Thank you for dropping by!

I truly appreciate that you've decided to share part of your day in my world. I hope your time has been well spent and I've made you smile, laugh or think.





Friday, December 28, 2012

Mama Bean's World: Our New Dog Oliver

Mama Bean's World: Our New Dog Oliver: This is Oliver. Cute. He is our new dog. Now for you loyal readers, don't panic, my dear old dog Charlie is still kicking. In fact...

Our New Dog Oliver

This is Oliver.

Cute.

He is our new dog.

Now for you loyal readers, don't panic, my dear old dog Charlie is still kicking.

In fact, we decided it was time to adopt a dog because over the past few months Charlie has started to slow down even more and Dixie, our Golden Retriever/Australian Shepherd mix was getting antsy.  She and Charlie had always been able to play together but Charlie tends to sleep 22 1/2 hours a day and she looked very sad.

And my husband has been complaining about getting a lab since I've known him.

My husband was a puppy-from-a-breeder-kind of guy.  It took me the past 2 years to convince him that rescue was the way to go.  I explained how they get to know the dog and they are very particular about placing dogs in the right home.  I showed him pictures from my friend Hadar's rescue group in Texas.  Our homeopathic vet (feel free to mock, she's why Charlie is still here) even said you can absolutely teach an old dog new tricks.  She had trained a few dogs as drug dogs that were from pounds.

And then, of course, I snapped one night and said:

"THERE IS NO WAY WE ARE GETTING A PUPPY.  EVER.  I CAN'T HANDLE THE CHEWING AND THE HOUSEBREAKING.  AND 20,000 DOGS ARE PUT DOWN IN CLARK COUNTY EVERY YEAR- HOW ON EARTH CAN YOU BUY A DOG??"

I think it was during my special time. 

My husband, frightened, started to peruse the Las Vegas Labrador Rescue ads.  We were hesitant because of Charlie about getting a new, high energy dog.   But Dixie really needed a play mate and my husband really needed a lab.  We called on one, explained our elderly dog situation and the head of the program said the dog we saw probably wasn't a good fit.

Then there was Oliver.

10 months old.

GIANT.

Goofy.

His foster parents were great.  We all think he must have been left alone- he was scared of the dark.  Kinda shy.

WAS.

The second Oliver came into our home, we knew he was our dog.  He and Dixie became best friends instantly.

It's been a month and they still have not stopped playing.

I mean it. It's like having 2 teenage boys. 

He is great with Charlie.  They both will let Charlie bark and be part of whatever they are doing during the 90 minutes that he's awake.  We've even caught Oliver curled up next to Charlie- his head next to his.


When my husband first saw Oliver, I swear little hearts radiated from his eyes.  He had found his dog.

Of course, Oliver is completely unaware that he's huge.  He thinks he's a tiny puppy.  It took him awhile to learn that he could not sleep with us.  The other night he fell off the ottoman where he normally sleeps because he outgrew it.  At 3 am I heard a thud and there he was, on the floor, still asleep.  Total goofball.

He's chewed a few things, but nothing like a little puppy.  He had 2 accidents and that was it.  No housebreaking needed.  He's started to dig a little bit.  We're working on the barking.

I think he can tell time.  At 6:01 if I'm not already awake, I receive a big lick across my face.

He does what we've come to call "drive by licks"- if you're just sitting there, he comes up, licks you just to say "What's up?" 

He is a complete food whore.  It took us 2 days to get him to go into the crate-- because there was a biscuit.  Now he and Dixie race to see who gets in first.

I swear, I have never seen 2 dogs get along better.  They are best friends.  They are both submissive, so if you yell, they both roll over on their bellies. It's hilarious.

Best friends.  And Shane's foot.


I can't imagine a better addition to our family.  Things were going along far too smoothly-- we needed to add in a big, giant, going to be 90 pound dog to the mix.  It's added an extra element to our morning routine.  Breakfast, pack lunches, give Charlie his meds, check back packs, wrangle dogs.  Fun.
Wanna play?


My husband has even started training him to retrieve.  And guess what-- it's working. He's finally got his duck dog.  Probably. 










It's been a little crazy.  Oliver is big and I'm not used to it.  Plus, with his black coat, he's virtually invisible at night-- I've tripped more than once.  And did I mention that they never stop playing?  I'm not kidding....

But honestly, if you ever are hesitant to adopt a rescue dog because you think they are used goods to be discarded, think again.  Most of these dogs simply had bad owners or had owners that just couldn't take care of them properly.  Rescue groups are great ways to adopt.  The foster parents get to know the dogs and want to make sure you're the right owner for that dog.  My advice would be to take it slowly-- don't just get a dog- get the right dog.  Not every dog is the right dog for every family.  We needed a mellow guy.  I looked at quite a few dogs before we got Dixie.  Oliver was the right choice for us.

He agrees.  He just licked the screen.

So before you buy a puppy from a breeder or a pet store, browse your local shelter and rescue groups at petfinder.com  There are some great dogs out there- already trained and very happy to have a good home!

Our family.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

It Really is a Wonderful Life

We read the short story on which "It's a Wonderful Life" is based for our book group this month. 

The timing was good because this week I had my own George Bailey moment.

I tried to quit Facebook.

Okay, not quite the same as throwing myself off a bridge due to a financial collapse of my business.

I was stunned at the response I got.

Now the reason I announced my departure was because I took a few weeks off a few months ago and I got panicked emails from friends wondering if I was okay.  We were on vacation and I didn't have access to internet.

So I explained why this time-- too many ignorant morons and too much hatred.

And then the emails, messages, notes, instant messages started.

Not one.  Not 10.

Around 100.

No joke.

People took the time to write lengthy messages about how much I had impacted their lives through my little, happy posts.

I received compliments on how much people enjoyed my posts.  About how they enjoyed the funny stories about my kids.  About how nice it was to hear about a happy, functional family.  About how encouraging it was to see someone who loves their spouse.  About how much they appreciated that I made them laugh.

About what a difference I made in their lives.

Me.  And my silly posts.

And again these weren't 2-3 sentence messages.  Some of them were quite lengthy.  I was beyond touched.

I was stunned.

I had no idea.

Every 2 years we get a client survey and every year I am reminded that I make a difference in my clients' lives.

But I honestly had no idea what an impact such a small part of my life had on so many people.  That it was significant enough for them to take a few moments out of their day to ask me to please not leave.

It wasn't a bucket of money in my living room, but it meant more.

It reminded me that kindness surpasses anger and hatred. That people cared enough to take the time for something seemingly so insignificant.

Earlier in the week I had posted all the things on my to do list and my friends came to my rescue and helped out.

My close circle- my husband, my children, and my closest friends are fantastic.  I know that.  I am so grateful for it. 

But the next circle out-- the casual friends, the acquaintances-- I never had any idea the role I played in their lives.  I just assumed it was insignificant.

I had a client pass away a few years ago unexpectedly.  Her husband shared that she used to forget my name, so after 10 years of working together, I had become simply "Sweetie."  It was their inside joke.  He teared up when he shared it.  I am tearing up typing it.  I played a small role in their life.  What a privilege.

Thank you to all the friends, former teachers, acquaintances, friends of friends who took the time to contact me and ask me not to lose touch.

It really did mean a lot to me.  It reminded me that while I may be a small part of the world, every action that I take does have an impact.  Even something as small as posting my silly observations on social media impacts people.  I'm glad that it could have such a positive impact.

I am happy that through social media I've been able to reconnect with so many old friends who also played a role in MY life- the teachers, the old neighbors, the old classmates, college friends, former co-workers-- they are interwoven in my life as parts of funny stories, things I've learned and choices I've made.  Everyone is part of a story-- the story of my life.

And I truly have a very wonderful life.  Because of the wonderful people in it. Just like George Bailey.  It was nice to be reminded of it.


Have a very Merry Christmas and may you appreciate all that you have in the coming year!

My wonderful life.


Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Pierced at Last






Well that title is going to get quite a few weirdos from Google.....

And to add to that thought-- googling "piercing in Las Vegas" is also not a great idea if you're trying to find the local Claire's.  The 20 tattoo parlors that came up were not exactly where I wanted to go.

My beautiful, wonderful, girly girl daughter turns 7 this week.  More than anything in the world-- anything-- she wanted her ears pierced.  She is apparently the only human being on the planet without pierced ears.

Well, except for her 42 year old mother.

Yep, you heard that right.  I don't have pierced ears.  Sorta.

I have semi-virgin lobes.  They were pierced once, in 1982.  They were uneven (because I jumped) and I had a terrible reaction to the posts.  I pulled them out after a few days of sore, puffy, gooey, nasty ears. 

My apologies if you were eating while you're reading this.

The reason I did not have pierced ears is because my very Catholic mother had been taught that it was desecration of the body and would prevent me from being buried in a Catholic cemetery (how nice is that?  How many mothers are concerned about their children's death rites... yep, freaked me out, too).  Oh, and sluts pierced their ears.  I didn't know what that meant but I did know that a) I was not a slut, whatever that was and b) If I died, I was okay to have eternal slumber in a Catholic cemetery and not forced to decompose with Protestants.  But at 12 I wanted to be like the other slutty, Protestant girls.  My mother was assured by aunt that ear piercing was cool with the church.  My mom caved.  Both my sister and I went.

And for me, with short hair, braces, glasses and a fairly skinny face, the last thing I needed was more metal drawing out my dorkiness.  And then they were crooked.  And then I was allergic to the hypo-allergenic posts.  Because 1% are and I am ALWAYS the 1%-- just not in the Republican way.

So I have reclaimed virgin earlobes.  Like dry humping gone awry.


ANYHOW....

I wasn't one of those moms who pierced the baby ears because honestly, I think it's weird.  There were enough things to keep clean during the infant years-- myself included-- that I didn't want to deal with earrings.  I also think baby jewelry is odd.  Babies are cute- they don't need adorned.  Weird.  Very weird to me.  Little necklaces.  Little rings.  Weird. Weird. Weird.

Also, when I lived in Ecuador, it was the custom to pierce the infant girls' ears.  And by the time the women were 40, their lobes were droopy.  It freaked me out.

So no baby earrings for my girl.

But Zoey's first word was shoe.  Actually, it was shoesie.

I birthed a girly girl.

I knew one day she would want pierced ears.  When was the question.

I thought rather than wait for some arbitrary age, I would base it on a skill- when she could keep track of her jewelry and hair accessories.  Once she could stop leaving them all over the house and losing them, then she could get her ears pierced.  Great idea, huh?

Except for one small detail...

that is never, ever going to happen in the next 10 years.  After a year of using that as the standard, I realized that could be well into her 20's. 

This week was her birthday.  I knew I was going to do this for her.  We are going out for her birthday (thank you, Ellen!) and I didn't want them to hurt when we were out.  So we did it tonight.

And I thought what the heck?  Why don't I give it another go round?

I'm not really too concerned about the burial thing (heck, my mom even changed her will to cremation-- these times, they are a changin') and the slut thing... well... no comment.

Talk about a bonding moment.  My daughter was SOOOOO excited she forgot to pee.  Then she started the pee pee dance.  She has issues with this.  She is 100 times better than before, but even now when she says she has to pee- she means 10 seconds ago.  We're usually proactive but with the excitement of having someone shoot a gun and permanently alter you earlobe looming, she sorta, kinda forgot.  I finally was sitting on the chair ready to go and well, she had to go, too. 

Off we went to Micheal's to pee.  She was skipping and dancing the whole time.  I was thinking "Why on earth am I doing this at 42?  Oh... to bond with my dancing, happy daughter."

We got back to Claire's, the little girl in front of us who is also 7 pointed out that yes, it did hurt.  Great.  I went first. 

The piercing technician- she was a pro-- took her time to adjust the holes.  I even asked her to change one.  She did-- no uneven holes for me, thank you!  Then she did it.   My reclaimed virginity soiled for eternity.  Again.  And it stung like a mother.

I have to say, however, it looks fabulous!  The piercing technician and I discussed my prior issues, so we went with gold posts.  They are special diamonds from Zircon  ( hee hee), too.  I'm hoping there are no oozing holes tomorrow.

Then it was my daughter's turn.  She was no longer dancing.  She was a hoot when I was in the hot seat.  She was chicken little when it was her turn.  She put it off then she decided to just go for it.

She was a champ-- a little watery eyes, but overall, no official tears.  Because it didn't hurt.  She said "Skip has pinched me harder than that!"  Great.  Good to know.

Here we are-- all pierced and ready to face the world with our fabulousness!!



I always say I am a better person for having had children. I am, without a doubt, a better woman for having a daughter.  She is as strong as she is beautiful  She got me to do something I never would have done without her.  She makes me more feminine.  She is proud to be a girl-- something I often lose sight of in my male dominated profession. 

She is everything I want to be when I grow up. 

Monday, December 17, 2012

Being a Positive Person

It was interesting that just a few days ago I had a conversation with one of my favorite people about how both of us have positive, upbeat personalities and how in so many ways it puts pressure on us to be the perpetual cheerleaders.  We're never allowed to have bad days because we're the "nice"ones.  When we are in a pissy mood, people react.  If we were jerks all the time, they wouldn't care- but not Suzy Sunshines.

So when I posted that I quit Facebook, I got a LOT of comments, private messages, emails about it.  People said they would miss me and my humor.  I was even called the Erma Bombeck of Facebook (I want to print that on a coffee mug-- she is my idol).  I did not realize it would cause quite the stir.  I did want to let people know that I was disappearing.  I took a week or so off awhile back because I was busy and a few people were concerned that something bad had happened.  I loved that people really did enjoy my silly posts and looked forward to them.  Quite honestly, I think that's very cool.  Call me vain, I don't care, it did make me smile.  Nice to feel noticed.

First, I would like to explain that while I realize I can hide people, I don't think I should have to.  And I actually have hidden people.  A lot.  To a point I didn't see the point.  In my real life, my friends are awesome.  I was learning some awful things about people that quite honestly, I could have gone on for the rest of my life NOT knowing.  Especially the bigotry stuff.  But now I know and it sickens me.  So, since no one is holding a gun to my head to be on Facebook, as an adult, I choose to not participate.  I will live in my happy real world.  Unlike a lot of people, my reality is quite lovely.

Which quite a few of you so wonderfully pointed out.  How it was inspiring to see normal, happy people.

I was very genuinely touched. 

Which brings me to the second part of my blog.

You can be happy, too.

This is how..... it's quite easy...

When you wake up in the morning, choose to be happy.

Honestly, that's it.

I do it 99% of the time.

I had a boyfriend about 20 years ago who asked me one morning as we got ready for work (yes, I'm a slut, get over it), how I did it.

Did what, I asked?

Be so happy all the time.  Nothing gets you down, he told me.

I laughed.   And I said "It's easy.  Today when I woke up, I wasn't dead.  That's a good day."

It's really that easy.  I'm not dead.  I could be dead.  I am not.

Great way to start to the day- not being dead.  Pretty much every moment after that is my choice.

And no, I am not always happy.  I have a very, dark, twisted cynical side that only a few true friends get to see.  If you think I'm funny when I'm happy, Cynical Mama Bean puts Dennis Miller to shame.  I'm like the bastard child of him and Roseanne.  My husband sometimes spits when I say something,  uncharacteristically dark.  Because trust me, the bubble over my head can be vicious.  It is so out of character that it's extra funny.

I choose to filter it though.  Consciously.  I can easily rip someone a new one.  Trust me.  I am extremely quick witted and verbal.  My husband has accused me of going straight for the jugular in a fight.  But why?  Why make the world an angrier place?

My whole life is a series of randomness.  It's a complete fluke that I ended up in Vegas-- I walked away from a great guy and a dream job.  It's a complete fluke that I met my husband.   He is my world and makes everything better.  And if you're a frequent reader, you know that I am an accidental parent and I cannot imagine a world without my children.  I am such a better person because of them.

It hasn't been my life choices that I made that made the difference-- my life largely chooses me-- it's how I've reacted to my circumstances.  And I always use the baseline that I am not dead, so things must be good.

Rather than nag my husband about every little stinking thing he does wrong, I choose to see what he does right- which is far more than is wrong.  Most days.  I respect him as a choice.  The better wife I am, the better husband he is-- and vice versa.  Crazy how that works.

My kids can be exhausting, but I adore them.  They are these awesome little people that I am privileged to have in my life.  What a gift.  and yes, it's work, but what isn't?  I hate, hate, hate when people bitch about their kids.  The rant from time to time is fine, but I HATE when people act like their children are a burden.  Didn't you read the warning label on the box? 

So many people have the same opportunities I've had and they squander it by constantly wanting more.  Their life is never enough.  I've had people say "I want what you have."  And I usually reply "I just appreciate what I have."

I want for nothing.  Everything I need is within me.

Completely cheesy, I know.  But I swear, it's not a motivational bumper sticker-- it's my reality. 

Seriously. 

So today I woke up and I wasn't dead.

It was Monday.  It had a few challenges.  I had to make a decision today that was frustrating.  Like so many people, I couldn't sleep all weekend because I kept thinking of the children and their parents in Newtown.  I wasn't a very nice Daisy leader tonight.  I am tired.  I am tired of my new, sweet dog waking me up.  I am tired of my old, crippled dog keeping me up.  But we laughed at dinner- even made my son almost shoot water out his nose.  To which he said "You're still not cool- you're funny, but not cool."  I'm not cool.  But my son thinks I'm funny.

And that my friends, is a good day.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Tonight I Quit Facebook

I couldn't take the ignorance any longer.

People that I know barely made it through high school, suddenly became constitutional experts.

Or political science experts.

Or financial experts.

I figure my real friends will stay in touch.  But I just couldn't take it any more.

The racist comments about the president, his wife and daughters.

The anti-gay commentaries.

Those same people quoting the bible.

I can see God rolling his eyes with every meme that was followed by vitriol.

(Not every person who quoted a religious quote did that- I want to clarify. )

People cheating on their spouses.

 All the stupid game requests.


Done.  Done. Done.

It all started as a fun way to get back in touch with some fantastic people that I haven't seen for years. 

Then politics leaked in.

And I was polite.

I was called an ignorant stupid fuck more than once.  Because when you think of me, uneducated and ill-informed come to mind?  Not.  I didn't get C's in high school.  Or even college for that matter. Silly, business owning, educated me.  Clearly, I have so much to learn about our tax system from someone who can't even file a 1040 EZ on their own.

I have a wide range of real friends- they are smart, they are diverse in their thought.  They are real friends.  We have fantastic discussions.

But Facebook seems to have become a forum for nuttiness.  For spreading rumors (that Ben Stein thing everyone keeps posting is false- as is 90% of the shit people post and repost without confirming).

I'm sad.  I will miss some of my virtual friends who made me laugh (Deb and DiAnne)  Or old friends who do (Tommy- your posts made me spit my coffee more than once.   And Julie- where do you and your husband find those YouTube clips?  Mike- you get the best meme award).  And even better are the amazing teachers I've gotten back in touch with!  They've all played such a huge part in my life-- yes, I was listening all those years ago-- and I am happy to reconnect. 

But when my blood is boiling, it's time to call it a day.

I care.  Call me silly.  I want to have faith in humanity that people can have a rational discussion.  I am spoiled because I have that in the real world.

Which is where I should spend my time.  I can play Words with Friends on my kindle.  I don't need to log into Facebook any more.

So if you want to stay in touch, please stay in touch.  With me.  For real.  As a real friend.  Like all the fantastic real friends who helped me out this week.

2013 is a new year.  And I will spend it doing only the things that I feel are positive and make the world a better place and me a better person.

There are so many things wrong with the world, that I want to make it my mission to focus on what's right and fixing what is wrong.

Because I am a dreamer and a magic bean buyer.  I will not let hatred bring me down.


Friday, December 14, 2012

Too soon to blog but I had to

Random babbles.... please excuse.... I needed to think out loud...

I learned about the shooting this morning and quickly turned off the TV.  I didn't want my kids to hear about it before school.  And to be honest, I didn't want to hear about it.  I had hoped it was handled, no one was hurt and the kids were okay.

I had a bunch of errands to run- if you follow my posts, you know this week has been crazy for me.  I dropped my kids off- it was raining, so I didn't walk them in like I usually do.  Plus, we were there just in time- I had to load up the car with the turkey I was taking to a friend's house for the dinner she is serving to the homeless on Sunday.  I usually hang out and watch my daughter play, but today I wanted to get a jump start, so I could make it back to volunteer in the afternoon.  I did the normal "See ya!  Love ya!  Have a good day!  Learn a lot!  Change the world!"  We smiled.  Off they went.  The kids were all hurrying into the school because of the rain.  They didn't look back.

I went around the block, was at the red light and then I heard the sirens.

Sirens.

Three police cars were headed towards the school.

My heart stopped.

Was the shooting not just another angry boyfriend or student?  Was this a terrorist attack?  Was it some sort of planned national event?

I froze.

Then I rushed back towards the school, my heart racing and thinking there is no way that could happen to me... please, God... don't let this be happening here.... how could I just leave them there?  Do they know that I love them?  Why didn't I walk them in?   Why did I yell at my daughter to hurry up and comb her hair?  Why didn't I look at her dress designs instead of paying the water bill online and checking my email?  Did I even ask my son what he was doing in school today or did I just ask him to pick up the dog poop?

The sirens weren't anything.  There was a small car accident on the freeway by the school.

I could breathe.

I went on with my errands.  I went to the office.  I intentionally didn't listen to the news.  I made it to the school to volunteer.  My daughter likes to hug me.  I let her.  We got our nails done tonight-- her birthday party is tomorrow.  I hugged my son a little longer when he got home.

I was making cookies tonight for a cookie exchange.  My daughter was helping me.  And I kept thinking about how many holiday parties families had planned to go to and how silly it all seems now.  How many other parents were rushed this morning like I was and cut a hug or kiss short and would be haunted by it for the rest of their lives....  I looked at the Christmas cards we've received with all the happy family pictures-- how so many people would be receiving cards like that with the faces of dead children smiling at them.  And my stomach feels like a rock.

We were supposed to go out tonight and celebrate that I had made my business goals.  We tried.

I couldn't.

My son asked me about the shooting.  I told him the man who did, like all the others, was probably mentally ill.  He asked why people didn't help him or fix it.  I tried to explain to him that mentally ill people often don't know they are.  I compared it to my husband being color blind- if that is your "normal" you don't feel crazy or that anything is wrong-- just like my husband thinks red looks brown.  I don't know what it's like for him. 

I've had close friends and family members that have suffered from mental illness.  There is so little you can do.  I tried to explain to one friend that her frequent outburst-- randomly crying in public-- I've never done it.  Her issues she had with co-workers-- I've never had any.  She found it fascinating and implied that maybe I was the one who was off.   I can't imagine what life is like inside her head. 

The privacy laws prevent the gun laws from working.  Doctors can't disclose concerns unless it's a public safety issue-- they are usually a day too late.  Health care for mental illness is limited.  If you don't have private insurance getting care puts you on a waiting list.  People don't take it seriously.  There's a "suck it up, buttercup" mentality for it.  Social services are strapped. 

So there's that conversation.

We're gun owners and we're not sure why anyone needs automatic weapons.

But for me, it always goes back to the fact that you can't protect against crazy.  You can't.

Our school, before my son attended, went on lockdown.  During a bad divorce, a father killed a mother- despite the restraining order (the most ridiculous piece of paper ever).  As she was dying, she crawled to the phone, called 911 and said he was headed to the school.

They got him before they got there.  The parents in my neighborhood were terrified.  The teachers handled it.  The school policy worked.

We have double locked doors.  Gates were put up, with chains, to secure the playground.  You have to sign in.

This school had a similar system.

You can't protect against everything. 

And then, as I watched the news I kept thinking "That looks like where I lived in Connecticut..."  But New England towns look similar and I didn't think much more about it.

I lived there 19 years ago for 3 months.  My address was Danbury but I lived on the edge of town and on the weekends, because I didn't have TV or any friends except 1, I would drive the backroads, go hiking.  It was a gorgeous area.

When they showed the church, I thought "No...."  It was where I attended mass.

It really was the pretty school that I would drive by and think "Wow- what a perfect little town."  The diner.  The orchards.  That really was the road and the barn that I thought was beautiful.  I don't know anyone there any longer, but it still hit me that I lived there.  Down the road.  You went left to my house off the freeway.  Right took you to Newtown. 

It was a commuter area, so in my brief stay, I didn't get a big sense of community, but again, I wasn't there very long.  I hope they can lean on each other through this tragedy.

And at the end of the day, I can guarantee they will find he was a newly diagnosed personality disorder.  It's the age.  It's the same story you saw in Colorado.  The "you're kidding- him?  He was a good kid..."  If you've ever known someone whose had a psychotic break, you understand. 

Did his mom just decide to cut him off?  Tell him he was 20  and needed to get a job or go to school?  Did he accuse her of caring for her students more than him? 

Does it even matter?



It wouldn't to me, if my child were dead.

Or my husband.  A teacher. 

So people are going to start blaming guns- which might be the right thing to do.  The automatic weapons still seem a bit beyond the scope of what I think our forefathers meant with the second amendment.  But will more laws stop crazy people and criminals?



A few people have even commented that this wouldn't have happened if teachers carried guns.   Sigh.  Come on.

But for me, I wish people would discuss how mental illness is treated.  Again, this might not be the case, but I doubt that any sane person would kill a kindergarten class.  They wouldn't.  And EVERY SINGLE TIME it comes out that the person had "issues" but they didn't understand how deep the issues were.

Ashleigh Banfield described the scene in the firehouse when the parents realized that their child wasn't coming out of the school.


That description will terrify me forever.  Being the one left in the room, knowing that meant your child was dead.  Murdered. 



Will I ever be able to let go?  Will I ever get over the feeling that today could be the last day I'll see my child?

I don't want to live in fear but I don't want to take a minute for granted.

I don't know any answers.  These are simply some of my thoughts.

I just know that my kids are going to be spoiled a little more than usual.

Because they came home.  Because this time it was my old neighborhood and not the one I live in now.

But you really never know. 



Saturday, December 8, 2012

Hope Springs and Marital Relations

I'm going to be careful about the wording I use in this blog-- not because I'm a prude, but because if I don't, the traffic that comes through is well, um..... let's just say NOT the highest class of folks.

I had a VERY busy- as in insane-- week at work.  Insane. Next week is looking just as crazy.  Our new dog plays constantly and likes to wake up at 3 or 4 am.  I just wanted to chill out on the couch and watch a nice romantic comedy with the love of my life.  That's my husband, just in case you were curious.

To be more accurate, it really went more like this...

I was tired.  I was in sweats.  My husband was watching the THIRD hour of taped episodes of "Gold Rush" (the 'reality' show about mining for gold in Alaska) and I snapped and said something to the tune of "FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!  CAN WE PLEASE WATCH SOMETHING THAT I MIGHT ACTUALLY ENJOY?  I AM EXHAUSTED!"

My husband, frightened, handed me the remote.  I picked "Hope Springs" from On Demand.  It stars Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones.  It was marketed as a romantic comedy about an older couple working to find the magic in their marriage again with the help of Steve Carell.  Sounds great, huh?

Wow.  It really sucked.  Big time.

And in more ways than one.

It.  Was.  The. Slowest. Movie. Ever.

Ever.

The one where the people are stuck in the ocean and eventually eaten by sharks was faster moving.

They are both such fantastic actors that it was too real.  Way too real.  Like watching your parents.  Like watching your parents talk about sex.

And hummers.  And three ways.

Blech.

And not in a funny way.  I don't know if they meant the movie to be funny, but it wasn't.  It was sad.

Very sad.

And it made me grossly uncomfortable.  Older people kissing usually makes me smile.  Older people talking about how uncomfortable they are doing the wild thing makes me more uncomfortable than they are.

And after 2 hours this is what I learned-- one night of good sex can fix everything.

It did in the movies.

What crap.

Or is it?

I am very excited to see the movie "This is 40" which is coming out next weekend.  Largely because the trailers contain conversations my husband and I have actually had.  Like the one where he is trying to get some action and the wife says "Oh.... I just took a shower..."  Or he makes a move on her and she says "I really need to take a big dump.  I'm constipated."

You know you've said that stuff, too.

It's difficult to get your sexy on when you have 10,000 things in your head and sometimes you really, really, really just want to get some sleep.

One night turns into another night turns into another night.... everyone I know who is married has had a bad run.

It's a bad habit.  And a tough one to break.

So yes, sometimes, you have to get back up on the horse, so to speak.

In between the assemblies, late nights at work, homework, TV shows (yes, admit it.  Plus, if it's between a new episode of "Castle" .... well, you know what I mean...), I don't feel sexy.  I'm fat.  I really don't like to shave my legs every day.  My brain doesn't turn off.  I feel about as sexy as a cabbage patch doll most days.

But sometimes I just need to put reality aside and channel my inner 25 year old.

And let's face it, we're all a little nicer and happier when we're getting some.

I had a colleague of mine who was basically a trophy wife.  She would say the most hilarious things 'It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man, Lori...."  stuff from the 1950's.  Or 1890's.  She did share that any time she knew she would want something big, she would put out a LOT that week-- then she could get whatever she wanted.

I hate to say this, but it's kinda true.  Okay, it's really true.

I know the saying is "When Mama's happy, everyone is happy"--but I think the actual mathematical principle is this:

  • Papa gets some.
  • Papa is extra nice to Mama.
  • Mama gets whatever she wants.
  • Mama is happy.
  • Everyone is happy.
  • Mama is so happy that everyone is happy, Papa gets some more.

And the cycle of happy people continues.  Maybe it is that easy?

So I challenge my married* readers during this crazy holiday season- put out more.  Turn off the TV.  Log off the computer.  Go get some from that person that you live with.  They aren't a roommate.  They are your hunka chunka live in love machine.

I know you're tired.  I know you're busy.

I don't care.

It's what, a good 10-15 minutes out of your day?  30 with snuggling?  You can spare it.  We're not talking all nighters,  And if we are, well good for you.  Show-offs.

But seriously, take a little time to find the woo hoo.  Make that your Christmas gift this year.  A little more woo hoo.  I was going to write that you can't put a bow on that, but hey, I don't want to quelch your creativity....


Happy Holidays!!


*I'm assuming my single readers are already getting plenty-- because that's what married people assume.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Too Tired to Blog... Be Back Soon

Year end craziness at the office-- trying to tie everything up early so I can spend some quality time with the family at the holidays.

New dog-- because hey, 2 kids, 2 dogs, a business weren't enough-- let's get a GIANT 10 month old lab puppy.  He's awesome.  He's nuts. 

I've been sick.  As in a cold that lasted more than a week.  That hasn't happened in years.

Kids activities-- it's that time of year-- concerts, assemblies, etc. etc.

And I'm now a Daisy troop leader.  Which is fun beyond words.  Very fun. 

And I just was accepted into this fantastic leadership program for my political party.  Insanely cool.

And I hear Christmas is coming.  The goose may not be getting fat, but I'm slipping into bad habits.

And there's dinner to fix.  And homework to help with. 


And on.  And on.  And on.

You know, the usual stuff.

Just on steroids at the moment.

So if you're dying to read a little of Mama Bean's World, here are a few links to my favorites...

And one time a band camp...

Putting Back Shopping Cart and My Tao of Life

The Supernanny, Dr. Phil and Me

Mommies and the Pool

Being Political

Curly Hair

How E Harmony Nearly Destroyed my Marriage

The Crazy People at Walgreens

The Real Me