FLA

Vacation approaches. I have been dreading this for a long, long time, and procrastinating on payments and tickets and all things Florida. Now it is right around the corner. YIKES!

We rented a house in the Keys. We are flying to Orlando. Anyone with any sense better pray to the heavens above they aren't on the same planes as we are. Yep. I said planes. As in more than one. Because it is IMPOSSIBLE to fly with two adults and seven children. An adult, according to Delta Airlines, can only be responsible for three children. Which means that Brian has to take two children, I have to take three children, and Eli, the biggest child out of all of them, has to be in charge of one of his younger sibs. Yes, Delta, you will regret that policy.

So having said that, we had to purchase airline tickets in three seperate reservations. Makes perfect sense. So we are actually flying out on two different airplanes. Same airline, close times. Brian and the three middle kids have a short layover in Atlanta, and I have a direct flight with the three little kids and Eli. I guess we will meet up when we get there. So far, we are all on the same flight home. Subject to change at Delta's discretion, of course.

Once we get there, we have to rent two cars. None of the rental car places in Orlando offer a vehicle that seats 9 people and 9 backpacks. Two cars are actually cheaper than the 15-passenger van, which I am terrified to drive, for tipping purposes. So two cars it is. Carseats extra, of course.

I wonder what driving from Orlando to the Keys will be like with kids who are excited and ready to see the ocean and touch palm trees and catch geckoes. I am guessing it will be hell. I am hoping to stop somewhere and spend the night, since even if we do make the entire drive in one shot, we cannot check into our rental house until Saturday.

The kids want to pick mangoes and oranges off the trees. They want to swim in the pool, play in the sand on the beach. I want to sit my ass in a chair, read a book, and forget my life for a few days. Not worry about moving and the new house and the old house and the rental agent and school and work and all the things that course through my brain on a moments' notice.

Drink a fruity drink or two, maybe get a little tanked and go swimming. Eat seafood with no regret. Watch my family be a family. And maybe even have a little fun, while I am at it.

Shameless

I am hardly one to be addicted to television. Quite frankly, I don't have time. Good TV is hard to come by, in a world where MTV doesn't have a single video on anymore, and CMT is ruled by Wife Swap and Hillbilly Handfishing (ok, I don't know what channels that shit is on, but CMT seems logical.)

However, I have recently fallen under the spell of the Showtime series "Shameless." William H. Macy plays a glorious drunk in Frank Gallagher; who wouldn't be drunk as much as possible with six kids and no woman to take care of them? Viewers come to learn, though, that there is good reason Frank's wife left. (He was a drunk before.)

We find a hero in Fiona, Frank's eldest daughter, who has taken over as mother-figure to the five younger Gallaghers, each of which is their own brand of broken. She is sexy and sly, street-smart and savvy, yet even the most timid viewers tend to relate to her. After all, all she really wants is love. And a semi-normal family.

I'm not going to give away any of the plot here, so don't fret. Watch it yourself, and become just as hooked as I am. (Sunday nights, 8C, Showtime--channel 600 for Duluth Charter subscribers.) And know that you can go forth in this world without shame, because your life cannot seriously be as f*cked as these folks.

Mom vs. the Bird Brains

You have to admit, people are dumb. Or maybe just ignorant. So today, as I forge out into the world filled with people, I find myself forced to remember that it isn't their fault. It isn't their fault they don't know that you don't put an apostrophe in a plural. It isn't their fault that they don't know which "their, there, they're" to use. They are victims of poor teaching, or not caring enough about the language to not look like morons. (Or is it moron's?)

I've always loved language, and I am just nit-picky enough to learn all its rules and exceptions (I before E except after C and in "ay" sounds like neighbor). To not abide by these simple, simple rules just advertises one's stupidity/ignorance. I cringe when I read the uneducated sentences, often without correct punctuation, sometimes even without subject AND verb. It makes me shudder to think these people are out in the world, representing America and our "superior" education system. What makes me want to tear my hair out and writhe in agony, though, is when folks who ARE educated make these mistakes. They blatantly post signage with misplaced apostrophes, which I am certain has gone past more than one set of eyes. These are corporate bigwigs and managers, who get paid significant amounts of money to what? Look like boobs?

I will leave my red pen at home, as I often must when I go to work. No one likes to see their mistakes, after all, the ones they put out on their advertisements. But inside, my heart is breaking, one misplaced semicolon at a time.

Deer Camp-iness

Brian has been gone since November 5. Minnesota women know what deer season does to families, and we have learned to live with it. Men disappear into the woods with their fellow men; to kill, play cards, eat meat, burp, fart, shit in the leaves, and beat their chests. A few brief stop-ins for dinner and a quick shower have reminded me that I love my husband very much, but he drives me crazy! He makes messes and does what he can to get the children wound up and out of their routines I work so hard to establish.

Brian has been gone since November 5, with only a few brief stops at home. He watches the kids when I have to go to work and daycare is closed. He leaves me money in an envelope with a short love note on the front of it, with specific instructions of what to do with the contents. It is very much the life of a single parent, but it is like he is dead, not just gone. His family stops by at inconvenient times, I think just to make sure the kids aren't tied up or starving. They try to make it look like they are trying to help, but it is awkward and tense.

Brian has been gone since November 5. He hasn't seen many deer, and he hasn't shot any. He hasn't fired his rifle once. He is getting antsy and impatient, and as deer season winds down, his impatience escalates. He becomes short-tempered (unusual for him) and moody. I have nicknamed this condition "Deer Camp PMS."

Brian has been gone since November 5. He has not shot a deer, and his mood shows it. I hope, for the sake of my sanity, my marriage, and my children's love for their father that he shoots one before this week is over. Because there is a reason PMS doesn't last all month, and certainly not all year. Men would murder us if we acted like that all the time. I don't know if I can take a full year of him having not killed anything. (Garbage-picking raccoons DON'T COUNT!!!!)

Its been a while...

Its been a while since I was here. There has been lots of goings-on in my little world. I did a reading at College of St Scholastica (a paying gig!), been working (not-so-diligently) on my schooling, and dealing with the teething devil-baby. Good times. Someone posted something not too long ago that made me laugh, about how living with toddlers is like being at a frat party. How true that is! Multi-colored plastic cups in the bathtub, half-naked girl crying in the corner, the plethora of vomit, and my favorite, waking up with someone in your bed who wasn't there when you went to sleep, and all you can think is "gosh, I hope those underpants are clean!"

Really, though, I've missed this. Blogging gives me the chance to be inside my head, but not in the clouds like poetry. I can ignore the screaming baby, the dinner that won't cook itself, and my ever-present friend, Mt. Washmore.

My husband made a suggestion the other day that I quit my job. I entertained that notion for a while, since I would both love and hate to be a stay-at-home mom. I would have to give up my few luxuries that I enjoy: permanent hair removal, designer purses, and shoes. I thought about it, but then just decided that not having the ADULT human contact with other folks who are just as angry and educated as I am would drive me to suicide. I have learned to love them all, my co-workers. We are delightfully miserable in our situation. Although now I feel like I have a leg up because I could leave at any time and not be any worse for the wear.

I won't ever leave. That's not the point. The point is that I could if I wanted. Makes it just a little more bearable, I think.

Take the Power back

I got an anthology that I participated in through the mail today. In reading some of the poems in it, I was struck by how angry our youth is. No one writes complacent, happy poems. They are all vicious! These women have been scorned. I don't know by whom or what, but I am certainly glad I am not the object of their disdain.

I began thinking then, about the things I dislike in my world. Are they things that I can change, or will I be forced to accept these maladies without fight? Well, knowing me as well as I do, I won't go out without a fight. I ponder words that can direct views, I try them out while facing myself in the bathroom mirror. They are scary words, but I feel stronger and happier having said them, if only to myself.

I say them now, and to you. Don't be afraid to repeat them. "BEAUTY FADES, DUMB IS FOREVER" "IGNORANCE IS ONLY BLISS IF YOU ARE COMFORTABLE BEING IGNORANT." I smile now, pen in hand. I create. I touch lives. I save lives. I will not die forgotten or forgettable. I will live as long as those I touch, and those they touch. I am a wave in the sea, but the sea would be nothing without its waves.

Does the color of my skin change me?

I am white. I do not profess to be anything but. Lately, however, I have been being discriminated against for the color of my skin. You see, I have tattoos, and lots of them. Clearly, that makes me unfit to work in the public eye, and a delinquent for sure.

My employer hired me with my tattoos. I believe at that point I was hired for my knowledge and ability to perform specific job duties. Somewhere in there, though, things changed. Essentia health bought SMDC a while back, and since then, there have been some policy changes. One such change is that tattoos will no longer be allowed to be exposed.

I now have to wear long sleeves at work, which is fine 9 months out of the year, but in August, it really sucks. It also poses a moral issue. Is Essentia health telling me I have to cover up the color of my skin? That is the only way I see it. They want to exude a certain image, and the color of my skin doesn't jive with that. Hmmmm....that seems closely aligned with the KKK.

So I may or may not wear long sleeves to work. I'm still debating whether or not this is worth pissing folks off who can ultimately take away my paycheck. But, if that were to happen, would that not be a glorious lawsuit?