Children's Grief Awareness Day: November 21st, 2013

Tuesday night, on my way home from volunteering, I was listening to the all-Christmas radio station and then BOOM suddenly I was crying.

I was not all that surprised.

Christmas music always makes me think of my grandma. Grandma died three years ago, on October 15th, 2010, a day that feels like both yesterday and a million years ago. Sometimes, in weak moments, moments when I'm tired or caught off guard because I see something Grandma would have thought was funny, I forget that she's gone, even. How is that possible?

I've been volunteering with Oak Tree Corner, a children's grief group, for six years now, so I understand that the the stages of grief are not something that can be charted. It's not like, OK, I will be in denial for a week and then angry for three weeks and I will bargain for just a few days, but I'll be depressed for three months, and then I will enter acceptance and will be done grieving for this person forever. CASE CLOSED.

I know that's not how it works. I understand, logically, that the grieving process is a dark and convoluted mess, a twisted timeline that loops back in on itself and starts and stops depending on mood or circumstance. And yet I'm still surprised when I find myself weeping quietly in the car along to the sweet sounds of Karen Carpenter singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

And I'm lucky. With the exception of my younger cousin and a friend's brother from college, the deaths in my life have been due to old age or after a long illness. They've been grandparents and great-aunts and uncles, a beloved pet, sad still, of course, but not altogether unexpected.

So when I go to Oak Tree Corner and I hear some of the things these kids are struggling with, I realize just how lucky I am. My grandma was a twin, identical, and I remember how confusing it was, emotionally, when I saw her twin for the first time, just before the funeral. So when I hear a story of a child struggling with something similar, but like, times 100, it makes me wonder just how else I could be helping. Because if I was confused, how confused was that kid, you know?

These are the things I find myself thinking about today, on Children's Grief Awareness Day, and as we approach the holidays. The holidays are pretty much universally acknowledged to be the worst time of year for those grieving a recent loss. They really throw into stark relief just what's missing from your life, in a way that you might be able to ignore at any other time of year. Family traditions that the person was a part of no longer hold the same joy. It feels wrong or at least...off in some way to continue them without that person you loved so dearly.

It does get easier as the years go on, but it still hurts. The fresh slice of pain, blade-sharp, that took your breath away that first year fades to a dull ache as the years pass. It never stops hurting, though. It just hurts in a new way.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about Oak Tree Corner and the kids there. And yet I still always feel like there's more I could be doing. If only I thought about myself less, tried a little harder, gave a little more...yada yada yada. Everyone feels like that, though, like there's more they could be doing, because there IS always more we could be doing. So, today feels like a good day to renew my efforts a bit, to pledge to do more next year than I did this past year, and to look for new ways to help.

Join me? 

You can also find a list of children's grief support groups throughout the US on the National Alliance for Grieving Children's website.

why I volunteer

Yesterday, I took a different way home from work and drove past Oak Tree Corner. Oak Tree Corner is housed in a yellow Cape Cod, situated on a busy corner in Oakwood, the yard full of happy little trees and bright flowers. There’s a sign on the side that reads, “a place for grieving children.” This is my sixth year of volunteering there.

Oak Tree Corner was founded in 1996 as a place for grieving children and families to find some sort of comfort. Volunteers, or group facilitators, gather twice a month and lead groups of children in activities designed to facilitate discussion about their grief. I work with the youngest group, the Littles, usually aged 4-6, though there are also two other groups, the Middles and Teens. The parents meet in a separate group, led by another volunteer. All volunteers go through an extensive and, at times, emotionally exhausting training before leading these groups.

Whenever new volunteers start at Oak Tree Corner, they just observe on their first night. It can be overwhelming. Sure, there’s the training, but there’s always some anxiety, especially just starting out, when faced with a group of grieving children. “Will I say the wrong thing?” (Probably not, especially if you let the kids do most of the talking, which is what you’re supposed to do anyway.) “What if someone cries?” (Surprisingly, this hardly ever happens.) “I can’t do this.” (Yes. You can.)

After group, the volunteers gather to share their experiences from the night. On nights when we have new volunteers, the old volunteers take turns sharing why they decided to volunteer with Oak Tree Corner. I always say some variation of the same thing. I heard about Oak Tree Corner from a co-worker. I’d been looking for a place to volunteer where I wouldn’t be relegated to answering phones or stuffing envelopes, ideally working kids, and this seemed perfect. I was a bit nervous that I would be dealing with children in the midst of the grieving process, but it’s been life changing. It really has.

As I drove by Oak Tree Corner yesterday, I really thought about my answer to that question. How rote it’s become and how it’s the real answer, sure, but, since I’m emotionally closed-off with near strangers, it’s not the real real answer. It’s not the cheesy, gooey-center-of-my-heart answer.

I like my job but, most days, I don’t usually feel like I’m really making the world a better place. On the best days, I get to offer someone a job. That’s a good feeling. But, for the most part, I’m not changing lives.

Yesterday, some asshole blew up the Boston Marathon. I, like most people, followed along in horror, on Twitter, on Facebook, on the everlasting suck-cycle that is our news media, my stomach sinking as each new piece of information came in. Yet, in the aftermath of this terror, Patton Oswalt posted the following on Facebook:

Boston. Fucking horrible.

I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, "Well, I've had it with humanity."

But I was wrong. I don't know what's going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem. One human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.

But here's what I DO know. If it's one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. (Thanks FAKE Gallery founder and owner Paul Kozlowski for pointing this out to me). This is a giant planet and we're lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they're pointed towards darkness.

But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We'd have eaten ourselves alive long ago.

So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, "The good outnumber you, and we always will."

And I thought...THAT is why I volunteer. I want to be a part of Oswalt’s vast majority. I want to make the world a better place, in my own tiny way, even if it’s only by volunteering two days a month. It’s often difficult to measure our successes at Oak Tree Corner. It’ll most likely be years or, you know, NEVER before we know if anything we say or do benefits the children we work with. But I have to believe it does. I have to believe in trying to make the world a little brighter, in doing my part to tip the scales to Good. I have to believe that Oak Tree Corner, this small shining light, is really just one of many, a million stars brightening the night sky.

DOWNTON ABBEY!!! SPOILERS!!! BEWARE!!!

I watched the finale of Downton Abbey the other night and I think I need a safe place to talk about my feelings. Because, you see, I have a lot of feelings re: the last five minutes and also the season in general.

First of all, if you haven't watched the season and don't want to be spoiled, please quit reading. ESPECIALLY if you haven't yet watched the Christmas special, which was the one that aired this past Sunday in the US, since we celebrate Christmas two months after our friends across the pond. So, yeah, spoilers ahead and I think I'm being generous even giving a warning because, by now, it's aired all over the place so if you haven't watched it, that's your problem. That is my spoiler policy! But I'm being nice because I was horribly spoiled for two giant Downton events (after they aired in the UK) because I haven't figured out yet how not to get spoiled for things on Tumblr. 

ANYWAY. So don't cry to me in a moment if you've already read this far and you still get spoiled. Because I'm about to spoil everything. EVERYTHING. And I'm not hiding anything in garbly text or "click to read more" links so just get over it. I'm sorry I'm being so cranky about this but spoilers make me cranky, OK? I SAID SORRY. Let's move on, right, and talk about...

...

...

(there's still time to back out)

...

...

Poor dead Sybil. That one hurt. I mean, I was spoiled for it (spoiler offense #1, TUMBLR) and it was still horrifying to watch, like, to the point where, while watching it unfold, at one point I was like, "maybe I read wrong...she had the baby and now she looks OK and they're all happy and what a cute family!" and then NOPE I WAS JUST LULLED INTO A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY because then she died and we had to watch it and it was horrible and that baby is a murderer.

It's no revelation to say that babies are bad omens on this show, at least this season. It's all over the internet. But damn, if I were any of the other women on the show and I got pregnant, I would be TERRIFIED. I mean, I'd be terrified IN GENERAL if I found out I was pregnant, but on Downton it's way worse. So far, a baby has killed a reputation (Ethel), a mother (Sybil), and ALL OUR FUTURE HOPES FOR HAPPINESS BECAUSE MARY'S DAMN BABY KILLED MATTHEW.

That's right, MATTHEW IS DEAD. DEEAAAAAAADDDDDDD! WHY GOD WHY?!?

I knew it was coming, so I put off watching the finale for as long as possible. Joe kept asking me if I wanted to watch Downton Abbey and I was all, "IF I WATCH IT, MATTHEW WILL BE DEAD SO NO THANK YOU," and then Joe would just back away slowly. Then I watched it and it was terrible because they spent so much time talking about how Matthew was so great and he was everyone's savior and he was the only one who thought Mary was a nice person and he saved Downton from Lord Grantham's stupidity and was so excited about his stupid adorable baby and NOW HE'S DEAD. I mean, I understand that they really had very little choice but to kill him off, since Dan Stevens decided to leave the show (though I still think a situation where he'd always just left the room or was away on business or was locked in the W.C. would have been fun), but I hate that it ended that way. Mostly I'm just worried about the baby because can you imagine Mary being your mother? Yeesh.

I will say that I'm so way more into Edith now than I ever was before, like, I felt really bad when she was left at the altar (LITERALLY) but I'm loving that she's suddenly all CAREER WOMAN, in spite of her father's protesting. If they continue her Peggy Olsoning, and if she stays away from her editor with the crazy wife locked away in the asylum (Faux-chester), she might become my favorite character, aside from Professor McGonagall, of course, and maybe zombie Matthew, if Dan Stevens decides to ever return. It could totally work, zombie love interests being all the rage virus these days. Or just in that one book/movie, anyway. Never mind.

I'm probably not going to edit or reread this before I publish, if that tells you anything

Oh, hi, internet, I MISS YOU. I keep blathering on and on about my high school exploits and I'm sure (sure!) that you want to know what's going on with present-day-me, right? Come! Listen to me babble! It shall be just like the days of yore!

It being December (WHAT), things are pretty busy but I still spend most evenings reading in my pajamas or watching TV in my pajamas or chasing the animals around so we can give them Frontline in my pajamas, so I'm not sure exactly why things seem so busy, THEY JUST DO.

I did get my hair cut. I was trying for the millionth time in my life to let it get longer than my shoulders but I got sick of it and one day, after a long, difficult day at work, I decided to just chop it all off. Well. I mean, I PAID someone to chop it all off because if I chopped it off myself I'd end up looking like this. Anyway. After my hair was short again, I felt much better about life in general which is what normally happens when I cut all my hair off, because whenever I'm feeling like my life is out of control, I like to exert control over things I actually CAN control over so BOOM short hair!

That was a really long paragraph about my hair, which was really just so I could tell you what a little girl said to me at volunteering last night.

Little Girl: Did you get your hair cut?
Me: Yep.
Little Girl: Oh. It...looks different.

BOOM. Awesome. Thank you, little girl, for that self-esteem boost. Seriously, though, I wanted to hug her because how awesome is that? Don't tell people you like their haircuts just because it's polite! Say how you feel! Only, no offense, you're probably not as cute as this little girl so you might get punched.

Other funny things that happened at volunteering last night (some context...during opening circle, the kids are supposed to only talk if they have the Talking Stick): 

Little Boy: Talk talk talk talk talk.
Me: Little Boy, do you want the Talking Stick?
Little Boy: Sure.
Me: OK, here you go.
Little Boy: PFFFFFFFFFFT*

*that's supposed to be a fart noise

You guys, I almost died. This little boy is my spirit animal. He is THE BEST.

Lately I've become obsessed with listening to records. Luckily, Joe has a record player and already had a bunch of records, but I'm only obsessed with listening to records that I may have listened to as a child. Records that may or may not include: Billy Joel, The Sound of Music, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Oklahoma!, The Beach Boys, etc. I was born into a cassette tape generation but my parents had a record player and I was enthralled with it. Like, how the hell is music coming from A NEEDLE. MAGIC.

My goal is to find some old school Whitney Houston, the Grease Soundtrack, and Alvin & the Chipmunks: The Christmas Album or whatever it's called. And, I think this would go without saying, I would straight up cut a bitch for a copy of The Muppets Christmas album.

SPEAKING of The Muppets, I organized a family outing to see the new movie over Thanksgiving weekend and it was pretty much my greatest idea ever. Not JUST for inviting my awesome family but because THE MOVIE WAS AMAZING. It felt like a 90 minute hug. I have about a million fond memories of sitting on my Grandma's living room floor, inches from the TV (until I got yelled at to scoot back), watching all manner of Muppet movie. I'm almost positive that had something to do with why I was practically sobbing during Rainbow Connection but it also could be because I have emotional problems. Who knows, it's a mystery.

MANIACAL LAUGH MANIACAL LAUGH.

REPOST! ain't too proud to beg

Some of you may know that I volunteer with a group called Oak Tree Corner, a place for children and teens to go to when someone close to them has died. I've written about it here and here. And probably other places, too, only I can't find those other places. Anyway.

Oak Tree's big yearly fundraiser is on April 24. We are funded solely on charitable contributions from friends, family, and the community. So, if you think this sounds like a good cause or you have an extra $5 laying around, would you consider donating? Pretty please? If you donate, I'll write a post about whatever you want. Or I'll send you candy, which is probably more of an enticement than me babbling about killer zombie monkeys from space or whatever. Again, I say ANYWAY.

THIS is where you can make donations and become my best friend.

but the children love the books

Some of you may know that I volunteer with a group called Oak Tree Corner, a place for children and teens to go to when someone close to them has died. I've written about it here and here. And probably other places, too, only I can't find those other places. Anyway.

Oak Tree's big yearly fundraiser is on April 24. We are funded solely on charitable contributions from friends, family, and the community. So, if you think this sounds like a good cause or you have an extra $5 laying around, would you consider donating? Pretty please? If you donate, I'll write a post about whatever you want. Or I'll send you candy, which is probably more of an enticement than me babbling about killer zombie monkeys from space or whatever. Again, I say ANYWAY.

THIS is where you can make donations and become my best friend.

this involves a lot of poop talk so don't say I didn't warn you

I already said I hadn't blogged in forever because of my gastrointestinal issues but really that's no excuse because how much energy does it really take to sit up (barely) with my laptop resting on my legs or the sofa or whatever and type up some nonsense? Not that much energy, really, but I still didn't blog. I was sick on Thursday and Friday but went to work anyway (yes, I'm THAT coworker) because why would I want to waste my sick days at home being sick? Please. Anyway, I want to save as many as possible because at the end of the year we get our sick days paid out and I want money, lots and lots of money.

I did try and be somewhat social on Sunday, and went over to my parents' house because they were having people over for pasta and garlic bread. That's right, pasta and garlic bread. Anyway, that ended up being a total clusterfuck because I spent most of the time in the bathroom (TMI) which led to conversations like this one which, when Joe told me about it later, made me recoil in absolute horror for several reasons:

My sister: Where is Jennie?
Mom: She's in the bathroom. She's not feeling very well.
My sister: Oh, is she pregnant?

Um, no. Thanks, though. This, of course, led to several more fun conversations about my stomach issues and non-pregnancy issues which made my head explode about 14 times because FIRST OF ALL, if I want everyone in the world to know my poop business then I will just tell the Internet like a normal person and ALSO I'm not very good at math (anymore) but I'm pretty sure that bad poops does not equal pregnancy. What made it even worse is that I was on my period at that very moment (OOPS TMI). But whatever, according to my mom, I probably had the swine flu. Have the swine flu. One of those.

Anyway, so that was fun. If by fun, you mean, "OMG OMG GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE I WANT TO CRAWL UNDER THE PORCH SO I'M ALONE WHEN I DIE OF NON-PREGNANCY-INDUCED DIARRHEA OH YES I JUST SAID DIARRHEA, INTERNETS, GET OVER IT OK?"

Ahem. Then my cousin was all, "hey, Uncle Jim (who is my dad), would you care if Jennie and Joe moved in together before they were married," which was also fun if you're going by the definition above.

The beginning of my week last week was much better, because I had an awesome night of volunteering on Tuesday, which sounds weird because we go there to talk about dead people but whatever, it was good. There were two little girls in my group and they liked drawing and playing with My Little Ponies, so that's what we did and that is why I have My Little Ponies in my car. Also, one of them was talking about how her boyfriend is really short (yeah, she's 5) and how people call him midget and I was like, "oh, I bet he doesn't like that," and she was all, "no, he doesn't really mind," so then I thought, "well, maybe he really IS a midget," but I didn't say that and then she demonstrated how short he is and I was like, "wow, that is short!" and she was like, "yeah, he's not tall like you are," and I wanted to hug her because I haven't been tall since the sixth grade (that is when I stopped growing) and it was the best day ever, you guys. True story.

This place is a tomb. I'm going to the nut shop where it's fun.

When I was a kid, I read all the time. Like, ALL THE TIME. A few months ago, my mom was telling me a story about how she was in a waiting room, quite obviously deeply involved with her book (dirty), and someone wouldn't stop trying to have a conversation with her. I was all, "MOM. You used to do that to me all the time!" and she was like, "Well, JENNIE, if I didn't talk to you while you were reading, I'D NEVER HAVE GOTTEN TO TALK TO YOU," because that's how much I read, you guys. TRUTH.

Anyway, I also had this problem in that I thought everything I read was true. I mean, I think I knew that I couldn't really travel to Narnia through a wardrobe and that Ramona Quimby (age 8) was not actually a real person. It was more like I wanted the real world to be more like books, all the time. I wanted to write to Mr. Henshaw and I wanted to run around with Maniac McGee and I dearly, dearly wanted to go to Wayside School, even though it was falling down.

Mostly, though, I wanted to be in The Baby-sitters Club. I went back and forth between which character I wanted to be. Sometimes it was Claudia, with her "keen" fashion sense, but I didn't want to have her mean sister. I did try that thing she did, where she hid food all over her room so she could have fun snacks any time she wanted, but it turns out if you do that in real life, your parents catch you and get mad at you because when they asked you where all the snacks were going, you told them your sister was probably eating them and that, my friends, is called lying and I guess parents don't really like lying or something. But I digress.

Sometimes I wanted to be Mary Anne, but I was already desperately shy and bookish, so that was no good. And sometimes I wanted to be Stacey, but not really because man, she was a Grade-A beeyotch if there ever was one, right? Mostly, I wanted to be Dawn, but only because of her beautiful, long hair and the fact that she lived in a house with SECRET PASSAGEWAYS. I knew our house wasn't anywhere near as old as Dawn's house, but that didn't stop me from searching for secret tunnels in the basement.

But the Club sounded fun, no matter which member you were. Probably because there was absolutely no adult supervision and parents had no problem sending ALL the neighborhood kids off on adventures with 13-year-olds, like remember that one time they all got shipwrecked on an island? I mean, they weren't there long enough for it to get all Lord of the Flies, but still...who sends their kid off on a boat with a 13-YEAR-OLD?!

Unfortunately, I didn't have a boat, but I still thought I'd be a good member. Screw that Red Cross Baby-sitting class I took, I learned way more from The Baby-sitters Club. True story. OK, not really, but they did have those super awesome Kid Kits, full of all sorts of fun stuff to keep little ones occupied. I COVETED those Kid Kits, which I know is a sin or something but there are worse sins so just be glad I'm not out there murdering people or building shrines to the Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever.

I still sometimes wish that real life was more like books. Less work, more play. Adventures that last pages and pages. Kid Kits. But last night, as I was getting my bag ready for volunteering, I rummaged through some of the stuff I'd collected for it. Stickers. Markers. Play-Doh. Bubbles. And wouldn't you know it? It turns out I'd made my very own Kid Kit, albeit about 15 years late. Maybe this real life thing isn't so bad after all.

mmm, free ice cream

I spent the majority of last night talking to new volunteers about my own volunteering experience, and then teaching them how to color and play Candy Land. Most people probably think they already know HOW to color and play Candy Land. And you're probably OK at it. But I'm like . . . wicked awesome at it. Alright, really, we color just like everyone else does but you have to practice this reflective play crap and hone your listening skills and all that junk. So that was my job last night -- to teach new people how to do that. And I got to color. And play Candy Land. This isn't normal Candy Land, though, it's Grief Candy Land and you talk about dead people the whole time. Not zombie dead people, but like dead relatives and friends and stuff. The Happy Factor of Candy Land cancels out all the emo, though, so don't worry.

Anyway, when I walked out to the parking lot after THREE HOURS of training and coloring and whatnot, I squinted through the darkness at my car. Something didn't look right. And then it hit me.

MY OBAMA STICKER WAS GONE.

That's right. Someone STOLE the Obama sticker right off my bumper. I'll admit, a couple of years ago when W and Bush/Cheney stickers were all over the place, I would feel some rage every now and then and think about swiping them, but I'd never actually do it. Because I'm an adult. A RESPONSIBLE adult (most of the time). Plus, getting bumper stickers off of bumpers is really hard (that'swhatshesaid) and I'll say this for the thief . . . they got every bit of that sticker off of my car. So, thanks for that, I guess.

I don't know when it happened. It could have happened in our apartment complex lot, because Heidi's (new!) car was vandalized, too, only we don't really know if that happened in our parking lot, either. It could have been stolen when my car was in my work parking lot. A lot of my coworkers were really upset the day after the election, but the coworker who listened to conservative talk radio all day is no longer here, so it couldn't have been her. PLUS, I really think this is something I would have noticed it right away. Which means someone stole it from the parking lot of a center for grieving children while I was inside teaching other volunteers how to help said children through their grief. I feel sort of sorry for whoever stole my sticker because they are clearly going straight to hell and I've heard Satan does not pass out free ice cream*.

*he might pass out free hot chocolate if hell freezes over, though

why people have kids, I think:

and especially:



Yes, I know these are all old and this is the laziest post ever. It's the weekend, what do you expect? Real words? Pshaw.

Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?

I don't want to alarm anyone, but if you have Time Warner and you live in the Dayton area then RIGHT NOW YOU DON'T HAVE NBC. It's not really a problem yet, but it'll be a big problem if it's not back on Thursday because I'll have to go burn down the Time Warner building and I just don't have that kind of time. I'm not exactly sure WHY we don't have NBC right now, but it has something to do with the affiliate wanting more money and Time Warner not wanting to pay any more money. I don't know whose fault it is but I'm going to blame Time Warner on account of I HATE THEM. I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. Yes, I DID steal that from 10 Things I Hate About You. Your point?

Yesterday, we went to Oktoberfest for the first time in a couple of years. We didn't go last year because we were at a wedding and the year before we got too drunk to get there before it started raining. I'm pretty sure I wrote about that night (yep) because it was not one of my finer moments. But whatever. Bygones.

I ate bad-for-me food and I drank bad-for-me beer yesterday, but it was well-deserved because on Saturday I both went to work and THEN went running. We also saw Tropic Thunder and I got a chocolate milkshake from Graeter's, so you could say THAT was my reward for going to work and running, but you could also just shut up and leave me alone. So there. I know I sound cranky but that's just because it's not the weekend anymore. It was a really good one, aside from the working. Best part? Last night, a kid at Kroger was imitating Chewbacca. It was magical. And I almost stole him. But I didn't. In case you were worried.

they call me 'quiet girl', but I'm a riot, Mary, Jo, Lisa, always the same, THAT'S NOT MY NAME

Dear people (mostly MEN) I work with,

My name is Jennie. Not any of the following:

Amy
Claudia
Little lady
Young'un
Girl
Kid

Thank you.

In other news, I totally got up early this morning and went running. I KNOW. I had to, though. Well, I didn't HAVE to. When the alarm went off, my first thought was, "if I just turn it off, I could sleep for another hour and a half . . . that's a lot of sleep." But I did get up. And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. Oh my god, Amy Jennie, shut up. Anyway, the reason I got up and ran this morning instead of running after work is because I, um, DON'T run after work. Instead, I just . . . don't run. Because it's hot. So hot. And also I'm all tired after work and don't feel like moving, let alone running. Wow, this is a good story. I should tell it again, yes?

I totally got up early this morning and went running. I KNOW. I had to, though. Well, I didn't HAVE to. When the alarm went off, my first thought was, "if I just turn it off, I could sleep for another hour and a half . . . that's a lot of sleep." But I did get up. And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. Oh my god, Amy Jennie, shut up. Anyway, the reason I got up and ran this morning instead of running after work is because I, um, DON'T run after work. Instead, I just . . . don't run. Because it's hot. So hot. And also I'm all tired after work and don't feel like moving, let alone running.

HAHAHAHAHA. Wow. I think I got too much oxygen this morning or something. Yikes.

So. I had volunteering last night, and there are three different age groups, and I lead the group of the wee, little ones. Which is fine, but some of these wee, little ones tend to have about a ten minute attention span (at best), so that means I'd better bring a lot of activities for them. I was so, so prepared last night. I'd gone to the library to get picture books about dead people (or picture books about GRIEVING, whatever), and I'd come up with this sweet activity BASED on one of the books, and I even ran out on my lunch hour yesterday to pick up extra supplies so it'd be super awesome. And then I got to volunteering early and set everything up in my room so it was all ready when the kids got there.

And then none of the wee, little ones showed up. Bastards. Just kidding. But seriously! I had so much fun stuff, plus M&Ms, because I'm always afraid the kids won't like me, so I bribe them with candy. Sigh.

And now I have deja vu. GREAT. That's going to throw off my whole day.

Bell out of order, please knock

Apparently Tamara did not like my last post. In fact, I believe she might have suggested that it was the worst post ever. And, yeah, it was short and not thought out at all, but at least I wasn't listing things I carry in my purse, right? Right. In any case, Tamara is bored at work, and since she was kind enough to blog for me today over at The Collective, the least I can do is babble to the Internets for a while.

It probably won't surprise you to hear that I was sort of a weird kid. A weird kid who grew up into a genuinely weird woman (or, as my mom calls me, "a unique mind").

My mom also likes to remind me that, when I was little, I had a Southern accent that no one would explain. I grew up in southwest Ohio and, while it is a bit close to Kentucky, it's not close enough for Southern twang to seep in. I don't remember how or when I lost it, but I wish I still had it. I love accents of all kinds, but the Southern accent is the friendliest of them all.

Like most kids, I liked to play "pretend" during recess, but instead of playing House or School, I liked to imitate Babs from Tiny Toons or pretend I was Peter Pan (the girl version, of course) and climb to the top of the jungle gym and jump off. I never ended up flying, though. I tried a lot of different things in my attempt to fly. I stood on one end of a teeter-totter and had my friend push down on the other end. My thought was that, if he pushed down hard enough, I've propel through the air and soar into the clouds. What happened was, I fell backwards off of the teeter totter and hit my head on the ground. It was sort of exactly like what happened when I tried to run down the Slip 'n Slide. I used to try flying off of swings, too. You know, you'd swing as high as you could and then jump when you reached the highest heights, but I always crashed back down to Earth. My most unsuccessful attempts at flying usually involved an umbrella. I thought that since Mary Poppins could take off from the ground and fly with an umbrella, I could do it, too. But since I was an amateur, I jumped off of stuff while holding an open umbrella, so I'd at least already be in the air. It never worked and I was always disappointed. Even now, I can't believe movies would lie to me like that. I mean, I cannot tell you how many times I tried clicking my heels three times, but it never took me home. I tried it just this morning and it still didn't work. Hasn't stopped me from trying, though.

everything it seems I like's a little bit sweeter, a little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me

Hey, guys. How's it going? Good? I'm glad. I know I've been ignoring you lately and I'm afraid it's not going to get any better. It's just that this summer has exploded with awesomeness and I'm busy. Really busy. You know. Seeing movies and going to wedding-related functions and next weekend? Celebrating Christmas-in-July up north with some friends. I could tell you exactly where, but I just like saying "up north." Not like Canada north, I'm afraid, but north of here. Oh my god, Jennie, shut up.

I went to two cookouts this past weekend. TWO. In two days. TWO DAYS. The weekend before I last I went to two cookouts ON THE SAME DAY. I'm not going to lie to you, I LOVE COOKOUTS. But if I continue to eat cookout food at the rate I am currently eating it, I will weigh 800 pounds by the end of the summer. And then I'd have to get one of those little motorized scooters to carry me around and I can't afford one of those.

Um. Anyway. The cookout on Saturday was for Heidi's friend's wedding. They got married a couple weeks ago and their reception was this giant cookout and IT WAS DELICIOUS. They put Rock Em Sock Em Robots on top of the cake instead of a tiny bride and groom. I approve of this. I approved of the cookout, too, until I ate a giant piece of chocolate wedding cake and felt like vomiting for the rest of the day. I don't care. It was worth it.

The cookout on Sunday was for all the volunteers and kids and parents from, um, the place I volunteer. I was put in charge of bringing some water balloons, so Joe and I turned the kitchen into a water balloon factory and I had to take the picture over the sink down because we sort of got water EVERYWHERE. It could have been worse, I suppose. Like, we put all the balloons into the laundry basket and say I'd accidentally dropped a bunch of safety pins in the laundry basket, causing a horrible water-balloon-exploding effect that soaked the entire apartment, including Phoebe. That would have been worse.

At the actual cookout, the water balloons lasted approximately 3.4 minutes once the kids saw them. And they had these long stick things (heh) that you fill up with water and shove one end in and water shoots out the other. I'd never seen them before, but the kids played with them for the entire time and most of them looked like they'd jumped in a pool with all of their clothes on which is CRAZY WHO WOULD DO THAT? Oh, wait, actually I have done that. Hmm. Anyway, I also met an undertaker. He was . . . interesting. He told us that their funeral home now cremates pets and one of their best customers (his words) is this lady who has 68 cats. Yeah, you read that right. 68 cats. She has a separate house for them. Yeah, you read that right.

PS: Have you wished Kat happy birthday yet? Don't be rude, Internets.

F-O-X

The greatest thing ever happened to me last night. EVER. It was amazing. After $1 burgers and $2 drafts at Bar Louie last night, Nancy dropped a bombshell. I don't remember what we were talking about, but at some point she nonchalanted, "oh, I bought Rock Band."

We were all HOLD THE PHONE (what?). Nancy bought Rock Band? Nancy bought Rock Band. For Wii. Unfortunately, it was still in the box, but once we got to Nancy's, we made quick work of that. The drums are white for Wii Rock Band, unlike the black drums for XBox (is it XBox?) because Wii is racist. Trust me. Just play Rayman and keep your eye out for all the sleeping Mexicans. I wish I was kidding BUT I'M NOT.

Aaaaaaanyway, once the game was set up and I'd put the game disc in the right way (harder than it sounds), the band tour started, with Heidi on bass. At which point this happened, and made me the happiest girl in all the land:

Heidi: It's not working . . . seriously, why isn't it showing that I hit the right color?
Me: Is the guitar on?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: I dunno then.
Heidi: IT'S NOT WORKING. WHAT THE HELL? ARRRRRRG!
Nancy: That's weird.
Heidi: I'm hitting the right color, WHY ISN'T IT SHOWING THAT I HIT IT?
Nancy: Um, are you strumming?
Heidi: . . . no?
All: BWAAHAAHAAHAAAA!

Seriously, you guys, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard EVER EVER IN MY LIFE. Ahem. I love you, Heidi.

This morning, when I left for work, I looked in the little patch of grass next to our steps and noticed something odd. Two 40s hanging out together, because apparently I'm back at Wittenberg. I think some college kids moved into the apartment next to us. This annoys me. Now that I'm not longer in college, I find most college students and the activities they participate in to be extremely annoying. I'm all, "you kids get off my lawn!" You know. Stuff like that. It's not that I no longer like to go out and act all crazy (see: Thanksgiving Miracle, Philadelphia, St. Patrick's Day, every trip to Chicago ever, tonight's bachelorette party (probably)), it's just that the times I do go out act like a booze-soaked psychopath are few and far between. Not because I don't like to drink anymore (heh), but because I'd rather sit at home in my pajamas and drink while watching a movie or playing Wii or whatever. I'm simple. I don't like wearing real pants, what can I say?

I don't know where I was going with that. Let's move on, shall we?

I went running the other night for the first time in like a week, because I SUCK, and as I was running, I noticed a little girl tottering down the driveway a few houses in front of me. She was about two or three (I don't know), and as she walked onto the sidewalk, going the same direction I was running, her mom, about 87 months pregnant, waddled after her.

Waddler: Come back, sweetie!
Runaway Girl: Heeheeheehee!

I kept running and eventually caught up to the little girl.

Runaway: Hi!
Me: Hello!
Runaway: Hi!
Me: . . . hi!
Runaway: I'm going to run with you.
Me: OK!

So then she started running after me. Away from her mother. This child was chasing me! CHASING ME! What if it followed me home and never left? I think that's how it happens. So, when I noticed she wasn't stopping and that her mother couldn't really run after her, I turned around and ran back toward her house.

Me: Let's run this way now!
Runaway: OK!
Me: Good job! Keep going!
Runaway: Hi, mommy!

And that's when her mom grabbed her and the runaway started crying. I totally tricked her, which is sort of comforting because sometimes I get worried that I might be stupider than a toddler.

you build the ark, I'll gather the animals

The weather the past two days has been extremely, and there's no other word for it, shitty. It rained all day yesterday, from the moment I walked out the door to go to work to when I got in my car at the end of the day to go to volunteering. The sky glared at me all, "WHAT? I'm RAINING! You don't like it? You think I care? WHATEVER, WHATEVER, I DO WHAT I WANT."

I was worried because last night was the final volunteering night before we go on hiatus for the summer, sort of like TV shows and my friend Nancy the Teacher. And on the last night of volunteering, the kids get to do a balloon launch. They write letters to their lost loved ones, tie them to balloons and let them fly, fly away. I'm trying to focus on how happy this makes the kids and not on the fact that once the balloon pops and falls to the Earth, some poor bird is probably going to choke and die on it. Focus on the happy, focus on the happy, look! look! something shiny!

The rain, though? The rain was threatening to KILL the balloon launch. So imagine my delight as I drove to the volunteering site and the sky became clearer and clearer. And as I sat in my car, waiting for someone else to get there and unlock the door (I'm always early), THE SUN CAME OUT. And it stayed out UNTIL WE WERE DONE WITH THE LAUNCH. It was a miracle. A balloon launch miracle. Poor birds.

Unfortunately, as I drove home from volunteering, the sky got angry again. When I got home, Heidi was making a nutritious dinner. I was hungry, too, so I made chips and salsa with M&Ms for dessert. As we sat down to eat, the tornado sirens started. "Le sigh," I thought, and looked longingly at my salsa. So spicy. So delicious. I turned on the news to see a furious, red blotch hovering over our town. Heidi was all, "is it bad?" and I was like, "no, no, it's just a tornado warning," and she said, "um . . . " and I answered, "oh, RIGHT, a tornado warning is the bad one." We don't really have a safe place to go in our apartment since we're on the second floor. Unless we go down to the first floor and cower in the coat closet, but cowering isn't really my thing, especially when I have chips and salsa in front of me. So we just sat on the sofa, ate our dinner, listened to the sirens, and watched the weatherman freak out all over the place.

It was fine. It stormed really badly for the rest of the night. The thunder was so loud that it woke me up (not a great accomplishment) but ALSO, it shook my entire room and made me hide under the covers. I didn't so much sleep as lie half-awake wondering if lightening could strike me through my window. I'm a little worried that this sleep-deprivation is causing hallucinations, because on the way to work I saw someone with an umbrella off in the distance and my first thought was not, "gee, it would suck to have to walk to work in this," it was, "OMG, it's Mary Poppins!"

wonder suicide

You guys know how I'm a Wonder Killer, right? If not, look above this post and FEAST YOUR EYES on the banner (thanks, Kat). For, LO, that banner, it dost speaketh the truth.

You probably have your own Wonder Killer. You ask a simple question, like, "I wonder if George Clooney misses his pig?" and Wonder Killer is all, "Yes, he misses his pig quite a bit, actually. Sometimes he writes his pig letters and sends them to Heaven." Or you say, "I wonder if zombies will one day inherit the earth," and Wonder Killer pipes in with, "duh, it hath been foretold for a great many years."

Before any of us could start volunteering with grieving children, we were trained very, very carefully not to tell these kids what to do or ask them outright questions. Instead we use "I Wonder" statements. Like, if the kid is hanging from the ceiling fan, instead of screaming, "GET THE HELL DOWN, DO YOU WANT TO BREAK YOUR NECK?" you'd calmly say, "I wonder if hanging from the ceiling fan is a good idea?" You'd be surprised at how effective this is. It's like you can see the kid's thought process. I imagine it goes something like this: Hmm, I wonder it IS a good idea to hang from the ceiling fan? It sure is fun. I love hanging from stuff. Trees. Monkey bars. And definitely hanging from this ceiling fan. Why isn't she yelling at me? My mom would yell at me. If she's not gonna yell, what's the point? This isn't fun anymore, I'm getting down.

Similarly, it's not like we're going to start asking the kids stuff like, "So, were you angry when your dad died?" Because DAMN, what kid isn't going to completely clam up when faced with a question like that? Instead, we're supposed to pose it like this: "I wonder if anyone was angry when so-and-so died?" It sounds completely ridiculous, I know, but it works. Usually, we're all sitting around coloring or whatever, so if no one says anything, it's not a big deal, and if they DO want to say something . . . it's not an intimidating situation, and usually they keep talking with minimal encouragement.

The problem with these "I Wonder" statements is they're getting into my head. Not only have I become a bit of a Wonderer OUT LOUD, but my every thought is, "I wonder if I should go running tonight?" or "I wonder if I keep talking to this person, my head will explode?" I CAN'T STOP. I have to wonder kill my own wonder EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY and you know what? I'm exhausted.