Stuck in the past. And loving it.

My day job is anything but boring. Whether attributed to my co-workers or the various writing assignments -- usually both -- I genuinely look forward to coming to work every day. That being said, having something even MORE fun to look forward to is the icing on the cake.

I recently became acquainted with online radio on my computer at work. Specifically, a selection of streams playing nothing but hits from the 80s.

Ahhh. My people.

I have been treating myself to some pretty fabulous ear candy -- The Cure, Depeche Mode, the occasional musical styling from Morrisey/The Smiths. It's brilliant. Of course, there are THOSE songs from the Big 80s that make you cringe, but you love them anyway. George Michael (extra bonus points if it's a Wham! song), Madonna, Terence Trent D'Arby... even one-hit wonders like Scritti Politti, Matthew Wilder or Charlie Sexton. Then there are the songs you hear, may not particularly care for, but they bring back such a rush of bittersweet teen memories, you just have to keep listening. Case in point, I just sat through Billy Idol's rendition of "Mony, Mony." Never been a big fan of that one, but it was played at each and every Friday night sock hop we had in high school. (Of course it was a crowd favorite, given the ad libbed lyrics everyone shouted. Everyone but me, that is. Not that I considered myself too prudish to join in; but it was a fairly crass statement.) But I digress... I cannot hear that song without pausing to remember dancing with my friends for two solid hours in the gym, glad the week was over and having the entire weekend before us.

Not long ago, I was radio channel surfing in my car, and paused upon hearing one of my favorite songs from the 80s. Imagine my surprise when the station ID followed the song, and I realized it was playing on the local "oldies" station. Apparently, they had refreshed their playlist to cover said "oldies" spanning the 70s and 80s, rather than the 50s, 60s and 70s as they had before. Oldies were ... well, ... OLD. Surely the favorite music from my teenage years cannot be considered old ... ? Then I remembered how each and every week when I read the entertainment section of the Sunday paper, and glance through the top 10 hits I rarely recognize any song, let alone the artists themselves.

So, I've come to accept the fact that I have become desperately out of touch, and it's perfectly fine with me. I guess my musical growth period topped out somewhere around the late 80s/early 90s. Maybe I just figured the music couldn't get any better, so I decided to stay put.

That's OK. Bring on the 389 different "Hits of the 70s, 80s and 90s" streams online. I'm all ears.

Hi! Remember me?!

For the four or so people who actually read this blog, HELLO THERE! IT'S ME! REMEMBER ME? THE PERSON WHO USED TO WRITE THIS BLOG??

It's been so long. Too long. I'm guilty of letting life get in the way of, ... well, everything.

So, I'm using February 4 as something of a "turn over a new leaf" day. Which is sort of sad when you consider some people haven't even abandoned their New Year's resolutions yet. I wish I could say I've had some marvelously interesting, exciting new "something" that's been keeping me from writing. Nope. Just staying afloat between work and home -- trying to stay one step ahead of things. Maybe I'm simply anticipating being out of commission for a few weeks after 03/14 (which is officially "BABY DAY 2009," unless he has another plan in mind to make an early debut). I know I will be doing nothing except healing, nursing, sleeping, eating, ... healing, nursing, sleeping, eating,... and so on. Perhaps I'm trying to both mentally and physically prepare for the required "down time." Who knows. All I know is that my intentions have been fully-geared to writing every day, even if it doesn't actually get done.

It's difficult to keep a firm grasp on the bigger picture when some days the small details start to obscure the view. I'm guilty of getting mired down with small worries (and some big ones) when this is supposed to be one of the happiest times to experience. I need to remember to focus on the facts: I have a wonderful husband who is there for me in so many ways with his love and support ... we have a beautiful family of five wonderful kids and we're ready to welcome one more ... we (along with our extended family) are healthy and happy ... we live within our means, making every attempt to find a way to enjoy perks within our financial boundaries ... I am blessed to have a few very close friends -- women who have shown me what true friendship is, and I hope I am returning the same to them.

Yes,... focus on the facts. See the big picture. Know that it's all good, and don't dwell on the problems. They will be resolved without the benefit of worrying.

Baby, It's Cold outsi-- ... oh, forget it...

With the temps here in Indiana dipping well into the sub-zero range (and by dipping, I mean ABSURDLY to, like, -16 degrees with a wind chill past -30) the song/phrase, "Baby, It's Cold Outside" has been more than abused. It has become an understatement, but to my knowledge, I don't think anyone ever recorded, "Baby, It's Colder Than You Can Even Imagine in Your Worst Winter Nightmare Outside."

School has been canceled today for that exact reason -- it's simply too cold for everyone to be out commuting safely. All five kids will be home today. At this point, in the early, almost-sunrise hour as I sip my mug of half-coffee/half-soy milk, I have genuine hope for a good day. I even gave the two 9-year-olds the pep talk last night about how I'm growing tired of the endless bickering and squabbling. "Can't we just have fun? Especially if school is canceled tomorrow? Don't you think a day of fun beats a day of being reprimanded for fighting?" They answered "yes," but I think we all know everything's up for grabs from here on out. I do have leverage today, though: a birthday party tonight for the boy next door. They want to go. I want a semi-peaceful day. Notice I said "semi-peaceful," not "blissful" or "delusionally harmonious." I know their limits, and I'm sure they know mine. We'll see how this all pans out.

The one child I KNOW will behave himself has yet to meet us all face to face. According to my weekly email updates from The Bump (you've gotta love that name!) the baby is now packing on his "fatty layer" and his energy level is increasing. Really? All sarcasm aside, I seriously don't remember this kind of movement from prior pregnancies. Well, since the first was twins, they probably didn't have much room for fidgeting. But Sam had all the room he could ask for in there, and I honestly don't remember him moving like this baby does. Based on Sam's everyday antsy-ness, I think he was just banking his movement to share with the world. This baby ... well, he's a mover. And, since I live with Sci-Fi fans, regular references to "Alien" and the scene where the hideous alien rips its way out of the guy's stomach are commonplace. Precious image, no?

Bundle up and stay warm!

And we call ourselves college graduates......

OK. So here's what happened.

My best friend, Michelle ... more commonly referred to as "Shipley" ... and I have been friends for over 20 years. We met in college during rush week at our sorority (Delta Gamma, in case anyone was wondering). Our personalities clicked immediately, and thus began a wonderful friendship, accented by the occasional adventure. And frequent hilarity. I could try and entertain you with stories, but a majority of them were "you-had-to-be-there" moments, that one really needed to be present for to fully appreciate. Example: Once during college, she drove me through a fast-food drive-thru backwards. As in actually throwing her powder blue Dodge station wagon into reverse and, literally, driving backwards in the drive-thru. The expression on the drive-thru attendant's face was priceless. Shipley was giggling that maniacal laugh that was (and still is) soooooooooo her own, and all I could do was apologize to the drive-thru person through my own hysterics.

See what I mean? Verbally, it loses its "oomph." In real life, it was one of those "pee-in-your-pants" moments. But I digress.....

Getting back to what happened last night. Shipley and I were chatting on the phone, and we both happened to be near our computers. We've had problems for months on end sending and receiving email to each other. They kept getting bounced back to the original sender. Very frustrating. We started talking about it, and she mentioned the problem starting after I had changed email servers. So I asked, "Tell me the email address you're using for me." She told me, and we discovered she had still been putting in my middle initial, as I had used in my former email address. Then I got into my address book and read off the address I had for her. Seems I had somehow combined part of her work email address with part of her personal email address -- resulting in an undeliverable address.

We immediately sent test messages to each other while still on the phone. Lo and behold, the email messages went through without a hitch. And we felt like complete dumb-asses. Naturally, as we do in most situations like this, we burst into laughter. Eventually, I managed to point out the fact that here we were,... two intelligent, college-educated women, and we can't even figure out we had each others' email addresses wrong.

Did I mention this was after several months of failed emails?

Our college professors would be sooooooooooo proud......

Buddha's got nothin' on me

I believe I have officially arrived at the point of pregnancy where people want to touch my stomach. I know many moms who have strong feelings either for or against letting people rub their tummies much like asking Buddha for a bit of good luck. Many are very protective of their personal space and do not take kindly to the practice. Still, others don't seem to mind a bit, and even shamelessly shove their protruding waistlines into others' business and announce, "The baby's moving!"

I tend to fall into both categories, depending on where I am and whose company I'm in. If I'm, say, at the mall and a store clerk or random shopper were to approach me asking to feel my stomach, I'd have to bow out as gracefully as possible, no matter how kindly and innocent their request may seem. On the other hand, if we're at home and I'm feeling him kick, poke and roll around, I'm very likely to grab the hand of the closest person, plaster it to my belly and ask, "Did you feel THAT one?" I will admit here and now, that I've caught myself staring at my own swollen abdomen as the little guy rolls back and forth. I realize this is my final pregnancy, and I guess I just want to register and remember every little detail.

The other day, when I realized I was approaching week #30 it hit me -- we are going to have a newborn in 10 weeks or less! And, for once, it wasn't the lack of preparation that stopped me in my tracks. It was the realization that this, my final pregnancy, will be over in a short time. It kind of made me sad ... despite the two solid months of non-stop queasiness, breathlessness, the lone varicose vein with a personality all its own, itchy skin and various aches & pains. Granted, we'll have this wonderful blessing of a child, live and in person in exchange for the pregnancy -- but it's still bittersweet to give up that one-of-a-kind experience of carrying a baby...

But there's barely any ice!!

We have just suffered through... uh, I mean enjoyed two weeks off from school for Christmas break. The high school kids went back Monday. The three in elementary were off for "Records Day,"which I think is school administration code for having a "Let's See Which Mom Snaps First" contest.
Tuesday was a great day at school, reconnecting with friends, getting back into the groove. My first grader was elated because they had their classroom holiday party, which everyone missed due to school being canceled the last day before break because of the ice storm.
We had a Winter Weather Advisory last night, with a smattering of freezing rain and some flurries. I peeked through the blinds this morning, and even in the pitch-darkness of 5:40am, I could tell there was nothing new on the ground. A little voice in my head told me to turn on the TV and check for any slick road-related delay. "Nah... couldn't be," I thought, and headed to the shower. Shortly thereafter, when I did happen to turn on the news, I was greeted by the ever-familiar banner across the bottom of the screen, listing school after school on a 2-hour delay. OK, with the kids on a delay, granted I start the work day later, but can salvage some time and be productive. Plus, I get to sleep another hour-and-a-half. Bonus!
As Jeff left for work at 6:30, I snuggled back into the toasty flannel sheets with my alarm set for 7:50. Funny how a lot can happen in barely 90 minutes. I woke from my bonus nap to see school had been canceled.
Of course, the kids were thrilled and celebrated with a variety of shimmies and jigs.
I regrouped the day's plan, figuring out how to make the most of the day off, as well as trying to conjure up some fun diversions.
When Sam (6/almost-7) and I left the house for the office, I noticed only the thinnest veil of ice on the van windows.
"What?! You've got to be kidding me! They canceled school for THIS MUCH ICE?!?!" I said to no one but the bare tree next to the driveway -- Sam was already in the car playing his GameBoy.
So, here we are. The afternoon is still a wee pup, but I've already made it to work, accomplished some things and brought work home and made grilled cheese and tomato soup for the kids' lunch.
Once kitchen clean-up is done, I'm sure someone will whine that there's "nothing to do," even though the Christmas gifts are barely two weeks old. Maybe we'll bake brownies ... or chocolate chip cookies. Either will be a crowd-pleaser, I'm sure.
As I noticed on one of my favorite blogger's posts today (www.notesfromthetrenches.com) she mentioned being asked by her 4-year-old to read him a book, even though she had her own things to do. She sighed and agreed, probably knowing full well it was one of those moments I have quite often. The ones where you focus so much on your own "To Do" list, that it's easy to forget the kids often just want a few minutes of your time. Yes, I have an article to finish up and an editorial meeting tomorrow to plan for ... but I know if I get all cranky and pass up an hour or so to hang out with the kids and bake some cookies, I'll regret it someday. Maybe even sooner than later -- I mean, there's a baby coming in 10 weeks or less. Talk about our lives being turned upside down! The time I give to them today won't necessarily make up for shuffling things around in the coming months, but they'll know for sure their mom will give them the time she has whenever possible.

Funny,... I don't feel a day over 39

I'm not sure why people lament, whine, carry on and fuss about turning 40. I did it last Tuesday and it didn't hurt a bit. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to discover I felt just as normal as I had the day before. When I woke up, there was no black storm cloud hovering above my head. I wasn't struck with any major/minor medical concern -- except for excessive peeing, which goes with the territory these days anyway. Nope. Nothing. Not even an extra gray hair.

I was treated to a fabulous homemade breakfast at the hands of WH (that's "wonderful husband") which consisted of french toast stuffed with a truly decadent cream cheese filling and a nice cup of Starbuck's coffee. (Which isn't out of the ordinary, being that's all we buy,... but it felt extra special paired with the french toast.) I went to work and found a balloon bouquet on my desk from co-workers, and not one of the balloons mentioned "40." How thoughtful. I enjoyed the group card and a fruit tort from Fresh Market. This little number is worth waiting all year for. The graham cracker-ish crust is filled with lots of thick, sweet cream and topped with mammoth berries: strawberries, blueberries, black raspberries, kiwi, etc. Oh, and between the crust and cream is an ever-so-slight layer of chocolate sauce. Because, as we all know, most everything is better with even a hint of chocolate. :)

That afternoon when I came home, Jeff had baked a cake, and was scurrying about finishing up last-minute details for dinner and such. At one point, I was banished to the bedroom while he attended to things in the kitchen. I usually never seize an opportunity to lay down for a while, but that's exactly what I did. I could've gathered the never-ending supply of dirty laundry from everyone's rooms of stopped by the bathroom to tidy up -- but I didn't. I took a whole hour and watched something mindless on television ("Bridezillas," one of the current guilty pleasures...) and just did nothing. That was probably the best gift I could have given myself. Ever. However, as lovely as that gift was, it paled in comparison to what Jeff gave me: an 8x10 black and white photo of all the kids. It nearly brought me to tears -- partially because of how wonderful it was, and how great everyone looked... and because I know how difficult it must've been to take umpteen-million photos before getting just one where everyone was smiling, no one's eyes were closed and no one was given bunny ears.

The rest of the evening was just as wonderful as the entire day. And for that kind of day, I'd turn 40 all over again next year. But I won't. I won't be one of those people who keep celebrating a "39th" birthday so they don't have to admit getting another year older. I am perfectly OK with being 40, because it feels great. For years, my mom has never seemed to give a second thought to the actual number of her age. "It's just a number," she says, "and I certainly don't feel that old."

Thankfully, this apple didn't fall far from the tree. Come on, 41,... bring it on.