Felecia: November 2005

My niece and nephew - they're a hoot!

Having a Bird!

Tension. Yuk, right? Selfishly justified when it is of my own unraveling, but extremely sticky when its right of passage belongs to another. Where to tread, when to speak, when to avoid and when to confront. Every family has it. Though this time, it is not within my immediate family's midst. (I know, I know - hard to believe? I'll wait for you to get back on your chair...)

Andy's extended family is having a "time". Who said what, who didn't say enough, who didn't help enough and who cared too much. BLAH.

But not blah.

So understandable yet so senseless.

Those of you with Scandinavian blood know that the best method to resolving tension is resolving nothing at all. Smile, pass the salt when asked and ignore any possibility of a confrontation. Let your tension fester and build new judgments upon a foundation of unresolved differences.

My mom's Scottish and my dad Irish. I don't get it at all. Duke it out already! Get it off your chest and in doing so, rid yourself of the drippy chip on your shoulder. Then go and have a pint.

The current position that others' tension has us in is no plans for Thanksgiving. Don't misunderstand, there are plenty of places to go, but we find ourselves so very tense about arriving at the wrong destination we're paralyzed.

As persistent as one can be screeching her nails on a chalkboard, I am doing my best to conclude the drama of no particular Thanksgiving destination. Mind you, one of those destinations is MY HOUSE. One week from Thanksgiving and I'm not quite sure if I'm hosting it or not.

I ask you - what would Martha do?

This and That

It just occurred to me that I never post my general musings or ramblings (okay, well not that often, anyway...) I decided today that I would go ahead and just jot out the random thoughts drifting through my mind.

I just realized over the weekend how quickly the "Birds and Bees" speech is approaching for our oldest. I envision both Andy and I discussing this delicate subject with him, but I think I envision me doing all of the talking. Yes, I should do the talking. The kid doesn't need to witness the drama Andy is sure to provide by being way too extreme about it. Yikes, huh?

Sweaters are overrated and itchy.

Andy and I got into an argument over the weekend that shot my temper soaring. I got so mad I punched a thick glass door and now my fist looks like I've been in a terrible bar brawl. The door obviously won. Not pretty.

I think I grind my teeth when I sleep. My jaw is always sore and cracks in the morning. I hope I don't have to end up wearing one of those mouth guard things.

Whenever I fret about our children growing up in a excessively _______ world (you fill in the blank here..., i.e., violent, promiscuous, etc.), I have to remember that the world cycles. Think about it - bell bottoms came back, and so did disco. Those of us who are currently raising our own flocks are generally those who were raised in the 80's. Not that the 80's were perfect, but we had scruples, or in the least a guilty conscious when we were in the midst of wrongdoings. We grew up with a Family Ties, Growing Pains, and Punky Brewster mentality. We are good about making a statement (such as "Just Say No" and "DARE") and and learning from our mistakes (mind you, this era introduced the concept of after school specials...) In a nutshell, I can only conclude that based on my theory of our ever-cycling world and our generation's guidance, our children will be just fine.

Lawyers are gainfully employed to make decisions that we're all capable of, but simply have to much emotion and/or stubbornness to do properly.

"It is what it is." is an annoying phrase. I always make a face or wince when people say it. It sounds egotistical but I'm not sure why.

Okay, that's all I've got time for today. Thanks for the time and I hope you all have a great day!

Only my mother...

"Dia Del Los Muertos"

"Day of the Dead" A Spanish & Mexican holiday that occurs on October 31st, which is similar to our own Memorial Day. A candle is lit and a memorial is created for those friends and family who have passed on. A celebration, if you will, of that's person's next life.

In his Spanish class, Elliott learned about how Spanish speaking cultures spend their respective Halloween's. Elliott brought home a picture he colored of a little smiling skeleton, whose caption read "Dia Del Los Muertos".

When I came home for lunch today, I giggled inwardly as mom found the little drawing on the counter because I knew what lay ahead. She picked it up, studied it and trying her best to be nonchalant, fumbled through the Spanish dialect. After a moments pause, she asks "Day of . . . murder?"

"Day of the DEAD" I correct her. (I didn't elaborate; I've found that it doesn't help to explain these things until her wheels are done turning anyway.)

"Isn't that the pagan holiday where people think that spirits inhabit their body's to act out sins of the flesh?" I just about shot chicken soup out of my nose.

"Yes, mom. Elliott's learning all about pagan holidays at his Catholic school."

My mother, folks.