No man is exempt from saying silly things; the mischief is to say them deliberately. - Michel de Montaigne (1533 – 1592)

Well, the boom-chicka-bow-wow weekend was a smashing success. Not only that, but I remembered that not only is Jefe a fun guy, but yes indeed! I really DO like him. A lot. We ate the most excellent burger at a local hidden treasure; we ate some smashing pancakes at another local hidden treasure. We watched Slumdog Millionaire, which I must say is an absolutely amazing movie! I loved every minute of it! We shopped at my favorite used bookstore and walked around a quiet, sunny town. We looked at Jefe's other midlife crisis and drove around in his swanky new ride and just over all had a magnificent weekend. It was a much needed getaway.

I've gotten some questions about how I come up with my "hilarious" stories. Are they real? Some of you have asked me. I wish I were so brilliant to come up with these stories by pulling them out of a hat… but sadly. I AM that dorky. All of my material is truth in writing. I do more stuff that is embarrassing than I want to admit. I have a GREAT one that I working on getting written down. Trust me. When I told Sher and Andrea last night, I think they may have peed just a wee little bit. I could be wrong. I'm just saying. It's THAT funny.

Last night I went and heard Jeffery Zaslow speak on The Last Lecture. It was incredible. He has my dream job. Writing a column for an important newspaper AND public speaking engagements. I would love to do both. I listened in awe as he told stories of his career and then stories of writing this book with Randy Pausch. I only wish Mr. Zaslow would have shown less videos-- that we all had seen on the Internet-- and talked more about his life lessons. His writing lessons, and given more insight into Randy Pausch.

I saw Randy's Last Lecture on Oprah, and then Googled it and watched the whole thing on the Internet. When the one hour special with Diane Sawyer was on last year, I watched it, and was there the next day to purchase his book. It is an easy read—and just full of incredible words of wisdom. I found myself thinking a lot about what I would want my Last Lecture to be. I have started writing it in my drafts… and when it's done it'll show up here—for my children.

I told Jefe recently that I felt pretty good about my life and if I died, I felt like my blog would offer some insight into my life for our children. I have tried to present a pretty honest picture of what I am when I have written on my blog. What you see is what you get. When I die, this blog will be my voice speaking to my children… Crazy lady and all.

The Last Lecture, I think is a book that everyone should read. It is easy, and a good self check. We all need those self checks to make sure we are on the right track. I have some course correcting to do—but then that is a part of life. We are, not one of us, perfect. That is our journey here on earth. To learn how to be better, more forgiving and Christ-like. I'm working on it, but am a long way off.

Jefe took the kids to see Coraline recently and a conversation he had with Thing 2 cracks me up. They were talking about the movie, and how it was a scary. He asked the kids what was scary, and they were telling him when Thing 2 piped up… "It really isn't as scary as OUR world. OUR world is probably scarier." Jefe quizzed him as to why our world was scarier and Thing 2's response was "Well, Our world is scarier because of global warming and the "Ek-a-nom-a-nee" (economy). " I love how he says economy—Ek-a-nom-a-nee. He reiterated his concern over the "Ek-a-nom-a-nee" when President Obama gave his address on Wednesday.

Ek-a-nom-a-nee.That's a great word.

Speaking of Obama… I have purposely tried to not spout my political views on this blog. That is not what it is for. However, I heard something recently that I wanted to share.

I listen to talk radio. I spend a lot of that time banging my head against the wall, because the talk show hosts are so narcissistic it infuriates me. Seriously. But, its like a train wreck, and I just can't help myself. On one of the talk shows I listen to, the host made a comment that I have been thinking about. He said that he loved America and he viewed himself as its cheerleader. He also likened Obama to the Coach of this team, called America. Whether you like the coach or not does not matter . If you like the team—America—then you root for them. You root for the success of the team AND the Coach. The team and the coach go hand in hand. We have a coach—now we rally behind our coach and team and push for success. It really bothers me to read and see so many educated people bashing "The Coach of our Team." I love our team—America. I want America to succeed. So, I will rally behind my teams coach and be supportive. Nothing good ever comes from bashing. Not ever.

Moxie has started walking. Not a lot. But it's there. She takes a few steps here and there and then realizes what she did and promptly drops to her knees. When she took those first few steps, I felt my heart sink. Literally sink. I wanted to scream and cry-- It makes me sad. I want her to always be my baby. I don't want her to grow up, get ideas and her own opinions. I want her to stay little—where all I have to do to make her happy is meet her needs and play with her. It is exhausting having little kids. I know this. I have little kids AND big kids… teenagers more specifically. Being a mother to little kids is easy—tiring but easy.

Being a mother to teenagers is a lot like herding cats. It feels darn near impossible. I was absent the day that God handed out his "How to raise teenagers" manual… It's emotionally draining. I cannot make my teenagers happy. I can contribute to it, but ultimately, they are responsible for their happiness. That is what is infuriating. I see how amazing they are. I see the potential that is theirs for the taking… and yet they are so willing to accept the labels that others subscribe to them. Why? Other people do NOT have their best interests at heart like me, their mother does. So why do they willing accept these mean strangers labels and not MY label—which is the more accurate one-- of Amazing, beautiful, wonderful, talented, smart, spiritual, kind human beings? Why? I just don't get it.

So yeah.

Moxie is walking… and I think I felt my heart break… Just a tiny bit.

1. Under My Skin - Vivian Green
   
2. Tender Mending - Brooke Waggoner
   
3. I Can't Decide - Scissor Sisters
   
4. Be Here Now - Ray LaMontagne
   
5. Clarity - John Mayer
   
6. Somewhere Over The Rainbow/It's a Wonderful Life – Isreal Kamakawiwo'ole
   
7. Violet Hill - Coldplay
   
8. Pieces of What - MGMT
   
9. Curbside Prophet - Jason Mraz
   
10. These Girls - Ryan Adams
    

    Bonus: Jacksonville - Sufjan Stevens
    

Today I had to go to the Junior High School to do various PTA things. I walked down the long hallways of my youth and had serious flashbacks. That locker over there was where my boyfriend had his locker. That bench right there was where I got my first kiss. This hall was where we used to hang during lunch and the gym was where I discovered the joy of dancing. Ahh… The joys of living in the town where you grew up. You are constantly faced with memories—some good and some not so much.

Here are some of the things that I love about living in the town of my youth.

1. I love that my 6^th grade teacher now works at the Local grocery store—where I met Jefe. He greets me warmly every time I come in to shop, and likes to point out to all the cashiers that he was my teacher only 5 years ago. Cracks my kids up.
   
2. I love that I can walk into the Library, and the librarian not only knows my name, but the names of my children. When I walk through the door he greets me, by name, and asks how each of my children is doing—by name. He remembers that I lived in Chicago and likes to show me literature that is based back there. How awesome is that? To have a librarian that not only knows the kinds of books you like to read, but also keeps a look out for books your kids will like to read too? He's a keeper. That's for sure.
   
3. I love that the town mechanic is someone I went to high school with. He is just a phone call away – and even gave us his cell phone! He is always willing to help Jefe with all his various Jeep needs. Or wants.
   
4. I love that my OB lives next door to my Uncle. It seemed that he was more observant to me and my baby when he realized who my family was. Imagine my surprise when, during labor, he announced that not only was he my Uncles neighbor, but lucky me! We were cousins! That's actually NOT something you want to hear when your pushing and he's playing Johnny catcher.
   
5. I love that all my Dad's brothers live within a mile of each other. And, that all their children are just as close. I went to school with ALL of my cousins. I always had a friend to play with because I had one in every grade. It was actually very comforting to me. I was such a shy child, and when I was feeling insecure, I would often go find my cousins and they would play with me and love me. No questions asked.
   
6. I love that these same cousins and I get together twice a month for lunch. We say it is for our children to play together, but we all know that really it is our giant therapy session. I love that I have a history with these women… I know they love me for who I am—faults and all and I know that I am safe with them.
   
7. I love that my children are going to the same schools that I went too as a child. Some of the schools have changed dramatically, but the pride of the school is still the same. The same jokes are still floating around through those halls… the same ones I heard 20 years ago.
   
8. I love that my visiting teacher's mother was my Grandmother's visiting teacher. She likes to remind me of this often, and it is comforting to me. I also love that my visiting teacher's son and I have been friends since about the beginning of time. We have been in more plays together than not and her favorite thing to tell people when we are together is that her son murdered me once. And he did. Boy did he ever murder me. He was good!
   
9. I love that one of the women I visit teach married my next door neighbor growing up. I have known her pretty much all my life. Her husband and his family are in almost all of my child hood memories. I love that she knows me and my children in a way that only close family neighbors can.
   
10. I love that I can see all my old Bishops, YW leaders, teachers and mentors... everytime I go somewhere. The store, the gas station, the post office, the stoplight... I always pass someone who played a major part in my childhood. That is a constant reminder to me to always put my best foot forward.
    

Of course when you make a list like this, there has to be a downside, right?

1. Everyone knows your name.
   
2. Everyone knows your family.
   
3. Everyone knows your parents and tells on you when they see you shopping on Sunday
   
4. Everyone knows your extended family and has expectations for you and your children.
   
5. Everyone knows your family and narks on you when you cuss and swear.
   
6. Everyone knows you.
   
7. Every.One.Knows.Your.Family.
   
8. everyoneknowsyourfamily.
   
9. Did I mention that everyone knows your family? Especially since you are related to half the town? They know you? Yeah. They do. They know you.
   
10. Everyone knows you and your family.
    

    And really? It's a good thing.
    

When my sisters and I were little and sick, my mom would let us sleep in her bed. Everything just seemed to be instantly better when we could sleep in Mom's bed. She would promptly head off to the store to get the necessary ingredients to nurse us back to health. Doris Day movies were a must, along with rice pudding, wassail, sprite and toast. The electric blanket would go on high, the TV would blare, and there would be a never-ending supply of my Mom's sure-fire secret remedies.

We always had rice pudding when we were sick. Did you know it's the magical cure-all food? That and wassail? It is. I'm serious. Even today, at 38 years of age when I am sick, I make myself a pot of rice pudding and a batch of wassail and just the smell of it all cooking makes me feel... homey and safe.

But, you notice that now I have to make it all myself? Yeah, there is no one to go rent me my silly Doris Day movies, make my wassail and rice pudding and let me sleep in their bed. Of course Jefe would do all that for me if I asked him to, but I would still have to sleep in MY bed and My bed doesn't have magical healing powers like my Mom's bed does.

Every time my sisters and I would not feel well—whether it was a bad day at school, a break-up with a boy or we were legitimately sick—Mom's bed held the magical healing powers we needed. My Dad traveled a lot when we were all growing up, and so it made sharing my Mom's bed much easier. When he was home, he was very kind and more than once moved out to the couch when we were feeling really "needy".

Over here in Crazyland, we have had a bunch of sick-O's . No. Not that kind. Just the terribly hacky–hack-coughy- cough-Ka-chooey- kind of sick. However, I have noticed one thing. MY kids want to be in MY bed when they don't feel well. They want to watch TV in MY room, and lounge on my couch. They do not, however, want anything to do with the healing powers that are found in rice pudding and wassail. Bummer for them, cause dude! They are missing out!

What's the point to all of this, you may be asking yourself? Well, I'm sick. But life goes on. There are dishes to do, kids to cart, diapers to change, walls to paint and beds to make. There isn't time for me to lounge in bed all day, watching Doris Day movies, eating rice pudding and sipping wassail. And further, I would have to go get my own video and make my own remedies because I don't live with my Mom any more. (besides, if I did, that would just be plain sad!)

It would be nice if for just a day, everything would stop… so I could do that. I want my Mom's bed, her secret remedies and nothing but sleep looming before me.

I wonder… I wonder if my Dad would get irritated if I asked him to go sleep on the couch again.