'resolution of happiness...'

as a whole, i'm not inclined to make new year's resolutions. i find it a practice in futility, really. at least for me. being something of a perfectionist (wait? "something" of a perfectionist? a true perfectionist would just boldly say she was one! let me scream it out a bit more loudly so you hear me in the back), the very moment i strayed from a resolution meant chucking it completely and simply going with the flow that is my life.

my distaste for resolutions essentially stems from the fact that for me, as for so many of us, making them really just means we want to take something away from our lives, or worse, expect not to be disappointed by the fact that change doesn't happen immediately.

succumb to dessert by noon on january 1st? welp, fuck it. let's eat the whole damn cake. hell yes i want that extra glob of frosting you're not planning to eat.

oh, and yep, forget that resolution about curbing the cursing...

see? it's futile. really, resolutions are simply cliches.

i used to write resolutions down in some long ago journal. some cosmic 'to do' list numbered by order of importance orchestrated in my mind to make me a better person. however, if i'd go back at the end of the 365 days i was to have become new and improved, i'd most often find them incomplete.

not just a little bit incomplete. utterly, mockingly so.

this year, not to be flip, my sole plan is a resolution for happiness. more a mindset than a resolution, let's say. things have been dark for too long...and i'm not a dark person.

so i'm not going to change anything in 2007. there are no grand plans to take things away because i enjoy way too many things (feel free to discuss amongst yourselves what some of those things may be. if you want to share your guesses, i'll let you know if you're right. if you want to show me what you think those things may be, well hell, even better). instead, i'll consider enhancing things.

in part:

• i'm going to take tap dance lessons. for some silly reason, this plan scares the hell out of me and it's partly because of that i'll be hoofing around.
• boost the amount of time i do yoga. i'm not a dark person, but i do need to remember to stop and take a breath from time to time. focusing on my warrior poses should help. who knew you could feel so utterly strong simply by gracefully moving your body?
• more belly dancing. i highly recommend it. it's sexy as hell, and who doesn't want to feel what that's like more often?
• learn some foreign language. i'm trying to figure out which one to tackle. i want something that sounds sexy when it's whispered in your ear. perhaps french or italian. something i can practice while driving to and from work on my short commutes. i cannot roll my tongue or trill my r's though, so i'm hoping this doesn't impede me.
• learn how to do something creative. that may be spending time getting back into designing or tackling some creative hobby. i've not figured that one out yet, and i'm game to suggestions.

i don't think any of these things are terribly lofty, nor do i think of them as punishments i must force upon myself at midnight tonight. if something falls by the wayside, so be it. the sky above won't fall down.

but ok, yeah. admitting that last part was tough for this perfectionist. maybe i will have to work on changing that part of my personality. i'll at least think about it while i'm in downward-facing dog...

INXS - Don't Change

the aftermath...

i believe in doing things in excess... be it baking an abundance of cookies (thank you, jesus, for standing with me as i talked the kids out of making those time-consuming cut-out cookies. sure, it's fun for the first batch, then they leave me with the remaining 700 dozen and i'm not such a kick ass mommy by the 90th tiny snowman) to celebrating a holiday to other such things that haven't entirely been mentioned here yet.

christmas was the usual chaotic day in our household. we maintained our stranglehold on four separate celebrations in one 12-hour period. exactly what god must have been hoping for when he sent his son. the boys basked in gifts they have yet to recall receiving (which is good for me, really, because some of them really need to not stay in my house). pictured here is just a hint of the stuff we lugged home. every day we've been tearing into new boxes, playing new games and leaving a trail in the event one of us gets lost in the house under the chaos. if you find i'm gone for long, book a flight and follow the trail of legos and star wars action figures. you'll hopefully find me huddled in a corner, all fetal positioned and rocking, muttering something about the "bad men."

those "bad men" would be the toy manufacturers. seriously. how many damn twisty wires and rolls of tape must go into packaging a toy? i seem to recall childhood christmases where i could immediately tear into a box and be playing with my new doll or barbie within seconds of ripping off the wrapping. today i feel like i have to get a few extra workouts in to build upper body strength and ensure my electric screwdriver is fully charged, and even then it's a lesson in overkill. the robotic dog pictured here (yes, i'll add that it creeps me out a bit) is shown with only a hint of of what i had to tear through to retrieve him (sure, i'll assume this is a male robotic dog). the other pieces could be found scattered around me, tossed in a fit of rage as i worked on this project.

so there's my christmas. did i get anything? nope. well, i did get cash, and i have some very serious designs for that...none of which includes paying off what we did get the kids this year. no...i'm looking for something for my own rewards. something that makes me grin as brightly as the pictured dinosaur (though seriously? i gotta think even a plastic dinosaur would look much more menacing with some fake bloody teeth).

here's hoping your own excess was just as wonderful, that you've maintained a 'safe word' in the event you need to break away from playing yet another new game and that you have some grand plans brewing for the new year. my goal? to keep the dinosaurs and whatever else from biting me in the ass.

unless it's fun. then i'm totally rethinking that part of my resolutions.

if this were on the island of misfit toys...

as luck would have it, while i was busy this afternoon doing some christmas browsing online to treat myself, i made a detour to my site counter and discovered santa's elves have been looking out for me.

my "oh so innocent" site was uncovered in a yahoo search for "what kind of christmas gift for a girl you want to sleep with." (what's up, seattle? isn't it interesting that right under me came the find "when you give a gift to one of god's children, it's like giving a gift to god"?).

unsure if this very considerate (or, let's be honest, self-focused) consumer found what they were looking for when they stumbled upon me, i'm going to show you exactly what it was i'd found about the time i learned there's still a chance i'm on the "good girl" list. it's my belief that this or something like it (i have other options. if you're interested in helping chip in, let me know...) would raise my christmas spirit considerably:

yes, a santa claus vibrator, complete with a jaunty red stocking cap and an eyebrow arched up just enough to actually make me think he does know when i'm awake (and what it is i'm doing when i'm up. i'm totally screwed if he actually knows if i've been bad or good). i quite love the seasonal approach to personal aids. if they had one for st. patrick's day, i'd be all over it. hell, i might consider decorating the house with them. a shadow box filled with holiday vibrators. how kick ass as well as uniquely festive.

of course, in my quest for the perfect vibrator (and yes, it's becoming a quest. if i discover the actual holy grail first, i'll be pissed!) would this be the choice i'd make. probably not. the dolphin and the bullets? true workhorses. reliable members of the infantry. but they need a rest. this is why my quest continues. santa looks a little too stiff here. i need a little wiggling like a bowl full of jelly.

and, because i can buy into that whole idea of when you give a gift to one of god's children, it's like giving a gift to god himself, you can be assured i'd be addressing god quite a bit with my thanks should someone have a good recommendation for me.

"the birth of jesus" by danielle steel

"do you work here?"

"yes, i do. is there something i can help you find?"

"i sure do hope so. i'm looking for a book about the first christmas."

"could we break that down just a bit? do you have a specific book in mind?"

"don't you just have something in this place that talks about the first christmas?"

"sir, you'll notice we have a lot of books (and as much as i love you, wacky customer dude, books don't talk). doing a search with something as broad as 'the first christmas' brings up more than 125 titles in our database. every book that even casually mentions christmas is listed. i'd love to help you, but an actual title or author is really going to help us along."

"i just want something that tells about the birth of jesus and that star thing. something that talks about those three wise men. you know, just something about the first christmas. why we celebrate it. i don't know what book i'd be looking for."

"um...that would be the bible, sir."

"oh no, i know that's not what i'm looking for."

'he don't come but once a year...'

within days of starting my first post-college job as a newspaper reporter, my editor looked across the newsroom at me and blurted out, "hey! i have the perfect idea for a story!"

poised to show what i was made of (because those a's in my news writing and editing classes didn't just happen, my friends), i flipped the cover of my reporter's notebook open with gusto, flourished a pen, and waited eagerly for the assignment that would surely garner me a press association award.

"i want you to do a story on santa claus!" she said, the look on her face radiating with a level of elfin glee (and a scary seriousness that made me instantly rethink why i'd accepted this position). "does he exist? why do we believe in him? find out, because i'll make this the lead on the front page."

"um...yeah," i replied, the reporter's notebook falling to my side as my enthusiasm crashed, my formerly poised pen suddenly limp with rejection. "so...huh. do we have contact information for santa? do you by chance have an 'in' with the big guy so i can arrange an interview?"

"you're bright," elfin editor lady replied. "that's why i hired you! (yes, i probably would have gotten an 'a' in "bright" had it been a college journalism course). you'll figure this out and i just know it will be a great story. oh, and plan on getting a picture to go with it, too!"

a couple thoughts raced through me as she walked away, the first of which was an immediate fear that i'd never (ever!) get another job and be stuck at this small town, santa claus-exposing newspaper the rest of my life. the second was a mental note not to clear off the space around my desk soon for any awards.

i sat for days (the beauty of a weekly newspaper!) trying to come up with some angle for this assignment. being a grown up, naturally i'd given up the fantasy of a real santa claus long ago (shockingly, my excitement at the idea of santa hadn't been instantly tempered at the age of nine when i came across polaroids in my mom's dresser drawer and quickly deduced the man in the photos dressed in the red suit and cottony white facial hair bore an insane resemblance to my dad).

however, just because i'm a grown-up doesn't mean i truly want to chuck this whole idea of reindeer games and some delightful old man who sneaks into my house once a year to leave me some long-coveted item. honestly, i gave it up to santa for a long time after that first stereo showed up under my family's christmas tree! sure, i still wanted to believe santa was real when i was 14.

i still want to believe today. it's that glimmer of hope, that desire to have some perfectly harmless fantasy be a reality, that made writing that story difficult. i may be old enough to know better, but inside of me is a hint of the girl i was at six, when christmas truly couldn't get here fast enough. when i didn't realize this holiday can be ushered in with a blend of anxiety, financial burdens and stress. when i couldn't sleep because i'd be constantly listening for the sleigh bearing the item i most wanted that year as it came to a rest upon my roof.

even today, as i listen to my oldest son question the existence of santa, i'm compelled to smile when he tempers his doubt simply by saying he believes in him in his heart and that if he feels he's real there, then there's little doubt he truly is. for an instant after he says this, i can turn over the store receipts indicating what i've paid for his gifts this year, and convince myself he's right. i can believe that i won't have to worry about finding the perfect gift for him, that i must decorate the house 'just so,' or that my husband need fill up on cookies and carrots left out on christmas eve for my sons to delightfully inspect the next morning.

i can believe that it will all be taken care of.

for a moment, of course.

i know i have the responsibility of being santa for my children, and i certainly don't take the job lightly. i didn't have that sense when i eventually wrote the piece for the newspaper, but i realized it was the feeling we may have, even if it does only come around once a year, that we could take on the task of being this magical fantasy so someone may continue to believe. it was around that angle that i wrote my article, interviewing children and parents and volunteers who helped santa out during the holidays. in the end, it ended up being an award-worthy piece.

silly as it may be, it's helped me believe in santa a little bit longer, too, and that feeling, above most anything else this time of year, is why i enjoy christmas

ah, but another reason i enjoy christmas? no photographic evidence of either my husband or i dressed up in cheap santa costumes for the boys to discover and have the myth be shattered. we're the wise little elves my parents couldn't be in the age of polaroids!

some things, like santa, shouldn't necessarily be seen to be believed.

--------------------

before i go, i must complete the tag assigned to me this weekend. to complete it, i must:

• grab the book closest to me
• open the book to page 123 and go to the fifth sentence on that page
• post the text of the next three sentences that follow the fifth sentence
• name the title of the book and the author

because i'm presently in the middle of two books, and they're placed aside together, i'm generously giving you two entries. i'm also sure this tag will float it's way through the internet on a global scale, so i'll simply look forward to seeing what any of you come up with on your own!

ok - first entry comes from my "bible," and because page 122-124 are stunning photos of my gods, i'm taking the liberty of hitting this at page 125:

"i had just bought a pair of red doc martens boots which cost me fifteen pounds, a lot of money back then. there was a scene where the director, meiert avis, asked me to splash through a puddle. i said, 'i'll get my new docs wet.'"

-- larry mullen jr., "u2 by u2"

the second entry:

"this talent also primes women for anticipating the physical needs of nonverbal infants. being this emotionally sensitive has its pros and cons. jane, a normally brash and courageous person, told me she could not get to sleep for hours after seeing an intense action flick. in a study on the aftereffects of frightening films, women were more likely to lose sleep than men."

-- "the female brain" by louann brizendine, m.d.

it's not you, christmas, it's me...

christmas? can you come here a minute? i think we need to talk.

listen. you've always been good to me. all this time we've been together you've pretty much given me everything i've ever asked for. what's that? oh. yes, i've forgiven you for not giving me that easy bake oven when i was younger. i was being selfish and petulant. i'm glad we could move beyond that dark period in our relationship and get on with things. you really made up for it over the years, christmas, and i thank you. i wish you could stop worrying about that.

you know what i find so amazing about you, christmas? that for all the giving you've done, you've never once asked for anything in return from me. sure, i try to do the whole "church thing" and understand "the reason for the season," and all that. i commiserate with you when i see you depicted as some silly oaf or snoozing animal decked out in a santa claus hat across the front of a greeting card. since i'm being honest with you, though, i'm admitting now that i've most often sent out some snarky little cards over the years. oh, come on! you know my friends!

seriously. enough about them! this is about us.

i've tried to be consoling when you've gone on and on about how others "just don't get you." i know it's been hard for you to understand why people want to hone in on our relationship. when they start showing up in september, poking around and putting up pretty decorations, trying to lure you away. well, i'm not gonna lie. it can be a little hurtful. i've seen how you look at them. i pretty much cast aside halloween for you and you expect me not to be a little bit jealous? halloween and i kinda had a good thing starting there before i realized my loyalties to you again.

listen. i don't want this to turn into an argument. you're too jolly for something like that!

ok, since we're being so honest, i have to get a few things off my chest.

what's that? heh. oh christmas! you always know how to make me smile! yes, you're right about my chest. it is a kick ass rack. what? you want to see it. oh, ok...

wait! what are you trying to do!? please don't change the subject! can we get back to what i was saying? i adore you! really! but listen...

what? oh. you just knew there was going to be a "but" in there? please don't get snippy with me! ok, really, stop looking at me like that or i'm going to cry and i told myself i wasn't going to do that!

dammit! how do you have this kind of power over me?!

listen. listen! would you just come back here?

i've been working a retail job now for three of your seasons. you assured me it would be busy and such, but that people would be nice and friendly. that deep down they knew you were good and that would rub off on them. it would be all smiles and cheerful "merry christmas" greetings. you taught me to not be afraid to say that even when people went with the less invasive "happy holidays." you taught me to give in spirit and not abundance. you assured me that, with proper planning, i'd be able to help you out by doing some of my own shopping and spreading our love to others.

but i'm tired. your ideas aren't really working for me this year. people aren't being so nice anymore! they growl some response to me when i say 'merry christmas,' or they're pushing around in the aisles, forcing me to just grab like a mad woman when i go shopping.

and they're messy, christmas. the people are just so messy and rude lately. plus, i don't think i can say "would you like a gift receipt?" one more time without the possibility of provoking some carnage soon.

i'm tired, christmas. i'm just so damn tired.

so what i'm saying is i think we need to take a little break. what's that? are you crying? ok, now i'm going to start crying again! i thought i was stronger than this, dammit! i've been practicing this speech in my head for a week.

yes. yes. yes, i still love you. no! i don't want us to be apart forever. are you kidding? you mean too much to me, christmas! i just think we need a little time apart. figure out who we are without the other, you know? i think we're mature enough we can still be friends, don't you?

what's that? oh. you plan on sticking around?

sigh...whatever.

i have to go back to the store tonight and work anyway. in the children's department, christmas. yeah. what do you think about that? see what you're making them do to me? that alone should be cause for a permanent break-up.

but you know what? you're right. i do love you. i'm so glad we had this talk, aren't you? what'dya say we celebrate our stronger, improved relationship with a little celebration? i say let's go shopping!

ok, fine. after i show you the kick ass rack. it's not all about giving to me, is it now, christmas?

but secretly you'd love to know what it's like for a girl

tuesday night at the bookstore, i'm perched on the floor in the health and beauty section, scanning titles and shelving (fyi to all you bookstore shoppers out there - should you decide you really don't want that book on fetishes, please just put it at the customer service counter rather than stuff it recklessly in other areas. we won't judge you. a few of us will simply blog anonymously about you later, but we'll never judge). after about 45 minutes at this task, i have to admit i was taken aback by the number of different books out there to help women look and feel their best. glamour does and don'ts. instyle guides. don't go to the beauty counter without me. what to wear. what not to wear. pluck this. wax that. it was endless.

cripes, even my latest acquisitions on stripping came with detailed instructions (with pictures!) on how to create and maintain a 'landing strip.' (yeah...i so love that slang). one book even provides templates to create "the prettiest kitty."

it's a lot of work to be a girl. haircuts and colors. styling. manis and pedis. shaving this, that and the other. lotions and potions. we may say it's just for us. that it makes us feel better.

it's so not just for us. please!

but back to the books. nowhere among the stacks was a book to help men wanting to look their best, feel their freshest (actually, do men even care to feel their freshest? is that just my personal dream for them?). sure, i know there are magazines out there that guide them in the latest fashions and may offer consumer reviews on grooming products and whatnot. but for the most part, do men take this stuff seriously?

my experience with men has been a resounding "no!" kudos to those of you who do, btw. i find what you accomplish with a razor to be delicious. i appreciate it when you take that extra step, yet still don't go so far with it that you're plummeting into girly territory. i know it can be tempting sometimes, but there's little need for you to go to the m.a.c. counter the next time you're at the mall, as far as i'm concerned.

but i do like a little concern, and the men in my life - past and present tense - really don't seem to think it's important. i once dated a man who, when he came to my apartment to spend the weekend, came 'as is.' never had an overnight bag stocked with a change of underwear or a clean shirt. toothbrush? how sissy! a razor? ha! i'd told him i liked him rugged. two days minus shaving helps that look along.

now granted, most of our weekends were spent sans clothing and yes, there was showering involved. sometimes two or three a day. but the man brought only the clothes on his back for a 48 hour excursion.

now that's s-e-x-y! obviously, it had to have been love that was blinding me (or impeding my sense of smell).

i often encourage my husband to take up the cause of male grooming. "it'll be like one of those 'magic eye' puzzles," i tell him, tossing in a wink to let him know that optical inch only means good things ahead for him. he simply rolls his eyes (under brows that could stand a minor tweezing) and returns his gaze to whatever is on the sci-fi channel at the moment.

he did trim up for me once while we were dating. surprised me with a full-on self-barbering. let's just say there's sexy and then there's creepy. it was creepy. i'm not convinced i'm a 'natural' kinda girl.

i preach sunscreen and moisturizers, eye creams and balms. i ushered him into a new decade with an up-to-date hairstyle and coaxed him into believing it was ok to use hair products. we can say "hair wax" without feeling silly.

i want to wax his back, pop his "bacne," clip at skin tags, exfoliate his feet and scrub his face each night before coming to bed (this, however, does not happen despite my insistence that, although he doesn't eat cheese, i swear to god his face smells of aged gouda). i've been known to take a sick delight in searching his body for errant hairs and wayward flakes of things (yes, i know. it's gross. but admit it. you've done it with your partners, too).

i'm not high maintenance, and he's not a troll, but come on. let's call it tit for tat. i try to look nice for him. a little reciprocity can only be rewarded.

and if he got good at it, then naturally, i could write the book on it.

'if you think it's cheap or a bit risque...'

if you've come here today hoping i give you a little insight into how i spend my weekends, today's your lucky day! scoot up closer to the computer. this might be fun.

there. all settled now? can you see there in the back? i know you're whispering to each other, wondering if the dolphin or any of its pals came out to play. so you can focus, i'll tell you that friday they earned an extra recess.

now all eyes up front.

fabulous.

i'm going to skip over the boring parts (that would include, in part, me doing laundry and transforming into a zombie while at target, truly just pulling stuff off the toy shelves because i'm at a loss at this point in the month. ah, this mommy can't freakin' wait to play game after mind-numbing game of monopoly).

friday was a work night, where i discovered it is possible to be among heathens at a normally staid bookstore.

i also got to pull out the 'you're so gonna wish i was a nicer person' eyes on a couple of 12 year old boys giggling at a kama sutra book when i rounded the corner of the sexuality section of our store. they handed them over to me silently when i politely asked if there was something i could recommend to them. that method beats the times we have to fish out, with gloved hands, the sex books men take into the bathroom stalls to do with what they may.

deep down, every man must be a giggling 12 year old boy seeing two-dimensional breasts for the third time.

my intent at shooing the pre-teens away really wasn't to embarrass them (had they stuck around, i'd have suggested they'd learn more from the internet and would be able to forego that pesky "reading" aspect of learning about sex).

i purely wanted them gone because i had some of my own shopping to do.

want to know what i bought? dying to know how i spent a portion of my saturday afternoon?

that's right, baby. i'm practicing the fine art of strip tease while prancing through my house on my weekend afternoons alone. you may recall i like to employ that that cute little ankle grab from time to time.

imagine my surprise to discover there was a pole dancing move called the kick ass! here's a quick how-to: stretch out those girly curves with your back barely touching the pole and your hands above your head to grasp it. transfer all your weight onto your right foot and lift your left up off the floor and pull it tight to your chest. now kick out your left leg and slowly move down the pole to the floor, never letting your back touch the pole.

even a girly girl has to get her kicks! pity i can't demonstrate it for you.

and to get more bang for my buck, "the housewife's guide to practical striptease" comes with a trio of assorted flavored lubricants, so it's economical as well as practical in ways beyond the obvious honing of the sexy walk while vacuuming. like shopping with a 'get one free' coupon!

and yes, i used the vacuum as my makeshift prop. the title of the book does include the word "practical" afterall. plus it was efficient. the family room really did need to be cleaned.

so that's a taste of how i spent my weekend. i did pull out a couple gleaned moves on the husband sunday, so it wasn't a totally boring 48 hours. it's a work in progress, and if what i can learn from 'the housewife's guide...' gets him to clean the bathrooms for a little reward, these books are going to pay for themselves in no time.

if not, i'll fight the 12 year old boys for a copy of the kama sutra the next time i'm scheduled to work.

---------------

ah, but before i go, i'd be remiss not to commend you all for your willingness to jump on board that haiku challenge. i fully intended to reward you all with your own haiku in response, but mother what a lover, you wore me out. i was spent after pulling out something for savage and ftn. (who no doubt should hold onto those for auctioning or autographs when i'm named poet laureate). i give all of you an 'a'!

'always something there to remind me'

call me lazy.

call me boring.

call me the one true thing missing from your life and toss in some stanza alluding to how painstaking it is to draw in life's sweet breath when i'm not around.

i'll wait.

you're terribly cute when you're thinking, all furrowed brow, chin in hand. but you know that, don't you? uh-huh. fyi? i'll freakin' love it if you confess your mad need for me in the form of a haiku. for example:

diff'rent kind of girl

mere existence is futile

sans your kick ass rack

did i mention i got a 'b' in my college poetry class? you're so wondering why it wasn't an 'a' now, right? a hint. the professor published poems purely about king kong. my efforts were like...well...like poetry in comparison. ask sometime and i'll share!

yeah, whatever. i know that first line is "technically" not five syllables. it's ghetto now with my abbreviation. just allow yourself to go with it. it'll be ok.

i've truly got nothing to reward your adoration except for my apologies at however lame this turns out. i've been trapped inside a raging migraine and various other matters that seem to impede whatever bloodflow i have to my creative side (yeah, i'm gonna say i have a creative side. don't knock it in your haiku, ok?). we'll see what the following days bring. until then, trust that i really used to be a writer.

i must add that while blood flow to my brain seems to be restricted, there is blood flowing in me through all the right places now that the medically suggested moratorium on sex is up. give it up to the dolphin, who seemed to have swam gracefully across continents last night. you're slowly working your way up there toward justifying your hefty price tag, my sea-faring friend (sure, i like to pretend it vibrates it's way downstairs to the computer to read this site and my preferred blogs while i'm away. it's purely research. to better serve me later, of course).

anyway, blood flow. crazy thoughts. deep breaths. seeing things everywhere i turn. things that remind me of other things. like the art i provide to you here, again courtesy of my beautiful and demonic youngest son. yeah, i know, he's not looking up from the magnadoodle and announcing, "mommy, look, i drew a penis!"

that's just me.

but come on! am i the only one who sees it? or am i just that singularly focused lately?

the other image? according to my little starving artist, that's me. you'll notice i've lost my cock arm, but look at how happy and, yeah, "widely" delighted i am to have my friend, magnadoodle penis, coming to visit. before you ask, no, i'm not encouraging this type of behavior.

but i'm certainly not one to squelch creativity.

yeah...so put that in your haiku and let me admire it...

...and it's not the way that you dance

as i'm prone to do while in the mini, i completed my trip home from work last night with a bit of dancing (you'd dance too if it was 12 degrees out and the heat didn't kick in until you pulled in the garage. ok, it's a 10 minute trip, but you feel a little sorry for me, don't you? what? you just wish you could have seen the dancing? nice...)

last night's drive was complemented by random song choices i've no better way to describe than perfection (yep, i just brought my pinched fingers to my lips for a little toss off kiss after typing that). a little icicle works, some omd. i was in heaven. then came a flock of seagulls and baby, i was compelled to seriously go all out, and this particular track was the dance mix, so technically, when the title commands, you do as you're told.

that delicious synth beat kicks in and it's on, baby. arms going (one at a time when necessary for i travel a winding road) and hips rotating (yes, it's possible while seated and buckled. i'm a master at this), i'm this close to going over the edge when i very nearly go over the ditch. it was then i realized, of course, that i'm just a slave to the music.

it was perfect timing that upon steering my way into recovery, britney's "baby one more time" came on (now, now. you have your tastes. i have mine). i thought how lucky i was to have been able to maintain control of the mini and not face the possibility of having to crawl out of the window sans panties. of course, for that to happen, my kicky black pants would've had to vaporize, but that's just a pesky detail. rescue teams probably would've found my bra a few feet away, though, because that stupid thing came off as soon as i was able to shrug it. a nice thought, but you wouldn't have seen the kick ass rack plastered across the internet the next day.

and please, don't tell me you've not looked at britney's business. i've looked at britney's business. hell, i'll probably look the next time it happens (and you know it's going to...show me how you want it to be), even though i've yet to not make a face when it appears on screen.

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speaking of business, i must soon attend to mine. big appointment with my physician, dr. mcmakemefeelbadaboutmydietmt.dewhabit, this afternoon for my annual physical. it's not just called a pap test anymore.

actually, it should be called a date. god knows i put as much effort into getting ready for it as i would a date (shaving my legs and whatnot, slathering on lotions and such), and i'll obviously be putting out a little something before the visit's over. getting felt up and complimented on my good habits will undoubtedly be the highlight of this afternoon. because you so know i want a doctor who says, "well, well. that's some fine looking lady business you got there." yeah, i'd be blushing and giggling.

in retrospect, last night's roadside stumble - just as 'the flock' gave me the line "it's not the way you have your hair, it's not that certain style..." - was probably due to the fact that, while dancing, i was also thinking (seriously!) about what panties to wear to the doctor today and whether or not i should put some makeup on. because you're a curious bunch, i'll tell you that by the time i got home, i'd opted to go with the pink and purple polka dot boy cuts. and of course, i'm going to curl up the lashes a bit more than usual.

ok, maybe i don't put this much effort into a date night. but i will dance in the seats for you.

now it's off to dance my way through the shower for the early stages of prep. i'll leave you with that idea, along with the song that put me in my frenzy last night (sorry. no lady business, but if you want to see britney's again, i could provide you with numerous links). it's not the dance mix, but because i've commanded it personally, feel free to dance amongst yourselves.

A Flock Of Seagulls - Wishing (If I Had A Photograph Of You)

imaginary candles for a real life

she would've been six years old today. convinced this baby was a girl and carrying the most basic of my habits to always be meticulously on time - if not a bit early - she would've shown up just as hoped for on her december 2nd birthdate.

i would've watched her trot off to kindergarten this past fall. settling into the dramatic process of making friends and absorbing all the wonderful things the start of school brings. we would've attended her first conferences by now. sat beaming at her first school concert, waving when she smiled a grin i imagine would've been minus a tooth or two.

she would've been my excuse to play barbies again and to believe in fairies. to wander through the girls' departments and buy pink dresses and shirts adorned with hearts. i'd have let her grow her hair, which, if my sons are any indication, would've been a shade of dark blonde neither my husband or i can trace to its origins. hair as long as she may have wanted. thick and with maybe a hint of curl, i'd have been able to smell the lavender scented shampoo after a bath when i brushed it and put it up in pigtails.

i believe she would have attached herself to my love of books and we'd be working our way through "ramona the brave" now. naturally, she'd stick the tip of her tongue out between her lips while sounding out a word in her head. that would be the habit she'd have picked up from her dad, who consistently does it while deep in thought or just mowing the lawn, and who passed it on to his sons.

much as i imagine what she'd be like today, i imagine i'm the only one who still thinks of her when this date plants itself on my calendar. every year and on every calendar, i write the name we gave her on the square for december 2nd, and tick off another consecutive year. the first year brought cards and calls from family and friends, who let me cry and were honest when they said they didn't know what it was like for me, but would simply listen. my oldest son, then barely three, didn't get it (there was nothing "to get," really, because there was never a baby sister to see the day after i'd told him he was going to be a big brother), but he handed me a cake he and my husband purchased so we could acknowledge her, then threw in a hug.

for various reasons too gory and longwinded to get into here, i mourned this child with racking sobs for such a long time after the nurse went silent. i screamed at a god i was just (just!) starting to believe might be true. now? who knows. maybe. but i'm not truly thrilled with the idea that these types of losses and hurts are mapped out for us before we ourselves ever take our first breath. i've still not quite put my finger on what life lesson i was to learn from this experience.

we don't really talk about her, but i don't forget her. she'd have been six years old today. probably just as truly frustrating and fascinating as my sons. without a doubt, on some day i thought would never end, i'd have wondered why i thought i should've had children, and that thought would have stayed with me until i got the hug that was the unspoken apology i needed.

i never held her, but she's always been there, in a sense, pressed up to my chest and near my heart.

it's just a bit heavier today.