Yes Briana, There IS a God!

I've never been one you could describe as religious. I mean, my Uncle John spent 30 minutes lecturing my children on the "absurdity of religion" when he was in town last week.

But now I have to re-evaluate.

Ring Ring Ring

ME: "Hello"

SKELETOR: "I'm coming over. I need to tell you something, and I don't want to do it over the phone."

ME (to myself): This can't be good. The last time she said that she told me my cousin had committed suicide.

Five minutes later, the Skeletormobile pulls up. From under my bed, I heard Skeletor say, "Where's Briana?"

DAN: "She's in the bedroom."

ME (to myself): "Narc!"

SKELETOR (very seriously): "Sit down, Briana. My friend Trish (in California) called. She asked me if I would move in with her and her husband in their mansion."

ME: (to myself) I didn't take any acid, so why am I hallucinating?

SKELETOR: "Do you think I should go?"

ME (to myself): How long do I have to sit here before I start jumping up and down screaming "WOO HOO?"

"You'd have someone to hang out with, so you wouldn't be so lonely. There's no snow there. She probably needs you to help her deal with her husband's cancer. There's no rent. Sounds like that would be good for both you and her."

(to myself): What else can I come up with to convince her it's in HER best interest to move to California, not just MINE?

"We can help you pack. Dan can rent a U-haul and take some of his vacation to move you out. I'm sure I can get you out of your lease. When do you think you'll be ready?"

SKELETOR: "I'm gonna go."

PRAISE THE LORD!

(I hope this doesn't mean I have to start going to church.)

A Woman Without a Country

I'm a woman without a country (ok, family).

You may recall the recent incident at my in-laws house, in which my father-in-law threatened to kick me out of his house because I almost said FU&%. While I don't agree with the notion that saying the word outloud is worse than a teenager doing it without protection, and, therefore, getting pregnant, this is the family that I married into.

This is the problem.

My uncle Peter (the one who still lives in Ireland) flew to Chicago for a visit. He jumped in my uncle John's van for a road trip (never said he was smart) and they arrived in Colorado a couple days ago.

So, we're in the middle of my uncle John's gourmet microwave dinner (in which everything is cooked in a microwave), and the obligatory lecture about the absurdity of religion, and, not surprisingly, a few swear words are mentioned.

I mentioned the aforementioned "incident" at my in-laws. John asked why I didn't actually SAY the word that was perfectly suited for the sentence. "Cause I didn't want to piss off my father-in-law," I replied.

I didn't think it was possible, but I got even MORE shit for NOT saying it from my family than I got for NOT saying it from Dan's family.

Their disappointment in my weenieish behavior resulted in a serious lecture about the appropriateness of the phrase, "Go fuck yourself," and my serious lapse in character for not having implemented that phrase when under attack by my in-laws.

So, I'm screwed by my in-laws if I say (or don't say)"fuck," and I'm screwed by my mom's family if I don't say it. WTF?

I'm a woman without a country (family)!

So what do I do?

Well, as they say, blood is thicker than water :)!

Play Ball!

I just made this collage of Gunnar. I think it's cute!

Bad Mom of the Year (um Decade) Award

The other day I had to apologize to all of my boys about my having dropped them or let them fall of the bed/couch/counter, etc. (several times each).

Why did I feel the need to apologize, you ask? They couldn't possibly remember (most likely due to the repeated head trauma).

Because I failed to destroy the evidence.

When my boys were babies, I started a journal for each one. I never did baby books for them, and I knew I wouldn't remember the cute things they said and did.

Apparently, I didn't remember the times I dropped them, either.

When we came upon the books recently, each child started reading their respective journals, thereby learning the truth about what a negligent mother I was.

Oops!

I still think they turned out ok!

Does Anyone Understand You?

I just got off the phone with Dave. I met Dave when I was in college MANY moons ago. Ok, we all know how old I am, so I'll admit it's more than 25 years ago. I didn't know then, but he has turned out to be one of the few people who really understands me.

Weird!

He's been in California for almost as many years as I have known him.

Yeah, we agree on politics (more or less). And we discuss politics. Of course, he's WAY more knowledgeable about it than I am. But, that's not it.

He actually BELIEVES in me.

Again, weird!

That's never happened before.

Yeah, my sister believes in me; but that doesn't really count. She's related. She's kind of genetically required to (course that doesn't apply to Skeletor, but that's a different story)!

Dave and I very different, but very similar. He believes in me more than I believe in myself. And I believe in him more than he does himself.

It comes down to ego.

The people who have it are generally the people who shouldn't. The people who don't, are generally the people who recognize that, while they know alot, there is much more to know.

As Alexander Pope said, "A little bit of knowledge is dangerous."

I've gotten a little off-track.

My message is that there are people who believe in you. You just need to know who they are.

And I do.