I am on Drugs

...Which is why this post doesn't really have to make sense. After putting it off for two years, I recently had my tonsils removed. It's true what they say about having it done when you're an adult: slow death.

Some are under the mistaken impression that a tonsillectomy means two solid weeks of comfort food. Not so. Ice cream creates phlegm. Blended soup looks like dished up diarrhea. One can only take so much Jell-O. And popsicles just aren't that great if you're not ten. My only true source of comfort has come in the form of a gigantic white bottle of liquid pain medication.

Having never taken pain killers before and (more importantly) having grown up loud and proud in the Nancy Reagan era, I've always "just said no" to drugs. This time however, Nancy and I have parted ways. This time, I have stepped over into the sweet abyss that is Roxicet one half hour before trying to force something as simple as water down the tube of open flesh that used to be my throat.

♥

Now all of you red-ribbon wearers, do not despair. There will come a day (give me a week or so) where I will be able to swallow mashed potatoes without shrieking. When that day comes, I will happ'ly put down my 500 ml bottle of syrupy, red liquid morphine- and walk away forever.

Until that day, you can find us here:

Just say yes.

I'm with Her

January 1979

When you grow up in the same house and you're with your siblings everyday, it's easy to take for granted that you know them. You have experiences and family in common, and though you're not the same, you're close. Inevitably when that whole process of "growing up" occurs, and time and space intervene, the closeness stays, but the "everyday" element doesn't. Which is why when Courtney told me she was coming to visit, I couldn't wait.

One of my favorite things about having siblings is getting to know them in different stages of life. It always amazes me that inside of each family member are streaks of individuality that run the scope of talent, thought, and creativity. For me, being far away from family can be hard, so a visit from my sister felt like Christmas come two months early.

On arrival day, I was smiling before I even saw her and even (or especially?) in her jet-lagged state, she was hilarious. She has a gift for taking the weight out of situations that don't merit it, and giving weight to situations that do. She made me feel home and happy and almost fourteen again. We laughed and I cried and we talked about life. She helped me feel like me and find a few pieces that I had misplaced. We watched our kiddos and saw ourselves in them. And when I got a chance to peek into her everyday, I stood in awe. Not just for her perfect Reds, or because of the food she cooks, or the sacrifices that she's made- but because of who she is.

(Still hanging on to her.)

It was so fun, to see my sister.

I am an Elementary School

So I'm teaching the kids at home this year.

Some call it "homeschooling." That still sounds a little too crazy-Christian to me, so for now I'm sticking with something more like "doing school at home" or "domicile teaching." Now if you are like most, as you are reading this you are thinking, "Hmm. I wonder why." Me too. Not that I don't enjoy domicile teaching. I do. I just don't have a simple answer to that question. Why or how do any parents in unique circumstances make such decisions? Does it suffice to say that after much study, thought and prayer (I know, but still not to the "crazy" level), we just knew that it was right? Would it be equally crazy to say that there is a part of me that feels like I've been being prepared for the this stage of life for years? And what about loving it?- Because even after only a couple of weeks, we do.

The Mascotts' curriculum for the 2010-2011 school year:

(M-F) Saxon Math

(M-F) Reading

(M-F) Writing

(M-F) Grammar

(M-F) Spelling

(M, W, F) History: the Ancients

(T, Th) Science: the human body, plants and animals

(M, W, F + Rosetta Stone) Latin/Spanish

(T, Th + Rosetta Stone) Latin/German

Music: piano, guitar, recorder

Art: art history, drawing and sewing

Home Ec: lunch time and snack recipes, plus taking turns as sous chef

And there you have it.

I am Submerged

I am Mesmerized

This was the washing machine in our apartment in Ukraine. It's a good thing we don't have one. I don't know what it is about these things, but the minute I'd see it there in motion, I'd stop. And stare. The round and round. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I may as well have had a dangling watch swinging in front of my eyes, or a tranquilizer dart in my hind quarters because I was hooked...and soothed. I loved it.

I am not a Slavic Beauty

After spending 10 days among the women of Ukraine, I became sure of two things:

1. They won the gene pool lottery and-

2. I am no Ukrainian.

They are beautiful. All of them. And that fact made me sure of two more things:

1. I have no idea why my husband chose me after looking at that caliber of woman for two years and-

2. There's nothing that a little dark lipstick and high heels can't improve.

I am Marker Material

Some men write music

Some men write poetry.

My man writes on the bathroom wall.