No, those sounds are not coming from my bowl of Rice Krispies.

They are coming from me..every morning after I get out of bed. Ridiculous isn't it?

My Tempur Pedic mattress sure sucks.

But that's not really my point here. It's more the fact that I'm getting older..and quite aware of it.

Just this morning I merely leaned over to pick up two empty planters and BAM...the pain that shot down my back was absolutely one hideous bolt of hell. (I'm lying on my sofa waiting for my Advil to kick in as I type) Just last week I was playing some silly Facebook farming game, clicking away at my crops..only to wake up the next morning with something akin to tennis elbow. Who would have thought cyber picking a few fields of wheat would do me in?

Now it's nearing the end of March..real life planting time soon. At this rate after one day of digging Ill end up in traction. If I cant handle Farm Town what are my chances in my own yard?

Still, that is not my immediate problem. In about 32 minutes my dear hubby will be arriving home. It's our anniversary you see. We have been planning a quiet night out for weeks. Little does he know I'm going to need another Advil just to make it to the car. I dread attempting to get changed and gussied up. And my black high heels? Ugh. Wish I could wear flip flops. Just how I'm going to manage a lovely transformation from blobby, aching, gardening mom to stylish, attractive, wife I just don't know.

Clock is ticking..back is aching...hair is limp...feet hurt. I really need help..a stylist or two..or three. I wonder if my 9 year old can manage my hair? Wonder if my son can give me a piggy back ride up the stairs? Maybe daughter number two can do my make up...although I might come out looking like scary goth eyeliner chick..with moussed up freak hair, an easy to slip into loose shirt, and white tennis shoes in the end. Gosh, I just scared myself.

Time to face the music, shove my belly poof into some high waisted jeans and build a back brace out of a few spare tree branches so I can sit up straight without wincing in pain.

It sucks to get older

I miss Thanksgiving.

Not the one that was a few days ago...the many that were over 20 years ago now.

That's when my father was still alive.

He was the heart of every holiday for us really. For as much as my mother grumped around.. complaining and yelling...he was the most joyous opposite. I really liked that I was the one that always got to sit next to him at the head of the dinner table. All the while my mother would be stern in her prayer and scoldings...my father would be making funny faces at me. (He always made sure I got extra chocolate pie too) After dinner he would tell me stories about his own family from Europe and we would often go outside to stare at the sky. I never really knew why. I suspect he was thinking about his family that he missed that had passed on. Still, it was "our" special time.

Even as I grew older, my father's young at heart and happy persona always remained strong. He really was my hero and indeed he was what I was always most thankful for those days so long ago.

The Thanksgiving after he passed away his seat remained empty that dinner. We all mostly ate in silence...well except for my mother's complaining. I found myself glancing down at my son and making silly faces at him. I felt like there was a huge hole in my heart, but I knew that I had to carry on my dad's own unique holiday traditions. I made sure my son got extra pie and then I wandered outside alone to look at the sky.

When I came in a bit teary and empty I had gone to the hall closet for some insignificant reason. Leaning to my left was my dad's cane. I held the handle and smiled. It was then that I "felt" Thanksgiving...remembering family in the present and the past.

I glanced at the dinner table and saw the ghosts of my uncle and aunt laughing..my dad pulling silly faces and doing magic tricks..my sister poking me and pouring soda pop on my head.

Every year..no matter what the dinner table..I still see those ghosts.

And I AM thankful.

Its because of those memories I can treasure those of my own children. I take in every movement, smile, or joke. Like a picture in my mind, it stays with me always as the years pass.

I just wish my dad was here to see it.

When I was six my mother started sending me to catechism classes at the local Catholic church school. Eight years later I was still attending. I hated it. Instead of the happy learning experience that I was promised...all I can recall is how we were all going to go to hell unless we confessed to Father every terrible thing that we'd ever done. Now, when you're six there isn't a lot that I can imagine one doing that could possibly be so terrible. Still...the "I forgot to take out the dog" got you at least five Hail Marys and a time out in the nearest pew.

By the time I was 13 I hadn't done much worse ...except miss mass. Now apparently that was a mortal sin (well, depending on whether you asked the old scary priest or the new hip one)

As I matured I began to see more holes in the teachings, more threats, more questionable ethics and behaviors. I recall challenging my mother to the many "whys" of the church...but she just sent me off in anger.

As soon as I my father allowed me...I quit catechism. (I don't really think he was on board with the Catholic teachings either...or maybe it was just too many bad memories nuns rapping the knuckles with a ruler that chilled him)

Still, every Sunday my mother would scream and yell at us to get to church services...and more and more I spent that hour daydreaming.

By the time I was seventeen I wasn't even attending mass...I'd drive off to the local Dairy Queen and contemplate dating instead. If my mom would have known she would have surely killed me...but luckily she attended Saturday night mass instead.

By the time I was in college I had taken a few courses on religion and decided that many did indeed use scare tactics to "keep their flock in line" I also realized how politics and religion can go hand in hand...and not in a good way.

I decided that I would embrace my own system, a combination of many religions..and teach my children the same...and give them a choice.

Last night my youngest daughter was invited to a youth church service at a new local church. I was mortified to find out that at this service the children (all between ages 8 and 10) were told that the world would be ending in seven years. The minister went on to describe burnings and pain...and how only those attending would be "saved"

Thank goodness my child has been taught that many religions have their own ways..not necessarily wrong or right...just different. Otherwise I could have had a hysterical little girl on my hands.

I do not think that children need to be controlled by such scare tactics. They are young and should not have to deal with such a grown up view. Its all debatable, I say let kids be kids..a basic teaching of right and wrong should suffice.

Innocence is a beautiful thing....no one should force that away.