Mental Organizing

My mind has had lots to think about lately, and I've been able to compartmentalize all my thoughts into specific categories. So here they are, in tidy, little, lists with labels and everything:

Category 1 - The Mundane

"That laundry pile is getting bigger and bigger. Oh well."

"I don't suppose that fridge will clean itself. Oh well."

"That kid probably needs a diaper change. Oh well."

Category 2 - The Trivial

"I wonder what's happening on Facebook right now?"

"Better check my email again."

"I wonder what's happening on Facebook right now?"

Category 3 - The Deep

"I was at the Twin Towers one month before 9/11."

"I took the bus to and from the Pentagon every morning and evening for 3.5 months during the summer of 2001."

"I became an American citizen on August 14th, 2001."

"It could have been me."

"It could have been any of us."

"It wasn't."

"This country was united then."

"This country isn't united now."

"Why do we have to have an enemy to unite?"

Category 4 - The Optimistic

"I hope things get better."

"Maybe I'll make cookies this afternoon."

"If I have to hear one more crazy loud-mouth verbally spew about health care, I'm moving to Canada."

"Chad can clean the fridge."

I'm really good at hypothetical/philosophical/metaphorical organizing. My mind is really the only part of me that does that (organize). Some of my best mental organizing skills were learned by the GOP during the recent Presidential elections. If we could all put our thoughts/actions into the "The Terrorists Win" category or the "The Terrorists Lose" category, we can't really go wrong.

For example, "I want to create a training camp in my basement." (Terrorists Win)

"I want to get along with my neighbor." (Terrorists Lose)

It's really easy. So, tonight as you are thinking your mundane, trivial, deep and optimistic thoughts, let it all lead you to where the Terrorists will lose the most. As for me, I'm going to a karaoke joint, because I'm pretty sure they would HATE that.

A Lesson from Hemingway

A new favorite lately is listening to Writer's Corner on NPR, where I recently heard that Hemingway once wrote a story in 6 words. It reads: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." and is acclaimed as being one of his greatest works. I have never been concise in my writing and I'm even worse in my speech, but if I were to write the story of today in few words, it would probably go something like this:

"One dozen Krispy Cremes, totally inadequate."

or

"Where are you now Super Nanny?"

or

"I'll give you something to scream about."

Forgive me on the superfluous word on the last one. Today was one of those days. Cheers to tomorrow, because it couldn't get any louder than today.

Long Live the Skinny Hero!

I didn't go to the spa or do anything luxurious. I gave blood on a Red Cross bus and had a GREAT time! Really. But I should explain, because let's be honest, it's a little weird to be so enthused about giving blood, and it's not something I've ever been very eager to do. Until now, that is.

Yesterday was a great holiday, except that holidays ruin your inner calendar. It felt like Saturday, which produced a REALLY big nap right in the middle of the afternoon, which in turn ruined my night's sleep. Between 10:30 pm and midnight I had gone to the grocery store, switched the car seats, cleaned the kitchen, made Chad's lunch, flipped the laundry, and unfortunately, was still bright eyed and bushy tailed.

So, I turned to my old loyal friend Facebook to entertain and tucker me out. Facebook and I understand each other. It's a selfish relationship really, but Facebook doesn't mind. She feeds my need for social interaction, busy-bodying, and internet snooping and doesn't ask anything in return. I like that. She's like your favorite Aunt; the one that you tell your quasi-secrets to and you think she's not going to tell them to anyone, and instead she tells them to everyone. But you don't get annoyed at her because she bakes you a cake with pictures of weddings and other people's babies, and funny sayings that don't mean anything, and all is forgiven. You can't help but forgive her and like her.

So I'm with my friend Facebook, and I get instant messaged by my wonderful neighbor. Before I know it, I've committed to going to a 4:30 appointment to donate blood. She's a social marketing genius and set up this smoke screen of free babysitting (provided by her wonderful daughter) and cookies in order to get me in her charity trap. Knowing that those are my two greatest needs these days, she went for the kill. I'm lucky she didn't ask for a kidney or a baby for the black market, because with the promise of those two things I probably would have given in to just about anything. Thankfully I had the presence of mind to demand a stack of People Magazines, which she quickly conceded to, and I was committed. In blood.

I have to admit - after a long night of poor to no sleep, giving blood was not at the top of my busy list today. But dutifully I went.

As I'm sitting down to give my medical history, the wonderful nurse says to me "You're a hero today. If you do this, you will save 3 lives." Now, I'm used to saving lives, but it's the same two lives, over and over again. Traffic, choking, bath-time, intussusception, wrestle mania - you name it. My kids are constantly on the track leading them to mortal danger, and sometimes I'm the only thing standing in their way. So saving 3 mystery lives was quite novel to me. Next the wonderful nurse asks me my weight by guessing. Usually this doesn't go my way. But her words are etched in my mind, and might make an appearance on my tombstone "you're what ... 135?" So now I'm a hero AND 135 pounds? You have got to be kidding me!! Could this day get any BETTER? My brain was reeling so much from hearing such a low number that I made the mistake of correcting her!! WHY ON EARTH DID I DO THAT? I could have reveled in the idea that someone thought me so slender, and who knows, maybe even convinced myself that it was true and start telling my dear friend Facebook all about it.

People magazines in hand, I float into the Red Cross bus on cloud nine, to give life-saving nectar to those who really need it, aka I'm a hero. My phlebotomist turns out to be this HUGE guy, who starts to tease me, by saying "Do me a favor: grab a ziplock bag and stick yourself will ya?" at which I start laughing long and hard. No one is going to ruin this mood of mine - didn't he hear? I'm a skinny hero. My obnoxious laughter put him in a better mood and he proceeded to prep and stick my arm with real caution. I hardly felt a thing, and sat pumping my blood into a bag, reading deliciously about John and Kate plus 8 (I couldn't help it - it's like a train wreck or anything with Pauly Shore - you just have to see it to believe it) and before I know it they said I'm done and wrap up my arm.

Next came the cookies: morsels of peanut-buttery, chocolate-fudgy goodness (there were oatmeal raisin cookies, but I leave those for the diabetics). Was that it? I'll give blood every week if this is how it goes down.

So please people - be a skinny hero. It's awesome. I would know.

Getting ready for the weekend

Spent the day cleaning the house and training the domestic help. So draining.

The Red Baron In All Her Fineness

The ruling-class never really gets much privacy. However, she doesn't seem to mind. This is where she does her best work.

Now this picture begs the question - is it emotionally abusive to post a picture of your child learning to potty-train on the Internet? There's nothing really scandalous about it, except for the hint of toilet paper holder, but is this crossing a line of decency? If it is, I truly apologize, and I vow to send my children to the best therapist my husband's money can buy. But until the results of this unofficial pole are tallied (and please don't feel obligated to respond in anyway), we'll just enjoy her Highness' latest legislation and call it good.

Why Didn't I Do This Before?

Is there such thing as blogger's remorse? Because I think I experienced it last night. We were celebrating my first blog posting, when all of the sudden I felt like maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Like maybe I offended someone with the women's facial hair comment, or insulted my photographer/ex-pat/foodie/supermom friends (I stalk your blogs regularly/anonymously). I was ready to delete and forget this whole blogging thing ever happened, when my husband reassured me with a few magic words, which only he can really deliver:

"Honey, I insult people all the time, and things are working out just fine for me." He said with a kind of shrug of the shoulders and raise of the eyebrows.

Ladies and Gentlemen - I present my husband! I don't know if it was the adrenaline crash after my first actual posting (this is serious stuff I will remind you - like open-heart surgery or playing monopoly) or the late hour, but oddly it made me feel a lot better. But there was still this nagging feeling and I wondered if I'll survive this pressure cooker world of blogging (insert forlorn chime music here).

So I get up this morning, after the yells of "MAMA, I'M REEEEAAADDDDYYY!" were too hard to ignore any longer, and checked my email, and there they were. Wonderful comments and support from actual people. All of the sudden I have thoughts of being a published writer, family comedian, a blogging super-model, and I'm feeling the love. And all of this from the privacy of my Christmas pajamas and yesterday's mascara. I feel like I should place my hand on a cyber-Bible and take a blogging oath to "Do my duty in a bloggy kind of way, so help me God." Because friends, I'm drinking the Koolaid and I like it!! I'm afraid you've got me from here on out. This is just too much fun. And that's what I'm all about.

Find a picture below of my two in-house wake-up callers; The Red Baron on the left and The Little Man on the right.

Oh How the Mighty Have Fallen

So. Here I am. Blogging. It's a mixture of surprise and indifference. I never swore I would never blog (dig the double negatives there). I'm not inclined to be that decisive or emotional about something like blogging. I just never thought I was the blogging type. You know the blogging types I'm talking about: the foodies, an ex-pat, a photographer, a Supermom with craft ideas and recipes that will increase your child's IQ. That is all blog-worthy content. Where would I fit in world like that?

The indifference comes in because I'm starting to feel like a technology dinosaur. I've started feeling like I'm one of the last ones hanging on in the hurricane of electronic progress, standing on the porch, shaking my fist at the wind, yelling things about "going down with the ship" etc. You know what I'm talking about - the old lady with a thin mask of facial hair and thick desire to not be budged. Things are going so fast, it's time to end the resistance.

I have decided that blogging gives me a tiny little voice and records a message from me to the whole universe out there, and let's be honest: that's kind of fun. And I'm all about fun. So here we go universe, check me out! I'm sure you're as surprised and indifferent as I am.