"Hey, isn't Milwaukee an Indian name?" "Yes, Pete, it is. In fact, it was originally an Algonquin term meaning "the good land." " -- Alice Cooper

Last eve, while planting a hydrangea with Winnie, we shoveled into this chunk of rock. It was clumped with dirt -- I thought it was a piece of a broken terra cotta pot at first and was ready to pitch it over the side of the hill, but it was too heavy and the shape was intriguing, so I hosed it off.

It looks like a scraping tool -- it's a smidge over 4 inches long and it's very ergonomic if I hold it like I wanted to scrape a skin or something -- it's really sharp too.

I've gone from thinking it's a cool shaped rock to considering the possibility that it may be authentic. And the more I consider that it is -- the more geeked and full of wonder I feel, because, dude, what if an actual person used this in my front yard?

I'm going to take it to our local nature center and see what I can find. If it turns out to be something, I may have to do a little more digging around because I found it in fairly undisturbed land -- it's wooded and has never been a farm or developed. I live in a fairly historic and untouched part of my town. Wouldn't it be cool if the field stone I tossed over the edge of the hill were actually one of those rubbing stones and maybe the seed grinding plate is still down there somewhere???

Okay, maybe I go too far, you can't put the shovel in the ground without hitting a stone, but still -- perhaps the clubhouse rests on the same spot as Chief Bull Bear and family once lived.

Chasing the sandman

If I almost get a nap, then I have to have a nap -- but I don't usually get that nap.

I was being quite productive today and then I took a lunch break -- it wasn't the lunch that put the cog in the wheel -- it was the realization, during lunch, that I had "Hey Paula" sitting on the DVD just a waitin to be viewed.

Lunch + TV = nodding off.

Nodding off, however, does not = nap -- nodding off = a few moments of bliss ending abruptly by requests to comb doll hair, button a shirt, answer snack questions and all kinds of parenting things.

That damn bliss -- she's a powerful Siren -- she fogs my reason and fools me into believing that just a few more minutes and I will fall into slumber.

Why there isn't some sane person in my head sounding the "this road to frustration and wasted afternoon" alarm, I know not -- all of me falls for this nap trick again and again.

Well, of course it didn't happen -- I just got groggy and frustrated and made some coffee.

The afternoon coffee doesn't work like the morning coffee -- I stay fogged, but add a stomach ache and mild heartburn into the mix.

The nap obsession has turned me into an old lady.

This is the last time I fall for it -- I'm serious -- that's it, no more naps -- naps R dumb -- for weenies even.

I know it's not just me

If Jeff's middle initial "C" were on this mug, it would be perfect.

overwhelmed

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I was dealing with some things -- well, I'm not dealing very well. I'm not falling apart so much as shutting down.

Let me give you the scoop -- a few weeks ago my mom got news that she needs a hysterectomy -- preliminary blood tests and an ultrasound indicate a probability of cancer. Her hysterectomy was scheduled for the end of June -- June being the month we had set aside to deal with getting my grandfather's house in order and get him in a care facility as he does not wish to spend another winter on his own.

On the same day that my mom found out she may have cancer, I found out that my father's cancer has returned. I don't think I mentioned that my father had prostate cancer. It was scary news, but research and many, many people told stories of having the cancer or knowing someone with prostate cancer and how it's highly curable. His seemed to have been contained, he had some treatments and last I knew all was well.

What I was not informed of was that he had a very aggressive cancer and while they have found no actual mass, his blood numbers for prostate cancer antigens, indicate it has returned, so he is receiving treatment and they won't know anything more until the treatments are done and time passes and they do more blood work.

In the meantime, mom, who won't do meds for her bi-polar chemistry -- lost her shit and became a manic devil. She came back to earth in time for her surgery this past Monday. The surgery revealed not one, but two -- two kinds of cancer (all those double-mint commercials growing up, I have to say it that way).

The separate cancer pathologies, for the ovarian and uterine cancers they removed, are actually better than having had one type of cancer spread from one place to the other. To the naked eye they appeared contained and not of an aggressive persuasion, we will know more when blood and other tests come back (today or next week).

Can you feel the joy of all this waiting?

My poor grandpa is so worried and he keeps calling for news and there is no new news. And while there is plenty of action for me to take on getting my grandpa's paper work filled out and bringin my mom some groceries and putting my laundry away -- I don't want to do any of it and I don't want to talk to people.

I want to go to bed and be left alone for a few days.

Well, I actually feel a little better having written this. Taking action always makes me feel better, but I feel frozen and just having typed all of this -- I feel motivated to go to the grocery and get some things for my mom. I may even have enough juice to call my grandpa and listen to his worry tape play for a while.

homeroom homeroom angel

She may act shy, but look at her -- dirty girl.

What kind of person could resist that kind of factoid? I think she's a robot

One of my best friends does not want to know what Dr. Oz had to say about parasites whilst covering the topic one day on Oprah.

Even after I informed her that it involved tape and anuses, still, no interest -- if anything, a further resolve to not know.

Now, I understand not being able to put the genie back in the bottle and all, but--tape and anuses.

John Hughes for grown-ups

I saw "Knocked Up" last night and was pleasantly surprised by how funny it was. My expectations were low, I assumed the best parts were shown in the previews, but I thought it would be good enough to eat a giant bucket of popcorn to -- a "Must Love Dogs" type of movie.

I'm reviewing without time to delve, the short of it is -- lots of laughs, not just cute chuckles, but laughing. It has insights like a good chic flick/man cry, but it's funny and well done like all those John Hughes flicks in the 80's.

Just go, be entertained -- boys will like it too.

One more 'woe is me'

Can you read the sign? It says, "Do not feed, annoy, throw waste or crossover railing".


Where do I sign the lease? I'm moving in tomorrow.

My crazy mom is crazy

She hates the mental illness label so much, and yet, it fits so well.

Anyone who has ever dealt with someone with serious mental health problems knows what I mean when I say that I am worn out, weary, heartsick, powerless, without power, unable to change the situation, sad.

The best acting portrayals I've seen yet, of my mom's particular illness, have been the Billy character on Six Feet Under and Sally Feild on ER. Billy being the better of the two -- Sally got a little too insightful here and there to be my mom. My mom has zero self-awareness, thus, zero ownership of bizarre, confusing, spiteful behavior = really hard to be around and have sympathy for (and yet, I do).

She's so horrible and hurtful and there is nowhere to really go with the fallout from it because her mind is beyond the rules of reason and logic and to lash back is like kicking a dog.

She's like Pinhead from Hellraiser -- throwing out chained barbs everywhere she goes, but on the inside, all she ever wanted was a yo-yo.

We've rallied around her our entire lives, doing the right thing -- not leaving her to be dumped on the world, pumped with haldol and placed in a room or on the street. I'm out of answers for the correct way to respond and deal.

Yesterday was Winnie's birthday and she brought on the chaos to my entire family with special attention to me, Frankie and Winnie. Something switched off in me. It's time to rally around the stable and protect them from the damage that happens in the wake of a wacko.

Every answer has undesirable fallout. I can't wait for the day where there is some kind of Star-Trekkian brain fixer that makes shit connect the way it should.

Big sigh.

Last day of computers with the kindergarten class

Remember that kid who thought maybe I wasn't so smart after all?

She still loves me.

Today she raised her hand and when I said, "Yes Hailey?" She said, "You're pretty."

"Awww. You're pretty too."

We are totally best friends now.

I have identified the problem

You would not believe the amount of life issues that are on my plate right now, but I will say it's to the point where I have to say mantras and work hard to focus on the task at hand.

I get the feeling that I am leaking a lot more of the simmering stress than I like to think because people keep saying things to the effect of me using these crisis' as an opportunity for identifying issues and working toward self-improvement. My first thought keeps being, "I know what my issue is -- my issue is, fuck you, that's my issue."

What do you think? I think I'm on to a best-selling self-help book here. The title will be: It Is Everyone Else -- the only two words or single gesture you will ever need for boundary setting.

More like a manual, one chapter for visual learners and the other for the wordy folk.

Save a tree already

I would post more but I'm too busy slaying paper -- enough with the end of the school year paper flood. And what's with my kids wanting to go to summer school and play in summer sports, "didn't your dad just buy you a Nintendo thingy?"

Am I not modeling correctly? You would think they would know their way around all of the necessary remotes by now.