What to Wear to Work When You Don't Have Anything

Ble-eep! Ble-eep! Ble-eep! I turn around and slam the alarm and then lay in bed thinking ... what do I want to wear today?

I don't know about anybody else, but I tend to go through six different outfits before I decide on the "right" one. Even then, I will finish putting my make up and only to realize the shirt really wasn't the one I wanted. It's because I hate my clothes, I hate my wardrobe and i hate how I look in the clothes. Let's throw in a latex allergy and the joy of picking out clothes diminishes down even further. I think it is because I don't have the perfect body everybody thinks you need to wear certain sizes.

My butt fits into a size 8 -- well, the new size 8. The old size 8's are really a size 6 and so my butt does not fit into those. My waist fits into a size 10. So when i wear something that fits around my butt, I can't exactly close the zipper and button comfortably (although, I can close the zipper and button!). The clothes are so tight that my little muffin top tummy hangs over and I really, really detest seeing the flab with tight fighting clothes. That's not me.

I also have the joy of being taller than most people who generally wear a size 8 or 10. I am the right height (5 foot, 7 inches) but my legs are much longer than "normal" people because when i buy pants, I end up with duck waders and about two inches from the bottom of the pants to the floor. My arms are long and lanky so I need to find large or extra-large shirts just to get some length in the sleeves. Of course, my boobs swim all over in these shirts because the rest of the shirt is too big.

Speaking of the female mammory glands... Age may improve cheese and whine but only plastic surgery can improve sagging boobs. Since I cannot afford form-fitting clothing that enhances my God-given attributes of long legs and long arms, I certainly cannot afford perkier, fuller, and cup-filling breasts. The sag has gotten to my body and I am embarrassed to admit that even the expensive brassieres fail to bring the lift and complete the ful"fill"ment they purport.

Ble-eep! Ble-eep! Ble-eep! Maybe I should just call in sick today with a materializing wardrobe headache.

Online Dating - Been There, Done That. Don't Recommend It.

Chewing out my kids is never a problem; I'm actually quite good at it. I'm actually quite good at chewing out my husband, too. I consider myself passionate about certain topics and when someone asks me for my opinion and viewpoint, be prepared for a biased and strong opine.

So -- a family member decided to get my viewpoint about online dating. Their assumption was because I have an ex who I met online back in 1996 that I may be sympathetic towards certain irresponsible behaviors. While I do have the "Been There, Done That" T-Shirt in a variety of colors, I do not recommend purchasing those shirts from personal experience but admire the shirts from afar as someone else wears them.

While online dating works for some, a person needs to make sure that safe actions are taken. I'm a stickler for online safety and strongly believe people should meet in public places and let someone else know where your are going, as well as checking in after you return home safely. Stupidity arises when you decide to provide your home address -- especially if you have young children living with you.

I can't control the actions of family members living in several states away. I can't even protect my children all the time when they are online no matter how much I want to. I will, however, give you my advice -- Don't compromise yourself or your child because you want a relationship that you can't handle. Don't give out your address. Don't invite this person into your home with your toddler child.

A Nerd, A Geek, or A Stroke of Genius

Studies can go back to the early Dr. Suess book about the introduction of the Nerd and his ability to focus on making differences to improving mankind. Nerds have dark black eyeglass frames and, unkempt hair, and use the ultimate pocket protector to make sure the ink from their six different colors of pens did not spill onto their perfectly white and crisply ironed shirt – supposedly they have never heard of pen caps. Early Internet users were Nerds. They wrote coding to make sure the Internet worked and very rarely would you find a female "Nerd", at least not until the digital age became a little more prevalent and being a Nerd was actually cool.

The Geek is a lot like a Nerd but has one vast difference – a striking social ineptness that portrays the image of "I am smart, just don't ask me to explain it to YOU." Geeks are often the loners who draw more attention to themselves by their eccentric "damn the world style I am going to wear and do what I want." Napoleon Dynamite was a great geek. He knew a lot of random nothingness but when put on the spot, he really did know a lot – just not about the social aspect of dealing with others – perhaps he was actually on the autism spectrum for a social development delay.

In the early 1980s through the late 1990s Nerds and Geeks have had near synonymous meanings. The words were interchangeable; if you were a Geek you were a Nerd and vice versa. With the emergence of social networking and blogging sites where a person can post updates, receive instantaneous news updates, and share international secrets with terrorists across the world with push of a button, one has to wonder – does being a Nerd or a Geek have the same eccentric fashion style and social ineptness behaviors as the decades past or have Nerds and Geeks progressed to a new, elevated level of Stroke of Genius despite the person's lack of designer clothing and frazzled hair.

Rescued

I decided I like poetry. 

The Chilean mine rescue has made me realize what an amazing miracle God has shown us.

Rescued

Dark

Alone

Disconnected

Inside the Earth

Without any light

Out of sight but not forgotten

Weeks into the search

A small clue surfaced

Found but still out of reach

We gathered and waited

We watched and prayed

Below the ground, you did the same

Together we worked

A similar purpose

Today you rose and came to the surface

Connected

Together

Glow

What makes you...

The last month has been a struggle for my sister as she is preparing for a mandatory departure from her uterus. It isn't by her choice that it needs to be removed (she shows signs of cervical cancer) albeit is her choice to have the doctor take the excess baggage out. Stories abound about the trauma the removal of a uterus - the loving and protective home of the unborn child - makes women feel. Does removing one's reproductive organs make them feel less of a woman? What about the woman who has breast cancer and has to have a radical mastectomy and now has a sunken chest? Is she any less a woman? In the real, literal sense of the question, yes, they are less a woman. They now have "less" parts so they do not have standard issued equipment. However, I am going to dispute the validity of parts making the person a woman.

Dedicated to my sister - With love, from Deborah Rachelle

Parts vs. Hearts
I once had an organ inside called a womb,
It was dark, round, protective like a tomb.
My babies were created inside with care,
But their precious life did not end there.
Which contributed more to life - my part or my heart?

God blessed me with breasts to nurture and nourish,
With daily love and care, my babies soon began to flourish.
Each day they grew stronger and needed me less,
But when trials came, I hugged them to my chest.
Which contributed more to their success - my part or my heart?

Through life's trials and challenges I lost their dad,
I thought all was gone but realized, this actually made me glad.
I looked forward to my life -- my hopes, my dreams,
But the men that were cute looked at my busted seams.
Who really wanted my body, my part or my heart?

I met a young man, who looked through my skin,
He saw me for me and the woman within.
Tattered and broken, I gave him my heart,
He took it and held it, cherished it from the start.
What did he relish, my part or my heart?

Parts give life and help feed the child,
Taming the beast, so they aren't so wild.
Hearts are for loving, for joy and for sorrow,
Take my parts today for I have my heart for tomorrow.
What do you need in this life to live? Not your part but your heart.

One night out of 365 days...

Dishes. When clean and in the cupboards, dishes seem nice, pretty, unobtrusive. Put food on those same dishes and leave them in the sink for someone else to wash or put in the dishwasher and the word is dark, foreboding, and ominous. At some point, every child does the dishes after dinner -- just not every child at my house (or so HE thinks).

He has the smile of an angel -- when he is sleeping.
He has the humor of a comedian -- when you get it.
He has the work ethics of -- who am I kidding? There are no work ethics.

I get the autism and that lessens the frustration -- but only to a point.

The simplest chore, such as putting the toilet paper in the drawer so the cat does not destroy it, takes 23 minutes. It actually takes 22.5 minutes to convince him that he was the one who left it out and 30 seconds to run to the bathroom, open the drawer and put the toilet paper in there. Then, there is the request to do the dishes.

Grilled cheese and tomato soup. That's what we had for dinner. One plate, one bowl, one spoon -- per person. Oh, and the griddle, knife to spread the butter, spatula to flip the sandwiches and the pot to cook the soup. Four people eating. Four plates, four bowls, four spoons, a griddle, a knife, a spatula, and a pot. 365 days that everyone else in the family has done the dishes except for the one child. What's left to put away? One pot, one griddle, one bowl, two spoons.

The end result? One argument, ten minutes, and these items still left on the counter. I could five times as many dishes during that time but I have to go back and wonder if the principle of the lesson was worth my frustration.

You're so vain...

I love you just the way you are. Seriously, I do. You're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you.

Pictures are an important part of identifying who you are, who we are. Let's face it, on the Internet, the picture is what people see and they read your blog or read your status updates and tweets--more so if you have the artistic profile picture. So how do you find the perfect picture?

Do you post the one with your eyes closed and your hand outstretched? So everyone can see all your good attributes including possible protruding nose hairs? Oh, the faux pas!

Maybe you pick the one with the big ears and the scrunched up face. Your parents took the photo of you when you were young anyway. Apparently, they were the only ones who thought it was cute. 

The "huh?" look always gets rave reviews. Actually, the game being played really portrays the correct theme of having a "Clue". 

And then there is the "Thank you for taking a picture of my butt, posting it on Facebook, and tagging me in it" picture. Priceless. Nothing further needs to be said other than "Thanks."

Anyway we look at it, we are vain. I am, you are, we all are. 

I am smarter than the average mom...

I tucked my son into bed tonight and he tried to kiss my neck with the "nom, nom, nom" sound. I dodged his kisses as it tickles too much but I was quick to quip, "I am smarter than the average mom!" This made me think, what is the average mom like?

The average mom makes homemade meals every night – from scratch. Just imagine macaroni and cheese made with elbow macaroni, gruyere and cheddar cheese, and crushed up potato chips on top, baked in the oven for an hour and half until the dish is bubbly and toasted to perfection. I guess the smarter mom buys Kraft's Cheesiest Macaroni and Cheese and spends 10 minutes making it so she can spend more time on Facebook.

The average mom spends an hour cleaning the bathroom by scrubbing the bathtub, cleaning the toilet bowl, wiping down the sides of the toilet, sanitizing the sink and counters, and mopping the floor. That does not even include the time spent shaking out the bathmats and washing the towels. I guess the smarter mom realizes germs are germs so why clean the bathroom.

The average mom taxis kids all about town for football, soccer, and drama. Play dates are scheduled weeks in advance and every sports and theater event is attended. I guess the smarter mom sweet talks her husband into driving everywhere because she does the grocery shopping (it takes so much time to plan those microwaveable dinners).

The average mom does laundry on Wednesdays and Saturdays. On Wednesday the bedding is washed and Saturday is spent ironing the dress shirts for the husband. I guess the smarter mom just buys new clothes so her time isn't wasted doing the laundry.

The average mom leaps over buildings in a single bound, dodges bullets, and stops trains. The smarter mom teleports, stops the bullets before they are discharged, and never boards the train. Yep, I am smarter than the average mom.

A note to my son's teachers...

What You Need to Know about Asperger’s Syndrome (High-Functioning Autism)

You have been blessed by having a child with Asperger’s Syndrome in your class. Most days, he will appear to be just like everyone else but there are differences in the “Aspie” child that put him at risk for bullying, depression, meltdowns at home, and academic failure. You may not know that he struggles with learning and understanding abstract concepts. For this purpose, a comprehensive Individualized Educational Program (IEP) has been developed. Please read and keep this information handy throughout the year, as well as his IEP, so that you can help him grow and mature into a responsible young man.

Social Isolation

Every child wants to feel and be included. Aspies are no different but face a greater challenge as they do not know how to be social. Aspies avoid eye contact, talk about their favorite topics, which are computers and Star Wars, interrupt others, and cannot interpret social cues. Their lack of social know how puts them at risk for isolation by not knowing how to act appropriately but also means they are often the child that does not get invited to birthday parties or other events.

Inability to be a Teen

The Aspie’s lack of social skills leads into the Aspie’s inability to know how to be a teen. While some kids wear designer jeans, jackets, shoes, and belts, the Aspie is often stuck with what is comfortable—the same shirt, jeans, and sweatshirt every day. Most teenagers understand they must shower every day; parents of an Aspie child may spend 60 minutes coercing and bribing their child to take a shower every other day. While most teenagers worry about football and friends, the Aspie is hunkered down with Legos and independent play-acting.

School Challenges

Academic struggles are not the only thing Aspie students worry about in school. Aspies like their own space and do not like others invading their space unless they are invited. They also struggle with understanding how to complete assignments and what is expected. Clear expectations and laying out the rules clearly and concisely will let the Aspie know what you expect. If you don’t explain what you want or what you need, the Aspie student will not know. Communication is a challenge and they do not understand implications or ambiguity. In the Aspie’s world, their perception is their reality. They often play the role of the victim and everyone else is at fault.

Somatization, Depression and Acting Out

Aspies internalize their feelings. In fact, they internalize everything. Some Aspies will make themselves sick because they have to turn in a favorite art project and fear not getting it back. Behavior between school and home is relational. A perceived act of victimization can result in an hour long crying, screaming, throw yourself on the floor, and toss the chair across the room temper tantrum.

Some days, you will find him willful. Other days, you will think he is the sweetest boy. Most days, he will appear and act like other students. He has been blessed to have you as his teacher, educator, and mentor for this school year.

I will never forget...

I always try to infuse and inject humor in my blog but today is a somber day where I remember what happened this day nine years ago -- the tragedy of 9/11. I dedicate this blog in memory of the day.

I will never forget an interruption in my daily routine by news of smoke and fire coming out of a skyscraper in New York; until that day, I didn't even know the towers had a name. I sat at home watching my news as I prepared my young toddler for daycare so I could go to work. It was supposed to be a day just like every other. I remember listening to the radio on the way to his daycare (only a short distance from my home) and hearing that this was believed to be a plane. Arriving at the daycare, we watched the next few minutes and witnessed another plane hit the other tower.

Shock. Awe. Disbelief. How did this happen? Why did this happen?

I drove on to my work and looking in the sky I saw a line of about 25 airplanes being diverted to the small Boise airport and then the words came on the radio - this was a terror attack. My mind thought, how could this happen? Who did this? Why did they do this?

As I arrived at work everyone was talking about what had happened and thirst to know more. Did we know someone there? We felt so disconnected not "knowing" anyone, yet "knowing" everyone.

In my car I had a small portable television. I can't even remember why I had the television but it was there. I brought the television into the office and in the back of the warehouse my office became the hub. We had the television on without stop throughout the day. Shortly after connecting the television, we realized there was another plane down at the Pentagon and a fourth flight in Pennsylvania was possibly related to the same terrorist attack.

For days I waited to see who would be rescued. I went through all the names looking to see who was missing and if they had been found. The devastation and loss or missing life consumed me and my heart ached.

I often tell people I feel disconnected being in Idaho, and I do. I don't know firsthand what things feel like, I wasn't there. But, I do know what I felt seeing this from so far away on a small 13 inch television and feeling so helpless.

Despite this tragic, horrific event, I saw a nation come together; I saw a world come together; I saw religious tolerance; I saw strength.

I will never forget how I felt. Shock. Awe. Disbelief.
I will never forget the images I saw. Destruction. Fallen Towers. The Flag.
I will never forget listening to voicemails saying goodbye. I Love You.
I will never forget the victims who lost their life. 2977.
I will never forget everyone was affected. Christians. Atheists. Buddhist. Muslim.
I will never forget the survivors who are trying to get on with their lives. Moms. Dads. Kids.
I will never forget. You.

The life of the Rich and Famous...

Today's guest are Rich and Famous. Unfortunately, I haven't met them yet! My kids, on the other hand, think my husband's name is Rich and mine is Famous. I like to think of us as Poor and Unpopular--let me explain why.

Poor
If this isn't my husband's first name, it is certainly his middle name. He is the poor soul who has to put up with being the taxi driver, going to football games, doing laundry, cleaning the house, playing fetch with the dog, yelling at the kids and putting up with me. In the literal sense, he works all day, goes to school in the evening and periodically gets to harvests his crops on Frontierville but spends all his "real" money on car insurance for the teenager, food for the teenagers, clothing for the teenagers, school supplies for the teenagers, internet service for the teenagers, cellphones for the teenagers, makeup for the teenager (notice not plural!), and all medical services for the teenagers.

Famous
Admittedly, I have false illusions of grandeur where I'm famous, everyone loves me, and everyone wants to be me. Then I get smacked in the forehead with reality and I hear my kids whine, cry, and pout because a privilege has been taken away -- the drama that comes with being mean. When asked what I actually do at my job, I explained to my stepson about the excitement and joy I feel about executing corporate compliance (somebody has to enjoy reading and interpreting the federal regulations and that would be me!). His muttered comment was, "Oh, so you do the same thing at work that you do at home." I suppose you could say, I make unpopular decisions--even though I love the decisions.

So, I didn't marry Rich and I'm not Famous. I may be Poor and Unpopular but I'm also Ecstatic and Happy to be ME!

When I grow up...

Some days I think I know everything. Other days, the evidence of knowledge is quite contrary to my individual perception -- in other words, I'm wrong. Oddly, I find peace in knowing I don't know everything (just don't tell the kids, they tend to think I'm smart).

My epiphany came when I explained my thought process to my dear friend and she patiently listened to my whining. At the end of my tirade, she told me that I might get upset at reading her message telling me that I was wrong. Upset? Anger? Really? I don't think so, she knows me too well and I can only applaud her insight.

I've decided when I grow up, I want to be smart and know everything that I thought I knew but I just never got around to learning.

So tired of the opinionated political "FW" emails...

I am a closet democrat who used to be a republican but I am really probably an independent. I just don't broadcast the fact. My biggest pet peeve? Sending me a FW email about political views (whether they mirror mine or not) and telling me I need to forward it on to everyone I know to bring power back to the American people.

Right, wrong, or indifferent, I'm going to explain my views--but please don't copy and paste and forward this on to five million people and tell them they have to send it to their mother, father, sister, brother, children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, and cousins twice removed.


Immigration

I get border control. I support border control. I find emails telling me we have to kill Mexicans before they cross the border illegally distasteful and, quite frankly, wonder about a person's mentality whenever a person's life is considered insignificant. I guess the person who is somebody else's child, parent, or sibling is just worthless.

Health Care

I pay my health care premiums. I pay my co-pays. I pay my deductible. I have a child with special needs and have him covered under my insurance, his step dad's insurance, and Medicaid. I do not abuse the system but I just cannot afford everything he needs. I take him to his appointments, I know when his medication is running out and I plan. I am fortunate to work for a company that offers insurance. I guess my neighbor across the street with a son who does not have insurance is unworthy and must have her family go without in order to receive the same services. I believe everyone deserves affordable health care.

Gay Rights

I believe in God. I believe God created everyone and everything. I believe God loves everyone. I believe God does not create junk. Blast me for having the views I have but gay people (my apologies if that is not the correct term) should have the same rights I have. I am not gay, nor do I live with anyone gay. I don't even know if I know anyone gay but by God, they should have the same rights that I have. Is it really going to hurt someone if they get married? Seriously?

Muslims and the Mosque

My heart broke on 9/11. I watched the television and cried with America. I detest what happened but am highly offended that "Muslims" are all lumped together in one bucket and everyone of this faith is considered "evil" and should be exterminated. The last time I checked, God created everyone (at least my God did). I guess that means my God created the Muslims, too. I did not have anyone, nor did I know anyone who lost their life in the terror attacks of 9/11. America was able to build a memorial at the site yet the nation is still riddled with fear because a religion is portrayed as violent wants to build a mosque for their place of worship. Get over it, embrace, move on. If the mosque offends you, then don't visit it.

Obama

I voted for him. I'm probably only one of the 48% of Americans who still like him, but I do. I voted for Obama because of what he wanted to do for health care. I voted for him because of how he made me feel -- Proud to be an American. I voted for him because I thought McCain and Palin were pretty old and pretty lame (although she could see Russia from her doorstep). I voted for Obama because I wanted change. I think change can occur but that too many people are focused on a fictitious birth certificate and whether Obama is a Christian, Muslim, or atheist. I thought he was American but apparently only Christians are Americans.

So, until you can send me your words and your thoughts, quit sending me someone else's thoughts. I don't care that all Marines are passing around an email about Muslims not being American or that Obama is an atheist. I care about me, my family, and your thoughts.

Don't send me an email what someone else thinks, write your own damn words.

The competitive edge...

I often wonder, at what age do schools move from "everyone plays ball" to "we only play those on the team that are good because we want to win."

I sit at the middle school football game and wonder, why does my (step) child not get to play. Is he injured? Did he miss a practice I didn't know about? Or does he just suck at playing the sport? The reason really does not matter but the unasked question of "Why doesn't the coach play my child?" did cross my mind and then the thinking began...

Maybe to be competitive, he had to have begun playing optimist football shortly after birth (would that be the crawl version of flag football?). Perhaps he should have begun playing in kindergarten. While we finally agreed to optimist football the last two years he was eligible, did this mean he didn't learn enough to play on the middle school team? Don't worry, the questions are all rhetorical and don't really require an answer but that is my thought process.

So, after three weeks of practices and being the oldest player on the team, I wonder if he just doesn't have the talent, if he has an injury, or if he just isn't one of the coach's favorites...

*done whining because I don't want to be "that" parent*

Some days, you just have to roll with the punches...

Quite frankly, there are some days you wonder why you wake and other days you wonder why you woke up. Why is it that whenever things head south, everything heads south?

I remind myself that my life does not involve the cottage at the end of the lane with the white picket fence but I get to have the home that has stains on the carpet, weeds in the front yard, sparse grass in the back yard, and a mailbox that is half on and half off the post. Instead of gourmet dinners and cleaning utensils and dishes right after fixing dinner, I leave the pizza box on the counter and dishes in the sink for someone else to clean up.

I often like to think I'm "normal" but have realized there is no benchmark for normalcy. I am what I am and sometimes I can't quite figure that out.

Some days, you just have to roll with the punches. Other days, you wake up and smile because you don't have to put on the banana suit.

A Long While!

When I reflect on my earlier blogs, I realize it has been nearly two years since I have shared anything new -- I guess that's what happens when you get caught up in living life and drama goes on all around you.

At the beginning of summer 2009, my son was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome (high-functioning autism). I live in a world where my fantasy include him being normal and me being an over-reactive parent. I only need to spend a few minutes with him to know he really does have the challenges of Aspergers! Was it the day he went out front in 90 degree heat fully dressed in his storm trooper costume with his light saber (he was nearly 12) or the time our friends looked out the window and asked what he was doing only to see him jumping off the side of the car with an umbrella mimicking Mary Poppins (where were the rain clouds??)

Regardless of the activity, having a newly diagnosed child on the autism spectrum has created many new challenges in different areas (including becoming an advocate for him in school). Every day I wake up and a little song goes off in my head-- ouh-ba-dee, ouh-ba-doe, la-la-la-la-la-la, life goes one. I may look up the lyrics one day but for now I just want to hum the tune and not really care about the words.