me (hacked the hedges I can't reach), and we had a long conversation about Transubstantiation, his doubts, my attempt at apologetics was good (he gets it now) but not good enough (he still doesn't believe it). All the while the Princess lolled about in her bikini with a magazine and a diet 7-up, trying to soak up whatever rays she could between cloudbursts. She is back to work after only a week off after exams - 6 weeks of geometry tutoring (so she can skip a grade and accelerate toward calculus her junior year - ugh!), cheerleading practice three times a week, and ballroom two hours a week. No rest for the wicked. :)

Okay - now for the creepy bit. When the storm hit, lightening struck on the block behind us, between our house and the river. One of those instantaneous flash/crash things. Very scary. Less than 30 seconds later, three of the baby's "noisy toys" - Elmo, a car dashboard, and a school bus that sings that song - all spontaneously started making sounds. None are electric, all require pushing and pulling to get the sounds going. All were in different spots in the living room, and the baby was in bed for his afternoon nap. The girls and I looked at each other, and all the "warning hairs" on the back of my neck stood up, as happens when I get the feeling we are not alone in the house. I decided we should all repair to the basement to wait out the storm. We shut off all the electronics at their various power strips, grabbed the baby out of bed and went down - just as another huge crash hit outside.

When we came up, we heard a blast of static and a screeching sound through the computer speakers. The ones that we shut off at the power strip before we went downstairs. Then we looked out and discovered that a tree directly across the street from our house had been split down the middle. Utility wires and one of our own trees kept it from hitting the house, but part of it did knock out a USPS box that had been anchored into the cement for decades, by the looks of it. Crews came and took down the tree. A near miss.

Rational me says the electricity in the air must have somehow triggered the toys. Not-so-convinced me wonders if we got some forewarning....so I said "thank you" out loud and then said my prayers.

Hmmmmm.......

We still are finding strange things - a few fuses to parts of the house that are rarely used were blown, and two of eight phone jacks were fried, as were our cordless phones (one base unit, two handsets).

Freaky.

How's your summer going?

Johannestag 2009

Yep, it's Johannestag - the feast of St. John the Baptist (and the Boy's second anniversary of his baptism...how can that be?!?) - so we had a mini-bonfire (Johannesfeuer) and cooked hotdogs and s'mores out on the patio on one of the first truly GORGEOUS summer evenings here in the middle of nowhere.

Thank the Lord...for sending John ahead of his cousin and for instituting the Sacrament that washes away original sin...thanks for sending us the Boy....

...and praise God, summer's finally here!

HMD #34 - The End of the Affair

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. Our favorite young couple is no more, as of this past Monday evening. Nearly 8 months of mostly fun, mixed with a fair amount of frustration, has come to a peaceful end. Mostly peaceful, anyway.

There was no big "incident" - no cheating, no new boy or girl, no more shouting, no would-be chivalrous fistfights....nope, nothing like that. It came down to a few seemingly trivial episodes of exaggeration and lying about something of no consequence when it would have been much easier to tell the truth.

Something clicked in our Princess' head. "If he would lie to me about something this silly now, what won't he lie about? And will happen when he leaves for school?"

All the respect and trust they worked so hard to build up - and did - despite all the many obstacles, questions, and objections along the way...was lost over a few boastful statements and one really stupid lie that was easily proven false, and which he admitted was a dumb thing to do. But too little, too late. With all the other recent issues that have cropped up, she decided it was enough.

She gently, but firmly, let him know that she thought it would be best if they didn't date anymore, and tried to scale back to where they always got on well, as good friends. She said he was literally gasping for air as she said the words, and she felt terrible. She still does. He didn't argue or try to negotiate, but accepted her decision and told her he did not blame her for what she'd decided. They promised to keep the matter private between them and that they would not bad-mouth each other.

She's spent the week taking exams, while he was home absorbing the shock, working at his two lifeguarding jobs, and kicking himself for making a series of blunders that led to this final outcome.

Graduation was this past Friday. She still attended the ceremony, and they went to three parties over the weekend, each one less awkward than the one before, and tonight he stopped by with the now-heartbreakingly gorgeous formal prom pictures from the dance two weeks ago. They really did make a stunning couple, and they really do like each other a lot.

He has been a gentleman and has accepted defeat gracefully, but he has not conceded the war. He vows he will win her trust and respect again, even if he does not win her back. "She's the love of my life, whether or not I'm the love of hers." I thought this was a bit grandiose (aren't they always, at 18?), but he reminded me that his mother is only the third girl his dad ever dated, while his dad was mom's fifth. They are apparently a highly selective lot. "A mater, not dater" as the saying goes. Princess was his #4. I have no doubt he will find a #5, but try telling that to a heartbroken young man. He will be down and out for awhile. As will she.

She says - and wisely for one who is 15 - that she gave this a great deal of thought, and as one who prefers the idea of courting to dating, she could not see any point to dragging things out over the summer, wondering if this past month was an anomaly or if these basic character questions would keep coming up. When she realized she didn't want them both to remain miserable as she tried to figure this out, it finally hit home that this very nice, usually well-mannered boy is simply not the right one for her at present, nor will he be "the one" in her future. However, she feels very strongly that he will be a part of her life, in some way, for a very long time. She has not been happy this week. There's been no sense of relief, no giddiness, and there's been less-than-zero interest in all of the offers that have started flowing in from other boys ("Vultures!" as she so scathingly put it...), and less than her usual quest for perfection in the hair and makeup department. She is mourning and missing him, but she knows it is truly over. She also knows herself better now than she did back in November, and she knows that it will be a long time before she's open to the thought of getting to know anyone new, or letting them get to know her as deeply as our Tall Boy has done. She's shuttering her inner Princess from the outside world's view, and it pains a Helo Mom to see it.

HeloMom hates to see so much sadness on both sides of this breakup. I don't think there's much hope for any sort of romantic reunion, but then again... quien sabe? They may surprise us someday. But not anytime soon.

I'm very proud of them both for handling this with the amount of mutual respect that they've shown thus far. I hope and pray it continues.

And so ends the HeloMom Chronicles. Perhaps a post-script here and there....

Until next time.

Happy Father's Day...

A little late in the evening, but heartfelt wishes to all you present and future Dads, and especially to our dear collared Fathers who so lovingly deal with flocks of spiritual children - our temper tantrums and our triumphs - for a lifetime.

Thank you, and God bless you all.

Wedding bells....

Fr. Cutie got married yesterday. I wonder if they're registered anywhere.

Flag Day

I am ashamed to admit it, but we don't currently have a flag! It blew away last summer. (It's flown from outside our bedroom window, so definitely an act of weather, not teens/terrorists)

However, at the family picnic today, I wore a red tanktop, a white blouse, blue jeans....and my totally patriotic stars and stripes Birkenstocks....and in so doing, horrified the more footwear-fashion-conscious of my children accordingly.

Ha!

HMD #33: Back to virtual reality...

Hello friends....yes, I am alive! I am well! Thank you for your kind inquiries. The Beloved is still in town (yay!), but leaves tomorrow (boo!).

I can report that the Prom went relatively well. The Athlete was still in a fair amount of pain and under strict orders to take it easy and only dance the slow dances, which he did - each one - with the Princess. He had a better date with Vicodin than with the girl, who was torn at first between staying at his side/minding him and mingling with the others there. As it turned out, she was glad that she chose to stay at his side, unglamorous as it may have been, because all of the "dancing" to anything with a remotely upbeat tempo involved her least favorite high school dance pasttime....grinding. Here are kids in tuxes and some crazy-expensive silk and satin gowns rubbing pelvises together and, as she put it "basically having sex with their formalwear on," in a basement of a fraternal order's lodge that smelled of fifty-plus years of beer, sweat, fish fry, cigarettes and despair. Ughhhhh....

As the lone freshman present, she came away having had a nice time, but being disillusioned with the rite of passage that is prom, and wondering if it will be worth going to it again for each of the next three years. But she will go, because it is what is done. However, she vows that she will chair the prom committee so that future proms will be at tonier venues such as the country club, not the area's various lodges - cheap prices notwithstanding.

That's our girl.

As for the future of our senior-freshman couple....well....graduation is Friday. Graduation parties abound for the next two weekends. Then it's summertime. She's dusting off the Jane Austen collection and stocking up on magazines and iTunes. He's planning roadtrips to amusement parks and pilgrimmages to such gourmand lures as Chik-Fil-A.

We shall see what transpires.

I am not optimistic, but that's okay. They each need to do some growing up, and that may well involve growing apart. It's a matter of doing so without hard feelings....and that, friends, isn't easy at any age.

HeloMom out - but I shall return in a day or two, once we're Belovedless and readjusted to the empty spot at the dinner table.

This week in sports...a recap

Well, friends, if you read the post below, you know how this past week has ended, but let's get back to where it started.

Part One: Psycho Redux

On Tuesday, late in the balmy evening, Princess and I were up - way past bedtime - having a long discussion about life, boys, relationships with Tall Boys, prom, colleges, that kinda stuff. We heard Jack the Vicious Predator running about up on the third floor, presumably slaying some socks or maybe chasing a moth around.

Until we heard the frantic chirpy squeaking coming down the stairs toward my bedroom.

Yes, to those who have experienced it, you never forget the sound of a BAT in your house. I don't like rodents. Winged rodents produce a combination of rage and panic that I don't like to admit I'm capable of feeling all at once. But I do. So I slammed the bedroom door shut and sent the bat averse but less freaked out Princess to shut the baby's door as well as Therese's. (She has her uses. And besides, she's the idiot who left her unscreened window open at night!)

Jack emerged from the stairwell and had his live squeaky toy in his mouth and decided to share his good fortune with her - after all, she is one of his harem of strangely furless kittens, and he provides for us all, in his strange sock-slaying way. So he trotted toward her and let it go and it shot up and then swooped at her. Oh, the screaming...so she came back in my room with little Therese hot on her heels, slammed the door and we giggled like the nervous fools we were. We heard Jack leaping and bounding in the hallway, then sometime after 3 am the squeaky sounds stopped. We decided to remain barricaded in and let nature take its course.

The next morning, we crept through the house with brooms in hand, looking around for the bat and/or its carcass. Nothing. So we figured Jack took care of business. I kept all the doors shut upstairs and went on with the interminable kitchen painting project from the time the girls left until sometime after 8:00. That night, we were still apprehensive after the sun went down, and none of us could sleep. We shut ourselves in my room again for the night, told bat jokes, wished that daddy was here, etc. All quiet on the Western NY front.

Thursday morning, as I had promised to let Princess sleep in after two nights of less than three hours of sleep, I decided to take a quick shower in my master bathroom while she ate breakfast. I got the water to its ideal temperature, hopped in, pulled the cutain shut...and there, hanging upside down in the folds of the shower curtain and less than 18 inches from my face, was the largest, fattest brown bat I've ever seen. I screamed for my Lord and Saviour's assistance and was about halfway down the stairs, the right half of me soaked from head to toe, completely naked, before I recollected myself and where and who I was. Princess thought I was being murdered, came to the stairs and gaped at me. I pulled myself straight up, sucked in my gut, tried to look casual in my nekkidness, and said to her: "Ummm, yeah....I found the bat. In the shower with me, hanging off the curtain. Go get it."

"ME?!?"

"Well yeah, it's not like I'm going back in there!"

"Why me? You're the adult, you're supposed to protect us!"

"I gave you life."

"Damn you and your uterus, woman..."

"You'll say it to your kids someday. Now go get a broom and a box"

She complied, I dressed myself, gathered what little dignity I had left and held the box while she put on a thick glove, held an inverted plastic bag, snatched the bat off the curtain, shoved it in the bag and stuffed it in the box and duct-taped the box shut.

Living as close as we do to the river, bats are fairly common around here. Unfortunately, there are a few cases of rabies reported in the county (carried by bats, passed on to squirrels, raccoons, and unvaccinated cats) every year. Bat contact is never a good idea. Waking up with a bat in the room is an automatic invite to the doctor for rabies shots. Because they have tiny teeth, bat bites are hard to detect unless you are awake and aware that a bat has bitten you. Out of 17 human bat-strain rabies fatalities in the 90's, only one person was aware of an actual contact and bite - he just didn't report it because he didn't think it was a big deal. Then he died. We cleverly sealed the bat into the bedroom/adjoining bathroom with us for at least one night. NOT cool. So I took the bat to the county wildlife/environmental office, they froze it to death, and did rabies testing. Mercifully, we got the all clear late on Friday. (They've had two positives in the past month). Jack's getting a booster shot just to be safe.

Part Two: Client Catastrophe

In the midst of all the bat chaos, I was supposed to have a hearing Friday on a case that I lost on a technicality (no gory details, but the former atty screwed something up and my efforts to unscrew it initially failed), I then appealed, won on appeal, and this was my big day with the client - 11 years after her accident, 4 years after she filed her claim - and then she had a death in the family and we had to postpone. I was SO ready to go back in...but that's okay. I'll be ready when we have our day in August. Just a scramble to get in touch with the judge, get a fax in for the record, and not make an even worse impression on a judge who doesn't like being appealed....and then there's a lot of mental prep work and framing of arguments and evidence in my head the whole week leading up to the hearing, now for naught. I spent the weekend painting 27 cabinets, 13 drawers, and a half-mile (or so it seemed) of crown moulding and clearing it from my head.

Part Three: The Weekend War

As all this drama was unfolding, more strife on the teenage front. They went to a party on Sunday night (no school Monday), he behaved badly and embarrassed her, she called him on it, his friends rebuked him as well, he didn't like it one bit, and he snapped at her in front of a group of people. Things remain tense between them, and it is taking a toll - perhaps a fatal one - on the relationship. But he finally listened to her, with help from his friends' observations of his behavior, and has pledged to work on his temper and his snappish-of-late attitude toward her and life in general. Life-changing, end-of-era stress is my diagnosis. Too little, too late seems to be hers. I'm sad for both of them. It will be a difficult summer.

Part Four: Sudden Impact....and Surprise!

For over a month, I have been harboring a huge secret...The Beloved is home! We planned a sneaky surprise visit for Prom night. He didn't want to miss it, or to miss the chance to menace the Tall Boy with an impressive array of K-Bar and Nepalese Ghurka knives as well as firearms. I have been striving NOT to screw it up, made a few slips that the girls did not figure out...and we managed to pull it off. But it wasn't easy, and here's why:

A. I got 45 minutes of sleep Tuesday night. Remember those 27 cabinets? Well, each of them requires 10-15 screws. We own two electric screwdrivers. The Beloved is not real great with organization in his man-room in the basement. I couldn't find the charger for either one. After 4 cabinets, I was re-hanging them all, screwing the hardware on and then mounting them back on....by hand. I think I have arthritis now - seriously. They still hurt. And it took me all night, even with the Princess helping me until 3 or so. And she had no idea why I was doing this, scrambling to get it done before the Beloved arrived. She just helped because she saw that I was desperate to be done and wanted to be there battling at my side. Good kid.

B. I got hit by a car 45 minutes before the flight was due to come in! You can't make this sh*t up. Really. I was makingthe requested pot roast for the Beloved's homecoming and realized, at 1:30, that I had no carrots. Princess has been eating like a rabbit in the run-up to prom. So I had to book out to the store to get carrots. As I was walking in, a 75 year old woman backed out of her parking spot without looking back and clipped me at the hip/thigh, knocking me to the ground. Fortunately, I saw it coming and leapt out of the way, and I have some serious assets going on, and so I bounced back up like the Bumble, relatively unscathed. I didn't take her plate #, but I should have...she was angry at me, wouldn't roll her window down past an inch, apologized begrudgingly for not seeing me (as opposed to "I'm sorry I hit you, are you okay?") and left. A few onlookers were duly disgusted with her as well. Deo gratias, I'm a bit stiff and sore, but not even a bruise to complain of. I was lucky. And in a hurry...so I ran into the store and made it to the airport only 5 minutes late...to discover the flight was 15 minutes early. No matter. It was a thing of beauty to see my boys smiling and flirting with each other the whole way home. Then he hid, I lured the girls into the dining room with an impropmtu after school yay-the-kitchen-is-done tea party, and as we started our after-school gabfest, he sauntered into the room and asked for a cup. Princess screamed and launched herself at him, Therese looked shell shocked and started weeping. It's been hardest on her to be without her Wii buddy these past four months. Princess/Athlete drama has dominated the household.

C. The Athletic Appendix began to give out. As noted in HMD#32, the symptoms were classic, the physician dad was in denial, and the kid suffered. We had many texts and calls throughout the course of the day and evening....prom or no prom? And we had picked up the freshly altered and gorgeous dress earlier that morning, too....

D. I slept for 9 glorious, uninterrupted hours last night. No listening for the baby, no getting up at 6:45 to feed and shoo girls out the door to school....and I'd had a combined total of 2 hours and 45 minutes the two preceeding nights. So it was needed sleep.

Which is why I can't sleep now! But I am going to try. So, gentle readers, thanks for bearing with me to this point, I will be back with more tales from the Brookside before you know it. I have a fresh "visitor" story, too....but all in good time.

HMD#32 - Gut Wrenching...

...and I mean that literally! Yes, the Athlete was feeling ill last night, physician father told him to suck it up and go to bed....and so once he started throwing up, dad relented and Athlete went into the ER this morning, complaining of severe pain on the right side.

He had his appendix out this afternoon.

Prom is Saturday.

He swears he will be at the prom, no matter what. Princess vows that she will not go with him if he's violating the surgeon's orders.

We are all in uproar.

HeloMom out.

HMD#31: Athlete's Foot...

...belongs in his mouth. Or perhaps it should be up his....okay never mind.

As noted in a recent dispatch, there have been a number of scandals and fist fights at the local quasi-Catholic high school, and the Athlete started one of 'em. As was also noted, Princess was not pleased that he did so, and they had a tiff about it that escalated into a full-on fight, wherein he raised his voice and let fly with some expletives.

Princess, being a princess, doesn't do well with that sort of thing. Not that hearing foul language is particularly shocking to her at this stage of the game, but having it directed at her as an outlet or as an unfortunate side of a young adult male meltdown....not so much. As with the gym class brawl, his response was disproportionate to the offense. So she stopped the conversation and post-nuclear winter has set in. He attempted to lobby me for help, I reiterated to him the lack of manners and impropriety of the behavior involved...and he started in on me with the raised voice and language - not a personal attack, but a lot of frustration that no one will agree that his thuggery was justifiable.

Not cool. HeloMom went yard on the boy and set him straight on some basics about how to treat females he cares about - if he wants said females to be part of his life, anyway. Princess was not amused that the Queen was treated with disrespect by the Athlete. That, to her, was worse than his treatment of her. Nobody messes with her HeloMommy. (Hee!)

Dozens of hollow-pologies ("I'm sorry for what I said to you and your mom, but not for what I did to that kid") and as many dozen roses later, Princess is not yielding. He cannot understand why. She has explained that her values and his may be too divergent to make the relationship viable. He is in true distress. She is cordial, but not cuddly. She does not think she can go back to the way things were, because he lacks not just respect for her and/or for her mother, but he lacks sufficient self control to never have "gone there" in the first place. A wise observation. But now what?!?

Prom is in a week.

Are you there vodka? It's me, Kit...

Good & recommended reading: The Cross Reference: Statement from Fr. Cutié's (former) Archbishop

The Cross Reference: Statement from Fr. Cutié's (former) Archbishop

Thoughts On The Fallen

It's been about 18 months now since we were all wringing our hands over Fr. Francis Mary Stone's decision to leave the priesthood due to his relationship with a woman he met through his ministry at EWTN. He was about to become a biological father. Yep, he sinned, defied his priestly vows and vocation - and he was publicly bludgeoned for it. He then had to choose between walking away from his vocation and manning up to take moral and financial responsibility for his child and the mother (hopefully his bride by now), or living his vocation by remaining in the priesthood, thereby denying his child - the one innocent involved - a traditional father-child relationship and leaving another single moter out there struggling to raise a child - his child - on her own. I never have and never will condone what got him to the point of having to choose between these options, but I can understand and support what he ultimately did. He's a dad, and he's doing what he can, in his 40's, to start a business and generate enough income to support his family.

THEN there's Fr. Alberto Cutie, the soon-to-be Episcopalian. Caught with his speedo and his grope on. As our dear Fr. Erik points out, he's the worst kind of hypocrite. Becoming a Protestant as a means of getting his cupcake and ea....ok, never mind. You know what I mean. So he's leaving the Church without following the proper laicizing process, hoping to forge ahead as an Episcopalian cleric of some sort, with his concubine-turned-wife at his side grinning and squeezing his....ok, never mind....for the cameras.

Father Oprah? I think not. Nay, I foresee them becoming the Jim & Tammy Faye of Univision. Get thee behind me....

Unlike Dave Stone, Alberto Cutie's defection really pisses me off!!!

(Yeah, yeah...prayers, charity, and all that. This is why I am NOT a religious, it's the bitter, snarky thing...)