Giving My Kids The Sun, The Moon And The Stars

A couple of days ago as I was driving the kids to school, Kate said from the back seat, "The moon is the sun".  I responded back to her in the manner I often do when my mind is on other things - with a dismissive, "Mmm hmm, yes". 

Then I thought back to an article Mike had read about how children develop and thrive.  The author's point was that children whose parents continue to challenge them in the absence of school (spring break, summers, etc.) and take advantage of educational opportunities wherever they exist become more successful than children with parents like me.  The author didn't mention me by name, of course, but I'm pretty sure it was implied.

So, when I thought of that article, I decided that Kate deserved a better response and further, a better life, than what I was giving her.

"Actually, Kate," I said, "the moon is a moon and the sun is a star." 

"What, Mama?"  "What is a moon?"

Dang.  I don't really know what a moon is.

"The moon is a moon, kind of like a planet, but the sun is a big, bright star."

"The sun is a star?"

Oh, Lord, here it comes, I thought.  She's going to ask me what a planet is versus a star.  How the hell am I going to explain that to a 4 year old when I don't really know the answer as a 37 year old?

"Well, yes, honey, it's our brightest star," I began, now second guessing if the sun actually was star.  "It's kind of a nebulous body that gives us our light and our heat."

Oh, great, I thought.  Like she's going to know what nebulous means.  Do I know what nebulous means?!

"What I mean is that it's a big, fiery ball of gases up in the sky and our planets revolve around it."

Terrific, I thought, all she knows of gas is that it goes into a car or comes out of her bottom.  How am I going to explain this one?

I started to kind of panic.  Every time I tried to explain it in a new way, I used words or metaphors that I was worried would elicit more questions from her.  I just wanted the conversation to be over, but in a way that made her a more curious, intelligent person and not the mouth-breather I was currently molding her to be.  I wanted to feed her thirst for knowledge, but I wanted out of the current conversation because I knew I had no hope of explaining the intricacies of the universe to her.  I do well to just explain why she has to empty her bladder before she goes to bed each night.  But I continued.  I should have stopped, but I pressed on.

"You see, God created the earth and there was this big BANG..."  Okay, now I am teaching creation and evolution in one breath - and neither one very well.  I can't have her telling her friends at pre-school (in a church, no less) about the big bang theory.  But I also personally believe in the evolution argument, so now what am I going to do?  I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive.  But then... we've established that I am an idiot. I want my daughters to learn both theories and decide what they think and believe. But is now the time to go into all of this???

"There are nine planets (there are 9, right?) in our solar system."  What the hell does a 4 year old know about the damn solar system?  WHAT AM I DOING?!!  "We live on the planet earth and we have a moon that we call... the moon."  I am an idiot.  "The planets all revolve move around the sun and it keeps us warm."

What if she asks me what the moon does?  I don't know what the moon does.  It just sits there and... moons around... and stuff.  "We've sent people up all the way to the moon before.  There's an American flag (and a Tri-Delta pin so the story goes) up there." Why is my mouth still moving?  Now what am I going to say if she asks if people live up there?  Or, worse, what if she wants to know if there's life on other planets? 

At this point, I could feel perspiration forming on my forehead.  It was becoming ever clearer that I was too dumb to have had children.  At least I knew I was too dumb.  Most dumb people don't know they're dumb.  So, I guess I had one up on them.  I began thinking about about how much worse this would get when the girls would bring their homework home and ask me for help.  They'd end up in remedial classes if I was the one to offer assistance.  Mike was going to have to be their tutor.

I was picturing the four of us sitting around the table in a few years.  Mike would be explaining math or geography or something.  Kate and Meg would have their books open and would be listening intently.  Then, pan over, and there's me.  Furiously taking notes so as not to miss a word he was saying.  Their schooling would be my ticket to an acceptable level of education. 

"Does any of that make sense, sweetie?", I asked Kate.

Silence.

"Kate?"

Silence.

I looked in the rear view mirror and there was Kate.  Earphones on. Staring at the TV screen.  Watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Not listening to any of the foolishness coming from the front seat.  How much had she heard, I wondered.  Did she only hear me absent mindedly agree with her?  Did she hear the word "nebulous"? 

Of course, I do see the irony that here I am freaking out trying to educate my daughter and yet I have allowed her to be glued to a DVD for the 15 minutes it takes to get her to school.  I am clearly part of the problem and not part of the solution here.  I can only hope she never asks me another question ever, ever again.

The only thing I am left to wonder is, what the hell is a moon?  Perhaps there is a 4 year old out there who can explain it all to me.

Where you start is not as important as where you finish. - Zig Ziglar

This post is a little late, but on Sunday, September 26th, I "competed" in Chattanooga's Susan G. Komen's Race For The Cure.  I signed up to participate with my friend Wendy with whom I had run in the only other 5k I have ever entered.  This race took place well over a year after our first one.  I suppose it took me that long to decide I wanted to do it again.  You've seen in previous posts that I feel like a 5k is probably the very least I should be able to do successfully.  I'm fairly out of shape, but I figure if I can run 3 miles at any given time, I'm doing pretty well.   

Back in April, 2009, we decided to sign up for Knoxville's Dogwood Classic.  What appealed to me about that particular race was that it was in Knoxville on Cherokee Boulevard along the beautiful Tennessee River.  Wendy and I were friends from college and, in college, we were both pitifully out of shape.  Now she and I have remained very good friends over the years and I love her to death.  But she is no athlete.  Growing up, I danced for 14 years and I rode horses competitively for about 6 years.  I'm certainly not a stellar athlete, but I knew if she was my competition I'd do pretty well.  Plus, Wendy weighs about 78 pounds soaking wet.  She's tiny.  I thought that her poor, fragile little body would tucker out around the second mile.  She was the perfect person to run with because I knew my time would suck.  I assumed hers would as well and we'd have a good laugh about it. 

Pretty much immediately after I signed up for the Dogwood Classic, I abandoned exercise altogether.  I have no idea why, but I just lost interest in it.  I figured that I had been running about 3 miles on the treadmill and that once I got into the spirit of the competition, my adrenaline would take over and it would keep me going.

Not so.  What ended up happening was that after about 15 paces, I had to stop and walk.  I couldn't believe how quickly I had to stop and gasp for breath.  Admittedly, I hadn't exactly trained for this, but I was very surprised at how different running was when I didn't have a treadmill creating my momentum for me.  I can tell you, one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced was the feeling I had when I came upon the sign that said MILE 1.  WHAT??!!  I have two more of these damn things to go???  By the time I reached that damn sign I had already had to stop and walk about 4 times!  Are you kidding me?

In case you are wondering how Wendy did, she beat me.  We started out together but then I had to peel off and walk.  She managed to keep running the entire time.  I was proud of her and a little embarrassed for assuming that I'd actually somehow manage to beat her.  I was ashamed that I used to be in great shape - thin, flexible - and now I couldn't even run one mile without stopping.  I vowed that I would run in another one.  I just wasn't too anxious to actually sign up for one.

Fast forward 17 months, and she and I were registering for the Race For The Cure.  This time, however, things were different.  Ever since around the middle of the summer, I had been back on the treadmill.  It wasn't in anticipation of a 5k.  It really was more because I was overweight.  I used to kind of joke about it because I've always been so unattractively skinny, but there really wasn't any getting around it.  None of my clothes were fitting.  I had that little layer of belly that was hanging over my pants (which were so tight that you could make out the imprint of the buttons on my skin).  I needed to do something. So I started walking/running again.

I had been kind of off and on with my exercise routine, but once Wendy and I registered for this race, I really began to take it more seriously.  I made sure I ran at least 4 times a week.  I even ran at least once a week outdoors so I could get used to having to use my puny muscles to propel my own body forward without the help of the treadmill. 

And I hate running outside.  I hate it.  I can't stop and get water which I need several times during a workout.  I don't like passing cars because there's that awkward Are they going to wave to me? moment before I wave and they don't and I feel like a complete tool.  And I suffer from an affliction that is highly embarrassing and probably very noticeable.  The affliction is: shorts-gathering-up-in-my-crotch-itis.  I have hideous legs that come together and touch at the very top of my thighs.  What this means is that they rub together when I run.  My shorts then begin to get drawn up into my crotch and I have to tug them out which is neither attractive nor conducive to running.  I think I am beginning to understand why the cars won't wave to me.  I have grossed them out...

Anyway, the day came and I was ready.  I had a power mix cued up on my I-Pod to help motivate me.  I had been fitted for running shoes and was wearing Nike running clothes to more look the part of a runner.  I looked like I belonged there and this time, I felt like I did, too. 

This time, Wendy had actually kind of fallen into the same pattern I had the last time around.  She admitted not having trained much for the race and was just going to see how it went.  I felt like this time I would be able to actually keep up with her and was disappointed that she may need to stop and walk since I was determined not to stop.  She and I gathered together with the runners who claimed to be able to run a 10 minute mile.  On the treadmill, I can do that.  Outside I wasn't so sure.  But, that's where I decided to place myself.  I was confident this time.  I was prepared.

I didn't have a goal in mind as far as the time I wanted to finish with.  For starters, I couldn't remember my time in the previous race so I didn't really have a baseline.  The main thing I wanted to be able to do was to keep running for the duration of the race.  I was actually excited about it.  Wendy and I lined up as best we could in a crowd of hundreds of people.  They shouted the obligatory, On Your Mark!  Then they shot the gun and the race was underway.  As soon as my first foot hit the pavement, I looked up and was in a cloud of dust that was my trusted pal, Miss I-Didn't-Train-For-This Wendy.  For someone who was claiming to not really be ready for the race, she sure left my ass in a hurry. 

No matter.  I pressed on.  Almost immediately, there was a giant hill.  No, not a hill.  A mountain.  What kind of cruel joke was this?!  I had run in my neighborhood (which is hilly) during my training, but the hills were usually at the end of my trek when I could then stop and walk to cool down right afterward.  We were just getting started and already my legs were burning and I was losing my breath.  I continued up the hill with just about every other entrant passing me by but I did not stop.  I kept plugging along.  Again I came to the dreaded MILE 1 sign, but I was feeling good.  I just may do this, I thought to myself.  Of course, the time came - earlier than I thought it should - when the people who had already made the loop and were on their way back to the finish line began passing me.  Total buzz-kill.  They really should design a route where we don't have to see those people finishing when we have barely started!

As I ran, I kept trying to find Wendy, but I didn't see her again.  I wondered if maybe she had petered out and I had somehow passed her without knowing it.   (She hadn't.)  I kept running and I kept running.  Even when I would grab some cold water from a volunteer, I kept running.  Of course, I had water dripping down my face and legs because I was slinging it everywhere, but I kept running.

Did I reach my goal?  Well, no.  I did stop between the second and third mile.  I walked for no more than about 15 seconds, but it was what I needed to get my breath back and finish the race.  I was bummed because once I actually did finish the race, I knew I could have kept going without having to stop.  I could have made it.  I just lost my confidence in that moment.  I really did step it up when I got close to the finish line.  I'd say for the last 1/4 mile I was actually running instead of jogging.  I remembered back to when I finished the other race - even getting to the end of the race with people cheering couldn't get me to run faster.  I was too exhausted.  This time, I was RUNNING!

As I passed through the arches made out of pink balloons, I looked for the clock.  I couldn't see it.  I had no idea what my time was.  It really didn't matter because I had only walked for 15 seconds, so I knew it was going to be better than my previous time.  My main objective at that time was to somehow find Wendy in the huge crowd and to go collect a bunch of free stuff from the vendors working the event.

We met up and discussed our experience and then spent the rest of the time walking around trying to get as many give-aways as possible.  She had not stopped to walk at any point.  She, too, hadn't seen the clock when she finished.  We drank our free Gatorade and ate our free M&Ms and then made our way back to the car to go home.

I got a text message from her later that night.  They had posted our times online and she was irritated that she had only beaten her previous time by - as she put it - "a whopping 14 seconds".  So, when I got to my computer, I pulled up the scores.  One depressing thing that happened was when I began to scroll through all of the different age groups to find my name.  I scrolled for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time before I finally got to my age group (35-39).  Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.  Good grief, how old am I?!!  It should not have taken that long to find myself.

But then, there I saw Wendy.  She only finished  2-3 people (in my age group) ahead of me.  So, I guess that was a small victory.  I saw my time and it was a pretty good time for me.  I was satisfied with it.  Felt good about it.  Then I went and looked up my time from the Dogwood Classic.  Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling...

Scrolling

Scrolling

Then there it was.  Maggie McCallie.  My time.  I had beaten my previous time!!  I had beaten my previous time!!  My hard work had paid off!  I was vindicated!  I had beaten my previous time by...


Drumroll






Drumroll





Drumroll





A whopping 15 seconds.

Car Sickness

Having nothing new, interesting or insightful to say, I thought I'd write about something that one of my friends suggested I write about.  That is - the personalizing of cars (windows, bumpers) craze.

I had thought about writing on this subject many times, but there are so many customized car windows and bumpers out there that I thought surely I would offend at least some of my readers.  But, being that I only have 9 "followers", perhaps none of those nine will be guilty of any of the following crimes against good taste:

1. Monogramming of car windows - Why oh why must people place a placard with their initials on their rear windows?  Is the fact that you own (or lease, whatever) the car, drive the car, and fill the car with your trash, your music, and your monogrammed travel coffee mug not enough to prove to the world that it is, in fact, your car?  This is mostly a female affliction from what I have observed.  I've not seen too many men driving around out there with big, pink scripted letters with their initials intertwined on their cars.  So, are we as females so insecure that we cannot be satisfied by simply having a nice looking sedan or SUV?  Must we now compete with each other to see whose monogram font is the cutest?  It is really annoying and appears to me to be a desperate cry for attention.  Plus, what if I accidentally cut someone off in traffic (or in some other way inadvertently make someone else mad while I'm driving)?  If I've got this or anything mentioned below, my car is now much more recognizable and easy to identify.  I much prefer to fly (drive) under the radar.

2. Cutesy family characters on car windows - The thinking here is that in case passersby cannot see into my car, I want to assure them, that this is a car holding a loving family of cute stick figures; including adorably sketched cats, dogs and fish.  Do we do this because we want to confirm to our high school nemesis that we did get married and successfully had children?  Are we bragging about how proud we are of our little perfect family?  What is the point of announcing to the world that I've had two children by placing a caricature of them on my rear-view mirror?  And please, please do not forget about the ones where every family member, including the aforementioned pets, are wearing Mickey Mouse ears.  Don't get me wrong.  I admitted in a previous post that I am now a Disney nerd.  But not so much so that I'm going to completely embarrass and humiliate my family by plastering it on my car.  My car!  My car is a means to an end.  Not a shrine to myself.  I'm not that vain.  Why, then are other people?

3. Piss on________________ - Ah, those clever little Calvin and Hobbes-looking characters who are urinating on Fords, Chevys and any other truck that needs to be taken down a notch or two.  One thing I will assure my readers and my fellow travelers is that if I ever own a truck, I will not "piss on" whatever truck you may own if it differs from mine.  We can both own a different model of truck and still be friends and kind to one another.  That is my promise to you as a good citizen of the road.

4. Political Bumper Stickers:  There are far too many to name but we've all seen them.

Don't Blame Me, I Voted For Kerry

I'll Keep My Guns, My Money, And My Freedom, You Can Keep Your Change

Obama/Biden - Because Everyone Deserves What You Worked So Hard To Obtain

I'd Rather Go Hunting With Dick Cheney Than Driving With Ted Kennedy

Jesus Was A Liberal

The arrogance of these bumper stickers amazes me.  As if some clever little saying on my back fender is going to change the political mind of the person who passes me in traffic.  Why are we so consumed with telling everyone everything that we think, feel and believe?  Does anyone care?  The answer is no, no one cares.  If someone wants your opinion, they will ask you.  They won't get in the car, fasten their seat belt and go driving around in search of some sensible solutions for the country.

5. "Clever" or "Funny" Bumper Stickers - I actually have a friend who sends me an email or a text message anytime she sees one of these little gems.  I do the same with her.  There are so many idiotic slogans and musings out there that you wonder A. Who took the time to come up with it; B. Who took the time to actually have it printed; and C. Who actually would pay money for it?  Below are some of my favorites from recent memory:

Cowgirl Butts Drive Me Nuts

Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Dragons For You Are Crunchy And Taste Good With Ketchup

Whose Cruel Idea Was It To Have An "S" In "Lisp"?

Atheism is A Non-Prophet Organization

Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion

Wear Short Sleeves - Support your Right To Bare Arms!

There's really nothing I can say about any of these that they don't already say for themselves.  And yet, every time I get into my car, I run the risk of coming face to face with these and countless other stupid sayings.  When I see things like this, I begin to hope that somehow my tires will kick up a rock and crack the other person's windshield.  They would deserve it for making such a poor choice when adhering the sticker to their car.

I guess what bothers me about all of the things above is that it speaks to me of a society looking for attention.  The 15 minutes of fame we hear so much about.  The I'm not content to simply be on the road driving around quietly from location to location attitude of it all.  The I need to shout mentality.  Shouting - just like they do on CNN and Fox News.  Just like they do on every reality TV show.  I need you to know exactly what I think whether you care or not.  I need to be seen and I need to be heard because that will make me more interesting than I actually am.

It's not enough these days for people to simply exist in and among everyone else.  They have to have their initials, their "footprint" branded into everything to feel a sense of worth.  Well, I can tell you I am perfectly happy with the barely-noticeable sticker I have on my own back window.  It is one that supports local law enforcement.  I have it there in case I am pulled over again for speeding in the hopes they'll see it and kindly let me go with a warning.  If they saw something there about cowboy butts, I think I might be looking at a ticket...

Before signing off, I will answer the question many of you probably are asking:

If she thinks that people with their initials on their cars are desperate for attention, what does that say about someone with a blog?

The only thing I can really say that would make sense would be:

Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion.

Stupid Songs

Well, it's been a while since my last blog entry and it's pretty much because I've been lazy, sick, and on vacation (and at one point I was all of those things at one time!).  Anyhoo, I've also had nothing even mildly interesting to say, which sadly, is still the case.  But, I was listening to the radio today and one of the dumbest songs ever came on: Escape (The Pina Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes. 

I get so annoyed every time this song comes on.  It was released in 1979 and for some reason, 30+ years later, can still be counted on to be played on just about any radio station multiple times a day.  The premise of the song is that this man decides to cheat on his "lady" because they've "been together too long" and answers a personal ad from a woman who, you guessed it, likes Pina Coladas.  And getting caught in the rain, etc.  He makes a plan to meet this mystery woman and wouldn't you know it, it turns out to be his "own lovely lady" who had written that ad to begin with!  Har har.  What a talented lyricist and a clever story for a song!

It got me thinking about all of the other songs out there that I think are stupid that I am constantly accosted with.  I'm not merely talking about bad songs.  There are plenty of those out there.  And I like many of them even though I know they are bad songs. No, the songs I am referring to are noteworthy because they are bad AND completely idiotic  Listed below are some of my picks for some of the stupidest songs ever written.  One day when it's been a while since I've posted something and I'm needing to write something I'll probably add to this list, but this will have to do for now.

Fergalicious by Fergie - First of all, I think it is pretty presumptuous to write a song about how guys everywhere want to watch what you've got.  I mean, where's the humility?  And while I can appreciate that her body is vicious because she is working on her fitness, I do think it's pretty brazen to talk about how delicious she is. Plus, any song that has the lyric - T to tha A to tha S-T-E-Y, girl you tasty just can't be a good song!  It just can't. 

Am I a nerd because it bothers me so much that she is misspelling the word tasty?  I digress.  Moving on...

Barbie Girl by Aqua - This song makes me feel like my ears are bleeding.  Hearing the high pitched voices screeching out such awesome lyrics as Life in plastic, it's fantastic makes me want to throttle each and every member of the hit-making-machine that was Aqua.  No, it makes me want to jab pencils into my ears repeatedly until I can no longer hear.  No, no, no... it makes me want to grab a door knob and ram the door into my head and knock myself out destroying the part of my brain that would remember ever having heard that song.  It is just awful.

Bruce by Rick Springfield - This is one I do not expect any of you other than my sister to know.  It was very obscure even though Rick Springfield was popular in the early 80's.  Let's face it; his song titles were not the stuff of legends - State of the Heart is an example.   His lyrics weren't exactly complex, erudite musings. Take this passage from Jessie's Girl - You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute. I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot. They were all pretty bad.  But this little gem has got to be one of the worst ideas ever conceived and then put to music.  The song actually alleges that Rick Springfield (you are familiar with his lack of talent, right?) often gets confused for BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN (rock god) because their names are so similar.  At one point in the song, there's even a part where his mother mistakenly calls him Bruce.  Ho ho. 

Unskinny Bop by Poison - So, the unskinny bop is a euphemism for sex.  How clever.  Is "unskinny" even a word?  And how sexy does that sound anyway?  These guys were supposed to be hard drinkin', hard livin' crazy rock god sex machines.  Were they really calling it this?  Did they ever get laid?!

Tiptoe Through The Tulips by Tiny Tim - which isn't really that dumb a song (well, okay, it probably is...) if he would just not sing it like his testicles are caught in a bear trap.  On second thought, have you seen Tiny Tim?  Not sure he had testicles (God rest his soul).  Maybe that was the problem.

MmmmBop by Hanson - Please see the title.

Jenny From The Block by Jennifer Lopez (I just can't bring myself to refer to her as J-Lo) - Welcome to the toilet bowl of popular music.  How much more self-serving could this song be?  Don't be fooled by the rocks that she's got?  She's still, she's still Jenny From the Block??  Did Jenny From the Block only wear her designer baby clothes one time before discarding them?  Because her kids do.  Did Jenny From The Block's haircuts cost over $15,000?  Because Jennifer Lopez's do.  Don't worry, Jenn.  We won't be fooled by the rocks that you've got.  Not for a second.

Well, now I'm just really irritated.  I should have just ignored the damn Pina Colada song and just gone on with my day.  Now it's 11:00 and I've got to go to work tomorrow.  God willing my dreams will be free of visions of the fantastic video experience that was Ben Affleck rolling around on top of Jennifer Lopez in Jenny from the Block.

The "C" Word

A word of warning, this post is going to be a real downer. I said in a previous post that I wouldn't get all serious on you on this blog, but I'm afraid I need to just this once. You see, we recently found out that a dear friend from Mike's childhood has been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and has been given 3-6 months to live.

Think about that. You feel some pain and don't know exactly what is wrong. You go to the doctor thinking maybe it's your gallbladder. Maybe it's kidney stones. You leave the office knowing that you likely will not live to see Christmas. Now every interaction this guy has is met with sympathy and sadness. A gosh, this may be the last time I see you kind of reception. He has two children. They are 9 and almost 6. What could possibly be going through his head right now?

He and Mike had lost touch over the years, as often happens in life. This is adding to the grief and guilt that Mike is feeling. This guy has had a hard life. He had a hard childhood - family issues, etc., gotten into drugs at one point after high school and during that time, they kind of parted ways. Nothing deliberate, really. Just people whose lives were going in different directions. But Mike is now wishing he'd kept in better touch over the years. Thinking maybe he might've been able to get his friend to go to the doctor sooner. All of this is futile, of course. Life unfolds the way it unfolds.

I never knew his friend until now but had heard a lot about him over the years. Most of Mike's stories from childhood involved this person. He practically lived with Mike's family, they were so close. So, when Mike does get back in touch with him, it?'s after he has learned of his prognosis. There is now no time to reestablish a relationship. Only time to reminisce and say goodbye. It is truly heartbreaking. I have been able to think about little else since we found all of this out. Mike and I are both very sad about it - wondering what he is thinking and how his kids will be affected by it all.

I know that there probably isn't a person out there who hasn't been affected by cancer. This story may not be much different than something you yourself have experienced with a friend or loved one. I'm not asking for you to feel bad for me or Mike. I just need to express my sadness over this and reaffirm a commitment to be a better wife, mother, daughter and friend during the short time I am on this planet. In life, none of us are promised anything after this moment and too often we push things aside or focus on the wrong things (Jersey Shore, anyone?). This is yet another reminder that what is important is that we focus our time and energy on things that matter. On family and friends. And on making sure that the people we care about know exactly how we feel about them.

Earlier this month, I got a chance to meet Mike's friend. He brought his kids over to the lake and spent the afternoon with us and our kids and then with Mike's parents when they came over for supper. What a nice guy. There was a sadness to him that I get the feeling was there all along even prior to the diagnosis. He's a good guy who has kind of a had a bad lot in life. Anyway, he talked with Mike about how he lost his father when he was 10 years old. He said his only real memory of his dad was attending his funeral. His own children will not even be 10 when he leaves them. That knowledge is tearing him up. It tears me up to know that, too. He is scared and he is sad. But he is courageous and resilient. He is coming to grips with this diagnosis he got only a month ago. One month gone already. Only a few more to go.

We all die, of course. (I have a big problem with that I may address with God one day. I probably won't though. It's His call, not mine. I suppose I have to respect it.) But few of us know how much time we have left. And let's be honest, he could live for years. We've all heard stories of these fatal diagnoses and people baffling their physicians by outliving their prognosis. But his cancer is aggressive. The chemo may be able to slow it, but it won't stop it. It's too late for that. He's getting along as best he can knowing that his clock is ticking. And ticking loudly.

A few years ago, we lost a friend and neighbor to an unexpected heart attack at age 37 - what I will be in September. In addition to a husband, she left behind a 5 year old son. At the time, I remember thinking that the only thing worse than losing a child (which I absolutely cannot fathom) would be to leave them and not get the pleasure of seeing who they become. As much as a parent loves a child, you want them to always know that and to feel that. If they don't know you or remember you, they won't. The thought of that scares me to death. I always want my kids to know how much they mean to me and how proud they make me. I have been keeping a journal for a while now that one day I can give it to them so they can read exactly what I was feeling for them as they were growing up. I hate to be morbid, but losing that neighbor is what made me decide to do that - just in case I'm not here to tell them myself. And I am also going to be more deliberate about telling my husband, parents, siblings and friends how I feel about them. I want them to know the joy and happiness they have brought into my life.

So, over these next few months, we will keep in contact with Mike's friend and will make opportunities to spend some time with him and his kids. I will continue to pray for him. Continue to cry for him and his children. I will marvel at the grace with which he is approaching his final days in the face of such physical and emotional pain. And, although he will only be in my life for a short period of time, I will be forever changed by the effect he has had on it.

Progress

Since I am completely devoid of creativity, I thought I'd revisit an old post as inspiration for this one. As you may recall, I set some lofty goals for myself when I came up with some new year's resolutions. I decided to take a look at those and see how many - if any - I have actually kept. Sound fun? Probably not, but it might make you feel better about your own lack of drive and/or willpower. Those that I did not complete successfully, I have no one to blame for than myself as you will see. Here goes:

1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)

Update - I remember setting this goal. At the time, I considered saying it would be completed by March. Thank heavens I left that part off. Earlier in the year, I enlarged some pictures and sent them to the local Walmart where I would retrieve them and then have what I needed to make her book. However, we changed computers (Went from a Mac to a PC despite all of those clever commercials that let you know what a fool you'd be if you did that) and we STILL have not been able to successfully transfer pictures from I-Photo to whatever it is I have on this HP. I have asked Mike to help figure this out multiple times. He has not. So, I snagged some pictures from Facebook and had those enlarged to fuzzy, disastrous results. I couldn't very well use blurry pictures for my beloved child's scrapbook. SO, delay. But clearly I've done my part. Mike is the one who let me down on this one. I cannot move forward until he fixes the photo problem.

Prognosis - Unmet but still possible. If Mike Will actually get off his rear end and DO somehting...

2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations...

Update - Well, considering I am eating sugar cookie dough while typing this, no progress. I wouldn't be eating them, of course, if Mike hadn't bought them. Once again, he messes up any chance I have at success!

Prognosis - Not reachable. A stupid resolution to begin with. I should have known better.

3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children.

Update - How in the hell (eek!) am I supposed to quit cursing when f@!king (yow!) people keep doing sh*t (oops!) to piss (ack!) me off?

Prognosis - unf@!kingreachable.

4. I will keep my car neat and tidy (but not necessarily clean).

Update - Well, the "not clean" part is right on target. The rest of it, this "neat" and "tidy" nonsense, is a no-go. My car is more disgusting than ever. I mean, sure, it's dirty. Bug carcasses on top of bug carcasses. Bird poop on the windshield that has been smeared by a failed attempt to get it off with the wipers. But the inside of the car... that's the real horror story. Petrified french fries. Dust all over the dashboard so deep I cannot even see the odometer. Chicken nugget-breading and colorful nerds wedged so deep into the crevices of the carseats that I'm surprised the government hasn't intervened. It's foul and I don't see any hope of improvement. I'm sure this one is Mike's fault, too.

Prognosis - Not reachable. Unless my children's health becomes affected. Then I'll have to do something.

5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes.

Update - Well, let's see. Our dear friend Lynda came and took pictures of my girls -FOR FREE - and gave me all of the proofs. No note. Mike's cousin gave me a really cool pottery piece that's a chip and dip server. No note. My sister had us in town for New Year's AND gave my daughter very sweet and thoughtful birthday gifts. No note. Of course, anything I do for her, she sends a timely and thoughtful thank you note.

I swear I think she makes things for my kids just to point out what a crappy person I am for never sending notes. She makes me feel really bad about that with her smug way of always being kind and thoughtful. She always sends Lynda a thank you note I'm sure. How am I supposed to compete with that? If we are comparing me to her, I will always lose. It's so defeating. I'm too busy being defeated to be able to find the time or the energy to write a thank you note.

Prognosis - My sister makes it all but impossible for me to accomplish this one.

6. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE??!! WHAT WAS I THINKING? I will stop complaining so much.

Update - Well, how would you know if I've accomplished this one? All I said was that I'd stop doing it so much. You have no way of knowing how many times I would have done it were it not for the setting of this resolution. Therefore...

Prognosis - I'm accomplishing the crap out of this one.

7. I will be more patient with my children.

Update - I was laughing as I typed that back in January and I am laughing now. My children aren't laughing though. They are crying because I've just completely lost it with them over something trivial. *Sigh* But, really, if they were better children, I wouldn't have to lose patience with them. Clearly this one is their fault.

Prognosis - Still laughing...

8. I will be healthier.

Update - Okay, FINALLY one about which I can give you some good news! I have recently decided to actually pursue this one. The first half of the year was an exercise in gluttony. I ate whatever I wanted (which was mostly junky foods) and in enormous portions. To be honest, I don't remember the last time my stomach growled. I was never hungry because I was always either full or eating. I began to see pictures of myself (Damn my friends for tagging me in them on Facebook!) and realized that although I certainly looked like it, I was, in fact, not 13 months pregnant. I was, in truth, heavier than I had ever been without being pregnant.

I felt horrible in my bathing suit with my generous gobs of flesh spilling over the sides. My legs were doing that thing where they touch at the very tops of my thighs. I HATE that. In all honesty, my legs are shaped like that and will probably do it even when I'm down to my ideal weight. But, it was so bad that anytime I was in a skirt, I would have to waddle so they wouldn't rub together and chafe. Eek!

I was also tired all of the time because of all of the junk I was eating. We were going out to eat a lot because I was too lazy to cook anything reasonably healthy. So, about four weeks ago I decided I had had enough - just in time for the results to be obvious in the fall when no one would notice.... But, I am happy to report, my legs are looking better; more toned. And I have lost a few pounds. I am also back to being able to run almost three miles without stopping - a tremendous feat given the amount of time I have neglected my treadmill duties. Yay me!

Prognosis - If I keep it up, reachable. But I have to admit, it's a struggle for me.

9. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy.

Update and prognosis - But I am really, REALLY happy being frumpy and lazy!!

This one was actually originally written from the perspective of what my husband frequently comes home to - a tired, lazy sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt or jammies-wearin' vision. This one has actually gotten a little better since I have rediscovered a will to be healthy. But the trade-off is that now instead of me being in my jammies when he comes home from work, I'm in my more hideous "workout" ensemble and covered in sweat and stench. Probably not much better, but hopefully after a shower, he's more pleased with what he sees.

Mercy, revisiting that list was exhausting! and i am really annoyed with all of the people who are preventing me from meeting with success as I pursue these objectives. Why on earth would I set so many goals for myself? I should have known better than to try and tackle all of the areas of my life where I am failing. Surely one or two would have been enough. And since it was so exhausting, I have clearly had my workout for the day.

Maybe I should go on and retire to the couch with a big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I've got a lot of cursing and complaining yet to do today...

The real measure of your wealth is how much you'd be worth if you lost all your money. ~Author Unknown

I saw a report a few days ago in which, once divorced from Tiger Woods, Elin Nordegren would receive $750 million. That is not a typo. $750 MILLION.

I get that he was a cad. I get that he publicly humiliated her. I get that he probably exposed her to Chlamydia and scores of other STDs (have you seen some of the girls he cheated with??). I get that he completely ripped their family apart. But $750 million? Was it really worth that much money?

Think of all the perks she had being married to him. He’s a superstar. He was once beloved (and likely will be again the first time he blows everyone away on the course). Sure, it must have been hell for her marriage to end the way it did, but wouldn’t – and I’m just throwing this out there - $28 million have been enough? How about $50 million? No? What about $100 million? Surely that would suffice.

What on earth will she do with $750 million?

Here is the part of the story where I tell you what I would do.

First, I would give tax-free gifts to my family and close friends. I’m not sure what the laws allow you to give, but I’d like to be able to share my good fortune with those around me. My motives, however, are not entirely pure. I mean, yes, I would want to be able to help them financially (those poor, ingrates who do not have the millions of dollars that I do). But also, by giving them some of my wealth, I eliminate the inevitable problems associated with suddenly being rich.

Here’s what I figure: If I’ve got $750 million, and I go to lunch with a group of friends, they will expect me to pay. "She’s got $750 million. Why should we pay?” However, if I go to lunch with these people and offer to pay, it becomes, “Oh, I guess we’re too poor to buy our own lunch. Not everyone has $750 million, you know…” People begin to resent what you have. It becomes a burden and you begin to doubt if people really like you for you (the real person you were before you were buried under all of that money) or if they just want your money. If you are already sharing the wealth with your loved ones, these awkward encounters are not as likely.

Second, I would buy a beach house. Doesn’t have to be too fancy – maybe in the $15-20 million range. You know, modest. Understated. It would be big enough for my extended family to all be there together but not so big that you’d never see the people in the next bedroom. I might also buy the houses next to it, so multiple families/friends could stay. And the beach would most likely be Hilton Head. It’s nice. It’s convenient. I am a creature of habit and already know my way around. It’s already kind of a home away from home, so why not own an enormous house there?

I’d also buy a house on Nantucket. I’ve never been there, but I hear it is very quaint, very private, and very expensive. Expensive is no longer a problem, remember. I have $750 million at my disposal. I should also buy a house in Vail or Aspen or somewhere like that.

We already have a lake house, so there’s no need to buy that. It is very, VERY small but very cozy. I love it. It is the perfect getaway – relaxing, nice views. It is so small that you have no choice but to spend time together as a family. You’re practically on top of each other. It’s perfect the way it is today. A great place for our family to have many summers making terrific memories. Anyway, once I had my millions, I’d bulldoze it to the ground and start all over. Nothing too fancy, it should be rustic since it’s on the lake. So, it would be shabby chic. More in the $3 million range. (I’m not flashy, for heaven’s sake!)

I’d travel a lot, I guess, but mainly just going from beach locale to beach locale. Mike would want to go to Europe and Asia and boring places like that so I’d do that too, but I would also go to every exotic beach on the map. I may even buy an island while I’m there. Who knows.

I don’t like to fly, so traveling will have to be dealt with carefully. Actually, that’s not true. I HATE to fly. It scares me to death. I feel like being in the air is extremely unnatural and that the whole time we’re up there, the pilot is fighting off the plane’s urge to crash. So, I would have to buy a plane (obviously) and put a very experienced pilot – and co-pilot (in case the pilot dies mid-flight – which could happen!) on my payroll. It would be a commercial jet, renovated to look like a private, chartered jet. I would choose commercial because they don’t crash as often as those private planes. There are reports all the time of entire families or entire management teams going down in a private plane. Commercial would be the way to go, but I’d still want the luxury of a private plane. Actually, I would have a plane like Air Force 1. They make those planes practically indestructible. And it goes without saying that there must be alcohol on board so I can be out of my mind for the duration of the flight. Alcohol would be an absolut must. “Absolut” – get it? My money has started to make me clever…

I would most certainly employ a full-time chef who could cook scrumptious yet healthy meals for me and my family. I would have a masseuse come to the house weekly (daily seems too gauche). I would also have a personal trainer who works with me at least 4 days a week. There would no longer be any excuse for not being in good shape. I would have a hair and make-up person like celebrities do. Have you ever noticed the “Stars Without Make-Up” editions of supermarket tabloids? Those people are HIDEOUS! They have people who know how to work hair and make-up to each person’s advantage. That’s what I need. I don’t think I want plastic surgery – I just want to make the most of what I have. A team of personal stylists should do the trick.

Also, being a multi, multi-millionaire, I would assume I’d have access to top-name talent. I’d fly in Emmylou Harris, Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett and other favorites to entertain me at dinnertime, special occasions, etc. I’d also have an elaborate movie theatre in my home and buy the rights (or whatever it is you have to do) to see all of the new releases from the comfort of my big, comfy, expensive couch. I’d need servers, of course, to be there when my bucket of popcorn runs low. If I could avoid going to the theatre and being annoyed by all of the talking, cell phones and other interruptions, my movie-going experience would be much more pleasant. Better yet, with that kind of money, I could just pay the actors to come to my house and act the whole thing out.

I do think I would get very tired of having access to everything I ever wanted under the sun. Those things would all be great, and I would finally be smokin’ hot – which I have always felt I was meant to be – but I’d have to do something. Not a job, of course. What are you going to do, pay me $50k a year? That’s pocket change to me now. I’d have to do something worthwhile. Something charitable.

I know I’d give millions to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, the American Cancer Society and the Humane Society. I think I’d get the most enjoyment, though, out of doing things like Oprah does – random acts of kindness for lack of a better, less nauseating, term. I’d like to find people in the community who need help and be able to help them. Be it put them in a new home, pay off medical expenses, send an ill person on the vacation of a lifetime, or pay funeral expenses for families who can’t afford them. Those kinds of things. And I would do it anonymously (although who else in the world, other than Elin, has $750 million and the means to do this?). It would be simple acts of kindness and people don’t show enough of that these days.

I would probably have to start a foundation or two. “The Maggie McCallie Charitable Something-or-other” has a nice ring to it. I’m not sure what all of my causes would be just yet, but I do know of one – I don’t think any person should have to pay to put a beloved pet to sleep. I’d establish some kind of foundation so that euthanizations would be paid for.

So that’s all of the things I would do with such an enormous amount of money. Let me tell you what I would not do:

I would not have a list of demands like a lot of celebrities do like –

I have to have my ice water chilled to a crisp 48 degrees and served to me in a champagne glass.

Or,
No one can look me directly in the eye until after 10:30 a.m.

Or,
I have to have total silence as I walk through an airport.

Or,
Each steak I eat must be cut into 11 equally sized bites.

Egomaniacal celebrities demand unreasonable things like that as though the rest of the world exists only to cater to them. It’s ridiculous and I would not expect or accept special treatment. If I go out to eat, I’ll wait in line like everyone else. Wait a minute – I have $750 million – I’m only going to eat at places where reservations are required! But, hypothetically, if I went to one of these restaurants, I would wait in line like everyone else because the money makes me no better a person than the next guy.

I would also not behave like these vapid socialites we see on TV and in the tabloids. In other words, I wouldn’t turn into a Real Housewife of Chattanooga. I would keep my public drinking under control and always remember to wear underwear – especially when exiting a vehicle with teams of photographers around. I wouldn’t be any dumber than I am now and I wouldn’t try to act dumber than I already do. The people I am referring to seem to celebrate insipid behavior. I would at least try to appear to be deserving of the wonderful fortune that I was lucky enough to have.

The funny thing is, I could do all of the things above – the homes, the servants, the planes, the foundations - and still never go through $750 million. And truly, what is $750 million REALLY if you don’t have anyone to share it with? Seriously. Yes, that much money could buy some measure of happiness. But if I don’t have my family and friends and good times and even the tough-times-that-suck-at-the-time-but-actually-do-make-us-better-and-stronger, then the money is meaningless. I’m not saying Elin needs Tiger to be happy, but she does need love.

I’m happy I have it even if I don’t have the $750 million.

Now, I do believe I have a lot of love in my life. And a faithful and good husband. BUT, if he cheats with even one woman, I’m taking his money and buying a big, fat beach house.