Jesse's Arm

I've gotten a lot of Email asking how Jesse's arm is doing since THE THIRD SURGERY. The answer is; much better, thanks. He can do many things, including type on a keyboard. Unfortunately, he still cannot turn his arm over-which rules out dancing the Macarena and playing golf. He is going to make some lucky lady a FINE HUSBAND one day.

We went for another doctor's appointment and found that he had some free floating calcium deposits in the elbow despite every bargain I tried to make with the Man Upstairs. The Good News is that these do not appear to be bone spurs, so until we get word that they have attached themselves to the radius, no more surgery for now.

The doctor did say Jesse would have to "Go back into the brace." Which was news to us, as HE HAD NEVER HAD A BRACE IN THE FIRST PLACE. Might have been a little medical "oops" there, but we did not pursue it--being all wrapped up in gratitude in the words "Not Yet" which were given in response to "Does He Need Another Surgery?"

So Brace Guy came in and fit Jesse for a custom made cast like thing which will slowly rotate the arm and also attract a lot of attention from the chicks at the same time. Life is Good.

More New Product

I would tell you a really funny story about the inspiration for this frame.........ummmmm............ummmmmm.......shoot, what was it now?

New Product

Personally, I'm not big on desk clutter. It might be that I don't have a lot of room for it on my own desk--what with the jars of peanut butter, empty yogurt cups and dirty spoons. But I am a fan of personal expression at the workplace-so I made these desk signs for like minded people. When we first printed the Enesco version of our catalog, they labeled the picture Desk "Plagues" which of course hurt their initial sales--the average person not wanting to place a little Bubonic beside their Mac.

I myself have several signs in my office including the "Work With Me People" pictured here. My others are:

Go To Your Studio and Make Stuff.

No Matter How Hard You Try You Can't Baptize Cats.

Easy to Please....Sometimes

and

Nobody Likes A Smartass.

You Know You"re A Mom When

You Know You're a Mother When ...

You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're equal.

You have time to shave only one leg at a time.

You hide in the bathroom to be alone.

Your kid throws-up and you catch it.

Someone else's kid throws up at a party. You keep eating.

As you cling to the high moral ground on toy weapons; your child chews his toast into the shape of a gun.

You hope ketchup is a vegetable, since it's the only one your child eats.

You find yourself cutting your husband's sandwiches into cute shapes.

You hear your mother's voice coming out of your mouth when you say, "NOT in your good clothes!"

You stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.

You donate to charities in the hope that your child won't get that disease.

You hire a sitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then spend half the night checking on the kids.

You use your own saliva to clean your child's face.

You say at least once a day, "I'm not cut out for this job", but you know you wouldn't trade it for anything".

Start a Business

I receive numerous requests from people for information about how to start a crafts business. I am always happy to help, and I am thrilled to watch people I know become entrepreneurs. Now you can have that same feeling. www.kiva.org is an amazing organization that helps people help other people start small businesses. My friend Susan just gave $25 to three Peruvian women trying to start a grocery store and felt "FABULOUS." You don't need to make a donation: you can make a LOAN--how cool is that?

www.kiva.org

Just Some Stuff I'm Thinking About

It seems that Jesse can only get ear infections while we are out of town, and only after 11 pm at night. It happened again this weekend while we were away in Hartford, and we had to ask the concierge where the nearest Emergency Room was BECAUSE I COULD JUST DIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE FROM THE PAIN MOMMY. Earlier in the evening he had told me he felt dizzy and I told him he was Just Hungry. Put another check next to my name on the Mommy of the Year ballot; I treat an ear infection with a piece of chicken and if you get strep throat I might give you CAKE.

Annie is taking the Big Test on Friday that will determine if she is eligible for the Gifted and Talented Kindergarten class. I am annoyed because her class is having a Pot Luck supper on Thursday, and now I will have to spend all night making sure she lays off the sauce. I'm thinking there is no way she will score in the 95th percentile if she's hungover. Hopefully she will do well-as we have been having her tutored so that she understands some of the foreign concepts on the standardized test. Concepts like a "A Dad in a Business Suit", or a "Backyard".

Things at work have been crazy busy in a "Lay Awake and Stare at the Bedroom Ceiling Wishing your Mind Would Just Shut Up for Awhile" kind of a way. Atlanta was very fun--the eight hours it took me to get home including an unscheduled stop in Norfolk Virginia--not so much. As usual, the people from Enesco were wonderful. I met the artist who makes my favorite line- Pumpkinseeds by Janelle Berryman. If I ever have a house and it comes with a basement or an attic, I'm getting me lots of her stuff. That's another concept for Annie: "Seasonal Decorating."

Who Are You Voting For?

I am drinking out of the one on the right. My tribute to my Brother in Law is on the left.

I am voting for Change.

ATLANTA

Please come and see me in the new Enesco showroom at Americas Mart in Suite 819, Thursday January 10th. I will be kissing babies and signing cleavage as requested. Meet me and be able to say "I had no idea she was so boring in real life."

See you soon!

Bueno New Year!

We just returned from a wonderful week in Puerto Rico. I have decided that the definition of optimism is to pack two books when you are going on vacation with two young children. But the 3 whole pages I read were very good. There is no "me" in "Island" anyway- and the whole trip was about FAMILY--Happy Birthday to my dear DeeDad, who celebrates his 36th anniversary of his 39th birthday on January 9th.

I have resolved to blog more frequently and hope I will be more successful at that resolution than I have been on other promises, she said, taking a sip of wine.

Check out the interview I did for www.creativenachos.com when you get a chance. Thanks Natasha!

Puerto Rico Bound

We leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow for a week in Puerto Rico. It will be interesting to see what I have managed to pack between glasses of wine. My heavy drinking was justified by the fact that trying on bathing suits immediately following the holidays...IS JUST WRONG.

I have left seven Rotweillers, Elsie the fat cat, and a Fur Real pony named Butterscotch in charge of the apartment while we're gone.
Happy New Year All!

Feed The World

Here is a really FUN way to feed the world and improve your vocabulary

www.freerice.com

Grains of rice are donated each time you correctly guess the definition of a word.

Rice plus vocabulary....smart really is the new skinny.

A Very Veasey Christmas

On the way to Nonnee's house, we traditionally pop THE NATIVITY STORY into the DVD player, and call it our version of Sunday School. We have begun this practice ever since the Christmas when DeeDad asked Jesse whose birthday we were celebrating and the child enthusiastically answered; "Mine! Mine!" and we had a Dickens of a time explaining why there were presents but no cake.

This year, as the familiar opening music began to play, Jesse turned to Annie and said "I know how this ends. HE DIES."

Which means Spring is not so far away....

Speaking of Writing Children's Books...

Free Floating Angst

I become too busy to blog. Kind of like the way I put excercise off EVERY YEAR until January. As if, magically, in January I WILL HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD FOR THE STAIRMASTER. Blogging for me is a finger excercise--a way to clear the old creative pipes--because my gosh; those witty mugs don't just make themselves, after all.

My friend Natasha has started a website called Creative Nachos www.creativenachos.com and she SHAMES me because she faithfully creates new posts--like a 9 page hiaku, or an in depth inteview with Neitzche--three days a week, like clockwork, and she has a BABY to boot. Kind of makes my cutting and pasting from Santa dot come look a wee bit lame, no?

And so I am reduced to this post: random, free floating thoughts swirling around in my head like the dregs of Pinot Grigio in a glass...AS IF I would ever leave a swallow. Please...you know I lick the bottom.

This is a TRUE STORY. This morning on my way to the dentist, a man walked up beside me making loud duck calls. He was obviously from Planet Wacko; and wore a jaunty cap with three long Quail feathers. But this is not what was unusual. What caught my jaded New Yorker's attention was the fact that a police car parked two blocks ahead at a corner answered each duck call with short toots of its siren. CAW CAW went the duck man. WEE WEE went the police car. CAW CAW went the duck man. WEE WEE went the police car.

My gosh, I really need to write that children's book one of these days.

Is it Hot or is it Just Me?

In One day Al Gore is going to address the UN Climate Change
Conference in Bali, Indonesia. At his urging, (OK-he didn't call me or anything, but just the same...) I've signed an
important petition showing I support his important call for a visionary treaty to address the climate crisis. I hope you will too.

http://climateprotect.org/standwithal

The world's elected leaders must take the steps necessary to solve global warming. It's not too late. We have the opportunity now to improve the Earth's future for our children, and their children.
Please sign the petition today. http://www.climateprotect.org/standwithal

Santa Blogs about His Weight

Santa's Blog
Milk and Cookies

Posted by Santa 1 day ago

Hello Everyone,

Santa here again, with another quick note about another topic that's recently come up: my weight. A couple of well-meaning letter-writers have pointed out that someone of my size and comportment has no business requesting milk and cookies from every household the night of Christmas Eve. They say (more or less tactfully) that I'm too fat.

To which I say: Thank you for your concern. However...

My weight suits me perfectly, for several reasons. First, it is very cold here at the North Pole. Right now, the temperature is (hold on, let me look) minus 4 degrees -- and today is relatively balmy! I invite any of you worried about my weight to live in this climate for a few days, and then talk to me about insulation. Second, related to this, consider the polar bear: I daresay no one would feel it necessary to point out to a polar bear that he or she could lose a few. (Bear Bryan, our reindeer trainer, weighs in at just under 1,000 pounds! He thinks I'm downright skinny.)

Third, my snack request has been a long-standing one that began back in the days when "milk and cookies" meant milk from healthy cows who ate grass and cookies baked with natural, wholesome ingredients -- that is, long before pesticides, BGH, trans fats, additives, and all the other poisons began appearing in our foods. So it's true that too much of that stuff is unhealthy for me. (And you, for that matter.)

So maybe it's time to update my request. This year, for the first time, I'm asking for healthy milk and cookies -- or, better yet, some sort of nutritious snack you think I'd enjoy. (My suggestion is to ask your mom or dad what they like -- parents have a pretty good sense of what adults like to snack on late at night.) Thank you!

Some other things to consider. One, it really isn't polite to point out to people your opinion about whether or not they're the right weight. And two, consider metabolism: different creatures burn food fuel at different rates, and if it works for them, that's all that matters. I myself have a high metabolism, especially on Christmas Eve. One of the elves, Kevin, is famous for eating two or three times his weight at every meal, and Kevin is no bigger than the average elf.

Oops! Speaking of food, gotta run! I'm meeting Mrs. Claus for lunch in the kitchen.

(I know what you're wondering...tomato soup!)

Love,

Santa

More of Santa's blogs at www.santa.com

Why People Should Help out With the PTA Bakesale

The people I love the best jump into work head first without dallying in the shadows and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. They seem to become natives of that element, the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience, who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward, who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge in the task, who go into the fields to harvest and work in a row and pass the bags along, who stand in the line and haul in their places, who are not parlor generals and field deserters but move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing, well done, has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil, Hopi vases that held corn are put in museums, but you know they were made to be used. The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.

MUD on your TV

Hello MUD fans:

Watch for us on episode 209 of AMERICAN SHOPPER tomorrow at 10 am EST. Well, actually, it will be one of our mugs--not our faces. I'm still holding out for that Pottery Talk Show, though.

We know you love that Fine Living channel!

Things to Be THANKFUL For

Happy Thanksgiving Day everyone! In no particular order, some of the things I am thankful for this holiday include:

1. The fact that they made a MOVIE from the book THE SECRET. Because if I had to READ it instead of watch it, I might have thought something like; 'this is uber boring metaphysical crap" and then BOOM I would have Created My Own Reality and the book would have sucked. Since it was a movie, I was able to get the gist of it, PLUS I had a short nap. Life Is Good. I am Practicing Gratitude. Bring on the Abundance, baby.

2. My son made it through his third surgery in three months and while it looked a bit iffy there for awhile: NO ONE VOMITED. We also discovered that the quickest way to get discharged from post op is to have a six year old throw a big Hissy Fit and claim he is DYING IN AGONY. Poof! Here is your paperwork and wheelchair, good bye. Apparently it is upsetting to the 15 other people in the recovery room..go figure.

3. We are off to Thanksgiving at my Brother In Law's house tomorrow. Or maybe not. Annie has a fever and a cough that just won't quit. I am Thankful for Zicam which promises to reduce the duration of a cold, and I am using The Secret to ensure that it works. I have the Vicks vaporizer going, I filled her with Tylenol cough and cold even though she is four and now you are not suppossed to do that, and I covered her chest in eucalyptus cream. WHERE DID I PUT THOSE DAMN LEECHES?

4. Elastic waist bands.

5. Brownie Mix. Because if we are able to go to Thanksgiving Dinner tomorrow, I will be lucky if I have any of these moist chocolate squares to arrive with. Perhaps we can stop at the deli and throw together a twinkie platter.

6. Elastic waist bands. Worth mentioning again.

7. A Customer by the name of Christine who wrote: "I must say it is truly an honor to hear from you. I admire your work and talents so much. This is like talking to a major celebrity! How amazing!" NO I AM NOT KIDDING SHE REALLY WROTE THAT. Bringing blog readership to an all time high of FIVE READERS.

8. Did you catch where she wrote "major celebrity?"

9. The fact that I have some friends who were given a wii system as a present, but they are totally AGAINST video games..they believe video games are THE DEVIL. So that when we hit Target a few days ago after Jesse made it known this was his biggest Christmas wish, and found out that they are sold out EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD, I did not panic. I traded a gift certificate with my friends for the wii--they will most likely purchase sporting equipment for their kids, some books, science kits....it's pretty clear that we came out On Top. So now the box is sitting in my office, speaking in tongues and flicking that forked tail. I'm hoping to lose 25 lbs by next month playing wii tennis.

10. My Family & Friends. I am so blessed in so many ways. I love you all, and I'm not just saying that because I'm drunk.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Looming Clouds on the Horizon

This week has been eventful. On Monday, we found out that Jesse has to have ANOTHER SURGERY on his elbow. The fact that he could not turn his arm over should have been a bit of a giveaway, but I kept thinking: MAYBE THAT WILL JUST GO AWAY. It's the same kind of magical- but irrational- thinking that has compelled me keep my skinny jeans for years.

Jesse handled this news much better than I did. Initial conversations with the orthopedist, somewhat paraphrased:

ME: But he CAN'T have another surgery.
DR: Just what is it that you are so worried about Mrs. Veasey?
ME: This is his THIRD surgery in three months.
DR: I understand that, but what is it that you are worried about...specifically?
ME: His THIRD. That is Lifetime Movie kind of excessive amount of surgery.
(pause)
ME: And really, what if we just don't do it? What would be so bad about that?
DR: Ummmm...I don't know... HOW ABOUT THE FACT THAT HE WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO MOVE HIS ARM?

I can't really explain how much I dread the operation on Monday. Here are some of my fears large and small:

1. He will ask for water the morning of the operation and I will have to say NO. And since I have a hard time saying that word to things like "Can I play with the sharp knives" and "Can we stay up til 11 pm watching SpongeBob and eating gummy bears in your bed" I dread telling my baby that if he is thirsty he will need to suck it up.

2. We will wait for hours before the surgery in a curtained room with a single chair, surrounded by other people waiting for surgery who do not close the back of their gowns when they traipse through the place. Seriously: you will never see as many naked butts as in pre-op.

3. The moment before I put the suit on to accompany Jesse to the operating room when I think O My Gawd this is NOT going to fit over my butt and all these people are watching me put it on.

4. The moment when they place the mask over his tiny face and his eyes flutter closed and it reminds me of what he looked like the very first time they placed him in my arms and why is it is so easy to be overwhelmed by the amount of love you feel for your child WHEN THEY ARE ASLEEP?

5. The WAIT.

6. The Recovery. Jesse's first words after the last surgery were: WHY DID YOU LET ME BREAK MY ARM MOMMY. And if I had not been fighting so hard to hold back tears, I might have told him it was his Dad's fault anyway. This year I'm packing a big red arrow and a sign that says "MOMMY is the one who always says NO to running, climbing, race car driving and risk taking of any sort."

7. The vomiting. Where, by the way, Kip is incredibly redeemed, appreciated, and loved, and I take back all of paragraph six.

8. The pain. And the way I channel Shirley McClane and think IF THAT NURSE DOESN'T GET OVER HERE WITH THAT MORPHINE IN THE NEXT MINUTE I AM GOING TO KICK HER ASS.

9. The vomiting and the pain. The hope that Power Rangers Dino Thunder will distract.

10. The recovery. No swimming, no running, no jumping, no rough housing...just the way I said I liked it. And yet, when he is lying all pale faced on the couch, I would give anything if he could be out running in sunshine.

We are blessed to have such great family and friends. And we are grateful when we can find the humor in a situation like this, knowing that there are many families who everyday deal with situations that are not as easily fixed as a broken elbow. All Will Be Well.

Pretty Bird Woman

If I were a bird I most surely would be a duck. It's the waddle, and the fact that my feet are so wide. I mean REALLY WIDE. When I take my shoes off most people assume I've slipped into some comfortable swim fins.

I just recently acknowledged the fact that I can't fit into shoes made for normal people. I purchased some very expensive, but properly fitting footwear and for the first time MY FEET DON'T HURT ALL DAY and By Gawd, tell the Whos in Whoville that Christmas is coming early!

I gathered up all the toe pinchers in my closet and found a great organization to send them to: www.soles4souls.com And it tickles me pink to know that my gently worn patent leather ballet flats are going to make this world a better place. So if you have some shoes laying around that you are wondering what to do with--send them to these guys.

And speaking of birds, I was also sent a link to a sobering story about a woman's shelter on the Standing Rock Reservation that is in need of help. Pretty Bird Woman House was named after a woman who was the victim of domestic violence. The story of this organization's struggle is very compelling--and if everyone sends just a few dollars it will make a big impact:
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2007/11/9/1544/57273. Thanks in advance to those of you who will take the time to read this story and to help.

Had I been born Native American, I am sure my name would have been Big Butt Duck Feet.

camera test

.Lenny in da house

Finally! A Halloween Picture!

I have been trying to figure out how to get a picture from my iphone onto blogger for two days now. Apple needed to make the idiot version for me: the iiphone.

Ayhow: here are the kids in costume for Halloween. Annie started the day as a Pink Power Ranger. In a class of 12 little girls, she was the only one not dressed as a Princess. At lunch "Ariel" told her that she could not sit with the girls because of her costume. I would like to say that my daughter stood her ground, called upon the feminist ideology I have been crooning to her since birth, and went all Pink Power Ranger on "Ariel's" ass. Sadly, that was not to be--here is Annie as Snow White... who as you know cleans a mean house.

Jesse made approximately 15 costume changes this year, down from 27 from last year. His final choice--made conveniently at 7 PM the night before Halloween, was to be this werewolf--which I sewed myself. Thank Goodness I live in New York City. I don't know what suburban moms do when they need a yard of fake fur at that hour of the night.

And now begins the torture of lying in bed and knowing there is an Almond Joy in a plastic pumpkin in my kitchen.

Happy Halloween

Snow White and a Werewolf/Users/lorrieveasey/Desktop/IMG_0057.JPG

Jesse's new hobby

My son has taken up photography.

Zoo Mail

Dear Wildlife Conservation Society,

I took my two children to the Bronx Zoo yesterday. One of the highlights of our trip (besides THE GIFT SHOP which is a highlight of any trip we take... thanks for having several of them strategically placed near the restrooms) was seeing the gorillas. But I don't just mean the fascinating family of primates you have living behind glass walls in their faux Congo setting.

We stumbled upon the Gorilla movie area--which allowed us a chance to sit down and warm up and watch a documentary about this species. This movie provided us with my children's favorite zoo experience...

"You can learn a lot from scat." says the khaki clad conservationist, happily discovering the steaming pile of excerement. The camera lingers lovingly on a tight close up, while she pulls out a pencil and begins to pick through the pile, exclaiming with each seed and berry how wonderfully "circle of life" it is. From the corner of my eye I am watching both my children watch this scene with eyes as big as saucers; they don't care if the seeds that pass through the gorilla grow new trees--they are wondering what she's gonna do with that pencil when she's done, and MOM DID YOU SEE THAT SHE TOUCHED GORILLA POOP.

And of course, now both of them want to grow up and volunteer on a preserve somewhere.

Please help save our planet. Visit http://www.wcs.org/getinvolved/takeaction

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The Shoe Incident

Recently we discovered that Annie's seafoam colored crocs--quite possibly the ugliest shoes on the face of the planet--had been attacked by a pair of rubber handled safety scissors during nap time in Pre Kindergarten. The perpetrator who wielded the scissors had cut across from each gem hole to each gem hole--a Connect-the-Dots of vandalism. Who did it? "Fabian." The same boy who had terrorized Annie at recess by chasing her across the blacktop threatening to kiss her on the lips.

Blog flashback: I once had a favorite dress when I was Annie's age. It was a soft beige corduroy with a Siamese Cat Pattern. One day I wore it to school and Kenny Farnsworth took a yellow magic marker and drew streams of pee coming from each of the cats. It was a bad day, *shudder, * and I often wonder if Kenny ended up in juvie, or as a contestant on Project Runway. He seemed the type that would get a tattoo across his neck. But I digress.

As luck would have it, I ran into Fabian's Mom at a school event shortly after the croc incident. She introduced herself, I shook her hand.

ME: "I'm Annie's Mom. You know Annie-the shoeless urchin." (OK- I did not actually say the words "shoeless urchin." I said something to the effect of: "I'm Annie's Mom blappitty blappity blah--Your Kid cut My Kids shoes.")

FABIAN'S MOM: I Know. I Got The Letter From The Teacher.

(LONG UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE. We stand looking at each other. It takes my brain about 2 full minutes to realize that that is ALL she is going to say about it.)

ME: Well, okay then.

FABIAN'S MOM: I asked him about it and he said he did it because your daughter told him to. He said that she forced him to do it.

(ANOTHER LONG UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE.)

ME: Well-ok--I'm SORRY about that.

Meanwhile my brain is going 60 mph: could this be true? Is it possible that my daughter enlisted the help of this hapless boy in order to obtain her desired goal: NEW SHOES? No, no--that would be manipulative and underhanded--something my son would most definitely do, but not Annie. And while my brain is chewing this over, Fabian's mother walks away. And then I realize that she is Brilliant--because she managed to make ME apologize. When what I really should have said was: "That's a Crock."

Rimshot.

So then I went home and told Annie that if Fabian ever bothered her again, she should tell her father to handle it.

JESSe-ism

Driving in the car- Annie, Jesse, and Jesse's friend Zack.

Me: Why so glum Jess?
Jesse (sulking): You didn't laugh at MY joke but you laughed at Annie's joke and you laughed at Zack's joke. You Don't Like Me.
Me:(Whipping around in seat) Are you kidding me? I love you! I love you and Annie and Daddy more than ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD! YOU ARE MY LIFE! I ADORE YOU ALL! I COULD NOT LIVE WITHOUT YOU!

Jesse (Turning to his friend): You DID NOT just hear that.

CHANGING HANDS

It is my pleasure to announce that OUR NAME IS MUD was acquired by ENESCO last week. ENESCO is a great company with many well known brands and World Wide Distribution capabilities. They also have a kick ass lobby with WHITE LEATHER COUCHES and ORCHIDS. It is like I have died and gone to Giftware Heaven. And hey: God looks like Jim Shore on QVC.

Kip & I will be continuing with ONIM and steering it on it's course to World Wide Domination. One Mug at a Time. The only difference is that now we have paying jobs. Please alert the staff at PayLess Shoes that I'm a'coming.

I am excited for all the opportunities this acquisition offers. I believe under ENESCO's bright green umbrella that I will be able to explore different mediums--to grow and stretch the ONIM brand in many different ways; and to put GOOD THINGS out into the world.

For the first time in a long time I am unfettered by the things that I blamed my lack of flight for. I am free to stretch and grow and soar: if I fail to own the sky I will have no one to blame but myself. I have always had wind beneath my wings in the form of many wonderful, fabulous people-- now I have an engine; A Turbo Powered Super Speed Big Ass Engine.

September 11, 2007

September 11, 2001 was the last day I felt that I lived in an invincible city in an indomitable country. While I did not lose any friends or family that day, I lost-along with millions of other people-my innocence.

There is a lot of talk this year about "Moving On." At 4:30 today I will be filming the Japanese version of Good Morning America, and the producer said to me how anxious they were to show that Americans have rallied and put 9/11 behind them, and to talk about how Positive Things have come as a result of the events of that day. It's a New Day. It's a New Dawn. And I'm Feeeeeling.....well, frankly, I don't feel like "Moving On."

Let me just preface this blog by saying that I am one of those people who feels guilty because Really Wonderful Things have happenned to me as a result of September 11th. You can read about the memorial we created at www.tilesforamerica.com or Google TILES FOR AMERICA and find out more. It's easy enought to feel guilty about the press and attention the project has garnered. And then there is the fact that the project has made me some very, very dear friends and continues on a weekly basis to allow me to have contact with individuals who work on 9/11 projects of their own-photographers, bloggers, poets and artists. For me the irony is that in the wake of seeing the worst of mankind, I have been able to meet and know some of the best people this planet has to offer.

But I don't get all this talk about "Moving On." Where is it exactly we are suppossed to be going?

The events of 9/11, for many of us, moved and effected and changed us in so many ways that there is no way to "MOVE ON, MOVE PAST" any more than we could outrun our own shadows. It's not something we will ever "put behind us" because we allowed it to enter into us-become a part of who we are. Many of us decided on that day to be, forever, witnesses.

Tiles For America has been an interesting project because it has explored this whole "desire to get past this" mentality in a very tangible way. The tiles we received in the wake of 9/11 were made for catharsis--they were full of emotion and passion and often palpable sadness. Just last week I received a box of tiles from a High School in California that worked on the project in their history class. One of the tiles read "Go 49ers." I mention it as an example of how the project has changed over the past six years.

And so what I like best about the project is the way it can unexpectedly slap a person who has "MOVED ON" across their face. I love the unsuspecting tourists who come to the Village to do a bit of shopping, who stumble upon the fence and are drawn in by the raw emotions that are still on display. I love that it shakes them, moves them, makes them remember--because that is what loss itself does. It creeps up on you on sunny days and hits you unexpectedly and you can never ever really Move On, because you carry it with you always.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the families and loved ones who lost people today in the events of 9/11 six years ago, and with the families of loved ones who continue to give their lives in the events that have followed.


(The picture above was sent to me by Carly-whom I have not had the pleasure of meeting, but who took the time to write about how T4A effected her. Thanks Carly!)

True Mug Shot

That's right! Watch LAW & ORDER CRIMINAL INTENT and look for this mug; it will appear regularly on one character's desk. Be the first person to guess which character and win a free PRINCESS mug of your own! Email guesses to Lorrie@ournameismud.com

First Day of Pre-K

My first day of BIG GIRL SCHOOL was not too bad. I was very upset when my mom woke me up this morning because I was under the impression that I would AUTOMATICALLY turn four on the first day of school. But I only cried hysterically for the first hour--I was pretty chill once I had my orange juice. Some mornings you just can't talk to me until I've had my first cup of oj.

I got a New Dress that had LETTERS! NUMBERS! APPLES! Mom got it at a fancy schmancy store called eeebayyy. Tomorrow I am going to ask if I can wear my new blue Dora nightgown.

I made New Friends! And a boy named Samuel kissed me on the nose when we went out to play so I have decided he is my new BEST friend, but this could change depending on if he will agree to be The Daddy tomorrow because today, right in the middle of a great game of house, he went and decided to play RiverBoat Captain, and I am just not having that. Everyone knows Moms are the boss.

We read a book and I had to sit criss cross applesauce on the carpet. Everytime the teacher asked a question I answered with my favorite word, which is "FLAMINGO". I must have called out "FLAMINGO" six or seven times and while it was never the correct answer, I could tell my new teacher appreciated my love of this animal, which happens to be PINK.

My name tag however, happened to be ORANGE, which was a bummer. Oh well-tomorrow is another day of this Pre-Kindergarten thing--and also--it MIGHT be my birthday.

Fan Mail

Not all the Emails I get involve winning the lottery in Nigeria. Here is a nice one we received:


Dear Mud,
My daughter gave my 9 year old son the HERO bowl, which he used EVERY morning, until it BROKE!! Well, it was as if we lost the cat or something. Silence filled the kitchen because the same daughter that gave him the bowl broke it while doing the dishes. I am so glad to see that you still have it to order. Now laughter will return to the home. We love your items so much that I ordered a few extra just for fun, not to mention useful as well.
Thanks so much for putting smiles on the faces of many,
Sincerely,
Cathy

MUD: Saving the world....one pot at at time.

In Honor of School Starting

Random thought

That's Entertainment!

THINGS TO DO TO KEEP YOUR BROKEN WINGED BIRD OCCUPIED WHILE HE IS STUCK IN A CAGE

1. Take your spare change to the bank down the block. It's a very short walk, and if you are lucky, they will be giving away lollipops and free pens. You will have killed 38 minutes of a realllllllllllly lonnnnnnnng day, and turned your silver and copper into crisp green bills.

2. Teach him to play the video games you and your husband took an oath in blood you would never allow into the house in the first place.

3. High School Musical 1.

4. Call every friend and frenemy you and your child have ever known, and beg for playdates. Use the words "desperate" and "bouncing off the walls" at least twice in your request.

5. High School Musical 2.

6. Decide to look in the folder sitting on your desk marked "Summer Homework." Have a mild panic attack. Wonder if he gets extra credit for mastering the video games, as they are sure to improve his fine motor.

7. Take a trip to Whole Foods (also down the block) to look at dead fish in the seafood display and see how many eyeballs you can poke out before store manager asks you to leave.

8. High School Musical: Behind The Scenes.

9. Build the Empire State Building out of a cardboard box and a broken Swiffer Mop. You will have a great piece of art for your living room and managed to kill 23 minutes of a realllllllly lonnnnnnnng day.

10. COUNT THE SECONDS UNTIL SCHOOL STARTS.

Hearts & Bones

One day I will blog about the events of this week; the fall, the ambulance ride, the two subsequent surgeries. I will write about The Guilt, exacerbated by Jesse's first words upon waking-which were somewhere along the lines of WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN TO ME MOM. I will write about my instant dislike of The Toy Lady. I will write about Nonnee's calm assurances, and Kip's stellar performance as the Pee Bottle & Vomit Bucket Holder.

I often joke about my 3-6 faithful readers of this blog. But in reality these words I write are often read by many people; some just once as they stop here at this site to buy a mug or bowl, others occassionally when killing time at work, some, like my father, to find out what is keeping me so busy I can't find time to return a phone call. This week I heard from family, friends, ex employees, old boyfriends, and some kind hearted strangers who sent Emails full of good wishes and happy thoughts. Thank you all. (Oh, and by the way, lead is not an issue in our products--I'm just saying, since this week I got a lot of Emails about that, too.)

Today when you read this blog, Practice Gratitude. There is always so much, every day, to be thankful for.

This Weekend

Three paragraphs sum up this past weekend...............

She lost her sense of humor in the time it took her six year old to fall from the lifeguard chair to the hard surface below-his arm bent at an unnatural angle. She donned a hat of regret and sadness that shaded her from the sun, and realized as the ambulance sirens sounded, that summer had come to a premature end.

The stress of the arrival of all 21 of the summer house's arrivals was exacerbated by her Sister in Law's decision to hand out fireworks to all eleven of the children present.

and...

The deal she made with God regarding how much Pinot Grigio she would imbibe each week was a flexible agreement in her opinion. She figured He was used to Mothers negotiating in the backs of ambulances, and that he would forgive her transgressions.

We Can Be Heros

c d bum

R-Rated Blog

Hopes & Dreams

Under My Skin

So I have finally had my first removal of a "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT--DOES THIS LOOK WEIRD TO YOU" type of skin thing.

The first bit o' flesh they removed was beneath my left eye. When it first appeared on my face two months ago, I chalked it up to being yet another thing that GROWS ON YOUR FACE AFTER AGE 40. (Note to any of you among my 6 loyal readers who are still whippersnappers: IT'S NOT PRETTY...literally. We're talking hair growing out of your chin and other unbelievable places along with recurrent acne that will remind you of the Night Before The Prom in your Sophomore year. )

Anybody who knows me and knows that I proudly wore THE SAME SWEATER for five years running until it literally disintegrated, knows that I am the poster child for Anti-Vanity. How could I find time to dab a little concealer on The Thing On My Face when all efforts were concentrated in finding the t-shirt that covers my hips and makes my huge ass look a tiny bit smaller. It was only when the Weird Thing on My Arm started to grow and change, and become all red and brash and practically scream at me: I KNOW YOU USED TO SUNBATHE WEARING BABY OIL (which is, unjustifiably stupid because if you have ever seen my skin you will know that it is absolutely impossible for me to get a tan unless it comes out of a bottle) that I listened to Kip when he said for the 440th time: Maybe You Should Go See Someone About That.

And so I did, and the first thing they did was cut The Thing on My Face off with a laser. This was my first experience with a laser--and in my mind I was prepared for a burst of red light and perhaps a gentle buzzing sound, not the pain of a thousand bee stings and the smell of my charred flesh. From the corner of my eye I believe I saw SMOKE.

Then they took a melon scoop to my right arm and removed that Nasty Angry Spot and placed both tiny parts of me into little specimen jars which will be sent off to some lab and examined.

So please people: Wear Your Sunscreen. I know a very nice lady named Inga who will turn you a beautiful shade of kumquat with an airbrush for $40 bucks.

I don't know what has made me feel older today: The fact that I had these things removed, or the fact that I am telling you about it now.....

Fish and chips and vingegar vinegar vinegar

ANNIE: Wow-this sure is a big fish. Do you think Mommy will cook it for dinner?
JESSE: Are you kidding? Mommy thinks fish comes out of the freezer in breaded sticks made by a guy in a yellow raincoat.
ANNIE: I'm gonna poke it.
JESSE: Better not.
ANNIE: I am so gonna poke it.
JESSE: DAD! ANNIE IS POKING.
ANNIE: Did not!
JESSE: Did to!
ANNIE: Did Not Did Not Did Not. It felt kind of slimy.
JESSE: I can't hear you-I am busy admiring my hands. Plus, have you noticed I have taken to wearing TWO tshirts at a time? It's my very own fashion statement.

Jesse-ism

JESSE: So, I bet when you and Daddy were younger, you used to have to crank your DVD player.
ME: What?
JESSE: You know--with a handle. You'd have to crank the handle to play your DVD.

Where Angelina Jolie gets her Superpowers From

The middle of the night began like any other. Jesse arrived beside our bed at approximately 2:30 AM and announced, as usual, that he had to pee. Kip grumbled his standard response which alluded to the fact that the bathroom is ON THE WAY to our bedroom, and helpful facts like: " no self respecting boogeyman would hide in a toilet anyway-they prefer dry places like under your bed or in your closet", blah blah, blah while he accompanied Jesse on business, and we began our nightly game of Musical Beds.

I am starting to think that maybe Jesse doesn't have the major sleep issues we have always believed he has. I am starting to suspect IT IS ALL ABOUT THE MATTRESS. Last year, Kip and I did some major wheeling and dealing with a friend of a friend who is Heir to a Mattress Empire, who made a single phone call and got us an INCREDIBLE DEAL on a mattress that is worth a gazillion dollars. We don't own a house; but we proudly invested in one hell of a mattress. Reminds me we need to make a will. There could be a lot of fighting over that thing.

So as I took Jesse's place in his crappy Ikea bed while he snuggled down in my bed on my warm spot no less, it occurred to me that maybe if we got the kid a better mattress he might stay in his own bed most nights. Or-at least I would sleep more comfortably. And with this thought, I began to drift off to dreamland...

Only to be awakened by Annie; who is usually such a sound sleeper we have to hold a mirror under her nose to make sure she is breathing. Nothing will get your heart going faster than a high pitched whine that BUILDS and BUILDS til it is a BLOOD CURDLING SHRIEK. So I jumped over to her bed in the darkness--where she lay screaming and kicking her feet and whaling her arms. I attempted to pick her up-and if you want to know what this feels like, open a blender one day while it's on PUREE and put your face into it. The conversation goes something like this:

ME; Annie-what's wrong honey?
ANNIE: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
ME: Do you not feel well? Are you sick?
ANNIE: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
ME: Annie, can you please stop kicking me in the nose and tell me what is wrong?
ANNIE: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
ME: Do you want a teddy bear (Waaa/Kick combo) Do you have an earache? (Waaaaa/ Head butt into chin) Do you want a blanket? (Particularly offensive--response is a double kick to clavicle) DO YOU WANT ME TO BEND STEEL WITH MY MIND???
(At this point I am thinking; Emergency Room. Because I would love to explain to a group of doctors at 3:20 am that I had to come in because I DON"T SPEAK WAA.)
ANNIE: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
ME: (Head in hands. Bad flashback of Nights 2001-2003.)Annie.....Please. Let Mommy Help You.
ANNIE: Waaa Waaa Waaaa
ME: Wait---did you mean (Hallelujah music plays here) Waaaaaaaa-ter? Water? Is that it? DO YOU NEED WATER? BECAUSE MY GOD---I CAN DO THAT!!!
ANNIE: In my Hello Kitty Cup with ice to the top.

So I ran to the kitchen and Kip met me there and we worked as a team to locate the Hello Kitty Sippy Cup and fill it with the appropriate amount of ice and bring it to her, at which point she insisted we fetch a flashlight so that she could SEE REALLY SEE that we had not been stingy with the ice and that it was, indeed, FILLED TO THE TOP.

Two sips and she was out like a light.

I went to bed thinking that the next day I would work on solving problems that were a little easier: like how to bring about world peace or what to do about global warming.

RenoVaTions

I had 1/4 of Jesse & Annie's room painted when I decided that Kip had been right all along, and that renovating the apartment over the course of two days, in addition to working this weekend on a design deadline for MUD, was maybe NOT SUCH A GOOD IDEA.

So I just painted three walls. Well, really 2 and 3/4 because the side of the 3rd wall was super tricky and involved painting around shelving which i could not take down because I could not figure out how to work the freaking drill-- so I just made a line with some painter's tape and just STOPPED. I was ALMOST at the end of the wall-about 7 inches from it-but who cares. It's mod. Plus, I don't think it is so noticible given the fact that I tried to hang the new curtains before the paint had dried and the large swatches of semi gloss I got all over the striped cotton fabric make an interesting pattern and sort of keep your eyes from going to the curio boxes that I attempted to hang- but again, because I could not work the drill- had to install by hammering the screws into the drywall. Theory is the same right? Nail...screw...whatever. Although, I am thinking maybe I should not put anything heavy into them just yet. Worked til 2:30 am last night, was up at 7 and stepping in random piles of cat vomit that I could not see because most of the furniture in the apartment is IN THE KITCHEN.

And to think I could have just left things the way they were and finished Harry Potter.

PRioRiTieS

So the other night at bedtime, I was tucking Jesse in and our conversation went a bit like this:

ME: Goodnight, I love you.
JESSE: Why do you always say that? Why are you always saying you love me?
ME: Because I do, and i want you to know you are the most important thing to me.
JESSE: Really? (dramatic pause) Because I thought WORK was.

At which point I attempted with both hands to force my heart back into the GAPING CHEST WOUND his words had left.

I told him yesterday that I needed to fly out of town on business today, and that I would be leaving Realllllllly Early but I would be home at bedtime. At 2:30 am he appeared beside our bed and asked if I was leaving yet, before jumping in beside me. At 4:45 he was awake again, watching me get ready in the darkness, and at 5:30 he was clinging to my neck and crying hysterically that he did not want me to leave.

At 6:30 am I was on a plane and sobbing. I was the woman in Seat B2 that sobbed for two hours. Silent sobbing--but the shoulder shuddering, tray table shaking, snot dripping onto your blouse kind of crying nontheless. Which must have made the other passengers on the plane feel VERY CONFIDENT AND HAPPY. And all poor Kip could do was to just keep handing me beverage napkin after beverage napkin.

My two hours of sobbing also completely clogged my left ear and covered my contact lenses with protein deposits, so that when I exited the plane, I was almost completely blind and half deaf. Not to mention VERY PRETTY with my puffy swollen face and snot covered blouse.

So Kip changed our return flight home so that I could be back by 7 pm, which I was. Bearing LOTS OF GIFTS. Because really, nothing says "I feel totally guilty about working instead of staying home and raising my children" like a big bag of overpriced airport toys.

But here's the thing Jesse Bear-should you find this post in cyber space some day far in the future. I have never loved work more than you. But sometimes work has been easier. Sometimes I knew more about what the heck I was doing at work than what i was doing at home. Work has never demanded from me some of the things that being your Mom has asked of me. And here's the thing: I LOVE WORK. One of my greatest hopes for you is that you will see that work can be a joyful thing--that you will find something you love to do and do it with all your heart and soul. That you will remember that WORK IS A GOOD THING. So I hope you will forgive me, and know that I tried my best to juggle it all and to be a good mom. I hope you know that I was ALWAYS CONFLICTED. And that even when I HAD to leave you sometimes, that it verily broke my heart each time.

Where Have All the Bloggers Gone?

Well, as evidenced by the fact that there has not been an update since July 10, that whole "Guest Blogger" thing worked out REALLY WELL. Remind me not to ask you people to feed my plants or water my cat next time we go out of town, I mean, Sheesh.

So here's a quick update of NEW EVENTS on Veasey Street.

ANNIE GAVE UP HER CHOOPA. (Choopa: noun, small plastic sucking device inserted by parents into squalling newborn's mouth and often not removed for four or five years. Also known as Binky, Paci, and that thing in her mouth that makes it impossible to understand what she is saying, and will cause her to need braces when she is twelve--thereby ruining her first kiss at thirteen-- when either a rubber band will fly out of her mouth as the deal is being closed, or she will lock front teeth with the boy who also had a CHOOPA for the first four years of his life.)

And all it took was some DISNEY PRINCESS COSTUMES. Behold the Power of Ariel! Bow down before the Influence of Tinkerbelle! Who knew that offering a bribe of a blue satin dress with white elbow gloves could be so LIFE CHANGING. And before one of the three of you loyal readers points out that the "Princess" way of thinking may not be the healthiest image for young girls today, let me just say that we always make it a big point to tell Annie that Princesses are really very much like the CEO's of companies...like MOMMY. And then we just stand back and let her Order Everyone Around while Stomping her Glass Slippered Foot and Talking About How Much She Hates Math.

The Princess Costume Collection truly rocked Annie's world, but it was nothing compared to an impulse purchase I also made before I left Target. And that would be.....A NIGHTGOWN. Because as Annie said: IT IS A DRESS YOU CAN SLEEP IN? REALLY? A DRESS FOR NIGHT? A PINK DRESS FOR IN MY BED? CAN I WEAR IT FOR THE NEXT SEVENTY TWO HOURS? I LOVE IT I LOVE IT DO YOU LOVE IT? HEY MR. UPS GUY-DID YOU NOTICE MY NEW NIGHTGOWN? LET'S CALL NONNEE BECAUSE SHE WILL WANT TO KNOW ALL ABOUT THESE NIGHTGOWN THINGS BECAUSE SHE MAY NOT KNOW THAT SOMEONE INVENTED A DRESS FOR BED!!!

Which later lead to what will now forever be referred to as: The Great Underwear Under The Nightgown Debates of '07.

Initially, we went commando. Because we love to give her the opportunity to discard as many articles of clothing onto the bedroom floor for someone else to pick up as possible. And because, well, being Lazy Mom, I figured if we always took them off each night we would never find ourselves in trouble during those times where we don't bathe for weeks.

But apparently the BEST WAY to show your BRAND NEW NIGHTGOWN to the man who brings hamburgers for dinner, the super of the building, the son of your nanny, and the odd workmen that come through the place daily is to LIFT IT UP OVER YOUR HEAD AND SHAKE YOUR TUSH. This move was popularized by Kate Moss at some point in the 80's, but Annie is just a natural.

After Much Discussion (and feel free to join in the debate right here--in the comments section) it was decided that what was needed was NEW UNDERWEAR. With Ariel on it. And Belle. And Cinderella..................

MERDY'S GUEST BLOG

The actual move is over--but because there is still so much to unpack I have decided to do the smart thing AND RUN AWAY TO KALAMAZOO. In my absence, in order to maintain my loyal readership of 4, I will have some Guest Bloggers. Guest Bloggers will receive my gratitude and oh, maybe a MUG. Email me your entries people. Just try it: it's like literary skinny dipping--fun to do at least one time by monnlight while intoxicated. So here is MERDY'S BLOG:

As a fellow MudChick (MC), I too have a nickname given to me by Lorrie - it's Merdy. Don't know why or how and along with Peedles, she is the only one who calls me that. And I answer. Because as Peedles said, when someone you respect gives you a nickname you don't ask why, you just answer and sign that name to all your emails to her. I no longer own my PYOP studio so does that make me a former MC or a MC alumni...or maybe I'm a MC for life? Someone recently asked me what my career goals were and I had to think about it for a minute. My response? I sold them along with my studio.

I don't really understand the blogging world, but Lorrie tells me it's the wave of the future, that to be in business you have to blog. So here I am blogging...on her blog. I don't know why people want to put all their thoughts, rants, pictures, glimpses into their lives and the lives of their family and friends in cyberspace for all the world to see. But as a reader, it's a great way to keep up with the lives and mental state of my few friends who have, own or write? blogs. Maybe one day I will see the light and have my very own blog to write about blogging on.

I've been meaning to guest blog for a while now since I told Lorrie about my new business venture. Always trying to help out, she said she would put a link to my site on her website. After a careful surfing session of ournameismud.com I determined that she has no links section! Thanks anyway Lorr. Ah, but then she said I could guest blog and plug my business here. So to all her faithful readers (are you up to 3 now?) it is www.hipflops.com - custom flip flops for any occasion!

I meant to write this yesterday but here is how my weekend went: As a New Yorker, I am always jealous of the people who LOVE Central Park, and can't get enough. Jealous of the rollerbladers who glide by effortlessly up a hill or down a hill and can weave in and out of the pedestrians, cyclists and dogs, stop on a dime. No knee pads, elbow pads or wrist guards, no helmets. Or my friends who enjoy sitting in Central Park on a hot summer day, enjoying "all that New York City has to offer." So this weekend I decided that I would try to be one of these people and I met my friend in the park. Brought my chair, the paper, ipod, the works. It was sorta fun. I caught up with my friend, saw some half naked guy, (who should not have been half naked in public or private for that matter) do yoga, and listened patiently to a grown man argue with the ice cream vendor that his cone broke when he opened the package and wanted a new one (just give him a new one already so I could get my Chipwich dammit). I'd rather be by someone's pool with a clean bathroom nearby and liquor cabinet within an arms reach, especially on a hot summer day.

The following day, yesterday, I went to get breakfast with my cousin. I was feeling dizzy and decided to stop at the Bagel store for Gatorade. As she was handing it to me, I passed out, right there on the table. As my cousin was trying to revive me, luckily a nurse was there and helped her get me down on the ground and elevate my legs. I came to on the floor of this Bagel store (yuck!) and saw some concerned folks looking over me, getting ice, calling 911. I also saw some people going about their business ordering their bagels with schmear not paying me any mind! None of the employees tried to help or offer me water...unbelievable. The ambulance came, I went to the ER and was released within a few hours, all chalked up to dehydration. I am now content to sit in my air conditioned apt. making hipflops, letting everyone else take advantage of all New York City has to offer.

So, sorry this blog is late. I was on the floor of a Bagel store, in an ambulance, in the ER. I gotta take a shower...STAT.

Again, it's www.hipflops.com and thanks for the link Lorr! Love, Merdy

A Boy From Chelsea... OBVIOUSLY

This is Jesse's latest creation from Build a Bear. Obviously, you just can't have too many stuffed animals dressed in pleather.

Again with the boobs thing.

As my faithful readership can tell (all 3 of you that are now left) I have been BUSY BUSY BUSY and unable to blog. But thank goodness my friends continue to send me PSAs about breast cancer and stuff. I mean, I BEG them to send me porn, but I guess this is as close as they feel comfortable getting. Anyway; once again-let's pause for a moment and think about saving second base:

PLEASE TAKE THE TIME AND DO THIS. Thank you for your time!

From a nurse:

I'll never forget the look in my patients eyes when I had to tell
them they had to go home with the drains, new exercises and no
breast. I remember begging the Doctors to keep these women in
the hospital longer, only to hear that they would, but their hands
were tied by the insurance companies. So there I sat with my patient
giving them the instructions they needed to take care of themselves,
knowing full well they didn't grasp half of what I was saying,
because the glazed, hopeless, frightened look spoke louder than the
quiet 'Thank you' they muttered.

A mastectomy is when a woman's breast is removed in order to remove
cancerous breast cells/tissue. If you know anyone who has had a
mastectomy, you may know that there is a lot of discomfort and pain
afterwards. Insurance companies are trying to make mastectomies an
outpatient procedure. Let's give women the chance to recover
properly in the hospital for 2 days after surgery.

Mastectomy Bill in Congress

There's a bill called the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act which
will require insurance companies to cover a minimum 48-hour hospital
stay for patients undergoing a mastectomy. It's about eliminating
the 'drive-through mastectomy' where women are forced to go home just
a few hours after surgery, against the wishes of their doctor, still
groggy from anesthesia and sometimes with drainage tubes still attached.

Lifetime Television has put this bill on their Web page with a
petition drive to show your support. Last year over half the House
signed on.

PLEASE!! Sign the petition by clicking on the Web site below. You
need not give more than your name and zip code number.

http://www.lifetimetv.com/breastcancer/petition/signpetition.php

This takes about 2 seconds. PLEASE PASS THIS ON to your friends and
family, and on behalf of all women, THANKS.

Boobs Mitchell Says....

HELP SAVE SECOND BASE:
http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/clickToGive/home.faces?siteId=2

Here's the dirt

How dirty is Dan's desk, you ask?

Say Goodbye to the Old Studio!

AH the fun we had-the times we shared-the messes we made!

Stressed is Desserts spelled backwards

What good is having a blog if you can't bore all four of your faithful readers to death with a long diatribe about the pressures you are under? Because if I hold it all in; the stress will continue to manifest itself as THESE HORRIBLE THINGS that appear on my face and do not disappear under two tons of maybelline concealer. (And by GOD if I am going to have to suffer from hormonal acne; I want a hickey or two to show for it.)

So here it is: free floating random stress. Welcome to the jungle.

First of all- I am MOVING. And I will not go into the hell of moving because the best way to deal with how horrible it is, is to just keep going through it. Eventually you come to the end of it, and you find yourself in an office where you can't locate anything you need, and then you realize that you have thrown it away because at some point in the move you looked around AND JUST WANTED TO LIGHT A MATCH.

But adding to the stress of moving is the fact that my father is also moving. From a pallatial estate in Kalamazoo to a one bedroom. And rather than get a dumpster-he decided that the best way to deal with his accumulated possessions WAS TO SEND THEM TO HIS CHILDREN.

(And I do not mean to sound ungrateful, Dad. I love that you have put the time and effort into choosing things for me and my children that are precious and symbolic of treasured memories. I do. Really. Please don't cut me out of the will.)

Amongst a lot of GREAT STUFF ( really Dad, thanks) the following items arrived by UPS while I stood knee deep in receipts from 1989, surrounded by half packed cardboard boxes:

A Stamford High yearbook from 1986. I graduated in 1981. My siblings did not attend this school.

All the pictures of my older sister after she had just given birth to her first child (apparently even a father cannot tell us apart at that particular moment in our lives)

A four foot high paper mache sculpure of acrobats on trapeezes.
ME: (on phone) Dad-thanks--erm, you know I live in an APARTMENT, right? It's an awfully big sculpture...
DAD: I always knew you loved it.

BUT I AM NOT COMPLAINING. Merely letting off a little of the old steam...squeezing the end of the balloon to make rude noises. Not too much though, in the end I think the only thing holding me together is the stress itself.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

Dear Kip,

This is your sixth official FATHER'S DAY. Seven years ago we would have spent it sleeping late, enjoying a brunch of Eggs Benedict and several Bloody Marys, and then futzing around- unemcumbered-- throughout the day--doing any damn thing we pleased. Not today. Today we are not together because in addition to being an Amazing Father, you continue to be an Awesome Husband--supportive of me in every way. So while most guys today are enjoying a round of golf or just relaxing, you are taking care of our babies so that I can pack for our move, and do what I need to do for MUD--the third and neediest child of our union.

Happy Father's Day! Like Jesse wrote in his card: YoU Are ThE GrATisT DaD. (Upon hearing Jesse say that, Annie told me you are "the very, very, very gratist.") I agree.

It seems like just yesterday that Jesse had the rotovirus-- when you leaned over to fetch the diaper you had dropped, leaving him naked on his back on the changing table above you, he had explosive diarrhea-- which landed right on top of your head, and you stood up with poop dripping down the side of your cheek and YOU DID NOT KILL ME WHEN I LAUGHED. In fact, you laughed WITH me. Thank you for being that kind of dad--the kind who sees the humor even when you are knee deep in poop.

Remember when you used to throw Jesse up in the air and I would say "DON'T DO THAT!" in my SanctiMommy voice which I used to warn you against dangers that lurked everywhere--and you would laugh and say "Relax-I'm not going to DROP him" and then you were tossing him up in the air on the streetcorner and his head HIT THE STREETLIGHT? Thanks for being the kind of dad who turned to me and said "Ok, I'm not going to do THAT again."

Thanks for being the kind of Dad who is there for the shots. (At some point, they are going to figure out that if it's bad...Really Bad...It's ALL YOU, Special time with Dad and oh yeah-a throat culture and a needle or two.) Thanks for always being strong enough to do what has to be done for their own good. I remember when Annie had her accident; seeing you in the emergency room with her, holding her tiny hand down while they stuck needles in it--the tears gathered at the corners of your eyes--but still, holding her hand steady, doing what needed to be done.

Thanks for being the kind of Dad who helps pick up. When I announce I am the Evil Witch and will throw away any item left on the floor in fifteen minutes, you are always on the side of the "Good Guys". "Let's clean up and show that Evil Witch a thing or two" you say, and as a team leader; you melt me.

Thanks for being the kind of Dad who finds all of the flatulence that occurs in this house hysterically funny. Annie is going to be quite the little lady--except for when someone pulls her finger.

Thanks for being open to learning about how we can be better parents, and better people. A lot of men would have gone and surfed porn when "The Secret" was popped in the DVD. A lot of fathers would grow weary of a mother who quotes "SuperNanny." You are always open and receptive, and as a result I think we have both grown along with the kids.

You are an amazing Dad. You talk to your children about important things like teamwork, honesty, and love. In the middle of the night, after the worst possible nightmare, they find comfort in your warm embrace and the knowledge that you are always there for them--like a rock-- a safe haven. Pappa Bear.

Forgive me for all the times I have told you how you should do something differently.
You are doing it so well.

You are
so very loved.

XO
L

Why Do We Blog?

"My story is important not because it is mine, God knows,
but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are
you will recognize that in many ways it is also yours.
Maybe nothing is more important than that we keep track, you and I,
of these stories of who we are and where we have come from
and the people we have met along the way
because it is precisely through these stories, in all their particularity,
as I have long believed and often said,
that God makes himself known to each of us most powerfully and personally."

-Frederick Buechner

Awwwwwwww some

We keep a list attached to the refridgerator door with a magnetic pen beside it. Everytime we run out of something--cheerios, toothpaste, pickled onions, etc. it must be WRITTEN ON THE LIST. It is part of an overall complex system of household management. I grocery shop once a week and I rely on The List to keep the cupboards stocked.

WOE unto thee who takes that last of any item and does not write it on The List. The next seven days will sound like this:
"This would be a beautiful day...IF WE HAD ANY APPLESAUCE."
"You wanna know why she's crying? I'll tell you why she's crying. Your daughter wants APPLESAUCE."
"We were discussing APPLESAUCE, not PMS. Don't try to change the subject."
"I would have cooked tonight, but the recipe called for APPLESAUCE."
"I realize it is the 9th inning, but you need to go to the store RIGHT NOW for applesauce and I am not kidding. Yeah well, maybe you should have thought about the two seconds it takes to write the word applesauce on The List"
(Note to Readers: I Know! It's a wonder he stays with me.)

So today I went to reach for The List to go shopping--and found The List WAS MISSING.

Someone had removed the entire thing from the door of the refridgerator--a crime that would surely mean death, divorce, or at the very least no sex for several weeks.
(Note to Readers: I Know! He really is a great guy to put up with it!)

So I tore through the house cursing a blue streak in my mind. When I do this, I resemble Muttley the dog on Wacky Racers--the one that was always muttering "smukumrackumshmakumsuchum."
(Note to Readers: My memory is not what it was. If you remember this show with Penelope Pittstop, please post in comments)

FINALLY, I locate The List in Jesse's room, on his desk.

Underneath "Garbage Bags" he has written
I LuvE MoMmy.

Which means there is enough sugar in this house to last for a long, long time.

Steve Irwin is Dead

Steve Irwin is dead.

I am guessing most of you know this already, and can probably recall exactly where you were and what you were doing when you got the sad news about The Crocodile Hunter.

Jesse was five at the time. And maybe because we didn't want to ruin what looked to be a perfectly good day, or maybe because we just knew it would lead to incessant questions about life, death, and stingrays: WE CONCEALED THE CROCODILE HUNTER'S DEATH FROM HIM.

It has been a Year Long Version of Weekend at Bernie's. ( Except we didn't schlep a corpse around,and there were no umbrella drinks.) And it hasn't been particularly easy; there has been many a moment when I questioned my decision--but a few glasses of pinot usually removed all doubt.

For example, a few months ago, we were at the aquarium in Charleston with the cousins. Joseph--one of the "older" cousins--turned to Jesse, (who was admiring the Crocodile Hunter Action Figure in the gift shop), and said matter-of-factly: "HE'S DEAD ." Which was a bit of a problem, because after all we were having a swell day at the aquarium so why ruin it--especially when a peaceful cocktail hour was almost in reach. And so I sunk to a new all time low; debating wether or not Steve Irwin was dead with a nine year old who knew the truth, in front of my five year old who I did not want to hear it. Sorry, Joseph. Think of me as your Wacko Aunt. BTW: that thing I said about your mom smoking crack was wayyyyy out of line. My bad.

But today, at our house: THE CROCODILE HUNTER HAS DIED. (again)

It happened because several children in Jesse's class told him that Greg Wiggle is dead. Now this is JUST NOT TRUE and my gosh, if someone is going to lie to my child then it better be me.

Greg Wiggle is NOT DEAD. He has retired his yellow jersey--given it over to the understudy SAM as a matter of fact (I know this because I am a Wiggelette) because he suffers from an odd disease that causes him to become nauseous when he wiggles, and that is THE TRUTH.

(And let me just say-there is a HUGE Wiggle/Crocodial Hunter connection which comes into play--Steve having starred alongside the Fab Four in WIGGLEY SAFARI--in which he sang, danced and interjected "aw Crikey" into a bunch of musical numbers. I think if you play the video backwards, it says Dorothy the Dinosaur choked to death on a ham sandwich, but that could be a rumor.)

So anyway: I told Jesse today that Greg Wiggle was NOT in fact dead, but felt compelled to cop to some passing of someone--so I told him the truth about Steve Irwin--thinking enough time had passed, Discovery Channel has been usurped by Nick Jr., and his feelings for the Australian Icon safely transferred to Ned, of Ned's Declassified--who BTW- BETTER NOT FREEKING DIE ANYTIME SOON.

Jesse has been sad off and on throughout this beautiful day. He wants to know if the stingray "is sorry." He wants to know how Steve's children feel. Mostly: he wants to know if Kip and I will ever leave him.

But in between these moments, he plays and sings, and annoys his sister, and paints pictures, and experiments with feeding the cat legos. So really; maybe it isn't Jesse who has the problem with change and loss and the whole circle of life thing.

One of these days I will need to break the news to him that all those times he was able to call Spiderman on his direct phone line, his dad was in the bathroom on his cell. I will have to tell him that the magic ring I let him wear to school when he is worried about something is really something that was picked up at a tag sale and has no powers. We will have to discuss Santa, the Easter Bunny, and our own personal "Valentine's Pixie."

In the meantime, drive safely Ned of Ned's Declassified. I am counting on you to be with us for awhile.

Rose's Blog Topic

Rose asked: What song is your child singing right now in public?

Well, Rosita--that would most likely be 100 BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL. Kip and I felt that teaching him that little ditty would be educational, since after all, counting is involved.

Busted

Last week, Kip and I had to both fly out of town on business. This caused great anxiety for Jesse--not so much that we were boarding a plane together (after all--if a problem occurs mid flight, Superman will appear and rescue you as evidenced by the documentary SUPERMAN RETURNS)--but because it involved me making a statement involving our departure and return times, and Jesse has begun to suspect I am A BIG FAT LIAR.

I don't know when we started telling Jesse that we were going to "MEETINGS" when we would go out to socialize. In my usual lazy mom way, I must have had a EUREKA moment when I realized he did not cry, cling to my legs, or throw himself repetitively at the elevator doors as they were closing; if I simply told him that Mommy and Daddy had to go to work. And thus began the mythology of the nighttime meeting. If Mommy changes out of her black sweater and takes a shower, chances are, she is going to A MEETING. MEETINGS often occur on a weekend night. Mommy and Daddy are always in a great mood after a MEETING. One night Jesse turned to me and asked me why my breath always smelled so funny when I come home from my MEETINGS, but beyond that he rarely has complained--having made the association between WORK and HAVING MONEY TO BUY STUFF.

So for the most part, I am totally advocating this whole LIE TO YOUR CHILD thing. I'm thinking it might even be to my advantage when he grows up and talks about what an amazing work ethic his Mom had--if I can just remember to have a damn breath mint before I walk back in the door.

But back to our legitimate trip last week.

JESSE: I don't want you to go on this trip! ( Read this aloud with a realllllllly whiny voice)
ME: Oh honey, you know Mom and Dad will be back right at bedtime.
JESSE: But you LIE Mom--you LIE all the time.
ME: (lying) I DO NOT LIE. What do you mean?
JESSE: You always SAY you will be back at bedtime, but you never are. The movie is always over and I always have to watch tv and wait for you on the couch. You are ALWAYS late. You never come home when you say you are going to come home (read this and dissolve into dramatic tears.)
ME: (said with six years of accumulated guilt about working and occasionally going out for a glass of wine with friends) I am SO SORRY Honey! I will try to be on time.
(Go back and forth about ten more minutes with more tears and begging)
ME: Honey-I promise, this will ALL BE WORTH IT. Mommy and Daddy really have to work hard so that we can have all the things that make our life so great: so we can spend more time together and go do stuff together, and stuff like that. But I promise I will not be late. (Blappitty Blah Blah--eventually get out the door in time to make the flight.)

And of course, as luck would have it-our return flight is delayed an hour and a half--which meant that every reassurance I gave about what time we would be home was meaningless. Of course we would not be home in time for bedtime, and of course Jesse would still be up waiting for us....

Which he was. And like a 16 year old caught sneaking back into the house after curfew, I apologized for being late. Surprisingly, he was nonplused. And I soon discovered why.

"It's okay that you are late" he said, "I know what you were working for. We're getting a FARMHOUSE."

Peedle's topic

So, when asked to suggest a blog topic, Peedles wrote:
"I, too, have been in an unblog-o-liscous state of mind. Sometimes life needs to be LIVED not BLOGGED....yeah yeah....I know you see through it....it really means I have a new man and something more fun to do...."

Which means that while P is currently getting a little "sumpin sumpin", I am left to stare at my two children and say: "CAN YOU PLEASE SAY SOMETHING ADORABLE AND WITTY FOR GAWD'S SAKE--MOMMY HAS A BLOG TO WRITE."

Perhaps the fish will die this weekend. Or maybe I will let you know what happens when you exceed the suggested serving size of sugar free candy. Inspiration can be lurking just around the corner--so watch where you are stepping.

KIP'S TOPIC

Kip suggested I blog about the following:
"Why can children swim for hours in 60 degree ocean water, and when I go in up to my knees I want to throw up?"

Well, honey, let's see. While several possibilities spring to mind, I'm going to go with: BECAUSE YOU ARE AS OLD AS DIRT.

Here is a list of other things your children are currently able to do that YOU CANNOT.

1. Sniff their own toes. (For this-I am grateful. You have other odors you like to discuss--it's enough.)

2. Look styling while wearing the cammy shirt with the cammy shorts. And the Batman flip flops with the Pirates of the Caribean necklace. (You have got to stop playing it so safe--throw out the J CREW catalog and live a little, darling. )

3. Exist for hours on nothing more than three spoonfulls of LIFE cereal. ( You and I still believe that LOTS of people eat a whole chocolate cake in one sitting.)

4. Two words, baby: MONKEY BARS. (followed by slides, soccer, tag, and general bouncing off the walls, that for us results in weeks of soreness, stiffness, and sometimes not being able to get out of bed)

5. Manage to get somene to assist them with their personal hygene by sitting on the pot yelling "I am FINISHED...O DAD...I said...I AM DONE..."

Perhaps together we have managed to create two superbeings whose wonder powers only activate occassionally. They sometimes seem to be impervious to cold, hunger, and slapstick humor. I can attest that they can go HOURS and HOURS and HOURS without sleep.

But the most annoying thing that they CAN do which you seem unable to do is to COMPLY WITH MY ORDERS. They seem a bit clearer about who the boss is, my love. Perhaps you could work on that? XO

Paris Hilton Paints Pottery!

Dear Paris,

Just when I thought there was absolutely NOTHING redeemable about you--you go and do THIS!

I know that if I only had a couple of weeks before I had to serve time in the slammer, that I too would seek a creative outlet of some kind. Since I paint pottery for a living, I most likely would take up collage. Or sewing. Or glass blowing. Or maybe I would spend that precious time in a corner at Chippendales with a bottle of pinot and a sketchpad.

The Paint Your Own Pottery Industry is probably all a-buzz with the release of this photo. As I type, some studio owner in Kansas is running to Kinkos and having brochures made that say "Painting Pottery is HOT!" I'm sure they appreciate the fact that you have made painting pottery "cool" again.

My gosh, I hope they have crafts where Lindsay is.

Best,
Lorrie

Last Post about Fall Preview

Ok-so since we are working backwards here--and what you will read as my FIRST blog will actual be the last thing I wrote for the day (so there will be two blogs after this that will be about the preview)-- I do want to say that while FALL '07 is CHOCKABLOCK FULL of really fabulous product, that I'll stop the blog posts about each item HERE if you will kindly suggest blog posts in the comments section below.

I promise to blog about ANY SUBJECT. Well...erm...ANY SUBJECT FIT FOR GENERAL VIEWING. Or, rather...ANY SUBJECT I CAN THINK OF SOMETHING MILDLY AMUSING TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT. So go ahead, all NINE of you; put your thinking caps on.

Finishing Up Fall Preview

This little item has caused a bit of controversy. And I'm not just talking about the lack of the dip bowl--although that is AN ISSUE. Apparently, some women do not see the humor in the sentiment above. These are women who actually do go through tough times every year thanks to "THE SEASON" and find nothing to laugh about in a serving piece that contains the F word.

Not me: my husband likes The Eagles, so it is always a pretty short season; given the fact that they never win a championship or anything.

But I do have empathy for my sisters who married men who yell at their televisons while sitting on their butts in overstuffed recliners, eating nachos and drinking beer. ( And by sisters, I mean my figurative sisters, not my sister-in-laws, and especially not the one in New Jersey married to the t.v. ADDICT who would have the thing on in the bathroom if he could figure out how to run the cable there--nope-- just my sistahs.)

So *hugggggs* to all the football widows out there. And just remember, it could be WORSE. They could totally be into golf.

Finishing Up Fall Preview

I was never a great speller. To this day, every time I type the word definitely, I spell it "definately"--EVERY TIME, despite the fact that my spell checker flashes the word "IDIOT" now instead of giving me the adjusted spelling.

More FP!

1. Fall in love with a man who has only had dogs his whole life.

2. Make it clear right from the start: Love Me-Love My Cats.

3. Force him to interact with the cats. Encourage the cats to walk across his lap while the two of you are snuggling on the couch, and make sure the cat sticks its butt directly into your boyfriend's face on more than one occasion. Let your new boyfriend see the advantages to having cats: allow him to blame his gas on them.

4. Say things like "He must really like you! He never humped MY sweater!" Encourage the boyfriend and cats to bond by leaving them alone together often. You will know boyfriend has reached optimum level of acceptance when cat vomits up a large hairball on the bed while you are in the middle of sex, and he does not skip a beat. (Note: Not that I ever actually had that experience, being a VIRGIN until my marriage to Kip and all. Hi Dad! Thanks for reading my blog!)

5. Marry the boyfriend. Take the cats to the vet as a couple. Spend large amounts of money trying to cure the older cat of whatever ailment is causing her to poop on the bed. Spend large amounts of money getting cat's teeth cleaned, switching to special cat food, and laundry bills for the comforter. Figure out thousands of dollars later that the reason the cat is pooping on the bed is because she is eating the houseplants. Be patient with husband when he says "NEXT TIME THAT DAMN CAT GOES TO THE VET IT WILL BE THE LAST TIME."

6. Get pregnant. Show husband the paragraph in "What To Expect When You Are Expecting" that says pregnant women cannot empty the litter box. Don't let on that once he takes on this chore, IT WILL BE HIS TO DO FOREVER. If he starts to backslide or whine, just get pregnant again.

7. Realize for the first time; O MY GOD-- your cats are not your children... now that you have actual children. Begin to see them as two more mouths to feed and two warm bodies THAT WANT SOMETHING FROM YOU. Try to remind yourself of the advantages of having cats by allowing the baby to grab onto one's tail and put it into her mouth, while the toddler mounts the back of the other one and rides him like a pony. Put them between you and husband in bed when he comes home from a night out of drinking with the boys. Cry into their soft fur at times when you cannot easily see an end to 3 A.M. feedings and complete exhaustion.

8. Realize your children love the cats when they start to include them in their crayon drawings of the family. Realize your husband loves the cats when he comes home from the grocery store with treats for the kids, and a jar of liver flavored POUNCE TREATS.

9. Wake up one day and discover cats are about 120 years old in cat years. Allow husband to take the one who is infirm and unable to eat, to the vet...for the last time. Fall in love with husband all over again when he cries afterwards.

10. Listen to your daughter continue to say to complete strangers "My cat died two weeks ago" after 8 or 9 months have passed, and realize she is going to grow up, fall in love, and convert some dog lover herself someday.