I don't know why God thinks that I need drama in my life right now. Perhaps he thinks I'm not watching enough Glee or something (not like THAT is possible, though), but right now it's like work, church and family are all ganging up on me. Maybe this is some sort of reassurance that I'm doing the right thing by taking off for (what I am euphemistically calling) my "technology detox and spiritual colonic" next month. I don't think there could ever be more of a convergence of events that are pointing me towards a purpose *. There is just no doubt in my mind that I HAVE to go to the retreat now.

But in the meantime... OMG (to quote Kim Possible) SOOOO THE DRAMA. And the really frustrating thing is that I can totally see why the train is about to crash, but am essentially powerless to stop it. It's too late—even if I could stop the train, this thing is going to make a HUGE mess. At work, it's just a simple matter of a lack of attention to detail. It's not unreasonable to expect that things are going to get overlooked, we're working on an insane schedule right now. But even if you expect for a few small things to get left to the last minute, it's just adding a gasoline car to the train to add things to the project. I mean, seriously? We're already overworked and multitasking beyond the realms of human attentiveness, and you just added three more things for me to check on? That's asking for it.  You might as well add a train car of dynamite while you're at it.

And my refuge of the church is, right now, not fairing much better. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but there is a major change in worship schedule and line-up coming down the track, and no one seems to know what is going on. Sure, I've printed a few signs to remind people of the new times, but I know there are still parents who don't know what's going on with the children during service. No one is entirely sure where worship is going to happen, and (what's worse) no one seems to feel the need to let anyone know. Which I would normally just let go, except the change is happening November 1st. So yeah... kind of need the info, people. I'm feeling more than a little hurt, betrayed, and taken for granted. And that makes me more than a little sad because while I expect that feeling at work, this church has been the first place where I felt I really belonged in a long time, with the same child-like acceptance I had when I was a kid. These were people I thought grokked** me, and instead of a discussion I seem to get a lot of "well, we can't make everyone happy." I know that; I'm not an idiot. I know churches are made of people, and majority rules. But I can't help but feel that there is more than a little cult of personality going on around here. It smacks of politics and ego and I don't like it. It does not make me want to be part of the group, it makes me want to be one of the cool kids who refuse to be part of the group because it's just another instance of "the man trying to bring us down, dude."  You try and pull me and and I will pull an Ally Sheedy, and no amount of make-up or cute clothes is going to make me kiss the misunderstood jock.

Part of this feeling, this deep down feeling of being shut-out, comes from me never really knowing how to properly fit-in. It stems from the disappointment that comes with realizing that what I felt were my gifts are unwanted, because there are people with greater talent, greater skill, and greater popularity that can do that, thank you. It stems from me being the proverbial Velma in the Scooby Gang of life. And it comes from people thinking that they can just assign me more work because I will (even after moaning and groaning about it) do it, because that's the way I work. But you know what? That doesn't make any of these feelings invalid, either in church or at work.

And that's why I'm so ambivalent about the whole thing.  I enjoy my co-workers, just not my work. I enjoy my fellow parishioners, but (lately) not the church.  And I don't know how to fix that.  I can't change how I feel without trying to figure out how to change the reason for the feelings.  This is starting to affect how I'm interacting with people, and I don't like it.  I want to be more apathetic about it, but I can't, because as much as I try not to, I really do care.

And that's the real problem with drama, I guess.  You have to invest yourself in it in order to care about the outcome.  I'm just hoping that we can affect a happy ending--or at least something not so... unresolved.

---

*well, except for that one time when I totally caught my high-school boyfriend making out with my (soon to be ex) best friend in a shall we say "compromising" position, and then finding a positive pregnancy test as I was walking out--that was like a HUGE neon sign.

**to grok: "to understand intuitively or by empathy; to establish rapport with" and "to empathize or communicate sympathetically (with); also, to experience enjoyment."

Sometimes work is overwhelming.  With one of our PMs out part of last week, and the beginning of this week, my workload has become—in a word—stifling. While I can task my minion with a lot of the writing portions of the job (general upkeep of documents, instruction sets, etc.), that still leaves me to attend all the meetings, do the translation stuff, AND keep up with my additional project management stuff.  And that is the most tiring bit, to tell you the truth, because I had no idea just how much paperwork is involved in managing these products.  You would think the writing wouldn't bother me, but it is not the same as churning out a software install guide or a basic operations guide.  It is expected that you are able to think of every error case, every use case,and that is a LOT of stuff to do in and of itself... but I also have my tech writer stuff to do as well. 

I guess that's why I'm okay with turning in my paperwork for the Walk to Emmaus this coming November.  I was pretty aprehensive at first, and only partially because there are no electronics allowed at the walk (even watches are pretty verbotten).  The thought of completely unplugging from the world for FOUR DAYS was scary.  Of course, talking with my pastor this afternoon did a lot to help me realize just how much I need for this to happen.  And not just because my phone went off five times in twenty minutes (e-mail alerts, for the most part).  Barbara (have I told you how much I love her?) did a great job of explaining the reasons for unplugging from the world and recentering ourselves and reorganizing our priorities.  Naturally, as this is a church sponsored event, there will be a focus on doing this through Christ, but I am happy for any help in getting my life back in order.

In addition to the Emmaus walk (and I am SO looking forward to this now, y'all), I have also started yoga.  It's only once a week for now, but I am really enjoying the reconnection with my body.  Martial arts and kickball (yes, that's right, KICKBALL) have been hell on my body these last few months.  But after just two, TWO sessions of yoga, I have started to remember what I loved about being in dance.   I am more in touch with my breathing, my body, and my mind.  I figured out last week that the reason my knee was hurting was because I had a bruise just under my metatarsal (great toe) on my right foot. It was throwing my whole body off.  Also, I have really tense shoulders.  But I'm working on that, too.  Brad commented on it when I got home Saturday, "hey, you are holding yourself really different."  Kim is wonderful, and if anyone needs yoga lessons in Kyle, dude, I am all about the recommendations.

Which is all to say, I am very aware of myself as of late. And while I'm not 100% happy with where I am at right now (hello? RAISE?), I am trying to live in the moment and be aware of how my decisions might butterfly effect others. Even so, I will likely not be in Japanese study tomorrow morning because I have a bunch of work to do.  Just got to last til November. 

So much has happened.  If you want an update in a nice neat package, you should go read some of the updates on my Facebook account.  I'm going to give you the bullet point update:

• The kids will be testing for their orange belts soon, as will I. They are doing phenomenally well, and I could NOT be prouder of them for sticking with it.
• I continue to lose inches, but not weight.  This is frustrating, but I'm going to keep at it. So far I'm down to a medium (8/10), but my belly remains stubbornly jellylike. Doesn't seem like the crunches are hitting it with what I'm doing currently, so I'm going to try and mix it up a little.
• Been playing kickball on the days when I'm not in Kung fu, so that's keeping me active, although it makes the week more than a little hectic.
• Speaking of hectic, I got a psuedo-promotion. Do you know what that is? It's when you get all the work associated with a promotion, but not the raise or the title.  I have been assured that this will eventually be corrected, but most of it is largely associated with us getting and keeping a large account. Not going to comment on that any more than I already have.  *sigh*

We've started a new bible study this past week, and it's awesome. It's kind of a combination confirmation/refresher course for Methodists. As it turns out there are quite a few converts to Methodism in our midst, so our new pastor (Pastor Barbara) thought it might be a good idea to teach/remind everyone about what being a Methodist means.  Apparently—so far as I can tell—it is mostly centered around the principle of God's grace and allowing it to flow through us and to others.  Which is a pretty cool principle.

Often, the problem that people have with people who profess to be christians is their general lack of acting in a christian manner.  that is to say, they do not practice what they preach.  When I was younger, this was the problem I had with the church, and often with the clergy and ordained.  Even taking into account the general flaws of humanity, there seemed to be an awful lot of hypocracy.  As I gained wisdom through age, I could have some empathy for those who would fall from grace, but it was still difficult to comprehend. When the basic prinicple of a religion is: "be nice to one another," how could people consistently mess that up, right?

And yet we do, and unfortunatly the nutbags with the biggest mess ups (mostly because they're the loudest and most annoying) give everyone else a bad name.  Men who profess that "opposite" marriage is the only blessed form are routinely found to be having affairs or (even more interesting) spending time with "non-opposite" people in a VERY biblical way.  *sigh*  People get into wars over the semantics of a bible verse, or (my personal favorite) kill people to protect them.  Seems a little radical to me. But *shrug* who am I to judge, right?

It's a difficult road to travel to be sure. Even more so if you knew some of the people I work with (LOL), but I keep trying to take things like motive and purpose into account, and it helps me.  Well, that and kicking the hell out of the freestanding bag at Kung Fu.  I'm in a good place right now, to quote a verse from a song we were singing today: all is well with my soul.   I haven't felt this way in such a long time. And even if I do feel overworked, under appreciated, and generally tired... it's a good feeling.  

Has it really been five weeks since I wrote here? My goodness so much has happened, and not happened... and... where to begin?
How about a bulleted recap, for those of you who don't read my Facebook or Twitter:

• Brad is off the crutches, is now on a cane, but seems to be having circulation problems w/his leg and intermitent swelling. I'm trying to get him to make an appointment with our PCP, but he's a little physician-shy right now.


• Our company came in first for corporate challenge this year, to the surprise of everyone (including the people who made the trophies, as they had already engraved another company's name on the trophy).


• The children now have their yellow belts in Kung Fu (Wing Chun), as do I. For those keeping track, that means I now have three yellow belts... I will hopefully be trying for orange w/black strip soon, but since I have to wait for the kids to advance before I can, it may be a while.


• On a related note, I dropped about 2 dress sizes and gained a LOT of muscle mass from all the Kung Fu and other workout activities. It is my hope that I will eventually drop some weight, too. But right now I'm farily satisfied with just dropping the inches.


• Zachary is starting art camp this week, much in the same way I used to go AGES ago. I took classes @ the SA Art Institute, the SAMA, and the SWSC, back in the day. I hope he will have as much fun as I did... he's taking a class on Anime.


• Vinnie is really coming into his own, especially w/o his brother around. That kid has a quirky little sense of humor and flawless timing. I just wish he knew when to keep that traitor mouth of his SHUT. Ah well, like mother....


• Brad & I joined the Kyle United Methodist Church and have never been happier with our decision. Such a motley crew of misfits has never before been assembled in such a way as to create THE perfect environment for our family. Also, in a related note, I am a member of the co-ed kickball team for the church, called Pray Ball. This should be fun.

And now to the meat of the post.

As you have previously read, my oldest is at Art Camp this week. As this is in San Antonio (and my parents paid for it), he's staying with them for the week. This has, of course, not been w/o it's share of problems... and the kid hasn't even started class ONE yet.

The main problem seems to stem from the fact that my mother sent me the parental packet two months ago assuming I would send it to the Southwest School of Arts and Crafts (SWSAC) directly after filling it out.  I, of course, did no such thing.  The packet is supposed to be turned in the day they start classes, so I set it aside with the intention that it would travel w/Zach to the classes.  Then, of course, I promptly lost it.  So I emailed the registration people and kindly asked them to send it to me, and I would get it to them first thing in the morning.  They countered with asking me to have my parents fill it out.  This is—of course—impossible.

My father, who is taking the child to class, cannot fill out the forms because he doesn't know the necessary information.  I'm not talking about birthdays and addresses (although, I'm know for a fact he just recently worked out that my neice and my son have the same birthday), I'm talking about medical information, class information, that kind of stuff.  So I got them to fax it to me with the intention that I would just send it to Zachary (via email) and have him print it at his grandfather's house... yeah. Not so much.

You see, my father and computers tend to have an almost adversarial relationship.  They have a healthy respect for each other, and occassionally cooperate, but most of the time it's just a battle.  After a series of back/forth phone calls from me to my dad, from my dad to me, from my dad to my mom, from my mom to me, from me to my mom, and (at one point) with my mom and I on the phone with my dad on cell and land line via speakerphone, I eventually got the forms faxed to my mom for Zach to turn in this afternoon.  But it took an HOUR to do.

And folks, during that hour, I was laughing harder than I  have in a long time. Because at one point, my ten year old and my dad were literally trying to troubleshoot an uninstalled printer, with each one telling the other to "stop it, [they] know what [they're] doing!"  I hope that kid appreciates what I have to go through for him to have classes like this.  Because my sanity is the only thing I have left at this point in the month.... and it's going FAST.

Brad is going to be on crutches for the next six to eight weeks. His tibial plateau fracture has, thankfully, left all the tendons intact (except the MCL) just wonky, but if he puts ANY weight on that knee he’s going to turn it into so much crumbs. So yeah, we had to go out and get a handicapped placard so he doesn’t have to walk three blocks to get to the entrance of a building.

Perhaps it is our new maturity about being injured when we’re older, or maybe we’re just more aware of it now that we have had multiple injuries spaced over a few decades, but we have noticed that there seems to be quite a range of reactions to Brad’s specific injury. For instance, if his crutches are plainly visible (ie: he’s walking w/them, or they’re propped next to him) people ask what happened and generally go out of their way to be sympathetic (or at least acknowledge his presence). This changes slightly with a wheelchair—we don’t have a wheelchair, but sometimes if the store we’re at has one available, we’ll use it if he’s tired—as the store personnel act in the same sympathetic manner as people do w/him on crutches, but store patrons are a mixed lot at best. Some will move out of the way, but quite a few seem to need a little nudging, as though it was his job to accomidate them.

Let’s—just for a quick second—point out the absurdity of that statement. Able-bodied people who can easily move around expect that someone in a chair with wheels move around them. Holy crap, people. This is just a temporary problem; it makes me wonder what the hell people who are confined to wheelchairs 24/7 have to deal with. Honestly, this is ridiculous. And it’s not just younger people, either. People our own age and even a little older are the same way. Strangely, older people seem to understand the annoyance factor of being stuck in a chair and are more accommodating. I don’t know what that’s about.

And don’t EVEN get me started on those little scooter thingies they have at like WalMart and the grocery store. NO one respects those. It’s like trying to drive on a college campus. People are constantly moving in front of you, not paying the least bit of attention to the fact you’re in a larger motorized object that could (potentially) hurt them, and occasionally seem to go out of their way to stand in your way.

I wonder, perhaps, if this isn’t something of the Wall-E effect: that only overweight (and therefore lazy) people use those scooters because they are too big to walk around and shop (just like those little carts the people moved around in in Wall-E). It has gotten to the point where I have to walk in the store with Brad (if he’s in the scooter) and shame people into moving. “Excuse me, my husband—who has a broken leg—needs to get around you, can you please move? Thanks,” said with the toothiest and most insincere grin I can muster. Or I will say to the children, “isn’t it a shame that people aren’t conscious enough of their own surroundings to get out of the way of a disabled veteran?” This one makes Brad giggle a little, because while it is technically true (Brad did serve in the Navy and was dismissed due to medical reasons) it is NOT the reason he is currently disabled. I have also noticed that line seems to work better in the more “upscale” stores; maybe it’s the patriotic issue. Frankly I don’t know and I don’t care—I just wonder why it’s necessary.

Perhaps most interesting are the lessons the children are learning from this. With daddy unable to do more than hop around from place to place, he cannot do chores like dishes, laundry, yard-work, etc. And since I’m already doing most of the other chores, they have to pick up the slack. Zach seems to take it mostly in stride, though he does forget from time to time how those simple things like laundry are accomplished. And Vincent will do them only when reminded (Vinnie, the door? For your dad?).

This morning we had another case of mysterious disappearances concerning their wardrobe. It would seem all of their clean pants disappeared along with their socks. I was sanguine about the abrupt relocation of the items and suggested they check with the DIRTY clothes, as they might have defected and decided they preferred to be detergent free. But they were adamant. It was an emergency! There were clean pants and they were hiding. After physically showing them that their clothes were not missing but were—in fact—dirty, they were gobsmacked. How could this happen? Didn’t I know to wash the clothes for them? To which I pointed out that neither of their legs were broken, and if they wanted to keep it that way, they should do their own damn laundry. We’re probably going to do a couple of loads tonight. I can’t wait to teach them the Japanese shirt folding method…



Next week we will find out how much progress has been made and if Brad will need a new shoulder by the time all this is over. It looks like his warranty was up last year. Ah well. I suppose I’ll keep him, after all, now he’s considered a “classic.”

well, it would seem that martial arts is NOT for the hubby.  This Saturday, at approximately 1:20, Brad was helping the children with their wu shus (like one steps in kajukempo), and on wu shu #2 (a jump/lunge tiger claw, downblock combo) he landed wrong on his left knee.

I would like to say he handled it like a champ; that he was stoic and brave and gritted his teeth and simply said (as sweat broke out on his brow from the pain), "I think we may need to get some ice."  I would like say that, but the truth of the matter is that after the initial loud popping noise he fell to the ground and started swearing like the sailor he used to be, intersperced with a lot of "Oh my GOD that hurts!"

Now, the sad truth of the situation is that those who witnessed the event were (frankly) surprised at how calmly the kids and I reacted to the situation, what with Brad rolling around on the ground using words we had (years ago) banned from being used even if the kids were in the house but asleep and all.  I just went and got some ice, sat the kids over on a bench to play some videogames, and called his brother to come help.  After the sister-in-law took the kids to my mom-in-laws, my b-i-l took him to the hospital in brad's own truck, and I followed with all the relevant cards, medical information, and other stuff.  You see, this isn't our first time at the rodeo (to use a phrase Brad likes).

We spent about 3 hours in ER (1/2 the time waiting, 1/2 the time actually IN the ER), and eventually got the diagnosis of a tibial plateau fracture.  He broke the top of his tibia, where the ACL and PCL attaches.  Right now, his kneecaps seems to be floating somewhere up and to the left of where it's supposed to be, and there's a huge swollen spot where some ligaments or whatnot have bunched.  It's not the grossest injury I've had to deal with (and with him in particular), but it's a painful one.  He's been pretty regular about taking his pain meds (something he normally tries to forgo), which is mildly disturbing, but other than his initial outburst, he has been quite good. the meds make him sleepy, but thankfully not mean (that's just the straight codine, apparently), so lots of napping has ensued.

UPDATE: just got an appointment with the orthopedic dr. in Austin. They will see him tomorrow @ 2. I'm crossing my fingers.

10 years ago today, right around now, I was preparing to go to a routine OB appointment. I still had about a month to go, and was feeling a little bloated. Six hours later I was being prepped for surgery to save my life and the life of my child. As you can probably surmise, we both made it through okay, and when I finally came out of sedation, a rather nice nurse dropped a squirmy little thing that weighed all of 5 1/2 pounds on my chest and said, "congratulations, mom. It's a boy."

He's a lot bigger than that now. Lean with little monkey toes, he still seems far to small to me (and on this, his pediatrician tends to agree). But he's smart as a whip, can build amazing things with legos, and has the heart of a scientist with the mind of an engineer. But even these geeky tendencies are balanced with an uncanny ability to empathize and concern for his fellow man. We're not getting a mad scientist out of this one, but who knows, maybe he'll make the first real Megazord.

I love him from the top of his cowlick to the bottom of his freakishly long toes.  I know someday I'll have to worry about him and how much he seems to take after his father. His big blue eyes never seem to fail to draw women in.  Thank God he's at the "I hate girls" stage right now.  Girls are icky for the moment, and  his curly hair is a curse, and he's has not quite figured out how good his hand-eye coordination really is. 

Happy Birthday, sweetie. May your Star Wars cupcakes be consumed in full by your classmates so I don't have to clean up. Tonight, we go to Sunday School, and eat cake. Tomorrow, your homework is due.

kids let me sleep in this morning, which was a good thing, since brad has a HORRIBLE cough that can only be calmed by taking enough zicam and nyquill to fell a small asthmatic rhino (think: Jumanji), which has the unfortunate side-effect of making him sound like a semi-conscious small asthmatic rhino snoring.  Needless to say, I was more than a little tired this morning.

I often think about how weird it is to be someone's mother.  I mean, not in just the physical sense, but in the emotional sense as well.  Sure, now it's become old-hat to be the first person my kids want when they are in pain, or not feeling well, but even now I sometimes wonder, WTF? Really?  You guys know I'm not the sympathetic one, right?  Although, to be fair, I do deal with bodily fluids and odd smells a LOT better than Mr. Whoopsie Stomach, who will barf at the first sign of fluids that are supposed to be kept inside of the body making an appearance in the out-of-doors.  Maybe it's because I have been around guys more, or maybe it's just that at this point in my life, I'm just THAT hard to surprise.  Not that the kids don't try, let me tell you.

Today was a fun exercise in hand signals and facial expressions to exert control.  Which is to say that because Brad had a bodyfluid emergency (which he went home to handle), I was left with the kids during church.  Which is problematic, because I'm in the choir, and we were extremely short handed today.  So I had to sit behind the preacher on the dais, and that meant the kids were a full 15' away, with kneelers and foliage between us.  Normally, this isn't problematic as another parent can sit in their vicinity and offer a modicum of authority until the kids are whisked away before the sermon for "children's church."  But for some reason, they were on their own today.  Hence, the hand signals and facial expressions.  It began during the general announcements...

Howard (the preacher): here are the announcements... [begins listing]
Vincent: [makes horrible face]
Me: [snaps fingers to get his attention]
Vincent: [looks up @ me]
Me: [WTF are you doing face]
Vincent: [now obviously trying to sneeze]
Me: [signaling to Vincent to hit his brother to make him look at me]
Vincent: [hits zachary]
Zachary: [WTF face @ his brother]
Me: [snaps fingers to get his attention]
Zachary: [looks up @ me]
Me: [signals to him to get Vincent a tissue]
Zachary: [WTF are you talkin about face]
Vincent: [sneezes and makes a horrible mess]
Zachary: Eeeeeeew.
Me: [runs off stage and gives Vincent a box of tissues]
Zachary: [moves to another chair]
Me: [returns to seat, snaps fingers @ Z to get his attention]
Zachary: [looks up @ me]
Me: [motions with finger for him to sit next to his brother]
Vincent: [makes loud honking noises as he blows his nose]
Zachary: [shakes head furiously]
Me: [makes really mad mom face]
Zachary: [moves next to Vincent]
Me: [snaps fingers to get Vincent's attention]
Zachary: [nudges Vinnie]
Vinnie: [looks up @ me]
Me: [mouths] go to the bathroom and wash your face and hands
Vincent: [nods and leaves to go to the bathroom]

woman sitting next to me in choir: your boys are so cute.
Me: um, yeah. aren't they?

yeah, it kind of had to go uphill from there, didn't it?
But during their bible study/kid's church stuff, Vincent made me a vital stats chart, and according to him, I'm 6 feet tall, 32 years old, and can beat anyone at Trivial Pursuit.  Well, two out of three ain't bad.

Also, when we went to dinner @ Fridays tonight?  I totally got carded.  Best. Mother's Day. EVER.

Our children are Star Wars geeks. I make no apologies for this—because that is what happens when two Star Wars geeks marry and reproduce: you have padawans. The only thing that would have made it cooler, IMHO, would have been boy/girl fraternal twins, but when I think about the pain of raising three kids vs. being able to name your kids Luke and Leia (or Jacen and Jaina), I know we're better off with just our two.

So when a project comes along that asks, nay DEMANDS, for parent involvement we tend to go a little ILM on those. (For those of you who don't know what ILM is, I pity you.) Case in point, our latest assignment: Trash to Treasure. The project description read: make a science project entirely from recycled or repurposed items. After discussing it with Zach, we decided to make a weather station. I worked with him to create a little wind speed indicator (plastic spoons, a bamboo skewer, and a straw), a rain gauge (packaging for taper candles and duct tape), a thermometer (broken outdoor thermometer), and a barometer (snapple bottle with plastic tubing and colored water). This, in and of itself, would have done his science teacher proud. But it is not enough for us to simply make a weather station. We have to Star Wars up that biatch. And that is why we made the R2D2 Portable Weather Station.  (Brad, Zach and Vinnie in the picture below)

Now, I want you to remember that the only part the child was supposed to fully work on was the science portion. Therefore Brad and I don't feel that guilty about our obvious involvement in the packaging.  But after Brad started by putting the planter on top of the pickle bucket, it was a forgone conclusion.  (Full set of pics can be found here.)

We spent, in total two nights sawing away on wood to mount the bucket to the wheels, fixing the bucket so it wouldn't tip over, and at least two hours for me to get the paneling on the front correct.  And since we ran out of silver paint, everything you see that's shiny grey on that picture is duct tape.  We decided that since it's like the force (dark side, light side, holds the universe together) it was entirely appropriate.  Getting the curves right on the head with the tape took about an hour and a half and about a hundred 2" squares of duct tape.

True, we did have to actually purchase the plastic tubing, since the only stuff we had was left over from installing the refrigerator (and was fairly opaque), but it was only a quarter for a foot, so we spent all of 0.50 on it out of pocket.  Everything else was scavanged from the garage, the house, or the trash.  In fact, the broom handle was previously used as the light saber portion of the "whacking stick" from Zachary's Padawan to Jedi party last year.  We simply took the silver handle off and stuck it in the bucket.

Brad helped Zachary take it to school this morning, and while a lot of the other projects were more obviously child created, I would point out that our children were adament about near authenticity.  You wouldn't believe the arguments we had about there being no wires on R2's legs, or working lights on his head.  (Though, to be fair, most of that is from Vincent, who tends to be kind of OCD about that stuff)

If anyone is interested, we can put together some basic instructions on how to create both the science portions (but you can just as easily find them on instructables) as well as how we created the R2 portion.  It might take a bit, since we'll have to get the prototype back from school before we can take more pictures, but I'm fairly certain I can write something up.  After all, it's what I do for a living.  We can probably even make some blueprints.  Which would be funny because we used our R2 poster from the "Blueprints Book" to create the paneling on the front (which is what led to the argument about the legs, now that I think about it).  Vincent has decided that since Zachary now has an R2, he wants his own weather station (or something else, TBD) that looks like C3P0. 

I'll let you know how that pans out.

I think I like the Japanese method of structuring sentences better than real "American" grammar. So that is how I will start this entry.

Speaking of image issues, I am having more lately.
When I was younger, and had no children, I was quite tiny.  I mean, like size 2 or 4 tiny.  Like XS in petites, can wear little girl clothes tiny.  To a certain extent, this is still true.  I have unnaturally small wrists and ankles.  Seriously.  I can wear children's watches from McDonalds (I got a Hello Kitty one when they had the offer, fully expecting I would have to figure out a way to put a new band on it--turns out I didn't have to).  I can wear bracelets on my ankles, not big ones, just normal bracelets.  I just wish that itty-bittyness carried into the rest of my body.

And there is, of course, the fun fact that I am (in stocking feet) about an inch over five feet tall.  It is one of the reasons I wear heels to work.  Well, that and I am too lazy to get my slacks hemmed.  I am short.  VERY short.  Maybe not as short as a couple of my coworkers, but still on the lower end of average.  Which makes it tremendously difficult to fathom that I am of "average size" in dress.

The truth of the matter is, I am overweight.  I know it.  I don't need my doctor to tell me that, I can see it damn well everytime I see a picture of me, everytime I look in the mirror, every time I step on the scale.  The children will remind me in their childishly tactless way (mom, no bikini this year, they don't make them in your size).  I see it everytime I have to stand next to a 20-something co-ed who's metabolism hasn't changed yet.  I hear it in the snickering when I try on clothes at the store, and when girls comment about how my size is the "big people" clothes.   And of course, it is in large helpful type on my medical chart at my doctor's office.  

So then I find myself in a sort of catch-22 when it comes to actually trying to lose the weight, because the majority of the places where I can go to "work out" are filled with little hardbodies who don't need to do so.  So I don't want to go there.  If I go where there are people who know me from "before the weight gain," I have to deal with the inevitable questions and ocassional tactless comments.  Evidence the following: I show up to the first kajukenbo class I had been to in (what) 12 years, and I am greeted by the coach with, "wow, Jenny! Hey.  Can you still touch your toes?"  [face palm] Yeah. THAT'S going to motivate me.  Also, the fact that all the other girls in there put together probably weigh 200 lbs?  Not helping.  And my brother-in-law referring to the only other female in there with a similar build as "the little fat one?"  Yeah.  I am definately going to be motivated by that.

Lord.  Everytime I get anywhere CLOSE to losing some weight, this is the kind of shit that brings me back down to Earth.  I was so happy that I had lost 10 lbs, because that meant I was like a 1/3 of my goal.  But then, I get dressed, show up to class and I'm greeted with, "Hey fatty, you sure you belong here?"  It's enough to drive a girl to eat Chicken Fried Chicken.  WITH gravy.  And what about workout gear?  Who the HELL came up with clingy fabric as the mode of covering overweight bodies?  I mean, WTF, people?  How is anyone except people who disappear when they turn sideways going to look good in that stuff?

Which is all to say, I am still determined to meet my goal.  I have like twenty pounds to go, and I want to meet my goal.  I may have to achieve it mainly through dieting, but I am still determined.  Not because I have a stupid nagging voice (who sounds spectacularly like my mother, incidentally) that says a size 12 at my height is FAT, Jennifer, not curvy.  And not because society is telling me I need to be on the lower size of my ideal weight.  But because *I* want to do it. And sure, I think deep down it is mostly about me finally just giving up and bowing to societal pressure, but quite frankly, I just can't think of how else I can deal with it when I am constantly surrounded by bikini-clad coeds in the summer.  And that really is just around the corner.

So.  Brad is feeling a little better today.  I bought him some Tylenol Cough and Sore Throat stuff and a vaporiser thingie, and sometime around 3:30 in the morning he started sleeping like a normal human being instead of sounding like he was trying to gargle a chainsaw with an electrical short.  He's back @ work today, but I'm still pretty tired.  Additionally, I seem to have a pain on all the diodes on my left side.  I mean, the left side of my neck is sore, and I have a static-y noise in my right ear when things get loud.  It's like I blew out my speaker.  It's annoying, but doesn't hurt, so I'm not making an issue of seeing the doctor right away.  But I needed to make an appointment with the ENT anyway, so it's as good an excuse as any, I suppose.

Yesterday I took the kids to a Fellowship dinner @ the UMC in Kyle.  After some breif discussion on how this was in no way associated with any of the Lord of the Rings movies, we managed to get our ragtag bunch to the Fellowship hall, and met up with our neighbors and other quite friendly people at the church.  Have I mentioned we're going to the Methodist church now?  It was a pretty easy decision.  On the first day we showed up w/the kids for Sunday School, we noticed that everyone else had also stopped @ the Chinese Donut Place across the street to feed the kids, and most everyone showed up late.  Brad turned to me and said, "we're home."  This was further cemented by us showing up @ Subway last Sunday and finding about 1/2 of the church there also.  I got to tell you, I love that everyone is just as busy as we are.  It makes me feel better about being one of those "working" moms.

Anyway, on to the point of the post.  There is a family @ the church with quite a few children.  As I understand it, four of the children were adopted out of foster care (which they were doing) to keep the kiddos together as a family.  The unfortunate bit about foster care is that when young kids are up for adoption, it's hard to place them all in the same home, especially when you're looking at four kids under 8.  At any rate, in addition to those kids, they have two (I think it's two) of their own, so all together they're a gouping of eight.  I can't even imagine how noisy thier house must be during the day, but I know that there are some definate karma points waiting for those guys in heaven.  At any rate, the excitement of the evening was a spectacular nose dive by the youngest child from his booster chair onto the ground, catching the poor little guy's head on the table on the way down.  Apparently there was no strap on the booster seat, and when he leaned forward, it was pretty much him and the seat to the floor.  I don't know if he ended up getting stiches, but judging from the gash he had on the fold of his eye, I would say at the least they're going to glue it shut to make sure it heals right.  I think he was more scared than anything, really.  You just don't expect that behavior from a booster seat, and at his age, it's all about learning expected behavior.

Of course, the fact that Zachary has like NO volume control and lately Vincent has become slightly paranoid of people staring at him was NOT helping the situation. 
Z: MOM, I THINK HE'S CRYING BLOOD! LOOK!  THERE'S BLOOD!
V: Mom, that kid won't stop staring at me. Why is he STARING at me.  Make him STOP.
Me: [deep breath] Zachary, it's a cut, he's not crying blood.  Vincent, that little boy's brother just fell and cut himself, he's got to look at SOMETHING, maybe he wants to make friends with you. 

And then, there was the even better:
Me: Vincent, what are you doing? 
V: That kid that was staring at me is making a face at me so I'm making one back. He's funny!
Me: [stop to look] Oh Dear Lord. Vinnie, he's cross-eyed, he can't help it.  Stop making faces.

*sigh* I really need to work on their social skills.

Anyway, after the little boy's mom left to take him to a doctor with a nice lady who gave them a lift, there were quite a few people that got kind of obsessed about the booster seat.  Maybe it's the human need to figure out the whys and whats of things happening.  Maybe they just were being helpful, I don't know.  But the end result was quite a few people pointing out that a) the booster seat belonged to the family in question, and b) there were people in the church who had wanted to throw it out or make it known it was a potential danger, but since it was the family's personal seat, they could not do so, and most importantly c) the church needs it's own SAFE seats to have for the kiddos, now that there are more young people in the church.   All I know is, when you have THAT many young kids to try and keep track of, stuff can get by.  I'm just glad there were lots of people there to help them out.  Jodi was there to pick the little boy up within seconds of him hitting the ground, and they had him by the first-aid kit within a minute of the first blood drop.  It's nice to have found a place where there is genuine concern and not passive-agressive commentary on parenting skills (ask me about the time Vinnie fell in the Catholic Church parking lot and skinned his knee).  I hope this is an indication of good things to come.

Today is my mother's birthday. Happy 59th, mom. Hope you enjoy that netbook dad got for you. I will await your call on setting it up. (laugh) I'm joking - she already called.

Anyway. Updates, updates, updates. I have been dividing my time, as of late, at work between being a psuedo-PM and the InfoDev queen that I always am. This is troublesome on a couple of levels. First of all, the likelyhood I am going to get a real project of my very own is pretty slim. Lets just say that history is against me in this instance. I have previously worked my little black heart out on two other projects only to get a pet on the head and the kudos given to other people. (cough, cough, new MEXICO, cough). So naturally I am more than a little cautious about any projects that are further dangled in front of me. Seriously. Jenny may be the term for a female mule, but even a mule will kick you if you don't give her a bite of the damn carrot you dangle in front of her every now and then. But it is a moot point right now since all the theoretical projects are in a state of limbo.

So there is that. And then there is the thing I brought up like AGES ago when our company first started talking about international support. The conversation went a little something like this:
ME: so, you just had me write a manual in Spanish. We are supporting Spanish now?
TPTB*: well, no. not really.
ME: well, it's just that I am going to have to put a number for tech support on these and..
TPTB: use our number.
ME: but you just said we don't do international support
TPTB: that's right
ME: so... you know the people who read this will probably only speak Spanish, right?
TPTB: right...
ME: and when they see the number they will probably expect that someone on the other end will also.
TPTB: that is not our problem
ME: well, who is going to answer their questions, then?
TPTB: [shrugs and walks off]
ME: this is NOT going to end well

And it hasn't. The solution, you ask, for the infrequent phonecalls from people in Equador, Colombia and Mexico? They transfer them to me. Now, if I were fluent in Spanish, this would not be a big deal. But I am NOT. I can write in Spanish, sure, but that is soemthing that I can research and work on over hours and without someone expecting me to do it at ninety miles an hour. Also? It is not my job.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind helping out now and then, but if this is something our company is seriously going to do, we need to have at least one person around this company that is prepared to do this. I can only type into Google Translate so quickly. I doubt they are going to hire someone else, but they need to have a better solution in place than "send them to the documentation queen, she speaks Spanish, right?" Translating and massaging documents into Spanish is one thing--trying to figure out what the very nice man in Bogota, Colombia wants when you're only getting about every third word is quite another.

Or it could just be that my husband is sick, so I am the only one dealing with the children (who are trying to readjust to life after spring break), my boss is out the rest of the week with multiple sales orders open, and I am waiting for my monthly "gift" from Mother Nature. Either way... here is hoping the rest of the month goes smoother.

---

*The Powers That Be

So.  Been home most of the day with a sore throat and upper respiratory infection.  I call this my semi-annual voice vacation, when my voice goes from my normal happy-go-lucky slightly nasal tone (think: Janeane Garofalo in "The Truth About Cats and Dogs, with a more midwestern/central Tx accent) to husky Jessica Rabbit with a chest cold.  I've been sucking down Halls Defense Vitamin C drops like they're candy (and to be fair, they kind of taste like candy) and drinking lemon ginger honey tea.  I have an appointment with the ENT that operated on my husband a couple of years ago who now has her own practice in Kyle.

The other fun thing, of course, is the soreness in my legs (or as I like to call it: OMG OW) from Volleyball on Sunday.  Aside from the fun of trying to get up from a sitting position, which hurts like HELL, there is the added bonus of sore butt muscles.  At least my arms aren't hurting as much as they did last year, so that's ... good?  Since the start of the diet / exercise plan I have lost a total of 5 lbs.  It's not much, but since it's a sixth of my goal, I am fairly happy about it.

But to the meat of the post, so to speak.  The kids and I were watching DWTS premiere today, as we do during the DWTS season, and the topic of the word "gay" came up.  Now, I am not a fan of the use of the word GAY as an equivelant of LAME or WEIRD or STUPID or GROSS.  I don't know when that change happened, but it bothers me that I heard my 10 year old use it in that context.  Let me set the scene.  We were watching the Woz perform and after his intro (involving a pink feather boa and VERY limp wrist) I exclaimed, "OMG, that looks so gay."  Because it DID, he was dancing like a bad drag queen with an inner-ear infection.  To which my son replies, "oh, it's not that bad."

"What do you mean."
"Well, he is really trying. It's not his fault he's bad."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.  You know sometimes my friends call me gay'"

At which point my mom radar went OFF.  WHAT?  Who is making pronouncements about my son's sexuality preferences when he's only ten?  I mean, yeah, he's not the most manly of kids, but he's not Jonathan from Who's the Boss either.  But I kept it all inside and said,

"Really?"
"Yeah, sometimes they just say, 'dude, you're so gay.'"
"You know what you should tell them?"
"Hmm?"
"Really?  Are you looking for a date, then?"
"[laughs] That's funny.  [pauses] Mom, I don't get it."
"OK. Tell me honey.  What do you think the word 'gay' means?"
"Gross.  Weird."
"Lame?"
"Yeah, lame."
"Son, that is NOT what that word means."
"What does it mean, then?"
"Well, you know how we talked about when you get older you won't find girls so gross anymore?"
"uh-huh."
"And you might find a nice girl, who you will marry AFTER YOU GRADUATE FROM COLLEGE, and have kiddos of your own"
"[laughs] Yeah, yeah.  It would be nice to be a daddy."
"Sure kiddo.  Well, sometimes a boy won't like girls, or a girl won't like boys in THAT way.  Instead, they like people of their own gender."
"Do they marry them?"
"In some states, sure."
"Why?"
"Well, some people don't think everyone should be able to marry, so they pass laws..."
"No mom, I mean why do they only like people of the same gender."

THINK JENNIFER, THINK

"Well, no one knows for sure.  Some people think it is a genetic thing, something that happens before you are even born.  And some people think that it is something that happens as a result of how someone was raised.  And some people think that they choose to like the same gender.  But that is not important right now.  What is important is that the word 'gay,' is used to describe someone who likes people of the same gender in a boyfriend/grilfriend way.  And when someone uses it to mean "lame," it is like you are calling those people gross, or stupid or lame."
"Oh. Like a slur.
"Yes. Very much so.  Like a slur.  So I don't want you to do that, okay.  Just use the word you mean, like lame, or stupid, or gross or whatever, okay?"
"Sure, mom.  Should  tell my friends not to do it either?"

How much do you want to get beat up kiddo?

"You can tell them that they are using the word wrong, sure."
"So should I explain what it really means, too?"
"Well....."

At which point my husband finally walked in and took the kiddo to the side and explained that the best way to deal with that was to tell them that they were using it wrong and to ask their parents what the word really means.  Which also works, but is not as funny as my "date" retort.  But you know what?  While I am fairly confident in my son's ability to take a beating, I am more worried about the younger child who sat quietly listening to the whole conversation.  Because while my oldest tends to be more sensitive about other's feelings, my youngest is a taunter.  And now that he knows what that word means.... Oh boy.

Slice of life: http://twitter.com/Jenni_Froedrick

I decided, after finishing my dinner first, that I would catch up on the blogosphere since I had my mini9 in my purse next to me.  Then, after the kids started being their usual selves, I decided to tweet the last 1/2 of dinner and part of the evening.  The twitter tells the tale.... if you ever wanted to know what my homelife is like.... http://twitter.com/Jenni_Froedrick.

I would livetweet my meetings @ work, but most of the time I'm IM-ing Trev in the office.  He says it's like having his own liveblog of the morning meetings.  But since all the major players are going to be @ PMA this week (leaving me holding the bag, as usual), I will likely just walk around to Dev and QA and just ask, "so, how's our project going?"  Yeah.

In the meantime, I will be late to work on my very first day in charge while everyone is @ PMA because  I decided to make all  my doctor's appointments this week.  Not that I care.  With three out for PMA (including my boss & VP), one on vacation, and two working from home, there was just going to be three people in the office anyway.  Now there will be two.  Here's hoping all hell doesn't break loose until 9:30 or so.

Back at work today after a one day hiatus. Updates. updates....

WORK:

You know how sometimes tabloids publish articles about people (usually 18 year old starlets with questionable substance abuse problems and addictive personalities) are admitted to the hospital because they are suffering from "exhuastion?" That's pretty much where I was yesterday. My brain had basically decided that it needed a day from the hustle and bustle of prep from PMA, and rebelled. So I woke up with a hell of a headache, unspecified female aching, and a general desire to curl up under my blankets and sleep. So I popped some painkillers, e-mailed my boss, and went back to sleep.

Even then I dutifully checked in from time to time via e-mail and even remoted in a couple of times to sove some issues the guys were having with EXIF data (which was never satisfied well, IMHO). This morning I came back to general cries for help, but now that the equipment is gone, it's all about the software and collateral. Now I'm just refining existing documentation and soothing various Sales people with pretty (yet informative) documents to make their jobs easier. Next week will either be dead as a churchyard on Sunday afternoon or as loud as the NY stock exchange right after the bell rings. No one knows for sure because the crew they're taking—while knowledgeable—is skeletal at best. No one, except a lone guy from sales, has asked me for any documentation. And he was looking at it from a strictly CYA point of view. I'm not going to predict disaster, but I'm not going to put money on a new client coming in and buying all our stock, either.

---

KIDS:

In other news, Vincent has decided he loves Calvin and Hobbes. This is both good and bad. On the one hand I am surprised and a little proud he gets some of the more sophisticated strips. On the other hand, he has started talking like Calvin. So yeah, good and bad. I told Brad he should just be grateful he didn't get a hold of my Charles Addams collection.

Zachary, on the other hand, is at the "I don't want to do homework, what good is this anyway, let's watch TV instead," age. It has become an exercise in stamina to make him do his homework. I don't know what else to make of it. I know I went through a similar situation at his age, so I can't fault him for it, but I don't want to use the same method my parents employed to get me out of that habit either (it was legal to kill your children for failure to do homework in the State of Texas back in the late 1970's/early 80's, apparently). Then again, I wanted to spend my time reading or doing more productive stuff than stupid times-tables and studying Texas History. He just wants to watch Mythbusters, Dirty Jobs and Bill Nye. And I'm starting to cave into his excuse of it being "educational television."

---

BRAD:

Brad is still WAY too busy at work, but at least his boss has finally acknowledged that the situation is not one that should continue. I'm hopeful, but not optimistic. He fell asleep @ work yesterday, sitting at his desk, perfectly postured with his hands on his keyboard and snoring louder than a frieght train. The secretary who works in the outer vestibule called people in to observe the freak-show, and thankfully they can't publish pictures, because it just looks like Brad closed his eyes or blinked while sitting @ his desk. Unfortunately, his brother (not showing the best judgement) fell into his old ways and told "stories" about Brad falling asleep at various other jobs he had, and now falling asleep at work is called "pulling a Brad." I could kill him, but it's not worth my time.

I might, however, remind him that there are more than enough stories I can recall (as can his brother) that might prove amusing to HIS coworkers.  I'm thinking about the ones where he ends up looking like a complete and total ass.  I have LOADS of those. :-)

PMA marches ever closer and I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It's just been too quiet today.

The last couple of days at work have been a distinct change of pace.  Mostly because I haven't been doing what could remotely be construed as "information development," or "technical writing."  I suppose if you had a nice BROAD mind you could put it under the wider category of technical communication, since it involves product sheets and whatnot, but mostly I've been doing graphic design stuff.

Don't get me wrong.  Back in the day I would have killed to do stuff like that all day long.  Layout design was a specialty of mine, something I managed to parlay into a web design and user interface design expertise that got me some freelance money.  I have a good eye, maybe not the most creative brain, but a good eye.  And when you back that up with not one, but TWO degrees, well.... I can back up what I suggest with a good line of bullsh!t if nothing else.  But this is not layouts and UI design, it's mostly grunt work that our "actual" graphic designers can't work on right now because they're busy with PMA stuff.  And with Photoshop skillz in high demand, you look for what you already have on hand (meaning: me).

It doesn't take any real time away from my day, to tell you the god's honest truth.  The last set of four product pages took me all of an hour, and it wouldn't have taken that except I had to refamiliarize myself with Illustrator since that's what the graphic designer who works in Marketing prefers to use.  I'm an InDesign girl myself, and I haven't touched Illustrator for vector work since it was—what—Illustrator 11?  So yeah, no big.  They give me the already completed logos, photos, and backgrounds and I drop in the text and stuff and "poof," we have product sheets.  And banners, and cards.  No big.  I mean, I know it's a big deal to the people who can't do the stuff themselves, since they are resorting to gettin me to do it, but I'm not going to begrudge them too much. After all, I'm sure if you're unfamiliar with graphic design software, it's a nightmare.

But somehow at the same time I feel like my time is being wasted.  Not in the same way I felt it was being wasted when I was working for the University.  That was a completely different situation (and a learning experience, I'm sure for my boss, who has since hired nothing but compliant and easily bullyed females to work for her).  I can't quite make up my mind if it's what my dad calls "DIY syndrome."  My dad has always said that if you want something done right, you should do it yourself.  But the problem with doing that at work, especially in a chaotic environment like the weeks before PMA, is that DIY Syndrome = She'll Do It Syndrome.  Yes, I want to do these things because I want them done right, but I don't want the people who are supposed to do them become complacent in the fact that I am not only capable, but willing to do them.  To quote my father, "if it's a one, maybe two time thing, okay.  But if this starts to be a habit, there is a PROBLEM."  It's not that I don't want to be a team player (gasp!), I just want to make sure everyone knows that we're a team and continues to pull their own weight.  

In the meantime, however, I have some posters and photocards to work on.... if you'll excuse me...

Yeah, yeah.  I know, all one of you is mad I don't update anymore.  I have a good excuse, though, and it is called PMA. 

For those of you not in the know, PMA is the Photo Marketing AAnnual Convention/Trade Show.  Here's an excerpt from the wikipedia entry:

Yeah, that's acfually pretty much the WHOLE entry.  Anyway, our company has a booth there and we are all working frantically to get our software in a suitable state to be exhibited.  This, as it turns out, is more difficult than anticipated because of something we like to call "feature creep."  Wikipedia kind of over simplifys the issue, but basically it involves people adding features to the software AFTER the specifications have been set in stone (apparently there are quite a few people in our office handy with a chisel) thereby changing the scope of the project.  Often this means things get over elaborate and complicated because everyone wants to add a bell or whistle (think: leatherman from hell), or thinks the UI should look/behave in a particular way.

This may not affect me directly as I do not have to code the said features (thank GOD), but it does affect me in the way that I have to frequently change the documentation to match the new feature set/UI.  I have likened this to "nailing jello to a tree in a hurricane."  Most of the year I can tell the PMs that I am NOT going to even mess with their project/product until the thing is in code lock-down.  It is simply a waste of my time and their time.  But with PMA, all bets are off.  We have a set deadline, and sometimes we have executives adding items LITERALLY a week before the show.

So I have been sitting in my hurricane dutifully nailing my jello to the tree, and then chasing it down, picking it back up, and repeating the process.  Which leaves me little time to write.  Which is a shame, really, because the kids have been especially entertaining as of late.  maybe I'll be able to write about it in a couple of weeks.... assuming I don't die from exhaustion first.
 

Dear Catholicism:

I have been putting this off for way too long, I think. You're a really nice religion and everything, but I really think it's time we started seeing other people. And by that I mean me, specificially, I think that I should start seeing someone else. It's not me... It's you.

Look, we've been going round and round for some time now, and I think it's fair to say that neither of us are completely satisfied in this relationship. I've been trying for so long to overlook (what seem now to be obvious) problems with your judgement and I just can't do it anymore. You are simply not good for my mental health. You have become openly mysogynistic, you are homophobic, and quite frankly I don’t like the element you hang out with.

Your homophobia, quite frankly, seems a little displaced considering the amount of older single white guys you seem to attract to you. Can you say DENIAL?  And what some of your friends have been up to, and you knew about it.  KNEW ABOUT IT, and you didn't do anything to help those poor kids?  Really, I think you should just let those guys marry or at least have some sex once a year or something so they can just get it out of their system and leave those kids alone.  I want you to know that I stuck up for you when all that scandal first started, that I said there was no possible way you could have known about the problem with a few rogue guys.  But then when it turned out to be SO many kids and SO many guys—I just didn't have the strength to do it any more.  That's one of the reasons we drifted away from each other all those years ago.  Do you remember that?  No.  You probably don't.

But that isn't the only problem.  I have some serious issues with the people you pal around with. I mean, that Benedict guy? Not only is he a former Nazi, he re-introduced you to that group of Cardinals that have—frankly—borderline White Supremicist tendancies, which was the reason you stopped hanging with them all those years ago. And what do you do? Because he says "it’s cool," you just accepted them (and their beliefs) like nothing ever happened. How can you continue to include these people as your friends?  I mean, I'm all for forgive and forget, but they are not repenting in the least.  I simply can't overlook that.

Furthermore, you really need to broaden your horizons. You keep telling me who I should marry and what they should believe and how to raise my children… I am a grown adult. Honestly. I don’t let my parents talk to me the way you do. And for you to ignore me because I happened to get married outside of your beliefs is just childish. Particularly when you take into account how much attention you are giving my children. Do you have any idea how creepy that is?  You don't approve of me marrying someone who you didn't approve of?  You know what?  Grow up.

Finally, I am more than a little annoyed with your continued interest in my body, as well as any other female who comes along. For all your rhetoric about “free will,” you seem to take a rather marked interest in what I am “willing” to do with my reproductive organs. There are so many children in the world who are starving and dying because no one told their mommys and daddys that they didn’t HAVE to have children every time they wanted to have maritial congress, and for you to sit there and say that it is God’s will that they should suffer and die is just… I have no words for this. Maybe it’s God’s will that those mommys and daddys take preventative action so they won’t have to watch children (or themselves) suffer and die from things like malnutrition and disease. Again: grow up.

I’m leaving you.
I wish this could work out, I do. I have known you from childhood and you have (in the past) been a source of comfort for me during some particularly dark times. But you have changed and I cannot igore that fact. You are not the religion of tolerance and hope that I grew up with. You are something different and dangerous and I do not want to see you again until you can prove to me that you have given up your misogynistic and homophobic ways, and you have stopped seeing that Benedict guy. He is bad news, Catholicism. No good is going to come from your seeing him. Since you two have been together you've become nothing but a bully. You have made it plain to me that you have chosen him over me.I hope you are happy with him.


--Jennifer
“Angelina” (my confirmed name, just in case you don't remember me by my given name)

Es ese vez otra vez. Ahora estoy traduciendo las varias pantallas en Español. Me pregunto como de bien podré hablar japonés en la mañana.

[sigh]

pobre, pobre, poco yo.