So I did this really absent minded thing. I know, big surprise. What's worse is I did it in front of my 16 year old son. Geez. I mentioned earlier that often my body, and more often my mouth gets going faster than my mind can catch up and I guess this is what happened here. We were running through Crown Burgers drive up to pick up some lunch and I am talking a mile a minute about I don't know what and all of a sudden my son says "Mom, don't we need to order first?" I look around and I have passed right by the menu board and pulled up behind the car at the window. Oh my Lord! I look frantically behind me and there is a line of cars, I can't back up. Now what? I'll tell you what. I have to tell the lady at the window that, oh sorry, I forgot to order at the menu board like an idiot and I have to pull through and start over. Then she can tell everyone in the back there and they can have a good laugh and then they can re-live the whole thing when I come back through and say "Hi, it's me again!" My son is dying. He is laughing and embarrassed all at the same time, and so am I. Because, here is the good news. Although there is still a little part of me that right off the bat, feels just a little bit humiliated, there is a larger percentage of me that thinks this is incredibly funny and par for the course for me. I know many of you who know me will agree. What is fabulous about getting older is that you get to let go of that awful, insecure, self consciousness that haunts us in our youth and keeps us from enjoying every silly moment of our lives because we are so afraid of what everyone else might think of us and we are so easily embarrassed that every little thing sends us into high drama. This part of growing older is fantastic! At the same time, it would be very comforting if there if anyone that has done this same thing, could let me know, so I don't feel like I'm the only one. Because no matter how old you are, no one wants to be the ONLY one. Later.

Prioritizing. I'm in the middle of trying to prioritize a garage full of boxes that need to be unpacked. My sister just read a book called "Life is Too Short to Fold Fitted Sheets". I think that is hilarious...and true. I have to put some things in perspective as I look at my garage. Which is a priority and which is a fitted sheet? It sounds easier than it is though. I find if I shut the garage door I can actually forget I have a garage. That is until I find I'm missing something buried in all those boxes. Like a toilet brush or something. Then all of a sudden a toilet brush becomes a priorty and everything else is a fitted sheet. The toilets are gross and people are coming. Ooh, now I'm dizzy. Am I cleaning bathrooms or doing laundry? Then a few days go by and I think maybe everything in the garage is a fitted sheet because I'm making do pretty good without everything that's out there. Then all of a sudden I need my Kitchen Aid and I'm out there with a priority again. Geez I need to get organized. Maybe I should go to Starbucks. Life is too short, get a frappacino when you want one. Later.

I have a cold...don't you hate that? It's not serious, just bad enough to really annoy you. Not bad enough that you need to go to the doctor...yet...or stay home from work, but just bad enough that you feel like you have to squint your eyes all the time. Maybe it's because my head feels like it is full of snot. Sorry. Getting right to it there. I'm afraid to sneeze because a snick might fly out and land on me or my steering wheel or something and my eyes are squinty and I might not notice. Ick. Do you ever have this kind of cold and you start off just taking some Advil, thinking that might do it for you? Then you don't feel any better so you take say some Sudafed, trying to convince yourself it's just allergies? Then you move to the Alka-Seltzer Cold & Cough or maybe a Dayquil? Then you go to the store on your lunch for the MucinexDM and some cough drops and a diet coke thinking that will really solve it. Okay, I confess, by now I am ready to drink the Nyquil straight from the bottle. I'm not sure if I have over medicated and I am not thinking straight or I have convinced myself I am sicker than I really am but I am obsessed with getting the Nyquil now. Like that is the answer to all that ails me. I have "over the countered' myself into a frenzy.
I think I'll just go home...what do they say? Starve a fever ...feed a cold? That I can do. Later.

“Mawwaige”….hands down the most difficult thing I have ever done…and I’m not done. Some say the most challenging things we do reap the greatest rewards. My children not withstanding, I plead the fifth on that at this time. We have just spent the second night in our new home. As foretold in previous blogs, the Paint Nazi has not finished painting but like a very aggressive cow in a china shop I moved in anyway. For those of you unfamiliar, the Paint Nazi is my husband. I hate that word…HUSBAND. It is a weird word. Almost as weird as wife. Anyway, we moved in not a moment too soon. The Paint Nazi are like two panthers in a cage circling back and forth just waiting for the other to say something wrong or look cross ways so they can attack. Hence the larger home gives us more cage space and keeps us from the inevitable. When forced to sit close together our children have to witness the sad, regression of maturity when one says to the other “You’re touching me!” When one of us dares to make a joke the others’ defenses rise quickly and the response is usually “You think you are so funny don’t you?” Unless, you just get the kiss of death…the rolling of the eyes. Yes, I’ll admit it, like most women, the rolling of the eyes is my favorite response to give. It is a perfect response and I’ll cop to it. Maybe some of you relate to this maybe some of you do not. If you don’t and you are married, let me offer my sincere congratulations on your recent nuptials! Please do not build or remodel a house any time soon! My view on marriage after 22 years, okay, sometimes a little cynical. However, I have learned a thing or two. Getting married is like trying to force two countries to co-exist. I don’t care if you think you have everything in common. You grew up in two different houses and were taught two completely different ways to live. How to fold towels, if you fold towels, do you fold your sox or roll your sox, how do you spell socks? Do you eat canned corn or frozen corn, do you eat white tortilla chips or yellow tortilla chips, how often do you vacuum, again, do you vacuum? And those are just the little things. So stop right there! I have had to do the same thing after 22 years and stop right there. THOSE ARE JUST LITTLE THINGS. Life is good. Later.

Finally! Back on line!! Good Lord, I never knew I could feel so 'disconnected'! With my limited access to the world wide web these last two weeks I have been noticing how much we actually take the "E" in our lives for granted. I know everyone always says we are too electronically dependant but it sure makes life easier. Especially when your personal life and professional life cross over on a regular basis. When you need to work at odd hours etc. Speaking of my professional life...I have worked in my current career for 22 years this year basically for the same company. Most of the time my job requires a high level of professionalism and I manage a team so I must be an example in what I say and how I conduct myself. Personally, and if you know me you know this, I tend to be loud and sometimes obnoxious. I enjoy big laughs and often I say things that might be inappropriate and I definately share too much information. Sometimes, more than I'd like, I pee when I sneeze and I will tell you when I do. So, me personally? Not all that professional. I try very hard to be efficient and organized at work and I have to work very hard to do that and so when I am not at work my mind can go faster than by body or vice versa. Hence, some might say I am a little...well...less graceful than most and maybe have less, shall we say, foresight (?) than I should. Long story short, I can get myself into some unfortunate situations. This annoys me to no end. I know I am a fairly smart gal and I am very capable and have been very successful in what I have done. But geez, I have gotten myself into some crap. These situations seem to come in bunches. Sometimes a few little ones and then sometimes big ones, like when I fell down the stairs at Christmas time and broke my leg and had to have pins and a plate put in my leg and right after that I got the shingles...sorry I digress. In the last week I had a couple little reminders that I am NOT the professional I think I am. I was in my office going through my mail and clearing things up so I could take some time off this last week. I had a little stack of papers that needed to go in the shred bin. Now shredding, this is a new concept in the last 5-7 years and it is CRUCIAL where I work that the appropriate stuff go into the locked and secured shred bin. No one has a key except the shred company that comes periodically to empty the bin and so once your stuff is in the shred bin, that be it. So, I am getting my things and I have two checks that my son gave me to deposit for him. His lawn mowing money. I have those in one hand and the shred in the other and...I know you can see it coming...sianara baby...I put those checks right into the ultra secured shred bin of doom. Crap! Now I am looking through the dark slot to confirm I have actually done what I know I just did. I can't see anything. Our shred bin is huge and nearly empty. Gone, baby gone! Dammit! So I do what every professional person in the same situation would do...I start banging on the lid of the bin trying to break into it and retrieve my son's $50 fortune I just literally thew away. No go. So then I do the next logical professional thing, I grab my bag and stomp down the hall to my car and let the expletives fly. I go to the ATM and get the cash out to give to my son and decide I will figure it all out later and go on vacation. I only wish that was the last of it for that week, but not so much. So image? Smoke and mirrors baby. The real deal is far from perfect I'm afraid. But perfect is not nearly as much fun either. Later

Do you ever borrow trouble? I borrow trouble. I sometimes worry about stuff that hasn't happened yet. I think I mentioned I take the prozac. This is one reason why, because I borrow trouble. I took my 11 year old daughter school shopping the other night. She will be in the sixth grade this year. So you know what that means...next year is 7th grade...and you know what that means...Middle School. Wah waaahh. Better known as JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL to me. I HATE Jr High School. I have already put a son through the so called middle school and it was as painful as I remembered it to be when I attended my self and now I have a GIRL getting ready to go. Yikes. I have an analogy for Junior High I have shared with many of my friends and here it is. I think Junior High School is like that part in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (not the one with Johnny Depp...the old one) when they get in that fabulous boat on the chocolate river and they are all excited for the boat ride and it starts out fine and then it starts moving faster and faster and then they shoot through a tunnel where the walls are crawling with spiders and snakes and scary things all around them and they are horrified and screaming and then all of a sudden they exit the tunnel into the light and they are fine, everything is fabulous again and all they want to do is get off the damn boat and move on. Isn't that exactly how Jr High School is?? You are all excited to go and get the heck out of elementary school and you think it's going to be so fabulous and then it's just the scariest, most confusing and horrible experience of your short life and all you want to do is get out of there and move on. Anywho, after school shopping that evening I had a nightmare about Willy Wonka chasing me through Olympus Junior High School and I woke up sweating. But the sweating could have been a hormone thing too. Yes my friends, life is good! And that is a good reminder to me that I don't need to borrow any trouble, I have plenty on my plate right now! Later!

So the doorbell rang a few hours ago and a really sweaty middle aged guy was standing on my porch with his bike laying on my lawn. He said he had been out of work for 6 months and was going door to door asking people if he could paint their house numbers on the curb in front of their houses. He asked if he could do that for me for a little money. By this time both my 16 year old son and my 11 year old daughter had come up behind me to see what was going on. "Sure" I said. "How much?" "Whatever you think is fair" he said. I agreed to pay him $10 and he went to work. After I shut the door to let him work my daughter was worried. She wanted to know who the man was and what he was doing here. Was he coming to live with us?? She was very nervous. I asked my son to run a cold bottle of water and a granola bar out to the man while he was working. "Why?" he asked. I am batting a thousand here. I am looking at my off spring wondering at what point in their lives they were raised by wolves. "Because he looks like he is very hot and needs a cold drink and maybe something to eat. Just to be kind." I look at both children now, "We are moving away from this house, do you think I really need my house numbers painted on the curb? Not really, but this man doesn't have a job. He is riding his bike around the streets asking to do a little work for a little money. I have a job and I have a little money to spare today. So I am doing a little kindness for some one else. I want both of you to do a little kindness for others when you can. You have more than many children do." They stare at me as if I have grown another head. "Okay" mumbles my son (he is a mumbler by nature) as he walks out the door to deliver the water and granola bar. "So the man is not going to live with us, right?" asks my daughter again. "Nope, he is not going to live with us, he is just going to paint our curb today." And with that, the man is done. "Come look!" he says. I do and it looks fabulous and I tell him so and thank him profusely. Then I pay him $15.00 instead of $10.00. "Are you sure he asks?" "Absolutely positive!" I say, "God bless you." Now he thanks me profusely and I am a little teary as I walk back in the house to my little wolves. Paying it forward rocks. Later.

So we closed on our house last week. Hooray...I think. Now I am consumed with thoughts of when the new tile and carpet will be installed and if the paint nazi will be done in time and when can I order new furniture. But I can't be consumed for long because I have a fabulous 11 year old daughter that is consumed with something else. This means I too must be consumed with it. Everyone knows kids can get obsessed with certain things but my little one is autistic, mildly autistic and considered high functioning, but autistic all the same. When an autistic person gets consumed with something...well, everyone in the house is consumed with that something too. My daughter is currently obsessed with collecting Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. These are tiny little Barbies that come in their own plastic "bubble" with all their tiny accessories inside. About a week ago I told her she could go to Walmart and pick a reward if she cleaned her piggy room. She did it and we went to Walmart and she found the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. The world as we knew it was over. She picked Lydia from London (Lydia came in a little plastic globe) and inside with all the other tiny stuff was a little brochure with ALL the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys available for collection. I have not heard the end of it since the moment she opened Lydia's package. In the next day or two my daughter organized her closet and we went back to Walmart to get Maria from Mexico and Jamika from Johannisberg (she came with a tiny giraffe...mezmerizing). I hear about the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys everyday, many, many times a day. We sit and look at the brochure, going over each and every dolly with my daughter pointing out which ones she likes the best and which ones she wants next and deciding what chores she can do to earn another trip to Walmart or Target to buy another Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly. Here's the catch. The stores only carry one or two Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. We now have the few they carry. My daughter was showing her CC (my mother) the fabulous Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly brochure for probably the sixth time in a few hours last Saturday and mentioned that we couldn't find all the dollys she wanted in the stores and my wise mother, bless her heart, said "Well why don't you ask your Mom to check on the internet for you?" I was making sandwiches a few feet away. I stopped what I was doing and stared at her. She looked back at me and I gave her a sarcastic thumbs up. "Sorry" she mouthed back at me. "Mom! Can you look on the internet for the Peekaboo dollys I want? Please?" Just when I thought we had exhausted the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly collection in our area, the world wide web opens up an endless sea of hope for my daughter. So the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly obsession lives to haunt me another eternal day. When am I ever going to find time to obsess over my new carpet and tile and furniture...hmmm...when it comes down to it, I guess we are all a little bit autistic...later.

Family. Especially in laws. What do you think when you hear these words? Good things for the most part I hope. But then...well...so we had a birthday party at my in laws for my neice who turned 17. So we went over for dinner and cake. First off, my husband is the only sibling not living back with his parents right now. So there are not a lot of happy campers over there at the moment but it's a birthday party, so everyone is on their best behavior...well not everyone. I'm sitting there minding my own business when my brother in law, an out of work hairdresser who is significantly older than I am, plops down in front of me and says "So, it's time for me to tell you the honest truth." With that he proceeds to tell me how horrible my hair looks. It's too blonde, it looks damaged and the cut makes my face look fatter. He goes on and on telling me that my current stylist is ruining my hair and that every body is talking about how bad my hair is looking. I look at him. He is bald on the top and wears the rest of his sparse hair bleached blonde and about shoulder length. Most of the time he, thankfully, wears a bandana like Brett Michaels but unfortunately for me he is not wearing one now and he is so worked up over the state of my hair-do that he is sweating profusely. Nice. My mother in law is shushing him loudly. Finally I say, "Well, first of all, I like the color, it covers my gray. Secondly, my face looks fat because I am fat and if you think there is a product that will help my hair look healthier, please write it down for me." and I walked away!! I was so freaking proud of myself! I NEVER walk away for crying out loud! But I did this time. I did because it was a party, for my 17 year old neice and everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior. And it feels good to take the high road. Does it feel as good as it would have felt to come apart at my brother in law? I don't know for sure. This morning I looked at my hair very objectively in the mirror. I decided I look fine. Besides, I have bigger fish to fry...later.

I'm moving. We bought a new home and we are finally closing on it next week (after two delays...not the plan but...) and so now the work begins. Not only are we packing 16 years of accumulated, I'll just say it, crap and deciding what crap goes to the new house and what crap does not go to the new house but we also have decided to paint, carpet and tile before we move everything IN the house. The house has pink carpet throughout and this fabulous faux green marble paint job that we have decided to change. No offense, just anyone that knows me knows I am not a "pink" gal. My husband has a plan. We'll call it "Plan A". I could be really naughty and call it "Plan ADD" but I won't...yet. He wants to rip out all the existing carpet and linoleum and paint first while the new carpet and tile is being ordered. On the face of it, this is a very good plan. But I have been married to this person for 22 years, he actually has ADD. Plus, he has a little OCD when it comes to home improvement, especially painting. He is a meticulous painter. Once we had a professional paint our downstairs bathroom. After it was done, I came home to find my husband painting the downstairs bathroom. When I asked him what he was doing he said he could see brush marks so he was painting it again. You get my drift here. So we have about two weeks to paint before the carpet and tile are installed. Our new house is about 3500 sq. feet and we are painting most of the interior. Here is my issue, what do you do when you can see the need for a Plan B, but it's not really your plan? I pretty much know the painting nazi is not going to make the deadline, but the painting nazi doesn't know it. I can try to help him, but I am not a perfect enough painter you see, he will just have to paint over my shoddy work. I have thought about this and the answer my friends, I'm afraid, is blowing in the wind. I'm going to have to let him do his thing and just wait and see what happens. This is not easy for me to do. I'm usually a "take charge" kind of girl. I'm all ready for Plan B, let's get to it and all that. This is where my prozac kicks in for me. The fact is that I will probably have the painting nazi painting after I have new carpet and tile installed. THAT IS Plan B. And there it is. Later.

...another typo...that's two for two...

So here I am again. I have two funerals in a week's time. The ultimate change in plans for all involved. This morning I went in to pay a traffic ticket I got at..get this...the airport! So bugged. About a two weeks ago my parents came home after living abroad for 3 years so of course we all went out to the airport to meet them. After the big hoo ha inside we all pulled our cars around to the pick up curb to load them in with their luggage. My sisters were in front of me as I manuvered my way through the zillion cars in the pick up lanes and pulled to the curb when a police car pulled in behind me flashing it's lights. Fabulous. My two young nephews in the back seat started yelling "Dee Dee, you're going to the jail!" This clearly was not in my plan. My poor mother was standing on the curb looking like homeland security had just descended upon her family. I smiled at her and waved, "no worries" I mouthed. So a cop that looked about 15 years old came up to my window. I rolled it down and looked at him. "Did you know your registration is expired?" For a moment a didn't know what to say, which is unusual for me. Then all I could muster was "Really?". "Yep" he said, "your sticker says April of 2010." "Really" I said again. Now I'm not one to use feminine assets to get out of a ticket or to get much of anything. It's just not me. So I said, and I kid you not, a line from a movie I'd seen, "Well, put it on my tab then." "What?" he said. "Look" I said, "There is not one thing I can do about this now. I need to get my parents picked up here so write me up the ticket and let's get on with it." So he did and that night my husband (who is in charge of taking care of the cars, because I take care of the finances...another story) registered my car online and this morning I paid the damn ticket. Not in my original plan but oh well. Not it is all just a happy memory right! Moving on! Later!

...and on my very first post I have a typo...fabulous.

So I have created a blog. Every one said I should do it and now I have done it. Why did I do it? Why did I call it Plan B? Because I need to write things down that happen, I need to keep some kind of journal. Every time I have tried to write a journal in the past I end up recording everything I ate that day and how fat I feel. "I ate two wheat thins and an orange all day and I gained two pounds!" That's not so much what I want to remember...I'm calling my blog Plan B because I am always on Plan B, or C or D or Y. Have you noticed that not much in life goes according to plan? You have to switch hit almost all day long. Today I have a meeting with a business partner from out of town later this afternoon. At lunch I was squirting some sour cream on my burrito and there was a little hole in the container and sour cream squirted down the from of my top. Nice. I had not planned to wear a dirty shirt to the meeting but...plan B I guess. See how that works? I used to think I had bad luck...now I know it's just the "Plan B effect". It makes me feel happier in my life to look at it that way rather than bad luck. Maybe you relate. If so, feel free to share. Later.