Paranoid Blog-oh-phrenia

Crouching inconspicuously at the pool, her one intent to be a good mother and take her children swimming, she notices a woman watching her. Every time her eyes scan the room, they lock in with the woman watching her. Is the woman a lurker? Does she indeed read the blog of this complex self; know the innermost workings of her mind, and wonder at this near naked specimin so clearly exposing herself in public? Does she judge me? Despise me? Pity me?

Is she out to get me?

What You See; What I See.....

What you see: A confused, disordered adult who spills her guts online endlessly.
What I see: An average human being picking up the puzzle pieces, day after day, and slowly but surely seeing a picture get put together. Not so different from you, your neighbor, and your paper boy.

You see a little boy who doesn't know his bum from applesauce. You see a little boy who is wearing bottoms on his noggin.

I'm seeing a whole lot of creativity, life, joy, and kids growing up happy and together.

What you see: An adorable puppy dog. Bringing play and love to the family. Endearing us all with her wide-eyed wonder and soft little puppy fur, and wiggy waggy tail.

What I see: A bum and a ureter. Just seconds from depositing puddles and poops here, there, and everywhere. Then running and hiding in the cupboard when I bellow in my most sincere sinister badgirl voice....... SHADOW!!!!!!!!!!

What you see: The ridiculous plan of packing up two daughters, their two friends, and their auntie and driving to Grand Forks loaded up with American dollars, a couple of granola bars, and a determined plan to shop ourselves into a dither for as long as humanly possible, then drive back home. All in the same day. In March, when the roads are unpredictable and usually snowy and icey. Two days after two accidents.

What I see: One heck of a great memory.

A daughter who is alive and very much 13.

My other daughter- eleven, and great at giggling.

Enough dollar store candy to make Halloween look like a cake walk.

New clothes so exciting that they will probably make my girls satisfied and excited until at least next Tuesday.

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It's all in how you look at it.

One More Shot at Making an Ugly Mark

Back in the eighties I shared the second floor of an amazing old house just off of Corydon and my roomies and I had a party that would be henceforth be remembered as the "cop stopper". As it turned out, the guys who lived below us, (and repaired harleys on the living room hardwood in their spare (sober) time) were also throwing a party, so we just threw all the doors and stairways open and had one great big, cop stopper. It felt to me like one of those life events that I could wear as a feather in my kercheif. Like maybe I had finally moved off the farm...

Well, I'm not twenty-something any more and I'm not afraid to tell you that I've been thirty-nine for some ten months now. You gals all know about the up and coming cougar party, and I trust that your shopping and hair-teasing is well under way. I'm putting quite a bit of energy into plumping myself with that extra twenty to thirty pounds that was mentioned in the comments. I'd forgotten about that cougar special, but I think I can pull that one off. (she says, taking a sip of her wine, and a big bite of baguette with boursin cheese...the sambucca resting in the folds of her thigh).

Last year I hosted my first ever I'm-thirty-nine-and-not-afraid-to-tell-you-what-to-do-about-it-Ugly-Sweater-Party. I'm not joking whatsoever when I tell you that I believed this to be my very own, original idea. I came up with it at the elevater thrift shop when I was enjoying all the ghastly holiday sweaters and wishing I had some reason to purchase them. Turns out that there are other brilliant minds out there. That this has been thought of before. And I'll tell you how I know.

After the Ugly Sweater Party, I received an e-mail from a Michigan reader who was contacted by a columnist at the Winnipeg Free Press. He had googled "ugly sweater party" and landed up at her site. She had been sent a lovely honourary bad-ass sweater corsage since she had been otherwise committed on the day of the party and could not attend in person. Mr columnist guy wanted to write an article about this trendy Christmas party theme and asked her some questions about the event. She in turn directed me to him; and he to me. We exchanged e-mails, and since we were already well into December, he decided to defer until the following winter to write the piece about the ugly sweaters.

TRENDY?! Like I said, I thought that this was my original idea. I thought it was just possible that this idea of mine would be my ticket to finally making something memorable of myself- some legacy for my children, for my future generations.......

Hard to believe its been a year already. Another year off my life, and I'm still not a published author, a tae kwon doe instructer, a famous lecturer, or a coveted artist. But just this week, I received an e-mail from Dave Sanderson of the Winnipeg Free Press. He requested an invitation for himself and his photographer in anticipation of what he probably believes is an annual event for me. Rapidly approaching forty, and fearing that I may never make my mark on this world, I lept at the oppurtunity. So, maybe my works would never get published, but at least I'd get my name and maybe even a photo in the paper?!

So, here's your formal invitation:

on November 24, 2007, 7:00 pm

We request the honour of your attendance

at Joyce's second annual

Ugly Sweater Party

this year featuring

your choice of male escort or attendent.

(not necessarily paid)

No shoes, shirt, or black tie required.

Sweater mandatory.

Bring food and drink to share.

(BYOB&F&S)

(bring your own drink and food and sweater... heck, just bring your own party!)

Care to join me in becoming famous?

Check out last year's event here and here.

This time, if you want to, you can bring your husband or significant other. (just please not both). Leave your kids and pets at home though. They remind me too much of work.

No Screen Sundays

(just don't scroll down and notice that I'm writing this on Sunday. That would make me a hypocrite.)

Every fall and spring and new year, and possibly days in between, I get the undeniable urge to write down some goals and good intentions. Some directions to move into. Some intentional plans to pull into focus the rumbling, fumbling grey matter above.

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At the end of August, I forced my sometimes pliable husband to sit with me and agree on some good intentions for our family life in the new school year. As much as I love screens, and couldn't possibly convince anyone that I'm above all that technology, pretty colours, lights, and sounds..... THEY DRIVE ME UTTERLY INSANE. I like to blame it on the fact that I grew up without any screens whatsoever. We never, ever had a television, and since humanity had just recently left the dank caves, home computers were unheard of. (unimaginable). I like to pretend that this has caused the inability in me to know what balance is. That I was raised on such purity that my "inner child" craves the silence (hah! eight kids!) and creativity of our farm house years.

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So, I foolishly came up with the notion of "no screen Sundays". Not because my parents had taught me that cards and homework on the sabbath were sins, (they didn't.) not because I think it irreverent to humour hollywood on the Lord's day... well, I wish I were that holy but I'm not. I just thought that I wasn't really willing to make it Saturday since that's the day after Friday and some saturday mornings, there's nothing better than a bunch of brain dead kids in front of the tv and me not being side-show-daycare-lady for a change. So I picked Sunday. I also reasoned that we'd be more likely to remember undone homework due on Monday if the tv was off. And that out of sheer boredom and desparation, everyone would come to church with me instead of watching Bing and Bong in their underwear.

*

And its had the desired effect. Children get their homework done. (or sit and cry about their homework, but its a start, right?) Children haul out tape and crap out of the recycling bin and make tvs and computers for their play mobil people. (at least they're seeing some action...) Wildly stimulating and educational comic books get read. Block towers are built and conquered. The hamster's cage is cleaned. Flute practise gets done. Friends come by, dress up breaks into hysteria. Children actually ask to go visit grandma and grandpa.

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BUT THE NOISE!!!

oh the noise.

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I nearly succombed today. I nearly suggested that after they clean up the twelve thousand blocks, the fabric scraps, the milk jug lids, the shoes in the porch, the baskets of laundry and miscellaneous, the playhouse people, the markers, the waffle crumbs, and the bionicle pieces, that we should reward ourselves with an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. Oh, how close did I come.

*

But thirteen odd years of trial and error parenting whispered in my ear..... You know where that will get you. Every sunday from now until eternity the children will use that as a bargaining chip. You know that you suck at saying no. You know that they will see your weakness and rub you with it.

*

So, I did the mature thing.

I made them all go to bed early, after doing all the housework.

*

Then I came down to use the computer in some peace and quiet.

Avoiding Writing About What I'm Really Thinking About

Right now I am wrestling with some big gigantic things and even I in all my non-privateness am not yet willing to write about it. Its so unprocessed that I may spew forth half thoughts that will later produce regrets. I hate regrets. I hate trying to regather feathers once I've ripped open a big old german pillow and shaken it out of a two storey window whilst screaming obscenties from the top of my voice.

So, paradoxically, I will reproduce what Danielle lied ever so kindly over at the Bipolar Diaries.

Sometimes when life bogs you down so completely that you find yourself taking your son through the McDonald's drive-through for fries and all you order yourself is a black coffee..... you just need to indulge yourself in someone else's graces. So, here's what Danielle said today to get me to lift my head off the pillow and give another kick at the can today.

5. Joyce at Chronicles of Blunderview. Joyce is amazing. There are many times when I feel as though we share the same brain...although she is much more prolific than I. She often takes my perspective of looking at life through a kaleidescope....there is no one correct interpretation of any event....and the view changes with every turn.

I love msn encarta dictionary, so I had to take this word prolific over there just to make sure that I fully understood its meaning.

pro·lif·ic [ prə líffik ]
adjective
Definition:

1. highly productive: producing ideas or works frequently and in large quantities

2. fruitful: producing a lot of fruit or many offspring

3. abundant or abounding: present in large numbers, or containing large numbers of quantities of something, especially animal life

*a period prolific of creative achievement

Gosh, what a great word! Let's just review...
producing ideas or works frequently and in large quantities........ Well, YAH! That would be accurage. I used to produce large quantities of hand sewn garments to the point at which my mother ( a workhorse) would shake her head and say... "How does she do it..."

producing lots of fruit or many offspring... HELLO! four kids and a daycare and lots of fruit in the fridge. I've got that one covered.

abundant or abounding.....large quantities of something..... animal life... OH YES! We abound! Large quantities of STUFF, and let's see about animal life... two cats, one hamster, and a dog on the way. And that's not counting what lives in the couch.

Blogging

It all started out as a bit of a game. Splash some words on a screen and see what stranger in what country would add some colour to it. It was a nameless, faceless crowd and probably not a crowd at all. Then those names from the west coast and from the U.K. began to look familiar and friendly and a face or two in my imaginary crowd began to take some shape. Then some family members logged on, entirely out of pity and compassion and in my mind's eye the audience changed again. In time, we added a row or two of chairs to the blog auditorium as we like-minded bloggers discovered one another, checked out each others links, and lobbed opinions and encouragements back and forth.

Now I'm not entirely sure who is is my auditorium. I know of a number of faces though, and more important than that, my annonymous, mostly imaginary crowd has now taken on an entirely different dimension. Sometimes now when I think of squatting for a thought catharsis of a colonic proportion I have to contend with the rows of faces crowding into my locked stall. I prefer to bear down in privacy. Come on in after the sound of the flush and put up with the stink, but please give me a moment to myself.

Now that's where this analogy makes no sense. All this blogstipation and blogahrea is voluntary. I've got no stern lab-coated clinician pulling on a sterile glove to get things moving. (tired of the word pictures yet? I'm almost done....) I may be grossly overstating things here, but is this how a published author feels? I imagine that the first book is written when nobody cares, and author person is living on bruised bananas, all alone at home, typing away in long underwear. Then somebody wants to read it! Then they want more! But they are looking for something specific, something that got touched within them with the first, nearly accidental writing. Does the author go back to the bananas and sweaty undershirt and lose him/herself in the writing, or has the sanctuary of writing become a spectator sport of sorts? Is it possible to go back? Is it possible to not speak to the audience that one has become aware of? And if that is true, then is something of its uniqueness and usefulness lost to a sort of virtual self-consciousness?

Well, come on then. If you are in the audience, here's your chance. If you write, I want to know if you feel like your writing has changed since you've become more aware of your readers. If you read, I want to know why, and whether you've once read something and hoped that the conversation would eventually continue on, or whether it a daily ritual like peeing, or reading the funnies.

Then again, maybe none of you are real.