Ch, ch, changes

It's work, I tell ya! Trying to get back in the saddle, 'er blog. With a crap vacation the first week of August, so went my blogging steam. One would think such a blowage would fuel my muse, but I'm just sick of feeling negative. I guess the mommism: "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" is what's kept me quiet (for once).

But then the Olympics hit and I got all hissy over the women's beach volleyball uniforms. WTF?! I do not understand how, in our Earthling culture, we tolerate such blatant sexism? I know, I'm beating a dead horse, but it pisses me off! It pisses me off that softballers play in shorts! It pisses me off that lady golfers also hit the tour in shorts! It pisses me off that for decades, women have fought for equality and are prancing around in this shit. And some women wonder why they're not taken seriously...

So Turbo's been pissy. There has been a couple of bright spots: last week, my young ones started back to school! And I don't care if people frown at me for jumping for joy, it's lovely to have some Turbo Time back! Time to go all Turbo on the laundry, but that's about all that's been accomplished. I've also been getting all Turbo on my bed, snoozing.

But guess what other change has occurred? It happened on vacation. I walked outside and saw my 5-year-old son loitering around a tree, tipping back an empty bottle. I called out to my baby, "what are you doing?" And his answer broke my heart. "Pretending to drink beer." I couldn't believe it. My worst fear. While I no longer drink, my groom does. It drove home some huge issues: a) if I'm going to sneak around doing something I don't want the kids to see, maybe I shouldn't be doing it, and b) my groom and I needed to talk.

The second thing first: my husband and I agreed that we're seeing more opportunities for family talks. So far, talks have occurred on the difference between smoking and smoking fish . . . hey, it's a start. As for the first, I've quit smoking. Not that I was a pack-a-day (or even a cig-a-day) hitter, but I'm no longer willing to sneak around to suck on a something that does me no good and, in fact, will shorten my life. So I guess I won't find myself looking like these groovy chicks . . . sniff, sniff.