So What Had Happened Was...

We're having the floor fixed.  Two summers ago is got so hot, and was so wet for so long, that it bucked the floors in the kitchen and the den.  Eventually the floor cracked and, in the kitchen at least, started to come up all on it's own.  So we put rugs over it, and called it a day.

But for some reason, we decided when we were coming back form LA the last time that we were going to have it fixed.

So now the cats are in the back of the house covering every surface with cat hair and gunk, we are staying at my MIL's, and my floor is white with primer.  The actual color is supposed to be darker, and that's why I'm sitting in my deconstructed house waiting for the painters.  I need to know that my floor will in fact be the color of "fond memories" (HA!), and not off white.  

After they show up we are sooo going to the bookstore, and I am sooo buying a stupid werewolf/vampire book.  

They are supposed to come back tomorrow and move the fridge in form the garage, along with all of the other den/kitchen furniture.  Then I have to clean the back of the house like no body's business...blech...  THEN, we're supposed to have the carpet replace in the living room/entryway, and have the light/fan fixed in the boys room, and get a new TV, and a new bed for the boys...and and and...this all sounds good in theory, but I'm not good at being kicked out of my own house.

I want to go through the toys as well and get rid of what we can.

I have lots of other things I'd like to write about.  I have a brother centered post: tattoos, concerts, and Bambi music; I want to write about Olivia, and something else..we'll see.

My punctuation is horrid, but this is my home place and it can be disheveled... 

Right now, it's more like Niagra Falls

We can't find the outside kitten. I'm not sure he's actually a kitten anymore, but he's one of the babies we took in last year. I chose him, from the litter, to be ours. The fat one chose us, and the orange one became ours by default. But I need for Goldie to be ok. It was my desicion to keep him here...


This morning I finally realized what yesterday was. I was going to post about it, and turn off the comments. But I don't even know if I can do that now. I cried so much into yesterday morning that I could hardly stand when I woke up. It makes more sense now, remembering. Ramen and olives for dinner; my sodium levels must have been almost nonexistent.


"I don't know what parts of myself to keep and what parts to put away". "I don't know how to make you happy anymore." Words that finally made sense to him, even if they didn't fix very much. "You can't make me happy", he said. "And keep this part, that talks to me like this, please". I'll try. "And Mama, I'm plenty happy enough. Everything on the outside is ok". That's always been important to me.


Then he came home with a ring. A ring that matched my necklace from Christmas. Tears are always plentiful, I guess. Jewelry doesn't heal, but it is a symbol. Unconsciously I knew what yesterday was, but in my sore, painful brain I didn't actually recall the events that made yesterday significant. The pink and black of the ring will always mean something different now.


This morning I jolted myself out of a dream. I overslept, dreaming about being in a craggy little boat with my two children while my husband traipsed through the water trying to fish. We were in the middle of a storm. He caught a big ugly fish, and pulled it's bottom lip up over it's whole mouth and threw it in the boat, telling us to keep it still. The fish flopped so much I had to get out of the boat and just hold onto the side. I was so angry at him. Screaming profanities at the top of my lungs while he laughed and enjoyed the adventure. I finally convinced him to at least let the boys and I go to shore. Then I woke myself up. My mouth was all swollen.


I'm more than ready for my unconscious to give me a break. Really Mind, I've had enough.

Being Vocal

I started voice lessons in the 10th grade. The choir director at the church where my Dad was pastor also conducted at a university in the next town over. When he arrived, he decided, rather quickly, that was the adult choral program needed was fresh blood; or voices, in this case. He brought in singers for each voice part that would practice and perform with the choir for a small payment, and some kind of credit in his class.

And they were incredible. I was in awe of every single one of them. The way they held themselves when they sang, the way their voices stood out and blended in at the same time, the way they pushed the rest of the choir members (my Mom included) to really pull out every stop and be GREAT.

Joanna was an Alto when she first arrived. She was tall, with plump lips, and impossibly long legs, and short sandy blond hair. I was mesmerized by her for at least a year before I realized that she was just a regular person. So when I started lessons it was with Joanna. Nervous is not deep enough of a word to describe how I felt, but she made it feel easy. So I dang, and she gasped, and said, "You are a soprano, my dear". "No, I've always been an alto, I like being an alto." But she would have none of it. So a soprano I became. Little did I know she was becoming one herself, a colouratura at that!

Anyway, we had lessons for a few months, and became close friends in the process. her fiance, Sam, was the funniest guy I'd ever met, and they joined the bell choir that I was in, much to my amusement. Between our director and Johanna and Sam, the bells never sounded better.

I don't remember the timeline of everything after that because it was all so smushed together. The end results were that I was a bridesmaid in Johanna and Sam's wedding, Johanna became the children's choir director, and even accompanied us on a mission trip to New Mexico.

Then they moved. And I missed them. And she had a baby, and then another. And I needed a new voice teacher. Enter Autumn. Equally beautiful to Johanna. She had long kinky curly blond hair, and large blue eyes, a very flirty overall demeanor. Her friend, Kimberly, also began choir at our church them too. She was a statuesque Alto, with fiery red hair. I could just see her on stage in full costume.

My own life decisions during this time were tumbling in the direction of opera, and music education, and vocal performance, and everything MUSIC. It was easy to fall in love with it all when a never ending tide of incredible vocalists kept entering our sanctuary and egging me on.

Autumn pushed me. She was not so easy as Sandy. But I was still so afraid to screw up, to sound bad, that I held back. She taught be solfege. I already knew the signs and meanings, but not how to read music that way. We used hymns out of the United Methodist hymnal, and I write the letters in pencils and then stammer them out in a nervous voice.

When Autumn and Kimberly graduated, they both held performances at the church. What I heard was so astounding, so gorgeous, that I knew I wanted to do it too. I still have the programs from their musical offering, so I can find the songs they sang when I need to hear them.

Then I left for college. I was on a partial music scholarship that I'd had to audition for. That experience has almost been completely blocked from my memory. Ugh, a story for another time when I nerve endings can handle it.

So I was sent to find the soprano voice teacher on the first day of registration. Like a fool, I assumed the woman in front of the sign telling she was the soprano teacher was actually her. Instead, she was the gruff alto teacher, who scared me a little. I'd never been so glad to be a soprano. My actual teacher was lovely, again with the gorgeous women who tried to shape my voice. If you can think of the most flamboyant Italian last name imaginable, that was something close to her last name. She pushed me even harder, and God I loved it, but I still couldn't just let go and sing the way God Almighty intended me to. It was a constant struggle within me, to just sing already and deal with the pressure of screwing up at the same time. It didn't help that one of my professors went to college with my Dad and expected me to be PHENOMENAL at the time.

Needless to say I never met my potential there. I changed my major the elementary education, and never wanted to sing like that again. The itch came when I'd been married for about 3 years with no choir to sing with. I auditioned for and made it into the local community chorale that met at the college where my husband taught. My shining moment was singing The Messiah when I was 5 months pregnant with Winston.

Now...now...I need to sing. It's required. I can't help it or push it away anymore. I'm starting back to school with a couple of classes this summer, and then womb-willing, full time in the Fall when both boys are in school. I am ecstatic. Holding back is no longer an option. Just sing, Mama. Just sing.



My treat for you: This song it what I sing to my children when they are being pitiful...*Snort* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFOEuGJd-qA&feature=related

And Now, Deep Thoughts

I'm just not really feeling the whole "complete composition" form of writing this morning. Random, but mildly coherent seems more appropriate, so I'm sticking with that. Good Morning, by the way! Today is The Mr. first day back at work, and Winston should have started school again, but he's going to the doctor instead.

He roars like a tiny constipated dinosaur, and I laugh, because it is adorable. My little dinosaur... He has a sore throat that just won't let up. I spoke with his dr. on Friday and we agreed he didn't need to some in yet, but there wasn't any major progress in the de-roarifying this weekend. Last night, hubby put Winston in one of his tshirts and called him a Wizard. Wednesday wanted to be a wizard too, of course, so I found one of my shirts for him to wear over his pajamas. Winston waved his arm around like a magic wand, and Wednesday found a piece of a Diego telescope to carry around the house. They rode to Whataburger in their wizards, and Winston slept in his. "Sword Bear", instead of "Lord" was my big boy's name, and the little one was "Sir Helper a wizawd". Silly boys (for my own bloggy clarification, Bear and Helper will now be my boys middle names...).

Wednesday was much more ill in the beginning. But true to his history with this crap, he is well before Winston (I'm still nursing him, no matter how awkward, and I know that has made a big difference. Thank God.). The phrase that he uses that is breaking my heart right now is when he refers to himself as "my little self". I just about die of cute. "Mommy, I huht my little self!". He also has "little feet" and "little hands", etc. He is my little love monkey and if no one else in house sees fit to hug me, he will, without being asked, squeeze his little self around my neck and tell me he loves me.

Speaking of squeezing... (hahaha) I've done some form/forms of stomach strengthening exercises for four days in a row now. I forget how much better my middle feels when I do them, and am so glad I've started again. The February after Wednesday was born, The Mr. got me a membership at the local "Curves". I'd asked for his help, so I was overjoyed. A former student was the manager, so I was well taken care of. I ended up only going regularly for about 4 months, but it made such a difference. I was given a special exercise to work my sides, and I still do it whenever I remember. I've decided to get on the exercise video band wagon, but not with The Shred. I found, months ago, on Amazon, a system for Yoga Booty Ballet, and I'm going with that. Dance, Yoga, and ballet all together. Dancing comes pretty easy for me, I think I got from my Mom, even if I'm a chunky monkey while doing it. High School was spent in show choir, and my PE electives while in college were dance classes. Yoga is love, of course, and I have a secret desire to be a ballerina left over from childhood.

Anyway. Did I tell you my husband won like THOUSANDS of dollars at the casino where my parents live? YEAH. The man is like a slot machine prodigy. And I actually enjoyed shopping with some of the winnings, because they were free. Woohoo! I bought my Mom an outfit too, and my Dad got some extra cash to blow at the casino. We had such a great time in Louisiana. The boys were puny, but the just hanging out that occurred as a result was awesome. My parents didn't go overboard with Christmas presents, and I got to make cheeseballs for my brother. Getting to see the honorary uncles (my brother's two best friends), and meet "The Jewel" (only girl member of my brother's band), was icing on a very yummy cake.

I'm helping to write a piece of fiction somewhere on this intery-net for the first time ever. I'm ridiculously excited, and will keep y'all informed as much as I can without having to...do something spy-ish.

That's all, my pretties. I love you guys.