Skating 'round the truth...

If it's Saturday, it must be the OFG. It seems like nearly every weekend, we are off to one corner of the state or another with a vanful of OFG girlies. I no longer desire any more children; the OFG has driven that right out of me. I now have seven extra "daughters", and on any given weekend, five of them are riding around in the back of my minivan.

Today was no exception - we had a "Prospect Party" which is an outing that is designed to show unsuspecting, er, prospective members how much fun they will have if they just join the OFG.

Twinks invited her entire Girl Scout Troop. Because apparently my child's motto is:

"Anything worth doing, is worth driving my mother crazy in the process"

We went skating. You remember skating? If you are of a certain age, "going skating" means going to a place called a "roller rink" where you put on clunky old tan-colored shoes that smell of disinfectant, and struggling NOT to fall down and disgrace yourself in front of the boy you have the BIGGEST CRUSH EVER on. I never looked like Olivia Newton-John gliding about and singing "Zanadu"; I was always the girl clinging helplessly to the rail, and praying that I could get back around to the benches before I got run over. I was cute, but I was a clutz.

So, imagine my joy when I found out that we were going *skating*. Back to the scene of some of my worst moments in Junior High and High School. Oh goody.

Oh yes, BIG fun was had by all - and for several hours, no less. Girlish screams and giggles filled the air, entire families skated together holding hands, little tots on skates that were nearly as big as they were zoomed past at supersonic speed; it was clean, wholesome, All-American fun.

You might have seen me; I was the one standing on the *carpeted* side of the rail, without skates today. I had no desire to spend my evening explaining to an ER doc why I thought I could skate at my advanced age, when I had never been able to before. So, I waved to the girls, waved to the other Mommies, waved to the families, all of whom circled the rink gracefully, and without much incident.

Even Twinks skates better than I do. This is largely due to the efforts of her elementary school gym teacher, who was determined to find a physical activity that she could do. The gym teacher knew that Twinks would never be a runner; basketball, tennis, field hockey, softball all out of the question. But skating... skating worked because The Twinkie could take her time. Wherever you are, Mrs. Williams, Thank You. Twinkle can skate beautifully because of you.

However, today Twinks pushed herself too hard, and before the afternoon was over, was in tremendous pain. She wanted to be like all of the other girls; she wanted to feel the air rush past her face, she wanted to feel graceful and light, she wanted to move with the music.

Instead, she took off her braces, put on her skates, and moved out onto the rink. She knew before she made the first turn that she was going to pay the price later, but she kept on going. She pushed down the pain just enough to keep up with her friends. As the afternoon wore on, she knew that the pain was building to the "intolerable" level, but she would not come in and sit down. She wanted the experience of being "normal" so badly that she sacrificed herself to get it.

Tonight, she's moaning and groaning in pain - even in her sleep. Tomorrow we will have to get her back up on her feet; with the braces on, it shouldn't be too bad. She will likely hurt, but not as much as she did this afternoon.

Twinks tried to skate around the truth today.

The truth blew past her, and left her clinging to the rail, helpless and exhausted.

That's the price of "normal" for Twinks.

Quick! Let's play "catch up"!

Remember me?

We've been... busy. Crazy busy. Scary busy.

So, until I can get my RL cleaned up, reined in and re-scheduled, here are the top headlines from our house for the last (nearly) two weeks.

BOXBOXBOX! - A very special and dear friend delights the Twinkster with a very special box of goodies.

The Twinkie Returns - Twinks makes a triumphant return to public school - only this time, it's different. Really, really different. And, yes, I cried just a *bit* on her first day...

Wanna Dance? - Twinks goes to her first "real" dance. Mommy & Daddy go crazy...

Truth, Justice, and The American Way - I continue a long, sad journey through the legal system... and discover that reality and TV have nothing in common at the courthouse.

Workin' for the OFG - The OFG needed a website. I had some leftover server space... and now, a shiny new volunteer project (because I didn't have enough to do, apparently)

You can't go home again - But twenty-five years later, you can stop in for a visit...

She moved where? - My mom joins the Great Senior Exodus to Florida... I join the ranks of the Sandwich Generation: reach now officially exceeds grasp.


More soon...

Sometimes, being The Mommy just sucks...

Yesterday, we had to put Twinks' cat, Tanner to sleep.

As hard as it was, there was no other decision to be made. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that even with surgery, there was no way the poor little guy could have survived for much longer. It was evident, even to a non-professional like me. He had not appeared to be in any pain at all - even the vet was surprised at how calm he was, and how despite his advanced condition, he was still his usual sweet little self.

He slipped away easily, and with no fuss; I held him, wrapped in one of The Wrench's old shirts. The vet, and even the techs who worked there, stayed with us; we talked, laughed, and cried together. I tried to make sure that he knew we loved him, and that he wasn't alone.

And then I had to go home, and tell my sweet little girl. I had to try and find the words to explain to her *why*. I had to help her remember that Tanner had a good life with us; certainly better than his original destiny. I had to hold her while she sobbed, and cried, and wished for one more chance to hug her sweet little grey cat and tell him goodbye.

Sometimes, being The Mommy just sucks.

Let's meet The OFB...

I adore the OFG - we are having great fun with them, and I am looking forward to (literally) years of good times, great memories.

Now the current "Head Mom" is not actually as *organized* as one would hope she would be. In fact, let's just say it - she's one of those people who seems to be pereinally surprised that you can use a calendar to actually keep track of things that are going to happen in the future. She is a lovely person, and I really do look forward to becoming great friends with her, but organized, she is NOT.

So, it actually came as no real surprise to me on Saturday to learn that on Sunday we would be traveling into The Heartland to attend an OFB Installation. Last-minute road trip? Sure. No problem. The destination was a wonderful little city with tree-lined streets that borders the college campus where my own parents met, and fell in love seven years before I was born. Although a rather convuluted set of circumstances resulted in my graduation from another college hundreds of miles from here, I still cherish this town, and the role it plays in my history.

The OFB is part of the same "family" of organizations that the OFG is; The Organization for Boys is a direct compliment to the OFG, and they attend one anothers events often and regularly.

Twinkle's OFG group had been invited by the OFB boys to attend the Installation of Officers. Someone, er, forgot to tell everyone until... Saturday. Hasty arrangements were made, and it was my job, then, as one of the Moms, to pilot 5 giggling girls and The Head Mom in our minivan.

Ordinarily, we live a fairly *quiet* life. Typically, we don't have a lot of noise at our house; it is after all, just the three of us, and the cats.

I can now state with a fair amount of authority that five girls in a minivan are the direct opposite of *quiet*. I can also tell you that they can consume an alarming amout of food, and that if there is any chocolate within a half-mile radius, you better hide it quick.

The OFG & The OFB are service organizations; they DO STUFF. Charity fundraisers, service projects, that kind of stuff. Lots of it, and apparently, lots of it together.

The other OFG moms and I clustered together on one side of the room like a nervous flock of mother hens. The boys were primarily in the middle of the room - a strategic advantage, as it let them have easy access to the refreshment table *and* keep an eye on all of the girls at the same time. The girls darted in and out of the room like hummingbirds; one would zoom in at a high rate of speed headed for the feeder, um, refreshments, and then in a whirl of color, would be gone, leaving you wondering if you had really seen her.

As I monitored the room, I realized that the boys were every bit as nervous, every bit as hyper-aware of the girls, as the girls were of them. I can clearly recall being a teenage girl, and believing that the boys didn't care about that kind of stuff. I could not imagine back then that they boys who I thought were so cool, and so disinterested, were probably every bit as hyper-aware as I was. Amazing.

Now, from the lofty perch of motherhood, I can see that the boys were indeed hyper-sensitive to every movement, every glance, every casual comment from the girls. They were quietly, desparetely, watching these incredible young women with a hunger that was almost palpable, and yet the girls seemed not to be able to see it at all. I used to wonder how it was that my mom could be so certain that a boy liked me; now I see how, and why.

The members of The OFB are good boys. They are scrubbed, and shiny, and earnest; they have on their suit jackets and their ties, and their black church shoes. They are polite - wonderfully so - and they are all, collectively and individually, the kind of young men that you hope your daughter might indeed bring home some day.

And, we'll be seeing some of them again this Sunday - when they come to *our* meeting, here in our hometown. And this timeless dance will begin again between the boys and the girls; the shy glances and the same whispered question that has plagued teenagers the world over for all time.

"Do you think she likes me?"

Welcome to The OFB...

Twinks 'n me & The OFG

So, it's all about the OFG.

The OFG (The Organization For Girls) is rapidly filling our lives and our family calendar with bake sales, statewide Mystery Trips (the destination is only known to the adult drivers) Tri-Youth dances, Installations and Initiations, and more. Much, much more.

The girls are wonderful; since their ages range from 10 to 20, Twinks has gotten a instant complement of "sisters", and The Wrench and I now have half-a-dozen "daughters" in the blink of an eye.

All of the mothers who are involved are called "Mom"; the rare exception is the Head Mom, who is always addressed as such. The dads are all called... you guessed, "Dad". Primarily, though, this is an organization of women - young and old - and girls who are growing into women.

So, this past weekend, when we went traveling with the OFG for the first time, I had a glimpse of what life might have been like if we had been fortunate enough to have more than one little Twinkie.

And I loved every minute of it.

The girls kept me on my toes. We laughed so much that my sides hurt the next day, and we had far more fun than I had truthfully expected. I had actually dreaded going; my presumption was that they only reason that I had been "invited" was because I happen to drive a lovely, late-model minivan. I quickly found out that the girls (and the other adult who accompanied us) were all lively, funny, and wicked-smart individuals, and they were all quite interested in learning about Twinks and I, as we are still the newbies of the group.

The girls have developed a "secret code" so that they can talk about boys *right in front of them* without the boys being any the wiser. It works quite well, and it is remarkably well thought out. Nothing crass or vulgar at all - if you didn't know what we were talking about, you would think that the discussion was genuine; this was evidenced by our hunky waiter at lunch who never had a clue that we were figuratively drooling all over him. And, no, I won't share the code with you... after all, we are nothing, if not Honorable Women.

At the event that we had driven halfway across the state to attend, the "daughters" acted every bit the young ladies that they are. They were poised, they were articulate, they were beautiful in their sincerity. I was truly impressed by their behavior and their demeanor; they knew when to display genuine reverence for the ceremony we attended, and yet their lively laughter rang through the halls before and after the meeting.

I caught more than one boy trying to slyly glance at one of my daughters; I would fix them with that frosty Mommy-glare, designed to wither the intentions of even the most persistent potential suitor. They didn't know it, but they should have been glad that The Wrench wasn't there; I imagine he might have simply *exploded* from the effort of fending off all of the adolescent testosterone that was flowing towards our daughters.

The ride home was quieter; two of the girls slept, so the laughter was a bit more subdued so as not to disturb them. We talked easily about everything, from boys to other girls, to how to pick a college, and again I was impressed by the maturity these young women displayed, and by the thought and care they gave to their answers. We arrived back in The Greater Metro all too soon, and then we lingered a while as the twilight fell, talking to the other parents, reluctant for the day, and the laughter, to end.

If these girls are our future, then the future is bright and beautiful, indeed.