Sick

For the second time in my life, I have had to walk away from a movie. Sure, there have been times I've gotten up here at home to fix supper or picked up my book in boredom at whatever pesimst is watching. But tonight I stood up, walked away, and turned on the computer to write this post. The movie is No End in Sight. It's about how badly we fucked up in Iraq.

The part that finally made me leave the room, bawling, was our lack of protection for national sites in Iraq. The fact that we, yes, WE (even though I didn't vote for the guy in the White House, and even though I have been adamantly against the invasion and occupation of Iraq from the moment it was suggested we might go there, I still consider the mess created there to be Ours), allowed the destruction of so much of human history by ignoring the looting and desecration of the Iraq National Museum and in the burning of the national library. Books, people. Books and manuscripts dating back thousands of years. History of so much of human existence. Gone. Ash. Fragments, crushed to powder. It makes me physically ill.

I am so tired of war. I am sick to death of violence and the sight of dead bodies and anger and
hatred. I am worn by the pain of desperation that would lead someone to strap explosives to their chest, walk into a crowded building and die, just to convince an uncaring, faceless nation to remove their troops from the streets. I mean, how much must they have lost to be willing to sacrifice so much more? They're people. They're people just like me, who have grandmothers who are aging and not well, who have mothers and fathers that they worry about, have children and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and cousins and aunts and uncles that they love and wish only the best. And they're watching those relatives and their friends die. They see a city demolished by bombs and abject poverty everywhere. They have jobs that no longer exist because their office or factory or school is a heap of rubble. What do they have left but anger and hatred?

I've said it before: it's hard enough for the human race to survive without trying to kill each other. I just wish everyone realized that and cared for the rest of humanity as they care for themselves and their families. I wish there was an end to war.

And, since I haven't posted pics in a while, here's a quick glimpse of my main reasons for wanting peace. Look at these faces and tell me you don't wish the same:

I loved you first between the sheets...

The title is from a Regina Spektor song, "Samson." This song is mine and Tyrannosaur's. It soothes him, relaxes him, and has some lines that have meanings to us that are not remotely related to the meaning of the song.

But this line, oh, this line!

When my daughter was born, it was passionate adoration from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was my best friend, but even more, the moment she was born. She still is, in spite of being five and full of her own personality and individualism (and in spite of my having to scold her twenty times a day for not listening).

My son, however,well... I loved him before he was born, obviously. I wanted him and was anxious to hold him, see him, kiss him. But, really, I fell in love, the passionate, can't-breathe-without-you kind of love during those night nursings in his early days. Those times, it was just the two of us, and sometimes a cat, were the moments when I learned his face, his smell, the way his fat little cheeks tasted to kiss and snuggle.

And now, when he wakes at night, crying like he's moments away from starving to death, I love to pull him close and smell his warm little head, feel the tickle of his eyelashes on my face, taste his tears when I kiss him. I love the bliss in his relaxation as the milk hits his stomach. I love the way his hand knots in my pajamas or the sheets, trying to pull me closer when there is no closer. I love the way he sighs when he's done, and how he rolls over, making certain to keep at least one leg against me. Night nursings are my favorite, and I'm sad to see them tapering off (granted, the extra sleep is nice, though).

Nights, cuddled together in bed, keep building the closeness between us. The dinosaur and I understand each other. We're still one person, and, I hope, as he grows older and becomes his own mighty person, that our oneness will remain under his skin, in his heart - and mine.

Holy Carp, the Sacred Fish!

So wow! This has (obviously) been a rough week. Last week was surreal. This week, the shock is wearing off, the adjuster has been by and made his estimate, the loonies are knocking on the door, trying to con us into giving them money they don't deserve to do a job they won't complete, etc, etc.

The kids went back to school today. It was kinda cool to have them for a little extra time, but oh. my. word! My house is a pit after chasing them for a week! The baby cut his first tooth this week: Tyrannosaurus is living up to his Dino reputation. Poor guy hurts. He's tired. He's cranky. And the entire county knows about it...

And then, tonight I signed on, just to catch up before I get supper (leftover Chinese carryout, to be specific. Aren't I just the healthy one...). I clicked through my usual blogs and discover, much to my shock, delight and unending bliss, I won!

If you do not read this blog, The Black Breastfeeding Blog, get over there and read it. She is an excellent writer who brings up topics that all supporters of breastfeeding, children, and, indeed, women and their rights in this country and around the world, should know about and discuss. Go! Read! And not just because I won a wrap I've wanted for YEARS! :)

Ice

My yard, August 2007. Notice my gorgeous crepe myrtle.

My yard, yesterday afternoon. Notice my flat crepe myrtle.
The end of my driveway, September 2007. I love my Rose of Sharon bushes. They're COVERED in flowers every spring and summer.

The same view, yesterday evening. I can't find my Rose of Sharon bushes. One of them was gone yesterday morning. The other, if you look carefully, you can see is still partially standing.

My barn, October 2007. Unfortunately I don't have a good picture across my back yard. I call the lowest terrace of my back yard the Fairie Glen. There is a ring of immensly tall (especially for Oklahoma) trees surrounding the most beautiful, peaceful carpet of moss and clover. It's shaded and quiet, full of birdsong and the darting shadows of leaves.

Looking across my back yard to the barn yesterday, early evening. These trees are the guardians of the Fairie Glen. I cried when this picture was taken; I should have saved my tears for the view this morning...

The roof took a pounding - note the limbs over the front door.

Yesterday evening.
The carport took a huge beating. The beams were bowing from the weight of the branches and ice. There was a giant dent where the big tree (that squashed my Rose of Sharons) came down just out of the frame to the left. Notice the tree to the right of the car port. The branch in front is the Sword of Damocles. It drooped lower and lower, right over the line that carries power into the house. It never came all the way down, but it did try to pull out the cable.
The tree by the barn:
The power finally went for a short while, so here's a quick picture of a moment's peace.

And then we woke up this morning. .



Sorry these are so dark. I didn't have the heart to try to take any pictures until this evening. I am in shock. I am thankful that, when it came down, the dog got out from under the car port (he was there to avoid the falling limbs in his yard). I am thankful that no one in my family was hurt or killed, as several people were. I am very, very thankful that we only went without power for a few hours. I am thankful that we all came through this safely. I am also, however, heartbroken by the damage to my home and to the trees that I love so much. The carport and roof can be repaired. The broken window in the back can be easily fixed. Those trees, though, took years to grow into the beauties they were, and they'll never lose the scars from this horrible storm. I wish I could wake up from this nightmare.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Merry Christmas, mother. You owe me.

Tonight I took the family for pictures. Yes, my mother asked for a single family picture from each of the little family units in her family. I could choke her for that, quite merrily, to be honest.

You see, my kids do NOT take pictures. DC doesn't smile in pictures, which is weird since the kid smiles all the time when a camera is not pointed at her. Van doesn't say cheese, he looks like he CUT the cheese. Tyrannosaurus is the easiest to get a decent picture, but it's always iffy, and sometimes he doesn't cooperate. Add to that the fact that I refuse to really smile, until such time as I can afford to get my teeth fixed and pretty, and pesimst hates having his picture taken (he's much more photogenic than he credits, but he's picky and stubborn).

It was not a good experience. The chick taking the pictures was massively click-happy. She wouldn't wait for anyone to get ready, and then she bitched about how bad the pictures were turning out. Then she bitched out my kids. Seriously. Talked to them so rudely, so hatefully. I stepped in front of her and gave her the "Oh, bitch, you did not just say that" look. And she kept going.

"Well, we couldn't get a good picture of you because none of you would smile or do what you were supposed to. If you'd all sat still and smiled before we could take more pictures, but we just have to have that bad one of you because you couldn't do what you were supposed to."

That would be when I blocked her from following my kids into the hall and said "I do NOT appreciate you speaking to my children that way. It is NOT your place to chastise them, scold them or tell them how to behave. I am on the verge of walking out of here right now and calling your superior."

She apologized, but she did not realize what she had done wrong. I bet she still does not have a clue.

I bought the pictures I wanted, mainly so I wouldn't have to go through all of that again. I think I will send an email to the corporate offices, however. NO ONE gets to scold MY children for their own short-comings.

The only people, aside from their parents, who get to say ONE WORD of correction to my children are those people who are helping me raise them, namely, my sisters, my best friend and, occasionally, their grandparents. Why? Because these are all (for the most part, with the occasional exception of the grandparents) people who love my children and will provide guidance, not a lecture in an annoying, patronizing voice. AND, these people who help with my children respect that I am their mother and correct them according to my rules.

Yes, it takes a village. Photo Lady, you are NOT part of my village; you're just an annoying stranger who really, really pissed me off.

At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaast...

November's come around...

I'm so glad Halloween is finally over (note: I wrote "I'm so glad Thanksgiving is finally over." Freudian slip, perhaps?) We trick-or-treated last night. It was horrible.

What has happened to Halloween in this country? I hear over and over and over and over again that it's "Satanic" or "occult." Now I'm perfectly willing to grant that many of the Hallowe'en traditions are, in fact, pagan in origin. Duh. So are many of the traditions of Easter and Christmas, and so are many of the silly things people do, say or think, without wondering what they mean. Do you ever throw salt over your shoulder if it's spilled? Do you say "Bless you" when someone sneezes? Ding ding ding!

But Hallowe'en, specifically, is actually Christian in origin. In their usual fashion, when the Christian (specifically Catholic) church moved into a new area, they tried to either challenge a "local" pagan holiday, or at least not get rid of someone's feast day. Not really a bad idea, really, since who wants to give up a day off work to convert? No, I'm not making any comments here about any religion, denomination or doctrine. I'm just saying it's good politics.

I LIKE Halloween! I MISS Halloween. The candy grab and traffic jam on the streets last night, with half the houses dark and the other half being mobbed until they ran out of candy was NOT Halloween. It was a nightmare. It was crowded and rude and loud and unpleasant. I was afraid that my tiny DC would get trampled in the crowd, or shoved off a curb in front of a car (granted, the cars didn't move much, until someone came out to direct traffic, but still...).

The only bright part of the evening was watching my little girl, who had never been trick-or-treating before (and may never get to go again) run, grinning, up driveways shouting in her tiny little voice "Trick-or Treat!" and run back, grinning even more, occassionally remembering to shout back over her shoulder "Thank you!" That, at least, was really Halloween.

He's a Hop-Hop Tyrannosaurus...

And he's trying really darned hard to hop-hop-hop along! Yesterday, he grabbed the front of the chaise and just stood right up. Then he freaked out and sat down very quickly. Today, he used my shoulder to stand up and then waved one hand around until he bopped my nose and fell over. He MUST slow down this growing up thing! I really wanted a chance to enjoy my last baby before he became a big boy, but Tyrannus had other ideas. Please note the green, laughing stegosaurus in the floor that he is hunting. See, I TOLD you he was a Tyrannosaurus...

And this is what I've been doing. The website still isn't up, but the slings are already starting to sell. Woo and hoo!
And Tyrannosaurus is making lots of friends. Some of them have four feet and tails. I try to stop him from eating the tails.
And here he is, sleepy. With a Great Big Tyrannosaurus on his shirt in honor of National Dinosaur Month (October, that is).