Mother Nature, you old bitch... you got me again.

I'm so over winter.

This morning our school did not delay, although the weather was iffy. I don't work in the district in which live and the districts that surround my house all had two-hour delays. There were a couple of inches of snow at our house, so as he must on snowy days, the Hubster spent a pre-dawn hour clearing our driveway -- actually a long, unpaved, private road that is sort of a cross between San Francisco's Lombard Street and Khyber Pass.

By the time we left for work/school it had stopped snowing. The Hubster took the kids to daycare (he usually does since it's closer to where he works). As I turned from our driveway onto the main road, although it was a little snowy, it didn't seem bad.

This is where the ominous music should kick in.

Not half a mile down the road from our house, I almost completely lost control of my car, a Ford Escape. Was it frozen slush? The legendary black ice? Whatever it was, it was bad luck. Thankfully, I wasn't going very fast. Also, I have the skills of a NASCAR driver, if I say so myself. If it wasn't for the oncoming car, I think I would've been able to keep mine on the road. As it was, I did a series of vigorous loops and whirls -- sort of like a two-ton ballerina -- and in an effort to keep from slamming directly into the other car, aimed mine for the berm* the best I could. My neighborhood is semi-rural in nature, with enormous front yards and houses set far back from the road so this was the safest bet. I bumped over the edge and down an embankment, still spinning, and decorated the lawn of a neighbor's house with one of those pieces of performance art they like to do at Daytona.

When I rocked to a stop -- and do you know the oncoming car, having seen this all happen, barely slowed down and absolutely did not stop to see if I was okay -- I put it in four wheel drive, climbed back up the drop-off I had just skidded down and, as Charlie Daniels once put it, "limped on down the shoulder on the rim." Or rims, as it were. The two driver's side tires were f. l. a. t.

Unbelievably enough, three hours later I was safely at work. The Hubster had been my pit crew and it turned out the tires had merely popped their beads and didn't need to be replaced. By every facet of the experience, I was amazingly lucky.

But please please please can this winter be over now?


*It just occurred to me that the way I use this term might be a colloquialism. Apparently, it is. Wikipedia informs me that "In Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and West Virginia, the word "berm" refers to the shoulder of a highway." Okay, then. Shoulder.

Twitterpated

Towards the end of last summer, two things converged on me, purely by coincidence, pushing me toward a new obsession.

For my birthday, the Hubster got me a BlackBerry Curve. Yes, the pink one. I've wanted a smart phone for a while, since trying to juggle all the information I need to carry around with me using a separate cell phone and Palm Pilot turned out to be awkward. He also wanted a BlackBerry and some of our friends had started to get them (allowing us all to use the nifty BlackBerry Messenger), so it seemed like the time to take the plunge.

Not long after that, I signed up for Twitter.

I'd read about Twitter a couple of years ago when it first started out and was getting a lot of press. I even visited their site back then to see what it was all about, but I just didn't get it. At the time, I didn't read as many blogs as I do now and none of the blogs I read used Twitter. I didn't know anyone personally that used Twitter. Also, it seemed inane to me. The idea that someone, even my real life friends, would be interested to know that right now I'm "eating the best piece of pizza in my life" seemed far-fetched. I don't think I'd heard the term micro-blogging at the time, but even if I had, it's a fair assumption that I still wouldn't have gotten it. Then the writers of some of my favorite blogs started to Twitter, but I just ignored the widgets in their blog sidebars because I still didn't get it.

Now, however, I get it. And I love it.

My original motivation for signing up for Twitter was that, during the presidential election debates, Cecily at Uppercase Woman decided to tweet her thoughts in real time rather than write up posts later and I wanted to know what she was thinking.* Then I noticed that Zoot also twittered, so I signed up to follow her, too.** And then I noticed Alexa at Flotsam had a Twitter widget on her blog. So I signed up for her updates.***

I think you can see where this is going.

I love knowing what people are up to, in between their regular blog posts. As anyone who is reading this realizes, since Goose was born I haven't been able to keep up with this blog the way I used to. I think I'm getting better, moving back toward regular postings, but still days (okay, weeks sometimes) can go by where I just can't carve out enough minutes to write something coherent and interesting, so I don't write at all. Also, sometimes I have a thought that's not really long enough for a full-fledged post, but something I'd like to put out there. And that's one of the things Twitter is great for.

The only third-party application I've downloaded for my BlackBerry is Twitterberry. Now Twitter is my new obsession. I have an addictive personality; it's a characteristic I willingly acknowledge. Even as a child, when I became interested in a subject (Like gerbils. Or puppetry. Hey, I've already established I'm more than a little weird.), I'd go to the public library and check out every book possible about it, take them home and pore over them until my mental sponge was saturated. I thank god we didn't have the internet back in the 70s; if we had I think I'd have been some pasty child that viewed the outside world only through her window -- either the literal window in my room or the figurative one that is a computer screen -- because the internet? Oh, the limitless information! (I know, I know... I'm preaching to the choir.) I'm also grateful that through all that reading I learned early the intellectual tools of analysis, synthesis and evaluation. At least I can think critically about the information I'm presented with and form my own opinion. However, as usual... I digress.

With my BlackBerry, I can access Twitter anywhere. And so I do. (Yes, I can access Blogger and Bloglines too, but they're a lot more cumbersome. Someone really needs to develop a cute little app like Twitterberry to make them more accessible via their mobile sites.) Twitter is easy to keep up with it. Usually. I mean, I do still have this pesky family and all that takes up most of my time. But Twitter -- and my BlackBerry -- have kept me from completely falling behind and dropping off the grid. It's quick to read and quick to post. It helps me feel like I'm still connected.

This is my confession that I'm completely twitterpated. (I actually have a really cool Disney album from my childhood that has a song called "Twitterpated" on it. I think it's from the movie Bambi. Now if only I still had a record player...) I'm slowly adding interesting people to follow. (What can I say? I'm picky about to whom I give my time) There's a Twitter widget on my own sidebar now. I'm very glad that our school's tech guy hasn't discovered Twitter yet, as he would definitely block it like all other social networking and social media sites are blocked on our server (as I'm sure they are on every other public school server in the United States). When that day comes, I'll be exceptionally grateful for my BlackBerry. (The love I feel for my BlackBerry could fill a whole 'nother post). Because I can't go without my Twitter fix.

On a related note, I'm working hard to resist the lure of Facebook. We'll see how long I hold out.

*Cause I think she's awesome. Smart. And funny as all get out.
**Cause I think she's awesome. Smart. And funny as all get out.
***Cause I think she's awesome. Smart. And funny as... well, you know.

Snow Day, Va-cay

Okay, it was really a snow days vacation. Two glorious days off just when I needed them most. It ate up just about everything we had left of Spring Break, though, and now I'm looking at a nearly unbroken* chain of days stretching forward until Memorial Day. Oh, yeah. That's the end of MAY people.

But right now I can't be anything but grateful. We even had a 2-hour delay today. I'm more well rested and more together than I have been in a damn long time.

*Only by Good Friday.

Second Verse, Same as the First

The Hubster's on another business trip and true to form, the kiddos are sleeping like shit. This happens without fail whenever he goes away. It's like the boys know I have no backup and try to see how much I can take. If I had any money, I'd think they were gaslighting me. This morning, I'm running on a mere 2 1/2 hours sleep. That's damn near empty.

Last night I started the bedtime preparations at 7:00 p.m. It took me an uncharacteristic two hours to get Goose to stay down, then it was nearly 10:00 p.m. before the Monkeyboy finally drifted off to sleep (although he went to bed not long after 9, after half an hour or so he summoned me back with plaintive cries of "I want my mommm-meeee." Gets me every time.) By the time lunches were packed, bottles were prepped and I was finally ready for bed, Goose was back up, having peed through his jammies and onto his sheets for the first time since, well, ever. At 1:30 a.m., I was still rocking him, not able to get him to sleep anywhere other than my arms for longer than the fifteen seconds it took me to gently place him in his crib, his eyes to pop open, his arms to flail around in the wait!..where?..what the?!... motion, and the yelling to begin. Someone else has learned to say mama now too. I. am. a. sucker.

When I finally had him soundly asleep -- at least I think so -- I heard the click-click-click of the dog's nails on our hardwood floors. She had woken and, finding me not in my bed, came looking for me. My blood ran cold as I realized I had left the baby's door open and knew that she certainly would search me out there. It was no use. Slowly she crept into his room and although I tried whispering for her to go lie down, she sniffed us both up and down, making sure we were okay. At her height her face is right at lap level. In case you're wondering, a ticklish dog beard will wake a baby every time.

At least Goose is happy when woken at night. However, I'm not. At 2:00 a.m., my Hail-Mary move was to stuff him in his swing and hold his hand until he fell asleep. I crept into bed and slept like the dead until 3:30 a.m. when Monk awoke again, this time calling "I want my daaaadddd-deeee." Thankfully, all he wanted was a cup of milk. I willingly would have given him a gin and tonic if that's what he would've asked for, as long as it meant he'd go back to sleep.

I should have taken the day off, but I expect that tomorrow's predicted snowfall will leave me and the kiddos trapped up the Winding Driveway of No Return since we have no menfolk to clear the way for us. I'd rather stay snug in my house at the top in the morning than trapped with two children at the bottom after work if that's how, weather-wise, things are going to shake down. So I'm gambling that I''ll catch up on my sleep tomorrow.

The one bright spot in my day? I'm still working on the Great Coffee Experiment (sporadically though, as needs warrant). This morning I finally cracked open the Starbucks Mocha Powder. (Can't remember who told me you could buy it. Jen, maybe?) . Finally I give a homemade brew the thumbs up.

President? Or Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic?

So, the other weekend the TV was on -- since at our house, the TV is pretty much always on, but that's another (addiction) story -- showing Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. No one was really watching it -- since at our house, just because the TV is on doesn't mean anyone is actually watching -- but apparently the Monkeyboy was paying more attention than I thought. Apparently, he pays more attention to all TV than I thought.

During one scene depicting the Galactic Senate, Monk pointed at the screen and exclaimed,

"Hey, it's Barack Obama!"

I'm pleasantly surprised that at age three he knows there is a man named Barack Obama at all. I'm also amused that he thinks that our Senate uses hovering technology for their floating platforms when the United States doesn't even use the metric system yet. But most of all I'm curious if he knows more about the future politics of the... planet than one would expect.

* * * * * * * * * *

The entire middle school went to the auditorium today to watch the inauguration streamed over the internet. The kids -- ages 11 through 14 -- sat riveted* throughout, clapping and hooting when appropriate. They even rose from their seats when the the people in D.C. were told to do so for the Presidential oath. In my opinion, being in that auditorium was way cooler than being on the Mall in D.C. would have been. Because history was made here today, too. Really, it was made everywhere.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm glad my sons will grow up in a world where an African-American being elected President won't be considered particularly newsworthy. It will just be considered normal.

* * * * * * * * *

My hope is that by the time my sons can vote they won't think a woman President is anything unusual either.

*For the most part. Come on, they're kids.

Education: Change We Need

Ugh. We're currently in contract negotiations at work. For obvious reasons, that's all I'm going to say. Instead, I offer the following:

Education is the silver bullet. Education is everything. We don't need little changes. We need gigantic, monumental changes. Schools should be palaces. The competition for the best teachers should be fierce. They should be making six figure salaries. Schools should be incredibly expensive for government and absolutely free of charge to its citizens, just like national defense. That's my position. I just haven't figured out how to do it yet.

-- Sam Seaborn, The West Wing, "Six Meetings Before Breakfast," Season 1, Episode 18 (2000)

Sleep Deprivation is my Kryptonite

Ugh. The Hubster was out of town all week (he left at what my brother-in-law would call the "butt-crack of dawn" on Sunday) and I am running on fumes. The routine working, commuting, childrearing, breastfeeding, laundry doing, and pumping coupled with the routine-breaking deer hitting, car repairing and single parenting (with the added duties of lunch-making and bottle-washing, among others) means I. am. beat.

All of these things take me until 11:00 p.m. or later to complete. Then I have to get up around, oh, about 4 o'freaking-clock to get us all out of the house and where we need to go on time, since I'm doing it all alone.* And just to spice things up, Goose decided to get up at 3:30 a.m. three days this week. (Not to be shown up, Monk got up at 5:30 one morning, but Goose and I were all like, Whatever, dude. Try again.)

At this point, I'm damn near hallucinating from fatigue.


*Any and every use of this word makes me think of the Northern Exposure episode ("Lost and Found" 3.17) where Joel discovers a previous occupant of his cabin killed himself, but wrote "alone alone" on the wall in his own blood before expiring. But I can't find the actual quote and am too tired to bother to watch my DVD and quote it myself.