Breakfast. It's not for breakfast anymore.

I am having a very hard time with breakfast these days.

First off, I pretty much hate sweet foods (before you start chucking things at your monitor, rest assured...I more than make up for the calorie deficit that occurs because I can easily pass up a chocolate mousse by eating FAR more than my fair share of pizza).

For whatever reason, breakfast foods seem to be loaded with sweetness. From cereals to pancakes to french toast to...well, you get it.

Ah! But Christine! How about the savory delights of quiche? And toast dripping with butter? Or a bagel slathered in cream cheese?

Sigh, yes. That is what I prefer for breaking my fast in the morning after a cup or three of java (the first of which my husband brings to me while I am still in bed)(~ducking again~).

Sadly, I have gone wheat-free.

But why, Christine? Why? Are you un-American? Are you against those golden waves of grain?

Wow. That's stretching it a bit. Let's get back on topic, 'kay? My eliminating wheat stems from an odd confluence of events, and quite honestly it's not a very interesting story. Suffice it to say that I realized that it might be a good idea to eliminate wheat.

I tried it.

It was good.

So while this not eating wheat is making all meals tough, breakfast is the hardest hit. I feel like I'm on a no-carb diet every morning...my go-to meal is a scrambled egg conglomeration of whatever we have on hand. It usually consists of eggs (derrrr), cheese, and perhaps spinach or red bell peppers. Deeeelish!

But not so delish day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after FREAKING day...

The other snag is that I am super lazy in the mornings. I have never woken up fast, nor easily (see above, how hubby has to bribe me to wake up with coffee delivered bedside). What this means is, if my husband isn't making me some egg concoction, in all likelihood I'll just scrape together something, like rye crackers and cream cheese. Or a pre-hardboiled egg. Or a handful of lunch meat (EWWW!).

So, I beg you...help me. Do you have any suggestions as to what I can eat for breakfast? Something savory, not sweet. Easy to prepare in advance that is also wheat free?

If you are a lurker and have an idea, please de-lurke. I need some serious help here in the Non-Sweet, Non-Wheat Recipes for Breakfast Department.

Getting to know me, getting to know all about me...

I have been extremely fortunate in that since I last wrote this post *ahem*, I have gained a couple of new readers. They deserve (a word I love, okay not really) to know the real me. Here I am:

Top 100 Facts About Watch_me Christine

1. Watch_me Christine was originally cast as the main character in 24, but was replaced by the producers when she managed to kill every terrorist and save the day in 12 minutes and 37 seconds.

2. Watch_me Christine doesn't have to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Tall buildings duck under Watch_me Christine.

3. Watch_me Christine does not believe that there are 50 states, only 2, because where ever she goes becomes a State of Emergency and whenever she leaves, she leaves a State of Destruction

4. If it looks like chicken, tastes like chicken, and feels like chicken but Watch_me Christine says its beef, then it's beef.

5. Watch_me Christine sleeps once every 2 weeks, for half an hour, standing up, with her eyes open, and she looks pissed off.

6. Watch_me Christine invented black. In fact, she invented the entire spectrum of visible light. Except pink. Tom Cruise invented pink.

7. Watch_me Christine does not sleep. She waits.

8. Watch_me Christine does not hunt because the word hunting implies the possibility of failure. Watch_me Christine goes killing.

9. Whenever Watch_me Christine plays Chutes and Ladders, she treats the chutes as ladders, because she's not some sissy who can't climb up a plastic slide.

10. Watch_me Christine is allergic to doorknobs. Thats why she can only kick through doors.

11. Watch_me Christine and Superman once fought each other on a bet. The loser had to start wearing their underwear on the outside of their pants.

12. Watch_me Christine can speak braille.

13. Giraffes were created when Watch_me Christine uppercutted a horse.


14. Watch_me Christine can delete the Recycling Bin.

15. Watch_me Christine's calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd; no one fools Watch_me Christine.

16. When Watch_me Christine deletes files from her computer, she doesn't send them to the Recycle Bin. She sends them to hell.

17. When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for Watch_me Christine.

18. The movie Ray is loosely based on the life of Watch_me Christine, only they substituted piano playing for eating toddlers, and blindness for the ability to fly.

19. World champion eater Takeru Kobayashi once ate 53.5 hot dogs in 12 minutes. Allotted the same time, Watch_me Christine ate Kobayashi.

20. Watch_me Christine beat a wall at tennis. Yes. A WALL.

21. Watch_me Christine once visited the Virgin Islands. They are now The Islands.

22. Watch_me Christine sleeps with a night light. Not because Watch_me Christine is afraid of the dark, but the dark is afraid of Watch_me Christine

23. If you play Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" backwards, you will hear Watch_me Christine laughing at you.

24. Watch_me Christine died ten years ago, but the Grim Reaper can't get up the courage to tell her.

25. Watch_me Christine counted to infinity - twice.

26. On a high school math test, Watch_me Christine put down "Violence" as every one of the answers. She got an A+ on the test because Watch_me Christine solves all her problems with Violence.

27. The eternal conundrum "what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object" was finally solved when Watch_me Christine punched herself in the face.

28. Watch_me Christine can kill two stones with one bird.

29. Watch_me Christine owns the greatest Poker Face of all-time. It helped her win the 1983 World Series of Poker despite her holding just a Joker, a Get out of Jail Free Monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green #4 card from the game Uno.

30. If Watch_me Christine wants some shade, she stares the sun down until it eclipses.

31. Watch_me Christine can do a wheelie on a unicycle.

32. Watch_me Christine has beat the crap out of so many people over her brilliant life that most medical journals now classify her as a laxative.

33. The last man who made eye contact with Watch_me Christine was Ray Charles.

34. Watch_me Christine invented the hammer when she was tired of using her forehead to slam nails into wood.

35. Watch_me Christine can watch a season of "24" in just three hours.

36. You are what you eat. That is why Watch_me Christine's diet consists entirely of bricks, steel, and the tears of small children.

37. Watch_me Christine became a vegetarian not because she loves animals, but because she hates plants.

38. Watch_me Christine was once on Celebrity Wheel of Fortune and was the first to spin. The next 29 minutes of the show consisted of everyone standing around awkwardly, waiting for the wheel to stop.

39. On her birthday, Watch_me Christine randomly selects one lucky child to be thrown into the sun.

40. Watch_me Christine can predict the shuffle on her iPod.

41. Watch_me Christine wears a cup not to protect herself, but to protect the players on the other team.

42. When Watch_me Christine plays any video game, God mode automatically turns on.

43. The popular videogame "Doom" is based loosely around the time Satan borrowed two bucks from Watch_me Christine and forgot to pay her back.

44. Leading hand sanitizers claim they can kill 99.9 percent of germs. Watch_me Christine can kill 100 percent of whatever the heck she wants.

45. Getting murdered by Watch_me Christine counts as a natural cause of death.

46. Watch_me Christine puts the "laughter" in "manslaughter".

47. When Watch_me Christine goes to donate blood, she declines the syringe, and instead requests a hand gun and a bucket.

48. Circles exist because Watch_me Christine beat the crap out of some squares.

49. Watch_me Christine once won a game of Connect Four in 3 moves.

50. Weeping Willows are a result of Watch_me Christine yelling at trees for not being tough enough.

51. Watch_me Christine irons her shirts while she's wearing them.

52. Watch_me Christine destroyed the periodic table, saying Watch_me Christine only recognizes the element of surprise.

53. There are only four horsemen of the apocalypse, because Watch_me Christine is going to walk.

54. Onions do not make Watch_me Christine cry. Watch_me Christine makes onions crap themselves.

55. Watch_me Christine once got caught doing 100 in a 50 zone. The cop did give her a speeding ticket, however Watch_me Christine still pleads her innocence to this day, stating that she was simply out for a morning jog.

56. What scientists thought was natural selection is actually only the continued survival of animals Watch_me Christine has found too chewy to eat.

57. Once a cobra bit Watch_me Christine's leg. After five days of excruciating pain, the cobra died.

58. Watch_me Christine can eat a rubix cube and crap it out solved.

59. Watch_me Christine has the heart of a child. She keeps it in a small box.

60. Watch_me Christine used to beat the crap out of her shadow because it was following to close. It now stands a safe 30 feet behind her.

61. Watch_me Christine doesn't have a computer. Just a basement full of Asian kids that memorize numbers.

62. Watch_me Christine doesn't play "hide-and-seek." She plays "hide-and-pray-I-don't-find-you."

63. Watch_me Christine once stated that she "doesn't wail on sissy boys." This led to the pink polo shirts with popped collars craze. Little do those pitiful fools know that Watch_me Christine was just making it easier to find sissy boys to wail on.


64. The grass is always greener on the other side, unless Watch_me Christine has been there. In that case the grass is most likely soaked in blood and tears.

65. Superman owns a pair of Watch_me Christine pajamas.

66. Watch_me Christine can tie her shoes with her feet.

67. Watch_me Christine can make a paraplegic run for her life.

68. Watch_me Christine can slam revolving doors.

69. Watch_me Christine was fired from the Psychic Friends Network for always predicting pain.

70. A Handicap parking sign does not signify that this spot is for handicapped people. It is
actually in fact a warning, that the spot belongs to Watch_me Christine and that you will be handicapped if you park there.

71. Crop circles are Watch_me Christine's way of telling the world that sometimes corn needs to lie the hell down.

72. The word "gay" derives from an old Latin phrase that roughly translates as "He who has not yet been introduced to Watch_me Christine."

73. Watch_me Christine always asks for the same Christmas gift: A box of Smurfs and a sledgehammer.

74. Watch_me Christine is the reason why Waldo is hiding.

75. When Watch_me Christine gives you the finger, she's telling you how many seconds you have left to live.

76. In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Watch_me Christine could use to kill you, including the room itself.

77. Watch_me Christine's blood type is WD-40.

78. Watch_me Christine is the only one who can "try this at home."

79. Santa Claus actually *did* exist until he accidentally skipped Watch_me Christine's house
one Christmas.

80. Watch_me Christine is able to rip a phone book in half with just one hand.

81. The United States Federal Reserve Bank decided that Watch_me Christine's basement was a much safer place for their gold than Fort Knox.

82. If at first you don't succeed, you must not be Watch_me Christine.

83. Watch_me Christine is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for her left and right legs.

84. Watch_me Christine doesn't read books. She stares them down until she gets the information she wants.

85. When Watch_me Christine gets pulled over she lets the cop off with a warning.

86. The only time Watch_me Christine was wrong was when she thought she had made a mistake.

87. Watch_me Christine's family wraps her holiday presents in lead, so she can't see what's in them.

88. Watch_me Christine played Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun and won.

89. The end result of the game "Clue" is always the same: Watch_me Christine was the
murderer, it was in the orphanage, and the weapon was a hamster.

90. Only once has Watch_me Christine ever cried. The only survivors were a bunch of animals and some dude named Noah.

91. Watch_me Christine is the only person in the world who can actually give 110%.

92. If you haven't seen Alien vs. Predator yet, don't bother, Watch_me Christine wins.

93. Watch_me Christine can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night.

94. There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Watch_me Christine allows to live.

95. When Watch_me Christine enters a room, she doesn't turn the lights on, she turns the dark
off.

96. Watch_me Christine does not know where you live, but she knows where you will die.

97. Watch_me Christine was born with the right to party. Unlike the rest of us, who have to fight for it.

98. Watch_me Christine' dog is trained to pick up her own poop because Watch_me Christine will not take crap from anyone.

99. Watch_me Christine knows the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow (African *AND*
European).

100. Watch_me Christine had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow, and anywhere Watch_me Christine went the lamb was sure to go. So she killed it.

(Now go do your own, bitch)

I've been so busy...

...I feel like I'm reliving NaBloPoMo. Except that the things that are keeping me so cRaZy busy are totally NOT related to blogging. I've been so absent from blogging that my mom started to get worried.

I think I've mentioned that I chaired my daughter's preschool auction...it was last week (the week before? after?). A crap load of work but SO fulfilling and exciting. And successful (yippee!).

I'm pretty sure I also mentioned that I've been doing some home staging. Super exciting...and I get PAID for it. Quite well in fact. DUDE (that's so funny, I just misspelled Dude as Duce, now I get it), don't tell anyone but I'd do it for free! Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

I know I've also mentioned my new gig at Domestic Divas. Now, I don't claim to be domestic nor a diva, yet I'm cocky enough to take on the challenge. I am their Health Editor (note the CAPS...who's fancy? I'm fancy!). Wanna go check out my first two efforts?

*Channeling my inner Chuck Norris*Why are you hesitating? Go read it!

One more time when I really, really had to pee

This is the final episode in a three-part series (OR IS IT???) detailing in mind-numbing depth three separate occasions where I, Christine, had to pee very, very badly and managed to inconvenience strangers and/or loved ones to accommodate my walnut-sized bladder. You've heard about trains and automobiles, so naturally we should talk about planes.

In the clouds somewhere; Winter 1995

So, I was twenty seven and newly in love with a guy I'd met some years prior and had been interested in, but for a variety of reasons things died before they ignited for us. I'd always wondered about him, and when the opportunity to reconnect presented itself (okay, I sought it out) I was thrilled. I (we) fell madly in love. The downside? We lived about 1,100 miles apart at that point...but my life was fairly malleable as I was a med student and could study there as easily as at home; he was working in the real world so he could afford to fly me out to him. I did so often.

On one bizarre flight, I boarded a puddle jumper as my final connection. Of course I had my ever-present water bottle in hand. Once we were in the air and we were given the go-ahead to undo our seatbelts, I popped mine open and headed towards the lavatories (if you read my train post, this next part will ring familiar.

Nothing. No bathrooms.

Oh, no. Not again!!!

I went back to my seat and looked at my watch. We had a good forty-five minutes left in the air. At least. Once again I squirmed in my seat, trying to figure out what the hell I would do. A flight attendant walked by and I waved her over, "Are there ANY bathrooms on this flight?" I asked.

"No, this is one of the few in our fleet that isn't equipped with a lavatory," she answered.

"Look, I really have to go. Is there one hidden somewhere here?"

Yes, I asked that. The plane probably sat like thirty people...the cabin was one big open area. What did I think she would say?

"Why yes, in this overhead storage compartment we keep one for emergencies!!!"

So I shifted. Did the sitting on my heal thing again. Looked out the window and wondered if there was an airport close by while simultaneously knowing no way was the pilot going to create a miracle for me like the Spanish conductor did.

Still, I had hope. Hope that the flight attendant was lying. Hope that the pilots would take huge mercy, or something. Finally, in desperation, I walked up to the cockpit doors and knocked. The co-pilot opened the door (I KNOW! Isn't that weird now?).

"I'm very sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering how long until we landed. I'm not feeling very well." It was true.

"It'll be another twenty minutes or so. Is there something we can do for you?"

"Um, no. I just don't feel well and I could really use a bathroom."

His face was totally sympathetic but I knew at that moment I was doomed. They didn't have a special cockpit potty. They weren't going to do an emergency landing for my bladder relief. I was screwed.

I shuffled back to my seat and strategized. I was already several minutes past the point of not knowing second to second how long I had until the dam burst. I knew my boyfriend was at the gate waiting for me (I KNOW! I miss people waiting at the gate.) and thus showing up with pee drenched pants was simply not an option. Because if I was meeting someone else it would have been totally fine, right?.

So I did what anyone else would do. I whipped off my scarf and shoved it down my pants and arranged it in my panties (I don't actually call them panties out loud), creating a makeshift Depends. I figured if I leaked it would at least absorb SOME of my urine.

Happily, it served the unexpected purpose of relieving my bladder of its feeling of urgency and allowed me to make it to the gate. Once there I hugged my boyfriend, told him I had to pee, and bolted to the closest bathroom. Later, I told my then-boyfriend the whole story, and as we laughed together I thought that meant I'd for sure found my soulmate...he loved me, almost-pee-drenched scarf and all.

I was wrong. My true soulmate, my husband, laughs at this story along with me despite the fact that he wasn't the guy waiting at the gate. And he has brought me black coffee in bed every single morning since we've been together (but refuses to bring me water too late at night).

I am a lucky woman.

One day closer to AARP, except I have to really work to retire, right?

I can be such an old lady.

Earlier today, I was in Office Max checking the proof for some invitation I am having printed. I'd emailed the file to the store, and as it turns out, I'd sent the wrong version and there was one teeny bit of text that needed to be tweaked. I asked the young whippersnapper behind the counter if he could switch that out for me.

"I don't know, let's see," he said and then waved the cursor over the screen.

"Nope," he quickly answered.

"How about you...uuuuuummmmmm...click, errrrrrrrr..." I stammered as I pointed towards the monitor.

"Do what?" he asked politely.

"Well, click there. On the "T." To change the text"

He looked at me sympathetically. "I know how to use the program, ma'am. It's just that the document is embedded and thus not able to be changed."

I know that tone of voice. It's the same one I use when my four year-old does something that she thinks is ever so very grown-up, but really is simply adorable and only serves to underscore her sweet youth. The fact is, the guy was probably trying very hard not to laugh at me, the grannie who thought she knew more than the kid who's been using a computer his entire life. And gets paid to use the program about which I was explaining the basics.

I walked out of the store (uphill, in the snow, barefoot in a hairshirt and I was GRATEFUL!) shaking my head and muttering, "Click the T? Click the T? Click the T? Click the T? Click the T?"

Ugh.

Does this blog make my butt look big?

I usually hate sitting. You can generally find me standing, putzing around my kitchen, hauling laundry, getting kids in and out of the car...you know, the stuff we do. I don't even watch TV sitting down. I stand at a counter and listen to music or the radio and multitask.

When I'm not sitting, I'm probably lying down, or at least reclining. I read while horizontal. Play with the kids sprawled along the couch or on the floor (but more likely walking around doing something). Maybe it's a function of poor posture, but sitting just isn't comfortable enough for me to pick it over standing or laying around.

BUT then this blogging thing happened to me...I started delving into this wondrous blogosphere and needless to say, I was hooked. The thing is, my laptop isn't wireless here at home. So I sit here reading. SIT here reading. Then I started my own blog, and I sit here writing. SIT here writing.

See where this is going? I've been sitting on this ass of mine, and you know what? I now understand what that gross term Secretary Spread means. I've gained weight because I've been sitting on my ASS. Which has gotten wider and puffier as a result of my newly adopted stationary status (no, I'm sure it isn't the inconsistent exercising and lack of willpower about all things savory and Cabernet Sauvignonish).

So...I've joined the lovely Mrs. Flinger's challenge...weight loss war. I am gonna win the cashola, beotches really looking forward to this opportunity to encourage each other on our weight loss goals. Honestly, I am. Because I might give up red wine (as if) but I'm not giving up blogging.

Ugly green monster, please exit stage left

The other day I was walking down our street with my kids and Cutest Puppy Ever. We were heading to a park to vacate our house while it was being shown. I'd just spent a stressful few hours getting ready for these looky-loos potential buyers...all the more annoying because we have an accepted offer, but as it is still in a contingency period we're keeping our options open.

Anyway, as we strolled down our street my daughter was workin' her Dora scooter, my son was walking our dog, and I was luxuriating in not having to be cleaning anything. Some neighbors a couple of blocks away were hanging in their front yard; while the girls played the husband washed their minivan and the wife deadheaded some roses. I smiled and waved as we approached them, and in one unexpected swarm the four of them, along with their big dog, descended upon us in a flurry of wagging tails, giggles, and...questions, Where are you moving? You're renting? Why? Oh. We'll miss you. Have a nice walk. Bye!

The girls, who are about six and nine, went back to their yard, giggling and squealing with delight as they took turns chasing and then being chased by their dog. I watched them, and my head flashed into a power-point of their future in this house, this neighborhood...holidays, summer days, celebrations, arguments, proms, broken hearts, all set within the backdrop of this home, this family home. This is, of course, in contrast to our own situation which is uncertain, which continues to STUN me when I really stop and consider it.

And in that moment, I did consider it, and I experienced a pang of guilt, fear, and regret so powerful I hesitated mid-breath...and then (hold on) an ugly, little, hypocritical thought regarding those two little girls surprised me as it flashed through my head, "Princesses!"

Whoa.

For a split second I channeled all of my angst and focussed it on two innocents who were simply enjoying a late summer evening with their family. Jealousy is ugly, even if it is brief, silent, and regretted.

Then I looked at my kids as they whooped and hollered on the way to the park, our pup's tail wagging in delight. They are happy, we are together, we are happy together. That's all that matters, I know.

It's just hard when dreams die.

Shiny happy blogger indeed!

Find me Thread-Bear, my friends, as I'm debuting as a guest blogger, follow the link below...and please comment. I hate being a comment whore and that's not how I roll here, but I don't want Velveteen Mind to think a total loser.

Oh, and as an extra enticement to get you to click over, I've included a photo of me...my face is also debuting today (shameless whoring).

Click here:

Another time when I really, really had to pee

(This is part deux in a three-part series detailing in mind-numbing depth three separate occasions where I, Christine, had to pee very, very badly and managed to inconvenience strangers and family alike)(Oh! I just thought of another...perhaps this shall be a tetralogy).

Winter 2000

We'd been living in Northern California for a couple of months (we're from Detroit originally), and my husband had to travel to Reno to see some clients. I was thrilled to tag along and make my first journey over the Sierra Nevada mountain range. And hey! A free place to stay to boot! Woohoo!

Naive...oh, how naive we were. We left late in the afternoon Friday. No big deal, right? Two and a half hours tops in the car and we'll be rolling into The Biggest Little City in The World in time for dinner.

See, we didn't know. Highways around here are packed on Fridays with people from the Bay Area and such jamming to get some weekend skiing done in them thar mountains. We crawled along the highway. Dinnertime came and went. Our son was two years old at the time and my husband sat in the back keeping him entertained.

It sucked.

And then it got worse. It started snowing. And not a sweet little flurry, mind you, but a veritable avalanche. Yes, just as we were approaching Donner Pass we encountered a blizzard. I was already getting freaked out driving in the dark on an unfamiliar highway with *GULP* cliffs (have I mentioned here that I have a thing about driving on cliffy roads?), so I turned the reins over to my husband and I skedaddled to the backseat where I played with my son and tried to resist the urge to tell my husband how to drive.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I guzzled a big old bottle of water. No worries, we're only a half hour from Reno, I thought, and if we have to we can always pull off the highway. Which would have been a great plan IF THEY HADN'T CLOSED DONNER PASS.

That's right, they shut the highway down while we were on it, which in retrospect was probably a good thing because visibility was maybe six inches. So we sat in our Volvo wagon (this is pre-minivan days) with white flakes surrounding us like an inverse snowglobe and waited.

But, see, eventually I was in need of a bathroom and dammit my car isn't equipped with one (we didn't elect for that package). At one point I opened the door to consider peeing on the highway but it was completely black and white; I had NO idea if I took a few steps if I'd catapult of the side of a cliff. But I was getting pretty desperate so I didn't think I had many alternatives. I put one foot outside the car and WHOOP! the sheet of ice underfoot knocked me right back inside.

As my eyeballs were starting to float I looked at my son and thought how lucky he was to be wearing diapers and not have to worry about finding a bathroom.

Oh yes, I did. Let me just say that 2T diapers are NOT meant to handle an adult quantity of urine.

Times When Christine Really, REALLY Had to Pee (A Trilogy); Part I

(This is part one in a three-part series detailing in mind-numbing depth three separate occasions where I, Christine, had to pee very, very badly and managed to inconvenience strangers and family alike)(Oh! I just thought of another...perhaps this shall be a tetralogy).



Picture it, Madrid 1997 (prize of nothing given to whomever gets that reference). It was well after dark and I had just arrived in Madrid. As I exited the train I managed to get myself robbed; I freaked out for a few minutes wondering what I was going to do without cash, credit cards, or the map to the hostel at which I had a reservation. I sort of remembered where the hostel was relative to the train station, so I started walking. Pretty soon I was lost and wandering around a poorly lit warehouse district (yes, not creepy at all). Eventually I stumbled upon my hostel; it was 11 pm at this point, way past their curfew.

As I rang the doorbell of the hostel, I tried to convince myself that the owners would take pity on me; I was a girl traveling alone who had been robbed in their beautiful city. They would understand why I was late and would be okay with the fact that I didn't have my credit card with me; they would take me in, perhaps give me some tea and a warm rag to wipe off my dirty, tear-stained face, console me, and do all they could to help this scared girl.

Uh, no.

I had to beg them to let me in; I started thinking that perhaps I should have taken my chances with the two slimy American guys who had "felt sorry for me" and offered to buy me "some beers" and let me "stay with them." I pleaded over the intercom and explained my story and after many protestations they let me in. Then they wanted payment. Up front. Now. "They took my wallet; if I can call American Express they will wire you the money from my bank account in the morning," I explained. "I just need to make one phone call."

"No. Phonecalls are not allowed after 8pm. It disturbs our guests."

I was beyond on the verge of tears. Ultimately they capitulated; I called AMEX as the two owners of the hostel sat five feet from me sighing and coughing and rolling their eyes. Finally, they got confirmation of their payment and I got to retreat to my room. I have little memory of going to bed, just the recall of a vague uneasiness all night.

In the morning I decided to high-tail it out of Madrid. I had wanted to go to the The Prado, but I was so freaking jittery I needed to get out of a humongous city and into a more manageable small-scale situation where I'd feel safer.

Thus Toledo it was. Less than an hour south of Madrid and home of El Greco, Toledo had been on my itinerary anyway...I was just bumping up my visit.

After leaving my hostel, I ran into a shop and grabbed some bread and a one and a half liter bottle of water. I hadn't eaten since I left Barcelona so I was famished. And thirsty (AHA! YES! Where the pee part of the story starts). I chugged the water and ate the bread as I ran to the station.

Once I arrived, I bought my ticket and located my platform. I had less than ten minutes before the train left...I was starting to feel the urge, but the closest lavatory was a bit of a sprint away. Could I hold off until the train was out of the station to hit the john (in case it was a Hopper Toilet that just dumps onto the tracks)? Yeah, I could make it; I didn't want to risk going to the bathroom then and having the train leave without me.

So, I hopped on the train and wiggled in my seat as I wait for us to exit the station...and when the time came I made my way to the back of the car, full of that feeling that relief combined with urgency that comes as you know are finally going to go.

Nothing. No bathrooms.

I zipped out of that car into the next, and then the one behind it, all the way to the end of the train. Nada. I worked my way back to the front of the train...no bathrooms anywhere. I went back to my seat, wondering what the hell I was going to do? I'd been traveling around Europe for well over two months at this point and I had never encountered a train that didn't have bathrooms. It hadn't occurred to me that this could be a possibility.

The conductor came by and I asked/mimed him how long until we arrived in Toledo. He pulled out a map; we weren't even a quarter of a way there. I was screwed; there was NO way I was going to make it. I tried to explain this to him; he wasn't getting my broken Spanish, my fairly good French, my English. So I used the international symbol for having to piss in the worst way: I locked my knees together, grabbed my crotch, and bulged out my eyes.

He got it. He put a sympathetic hand on my arm; once again showed me the map, pointed to his watch...NOW...pointed to the map, pointed to his watch again to show me the time lapse until we arrived in Toledo. Another half hour at least. There wasn't much between where we were and here; no other cities, no other stops. "Gracias" I said with a smile I plastered on my face. I knew I wouldn't make it.

I hummed, bounced, and squirmed. The minutes elapsed as the crop fields passed by my window. The motion of the train only seems to serve to swoosh the urine around in my bladder; waves of pee knocking against my urethra. I sat on my heal, hoping it would somehow act as a cork. I assessed the seat in which I was sitting; a bowl-shaped resin type thing. I *might* hold *some* pee, at least prevent it from sloshing onto the floor. I wondered what I could pull out of my backpack that would be sufficiently absorbent. Not only did I consider that, I actually thought it would come to that.

Suddenly, in the middle of what seemed like endless feilds, the train came to an unexpected stop. Outside my car there was a little platform, a dock only as long as my car and half the one before it and after it. There were two little buildings on it; the large one had a window covered by shutters. "Great," I thought. "This will help my situation - a delay."

Then right outside of my very window the conductor's face popped up. He waved for me to come down! Come down! He pointed to the little building, and to my extreme joy I saw those wonderful silhouettes of a male and female. BATHROOMS! I looked back at the conductor and he had backed away from the train, continuing to beckon me to detrain. So I did. And I RAN towards those bathrooms, carrying my huge backpack on my back.

"HEY!" I heard. I turned around and the conductor threw a key on a stick to me; I caught it, chucked my backpack to the ground and fumbled my way into the bathroom.

It seemed forever long, that pee. I realized as I was in there that someone could be grabbing my backpack and hopping on the departing train. It's worth it, I thought.

But I didn't hear anyone shuffling away with my bag, and I didn't hear the train chug away. I exited the bathroom, handed the smiling conductor the key and thanked him in as many languages as I thought we might have in common, but mostly with "Gracias, gracias, gracias." He stopped the train for me, a girl who didn't know better than to not guzzle a liter of water before boarding.

I picked up my backpack and as I headed towards my car I thought of how I had discovered a new Walk of Shame. The Ugly American who inconvenienced a train full of people; maybe made some late for work, or for getting home to their families, or disrupted their day's activites because I hadn't bothered to do my homework.

But then I heard a funny noise;I looked up, and out of each train car window were as many heads as could fit through; they were clapping, smiling, and waving.

Within twelve hours I'd experienced some of the worst and some of the best we as humans had to offer each other.

CPQ (no, it's not a new shopping channel)

I have more than one...oh, let's call them Cute Personality Quirks. Today I was faced with one of them. Maybe more, I'm not sure.

My son was was not just bored, he was BORED!!! He'd reached the screen time cut-off (that is, no more TV, GameCube, or computer for the day). He'd read for a couple of hours. He'd jumped on the trampoline. There was NOTHING TO DO, as apparently all of his toys are BORING.

Then he gets a call from a buddy; his father wants to take the two of them golfing.

Gulp.

The thing is, I get weird about my kids being in cars with other people. More than weird; I get anxious. What if? What if? What if??? I have driven on every single field trip of his, from Kindergarten all the way through third grade (except the few in which my husband participated), just to avoid this scenario.

But my son and his friend are taking golf lessons together, and this boy's father and I have carpooled to and from the lessons; the course isn't too far away and so it's within my comfort zone. I sucked it up and said, "Yeah, sure."

Then the father follows up with this one, "We're going to try a new course, over in Town-Twenty-Some-Miles-Down-The-Highway."

I didn't sign up for that. It's one thing to take my kid three miles away, but on the highway? AT RUSH HOUR? How's a paranoid mama like me supposed to deal?

A friend was with me, a friend who knows me well. She's mouthing at me, "Let him go. He'll be fine. Let him go. He'll be fine. Let him go. He'll be fine. Let him go. He'll be fine"

I told the dad that before I gave a final okay I'd need to check with my husband. HA! As if that's how our family works! I was really calling him to see if he could come up with a good excuse to get me out of the pickle into which I'd cornered myself. He just said, "I am sure it would be fine, but if you aren't comfortable with it just say no." Thanks a helluva lot...I need a better excuse than that. I mean, Just Say No? How 80's!

Ultimately, I knew I was being selfish and overprotective and unreasonable, so with a lump in my throat I told my son he could go. And how much fun you're going to have!

As we waited for him to be picked up, I put sunscreen on my boy's face, helped him get his golf gear in order, hugged him and kissed the top of his head, handed him his baseball cap, told him to wear his seatbelt (to which he looked at me as if I was insane; it would never occur to him to NOT wear it), and kept saying, "HAVE A GREAT TIME!"

I can't tell you how incredibly thrilled I was when five minutes later as the dad was picking him up, he informed me that he had decided to stay in town...traffic and all, you know.

Once I was back inside, my friend told me about how it was for her, growing up with a paranoid and overprotective parent. Her mom was always so concerned about something horrible happening to her kids she didn't allow them to do a lot of fun things. Like golfing with a friend, for example. The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was the right thing for me to do, to override my Cute Personality Quirk...to shed my selfishness and ignore my discomfort in order to allow him to HAVE SOME FUN.

As I typed the above, the phone rang. It was my son (ThankGodheisokay); he told me that they are on the eighth hole and then he exclaimed, "Can we have a sleepover?" My son, who just turned nine, has had literally over a hundred sleepovers here, but only once has he been willing to spend the night at someone else's home once...and not this Friend's home. So when he asked for asked for a sleepover I assumed that he meant at our home, so I answered, "Yeah, sure." See a pattern emerging?

My suddenly independent little boy said, "I don't care, but Friend wants to sleep at his house." This friend is a nice enough kid, but I don't know him or his family very well. Is this another Cute Personality Quirk, or just me being a good parent?

Really, how am I to know?

Smell my fingers

There has been a whole lotta pukin' goin' on in this house this week. First my son, now my daughter. Me, I've been tired and a bit under the weather, but so far nothing projecting from any of my orifices which I usually consider to be a good thing.

More than a couple of times today I had to use my hands as an emergency bowl when my daughter was caught unawares of emanating puckage. Unfortunately, the cup runneth over so I have a ton of laundry to do.

On other appliance notes...our dishwasher broke down yesterday. YUP! The warranty *just* expired! We had considered renewing the extended warranty, but if we had the thing would still be working so no worries.

Apples, trees, whatnot

"Mama, remember you said I could get a lollipop today?"

"Okay, we'll stop on the way home and get you a lollipop."

"But I don't meant the big food store, I mean the one with chips. We went there and cleaned our car, and I went there with Daddy and we cleaned the car. Not the big store. Not the big store! NOT THE BIG STORE!!!"

Eventually I realized she meant the mini-mart at our local gas station. My girl was crying to hit THE MINI MART AT OUR GAS STATION to get her lollipop fix. She's only been there the two times, but I guess it made an impression.

Oy. What have we done?

One more reason to love batteries and hate oil

For too long Mr. Scale has been saying to me, "STEP OFF, bitch! Yeah, I'm talkin' to YOU! Why do you keep coming 'round here looking for something you KNOW you won't find? To quote Albert Einstein (or maybe it is Benjamin Franklin, or Rita Mae Brown, or a Chinese proverb...what do I know, I am a SCALE?), 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.'"

But AHA! I have discovered how to make Mr. Scale do my bidding. The other day I tapped it with my foot, waited for the tare function to do it's zero thing, and then stepped on.

It was so lovely. My scale told me, in no uncertain terms, "TOO LOW."

It's been many years since those words have been applied to my weight. I am TOO LOW!!! And I have been every morning since.

I *knew* my clothes were shrinking. Just knew it. My wedding rings being too tight for comfort? Clearly a function of solar flares or some other phenomenon causing them to decrease in diameter.

I really don't want to change that particular battery any time soon.

I'm gonna make it after all

Ugh, I was a wreck of a bitch yesterday. It started with the old woke up on the wrong side of the bed excuse combined with the syndrome of EVERYTHING is falling apart at the seams. Every other moment I felt like I was putting out fires, then turning around and hearing bad news, then being head-butted by the most ugliness humanity has to offer, then finding out that life as I know it is probably crumbling under my feet.

At least, that's how it felt.

So I called my Mommy. She always makes me feel better (belly poking notwithstanding...and honestly I invited it when I asked her, "Do I look like I've gained weight?").

Anyway, today I called her to talk me down, which she did. She always can; no one else helps me like my mom. During the course of our conversation, my daughter kept interrupting (the audacity!) and whining and yelling. Eventually I lost my "cool" and bellowed, "KNOCK IT OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It's almost like my daughter didn't understand how badly I needed to talk to my mom. I mean, sometimes a girl just NEEDS her Mommy.

Later that night, as I was putting the kids to bed (my husband still at work, or at a fantasy baseball meeting, whatever) my daughter disappointed me. Out of respect for her three year-old privacy I will refrain from sharing (she peed on my bed) but let's just say she knew better.

I lost it.

I yelled at her, "YOU KNOW BETTER!" then lugged the linens downstairs to the laundry room, cursing myself because I was so behind on laundry that I didn't have enough to scrape together to make my bed properly. I bitched and moaned and complained and blamed everyone I've ever met.

Even as I did so, I knew I was acting like a lunatic. I didn't care. Some weird, primal, reptilian part of my brain actually enjoyed entertaining the thought of punching a hole in the wall. Another part of my brain worried that I had in fact lost it, and that this was The Beginning of the End.

This morning I woke up on the right side of the bed (and no, there is no subtext here). As soon as I opened my eyes I knew I wasn't in the same dark place that I was yesterday...that was certainly a relief, but I wondered what the hell was wrong with me yesterday, and felt heaps of guilt about my inability to keep my emotions in check the day before. I felt great today, except for that guilt.

As the day went on I was relieved to find that little things that would had set me off yesterday I was able to deal with in a rational way. While that was reassuring, I felt the echoes of yesterday tugging at me. You wouldn't have been so level headed yesterday, eh? Why NOT?

Mid afternoon I unexpectedly started my period (Wait! What is that sound? The out-clicks of all my male readers?). OH! THAT is what my deal was yesterday. I wasn't descending into lunacy, I was just PMS'ing.

Since being an optimist isn't my strength, I've come to the conclusion that at the age of 41 (and a half), since my periods are now not following the normal pattern of utter predictably (yes, I have neglected to share with you that my last cycle was nearly a week late) that I have entered perimenopause. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

My glass half full of air

Some of the Worst Compliments I Have Ever Received:
1. Whoever marries you will be lucky, because you will be better looking at 40 than you are today. (I was 20) from a dude I was casually dating

2. You look better naked than you do in clothes. from boyfriend at the time

3. You look like you could be on 90120 from some dude also trying to pick me up, circa whenever that show was watched

4. I had more fun with you when we were together than I've ever had with anyone. I really loved you. from a guy I'd dated over ten years prior to this conversation, who had insisted we keep our relationship casual because he wasn't *feeling it*

5. It hurt me to think that an employee as loyal as you, who has been with us for so long, could betray us. I realize now I was wrong and that you didn't in fact steal that $3.50 rice paper card, and for that we will always be grateful. However, we have already made an example of you to the other employees; they know if we could fire YOU, we would certainly fire them. So we have to let you go. from the owner of the retail store in which I spent years working for during college



Some of the Best Compliments I Have Ever Received:
1. Whoever marries you will be lucky, because you will be better looking at 40 than you are today. (I was 20) from a dude I was casually dating

2. You look better naked than you do in clothes. from boyfriend at the time

3. You look like you could be on 90120 from some dude also trying to pick me up, circa whenever that show was watched

4. I had more fun with you when we were together than I've ever had with anyone. I really loved you. from a guy I'd dated over ten years prior to this conversation, who had insisted we keep our relationship casual because he wasn't *feeling it*.

5. It hurt me to think that an employee as loyal as you, who has been with us for so long, could betray us. I realize now I was wrong and that you didn't in fact steal that $3.50 rice paper card, and for that we will always be grateful. However, we have already made an example of you to the other employees; they know if we could fire YOU, we would certainly fire them. So we have to let you go. from the owner of the retail store in which I spent years working for during college.