C is for... Comics

It started off innocently enough.  My husband-to-be introduced me to Neil Gaiman's Sandman.  "This isn't your usual comic," he told me.  "It's brilliant.  You've got to read it."  And so I did. And he was right.  Sandman was one of the most profound pieces of writing and art I'd ever had the opportunity to experience.  I wanted more by this wonderful man.  It wasn't long after that that he dipped into the Marvel Universe for 1602.  I had a passing familiarity with some of the characters.  I knew Peter Parker was Spiderman, that Reed Richards was Mr Fantastic and that he had a long running feud with Doctor Doom.  But some of the other characters, and some of the allusions, eluded me.  I needed to know more.
My first non-Gaiman comic that I picked up was a collection of early Fantastic Four works.  I was excited to find out about what happened to cause Doctor Doom to hate Reed Richards so much.  And I lapped it up.  I wanted more, but didn't really have the money to buy more trade paperbacks.  So I let me burgeoning interest wane for awhile.
Until I happened to be browsing the non-fiction section of my local library and found shelves upon shelves of graphic novels. (Don't ask why it's in the non-fiction section.... I have no idea myself.)  For whatever reason, even after reading Sandman and 1602, I had relegated comics to something that kids read.  It wouldn't be in the adult section.  Why would it?  But there it was, shelf upon shelf, book upon book, hero upon hero.
I'm not sure why I drifted away from Marvel. Was it seeing more Batman and Superman cartoons growing up than Fantastic Four or Spiderman?  Was it the titles that drew me in - instead of Marvel Presents: Spiderman, I was seeing titles like The Tornado's Path and Identity Crisis.  Regardless of the reason, I became a devotee of DC Comics. And head and shoulders above all the rest was my super-hero boyfriend, Green Arrow.

Image Found at Green Arrow Wiki via Google Image Search

I mean, he doesn't have a super power, he's just damned good with a bow.  He's hot as hell.  He's got the same political leanings as I do.  He's a wiseass to the extreme.  Just about everything that I love in my fantasy guys.  So for awhile, I was reading everything involving Green Arrow that I could get my hands on.  Mostly it was the trade paperbacks from his series, books like Quiver and The Sounds of Violence.  But I picked up some of the other Justice League titles and my world started to expand.  

Once I'd finished all of those that my library had (at all branches - thank you, branch request system!), I needed more.  I was like an addict, needing my next fix of superheroes.  So I branched into some Batman, some Superman, the Justice Society of America.  And my need never abated.  And often, new books that I'd find would come because of something that I saw in the back of other books.  I just went everywhere.  I even came back to Marvel when something about the Civil War story line caught my attention.

It's gotten to the point that I don't want to wait for trade paperbacks to be made and my library to purchase them.  I want to know what's happening now now now.  So I started getting a subscription to several monthly comics.  Along with a few of my favorite DC titles (Green Arrow (of course), Birds of Prey and Tiny Titans for my oldest), I also get a few based on some of my favorite shows, like Doctor Who and Charmed. I'm getting a wonderful short-run (6 issues) series called Memorial that I'm thoroughly hooked on.

I love my comics.  I came late into the game, but I'm passionate about them.  And I'm instilling the same passion in my boys. Teddy picks up comics from the library most of the time now (with a few chapter books occasionally thrown in).  Peter loves his Green Lantern and Silver Surfer toys.  And, as a family, we'll turn on the latest episodes of Avengers or Ultimate Spiderman (and the only reason we don't turn on Batman: Brave and the Bold or Young Justice is because we don't get Cartoon Network).  We love to dive into this world where the pictures are as important as the words and it's a melding of talented artist and talented writer that brings these heroes (and others) to life.

B is for.... Boys

Long time readers of my blog know that I have two sons that are both my pride and joy and the ultimate source of my frustration.  (I know, I know.  I'm no different than any other parent out there.) But, hopefully, there will be some new readers coming over from the Challenge that don't know as much about me.  So I'm going to give you a glimpse of my boys (mostly in pictures).

Teddy (Theadore) is my oldest.  He turned 6 in February and started school last year.  He can be a bit of a goofball, and loves to ham it up for the camera.  He's got a great sense of humor, a big heart and a love of helping others (most of the time).  We have our problems, of course - he has my temper and an inability to be patient. He likes to throw things when he's angry and argues constantly when he doesn't get his way.  But the bad times are far out numbered by the good.

Teddy is also a huge Pokemon fan.  It started with the handheld games, watching Mommy and Daddy play them on the computer or the DS.  It wasn't long before he knew all the Pokemon, their strengths and weaknesses and their stats. He collected stuffed Pokemon, Pokemon figurines, Pokemon toys and, more recently, Pokemon cards.  He's really gotten into the trading card game and goes to a local league every Sunday. He played in the Tennessee State tournament a few weeks ago and, while he didn't place, he did have a great time.  And that's what matters at this age.

"But isn't he too young to play Pokemon?" I hear some of you ask.  "After all, he can't read the big words on the cards."  And that would be an easy misunderstanding to make.  But an incorrect one.  Teddy is a fantastic reader, reading somewhere along 4th grade level while he's in kindergarten.  He started reading at around 2 1/2 and by the time he was four, he was blowing away his Parents' Day Out teacher with his ability to read.  He's blown away his kindergarten teachers as well.  He's started reading comic books and chapter books on his own. He's just as likely to have a book in his hand as he is to have his DS.  And I couldn't be prouder.

Something else that I'm proud of is his love for his brother.  sure, they fight.  What siblings don't, particularly when they're younger?  But Teddy looks out for Pete, tries to protect him, plays games with him and gives him hugs.  He loves to teach his little brother things - pointing out numbers and letters of the alphabet, passing along his incredibly knowledge of Pokemon (which Pete just laps up), reading to him and explaining things to him.  He's a fantastic little brother.

But regardless of how much bigger he's getting, how much older he is, he's still my baby.  He still snuggles up with his Bodie (the body pillow that my step-mom made for him when he was a baby), Piplup (his favorite stuffed Pokemon) and needs to be covered by his Backyardigans blanket.  I love to watch him sleep so peacefully, remembering the baby that he once was.

Peter turned 3 in September.  He alternately makes me laugh and fills me with dread - my boy is a daredevil!  He'll climb anything, run as fast as he can and dart through small spaces.  He's given me more than one heart attack.  The laughter, though, is what makes my day.  He loves to say silly things or make silly faces.  And he's at the age where he doesn't understand things as well, so he will say something that isn't quite right or make a comment to something I say and the way he does it is funny.  Like when his teacher told him to hold his horses, he told her he doesn't have any horses.  He loves to bring a smile to everyone's faces.

He's still Mommy's Boy.... well, until Daddy's home on the weekends.  Then it's "I want to sit next to Daddy! I want Daddy to get me out of my car seat!"  But that's ok, because the rest of the week, he's all about Mommy.  He gives wonderful hugs and kisses, snuggling in my lap with his thumb in his mouth and his plo (his name for his pillow) in his other arm.  He thinks I know everything, so I often hear, "Mommy, what dat?"  He's a sponge that wants to learn everything and wants Mommy to teach him.

His love of his big brother borders on hero worship.  Wherever Teddy is, Pete wants to be there.  He'll sit next to him and watch him play games on his DS.  He wants to go to League with Teddy so he can watch him play.  So often, he'll call out, "Teddy!  Come here!  I gotsta show you somedin!"  And honestly, he couldn't have a better role model.  Though, I'm sad to say, he has his brother's and his mother's temper as well, hitting either of us when he gets angry.  But he always apologies to either of us when he does it.  Because he knows that it's right.  And he doesn't want Teddy mad at him because he might not play Pokemon Battle with him!

While he's following in Teddy's footsteps by loving Pokemon, his real passion right now is dinosaurs.  He wants me to turn on shows about dinosaurs (Dino Squad on Netflix and Dinosaur Train on PBS are his two favorites).  He pretends to be a "twitedatop" (triceratops) and a T-rex and asks me or Teddy to be another dinosaur.  He has dinosaur books that he loves to read and any time he sees anything with a dinosaur, he has to point it out.  It's a good thing to be into at 3.

Like his brother, Peter will always be my baby.  I'll always remember holding him in my arms, keeping him close to my body as he slept.  I'll always remember moments like the one above, thumb in his mouth and his ploes keeping him company.  I'll always remember the "Mommy, help" moments.  Right now, he argues with me every time I call him "baby".  He's not a baby, he's a boy, he'll emphatically insist.  And yes, he is a boy.  With bumps and bruises and bug-bites.  But that doesn't make him any less my baby.  And that is something that will never change.

Me and my boys

A is for.... Able

Once again, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge - a yearly challenge through the month of April in which every day, you blog a letter of the alphabet.  It can be anything starting with that letter, anything at all.
I was trying to think of a theme to do - like all my geek favorites.  But planning always seems to forced to me.  I've always been a go with the flow kind of girl.  And so I'm trying to go with the flow now, working my way through the challenge by whatever catches my fancy as I write my posts (and yes, there will probably be a few preloaded, since I'm going to my Dad's for Easter and the last thing that I want to do is try to write a post on Blogger from my Kindle).  So if you want to follow my moods and methods, my brain-dropping for each letter of the alphabet, hop a board, fasten your seat belts, make sure your seats are in an upright position and hold on to the reigns.  It's gonna be an awesome ride.
Since today is the first day of April, I'm starting my month with the A word able.  I actually sat here trying to figure out what I wanted to write about.  Apples kept coming to mind, but I'm not much of an apple person.  My husband suggested I talk about everything I accomplished today.  But as I was writing it, it didn't feel right either.  He then wanted me to talk about how Teddy will grab two spoons whenever he can and be an Alakazam, making my challenge involving talking about Pokemon.  But I don't get into Pokemon as much as the males in my household do. Nothing seemed right.
Finally, I decided that I would talk about a realization that I've come to recently, a realization that I'm trying to use to change my life.  It's the realization that I'm far more able to do things than I give myself credit for.  But that I'm the only one who can do them.
I've had two problems that have plagued me - one for most of my life and the other for the last 10 years or so.  My depression and my bad back.  I allowed these two things to rob me of my responsibility and my confidence.  I let my depression look at a messy house and say, "It's too messy.  I can't do anything about it.  It will just get dirty again, so why do I try?"  I let my back tell me that I couldn't do things because of the fear that I'll hurt myself more and be out of commission for longer.  I gave up on keeping my house clean, on doing laundry, on cooking, baking and crafting.  I gave up on getting together with friends and playing with my kids.  I gave up on trying to lose weight.  Because I allowed these two afflictions to keep me from doing what I need to do to live a healthy life, I haven't really been living a life.  I've existed.
My wake up call came the other day.  I've been letting myself slip further and further into nothingness.  Letting the kids watch TV while I lay on the couch doing nothing - not even reading.  Ignoring phone calls from friends and family.  Letting dirt and clutter pile up.  Then I got a letter in my mailbox from my apartment complex telling me that they had decided to not renew our lease.  The reason?  Cleanliness.  And my heart stopped.  I own a lot of stuff - books, DVDs, CDs.  The kids have toys coming out the wazoo.  I've been meaning to weed through all these things, but two months wasn't enough time.  We'd have to come up with the money for moving into a new place, for cleaning here, for... just too many things.  My summer plans were now scuttled. And it was all my fault.
Rich, however, refused to let it stay at that.  After he got home from work that day, he went to the office and talked to the manager.  He got her to agree to look at the apartment and tell us exactly what we needed to do to get up to a level in which they would renew our lease.  We would have to agree to get it to that level and keep it there.  And she would give us a time frame for that.
I called her the next day.  She looked around and was honest about the amount of work that needed to be done.  She told us that we'd have until the end of April to get this done.  And part of me just wanted to call in a cleaning service.  It would have to be cheaper and less stressful, right?  But I really didn't have the money to have them come out.  I had to do this on my own... at most, with the help of a few friends.  I started by making a list of what chores we need to do as a family on a daily and weekly basis, then wrote down the things that need to be done in order to get the apartment in shape.  I set aside the end of last week and all of next to work on downstairs.  The kids are on spring break, so that would give me a chance to go through their toys with them.  And maybe even get a little help out of them.  My friend Becca has said she'd watch the kids (or come in and help with cleaning) so I've got that resource.
Rich has been working on the kitchen this weekend, while I've been working on the living room.  I expected the living room to take 2 or 3 days.  Maybe more.  I expected, honestly, to have my depression suck me back in and to already have no gumption to do more.  But it's not happening.  Instead, I'm finding that I'm able to do more than I'd imagined.  I still have the determination to get things done.  Because I have to.
Right now, the kitchen is 3/4s done.  The downstairs bathroom is finished except mopping the floor.  The living room only has the walls that need to be washed and the end tables to be cleared and cleaned.  I'm not ashamed to have the workmen come into the apartment to look at our A/C.  Because it's obvious that I'm making progress.
My new mantra will be that I am able to do what I want and need to do.  I'm taking my baby steps and making my way to being the person that I need... and want... to be!
ABLE

M is for.... Music, A to Z Challenge (Bonus Post)

As I was posting my Monday post previously, it dawned on me that there's a better M post.  Well, a sort of post.  Because I love music as much as I love books.  I've been singing most of my life - my family tells stories of how I used to sing "Baby Face" when I was a kid.  My aunt wanted me to sing "Here Comes the Bride" at her wedding when I was 5.  I was in chorus for as long as I could do so.  I sang solos.  I sang duets. I love to sing.  I keep wishing that I could join a chorus now, but there's too much going on for me to do so.
Since I don't have any video of me singing (though it's something I hope to do someday soon, if I can ever figure out the built in webcam on the netbook), I'm going to post a few of my favorites to, hopefully, give you a taste of the music I love.

This fits me so well. I love it because of that.

One of my favorite quotes comes from this song - First let's just unzip your religion down.

This is one of the songs I listen to when I'm having a really, really, REALLY bad day.

When I was in High School, my friend Becky and I used to see each other across the quad and yell out, "You're WHAT? Tin Roof... Rusted". Memories.

I love Capitol Steps. They help me laugh when I need it.

Phineas and Ferb has some of the best music on television today.  Teddy and I sing this together in the car all the time.

Music.  It helps soothe the soul.

M is for... Mondays, A to Z Challenge

Mondays and I have a rough relationship.  You'd think that, being a stay at home mom, that wouldn't be the case.  That Mondays would be just like any other day for me.  But it's not.  And I don't quite know why.
Or rather, I don't completely know why.  Some of it, of course, is because Rich has to go back to work on Mondays.  I've had two wonderfully glorious days with my husband, and now it'll be just me and the kids.  I want him around because I love it when we can have family time together.  Mondays bring an end to that.
And I'm sure that some of it is left over from my working days.  Mondays were the days I had to go back to work - back to the grind and the frustration that my job caused.  No more sleeping in until 8 or 9.  No more spending a bunch of time online or going out to the park to read a book.  Nope.  Work.  Work, work and more work.  And I wouldn't get my time off until the following Saturday.
But some of it... I just can't explain.  Mondays always seem to catch me unaware.  I'm up around 7 with the kids, and still, I can't seem to get everything together to bring them to story time.  And I love bringing my kids to story time.  It's a day that I want to spend in bed with my head under the covers.  Mondays depress me.

Whenever Monday arrives, this song plays in my head.  Yep, the Tori version rather than the Boomtown Rats version.

L is for... Library, A to Z Challenge

Yes, I'm about a week behind on this challenge.  I'm going to try to catch up as best I can over the next few days.
I love libraries.  I still remember the first time I stepped foot in one.  I was in Kindergarten, maybe first grade.  And we'd been brought upstairs to the school's library.  Every grade, kindergarten through 12th, used the same library.  The section furthest to the right when you come in the door was for the really young kids - K through 3, probably.  It held the picture books, and the ones for early readers.  In the same "room", to the left of this, were the stacks for the 4th through 6th graders.  Chapter books abounded there.  I felt proud when I was able to move up to those books.  Then you needed to go through a door to get to the HS side of the library.  When you were in elementary school, you needed permission to go through that door.  I think I got permission in 6th grade.  And again, I felt so proud that I was able to go to the books that felt more my speed.
But back to that first time in the library.  My class had been brought upstairs to the library - the strange and magical upstairs, at that time.  Because upstairs was the High School.  Almost everything we'd done was downstairs - well, except for music.  But that was right around the corner and up the stairs from my classroom.  This was half way across the school!
We sat in a circle in the children's section.  Mrs. O'Dell, the librarian, was reading a story to us and telling us how the library worked.  I was sitting somewhere near the back, I seem to remember.  And I just kept looking at the books around me.  I already knew the magic that books held - I'd been reading since I was 3 or 4.  But the sheer NUMBER of books... I knew that I wanted to read every one of them, and I wanted to read them right now.  I couldn't wait until we were given permission to take books out - 3 at a time, I seem to remember.  I had a hard time choosing which ones I wanted.
I read the Bearenstain Bears.  I read a book on how the body worked.  I read fantastical stories in fantastical worlds.  The library was the place where magic was at my fingertips.  Where I may have had to bring these wonderful words back, but I knew I'd be able to get them out again whenever I chose.  Books were like friends to me, and I was so glad to visit with them.
My view on libraries hasn't changed in the 30 years since my first visit.  It's still a magical place.  A place that offers so many things to me, my husband, my children.  It's a place where I can try new things, find out about subjects that interest me, find music and video and books being read to me, for those times when my hands are too full to hold a book on my own.  And best of all, it's a place where I know I'll meet more of my own kind.  Bibliophiles needing their fix of something new - or maybe something old - to take hold of their imaginations for awhile.  I will find people there that I can talk with about new books coming out, series that we've each enjoyed, and our wishes for what we'd like to see.
The library is my special place.  It's a place that my heart recognizes as home.

K is for... Kisses, A to Z Challenge

Kisses from My Guys
Small wet lips, puckered before meQuickly, loudly, they meet my own.A twinkle lights blue eyesAs he pulls away for a hug.
"Can I give you a kiss?" a little voice asks.With a smile, I say yes.Little lips move inWith a soft, "I love you, Mommy."
A small peck on the lipsOr a long, passionate embrace.The type of kisses doesn't matter,Just that they come from him.

J is for... Jumble, A to Z Challenge

Much of today, I've been trying to thinking of a good word to use for J, but so many things are running through my mind that it makes it difficult for me to think of anything.  
At first, I considered using juggling - one of my best friends from high school is a professional juggler and, as a parent, I juggle quite a lot of things.  But the words never seemed to come out right when I tried to type them.  
I thought about jalapeño and the "Crazy ABC's" song by Barenaked Ladies.  But I couldn't go anywhere other than that (particularly since I don't care for jalapeños).  
Rich suggested jelly babies, which would be a great segue into Doctor Who.  But my favorite Doctor was not Tom Baker, and he was the one with the jelly babies. 
Junk could have worked.  I have a lot of junk around my place.  Things that I know I should get rid of, but I haven't had the heart to because I hold on to things for "someday".  And it also reminds me of my grandfather, who would regularly go by the town dump and find things that he thought he'd be able to use for something later.  He had a lot of junk in his basement.
Another thought was talking about a jungle.  But, honestly, I don't know much of anything about jungles.  They're usually hot and they have a lot of animals.  Birds, monkeys...that kind of thing.  But that's about the extent of my knowledge.
I could have talked about joining things, but I haven't been joining too many things lately.  Well, I have been online, but not as much as I probably should.  Or maybe the other.  I dunno.  Joining just doesn't seem right to me.
Being just... Jackson... jury...Jvstin... Jones... Jergens... Jennifer... jumping jacks... junipers... jackets... journals... judges.... jump... jingle... All these J words are just a jumble in my mind.

I is for... Innocence, A to Z Challenge

I've lived for 37 years.  37 years of hope and disappointment, lessons in kindness and cruelty.  37 years to learn to be an adult and to take everything with a grain of salt.  37 years has taught me a lot.  But it's my 2 and 5 year olds that remind me of what I'd forgotten.  That there is wonder around you, if you can only remember the innocence that lets you see it.
Innocence makes fast friends on the playground.  Not necessarily friends for life, but friends for a few hours.  And that's all that you need sometimes.  Someone to enjoy yourself with, to run and play with, that makes your life better even if only for an afternoon.
Innocence sees the wonder in the world around you.  Everything gives you an opportunity to see something new, something you'd never considered before.
Innocence teaches you that every day is a new day, ready to begin again.  Yesterday doesn't matter any longer.  It's gone.  Tomorrow is so far away.  So you need to enjoy the now.
Innocence opens you to simplicity.  Nothing is complicated.  Friends are friends.  Going to the park is fun.  Walking around the grocery store means you meet new people.  Life is black or white with no grays lurking to catch you.  Life is what it is and you don't need to over think it.
Being a parent, I have to live in the gray times sometimes.  I have to remember the hard lessons.  But I don't have to let them rule me.  Keep them in the back of my mind, and look at the world through my children's eyes.  It makes me happier in the long run when I do so.

H is... Hope, A to Z Challenge

Hope is what keeps me going when I'm at my lowest.  Hope is my life saver.
I suffer from depression.  It's been a part of my life for a very, very long time.  When I was 11 or 12, my parents split up and I had a hard  time with it.  I wanted to hurt myself because I was convinced that it was my fault that they were splitting.  My mom took me to talk to a therapist.  He was a nice enough guy, and it helped for a little while.  But depression - at least clinical depression - has a way of sticking around, hiding in the shadows until your defenses are down.  
I know that I had rough times in High School and some in college.  I know there were thoughts of suicide.  But things didn't get really bad until I was in my incredibly unhealthy relationship.  I was made to feel that I was worthless which, with my already low self-esteem, pushed me further down.  I didn't get help until I was at the lowest I'd ever been - when I called my best friend to say goodbye because I was going to slit my wrists.  She called the cops and I went into a psych hospital for the weekend.  And from there, I got help.
I've been with therapists off and on since them.  Sometimes I didn't have the insurance to cover going, let alone to cover the essentials meds that kept me on a more even keel.  I dropped low during those times.  There were times when I thought I was ok and didn't need talk therapy or meds any longer.  That's when Depression would pull me back into the shadows, sometimes with baby steps so I didn't realize it until someone opened my eyes to it.
I still suffer from depression.  I always will.  But I have one thing going for me now.  Something I had all along but couldn't always see.  I had hope.
When I'm feeling down because I haven't done the things that I need to do, it's hope reminds me that tomorrow will be a better day and I can pick up from where I left off.
When I feel like my kids will never listen to me, it's hope that reminds me they'll grow out of it.  They're 5 and 2, after all.  Not prime listening ages.
When I feel like I can't get out of bed because it would never matter if I did, it's hope that reminds me that there are people who love me and they are wondering where I am. It also reminds me that I have two fantastic little boys who, while they may drive me insane sometimes, they also need me in body, soul and heart.
Sometimes hope is a little voice in my mind, counteracting the voice that tells me I'm worthless.  Sometimes it delivers itself through the hands of another - a phone call, an e-mail, a comment on my blog.  Sometimes it comes in the feeling of little arms around me and little voices saying, "I love you, Mommy."  Sometimes it arrives with my husband's caress, reminding me he still finds me sexy.
It doesn't matter how it makes itself known to me.  What's important is that it does make itself known to me.

G is for... Guinness, A to Z Challenge

I am a beer snob.  The things that most big name beer companies put out on the market should not be called beer, it should be called badly flavored water.  If I'm incredibly thirsty, I'll drink some but not if I can help it!  Now micro-breweries and a few of the larger beer bottlers are ok (like Yuengling.  I can drink Yuenling.)  But if I go some place with a large beer menu, particularly if that large beer menu is on tap, I immediately order a specific beer.  My favorite beer.  My alternate source of nutrition.
Guinness.
I love it's darkness, making it impossible to see through to the other side.  I love a properly drawn glass with the head the size of a bishops collar.  I love to hold the rounded pint in my hand, feeling the coldness of the beer cooling my hands.  I love the first sip - dark and rich on my tongue as it slips down my throat.  I love the fact that it's a beer I can't chug.  I have to savor it with long sips.  I have to make it last.
It's such a versatile beer.  You can make so many wonderful foodstuff with it. Bread, cake (with icing), beef pie, as a marinade, Irish stew, even as ice cream.  If I wanted, I could have a full day of Guinness.
And you can mix it with other wonderful beers like Bass to make a Black and Tan.  Nothing in the world is like a good Guinness and Bass Black and Tan... unless, of course, it's Guinness by itself.
So sláinte, my good friends, and have a pint on me!

Found using Google Image Search.

F is for... Feather, A to Z Challenge

Today's post was at the request of Teddy.  I've had a very busy day and none of the f words that were coming to mind were things that I could write about in polite company (or if I did, you'd probably consider me The Worst Mom in the World^TM.)  So I asked my family for suggestions.  Teddy was the first to reply with "Feather".  Because after all, "Feather begins with F, Mommy."  So... Feather.

I grew up in the country.  I've mentioned before in this blog about the smallness of the town and the school.  I lived 5 miles from town.  My family owned hundreds of acres of land.  My grandparents lived across the road and down in the valley from us.  There was a lot of forest in the areas between us, but the bottom of the valley was cleared with plenty of land for kids to play.  And my cousins and I did a lot of that over the summers.

Because of how close in distance we were, we would walk down to Grandma and Grandpa's more often than we would drive, particularly in the summer.  We would walk beside the main road to the turn off for my grandparent's driveway and then down the driveway.  It was a single lane rut driveway under the cover of trees.  It was one of the most quiet and peaceful places that I've ever been.

Sometimes, when we were walking, I'd come across a goose feather.  I picked them up whenever I came across one.  I loved the way that the barbs could move forward and back, how delicate the shaft was.  I was fascinated with the change of color along the feather.  I remember thinking that if I got enough of them, maybe I could fly.  Or, when I got a little older, wondering if I could fashion a real quill pen from it.  I never did try, though.

I have a lot of memories from those days.  But finding the feathers were unexpected surprises that always filled me with delight.

Note: If you'd like to see a picture of my grandparents' driveway, take a look at my uncle's photo gallery.  I can't link directly (and I don't want to use his picture without his permission), so the picture is under the color gallery, pictures 22 and 23.

E is for... the Endless, A to Z Challenge

As many regular readers of this blog know, I'm really into graphic novels.  Of late, most of my GN reads have been of the Superhero variety in general, and the DC world in particular.  But, while my first foray into graphic novels was through Vertigo, a DC imprint, it was not a superhero comic.  It was Neil Gaiman's Sandman series.  After reading the first book my husband put in my hands (The Sandman Vol. 3: Dream Country (New Edition) (Sandman (Graphic Novels))), I had to know more about the main characters of this world, the Endless.

For those who have not read the books before (and if you haven't, I'll provide links to all of them at the bottom.  Get thee hence to reading!), I'll provide a little tutorial on the Endless.
There are seven siblings and they are the personification of 7 major factors in the world.  Like most siblings, they don't always get along.  They don't always make the smartest choices.  And they aren't always themselves.

Destiny by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

The oldest is Destiny.  He walks the paths of his garden, blind beneath his hood.  With him, he always carries his Book, chained to his wrist.  It tells what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen.  Destiny knows all.  But chooses what to tell very carefully.

Death by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

Next comes Death.  In the "present" (for the series anyway), Death is a perky Goth Girl.  She's wise and fun and, honestly, if I had to have Death coming for me, I'd want it to be her.  She is often the confidant for Dream (the main character of the series).  When the world ends, she will be the last one to leave.

The Sandman by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

Dream is the main character of the series.  He is the Lord of Dreams, the owner of the realm that you wander to while you sleep.  But it is rare that you see him there.  He is a very complex man, our Morpheus. Sometimes moody, sometimes angry, he will often be in black and has stars in his eyes. And his journey is a sad one.  But one well worth learning about.

Destruction by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

Next is Destruction, the absentee brother.  After a family argument, he left his realm to go... elsewhere.  Wander the world, see what could be created, see what he could find.  He left his realm with no guardian, knowing that it needed none.  It would continue on whether he watched over it or not.  He has the laugh of an amused giant, and the heart of a poet.  

Desire by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

Despair by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART
Then come the twins, Desire and Despair.  No one knows whether Desire is male or female.  And anyone that meets Desire does not care.  Desire lives in a heart shaped home and is very antagonistic toward Dream. She is, in many ways, as responsible for the things that befall him as is Dream himself.
Despair is the second of that name.  When her first incarnation died, this Despair took the mantle.  It is rare that she leaves her realm of smoke and mirrors, instead using those mirrors to look out upon those who seem to call to her.  While she sometimes sides with her twin, she is the quiet one.  Her voice is rarely more than a whisper.

delirium by ~comocarajomellamo on deviantART

Finally, we come to the youngest of the Endless - Delirium, who was once Delight.  She can rarely keep herself together, sometimes floating out in multi colored butterflies as her mind wanders tangled pathways.  She is the madness of the mind, the unpredictable.  And you rarely will see her the same way twice.  She always has one eye blue and one eye green, but even they don't know which eye is the right and which is the left.  It is still unknown why she changed from Delight to Delirium, only that it was so long ago that even Destiny cannot say.  Her moods can change from one moment to the next, happy like a 3 year old playing in the sun or angry enough to cause chaos around her.  She is my favorite of the Endless.
Why do I love them so?  Part of it is because Gaiman created, for lack of a better word, real people for these 7 personifications.  They have strengths and flaws.  They make mistakes, hurt themselves and hurt others.  Some have agendas, some just take life the way it was meant to be lived, one day at a time.  Some are complete and utter bitches while others, I'd want as my friend.
I don't feel as though I'm reading a story when I read Sandman.  I feel like I'm reading a history that only Neil Gaiman has been allowed to write.  A history written by someone who was there and can tell the story that needs to be told first hand, rather than trying to reconstruct it years later.  And I can bury myself in that history as I turn the pages filled with Neil's words and the art of so many talented artists like Jill Thompson, Sam Keith, Mike Dringenberger, and the rest.  It becomes real to me.  I want to browse through the library in the Dreaming to see all the books that have never been written. (How many of my titles lie there in wait for a dreamer to happen upon it?)  I want to run into Death on the street, not because she's there for a final visit but because she's a friendly lady that I'd like to get to know.  I want to find Destruction and see his paintings.  I want to watch Delirium from a distance, because I'm afraid that if I get too close I will get sucked into her realm.
Because of Neil Gaiman penning Sandman, I have a new place to visit.  It isn't a place that I want to live.  It isn't a history that I want to experience first hand.  But reading Gaiman's view from the trenches has helped me through some dark times.




Below are the links to Amazon for the Graphic Novels in the Sandman Series.

D is for... Deni (A to Z Challenge Bonus Post)

Today is my sister's birthday.  Halfway through writing my last post, I realized that writing about her would have made a perfect post for today.  So I decided to do a bonus post.  Happy birthday, Deni.

I was going to try to write a poem, but the rhyme isn't coming today.  So instead, I'll share memories.

There are some bits of our family legend that I don't remember clearly.  I vaguely remember getting into Mom's make-up drawer and coloring your face with her lipstick.  And the memory is hazy for the time I got Mom's scissors and cut your hair.  I think I'm glad that she came in before you could cut mine. I have memories of you in your playpen, holding onto the side while I wanted to play with you.

But there are stronger memories as we got older.  I remember playing outside with you.  We'd run around the front yard, pretending it was a giant castle.  The area between the hedges and the driveway were a secret passage we'd take.  We used to spend so much time on the swing set out back.  And we'd play "Dukes of Hazzard" while we were there.  I seem to remember you were always Daisy and I was always Luke.

There was a year when you wore dresses to school every single day.  Mom didn't make you.  It's what you wanted to do. 

And then there was the time that I was taking a bath and you were holding Kit Kat while you talked to me.  He scratched you and you dumped him into the bath tub with me. I still remember the scratches.

It seems like we fought all the time.  Each of us would try to get each other in trouble.  And my anger would get the better of me and I took it out on you.  I'm sorry, Den.  I never should have.  But I also remember that, if anyone else would try to pick on you, I'd want to wade in as your protector.  You may have been my annoying little sister, but you WERE my little sister.  And no one was going to mess with you.

I remember one year making a card for Mom & Dad's anniversary from the lace on our nightgowns and box bottoms from Valentine's Cards.  I can remember sitting with you on our beds, putting these together as a surprise.

After I moved away to live with Dad, I had you stuck as 13 in my brain.  I couldn't imagine the sixteen year old that was there when I came back the year I graduated from High School.  You were working at the Diner on the weekends.  You were DATING.  It just didn't seem possible.  (And then there was the whole getting sick after the graduation party thing.  I REALLY couldn't believe that one.)

I'd been jealous of you when we were kids.  You were thin, you were pretty and everyone seemed to like you.  I don't know if I ever told you, but I really wanted to be like you then.  And sometimes, even now, I want to be like you.

I don't think we've grown close now that we've gotten older, but the fighting has stopped (could you imagine us fighting now the way we did then?)  And we can talk about grown up things like grown up people.  When did we grow up?  When did we get families?

I don't know if I've ever said it, or if it matters much to you, but I'm proud of you, Den.  I'm proud to have such a smart, hardworking sister who is doing (mostly) what she wants to.  I'm proud to have a sister who is raising two wonderful kids.  I'm so lucky to have such a great sister.

Happy birthday, Kiddo.  I love you.

She was always the cute one.

And she still is.

D is for... Daddy's Girl, A to Z Challenge

For as long as I can remember, I've been a Daddy's girl.  When I was younger, I wanted to spend a lot of time with him.  As I got older, I confided things to him (though not everything). And now that I'm a parent, I go to him for advice.
He influenced me in so many ways.  He got a computer back in 1980 or so, a TRS-80, Model I.  When I got a bit older (maybe 3rd or 4th grade?), he let me create simple DOS programs on it.  He let me play one of the cassette games that we had for it.  I've never stopped being crazy for computers.
He was a big reader, and he's instilled that in me as well.  I remember after he had his first back surgery.  I was volunteering at our (very small) town library for a Girl Scouts patch.  He'd ask me to bring him a book home to read.  Me, wanting to please him, went through every book in the Sci-Fi section and looked at the cards to see if I saw my father's name on it.  If he hadn't checked it out, I put it in a pile to bring home.  I think I brought home 21 books that time.  And he read them all.
When I was a little girl, he used to let me sit on his lap and "steer" the car up the driveway.  His hands were always close by in case I did anything that wouldn't have been too healthy.  He let me hang around the service station that he owned.  It was one of my favorite playgrounds, in part because he was there.
My parents separated when I was in 5th or 6th grade.  Daddy was close by for awhile, first living in my aunt and uncle's camper, then renting a small apartment off of someone's house.  My sister and I would spend the night occasionally.  I loved having the time with my Daddy.  I remember one time when he was trying to change a battery in a smoke alarm (I think it was), and he'd grabbed an unstable chair.  He fell and knocked himself out.  We didn't have 911 in our town at that time and I couldn't remember the emergency number.  So I tried calling my mom and my aunt.  Their phones were busy.  I kept trying to call until I finally got through.  I stayed calm through all of this, and only when I knew Daddy was safe did I freak out.
I was devastated when he moved to Florida.  I couldn't wait for the summers when he'd drive up in a camper to pick us up and we'd make stops on our way back.  I loved our stop in Washington DC.  When I was in 9th grade, I moved to Florida to live with him and my step-mom.
From my second year there, my step-mom and I ran into problems.  I thought she was too strict about things and she thought I was being a brat.  We were probably both right.  I would talk to my Dad when things got really rough and he'd understand.  Sometimes, he'd let me do things that my step-mom had previously said no to.
Even when I was on my own, he was there for me.  Once he drove 2 hours to find out what was wrong with my car, only to find out I was out of gas (I had a broken gas gauge.  I can be excused for that, can't I?)  He helped keep my secret when I continued dating the guy that was no good for me.  He helped dry my tears when things went bad with this guy, and didn't give up on me when I went back to him.
Daddy's always been there for me, and I try to be there for him.  He and my step-mom moved from Florida to Tennessee.  At the time, it was a pretty central location for all of us kids - I was in TN, my sister was in NY,  my oldest step-brother was in WI and my other step-brother was in Florida.  But he was close to me again, and that meant the world to me.  While they were trying to sell their house in Florida, I would drive out to the new home they bought in TN to make sure everything was ok.  When both my Dad and Step-Mom couldn't do it, Rich and I drove to FL to get the last of their stuff.  I tried to be there for Daddy after Suzy (my step-mom) passed away.
And just like Daddy did for me when I was a teen, I listen when he needs to rant a bit.  I try to give him the good advice that he's given me.  I try to help whenever he needs it (he's got a lot of back problems and hasn't been able to walk without aide of a walker or cane in years).  I try to be as good of a daughter to him as he has been a father to me.
Because I truly love my Daddy.

Daddy holding me not too long after I came home.

Even when I was a bit older, I still wanted to be near my Daddy.

Two of the four most important men in my life - my husband and my Daddy.

C is for... Cat, A to Z Challenge

I don't know if I've always been a cat person.  Heck, I'm not even sure if I'm currently a cat person, if you talk cat vs dogs.  But I'm not a dog person either.  I'm a pet person.  But that's neither here nor there at the moment.
I've had cats off and on through most of my life.  I know that my mom didn't care for them too much, but my sister was cat-mad when she was little.  I still remember one of our cats, Kit Kat.  He was one of the meanest cats around, always scratching us kids.  But Deni would hold him and pet him and try to show him love anyway. One day, he ran away and she was heartbroken.  I can't remember where Kit Kat came in our cat household.  I don't think he was the only one, but no others come to mind.
When I moved in with my dad, there were no cats in the house.  First it was because my step-mom was either allergic to them or didn't like them.  Then we found out that Dad has severe asthma.  No pets were allowed but our poodle, because poodles have hair rather than fur.
The first cat I owned (rather than being a family cat) was a black little guy that I got at 6 weeks.  My boyfriend at the time had a cat that had had a litter, so he brought one over for me.  I decided to name him after one of my favorite drinks - Sohco (for Southern Comfort).  Soc hated men.  Not sure why.  But any time a male would enter my apartment, he'd hiss.  Women he wasn't so bad about, but he still wasn't a snuggle kitty.  He was pure black with beautiful gold-green eyes.  I tried to make him an indoor cat, but he had too much to prove to the strays around the apartment and constantly got out.  I never had a problem with fleas, but I did have a big problem with him marking things around the apartment.
When I moved to my parents and Sohco had to be a full-time outdoor cat, he decided he'd had enough and he ran away.  My parents said they'd see him around the neighborhood occasionally with a cat we'd nicknamed cinnamon, for the color of her fur.
I didn't have another cat until after Rich and I got married.  And that was purely through fate.
I'd been trying to talk Rich into letting us have a cat for awhile.  He thought he was more a dog person than a cat person, so he wasn't too keen on the idea.  But then one day, one of my coworkers came in to tell us that she had a stray that had been hanging around her house.  She was trying to find a home for it because the shelters were all full and she had too many cats in her house already.  She showed me a picture - he was pure black, just like Sohco.  I knew we had to take the kitten in.
Rich just shook his head the minute I mentioned it.  He knew he had no choice.  This kitten was coming into our home.  And he became a part of our family a few days later.  Keeping up the alcoholic naming conditions, we called him Tai, after Mai Tais.
About two months later, one of Rich's coworkers came in and told a strange story.  She was coming out of her apartment to go to work and had set her bag down on top of an old coffee table with doors.  And she heard a noise.  She took a look inside, and there were a bunch of cats and kittens living in there.  Being the soft-hearted woman that she was, she wanted to find homes for them.  Rich immediately knew that if he came home with this story, we'd have another cat.  But he couldn't not tell me, so he resigned himself to another cat.
He went out to pick up this one.  He'd have the pick of any of the cats, since none had been spoken for so far.  He was going to take the six week old, knowing I'd love to have a little kitten around.  But his coworker's boyfriend had seemed to get pretty attached to that one, so Rich took the only other one that was bathed - a white and ginger ball of fluff.  On the way home, he knew that his name was going to be Lemon.  Lemoncello, if we were being formal.
Tai didn't care too much for this new cat, and Lemon wanted to play.  But eventually, they grew to be brothers.  They'd fight, groom each other, play... usual brother stuff.  Tai was pretty much my cat - the whole time I was in bed before and after my back surgery, and when I was pregnant with Teddy, Tai curled up with me.  He hated to be picked up, even by me.  He was going to give you love on HIS terms.  And he was shy... so incredibly shy.  Many of our friends didn't realize we had a second cat because Tai refused to come out.  But he never bit, unless you refused to get the "hands off" message.  He was a really gentle cat.
Lemon was his exact opposite.  Friendly to a fault, jumping up into anyone's lap as soon as they sat down, pushing himself under a hand for pets.  He pretended to be alpha cat, but Tai would occasionally show him who was truly alpha cat.  Lem didn't know the difference between playing and playing too rough.  He actually got himself kicked out of our bedroom at night because he was convinced that we liked being bitten on the ankles in the middle of the night to wake up and play.
They moved with us from Philadelphia to Nashville and from our old apartment to our new.  But I wonder if that last move was too much for Tai.  He didn't ever feel quite comfortable here.  Then on June 12th last year, after Rich had kicked him out of the bedroom for the night (because if Tai was on the one side of the door and Lem was on the other, we'd hear meowing and scratching all night), he went downstairs.  Rich didn't see him at first the next morning, but then he heard faint meowing.  Somehow, Tai had gotten into the arm of our pull-out couch and gotten stuck.  He never wore a collar, so it wasn't that.  He just couldn't seem to figure out how to get back out - even though he'd done so dozens of times before.  He woke me up and I crawled into the couch, the bed half-in and half-out so I could fit in there, and tried to coax him out.  Eventually, I had to pull him out.  He wasn't hardly moving and panting a bit.  His meows were so weak.  It was a Sunday, so Rich brought him to the pet ER.  I just couldn't see my first baby in so much pain.  Rich kept me updated as the day went on.  But it wasn't looking good.  He'd been severely dehydrated.  He still wasn't moving.  There was a good chance of brain damage and a possible broken back.  He was in so much pain.  So we decided that we'd let him go.  It was the hardest decision I ever had to make.  And I was inconsolable for days.
We still have Lem.  He's mellowed a bit.  He's not the same rambunctious kitty that he'd been.  He still misses his brother.  We all do.  But he does still come up for snuggles sometimes.  I've thought about trying to find a new friend for him, bringing another pet into the house.  But not yet.  I'm still not ready yet.
I don't have a lot of pictures of my fur babies.  The computers that had all of them have crashed, as has the external hard drive that had some pictures.  But I have found a few to share with you now.

Lemon, pretending the camera isn't there.

My TT.  Such a snuggle cat.

Lemon, being freaky eyed kitty on NYE

I love my cats.

B is for... Babies, A to Z Challenge

As I remarked in my previous entry, I have two boys.  Which means, I've had two babies.  And sometimes, I miss that.
When Rich and I got married, we'd talked about how many kids we wanted to have and had settled on two or three.  We had names picked out, sort of.  I knew that if we had a boy, he would be Teddy.  And Rich wanted a girl named for his grandmother, Catherine.  I knew I also wanted a girl named Anastasia.  It's long been one of my favorite names.  (For more on the naming things, take a look at this previous post.)
And I'll admit it.  I wanted a boy and a girl.  I wanted a boy because I wanted to give my child my father's name.  And I wanted a girl because I wanted to buy cute, frilly clothes.  I suspected I'd have more in common with girl children than boys, and that's kind of why I wanted both.
When we found out that our first child was a boy, I cried.  I was really that happy.  Even though I didn't know who he would become, I knew that I had my Teddy.  And when we found out I was pregnant the second time, I really hoped for a girl.  I hadn't been too keen on the name Rich wanted for another boy - Peter.  But when we had the ultrasound and determined the gender, I knew that it was meant to be.  I didn't get my girl, but the little boy that would be the namesake to the great-grandfather that had just passed away.
Now when people see me with my boys, I'll often get asked, "Are you planning on having any more?  Are you going to try for a girl?"  And the answer is always no.
I love babies.  And I love being pregnant.  I love feeling the little one growing inside me, feeling the kicks that make my tummy jiggle.  I like having conversations with my baby that no one else can have.  When they're born, I love holding my little one, snuggling them up next to me when nurse.  I love dressing them in little clothes, and watching for each little milestone, smiling with every gurgle and grin.  In an ideal world, I would have another baby.
But this isn't an ideal world.  Far from it.  And I've got a lot of reasons that have kept me from having that third child.

• We live in a two bedroom apartment.  Someday I want to live in a bigger place, but that isn't feasible at the moment.  And a 2 bedroom apartment isn't feasible for 5 people.
• I have enough stress trying to take care of my two boys.  Adding another child - boy or girl into the mix might seriously send me over the edge.  As it is right now, I feel like I'm being pulled in two directions by them most of the time.
• I'm 37.  I don't want to be 40 and have my next child.  Yes, I know it's becoming more common for women to have babies at that age.  And I have no problem with the women who do.  They're the ones that can decide if having a child is right for them - regardless of the age.  But me... I don't feel comfortable with it.  I guess it's just the warnings that were given about pregnancies over 35 when I was pregnant with Teddy.
• For both my deliveries, I don't remember the boys being born.  They were both C-Section - Teddy an unplanned and Pete a planned.  With Teddy, my body decided that it didn't want him born.  I refused to dilate the last little bit.  They'd given me some medication for the C-section and whatever it was made me loopy.  I remember Rich holding my hand and me asking if a shot was for my rubella (since I didn't have the antivirus in my system).  And with Pete, they had to put me completely under.  I'd had back surgery back in 2004 and enough scar tissue had built up between Teddy's birth and Pete's that they couldn't get the epidural in.  So no knowledge of Pete's birth at all.  I don't want that again.  It hit me kind of hard the first time.  The second time was, in some ways, worse because I wasn't even awake.  And... I just don't want that again.
• There's no guarantee if you'll have a boy or a girl.  So the whole "Try for a girl" thing seems pretty silly to me.  Yes, I'd love a girl.  But I've got nieces that I can spoil.  Not quite the same, but it's what I have and I'm happy with it.

So sure, I miss babies.  But I'm so happy with the two boys that I have now, growing older every day.  They aren't as snuggly as they were once, but they give bigger and better hugs now.  And they can talk to me and tell me what's wrong.  So no, no more babies here.  I'll settle for snuggling my friend's baby when he comes home.