Snuggies, Video Games and Channing Tatum

What is playing on the iPod? Absolutely nothing because I am watching GI Joe with my kids.

Merry Christmas everyone! I have been sitting here in the midst of the testosterone fest that is my home this morning and contemplating gifts.

First of all, I, er, Santa bought Snuggies for my kids. Snuggies. I am thinking that if I type it over and over, it will get easier to reconcile myself to the fact that my children actually wanted backwards robes for Christmas. Nope, I still can not do it. They are 8 and 12 and wanted these things.

On the upside, they look like some sort of backwards, zen-type straight jackets so I suppose in a pinch and with some duct tape...

Never mind. Okay, lets just get past the Snuggies.

I was so sure of myself when I, er, Santa put the Nerf Dart Tag Strikefire set under the tree. I was certain that package would be ripped open and Nerf bullets would soon be grazing my head (which would be perfectly fine as long as none landed in my coffee - then we would have a problem). The boys have been up for two hours and the Strikefire is still in the box. New Super Mario Brothers Wii has been opened, played, argued over and put back in the box.

At present, Duke and the boys are in the air trying to get the weaponized airheads back from Cobra Commander and Destro, my sons are Snuggie bound and eating stocking candy and I am waiting for Channing Tatum's shirt to come back off, resting comfortably between cup of coffee number two and three.

I wish you all a wonderful and safe Christmas and I hope everyone remembers the Christ in Christmas.

Until next time.

What is playing on the iPod? Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon

Musical side note - seeing Kings of Leon live was one of the highlights of 2009 for me. We went on my birthday and took my children (yeah, I know, generally a bad idea). However, my 8-year-old stood among the biggest partiers, holding his arms up and yelling the lyrics to the songs along with the best of them. I wish I could have got it on film. Only By the Night, the whole album, is on my iPod.

I have read a great deal of material on advice from published authors on how to become published yourself and how to improve your craft while waiting to do so. One author said to write 1000 words at day at least. Those 1000 words may suck, but write them nonetheless. That is a pretty good goal because 1000 words equals four pages. If the work is quality, four pages is not a bad amount of work.

It is now Christmas vacation time at the Blackburn house. My husband has two and a half weeks off and the children have the same amount in different intervals. Roughly translated, that means at least four weeks I will not have the house to myself. Not to sound selfish, but there is only so much the iPod will tune out. Put three extra people in the house yelling, arguing, being boisterous and that does not bode well for putting my thoughts and story lines on the screen.

Needless to say, there is a lot of late night and early morning typing going on.

I love my family and I love having the honor of watching my children grow up. However, being a wife and mother has driven home the importance of me time. If you spend every waking moment being a caretaker of others and not having any time for yourself, then it takes a toll. My personal me time comes in front of a computer or with a book in my hands. Right now, me time is in short supply.

At this moment, it is 10:33 pm and I am waiting for the last holdout, my husband, to go to bed so I may enjoy a silent couple of hours or so in front of the computer before I go to sleep.

I see a ray of light and a quiet computer. Until next time.

Bruises and More Research

What is playing on the iPod? Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin

Let me get this out of the way before I start on the topic I originally intended. My oldest child has an appointment at Duke today. This morning, I was in the bathroom with both children and I pulled my shirt sleeve up. My last entry, I commented on the warning from the phlebotomist before she went in my forearm about how the blood would pool under the skin and I needed to apply pressure. Four days later and I have a pretty sizable, deep purple bruise.

Logan saw my arm this morning and said "Mama! What happened?"

"Oh, that is where I had blood drawn last week." That comment was innocent enough. No big trauma, just a simple blood draw. Until I heard the gasp.

Carson looked at my arm like a deer caught in the headlights. That was not one of my brighter moments. I tried to cover quickly, explaining that this was a special circumstance, sticks in the bend of the elbow (antecubital) do not bruise like that. Carson still looked like he wanted to throw up.

At least this psychological trauma did not involve anything Joan Crawford-ish (wire hangers!) or any "Luke, I am your father" revelations.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I have been researching lately. Book two is at a point where the details have to be researched to make sure there is factual basis for what I have written. For instance, I have discovered that as long as the cells used are adult and not embryonic, the Catholic church generally has no problem with stem cell research. I know the different types of and treatment for pneumothorax. I know types of spiritual entities and what makes them different. That particular search got a little hairy. Some sites I pulled up made me want to dunk my computer in holy water.

I still have some research left to do and roughly five unfinished chapters and then the real work begins. Editing. I continually do this along the way. Whenever I pull my files up, I always read what I wrote last and correct errors and do my rewording, etc. What this basically means is that I see a finish line, I have the baton in my hand and I am running like hell.

So at 9:11 on December 15, I am going to go refill the coffee, do some tweaking on Rebecca and hope like a son of a bitch that I did not scar my child too badly this morning.

Until next time.

Friday Observations

What is playing on the iPod? Freaky Girl by Shaggy and the Kraft

I spent the entire day making observations. The day started in the usual Blackburn household fashion. My fingers were crossed waking the boys up. With a 12-year-old in the house, anything requiring use of emotions is precarious at the very least. I walked in his room with his school uniform and woke him up. He greeted me with a smile. Aah, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The 8-year-old was a different issue. I gave him his uniform and with a disheveled bed head, he trudged down the hall muttering something about Pop Tarts. Five minutes later on recheck, both were awake and the 12-year-old entered grooming mode. The 8-year-old had found his Pop Tarts and all was right with the world.

The husband took the boys to school as I had to be at Duke early and he is on a two and a half week vacation. At least one family member likes to go with me to my visits. However, I spend the nearly hour and a half drive with my music on ridiculously loud levels and I enjoy this. Music calms me. Banter and conversation about what could happen at doctor visits does not. Thus, my trips alone.

I love driving. I love speed. Some people retreat to happy places in their mind. My happy place is on the Autobahn driving the 2010 Vantage V12. However...

I hate, with all reasonable thought processes, driving in the Raleigh Durham area. Generally, it is a contest to see how many people behind you that can be pissed off. Today, a woman busted hell wide open to get in front of everyone and then dropped her speed a good 15 mph and rode at an even keel beside a bus. Let me say that again - a bus. As in, ha ha, you are so screwed. Forget making your appointment on time.

Needless to say, I called the doc to let them know I would be rolling in a couple of minutes late.

Deciding that pissy was not the mood for the day, I walked in the hospital and smiled at everyone. I made it a deliberate point to smile and say hello to everyone with a scowl. One scowling guy looked confused for a nanosecond and then returned my smile.

My friend Dawn says we should pay it forward. I could only imagine a day of paid forward smiles.

I got back to a room in a relatively quick fashion. Two hours later, I was back in my vehicle heading to a certain national book retailer. Before I get giddy over my bookstore trip, I have to mention Mary the phlebotomist. My veins roll. I am a nightmare to phlebotomists everywhere. When new phlebotomists are being trained, my picture is put on an overhead projector with my vein anatomy and the label - PATIENT FROM HELL underneath. In my defense, I warn them all before they start. "My veins roll, you are going to need a butterfly and a heat-seeking missile". The warnings usually suffice. I always drink at least two 20 oz bottled waters in preparation for any potential blood work. Today, I should not have had blood drawn, so I stuck to my 42 cups of coffee. I was wrong.

Mary looked at my arm and said "oh dear" to which I mentally responded "oh shit". "Your veins are kind of shy today, aren't they?" Mentally, "they don't like being impaled". Verbally, "yeah, I'm sorry". "Don't be. I can get this." Mentally, "God, I hope so".

Mary had the butterfly positioned above my arm and said "okay sweetie, after this you are going to need to apply pressure because when I have to draw from here, the blood tends to pool under the skin" and with the finesse of a hot knife slicing through butter, she connected with my vein and the vial was collecting blood five seconds later. My next remark was a muttered "son of a bitch" which got a smile from Mary. She responded that she had been doing this for longer than I have been alive and she was so good at it because God called her to do it. I thanked Him for calling her, spent the rest of the time in the chair complementing her and made my way back to the vehicle for the afore-mentioned trip to the bookstore.

The 12-year-old is really into Manga, specifically Naruto Manga. As of right now, the series is 46 books long and this morning, my son had read through 39. I have not been able to find 40. Apparently, the series is in really high demand. This afternoon, I found 40, 41 and 42. Before I could catch myself, I half yelled "YES!" when I found them. That got a few curious looks. Satisfied with my find, I made my way to the front.

There was a guy near me who was unnaturally beautiful. Fitted shirt, ripped physique and a flawless face that should be on the cover of GQ. Completely, utterly and totally droolworthy. I did what any woman nearby did and I looked. Okay, let's not mince words, I stared. He was, indeed, that beautiful. He also had a girl with him. They were near me as I perused the books on Italy (that trip is on my bucket list) and Adonis mentioned something about the gift he had bought his boyfriend. I gave the fitted shirt one more passing glance and made my way to the check out.

By the time I made it nearly back home, it was time to pick up the kids from school. The 12-year-old lit up like a Christmas tree at his new Naruto and started reading on the way home.

So, in closing my blog on observations for December 11, I wish you Marys if you need to give blood. I wish you unblocked roadways if you should find yourself driving in the Raleigh Durham area. I wish you passing glances at Adonises in bookstores. I also wish you the happy smile of a child with new Naruto books. Until next time.

UNOS Update

What is playing on the iPod? Champagne by Cavo

As of 12:08 p.m. December 5, 2009, 105,198 people were on a waiting list for organ donation.

Statistically speaking, there are not half that many people living in the county where I live.

Of these people, there is an infinitesimally small amount who will actually live to receive a transplant. People die on the waiting list every single day.

I have known three people who have received liver transplants, two who have received heart transplants and one bone marrow recipient. Out of those six people, one is no longer with us. The odds of the transplant recipients versus the odds of the people on that damned waiting list are staggering.

This topic is my soapbox. Healthy people die every single day. There are car wrecks and head wounds that happen everywhere (I mention those because those are the leading two causes of death that lead to organ viability). If I offend anyone by my personal crusade, do not expect an apology. Try being one of those people waiting on a selfless act by a grieving family, or try watching someone you love be one of those people, then throw stones. Do not take a religious or moral high road on this topic if you do not have first hand knowledge of what it is like to walk a mile in someone's shoes who understands.

The solution is simple. Sign your donor card and talk to your family. Let your loved ones know your wishes. My husband used to valiantly defend his decision to not be an organ donor before I was diagnosed with primary sclerosing cholangitis (currently in the early stages) which will eventually necessitate transplant. Life tends to bite you in the ass whether you want it to or not.

I try to be witty in my blog but on this subject, I find myself to be rather low on humor. Just think about it and for the love of all that is holy, let your loved ones know your wishes, regardless of what they may be. At the end of the day, families make the final decision for organ donation which is why letting them know is so important.

Do not let the impassioned rantings of a blogger make your decision for you, become informed on the subject. http://www.unos.org/ is a great place to start. Check it out.

Until next time.

Losses Reflected in Laughter

What is playing on the iPod? Desert Rose by Sting

I have a saying that I use with my kids. When the whining becomes excessive, I simply ask the child currently whining if they want cheese with that. This usually results with an "UGH!" from the whiner and the whining stops. Some days, I choose to address things that would normally piss me off with humor. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not.

This past Sunday, my grandfather died. He was my last surviving grandparent and his death was unexpected. He was in a nursing home because of declining mental health and the decision to place him there has weighed hard on my father. Not to mention the comments and behavior from family members berating him for that choice. To those jackasses that I have an unfortunate biological tie with, if they read this, I say one thing. Screw you. You are not worthy of anything more than that. Wait a second, two things, kiss my ass. Now you are worthy of no more.

So, losing a grandparent is difficult on anyone but watching my Dad has been heart wrenching. This past Friday night, my grandfather refused dinner. The next day, he refused any food or drink whatsoever. That evening, his nurse called my dad and told him they were transporting my grandfather to the ER. My parents went up there and were told that due to circumstances, he probably was not going to "be here much longer". The next morning at 11:45, he was gone.

So for the third time in four years, my family has buried one of my grandparents. My coping mechanism is odd. I get silly, thus the title of this blog. For instance, 11 years ago, I experienced pain that I had never had before. I lost one of my best friends and one of the best people on the face of the planet. Christy passed away in September 2008. For a solid 24 hours, I cried. I got mad with God, cried, cursed, experienced a raw sense of shock at losing someone so vital and full of life, laughter and love. It was not fair.

At the end of her funeral when the pallbearers were rolling her casket by, it kept going and going. Christy, like myself, was short, yet this casket was long. A six foot tall man easily could have used that one. I put my fisted hand over my mouth to stiffle the laughing that I could feel bubbling up. I leaned my head over and my shoulders started shaking. To anyone behind me, it would appear that I was sobbing, yet I was on the verge of hysterical laughter. As if she were sitting right beside me, I heard Christy's voice.

"What in the hell am I doing in THAT? Did no one notice how short I was?"

That simple, albeit it highly inappropriate laughter, caused a break in the tears and made the rest of that day possible.

My grandfather's funeral was Wednesday, two days ago. Yesterday, my youngest son had a field trip to see a play about 45 minutes away. Afterwards, a group of us took our kids to a nearby mall for lunch in the food court. One of our friends took her kid for some shopping and I was walking with my friend Amanda while her grandmother had our sons. In the commercialized spirit of Christmas, the kiosks are out in full swing. One guy was eyeing Amanda and me as we walked by and Amanda made the comment that he was going to try to sell us something on the way back. I shrugged it off, thinking that I would come up with a way to let us pass without being approached for a sale. This had promise. Amanda had a cold and was feeling bad. I was at my grandfather's funeral a mere 24 hours prior. Both of us needed a laugh. On our way back to meet Amanda's grandmother and our kids, sure enough, the guy approached us.

"Excuse me ladies, would you like..."

I got my best game face on and held up a hand. "Dude, please back off. You are probably going to offend my girlfriend."

Then I stared straight ahead and walked off. Amanda nearly lost it, barely controlling her laughter.

"I. Can. Not. Believe. You. Did. That."

"You are just lucky I did not put my arm around you."

It worked. We laughed and felt a little better about our respective situations.

Laughter amidst pain. It works for some, it mortifies others. It helps me cope. It the time ever comes when you are in a similar situation, try the laughter. If it does not work, hey, you tried.