Change of course

Sometimes, no matter how much we plan and prepare, life happens.

Monday was beautiful. I rushed home from work and into my running shoes, anxious for a few miles of crisp, evening air. Before heading out, I popped a frozen lasagna in the oven and then hesitated at the door when I realized I didn't have a pocket for my house key. I was in a hurry, and decided I'd just use the spare at my parents' house, since I would be there anyway to pick up my son.

Things don't always go as planned.

My run was quick and refreshing. I arrived at my parents' just in time so they could head out for their evening plans. Just one small problem (literally). My parents couldn't find the spare key!

Immediately, I began berating myself for turning the oven on and knowingly leaving the house without my own key. Not only did I ruin my parents' plans for the evening, I've potentially burned down a 150 year old house.

My parents, for their part, could not be any cooler about it. Just like they are about every stupid decision I make. They adjusted their plans, and searched high and low and until the spare key was found.

I've learned, especially in the past few years, to accept that things don't always go according to plan. Sometimes, we make bad decisions. Sometimes, no matter how much we plan and prepare, life happens.

And by the way, the lasagna turned out just fine.

Mom's the word

At almost-five years old, I have no doubt my son’s favorite word is mom, second only to mommy. From the time we get home in the evening until he finally gives in to sleep, I am beholden to an endless stream of requests.

“Mom, I’m hungry.”

“Mom, I’m thirsty.”

“Mommy! I need help in the potty.”

“Mom, where are you?”

Last night, as I read quietly in bed, I heard one last, “Mommy?” from the next room.

“What, buddy?” I try not to sound too exasperated.

“I love you.”

With my heart melting into a puddle, I could no longer concentrate on the book I was reading.

“I love you, too. Go to sleep.”

What a great way to end the day.

Recently Read: Room by Emma Donoghue

Before the holidays, some of my sorority sisters organized an online book club of sorts. I was pretty excited about this because I’ve always wanted to join a book club and the online discussion fits perfectly in my schedule. We’ll take turns choosing the book and post a new question each day of the discussion week. This will be great preparation for when I’m retired and have more time for a “real” book club.

I had some reservations about the first book, Room by Emma Donoghue. First, I was reluctant for the same reason I avoid watching Dateline, The First 48, or any of the other real-life CSI shows that I love… because they keep me up a night.

I decided to read Room anyway, and after cracking the cover, I realized the story is told through the eyes of Jack, a young boy held captive in a small room with his mother. I thumbed a few chapters ahead to see if the point of view was alternated by chapter. Surely we were not going to read 300-plus pages through the eyes of a five-year-old.

It wasn’t long before I was engrossed in Jack’s little room, looking up at Skylight, reading on Rocker, falling asleep in Wardrobe but waking with Ma in Bed. Although you wouldn’t think much could happen in one little Room, Donoghue explores the complex relationship between mother and son, complicated even more so by the fact that Jack has never known anyone but Ma. It’s not exactly a “normal” relationship, but then, neither is their situation. It is, however, quite beautiful how a mother’s love transcends the ugly circumstances in which they are bound.

The other readers in our group agreed that Donoghue succeeded in imaginatively depicting what Jack sees and thinks. For an adult woman to convey the mind-set of a young boy is an enormous task. But a young boy who has never felt the wind in his face or grass beneath his feet… it’s hard to conceive.

I have read about two cases in recent years where women have been held prisoner and even raised children in captivity. I wonder how they would respond to this book. Donoghue has said the Fritzl case gave her inspiration for the story, but nothing more. She also researched extensively the subject of feral children.

Donoghue also points out that she never intended Room to be a Thriller. While it’s not a Thriller in the horror sense, it is absolutely a thrilling read. I recall one night, barely skimming the pages and turning them frantically because I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

Mom's back in the kitchen

I’m putting my apron back on, so to speak. I’m ready to start banging on my pots and pans and making a mess in the kitchen.

I’ve neglected my blog for almost a year. That has to be some kind of record. And yes, I’m back because it’s that time of year; this is when we are supposed to get back on the proverbial horse and do what needs to be done to get the mind or body back in shape.

I might also be a little motivated by the fact that it’s an election year. Although, I am resolved to write more than my political opining, as my life’s become so much more than that. Come back to my kitchen and you’ll see.

M.O.'s "thrifty" dress: blowing wind up your skirt

It's Friday night and the media is still buzzing about the outfit Michelle Obama wore for her Wednesday morning media blitz... because it allegedly cost her a mere $35. A bargain-hunter myself, I was pretty impressed with the dress (and the pricetag) she chose to wear on Regis & Kelly and the Today show. So many people have been searching for her dress online that the newsmags are still talking about where to find it.

Last night, however, I was pretty dismayed to learn on Inside Edition that the dress (from H&M) is actually sleeveless and that her "stylist" added sleeves to it. Now, I'm no math major, but if she bought another dress to add sleeves, then it's no longer a $35 dress. And having a stylist isn't considered thrifty. Just sayin'.

Just Another Joke

In honor of the first session of the 112th Congress... I give you, a joke:

I recently asked my neighbor's little girl what she wanted to be when she
grows up. She said she wanted to be President some day. Both of her parents,
liberal Democrats, were standing there, so I asked her, "If you were President
what woudl be the first thing you would do?"

She replied, "I'd give food and houses to all the homeless people." Her
parents beamed with pride.

"Wow... what a worthy goal," I told her. "But, you don't have to wait until
you're President to do that. You can come over to my house and mow the lawn,
pull weeds, and sweep my yard, and I'll pay you $50. Then I'll take over to the
grocery store where the homeless guy hangs out, and you can give him the $50 to
use toward food and a new house."

She thought that over for a few seconds, then she looked me straight in the
eye and asked, "Why doesn't the homeless guy come over and to the work, and you
can just pay him the $50?"

I said, "Welcome to the Republican Party."

Her parents still aren't speaking to me.

Hotdogs, Bratwursts and Freedom