A Week In The Life of A Redhead

Brian photo

2008-07-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

COMPEXITY

2008-07-02T16:00:00.000-07:00

Picture me, if you will, yelling from the bathroom:

"Brian, why do you leave wet towels on the floor when there is a rack right in front of you and why do you leave dirty clothes on the floor when there is a hamper right next to them...?!"

(Silence)

A cute, boy-head peaks itself around the corner of the bathroom, looks in on me and displays a coy grin ...

"Mom ... I'm a guy. We're complex."

Until next time -

C

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

This is a current post at my blog "A Week In The Life Of A Redhead" at http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

I BLOG AT

2008-05-08T23:39:00.000-07:00

MY BLOG IS AT: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: the redhead blogger

REMEMBER THAT I HAVE MOVED MY JOURNAL

2007-10-10T13:08:00.000-07:00

TO THE BLOG: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

REMINDER

2007-05-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

I am now writing at my own website:

Thanks for a great two years!

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, Redheaded bloggers, redheads, a week in the life, wine country

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2007-05-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

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2007-05-04T19:08:00.000-07:00

TRADING TOKENS

2007-04-23T13:34:00.000-07:00

New post at the new website:

Tags: trading spouses, redheads, redhead bloggers, female bloggers

NEW POSTS

2007-04-10T16:06:00.000-07:00

AT:

MOM ZEN LESSON 101

2007-04-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

My latest post is at:

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com/

Tags: Redheads, blogging, Zen

NEW POSTINGS

2007-03-26T17:33:00.000-07:00

I am posting at the new site, still dealing with construction issues, but come visit it and leave comments:

SYNCHRONICITY

2007-03-22T17:01:00.000-07:00

Merriam Webster describes synchronicity as the coincidental occurrence of events -especially psychic events (as similar thoughts in widely separated persons or a mental image of an unexpected event before it happens) that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality.

I describe synchronicity as the coincidental occurrence of strange events which typically happen to redheads only.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a redheaded synchronic event, one right out of Carl Jung's acausal connecting principle. It reminds of the time my "First Kiss" short story was read on radio Alice in San Francisco. There I was, driving down the street, (following KB to a coffee shop) when I felt this overwhelming urge to tune my radio to 97.3. I was just in time to hear the producer say she has this great short story she wants to read over the air. Something in my gut said it was going to be my story. All the breathable air seemed to leave the car, as all I could do was wave and honk at KB, who pulled over, sure I was having a heart attack.

There, over my car speakers, like a whisper from the Gods, was my short story being read to thousands of bay area commuters, while I jump up and down in the middle of the street yelling, "KB they are reading my story! I wrote that!" She stands grinning outside her car, as if to say "I am not surprised" with the twinkle in her eyes that knows we are in the middle of a Catherine adventure.

So there I was yesterday driving to Rite Aid to buy Brian allergy medicine, because I swear this boy of mine is allergic to air at this time of year. His eyes look like something from a Hannibal rising horror film, all puffed and red, and little wads of Kleenex are found in small piles throughout the house. Fed up, I decide to go buy him some Claritin.

On my way to Rite Aid I begin day dreaming about my next vehicle, imagining myself driving a 2007 Mercedes-Benz GL 450:

And I think, "Hmmm I really should go test drive one, or find one to take a photo of..." Just then in the distance, parking in front of Rite Aid is my dream car. A tall, good looking businessman gets out and walks into Rite Aid. Bless my over-boiled potatoes, here is my chance.

I park and walk over to his car and for a time am lost in the thoughts of driving it, when I decide I should get Brian his allergy medication. I stand in line at the pharmacy to buy medicine that I used to be able to pick up in the isles, but I guess we are all future crack whores to the government. After allowing my drivers license to be swiped for a whoppin' 10 pills, I exit towards the electronic doors, where the Mercedes man is standing at the edge of a counter.

"Is that your beautiful Mercedes?" I ask, pointing outside.

"Why yes," he grins.

"It's my dream car. I have a photo of it above my desk. Do you love it?" I inquire.

"Here then", he continues, "Take my keys and go sit in it and check it out for yourself."

I am stunned as he hands me his car keys and directs me out the door. He does not follow, and leaves me to go check out his car on my own - ME the perfect stranger. He stays inside Rite Aid, as I press the buttons that open the driver's door. I am experiencing that elated, excited feeling as I slide across the seat, placing my hands around the leather steering wheel. It feels surreal.

I imagine myself driving the freeway to my other dream home in Los Gatos:

I thoroughly enjoy the moment, taking it all in, then slowly I exit the drivers seat, gently shut the door and walk back into Rite Aid.

I am sure my grin was as wide as my ass. I pass him back his keys and say, "WOW. How kind of you. Thank you so much!"

"Did you like it?" he grins.

"I loved it" I laugh.

He takes a package from the Rite Aid employee at the counter, turns to me and smiles, "If I was not on my way to an appointment I'd let you take it for a test drive." With that he shakes my hand, winks and exits to the parking lot. I'd move my feet to follow - if they'd only move.

God I love redheaded synchronicity.

Now if someone invites me to that house, I'll pee my pants.

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, Los Gatos, Mercedes, synchronicity

Tags: A Week In the Life of A Redhead, redhead bloggers, mommy bloggers, pro bloggers, Catherine Hughes

TWO PLACES AT ONCE

2007-03-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

Can I say creating one's own blog and webpage takes the patience of... of ...

well … not me.

I am slowly figuring it out. One problem is trying to be a creative writer while trying to be a creative blog developer. Jaysus, if you’ve been watching (http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com )I think I uploaded 46 friggin’ banners before I decided on one. I swear, the experience reminds me of getting dressed for a date. You start with the outfit you think you are going to wear, change another 40 times and then end up back in the first outfit.

I think I am done with the banner for now. THANK THE GODS.

Now, the bigger problem … what to write.

I built it … will they come?

I guess I have to get back out there and take more photos.

Until next time-

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Tags: Redhead bloggers, Rapieress, A Week In The Life of A Redhead, mommy bloggers, redhead bloggers

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY

2007-03-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

And, Happy 50th birthday to my older, wonderful brother Michael. Pictures from the party will be posted later. Names will be changed to protect the innocent.

(Hit your reload button every time you land on this page, as AOL still has not figured out it's photo problem...)

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Tags: A Week In The Life of A Redhead, Rapieress, redhead bloggers, problogger

SWEET SWEATIN MAMAS

2007-03-16T15:59:00.000-07:00

So ... naturally the very minute I decide to begin the migration of this blog over to the web site www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com I become abnormally busy.

It starts with some loans - a good thing. Then, I begin attending this woman's dance class on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays. I guess I can call it a dance class, but it is some sort of odd combination of belly dancing, jazz, aerobics, kick-boxing and stand- up comedy. Lori A., the ex-president of Club Bitch (yes that is what we were called) decided to start this hilarious work-out class for women "our age". If I were to look up the word 'Bliss' in the dictionary, Lori's photo would be there. I don't know what it is this woman has had all these years, but she is consistently more fun than driving a Maserati, with a leggy Italian man, on the Autobahn 125mpr. Yes, THAT much fun.

And I am VERY sore.

Of course, Brian's baseball coach decides to up the practice schedule, so we live part-time at the baseball field. Don't you just love dropping your pants over a port-a-potty? ... Especially one used by little boys, or as my son will tell you, "young men". It's enough to make you hold it until you are 80. Is this what parental love looks like?

Add in a night spent with fellow writers at the wonderfully talented Writers Forum in Petaluma, plus an evening spent hearing a great lecture and somehow I have managed to get a life.

What the f***over?

So, this afternoon I am wondering around the garden section of Home Depot, thinking of how sore my calves are, and if I have to take just one more step I am sure I will scream out loud for an aspirin - wait no - vicodin, and my thoughts turn to a "war" class I once attended for three years after my divorce. It was this everyday boot- camp work-out class where I religiously showed up for torture, and, as I was remembering THAT pain, I am mauled by two women.

It's the ex-drill sergeant (she calls herself the "teacher" (HA)) of that damn war class, and a fellow participant, who I was once very close with, and have lost touch over the years.

Jen is on the left, and the ever so lovely Susan-the-drill-sergeant is on the right.

I was rather blown away, since I was remembering the pain of that class, and having no idea they worked at the Home Depot. Life always seems to provide just what we are looking for - don't you just love it?

God's gotta' do something about that port-a-potty problem though. Could He\She\It show up there in the form of a nicely tiled bathroom with a sink?

Needless to say I am behind on my blog development at www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com and hope to have it fully functional by the end of next week.

Unless, of course, we start sleeping at the ball-park.

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, Baseball, Friends, blog, Home Depot

PRAY FOR US

2007-03-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

Only five more days until St. Patrick's day...

Hide yer valuables ... the Irish are comin'.

Tags: Redheads, St.Patrick's Day

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2007-03-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

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DEAR MS/MR/MRS/GUY AUTOMAKER

2007-03-09T17:32:00.000-08:00

Can you please make the parts of a car a child comes in contact with removable and dishwasher safe?

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Catherine, the redhead mom

Tags: Redheads, boys, cars

PERSONAL TRANSFORMATIONS

2007-03-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

Since I own www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com I have decided it is time to move this blog off AOL to it's own web site. Next week I will begin the migration process. While working on the new site I will try to still write here to keep things fresh.

You will notice AOL seems to be having trouble with their picture section of blogging this week. On any given day I have no control over whether or not my photos show up or show up correctly. This frustrating problem will go away on the new site along with other issues too many to list here.

I cannot completely be negative about AOL, as it was easy and available when I first started down the road of writing my life and thoughts online, but like many things, I have outgrown it's limitations and find that I am increasingly frustrated more and more each day.

I also have advertisers who's HTML code I cannot make work within AOL. I have some very big plans for all of this, so I need a site that can keep up. I thank all of you for your emails, comments, and for just showing up to read my words. Some truly beautiful things are happening in my life and I hope to share much of it with you at the new site. I wish all of you much love and happiness... and

I hope you will follow me.

Until next time-

TRANSFORMATIONS

2007-03-07T15:26:00.000-08:00

Be quiet; be motionless
For it is approaching
I wish to suppress
These feelings bubbling of
self-contained protests.

He’s mine
From me conceived
I wish to whine
This fare-haired child
but I resign.

Can it be true?
This unstoppable fate
I wish to cling to
My little one
bidding childhood adieu.

Bring back age four
His trucks and tears
I wish for more
Time spent rocking on my hip
pointing at the door.

Be quiet; be motionless
Teenage years approaching
I wish to express
These feelings bubbling of
future teenage parent stress.

(I thought up this poem after noticing the shift in Brian's room at his dad's house. Slowly the dragon pictures are giving way to baseball posters. Toys are being replaced by video games and sports equipment. The teenage years are coming...

SIGH.

How I love this little boy who is not so little anymore.)

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, Boys, single moms

WELL LOVED

2007-03-05T14:33:00.000-08:00

If you ever have any doubts about love, go look at a child's favorite stuffed animal.

This is Brian's bear, who received plenty of love in his day (gave it too). Brian keeps him on a shelf in his bedroom. It is the one toy he never wants me to get rid of-

This teddy is rather special though. It was given to Brian by my step-father when Brian was born. In all the young photos of Brian he is dragging around this bear. God forbid we'd try to go anywhere without his "Teddy". I'd drive 30 miles out of my way to make sure Teddy was in the car! Nothing like a little hyperventilating with tears the size of marbles to send a parent madly looking for the magical "binky"...

His Grandfather, our "Papa Dick" died of heart disease when Brian was almost 4. He adored Brian and the feeling was mutual. So, Teddy is rather special.

He screams L O V E.

Thanks for the reminder Teddy.

Until next time-

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: Redheads, writers, teddy bears, love

SCRAPBOOK THIS!

2007-03-02T14:06:00.000-08:00

Whenever I pick Brian up from school and the first thing out of his mouth is, "I have A LOT of homework!" which means, 'there is a problem and I am about to get blind-sided'. “What kind of homework?” I ask. “The A LOT of kind Mom!” he retorts. Yeah ... I am sure I studied that in school too. In plain English, there is a project he has been putting off for some reason and now it is due. I can feel it in my bones.

We go back to the office and Brian begins to pull what looks like the entire Dead Sea Scrolls out of his backpack. There are papers, packets, photographs, construction paper, books on Egypt and his colored pencil case. He heaves a big sigh followed by a, “I HAVE TO DO A SCRAPBOOK!” shout as he stares at me with the ‘this is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of in my life’ look.

Before I can ask anything further, my ex-husband looks at us like we have just exposed him to poison ivy and makes a quick exit to his office. (Coward) “What is this scrapbook suppose to be about?” I inquire. “Egyptian grave sites and what is a scrapbook anyways? It sounds pretty girlie", he moans. Hey I resent that – I don’t like scrap-booking either and last time I looked in the mirror I was still a girl. I equate scrap booking to quilting bees and My Little Pony unicorn figurine collections.

He sits down at the desk and lays the items out in front of him like they are laced with some sort of virus he might catch. Then, I ask the million dollar question, “When is this due?” “Tomorrow,” he grumbles. Nothing like putting off something until the last minute hoping it will magically disappear.

Now it is my turn to sigh. “Let me see the assignment sheet.” I ask. Brian picks up this packet that looks like a small book and I think “Holy shi*, I don’t blame him for postponing this pain.” I could get mad, except I am confused as to why in the hell a teacher would assign boys a project which involves scrap-booking. Give me a friggin' break here. Only certain female teachers would think of this for an entire classroom project and include the boys.

I am thinking there is the story of the Battle of Kadesh, which begins with the army of Ramesses II advancing upon the city of Kadesh in four corps. Ramesses II himself was with the lead element of the corps, known as Amun. The teacher could have given the class a choice ... scrapbook the grave sites of the Pharaohs or map this battle. Brian would have mapped the battle in a heartbeat with plenty of red penciled blood. And for those girls, like me – they could have mapped the hell out of the battle too.

But no.

It’s a scrapbook.

It takes a painful two hours for Brian to complete his scrapbook with a great deal of complaining and misery. I help him organize the pages as my ex-husband makes comments about how he would have blown-off such an assignment in school. (HEY! You are no help there, sparky). I am beginning to believe the only reason my ex married me is because I don't scrapbook. I doubt Brian will ever date a girl who scrapbooks either. I can see it now ... he’s dating a girl, who he thinks he likes a lot. She invites him over, he hopes he’ll get a kiss and BAAM she whips out a scrapbook. Brian is never seen or heard from again.

I have to show the finished pain:

You will note the mistake he REFUSED to correct, as he proclaimed, "I don't care. I'm done with it!" Where he gets his stubborn streak from I have no idea...

My ex-husband is no help as all he can do is proclaim what a stupid project it is and how no son of his will ever be into scrap-booking. BLAH BLAH BLAH. But it did make me laugh as I thought what a scrapbook might look like if men like my ex husband actually had one:

Note the mistakes, which he would refuse to correct (Brian has to get that from someone other than me).

It is said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger"

Although to hear Brian tell it, you would be convinced he died a slow torturous death last night doing a "girlie" thing. And he isn't quite 12 yet ... OIY.

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, boys, scrapbooks, baseball, projects

HEAVEN ON EARTH

2007-02-27T15:11:00.000-08:00

Thoreau said,

"Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads".

Boy Heaven on Earth:

(Baseball over homework)

***

Mom Heaven on Earth:

(Anything over housework)

And to the rest of you - may your days be filled with many little Heavens on earth and your nights with love, dreams and whatever else you want happening in that bedroom of yours...

Until next time-

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: Redheads, baseball, sailing, heaven

ODDITIES

2007-02-23T11:55:00.000-08:00

It's official.

Today I got the call from Brian's new baseball coach.

Brian made AAA baseball (the top league). The coach was in complete shock when I told him Brian has never played baseball before.

"Who taught him to hit like that?" the coach asks.

"His grandmother. She loved baseball growing up and was quite the player, then I took on the cause several years ago." I respond.

(I wanted to say,"We're Irish. We can drink, get angry and bounce a tea cup off a man's forehead from 300 feet...")

"Wow" was his reply.

"He can sure throw too - who taught him?" he continues.

"Brian taught himself" I respond.

(Or it's in the blood - see previous tea cup comment above...)

I can hear the coaches wheels turning in surprise that two women (one a grandmother) taught Brian to play ball. Hey - we are redheads - we can do lots of amazing stuff!

Besides, Brian won't play with his father because all they do is argue. It's a guy thing.

Today Brian is on a field trip to an Egyptian museum, so I tex'd him the news. He is going to be thrilled and I couldn't be happier for him. He has wanted this for such a long time.

You know ... his school experience is so different than mine. The kids are being transported to the museum in a luxury bus complete with TV, bathrooms and video games. He even gets a text message from his mother on his own cell phone. Jaysus, I want HIS life...

Did I ever tell you that I had to walk to school 3 miles (uphill both ways), our TV had only 6 channels from an antena on our roof and I had to get up to go change those channels and...

Don't even get me started on the pumpkin colored Ford Pinto I got for a first car!

Until next time-

(PS. Ford later found out that the word 'Pinto' in Brazilian slang means "tiny male genitals".)

Tags: Redheads, redhead, Irish, baseball, Ford, Pinto

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE MIDDLE SCHOOL KIND

2007-02-21T15:48:00.000-08:00

I am stocking water, hoarding matches, saving cans of food ...

As of tonight:

It's official.

I am about to encounter aliens.

Tonight is Open House and New Parents Night for the middle school Brian will be attending in September.

Brian is ...

Brian is ... going ...

(AGhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!)

Brian is ....(gulp) .... going ....(gulp) ... to be ...... a

Pre-teen.

(NOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo)

An alien will be moving into my home for the next few years. He will snatch up what is left of my little boy who believes everything I say and loves everything I do. A foreigner will inhabit his body questioning my every move, looking for my mistakes.

I must prepare.

****

We attended the Open house and ...

Brian was in heaven.

I was also able to witness the "Mr. Cool" Brian (his behavior when cute young girls notice him). Dear God, is this age really approaching? When the principal mentioned the student dances I wanted to grab Brian's hand and run for our lives. (Sigh) Alas, I must let him grow up now.

No snakes though.

Teenage girls calling will be scary enough.

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, aliens, boys, middle school, snakes

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2007-02-20T14:59:00.000-08:00

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IT'S SORTA SUNNY AND IN THE NO. CALIFORNIA WINE COUNTRY WE HAVE:

2007-02-20T14:33:00.000-08:00

Bikers.

Unfortunately not the Harley Davidson kind.

Yippy for us (??) Sonoma County is a part of the Amgen Tour of California. (Y A W N).

I'm not really into bike racing guys. I've always known them to be the type where a girl would want to take a leisurely ride on her bike and they'd try and turn it into some sort of bicathalon. ("But my bike is only a three speed!" she screams at her biking date, who is now a full mile ahead of her. "Suck it up honey, we guy bikers like a peddling speed of 55 mph!" he mumbles. Later she is seen turning her bike into a winery tasting room parking lot never to be heard from again...)

When I think of biking guys I always think of this guy my ex husband used to work with who had nothing good to say about anyone ... except Lance Armstrong. This guy was bald, short, mean, unattractive and weird. This would be fine I suppose, except he was the king of picking people apart. I used to stare at him and think, "Did YOU look in the mirror this morning?" He loved anything bicycle. I think if he could have "done" a bicycle he would have. It was like he was stuck at age 7. He also lived for bike races. He is what I imagine bicycling guys to be like. (Sorry bike guys but it is true...).

Unless you find me a bike racer who is puffing on a cigarette, flipping off traffic while drinking a pint of brew I doubt I'll be changing my mind anytime soon.

I love Brian's take on life, as he looks at bike racers and says to me,

"Mom, why do they do this?"

"Son, I have no idea." I grin.

"They don't look like they arehaving fun either." He grins.

"Yeah, they are into total body health son, that would make anyone look like they are constipated". We both grin.

Luckily for us they are riding out of town today.

You know ... the Hells Angels used to have their annual motorcycle ride through here every year, but left when helmets became law in California. Maybe I just can't get used to the transformation from wild country to domesticated boredrum ...

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: Redheads, Amgen Tour, bikes, racing

IT'S SATURDAY, 75 DEGREES AND IN THE NO. CALIFORNIA WINE COUNTRY WE:

2007-02-17T14:16:00.000-08:00

Swim...

Then

Ignore the clean laundry.

To

Argue the rules of baseball with friends.

Then

Celebrate two lost baseballs over boy dinner.

To

Show Mom that apples are unimportant compared to vegetables like french fries.

Then

A peaceful end to Brian's perfect spring day.

To

A quiet perfect end for mom.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

Tags: Redheads, swimming, spring, baseball

REDHEADISMS

2007-02-15T20:53:00.000-08:00

A redhead's husband, being unhappy with her mood swings, buys her a mood ring for Valentine's Day so he would be able to monitor her many moods.

He discovered that when his lovely redhead is in a good mood, it turns green.

But...

When she is in a bad mood, it leaves a big f*&#*ing red mark on his forehead.

Maybe next time he'll buy her a diamond...

Until next time-

Tags: redhead jokes, redheads, a week in the life of a redhead

ALL CULINARY SCHOOLS

2007-02-15T19:28:00.000-08:00

2007-02-15T19:26:00.000-08:00

OK OK!!

2007-02-15T16:46:00.000-08:00

You all asked where are the camera phone shots of me...?...

So here I am working and fighting strep throat and giving you people what you want. (sigh).

Yes, the redhead is alive and well and taking photos.

I just prefer taking photos of other people, places and things thank ya.

Until next time-

HAPPY LOVE DAY

2007-02-14T17:04:00.000-08:00

People often ask me if I believe real love still exists. Hell yes, yes I do. I think there are some great examples around us every day if we choose to open our eyes. I know Hallmark seems to have commercialized a great many of our beloved holidays, but I am not anti-valentines day. There are some people who simply forget to acknowledge the significance of another without advertising to remind them. A holiday, like any day can be as special and individual as we want.

The question should be, "Why do we need Hallmark to remind us that the people in our lives are special?"

If you have begun to think that valentines and love don't matter, then watch children when they come home with their bag of Valentines from school. Brian always acts like he is too cool to enjoy such a ridiculous day .. until his neighbor friend comes over after school. "Brian what did you get?" Marion asks. Brian grins, "Some cool stuff, come look!". They dig through his Valentines talking about the girls whose names are written on some of them. Yeah right ... they don't love knowing that they matter to other people (rolling my eyes). We all want to matter to someone.

I don't know how many of you have been following the story about the Northern California couple where the husband was attacked by a mountain lion. The wife, thinking "HELL NO YOU AREN'T TAKING MY HUSBAND" (was she once a redhead?) fought the lion off her husband, pulled him to his feet literally dragging him to safety.

I love this story, and it is a story about a couple obviously still deeply in love. The husband was due to go home from the hospital as referenced in the following SFGate article:

I wish them both a very Happy Valentines Day. They get my vote for the Valentines couple of the year.

They are an inspiration to us all.

Until next time-

Tags: Mountain lion, Redheads, love, valentines day

WE TEACH WHAT WE LIVE...

2007-02-10T22:21:00.000-08:00

Often, I pretend I know what I am doing as a parent. I don't want to freak Brian out with the thought that his mother spends time thinking, "Holy shi* now what??"

I frequently believe our children teach us about life and how it should be lived. Tonight was the awards night after the final games of the basketball season. Brian's team came in third after a stunning loss in the last split second of the game. Up to this point they were tied for second in the league.

This was his first time at basketball and he played with such fearlessness that it took my breath away. He went into a sport he knew nothing about and kept up with kids who played since they were 4. He never once complained about any of it - not the time on the bench - not the fouls or missed shots.

In fact, all the kids played brazenly tough games while still respecting each other. I often wonder if they were really the adults and us adults were really the kids. During one game it hit me like a brick to the head ... the kids love what they are doing. This is what bliss looks like. When did I forget?

There in the middle of their fun, and Brian's bravery I realize I lost touch with seeking experiences which make me feel passionate for the pursuit of a goal. When did THAT happen? Maybe the thyroid meds are really making the difference in my life. My mother swears I've become the girl she remembers from high school - curious, interested, learning and passionate about life. I suppose I am like Rip Van Winkle, finally waking up after a 20 year nap.

I've decided to view these children (and my son) as models for a road map to manifest experiences which bring joy, pride and sense of belonging. Now, don't get me wrong, being a mother to this fun kid is a blessing and provides many wonderful adventures, but I am talking about my career and what I am going to do with the rest of my life.

No ... I am NOT going to play basketball.

I'd hurt someone and starve to death...

However ... I am exploring doing what brings me joy and my circumstances have already begun to change. Brian sits above displaying the medal he earned for attempting something he never tried before. He should wear it proud.

And I am following his lead.

Until next time-

PS. This basketball league is a long held dream of a pastor that wanted to build a gym, form a league to get kids off the street and teach sportsmanship. It costs $5.00 for the season (this can be waived), the kids keep their shirts and are handed awards at the end. There are both boys and girls leagues and open gym pick up games on the weekends. To look at what this man's dream has created is an inspiration to the fact there is always more we can do to make this world a better place.

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

Tags: Redheads, basketball, lessons, awards

ALL ABOUT...

2007-02-08T22:31:00.000-08:00

Ok, as another one of my goals I promised I would start taking pictures of my life for a more acurate view of my world as a mom.

Whos life is it really all about. Can you you tell?

I'll call this the, "MOOOOOMMMMM yer buggin me a g a i n" Brian look.

And he does believe he knows everything.

And here is Boonie ... the attack Terrier dog. Doesn't she look mean?

Watch out - she can haul off and bark at her own shadow...scary, scary stuff.

Be afraid - very afraid. Oh, life is all about her too.

(And she follows the guy who knows everything)

Until next time-

Tags: Redheads, photos, Fergie, Terriers, kids

IT USED TO BE ALL ABOUT ME

2007-02-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

This past weekend marked the entrance into the life now known as “All About Brian”. I had a life once; maybe not a huge one by some standards (ok … by a lot of standards), but it was a life I controlled. There were the wine tasting weekends where a group of friends joined me in the annual, 'Barrel tasting and let’s-check-out-men-for-Catherine' day, or the spur of the moment, 'Let’s drive to San Francisco-go-out-dancing-and- check-out-men-for-Catherine' Friday night. This really worked for me.

Then something happened. (Loud screaming heard in distance). Brian became his own person – very much his own person. I call this stage (affectionately) “Brian: 11 going on 35”. Suddenly he has an opinion on everything and feels quite free to express himself - even if it means telling me I should go to bed earlier and walk more. Did my mother take over his body? I am told this is a phase. I don’t know … my brother still picks apart the condition of the vehicles I drive … it looks as if his so called “phase” has lasted since I was born (ruining his one man show).

I was thinking about this on Friday night when Brian informs me that ‘WE’ need to go to bed early. Saturday is a busy day of Brian "engagements". I look at him and grin. You know ... the kind of grin only a redhead has when she is thinking, “Isn’t that cute”? but is really thinking, “Isn’t that cute and I’ll turn up the heater in his bedroom and he’ll be asleep in two minutes.”

BUT when the shrill of the box thing (some call it the alarm) went off at 6:30 am on Saturday I wished that I listened and got my butt into bed before midnight. Who in their right mind gets up this early on a Saturday morning that isn’t catching a plane to some exotic locale? Oh yeah, parents of kids who play sports.

I did have to marry an ex-jock.

And procreate with him.

And insist he be a part of our son’s life after the divorce.

Yeah ok … it was me.

On Saturday morning the fog was so thick you could have scooped it in your hands and formed it into snowballs. Everything was wet - even the air. By 8:00am we are out the door with a baseball glove, bat, coffee, newspapers, basketball shoes, coffee, change of socks, basketball uniform, coffee, a basketball, snacks, water, Gatorade, coffee, a blanket (and if I was a worse parent a flask of whiskey for warmth). Oh how I do love coffee. I love it so much that if I could, I’d marry it. Brian understands not to talk to me until I have had that first sip of the dark elixir I love. (He enjoys living).

So there we are driving across town in search of a grade school I have never heard of for baseball try outs. Brian’s dad is with us and that whiskey flask thing could have helped, because the man won’t look up directions to save his mother. So naturally we have to go to three grade schools (all with empty fields) because he “figures he knows where the try outs M I G H T be.” I guess it is some exjockdar (ex-jock radar) that hones them in on sporting events held out in the open…? Meanwhile Brian is starting to back seat drive … this from a kid who shrugs when you ask him where he lives. He thinks he is going to find out where the tryouts are ... by...? .... I am glad I have snacks so buzzards won’t circle when we run out of gas driving in circles.

Finally my ex happens to drive by a grade school, recognizes the name and turns the car abruptly into the driveway, causing all Brian’s gear to trade places with Brian in the back seat. I swear we were airborne over the speed bumps. You’d think Barry Bonds was arriving for Spring training. Brian says, “Oh yeah, I knew it was here…”

There, in the back of the school is this large, VERY wet baseball field covered in fog. Confused parents are shuffling kids along and yelling to pick up their feet, so I know we are in the right place. What I don't know is why we hurried since no one is ever organized at these events. It takes another half hour for Brian to get his try out number and find his place in line.

Parents: LET THE WAITING BEGIN.

Everything that can be touched, walked over, brushed near, held and looked over is dripping wet with dew. My socks are wet through my shoes before I have even finished half my coffee or the first kid is at bat. Naturally, because I am not wearing make-up (and my non-washed hair is in a pony tail under a Operating Engineers hat) I meet all the parents of Brian’s friends who I have never met before. If only I could have been smoking a long cigarette, carrying a dog, holding a near beer and wearing fuzzy slippers too ...

When I used my newspaper as protection over the bleacher seats (so my butt wouldn’t get wet) my guess is I appeared to be one smoking-hot momma, as not one person sat anywhere near me.

AND WE WAIT.

Naturally the God in my life has a hilarious sense of humor: Brian was dead last in his division try outs. Have you ever sat on a cold wet bleacher bench for two hours watching a bunch of kids try out for baseball? I think our enemies could use this for torture as I would have sold my brother for a heater and a reclining chair. The last half hour before Brian’s great appearance, my ex is pacing in front of me. Jaysus, Brian isn’t trying out for the Giants.

AND WE WAIT.

Finally Brian runs to the outfield and gets in position to receive pop fly balls. He has never played baseball – except with me. (I hear you people screaming) Brian’s dad his biting his upper lip. First shot up … up … Brian casually runs forward and the ball drops right into his glove. I grin. He throws it to the guy at third. My ex looks at me in shock. Second shot up … up …. the ball lands in Brian’s glove, stays for a sec, and pops out as Brian forgets to cup his hand over his glove. He quickly bends, gets the ball the throws it to third. I grin. My ex looks at me in shock. The coaches bring Brian into short-stop. They bat grounders to him. He easily scoops up each and throws the balls to first. My ex is now leaning forward. I grin.

Then Brian is up to bat. I have been waiting for this, since Brian is of the opinion the baseball coming from the pitcher belongs to him. He loves to hit the ball like rams love to butt on the side of a mountain. I have begged him hundreds of times to stop playing ball and let me go in the house to rest. The try outs are using an electric pitcher at 65mph – even better – since I have to pry Brian from batting cages. The first pitch Brian swings and pop-flies it straight up. The second pitch Brian pop-flies it straight up. The third pitch Brian connects and hits a line drive right into the electronic pitching machine, knocking the guy over backwards sitting behind it in a chair. The coach playing shortstop grins at Brian. My ex looks at me. I grin. On the forth and final pitch Brian hits it between second and third into the outfield and runs the bases home. The coaches slap his back and tell him it was a job well-done.

Brian did well in front of hundreds of strangers, his father and the fact he has never played ball. My ex looks at me, grins and says, “Wow. I am so proud. He did really good. He can play baseball”. (My eyes roll into the back of my head out the back on to the ground...) Well no shi*. He only has two cousins who played in the majors. It is in his blood DAD. He has the body of Babe Ruth. Of course he will do well HE LOVES this sport. It is the one sport we were hoping he wouldn’t play because the season goes on forever and pretty much prevents us from enjoying any major holiday through the summer. Yep, this will be his sport. It's karma.

Me and my soggy butt, soggy shoes and wet hat get up to find Brian and give him a hug, where he proceeds to load me up with his sweatshirt, glove, hat, bat and ball. I have now become his official coat rack. My feet are so cold I can’t feel them. I am carrying half my son’s closet while he is running and chasing bugs. Clearly I am not at my best redhead thinking before noon. At least he had the decency to open the car door for me.

We leave baseball to head directly to his basketball game. My own dating life has never been this active. Brian is changing in the car. See… this is my new life. We arrive at the gym just in time for Brian to warm up. At least I get to sit in a chair with a back in a room that is warm and dry. I sit down in time to watch the parent’s of the preceding game gather their kids to leave. I hear several saying, “Ok, what time is your soccer game?” OMG it is contagious! (RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!)

Brian’s team wins their game and Brian points out to me they have only lost when I was not at the last game. No guilt there. (Global warming is my fault too. We redheads give off too much heat). We then get fliers reminding us that Sunday is “Basketball Appreciation Day” and the teams get their awards at 10:30am. Since this is a Christian-based basketball league I know what this means … we are going to be sitting through a Christian service while we wait for the award part. See… my God does have a great sense of humor. More dharma.

Finally we are done with Brian’s sports by 1:00pm Saturday and I have a small window to clean the house and get some laundry done. (Doesn't this sound like a party with the in-laws you don't like?).

The next thing I know it is Sunday and I am at a Christian Fellowship listening to strangers praise God, while Brian fidgets like someone has placed hot rocks under his butt. Being Catholic, we approach church in a much more suffering, serious, we look ill way. I don’t want to sing, dance or hold hands – and NO I don’t want to yell “Praise God” at any time unless I am having sex with tall, dark and handsome. As a Catholic I have the reassurance I can sit silent in church, always looking down and file my fingernails... with the highlight being the wafer with the wine.

But no, this is a happy place where people talk to you and sing happy songs. They praise God and Jesus ... out loud. People look at you and smile ...say hello. It makes me feel faint. I keep watching for the exit. FINALLY Brian tells me we are done … and faster than a cowboy drinking a shot of tequila, I race for the car.

Now one might think my weekend devoted to Brian was over … but no…

Sunday afternoon was spent entertaining his two new friends who’s father is the new Assistant DA in town.

DA.

No pressure.

I did get to see the last three minutes of the super bowl. I heard Prince did something that looked like a great big phallic symbol. How did I, a redhead, miss THAT? I'll just cry now.

Until next time-

PS. And my future...

This is my Uncle and cousin Larry. My Uncle (on the left) is 6'1 ...

Larry pitched for the Twins organization in the 80s. He is the biggest man I have ever known. This is who Brian aspires to be. (Sigh) It's gonna be a whole lot of peanut butter and potatoes...

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
Tags: Redheads, baseball, boys, parenting, Twins

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2007-02-07T14:16:00.000-08:00

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THIS IS A TEST...

2007-02-05T13:24:00.000-08:00

Eva Young said, "To think too long about doing a thing often becomes its undoing."

Back in 1991, I completed all but one college course in Real Estate. I was taking the classes while changing my life from being a Wedding Consultant to the legal side of Mortgage Banking. The great misnomer in Real Estate and Mortgage Lending is that someone will train you. HA! As frightening as it might seem to clients - it is all trial by fire. The best you get is a pat on the back and "Good luck kid".

No formal license was needed since everything I handled in Real Estate was licensed by the Dept of Corporations - not the DRE. Much of what I accomplished involved being an efficiency expert (streamlining old processes); research into laws and regulations and finally training. It was only in the last few years I migrated over to sales. Being a Wholesale loan broker was no picnic and I wondered where this career would take me. There was a time I went back to school and completed a 300 hour Computer Information System Professional course (then MCSE testing) looking to move away from Mortgage Banking.

I spent a little over a year as a Network Technician for a start-up telecom company, but the company went under (too many private corporate jets) and I was sucked back into Mortgage Banking. I love all things technical, but learned quickly that an IT career, although fun, can place a great deal of pressure on people to work absurdly long hours away from home. It was always difficult balancing Brian and the IT career I loved.

Finally, after being qualified to do so since 1991, on January 2nd 2007 I registered to take my DRE licensing test. This is the project I have been working on. At the end of 2006 I decided 2007 was going to be the year I finish old goals and move on to new ones. Thepast four years discovering my Hashimotos, being treated and recovering has been the longest period since early childhood I have gone without achieving a difficult goal.

My life hung in suspension, as if someone pressed the pause button on the remote control of my life. I have dreams - great visions of what I want to do, but the last four years just kicked my ass to the floor. It felt like my life was super glued to a Hamster wheel. I was spinning and spinning; going round and around.

So I mused that if I achieved some small goals - even if they felt as if they were in the opposite direction of where I want to take my life - the simple act of doing this would create that "tiny snowball beginning to roll off the top of the mountain" effect. Then change could begin the "snowball rolling downhill gathering volume" effect. Maybe this "spinning" in my life could be turned into rolling towards something... I also decided to go back and fix some goals that went off track many years ago - before my marriage and the life thereafter.

The last weekend in January I attended a weekend exam prep course. There I ran into an old friend's son who has known me in the business for years. He grinned when he recognized me and gave me a big hug. I can't believe this friend has a son in his twenties. When did this happen? OIY I am not this old... After filling him in on what has been happening with me, I asked him if I seem different. I have known this kid since he was 9; he is now in his 20's. He grins, "No - you still look like fun". HA.

The next day (when I chose to sit in the back of the class to change the view) I make a smart remark under my breath about one of the students toward the front, causing the guys around me to laugh out loud. This kid to turns around and says, "See - you are the same!" It was reassuring as hell. I must be slowly coming back.

The trainer in this weekend class was amazing. Trust me, as one ex real estate trainer about another, we are P I C K Y when it comes to teachers. This trainer was Richard Dryfus's twin in looks and actions, and could certainly kick my butt in stand-up delivery presentation. At the end of the weekend I discover we have mutual friends, even though he lives three hours away and has met my son. If these aren't my G*damned signs then I don't know what is.

I left for Sacramento that Monday to stay with my friends Elisabet and Chris. I was shocked when we realize it has been a year since I have driven the relatively short distance to their home in Folsom. Why we tend to do this with our friends is beyond me. It was wonderful to spend time with them. They are so wonderful to me.

Tuesday was test day and I have to say, that was hell. When finished, I was sure I didn't pass. Elisabet and Chris took me out to dinner and offered plenty of wine to move me from exhausted test taker to fun redhead. Elisabet then took me to her new favorite hot spot, where we sat outside drinking our last glass of wine while a line of people formed at the door to get in to this spot. I kept laughing, asking her if these people knew it was Tuesday night. Her response is that it is always like this. The town I live in doesn't look this much fun on a Friday night - let alone a Tuesday. These are not all college kids either.

Wednesday I said my goodbyes and drove back to Sonoma County, convinced I would be traveling back in a month to re-take my test. Today I was notified...

Holy S H I T ...

I PASSED.

Goal number one is out of the way.

It's a beginning ...

Somewhere a little snowball has started to roll down a mountain.

Until next time-

Celiac Disease Foundation

Tags: Redheads, goals, DRE, snow, tests, friends

JANUARY IS THYROID AWARENESS MONTH

2007-01-28T08:17:00.000-08:00

As many of you know by reading this blog, I suffer from Hashimoto's disease. It took a team of doctors over two years to figure out what was happening, even though my Irish grandmother died from complications of Celiac disease. She also had a goiter.

Hashimoto's disease, also known as chronic lymphocytic thyroiditis, causes inflammation of the thyroid gland, which leads to hypothyroidism. It's an autoimmune disorder in which the immune system inappropriately attacks the thyroid gland, causing damage to thyroid cells and upsetting the balance of chemical reactions in the body.

Unfortunately, the signs and symptoms of hypothyroidism vary widely, depending on the severity of hormone deficiency, so it can lead doctors in another direction. At first, most barely notice symptoms, such as fatigue and sluggishness and attribute it to getting older. But as the disease progresses, many of us develop more obvious signs and symptoms. I believe I have been dealing with this condition my whole life and it finally took me down (literally), forcing doctors to look at all disease possibilities.

My symptoms were:

-Sensitivity to cold. (I always had these strange "cold attacks" where I'd get cold and nothing raised my temperature. It is a type of hypothermia, and hot showers left me shivering in the shower. One solution was to take a blanket and cover me over a blowing heater vent. I'd became exhausted, still shivering and fall asleep. I awoke feeling hung-over as if I ate too much sugar. It was the strangest event, which happened without warning. My doctor felt I was experiencing a mild form of Myxedema).
-Pale, dry skin. (No cream ever worked on alleviating this condition. It would go away when the sun came out and I went outside).
-A puffy face.
-Hoarse voice. (especially when exhausted).
-Unexplained weight gain, followed by weight loss, then gain again without changing lifestyle.
-Muscle aches, tenderness and stiffness, especially in shoulders and hips. (I always attributed this to ballet combined with ice skating; then aerobics combined with weight lifting and standing on my feet all day; then hiking too much on theweekends with this crazy boot camp work out class during the week. I never thought I wasn't suppose to be sore).
-Pain and stiffness in joints and swelling in knees or the small joints in hands and feet. (I thought this was from the 17 years I spent dancing on my toes and bending like a pretzel for ballet).
-Muscle weakness, especially in lower extremities. (I started noticing if I wasn't careful and turned wrong I'd have a nasty fall. The first few times it happened I thought nothing of it, but after a while it began to scare me. It was one of the symptoms which began to concern my doctor, as I was often black and blue from a recent fall.)
-Excessive or prolonged menstrual bleeding (menorrhagia). (I think this symptom speaks for itself...)
-Depression. (I caught on to this right away and was up in my doctors face. I was working out too much to be depressed, and refused anti-depressents. Luckily my doctor knew me for 18 years and was aware this was not me).
-Tingling and numbing of hands and feet. (My hands or feet would go to sleep for no apparent reason).
-Catching many colds. (I seemed to catch every cold and often it would turn into bronchitis).
-Sleep apnea. (Good lord the problems I had with sleeping!!)
-Memory problems. (Trouble remembering directions, confusion when driving, and not remembering details of information I once found easy).
-Hair loss. (Sort of a male pattern baldness thing with thinning hair - THANK GOODNESS this was reversed with the medication!)
-Extreme fatigue. (I could sleep for days and felt such lethargy, that at one point I wished to die. Luckily I live for Brian, called my doctor and had someone drive me to see him. He gave me a shot of B12 and changed my thyroid meds).

The thyroid gland produces two main hormones, thyroxine (T-4) and triiodothyronine (T-3). They maintain the rate at which the body uses fats and carbohydrates, control body temperature, influence heart rate and helpregulate the production of protein.

The rate at which T4 and T3 are released is controlled by the pituitary gland and the area at the base of the brain, which acts as a thermostat for our system. The brain signals the pituitary gland to make thyroid-stimulating hormone (TSH). The pituitary gland then releases an amount of TSH depending on how much T4 and T3 are in the blood. The thyroid gland regulates its production of these two hormones based on the amount of TSH it receives.

Normally, our immune system uses antibodies and lymphocytes to protect against viruses, bacteria and antigens that invade the body. As I stated at the beginning, Hashimoto's disease is an autoimmune disorder in which the immune system creates antibodies which damage the thyroid gland. The disease causes inflammation of the thyroid gland, known as "thyroiditis". This can impair the ability of the thyroid to produce hormones, leading to hypothyroidism.

Doctors don't know what causes an immune system toattack the thyroid gland. Some scientists think a virus or bacteria might trigger the response, while others believe a genetic flaw may be involved. My mother has thyroid nodules and elevated TSH.

Since my Hashimoto's disease caused a thyroid hormone deficiency, I needed replacement therapy with thyroid hormone. This involves a daily dose of Armour Thyroid and Cytomel, other people may be prescribed levothyroxine. This medication is suppose to restore hormone levels and reverse the symptoms listed above. It has taken me another two years after starting treatment to begin to feel better. They say it can take time to reverse symptoms, especially if the disease went untreated for a number of years.

Here are a list of websites for more information:

AllThyroid.org

The Thyroid Foundation of Canada

Thyroid Disease-Org.UK

Endocrine Disorders

Genetics Home Reference

Dr Lowe

A Hashimotos story like mine

Another Hashimotos Story

Myxedema

Armour Thyroid Information

At first the diagnosis and day to day dealing with the idea of a "disease" was difficult and frightening. Doctors don't say much when they deliver a diagnosis. As patients we are often left to search for our own answers ... and hope. Thank God for the Internet, books and medical studies.

There is also the worry of being able to handle one's life and how 'unsexy' the word "disease" can be. We think some foolish thoughts before we settle into the idea that we are stronger mentally than we ever knew. We fight back, manage the pills and get on with the day to day living of our lives.

I still have good days and bad days. There are the occasional "crashes", where for some reason the meds don't work and some difficult symptom reappears. I think this is the cycle of auto-immunity. When I catch a simple cold now (it is rare) the old feelings of exhaustion return and fear overtakes my thoughts. I have to remind myself it is "just a cold". In a few days I will be up and running again. I rest, then recover - thrilled that my body is doing what it is meant to - heal.

Some people overcome this disease, and for some strange reason the body stops attacking the thyroid and TSH returns to normal. For me, I am not sure about the outcome since I think I went too many years undiagnosed. But we know me - I love that word H O P E. It is the sweet wine of belief fruit that is my life.

"Sanity may be madness but the maddest of all is to see life as it is and not as it should be". ~Don Quixote

Until next time-

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, Hashimotos, hypothyroidism, thyroid, Armour, CFS

EVERYBODY ... PLAY BALL!

2007-01-24T14:31:00.000-08:00

It's official.

I am entering the black tunnel years. You know ... the years where parents misplace large segments of their lives being taxi-drivers, cheerleaders, event coordinators, and time managers.

Brian is starting baseball next month. Practice is twice a week with games twice a week. Did I say I wanted a life?

(Sigh) B A S E B A L L

My biggest fear is how much he loves it. I see my future and it smells like dirt, spit and sweaty socks.

Until next time-

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: baseball, redheads, parenting, little league, boys

I HAD A BANNER...

2007-01-19T15:23:00.000-08:00

There is this joke:

"How do you anger a redhead?"

"By breathing."

I am aware of the feisty, ill-tempered redhead rumors. It takes a great deal to push me into losing my temper. I do try to control being baited into an argument. REALLY. When someone pisses me off - back away - I am going to say what I think and yell when I am saying it. I'd label me more the feisty type.

It's funny, because I never yell at Brian. I would never yell at young kids anyways. Brian does his best and I recognize this. When he is way out of line, I comment, "You should go in your room to protect yourself from me right now." He will respond with, "I know" and escape to his bedroom sanctuary. His room is fully equipped with a TV, stereo, cool bed and video games. (A rough life). Maybe I should go to his room and he should stay in the kitchen and clean. He is smarter than I thought. After about 15 minutes in his castle, he will come out and apologize for his attitude. He thinks it is funny when I warn him to leave the room when he pushes me too far.

The African buffalo is known for its bad temper, and won’t hesitate to fight. It will defend its territory, mates, and calves at all costs and has been known to attack and kill lions, leopards, hyenas, and even humans if needed. Many people consider it to be the most dangerous mammal in Africa. Some would say this also adequately describes a redhead. Maybe a crazy redhead, but I have known more blondes who fit this description.

Me with a bad temper....?...I usually beg to differ, except for last night at Brian's basketball practise.

(I am sorry for the break in continuing this story. I came down with a sinus infection that knocked me to the curb).

Brian and I arrive at practise a half hour early, because my son can nag the hide off a grizzly bear. "Mom, can we go now? Can we go NOW? Can we go now...? MOM, can WE go now?..." Youget the idea... but GOD FORBID Ineed to go somewhere. Then, his feet conveniently drag and he becomes hard of hearing.

As we walk from the parking lot towards the courtyard outside the gym, we pass one of Brian's team mates and his dad. They are walking to the parking lot. There has been this ongoing time issue with the last few practices. The Christian high school basketball team has been practicing a half hour into the practise of the grade school league. To add further fire to the flame, the high school coach doesn't want anyone in the gym while his players are on the court. (Because the high school team might "go all the way" to the "most unknown team in history" ). This has caused an argument between the coaches about when the high school team is actually finished with practise.

As with all things volunteer, no one seems to take charge or solve this dilemma. You'd think they were voting to raise the minimum wage. For three weeks we are told practise will definitely start at 7:00pm, only to have the high school coach continue with his team until 7:30. It was supposedly solved.

Uh huh.

As we pass the dad leaving with his son, he stops to tell us the coach to the high school team won't let him in the gym and practise can't start until 7:30. He is angry enough to leave. His son looks like someone shot his dog.

I look at Brian (who lives for this evening) and tell him we can go play basketball together on the outside courtyard. Relieved, Brian looks at me like men have looked at me when I say I understand football. He is certain I can't possibly know how to sink a ball into a hoop. But his yearning to play overcomes his certainty that his mother lacks a skill which doesn't involve cooking or cleaning. He runs to the courtyard where there are several basketball courts.

I set my coat, purse and book down on a picnic table to join Brian on the court. Since this is a small school, the outdoor lights work about as well as a candle in a cave. I miss my first couple of shots and Brian grins the kind of grin where he is thinking, "girls...". On my third try, I make a shot and he congratulates me. How did I ever know how to do anything before he was around to tell me?

We enjoy playing in the dark until one of the other boys arrives with his dad. I throw the ball to the kid and walk away to sit on the picnic table. I am smart enough to know when a parent is no longer needed. His dad wanders the courtyard. Several more kids and their parents arrive. I am still sitting off in the dark, and the parents find odd places to sit while we wait for the gym to open.

Brian's coach arrives next. He spots me first, even though I am sitting in the dark. He walks up and asks why we aren't in the gym. I tell him about the first boy who left and we can't be in the gym until 7:30pm. The coach sighs, mumbling this was suppose to be solved. He walks to the gym to find out what is going on. I sit back down and continue to watch the boys.

Brian's best friend on the team's dad follows the coach to the gym. He stands outside the doors, pacing back and forth waiting for the coach. Suddenly, I hear this loud voice yell, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Being that I am at a Christian school, and having never actually heard the voice of God, (as a redhead) I am certain he would yell the first time he wants to speak to me. I look up, to my right, then to my left and all around the courtyard and I don't see anyone. Maybe this is my sign? Then, the voice says,

"HEY! I AM TALKING TO YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!"

The boys stop playing to look around; I look around. Again we can't figure out where the voice is coming from. I assume it is someone in the gym and we are hearing it outside. I look up - just to make sure there isn't a burning bush, a flashing star or some sort of sign from God that I might be over-looking. I haven't committed a mortal sin in ages, so what would God want with me in the middle of a dark basketball court in rural Northern California?

Again, the voice yells,

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? DON'T YOU RESPOND WHEN SOMEONE IS TALKING TO YOU??"

This time he continues yelling, which gives me enough time (with the echo of the large courtyard) to figure out where the voice is coming from. I spot this man at the far end of the courtyard, standing at a door, yelling towards the gym. I realize this is our yeller. The boys look to me asking if he is yelling at them, to which I respond, "He better not be. Go ahead and play boys."

The man walks off his platform. He is still yelling. It dawns on me that this man is yelling at the back of Brian's best friend's dad. The dad has been slowly walking back toward the boys. I watch as this short, fat, scruffy-looking man tries to catch up with the dad. By the time he reaches him, they are next to the boys on the court. He gets beside the dad and yells,

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM? WHAT, YOU DON"T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH YOU..."

I should stop here to say that the dad is Hispanic.

Before the nasty man can yell another word in front of the boys (here goes the redhead) I yell (calmly),

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT MISTER. DON'T YOU DARE. STOP IT RIGHT NOW! YOU WILL NOT SAY WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO SAY WHILE I AM SITTING HERE AS A WITNESS! NOT IN FRONT OF THESE BOYS. DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT - I AM WARNING YOU!"

Shocked, the yelling man stops in mid-breath and squints his eyes to see who is sitting in the dark. The boy's dad (who the yelling guy was about to say something bigoted) has stepped back and is looking down, as if willing to take what this jerk is about to say. The yelling man begins to yell over at me,

"I WATCH FOR SECURITY HERE AND WHEN I SEE SOMETHING SUSPICIOUS IT IS MY JOB TO FIND OUT WHAT IS GOING ON!"

Now I should saythat this so-called security guy is in a dirty white t-shirt, with a belly that hangs 50 inches over his jeans, which sit on his hips so low it is really the upper thigh, exposing his belly button. His belly button is the size of a football, and covered in grey hair. He needs a shave and looks like someone who just woke up from sleeping in the park. A gum wrapper left in a parking lot is cleaner than this guy. Security my ass. He is the scariest person here.

I respond, calmly yelling back,

"THIS IS WHY YOU ARE BOTHERING HIM? WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US?? I AM TELLING YOU TO STOP IT NOW! I KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO DO AND I AM THE WRONG WOMAN TO PISS OFF, TRUST ME ON THIS. I WOULD STOP NOW IF I WERE YOU."

(Little did I know, at this moment Brian is huddling with the boys and saying, "Don't worry. NO ONE messes with my mother - just watch.")

I can tell the man is sizing me up, but confused, as I sit there in a business suit and a long black trench coat with my long red hair. I can tell he is thinking he should be careful, but is too angry and has too much of an ego to listen to a woman. It is obvious he has not caught the fact that my hair is red.

He begins to turn back to yell at the man, when I stand up and say,

"Look you poor excuse for a representation of the male species. It is obvious to me by the dirt on your body that you never wash your ears, so I am going to assume they are filled with so much wax that you can't hear me when I say you will stop this right now. I am the wrong woman for you to continue this argument, since you don't know whether or not I am a complete nut-case, for which I just might be. And since I don't give a crap what you think, and unlike you I have showered this week, I can say with conviction that you will wish to your dying day that you never met me and that you would have stopped when I asked you. Am I making myself clear or do I have to move closer to draw you a more unpleasant picture?"

The man has stopped with his mouth open as the boys stare from me to him, me to him, me to him. By this time the coach has come out of the gym to witness the last part of the scene. The other parents are beginning to stand. He walks straight up to the man and asks,

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

The security guy, who is really the janitor turns to the coach and tries one last yell to which the coach tells the man to go back to his room. They exchange a few words. The man mumbles as he walks off back to his hole. The coach grins at me and says,

"I'd ask if you are allright, but I can tell you don't need my help."

I laugh and sit back down. Brian runs over and sits next to me. He is grins and says, "Mom, you are so cool." I know he understood what was really coming down. He was proud that I didn't let the yelling janitor say something awful to his friend's dad, and humiliate his friend. There was just no way in hell I was going to allow that to happen.

Well, there would be that "redheaded temper" thingy in action.

It has been said, Joan of Arc was a redhead.

Until next time-

PS. I have now been invited to three different boys homes for dinner...

Http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, Redheads, Joan of Arc, bigotry, anger, basketball, ice storms

REDHEAD FIRST IMPRESSIONS

2007-01-17T11:20:00.000-08:00

It is sometimes strange being a redhead (no sh** you say?). Where it can be most curious is with statements that occasionally fall from a man's mouth. It can be worse on the Internet where anonymity is protected.

Once, when I was out dancing with a group of college girlfriends, an unknown guy approaches me. He looks nice enough - clean cut. You know, the kind of guy who looks like you can take him home to meet your mother. I think he is about to ask me to dance, when he smiles and says,

"Wow. I love redheads. Would you like to go to my place and fu**?"

My girlfriends stand frozen, stunned. It pisses me off enough to want to slap him, but luckily hold my wits about me and reply,

"I'd rather take up yoga and learn to lick myself."

Shocked at my quick response, he chokes on to what to say next. My girlfriends explode in hysterical laughter. He apologizes for bothering me and walks away. What a little boy.

On what planet did he think that pick up line ever worked?

It wasn't the first or the last time guys would say stupidly offensive comments like:

"Are you a real redhead?"

(I am thinking....No, I am faking it along with my freckles, pale skin and orgasms.)

For the record: I am the real e v e r y t h i n g.

"Do the collar and cuff match?" or "Do the carpet and drapes match?"

(I am thinking...Do the brain cells in your penis and head match?)

"Do you like to fu**?"

(I am thinking ...Do you like little boys?)

"Prove you are a redhead!"

(I am thinking ... Do I burn your house down? Will that work?)

"Are you good in bed?"

(I am thinking ... I am good at snoring, farting, bed wetting - ANYTHING that will turn YOU off.)

I don't know where these guys think it will go after offending a redhead. We shift these boy-men to a certain category with the boys in school that throw rocks at girls, barf in the back of cars and pass out at public functions. They are to be avoided at all cost.

There are so many amazing comments a man can say, which will leave a redhead wanting more - possibly interested for a lifetime. I doubt any of the boy-men will stumble upon this redhead secret.

And I am not about to tell.

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
Tags: Redheads, Stupid questions

ENDANGERED SPECIES

2007-01-16T10:18:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Dale sends me the following email. I am not quite sure if this is a desire on his part, or a warning (this is great because I have been lax in my writing and this strikes me as hilarious)-

Will rare redheads be extinct by 2100?

By Robin L. Flanigan
Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle

Article: She was just walking down the street with her sister, in her old neighborhood, when an elderly woman stopped her car in front of her and called out, "I love your hair! It's so beautiful!" Caitlin Tydings was about 8 then, and caught off guard. Now a high-school senior, she has since grown accustomed to strangers commenting on her strawberry-blond locks.

[Me: ... and her pale white pasty skin, fondly known as "Chalkcasian"; the 10,000,000 freckles of various shades of brown, shapes and odd sizes and let's not forget the red "ruddy" hue to her skin in odd patches at strange times... this HAD to be her grandma shouting...]

Article: If predictions by the Oxford Hair Foundation come to pass, the number of natural redheads everywhere will continue to dwindle until there are none left by the year 2100.

[Me: Is this a dream or mere speculation by men who have dated, married, or talked with us...?]

Article: The reason, according to scientists at the independent institute in England, which studies all sorts of hair problems, is that just 4 percent of the world's population carries the red-hair gene. The gene is recessive and therefore diluted when carriers produce children with people who have the dominant brown-hair gene.

[Me: At first I read "recessive" as "regressive' and took offense, although if we use this word instead ... it might explain a great deal about me and the men I date.]

Article: Dr. John Gray's explanation of his foundation's findings: "The way things are going, red hair will either be extremely rare or extinct by the end of the century."

[Me: I am picturing all my ex's lining up to ask for a more exact date, time, and place. I think we have given them hope and a new meaning to their lives.]

Article: Red hair certainly has made the endangered list. But with 4 percent of 6.4 billion people carrying the gene, says University of Rochester Medical Center's David Pearce, it is too large a figure to be wiped out completely in the next 95 years.

[Me: Great, so now I am on a list with the African wild ass, the Black rhino, the Pygmy hog, Visayan warty pig and the illustrious Bactrian camel. Any resemblance to fellow endangered species is purely speculative, although there may be people who beg to differ.]

Article: "I think someone may want to check their calculator," Pearce says. The red-hair gene "will dilute out and become rare, but there are a variety of other factors that can change hair color that are not really understood well right now." The gene responsible for red hair was only discovered in the late 1990s. People have a good chance of being born with red hair if they have a mutation of that gene.

[Me: I just love being described as recessive, endangered and mutant. Did me and the scientist date at some point in my past? Throw in a little affliction, fascination, perturbation then stir and we've got a pretty good description of life with a redhead...]

Article: Red hair is found in all ethnic backgrounds but is most commonly associated with people of Celtic descent. Red hair skipped two generations before sprouting on Brianna McBride, a 5-year-old preschooler from Penfield, N.Y. It comes from her great-grandmother on her father's side.

[Me: Luckily, not the mailman...]

Article: "As a baby, we'd be in the store and people would always try to touch her head. She didn't like that, so she was very shy," recalls her mom, Alice. As Brianna got older, "we started to point out other redheads, and she started understanding." Now, her mom adds, "she looks forward to the attention. She has really learned how to use it."

[Me: Note to her mother- RUN FOR YOUR LIFE now while you still have your wits about you.]

Why redheads are news fit to print is beyond me. Maybe it was a slow day in New York, or the scientist at Oxford woke up with one shaved eyebrow, soap on his toothbrush, all toilet paper missing, and his fingernails painted bright red after telling his redheaded girlfriend he wanted to see other people ... He was hoping all redheads will soon disappear from the face of the earth...

Yeah, but we will be messing with heavens above ... there is just no escaping us.

Until next time-

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Tags: Endangered species, redheads, men who have dated redheads, hope, science

SHAKE RATTLE AND ROLL - ROUND TWO

2007-01-12T03:44:00.000-08:00

I dream someone is shaking me and awake to my lamp moving. We had another earthquake on the same fault:

http://quake.usgs.gov/recenteqs/Quakes/quakes0.htm

I live right near Glen Ellen.

Until next one-

C
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

Tags: earthquakes, california, redheads

DISTANT REMINDERS

2007-01-11T22:17:00.000-08:00

Elisabet and I share our weekly fix of Grey's Anatomy. We have been doing this since the show began and no one knew of the McAdorables. We'd chat afterward or the next day - laughing at her love of McDreamy.

Now the show hits a bit closer to home. The intern known as George has a father who is diagnosed with cancer in his esophagus, which has spread to his stomach. I know what it is like to hear this prognosis in real life. I was almost 14 when Dr. Seisums told my mother my father had Esophageal cancer.

I remember all the tests, the visits to the doctors, my mother and father up in the middle of the night. She is a nurse and fear kept her pacing the floors in the wee hours of the night. My dad would be up consoling her. God, they so loved each other.

I remember the color of the green walls of the doctor's office when the doctor, my mother's friend (and boss) broke the news to her about my father. I remember her sitting down in the chair in his office. She seemed strong and fearless to me. I haven't thought about all of this in years. Tonight on television, Grey's Anatomy brings it all flooding back.

Over 20 years my father's only symptom was chronic heartburn a couple of times a week. When he was diagnosed in 1973, he had stage 3 cancer, which means the disease had already spread from the esophagus to his stomach and surrounding tissues.

The operation my father underwent was to remove the cancerous part of his esophagus and stomach. What was left of his stomach was brought up to meet the shorter part of his esophagus. Back then, the surgery took 22 hours. For many years my father's surgery was the longest known surgery in the history of Memorial hospital. His name was engraved on a small plaque that hung in the wing where cancer surgeries were performed.

In my father's esophagogastrectomy the surgeons removed one-third of his stomach, 8 inches of his esophagus, and the sphincter muscle that controls flow between the esophagus and the stomach. The surgery is a blur in my mind. I remember beingat the hospital, and my mother pacing and pacing but I don't know if I was there the whole 22 hours. I don't know who would have cared for me and my brother. I just don't remember. I remember being scared and praying for my dad. I remember the blurry glow of the ceiling lights down the long hospital corridors. It seems like a distant dream.

I don't ask my mother about it. She would probably tell me, but there is still a part of me that doesn't want to remember. So here I am sitting in my living room watching my father's story on a popular TV show. If the character story is like my father's he will die. Although, my father didn't die on that operating table. He lived another four and a half years slowly dying while the cancer spread little by little throughout his body.

He worked every single day during those four years of death. He roofed our home. He bought me my first car and taught me how to change my own tires. He took us on camping vacations throughout some of the most amazing country in the United States. He came to every ballet performance, took my brother on scouting trips and went dancing with my mother.

Because the sphincter muscle was gone, every time he ate, he would throw up most of what he had eaten. In the four years he fought to stay in our lives he lost 70 pounds, going from looking like Paul Bunyan, the lumber Jack to a tall pencil. Yet, nothing stopped him. Nothing.

By the time I graduated from high school I was convinced he would make it. Convinced he would live to see me graduate from college, walk me down the isle and spoil my children. But if one knows the mortality rate of this cancer back in the 70s, we were lucky to see him after the surgery.

But on a sunny August day, the summer I graduated from high school, two short weeks before I was to begin college, he called out to me in my mind before slipping away to the other side. By the time I got home and made it to his side, he had taken his last breath and was gone forever.

I have never written about his cancer before. I was 18 back then and now I am 46. My father was 45 when he had surgery and died at age 49. In some ways it seems like yesterday. Now that I am the age he was it is hardto believe he was so young. He seemed wise and so much more together than I am at his age. He was larger than life. I have a hard time making it through a day when I am cold.

It's strange how something as simple as a TV show can bring a memory flooding back into view. Thank God Men in Trees is on afterwards and Brian is with his dad. I can recover from this memory...

But I still miss my dad...

Until next time-

Tags: Cancer, Greys Anatomy, surgery, redheads

BRRRRRRRR

2007-01-10T22:22:00.000-08:00

Isn't winter over YET?

Cold weather (if only after sunset) still drops my body temperature below 96, even with taking Armour. (Sigh) so it seems I still have thyroid work to do. I stopped taking Cytomel because I was feeling good. Now I think I need to adjust down the Armour and add one Cytomel pill.

We are seeing temps below freezing at night, but my down comforter and tempur-pedic mattress, along with two pairs of socks, pajamas and a sweat shirt aren't keeping me warm. I have so many blankets that my bed is looking like something from the Princess and the Pea... and I am the pea. People tell me sleeping naked will keep me warm. The idea of sleeping naked right now is about as appealing as cleaning a public restroom. This is saying ALOT coming from the resident redhead here.

Maybe the "people" suggesting it meant I should sleep naked with THEM. Hmmmmm. Any idea of nakedness is making me shiver. This is probably the reason people hook up in the fall and break up in spring. People need dates for holiday parties and someone to keep them warm at night.

Tomorrow night is Brian's basketball practice in the gym that was built before God and insulation. I am trying to figure out how many layers of clothes I can put on before Brian won't want to admit I am his mother ... plus I need to be able to bend my arms to drive.

I think I need to invent a mink bra. That could help keep a girl warm…

Until next time-

Tags: freezing, winter, bra, redheads,

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2007-01-07T23:48:00.000-08:00

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SEX AFTER 60

2007-01-07T23:31:00.000-08:00

It is a time to rejoice and a time to bemoan. Brian returns to school; Christmas vacation ends. December was a nice month and 2006 disappeared swiftly in quiet contemplation.

We are over our Christmas colds as the weather in northern California experiences a "spring" hiccup. We see days with temperatures near 70. But the nights are still as cold as an angry wife. It is the beginning of a new year.

The first Redwood Writers club meeting of the New Year convened Sunday evening. The guest speaker was Joan Price, a local advocate for sexuality for seniors. She has written several books, maintains a blog and teaches line dancing. She is an inspiration to be sure. I am proud Sonoma County can boast her as their own.

I haven't forgotten my own redheaded sexuality; it is just taking a back seat to being Brian's social director these days. My mother did the same with my brother and me during the pre- teen years. It is amusing to remember how great she looks after my brother started driving ourselves and she had more time. Although … Brian does think I look great ... but I don't think any 11-year-old boy likes to think of his mother as sexy. I think they prefer we look like Betty Crocker.

Joan talked candidly of her life what has brought her to where she is as a writer. I am impressed with her knowledge of blogging, as media would have the public believe only pubescent teenagers with friends to text have blogs. During her conversation about blogging she shares an example of a phenomenon I have seen too much of on the Internet.

The story is about a group of people from a shock jock radio program that took it upon themselves to blast her blog with negative postings, making fun of people over 60 having sex. Their comments borderline evil and remind me of mob mentality. We are forever talking about eliminating bullies from the schoolyard, only to see them reappear on he Internet. Joan made the mistake of not having her moderator turned on so she can filter out the postings. By the time she realizes what has transpired on her blog, the postings have sat, creating an alternate image of what she stands for.

It was during this time that a local newspaper reporter is reviewing her blog for the first time. I am at a loss to understand why people waist any precious day (in our short lives) berating a stranger. It was lost on me growing up and is lost on me now. It would be more understandable if provoked, but aren't we supposed to be more evolved?

I see the same thing happening on a blog where a young man talks about foreclosure on several houses he bought at the end of the real estate bubble. The mortgage payments are crushing him and he is fighting the thought of financial ruin. He writes with innocent honesty. In response, some strangers will write the cruelest tirades. Again, I am lost as to why. It isn't like his financial ruin affects anyone posting at the site. He is trying to tell his story, and probably sell it in the hopes the money will prevent him from facing a bankruptcy court.

Isn’t this the American way?

This growing climate on the Internet where hatred is spread in the name of “free speech” disturbs me. It has shut down popular chat rooms, newsgroups and conversation postings. Is “free speech” what Hitler called his vision for the future? Or what the murderers of the one million Tutsis slaughtered in Rwanda called it? How do people think atrocities happen? They begin with hatred left unchecked. It grows like an infectious disease silently killing courage. I am bored with the argument of “Who decides what hate speech is?” Oh come on people, we are not THAT stupid. I think we can all agree what is hate speech.

At the club meeting I watch the faces of the other writers as Joan shared this negative experience with her blog. Their eyes swell with the air of reluctance. Fear is a powerful perfume. I think it is a shame if the world is denied the next Hemingway, because he or she is afraid to tell their story. These negative web experiences are why everyone should do a blog and post their thoughts and stories. We cannot let the bullies of the world spread their message of hate and ridicule unabated. We cannot let them silence our courage. I have been lucky enough that all my emails from readers are funny, and many read this site without posting, but I can moderate out content too. But negative reactions won't stop me from blogging.

37 signals writes about this phenomenon in the article, "Why do blog comments seem to bring out the worst in people so often? " so the subject is getting some attention. I am baffled as to why so many people are bitterly unhappy and want to "share" it with the rest of the world. And when did it become okay to make fun of seniors with such disrespect?

Besides. I am all for people having sex until they are well over a 100 years of age. I am behind the boomers blazing THIS trail for me!! You go sista! I was born at the tail end of the boom, so I have benefited greatly by the changes boomers bring to the world. Why shouldn’t we be passionate about life until the day we die? You can’t tell me there is one person out there, who given the choice between dying of a heart attack at age 96 after having great sex or dying in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes and monitors with a bedpan under their ass would chose the latter.

Saturday morning I enjoy my weekly morning coffee call to my mother. She is 78 and turning 79 this June. She looks and acts like a 60 year old. I often tease her that she will live to be 104 because of the longevity genes in her family. I joke how we will be rambling around some house with her telling me to pick up my shoes. I’ll be 73 saying “I’ll do it in a minute, mom.” She laughs and then tells me that she only wants ten more years and then she is done. Ten years. Ten years is too soon to say goodbye. I know she dreams of the day she will see my dad again. I know she misses him. She stays healthy and active out of love for us kids and her grandchildren.

But ten years?

I rather like the dream of having her live with me. But she is determined to leave this world her way. The way she plans things she’ll probably quietly nod off to sleep in church during mass, never to wake up. My father's spirit will be on the other side gently extending his hand, telling her he has been waiting patiently to travel the universe and heavens with her.

Hopefully ... I will be having great sex with the love of my life by then…?

Until next time-

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com, redheads, sex for seniors, aging, spammers, hatred, love

SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL

2007-01-07T01:30:00.000-08:00

We just had an earthquake here that jolted me out of bed. A redhead somewhere must be having sex (wink). But seriously, I see the National Earthquake Center is reporting it was a 3.1. I am not feeling any aftershocks...

Until next shake-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

Tags: http://www.aweekintheofaredhead.com, earthquakes, redheads, insomnia, sleep, aftershocks

NO REPEATS

2007-01-04T00:06:00.000-08:00

I know! I haven't beenwriting much introspective, witty repartee here this past month orso. Truth be told I am still recovering from whatever kind ofcold this is. Daily, I now have heartburn and a massiveheadache. Brian is suffering through the same and enjoys livingin his pajamas for days on end.

I manage some work and at leasta shower, but I must admit I love hanging out in my homewith Brian. It is my favorite thing. I know these are thelast few years before he is off to be with friends, doing his ownthing. I will miss him terribly.

For now, we get to compare handsizes, worst spider stories and favorite comedic lines. He isinto farting and thinking it is funny. I am into chasing himaround with Fabreeze (because he is getting that "boy" smell) and Ithink it is funny. He points out when I have lipstick on my teethand tells me he likes me better without makeup. I point outto put on shoes and I like him better when he cleans his room...

I am lucky KB and Elisabet haveyoung children too, because they understand my desire to hang withBrian. They are like me - older women with youngchildren. We had large lives before we had ourchildren. I have girlfriends who married just out of high schooland had children before they were 20. Now they love their newfreedom and embrace corporate America with a vengeance, wherewe think "yawn". I didn't get married until I was 30, so Itraveled. went to school and did the corporate rat race long beforeBrian. None of it compares to being the mother of Brian.

I don't have a burningdesire to spend time away from Brian. It was hard enough totravel for work while he was young. I used to justify it in myhead by telling myself it was time he would be spending with hisdad anyways. But now that I don't have to travel, I want him allthe time and hate sharing. Yes, yes he does need to be around hisdad. I have girlfriends whose kids are grown who getirritated with me when I take Brian back before his time with his dadis done. They say I am letting my ex "off the hook" when Iallow him to change Brian's time with him. Really, I don't care,as Brian is welcome home anytime (day or night). I willforever be pleased to see him.

No other man, girls night,dance class or event could equal time hanging out with my son. Iam smart enough to realize time is a precious gift that changes in asecond. Before I know it Brian will be driving, then off tocollege, maybe traveling the world and then married and starting afamily of his own. I will then become the welcome guest inhis life from time to time. The time we have right now is"our time." It will never repeat.

However, I would like to get over whatever bug this is ...

Basketball season returns infull swing Thursday night and we begin the whirlwind that is the finalmonths of Brian's grade school life. Never to be repeated in thislifetime...

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife
Tags: colds, parenting, redheads, boys, basketball

RESOLVERE

2007-01-01T23:25:00.000-08:00

Wow,was that the holidays just flying by? What an amazing couple ofweeks, both for me personally and the world at large. Itseems like I blinked and now it is 2007. It was a nice Christmas,especially nice for Brian. I took two weeks off, like I always doand fully enjoyed every busy day.

Now we are at the New Year andthe question of resolutions abounds. I rather look at resolutionsas "adding" instead of "removing". So what kind of resolutions doI have for 2007? I think they should go something like...

Resolutionnumber one: For Christmas, my mother gave me the softest,puffiest, like-a-cloud blue robe and matching blue Ugg slippers. I resolve to spend more time enjoying being wrapped in the comfort ofall things soft. I resolve to wear my Uggs wherever I feel. Christmas day, I wore them to see the movie, The Pursuit of Happinesswith Brian. He wore his slippers ... there is nothing like seeinga movie in your slippers. There is nothing like eating anddrinking in a robe... just ask Hugh Hefner...

Resolution numbertwo: I resolve to walk Boonie more. We have a great time onour walks and now that I have a IPod with all my dance music, it makesthe walks one long nightclub for the senses. I also resolve todance around my living room with my IPod in 2007. I could do thisin my Uggs and robe... ah the visuals...

Resolution numberthree: Brian and I attended Handle's Sing Along Messiah overChristmas break. We ended up on a local TV program. I sangso hard that I lost my voice the next day. It was the first timeBrian was able to see me read music and sing as a tenor. All theyears I have talked about when I sang in a local choir, he was finallyable to see and hear me. He was shocked. I resolve to take Brianto more plays, musicals and live events. We had a great time, andone of the angel girls tried to flirt with him. He confessed shewas cute, but alas was (ugh) just a "girl". I think I shouldcaptivate on this attitude now before he begins to decide girls are thebomb...

Resolution number four: My brother fixed Christmasdinner and spoiled Brian. To my shock, he is a good cook. Iresolve to spend more time with my brother ... besides he has thisgreat swimming pool and killer washers and dryers. I can dolaundry and swim laps. His wine collection isn't shabby either...HEY! I could take my robe and Uggs...

Resolution numberfive: I resolve to see Elisabet more. 2006 sucked withoutmy constant cheerleader in the game of life.

Resolution numbersix: Do more of the things I love - like writing, gardening andpainting. There is nothing like giving part of yourself to theworld to make you feel happy and alive. Maybe I will leaveanonymous love notes to the world wherever I go...

Resolutionnumber seven: Write more to my dad's surviving sisters and getthem to tell more of the Hughes family history so I have it inprint. They have been researching for years and have some amazingstories about my grandfather. My Aunt Colleen says she tracedus back to our connection to Howard Robard Hughes Sr and Jr (yes,THAT Howard Hughes) although my dad always swore we were not related tothe man. But some of my exs might say, "I can see her locked awayin a room, with long nails and paranoid fantasies ... must run in thefamily...” Hah, I say, its just being a crazy redhead like we all are...

Being a Hughes is only secondary.

Although I am eyeing this robe and slippers thing...

Resolutionnumber eight: I resolve not to sob when Brian graduates from 6thgrade.... or when he starts middle school in the fall.

Andmostly I resolve to be grateful for every single day, good or bad, upor down. And know, other people's opinions of me and my life, arenone of my business.

Until next time-

C

"Allmy children have spoken for themselves since they first learned tospeak, and not always with my advance approval, and I expect that tocontinue in the future." Gerald Ford.

Tags: redheads, New Years Day, New Year's resolutions, Christmas

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2006-12-31T20:51:00.000-08:00

BOO HOO IT'S THE FLU

2006-12-27T22:49:00.000-08:00

Sorry for not updating about Christmas yet. It seems I caught Brian's cold (came down with it Christmas Eve) and it has officially kicked my ass. My hips hurt from sleeping so much. I am finally able to be up around after 48 hours of sleeping and sounding like some hacking witch from a Grimms fairy tale.

I am tired of chicken soup and crackers, but too exhausted to go to the store. Its funny the things we will dig out of our cupboards to avoid going to the store. I think I invented a new recipe for peanut butter....

Of course with my luck, if I went to the store - there I'd be hacking and sneezing, in the frozen food isle, dressed in sweats I have slept in, looking like Phyllis Diller and some old boyfriend of mine will round the corner with his latest girlfriend (who is an underwear model and barely 18). There I'd be trying to crawl in with the frozen shrimp and fish sticks to make myself small.

I also have the flu "no taste buds" mouth, so I really could boil left-over wrapping paper and not be able to tell the difference between it and chicken soup. Or am I saying something about my cooking here? My eyes have that just baked apple crisp feel to them, which makes every man reading this blog dream of sex with me I am certain. Hey, I could roll kleenex and stick it in my nose (like my mother always does) and yell, "Hey sexy" adding to the final icing on the cake of my sexy redhead visual here.

I need to go lay down again. Happy belated Boxing Day.

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

YOU HAVE A HAPPY CHRISTMAS

2006-12-24T03:22:00.000-08:00

Nollaig Shona Daoibh!

Tags: www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

AND SUDDENLY

2006-12-23T11:23:00.000-08:00

Her face is a map of the world
Is a map of the world
You can see she's a beautiful girl
She's a beautiful girl
And everything around her is a silver pool of light
The people who surround her feel the benefit of it
It makes you calm
She holds you captivated in her palm

Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
This is what I wanna be
Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
Why the hell it means so much to me

I feel like walking the world
Like walking the world
You can hear she's a beautiful girl
She's a beautiful girl
She fills up every corner like she's born in black and white
Makes you feel warmer when you're trying to remember
What you heard
She likes to leave you hanging on her word

Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
This is what I wanna be
Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
Why the hell it means so much to me

And she's taller than most
And she's looking at me
I can see her eyes looking from a page in a magazine
Oh she makes me feel like I could be a tower
A big strong tower
She got the power to be
The power to give
The power to see

Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
This is what I wanna be
Suddenly I see
Suddenly I see
Why the Hell it means so much to me

Thanks for the link and the lyrics to my new favorite song MrY... yeha it does remind me of me....lol. If they would only just fall down in front of me...

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife

Tags: KT Tunstall, Suddenly I see, music videos, Youtube

AM I

2006-12-22T13:58:00.000-08:00

DONE WITH SHOPPING YET?!?!?!?!?

IN EVERYONE'S LIFE A LITTLE LIGHT MUST SHINE...

2006-12-19T23:54:00.000-08:00

When I was in grade school, every year at this time, my father would tell us to put on our warm coats and get in the car. It was Christmas light hunting night. I'd grab my favorite coat, as somehow my mother always made sure I had these beautiful, interesting winter coats and run out the front door.

My brother and I would race to the car, shoving and pushing to get the seat behind my dad in the old Impala. The air would be crisp and cold, the stars bright and our breath appeared like smoke in front of our our faces. In the true spirit of Christmas, one of us would call the other, "stupid", or "jerk" and my dad would give us his "knock it off or we aren't going" look.

My mother brings hot cocoa in a thermos with extra cups, some napkins and hustles us to hurry and get into the car. If I tripped my brother just right I sometimes managed the proverbial choice seat behind my dad. Excitement rang in the air, as this was the beginning to the last nights before Christmas.

After enduring weeks and hours of Catholic masses, bending to our knees, smelling incense, beating our chests with rosary beads and dodging holy water in our hair we are finally able to enjoy the more commercial side of Christmas. My father finds a radio station with Christmas music as my mother begins to sing with her lyrical soprano voice. I begged they turn up the heat ... always the girl who hates to be cold.

We'd drive the back roads of Sonoma County making our way to Santa Rosa's West side, known then as the Montgomery Village area. There, known to everyone is a street called, "Christmas Tree Lane". It is a looped street with large one-story homes, massive front lawns, and everyone, and I say, everyone on this loop decorated their homes for Christmas. It was the contest of the year.

Excitement would build as we turn the car onto the Lane and the first Christmas display reveals itself. Lot's of "ohhhh's, awwws and oh my God's" echoed through the car. My dad pulls the car over and there we'd sit gazing at this long row of homes covered in all varying types of Christmas decoration. There were the many manger scenes, some with actual sheep (we were a farm town people), large wooden statues of elves, Santa flying on a roof, angels hanging from trees, flashing stars and a mix of large Christmas lights.

We'd slowly move down the street pointing out every little detail. I was sure Santa was a secret angel who created this magic just for us. Towards the end of the loop my father would flip a u-turn and park the car with the heater running. My mother pours us hot chocolate and we'd sit there admiring this special gift many strangers created for our viewing pleasure. I always expected that somehow Santa would come running down the street and wave yelling, "Catherine you are getting the life-size Barbie this year!"

Finally, when we felt we had seen it all, and my dad would grow weary from his long workday, we'd slowly drive out of the loop, out from Christmas Tree Lane. I was sure the people who lived there had some special relationship with Santa and their kids probably got amazing gifts. Although, my parents always did an wonderful job at making Christmas something special for me and my brother. Hell, Christmas morning I used to wake everyone up at 4:30 am screaming, "Santa came! Santa came! Santa came!” Only to have my mother beg and plead with me to go back to bed. I thought she was nuts.

I go back to bed and lay there in agony not understanding why no one else was bounding out of bed. Finally, my dad, fresh from about an hours worth of sleep would get up out of bed. He couldn't sleep knowing I was laying in my bed desperately waiting for everyone to get up, so he would get up, put on his robe and come take my hand. He would start by saying we HAD to go get coffee percolating. I soooooooooo get why now.

My mother would then rise and get my brother. My brother would come out, see the time and look at me like I was the she-devil he was convinced I was. I am sure I ruined just about every holiday for him from the minute I was born. Since I was born on the 4th of July at 5:30pm, he didn't get to do fireworks that year. I then subsequently stole the thunder for the holiday every year after. Let’s not even discuss how truly nutty I was for Christmas.

Hell, I still am.

Tonight Brian and I went for our "look at lights" night. They aren't as plentiful as the once were, although we can find that occasional small block that out shines the rest of Santa Rosa. There is one favorite of ours where Santa's reindeer are towing a classic VW Bug. We laugh every time we see it. Santa is styling these days.

I hope Brian remembers all his Christmas' with me the way I remember mine with my dad. A very Merry Christmas everyone. May you find joy in all the little moments.... silent night...holy night... all is calm...all is bright...

...sleep in heavenly peace...

Until next time-

IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS

2006-12-17T19:44:00.000-08:00

I love the TV 60 minutes. I have been watching it on Sunday nights ever since I can remember. My father loved the show and as a family we would watch the stories and often discuss them afterward.

On this Sunday 60 minutes correspondent Scott Pelley discussed Holocaust documents that were taken to a town in the middle of Germany, called Bad Arolsen, where they were sorted, filed and locked way, never to be seen by the public until now. There are 16 miles of shelves holding the stories of 17 million victims – not only Jews, but slave laborers, political prisoners and homosexuals. 60 minutes has flown three men who are Holocaust survivors to the town to look at their own records.

Every time I see something on the Jewish holocaust I cry my eyes out. Maybe it is my Irish upbringing and the understanding that my reason for being in the US is the discrimination that went on with Irish Catholics. not only Ireland, but in Canada where my Grandmother landed after leaving her home country. Maybe because it is the darkest side of our humanity ... bigotry ... like the trail of tears and the Rwanda genocide of 1994.

It really pisses me off that people say the holocaust didn't happen. How ignorant does someone have to be to say something so stupid, arrogant and cruel. There's the President of Iran and his recent summit on proving the holocaust didn't happen. I think there's a special place in hell just for those that supported it.

I remember a guy I dated in college who had his degree and made the statement that he wasn't sure the holocaust happened. How in the hell does someone graduate from college with a BS degree from a prestigious school and say something so ignorant? I remember wanting to spit on him. Needless to say we didn't date anymore. Oh but to some future employer he had a good credit score and could pass a pee test, because to corporate America that's all that matters. He lives in Texas and is in management at Transunion. What an ass.

This is one of the reasons I speak up when something bugs me, or a neighbor is being mean. There is this trend inthe US to not make waves and ignore situations that make us uncomfortable. Don't say anything - don't "make waves". How in the hell do people think the holocaust happened? It was exactly fear and turning of the head that allowed an entire race to suffer a cruel history we will take with us into the afterlife. This is why I say something to the teachers who are mean to children, or the guy calling his girlfriend derogatory names in front of her dad's house at a party or the bigot that makes a comment to the casher at the local grocery store. Brian always grins when I calmly speak up against cruelty with some redheaded comment.

But will the ignorant travel to see the documentation of Anne Frank and those that died with her? I doubt it. We will continue to hear this rhetoric about the holocaust not really happening and Irish redheads like myself standing up to say these comments piss me off to the extreme.

Can you tell this subject hits a nerve with me? All bigotry does. One doesn't have to be Jewish to recognise the contribution they have made to America, and probably to my family, somewhere in our family tree.

Until next time-

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2006-12-16T22:16:00.000-08:00

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BLACK AND WHITE CLASSICS

2006-12-16T20:51:00.000-08:00

The movie, "It's a Wonderful Life" is on this evening. It reminds me of the Santa Rosa of old, where everyone knew each other, helped each other and stopped to chat on the street. We knew each other's families, troubles, hopes and dreams. So many transplants are here now, and I, like George Bailey still have not left. Every time I have tried to leave something happens to pull me back.

Every now and then I get a glimpse of the Santa Rosa old .... at some symphony fund raiser ... or a funeral ... or a winning football game with Cardinal Newman. But then we mavericks of old quietly slip back into our busy lives and Santa Rosa becomes the place where strangers walk the streets never looking at one another.

The blonde summer fields of straw and majestic Oak trees are being traded in for vineyards and yuppie estates. People come here to talk of wine while the rest of us roll our eyes and remember the great Italian cattle ranches of yesterday. I guess there are some newbies who feel the sight of never ending vineyards is a beautiful thing, but those of us born here remember the farms, country barns and rolling hills that looked like clinched fingers.

The traffic sits more like long parking lots, rather than moving vehicles. All the roads paved to nowhere have changed the landscape as well. I remember when we could leave lunch during high school, speed to this hamburger stand on 4th Street downtown and then race back to school completing the whole run in 30 minutes. That same stunt would take an easy hour and fifteen minutes now. No one in any hamburger stand will call you by name, prepare your food the way you like it or talk in a way you clearly understand.

Antique ornaments hang from my Christmas tree, framed by the living room window, encircled by tiny blue lights. It looks like Christmas from 1950, and I love it. The hand stitched stockings hang from the fireplace mantle where soft candles twinkle in the soft winter light. I may not be able to see the Santa Rosa of yesterday when I step outside my door, but I can recreate it every Christmas within the tiny walls of this little place we call home.

The Building and Loan in "It's a Wonderful Life" reminds me of the old Santa Rosa Savings and Loan with its dark wood floors, walls and iron gates at the teller windows. Mr. Stone would always be at his sprawling office in the back reading over the Press Democrat. Ladies wore hats and gloves to go shopping and Pepper, the town character directed traffic. The windows of the department stores downtown were box windows which protrude out on to the sidewalk, forcing passers by to stop and stare at the treasures displayed inside.

My ex husband turned out to be the final reason that I remain living here. When we met I was working in the financial district of San Francisco and looking for a studio apartment to rent in SF or the south bay. I was staying with a friend in Tiburon when we made that fateful drive north to have dinner at Porifinos. The Santa Rosa rugby club was drinking in the bar. My ex was a Prop ... and the rest, as they say, "is history".

Now I stay for Brian and write about a single mother's life. I am trying to do the right thing and show Brian that if you hold out long enough for the right things, stand your ground and tough your way through, the rewards will eventually find their way to you. There is no way to gage how this will all turn out, but each time I chose Brian over instant gratification or a silly short cut - I am the better person for it. I can't imagine a greater satisfaction than the feeling I get with the sacrifices I make for him.

Just every now and then the words of George Bailey rattle around in my head, "I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world. Italy, Greece, the Parthenon, the Colosseum. Then, I'm comin' back here to go to college and see what they know. And then I'm gonna build things. I'm gonna build airfields, I'm gonna build skyscrapers a hundred stories high, I'm gonna build bridges a mile long..."

Until next time-

Thanks to Adam Sandler ... Happy Hanukkah!

ODE TO ADAM

2006-12-15T23:30:00.000-08:00

"Okay...
This is a song that uhh..
There's a lot of Christmas songs out there and uhh..
Not too many Chanukah songs.
So uhh..
I wrote a song for all those nice little Jewish kids who don't get to hear any Chanukah songs.
Here we go...

Put on your yarmulke
Here comes Chanukah
So much funukah
To celebrate Chanukah
Chanukah is the festival of lights
Instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights

When you feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree
Here's a list of people who are Jewish just like you and me
David Lee Roth Lights the menorah
So do James Caan, Kirk Douglas, and the late Dinah Shore-ah

Guess who eats together at the Carnegie Deli
Bowser from Sha Na Na and Arthur Fonzerelli
Paul Newman's half Jewish, Goldie Hawn's half too
Put them together, what a fine lookin Jew

You don't need deck the halls or jingle bell rock
'cause you can spin a dreidel with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock- both Jewish

Put on your yarmulke
It's time for Chanukah
The owner of the Seattle Supersonicahs
Celebrates Chanukah

O.J. Simpson, not a Jew
But guess who is? Hall of famer Rod Carew - he converted
We got Ann Landers and her sister Dear Abby
Harrison Ford's a quarter Jewish - not too shabby

Some people think that Ebenezer Scrooge is
Well he's not, but guess who is
All Three Stooges
So many Jews are in show biz
Tom Cruise isn't, but I heard his agent is

Tell your friend Veronica
It's time to celebrate Chanukah
I hope I get a harmonicah
Oh this lovely, lovely Chanukah
So drink your gin and tonicah
And smoke your marijuanikah
If you really, really wannakah
Have a happy, happy, happy, happy Chanukah
Happy Chanukah"

PEACE ON EARTH, MAN...

2006-12-14T19:09:00.000-08:00

HO HO HO it's that time of year where we run around in circles and wonder why we aren't getting anywhere. I do love the holidays though. All the lights, fireplace stockings and corny old movies.

The winter solstice is also on its' way, so we can climb over the shortest day of the year to begin coming home in daylight once again. I miss my evening walks with Brian and the dog. I hate that it is dark at 5:30pm. I enjoy those first nights of spring when a neighbor's lawn has just been cut and the air smells of grass and flowers. Everything has this crisp, just washed feel to it.

This evening, upon leaving my ex's (where Brian is still sick and I spend the better part of the day coordinating my ex's business Christmas mailers - my life is so strange) I decide to stop by Whole Foods to get sushi for dinner. Around here you can't beat Whole Foods for it's sushi. But some of the clientele are so strange. It reminds me of when my ex dated Granola-Garlic Girl (as we liked to call her). She always smelled of either garlic or granola and eventually left him for Eight ball-head Granola Guy. I used to tell my ex that he wasn't strange enough for her, which would have to be pretty damn strange.

Like the lady at the counter in WF who was in my way with her crocheted cap, hemp clothes and Ugg slippers asking the deli-person if the tofu was fresh ... HUH? These are the moments I ask myself why I am in this store with boar brush toothbrushes and gluten-free, rice-free, taste-free, no animals were harmed, hard as rock bread. I often grin as I don't think they realize what happens when a farmer cultivates wheat. No one really talks about the rodents, bugs, birds and the like that get whacked down with the wheat and become part of the bread. At least they were range free bugs...(?). But do you ever go into a store and it feels like some strange force is keeping you from just running in and getting out, groceries in hand? I had to say excuse me three times to get the tofu-concerned hemp girl to move over so I could pick up my sushi. Then a guy with 5000 braided pieces of hair with different rubber bands was feeling all the apples like they were a date, so I skipped on my favorite sour granny smiths and headed for the cashier, only to encounter person after person stopped dead center of an isle, cart and all looking out into space.

They all can't be stoned... can they?

I finally make it to the parking lot to what appears to be a car lot of BMW's with guys. Beammers are an odd choice for a guy - it is really a fem car. Don't you think? I grin when I think of my girlfriends in college, as we referred to BMW's as: Boring Men Within or Bed-wetting Man Within, because it never failed that guys we dated that drove beammers were lousy dates. We used to make bets on who had the worst BMW date. One of mine was with Larry the lawyer from San Francisco who got his rocks off spinning donuts on the freeway. Yes, I did type freeway. The third time he did it on our 2nd date, I asked him to take me to the nearest hotel. He thought it was for sex, but I used the lobby phone to call my brother. I then told him my brother was on his way to kill him. He left without saying goodbye... parting is such sweet sorrow. My brother told me he was looking forward to killing an attorney. Hey, some nights you are the pigeon, some times the statue below... that particular week I won the bad-date contest and didn't have to help clean the apartment.

The lawyer was just lucky my dad wasn't alive for me to call.

This is the time of year I also get Christmas cards from old boyfriends. One has just had another daughter and he is 53. Good lord infants in your 50's. I think they should be nominated for saint hood ... or the State hospital. I think God helped me dodge that baby making bullet. Another is lonely in Canada ... a third is working too much ... and one isn't doing what he is suppose to be doing (clearing throat) ... But I like their cards. I love getting anything in the mail that isn't a bill, an advertisement or the IRS ... put a photo on it, fold it, add some sentiments and a signature and it makes for the perfect holiday surprise. It's nice to be remembered with an effort. It means thatI matter to them. A girl likes to know that she mattered.

Our broker (who is also my ex boss - the same tall sexy man) got into quite the argument with me this week. I hung up on him. We haven't had a fight like this since I worked for him. He had to call my ex husband to vent. My ex says, "Hey buddy don't bitch to me. I have lived it for 16 years now." I had to laugh. So now me and Mr. Broker aren't talking. My ex says, "I could advise him, but then I don't want you not speaking to me." Did hell freeze over and no one told me ... cause I think my ex is growing wiser with age. It is odd when people want to push you - give you attitude. Then when you have had enough and bark back, they act all indignant and put out. I encounter this often because people mistake nice for no-boundaries and when they cross my line I let them know right to their face. They always have that "But I thought you were just going to let me act this way and treat you like shit and how dare you call me on my shit" look on their faces. This ex boss is no different, except his was more the "What, you do exactly what I have always asked you to do, and because I didn't pay attention, nor plan this and am now caught off guard I am going to get in your face" attitude. At what part did he brain fart and forget I am a redhead? I don't think so sparky.

On a better note, Brian and I shared a nice moment on the couch last night. We were talking about school and reading. I was telling him how amazing I think he is, how proud I am and how lucky I feel that he is my son. His face gets this funny look as his eyes well up with tears. My heart races as I begin to ask if his teacher is mistreating him in school (just watch how quickly I become like a lioness protecting her cubs). He shakes his head and says "I don't know..." and then it hit me. "Are you overwhelmed that your mother thinks you are so special and amazing?" He nods his head as tears roll down his face. I take his face in my hands and tell him it is all true, and he smiles. God I hate teachers for what they do to kids self-esteem. "Brian you can be anything you want - you are THAT great!" I tell him. He buries his face in my chest. I don't know what I did on this earth that was so wonderful that God should give me such a great gift in Brian, but I am grateful ... every single day.

I do swear that some day when I have the money, as God is my witness, I am going to help all the kids like Brian, who suffer at the hands of our school system because they learn differently. I see them at Brian's school and they are all my favorite kids. How a teacher can be mean to them is beyond my comprehension. It takes a lot for a child to hate an adult - children are like puppies. So when a great many say they hate a certain teacher, I know that teacher should be fired. I love taking bad teachers on. I know how they can make a child suffer. Someday we are all going to change this and make school districts accountable for abusive, inept teachers. I don't care if the teachers hate me.

Speaking of Brian and children ... I haven't done much Christmas shopping yet. I fear I will be one of those people out on Christmas Eve frantically searching for that 2nd glove. Then wrapping everything in my mother's back bedroom while guests arrive. If people get gifts from 7-11 I hope they are appreciative... There is nothing that says, "Merry Christmas, Love you" quite like a Bic lighter three pack.

Aghhhhh I have written enough for today and need to go turn off all the outside lights. Tonight, more mid-season reruns because network TV still loves to send the message how unimportant we are. I have a new book I want to begin and it is the perfect rainy night to curl up in bed with a good book. It's safer, and doesn't require condoms.

Until next time-

ONLY 1960 MORE DAYS UNTIL BRIAN CAN DRIVE

2006-12-12T23:14:00.000-08:00

Last night I receive a call from Brian, "Hello Boobello" I say wondering what he has forgotten at our home and wants me to deliver to his dad's home... "I have a sore throat Mom" are his first words over the phone. Really, what am I suppose to do here..? But then it dawns on me, God love you men but you suck at taking care of sick people. This is why most nurses are female. They are the ones that do the real caring for the sick. It is apparent his dad is ignoring him ... just like most male doctors do.

We talk for a bit on the phone as I advise him what to do to feel better. He tells me he loves me and wants to come over. This is the hardest part about being a divorced parent when dealing with our kids. What to do when they want to come home when it is still their time with the other parent? I know there are parents out there that are a real hard ass about this, but I never had to leave my home growing up, so I am a bit of a softy when it comes to this issue. It's hard because my ex husband rarely completes his week with Brian as it is - something always comes up. Usually it is some selfish girlfriend's needs, but lately this hasn't been the case. I ask to speak to his father.

I know what it is with Brian, as I have created my own monster. I can create a very loving, tranquil, comfy easy going home life where we laugh and have alot of fun. His dad is strict and more of the "be a man" type. Just different parenting and kids always want to hang with the easier going parent. I talk to my ex and decide to leave Brian with him. These kind of decisions always tear me in two.

Late this afternoon, I am at his dad's house after the REMLA Christmas party putting the finishing touches on my brother's loan when Brian walks in from school, holds his throat, puts his arms about me and proclaims, "I feel awful Mom". He is great at drama (I have no idea where he gets this from (rolling eyes)). I tell him I have to run and I will come back to check on him. I need to meet with my brother. He gives me one of those "but I am sure I will die" looks as I leave.

When I return, it's late and he has not had dinner. I make my ex order Chinese food and I drive to the store for aspirin, cold medicine, oranges and gingerale. When I return I make Brian take a shower, put on jammies, take aspirin and cold medicine and sit down to some won ton soup. I pour him some gingerale, peal an orange and place it on a napkin for him, kiss his forehead and leave him in his dad's care. Brian looks relieved that I have done the motherly thing and manages a big smile. I agree to have him come home here by tomorrow. I tell him if he is sick I will work from home. I am no pushover...oiy...

Does this mean I have to pass on my new dance class Wednesday night...?...

When is Brian of driving age....?

Until next time-

Tags: A Week In The Life of A Redhead, Redhead bloggers, Blogging to Fame

LOOK! IT'S ZU ZU'S PETALS...

2006-12-10T22:48:00.000-08:00

This is the weekend I always prepare for Christmas. I start by picking Brian up from school on Friday and go on the great tree hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. After three tree farms and four tree lots, he decides on one at a lot right by our home. Maybe we should have just started there. I think it is some sort of weird Christmas law for kids ... the tree you get ends up being the first you see three hours earlier...

The tree he picks is fresh and fat. I get Brian to saw off the bottom inch and stick it in a bucket of water outside. I think during this moment he is thinking Christmas sucks. But it is a tradition my own father taught me from his days spent as a lumberjack in north west California. There is one thing I can do very well: chop down trees and chop wood. My father was adamant growing up that I learn this skill. I know what to do with a Christmas tree. I have the oddest life. I teach Brian to fish, throw a baseball, cut down a tree and split wood. How many mothers can say that?

Suddenly I am getting an odd surge of married men or men living with women contacting me via instant message these past few days. I don't know if it is the holidays, the growing interest in this blog or what, but suddenly they are coming out of the wood work. I am sorry, but most single women just aren't interested in wasting hours chatting with someone else's guy. You are boring to us. I am okay with my friend's husbands and boyfriends because they are like family. But the rest of the "taken" men out there I am just not interested in getting to know.

Life is too short and too valuable to be their fun, because they are searching for something outside their relationship, rather than getting off their asses and creating it where they lay. I got divorced. I paid my heartache dues and I am just not interested in some other woman's guy. I never have been and this part of me will never change. Besides, there is this little list of rules that I do believe in called The Ten Commandments. Why do some taken guys think a woman will settlefor so little when we single ones can just go out and create the life we want with a single, available man ...?

I feel sorry for the women in these guy's lives. My father never would have done anything like that, but he was crazy for my mother ... so was Papa Dick. And my brother, like me has never cheated on anyone. I just don't understand the point. You are either in a relationship or you're not. It's a black or white issue. Maybe we just come from a culture that takes its responsibilities and commitments seriously. But I also think the value we put on the relationships in our lives is directly related to how we value ourselves. When someone cares about me I am careful about their heart. This is why I gave my all to make my marriage work and was so devastated when I called it off. It wasn't my fault but I still took my fare share of the responsibility for its end. And because I value my relationship with Brian I go out of my way to work on a working friendship with his father, even though some say my ex doesn't deserve it.

I always answer with "What would Jesus, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, or the Dahli Lama do?" Brian is the best part of our marriage. He is a great kid. He deserves the best from us and parents who should act like grown-ups. I can say my ex was not exactly on board with this type of thinking the first few years of our divorce, but I was relentless in my pursuit of a peaceful, happy life for Brian and I made it happen. Brian will be a better man for it. Ok...enough of that soap box. YAWN.

I made my famous polenta dinner for my annual Sunday night tree decorating party. Christmas carols, champagne, family and friends partake in my annual tradition. Now our home is perfectly decorated for the holidays. Sometimes I think we invented Christmas as a way to see ourselves through the coldest, darkest part of the year. The tree stands proud next to the living room window kissed with hundreds of small colored lights and old fashioned ornaments. Brian is so excited that he has fallen asleep on the couch facing the tree.

Something has changed in our home, and it isn't just the furniture I have moved around. Mymother notices it when she arrives, "Your home is so beautiful and comforting dear, what is new?" Really, nothing is. I got rid of our old entertainment center that Brian and I learned to paint Monet flowers on. But I think it is me surviving the very worst of events over the last year and being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I do want people reading this blog to understand that in my darkest hours I have always been grateful to God for my life. Brian is a healthy, happy well-adjusted kid and every day that he walks this earth is a blessed day indeed. I never for one minute forget this fact.

I have re-arranged the furniture to allow for a writing table and a place for Brian to play the piano. He is all the way to Old MacDonald. He cracks me up as he goes from sitting playing the piano to putting on his basketball shorts, ready to go play his latest game.

Speaking of, he seems to have the best luck with joining sports teams ... or it is his massive size ... but he always seems to land on the number one team. On Saturday his basketball team played the next best team and they ended up losing by a point in the final 2 seconds. I never knew sixth grade basketball could be so exciting, or that some of the kids already look like pros. And there is Brian in the middle of it, not thinking anything about the fact that he is on a talked about basketball team. Several boys from his school approach him as he walks into the gym, "Brian? You are on the Kings???!!!" they shout. Brian shrugs like they have just commented he has blonde hair. He is just in it for the fun... and the applause. I think if he could get me to applaud him when he brushes his teeth, combs his hair or ties his shoes he would think life is pretty close to perfection.

Any given day that we are both healthy, still on earth and in the game of life is perfection.

On Sunday, even more so as we were surrounded by family and close friends. The tree is smiling at me ... she sure looks dressed up, ready for Christmas. Several tiny bells hang from the lower branches that magically ring every now and then.

Sunday was also the second Sunday of Advent. It is a special time for Catholics. Advent is a season of preparing for Christmas by prayer, meditation, and reflection. In Latin, the word Advent is defined as "to come to." Advent is the beginning of the Catholic Church Year. The entire bible is read at Mass over the year. Many people don't realize this is a part of the Catholic service they listen to. The four-week period before Christmas is known as Advent. Advent lasts anywhere from twenty-one to twenty-eight days. It begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. During this time, Catholics try to add a little more holiness into their lives. We pray, read the Bible, meditate, and attend Mass more frequently. My mother still carries on the tradition of an Advent Wreath. An Advent wreath has four candles. Each candle represents one week of Advent. I just light a new special candle each week and place it on my fireplace mantle. With each candle ceremony I remind myself how fortunate I am and say a prayer for all my family and friends. This is a special time of year for me.

Merry Christmas everyone.

"Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just got his wings."

Until next time-

Tags: http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

TIME FLIES

2006-12-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

WOOOOOSH there goes the sound of a crazy week flying by. So many times I sat down here to write my thoughts and the phone rang, Brian wanted something, the dog needed a walk, my new dance class, and so on. I can't believe it's almost Friday.

During this time James Kim left this world in an area of Oregon I am in love with. The road they were suppose to stay on, which travels up from Gold Beach to Florence to Eugene is where I wish to build my dream home. Why they chose to go down through Grants Pass over to the coast is unclear. State highway 126 is the way to go in the winter (Eugene to the coast). They call this area the banana belt for how warm it gets in the summer. Who would have thought it would become known for an area that claims lives. I cannot begin to describe to you the pure beauty of that drive winding along the McKenzie River to the Pacific ocean. It is my favorite drive. It looks like Ireland with pine trees and tall mountains. Everything is so green ... like Oz.

Life is so deliciously precious and gone in a flash. It was nice to see news about a real guy - a nice guy for a change. Some one who loved his family desperately. We see so much negative press about men ... OJ Simpson ... Scott Peterson ...men who beat, shoot or kill women. It was wonderful to see news about what most men are really like... kind, giving, funny and good family men. Such a tragic story. It would have been great to see him survive, but alas, that was not in his cards. My father's sisters, and many cousins live in Grants Pass. It is a beautiful, beautiful place.

A man I dated back in the days just after my divorce instant messaged me this week. It was fun re-connecting again. I am impressed that the two of us have remained close. I tease him about his constant quest for the perfect woman, all the while refusing to see him. He is a dangerous temptation ... or does he say that about me ...or is it both...? Anyhew, he lost his father this year and my heart goes out to him. He loves all things Irish, so he is not a bad guy at all. He has a real weakness for redheads which make him practically a saint. I told him when he dated a girl I knew after we were done, I wanted to buy a voodoo doll and poke it with a hot candle every time I thought they might be having sex. He laughs and gets my kind of redhead humor. He then points out to me that my blog isn't always an easy read either when I write about other men. Oh yeah - there's that.

Although I really don't do it for effect. I write what my thoughts are on any given day and sometimes they include a man and sometimes they don't. I don't think about if anyone is really reading this crap and am always surprised by the number of email I get each day. It is usually followed by a "oh god did I really type that?" thoughts. If it were soft paper I'd probably put some postings to work in the bathroom.

Brian made me go lift weights with him this week. He is in YMCA Youth basketball and with it comes a gym membership. What kind of karma is this? As soon as he found out he can lift weights if an adult is present he has pushed my ass upstairs to the weight room. I think if he could have gotten away with driving me there he would have tied me to the bumper. A gym is an interesting place when you are a mom lifting weights with her son. We get help and suggestions from men. Brian is getting to the age where he looks at them with the "what do you want with my mom" look that makes me smile. Its this look of boredom and eye rolling mastery which is quite impressive. I assure him I will never date from the gym and will only lift weights with him. I think I will make him come to my dance class at least once as pay-back.

Speaking of men, or dance or.... I manage my first dance class without falling on my ass or breaking anything or anyone. My calves are sore though. I did get one of those toe cramps the next day where your toe curls up backwards and you'd tell enemies our best kept secrets to alleviate the pain. It curls in that way that you never knew a toe can possibly bend. Sort of a ski jump looking thing.

This week my brother came to me for his refinance and I beat the competition by over a point with more cash out. Of course his home is practically paid for, so he is an easy "client". I am still in some sort of latent shock over him trusting me with his financial life. Life can sure take some odd twists. Of course he wants the loan to close by Christmas so I can have a commission check for Brian. Maybe this is his way of giving me money without really writing a personal check, which of course, I would tear up. He now tells me I should handle all the loans for the Operating Engineers. Do I have to?

Didn't I want to become a writer?

I worked with Stephanie Monday and Tuesday and got to putt around this little town called Sebastopol. It was fun, funky and a good change in routine. She is already getting response to the mailings I sent out. She is a wonderful person. I sometimes am amazed at the girlfriends I can attract in my life. They say it is me, but I think it is them.

My ex sister-in-law (my brother's ex wife) called and left a message this week inviting me and Brian to her house on Christmas day. Lordy ... divorce gets complicated sometimes. I don't know if I am up to being around the man she left my brother for ... now THAT'S an elephant sitting in the living room type of an event.

And I can say without reservation that I hate network TV. They moved my show, "Men in Trees" from Friday nights ( which I loved as it is MY night to pamper myself) to Thursday nights and then postpone any episodes for three weeks. It follows Grey's Anatomy which is now nothing but re-runs mid season. This is why people turn to other programs and other forms of entertainment. I am glad I am getting busy. There is a Friday night Yoga class I am going to start tomorrow night. You know ... create my own version of "Men in Trees" ... maybe a "Men in Dreams"...

I guess when one starts feeling well, it's timeto get on with life. There is no time like the present.

Because we saw this week that it is all too preciously short.

Until nexttime-

Tags: A Week In the Life of A Redhead, Back to school, redhead bloggers

AOHELL

2006-12-04T22:08:00.000-08:00

AOL Pictures is down, so no photos are presented at this time. It is the only technical company I know that can consistantly mess up on a regular basis.

DANCING IN THE DARK

2006-11-30T23:10:00.000-08:00

The days are a whirl of activity as I manage the migration to a different life. It's hard adjusting my compass and understanding what it is I am trying to accomplish. There are some positive ramifications coming out of this change. I feel better and I am too busy to think.

While I am trying to turn this bus I call a life towards true north, friends in distant places are suffering with the real estate crunch. I am seeing it in the fore closures of their homes and the crashing down sizing of their lives. It's hard to watch. I am lucky that I went back to school and received training in computers so I have many talents to fall back on. The time spent in telecom doesn't hurt either. I am also lucky that I have always kept a very tiny life, one I could manage if anything ever happened. I never escalated my life to match the money. I guess it's the practical Irish girl in me.

While watching friends crash and burn I learn all the interview offers are apparently a rare event. Many of these friends never even get a phone call and they have masters degrees. It is a funny economy...and look at me turning up my nose at job offers. Have I lost my mind?

For so much of my life I have always done what everyone else wants me to do or thought I should do, with my mother warning me the sky was about to fall. I am tired of doing what others think is best for me. How do I keep telling Brian to chase his dreams - he can do anything he wants - if I don't do the same? Of course, I'd like to pack us up and move to a place on the water with pine trees and tall mountains, but Brian's life is here, so here I am ... for now. God I love him.

A new year is coming, so I signed up for a dance class. I love dancing and haven't been doing much of it the past couple of years. Ok, except for some naked dancing around my living room when Brian is at his dad's. But that isn't REAL dancing. It is time to start re-claiming small parts of myself. Plus, I am feeling good - no heart pains - no numbing of my hands and feet, I just need to take it slow, Dancing felt fun and like something I should try.

I miss tall dark and handsome, but there isn't a thing I can do about him. Isn't there a prayer that goes something along the lines of "... accept the things I cannot change..."? Sometimes acceptance sucks.

At least there is still dark chocolate.

And friends.

And Christmas.

And Brian.

And a redhead's life.

Until next time-

CHANGE

2006-11-28T01:12:00.000-08:00

I realize something about myself this past week. I love change. It is why my longest relationship with a man lasted only 9 years. I hate routine. Except when it comes to Brian, of which I could endure endless days of Mr. Alton's Biology class dialog (which put me to sleep in the first ten minutes of class) for the next 7 years if it is what Brian needed. But for anyone else, forget about it.

Now that my x is running his business out of his home and I can hang in mine and hang at Steph's I am loving the change in routine. I actually ran around my living room naked this morning... just to run around my living room naked.

I pause to think of people living together in the same place for 30 years and I shudder... the same job ... ick. Maybe this is also why I love to write ... to be able to think of something different ... to look at life from distinct angles. I am lucky too ... as I am not tied to a husband who checks-out by watching endless hours of TV, or playing some video game, or online poker. I think I'd find a young lover and never come home.

Sometimes under stress we forget just how lucky we are, until the clouds have begun to pass and the sunlight peaks it's way through.

Change and nakedness. Hmmmmmmmm

It must be the holidays.

Until next time-

A PIECE OF HOPE

2006-11-27T02:31:00.000-08:00

H O P E ... it's a funny little word that conjures a different mental experience for everyone, I think. There's the HOPE a young girl has when her menstrual cycle seems like it is coming after being foolish enough to have had unprotected sex. There is the HOPE in watching someone we love attempt something grandiose and desperately wanting them to be successful. There is the HOPE that comes to some on Sunday evening when wishing for a different week. There is HOPE one has when praying that someone not die, get sick or suffer.

HOPE.

Merriam Webster writes that HOPE is to cherish a desire with anticipation - to expect with confidence. I see HOPE in the eyes of children, in the Pacific Ocean sunsets, and the sparkling stars of a nights sky. I see it in the faces of some clergy, in a warm summer breeze, and in a bicycle ride down a hill with legs out stretched to the side. I love the beauty that is HOPE.

There is foolish HOPE, like when we wish someone else will change, or bring us what we think we need, or carry our burdens. These are often the unanswered foolish HOPE. And quite possibly the type of HOPE that leads to heartache. Ahhhh damn the foolish HOPE ... it will bite ya' every time.

Speaking as someone who has often picked her ass back up from being knocked to the ground, I can say with certainty that I have experienced all the diverse nuances of HOPE. The most painful is foolish HOPE, which seems to stem from a desire to hide from the world, rather than running and embracing it with everything we've got. But hiding in this HOPE is ok ... sometimes we need it in order to rest and set our sites on a new dream. Or to be able to dust off an old one and bring it out into the light.

I have seen the walking HOPEless in the eyes of poverty, in the face of abuse and the passion of greed. I have seen it in adults who accept less from the world, and attempt to bring others down with them. A soul void of HOPE is cruel heartache looking for something to destroy. Be wary of the HOPEless, those that will try to make you less than you are. Keep your eye on the mark ... supported by HOPE ... and let the HOPEless go. As soon as you do, there is a freeing experience that comes with the letting go.

I like how Emily Dickenson puts it, ""Hope" is the thing with feathers-- That perches in the soul-- And sings the tune without the words-- And never stops--at all." We must remove our own weighted bags of sand and soar upwards...

for the next dream begins with new HOPE.

Until next time-

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2006-11-25T13:13:00.000-08:00

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WHEN I PLAYED IN THE SANDBOX THE CAT KEPT COVERING ME UP...

2006-11-25T01:28:00.000-08:00

I am certain deceased relatives are dancing over their graves as my brother pulled off a Thanksgiving dinner party at his home. There is hope for him yet.

My mother insisted that I be at my brother's house by three, and she shows up at four. I think it was in her master plan to have my brother and I spend "quality" time together. It was cute, because he seemed to be a bit nervous about hosting such a big dinner. He appears to have everything under control, as he pours me a drink, grabs Brian's football and directs us outside.

I sit on his grey stone porch admiring the blue sky and the fact that my brother is about to play ball with my son, his nephew. Brian loves attention from adults. He has one of those odd, quirky smiles one has when trying not to let people know you are thrilled. They throw the football back and forth until my mother arrives. This is the first time I have ever watched my brother play outside with Brian.

My mother arrives with a stuffed turkey in hand and a centerpiece for the table. My brother has prepared numerous side dishes and I start the potatoes. The wait for my niece and nephew begins. Brian sits at the front door watching the street waiting for the two young adults he admires most, his cousins.

Shannon and Johnny, my niece and nephew arrive with Shannon sporting a new vehicle. They aren't children anymore. I haven't seen them since Shannon's going away party. Brian attacks Johnny like a starving dog to its owners, and I hug Shannon. She is so perfectly beautiful. I think she is already wealthier than me... she is her father's daughter.

For the first time, we will be having Thanksgiving with just our side of the family. Felicita is gone, so there isn't this little Italian woman standing at the window seeing if I have brought a new man, then bitching that we are late. It is just my brother, mother, his kids and my son Brian. No boyfriends or girlfriends. It is a true family dinner.

For the first time in the kid's lives we began to tell our family stories and laugh, exposing the kids to the Irish side of their heritage. And like my father before him, my brother has a mental library full of stories about construction and the different paving contractors in this area. Trust me, Jimmy Haffa is most definitely buried in cement. The stories still facinate me and I think they would make a great Chinatown-type movie about the construction industry.

Shannon talks of college and her boyfriend. Johnny is weeks away from driving his own truck. My mother is warmed by the joy of having her family about her. She is the grandma of the day. The usually shy Brian decides to try his dinner story telling skill for the first time and recites a long list of jokes, which make everyone laugh. The best part is the shock on Shannon's face, because Brian's jokes are actually funny; then her great laugh causing Brian to giggle, which causes her to laugh harder which causes Brian to giggle more and the rest of us explode in laughter at the two of them. Brian thinks he is "all that". He even tells Shannon she is beautiful. Oh I see shades of his future with women...

The dinner is excellent and my mother's stuffing gives me heartburn as usual. My brother leans back in comfort from having a nice Thanksgiving with his kids, who I tell some of his best secrets. He can give me all the stern looks he wants, but the kids love it. Especially Shannon... when he harps on her for her boyfriend's age. As she sits there trying to defend the age difference, I clear my throat and tell Shannon to ask him how old Lily was when they met. "Eighteen", he answers. And how old he was ... she looks at him "Twenty-five" he answers again. Shannon laughs and hits his leg as they were exactly the same ages Shannon and her current boyfriend are now when he met their mom.

For some reason it is rare that my brother tells the kids his stories, so they are hanging on every word. Shannon wants to know about our father, as she complains that my brother never talks about him. Shannon asks if he was mean, and my mother and I laugh. "Our dad?" I ask. "Well yeah," says Shannon, "because he never talks about him." looking at my brother. For the first time in years my brother tells a story about our dad. "I had this MG spitfire when I was in high school that never ran right and one day after school it dies. My friends and I push it home. When dad gets home from work I tell him about my car and he says, 'Let's go out and look at it', but I told him I didn't want to, that I want to go to the basketball game with my friends. He says ok, and tells me to have fun. When I get home late that night he is in bed, and when I get up the next day I discover while I was gone to the game, he fixed my car." he smiles and looks away. "THAT," I respond, "That was our dad Shannon. He would have given you the world if you asked." She smiles, pleased. We begin to tell her other stories of him. This is a big step for my brother.

We clean the table and do all the dishes together as a group. It has taken 18 years to get us to this point. My brother's dinner party was a huge success.

And Brian thinks he is the new Rodney Dangerfield...

Until next time-

Tags: A Week In the Life of A Redhead, Best Parenting Blog, Rodney Dangerfield

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

2006-11-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey plump,
May your potatoes and gravy
Have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off your thighs!

FRESH STARTS

2006-11-21T10:02:00.000-08:00

It has been a crazy week so far. It's funny because usually everything slows down the week of Thanksgiving in this business. However, I am migrating my ex to his home office, training someone for him and driving to Stephanie's to start things with her. I already like the change and can feel the winds blowing in a new direction. I don't have time to think, which is probably a good thing.

The COO of the company I interviewed with on Halloween sent me another email about how disappointed he is that I didn't give him a chance. Hey there sparky, I am a single mother here doing it all on my own - you want me - grab me while you can. I didn't see an offer on my table to "give him a chance." I heard through some old friends from ATG that he contacted of my old CTO, Curt. I guess Curt raved about me, and it wasn't just for the size of my breasts. So now this COO began to hear the stories ... like when I started the "Future Women in Technology" program at one of the local high schools and volunteered time there while working for ATG. The principal tried talking me into getting my teaching credentials and becoming a teacher. Or the reason I was employee of the month. Or the time the CEO called me during the black out ... when I was in the bathroom in the dark and answered my cell phone. I asked him to come find me because we had no security lights and I literally could not see the hand in front of my face. I was trying to use my cell phone to light my way out of the bathroom. The CEO thought that was the funniest thing he had ever seen. All I was thinking is "I am NOT dying in a bathroom!" Curt will say, "You have to have that redhead around for the great laughs."

Now the hearing assistance company is calling me about their inside sales position too. I haven't even gone for an interview. I am going to work with Stephanie, but I will go interview and see what they have to offer.

Interestingly enough, the stress has been monumental these few weeks and I seem to be making it without a serious "crash". This morning I was up at 5am working on the computer and organizing my desk at home. I feel fine, so maybe now the Armour is finally kicking in. Or ....getting further away from my ex husband pleases me more than I realize... I can't really say anything bad, as he did step up to the plate and helped me as I have helped him.

Some other closures came up for me personally this week and it feels great. It sometimes takes me a while to completely disconnect from things, but when I do, I am done and there is no going back. I hate re-tracing old steps when a new path looks so much more inviting ... and promising. Don't you love getting rid of emotional baggage and walking away? It is so freeing. You stand there scratching your head wondering why you didn't disconnect earlier. I guess it takes some of us a little longer to learn our lessons.

I am looking forward the Thanksgiving at my brother's house. He has already called me twice as we are trying to co-ordinate it around my mother's back. So far we are working on the "How do we get her not to put her stuffing in the turkey?" plan. I am looking forward to spending a relaxing day with my family and drinking wine with my brother. He is one of those people who becomes funnier when he relaxes, so I will be refilling his glass often.

Gotta run-

Until next time-

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

REMEMBER. NO MAN IS A FAILURE WHO HAS FRIENDS.

2006-11-19T20:53:00.000-08:00

I finally get rid of all the little boys that have hung around Brian this weekend, jump in the shower to begin the countdown to our Sunday evening, when Brian yells. "There is someone at the door!" How I am to deal with this while shampooing my hair is anyone’s guess, but only a child will do something this annoying. "Who is at the door?" I yell out to him. "I don't know!" he answers. I quickly rinse my hair, step out of the shower into my robe and go to the door while bitching at Brian. He reminds me that I have always told him never to open the door to strangers. Oh yeah ... there is that...

I open my door to this petite girl in a jogging suit and baseball cap, who begins saying, "God Damn Cath I have had enough and I am coming in!"

It is Stephanie.

I grin, "Ok, what's up?" (I would have to ask this). Oh let the lecture begin. "Ok I am tired of this,” she begins, "I love you and I am tired of this. I want you to work with me. I want you in business with me. I want you to let someone help you. I hate that you are around your ex husband. Let us go sit on your couch and talk about this and I am not taking no for an answer! I came over because you are not answering your phone and I can’t stand this for one minute longer"

I follow her like a dutiful child to the living room. I am smart enough to know when I have to sit down and listen to a beautiful woman, and a dear friend. Tears well up in her eyes as she says, "I miss you. I miss the old you, but I understand. I have been you. I have been there and please let me help you get your life back. Please? I am begging you. I want you working with me, traveling to Florida, having fun, and laughing again. I want you to write your book. I want to sit in the audience when you are famous and say 'I helped her get here'. I know I can help you make your dreams come true and it starts with getting you away from your ex. We can be in business together and go to the gym together. We can laugh together. I can help you come back. Lean on ME Catherine, please? Please don't say no."

I look at her with her big blue eyes and her kind soul. A beautiful single mother who has raised two great kids all on her own. We often compare ex husbands since they are so alike we are sure they were separated at birth. Her stories are painful because it is like hearing my own married life. I still do not know what to do or say.

She gets out her checkbook, writes a check and hands it to me. "What is this?" I ask. "This is time," she responds, "I am buying your time, your brains, your talent, your friendship so you will see how serious I am. I know you are laying awake every night scared out of your mind with no one to hold you, praying you will pull down a miracle. I am your miracle. I am here. Everyone is this damn town loves you Catherine and we want our girl back." Tears begin to roll down my face. I am at a loss for words.

She takes my hand, "Lets dig you back out together. Someday we will look back on all this and laugh. I love you. I am sure God sent you into my world to be my friend. You are a true blessing - a wonderful person. Please come work with me...please. I miss that girl who used to push her way into our office and demand loans in pink high heels and a handbag to match. This job will allow you to get well, go to school and write your book … wear pink shoes"

I laugh, and then sigh. "Ok, let's try this." I respond. She leaps to her feet with a grin as wide as Texas and exclaims, "Good, dry your hair and lets all go out to dinner. I'm buying."

Well look at this…. tomorrow I start the grand adventure of disconnecting from my ex once again and begin the next phase of my life.

I prayed to God for so long it feels strange when he answers.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/