On Little Cat Feet

I vlog'd.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


~ Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

Happy commuting,

Zen

The Naming of Cats

We've inherited a cat.

A kitten actually.

As she was something of an unexpected addition, were a bit at a loss at first for a proper name for our latest refugee.

Our other two cats are Mojo-Jojo - black-as-pitch with a hellish temper and an overdeveloped sense of her own importance, sometimes referred to a Basement Cat - and Mocha - a sweet Siamese mix with a tendency to shed and drool, also known as Ceiling Cat.

This latest feline refugee is something of an in-betweener: She's a sweet and somewhat fearless little ball of fluff - a gray tabby with little white boots to match the tip of her tail.

"Boots" seemed an obvious choice. But as she doesn't show any signs of talent for the long con, we decided against it.

The Professor's first choice was "Sneaky Ninja Kitty" after she affected a daring escape from her carrier right under our noses on her first night home and managed to stay hidden for almost an hour. But that was a bit of a mouthful.

Bam-Bam offered up "Bam-Bam" and "Mr. Potato Head" as possible monikers. But we convinced him that having more than one of each would just get confusing.

After a few more rounds of suggestions from the kids that would have had even Hollywood Moms doing spit-takes, I decided to pull out the big guns. And I sat down to read to the boys Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

Then I had them sleep on all they'd learned about the Naming of Cats. The next day, they made their decision.

And so, I'm pleased to introduce you to Ms. Jennyanydots:

When the day's hustle and bustle is done, then the gumbie cat's work is but hardly begun,

Zen

Where I'm From

I am from science fiction stories and Saturday morning cartoons.

I am from summers that melt and winters that drizzle.

I am from acres of farmland, spring fruit blossoms and fall harvests.

I am from laughing voices raised over classic rock radio in crowded kitchens with kids and pets underfoot; from hand-me-downs and potlucks; camping and fishing; climbing trees and running around barefoot.

I am from mom's patience, dad's temper, brother's humor.

I am from fierceness and freckles.

I am from more-the-merrier and anything-for-family and own-your-choices.

I am from logic and reason, from compassion and kindness, and from just doing the laundry.

I am from the Emerald Isle and the Dust Bowl, pan-fried chicken and homemade biscuits.

I am from hallways lined with photo collages, doorways climbed by faded pencil marks, concrete impregnated with tiny hand prints, cedar chests filled with handmade quilts.

I am from simple homes and strong roots. From extended families and generational gatherings. From births and deaths, celebration and mourning, love and loss - all made better by the sharing. 


Inspired by: Where I'm From and SFD and TwoBusy.

Zen

Better than therapy: Letters I'll never send

Dear Dental Office:

I know I'm OCD, but it's annoying that you force me to confirm my appointment by phone the day before. Um, it's an APPOINTMENT. By DEFINITION, we have both agreed to be there at the appointed time and place. If I can't make it for some reason, I will call and tell you. Because that's what responsible adults DO. Don't make me call just to tell you that I'm NOT breaking the appointment. It's a waste of my time and kind of insulting.

Chronically punctual,
Zen

###

Dear McDonald's:

"Sweet" should not be the default for iced tea. Sugar or sweetener should be an option, not a standard ingredient. But, even if I accept the fact that you make me specify that I DON'T want you to add extra stuff to my drink ... when I clearly and repeatedly make that distinction and you STILL give me sweet tea, it makes me kinda stabby.

Never been accused of being sweet,
Zen

###

Dear Undergarment Industry:

Is a DD-cup sports bra that actually supports without suffocating REALLY so difficult? Really?! I mean, the world is full of engineering marvels, but comfortable full-figured underwear is beyond the reach of modern science? All I want is to be able to run and jump and throw some kicks and punches without giving myself black eyes or cinching myself into a whalebone corset. Is that really too much to ask?

And as long as we're on the subject, can you please 'splain to me why >D sizes cost so much more than A-C? It's - what? - an extra 6 inches of fabric and underwire? I suspect your overhead is not so adversely affected that I should really have to pay half-again to twice as much as the less-endowed ladies. But, if you ARE going to overcharge me, could you at least make the a few more of the pretty ones in full-figure sizes, too? The C cups get a lovely variety of colors and patterns and fabrics to pick from, and the curvy girls get to choose between the exotic options of "white" and "nude" in cotton or polyester? Seriously, bra dudes, not cool.

Desperately Seeking Support Garments,
Zen

###

Dear "Gentlemen" standing around outside the store:

There's a difference between an appreciative glance and a predatory stare. The first might get you a smile. The second is likely to get you a sidekick to the knee if you step any closer.

Just sayin',
Zen

###

Dear iPad auto-correct:

If you don't stop changing "onezenmom" to "obese mom", Ima sit on you.

Just fluffy,
Zen

###

Dear Gods of Potty Training:

Please just tell me what animal you need me to sacrifice to get my now-4-year-old to learn to love the potty. Pleeeeeeeeaaaaassssssee?!?!?! We're going on 7 years of diapers and Pull-Ups and I'm just about at my limit here. I've tried every method and tip and trick in the book, and even made up a few more - no joy.

Ready for some divine intervention,
Zen

Zen's Brain on Drugs: The Rapture Edition!

I'm on cold meds. I hardly ever take cold meds - or, really, almost any kind of meds besides OTC pain relievers. Because they make me all loopy - like light-headed and silly and kinda philosophical and babbly. (Think college freshman after three shots of Tequila.)

On the rare occassions when I DO take meds, I try not operate any heavy machinery - including my blog. Cuz when I do, it usually results in things like this. (Warning, that link is not for the faint of heart.)

But, I've been neglecting the old blog lately, so, I figure a meds-induced babble-fest is better than nothing, right? Hmm. We'll see.

So, compliments of ample parts pseudoephedrine, brompheniramine maleate, dextromethorphan hydrobromide, phenylephrine hydrocholride and probably some other things I can't pronounce - I bring you:

It's the End of the World as we Know It ... Again

Apparently there are people - as in plural ... as in more than one ... as in several, even* - who actually believe they are going to be physically transported to Heaven this Saturday.

Seriously? No. Really. Seriously?!?!

I've been vacillating between "so stupid it's not even worth mentioning" and "What the Flagnar?!" on this all week.

Because, on the one hand, it's too ridiculous to even be worth talking about, right? But, on the other, it kind of makes me LOL - especially when I read things like this:

Christopher Moore: "Hey, the rapture falls on a Saturday! How cool is that. I guess I won't be driving. Not early in the day, anyway. Later in the day, I will probably be driving a really nice car with some fish bumper stickers and shit on it. Give a little time to scrape them off."

But, on another hand (Shut up, I might have three hands. You don't know. I told you I'm on drugs!) ... it also makes me kinda sad. That people are that ... I dunno, desperate, deluded, divorced from reality? ... that they seriously believe not only that their god is going to beam them up to heaven a la Star Trek, but that some random radio personality from Oakland has "cracked the code" (like their god is some kind of hobby cryptographer fucking around with his lab rats by planting random clues about the location of their cheese) and can tell them exactly when it's going to happen. Again. Because, you know, he got it wrong the first time - as did, well, everyone who has ever predicted the end of the world. But, hey, that was a just a math error - could happen to anyone! But this time, he's sure.

Okay, I'm back to "What the Flagnar?!" again.

But I have to seriously wonder: What does a True Believer do on the day after the last day, when the world just keeps on keepin' on? I have to admin, that thought kinda scares me.

See you Sunday,
Zen

* You know what the best part of this particular lil' rant is? If I'm wrong, the people who would could say "I told you so" won't be around to do so.

Nil illegitimi carborundum

So, I created a personal coat of arms.
Because that's the kind of thing Photoshop geeks do for fun.

This is hanging in my office, now. No, seriously. I framed it and everything. 

It's on my wall with a collection of other black-and-white "art", next to this one:

 and this one:

Wanna take bets on how long it will take someone to Google the dog-Latin motto in the middle and I'll have to take it down? ;)

Pax et Lux,

Zen

On context, the importance thereof

One of the guys in my Kenpo class works at a Starbucks just down the street from my office. I stop in there on my way to work at least once a week for my morning coffee and we usually chat for a minute or two about class. It only occurred to me this morning that my conversations with this handsome, 22-year-old classmate might sound a bit ... odd ... to the random bystander:

"So, feeling a little sore this morning?" 

"Oh, not bad. But you really worked me over last night!"

"That was a lot of fun, huh?"

"Oh yeah, you really nailed that one move."

"Sorry if I hurt you."

"No worries. I'll make you pay for it when I get my hands on you tomorrow night!" 

D'oh!

No WONDER that woman in line was staring at us!

Blushing,
Zen

The time has come, the walrus said ...

... to talk of many things.


I can't seem to pull together a full post lately - I'm perpetually moving, constantly distracted, and just ever so slightly mad as a hatter. So, today, you get the following random missives from my mind:

< brain dump >

I'd forgotten how much work puppies are. 

Porthos is actually turning out to be a great dog for our family. He fits in to our lifestyle just right, I think. But potty training a 3 year old and a puppy at the same time can be kind of exhausting. And then there's the chewing (that's the dog, not the 3 year old, for the record). He loves to chew on "squishy things" - from shoes to blankets to toys. (I'm pretty sure I found the kids' missing plastic monkey during our morning walk the other day. They won't be getting that back.) But his favorite thing to chew is anything that shreds into fun little bits, like paper products. Then Mommy gets to come home to confetti. Yay. Still, all is forgiven when he cuddles up on my lap at night and gives me those big puppy dog eyes. He really is a sweetheart.

I <3 Doctor Who.

Thank you BBC and Instant Netflix for letting me watch all of the seasons of this awesome reboot in order, from the beginning. I'm half-way through Season 4. Love, love, love this show.

I've started taking karate classes, Kenpo, to be specific. And I'm loving it.

It started out with The Professor wanting to take karate classes. We found a really nice family run dojo with two great teachers (father and son). After about a month of taking him to the "pee-wee" classes, I thought that it looked like so much fun that I signed up for the adult class. I took a self-defense course about 15 years ago that was based on Eastern martial arts, but, other than that, I'm a total newb at this. And no one has ever accused me of being graceful or athletic. And yet, I am having a blast! It's terrific exercise (as my happily aching muscles can attest), I'm learning interesting and useful new skills, and the classes are really fun! Last night, we played dodgeball in class. Seriously. Total blast! Some days, it feels like on the mat is the only place I can really shut out everything else and just focus on one. thing. at. a. time. I really need that right now.

There's a well-recommended tattoo shop two doors down from my Karate school.

I might have to check it out. I'm jus' sayin'.

I am so not ready for Christmas.

For some reason (probably the same oh-my-gawd-I'm-so-busy-I-can't-focus-on-any-one-thing-for-too-long-or-the-universe-will-collapse feeling I've been marinating in for months now), I am not nearly as organized this Christmas as I usually am. Normally by now, I would have a closet full of presents, even more on the way from cyber-shopping and a geographically organized plan of attack shopping list of all of the presents that still need to be acquired. Instead, I have exactly one present in the closet - a scooter for Bam-Bam. (Shhh, don't tell him.) I don't even know what we're going to get The Professor this year, let alone everyone else on my list. I haven't even put up Christmas decorations at the house. Well, except for one snowman cookie jar that keeps following me around the house. (Long story.) Bah. Humbug. I am the suck at the Christmas thing this year.

But I do have a Christmas gift for you!

I do have one awesome Christmas gift almost ready to go. And it's for YOU! I'm going to be hosting a really great giveaway soon! Stay tuned, yeah? ;)

I am also the suck at the blogs.

In addition to neglecting my own little blogdom here, I know I've been MIA at commenting at most of my blog-buddies' places, too. I just want to let you guys know that I'm still reading! Okay, to be completely honest, I'm mostly skimming. But I'm mostly doing it on my iphone or just squeezing it in between other things. So, I haven't been commenting very much at all. Still love you guys, though. ;)

< / brain dump >

So, what sort of flotsam and jetsam are floating around in your head today? Embrace the randomness and shout it out, yeah?

Distractedly yours,
Zen

Light up my Room

I'm sitting alone in the dark of the pre-dawn hours: Crunching my numbers, stretching my dollars, exercising my patience.

The cold that creeps up from the hardwood floors has numbed my bare toes and prickled my skin. Or maybe it's the unnatural quiet of my sleeping house that inspires my chill.

But the dearth of daylight hours has driven me into the dark, where I'm buried under piles of paperwork; choking on never-ending lists and tasks and bills and chores; drowning under the weight of my own spinning thoughts.

If you sit alone in the dark long enough, you can start to forget what the light feels like.

But the sons will be up soon, dragging the dawn in their wake, bringing back my light.



Post Title: Light up my Room, BNL

Baggage

I have a thing for bags.

And by "thing", I mean "mild addiction".

And by "mild" I mean, "raging out of control".

Okay, I'm a bag-aholic. I'm not proud of it, people. But there it is.

I don't have many "girly" tendencies, but when it comes to bags, I'm like a walking, talking, accessorizing cliche'. I am to bags as Imelda Marcos was to shoes. (Google it. You can thank me later for adding to your historical-cultural education. Now, get offa my lawn.)

Where was I? Oh, yes. My bag-ses. My preciousss bag-ses.

I have a closet full of purses and backpacks and clutches and totes: Black ones and brown ones and red ones and multi-colored ones; Big ones and medium ones and small ones and tiny ones; Summer ones and Fall ones and Winter ones and Spring ones; Beaded ones and sequined ones and fuzzy ones and glow-in-the-dark ones. (But not bedazzled ones. You have the draw the line somewhere.)

And still I buy more.

My favorites are my three (Count 'em: THREE!) different Timbuk2* Messenger Bags, including my carry-it-every-day Eula tote in sexy custom fabric and my sturdy black-and-gray Classic Messenger that I use as a camera bag.

You don't even want to get me started on my two complete sets of luggage, umpteen tote and beach and overnight bags, and my baker's dozen of "this-is-the-last-one-Honey-I-promise" diaper bags. (What? I never said it was easy to be married to me.)

And then there are my shopping bags.

I claim that I have so many reusable shopping bags because I like to be environmentally friendly. But, deep down, I know that I'm really just feeding my bag-ddiction.

At any given time in the storage area of my car you will find:

• 4 big blue totes from Ikea 
• 3 large green totes from Costco 
• 2 little red bags from Target, 
• 1surprisingly roomy Disney "Mickey Tree" tote
• 1 mesh "CSI: Evidence" bag ( I love the looks I get when I whip that one out.)
• 3-5 assorted canvas tote bags

My latest additions to the collection are my new Flip and Tumble bags, which I bought from Amazon. I LOVE them.

Most people who use "green" shopping bags will tell you the number one problem is forgetting to take them into the store with you!

Sure, it's easy to remember them when you're planning a big grocery stock-up trip. But it's harder to have them handy when you're "just running in for one or two things" with a toddler on your right hip, a preschooler tugging at your left hand and your shopping list clenched between your teeth.

But I don't have to "remember" the Flip and Tumble bags at all! They live in my purse! They oh-so-easily roll up like colorful little pill-bugs and fit just nicely in that Timbuk2 tote I mentioned earlier. I carry two or three of them around with me at all times.

When I get to the register, I just pull them out, un-stuff them in seconds and fill them up! At home, I empty them, crumple them back into their built-in stuff sacks and pop them back in my purse. Voila! SO easy.

I find they're usually more than adequate to carry $100+ in purchases. Which might say more about the current buying power of the dollar than the capacity of the bags, I dunno. But, either way, these are the perfect medium-duty "green" bags for me.

I should know, I've tried a lot of bags.

And - heavens help me - I want more.

Checking myself into Bag-Rehab,
Zen


*No, I'm not being compensated in any way by any of these companies. I just happen to really like their products.
  

The rumors of my death ...

... have only been partially exaggerated.

I'm up to my ass in alligators at work, y'all. And not the fun Zydeco-playing kind.

There's no sign of respite in the near future. So, if my blog posts seem few and far between for a while, or a little "light" in other ways, well, now you know why.

Oh, I don't plan to stop posting. Or to take an infamous "blogging break". But I've only a finite reserve of energy at the end of the long days, lately. And, frankly, I'd rather spend that rolling around on the floor with my kids.

Kind of like the cook who always eats take-out or the maid whose house is a mess, the last thing I want to do at the end of a long day of writing for work is to whip out the laptop for more tap-tap-tapping out of my soul into the (virtual) page.

So, if you don't see me 'round much, either here or in your comment boxes, don't take it personally, yeah?

Au revoir,
Zen

In which I am made to sound more interesting than I actually am

One of my favorite Dad Bloggers (heck, one of my favorite bloggers, period), SciFi Dad, has been doing his investigative-journalist impression again. And this time, I was his willing victim.

Read all about it over at Tales from the Dad Side today!

 Comic borrowed with permission from: http://www.xkcd.com/

I'm not an extrovert, but I play one on the interwebs

The ZenHusband and I take turns picking up the 5-year-old Minion from kindergarten. The other day, we were comparing notes and an interesting fact came up:

He has had several complete conversations with many of the other kindergarten parents waiting to pick up their kids.

I've never said so much as a word to any one of them.

That pretty much sums up one of the biggest differences between me and my husband:

He is an extrovert - a bonhomie for whom it is easy and natural to strike up a conversation with darn-near anyone.

And I am the introvert - I'm borderline anti-social when it comes to meeting new people. "Socializing" does not come naturally to me; and most social gatherings are just varying degrees of uncomfortable for me.

So much so that strangers and casual acquaintances have described me as unfriendly and even snobby. I don't think that's accurate. I like to think I'm actually quite a nice person, when you get to know me. :)

But I understand why I come off that way - I don't make it at all easy for people to know me.

Let me clarify here: I'm not shy. I'm introverted - two different things. "Shy" describes someone who avoids social interaction because of nervousness. Shy people want to interact, but they are anxious about it. Introverts are not nervous about social interaction - they just don't enjoy it.

In other words: A shy person is lonely. An introvert is just alone.

For me, there are some exceptions: With friends and close family, I can be very friendly and talkative - it can sometimes be hard to shut me up! At work, I'm never slow to speak up - in fact, formal and informal communication with all kinds of people is a key element of my job. A job that I happen to be pretty good at.

And yet, I'm the last person in the world who would strike up a casual conversation with a stranger. In fact, I'm more likely to be the person striding purposefully, headphones in my ears, avoiding eye contact with passersby.

Random chit-chat with strangers? Casual communication without purpose?

Meh. I'll pass.

I just don't have the inclination for "small talk" - it doesn't interest me. It feels forced and uncomfortable. It drains me. I'd really rather not do it.

That's where the (mis?)perception that I'm a snob comes from, I know. But it's true: If I'm not really motivated to get to know you for some reason, I'm not going to waste my time and energy - or yours - with idle conversation.

And then there's the internet ...

Where I bare my thoughts and ideas and opinions on a regular basis; where I engage perfect strangers in blog comments; where I strike up up random conversations on Twitter; where I trade jokes with Facebook friends.

For an anti-social person, I'm curiously entrenched in social media.

If you only "know" me online, I'd be curious to hear what your perception of my "socialness" is. Because I find it a lot more enjoyable to "talk" to people online than I do in person.

And I'm not sure why that is.

Why is it relatively easily for me to communicate with people online and yet I find personal engagement so uncomfortable? How can I have developed such strong bonds though a computer (and, yes, a few of my online friends have become very good IRL friends, too) ... and yet feel so completely removed from people I see every week - like the parents at my son's school?

Yeah, yeah, I know: It's not an unusual phenomenon. I gather there are many people like me - more comfortable conversing through a computer than face-to-face. There's probably even a name (and maybe even a pill, considering the state of things today) for it.

But, hey, this is my blog, I can naval-gaze if I want to. ;)

Whatever it is, I don't see it changing anytime soon. It seems like the older I get the less inclined I am to stretch outside my comfort zone and make the effort - and yes, for me it takes a great deal of effort - to "socialize" with new people.

And, you know, I'm really okay with that. As much as I love my darling, extroverted husband, I'm just not interested in sliding over to meet him on the extroversion-introversion scale - I'm not broken. I don't need fixing. 

Yes, I'm probably missing out on some interesting people in real life because of my (anti-)social quirks. But I'm pretty happy where I am - even if it is mostly in my own head.

So, I'll leave the socializing to The ZenHusband and he can leave the blogging to me. Maybe eventually he can introduce me to the other kindergarten moms.


What about you? Are you more introverted or extroverted? Is it easier for you to talk to people online then in person? Or am I just a weirdo? :)

Who Needs Sleep? (Well, You're Never Gonna Get It.)

This post brought to you by a rare bout of Phish-induced insomnia. 


Random Sleep-Related Trivia about ZenMom:

• I love my bed. Best thing we ever bought.
  
  
• I rarely have insomnia. Usually, I'm asleep within mere moments of my head hitting the pillow. The exceptions? Well, the big one is nights like tonight when The ZenHusband his gone.
  
  
• Coffee doesn't keep me awake. But stress does. I have a really hard time falling asleep when I've got something unresolved on my mind. I replay past coversations, imagine new ones, think through the steps I need to take, think about the steps that got me there ... I just can't stop the hamster wheel in my brain. Usually, the best cure is to get up and write it all down - get it out of my head and onto paper (or my computer screen).
  
  
• Another thing that helps me fall asleep: Starting at my toes, I tighten and relax my muscles one group at a time, working my way up my body. I'm usually asleep by the time I get to my arms.
  
  
• I can't take "sleep aid" drugs. Eff me up. 
  
  
• I sleep on the left side of the bed. Always. One time, we had to switch sides (long story), and I tossed and turned and barely slept all night.
  
  
• I can't sleep on my back. Can't do it. My favorite position to sleep in is on my left side. Preferably with my right leg thrown across my husband. Or a pillow. Whichever is handy.
  
  
• I don't have adenoids. Bear with me - it's sleep-related, I swear. See, I don't have adenoids because, when I was a young teen, I had sleep apnea. Had my adenoids removed to fix that. (Side note: Only time in my life I've ever fainted was in the doctor's office for my post-op visit. Blood loss. Stood up, took three steps, fell foward. Would've busted my face on the floor if the doctor hadn't caught me.)
  
  
• Side effect of having no adenoids: I don't snore. Except when I have a cold. (Don't believe my husband if he tells you any different.)
  
  
• I hate alarm clock sounds. I much prefer to wake up to music. But not a.m. DJs. They're almost as bad as alarm beep-beep-beeps. No, actually, they're usually worse.
  
  
• I don't dream as much as I used to. Or at least I don't remember them. I used to have vivid, detailed, complex dreams. But, since having kids (sleep-deprivation much?), I seem to dream less frequently and less vividly. I kinda miss them.
  
  
• I can go from dead-asleep to awake-and-functional in about 3 minutes with total recall the next morning. How do I know this? I have two kids under 5. You figure it out. My husband, on the other hand, can get up and stumble through the motions of night-emergencies. But he won't remember a damn thing about them in the morning. Is that weird or is it just me?
  
  
• I need more sleep than my husband. It's just a fact. He has an internal alarm clock that goes off at 6:30 a.m. and he really can't stay in bed past 7:30 a.m. at that absolute latest. I have one of those internal alarm clocks, too. But mine is set for 8 a.m. And I'd sleep 'till 9 a.m. most days, if I had the option.

How about you? Have any weird or unusual or interesting sleep-related habits?
 

Too Darn Hot

I'm a Hot Mama!

The Hot Dads say so. So it must be true. ;)

They even gave me this awesome award to prove it. How cool is that?

I have a well documented soft-spot for Dad Bloggers, so it should come as no surprise that Hot Dads is one of my favorite daily reads.

The Hot Dads represent a really eclectic and fun mix of Dads-who-Blog ... married, divorced, widowed ... younger kids, older kids, younger and older kids ... athletic, outdoorsy, geeky ... blue collar, white collar, no collar. ;)

They always have something fun or interesting to say. And they like me. They really like me!

So why not pop over and check them out? Say Hi. Tell them a new Hot Mama sent you. ;)

Waitin' for my letter from the Harper Valley PTA

My baby - my first born - starts kindergarten tomorrow.

Eeep.

I have all the "normal" feelings of bittersweet excitement and nervousness. And I might write about them after I get over these first-day-of-school jitters.

But, today? Let's talk about me, instead.

Because, you know what? Starting school is WAY more stressful on parents than on the kids.

And because I have a secret fear I need to share with you: I'm afraid of the Other Mothers.

No, really. I'm freaked out about having to socially interact with other moms. So far, in my limited experience, I've found that I'm really not very good at it.

I know this might sound a little weird coming from someone who babbles about her life and thoughts to anyone with an Internet connection, but: I'm an introvert. I do most of my living in my head or in my small select circle of loved ones.

The ZenHusband is - as he is so many ways - my Balance. He's an extrovert - the original never-met-stranger, comfortable-in-any-situation, go-with-the-flow kinda guy. When we're together, his outgoing personality lets me ease into situations and his presence makes it easier for me to be more social, too.

But when it's just me ...

Well, one of my very best friends can tell you that the second time we met - oh so many years ago! - her impression was that I was snobbish and rude - I'm neither, I swear! :) - because I was so stand-offish and unsociable. When, really, I was just shy and uncomfortable and very in-my-own-head that day. Typical.

Fortunately, we got the chance to get to know each other better over time and now she knows what an amazing and wonderful person I really am. ;)

But, yeah, I guess it's safe to say that I don't always make a great first impression in new social groups.

The funny thing is that I can be very outgoing in some specific situations. But, most of the time, I'm reserved, quiet, and more into doing my own thing in my own little world than in "normal" social interaction.

So, yeah, basically, I'm Sybil.

Moving on.

So, how does my situational introversion apply to the Minion starting kindergarten?

Oh, holy hell, people, grade school is a social MINEFIELD for the introverted parent!

Birthday parties, field trips, sports, after-school groups, student performances, room mothers, phone trees ... these things scare the ever-lovin' crap outta me.

Don't get me wrong, I mean, I want the Minions to have school friends and play soccer and take martial arts and learn music and act in their school play and whatever other activities interest them.

I love the idea of "participating" ... but the application intimidates me.

And, from what I've seen so far, some of those Other Mothers really freak me out ...

• I just can't relate to Crafty Carla, who keeps her glue guns and glitter in a shoulder holster and who painstakingly handcrafts personalized Arbor Day cards for every kid in the class ...
• I have nothing in common with Helen Homemaker, who bakes gourmet, organic, non-allergenic cupcakes from scratch for the whole class for little Joey's "half-birthday" ...
• And who wants to try to keep up with Judy Joiner, whose kids are in so many sports and clubs and activities that they need their own personal assistants just to stay on schedule ...
• I can't imagine having anything to say to Academic Annie, whose kid is so much smarter and more talented that yours, but who will be glad to tell you all about her birth-to-5 plan to raise a super genius, even though it's too late for your over-the-hill kindergartner ...
• and don't even get me started on Holy Heather, who can't decide if she wants to "save" my heathen Minions or just have us all burned at the stake at the next church potluck. We have those in spades around here.

Seriously, people:

Do. Not. Want.

*sigh*

Maybe I'll get lucky and meet a Blogging Betsy or a Slacker Suzy and we can snark about the Alpha-Moms over coffee at an Internet cafe while we should be cleaning our houses.

The Scent of a Woman

I don't wear perfume.

Never really have. I don't even like heavily scented soaps or shampoo. In fact, I usually go out of my way to buy "unscented' products of all kinds - from laundry detergent to cleaning products to personal toiletries.

This is mostly because I'm very sensitive to smells of all kinds - some scents can actually trigger a migraine headache for me. (Red onion, for example. Gets me every time. It's weird, I know, but, there it is.)

Plus, when it comes to toiletries, I think the natural smell of a clean, healthy person is preferable to just about anything else.

But I have two exceptions to this rule:

1) The ZenHusband has recently started using Axe soap and deodorant.

Mmmm. You know those commercials where the women are falling all over themselves to get at the guy who's wearing the Axe product? Yeah, I laughed at those, too. I'm not laughing now. That stuff smells awesome. Like, OMG-let's-get-a-sitter-tonight awesome. So, yeah, he'll be getting some more of that in his Christmas stocking this year. :)

2) I do, occasionally, like to indulge in a lightly scented lotion or soap or bubble bath for myself. But I'm picky. I like light, clean smells - I usually stick with a citrus or vanilla base - nothing floral or overly sweet. And it has to be a very mild scent - just a little hint of something extra, not an overwhelming cover up.

Enter the temptation that is Bath and Body Works.

I used to go there all the time, but I hadn't been in ages. Then, this weekend, they sucked me in with their buy-two-get-one-free promotion and $5 specials.

So, I went in thinking I'd get some lotion or bubble bath and left with:

• Coconut Lime Verbena Anti-Bacterial Hand Cream
• Black Rasberry Vanilla Body Lotion
• White Citrus Shower Gel, and
• Sensual Amber Body Lotion

Not sure if I'm going to like that last one. Might be too strong for me. We'll see.

So, I'm looking forward to trying these out. But, sampling the different scents in the shop got me thinking about the amazing power of the sense of smell.

Smell is one of the strongest triggers of memory and emotion. And it seems like everyone has "good" and "bad" triggers. So, I'm always curious about the different types of scents that mean and do different things for different people.

Campfire smoke, chlorine, gunpowder, ocean, coffee, cloves, horses ... these scents all have strong associations for me, meanings and memories beyond simple smells.

Smells can change moods, trigger physical responses, transport us through time. It's an incredibly powerful sense. And we take it so much for granted.

I know someone who actually lost his sense of smell after a head injury. I know. Of all of the senses to lose, that would be the preferred one, right? He jokes that it makes being a father of two boys easier.

But, still. Think about it. No smell of fresh cut grass or impending rain, no barbecue or baby powder, no baking pies or pine trees ... how dull would your life be without the smells - good and bad - we take for granted every day?

###

How about you? Do you have specific scents you prefer for yourself or your significant other? Scents you find appealing? Scents you avoid? Scents that bring back memories or change your mood?

When you're there, I sleep lengthwise. And when you're gone, I sleep diagonal in my bed.

My husband is out of town tonight.

I don't sleep well when he's gone.

Oh, where is the ZenHusband, you ask? He's at a Phish concert at Shoreline with friends. That was half of his birthday present from me. The other half was tickets to Phish's three-day festival in Indio over Halloween weekend.

Why, yes, I am the best wife, ever. Thank you. ;)

So, tonight while The ZenHusband is partying in the parking lot and rockin' it in his awesome floor seats, I will be sleeping diagonal in our bed.

Am I the only one who sleeps poorly when their significant other is gone?

Normally, I'm in bed by 10 or 11 and asleep just moments after my head hits the pillow. I sleep soundly. I dream. I wake rested.

But when I'm alone, I tend to stay up much later than usual - reading or watching TV or playing on the interwebs or the Xbox - because our cozy, comfy bed seems so much less inviting when it's empty.

And I sleep so lightly - waking at the even the smallest sound from the kids room or the street - knowing, even in my sleep, that I'm the only one there to take care of things. I toss and turn like I never do when the other side of the bed is full.

It was a little better when we had a dog.

Our beloved Dalmatian, Patch, passed away last year. But, for the eight-plus years before that, I used to let Patch sleep on the foot of the bed whenever the ZenHusband was out of town. I would tuck my feet under his 90+ pounds of doggy muscle and sleep more soundly.

(Shhh! Don't tell The ZenHusband! He's a no-pets-on-the-bed guy. Patch knew he was never allowed on the bed - unless Daddy was gone. And then he'd hop right up in "his" place as soon as I'd go to the bedroom. Smart boy. Geez, I miss that dog.)

Dogless now, I'm more likely to have a toddler wander in for cuddles in the middle of the night. That's okay, too. Just like Patch, they know that when Daddy's gone, Mommy is more likely to let them stay in her bed for a while.

So, tonight, I will make a "fun" dinner for me and the Minions (I'm thinking Mickey Mouse pancakes), tuck them into their beds by myself, and then stay awake in my unusually quiet house until I am too tired to keep my eyes open anymore.

Then I will finally put on one of The ZenHusband's 5 million t-shirts - maybe this one in keeping with the evening's theme. Then I will cuddle up to one of his pillows in lieu of his warm body, and sleep. Lightly.

In the morning, I'll be tired. I'll run around getting the kids and myself out the door without any help. And I'll drink even more coffee than usual to get through the day.

And I'll be all the more appreciative of my ZenHusband when he finally comes home. :)


What about you? Do you sleep "differently" when you're alone?

*Art Credits:
Rift, Phish
"A Woman Sleeping" by Rembrandt

Just Keep Swimming

Nothing to see here.

I have no amusing anecdotes. No insightful observations. Not even a dirty limerick.

I could offer you a crudely drawn picture of a twister and a cow, compliments of my four-year-old? No?

Well, in that case, might I suggest that you find some witty, moving or interesting blogger to entertain you today - there are several in my sidebar that I'd recommend - 'cuz I got nothin'.

Because the ZenMom is just up to her ass in alligators this week and just can't spare any energy for blogging.

And even if I did have the energy, you wouldn't be interested in reading about the kind of stuff on my mind lately. It's pretty damn boring.

I mean, really, do you want to hear about how my co-workers are systematically trying to drive me insane? (Seriously, if you come to me for direction and then do the exact opposite of what I recommend, how much freakin' sympathy do you think I'm going to have for you when you come back to me holding your cocked-up project in your hand like a kid with a dead bird asking me to "fix it"?)

Or about how we've been fighting an algae infection in my pool that's so bad the kids have started calling it "Shrek's Swamp"?

Or about how the door handle to the kid's room got broken and the door got stuck closed and the ZenHusband finally had to break in through the window and cut the handle off with Skill Saw to get it open?

Or about how my house has been under siege by an army of freakishly intelligent and fiendishly determined black ants all freaking summer?

Or about how I'm desperately looking for a new doctor because I think it is the height of absurdity to have to sit in a waiting room for two freaking hours just to spend 60 seconds with the doctor and then get a script for the same damned meds he gives me every freaking time I've gotten an upper respiratory infection for the last ten years, instead of him just calling the damn thing in every once in a while?

Or about how Minion 1 has suddenly outgrown all of his clothes and started peppering his speech with "dammit" and "freaking" (Yeah, that's all on me. Mom of the Year. Right here, baby.)

Or about how I'm stressing about Minion 1 starting kindergarten next ... OMG - It's only TWO WEEKS away?!?! And I how I'm still trying to get him into the school of my choice and don't yet know how that's going to work out? And might not know for sure until the day before school starts?

Or about how Minion 2 - who is apparently part mountain goat (on his father's side, I presume) - has started climbing up onto everything, including his brother's bunk bed, his clothes dresser, his bookshelf, the dining table, the back of the couch, the bathroom counter, and anything with wheels?

Or about how Minion 2 has decided to stop taking naps, and so by about 6 p.m. every night he's wound up like a rabid squirrel? On speed. In a race car. Inside of a tornado.

Or about how both of the Minions seem to have decided this week that dinner should be optional unless Mom and Dad serve as their personal short-order cooks? (Which, for the record, ain't gonna happen, folks.)

Or about how every time I sit down to write, some great catastrophe occurs - like a broken toy or a bruised knee or the ubiquitous cry of "Noooo, I had it fiiiiirst! Mommmmmmyyyyyyy!"

No? Not interested in any of that? Didn't think so.

Move along, then.

Come back next week and I shall endeavor to be witty and charming.

If you brought some wine back with you, that might help.

Who I Am

My blog has identity issues.

I mean, "What's your blog about?" should probably have a more interesting answer than, "I dunno. Stuff I like. Or don't like. Or think about. Or do."

Yeah. Not exactly riveting, eh? Or specific.

So: What is my blog about? Me? Okay ... Who am I?

• I'm a Mom-Who-Blogs. But I don't think I fit the MommyBlogger profile.
• I have moments when I think I'm funny. But I don't think anyone is ever going to mistake this for a Humor Blog.
• I sometimes mention my work, but this is definitely not a professional blog.
• I like to talk about books and quotes. But this isn't really a Book Blog.
• I sometimes comment on current events. But this isn't a political blog.
• I like to share my love of all things geeky pop-culture. But not (I think) in an obsessive sort of way.
• Some of what I write is probably pretty boring to some people, but I would hope that is not a blog-defining characteristic. :)

Ironically, in my super-secret alter-ego, I'm a public relations professional. My job is all about defining my goal ... identifying my audience ... directing my message .. targeting my communications.

But, here ... in my blog ... I don't have to do that. It's not so much that I'm missing my target as that I've just declined to identify one. As a marketing plan, that's a great big FAIL.

But that's just it. This blog isn't a job. And I don't want it to be. If I start "marketing" my blog ... trying to make it fit some niche definition ... well, that kind of defeats the purpose for me.

I love it when new people find my blog and have something to say about it. I think it's fun "meeting" people, getting feedback, engaging in conversation ... but that's not what drives me. That's not why I'm here. That's not "Who I Am".

Who I Am ... is a writer.

I write because I have to. Because I love to. Because I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't.

I'm lucky enough to get paid to do what I love, but that's not enough.

Don't get me wrong, I love the writing I get paid for. I really do. But, that writing is ... limited. Defined. Bound. Here, I have no restrictions. No rules. This is where I come to write about whatever happens to be on my mind.

I write about what inspires me, confuses me, amuses me, frustrates me, excites me.

I write about what I know, what I think, what I want, what I feel.

I write about what I love.

I write ...

Because I don't know how not to.


And that is Who I Am.