Heptadecagon

Melina had a few little ladies over today and they decided to hit the foot spa. A great time was had by all, although the water was, at least at first, ice cold. I took the picture before they hauled out a load of picture books to read while they relaxed. I hope May is just as nice as this last day of April was.

I was going to post about one's ability to rationalize, and how I felt that if one finds the need to do so, to rationalize and rationalize again after making a choice, that perhaps the choice wasn't the correct one in the first place. And then I thought that someone out there, a writer much better and more profound than myself, had to have spoken about rationalization before. Sure enough I could find a quote. In fact, the one I liked best is from Ayn Rand (something I find so ironic for many reasons that I won't go into here): “Rationalization is a process of not perceiving reality, but of attempting to make reality fit one’s emotions.”  Go think about that for a bit.

I gave my last exam of the semester yesterday, which included two questions for extra credit. The first question said, Assume that a woman could be an "on-demand" ovulator like a rabbit, in which copulation stimulates the hypothalamic-anterior pituitary axis and causes LH release. Due to the LH release, an oocyte was ovulated and fertilized on day 26 of her 28 day cycle. Why would a successful pregnancy be unlikely at this point. Most people tried to answer the question. They probably thought about the question with respect to the uterine cycle (or at least I hoped they did) and if nothing else, realized that at day 26, so close to the end of the cycle, the endometrium would be almost ready to be shed, resulting in menstruation. Even if the fertilized oocyte successfully made it to the uterus to implant itself, we have to figure in the travel time it takes to get from the uterine tube to the uterus. The journey takes more than two days; by the time the oocyte would make i

I discovered many a thing about a certain character of mine last night and this morning, when I was working on a homework assignment given to me by the author who runs my 2nd ever writing class. The course is entitled Character Treatment . Our plan is to learn more about our characters and how to make rich and vibrant personae so that our stories can, of course, be deeper and more satisfying. So what did I learn? I learned that Philippa, an almost 17 year old girl, is really quite fiesty and wants to do more with her life than her mother has accomplished with hers; that she has never thought about sex but all of a sudden seems a bit more interested, and wonders who in the world she'd be willing to do something like that with, and if she did consider doing that, what would it feel like? I learned that even though she's been sheltered all of her life, she can cope well, and that she will battle for what she wants and thinks is right. She is brave, she is smart, she is actuall

In a Bucknell alumni magazine, under Reviews & Criticism , I ran across the following blurb about a recent book: Tweak It (Center Street): Negotiating a busy career, attending kids' recitals and mailing the Christmas cards before the holidays are not problems for Cali Williams Yost despite a resume that reads -- deep breath -- wife, mom, former commercial banker, founder and CEO of the consulting firm Work + Life Fit, media commentator, author, Mashable Top 14 Twitter career expert and blogger, one who is consistently cited on Forbes.Com's list of Top 100 Websites for Women. She takes to task employers or workers who insist on one way: sacrificing personal lives for work. Her most recent venture is the "Tweak It" program, which draws on the experiences of "naturals," men and women who make small changes in routines to keep everything that matters in the daily picture. I have to be honest, I walked away with a bad taste in my mouth after reading the bl

I participated in a Run for Boston event on Monday night. In our little neck of the world, about 2000 people gathered to run a 2.62 mile loop on the local high school track. You can imagine that the track was packed. I wouldn't call it a run so much as a run/walk. Either way, the event, which was happening all over the country, probably raised a large sum of money for the folks affected in Boston. While there was no entry fee to run, the sponsors sold Run for Boston T-shirts at $20 a pop. One hundred percent of the proceeds will benefit OneFundBoston.org. Awesome cause, awesome way to raise money. But what about the people of West, Texas? Different circumstances, but a tragedy nonetheless. I don't find it any more difficult to find sympathy for one set of people over the other. Do you? But I do find it more of an effort to discover how to help these people of West, Texas. I did an online search on funding for both causes, and Boston came up with search results galore, while

In a very uncharacteristic and anti-Chris-like move, I just said to myself, Screw you, Salmonella , and licked the entire brownie bowl clean. Then, I moved on to the spatula. And it was very good. I should say excellent, even. Worth every possible future gut-wrenching moment.

I always feel a little funny when I write a blog post about someone. Okay, well not when I write it about my family, which is the point of this blog. But if I mention a person with which I am very familiar, I think to myself, should I post the information I have? So I try to keep things pretty anonymous around here, and then go ahead and write because by golly, 20 years from now, I want to remember all the things that happened, not just the few that might stand out. And so it was when I wrote the letter to the girls on Monday. I knew that while the child in question did not read my blog, that her mother might. And I wondered if I should mention to the mom that I was writing about her child. I thought about it, tossed the idea around in my mind, and then forgot about the whole idea of talking to her mom. I kept names out and didn't mention any identifying characteristics, and since there are several moms around here that read the blog, I could have had any one of them at my door a

I went out last night with some ladies to send off a friend who is moving to North Carolina soon. We made plans to check out a local wine bar, a place that had a great atmosphere, but nothing by way of non-alcoholic drinks. The server looked at me with bugged eyes when I inquired if they had decaffeinated coffee. Apparently this was not a low octane place. So, I settled on sparkling water. They carried the Voss brand, seen below. Had they lined it up with the Special K brand (by Kroger) or the kind we get from Trader Joe's, I wouldn't have been able to tell you the difference. And because I paid $5 for something I enjoyed less than the tap water that flows from my home faucets, I took the bottle home.

I stumbled across this awesome towel today (see below). Aaron would love it, because it lists some of the digits of pi. Yes, he's as nerdy as they come, and due to the influence of Tim, Aaron states that pi is his favorite number. I will admit that we have a pi pizza cutter in our kitchen utensil drawer.  But the marketing gurus got it all wrong here. The cost of the towel (or rather, a set of 2 kitchen towels, mind you) is $29.99. If you are going to charge almost $30 for kitchen towels, why wouldn't you go ahead and set the price at $31.41?

You can go ahead and hate me now, because what I am about to say is going to hurt. And let me also tell you that we are all entitled to free speech, even if you don't agree with me. All you have to do is close your browser and never come back to this hole in the wall, okay? Fine. I've warned you. Let me first say that I am crushed by what happened at Boston on Monday. I've held the thought of running the Boston Marathon in my heart for years. And while it isn't on my bucket list, I have toyed from time to time with the idea of making it a goal of mine someday . Of placing the race on my bucket list and making the long trek to the famous finish line happen. Well, you can darn well bet I won't be doing that now. To which some of you will reply, Don't let the actions of a few change your life . Why let the egregious yet cowardly acts of these people determine where you'll go? It has more to do with the fact that other more significant and spiritual goals l

The girls came home yesterday with the usual math homework, and an assignment to write a poem. "We need to write a poem about the ocean, Mom," Talia said. "Cool, sounds good to me. Does it have to rhyme?" I asked. "Yes. And no haiku. I can't write any poems besides haiku," Zoe said. Zoe made a grave error there, in saying she can't write when really she just didn't want to. I waved off their hesitation and launched into a brainstorming session for what the ocean reminded them of. The list of words included: sea, salty, briny, fun, blue, sand, cool, beach, swells, shiny, sea glass, shells, surf, waves, dolphins, and peaceful. It was a pretty good list and something they could work with. "You know what word comes to mind when I think of the ocean?" I asked them. "No." Two voices, same word. "Warmth," I said. Their eyes bugged out of their heads. "Warmth? Why?" Zoe asked. "Because th

Dear Ladies, You came home one day this past week with scowls pasted to your beautiful faces. A furrow creased each of your brows and you both twisted your fingers as you admitted to me that a friend of yours, a good friend, had said something not nice about someone else. She called her flat face , Mommy, one of you said. And to be honest, I don’t remember which of you uttered the words. The other followed up with, And that just isn’t nice .  I was pleased that you both acknowledged the transgression; we’ve taught you well enough to know that even though the term wasn’t a standard one, like stupid, dumb, idiot, jerk, or a whole host of other pejorative words, the way in which the description was used, wasn’t, as you said, nice . We discussed the subject of name calling and bullying and how we should behave at home and school and beyond, until someone came to the door and you both flitted away, gracefully, after placing a sweet kiss upon my cheek. I watched you, out of the kitch

Wouldn't you know it? I'm not up to the minute on the DSM-5 breaking news, but information about bras? I'm on it. If you pay any attention to this blog at all, you know I'm open about my breasts. They've spent many an hour feeding my children and have a tendency to give in to gravity at times. The twin peaks (or not really, see previous sentence) have also shrunk. I've told you before that band-aids can be used as a regular restraining device for my mammary glands. In fact, over the winter, I don't even wear a bra most of the time. Well, I stumbled upon this little tidbit today that says, "Bras do nothing to help support a woman’s breasts and could even be doing damage " (http://www.connexionfrance.com/Bra-support-damage-professor-Rouillon-back-pain-nipple-14626-view-article.html). I whooped with glee! Finally a good reason for not wearing the bra other than sheer laziness. Yippee! And then I read the rest of the articl e, which, I will be

I'm not sure how I missed the news the first time around, but I did. Apparently, the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) is set to be released on May 22, 2013. Changes made to this edition? The inclusion of behaviors that, since they will be listed in the manual, can be categorized as psychological disorders. For example, hoarding will now have its own diagnosis, instead of being stuck under the umbrella of obsessive-compulsive disorder . This is a good thing, I think. People who hoard excessively might need some time and attention from a good mental health professional. Another example? Temper tantrums. I'd be skeptical about this one, except that I've seen some severe temper tantrums in my life (not necessarily from my own kids). These outbursts will now be considered a disruptive mood dysregulation disorder (DMDD). While I don't think every child who has a temper tantrum has DMDD, I am certain there are a few wh

Mommy, I need you to sleep lif me . And because she rarely asks, I throw back the covers and enter the cocoon, folding my legs up against my chest in an effort to sleep on the bed, sideways. At 2:15 in the morning, I listen to the silence. The whir of the ceiling fan, the small sniffs of the fiesty little creature next to me. I close my weary eyes and hope that slumber will overtake me. That even though my body curls in an errant position, my brain can shut off. My eyelids flutter open to see, in the dim glow of the pink princess night light, two hazel gems, staring at me, a sweet smile pasted on the countenance in which they belong. Her soft fingers find my face, and trace a loving path from my cheek to my chin. I love you, Mommy, she says, and turns her head away. I know when time has marched on, when the 5:05 watch alarm rings, I will throw my arm over my bleary eyes and groan. Peeling my body from the contorted position in which it will have set for 3 hours,

Sometimes I post items so that I can remember all of this life later. As if I will ever forget the monstrosity that is the girls' room, I posted it here. Despite the bins, the shelves, the bunkbed, and the three closets they have in their room, we are still left with scenes like the one above. All too often. The girls walk into their room, with the grand plan of cleaning it; and they do, for a short time. The books go back on the shelves and the clothes go into the hamper, whether they are dirty or not. And five minutes later, they get distracted by a thought, or a piece of paper that should have been thrown out long ago, or the laughter of the other one as she encounters a picture one of them has drawn. They crumble in a fit of giggles, all hope of cleaning now out the window. I could yell and scream and demand that the room be cleaned. I could throw all of their personal belongings into a trash bag and say that if they can't keep it clean, they can't have it a

Melina: Mom, that's a really big gobble on that strawberry. Me: A what? Melina: A gobble. A gobble of whipped cream. Me: Oh. I think you mean dollop. Melina: Yes. I did.

I have to give credit to a woman I'll call Kim. I've mentioned her before. She updates her FB posts, every day , with tidbits about Ian Somerhalder. Don't know who he his? Google him. He's the young man that plays Damon Salvatore in The Vampire Diaries . And if Kim has her way, he'll also take on the role of Christian Grey in the Fifty Shades movie. I've commented on Kim in the past because I feel for her husband. It's one thing to really like a celebrity, but to continually post how much you lust after a person, especially one known for kinky fuckery, seems a little harsh to me. I've often wondered what her husband really thinks. I could ask Tim. Inquire how he'd feel if I spoke about Matt Bomer all the time. (I think he is absolutely gorgeous, and he can sing, too. Of course, he's gay, so the potential threat is less.) I know I would feel inadequate and insecure if Tim referred often to someone he found attractive. (Thankfully, Tim likes

My life is an open book. Which explains why I can post things like what happened yesterday. If you can't read between the lines, that is your warning that a post considered TMI will follow. Melina and I were headed into a building at a local historic museum. Me: Oh rats. I forgot to go to the bathroom. Melina: That's okay. Me: Yes, it is, but I need to change my tampon. Remind me to use the bathroom after we find Mrs. K and Mrs. D. We registered at the front desk, and waited a few minutes for our friends. After they had arrived and registered themselves, we proceeded toward one of the doors to begin our tour. The inside of the space had very large windows, floor to ceiling, that allowed Melina to see far and wide outside the building. Melina: Mommy, Mommy! I see something you can use. Me: What honey? Melina: I see somewhere you can go to change your tampon. I shushed the sweet child as her mouth formed the word tampon , thanking my lucky stars that the lobby wasn

The other day, the school began sending home the invitation for the annual volunteer celebration. I have already received two of them and might find myself with a third, since three of our children currently attend the school. I've wondered about the repeats, the waste of paper, but I've talked to the PTO (I'm not a part of it but I have friends that are) and they've explained that while they do try to conserve paper, it is more important that whatever news needs to be shared gets home to the parents. I still feel as though there could be a "family" list that sits in the office and some way of making it so that people with multiple children only see the information once. I do wonder how much paper and printing that would save.  However, I digress. That is not the point of today's post. What is? The two letters came home under very different names. They both had the proper first name, but one had Tim's last name and one had something that looked like

I find myself surrounded by music. Whether it be the songs that ring from Melina's mouth or the tunes the girls play on the radio, much of my life moves forward with a song. Which is why a creative project popped into my mind and sits there, tethered, with no plans for leaving. I just need to find the time to do it. The plan? To define my life, or write about phases of my life, using song titles and lyrics. I've already started collecting titles, and have looked seriously at lyrics, but again, it will be a long road to accurately reflecting my life this way. The most appropriate title for yesterday is a no brainer.  I took Melina to the school for her kindergarten evaluation. In usual Melina style, she needed to get gussied up before heading out to the school. This time, instead of sparkles, sequins, or sashes, she was momentarily back in her superhero phase and ran up the steps of the school dressed as Supergirl. The bright red and blue of her costume looked just awesome w

It hit me yesterday that I have written two novels. Two! Novels! In one year! One within the span of a month! And, I have a third one that stands 2/3 of the way done (it may never get finished) and a fourth that I hope to keep working on. Will they be published? The 1st and 3rd, probably not, unless some major inspiration descends that lends itself to awesome rewriting. But the 2nd and the 4th? I'm gonna try. These aren't 100,000 word novels, nor are they John Green-worthy, but they are my attempts to tell a story, and I had a fantastic time writing them, the 2nd one especially. And I bet even John Green had some dumpy writing along the way, or at least I'd like to think so. Of course, the calendar says it's April 1st. I'm glad I can say that I ain't foolin' about this.