Six Things

I was zapped by my pal, Spooky Girl for this meme. Since I'm sure she has aliens on her side, I thought it best to answer the question:

What are Six Little Known Things About You?

I kept trying to think about the things that I have not shared, because Lord knows, I have shared a TON of personal information. So this challenge really was just that... a challenge! However, I was able to pull out some nuggets that might help clear up a few things and also may bring on some serious ass ridicule.

Here goes:

1 - English is my second language. I spoke Spanish until I was five. When I entered Kindergarten, I remember knowing what all the kids were saying and knowing how to respond because of lots of TV. Until I entered school, I never had to speak it. I continued to speak only Spanish at home until one day, around the third grade, I asked my parents and grandmother if it was okay that I answer in English. I think that was a sad day for them. They all spoke English at work. Spanish was somehow sacred at home.

2 - My first album was Barry Manilow's Even Now. I am so incredibly jealous that Shannon from Rocks In My Dryer has a husband that would not only buy her tickets to see Mr. Manilow in Vegas, but would actually go and watch the show with her. I would never expect The Pilot to sit through the silky sounds of Barry's voice. But, honey... if you are reading this... you don't have to go with me... just buy me the tickets and I'll find an equally dorky friend to watch the show with me.

3 - I have two Dads. Sometimes, I refer to the biological donor of sperm as my Dad. Other times, I refer to the sullen and moody second husband of my mother as my Dad. Neither of them were real chummy, as it were. They did provide for me, one in life, the other in death. Too much to explain here. Just know that if I refer to my Dad being dead one day and then being alive another, it's because I'm referring to two different guys.

4 - My first kiss was on April 16th, 1982. I was just shy of my 12th birthday. I kept my eyes wide open and kept my tongue in my own mouth, thank you very much. The boy I was kissing was confused by this... so he pulled back to explain. I was like, "Eeewww!!! I don't think so!" It was all very romantic.

5 - I cry when I hear the National Anthem. I've cried every time that song has played since I was six years old. That was the year our country celebrated it's Bicentennial. I remember having to learn all about how our country won it's liberty and I remember feeling gut-wrenchingly thankful to the people that spilled blood so that I could live in freedom. I cry just as much for church songs for the same reason, except that those are for one man... Jesus.

6 - I prayed for Jon Belushi when he died. I was 12 and used to watch the old SNL on my tiny black and white TV in my room. I remember watching the news one night to find out that this wacky guy that always made me laugh was dead. I think that might have had more of an impact on me than any after school special or anti-drug campaign.

(For you geniuses still doing the math in your head, I'm 38.)

So now I get to pass this get-to-know-you bug on to the next people:

• The lovely and talented, D’Arcy
• The musing mom, HappyWifeHappyLife
• New Zealand's very own American, Robb
• My new blog buddy and fellow Tweeter, daNanner
• Daddy Claxton; a guy I snapped at once
• And a nut job named Joe Schmitt (the second T is silent)

Technorati Tags: meme,belushi,first kiss,National Anthem,SNL,Spanish

Cleared for Take Off

Nine years ago, when I first started dating The Pilot, I took my first flying lesson. I had lived through watching a ton of air disasters on the news, but got in the plane anyway. He put me in the left seat, so I was “driving” while he gave me instructions from the right seat. Before I knew it, I was pulling back on the stick and we were floating. It was great! Until, of course, I looked over at my then boyfriend and saw his hands no where near any of the controls. I was flying the plane. ALONE!

I freaked out!

By the time we flew to Tahoe to get married, I was fairly comfortable with the bumps and wiggles that a small airplane takes when flying over mountains and through wind. In our first year of marriage, we took several local trips to Catalina Island or Vegas. I always flew from the right seat, helping with the transponder following our location and reading the sectionals charts, sometimes even taking control of the stick. Although I was still a bit nervous up in the air, I was technically ready for ground school at that point.

Then we had our first baby.

You know it goes when real life starts coming at you. It got a little trickier to travel. Then the second baby came and it got nearly impossible to fly for fun. If we did go up together it was for the purpose of getting to a family gathering, not just for pleasure or training.

Poor spoiled baby, right?

But it really was a bummer for me. I first went up in a little tin can airplane when I was fifteen. I was on vacation in Baja with my dad and his family. We met a dad and daughter while there. Heather was exactly my age. Exactly! We were born on the same exact day and merely hours apart. We hit it off just great and ended up spending endless days by the pool together while our boring dads and my step mom played cards. We’re in the middle of Baja and they’re playing cards. Whatever. Anyway, Heather and her dad had arrived in a little Cessna. They offered to take me up for a joy ride. I begged and begged my dad to go up. He finally relented.

And I was in love!

It’s amazing what you can see from a low altitude over the ocean. And in such a small vehicle, you kinda get the feeling that YOU are flying. I couldn’t stop giggling and squealing for quite some time after I landed. I was too young to think of all the horrible things that could have happened to me. I was just enjoying myself. I have never forgotten that. Later… much much later… I worked near an airport in North San Diego. My eyes would drift off mid sentence sometimes as I watched the planes coming in the traffic pattern to land. I remembered the day so many years before that I had floated above the turquoise waters and I couldn’t help but smile.

And then I landed The Pilot!

Being married to a pilot has some perks, but not the ones people usually think of. I don’t have a stack of tickets at my desk to jet off to some faraway destination any time I want. I usually have to drive to his destination with the kids and all of our bags. It’s less hassle than flying commercial, and besides, most of The Pilot’s destination are nowhere near a big airport that I could buy a ticket into. The drives usually aren’t so bad. But I beat myself up thinking how much sooner I could be somewhere if I would just get my license. There just always seemed to be something else to do.

But now, nine years later, everything is falling into place. I am so close to answering yes to the annoying question, “Do you fly, too?” I’m a little nervous, but I just can’t stop giggling as I do my ground school lessons. I keep thinking back to that joy ride in Baja. And that feeling of flying.

And I just can’t help smiling!

That’s me at fifteen just before take off in a single engine Cessna.

Technorati Tags: flying,lessons,baja,pilot,dreams,ground school,license

Small

Small (adverb): softly; in a low voice; without strength or force; weakly; into little pieces

Sometimes, I feel small and scared. Like I'm vulnerable to any harm that might come my way. I become insecure in my insignificance. As though I have no protection against the world. I think of my babies... the moment I first held them... knowing that it was my responsibility to take care of them and keep them from harm. It was an awesome responsibility. One that I wasn't always successful at. One that, in my brokenness and anger, I screwed up more than I care to admit.

And I wonder if I deserve to feel anything but small...

Sometimes when I sit on the beach, I'm aware of my insignificant role in the world. I'm dwarfed by the horizon layed out in front of me, so vast that my vision bends at the corners. On the edge of the world, I am still very aware that I am loved. And I try so hard not to project my human frailties and mistakes on the God of the Universe. Instead, I try to let the horizon comfort me. The waves always sound like the hearty laughter of a proud father. The sun always feels like a tender kiss on my forehead. In that place, where I am so small, I feel so wonderfully significant.

I feel like a precious daughter.

I don't know that I've ever been so concerned about the world in my entire life. I don't know that I've ever felt this vulnerable before. I don't know that I have ever been at a place where I can't choose a leader. When I didn't know that everything would be okay. And as scary as that is to me, I realize that I should never put so much trust in one fallible man. There is more... and we are more... and life is more... and God is so big...

And I am small... and vulnerable... and still precious.

.

What’s that smell?

You know when you wake up and you wonder why in your dream the elevator started to go sideways and what was it the pirate was trying to tell you and how could you wear pink socks to a concert or why in the world had you packed so much stuff into that suitcase that followed you throughout the entire lucid tour of your subconscious?

No, Sugar… just you…

Do you ever look around the house for *that smell* not quite figuring out where it was coming from or why it was in every room… that you were in… following you… almost like it was emanating from, um… you? And then you look down and see that you’ve been wearing the same sweats for four days straight and no amount of showering is going to unsmell the over use of one item of clothing?

Still just me?

Sometimes we arrive at a place in life when we take a look around at all that is happening and ask the question:

What the hell???

In my enthusiasm for all that was coming at me, I chased down way too many butterflies. I wanted to do that 365 Project, but couldn't keep up with the kind of pictures I wanted to share. I wanted to keep doing my happy polls, but with all that was going on in the world, I couldn't quite get myself to think happy thoughts. I wanted to do so many other things but then I realized that I was doing all of those things to avoid the real stuff.

I am falling way behind in my real jobs, like photography for families that pay me... or my daughters composition work... or flying lesson… or laundry. So I'm pulling the photo project and the Ask Sugar poll and some other things from my life. I’ve got to refocus and move forward on some of the real things. Including my real blog home... Living In Theory.

So if you were looking for pretty pictures or happy polls but got sucked into my reality, sorry. It's pretty and happy here, too.

...

PS: If you're into dreams and their meanings, you can check out www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary. That's where I found out that the elevator, luggage, and pirate were trying to tell me to get rid of the junk and get back on track...

Technorati Tags: laundry,what's that smell,365,mom,homeschool,photography

Girls Night Out Goes South

There are Blog Friends and there are Non-Blog Friends.

Within the circle of blog friends, there are Tweeters and non-Tweeters.

Within that spectrum of bloggers who tweet are Web 2.0 royals like Gwen Bell and Dave Taylor and Guy Kawasaki and Neenz and the 11 Moms...

And sometimes, the Tweets, royals and regulars alike, throw some parties otherwise known as Live Feeds. One popular Live Feed is the GNO:

Girls Night Out.

Last night was GNO. I was all ready to go. I had my wine. I had my cookie dough. I had my new 8 1/2 screen Dell. But guess what? I was asked to hang out with a bunch of "real" moms in the neighborhood. I was like, "But I'm going to Tweet with a bunch of cool girls that I've never met!" And they were like, "Put that itsy bitsy computer down and come have a glass of wine with real people." And since my Tweet GNO party was not supplying free wine... well... you know how it is...

And everything was really cool. A bunch of girls experiencing marital issues, some separated, some divorced, some in limbo, all with kids that hang out and play together in the alley. And just like in the movies, that one chick shows up just to throw the whole night off course.

I don't know that I would throw her in the pool with all the other Mean Girls. She's more like a wounded fawn. But damn it if she wasn't going to instigate some sort of emotional upheaval and leave me holding the ball going, What? What did I do?

I'm not a Mean Girl. I do, however, have my very strong opinions and I'm effective at speaking my peace. Now, when I share those opinions with you, there's really no effect to the person I anonymously throw under the proverbial bus. You don't know them. You don't live near them. And chances are, you will never think twice about them except maybe in reference to a story you heard once... But if I were to defame a person who lived in your community, within spitting distance of your front door, without giving that person the opportunity to defend them self...

Well, that's just bull shit.

Blondie shows up and, from the moment she opened her mouth, had a negative remark for each of us. But not like the obvious zingers. No, these were wrapped in a tiny blanket of innocent smiles and empty compliments. She pointed out the scuffs in the floor of the home of the gal next door. She remarked that the wine being served was the kind her alcoholic mom would drink because she didn't care about quality, she just wanted quantity. Then, she made a gal cry because she called down to the boyfriend something that was said just between the girls. I was like, WHAT? Did she really just do all that?

Change the subject... change the subject... TWEET... change the subject.

She had little barbs for everyone, but I think we were all just happy to have a bit of wine and some friendly conversation with the other girls. I, unfortunately, am an obsessive observer and could not help but hear the hurtful words. And then, in her big mistake of the night,

she turned on me...

I met her toe to toe and she just kept on coming... with a sweet little smile... all innocent in her insecurity. And that was fine... except that I was getting tired and annoyed. She kept throwing those insults dressed as compliments. "I just can't imagine having raised two children, why you would go through it all over again. I just admire that. I would never do that again." And then: "I just think getting pedicures is so strange with those women practically enslaved touching you. Don't you feel awful about it?" And my personal favorite: "You're husband seems so much older than you. I don't mean like your father, but like an old guy that would be fun to date."

Oh no she didn't! She did NOT just rattle the cage! Didn't I just do this?

I held my ground and finished all of my sentences clearly and concisely. I got up several times to check on the cookies I was baking for us all. She happily waited for me to come back to start up again. The other girls were just happy bappy having their own conversations and I was like... HELP ME! I told the other girls later that I felt like she had hit Level Ten and I just couldn't hold back any longer. Because she made me do something I never thought I'd do...

I defended a girl I really don't like.

The girl I defended lives right across the way. She seems sweet and conscientious and whatever... but she's kind of snotty. Still, I smile and wave, or shut my blinds when I don't want to. But I don't go ripping her a new one just because she's pretty, which is what Blondie was doing. I don't rip anyone because of their looks. Their obnoxious behavior? Sure. But even then, I try to do so with them in the picture... like grown ups... except sometimes when I'm feeling pissy... but still. So there this gal was, complaining that the Girl Across the Way was too pretty and skinny for just having her second child right after the first and that it was weird and blah blah blah.

I had to break in and say my peace.

"If you think she's a bitch or if she's done something to offend you, okay, I get it. But you're tearing this girl apart because her parents happened to pass on to her the genes that cause her to look a certain way?" The gal answered with, "Well, it's intimidating!" And just to make sure that everyone knew I was no longer a people pleaser, I said, in my clearest voice,

"That's YOUR problem."

And then she hugged a pillow and cried and I was now playing the part of the Mean Girl. She got up and left and the rest of the gals and I finished our conversation. We had an intelligent discourse and agreed that we all had very valid points and that maybe Blondie was just tired... whatever...

What a Tuesday!

Why is it that these insecure women rub there crap all over you when you're just trying to have a little fun? Why is it that it's okay to tear a girl down because of her beauty? Why is it okay to tear her down at all without her presence so that she might defend herself?

Tomorrow, I plan on leaving them all Hope Notes on their doors. The girls that had to feel the discomfort of the beautifully wrapped barbs will get a nice note about love in the face of challenges. The girl that felt the need to tear someone else apart because of the beauty her parents passed on to her will probably get a verse about Real Beauty that comes from being a compassionate human. And the Girl Across the Way will probably get a plant...

And me? I just remembered that sometimes, the friends you don't see... the friend in your head... the ones that you've never met... they might really be the safest...

Pray for me. I'll be nursing the hangover that comes from drinking far too much jug wine with cooked cookie dough...

...

Twitter GNO was created and is hosted by none other than Carissa of Good and Crazy People. You can follow her at www.twitter.com/rogbark

Technorati Tags: Bitch,GNO,Twitter,Gwen Bell,11 Moms,Dave Taylor,Guy Kawasaki,BlogHer