JezeWhiz

I miss you.

2009-01-08T07:11:00.002-06:00

Will you come by and see me here? Maybe add my new place to your reader? I mean, if you want to. You don't have to. But I hope you will.

Here's one of Al's favorite birthday presents.

His name is Yellow.

The Other Side

2008-12-28T07:00:00.004-06:00

I'm coming out.

But not here.

I've come to a place where I am OK with being heard. I'm OK with sharing my stories with people who know me. So, I'm putting my name out there, and I'm attaching it to the things I write. It's frightening, but freeing.

So, why not just make this site public, you ask? I would have to do a whole lot of censoring to make this one palatable to my friends and family. I'm not willing to do that. Nor will I let this site die. I'm sure I'll need to come here from time to time for some anonymous quality time.

Thank you. Thank you for listening to me and not making me feel like a lunatic/monster/horrible mother/complete imbecile as I muddled through the first few years of motherhood. Becoming Al's mother was (is) the hardest thing I've ever done, and the difficulty blindsided me. Thank you for being there to say, "yep, floundering over here, too." That right there means the world.

Thank you for sharing your life with me. You are my friends. When I talk about you to my family, I say, "my friend in Seattle," or "my friend in New York," or "my friend in Brooklyn," or "my friend in Colorado" or "my friend in Cali," or "my friends in Canada." Because you are that. My friends.

I hope you'll come with me. You'll find me easily enough by Googling my first and last name. My real first and last name (seriously, what mother would name her daughter Jezer? Thankfully, not mine). If you don't know my real name, email me or leave a comment with your email address, and I'll send you the link.

Updates to Jezewhiz will be scarce (like that's something new--HA!) from here on out.

See you on the flip side.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T15:59:00.002-06:00

Yes, I know it's a little late in the day to just now be wishing you a Merry Christmas, but you know how it is...too much food, too much Santa, too much lying around on the couch. The kid got a kick out of Santa, and the Mr. and I got a kick out of him getting a kick out of Santa.

May today and the rest of your holiday season be full of peace and fun and family.

It's just not a proper Christmas tree without a 'Mater ornament, dontcha know?

If My Dog Had Died, I Could Write a Country-Western Song

2008-12-15T18:57:00.005-06:00

Since my last post, the following have taken place:

1) Alex sustained a bad--well, bad enough to cause great worry and to necessitate the use of a well-stocked first aid kit but not quite bad enough to rush to a hospital for stitches--cut on his left thumb. While we were on a post-Thanksgiving camping trip with friends and family, the Mr. was readying his mountain bike for a cycle through the trails. The bike was upside-down, and while the wheels were spinning, Alex reached out and touched the saw-like gear. When he snatched his hand back, blood began to pour. Man, a little thumb can bleed, y'all. That first aid kit that I almost didn't bother to pack came in pretty handy. Those few seconds put a big damper on our fun, but I realize that it could have been so much worse. The thumb has almost healed up now, but that one's gonna leave a mark.

2) The Mr.'s mother's home that she had moved into two weeks ago burned to the ground last Wednesday morning. She escaped with her nightclothes and a coat. Dude, I'm not even kidding. Our local Red Cross and our friends and coworkers and family members rock. It's been traumatic and exhausting, but she was fortunate. That, too, could have turned out horribly different.

3) For the first time ever, the Mr.'s work has slowed down enough that he's had a few days at home. It's killing him. I'm fine, though. It's funny--for years, I worried about the stability of his line of work, and now that my fears have been realized, I'm not all that anxious. We're prepared, and it's not permanent, I keep telling us both. I've got a stable job with insurance coverage for all of us, we've got Christmas pretty much bought, and we can pay the bills. Again, it could be much, much worse.

So, I guess that's my theme for this holiday season: Things Could Be Worse (So Quit Yer Whining).

(Not YOUR whining, MY whining.)

Thankful

2008-11-27T09:28:00.002-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving, all. I've got a turkey roasting and floors to mop before Alex's Grandmama and GrandDaddy show up, so I suppose I should begin by saying that I'm thankful for the almighty bullet. Here are some more things I'm thankful for:

The Mr. and Al, their health and well-being.
My health and well-being.
My job, which allows me the opportunity to truly make a difference in other people's lives, while giving me income and time to spend with my family.
The Mr.'s work, which has remained steady and productive, even in a shaky economic environment.
Alex's preschool and the nurturing early education that it provides.
My church, and the freedom to go there openly without fear or prosecution.
That we have our home, warm clothing, a comfy bed, enough to eat, and the means with which to pay for these things.
That we live in a place where clean water and electricity are readily available.
Cornbread dressing.
You.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you in the U. S., and to my Canadian friends, happy fourth Thursday in November.

Blop 'til you Drop OUT.

2008-11-25T12:41:00.003-06:00

So I missed the last 3 days of Nablopomo and that brings my total to 5 missed days. I guess that's decent, considering that it had been months since I'd last maintained a regular posting schedule. You win some, you lose some.

I'm off to take some pictures of some kids for a friend of mine. I'm a little nervous about it, but I've got all my equipment packed up, batteries charged and a 4G card loaded into the trusty ol' Rebel. Here goes nothing.

I did some bridal portraits on Sunday that I can't wait to show you, but I'm just now about 1/2 way through the editing process.

One more day.

2008-11-20T20:22:00.002-06:00

My boss busted me trying to sneak out of work early today. I'm a boss-pleaser, so you can imagine the awkwardness. Of course, you know that means that Alex will have a particularly cranky morning tomorrow and I'll be late arriving to work.

Tomorrow is our last day before a week-long Thanksgiving break, so hopefully my boss will forget all about my lapse in workplace perfection over a long and restful holiday. And before you get all "well it must be NICE" on me, understand that my coworkers and I had to sacrifice part of our summer to earn a full week off for Thanksgiving. And also, we just stinkin' deserve a break.

During the last month, and especially this week, all of the professional staff at my school have been under a crazy amount of stress. Let me just go on the record and say this right now: If your children attend public school (and this may go for private schools, too), please be especially sweet to your children's teachers during the month of November. November just plain stinks. It's the month when yes, the teachers and students have settled into a routine and instruction has been in full swing for a while. But also, this is the month when monitoring and accountability and documentation deadlines peak for the first time. By the way, "monitoring" means that there are multiple observers on campus and in the classrooms. The pressure to be "on" at all times is heavy. There is no "independent practice" time when students work on their own. There is only active instruction, active engagement, and active learning. I don't think a lot of laypeople realize that this is how (good) schools operate.

It is true that in some ways (i.e. 10 weeks of June through the first of August) teaching is a pretty cushy gig. But believe me, while teachers get ample time off, they are working their little patooties off while school is in session. This time of year, it is not unusual to find many teachers putting in 12-hour days.

All of that is to say that I'm pooped. My coworkers are pooped. Our bosses are pooped. Just get us through tomorrow, and I'll be wallowing in holiday crafts and turkey and home projects and sleep, glorious sleep for 9 whole days.

A Sad Story

2008-11-19T19:35:00.002-06:00

13 years ago, I had finally ended a doomed-from-the-start marriage. I was 25 years old and teaching kindergarten at the school where I still work. During that time, many of my coworkers reached out and became a surrogate family to a lost girl who was trying to become a grown-up. They listened, counseled, and encouraged me. Two women in particular became the closest friends I had ever had.

Jennifer was a few years older than me. She taught 1st grade in a portable classroom catty-cornered from mine. One afternoon when I got home from work, there was a message on my answering machine from her: "Hey girl, I hear you're going through a rough patch, and I never get the chance to talk to you at work. I've been there. Call me, and let's go out for drinks." We did go out for drinks the next Friday night, and thus began a Friday night tradition that would last another seven years.

Cathy, another teacher friend of ours, joined our Friday evening wind-downs soon after they began. We even allowed Cathy's husband to join us periodically because he was great for laughs and he turned out to be a pretty good counselor (and goodness knows, at least one of us needed some counseling every week).

Quickly, the three of us girls began to extend our gatherings to afternoon movies and weeknight dinners and impromptu girls' nights out. We were each others' confidantes, sisters, and lifelines. Strangely enough, the threesome never felt crowded. Sure, there were a few times that two of us would go out on our own when the third was busy, but there was little friction between us.

We laughed together, we traveled together, we celebrated holidays together. We had all been christened by Cathy's husband with the same nickname--"Punkin'." For seven years, we nursed each other through break-ups, tumors, a hysterectomy, family crises, and illnesses. Without them, I'm not sure that I could have survived one of the most painful periods of my life. When my fiance broke our engagement, it was Jennifer that I called. It was her bed that I slept in that night. When I became a Catholic, it was Cathy who stood behind me with her hand on my shoulder as the priest anointed me.

I never could have imagined that my best friends would never see me finally walk down the aisle toward a "real" marriage, nor lay eyes upon my son.

But they didn't, and they haven't.

Some things happened, and in all honesty, I can't tell you exactly what those "things" were. I know that they centered around some not-so-healthy decisions on my part, and some hurtful words and actions on all of our parts. I never thought that our friendship would be so fragile that it would crumble under the pressures of (what now seem) petty conflicts.

But it did.

I haven't spoken to Jennifer in five, maybe six years. After a couple of years of silence, I do see and speak to Cathy every now and again, but I don't think we'll ever be close again.

I miss that friendship. I miss those friends.

I miss them.

The Ring

2008-11-18T20:54:00.003-06:00

Didn't I just write something here already today? No? That was yesterday? And now it's today? ALREADY?

OK, fine. Here's a story for you.

When I was seventeen years old, my mother gave me her engagement ring that my dad had given her some 25 years prior. My parents were freshly divorced, and that ring held bittersweet (but mostly bitter) emotional triggers for my mom. For many years, the ring had rested in my mother's jewelry box, naked of the diamond that had gone missing in the 70s. That diamond had never been replaced, and I'm not exactly sure why not. As a child, I often sneaked into my mother's bedroom and quietly lifted the ring from the red velvet padding of her jewelry box, and imagining that a glistening jewel sat in that empty Tiffany setting, I'd slip it onto my finger.

Years later, on my 17th birthday, Mom presented me with a little wrapped box. Inside was the ring that I had loved for so many years, and where an empty setting once stood vacant, an aquamarine--my birthstone--shimmered. The ring instantly became my most beloved possession.

About a year later, it disappeared. We were living in a rent house during my last summer at home before college. I looked everywhere, but I could not find that ring. I was frustrated and sad and most of all, ashamed that I had been so careless that I could lose something so precious. While I packed up to move away to college, I looked under every box and book and in every drawer and cabinet. Nothing. I never told my mom. I couldn't.

Once I was away at the university, I still mourned for the ring. I combed through my memory trying to remember where or when I had lost it. I could only think of one scenario, that maybe I had knocked it into the sink with a towel while I ran my shower and it had fallen into the drain. As a last resort, I wrote a letter to the owner of the house, and I asked her to please--if she had the time--to please take a look in that bathroom u-joint. My mother and brother had moved from that house to another, and I asked the landlady to not mention the ring to my mother. She wrote back to tell me that she had looked, but had not found anything.

I finally stopped thinking about the ring, and I went on with college life. The holidays rolled around, and I spent those weeks back at home with my mom and brother and friends and family. On Christmas Eve, we gathered to open presents, and my mother handed me a small box with a card attached. She instructed me to read the card first. In her familiar scrawl was written, "I know this will never replace the original, but I hope it will always remind you of how much I love you."

In the box was a ring. It was a simple gold ring with just one stone--my birthstone. She had known all along, and her knowledge had been confirmed when our old landlady called her about my letter.

That was almost 20 years ago. I don't wear the ring much anymore--mostly just when I need a little extra comfort or courage or luck. It is usually nestled safely on my ring stand, reminding me of my mother's love and thoughtfulness. I still have no idea what happened to the first ring, and maybe it's just as well that it disappeared, because its replacement means the world to me.

Glutton

2008-11-17T18:37:00.002-06:00

This weekend, I did some of my Thanksgiving grocery shopping before the aisles became too crowded and picked-over. I scored a turkey, some canned goods, and a few dry goods to stash away until next week. I'll have to return for a few fresh ingredients closer to the official holiday, but I'm almost certain that I have most of the important items. The menu has been decided, and I can tell you that pretty much every little morsel of our Thanksgiving dinner will be swimming in cream and/or butter. 'Cause that's how we do Thanksgiving, don't you?

And so today, of course I decided to change over from Flex to Core on Weight Watchers. I'm sick of tracking, and I figure that if I can just eat from a set (and surprisingly long) list of foods without having to journal every stinkin' bite I take, I'll have an easier time getting back on the Eatin' Right Wagon.

Just imagine my sadness when I checked that Core foods list and found no butter nor cream nor
marshmallow-laden ambrosia salad anywhere.

Those foods must be on a page that didn't print when I downloaded the list this morning. I'm guessing that the chocolate cake I had at our afternoon meeting today is on that same page.

Oopsie.

2008-11-16T20:14:00.005-06:00

So, I didn't post this weekend. Hey, it's not as bad as going a whole 'nother month without a word, right?

I really have no excuse. Plenty of reasons, but no excuses.

Here, have some photos. Aren't they worth more anyway?

Six of Six

2008-11-14T20:14:00.003-06:00

My girl, Katie, tagged me for a meme right smack dab in the middle of November. Now that is a BFF--one who knows I'm scrapin' the bottom of the barrel in terms of blog fodder just 2 weeks into the blop.

Here are the rules:

Go to your Sixth Picture Folder then pick your Sixth Picture.
Pray that you remember the details.
Tag 5 others.

Most of my older photos that I'm not still tweaking or planning to upload onto a sharing/backup site are organized all neat-like in alphabetized folders. My 6th folder is entitled "Beaumont-Port Arthur." Here's the story:

My mother-in-law moves around a lot. As in, once every 6 months or so. She's changes jobs about that often, too. While that kind of life would drive me to (more!) medication, it's the life that she chooses. Two and a half years ago, she was living near Port Arthur. It was a summer weekend, and for some reason, my husband and his siblings (and all the rest of us, including 6-month-old Alex) had decided to drive down for a visit. While we were there, we decided to go sightseeing--well, as much sight-seeing as Port Arthur allows.

We arrived a the Museum of the Gulf Coast about an hour before closing. That was just about the right amount of time for 5 boys under the age of 7 to see some fossils and baseball jerseys and grow tired of being indoors.

From there, we headed down to the levee to watch the shrimp boats come and go. I snapped photos while the Mr. (carrying Al) walked alongside our then-7-year-old nephew, Ben. Among the rocks, Ben spotted a crab. He named him "Crabby." Actually, I don't remember his naming the crab, but the name of the 6th photo in the Beaumont-Port Arthur folder is "Crabby," so it must have been his name, right?

OK, fine, so that story stinks. Too bad the rule wasn't to choose the 7th photo of the 6th folder, because that one was of a used syringe wedged between the rocks in the levee.

Feet First

2008-11-13T18:19:00.003-06:00

I spent most of today thinking about taking pictures. I daydreamed a little about the day when I'll score real paying projects. I spent half the day boring my work partner to tears talking about--you guessed it--taking pictures.

This afternoon, I received a message from an acquaintance who had seen some shots from Kat & Rod's session. "Will you take pics of my boys for our Christmas cards?" she asked.

I froze.

I'm not ready.

I'm not good enough.

I'll wreck their Christmas cards.

I told the Mr. about the message and about my initial feelings.

"Then what are you doing this for?" he challenged.

He's right.

I'm going to tell her yes--of course, with a big ol' disclaimer about how I'm not really a professional and how I'm still learning and I'll do my best, and thank you, thank you for trusting me and yes.

More of Kat & Rod

2008-11-12T21:00:00.003-06:00

Here are some more shots from my first semi-real engagement photo session. Kat and Rod were absolutely the most patient, understanding, and kind guinea pigs I could have ever hoped for. I feel incredibly fortunate that they were willing to let me learn on them. And believe me, I learned a lot. Such, as USE A TRIPOD WHEN THE SUN BEGINS TO SET, genius! We probably would have had another ten great shots if I'd just taken the time to set up a tripod.

I'll be taking photos of just Kat in her wedding gown in a few weeks. We've both got some fun ideas for that. Her only request is that they are "not cookie-cutter." They won't be.

See more here.

Really Bad Shoes

2008-11-11T21:59:00.004-06:00

In parenting, I try to pick my battles, really I do. And I'm getting better at it. No, I won't let the kid go to preschool with bedhead, nor will I easily give in to weather-inappropriate clothing. But most times, I'm pretty easy going. I've let the boy wear his cowboy boots with shorts to the grocery store, and I've even allowed him to continue wearing a shirt that was filthy, just because it had Thomas the Train on it and he "yuvs" Thomas.

But some things just bother the heck out of me--mostly kiddie-specific styles. Overalls, rompers, cartoon character tees, and especially shoes adorned with the likenesses of commercially licensed characters or cutesy designs. The kid loves Cars, but he won't be wearing those Lightning McQueen sneakers with the mock wheels on the sides. No, sirree.

Al's current pair of Nikes has been showing signs of wear for a few weeks now. When part of the upper began to pull away from the rest of the shoe, I knew it was time to get baby a new pair of shoes. After school today, Al and the Mr. and I headed to the mall to buy another pair of sneakers.

We went into every shoe store and found nothing we liked. Finally, I suggested we try one of the larger department stores, and sure enough--there was an adorable pair of lace-up sneakers in a modern gray-yellow color combo. They were of a style that I would choose for the Mr. or for myself to wear with jeans or shorts or sweats. They were very spiffy.

I asked the salesgirl for those sneakers in a size 8, and while she was in the back looking for them, something else caught Al's eye. There was a pair of shoes with a police motif. "Ambulance shoes!" he squealed.

"Yes, they're police shoes. Look at these (handing a gray sneaker to him), they're great, aren't they?"

"No," handing the shoe back to me. "My like these."

Just then, the salesgirl came back with the news that she did not have a size 8 in the gray sneakers.

"That's too bad. They're really cute." I began to coax Al from the shoe display, but there was no leaving the police shoes. Just then, Al picked up one of the police shoes, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if lights didn't start dancing around the toes and strap of that blasted shoe. Light-up police shoes. Just what I had not set out to buy.

"My need these. We got take them to my house."

As Al lovingly cradled that stupid light-up shoe, the Mr. and I had a conference.

"He won't be wearing shorts for a while. They'll mostly be covered by his pants."
"And he's never just had to have a pair of shoes before. He's in love with them."
"They're not all that bad, I guess."
"Oh, yes, they are."

"Ma'am, do you have these in a size 8?"

Of course she did.

And that is how we came to purchase a pair of light-up police sneakers. And it is also how I decided that never again will we take the kid shoe shopping.

I dare not even try to pass this one off as a real entry.

2008-11-10T21:56:00.004-06:00

Here it is, 10pm, and I've not posted one lil' ol' word today. What to do? Well, here's what I'll do--I'll go through all my photo archives and select a handful of random and irrelevant photos, throw those babies up in a post and call it a day in November.

Love me tendar?

Have you ever attended a mud bog? Basically, people (and really, I use that term loosely) bring their 4-wheel-drive vehicles to a big pit of mud, drink some beer, and see who can drive from one end of the pit to the other. By marrying a Louisiana boy, I automatically earned a lifetime pass to the Zwolle Tamale Fiesta Mud Bog. Boy, was I excited when I learned that.

This boy loves a parade. Did you know that in some parts down South, beads are not just for Mardi Gras?

This is one of my favorite photos. I'm not sure why--it just makes me happy.

Not My Day Job

2008-11-09T18:33:00.003-06:00

My beautiful and sweet and patient and BRAVE friends, Kat and Rod, allowed me to take their engagement photos. I'm trying to build a portfolio, and since Kat happens to be the most photogenic human being I've ever met, I thought they'd be a great couple to snap. They were. We had a hilariously fun day. I'll post more as I manage to process my way through them.

And here's a question for you: Would it be entirely inappropriate to use GnR's "Welcome to the Jungle" as the soundtrack for my son's 3rd Birthday montage?

I want to be a Mac.

2008-11-08T18:01:00.004-06:00

My desktop machine is running like molasses, the Mr. fought a bunch of Trojans on his computer last night, and the fact that Photoshop has "failed catastrophically" (oh yes, that's what the screen did say) on the night before my first real photo shoot is just perfect.

Thank goodness I actually remembered where I put the installation software. Thank goodness we are a multi-computer family and I can access the interweb on another machine while Adobe attempts to wade through the muck and reinstall itself on a tired old hp. Thank goodness that only one computer on the network appears to have been sick and is now cured.

Wish me luck as I go out and act like I have an idea about what I'm doing with my camera tomorrow.

Random

2008-11-07T05:19:00.004-06:00

I'm going to stop numbering November's posts, because I suspect that the daily numeration might get just a tad annoying.

We are a Nielsen family. For the second year in a row. If memory serves, we completed our TV diaries during this same exact week last year.

How we were selected two years in a row, I'm not sure. But I think it might have something to do with our atypical viewing habits. We don't watch much television--yesterday we only logged one scant hour of viewing time--and our selections are varied. Very varied. And based on what I can remember of college statistics, I figure Nielsen needs a few not-so-mainstream households to add to the randomness. Because if nothing else, we are random.

Except for Higglytown Heroes, a.k.a., "Wayne." That program is viewed at least once a day.

Six: Whole Wheat Pumpkin Muffins

2008-11-06T06:00:00.001-06:00

I don't have nearly as much time to concoct recipes as I did this summer, but one thing I can do is fiddle with old ones. Here's a whole wheat pumpkin muffin recipe that has evolved over time from its oil-heavy, white flour origins. All three of us love these, and within a couple of days, the entire batch will be gobbled up. That's OK, because they're actually not too bad for us. Beats a Twinkie, right? (Don't answer that.)

Whole Wheat Pumpkin Muffins
3 cups whole wheat flour
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cloves
2-3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups canned pumpkin puree
2/3 cup vegetable oil (canola and olive are healthy choices)
3 eggs

1 cup raisins or or nuts (or both!) would be a great addition to these. Also, if I have only one can of pumpkin (15oz), I make up the difference with unsweetened applesauce. Feel free to play around--muffins are very forgiving.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Line muffin cups. The last time I made this recipe, I filled 48 mini cups and 6 regular muffin cups.

In a large bowl, combine pumpkin, oil, and eggs (and applesauce, if you're a little short on pumpkin). In a separate bowl, stir together dry ingredients (flour, baking soda, baking powder, spices, salt).

Stir flour mixture into pumpkin mixture until smooth. Spoon batter into prepared muffin cups.

Bake 13-17 minutes for mini muffins, or 20-25 minutes for regular muffins, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Five: Gratitude

2008-11-05T05:11:00.003-06:00

Earlier this week, I read November Gratitude in a post that Isabel shared. (Quick confession: I still haven't taken the time to figure out how to share from Google Reader. By the end of the month, I'll do it. Pinky swear.) The concept is simple, yet powerful, and I think it's high time I traded some of my attitude for gratitude. Now, don't misunderstand--I will not be getting my gratitude on every day this month, but I think it would be a good exercise for me to try to punctuate my whining and rambling with a little thankfulness. Baby steps, right?

Today, I have plenty to be thankful for: My family, their health, our happiness. I'm thankful that today I live in a nation that has collectively decided to stop being so cynical and selfish. But most of all, right at this very moment, I am grateful for this:

While we were out of town this weekend, my only lamentation was that of a lack of anything resembling good coffee. The best thing about going home was knowing that my beloved espresso maker and really big mug would be waiting to greet me the next morning.

(Wait. Was that complaining? I didn't mean to--really I didn't!)

Four: Choices

2008-11-04T19:07:00.006-06:00

Al and I arrived at our polling place right at 7am this morning, and we only had to stand in line for about 20 minutes. I estimated that 9 out of 10 people in line with me would be casting their votes for the other guy, but that wasn't what really mattered this morning. What mattered was that we had all gotten up at dawn to stand in line together because we care. We care about the future of our country and our community.

I was glad that Al was with me. He probably won't remember standing at the kiosk demanding, "That one! Do that one!" but I hope that through the years, he learns the importance of showing up and voting.

In unrelated news (or is it?) Al shows absolutely NO interest in potty-training. N. O. N. E. I keep hearing that it is futile to try to push the issue before he's ready, and while we often encourage and suggest and offer rewards of cash money, we've never really pushed him to use a toilet. But man, am I sick to death of diapers. Anyone else out there with an almost-3-year-old that is just not into using the potty? Any encouraging stories about how a 3-year-old just magically traded Pampers for porcelain? Or am I going to have to actually do something about this?

Three: All-American

2008-11-03T18:15:00.005-06:00

I don't usually vote early, because I actually enjoy the hubbub and energy surrounding an official election day. Last election, I was childless and carefree, and I merely marched myself up to the polling place and cheerfully stood in line to cast my ballot after work that day.

This year, not so much on the childless and carefree part. I have a choice--either a) go stand in line to vote after work before I pick up Al from daycare (and miss my only opportunity to go for a run), or b) get myself and Al up early to arrive at our polling place at 6:50am before the doors open and (hopefully) before a long line has formed.

I'm leaning toward option b. At least if that plan is a bust, I can fall back on trying to go after work.

Now I see the beauty of early voting.

And if taking my boy to accompany me in the voting kiosk won't make me feel all proud and apple-pie American (pronounced correctly, thankyouverymuch), then I know this will:

If our TV diary has any influence at all, Higglytown Heroes is safe.

Day 2: Two more days.

2008-11-02T06:29:00.003-06:00

I wish I were more eloquent when speaking. But the truth is, I suck at talking. Especially when I need to defend a position. Four years ago, I voted for a candidate that I didn't believe in. I voted for him because people I trusted--family members, mostly--convinced me that he was the candidate that we needed. I didn't particularly love the other guy, but I've been pretty disgusted with myself ever since that election.

That uninformed vote was all my fault. I do not in any way blame my well-intentioned loved ones for leading me to vote against my instincts. I just hadn't taken the time to educate myself enough to make a decision that I truly believed in. Had I read more and followed up on claims made through campaign ads and the mouths of my trusted ones, would I have voted differently? I don't know. But I will always regret the ballot that I cast in 2004.

This time is different. This time I've read like a madwoman. I admit that I didn't watch one single debate, though, because those things make me nervous. In fact, any kind of conflict or argument makes me uncomfortable, thus my ineptitude in political discussions.

And thus the moratorium on all political discussions in my home. Mostly because my lack of verbal skills leads me to anger and really, really stupid accusations--I called my husband closed-minded and racist the other day--NOT a good thing for marriage, you now. Living in a house divided isn't easy, especially when you're the only "traitor" sitting at the table. I will most certainly be the only person at today's family get-together who has drifted from the conservative ranks of ranchers and entrepreneurs.

"You're such a bleeding heart," they say. Yes, I am.
"You want to give up more of your paycheck so the government can give it away?" If it will help one mom, one child, one poor soul who is down. Yes. Please.
"He's a loose cannon." And your guy's NOT?

Sure, there are characteristics that I don't love about either candidate. There are issues that I absolutely hate. But when it comes down to what's important to me, I know I want a leader who won't support a voucher system that destroys already-struggling public schools, a leader who will promote--not cut--health benefits for children, a leader who doesn't have a history of degrading women.

I am the black sheep of my family. I am the lone blue dot in a sea of red.

And I am fine with that.

Blop 'til You Drop: Day 1

2008-11-01T22:22:00.003-05:00

Ok, fine, so I'll give it a go.

We're in a hotel tonight--man, I love me a good hotel. This one is new and clean and has a flat screen TV on which the boys are playing XBox. The wireless internet connection actually works and the air conditioner (in November, I know!) blows cold. Life is good.

We're here secretly, though. My grandmother's 98th birthday bash is tomorrow, and while the offer to stay in my uncle's guest bedroom tonight was very sweet and generous, we need some nuclear family down-time. Time to lie around in our skivvies and write jibberish and play video games without the small talk and modesty that hospitality--even family hospitality--commands. The Mr. and I work a lot. Maybe too much. Ok, definitely too much. I've been craving this hotel stay with my bag of new skin care and spa-ish products and my two guys and the laptop. It's the little things, you know.

So instead of fielding protests and insistence that we stay with family down the road, I'm just letting folks think that we're making the 2.5-hour drive tomorrow. We've done it before, so that won't seem strange.

So here I am on Day 1 of the Blop, admitting to you that I lie to my family.

More truthiness to come. I don't think going public will be an option after this month is over.