Braggity-brag-brag-bragging

Sorry, everyone, I am utterly shocked and blown away and cannot resist posting this out there for the world to see.

Phrases my professor used with regard to my work this semester: This is awesome! .... I especially appreciated your overarching argument ....Your writing is particularly noteworthy for how every paragraph advances the central point in a new way .... Similarly, your reading is apt .... stunning and new ... brilliant .... glorious details .... I was really intrigued .... juicy, amazing tidbits .... solid and welcome participation .... pleasure working with you.

In all fairness, please note that this was tempered with: the latter portions lost some inertia--probably the result of time limits or fatigue .... I would have suggested a reorganization of the paper .... the paper needed a firmer thesis .... without adding up to a central argument to take away .... the conclusion was sort of unstable .... The paper made me think a lot, but I'd rather the paper think for me.

Still -- thrilled! A for the course.

--End--

Public Apology to My Neighbors

Dear Neighbor,

No, not you, the other one ... the one with the immaculate landscaping and country club fairway lawn.

I see the time and energy you put into your yard. You own just about every home landscaping tool there is. I didn't even know what that thing was for until I saw you cleaning out the expansion joints in your flawlessly unstained concrete driveway. I never knew how the Major Leagues trimmed those symmetrical, geometric patterns into their outfields until I saw you doing it to your acreage. On his first effort with our push mower, my son attempted to carve his initials into our front yard. That attention to detail should count for something, shouldn't it?

I imagine that you read Better Homes and Gardens religiously and spend your spare time watching shows like Curb Appeal. You undoubtedly glance over at my property and wonder what our proximity is doing to your potential resale value.

Not that our yard is a disaster, mind you. Honestly, it could be worse. There, there, neighbor, try not to think about that particular possibility.

I'm sorry that my kids sometimes leave toys out. They really do know better, and I have reminded them ad nauseum. "When you're done playing with something, put it away." Really, I do.

I'm sorry that there are weeds and patchy brown spots in my yard. I know it used to look greener and lusher over here. But, we decided for financial and environmental reasons to forgo the professional lawn chemical services a few years ago. Apparently paying my daughter a nickel for every dandelion she decapitates prior to the seed phase isn't really a completely effective eradication technique. Plus, with the well we had to put in late last summer ... well, there are certainly some patches of my yard that more closely resemble the Grand Canyon State than the Garden State.

As for the flowerbeds? Well, I decided a long time ago that perennials were the way to go. Annuals stay fun and bloomy all summer, but it seems such a waste to plant things that only last one season. And with the abundant shade from our oak trees, it seems kind of pointless to get anything to bloom and grow after mid-May. Spring bulbs and early blooming perennials are more my laissez-faire cup of tea. But I do sincerely apologize for failing to mulch since the last summer Olympics or so. I know it makes for a weedy, rocky, dirty backdrop for whatever manages to grow in my heavily compacted and unenriched soil, but mulching just isn't very high on what we want to spend our time and money on these days.

So, while we're pretty diligent about keeping the grass mowed and trimmed, you can't expect much else from us, neighbor. We promise never to have a broken-down Pinto sitting out on blocks. We promise never to let wind-blown litter collect in our azaleas (or anywhere else). We promise to keep the kid-clutter to a minimum.

But, we're never going to measure up. If your immaculate carpet of verdant glory is par, then we're maybe going to see a double-bogey on a very, very good day.

I'm sorry. I really am. But, look at it this way ... the state of our lawn just makes yours look all that much better!

Humbly,
--Heidi

Conclusions

1. I don't make millions as a blogger nor do I appear on The Today Show and The View shilling my latest books nor do I even have any books to promote nor do I have crafters and so forth sending me free goodies so that I can promote them on my blog.

2. This may be due to the fact that I blog very erratically.

3. Or perhaps that I when I do, it's not about anything particularly a) interesting, b) insightful, or c) humorous.

4. I wish I did, though. I want to be one of those blogger women who develops a following and receives actual blog comments.

5. #4 would happen if I worked harder on #3.


Hmmm ... something to think about.

I was getting a reasonably good response (on Facebook anyway) with my Public Apology series. Let's get back to that.

--End--

Dear Santa

Hand-written letter handed to me this evening by my daughter who does not technically believe in Santa any more (grammar, wording, spelling, and footnote are all hers), following a day in which she and Matthew decided to save up for a keeshond puppy (our Sasha is a not-quite-four-year-old keeshond), and Joe and I told them that we would not be getting a puppy:

Dear Santa,

The things I want for Christmas are as follows. First I want, if you don't mind, about four feet of snow! I know weather really isn't your "thing" but I figure if anyone can get me what I want for Christmas it would be you! I mean, four feet of snow isn't really somthing you can bye at a store, if you know what I mean! Secondly I would like to have a keeshond puppy. I think you would know what a keeshond is from all of your *traveling. I know that I have very strange Christmas wishes. Most kids ask for a Wii or I-pod Touch but I ask for snow and a dog! I might be crazy but I am completely sane when I say that I only want these things.

Yours hopefully,

Emily Dugan

P.S. I'm sorry if I've spelled anything wrong.

* On Christmas Eve

My Public Apology to Baby Jesus

Dear Baby Jesus,

I know you're the "reason for the season." I understand that Advent is meant to be a time to gather one's thoughts and prepare for the coming of the Christ, both in our lizard-brain collective memory as well as for the Final coming. However, I just can't help myself but get all caught up in the trivial commercialized modern-day traditional trappings of Christmastime.

I love planning just what presents to buy, picking them out, wrapping them, placing them under the tree. I simply adore wandering through a few dozen acres of conifers looking for just the perfectly-sized, perfectly-shaped, perfectly-verdant Douglas fir. I drool over Martha Stewart holiday crafts and seasonal recipes. I DVR all the Christmas specials, even the ones I already own on DVD (which is many, many of them). I love a giant Christmas morning brunch, an even bigger ham dinner, platters of Christmas cookies, egg nog! I love labeling, writing, addressing, folding, stickering, and mailing dozens upon dozens of Christmas cards. I giggle and grin at the ever-more-Griswoldian Christmas light display in our yard and on our house.

I just love all the fun stuff and hustle and bustle that comes along with Christmas.

Sure, we have multiple nativity sets around the house, mixed in with the Santas and the snowmen. Sure, we attend Sunday church services, sing in the choir, and pray regularly.

But, somehow, the real true meaning of Christmas for me isn't really the birth of the Savior so much as it is a celebration of Family, of togetherness, of creating and maintaining traditions for our kids. I know those are all virtuous things, but I cannot help feeling more than a little angsty and guilt-ridden for not feeling that light-from-within feeling that so many of my friends seem to find so readily. And in all this creating- and passing-on of traditions, am I really neglecting the most important one of all?

I'm sorry, Baby Jesus, for not putting you first this holiday. I'm going to try to make a better effort this year and to really think about the real gift we all received You and Your Father. And, regardless of whether it really happened in December or not, celebrate You this season.

Humbly,
--Heidi

Almost Done!

Not to freak you out or anything.

Well, a little maybe. Hee-hee! Sorry.

Anyway, I'm gloating a wee, tiny bit because I'm very nearly done. All the Christmas shopping I can do by myself as been finished, and Joe and I took the kids out today to buy for each other and the opposite parent. Joe and I still have to go out for goodies for the kids Advent Countdown giftbags* and Joe's and the kids' stockings**.

Adding to that, the outside of the house is mostly decorated, as well. The lights are on the roof, the lights are everywhere, really. The wreaths and gardland are hung. Even the candy cans lane is running across the front yard. We haven't turned anything on yet (we're not that freakish), but it seemed we should take advantage of the mild weather we've been having.

This quick week will fly by and then our biggest holiday traditions of all will be upon us. After giving thanks with Joe's family, we'll return home for the Millville holiday parade (YAY!). Then on Sunday, we'll select, cut down and decorate our tree, as well as the rest of the interior of the house (decorating, that is ... we won't be selecting or cutting down a new interior).

Other holiday traditions around here: annually ordering beef-stick, cheese spread and baklava squares from Figis. An occasional December dinner will consist of these goodies, Triscuits, egg nog, apple cider and Christmas cookies. Yeah, baby!

We're bummed about not hosting a Christmas party this year, but when under-employed one has to cut corners where one reasonably can. Hopefully we can have some friends over now and then throughout the season.

Our biggest objective this year is to slow down and enjoy the holiday and each other's company more. Traditional celebrations, board games, food. That sort of thing. I'll let you know how that pans out. In the meantime ... I'm (almost) DONE!

--End--

* We do something vaguely like this, but instead with craft-paper giftbags that sit along the knee-wall ledge in our family room. Each morning of December (yes, I know Advent starts on November 28 this year), the kids may open a bag to find some spare change, a little candy, or a small trinkety toy (like we really need more of those around the house). Small potatoes, really, but the kids love it.

** The jig is up at Chez Dugan regarding Santa. We've come to the general consensus that Santa is an idea or spirit or mood that comes into fruition on Christmas Eve and that we can all enjoy sharing goodwill, generosity, and so forth by being Santas for each other.

Halloween Fun

Joe and I were invited to participate in a lovely Halloween event yesterday. We were cast as Mary Shelley and Dr. Frankenstein's monster (click for a video clip taken by a local reporter). There were a bunch of others from Mystic Realms acting other parts and performing various literature-based Halloween stories, with moral lessons for the kiddos. Ours was sharing and friendship. In the video, the monster was making friends by sharing (albeit reluctantly) some candy. This gallery has some more pictures from the event (I can't get the gallery to work except in Internet Explorer). I've posted the gallery pics* of us in this post, but if you want to see some others (mixed in with some Trick-or-Treating pics around the area), feel free to click through

It was a gorgeous day to be outside and Joe was an amazing entertainer. He had hordes of kids following him around, playing with him, giving him hugs. I felt like a Disney World costumed character handler. We had the best time!

--End--

ps. For the record, as he's not in any of these pics, Matthew was Obi-Wan Kenobi. :)

* Thank you to The Daily Journal.com.

A Flibbertigibbet, a Will-o-the-Wisp, a Clown!

We had the best time last night!*

We drove up to Cherry Hill to attend a movie event: The Sing-Along Sound of Music!

The theatre had a pretty good-sized crowd in it, and they were an animated bunch. Somehow the liberty of singing along also gives people the freedom to cheer (the marionettes), laugh (Maria and the children falling in the lake), comment snarkily (the Baroness) throughout the film.

The movie was wonderful, of course. I'd never before seen it on a big screen. It was an amazing and wonderful experience. When the camera finishes swooping through Austria, turns a corner in the Alps, and I finally caught a glimpse of a tiny Julie Andrews, I gasped and actually teared up a little. The feeling was akin to the sensation I got hearing the 20th Century Fox fanfare at the re-release of episode IV of Star Wars. The film's been super mega digitally restored, in both sound and picture. The detail and colors were stunning.

The sing-along words at the bottom were occasionally distracting (in the super close-up of Maria's face during "Something Good," the words were scrawled across her chin), but overall is was a fantastic experience. Matthew has spent all morning singing "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?"

If ever there's a re-showing of this event in your area, do it, do it, do it!

--End--

*Sadly, the mood is significantly bleaker this morning. It was a late outing for a school night. And, the combination of Joe's head/chest congestion and the humid clamminess everywhere resulting in nightmares,** so it was approximately the worst no-infants-in-the-house night's sleep we've ever had.

** Which included a gasping-startle-awake followed by grabbing Joe and frantically whispering, "There's someone in the house!" Which led to him jumping out of bed like I'd dumped ice water on him. Several quiet and terrifying moments later, he returned to give the all-clear. But his adrenaline-fueled body was miles from sleep and he decided to just stay up at that point (roughly 5:30 a.m.).

Crafty Update

The Mary Shelley jacket is complete. It's a bit snugger through the upper arms than I wuld like and is a bit more bolero styled than I would normally prefer, but I think those are simply due to the style of the jacket. It's not like I'm going to just wear it out and about, so I'm not concerned. It's not bad enought that I'm going to bust through the princess seams, Hulk-style, so no real worries. Hopefully, I get some pics of it this afternoon.

The repurposed sweater blanket(s) proceed(s) apace. I have an enormous stack of sweaters now. I have felted (fulled) them and cut them apart. Ribbed hems, cuffs and collars have been removed, as well as button/zipper plackets on the cardigans. I've also cut the components apart at the seams. My rotary cutter should come from Amazon today and then we'll be in business.

Finally, I almost forgot one additional project. I know! I purchased fabric last night for Matthew's Halloween costume. He's going to be a Jedi (old school with the brown robe and beigey undertunic). The deal is that I make the costume while Joe has to make the light saber. I have the much simpler deal, though I think I shortchanged myself a bit on the fabric, so I'm not sure we have a hooded robe in our future. Matthew's knowledge of Jedis consists of one viewing of the original Star Wars, about two years ago, and extensive playing of Lego:Star Wars on the Xbox, so I'm not sure he'll even notice the absence of a hood.

I feel so dang crafty/productive lately. Pics soon, I promise.

To tide you over:

A turkey I knitted last fall

and, a sweater I made for my niece, Rachel.

--End--

Just Crafty Stuff

Have nearly finished making an awesome Victorian-esque jacket for my Halloween costume (using the view in the upper right corner, View A). I'll be gracing the Wheaton Arts Halloween Trick-or-Treat-a-ganza as Mary Shelley. Joe will be my Frankenstein's monster. We'll be spreading lessons of friendship along with our sugary treats.

Knitting this afghan. Twelve squares (out of forty-eight) done. Using a neutral fisherman cream color.

Finished: a hat for my nephew. Knitting a matching sweater, like this, but in grey, red and green.

Also in the works is a felted wool quilt/blanket. Repurposing and home-felting wool sweaters from Goodwill. Yeah!

--End--

ps. Pics of my actual progress to be posted when the light is good enough to get some nice images.

My Public Apology to Spring, Summer and Winter

Dear Seasons That Are Not Fall*,

You got nothin'. I love Fall. Love it, love it, love it! And there are a number of ways you simply don't measure up to the glory of Fall.

Let's see ... weather. Spring, you can be very pleasant here in South Jersey. In fact, I've never enjoyed you even half as much as I do here. Your flowering bulbs, your hints of warm breezes, your sunshine and lengthening hours of daylight. Yeah, they're all terrific. Summer, fuhgeddaboudit. I don't like hot. I don't like humid. I don't like biting and stinging insects (which, let's face it ... in South Jersey droves of mosquitos almost count as their own weather patterns). You have them all. In spades. No dice. Winter. Well, you're close. In some parts of the country. If I can have snow and crisp blue skies and icy cold air that makes the inside of my nose crinkle up when I step outside, then you're the Best. But, otherwise? With the grey and the sleet and the freezing rain. No thank you.

But fall? Your crisp, cool sleep-with-the-windows-open nights. Your bright, sunny, bluer-than-blue skies. The absolute drop in moisture content of the air? Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

How about activities? Spring, well you have Easter and taking walks outside after being cooped up all winter long. But, you also have filing 1040 forms and piles of yard work. Not gonna cut it. Summer? You have plenty to do. Beach, Boardwalk, camping. But with the heat, the humidity and the bugs you make any of those activities akin to torture. I don't like hot. I don't like sticky. I don't like itchy. And on a slightly related note, I don't like sand and grittiness. You do have minor league baseball, which is almost enough by itself to redeem you. Almost. Winter, you have plenty of fun things to do, too. Provided that I lived somewhere with lots of snow. And hills. Which I don't. Sleet, freezing rain and flat terrain do not for a fun-filled winter make.

Fall wins it by several lengths with its leaf pile romping, football games, school activities, baseball playoffs, costuming, pumpkining.

Let's get down to brass tacks, though. A big hunk of this decision comes down to fashion and body image. I love fall clothes. I adore jackets, corduroy, plaid, argyle, jeans, short skirts with opaque tights. Giant winter sweaters and snow/slush boots, not so much. Light and floaty summer dresses, I don't think so. Pale pastel spring frocks? Definitely not. I want to cover up enough of my body to disguise its middle aged lumps and sags. And I want to cuddle up in cozy fabrics that aren't completely bulky and shapeless.

Fall, you got it all.

Sorry to the rest of you. Better luck next time,
--Heidi

* Not "autumn," unless referring to the equinox.

Life in the Fast Lane

Dugan Family Activities this Fall

Joe: teaching full-time at Cumberland County College, spending one day a week doing Doctoral Math stuff at Drexel (an hour+ away), singing in the church choir, starting a new bicycling exercise regimen, parenting (especially full-time on Thursday nights when I have class)

Emily: starting at the middle school for the first time (6th grade), band (French horn), chorus, GT, Girl Scouts, piano lessons, church choir

Matthew: fourth grade, football practicing and games, piano lessons, starting band for the first time (baritone horn), Cub Scouts, church choir

Myself: teaching very-nearly-full-time at Cumberland County College, starting my Master's in English Lit at Rutgers-Camden (an hour away), Ticket Chair for Cumberland Players theatre company, church choir, trying to walk Matthew to school more days than not (2 miles one way), parenting (especially full-time when Joe has classes ('til 5pm most days, 'til 10pm Mondays and Wednesdays))

We're busy. However, in our spare time (read: when the homework, music practice and grading is all done), we like to:

• read (especially Emily, especially kid fantasy-type novels like Harry Potter et al; Matthew's more into magazines; as for Joe & I ... we only wish we had time to read for fun at the moment. We're pretty much stuck in textbook land.), 
• play computer games (everyone...Xbox (Lego Rock Band for all of us, Lego Harry Potter, Star Wars and/or Indiana Jones for the kids) and the computer (lately Caesar 3 is the game of choice for the whole family)), 
• knit (just me...working on an afghan)
• play (mostly with the dog in some wrestly format or another)
• watch TV (Between the Eagles and the new seasons, the DVR is busy with shows too many and varied to list; that's a whole 'nother blog post)

I don't claim we're any busier than anyone else. I just wish that my favorite time of the year by leaps and bounds allowed me enough free time to actually enjoy it that way I'd like to. It always bums me out when another fall has slid into the grey twilight season of pre-winter and I've missed the whole crisp, sunny, colorful thing.

--End--

Podcasting

It may seem as though I'm coming late to the whole Podcasting game, but this is actually more of a second-go-'round. I've tried Podcasting a few things in the past, but found that I never had even half the time necessary to listen to all the stuff rapidly filling up my iTunes folders.

So, now I'm commuting to Rutgers-Camden once a week for my Master's course. (hopefully in this future this will read "courses," as in plural) On the way up, it's All Things Considered, baby, but on the way home, I just don't have the patience for flipping stations through the songs I don't like to find the songs I do like (Ben-FM out of Philly wins most times, for those of you keeping score at home ... but after years and years of DVR-ing TV, I've lost all patience whatsoever for radio commercial breaks.). I'm also hoping to do more walking/listening to my iPod and less walking/talking on the phone ... kinda trying to wean myself off my cell phone, as that may soon become an expense I can no longer afford, but that's a whole 'nother blog post.

Consequently, I'm back to podcasting. So far I've subscribed to way more than I can possibly listen to. Here we go again. But, I'm in the trying-it-out-and-then-winnowing-out-the-chaff phase. I have mostly NPR: Science Friday, On the Media, The Weekend Edition Sunday Puzzle, RadioLab, All Songs Considered, Only a Game, and the 90-Second Naturalist. Other than that, there are a few from HowStuffWorks.com: Stuff You Should Know, Stuff You Missed in History Class, Tech Stuff, and Stuff From the Science Lab.

I'd love something literature-based (the Master's will be in English lit, specializing in British 18th Century and earlier, generally ... American lit pre-Civil War I can tolerate, as well as a bit of other European lits no later than mid-19th century ... but I'll be focusing, scholastically on the Brits). Even book reviews, though I never have time to read a book these days. Knitting, theatre and travel are other topics of interest.

Anyway, have any ideas for me???? Puh-leeeze? Let me know what's on your mobile media device.

Thanks!

--End--

FUNNY!

Thanks, Adrienne! This cracked me up. A lot. I even read it out loud to my mom. Who kinda didn't get it, over the phone and all. But .... FUNNY! Earned the blog a spot on my links.

--End--

My Public Apology to My Skin

Dear Skin,

Sure, I know you're the "largest organ in [my] body." I learned that little tricky tidbit ages ago from some snide classmate quizzing me on trivia in order to show up one of the gifted kids.* I know that there are some very simple ways to nurture you.

1. Drink lots of water. I try to. I go through nice long habit-forming streaks of filling a gallon jug with water in the morning and working to polish it off by bedtime. It goes great while it lasts. Though I'm not sure it lasts long enough to make any real difference to you.
2. Get plenty of sleep. I'm a mother and a wife. That's all I'm going to say on that point.
3. Don't pop pimples. Seriously? Everyone ignores this one. And everyone pretends they adhere to it vigorously and that they're grossed out by everyone else's popping. OK, maybe we all ignore it and yet are also grossed out by everyone else.
   
4. Avoid touching your face with your hands. Wha? Like I should wear gloves when I touch my own face? Not lean on my left hand while I surf the Nets? Not rub my eyes (please see #2)? Not pop pimples? (Oh, wait. Right.)
   
5. Keep hair away from your face. I wear bangs to cover my ridiculously high forehead. Always will. Deal with it.
6. Wear sunblock and sunglasses all the frakking time. All right, I paraphrased that one. But it's all right, because this one I'm actually now pretty good about. I have major glare issues in my eyes the last few years. I keep spare pairs of sunglasses everywhere and wear them unless it's actually the dead of night. And I keep sunblock in my house, my purse, and my car and apply it generously.
   

However, there's nothing in my routine that I'd call a skin-care regimen. I use whatever body gel they have on sale at Target that doesn't "smell too girly" (Joe and I share). I use Clinique's Dramatically Different Moisturizer on my face when it feels tight across my cheeks (which probably already means it's too late). But that's pretty much it.

I mean well, skin. I really do have good intentions. I buy luxurious Bath & Body Works body creams and use them diligently for about a week after I get them. You drink in the moisture and revel while it lasts, I'm sure. I buy grape seed masks and enjoy the peel-away-the-gross-ick-from-my-pores feeling on a regular basis until company comes over. Then everything on the bathroom counter gets tidied into cupboards to be forgotten. I'm a big proponent/victim of that whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind thing.

I buy my Clinique moisturizer during Bonus Time so I can get sample sizes of all the new and latest technologically advanced skin-care goos, creams and gels. I use them for a few days and pretend I can already see how youthfully glowing you have become. But then ennui or fatigue or amnesia sets in and stuff gets shoved aside and forgotten.

If you weren't already so good to me, skin, maybe I'd take more care of you. But you've always been rather clear and youthful. Recently I'm beginning to realize that your pale creaminess** is becoming increasingly marred with freckles I've never seen before, scars of baking accidents long past, and *gasp* wrinkles that don't subside when my facial expressions do. In a middle- and high-school world of girls with great hair, great legs, great teeth, great boobs, "I'd kill to have great skin like yours!" always seemed like the Miss Congeniality award of teen beauty.

I suspect that taking care of you is rather a too-little-too-late proposition at this point. But I'm going to give it a go. For real this time. Honest. I'm going to drag out all the bottles, tubs, jars and tubes, check all the expiration dates, and use all those products like the love child of Ponce de Leon and Nicholas Flamel and stick to a regimen for once.

Sure I will. Until company comes over.

I'm sorry, skin.
--Heidi

*Yeah, how much does that suck. "You think you're so smart? Well, [insert bizarre question they heard on Ripley's Believe it or Not the night before] Do you know that? Huh? Yeah, you're not so smart." Cue the further weakening of the already fragile 5th grade girl's self-esteem.

**If we were placed on this map, I think we'd be somewhere between that milky cream color and the zombie-like grey. Maybe in summertime we creep down from the tundra toward rosy pink.

My Public Apology to the Banana

Dear Banana,

You are an ideal fruit, from what I'm told. You replenish electrolytes. You contain three natural sugars for a quick energy boost. You're easy to serve, what with your handy peel and all. Your attractive shade of yellow makes it abundantly clear when you're not-nearly-ripe, not-quite-ripe, perfectly ripe, time-for-banana-nut-bread-ripe, and whoa-Nelly-how'd-this-banana-hide-in-the-bottom-of-the-fruit-bowl-this-long?-ripe.

I'm sorry I went years without buying or eating one of you.

But, you see, it's not really my fault. It's my toddler daughter's fault. Really. Her wild-abandonment-passion for you necessitating a daily (or more often) serving of bananas just at the age when all meals required bite-size-chopping followed by pincer-gripping, smearing, mushing, shampooing, nostril-stuffing, etc of all foodstuffs did me in. Well, all that aromatic and slimy banana drama coupled with the oversensitive nasal passages of my pregnant body ... it did me in.

So, there you are ... equal blame between my two kids. Not really my fault at all. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Still, I'm sorry.

Starting in the first trimester of my second pregnancy (say, Thanksgiving 2000), I could no longer stand the smell of you. You were everywhere, in every orifice, skin fold, crevice, pore of my tiny daughter's body. Every day. Sometimes twice. You were slimier than the nastiest diaper change, the gooey-est used tissue. It got to the point where I had to pinch my nose shut with one hand, wrestle my fortunately-light toddler out of her high chair with one hand and whisk her squirming, you-slippery body right into the bathtub; stripping her naked and rinsing her off all one-handed. Otherwise ... the gagging, the ineffectual retching, the nausea for hours. Not fun.

I expect the phase to pass, but it didn't. In fact, it got bad enough that I just couldn't do it any more. Just the act of pulling one of you off the bunch and starting to peel you would unleash a Pavlovian gag reflex of anticipation. Eventually, all banana-related activities fell firmly into a paternal jurisdiction.

Even after the baby was born, I still couldn't approach you. I was just starting to think of a mind-over-matter approach to getting over this phobia when my second-born entered the gross-out phase of eating and the whole thing started all over again.

By the time my baby had turned three and mastered some level of cutlery control, I decided that enough was indeed enough. It was time to re-introduce bananas into my life. But, I tell you, banana, it was rough.

I had to start with that most-wonderful-yet-not-terribly-authentic banana treat ... banana-pudding-in-a-Nilla-wafer-crust pie. YUM! I thought I was on a roll. But, nope....still couldn't tolerate peeling the real thing without a gorge-rising reaction. sigh and Grrr...

Baby steps. Three baby steps forward and two baby steps back. Over and over again.

It took time. Years, in fact. Eventually I could eat an actual banana. Just did today, in fact. You're pretty yummy. But there's still a moment, a pause, a doubt each and every time, "Can I do this?"

I'm sorry, banana. You have many wonderful qualities, but you're just never gonna hold that special place in the fruit bowl of my heart any more.

A-peel-ing to your better nature (oh so uncalled for....),
--Heidi

My Public Apology to My Husband

I'm sorry, Joe. You know why.

--Heidi

My Public Apology to Bert

Dear Bert,

Well, not the real Bert, but the plastic Bert. The one from our Fisher Price Sesame Street Clubhouse playset. You were the unfortunate victim of our childhood version of Poohsticks, gone wrong.

Remember? Chris and I used to wait until spring or after a heavy summer rain and then drop things in the rushing water flowing through the ditch in front of our house. We'd then race across the driveway to watch for the stuff to come caroming out the other side. Sticks. Unusual leaves. Small plastic figurines ...

Which is where you came in. We'd long ago outgrown actually playing Sesame Street, and I don't think we even had the building anymore. But, we still held on to some of the Little People. I remember Ernie, Gordon, Oscar the Grouch, Big Bird, Susan (I just looked her up ... try Googling 'black Sesame Street woman married to Gordon' and see what you come up with) and you. That's all I can remember.

Anyway, if you recall, the ditch in our area was deep and narrow. Basically a backhoe would come through every couple of years and dig a trench down the sides of Fry Road. So after a rain, or the Spring Thaw, the ditch was a rapid torrent of water hurrying toward Elk Creek then Lake Erie then Niagara Falls through the Saint Lawrence Seaway to the Atlantic Ocean.

Chris and I were dropping things in the ditch, running to the other side and collecting them, returning to the uphill side of the driveway, dropping them back in and repeating this process ad nauseum. Until disaster struck. You got away from us.

I remember running alongside the water, trying to reach for you, dodging low-hanging tree branches, just missing you with our fingertips until (Dun-dun-dun) we reached the property line. We stopped cold at the boundary marker and just watched helplessly as you floated away downstream.

Why didn't we keep chasing after you? I'm not really sure. It's not as though Chris and I never broke any rules. It's just that some rules seemed more like suggestions, but somehow the "Stay Out of the Osterbergs' Yard" rule was etched indelibly on our minds. We dared not follow after you. We dared not take another step. We were actually pretty upset at your loss.

We consoled ourselves for the next few days by following your progress in our minds. "Bet Bert's in Elk Creek by now!"

"Mom, do you think Bert is over Niagara Falls by now?"

"Dad, do you think a fish would eat Bert?"

We were convinced your buoyancy was infallible, that you'd follow the waterway to its eventual ending in the Atlantic Ocean. Is that what happened to you?

In any case, I hope things turned out all right, and I'm sorry we didn't try harder to save you. If it means anything, one of the first toys I eBayed for my own children was a vintage Sesame Street Clubhouse. Complete with its own Bert. We don't have a ditch in front of our house.

My apologies,
--Heidi

My Public Apology to Mark

Dear Mark,

You're a good guy. Very patient. Thank you for listening to my existential mid-life crisis (your words) crap. I'm sorry I can be such an insecure freaking mess.

Pulling myself up by my bootstraps and getting on with it,
--Heidi

My Public Apology to Saegertown, PA

Dear Borough Leaders,

I'm sorry I stole one of your street signs back in 1990. Sure, I could blame peer pressure, the recklessness of youth, etc, but really the fault is mine.

I was driving around with my ex-boyfriend and one of his friends (Hi, Tony! Hi, Geoff!). I don't even remember where we were coming from. But, I do know I didn't want to just drop them off and end the evening. I was still in the Denial Phase of the ex-boyfriend situation. That phase lasted almost as long as the relationship did, come to think of it.

Anyway, I was driving my parents' car, and my Dad, Mister Super Boy Scout that he is, always has a tool kit and other just-in-case stuff in the car. I think Geoff might have noticed the tool kit under the front seat and commented on it. I'm embarrassed to admit that I think it was my idea to use the tools to take some street signs. I wanted to seem like more of a trouble-seeking fun girl than the teacher's pet, goody-goody I really was.

We drove all around southern Erie and northern Crawford counties, looking for good prospects. You know -- interesting sign, busted street light, isolated country road.... We got our routine down to a well-drilled sign-stealing system. We'd drive by, discuss the prospects of a given opportunity for about another half-mile, I'd make a U-turn and we'd pull up to the sign. After I'd stopped the car, the guys would jump out with the tools, and I'd run around back and pop the trunk. They'd double-team the nuts and bolts (which we'd thriftily screw back onto the sign posts). They'd throw the sign in the trunk, and I'd already be back behind the wheel ready to speed away (without looking like we were speeding away ... you know ... flying casual). We could have evolved into the Bonnie and Clyde ... and Clyde of Northwestern Pennsylvania.

At one point, Tony had a couple of decent-sized signs, and Geoff was trying to disassemble one of those orange-striped warning barrier thingies. He really just wanted the big blinker light assembly off the top of it. At some point he gave up and we helpfully placed it over a pothole.

We really wanted one of the No Skateboarding on the Sidewalk signs we saw, but (alas!) they were all in well-traveled, well-lit areas.

Eventually, the guys noticed that I didn't have any souvenirs for the evening and started egging me on to pick something out. I reminded them that my parents would freak if I walked in with a big ol' street sign. I had to have something that would fit in my purse. (Granted, it was a giant 80s purse, so there was some leeway there.)

I have to admit that before this little episode of hooliganism, I never fully realized just how large street signs are. I had no idea that stop signs are almost 30-inches across. I mean, I get it that visibility is important. But, these things are BIG. And heavy.

Well, long story short, I wound up with a small street sign. The smallest one we could find, in fact. We especially liked its slightly salacious wording.

It graced my college dorm room for years. I perched it on a windowsill near my desk when I got my own apartment. In fact, I still have it. It's sitting not 18 inches from my left elbow. At some point my children will notice that it's a street sign and ask where I got it. Thus will begin another in what will undoubtedly be a long line of do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do lessons.

In any case, please accept this apology. If you want, I could send you the $10.95 to replace it.

--Heidi