THE GOAT RODEO

Serena dei Fiore (name pending approval), is ready to head to her first ren faire rehearsal, scared, feeling old and determined not to make a dope out of herself. Okay, not much of a dope. I have no idea what to expect, but there will be a full report. I’m having a problem putting pictures on rendiary.liedel.org, but Gene is working on it, so I expect something to be up there today. The red petticoat is done, except for the beading on the very bottom. I’ve leaned how to make a French Seam and a Flat Felled Seam and I now think I’m some sort of sewing Goddess. I’m sure that at some point I’ll be picking out enough stitches to bring me down to size.

I also pass my designs by my wardrobe mistress today. I’m scared she’s going to tell me no. Admittedly, the dresses are nice, but not court nice. I have a story (see ren diary) that would explain the clothes, so I’m hoping everyone buys it. I’m also running around like a goof trying out my Italian accent on anyone who will listen. It’s not that heavy thing you hear on bad movies. Venetian accents are subtle and light, with rolled R’s, but not ridiculously rolled. It’s a whole science unto itself. In other words, this is good for me and I love it.

Before I forget, Happy Mothers day to everyone who celebrates it. I’m without my mom now, but I have my prcious children and they bring me great joy. I also have a lot of people who love me and mother me, whether they are old enough to be my mom, or not. I also wish happy mother’s day to my birthmother, wherever she is and to Mary and Elena, the birthmother’s to my precious sons. I think about them all the time.

I called my shrink today, nice guy and gets me. I told him my therapist is a very nice person and I like her, but she does not get the panic attacks. She’d make a good friend, but I don’t need a friend here. They’re switching me out to someone my shrink thinks would better help me with coping skills for the kid issues and the death issues. Thank goodness for him.

Herne’s teacher sent us this cute picture of him helping out in school, picking up scarves.

“I think you have a good support system. Lots of friends and you like your children. The psychiatrist says you’re depressed, but he might be wrong.”

This was after what was essentially a panic attack yesterday. Yes, I have friends, wonderful, caring people in my life who I turn to every day and who love me without hesitation. They’re all many miles away, the closest being in Lansing, over an hour from here. I can’t develop friendships easily locally. I have three children with special needs and despite my love and laughter with them, my adoration for them, I feel alone and lonely much of the time. I lack coping skills sometimes. I don’t know how to handle a meltdown from Herne combined with Gene-Gene’s hurt at people calling him names and Steven running into a pole because children with FAS have a hard time getting the consequences of their actions. She also misses that Gene is a wonderful father and husband, but when he’s overwhelmed, he has his affair. Not with woman, with his computer. He is physically in the room, but not really here. She does not get it, she thinks because I run and sew and blog that I am pretty well adjusted. She missed the waking up screaming the other night with the panic attack and I don’t talk about those, because I feel like a freak. Somedays, sometimes this is too much and to look at me because I am good at seeing the positive side and do smile and laugh and am not some sobbing ball of horror does not mean I have it all under control.

I don’t’ want a poor me, pity party. I just want to cope with my stress without it being belittled by someone who is there to help me. Yes, we all have problems. I want to get a handle on coping with mine and I can’t do that alone right now, so stop telling me about all the sunny stuff and say, “hey, there are clouds, let’s find a way to shield ourselves from the rain and move on.” I think that’s why I started the therapy in the first place. It’s never been all doom and gloom. At my darkest moments there is laughter, but that does not mean everything is okay and that does not make me a freak.

Thirteen Magical Beings That Live in My Home. The, “Decider” ain’t got nothing on me.

According to my family.

1. The dish fairy. She’s the one who flies into the kitchen and puts the dishes in the dishwasher that are covered with crud. She also gets them out of odd places, like under beds. Who puts a dirty dish under a bed?

2. The clothes sprite. She folds the clothes. Can’t find what you want in the pile? Just dig through it and the clothes sprite will re-fold the pile you dump on the floor and place the clothes that are yours in your room. It’s a miracle.

3. Toothbrush Reminder Person! With a cape of bristles and a tube of Crest, TBRP, for short, will remind you to brush your teeth at least twice a day. Important at three, but at eleven perhaps he can move along.

4. Lion Feeder! This winsome soul fills the cat bowls when they are not only empty, but the cats are ready to attack. Believe me, they are plotting our doom. It’s only a full food bowl that saves us all.

5. The Vacuumer. With a mighty Eureka this woman, and it’s always a woman, not only vacuums, but empties the cup when it’s full. Which should be every time. Repeated requests to pass this job on have related in half-thought-out vacuuming of one strip of carpet and kvetching that the job is really much better than it looks.

6. The Sweeper. Drag in a yard full of mud on a rainy day? Don’t worry, The Sweeper will fix it.

7. The Truth Seeker. Not sure if your clothes are dirty or clean? The Truth Seeker will smell them and let you know. I really hate that job and it’s worse when my husband asks me to do it.

8. Temperature Control Woman. “It’s forty one, wear a jacket.” Seems like it should be obvious, but only temperature control woman can figure this one out.

9. Answer Woman. “Where is your penis mom, did a monster eat it? Where does Grandma live? Where is the dog’s belly button? Where are da flowers mom?” There is no question a curious three year old can’t ask that Answer Woman can’t answer, although the first one had me a bit stumped for a while.

10. The Nagger. “Is your homework done?” This is closely followed by,

11. The Discerner. Who can tell with one look of her beady green eyes if said homework is actually done, or she is being lied to like the steerage passengers on the Titanic, that were told to wait for the other liferafts.

12. Bird Woman. Who can tell from a distance of amazing degrees what kind of bird it is, and what it’s up to. Bird Woman doesn’t always tell the truth.

13. All in One Woman. Got a boo-boo, a trapped kitty, a cold, need five hundred cupcakes for a school function with one days notice? All in One Woman can get the job done.

What I want to know is where is that woman on the commercials in the ’70’s that could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and never let him forget he’s a man, cause I’m too tired for any of that crap.

Think you can handle more Thursday Thirteen, do ya? Then click here.

More Wordless Wednesday.

He tests me, he ignores me, he treats me like a fixture, or a jailer to break away from. When he wants something I’m the best mommy in the universe. When I say no, I suck. Who? Do you really have to ask? My eleven year old, Gene-Gene. He knows more than me, is cooler than me and is not afraid to let me know it. He will do anything to get out of chores. Oh, and I’m downright evil when it comes to chores. Walk the dog, unload the dishwasher, keep your room clean, toss your trash. Less than I ever did at his age, but never mind, he’s in the pit of indentured servitude and I shall not be allowed to forget it for one moment.

No TV Sunday through Thursday. None. He can tape things to watch on the weekends, but that’s not good enough, he just turns it on and watches anyway. Complete insubordination. Right now he’s been brushing his teeth for ten minutes to get out of putting dishes away. Putting them away. Not washing them, not scrubbing anything, just put some plates in a pile. At least he’s brushing his teeth. A feat of amazement and skill, never-before seen without yelling. Some progress is being made.

Manic Monday Theme: Fresh

I sure don’t feel fresh right now. If I’m anal about one thing, it’s being clean and fresh. I don’t want anyone smelling me from ten feet away, no sir. Which means I sometimes take two showers a day if I’m both running and biking. I can’t stand that sweaty feeling. Ick, shudder, gack. Right now, I’m parked on the couch, waiting for Herne’s bus, needing a shower I won’t get for an hour and I am NOT feeling fresh in the least.

More on being fresh, acting fresh and thinking with a fresh attitude on Manic Monday.

Maryanne, one of the group that was very close to Sue, is running a marathon. She’s nervous and scared, but I’ve learned Maryanne has nerves of steel and a joyous spirit. that can’t be held down. She gave Sue the hugs we all so desperatly wanted to at the end. She lives near Sue. She attended Sue’s funeral and she will have Sue on her side, pushing every step of the way. I’m very proud of Maryanne. She’s an extraordinary woman in a world full of wonderful women. I’m tickled pink for her and know that when it’s my turn, this October, she will be just as proud and thrilled for me. Oh, and we run about the same rate of slow. We don’t miss anything on the journey. She’s not going to make a Boston qualifying time, but she will have the time of her life.

GO MARYANNE!

Well, after umpteen hours with Rosetta Stone for Italaian, I know less than I did before. Okay, I can say, “Un gatto e bianca.” Which would be great if I had a white cat, which I don’t. I’m learning. I am working on the accent, which is much more subtle than any movie has ever made it out to be and the music is coming back to me. I’ve also finished the drawing of the dresses. I am going to make one mock-up and use the same bodice for both. Why agonize over two? This can be dressed up quite a bit, if I get a more regal part next year.

I was going to make a page here for the whole debacle, but I’ve decided to give it it’s own page, my ren diary will bring you all the angst, up to the minute. I’ll drop a link to it on the links list later today, or tomorrow.

Now, without further ado, my dress. Yes, I know I can’t draw. Thanks for thinking it.

There are a lot of notes, but I’ve made bodices before so these should only take fifteen-twenty hours eash of cussing, swearing and crying. That’s a lot better than last year.