Who is that scary old lady in the mirror?

You'd think that with His Nibs and me both working full time, the teenagers who live in our house would step up and handle a few household obligations.

Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?

It's a never-ending problem. By the time I get home from work, I'm too tired to sleep, let alone cook dinner, clean up afterward, do laundry, pick up around the house . . . you get the idea. I put in ten hours of overtime this weekend, and tonight I have a board meeting to attend. Seems that there's always something going on in my little world.

Is it asking too much that the kids help out? It didn't seem to be when my folks expected it of my sisters and me. Or maybe we thought it was then. I don't know; I seem to remember just doing stuff to help out. Of course, I'm a lot older now and my memory is a little fuzzy sometimes. But how do you forget being the Perfect Child? Surely I'm not making that up!

There was a time when I could work 40 hours at my day job, take a class a couple of nights a week, plus stay on top of all those uber-important tasks at home, and not even break a sweat. That was before (a) my thirties and (b) my kids. Suddenly I don't have the energy to pour milk over a bowl of cereal; I'm too weak to lift a gallon jug. When did that happen?

And that's not all. Lately--like for the past ten years--I've been noticing other changes. Like little wrinkles around my eyes. Dark spots on my hands. More white in my hair than brown. My voice is weakening and I can't sing like I used to (although I bet if you asked Drama Princess and Daredevil, they'd tell you my yelling hasn't slacked off any). My grip isn't as strong as it once was, and I can't lift as much as I used to. Long walks get shorter and shorter. Or do short walks get longer and longer? Hard to tell. My temper is getting shorter and shorter, too. I'm afraid I'm going to turn into that mean old lady down the street, the one whose house kids are afraid to approach on Halloween night. One day I'll catch myself mumbling under my breath, carrying on a conversation with the person in my head, as I trip over one of my 37 cats. That scary old lady.

I keep thinking that I don't really feel any different from the way I did when I was in high school, or when I was in college, or when I first got married almost 23 years ago, but I know I'm kidding myself. My tummy bothers me now, meaning I can't eat like I used to and I have to take a little pill every day. Sheesh. My feet ache at the end of the day (His Nibs is a master of the foot massage, which is just one more reason to keep him around). I crave naps even while fighting fatigue like a little kid. I wear reading glasses most of the time now. I'm sure a hearing aid is in my future, too. Hopefully, I won't be replacing my teeth any time soon.

I guess I can still hold my own in the household chore department, but really, I think it's time Daredevil and Drama Princess noticed when the trash needs to be taken out, preferably before the dog scatters it all over the kitchen. Back problems are keeping me off all the fun rides at Worlds of Fun; maybe it's time to use that to my advantage, and announce my retirement from mopping floors and running the vacuum as well.

And when I gaze fondly back over the years to my youth, boring my kids as I drone on and on about being the Perfect Child (never underestimate the power of a good guilt trip), I'll be able to dredge up from my faulty memory a moment when I really did jump, unasked, to my mom's assistance. And if I can't draw one from memory, I'll just make one up. I'm pretty sure that's something scary old ladies do, too. And when the kids are gone, I'll just tell my cats how wonderful I was.

Hope springs eternal!

The weather here has been weird lately. A couple of weeks ago we got several inches of snow. Naturally, it fell on a day when I had a lot of running around to do.

But we got over it, I didn't wreck the car, and eventually the weather warmed up. Late last week, we saw temperatures in the 70s. Aside from wreaking havoc with my joints and giving me bigtime sinus headaches, changes in the weather don't really bother me that much.

But I'm ready for spring now. The signs are there!

Friday afternoon, I picked up Drama Princess at home after work and we went to the dress shop to see her new formal and arrange for alterations. When we got back home, I happened to glance over at the little flower bed that runs along my front porch.

"Look, DP!" I shouted. "My daffodils are coming up!"

Sure enough, several bunches of little green spears are poking up out of the ground. Some actually have little buds that will one day burst open to reveal bright yellow blooms. I can't wait.

I rushed into the house and dragged His Nibs out to see this wonderful sign of glory to come. And lo! Not only are my daffodils coming up, but I already have one lovely purple crocus on the other side of the front steps. Wait, there's more! Last fall, a dear friend separated a bazillion irises and gave some to me. I planted those around the autumn flame maple tree we planted in the front yard several years ago. Those irises are coming up as well. I don't even know what color(s) they will be, but the surprise will be well worth the wait.

The tree has buds on it, as do my burning bushes and even my blueberry bushes, although my raspberries are still dormant and I don't expect fruit on any of them this year. Still, I'm very excited about these signs of new life.

I'm not much of a gardener, but His Nibs and I put in four beds last year and planted a few vegetables and herbs, and some tomatoes. Because we planted late in the year, we didn't get much, but we're ready this year. I'm already making lists and scoping out seeds and contemplating requesting cuttings from friends and watching to see when my favorite nursery reopens for the season. I'm spending more time outdoors, walking the dog and just looking over my garden beds and mentally planning where I'll be putting in the tomatoes and squash and peppers and herbs this year. His Nibs and I are discussing where to plant and store root vegetables. We're kicking around ideas for our flower beds, too.

Spring will bring its share of chores that need to be done as well, to be sure: Siding that needs to be fixed, some painting we'll have to do, yard work, windows to replace. It'll be time-consuming and, no doubt, expensive and definitely hard work. Somehow, though, when it's your own little nest, it doesn't seem so daunting. I'm looking forward to sprucing things up on the outside of my home.

I may even go so far as to plant a spruce or two.

One of these days it's going to have to be all about me

This past weekend was mighty busy for certain moms, which is to say, my kids' mom. And it all centered around the kids. So what else is new?

Friday afternoon, Daredevil called me at work.

Daredevil: Hey, Mom, what ya doon? [He says this with something that might be a brogue; hard to tell.]

Me: Working. How 'bout you?

Daredevil: Hey, Mom, you know that public library on Main Street?

Me: You mean the one a couple of blocks from here? It's on 10th Street, but yeah, I know it. Why?

Daredevil: Can you take me there tonight? The new Escapist video is premiering there tonight.

[Note: Escapist is the local skateboard Mecca, complete with its own skate team--heroes all. They have several videos out, exhibiting the team members' mad skateboard skills and death-defying exploits. It hurts just to watch them.]

Me: What time?

Daredevil: Dunno. Maybe 5:00.

Me: Okay, you know I don't leave here until 4:30. No way can we be back here by 5:00.

And so it goes. As it turns out, the premier began at 7:00 and it wasn't at the branch on 10th Street--it was at the one on 48th and Main. This required some planning to figure out how to get there from where we live without getting lost or being late. Oh, and it cost me five bucks, too. Lucky for me parking was free.

So while Daredevil and a couple of his buddies (who rode with us, naturally) checked out the new skate video, I spent a couple of hours hanging around in the library, checked out two books, and read for a while. Not really my idea of a hoppin' Friday night, but then I'm just a mom. Not supposed to hop any more, I guess.

Saturday morning it was Drama Princess' turn. She had to be at the Truman Library in Independence by 8:00 that morning, to register for her participation in National History Day events.

Normally, this would be about a 15-minute drive, tops. But we got a couple of inches of snow overnight, and it was still snowing when we left the house. By some miracle, I got her there on time and with no driving mishaps, but then I had to go home, shower and dress, and return to the Truman Library to see her performance.

That time, I didn't make it. The roads were considerably worse than they had been the first time out, and once I arrived I couldn't find the room she was in. But after their performance, I hung around with her and her friends and their moms (and one dad and one little brother), went to lunch with them, returned to the Library and looked at the exhibits (which are pretty darn cool for all you history enthusiasts out there), and finally came the time for the awards ceremony. By the time that was over, it was well after 4:00. Kiss that day good-bye.

Meanwhile, my house was a wreck, the grocery shopping hadn't been done, I had at least six loads of laundry awaiting my attention . . . the list goes on and on. To say nothing of the fact that I didn't see much of His Nibs at all! Something's gotta give.

This coming weekend we will celebrate Daredevil's birthday. That's Saturday. Sunday is church, and then the rest of the day is all mine. And I dare anything to try to stop me! Including the weather. His Nibs is another matter.

So THIS is what the paranoia is all about!

Today is Friday the 13th. Scared yet?

I've never given any thought to Friday the 13th as anything more than just another day. After all, my birthday is on the 13th of the month, and I've observed my fair share of Friday the 13th birthdays. These would include my 13th (fun little coincidence there), my 30th, and my 35th. Not exactly anything to write home about.

But somehow, today has been different. I'm blaming all sorts of things, but the date isn't one of them.

By now, most of the free world is acutely aware of our economic problems. I don't even want to discuss it.

The firm I work for recently merged with another firm--ironically, one that I used to work for. It's been interesting, to say the least. I'm not complaining, mind you, but there have been some changes that I can't say I'm happy with. Little blows to my morale, but there it is. I'm not in charge.

Earlier this week, I heard some very upsetting news about a family in my community. It's depressing. And when you're already a little bit down, stuff like this just adds a little more weight to the burden.

The highlight of the day so far was the fire drill. Our building managers conduct those from time to time, and for reasons I'll never fully understand, we basically ignore them. But today the word quickly spread through the hallways that this one wasn't a false alarm. I grabbed my iBond and my cell phone and started down the stairs with the rest of the sheep, only to learn that it was indeed a false alarm. We suspect it has something to do with the building maintenance guys treating a carpet that had gotten flooded yesterday. That's another blog.

So, it's just been a weird day. Blame it on the full moon if you want to, I guess, although that was four days ago. Blame it on Wall Street. Blame it on administrators who don't appreciate good staff. Blame it on Rio. Just don't blame Friday the 13th. I'm pretty sure this stuff could have happened just about any time.

Disco While You Work

I have the coolest sisters in the world.

For my most recent birthday, which was last month in case any of you would like to send belated wishes, they sent me my very own iPod Nano. (I suspect that a good friend was in on this too.)

I've never owned an MP3 player before, much less an iPod! Much less an iPod Nano! Like I said, the coolest sisters in the world.

I have the coolest daughter in the world, too.

Naturally, I had to get Drama Princess to show me how to use my new toy. She has an iPod too. She calls hers "iVolde" which is short for "iVoldemort." She's a big Harry Potter fan. I decided mine needed a name too, so it has been christened "iBond."

His Nibs decided we needed to load every single song on every single CD in the house onto my iBond. Drama Princess sailed right into instructions on how to do this. I still get a headache just thinking about it. I don't trust myself to do it alone. I'm trying to recall just when I stopped being the All-Knowing Mom and regressed to needing my younger child's help with complicated things like technology.

Anyway, Drama Princess has been a good little scout with loading iBond. So far she hasn't laughed even once at my music collection. Even I think it's funny that I have a CD titled Pure Funk, which includes such timeless classics as "Kung Fu Fighting." Remember that one? How about "Car Wash"? That's on the Pure Funk CD too. I have practically everything Styx ever did. I have a couple of disco compilations, along with tons of Journey, Heart, Billy Joel, Elton John. It might come as a shock to find out that I grew up in the 70s.

The 70s do not, however, represent the entirety of my musical interest. The 80s are well represented too. Mostly by Madonna. One little guilty pleasure among many. Still, Drama Princess did not giggle as she loaded this stuff onto iBond. She maintained her composure quite well as she added my 20-CD collection of Mozart and my five-disc assorted classical selections that includes three of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I confess that we've both laughed at the fact that winter is not a part of this collection.

And just the other day when she walked me through the use of my very first iTunes card--helping me set up my account, showing me how to search for titles and artists, reassuring me that I was doing right by clicking on "BUY SONG"--she managed not to guffaw when I boldly exercised my right to purchase "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." I may be the only person outside of Detroit who thinks that's a pretty cool song, but I don't care.

Hymns by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? Fine by her. Movie soundtracks? Okay. Recordings of the Liberty Community Chorus with her own dear mother singing alto? Just another click of the mouse.

But you just wait till the day I unearth my precious collection of original James Bond themes. She may not be laughing now, but I know that when she connects the songs to the movies, all that pent-up mirth is going to explode. She already thinks I'm weird about Bond; this will just be icing on the cake.

But iBond is ready for anything. Just like its namesake.

I Wanna Meet Obama's Speech Writer

I don't know about where you are right now, but where I am, everyone is talking Inauguration.

No great surprise there. This is an historic moment, a huge moment. At the risk of sounding like I'm trivializing it, a lot is riding on this day.

I missed Obama being sworn in as President. I am at work, after all. Duty calls, you know, and besides, I have no doubt that, like the heroic rescue of the passengers and crew of the plane that crash-landed in the Hudson River last week, it will be rebroadcast countless times. But I did catch his inaugural address.

All I can say is that I came away speechless.

Words are failing me even now. (I know, I know. Some writer you are!) His address was beyond eloquent. The man exudes confidence and self-assurance, and that is manifested in the way he talks. He spoke of history. He spoke of peace. He spoke of conquering fear, of taking responsibility, of working together. He spoke of unity and tolerance. He touched on all the things we as Americans are right now losing sleep over, and his words somehow seemed to have a calming effect on the listener. A stupefying number of people stood in the bitter cold, listening, cheering, believing. I wonder if anyone could have found anything in his address to complain about. I didn't, not that I was looking. Obama's words offer hope to a nation that has seen little reason for hope in recent days. And he delivered those words in a manner that suggested that he wasn't just saying them.

I realize he's been president for all of about two hours now, and he's got a staggering job ahead of him. I don't envy him. But if even a little bit of the confidence and reassurance he displayed today can be translated into effective change in our economy, in health care, in foreign relations, in restoration of honor and dignity to the Office of President of the United States, in showing the world that the United States is a truly great nation, then in my book he will have more than earned the title.

Nothing will change overnight. I hope people realize that, but I'm afraid there are a lot of frustrated, impatient folks out there who might be expecting instant miracles. Not gonna happen. But I have faith in God and in America, and I'm hopeful that Obama will be the strong, decisive, and ethical leader we have longed for these past [you decide how many] years. I hope his words are more than a captivating speech. I pray God's blessing on this nation and its leaders. God bless America!

We'll Miss You, George

The legal community lost a fine member yesterday. That's lamentable, of course. But more importantly, the world at large lost a kind man.

His name was George, and he was an attorney at the firm where I work. He had worked here for more than 40 years. Such longevity is rare these days. His death was sudden and unexpected, and that makes it a little harder to cope with than it might have been otherwise.

I didn't work directly with George, so my assertion that he was a fine lawyer is based more on comments from his peers and colleagues, and the reputation of this firm, than anything else. But I can tell you first hand that he was a nice guy.

I've been here just over a dozen years. I'm a lowly secretary, a member of what is known as "support staff." I don't earn six figures. I don't have a string of letters following my name. I don't have an office, and my own peers out there in Legal World probably have never heard of me. That's okay. To George, and to other attorneys in this firm, I'm maybe just a little bit more than a mere secretary. I'm a person, with a name and a face and feelings and everything.

In the few years that I worked under the same roof with George, I met him coming and going in the hallways pretty much every day. I do not recall a single time when he didn't smile at me and say, "Hi, Melody." Not one time did he fail to address me by name, even though the most work I ever did for him may have been to make a copy of something. Is this a big deal, really? You bet it is.

In a world where corporate bigwigs loot their own companies, steal their employees' retirement savings, lay people off and burden the remaining employees with overwhelming amounts of work as a result just to save a buck (or rather, to put a little more into their own pockets), do little or nothing to foster employee loyalty, focus on the bottom line and nothing else, and don't even bother to learn underlings' names, it's gratifying to work with someone like George. Despite his seniority and his position as an owner of this firm, I doubt that it ever occurred to him not to know the name of the guy who delivered his mail. He may never have actually said this, but I'd be willing to bet that George understood the importance of good support staff--and the importance of making us feel like we are vital to the firm. Most of the attorneys here seem to have that same understanding. I think that's why people stay here, and I think it goes a long way toward explaining how this firm got such a good reputation. I realize that not all of the staff here feel the same way. Probably they didn't see George as often as I did.

Before long, we will be merged with another firm, and we'll be a lot bigger than we are right now. I can only hope that some things don't change.

Yesterday was a pretty rough day for this firm. It was quiet; people talked in hushed voices; some wept openly (I know I did). I passed by George's office several times on my way to wherever I was going to do whatever I was doing. It was odd to see his door standing open and not see him sitting at his desk, odder still to realize that I will never see him there again. His loss will be felt for a long, long time to come.

Goodbye, George. I hope when I'm gone, people will miss me half as much as we already miss you.