I do this each year, either talk about it with a friend, or write my memory of the day down. After all......it is a day of remembrance.
The two things that stand out to me now--before the attacks--was the beauty of the day. The other--I was hideously sick with tonisillitis. I thought what a pity this was--it would be a great day to take the girls--then 2 and 6 months old--to the park.
I was sitting on an exam table when I heard the commotion in the outside hallway. Just a minute later, the doctor came in to write my prescription. I asked him what the hu-bub was about. At that particular time, it was thought it was a small plane. I remarked, "Gotta love air traffic control."
I went out to pay my co-pay, and stood watching for awhile with the staff and other patients.....and saw the direct hit into the North Tower. And said, "THAT was no small plane." The doctor was standing there, nodding. One of the administrators remarked what were the chances....? And I said, "None. This is no accident."
I stood watching awhile longer, but the baby was getting fussy, and so I started home. I opened the driver's side door to turn on talk radio......locked the girls into their car seats, and as I fastened my seat belt.......the news came about the Pentagon.
I raced home, both because Cate was in an all-out scream and because I HAD to see it for myself. After Shanksville, and after the buildings fell, and after the President ordered all planes land--or be shot down--it occured to me, for the first time, so shocked was I--my God, they could be everywhere. And then--Christopher.
I got back in the car to go to his school.....and parents were just walking in, getting their kids, and walking out. Not signing out. Just.......getting them OUT.
Every year, I remember. I watch at least the ceremonies. I recall where I was that day, and I liken it to the Kennedy assassination--even my father, who can't remember what he ate for dinner last night, can tell you EXACTLY where he was when Kennedy was killed.
It still makes me feel as physically sick, eight years later, to see those images I saw on 9/11/01. I mourn the loss of life.....I mourn the last day of our nation as I knew it--September 10th.....I remember--and now I wonder--at a thought I had the night of September 10th--I was so sick, and I crawled into bed as soon as Bill got home, and I thought to myself......how warm and SAFE I felt. I don't think I'll ever feel that safe again.
I remember the courage of those who died on Flight 93....heroes in the truest sense of the word. I saw a documentary--after it had been pieced together what happened, through the messages and phone calls to families on the ground called 'No Greater Love'--in the words of Jesus, who said that there was no greater love than to lay down your life for your fellow man. And they did. They died--but by God, they died on their own terms. It is an enormous testament to the bravery and courage our country was founded on......they had that bravery and courage, even in the last minutes of their lives. If for only a little while, those hijackers knew the spirit of AMERICANS.....and those men and women saved the lives of people on the ground--how many? We'll never know. But I can't help but shake my fist a little in pride, when I think of what they did......for the guts they had, and the courage (and that word 'courage'--as good as it is, doesn't seem quite enough to bear up to the definition of what they did.)
All 3,000 are still in my prayers, as are the families, and those who tried to save them. The people we make out to be heroes, icons--football stars, movie stars (most recently, Michael frigging Jackson comes to mind)--if you want a hero--look to 9/11. Because God knows--we had more than a few that day.
I remember.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Parents' Code of Conduct.......
I have known Bill since I was 14, and with the exception of a couple of years, have been with him ever since. First my buddy, then my boyfriend, and then marriage, and all of the benefits that go along with that......parenthood being one of those benefits.
And three children later, we can see we are partners in yet another sense of the word: prisoners of war; and the only other prisoners held captive as long as we have been are those who were held in Stalin's gulags. The Greenway Gulag. I like it.
Our captors? Our children.
The Code of Conduct was instilled in me long ago by the unsmiling faces and tyranny of my drill sergeants. The Parents' Code of Conduct is one that I have earned the right to abide by.
1) I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.
Parents: I am a parent, fighting an uphill battle with the little people, whom I will never understand. I was NOT prepared to give my life (or my sanity,) but it appears that I will.
2) I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.
Parents: I will never surrender of my own free will--I no longer have one. I WILL surrender the members of my command to Grandma, if just for an hour of peace.
3) If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every attempt to escape and help others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.
Parents: I'm already captured, and I've been here for 15 years. Resisting by all means available is up to and including the use of duct tape and crazy glue: duct tape to bind their hands and feet--not to mention shut them up; crazy glue to attach them firmly to the ceiling. I escape every chance I get-- usually to go to the grocery store. I will take special favors any way I can get them.
4) If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.
Parents: I AM a prisoner of war. I will keep faith with Bill. But I will throw him under the bus for every sanction we attempt to impose on our captors when they cry 'foul'--I don't give a damn if he's my comrade or not. I'm senior....but I relinquish command when Daddy gets home. I will obey his lawful order of 'go get the paddle' and will drag the offending child--kicking and screaming--to their just reward.
5) When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.
Parents: When questioned, now that I am a prisoner of war, I give only, "Because I said so." I will evade answering further questions because it pisses them off. My oral statement: "You just wait until your father gets home....." disloyal to all parties involved--to my captors, for obvious reasons. Disloyal to Bill for obvious reasons, too: let HIM deal with them for awhile.
6) I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.
Parents: I will never forget I am a parent--(how could I? They're waging WWIII upstairs) fighting for peace of mind and therefore not responsible for my actions, dedicated to whatever will get me an hour alone with a good book and a hot bath. I will trust in my God--actually beg him down on my knees--to please move the clock a little faster: bedtime is at 9:00.
And three children later, we can see we are partners in yet another sense of the word: prisoners of war; and the only other prisoners held captive as long as we have been are those who were held in Stalin's gulags. The Greenway Gulag. I like it.
Our captors? Our children.
The Code of Conduct was instilled in me long ago by the unsmiling faces and tyranny of my drill sergeants. The Parents' Code of Conduct is one that I have earned the right to abide by.
1) I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.
Parents: I am a parent, fighting an uphill battle with the little people, whom I will never understand. I was NOT prepared to give my life (or my sanity,) but it appears that I will.
2) I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.
Parents: I will never surrender of my own free will--I no longer have one. I WILL surrender the members of my command to Grandma, if just for an hour of peace.
3) If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every attempt to escape and help others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.
Parents: I'm already captured, and I've been here for 15 years. Resisting by all means available is up to and including the use of duct tape and crazy glue: duct tape to bind their hands and feet--not to mention shut them up; crazy glue to attach them firmly to the ceiling. I escape every chance I get-- usually to go to the grocery store. I will take special favors any way I can get them.
4) If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.
Parents: I AM a prisoner of war. I will keep faith with Bill. But I will throw him under the bus for every sanction we attempt to impose on our captors when they cry 'foul'--I don't give a damn if he's my comrade or not. I'm senior....but I relinquish command when Daddy gets home. I will obey his lawful order of 'go get the paddle' and will drag the offending child--kicking and screaming--to their just reward.
5) When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.
Parents: When questioned, now that I am a prisoner of war, I give only, "Because I said so." I will evade answering further questions because it pisses them off. My oral statement: "You just wait until your father gets home....." disloyal to all parties involved--to my captors, for obvious reasons. Disloyal to Bill for obvious reasons, too: let HIM deal with them for awhile.
6) I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.
Parents: I will never forget I am a parent--(how could I? They're waging WWIII upstairs) fighting for peace of mind and therefore not responsible for my actions, dedicated to whatever will get me an hour alone with a good book and a hot bath. I will trust in my God--actually beg him down on my knees--to please move the clock a little faster: bedtime is at 9:00.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Facebook Witness Protection Program.......
Or, FWPP.....which is almost like the noise your computer makes when someone sends you an instant message in what has to be the best thing that has happened to stalkers since binoculars were invented. I am referring, of course, to Facebook.
And is it creepy that I'm listening to Media Player on shuffle and just as I started this blog, 'Every Breath You Take' started up? I shit you not......God has a FANTASTIC sense of humor.
And so, I'm hiding out here in my blog, (Mission Impossible theme here, maestro).....not wanting to do something so unchivalrous as unfriend someone--and yet reconsidering the definition of both 'chivalry' and 'friend' before I make any decisions and/or conclusions.
It's interesting to watch: with Facebook minimized (so she can probably tell I'm typing something, just not to her, which has got to irritate the living shit out of her--and I'm just enough of a bitch to get a perverse amusement from this)--although, at the same time, I keep getting "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP...." ("Shit, shit, shit....") "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP....." ("Get a clue, get a life, get someone else's phone number....")
And the little icon in the task tray reads, "New message from _________!!" Apparently, the administrators of Facebook don't think that "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP...." will suffice.
FWPP, FWPP, FWPP is kinda like the sound my heart makes when it's pounding........
Too bad for the offending party--MY definition of 'chivalry' was predominantly shaped as the United Nations defined it in their 1947 Charter.
But somehow--unfortunately--I get the feeling that Chivalry as it pertains to the Laws of International Armed Conflict aren't appropos here. ('Armed conflict' conjures some brilliant ideas--pun intended--unfortunately, it wouldn't be international.)
So I guess you'll find me--or not, which is the point--in the Facebook Witness Protection Program.
And is it creepy that I'm listening to Media Player on shuffle and just as I started this blog, 'Every Breath You Take' started up? I shit you not......God has a FANTASTIC sense of humor.
And so, I'm hiding out here in my blog, (Mission Impossible theme here, maestro).....not wanting to do something so unchivalrous as unfriend someone--and yet reconsidering the definition of both 'chivalry' and 'friend' before I make any decisions and/or conclusions.
It's interesting to watch: with Facebook minimized (so she can probably tell I'm typing something, just not to her, which has got to irritate the living shit out of her--and I'm just enough of a bitch to get a perverse amusement from this)--although, at the same time, I keep getting "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP...." ("Shit, shit, shit....") "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP....." ("Get a clue, get a life, get someone else's phone number....")
And the little icon in the task tray reads, "New message from _________!!" Apparently, the administrators of Facebook don't think that "FWPP, FWPP, FWPP...." will suffice.
FWPP, FWPP, FWPP is kinda like the sound my heart makes when it's pounding........
Too bad for the offending party--MY definition of 'chivalry' was predominantly shaped as the United Nations defined it in their 1947 Charter.
But somehow--unfortunately--I get the feeling that Chivalry as it pertains to the Laws of International Armed Conflict aren't appropos here. ('Armed conflict' conjures some brilliant ideas--pun intended--unfortunately, it wouldn't be international.)
So I guess you'll find me--or not, which is the point--in the Facebook Witness Protection Program.
Labor Day....
Around here, they don't call it that for nothing.
We usually tackle a project (or six) on this long weekend--since I worked the last two days, my part came in today when I went upstairs and sorted out that cat's cradle of crochet yarn in my closet, and said adieu to those clothes that I must now admit: I'm NEVER going to fit into them again--even if, in the words of my BFF's husband and buddy Steve--I started a diet in which I mainline meth and crack cocaine.
In fact, it's likely I'll never even fall into the single digits in dress size--three pregnancies--two of which were eight pounds plus--will do that to you. The hips laugh at me in the mirror and say, "Hell no we won't go." My goal is to at least zip my pants without the assistance of power tools. I'm almost there--almost.
The next order of business, I suppose, should be my office. I've already decided I'm moving it--to my closet upstairs. My children will never allow me to have one that looks like it won't be condemned by the Health Department. I've decided that my closet will be my new safe haven. There's not a room in this house that hasn't been overtaken by Bill and/or the kids. It used to be the kitchen (thanks, guys) but now Christopher can cook a little, and even Cate can microwave, so that's now been overrun as well. I get to go clean up after Christopher scrambles eggs--the boy spreads salmonella all over the counter when he cracks open an egg....
And last--tonight after the kids have gone to bed: the nightmare that is the playroom. Since they are outgrowing the days of playsets, it's all fodder for the Salvation Army. The only thing I will allow them to keep is their Littlest Pet Shop stuff--and I will look regretfully at it and wish I had all THAT money back. Most of the space will be replaced with the desks Bill is going to build next weekend for them. I may even be kind and hook up my old computer, if I can reload the system with the disk that came with it.
.....it may be a simpler solution than moving my office.
So--a more adult-friendly house; less kiddie crap laying around. No more skinny-girl clothes; I'll stop torturing myself.
Ciao for now.
We usually tackle a project (or six) on this long weekend--since I worked the last two days, my part came in today when I went upstairs and sorted out that cat's cradle of crochet yarn in my closet, and said adieu to those clothes that I must now admit: I'm NEVER going to fit into them again--even if, in the words of my BFF's husband and buddy Steve--I started a diet in which I mainline meth and crack cocaine.
In fact, it's likely I'll never even fall into the single digits in dress size--three pregnancies--two of which were eight pounds plus--will do that to you. The hips laugh at me in the mirror and say, "Hell no we won't go." My goal is to at least zip my pants without the assistance of power tools. I'm almost there--almost.
The next order of business, I suppose, should be my office. I've already decided I'm moving it--to my closet upstairs. My children will never allow me to have one that looks like it won't be condemned by the Health Department. I've decided that my closet will be my new safe haven. There's not a room in this house that hasn't been overtaken by Bill and/or the kids. It used to be the kitchen (thanks, guys) but now Christopher can cook a little, and even Cate can microwave, so that's now been overrun as well. I get to go clean up after Christopher scrambles eggs--the boy spreads salmonella all over the counter when he cracks open an egg....
And last--tonight after the kids have gone to bed: the nightmare that is the playroom. Since they are outgrowing the days of playsets, it's all fodder for the Salvation Army. The only thing I will allow them to keep is their Littlest Pet Shop stuff--and I will look regretfully at it and wish I had all THAT money back. Most of the space will be replaced with the desks Bill is going to build next weekend for them. I may even be kind and hook up my old computer, if I can reload the system with the disk that came with it.
.....it may be a simpler solution than moving my office.
So--a more adult-friendly house; less kiddie crap laying around. No more skinny-girl clothes; I'll stop torturing myself.
Ciao for now.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Deep thoughts.....
I can't seem to find an entire topic to talk about today, so I'll just write about some of the things that have crossed my mind since we last spoke.
Now--my mind is a big place to get lost in. Medication hasn't changed the frequency at which this happens, either. And when I DO get lost in there, I'm not responsible for what I think.
For some reason, running errands doesn't do much to make me want to take responsibility for what I think.
All that being said--here you go, folks. Some of the things that have sprung--uninvited--into my head the past couple of days. Although they're uninvited, I'm always glad they showed up. Usually they make me laugh out loud, and that makes the people around you wonder what you're up to.......and what girl doesn't want to seem mysterious?
--'Do you want a piece of me?!'--yikes. Talk about your loaded questions.
--I always promised myself I would never tell my kids 'I'll give you something to cry about.' Now--in modern times, that statement is the equivalent of 'I got your ass-whoopin' right here,' which is decidedly more funny. (On the other hand, had my Mom phrased it in the modern terminology, I probably would have laughed out loud--and then she would have given me something to cry about....reverting back to their terminology here, because it wouldn't have been funny.) But, I digress. Would I be reneging on that promise to myself if I said it to the kid behind me in line at the grocery store? Because I had his ass-whoopin' right there.
--If you call my house after a certain time, someone had better be dying or dead. Because if they're not--they will be soon. Can I get an 'Amen'?? Now--praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. (Okay, I will show mercy if gushing blood and/or projectile vomiting is involved--as long as you're gushing blood and/or projectile vomiting for a reason other than public--or private--intoxication.)
--Would you really trust the results of a pregnancy test you bought at the Dollar Tree? And if your answer to that question was 'yes'--I'll see you on the next episode of 'I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.'
--Walmart might take alot of shit for alot of reasons--but I've got to hand it to them this time: I saw a BRILLIANT marketing strategy in there today. A display over in the Health and Beauty section of KY's latest slick idea ('slick' being the operative word.) And--above the display, Walmart's gratuitous "WOW!" sign. Now--what, you may ask, is the brilliance of this? And it is this: just across the aisle from this was the paraphernalia you've no doubt seen advertised of late--parents bum rushing Walmart to get the things their precious darlings what they will need for their dorm room. I was suddenly visited with a vision of a soon-to-be college freshman slipping some of this down amongst the comforters and bath towels (how appropriate.) While I'm relatively sure that KY isn't on the supply list for Anatomy and Physiology class, it couldn't hurt (and according to the makers of KY--it won't!!) The 'WOW' above the display made the idea that much more amusing.....although, I don't think the 'WOW' comes until after the purchase. I think it comes somewhere just before the users start calling upon the name of the Lord--and not so that they will be saved from damnation--rather, so they will not get one of His smallest blessings from Heaven--an arrival that will dovetail nicely with final exams. (And yeah--they might also invoke Him in praise to KY....) I'm going to Hell.
Now--my mind is a big place to get lost in. Medication hasn't changed the frequency at which this happens, either. And when I DO get lost in there, I'm not responsible for what I think.
For some reason, running errands doesn't do much to make me want to take responsibility for what I think.
All that being said--here you go, folks. Some of the things that have sprung--uninvited--into my head the past couple of days. Although they're uninvited, I'm always glad they showed up. Usually they make me laugh out loud, and that makes the people around you wonder what you're up to.......and what girl doesn't want to seem mysterious?
--'Do you want a piece of me?!'--yikes. Talk about your loaded questions.
--I always promised myself I would never tell my kids 'I'll give you something to cry about.' Now--in modern times, that statement is the equivalent of 'I got your ass-whoopin' right here,' which is decidedly more funny. (On the other hand, had my Mom phrased it in the modern terminology, I probably would have laughed out loud--and then she would have given me something to cry about....reverting back to their terminology here, because it wouldn't have been funny.) But, I digress. Would I be reneging on that promise to myself if I said it to the kid behind me in line at the grocery store? Because I had his ass-whoopin' right there.
--If you call my house after a certain time, someone had better be dying or dead. Because if they're not--they will be soon. Can I get an 'Amen'?? Now--praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. (Okay, I will show mercy if gushing blood and/or projectile vomiting is involved--as long as you're gushing blood and/or projectile vomiting for a reason other than public--or private--intoxication.)
--Would you really trust the results of a pregnancy test you bought at the Dollar Tree? And if your answer to that question was 'yes'--I'll see you on the next episode of 'I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.'
--Walmart might take alot of shit for alot of reasons--but I've got to hand it to them this time: I saw a BRILLIANT marketing strategy in there today. A display over in the Health and Beauty section of KY's latest slick idea ('slick' being the operative word.) And--above the display, Walmart's gratuitous "WOW!" sign. Now--what, you may ask, is the brilliance of this? And it is this: just across the aisle from this was the paraphernalia you've no doubt seen advertised of late--parents bum rushing Walmart to get the things their precious darlings what they will need for their dorm room. I was suddenly visited with a vision of a soon-to-be college freshman slipping some of this down amongst the comforters and bath towels (how appropriate.) While I'm relatively sure that KY isn't on the supply list for Anatomy and Physiology class, it couldn't hurt (and according to the makers of KY--it won't!!) The 'WOW' above the display made the idea that much more amusing.....although, I don't think the 'WOW' comes until after the purchase. I think it comes somewhere just before the users start calling upon the name of the Lord--and not so that they will be saved from damnation--rather, so they will not get one of His smallest blessings from Heaven--an arrival that will dovetail nicely with final exams. (And yeah--they might also invoke Him in praise to KY....) I'm going to Hell.
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