Twas Brillig

Yes, yes it does. Because if I’m in here, it smells like smoke.

Sigh. I swear this stuff happens to me just so that I can blog about it.

So… this morning, I was getting ready for church. I jumped out of the shower, got dressed, and started blowing my hair dry.

Suddenly, I noticed a weird patch of hair—a very strange, orange-colored horizontal stripe about three inches long in my black hair. “What on earth is that from?” thought I. And then POOF! Right along that stripe, my hair begins to smoke and suddenly a huge chunk of my hair FALLS. OUT.

The house smells like a rat died and was then set on fire. I, of course, freak out, and then run and show the clump of burnt hair to Hubby, who thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

We’re almost late for church, so ruined-burned-melted-sizzled-frayed hair or not, I just have to figure out a way to pin it all back and get out the door.

Throughout the meeting, Hubby keeps looking at me and busting up laughing. He would lean towards me and say, “do you smell fire?” and so on. (And yes, I stank of rotten smoke all day— I still do, in fact.)

Fluffy then went to Primary (which I was observing today) and from the moment the meeting began, she was raising her hand. When the teacher finally called on her, she announced to the whole group, in very serious tones, that her mommy’s hair had caught on fire and fallen out. The children all looked at me in wonder, the teachers all looked at me with a mix of pity and laughter. No one ever asked me to actually explain what happened…

Then again, what would I have said? How DOES such a thing happen? It’s not like my hair dryer is exceptionally hot, nor is my hair exceptionally dry or damaged or anything. Ummmm? HOW DOES ONE’S HAIR SUDDENLY START SMOKING AND FALL OFF????

So… yeah. I have no idea what to do with it now. Bic it? Sure! I could totally do the Sinead O’Rebellion look…

Please tell me that that one scene from Empire Records just popped into your head! I was about to describe the scene to you, but then I found this mini-clip—seriously, mini. 27 seconds! So here goes. (And yeah, I was actually told many times in my youth that I look a lot like this chick, so maybe I can just be a now-aged and rounder version of her…)

Ahhh, Christmas with Brillig. Never a dull moment… Like Fuzzles vomiting— nothing says Merry Christmas like a face full of puke. Or, you know, Scooby jumping on an unsturdy chair (while I yelled, “don’t jump on that chair, you’ll fall!), falling, and breaking his front tooth— and all the screaming that ensued. (His smile is hilarious now, by the way. hahahahaha.) Or how ’bout when I baked loaves of my famous pumpkin bread for all my neighbors and somehow ruined the entire batch. Yeah… that was a good moment, when after spending hours (when I didn’t HAVE hours to spend) baking I discovered that I’d ruined 7 whole loaves of bread. Sigh. And let us not forget how I bought Hubby some hot new shoes and, though I swear I bought the right size, I discovered, while wrapping them, that I’d actually gotten the completely WRONG size. Hahaha. “Merry Christmas, darling. Sorry you can’t wear these, but aren’t they great?” Welcome to Christmas at the Brillig household, my friends!

Also, let it be noted that my parents completely and entirely skipped Christmas this year. Granted, they live in Spain which is, apparently, kinda far away. My parents are a strange bunch. Some years they overdo Christmas to the extreme, some years they just send a check and say, “buy the kids some presents and say they’re from us” and some years they, um, completely forget to acknowledge Christmas. Now, I can explain all of that to myself. My parents are just odd like that. But, um, what do I tell my kids? “Sorry, Gramma and Grampa forgot about you this year…” Yeah…

But, before I make it sound like we had a terrible day, let me assure you that it was actually quite fantastic. We spent Christmas Eve at home, with just our little fambly, and then Christmas morning the kids unwrapped all the nuggets of goodness that Santa had left for them. Then we headed to Hubby’s parents’ house (they live about half an hour away) where all of hubby’s siblings (five of them!) and their spouses and kids all gathered. Delicious food was served and way too many presents were bestowed upon us and our kidlings.

After many wonderful hours there, we then headed up to my brother’s house, yet another half our away, and hung out with him and his wife for a bit. That was a great way to end our day. From there, we drove the hour home and put our exhausted children into their beds, in their brand new pajamas. Awwwwwwww.

In true “I’m so OVER Christmas” fashion, I took down the tree early the next morning, vacuumed up all the pine needles, and packed up all the decorations. Not in a huffy or frustrated way, just in a “I’m done with Fuzzles eating pine needles, I’m done with Scooby breaking ornaments, I’m done with needles all over my floor, I’m done with Fluffy ringing the jingle bells constantly, and I’m done with Bubba trying to knock our already very wobbly tree over” kind of way. Christmas is over here, folks. O. Ver. Though, I confess, I still have some Christmas CD’s out. That’s the only part of Christmas that I don’t get sick of by Dec. 26! My hubby, however, is ready to lock up my music collection. He doesn’t like my music. Because he’s weird.

And there it is, folks. Thanks to all who have sent me Christmas wishes, including those of you who sent cards in the MAIL (wow!!!). Hope you all had a Merry Merry time!

***And, just a note, Soap Opera Sunday will continue its hiatus this weekend too. We will resume the first weekend of January. That should give everyone the chance to come up with something fantastically soapy! Let’s have a record number of participants that day!!!

Six years ago, I was massively pregnant. And I mean MASSIVELY PREGNANT. I was 19 days—almost three full weeks!—past my due date.

It was the middle of the night, but because sleeping had become… well… impossible, I had given up. I filled the bathtub with hot water and got out a book that I’d been meaning to read. About 300 pages into it, I noticed that I was having contractions. Soon they got closer together and more and more uncomfortable. At about 6:00 a.m., I got out of the bath (a feat in and of itself when you’re that pregnant) and woke hubby up. This was it! I was in labor!

Brian called our fantastic team of midwives (one of whom was my beloved sister!) and they soon arrived, setting up the birthing tub and unpacking and arranging supplies, turning my living room into a birthing center. I was checked and told that I was dilated to 9 cm. This baby was going to be born any second. I settled into the birthing tub and began wrapping my brain around the fact that I was about to be a mommy for the first time!

But seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours. 13 hours, to be precise, that I was stuck at 9 cm. Heavy, painful, but unproductive contractions came in relentless waves. The problem was that the baby hadn’t dropped yet. Even when I finally had them break my water, nothing was happening.

Finally, some time on a birthing stool gave the baby the room she needed, and it was time to get our show on the road. I jumped back into the birthing tub (and hubby jumped in with me!) and pushed… for 3 hours. I had never known such agony, nor such empowerment. This amazing combination was exhausting and exhilarating.

After a very long day, and a very VERY long pregnancy, my beautiful princess came roaring into the world.

Immediately after she was born, I began hemorrhaging severely. I had to get out of the tub quickly and lie down on the plastic-lined floor while my fantastic midwives poked, prodded, pushed, pulled, and saved me. In the meantime, Hubby took his brand new baby girl for a walk through the hallways. I could see them walking back and forth through the doorway. He was gently rocking her, staring at her with pure fascination and adoration, and softly singing “Getting to Know You.” I was overwhelmed with this rush of joy and love. Nothing in my life had ever been so powerful as watching the man I loved, loving his baby.

Fluffy has turned into an amazingly strong, intelligent, funny, and beautiful young lady and I just love her more and more. On this, her sixth birthday, I celebrate all the entertainment, hilarity, joy, wonder, and love that she has brought to my world.

Happy Birthday, Princess Fluffy!

I’m trying so hard not to talk about it, because I’m not even sure what to say about it yet.  But I’m finding it impossible to talk about anything else, so here goes.

I’m swirling in a whirlwind of possible diagnoses.  I feel suffocated by words and phrases:  “Failure to thrive,” “fallen off the growth chart,” “severe developmental delay.”  It all probably points to autism, though no one has dared to diagnose him yet.  He’ll begin therapy and thorough evaluations soon.  The unknown is terrifying.  The “known” may be worse…

Hubby says I’m coping so much better than he is.  I’m not sure if his statement is admiration or an accusation.  He’s wrong, though.  The truth is, I’m barely holding it together.   In fact, mostly I’m NOT holding it together.  I can’t tell you how many times over the last few days I’ve had to excuse myself so that I didn’t break down sobbing in front of anyone.

Oh, if you could see my baby!!!  He is so beautiful.  His face so perfect, his eyes exquisite, his smile so pure, his love so real.  I don’t understand why life has to be so much harder for him.  I want to be angry with someone about it.  I want to scream, I want to blame.  But a quiet, intangible something tells me to be still, that someone much more powerful and informed than I is in charge here, and that there is greater purpose here than I can comprehend right now.

    Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay

    Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.

    Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,

    and fit us for heaven to live with thee there. 

In my life, the greatest trials have generally hit at Christmas time.  I’ve always wondered why that is—why do we have to ruin Christmas?  But today I think that it may actually be a great blessing.  The music, spirit, warmth, and message of Christmas buoy us up, strengthen us, help us to remember.  It gives me the extra push I need to get through this.

I won’t tell you that I’m not scared— I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life.  But I know that I’m not alone.

When I go a few days without posting, commenting, or emailing, I often get wonderfully sweet notes from my dear Bloggy-Friends, who are used to me being so completely addicted to my computer that everything else takes second place. Usually people are wondering if I’m all right. “Oh my! Brillig hasn’t blogged in three days! I bet she’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere!!!”

This particular note was sent to me via Yahoo Messenger today, from my dear friend Jenn in Holland, who just happened to catch me in online (which is an incredible feat in and of itself lately) :

Jenn: Brilly button are you there?

           Brilly button are you fair?
Brillig: As a matter of fact, I am. Both.

Jenn: quiet please, I am creating

Brillig: So sorry.

Jenn: Ahem.
Brilly button are you there?

Brilly button are you fair?

Brilly button can you see?

Just how much you mean to me?

She’s a frickin’ brackin’ talented one, that girl. Oh, how I adore her.

And I appreciate ALL the notes and comments that I get when I go AWOL. Truth is, I still won’t be around for a while. ‘Tis the season for insanity, no? Today is my brother and sister’s birthday (they aren’t twins, they’re two years apart), tomorrow is my other sister’s birthday (apparently my parents couldn’t keep their hands off of each other in March every year. However, that thought is so utterly disturbing that I refuse to contemplate it any longer…) and we shall go out and celebrate in style tomorrow night. Then, my sister (whose birthday is today… come on, keep up) is COMING INTO TOWN FOR THE WEEKEND! I haven’t seen her in FOUR. YEARS. Ever since she and her husband and six children (did you just pass out?) moved to Germany. Anyway, she and her husband will be coming out to play with me and stay with us here which means, of course, that I will be cleaning and bed-making and baking… and then spending every possible second with her. Then on Saturday, we are throwing a grand birthday bash for Princess Fluffy, whose birthday is next week. Then Sunday is Hubby’s and my anniversary!

(And throw in all the school and church Christmas parties going on, and OH YEAH, the fact that I haven’t done ANY Christmas shopping, and you can see that the world is spinning a bit faster than I can gain balance. Even my Christmas tree can’t seem to gain balance—I just heard it crash in the living room…)

So… chances are very good that I will not be online, and that it will NOT be because I am lying dead in a ditch somewhere—though I will be sure to post if I DO somehow end up lying dead in a ditch. That would totally make an awesome blog post…

While you anxiously await my return, go make yourselves useful by, like, clicking on my ads over there in my sidebar or rating all my stuff at Cre8buzz or inflating my Technorati rank by randomly linking to me or something, okay?

Love you all!

Only one thing:  It’s my Hot Hubby’s birthday.  32!!!!  He’s an old man!!!  Anyway, instead of writing a long post, I’m going to sign off the computer and go celebrate him!

I’ll be back with a post to embarrass him with tomorrow.  And it will include photos.  I intend to embarrass him to the fullest.  That’s what a loving wife does…

It’s that time again, folks! It’s been MONTHS since I did an interview, and when the lovely and illustrious JerseyGirl of Dirty Little Secret was handing out questions, I decided to beg some off of her. And so, without further ado, here ya go:

1. You get to start a rock band of less than 8 people. You can choose any living musicians. Who would you pick and what would you call your band?

I’d pick Simon Le Bon (of Duran Duran, natch) for vocals, Neil Peart (of Rush) on the drums, Mike Dirnt (of Green Day) on bass guitar, Vince Clarke (of early-Depeche Mode, Yaz, and, most notably, Erasure) for some of the Euro Synthpop sound to mix it up a bit, Brandon Flowers (of the Killers) just to stand there so I can look at him, Dave Keuning (also of the Killers) for lead guitar, Beck (of… well… Beck) because he’s a frickin’ brackin’ genius, and why don’t we have Timbaland produce it all, since he’s involved with everything these days and everything he touches turns to gold. And we’ll call the band Frumious Bandersnatch, cuz that’s how we roll here at Twas Brillig. (And it would be a catastrophic mess—can you imagine all of those people trying to make music together?)

2. What traits do all of your children share? Do you think they got these traits from you?

My children are all gorgeous. They surely get that from me. Hahaha. Actually, they ARE all gorgeous but they get that from their Daddy (they all look like mini-Hubby clones). But they are really friendly, bouncy, independent, and outgoing, and they love to be the center of attention. They definitely get that from me.

3. What are five books that you think everyone should read?

(My absolute first inclusions here would be the Bible and the Book of Mormon, no question, but those are so obvious that I’ll leave them out in order to list five others)

1. The Complete Works of Shakespeare (yes, all of it)
2. Don Quixote (Cervantes, best if read in its original Spanish— considered to be the greatest work ever written in any language)
3. A Tale of Two Cities (and everything else Dickens, but if I just have to pick one, I’ll choose that one)
4. The Divine Comedy (Dante)
5. Lyrical Ballads (Wordsworth)

I don’t think a person can carry on a civilized conversation without being fully versed in all of these. Could I sound any snootier? Sorry. I was raised by a brilliant English Lit. professor… Blame Daddy.

4. What is your favorite thing to do with your children (can be as a group or individually)?

We love our Family Home Evenings, where every Monday night the whole family gets together for an activity, Gospel lesson, and a treat. (Even though it’s called “family home eveing,” we are often anywhere BUT home). We try to make every Monday night special and memorable and FUN! Sometimes they’re a big ordeal, sometimes they’re just simple, but we never miss a week.

5. What percentage of people do you think know where your bloggy name comes from?

Hahaha. I’m not sure. I know that a lot of my readers are here because of my blog name. I assume that most people at least sorta get it—they’ve heard it before, they recognize it from school, or whatever. But for those who don’t, I’ve written this page to help you out. You’ll notice that my own husband didn’t get it at first…

So, huge thanks to JerseyGirl for her thoughtful and interesting questions! And, as is the tradition with these things, I’ll hand out interviews now too. So, if you want one, just leave your request in my comments, and I’ll leave your questions there too. A good time shall be had by all.

—–Also, please note that Soap Opera Sunday is being hosted by my lovely and illustrious SOS co-founder, Walking Kateastrophe this weekend. I won’t be able to join in until Sunday, because I have something else going on tomorrow that trumps even SOS.

Wordless Wednesday

(to rate this picture at Cre8buzz, click here)

BIG GIGANTIC THANKS to Kimberly of Temporary? Insanity for hosting this week’s Soap Opera Sunday drama. Be sure to head over to her place to enter your link if you’re playing along, and to read all the other posts!

I find myself in the middle of so many sagas. One will be dropped, because I am suddenly in a position where I either need to lie, or I need to tell the truth, and I realize that I’m not actually comfortable with either option. So, it’s being back-burnered for now. Clearly there’s a lot of drama, both way-in-the-past and super-recent, and I’m just not ready to talk about it here right now. Nor is it all that great of a story anyway…

The other saga is about opera, but not SOAP opera, so it too will take a break for the weekend. Because on the weekends, you’re here looking for soapiness. And so, soapiness you shall have…

—————————

I first met “Adam” when I was twelve. The first time I saw him was in Jerusalem. He had it all—athletic build, chocolate brown eyes, dark wavy hair, great sense of humor, and a smile to die for. He was 16…

He was SO out of my league.

And yes, at 12 years old, I was already every bit as boy-crazy as I was at 19 years old—which, just so we’re clear, is very VERY boy-crazy.

Adam and J (my then 15-year-old brother) were best friends and his little sister “Tara” was my best friend. There was genuine friendship there, I suppose, but mostly we were friends because, well, everyone else had fled the country by then. (They, too, would flee soon.)

I tried to be very quiet about my adoration for Adam. I knew that Adam couldn’t possibly be expected to see me as anything but a little girl, and I would have died of humiliation had he ever found out how I felt about him. So, I didn’t tell Tara or J or ANYONE.

One day, J reported that Adam had told him that I had a beautiful face (I could always count on J to tell me everything his friends ever said about me, good or bad) and that he thought my eyes were “intoxicating.” INTOXICATING, people!!!! That’s what he said! (Can you imagine my 12-year-old self squealing over that? Squealing silently, of course. We couldn’t let on to J or anyone else how much such a statement meant to me!) J, of course, thought it was trivial. Adam clearly didn’t like me, he just thought I had intoxicating eyes…

About halfway through the war, Adam and Tara and their parents fled to Cyprus.

I didn’t see either of them again until one fateful day… six years later.

And, hmmmmm. It looks like this is turning into a saga…