Separately, I rarely have any use for them.

Together? They make me laugh my lips off. (Which I totally needed.)

First Sarah informs Jimmy (via music video) that she's um doing Matt Damon.

Then Jimmy (and Josh Groban and Huey and Cameron and Meatloaf and Pat and Brad and Don and freaking Han Solo) inform Sarah that he's um doing Ben Affleck.

Jimmy explains the origin of the whole gag at the beginning of his video.

Despite the beeps these STILL ain't cool for viewing at work!

Off I go to watch them again....

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:12 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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We got into a time machine this afternoon.

And with a press of a single button, entered my son's teen-aged years.

Riding home from Whole Foods, a rare treat we can no longer afford, CD was explaining that he was going to use some of the kitchen tiles to do a demonstrative speech for one of his classes (he goes to college in his spare time).

I sighed and complained that we just had enough tiles to finish the kitchen.

"I'll buy more," CD assured me. "Some are really cheap, hun."

"Why don't you do a demonstration on what it's like to take care of a sick person?" Bear asked from the back seat. "Like Mommy?"

I looked out the window and tried not to cry. Or scream.

"Uh, Mommy's a lot better these days," CD pointed out.

There was a bit of sarcasm to that first-grader's voice. He's sick of me being sick, and some days hates that it adds a burden to his life.

And Bear's anger is a long-fused thing. It comes out now, when the coast is clear.

And hour later, I realize that when we stopped at the other grocery store on the way home, I forgot to get the common things Bear will eat: ketchup & hamburger.

Over the past year as my disease has run rampant and our money struggles twisted us about, the tiny assortment of foods Bear will eat has shrunk.

Now it is to the point that he will not eat anything I make for him except hamburger. Everything on his diet is pre-made (like yogurt or cereal), restaurant-made (like Orange chicken from Panda Express) or from a box (like macaroni and cheese).

On Fridays, he takes his lunchbox off with him to his 1-day school. And brings it back empty except for anything I've prepared. Goldfish crackers and apple juice digested. Left are untouched sandwiches, uneaten fruit salads.

And tonight, I had no hamburger, and none of the other dinners from his tiny list.

"What's for supper?" he asked.

It was a pasta dish for CD and I. And for him? "A waffle," I said.

He swung around, furious. His voice getting louder and louder until he reached a crescendo: "...and all you have for ME is one lousy waffle?!"

He stormed off to his room and slammed the door.

And I collapsed at the table in tears.

CD didn't know what to do, and stood dumbfounded.

I went after our son and tried to explain the situation.

He threw a pillow at the wall and wouldn't look at me.

And I got so mad suddenly. It surprised me.

"You got a fruit smoothie at Whole Foods," I reminded him. "That cost as much as 2 pounds of hamburger. And picked out a loaf of bread and asked the lady at the counter to slice it! You have a bag of fresh carrots in the fridge and yogurt and applesauce and if that isn't enough, you can try the other meal I'm making tonight!"

Inside, my heart was a little broken. As I created flashcards for tomorrow's homeschool lesson, I stopped and asked my husband - "Should I put him in public school and go back to work full time? Does he need to be away from me and we need the money so much that it's time?"

My husband shrugged, still dumbfounded by the turn the evening had taken.

I know in my heart that Bear has come so far this year, so close to being a real reader and writer. So much more evolved and wonderful in new ways.

But on a night like tonight, man, all bets are off.

Later, we all warped back in time and he was 7 again and we had our peaceable dinner (Him: Mmmm, waffles!).

And as he slept, I crept to his side and perched on his bed. His freshly bathed self snoring and holding on to stuffed panda.

"I love you," I whispered, pushing the hair away from his face.

The fish in his tank raced in circles. I thought about the hole his absence will create some day, when he leaves us to go forge his own path in the world.

I thought about it a long time.

His still small hand grabbed mine, as he sensed I was there in his slumber.

My heart healed a bit. But still, I let go. I had to.

We can't hold on forever.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:29 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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This is the world:

Or, at least the world according to the shower curtain in our bathroom.

Now, by the authority vested in me as a Sharpie-wielding fuzzy-pink-bathrobe wearing BBC-News-watching woman of Earth... (ahem)

We, here at the Big Blue House, would like to formally recognize the world's newest country...Kosovo.

We'd like to say we were first in recognizing their sovereignty, but apparently President Bush did that...uh, and almost ahead of the country itself.

We'd like to apologize for any misspellings. No dishonor intended. We hail the good people.

Thank you for attending. Now, if everyone could step back in the hallway, punch and cookies will be served.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:45 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Last November, I celebrated my birthday by discovering a big huge honking cyst in my brain. It was the straw, as they say, that broke the camel's back.

Which, I suspect, makes me a camel.

But moving right along.

You know how people, they say to you "Everything is gonna be all right?"

That's nice to hear.

It is.

But it doesn't make it so. Wishes? Are not fishes.

However, eventually I have come to a like opinion. Everything is going to be all right.

We dreamed of moving North, of a different lifestyle and of all sorts of firefly-like floaty things.

What we got, instead, is mounting debt - much of it medical - rooted in the same old place and time and a quick slide into what life is like when good health doesn't come back this time. But don't give up, life will surprise you with - like the little flowers that peek up through the snow just when you think there's no color left in the world.

And one thing I know, more than anything else right now - we're not alone. You're not alone. Sometimes a bad day turns into a bad week and bad news begins to feel like a habit you can't break.

But hang on tight to that line, because the wind always changes. The sun always comes back. And the color will once again saturate the world.

Hang on.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 08:44 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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It snowed last night. A lot. Then it started snowing again this morning.

When I took 10-month-old, 55-pound Sara out her crate and told her to go do her business in the backyard, she seemed more than happy to follow my orders.

Until I opened the door. To about a foot of pristine snow.

Dog's pretty tall.

Snow was taller.

She leaped like a frog over to her usual spot. Squatted. Leaped and woofed in surprise.

Snow, I'm assuming, went to a place that snow had never gone before.

She swam like a dolphin through the drifts to another spot. Creamy dog, white snow, more falling. It was like watching a shadow.

Squatted again. Leaped again. Woofed. Again. Turned and gave me the dirtiest expression a dog has ever given a human. EVER.

"Get over it, princess," I told her, shivering in my pink fluffy bathrobe.

She gave me a look that said "No, YOU get over it!"

Roamed a bit more. Like a deranged mouse looking for the way out. At this point covered in a nice frosting of snow, all the way to her chin.

She eventually found a low spot in the drifts, right next to the house. I mean THIS-CLOSE. And, as God as my witness, attempted to do her business while all squished up AND leaning against the outside wall of our house.

DUMB DOG FELL OVER.

Boom! Righted herself, scrambled, tripped over her paws, finally righted herself, have herself a good shake, and looked at me with snow all over her muzzle like the Grinch that stole Christmas.

Gave me a look and whimpered.

Like somehow this was all my fault because I wouldn't let her use our bathroom indoors?

Good heavens. I marched over and informed her in no uncertain terms to get herself busy before I became a human Popsicle.

She heaved a sigh and ran off through the snow, racing in circles, until finally she had MADE a low spot that suited her, um, purposes.

Then trotted over to me, carrying enough snow to make 3 Frosty's and a good armory of snowballs.

"Get in your crate," I told her AND her snow.

She slunk there. Another dirty look.

And? It's STILL snowing!

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:06 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 My very short dog seems to, ummm, enjoy the coolness of snow on his ahem-ahem areas!

Posted by: Angela Klocke at February 06, 2008 02:22 AM (3K99F)

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