Nicknames

Everyone has a nickname in our family.  Most of us have multiple nicknames.  Even When I was pregnant the unborn babies were subjected to my odd sense of humor--and a nickname.  Chief wasn't being helpful with the names when I was pregnant with Big Monkey, so I told him that I'd call the baby "Frank" until he decided to cooperate.  It's a good thing we had boys because those were the only names we could agree on--with girl names we didn't even come close.  I called Big Monkey Frank so much that a couple of people thought that was his name--kind of.  It was more of a hesistant, "I think they are calling him Frank..."  Little Man's nickname was "Wally."  I don't know where I came up with these--they just came to me.  They seemed to fit, too.

The dogs have multiple nicknames and songs that go with these nicknames.  My recent favorite nickname is "Flavia"--who razzed me on my blog-slacking.  She's right--slacker!  I've been in the cave of self-despair and gloom.  It's been difficult to climb out of it.  I'll blame it on the weather and my dry, dry, dry skin.  Flavia--I didn't even come up with that one--my friend who misread the cell came up with that one.  I was so indecisive about a potential post yesterday that I just blew it off.  It was a post about a commode, in case you're wondering.

I was thinking about nicknames the other day because Big Monkey loves the story (I'm not sure why--maybe because it's about him when he didn't know himself?) about how I was really craving a Costco hotdog when I was pregnant with him and it gave me the stomachache of a lifetime.  No joke--I felt like I was walking doubled over for the rest of the afternoon and night.  We had a work-dinner meeting to go to, too, that night.  Awful.  Pure humor to Big Monkey.  Go figure. 

Sadly, it's not the only time I've fallen victim to my digestive indiscretions, but just like the commode story--it'll have to wait for another day!

My Black Heart and Summer

This is a sore subject with Chief--black heart.  He was giving me a hard time about something--a long time ago--and said that I had a black heart.  I seem to remind him of that a lot (me and my black heart, etc.) and sometimes it makes him feel bad.  I feel bad about that but earlier today, I really felt a little bit of the black heart coming on.  I'm hot, tired and cranky.  I've done pretty well this summer but today I've had enough.  It doesn't help that I haven't slept much for the past couples of weeks.  I don't have the energy for much and I find myself staring out the window for extended periods of time.  I snap out of it when I realize that our grass is dying and that gives my black heart heartburn.  Bermuda grass should rock in the summer and ours is floundering.  Then, big sigh and attempt to go back to work...



google images: posters.ws

No, I don't think clowns will eat me and they aren't the reason for my lack of sleep but I do find them freaky.  I'm not sure why they are associated with parties (generally happy occasions) and children (generally happy people).  Most of the google images of clowns were either frightening or completely horrific.  Since my day was wasted with a wandering mind, lack of motivation and general crankiness (or black heartedness) I decided to add clowns to my post--I can't stand clowns. 

Tomorrow will be a better day--at least it'll be a new day and clownless.

A rhino drives better than me

From the back seat of the SUV I hear word that an imaginary rhinoceros drives better than me (said rhino is a "friend" of Ephali, the elephant hand puppet who's a lovey).  Little Man's reasoning?--the rhino has a horn and tail and can do more things with them, like text.  Where he came up with this--I don't know.  I have neither the desire nor the dexterity for that kind of nonsense. 

Thanks to these two, I may be developing a little complex...

Of course one of them is wearing socks on his feet and his head...oh, yeah, and he's not real!  Or is he?

As a side note, Big Monkey defended my driving.  He said that I'd win a driving contest (contests are big in our house--but only if you're male).  Little Man countered with, "And where are we going to find a little animal to drive a truck?!"  He seemed a little indignant, as if Big Monkey had said the stupidist thing he had ever heard.

Gung ho! Not so!

Sometimes I wonder if it’s bad that when I’m done with something, I’m done.  I decide that I no longer want anything to do with it and I will ignore what ever “it” is or just let it expire, as in all my yoga cards. 

I’m so into yoga.  I enjoy practicing and it makes me feel physically and mentally well—but there are some other things about yoga, such as the posturing (not the poses themselves, some people's attitudes!) and elitism that I could live without.  That is another rant--I  mean--post.  Currently, I have cards at 3 different places and they all expire within pretty close proximity of each other.  I hurt my knee this summer and the boys have had wacky camp/home/vacation schedules so that I haven’t been able to sustain a regular practice.  I haven’t disciplined myself to create a home practice, either.   So here I am—flexible in body and inflexible in practice.  I haven’t been to yoga for a long while (month) and it’ll feel like “starting over” because of this knee issue and my general couch potato-ness—and, now, I’m just done. 

I’ve had time to go this week as the tick, tick, tick of the clock marches towards expiration dates.  Have I gone?  No.  Why?  Not sure, plenty of excuses and ailments—some real, some not.  I go through phases with this kind of behavior.  Gung ho to accomplish, do or sustain something and then the screeching halt of my brakes stopping me—oftentimes for no good reason.  I throw myself under the proverbial bus.  That’s bad because I usually like to reserve that kind of blame for my family—ha, ha, they won’t think that’s so funny but I had to add it. 

Do you ever have those kinds of moments/days/weeks/months?

Time for me to invoke Ganesh, remover of obstacles, because the kids go back to school on Monday and I’ll have no excuses!  In case you’re wondering, I’m my own obstacle…



crystalinks.com  via google images

If I don't go back to yoga soon, I may end up looking a little roundy like Ganesh, too.  No offense, Ganesh!



Silent Screams



Image from Wikipedia, Edvard Munch's "The Scream" (Skrik)

I wrote an entire post that I liked and was cathartic to write, but I just can't bring myself to post it.  This is the image that was to go with it--it's the way I felt.  I suppose I still feel a little bit like that but I feel better putting the feelings on paper and putting it away.  Kind of like shouting problems to the ocean I wrote about in "The Venting Machine" post.  I had one friend who knows the parties involved read it.  She agreed with what I wrote (hello, Validation!) and asked if I felt better writing about it--surprisingly, I did!  We agreed that while said person was vain, he was not stupid--he'd know it was about him.  I then put it to bed, so to speak.  Maybe the next time I have to go to that place I might have to write another "secret" post--maybe it won't be so secret.  Who knows.  While it was all observation, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings so away it went. 

Night, night crummy appointment.

Night, night egocentric lackeys.

Night, night angry observations.

Who knows whether or not we'll meet again.

If we do, the playing field has just changed.

"Deservatation"

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A little birdie told me Tuesday—“deservatation”

I don’t know how this came up, exactly, but the word of the day is “deservatation.”  Big Monkey made that one up once when he wanted some sort of treat or desert--he blended "deserve" and "dessert" somehow.  We’ve decided that the definition is: the state of earning one’s dessert and the accompanying recognition. 

Big Monkey wanted his deservatation.  

This goes without saying...

This really should go without saying but people do it anyway:

I'm not sure why everyone feels the need to publicly share their "business" with everyone.  The worst offenders are usually chatting and not on a serious call.  Are they that busy?  Do they feel they're more important?  Do they need to feel important?

It would be nice if everyone tried to show others some courtesy--use your polite words; make eye contact; and give your service person your (full) attention.  They are people, too!  Talking on your cell while being served is essentially telling your server/cashier that they are invisible.  We expect courtesy from our children yet many adults don't bother to attempt it themselves.  We all fall off the wagon (frazzled, bad day, etc.) but being polite (even moderately polite) is not that hard once you get the hang of it. It could totally change someone's day for the better.