I went to a swanky party this weekend as Andrea's date. It was a benefit for Planet Cancer, a group that helps 20/30 somethings who have cancer. The theme was pink flamingoes and they handed out feather boas at the door to everyone. It was held at a penthouse loft on 5th Street. Probably a $2 or $3 million dollar home. But it was one of those places that is so swanky and trendy that they didn't bother to finish out the place and called it done. The cement floors were nicely stained, but the concrete pillars here and there and the fact that there weren't doors between rooms or walls that reached the ceiling was a little too modern for me. It seemed ultra-cool and coldly unlivable. It would be nice to have the rooftop patio and the view of downtown, but other than that it felt like a really really nice, modern hotel suite, and not someplace that anyone actually called home.

The place was jam-packed when we got there and I could tell I was not going to be comfortable enough to relax, have lots to drink and party with everyone. But I knew it was going to be fabulous people watching. A friend and I sat watching the impeccably dressed social elite and tried to decide who did what for a living. It was probably the best people watching I've had in years. And though the people were obviously hipper and/or younger and much richer than me, I didn't feel out of place or anything. Plus there was an open bar all night, so it isn't hard to feel confident in yourself when you are the only one sober. And my group behaved pretty well, even though there was much to drink. Though Andrea' and I did get our picture taken in the swimming pool of the bathtub for fun. And the crowd kept inciting us to 'kiss! kiss!' - you can imagine. And the drunken Andrea' puckered right up and there is photo proof that I took her up on the invite. But you won't see that here.

She didn't even remember the bathtub scene and called me the next day when she downloaded the pics. "We kissed in the bathtub? OMG!" I assured her there was no tongue involved and nothing remotely 'girls gone wild'. Heh, All I could think at the time was about the Miss Nevada who just got canned for such pics ending up on the internet. Wonder what I will get fired from. The PTA in 8 years?

The title of this blog is "Biggest load of shit I've heard all month" or "How many times can I use the word 'menstruate' in one post?".

I was not very seriously researching amenorreah - when really skinny women stop menstruating - because a friend asked me if I knew how little body fat you'd have to have to stop menstruating. Her daughter asked her and we were casually discussing it. So I looked around online and found this guy.

Ron Brown - not a doctor. A fitness trainer "who doesn't have an inch of flab on his body" believes that these female athletes don't menstruate, not because they don't have enough body fat for their body to function correctly, but because they are healthier than the rest of us. He postulates that female athletes with amenorrhea can get pregnant because they haven't really stopped ovulating as the lack of menstruation would suggest. Then he says this:


"One proposed explanation is that the extra blood that drains out of the uterus following ovulation is reabsorbed back UP into a fit woman's general circulation. On the other hand, in a relatively unfit woman with poorer pelvic circulation, less pelvic muscle tone, and more pelvic weight from stored abdominal body fat, extra blood draining from the uterus following ovulation hemorrhages DOWN into the vaginal canal. Pathologists point out that hemorrhaging in any part of the body is never a sign of a healthy and normal physiological process.

Could it be that the ovulating fit woman with less vaginal blood flow associated with periods is actually healthier and more normal physiologically? If so, this would override any apparent need for a woman to raise her body fat level in order to stay healthy."


Ok. So really all of us menstruating women of the world, past, present and future - why, we're just fat and out of shape. Otherwise we would DEFY the laws of fertility and gravity and use our toned abs to push the menstrual blood back UP into our systems. What a fucking moron. We don't menstruate - we hemorrhage. Thanks, Mister Ron Brown - Not a Doctor. You really showed me the error of my menstruating ways. "Pathologists point out"...my ass!

http://www.bodyfatguide.com/Amenorrhea.htm

I went to the doctor today. I have been having symptoms of vertigo since Friday, sometimes really bad. And at first I just assumed that it was because I stopped taking the Pamelor that I have been on to prevent headaches. But it has been 12 days since I stopped taking it and this is just too much. I confirmed that with my headache doctor who said that though people do sometimes experience withdrawal from stopping cold turkey, it would have started within a day and would be done by now. So I went to the GP to see if they could help me.

Sometimes I think that going to the doc is pointless unless you are really really sick, and then it is best to just go to the ER. My visit today didn't change my mind any. The ADC clinic by my house is wonderful about getting you in same day and they are usually not very busy when you get there. But the nurse had me diagnosed before we got in the room. I am going to steal a construct from Travis to tell you how it went.


Nurse: So what are you here for?
Me: I'm dizzy and queasy and feel like I am going to fall over most of the time.
Nurse: Hmph, under a hundred pounds. No wonder. Are you eating?
Me: Yes.
Nurse: What. What did you eat today?
Me: Um, bowl of cereal...chicken sandwich for lunch...
Nurse: Mmmhmm
Me: Goddammit I am not anorexic, I'm dizzy!

Ok, so I didn't say that. I let her just assume that the anorexic girl doesn't feel good and just needs to eat. She must have said something to the doc though, because he asked me about my weight loss. My chart has me a few -like 2 pounds- heavier on my last visit. He said 'Are you trying to lose weight?" Noooo! I'm dizzy. I'm in a show, I'm busy. I often have no appetite. When I do make myself something to eat, my kid eats it half the time. But I am not anorexic.

Of course, denying it does no good. Just like if you ever say to someone "I am not an alcoholic," pretty much everyone assumes that you are. But dammit, really. I do not push food around on my plate to make it look like I have eaten. I don't lie and say I've eaten when I have not. I don't stuff my face and throw up. I do not have a eating disorder. I have vertigo. The doc even got around to deciding that. I think the fact that he was like a 100 pounds himself helped. He knows that sometimes being small just means that you are small. And being dizzy is just dizzy.

I don't know if I have vertigo or not. He did this head tilt thing on me to see if my eyes moved in a certain way, but they didn't. He decided that I have it anyway. It seemed the appointment only consisted of (a) rule out anorexia (b) rule out recent head trauma (c) diagnose vertigo and if it doesn't get better in 2 weeks look for something else.

He called in a prescription for meclazine - the standard. So I guess I will get that and see if it helps. I just am trying to get off of all the drugs so that we can thing about sraby #2. The thought of taking another pill is off-putting. But maybe it will only be for a few days.

When Mommy is away....

Here is the email my husband sent out to several family and friends while I was out at rehearsal the other night:

"Jackson discovered the smoker opens today and decided to play with the ashes. I suppose I was supposed to stop him, but ran and got the camera instead. Kind of unfortunate, as it doesn't show how nice and smudgey his face really got. Marsha goes to rehearsal and we play with ashes and rusty iron doors. Yay! David"

He even included several pics of their not very healthy adventure. Enjoy.

Been meaning to do this one from Julie.

Wedding Meme:

1. Where/How did you meet? At Sam Bass Theatre auditions for "Chicago" the original stage play, not the musical. Coincidentally (or not) I met my best friend and several more of my core friends on the same day. February, 2001.

2. How long have you known each other?: That would be a little over 6 years.

3. How long after you met did you start dating?: I was married to someone else at the time, so my attraction to him was not an option. We started an 'innocent' email friendship during rehearsals for Chicago in March. Then in May, when it became obvious to us that it wasn't so innocent, I went home to my husband and he started dating someone else (someone who is today, a dear friend to us both). David and I did not communicate at all for almost 3 months. I was trying to stay married to my troubled alcoholic husband and he was trying not to dwell on the married woman. And I didn't want to stick my nose into what could have been a long term relationship for him. But then he and his girlfriend broke up that August. I emailed him my condolences on the very day I found out and we instantly picked up where we left off, all illusions of 'just being friends' gone for good.

4. How long did you date before you were engaged?: 1 year and 4 months. Got engaged on Friday the 13th of December 2002. Got home from work to a house full of flowers. He'd bought HEB out of pink and red carnations and had them in vases, and mugs all over the house. He'd cooked dinner, steak and shrimp, and even bought wine, though he doesn't drink. After dinner, he brought out the ring and asked me to marry him. It was amazing. Then we had fifteen minutes to get to the theatre for call. We were both in "Annie", as in little orphan. And we went on that night as usual. But what a great day it was!

Interestingly, until he brought out the ring I had no clue he was going to propose that night. You'd think the flowers would have tipped me off, but they didn't. See, the same day, my Christmas present for him was delivered to the house, sans gift-wrapping. And I thought he just felt bad for ruining yet another surprise. He is the man that can't be surprised btw - nother story...

5. How long was your engagement?:11 months

6. How long have you been married?: 3+ years

7. What is your anniversary?: October 25, 2003

8. How many people came to your wedding reception: About 80

9. What kind of cake did you serve? Honestly, those things are so unimportant to me I don't remember. I remember how they were decorated, but I don't remember the flavors, fillings. Whatever Andrea' told me to do, that is what we did.

The bride's cake was square, though and two tiers stacked on top of one another, but not in the same direction. And there were flowers on it. Very pretty. The groom's cake was chocolate and we did have the comedy/tragedy masks on top. Andrea' and David drew it for the decorator.

10. Where was your wedding?: The Inn at Salado. They had a tiny old chapel moved onto their grounds and restored and it is right next to their pavilion where the reception was. It was an open-air pavilion when we were there, but they have since enclosed it. I liked it open better.

11. What did you serve for your meal?: Um..nother one I can't quite remember. Andrea'? What did you tell me to get? Whatever she said to get. Turkey breast, I think and mashed potatoes and veggies and rolls and stuff. I didn't eat. I can't eat when I am nervous or emotional or there is too much going on. But Mom and Andrea' took care of me. There is a picture of me sucking down a slimfast in my wedding gown before the ceremony. Can't eat, but don't want to pass out = Slimfast and straw. Force fed if necessary, right Mom?

12. How many people were in your bridal party?: 3 bridesmaids, 3 Groomsmen and 1 Groomswoman. She wore a black gown of her choosing, though I tried to talk her into a tuxedo. She looked fabulous, though.

13. Are you still friends with them all?: Yes

14. Did your spouse cry during the ceremony?: Yup. I was fine till he started crying. Then it was all over.

15. Most special moment of your wedding day?: Hmmm. We decided to take most of the pictures before the wedding so as not to waste any Guy Forsyth time afterwards. But Joni made sure that David and I had a special moment before since we wouldn't have that special 'reveal' monent at the ceremony. When I was dressed and ready, everyone left the little cottage and Joni sent him in. We hugged and cried a little and had our time alone, then we went out for pictures.

Also, dancing to Guy Forsyth singing "Children of Jack" for our first dance. Which we snuck in when no one was looking. I am uncomfortable with too much ceremonial attention focused on me, so instead of waiting for someone to announce a first dance and draw attention to us, Guy started singing a song I loved and I said, "Let's dance." And it was nice. Leanne had to run for Joni who was inside photographing the cake, since I hadn't given her any warning. Sorry, Joni. That is just how I had to do it. Uncontrived. And you got great pictures of it anyway.

16. Any funny moments?: The 50 person dance-line started by Kyle and Andrea' was pretty awesome.

18. Where did you go on your honeymoon?: New Orleans. Glad we saw it pre-Katrina

19. If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change? Hmmm. Not sure. It was pretty bad-ass. Kyle performed the ceremony, which we wrote. My dearest friends and family were there. Guy Forsyth played a kick-ass couple of sets for us. Free photography, florist, and officiant. We spent less than $7k and it was at the perfect location. Weather was great. Sunny then got chilly that evening.

Oh! I know! At the end of the reception, while David and I were on a carriage ride through Salado, Andrea' filled the huge Jacuzzi tub in our cottage for us. Except she put in like half a bottle of bubble bath. And ask yourself what happens to bubbles when you turn on Jacuzzi jets. Yup. We got back, got in the tub together and proceeded to be smothered by Andrea's well-intentioned bubbles. It took us five minutes to find the off switch in the mass of bubbles pouring from the tub. It was fun, but not quite the romantic ending you expect. So we got dressed and Crashed Kyle and Dave's room for some champagne and the left-over food the staff had wrapped up for us.

Heh, when Kyle and I went to the kitchen to heat the food, there was a group of little old ladies playing cards there who wanted to know if our wedding - Mine and Kyle's - had gone well.

21. What side of the bed do you sleep on?: Right. Even though I believe that is traditionally the man's side. Is it? Or am I just making that up?

22. What size is your bed?: King! Must have a King.

23. Greatest strength as a couple?: We know how good we have it. So know not to screw it up.

24. Greatest challenge as a couple?: Like Julie, I am going to have to go with gaming. The amount of computer gaming that goes on in this house can be staggering. I get jealous, because he is playing online with other people from all over the world. I sometimes whine, 'You have just spent 8 straight hours with a group of strangers and I have been by myself all day.' Whiiiiinne. But since Jackson came, Daddy is forced to stop gaming so often cause Jackson requires his attention. So I guess that it it. He games too much, I nag him too much.


25. Who literally pays the bills?: Me. Online banking is the greatest tool. Due to really bad experiences during my first marriage, I have to know how much money is there, what it is being spent on and that bills are actually being paid. I have to do it myself. And that suits David just fine.

26. What is your song? Don't really have one. We feel special about Guy Forsyth, though.

27. What did you dance your first dance to?: "Children of Jack"

28. Describe your wedding dress: Two-piece - floor length skirt with tiny bell train and a strapless, beaded corset bodice. On clearance, discontinued and on sale from there. $245. Yup, something I am so proud of. My gorgeous gown, $245. Don't ask how much alterations were though. They kind of fleece you there.

29. What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?:Another proud aspect. I went to Sam's with Lynn, theatre friend and florist. We bought $75 worth of bundled flowers in fall colors. Baby roses, and such. And that morning, Lynn and Tara created the bouquets and boutonnieres we needed and they were gorgeous! $75, eat that wedding florists!

30. Are your wedding bands engraved? What do they say?: David's is. It says my name and our wedding date.

So married friends, tell us about your wedding. And friends of the same-sex persuasion, tell us about what your wedding would be like if the man ever decided to acknowledge your absolute right to engage in such legal, binding, and pro-family contracts.

My baby broke my slinky.

I have always loved Slinky's. They are kind of like stress balls or the like. I sit watching a TV show and just roll it back and forth making a soothing 'whoosh, whoosh' sound and it relaxes me. Knowing this, my dad usually gets me a new slinky every few years. I like the plain old grey metal slinky the best - cause it makes the best 'whoosh' sound. But I have also had the dual color plastic ones, the little tiny pocket kind, and I also have one covered in fabric with a snake head - it's a snakey, I guess.

Well, as inevitably happens with first-time parents, all of our toys have become Jackson's toys. My husband has way more toys than I do. I do mean toys literally. Rubber chickens, little figures from kinder eggs, matchbox cars, etc. So my slinky now resides in Jackson's toy box. A bent and mangled little mess that no longer makes the relaxing 'whoosh whoosh' sound. And as we have a kid now, I cannot count on my dad to buy me any more toys. So I am guessing my slinky days are over.

The sacrifices once makes for parenthood. Sigh.

Last night's rehearsal was good. I think I finally turned a corner and have a grip on what I need to be doing. Andrea' has always been pretty clear on what she wanted - bigger, more character, more interesting - especially in the opening monologue. But I simply couldn't bring that out with the character and the lines as written. When I wrote it, I unconsciously shaped Marian as my child's eye saw her. Lady-like, well-spoken, elegant. And I couldn't take the monologue written for that character and apply it to this big, brazen and heroic character that Andrea' wanted. It took me a good week or so to figure out why I couldn't just give her what she wanted, but once I figured it out, with some key re-writes, I was able to get there last night. I still have a little ways to go perfecting the changes, but the hardest part is over. Whew. Anyone who says that children's theatre isn't difficult has never tried it. And it is worse when you are working against the writing. Good thing I did write it though. Being able to change my lines at will is a great perk.

On an interesting note, having your best friend as your director can complicate things a little bit. I don't have a problem taking direction from her as I respect her expertise in this area very much. But I know her. I mean, I really know her. And I can pretty much read every nuance of her body language and her words. Not just what she says but what she doesn't say. And during my learning process and my character difficulties, I felt her worry and her nervous energy in a way I am sure she didn't mean to happen. And it made it harder for me to relax and get into the groove. I t made me clam up a bit. And doubt myself - granted, I always doubt myself at the beginning of a rehearsal process. But I just felt uneasy and wondered if doing this show myself was the right thing to do.

But last night as we finished rehearsal, Andrea' came up to say how much improved I was and I could just feel the relief radiating off of her. So in my head I thought, "OK, what gives?" My character wasn't there before, but it wasn't that bad. Even at my worst I don't completely suck. And Andrea' knows damned well, from doing so many shows with me, that I am an actor that needs a rehearsal process to get a character right. She knows I eventually snap into it and take off running.

So I called her on it and she had to admit that she had been worried, but that it had nothing to do with me. She wouldn't say anymore, but I have to assume that there is some kind of political pressure afoot. I kind of expected a bit of that anyway. You can't put a non-company actor in a key role in the play she wrote, which is directed by her best friend, and not expect there to be a bit of political fallout. I have been involved with enough theatres to accept this fact as given and not worth worrying about.

And Andrea' never meant for me to know. And of course she hasn't told me anything about it. But a great friendship is like a marriage. You can't come home with whisky on your breath on not expect your wife to smell it.

But all is good. I have made my usual overnight snap into the character and can spend the next two weeks improving it with the help from my talented director. It is gonna be a great show.

No white before Memorial day? God I hate this crap. Just saw a whole feature on one of the morning shows about it. Apparently Merideth Viera wore white pants last week and received a shocking number of emails about how you aren't supposed to wear white till after Memorial day and only until Labor day. Of course the fashion experts they asked all said the same thing. The rules are old and stupid. Stop worrying about it. But all the women on the street insisted that the rules were valid and they couldn't let them go.

I find the whole thing so fricken stupid, I can hardly stand it. Probably because I live in Texas, the land of 2 seasons. Common sense wise, especially in past generations, it probably was simply smart dressing to leave your white shoes in the closet till all the snow was melted and the spring rains gave way to summer. Less opportunity for your white clothes to get stained and dirty.

But come on. It shouldn't be such a hard and fast rule that people - women - freak out about it and judge other women because of it.

I remember trying to help a college friend find something to wear for a date. She just couldn't find something suitable. Mostly because she was from a northern state and couldn't catch a grip that it was ok to wear a short sleeve, knee length dress in November. "It's out of season, it's out of season." She kept chirping at me. I never did get through to her that, yes it is November, but it is still 90 fricken degrees outside, cuase we are in Texas, wear the fricken dress already. I don't remember what she wore. Probably a sweater or something equally sweltering and 'in season.'

Sigh. I never fit in very well to female culture. This kind of stuff really bothers me. We love to make rules and classify other women based on their ability to follow them. I don't want to follow the rules on principle. So there.

Little boy and his pond

Jackson discovered the abandoned koi pond in the backyard. He also figured out that rocks + ponds = hilarity. Enjoy

Man, when I get out of the habit of blogging, it is hard to go back. But I need to get with it, I know. Things have been busy. And I feel guilty about blogging when I have lines to learn.

Jackson just got over the stomach flu. That was fun. Poor baby had about 36 hours of off and on throwing up and then he decided it would be easier to just let it all out the other end. Messy, but at least I didn't have to chase him around with a bowl anymore. Too much information probably, sorry. The first picture is of him sleeping in the chair with me. My baby never sleeps in my arms unless he is sick. It is very bittersweet. I cherish the time holding the sleeping boy, but I know it is only because he isn't feeling well. Notice the Spiderman balloon he is still clutching in his sleeping fingers. Jackson decided it was the best medicine that Walgreen's had. He is doing well now as the second pic shows. He likes to play in the rain. He is all recovered from his 2 week cold and then this stomach bug. We may have a few weeks of health to look forward to, until he comes in contact with something else his immune system needs to tackle.

I just finished a two-weekend show at the Round Rock Public Library. They do a murder mystery fundraiser every year and a friend asked me to come be in it as a favor. So I did. It was really well attended and the audience seemed to have a good time. I had more fun than I thought I would. The group that does the show are mostly city employees; library staff, police and city. They are not actors, they are not directors, they are not writers. They are not theatre people. They bring in a couple of local actors to fill in where needed. And it is not really up to the caliber of show I am used to doing. But they have a good time and the show was well attended. Apparently this is their 16th year of doing this fundraiser and they have several hundred regulars who come. They know the actors, for the most part, are city employees and they aren't expecting great theatre. Heh, they seemed to laugh harder when people forgot lines or the light board operator forgot to turn the lights off at the end of a scene and an actor said "Yeah, this would be a good time for the lights to go out." The group also has a stock line for when they have hopelessly forgotten their lines and they can't save it. My actor friends are going to die when they hear this, but true story, the person who is lost says "And that's all I'm going to say about that." Really. We had an actor say it. And the audience howled, making me wonder if the line is an open joke in this little library community. Anyway. I had a bit of a hard time with the extreme amateur nature of the production. Such as arriving on time to each rehearsal only to begin 30 minutes later and only because I got testy and said "can we go ahead and get started now?" I also kinda took over backstage with the props and such and probably left them all with the impression that I am a big ol diva. I didn't mean to behave badly and I am not sure that I actually did. It is just that I take theatre very seriously. You don't have to be a professional theatre to put on a professional show. And I simply could not relax and go with the flow with this group because to me, this is important stuff and little things like a dress rehearsal where no one drops character and/or calls for lines are to me, a crucial part of staging a show. And when people are paying $25 a ticket, IMHO "And that's all I'm going to say about that" should appear no where in the production.

The Scottish Rite Children's Theatre has begun rehearsals for my show, Robin Hood, directed by my best friend Andrea'. Andrea', who, in her infinite wisdom, decided to let me play Maid Marian. So I get to be an actor in my own show! It has been lots of fun so far. The three men in the play with me are pro's. Really. As a cast we are off book already and ready to spend the next few weeks perfecting things before we open April 21st. I have to shake myself a bit now and then, because this is such a professional theatre company that I sometimes feel a little out of my league. The guys really are fabulous character actors and I am, well, an ingenue who needs to loosen up in order to be interesting to children. I hope I can get it. But to be honest, it is my own fault. I wrote Marian as a "straight man" to Robin Hood, Little John and the Sheriff. I didn't mean to. I think. It just turned out that way. She is the central figure, around whom the action takes place. It was important to me that she not simply be a damsel in distress. She is the Royal Accountant and she is siphoning money from the taxes for Robin Hood to give back to the poor. She is important to the story and she takes action to change things, she doesn't just wait for Robin Hood to change things for her. But she is definitely the straight man. And for me, that is difficult to play. How do I make her interesting without dulling her serious function? She isn't dumb or ditzy. I suppose she could be clumsy...hmm. I just need to figure some things out so I can stand up there next to these men and not fade into the background. I am already working at rehearsals to project so I can be heard in the theatre without a mic. I know I will get it. And I am sure Andrea' will read this and make sure I get it. I just seem to fall back into self-doubt at the beginning of every rehearsal process. It's like I have to go through doubting myself in every role I play before I can kick myself in the pants and get it right. Do other actors do this? Am I the only one to play the "I'm not good enough, so I better work harder and make sure no one else catches on" game? I dunno. I am just an actor that requires a rehearsal process, I guess.

On a good note, the show itself is actually funny! I mean, I thought it was funny when I wrote it. And after workshopping it and making some crucial and wonderful changes to the script, I thought it was downright great. But rehearsing it with these very funny men and our very funny director has been a riot. I just can't stop smiling when I watch the guys sword fight with loaves of bread and I think (a la Sally Field), "Holy Crap, this is funny, it really is funny!"

Also, the Scottish Rite Children's Hospital in Dallas has asked for us to come present the show for their kids in June! They will pay room and board and pay us for the additional shows. I am so excited. It will take some planning cause if I am gone on a Mon and Tues then someone will need to keep the small boy. But what an opportunity. I feel like a pro. Our show is going to tour to Dallas. I just hope that I don't get emotional about seeing the sick children. I have a hard time with that now that I am a mom. Hits you where you live really fast when you see a kid, just like your kid, who has some terrible illness. But it will be a good time for the kids, I am sure. Something different and fun. I am sure I can manage to deal with that.

Just wanted to share a couple or recent pics. First is Jackson out in the yard playing. He has a suspicious substance on his face, probably just ate some dirt or something. The other is Jackson helping me do dishes. He can't stand seeing bubbles and water without getting his hands in it. I expect to begin teaching him to rinse dishes soon. He may as well help if he's gonna be up there.

Have you seen the movie trailers for Bridge to Terabithia? Looks like a great high fantasy. And it is. Sort of. I vividly remember reading and enjoying the book as a kid. But it is a memory tinged with sadness. And I find the trailers to be quite misleading. Yes, there is fantasy and adventure, however parents are going to take their kids to this movie unprepared for the fact that ****spoiler alert**** one of the main characters, a child, dies. I guess it will make for great conversations between parents and children about death. I just think parents ought to know ahead of time and decide if they and their kids are ready for it. Of course, as a young reader, I was blindsided by it. And it sure gets in deeper when you are unprepared. If you know a character is going to die, you have the chance to steel yourself. To guard from getting to attached to them, so that when they die, it doesn't hurt so bad. Heh, I can think of two other literary deaths that will still get me weeping every time. In fact, when I re-read these books as I am want to do occasionally, I will read all the way up to the death and then stop. I am talking about Lonesome Dove, of course, and David Eddings Sparhawk series which if you don't read fantasy you won't know what I am talking about.

I am just rambling, since I just saw that movie trailer and wondered how they could take such a powerful book and turn it into a 35 second adventure trailer with no reference to the true theme of the book.

I may be extra sensitive to this since I recently saw Pan's Labyrinth. It was a truly brilliant movie. Powerful and heart breaking. And I went in totally unprepared for the brutal, realistic violence. It was marketed using little but the high fantasy adventure aspect and I didn't expect that the movie was really about the evils that men do and the lengths that innocents must go to, to rise above and escape them. The fantasy aspect is almost minor and as a viewer you can either choose to believe it is real or not and it doesn't matter to the power of the movie either way. It really is brilliant and one of the most powerful movies I have ever seen. I am glad I saw the movie. I have told others that they must see it. But I am not sure if it wouldn't have been easier to take had I understood going in that I was not really seeing a fairy tale movie.

Ok. Gotta cook dinner, I'll leave the discussion to other armchair intellectuals...

Today has been a good day. I am in Santa Anna (population 1,082) visiting my Dad on his birthday. Jackson and I took off mid-morning and drove 2-1/2 hours north. Took an hour to get out of town, but once I hit Seward Junction on 183 traffic was light. It is a nice drive. Rural. 70 mph speed limit. Sunshine. Just a nice day to drive. Jackson actually slept for about 45 minutes, which is almost a record. I have the only child in known existence who does not sleep in the car. But he was happy, and when he got tired of riding, I gave him a ziplock of Goldfish, which always makes him content for a little while longer.

Got here about 1:00 p.m, just in time for BBQ burgers and hotdogs. My brother had his girls, Emma and Gracie, and his girlfriend's 3 kiddos. Jackson was so happy to run around the yard and play with the soccer ball and just watch what the older kids were doing.

He doesn't get enough outside time. I feel guilty about that. But after taking care of him all day and working half days and getting home and thinking about cooking dinner, etc... I just don't feel like going outside and keeping up with him. He doesn't like going out into the back yard. He only wants to go out front where there are sidewalks and people walking dogs and cars. If I go outside with him, I basically have to walk around the block with him cause he just wants to keep going. And the cold doesn't seem to phase him like it phases me.

So today was good. My Dad has a big ol fenced yard and a sandbox and play scape he built for the grandkids. Jackson could go all over the place and he did. He walked the fence line. He chased the soccer ball. He pointed at birds and just had a great time. And when I put him down for a nap, he sighed and was grateful and slept for a good two hours.

When he woke up, it was just him and me. My brother left and my Dad's employees dragged him off to the monster truck show in Abilene. Yeah, that's right, the monster truck show. So Jackson and I played on the floor with some matchbox cars my Dad has. And he sat on my lap and pointed at body parts for me to name. He knows eyes. He knows mouth. Or at least he likes sticking his finger in my mouth. We are working on nose and ears. But he rarely sits still and pays attention to me long enough for repetition to make memory.

But today, my boy was so affectionate. He let me hold him and he gave me kisses and hugs and just let me be close to him. This may not sound like much to you, but it is a pretty big deal to me. My son was not a born cuddler. He was five months old the last time I got to rock him to sleep. He doesn't like it. When he is tired, he just wants to be put in his crib. And this is not a bad thing as far as sleeping and routine is concerned. I know lots of parents who would love to be able to put their kid in bed at 7:00 p.m. and say "goodnight" and that's that. I know that. It is just nice that as Jackson is getting older, he is learning to be affectionate. He seems to understand now that it is about showing love and happiness, not about being confined or smothered. It makes me happy when he grabs my face and gives me kisses - which usually include lots of slobber and sometimes teeth. And today was a good day for that.

Heh, maybe it made a difference that his Daddy wasn't here. When Daddy is around, Jackson still prefers to stick like glue to him. He loves his Daddy. But he doesn't give his Daddy kisses yet. So I am content.

Things are pretty good. My Robin Hood script is in its second draft and those I have asked for suggestions don't seem to have anything to add or subtract. So I may just read it through again and make sure I like the way it reads. Then I can call it done. Scottish Rite will be holding auditions for it in a few weeks and it goes up in April. I am excited. I hope it plays well and the kids love it. I think it is pretty darn good. My editing contributors had such great suggestions after the first draft that it is now so much better than I thought it could be. I am definitely proud.

BTW, my Dad's keyboard is disgusting. It is covered in cigarette ash, coffee, and numerous other unidentified substances. When I am done posting this, I am seriously going to give my hands a good scrub. Didn't I just read that women's desks were more dirty than men's? Hmmm. Guess I know what a good birthday present for my Dad is. New keyboard. This one is gross. Really.

Sometimes I am astounded by how stupid everyday normal people can be. I mean really. Yesterday an article on CNN.com appeared entitled "Microwave zaps germs on sponges, study finds." The article outlined an experiment in which microwaving a kitchen sponge dipped in sewage killed the bacteria and how in every day life, microwaving your kitchen sponges on high heat for 2 minutes would sterilize them. Great, I thought! I usually put them in the dishwasher, but if microwaving them is better, then I will do that.

Well apparently lots of people decided to try it right away. No one wants a germy sponge. So today on CNN.com appeared another article entitled "Microwave experiments cause sponge disasters." Apparently the average American ignoramus can't figure out that you had better wet the sponge before microwaving it. Here is a quote from a respondant:

"Just wanted you to know that your article on microwaving sponges and scrubbers aroused my interest. However, when I put my sponge/scrubber into the microwave, it caught fire, smoked up the house, ruined my microwave, and pissed me off," one correspondent wrote in an e-mail to Reuters." (I think the best part is the 'pissed me off' part, hee hee.)

So now CNN has put out this caution:

"The university issued the following advisory: "To guard against the risk of fire, people who wish to sterilize their sponges at home must ensure the sponge is completely wet. Two minutes of microwaving is sufficient for most sterilization. Sponges should also have no metallic content. Last, people should be careful when removing the sponge from the microwave as it will be hot."

Notice how they tagged the 'careful sponge will be hot' warning on the end of this. They must have figured the same geniuses who microwaved a dry sponge (Paris Hilton) would not realize that said sponge might be hot.

Geez...why are people so dumb?

Here are links to the articles in case anyone wants to read them.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/01/22/germs.sponges.reut/index.html

http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/01/24/germs.sponges.reut/index.html

Dady Insurance Commercial

Ok, so here is the commercial I was in. I have to warn you, it is me looking my most dufus. Yes, dufus. Of course we were supposed to look like dufuses (dufi?) but really, I'm just very good at looking like a dufus. And why didn't anyone tell me my ear was sticking out like that? It only added to the dufus factor, I guess, and that was what they were looking for.
Apparently this commercial was all over News 8 Austin this week. And since most of us were iced in and glued to the weather on TV, lots of people saw this. I have been ribbed unmercifully by several surprised people who exclaimed "Oh look, it's Marsha being a dufus!" Ok, so maybe they didn't say that.
Ah, fame. It's so fleeting. Are these my 15 minutes? I hope not...

I have had a couple of great events happen in the last week. It is really nice to have something positive to blog about!

First, I filmed a commercial yesterday! I got a call last week to appear in a Dady Insurance spot. They are a local Georgetown company and they called the Palace looking for a couple of actors, and I was one of the lucky ones. The commercial was a "one size does not fit all" theme. There were four of us in it -husband, wife and two kids. We all wore similar business suits that didn't fit. I was swimming in mine, as were the kids, and my friend Ron wore a ridiculously small suit. And we all acted as if nothing was wrong. Then they shot us at the Dady Insurance office seated across from the kindly salesman who was taking great care of us.

I had a really good time. I was a little nervous that I wouldn't do well, cause my film experience is limited to the Industrial they shot at St. David's 8 years ago and working an on-camera phone bank for KLRU. But I shouldn't have worried. I am savvy enough to know not to look at the camera and to be aware of the camera at the same time. Plus it was mostly action, I had only one line - "Goodbye dear" - not something easily messed up. Ron and I got a kick out of the fact that when we got there they said "Oh, the talent is here." We laughed good and hard at that one. We are stage actors, we aren't used to being treated with such respect. Ha Ha.

After we finished shooting, the producer said to email him and he would get us copies of the spot and to include a headshot and resume. He said he will consider us for future projects. Time Warner produced the commercial, and they do so for a lot of regional businesses apparently. Cool! I would love to do more. It was fun and I think I did well, at least they had very little to say to me other than "on this take, do it the same way." So I will probably send the spot and a resume to a local agency, see if anyone else wants to give me a shot. Could be fun.

This commercial will air on CNN, and ESPN 1 and 2. I guess they are going for a male head-of-household type demographic. Course in my house, insurance and similar decisions are mostly mine. David and I discuss things, but it usually end with him saying "Whatever you think is fine." He doesn't mind at all not having to worry about researching such things. I am the bill payer in my house. Sorry Dady insurance, unless you show the spot during ice skating, I probably won't get your message.

The second cool thing to happen this week began with my friend Lynn requesting to use one of my monologues in her audition for the Scottish Rite Children's Theatre company auditions. I figured since it is children's shows, she should do The Glass Slipper - my piece written from the glass slipper's point of view about the terrible time she had being tried on so many feet. Lynn must have done a good job with it, because she got a callback. And the company manager wanted my contact information. She contacted me for a copy of the monologue because she liked it so much, and she asked me to write the script for their Robin Hood show that goes up this Spring! And it just so happens that they have already contracted my soul sister, Andrea' to direct Robin Hood. How cool is that? I've already sent over a preliminary plot sketch broken into scenes and I am beginning work on the script itself. I have written many monologues, but this will be my first play. And to already have an intent to produce it is simply amazing!

I feel very lucky today. I have never won a raffle. Never won a door prize. In fact I may be the only woman in history to attend a Bridal Extravaganza and not win a single thing. I don't even bother with the lottery. I always say that I don't have that kind of luck. But I don't feel sorry for myself because I know that I am lucky in other ways. This week is an example of that.

I am so mad right now I could spit. Really. Just reading on CNN about John Roberts, our Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, devoting his year-end report to the "constitutional crisis" that is the "grievously unfair" salaries of Federal Judges.

"Roberts said the judiciary will not properly serve its constitutional role if it is restricted to people so wealthy that they can afford to be indifferent to the level of judicial compensation, or to people for whom the judicial salary represents a pay increase."

What do they make, you ask? "Federal district court judges are paid $165,200 annually; appeals court judges make $175,100; associate justices of the Supreme Court earn $203,000; the chief justice gets $212,100."

http://www.cnn.com/2007/LAW/01/01/judges.pay.ap/index.html

Wow. I wonder how they ever manage to live on such a pittance. How hard it must be for them to pay the bills, the pool boy, and the nanny.

I wonder how Judge Roberts would manage to feed and clothe his family, say on $60k a year. Which is a lot more than the US median income of less than $45k. Wonder how he would feel if he were living just one good illness away from losing everything, like us in the shrinking middle class.

It is disgusting and scary as hell. I am beginning to realize that no one is looking out for us, the middle class - heh, who am I kidding, on the 1 and 1/4 income David and I now live on we are now lower middle class. And I am happy to be, if that means my child doesn't go to daycare 50 hours a week.

And did you get the implication that people that make less than 200K are not fit to be judges? Right here - "or people for whom the judicial salary represents a pay increase." Did you get that part?

Is this you, my terribly fair and moral friend? Is this you that makes your measly $80k a year and would be unfit to judge the righteousness and constitutionality of our laws? Because this is nearly everyone I know and I believe that nearly everyone I know would make a better federal judge than John Roberts and his like. Son of a bitch, this makes me mad.

And most people will not notice or care, and we will continue becoming a dying breed - and we may or may not do as well as our parents financially. And what does this say for our children?

Sigh. I'm tired. Reading the news wears me out.

I just read that Saddam Hussein has been hanged in Iraq. Why does that make me feel nothing but sadness? I'm sure he was as bad a person as they say he was. Responsible for much pain, suffering and death. Perhaps it is the hanging that bothers me. Maybe it is the fact that his trial just ended and this means he gets no appeal like Americans do. Maybe we need the passage of time to feel numbness about executing someone. Like 12 years from now, they'll kill Scott Peterson and we'll all just shrug and go on.

I don't know. I just feel sad. I read today that his execution was imminent and I tried not to think about it. Cause I couldn't shunt aside the fact that he is a person and he must be scared to know that he was shortly going to be hanged. I am sure that isn't an easy way to go. Man. He was allegedly the source of so much evil and I just feel a painful empathy for the scared and alone man preparing himself for his death after a trial that could have had no other outcome.

Maybe it is because this is the doing of my country, done in the name of freedom, done in the name of the American people and our war on terror. Done in my name. This execution was done in my name. That may be why I am taking it so personally.

My husband is awesome. He really is. This morning at 7:30, I got up and got Jackson as usual and went into the living room. David had not left for work yet, he was down on the floor cleaning the carpet. Apparently one of our cats, probably Sam, left us a rather gruesome present. David spared me most of the details, but the words headless rat were used. And the head apparently was nearby. And my wonderful husband got rid of the carcass and cleaned up the mess before Jackson and I got out of bed. Nice man. BTW, Chem-Dry makes the most badass carpet solvent. It doesn't have much soap and almost no fragrance. It works by using carbonation to bubble the dirt up to the surface. And there is no visible rat blood on my living room floor. Chem-Dry Carpet Cleaners, people good product and service.

I finally ran out of sample migraine medication and had to get my 5 month-old prescription filled. It had to go through a whole bureaucratic process before the insurance company would cover it. The docs apparently prescribed me way more than necessary. They wrote the script in August at the height of my headaches and migraines. So a 30 day supply is 18 pills. But I don't have 18 migraines a month. I have maybe 2. Thus the rigmarole with the insurance company. But they covered it and I have enough migraine meds to last for at least 6 months - or 18 migraines, whichever comes first.

I had to pay $75 for it, but Aetna paid $350! 18 pills cost over $400. Wow, good thing I am just above the level of the American working poor. Good thing my husband and I don't work at Wal-Mart and have no health insurance. Good thing I have a credit card that can help out when I have to pay for headache meds and $500 MRI's that would cost the uninsured $3000. Good thing we are all living just one good illness away from having nothing. Just forget about it, middle and working class. Forget about it and go stand in line for three days for a Playstation 3. Fuss and fight over who says Merry Christmas and who says Happy Holidays and forget that our congresspeople get to keep making their current salary for the rest of their lives while our pensions and social security become relics of a bygone age. Forget that the cost of a 4 year degree will soon be into 6 digits and won't guarantee our children any measure of success...

Um. Sorry. I was trying to write a positive blog about how good I have it. My husband didn't leave the dead rat for me to find this morning and my insurance company actually shelled out a little bit of the $300 a month we give them. These are good thing that I am grateful for. Sigh. I need to go watch the daily show...

I have seen the trailer for the movie The Nativity lately on T.V. and I can't help make a few observations about it. My first thought was that I appreciate that the actors are not Caucasian. They aren't the darkest skinned people out there, but there is definitely more than a little middle eastern-ness about them.

Then I kind of got sucked in to the story and the epic nature of the trailer. A prophesied baby, a paranoid King set on stopping the prophesied child, the angel visiting Joseph and the trek to Bethlehem and a gloriously bright star leading men to the newborn baby. Wow.

It struck me suddenly that the reason I was feeling drawn to this movie is that is the same kind of story I prefer to read. I love to read fantasy books and this story is no different than dozens of my favorite novels. Writers, like David Eddings, Mercedes Lackey and Elizabeth Moon all write wonderfully epic stories that take you to a different world where Gods rule with a visible hand, prophesies are met by those born to meet them, and Magic is a reality. The Harry Potter books are a great example of what I am talking about. I love these stories and can't wait till the authors finish the series so Good can triumph and the Evil get what they deserve.

Now, people who know me understand that I am not a religious person. I do not believe in the Nativity story as a true happening. While I do believe there was a man named Jesus who tried to teach others a better way to live and treat one another, I do not believe that his mother was a virgin impregnated by God. As an agnostic, I won't even say that there is a God. But I think the Nativity is a great story and looks like it will make a great movie.

Just like I think they should make the Belgariad into a series of movies like they did the Lord of the Rings. I don't think we should fight any wars with people who don't believe that Garion is the true Rivan King ordained by the Gods to rule, but I do think it is just as great a story.

After almost 6 months of tooth-cutting freedom, Jackson is back at it with a vengeance. He is getting four molars - two on each side, top and bottom. He is miserable. The cranky-o-meter is almost off the charts. His sleep is disturbed which does not help the crankys much at all.

David is at his limit. When he is home, he is Jackson's primary belonging. Daddy can't go to the bathroom without a little boy crying outside the door. So these last few days have been rough on him. Me too. He says he needs a break, but I can't give him a break. Jackson cannot be comforted or consoled by anyone else as long as David is in the house. Tomorrow, I may take the boy to my Mom's house to give Daddy some alone time. And frankly, Jackson is easier to take care of when David isn't around. He can play independently and eat calmly and generally be laid back in a way that is not possible when he can see his Daddy. He attaches himself to his Dad's leg when he walks and cries to be carried and held. He wants to sit on Dad's lap while he plays on the computer, which makes it impossible to actually play on the computer. At Thanksgiving dinner, which David had to eat while holding the boy, David's folks remarked how we need to somehow stop this behavior, let him cry so he learns he can't always be in Daddy's arms.

Of course, if you think about it, this is probably not anything many, if not most, other children do. Except it is usually Mom, not Dad, that is the baby's sole possession. We would probably not even be having this discussion with the in-laws if it were me he were so attached to. If the boy was cutting 4 molars at once and was so crabby and uncomfortable that he couldn't stand to be out of his mother's arms, would anyone say for me to let him cry? Would anyone think that me having to eat my meal with a baby on my lap was a hardship? Or would it simply be what is expected of a mom and go unremarked?

I must say, though, that it is a little sad for me that my son prefers his Dad. (Here it comes...you knew it was coming...) I do everything for that child. All of his day to day care, food, diapers, clothing, general well-being - these are things that I provide him. And he is perfectly lovely and contented with the quality of my mothering. Until his Dad comes home from work. David, tossed him around and runs through the house with him, becoming the boy's personal rollercoaster and all of the sudden I am chopped liver. Man. That is a sob story. I am going to have to save this blog for him to read when he's grown up. I could tell him something like, "You didn't appreciate the way I slaved for you when you were 16 months old. Perhaps if you bought me a diamond necklace from your hefty salary as a highly-respected ___(blank)___, I would forgive you."

I actually am happy that my son and my husband are so well-bonded. And as much as David gets worn out on the weekends from Jackson's constant need of him, I think he will be sorry when the day comes that he is not the almighty-worshipped Daddy, bringer of all things fun. People say that parental preference shifts many times in a child's life, and at some point, Mommy will be the favorite. If that happens, then I am sure both David and I will remember this stage with fondness and longing. Except for the cutting four molars at once part.

I took Jackson's picture this morning while he was playing in his ball pit. The sun was coming in the window and nicely lighting him. I heard Joni in my ear saying "Look at that wonderful natural light." So I got the camera and took a few shots. Not quite a Joni pic, but not too bad. And Jackson was happy and posed well.

He hasn't played in his ball pit for about a month or more. I put the lid on it to get a break from having to pick up a hundred colorful balls from my kitchen floor every night. His favorite game was getting in and flailing about spilling most of the balls out to roll everywhere. I just put the lid on it and we both forgot about it. Then today he whined and made it very clear that I needed to take the lid off. So I did, resigning myself to ball retrieval later. But an interesting change of modus operandi has occurred. Now Jackson plays in the pit by putting balls in the bucket. Or balancing one ball in the little trowel. What astounded me was that any time a ball escaped and rolled away, the boy had to stop playing, get out, and go get the ball. Instead of sending balls flying with glee, it bothered him when a ball escaped.

I just find the fundamental shift in thinking that must have occurred amazing and though I understand this is going to keep happening, I am sure I will be surprised by him many, many more times in the coming years. Big Fun!

You gotta see this...
Being a parent has moments of pure joy. Unexpected and fleeting...unless you have a video camera at the ready.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfTpgnRIMFk

I wasn't intending to get a costume for Jackson. He is a little young yet for trick or treating. But friends saw the chicken costume at Old Navy and bought it for us. And it is really cute. It's the kind of costume you can only put a kid this young in, cause any older and he would refuse to be seen in it.

I dressed him up and took him over to the bank near the Palace this afternoon. They advertised pictures with a scarecrow from 2 -4, so we headed over. Jackson took one look at the human-sized scarecrow doll sitting on a hay bale and refused to get near it. Smart kid, really if you think about it. I don't blame him. So I sat on the hay bale next to the scarecrow doll thingy and he sat on my lap and we got our picture. A Polaroid, regrettably, so I can't share it with you. But in it, my little chicken boy had a wary look on his face. As if he wasn't sure we should be sitting so close to the creepy doll man, but he was willing to trust me for the time being. After the picture all the ladies at the bank oohed and ahed over him and he relished the attention and held court as usual. Adoration comes easy to the child. He takes it as his due.

This evening, he was much less cooperative. Being nearly his bedtime, he was less interested in getting into the chicken suit for pictures. He required a paci in his mouth to suffer the indignation. It took both me and David to get the thing on him. I kinda feel bad now for forcing him into it when he clearly just wanted to wind down and go to bed. Sorry Jackson. The family demands pictures and that means the chicken suit. If I had it to do over I would have gotten all the pics this afternoon when he was post nap and happy.

Once he was dressed and allowed to wander about the front porch with us he was content. Then he got into the candy bowl and managed to get into a Butterfinger bar. Then he was really happy. He helped us greet trick or treaters till he was ready for bed.

In my neighborhood there are a couple of Halloween trends that are really starting to bother me. The first is the caravan of cars driving through the streets. These are parents following their kids as they go house to house. Really, there is car after car of them. And the kids periodically run back to the car to empty their loot buckets. I really think this is not a good idea. There are so many kids out there walking and it is dark and it only takes one kid darting unexpectedly into the street to make a tragedy of immense proportion. Is this a fat American thing? A lazy thing? Or are all these kids from a different neighborhood that requires them to be driven here. That doesn't bother me, bring them on over. But park your car and get out and walk your damned kids around the blocks. And Elaine pointed out that all these slow driving cars could mask a pedophile hunting for the kid that wanders off. Just not a good idea all around.

The second bothersome trend I have seen the past few years is the number of 12-16 year olds trick or treating with no costume and carrying a backpack for loot. This baffles me. As a kid living in the middle of nowhere we didn't often get the chance to trick or treat, but on the few occasions that we did, I would have been mortified to go without a costume. Even now, David and I make an effort to put on something costume-like just to hand out candy. But these kids seem to have no shame. They are a little old for the pasttime anyway, but to do it without even an attempt at a costume seems to reek of teenage entitlement and that attitude always gets my blood boiling. They don't have to make an effort, they don't have to do anything but open their bookbag to get the candy that we bought with our ever dwindling single and a half income bank account. I really am thinking of implementing a no costume - no candy policy at my house.

But two things stop me: the thought that some of these kids may be from poor households with nothing extra with which to buy luxuries such as costume supplies. And the fear of retaliation for turning them away. There is nothing more scary to me than teenage anger. Probably the worst I could expect would be a severe toilet-papering, but in today's world fifteen-year-old boys are scary creatures. They can kill and maim without regard for consequences or reprisal. Not a likely scenario, but one that makes me not turn away the costumeless teens. I did only give them a couple pieces of starlight mints and dum dums this year, but I am not brave enough to chastise them for their laziness and send them away empty-handed. Maybe next year.

My cat is a comedian...

I woke up at about 4 this morning to the sounds of raucous baby laughter coming from the nursery. I figured the boy was having a good dream or something. But when the laughter continued for about 15 minutes, I figured I'd better go see what he was up to. I opened the nursery door to find Sarah the cat standing on the changing table looking into the crib. Jackson was standing there watching her and laughing. Apparently, my cat decided to practice her stand up routine in the pre-dawn hours with my son as her audience. And being the big meanie that I am, I kicked her out of his room so that we could all go back to sleep. The end.

Today we took Jackson to David's Folks for the night. They will bring him home tomorrow evening. So we have a baby-free weekend, which is really nice. And Jackson has such a good time with them. He gets spoiled just like he is supposed to with grandparents. And Susanne always sends pics. We got home a couple of hours ago and she already sent a batch. Thus the cute pic of the little boy playing with the fall decorations.

Just as we were about to leave to take him to Harker Heights, I started to see an aura. My headaches are coming more frequently again. And the increased dose of meds I take at night lower my blood pressure so I am feeling dizzy a lot when I first stand up. It is disappointing to have them back after a month or so without them.

But today, when this migraine started, I was determined that it would not ruin my Jackson-free weekend. I immediately took my meds as I am supposed to, but I also tried something an elderly lady suggested to me last week. She said that she suffered from migraines for years, only migraine meds are only about 10 years old, so she truly had to suffer through them. She told me that whenever she first saw an aura, she was told to put her feet on ice. And this would keep the migraine from becoming the all encompassing pain marathon that they are. Migraines are vascular and have to do with constricting blood vessels in the brain. Not sure what ice on the feet would do, unless it cools the blood or something and soothes the blood vessels. I dunno, but I though it was worth a shot.

So today, I took my meds and got an ice pack to put my feet on. I sat on the couch deep breathing and relaxing with my feet freezing to death on the ice. But when the pain came, it was not so bad. It still sucked, but I wasn't lying on the bathroom floor unable to move for an hour and a half like the migraine two weeks ago. And I feel like perhaps the ice, the meds, and the relaxing meditation in combination, may just have saved my Saturday from total ruin. I was able to go with David to drop my son off as planned. And I am fully able to go out tonight with my best friend as planned. I feel like I was able to will the migraine away. Probably silly, but I am proud of myself none-the-less.

Two work encounters....

This week at work there were two interesting encounters with patrons. The first showed me that my child needs friends. And the second showed me that things that we who are 'in the know' take for granted, others may question.

First, a woman came in with her 2 year old son to get tickets. While the volunteer took care of the sale, Jackson stalked the 2 year old. Really. Poor Jackson sees other children so rarely that he has developed an unnatural reaction to them. It went like this: first his eyes got really big upon seeing the little boy. Then he nearly leapt from my arms to get down. He crawled to the boy and stared at him. The boy came close and patted him on the back, which was really cute and sweet and everyone in the room said "Awwww."

Then Jackson turned into stalker baby. He would not let the boy go. He began to touch him. Touched his shirt, touched his pants. Put his arms up for the two year old to pick him up. Every time the boy would move away, Jackson would crawl too close and invade his personal space. At first the boy was fine with it, but when it became apparent that super stalker baby would not let him go, he began to protest. He had this look on his face like, "Dude, step off." I picked Jackson up to make him stop but that made him mad. He kicked and fought to be let down. He could not get enough of the only other child he has seen up close since he can remember.

Sigh. My poor child needs friends. Desperately. I have got to find a way to expose him to other kids. People keep suggesting Mothers Day Out programs. And it does sound good.

Except these programs are put on by churches. And I feel it would be hypocritical of me to use such a program given the way I feel about religion. I mean, I am very nearly hostile toward religion and thus christianity at this point. I feel that religion is both a weapon and a crutch. And those of us who choose to live a common sense-based secular life are being beaten with other people's crutch. Thus, when the Texas Constitution was amended to prevent my mother and her long-time partner from marrying and indeed, forming contracts with one another, I get mad. And I blame the christians. I blame the christians for the Plan B debacle. They have got their fangs into the f'ing FDA! And the Supreme Court! And the Texas Public Schools can't use an f'ing health textbook that tells the truth about STD's and condoms and do you want to talk about Terry Schaivo? Or abstinence-only education to curb AIDS in Africa? Or the thirty-something Coach handbag-carrying too much lipgloss-wearing lady in Georgetown who went on a tirade at the Palace because Moon Over Buffalo took the lord's name in vain. I could sit here all day and go on and on and on about the things that daily make me want to rip my hair out and I BLAME the christians. I do.

So I can't put Jackson in a Mother's Day Out program at a local church because it would be wrong on so many levels. But the boy needs friends. That much is clear.

The second incident was a puzzling one. A lady and her husband came into the Palace and wanted to talk to the person in charge. At the time I was the only staff member there, so the volunteer sent them to me. They had come to see Anything Goes and had a suggestion for us. Actually, it was more than a suggestion. More like a terrible wrong that they wanted us to right. It seems that these folks (mostly the woman, hubby was mostly quiet) felt that we were ungrateful for the talented musicians that make up the pit orchestra of the show. She said that she was appalled that they did not get a curtain call.

Yes, theatre folks, let that sink in for a minute. She felt that the band needed an actual, downstage center bow at the end of the show. That we were basically big meanies for leaving them out.

I tried hard not to show the disbelief on my face. I pointed out that the band actually gets the final acknowledgement in the show, an honor meant for the most important roles. The entire cast, as is standard, turns to the band and calls for applause in their honor. I also told her that the band members are paid for their efforts whereas the actors and most of the crew are not.

"But they are up there blocked by that curtain for most of the show, you can't even see them," She lamented.

I was so unsure of what to tell her, because this is not a complaint that I ever thought to expect or prepare for. Ever. I told her that yes, they were mostly unseen. And that indeed, industry standard warrants that they wear all black so as not to distract from the action of the play. And that our pit orchestra is actually much more visible than most because the Palace doesn't even have a pit for them. We build into each show somewhere for them to be. In this case, they are on top of the boat. Anything Goes takes place on a ship and we built the set to be the tail end of the ship. The band climbs up to the 3rd level and plays from there. It is actually kinda cool.

And in this particular show, the band even has a line in the play. They get to yell down, in unison, the punchline of a very bad joke. And it comes so unexpectedly and it is so cheesy that it is really a pretty darn fun moment.

I also explained to the lady that she may not have noticed, but the score of the show continues through the curtain call and the band plays until the house lights come up and it is time to go home. Oh, but she had a solution to the whole problem. We needed to pre-record all of that music so that the band could come down with their instruments and take a bow with the cast.
Ha! It would take 10 minutes of music to make sure we had enough for 9 people, some of them not young and not small, to climb the ladder down one at a time from their perch three levels up. Not going to happen.

And not because the Palace Theatre doesn't appreciate the band. But because no pit orchestra stops playing the encore and curtain call music to climb up out of the pit (or down from the heights) to take a bow on stage with the actors. Why not? Because that just isn't the way it works. Not on Broadway, not in Chicago, not in Georgetown, Texas.

But it seemed like a perfectly reasonable request to this lady. And I was hard-pressed to explain it to her. So the lady left, having said her peace, knowing that we couldn't or wouldn't change our ways, but still secure in her belief that she is right and we...well...aren't.

Later, when I described the encounter to the Director of Anything Goes, his immediate response was, "Did you tell her that they wouldn't do it?" He seemed pretty certain that any musician working professionally in a pit orchestra would find such a scenario beneath his or her dignity and would refuse to do it. He thought the idea was as ludicrous as I did.

But that is my lesson with this one. What to us is sacred and standard, to others is rude and unforgivable. Heh, kinda like religion isn't it?

If I were a professional cyclist, I'd be banned...

So in the continuing "what's wrong with Marsha" saga, I have a new culprit to report. My docs tested all my hormone levels to see where I sit. They suspect that funky hormones are responsible for the migraines and regular headaches I have been having. My estrogen and progesterone look good, they are finally rebounding from pregnancy and nursing for 9 months. But guess what I am deficient in - testosterone. Doc said she likes to see a level of around 40 and I am at 12. 12 what, I dunno, 12 something. Is there a specific unit of measure for testosterone? Heh, why don't we call them joules. So I measure 12 joules of testosterone - a similar level of a post- menopausal woman.

This probably doesn't have much to do with the headaches, they think my estrogen levels coming back up are a more likely cause. But the lack of testosterone has many effects on a girl. I know, cause I googled it. Seems that testosterone helps the body make muscle and bone, which is why after menopause women tend to get softer and are susceptible to osteoporosis.

But the single most common complaint of women with low testosterone is low libido. It is responsible for sex drive in women the same as it is in men. And I must confess this is something I have suffered from - or should I say that poor David has done the suffering - since the baby Jackson joined us. I was happy to hear that there really is a cause and not just the old standby - that having a baby kills your sex life forever and that is just the way it is.

I was prescribed a supplement in the form of a cream that I use twice a week. I do fear growing a mustache or getting bacne, but they assured me that in this dosage that was very unlikely to happen. David says, "Who cares? You can shave like me..."

So we shall see how it goes. I can report preliminary success though. But we are getting into TMI, aren't we? I apologize for any lingering imagery. Just think of me as the Floyd Landis of the bedroom...

Home School anyone?....
I just read this on a website I visit often - Hatrack River - the site of one of my favorite Authors, Orson Scott Card. He is a big-time Mormon and too trusting of Republicans in general, but sometimes he sure hits the nail on the head. Like today. I have been thinking a lot about home schooling Jackson and if any of you with babies of a similar age are interested, I say let's start our own co-op home-schooling group and not send our kiddos off to public school. Anybody with me?

Here is Orson's rant:


"Back to school.
Nightmare time.
When I was a kid, I loved school. Because I was good at it, and so were my teachers. We learned stuff. We learned it better than kids do today. And I never had homework.
Well, almost never. But the philosophy was not to pile on homework so that parents will be reassured that school is doing a good job. Except for special projects, homework consisted of work that you did not get done in school. And I usually got it done in school. Voila! I had free time.
You know -- the time in which you get to be a kid.
The time that is being stolen from our children -- especially our smartest kids -- by homework that either forces them to go over and over material they've already mastered, or that plunges them into material that was so badly taught they haven't a clue what the homework is about.
What happened to the old-fashioned idea of doing the teaching in class?
Yeah, I know, the teachers are beleaguered and the last thing they need is another parent carping about stuff. The thing is, kids are doing far more homework at each grade level than I ever did -- and yet they're learning far, far less. Why?
Part of the problem is textbooks. Part of the problem is that teachers are so fenced around by idiocy from the district that they can hardly keep their minds on teaching. Part of the problem is "helicopter parents," who hover until their child screws up, and then come in to attack the teacher -- how can a teacher help a student whose parent invariably screams that their nasty little child can do no wrong?
All kinds of problems. A lot of good teachers simply can't teach as well as they know how. But at least we know that at the district level, we have the best bureaucrats tax money can buy.
One thing there is no shortage of in middle school, at least, is obsessive micromanagement. There is, however, a dearth of competent micromanagement.
Take the lists they mailed to us before the start of school, specifying supplies that our children must have. Leading the list was the Texas Instruments 34II calculator. It had to be that model. Naturally, this datum had not been communicated to the local office-supply stores, so they were out. We have ordered it online.
But the real question is, why that model? Is this the only calculator in the world that has all the functions that the students will be required to use? Why not just tell us what functions the calculator should have, and let us buy what we prefer?
Apparently the school district mentality that all decisions must be made in a central location is now to apply to parents. Central planning worked so well for the Soviet Union all those years. And central planning did a splendid job of making sure those new schools they've been building would be competently engineered. By all means lets extend central planning to what parents are allowed to buy their children for school. Because each home with school-age children is just another unit of the school district, under their complete authority, right?
But that was just the first annoyance on the list. What I loved was the fact that the list we were mailed was far from identical with the lists we were given when we showed up for the open house a couple of days before the start of school.
Suddenly we discovered that the "blue, black, and red ink pens" we had been ordered to buy -- and had bought -- were no longer needed, because now what we needed were those crappy little erasable-ink pens -- you know, the smeary ones that don't really erase completely.
The #2 pencils they asked for in the mailed list -- which we had already bought -- suddenly became mechanical pencils. Why? So that kids wouldn't constantly be getting up to use the pencil sharpener. (Heaven forbid children should actually be permitted to walk about the classroom.)
At the open house we learned about items not on the list, like 3x5 cards and a dictionary-thesaurus. (We ended up getting a separate dictionary and thesaurus -- I hope our child won't be booted out of school for unauthorized purchasing.)
And why is it that we had to buy a separate 1.5-inch binder for every subject? While it's true that our child doesn't have to bring them home -- which is good, since the four of them completely fill her backpack-- she does have to clog up her tiny locker with this stuff. Plus, of course, the two classes that each required her to buy a 3- or 5-subject spiral notebook. Considering that each of those classes was a single subject, why did we have to buy separate multi-subject notebooks?
When I was in school, I was allowed to make my own decisions about how many notebooks I wanted. During my three-ring binder phase, I used subject dividers and carried a single notebook. Later, I used multi-subject spiral notebooks that I chose myself, and organized them as I chose.
I bought my own pens -- the brand I wanted, or my parents could afford -- and when I needed to make corrections, I did the civilized thing and neatly drew a line through words I was deleting. I didn't have to smear things up with erasable ink that makes every paper look ugly, whether you make mistakes or not.
In short, I -- and my parents -- were able to make our own choices, and you know what? I got a superb education, I got along well with my teachers, I never lacked for the supplies I needed, and my parents weren't treated like untrusted employees of the school district.
The crowning blow, however, was the teacher who insisted that his students had to have Pentel click erasers. Why? Because mechanical pencils always run out of eraser before they run out of lead. Isn't that nice of him? We couldn't provide our child with a standard handheld eraser. No, we had to get this brand. He said we could get at Office Depot. He was wrong -- they were out.
So we ordered it online. Thus a $4.49 item cost us $13.31, after tax and the "small order handling fee."
All to do a job that is better done by a small handheld rubber eraser you can buy for less than a buck.
Ironically, this requirement came from the same teacher who, during the open house, did not meet parents inside his room, but instead came out into the hall, thereby creating a huge clot in the traffic flow as parents had to stand around waiting for a chance to find out which inconvenient nonsensical piece of erasing machinery they had to buy to please him.
I'm sure every single one of these contradictory, expensive, and/or flat-out inferior decisions that were made on our behalf were well meant. But this is America, and in America we generally tell people what our purpose is and give them the freedom to decide how to accomplish it. At least now and then.
So are our schools becoming robot factories? Do they really think they have the right to force parents to become robots, too?
I look at my friends who home-school with increasing envy. Their kids learn far more, spending less of their day on schoolwork. And they don't have to go wait in a gym if they get to school early, where they are forced to stand near the edges and not cross the line to get out onto the courts.
I suppose that as the public schools have lost the ability to discipline kids in any meaningful way, they impose discipline in the few areas left to them. Precisely the areas, I might add, that make even hard-working, obedient students feel oppressed.
I know everybody's doing the best they can. I'm not really angry. I'm just frustrated by meaningless, time-wasting, money-wasting regulations -- especially from people who aren't accomplishing their core assignments. I'm also irritated by people who assume authority over adult citizens who are perfectly capable of making our own decisions -- especially when those decisions are nearly irrelevant to the actual teaching of the subject matter.
And just so you know, I wrote this column despite the heartfelt protests of my child. I hereby affirm that none of the opinions expressed here are hers. She absolutely loves all her teachers, agrees with all their recommendations, and approves of all the regulations at her school, so please do not hold her responsible for the wild-eyed, horrible things her father is saying. Except about the homework. "

Johnson's & Johnson's does not seem to be poisonous...

Tonight I placed myself in the running for the Mother of the Year Award. After Jackson's bath, in a desperate attempt to stop the baby acrobatics, I usually give Jackson any item that he shows interest in from the counter in the bathroom so that I can diaper and dress him without using too much physical force. Tonight, he chose the bottle of J&J Vapor Bath. He usually shakes the bottle or bangs it on something. Or tries to eat the label. But tonight, as I was concentrating on applying cream to his rear end while avoiding being kicked, Jackson learned a new trick. He can now pry the lid open with his teeth! Exciting discovery. Especially when it leads to a mouthful of menthol/eucalyptus goodness.

I finally noticed his discovery when I heard a little gagging sound. The poor boy had the most classic baby-ate-a-bad-thing look on his face and I just had to laugh. I sat him over the sink and did my best to wash his mouth out. He wasn't really upset by the terrible taste. He just kept sticking his tongue out and smacking his lips.

I wasn't sure what to do or if I needed to do anything. But I didn't want to give him anything to drink before I found out. So I called the phone number on the bottle. No answer - J&J was closed, they suggested I call my doctor. Uh no. Not calling my doctor after hours to admit to the crime of not being a good mother. So I got online. J&J website was no help. But I did find the gov't website that had a spec sheet for vapor bath and other household items. Turns out that while probably not good for him, drinking mentholated soap probably did him no harm.

Here is the link in case my friends with babies ever need it...


http://householdproducts.nlm.nih.gov/cgi-bin/household/brands?tbl=brands&id=10001032

Serial killers around every corner?

I go through day to day life in paranoia about being abducted and murdered by a deranged stranger. I don't know why it started but in the back of my mind every day is the awareness of the presence of crazy people everywhere, and the fact that you can never be truly safe from them. I had nightmares as a pre-teen about shopping in a convenience store when a man with a knife comes in and gathers all those present to torment and kill at his pleasure. The nightmares never end in my death, though. I usually wake up after what seems like hours of my dream self negotiating with the killer. I tend to try to win his trust or sympathy in some way, to talk him out of hurting me. In my dreams I try desperately to have the power to stop the attack.

In my day-to-day life this translates into a hyper-awareness of my surroundings. For instance, I just got home from a quick trip to HEB. I went alone after David got home from rehearsal. He stayed home with Jackson. When I pulled into the parking lot, I looked for a well-lit parking space near the exit so I wouldn't have far to go after I came out of the store. I found one super close and pulled in. Except in the space directly in front of mine was a large man sitting alone in his old beat up car. Warning bells! Man sitting in parking lot waiting for his wife to come out or man sitting in parking lot waiting for a woman not paying attention to get too close? I didn't want to risk it. But I didn't want to be an idiot either. I sat in my car for a minute thinking about it before I opened the door and hustled into the store.

As I crossed the driveway another man in a yellow car drove past and distinctly slowed down and looked at me. He was white, 40ish and had a balding blonde pony tail. Serial killer or man with no class eyeing my bod? I hurried into the store.

As I shopped, I kept watch on anyone shopping near me? Is that a man alone? Did I see him in frozen food a minute ago when I was there? I study people as they pass; I make sure there is no one behind me or following me. I gather my items quickly and find a checkstand with a family in the line in front of me.

As I left the store, I resisted the urge to ask the bagger to walk me out. I didn't have a full cart and I didn't want to admit to being paranoid about serial killers. As I rolled the cart into the parking lot, I stopped in the well-lit doorway for a moment to survey the area around my car. The man in the car parked near mine was gone. Great. I saw no sign of the man in the yellow car. I hurried to my car, threw my bags in the back and left the cart a few yard away, not risking the trek to the cart return. As I drove out of the parking lot, I watched my rearview mirror for anyone following me and headed home.

So what is the verdict? Is this abnormal behavior? I have been known to drive past my house and cruise the neighborhood to lose a car that may not have been following me, but took a few to many of the same turns that I did. They probably just live in my neighborhood, but if they did follow me, I don't want them knowing where I live so they can come back later and...you know.
I am constantly on the alert for anyone showing interest in me at the Walgreen's; rushing my shopping so I can check out before him so he isn't waiting for me in the parking lot.

Don't get me wrong, I am not always hopped up on adrenaline fear all the time. This is just my normal behavior. I honestly don't think I would really be surprised to be the target of a serial killer. Not that I am special, I just almost feel...well...destined.

In fact, when I was a teenager at a slumber party playing around with the Ouija Board, it (or whoever was moving it and wouldn't admit it) told me that I would be found dead on the banks of the San Gabriel in Georgetown, the victim of a killer. And I wasn't incredulous. It (or the prankster) even told me the year. 1996. Of course, it didn't happen. I was a student at Southwestern University in Georgetown in 1996 and I was certain that each day would be my last. And when it didn't happen, I was relieved but I didn't feel off the hook.

So I am crazy in my own small way. Except this stuff does happen. Chillingly often. Tonight I watched an episode of Forensics Files. They profile cases and how they were solved using the forensic evidence gathered. Tonight, they profiled the 1995 murder of a mother and her 1 1/2 year old daughter. They went for a quick run to a local children's clothing store at 4 pm on a Sunday afternoon. The young mom just happened to have porcelain skin and black hair, which just happened to be the sick fantasy of the clerk at the children's store. She and her baby were the last customers before closing so the clerk simply locked the doors and attacked her right there in the store. And even more horrifying to me, he killed the baby too.

It just proves that you can never be safe. She didn't do anything dangerous or risky. She wasn't out at a club at 2 in the morning. She didn't park in a dark corner or walk down a dark alley. She simply took her baby into a children's clothing store in broad daylight. And that was that.

It is sad really, that I feel like I have to act like a paranoid lunatic so that I feel like I have some measure of control, some token protection against something so random and so unlikely. But then again, what is that saying? Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you...