Partially Domesticated Creatures

Is it because I'm not from Texas?

2012-01-31T13:43:00.002-06:00

I was writing about rodeos in Texas today, when I came across this:

Want to win a beautiful belt buckle?
Well this is all you have to do:
- You and a partner enter a pen with a wild hog.
- Chase hog (not the other way around).
- Catch hog.
- Bag hog in a burlap sack.
- Pull hog across the finish line in one of the fastest times.
Sounds like a HOOT? .... It is!

For the record, I do not think that "sounds like a hoot". I think it sounds like something very scary that mean people would make me do in some sort of terrible nightmare. Afterward, I would probably run from house to house trying to escape, only to find that the sweet-faced housewives in each house were Nazi sympathizers out to turn me in. (Because that's what happens when I encounter scary mean people in my dreams.)

Here's what I think might be more fun, if you were really in the mood for a new belt buckle. (Though why you would be, I cannot imagine.)

Want a beautiful new belt buckle?

Well this is all you have to do:
- Get into your car, possibly with a friend.
- Drive the car to the mall (or walk if you live nearby).
- Park and walk into the mall.
- Pick out a belt buckle.
- Put the belt buckle across the counter and pay with your credit or debit card.
Sounds like a HOOT? .... It's not, especially, but it'll get the job done!

Haul Out the Holly

2011-11-30T23:35:00.036-06:00

It's that time again- time to pull out all the Christmas decorations and begin to ready ourselves for the season of merriment. I'm not sure why, but I do not have the best attitude about it this year. I sort of want to take a nap that lasts through the entire season.

I don't know what this holiday ennui is all about, this year. I've been trying to figure it out. I haven't really established a connection with my new church, that might be part of it, since Christmas was always so special in our home church. Also, neither of my older kids will be here for Christmas, and that's a bummer. But as I've considered further, I think what it really boils down to is...

It's freaking November 30th! Good grief! Christmas decorations have been up in stores forever, and commercials have been singing about getting your shopping done. Didn't we used to at least get to celebrate Thanksgiving before the commercial side of Christmas punched us in the nose? A radio station in my town has been playing Christmas music for a week now. I love Christmas music, don't get me wrong, but didn't that whole thing used to start December 1st?

Many people I know have already put up their decorations. Some of my overachieving friends have finished their shopping. I've never been considered an overachiever, in any way, so it should surprise no one that I have approximately three items purchased, out of the roughly three trillion items I will need to purchase before Christmas Eve. However, hold on...

It's freaking November 30th! I have 24 whole days to shop! More than three weeks! So what if we don't have a tree yet? Where is it written that we have to have a Christmas tree before we've even finished digesting Thanksgiving turkey?

So I think it's going to be ok. I think I'm going to pull it out. I'm already starting to plan the Christmas menu, so that counts, right?

There is one thing I will be dragging out of storage tomorrow morning, no matter what, and that is...

Our Advent calendar. Because what better way is there to get into the spirit of the season than making a concerted effort to spend some time each day remembering what the season is all about? I may not be there yet, but by Christmas Eve, I have complete faith that I'll be singing carols with a full heart, eagerly anticipating Christmas morning.

Another Silly Kid Story

2011-11-29T23:53:00.001-06:00

So really, if you're tired of silly kids stories, please skip this one. I had one started that was not about my funny Small person, but I didn't finish it, and I'm almost out of time. Anyway, this made me laugh today, and it's too long for a Facebook status, so I thought I'd share.

(Isn't that a very 2011 thing to say? I wonder how soon "Facebook status" will be a dated reference?)

Small One is tenderheaded. Now, I do not believe in tenderheaded children, truth be told. I prefer to call them "whiny", and I do not allow complaints about having hair brushed. However, Small likes to protest loudly, and while I used to threaten and cajole, I have now hit upon a solution that pleases us both, without my having to shave her head.

I play a preschool version of the adult "would you rather" game. Remember that one? Where you pick two improbably awful scenarios and have to choose the lesser evil? My game with Small is one I like to call "What would hurt worse than having your hair combed?"

It goes like this:

Small: Owwww!
Me: Do you suppose this hurts worse than having your arm bitten off by a shark?
Small: (considers for a minute) No, probably not.
Me: Which do you think would hurt worse- being punched in the nose or having your hair combed?
Small: Being punched in the nose, I think! (big grin)
Me: What else do you think may hurt worse than having your hair combed?
Small: Sitting on the sharp stem part of a pumpkin. (laughs uproariously)

That last line is not a for instance, by the way, it is always her answer. The first time, she demonstrated, with a stuffed rabbit sitting on a pumpkin and then flying off, yelling like a cartoon character. Whatever, it works. She hasn't whined about how much it hurts since we started the game.

Flashback: Anthropomorphism Revisited

2011-11-28T23:34:00.000-06:00

In trying to delete the some drafts that just never made it into viable posts, I came across this one, from September of 2009. I have no idea why it didn't make the cut, it made me laugh just remembering it. So... without further ado, a blast from the not too distant past:

The other day, my Small One was eating apple slices and talking to herself... I wasn't really listening, I was cleaning the kitchen, busying about. When I did tune in, though, I noticed that she wasn't really talking to herself, she was having a conversation with the largest apple slice, that went something like this:

Apple Slice: Hey! Did you just eat my baby?

Small: Yeah, I did, I ate your baby.

Apple Slice: Oh no! You ate my baby! That wasn't very nice.

Small: Oh yeah? Well, guess what? Now I'm gonna put you in my mouth!

So weird, my Small One.

But tonight, she was dawdling over her beef stew, and I hit upon an idea. Voicing the beef, I squealed, "Oh, please don't eat me!!!!!!!!"

Immediately, she picked up her fork. "Oh, I will eat you!" she said, "And then I will eat all your friends!"

She polished off the beef stew. Am I encouraging something bad here, do you think? I can't say that I care much, as long as she finishes her dinner.

First Sunday of Advent Flashback

2011-11-27T21:53:00.004-06:00

Came across this the other day, and got a little misty over the way things used to be.
(The soloist is our own dear MC, circa 2007)

Thankful for Game Changers

2011-11-26T23:13:00.067-06:00

I've been reading a bunch of blogs today, over at BabyCenter's "Momformation" section, and today they are mostly about being thankful for pivotal moments in life. Of course, even though it is important to be grateful and appreciative of all the things in our worlds, and all the people, and all of that, I think it's even more crucial to truly appreciate those moments that gave us an entirely new world view. The most interesting thing to me about these moments is that, for the most part, they're pretty awful.

You rarely hear a story where someone says "I got everything I wanted, and it changed my life." Getting what you want rarely inspires change, it typically promotes complacency or, at its worst, smug self satisfaction. "Look at me! I get everything I want! I must be fantastic." The life changing moments, for the most part, are not what you think they'll be, the fantastic things you anticipate. The life changing moments are the ones that suck.

When my third child was born, I had a really difficult time, postpartum. Physically, I developed a systemic infection that made it impossible to breathe. I was nursing, and the antibiotics made my baby gassy and cranky, and so I was an emotional wreck. Mentally, I was exhausted and felt like I'd made a horrible mistake, having another baby at 38 years old.

Throughout the pregnancy, I had pushed myself to the limit. My company was in the midst of upheaval, and I was in charge of much of the transition. It was strangely emotional, because I had to talk several local business owners into continuing to do business with us, and I was responsible for many things that were actually beyond my control. Even though my schedule was flexible, it was extremely hectic. I sometimes worked day shifts, sometimes night shifts, sometimes worked from home, sometimes had meetings in other parts of the city. Driving all over the place, in a city noted for traffic, was made more difficult by the fact that our car at the time was a little old clunker with no air conditioning. In the South. In the summer.

We hosted an exchange student for about half of the pregnancy, which was a strain, because I suddenly had three adolescents instead of two. In addition, my daughter was homeschooling, and had many obligations, from academic classes to ballet lessons to babysitting gigs. Because she was only twelve, I had to do most of the transporting, and spent hours each week shuttling her back and forth. I was a very active member of the home school community, serving on the board of our group and running, with friend who was also pregnant, one of the more stressful events of our yearly schedule. I was very active in my church, teaching Sunday school classes and serving on a committee.

On top of all of this, my sister, who lived four hours away, was diagnosed with breast cancer. Now, I'm not making that all about me, certainly, but I was so concerned about her that I did try to be there for her as much as humanly possible. Mostly, this was long distance, but sometimes I drove up there, as well.

Looking back, I have no idea how I did all that while I was pregnant. I was driven by this fear that if I didn't do these things they wouldn't get done, and everything would fall apart. I'd been through that before, at the end of my first marriage, where I took my hands off the controls and watch everything disintegrate. I never wanted to live through that again. (Although, the lesson I learned that time is that control is largely an illusion.)

But when the baby was born a month early, and my health made me incapable of living up to my responsibilities, guess what? It didn't matter. I'm not saying nothing fell apart, some things did. I quit that job, for example, because stepping back from it I realized it was detrimental to my overall well-being. My twelve year old got very proficient at public transit, but that's ok, because it will serve her well later in her life, I'm sure.. The home school group not only got along without me, they, along with my church family, made sure my family was well-fed during my down time.

I discovered that I am, in fact, not responsible for everything. And it made me think really hard about how I want to spend my time on earth. Do I want to invest so much time and energy in external projects that I fall apart? Do I want to run so hard and so fast that the things I do for my family become one more obligation, done without joy or true connection? No, in fact, I do not.

I halfway got this lesson right after Small was born, and the lesson was completed a year and a half later, when I broke first my leg, then my arm, in rapid succession. The lesson is this: understand that everything is not important, and choose what is.

Now I choose my commitments. I say "no" more often. I hang back to see if anyone else will step in, if I'm not completely enthusiastic about a project. I say "no" more, personally, too. I have learned to treat my time as a gift, whether I'm bestowing it upon someone or giving it to myself. I have learned to see myself, not as a part of the machinery, that has to keep turning no matter what, but as an individual who deserves time off from everything sometimes, even my children.

This is not to say I'm now a completely selfish individual who only does what I want to do. However, I pause before jumping in. I carefully turn things over in my head before saying yes. I give myself the same consideration I'd give to someone else, and I've learned to relax and not worry so much about things. Ultimately, it is all going to work out.

That's the gift I was given, at one of the lowest points of my life. How about you, reader? Was there a game changing moment for you, that forever changed the way you live your life?

Friday Photo Fun

2011-11-25T20:27:00.000-06:00

I know, I know, I just posted a photo on Wednesday, and so it's cheating to have another photo blog so soon, but I promise, there are extenuating circumstances. I was working on this lovely piece about life changing moments and so forth, which I totally intend to post in the next day or two, when I took a break to cook a turkey.

Yes, it was Thanksgiving yesterday, but yesterday we ate at my mom's house, and today we have out of town company, so I did the whole shebang again. I'd had the turkey thawing in the fridge for almost a week, but when I pulled it out of its wrappings, there was still ice in the cavity! I put the bird into the sink and began rinsing out the inside with warm water, and stuck my hand in to break up the ice and retrieve the giblets. I pulled out the neck, no problem, but there were no giblets in there. Instead, I came back with this:

What in the heck is that thing? Part horror movie prop, part robot? (I'm assuming the horror movie isn't about robots, of course.) Seriously. Those things on the top are tubes, they look like broken off plastic straws. Anyone have a thought? What is it and why was it in my turkey?!?

Thursday Thirteen: Thanksgiving Edition

2011-11-24T17:17:00.001-06:00

I have a great family, a strong marriage, a nice house, fabulous friends, good health, and a fun job. These are things that I thank God for continually, and they are things for which I am truly grateful. However, this Thanksgiving I thought I'd go a different way, and talk about the little things that put the icing on my cake. And so, without further ado...

Thirteen things for which I'm Thankful, Aside from the Obvious:

(In no particular order)

My cat's belly, and the fact that he allows me to touch it. This may seem silly to you, if you are not a cat owner, but for those of us with felines in our lives, the belly is one of the more scrumptious things about a cat. If you knew my last cat, you will understand my undying gratitude for a kitty who allows the belly to be touched, because the last one would have taken my arm off.
DVR. I cannot stress this one enough. Before this year, I never had the pleasure of recorded television, and now I watch nothing else. Fast forwarding through boring parts and commercials? Priceless.
A husband who likes to have breakfast with the five year old. This is amazing, in that it allows me the time I need in the morning to drink coffee and think, before I have to start the day. A big tip of the hat to the Man for that one.
The fact that the same Man who does breakfast also enjoys bedtime. Can I even begin to fully express my gratitude for the child free moments that bookend my day? I think not. As much as I adore that little chatterbox, by bedtime I have lost patience, and am eternally in the debt of the man who still has some at that time.
Canned pumpkin. No, really, I'm serious. Do you know how icky pumpkins are? All those seeds and strings- gross! And then, if I'm understanding the process correctly. I'd have to somehow cook the pumpkin and puree it into just the right texture... um, no thanks. Thank you, Libby's, for canning the pumpkin for us. And thank you, grocery store, for making a cheaper generic. And thank you again, Libby's, for putting your pumpkin pie recipe online so I can buy the generic and still make the good pie.
Yeast. While I'm in a culinary frame of mind, I can't help but think about yeast.How did the first person who used yeast figure that out? Genius! Thanks, yeast discoverer. I thank you, and my bread thanks you.
Coffee. I know I'm stuck on the food category, but this is another stroke of genius, and another thing that I think... what the heck? How did someone think to grind up bitter tasting beans, and run hot water over them? What sort of crazy madness inspires someone to think of that? Again, a big fat thank you to whomever it was that made the thing that makes mornings possible for me.
My small appliances. One more, before leaving the kitchen. Oh, crock pot, how I love you. How many nights you've saved my family from starvation, when mom had no time to do anything other than throw something into your gleaming pot and move on with her life. And Kitchen Aid stand mixer, don't think I've forgotten about you. I was initially resistant to your charms, but you won me over by practically baking everything all by yourself. I could go on, but I'll bid my lovely kitchen adieu, throwing just one more smooch, to my electric griddle, which we have used every day since I received it for my birthday.
Cars. This may be too obvious, but then again, I was thinking the other day about how much we take cars for granted. There were many years when I did not own a car, and had to take scary public transportation, or walk everywhere and while I was admittedly thinner, I truly enjoy my current ability to go anywhere I want, any time I want, in an atmosphere in which no one ever pulls a knife. (Yet. Knock wood.)
My computer. Another big thing that we all take for granted these days. Well, ok, maybe not everybody, but I bet if you are reading this blog, you rely on your computer, at least somewhat. For me, it's how I work, look everything up, communicate, and play Words with Friends. (Have I mentioned how vital that is to my work process?) Also, if I didn't have my computer, I'd have never met...
My imaginary friends. No, they're not really imaginary, that's just what we sometimes call each other. I'm connected with an online mom's group that is truly wonderful, and if I'd been born fifty years earlier, I'd never have met them. How fantastic is it that we, in this day and age, can form real friendships, and have daily communication, with people who live on the other side of the planet?
The weather. I know that sounds weird, but think about it. I totally love sunny days, especially this time of year, because I can take a walk, or watch my Small One play outside. I also love rainy days, because they're great for napping and my husband gets the day off. I like snowy days, because they're an anomaly. I like windy days, especially at the beach, because I like it when it's wild outside. I probably wouldn't like a blizzard, but I haven't really had to deal with one. I guess I should amend that, and say I'm grateful to live in the South, where the weather is really pretty delightful, most of the time.
Online shopping, and especially eBay. I'm deeply grateful to whoever made it possible for me to shop in my pjs. This is the greatest thing ever for someone who hates the malls on a good day, and feels panicked by them during the holiday season. Also, pre-eBay, I had to go to consignment stores and sift through a jillion crappy things in order to find gorgeous kids' clothes that I would never be able to afford new, and now all I have to do is create a search. Unbelievably amazing.

Of course, I'm also deeply grateful for all sorts of wonderful things, much larger and more significant than these, because I'm an extremely blessed person. This Thanksgiving, I wish for all my readers a holiday in which to reflect on all the blessings, large and small. Happy Thanksgiving!

Wordless Wednesday: The Weird thing my Phone Does Edition

2011-11-23T10:53:00.001-06:00

Quote of the Day Tuesday

2011-11-22T23:30:00.000-06:00

Do you ever stumble across a quotation that makes you laugh out loud, purely from recognition of an inherent truth?

I don't really talk about my divorce, because it was a long time ago, (separated 16 years ago, divorce finalized 14 years ago), and because we have two children together, and because we try to maintain a friendly working relationship, which would not benefit from the opening of old wounds and stirring up of old dust. But something I read today flashed me back, and seemed really true. Knowing others who are going through messy divorces at the moment, I thought I'd share.

Late to jump on almost every bandwagon, I've just started reading Eat Pray Love. In the book, she quotes a friend of hers, describing the life experience of divorce as:

"having a really bad car accident every single day for about two years."

(Pretty sure my ex will laugh when he reads that, too.)

Mayflower Musings

2011-11-21T21:58:00.000-06:00

Small One goes to church preschool three days a week, and I really like her school. Truly. It becomes apparent during the holiday season, though, that this school does not particularly concern itself with the issue of political correctness. This is ok with me, because I definitely think it's possible to go too far the other way, but it does make me giggle when she sings songs like "Little Indian Flying Cloud" which ends with the traditional Native American greeting, "How!".

Today, she got into the car with a drum made from a coffee can, on which she had drawn what she called "A Mayflower." Now, I know that her primary source of information about this vessel is probably "The Mouse on the Mayflower", a fine film narrated and sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford, which she viewed at school after last week's Thanksgiving luncheon. Therefore, I had some questions.

"What do you know about the Mayflower?" I asked.

"Um...nothing," she replied, "except that it's a boat that looks like this." (indicating the drawing on her drum)

"Do you want me to tell you about it?" I asked.

"Of course!" she answered.

"Well," I began, "the Mayflower sailed from England with a bunch of people on it..."

"Yes!" she interrupted, "Those were the Pilgrims!"

"Yes," I confirmed, "Those were the Pilgrims. And they sailed across..."

"The ocean!" she sang out, "All the way over to where the Indians lived!"

"Yes," I said, "to what is now the United States of America. And they left England because..."

"The king wouldn't let them pray the way they wanted to!" she crowed.

So, yeah. For someone who doesn't know anything about the Mayflower, she knows a surprising amount about the Mayflower. Good job, Tennessee Ernie Ford! And, of course, Small One's school.

Truth and Fiction

2011-11-20T22:51:00.001-06:00

I blog for a living. Some of the posts I write are basically advertisements for products, some are reviews of things like software or cars, and some are instructional, designed to help people in their everyday lives.

I wrote one a few months ago about bathing cats. Then, yesterday, I actually bathed a cat, for the first time in a while. I would now like to amend my post, based on new experience. Below, I will excerpt part of the article, and in italics, I will put pieces of real world experience.

Bathing a Cat:

The best plan is to start when they are kittens, so that they get used to being bathed at a young age. Note: I have bathed the cat in question twice in his nine months on the planet. The first time, he was too small to object forcefully. The second time was yesterday. It was not pretty. Some pointers on cat bathing:

Clip the cat’s nails first; this will prevent you from being scratched.This is patently false. Even declawed cats will find a way to maim you. Because they still have claws in their back paws, they will become crazy cat contortionists, twisting themselves into improbable positions in order to bring their back claws over their heads so that they can kill you. Also, they will bite you.
Run the water ahead of time. Fill the tub or sink, and fill a pitcher or two, so that you won’t have to run additional water to rinse your kitty. This sounds super logical, but no. The moment my cat's toe hit the water, he threw off about a third of his fur, and climbed the tile walls in a death defying escape attempt that nearly jerked my arms out of their sockets as he soared above my head and I tried to contain him.
Sooth your kitty by speaking softly and petting him during the bath.Yes, yes. With what arm shall I pet him? One arm is already holding the scruff of his neck, the other is clamped on his body, and I'm trying to figure out how in the heck to get him lathered up. Now I should pet him? And let me just say, I began by speaking softly and sweetly to him, saying nice things like, "I know, baby, it's ok." and ended up speaking softly but through my clenched teeth, saying things like "Nothing bad has happened to you YET, you little bastard, but if you bite me again I'll drown your furry ass-face."
Work quickly, to limit stress on the cat. Pardon me? Stress on the what, now? Here's a tip: work quickly, because there's only so long you can hold on to a furry, wet projectile.
If your cat really hates the bath, consider using wipes that are specially formulated for cats.Yes, well, this one might actually be a good tip, because, seriously. Though that was, admittedly, a good workout, it was also the least fun I've had in a long time.

For the record, the cat and I have forgiven each other. I mean, how long can I be mad at this guy?

And for his part, how long can he be mad at She-Who-Provides-Both-Food-And-Cuddles?

Leaving Childhood

2011-11-19T23:58:00.025-06:00

So, the question asked the other day on BlogHer was "What is the moment that you leave childhood and enter adulthood?"

That sounds easy, doesn't it? If you really think about it, though, it's a really complicated question, and one that was much easier to answer, I think, in previous generations.

Is it some number? In some cultures, 13 is considered adulthood, in others, 15. Here in the US, in some ways you are considered an adult at 18, and in other ways, the magic number is 21.

I have a 21 year old son. I treat him as an adult, in that I don't really boss him around, or give unsolicited advice, but he does still live with his father and attend school. He's not self supporting. So, that detracts from his adult status. Middle Child is convinced that she will be an adult in a few short months, when she turns eighteen. I remain unconvinced.

So, is being self supporting the mark of adulthood? I don't know. Where does that leave people who have to rely on others, or on government support?

I feel like I truly became an adult when my son was born. I'd been married for a year, we had an apartment and all, but it felt a little bit like playing house until he came along.

But that's not fair. Plenty of people delay having kids, or decide against ever having them, and of course they are perfectly responsible adults.

For some people, the first job is the mark of adulthood. For others, home ownership.

I guess the answer to this question is specific to each person. What is it for you, readers? What was the magical moment that took you from child to adult? And do you think it's the same for everyone, or is the answer, as I believe, completely personal?

Procrastinating: Guest Blog Edition

2011-11-18T23:02:00.000-06:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I named my topic for today in yesterday's blog, but now that today is actually here, I'm not into it. Hey, I wrote after I came home from a road trip, immediately before I succumbed to an obnoxious headache! What more can you ask from me, readers?

Anyway, I'm not going to entirely cop out, I'm just not going to write it. Instead, I will leave you with this anecdote from my mom, which made me laugh really hard when she sent it to me in an email. So, with permission, and without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I give you, my mother:

"My story today would be to blow off at the laws of this state. I tried to buy Guinness Stout, along with some food, on my way home from church. Even though it has been very obvious for years that I am well over 21, and it adds insult to injury that my grandson is 21, I have to show a picture ID. UGH! So at checkout, they asked for my ID. I gave them my birth date and age as I was pulling out my wallet, but they insisted that a picture ID was required.

Now you know I was pulled over last Saturday night for turning right on a red, and the policeman asked me to take my license out of my wallet and hand it to him, which I did! Today the license was not in its usual place. I took everything out of my purse, thinking I may have just put it into a slot and it had fallen into the bottom. Then I looked in every crevice of my wallet ~ all this with the line growing behind me, and the people glaring and whispering to each other.

I finally told them to keep the beer, I didn't need it anyway, when I decided to look behind a card, and finally found the license... not before feeling humiliated and aggravated completely unnecessarily! At that point I had to pick up all the contents of my purse from the countertop before I could exit.

It made me so angry for taking up my time and energy with such a stupid situation, that after I put my groceries into the car, I went back into the store and asked to speak to the manager. She stated that it is a state law for a picture ID to be shown with the purchase of any alcohol, and that they are checked regularly and penalized if they don't comply. I told her I spit on that state law and hope they can do something to change it, because it is a complete nuisance!

I also complained about the addition of about a dozen new handicap places. Maybe they don't want other people to shop there. I thank God that I am not handicapped, but for heaven's sake! Way to make it difficult for anyone else, who maybe just needs a break today, to park and get in and out of the store quickly. Way to go Publix. You've been my favorite store. Is all that changing?"

I love my mom.

Thursday Thirteen: Road Trip Edition

2011-11-17T22:22:00.000-06:00

On the BlogHer site, where NaBloPoMo is is hosted, there is a daily question, to inspire people who may be lacking inspiration writing a daily blog. After a full day on the road, that is me, for sure.

Today's question is interesting, and I want to think about it, and write about it, but first...

There is a side question you may be asking yourself: How does a four hour drive translate into a full day on the road? That answer seems to me to be worthy of a Thursday thirteen list.

Thirteen things that always seem to extend my road trips with the girls:

No matter how well I try to plan, there is always one more errand to run.
No matter how much I tell the girls that the errand will be "quick", they will always want to come in with me, and it will always take longer.
There is always one more person to see before I leave. In the one direction, I either have to get the animals squared away, or drop by Small's school, or speak to a neighbor, or drop something off at my mom's house or my sister's house (or both). In the other direction, there is always one more person I'm trying to squeeze in.
There will always be something weird with the car. Even if having it serviced was the one more errand I had to run, it will make a noise, or have a non functioning light, or something will be hanging off the bottom of it.
No matter when I leave, there will always be traffic somewhere.
I will always think I'm smart enough to get around the traffic, by taking a detour. I am not. This kind of thinking once rerouted me through a completely different state.
No matter how many snacks I bring, I will forget something, and we will be hungry for whatever that was that we
I, personally, will always have to stop for the restroom more than I think I will. This includes the stop two miles from my house, which is absolutely ridiculous, I know, but sadly necessary.
I always think gas is cheaper around the next corner. This necessitates my stopping for gas more times than necessary. Theoretically, a 250 mile drive would not require stopping for gas. Certainly, it will not require stopping for gas more than once, unless you stop for gas and think "Holy cow! No way am I paying this much for gas! It must be cheaper further on." When that happens, it just gets stupid.
We will always get stuck behind people who insist on going ten miles under the speed limit. Typically, this will happen when we are so close to our destination that we can almost see it, which makes it even more frustrating.
No matter how many times we stop for gas, even if everyone uses the restroom, someone will have to use the restroom between stops. This is different from number 8, because in this case, I am not talking about myself.
When stopping at a Cracker Barrel, no matter how well intentioned, no matter how much we decide beforehand to only hit the restroom and then move on, we will always lollygag.Because, come on! They have fake fireflies in jars, and talking dogs who hit on you, and bouncy balls with eyeballs in them!Also, even if we do not stop at Cracker Barrel, one of the stops will take an inordinately long time, because we are easily distracted, by things like pink cowboy hats and fake hamsters, and cheap DVDs that we must look through, even though we rarely buy them. (I say rarely, because I think we bought one once. I think it was about vampires, or zombies, or martial arts, or something. Maybe a combination of two or three of those things.)
No matter how long the drive, no matter how tired I am at the end of it, there are moments when I totally allow time to slip away. This is because there is something about a road trip that bonds us, that makes us sing together, talk about genealogy, tease each other about things without anyone's feelings getting hurt. My girls giggle with each other in a way that does not happen very often when we are not in motion. And for that, I will take the extra time, even if I am worn out by the time I get off the road.

Tomorrow, I'll answer today's question... "What is the moment that you leave childhood and enter adulthood?"

Wordless Wednesday: Seen on the Road Edition

2011-11-16T16:14:00.000-06:00

Multi-tasking and Inspiration

2011-11-15T21:53:00.000-06:00

Today, on the NaBloPoMo site, there was a question about finding inspiration for writing. Also, today, I read an article about the negative impact of multitasking.

So, of course, I'm multitasking, by trying to think about where I find inspiration while beating myself up for multitasking.

My inspiration, of course, comes from my family. Sometimes, in fact, there is so much inspiration that I am paralyzed, because the last thing I want to do is post something I find hysterical, at the expense of a family member's feelings. I've had a blog or two that rubbed someone the wrong way, so I've tried to tone it down, but sometimes that's a bummer, because there's gold in the embarrassing stuff.

Anyway, on to multitasking. I'm the queen of the multitask, perpetually doing a ton of things at once. I read today that this is a bad thing, because it apparently increases my stress, lowers my IQ, and decreases my productivity. I should knock it off, I guess, but honestly, I don't know how. The writer of the article did an experiment and stopped multitasking for a week, and apparently it was super fantastic.

But see, I think he has a wife. Because he mentioned that at one point he broke the rules when his two year old came into his office, which leads me to believe that someone else had the two year old up to that point.

Also, he said he had phone conversations without doing anything but being on the phone, and I can say without reservation: that would make me nuts. I currently have a situation in which my phone only works in the upstairs of my house, which means that I can only do upstairs things while I am on the phone. At least once a day, I stand in my room, on the phone, internally freaking out about something downstairs that needs my attention. Being on the phone, even in a conversation I want to have, makes me feel vastly unproductive. My solution? If I know I will be on the phone, I have something in my room that needs to be done, like laundry to fold, or some other menial task. Or, I talk on the phone when I'm driving. I know, I know, but it's the only way I feel productive on the phone. The idea of doing nothing else is crazy to me.

I was talking to someone about the multitasking thing today, and we think that, while it is nice to be able to focus on one thing, it probably means someone else is multitasking on your behalf.

On another note, I don't know that I am capable of a complete absence of the multitask. There are times when I can really focus on one thing, and truly get something accomplished. However, more often, when I try to focus on just one task, I get stumped. Staring blankly at a page, I sit without a thought in my head. Play a round of Mahjong, and I'm back on track. I'm just saying.

One thing I have been trying to do, over the past several months, is truly focus on people when I'm with them. If I'm hanging out with someone, even if it's "just" my girls, and I'm "just" driving them somewhere, I try to give them my full attention. That has nothing to do with reading an article, I just started feeling like I was missing the point of my life by always thinking about whatever is coming up next.

How about you, readers? Are you multitaskers? Or have you learned to focus on one thing at a time, make the most of life as you're living it? Or is there a happy medium that combines both sensibilities?

The Flattering Nature of Children

2011-11-14T21:19:00.000-06:00

My back is itchy. I don't mean just now, I mean in general. I keep a back scratcher by my bed at all times, because otherwise, my itchy back would drive me nuts. I think I may have inherited the itchy back thing from my dad. But I digress.

Anyway, I'm not home right now, and so I do not have my back scratcher. Thus, my back is ever itchy.

I'm also sharing a bed with Small One. The other night, she saw me trying in vain to scratch the part of my back that I can't reach, and she asked me if I wanted her help. I pulled up the back of my shirt, and said "Do you see anything back there that would make my back itch?"

She looked for a minute, then said, "Well... there's a LOT of hair back here... and a bunch of lumps."

Nothing like a five year old to make you feel like a troll.

(ps... disclaimer: I do NOT have a lot of hair and a bunch of lumps on my back. Just saying.)

Lack of Brainpower Haiku Action

2011-11-13T22:44:00.000-06:00

This blogging each day
Trying for inspiration
Sometimes truly sucks

or how about

My brain will not work
For anything resembling
Blogs for work or play

or maybe

How dumb must I be
To play games and rest all day
When there's work to do?

or the self excusatory...

Sunday, day of rest
Lounging with friends and children
How can I force work?

Working Ways

2011-11-12T22:26:00.000-06:00

Today, I have been sadly uninspired when thinking about this blog. I could say it's because I've been preoccupied with work, but that would be a dirty lie, because, even though I have a metric butt-ton of work to do this weekend, I have not yet begun to work. Well, actually, that's not quite true, I'm in phase one. Maybe the best way to go on this post is to explain my working strategy.

Phase One: Preparation.

This is the part where I get ready to work. This may last five minutes, or five hours, depending on how much I do not want to get started. In this phase, I sort through my assignments, and decide which ones should have priority. I typically go through the folder in which I keep my completed assignments, and file them. Sometimes I create a new folder, and drag things into it...again, this is really dependent on how very much I do not feel like working. Sometimes I rename things.

Next, I open as many word documents as I need for the day's assignments. I put in the titles, a summary of the assignment, any pertinent links, and whatever else I feel I need to get started. Another part of preparation is deciding which of the television shows I've dvr'ed will provide the background distraction for my inner dumb guy whilst I work. Now it's time to move forward.

Phase Two: Break Time

Clearly, all that preparation has earned me a break. Look how cleaned out my folders are! They are practically shiny! And my word docs are all ready for me to put words on them. Now I need coffee, and maybe, a snack.

Phase Three: Words with Friends

Now, to the untrained mind, this might look like an extension of phase two. Far from it! How will I ever have enough words to write with unless I hone my word-thinking-up skills by playing Scrabble.

Phase Four: Reboot the Computer

Words with friends always freezes my computer.

Phase Five: Easing back in.

Now that my computer has rebooted, I should really check my email. Also, I should see if everything's going well with my friends on my "mommy board". And I probably should check my bank balance. If there's money in there, I should balance my budget spreadsheet and maybe pay a bill or two. After all, I wouldn't want the power going off while I'm in the middle of all this work I'm doing!

Phase Six: Research

During this phase, I read many articles about my topics. The number of articles is directly related to how much I already know about the topic. If, say, I'm writing a post about how to throw a child's birthday party, I read one, maybe two articles, because, seriously, I already know how to do that. If, on the other hand, I am writing on new computer hardware, or how much torque a Mercedes engine has (what does that even mean?), I read about fifty thousand articles. I look up words in the subject matter, and search for articles based on the words I have found in the definition. I copy and paste pertinent text. Note: I do not actually write during this phase.

Phase Seven: Deep Thinking

This is also known as the "Go Fish" phase, wherein I play a game with my Small One, or if she's at school, I might vaccuum a room or do a run of laundry. This may not seem like working, but seriously, this is when I get some of my best work done.

Phase Eight: Words into Docs

Having come up with brilliant intros during my deep thinking time, I pound them onto the page with astounding clarity. Sometimes I get so inspired that I write entire posts during this phase, though that is not a terribly common occurrence. Regardless, this is the phase in which I am head down in my work, oblivious to anything that may be going on around me.

Phase Nine: Recess

This is the part where I play Mahjong, or take the dog out, or play with the cat, or the kid, or play anything to keep from having to think about torque or Pentiums, or what have you. Phases eight and nine often alternate across several cycles, depending on how hard the topics of my post.

Phase Ten: Wherein I mimic that guy from Sesame Street.

Remember the musician from Sesame Street? The one who would pick out tunes on the piano, get halfway through, forget the lyrics, and then bang his head on the keys, crying "I'll NEVER get it right! Never never never!" That's me in phase ten. Sometimes I really and truly determine that I can't possibly make deadline, which is when I write to my editor and ask for an extension. Most times I just despair of ever finding the right words to complete my assigned tasks. This is a great time to go pick up Small from school, and maybe go to the grocery store.

Phase Eleven: I am a Supergenius.

Look at that! I have deceived people into thinking I understand torque! Unbelievable! This is where I turn in my work, and pat myself on the back, and do something I actually want to do, like sleep, or snack, or watch tv that requires me to pay attention, or, yes, play Words with Friends. My confidence is back, I'm on top of the world, and I am DONE with work. Until tomorrow.

How about you? Are you laughing at me or with me? How does your process happen?

Mushy times, or, Happy Anniversary to Us

2011-11-11T23:33:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, as I've mentioned, was my eleventh wedding anniversary. This means I've been in a relation with the Man for fifteen years, from friendship, through extremely tumultuous on again off again dating, and finally into marriage and children. It's been a roller coaster, for sure, but I can't say I've ever met anyone with whom I'd rather share the ride.I meant to give him a card, or a note, or something, yesterday, but it was hectic, and I didn't manage it. So now, since I'm posting something every day, I thought I'd write something nice about him. And because it's my blog, I'm allowed to be a little self indulgent. Don't read any further, if you don't like mushy stuff.

One of the pivotal first moments of our relationship, for me at least, was Halloween of 1996, when I casually mentioned at work that I didn't think I could afford anything as frivolous as a jack-o-lantern that year, I arrived home to find several giant pumpkins on my porch. He came over that night, after his band practice, and we stayed up until the wee hours scooping out all the pumpkin guts so we could carve them with the kids the next day. I was so incredulous that a college guy would go out of his way for me and my small people, I just couldn't believe he was for real. That night he told me I was the most likable person he knew, and I practically looked for the hidden camera, it seemed so surreal.

We were both in complete denial of any romantic connection at that point. It was four years before we would get engaged, and then married a month later. Those four years were spent building a friendship that is still an amazing amount of fun, even fifteen years after we first met. He still makes me laugh. He can be incredibly dry, or he can be incredibly silly, and he is the reigning king of dumb jokes. He thinks, for example, that Argosy University is where they study argyle leprosy. That might not make you laugh, but it cracks me up every time I see the sign.

Small One says he's the silliest person she knows. He is a fantastic Daddy, completely involved with her. He's been a wonderful step-dad. He's a kind, generous husband. And I think maybe Small summed it up best a couple of weeks ago. "Do you know what I love best about my Daddy? He knows everything about black holes."

That he does, my dear. Couldn't have said it better myself.

And by the way, happy anniversary to us.

Crazycakes

2011-11-10T23:50:00.003-06:00

Today was my eleventh wedding anniversary. I've been out of town, but I came home in time to have a special dinner with the Man and our girls, to celebrate. As a special treat, I decided to order a replica of our wedding cake top, from the same supermarket chain. I don't usually buy bakery cakes, so this was a real splurge.

Our wedding cake was tasteful. It was a basket weave pattern, with fresh pansies on the top. (And down the side, but that's a different story.) It looked much like this, but with pansies instead of orchids. (Are those orchids?)

I called the bakery, and gave really specific instructions, but when I went to pick it up, they handed me this:

Now, I ask you, does that bear ANY resemblance to the original cake? Other than the basket weave? And that's not much of a resemblance, because, though you may not be able to tell from this photo, on the new cake the basket weave is bright yellow! I said to the guy, "No, no, no, it's supposed to look like wedding cake! This looks like crazy business! Why?"

His reply? "Well, when you say basket weave, that's what you get."

I stood silently, blinking at him. He called over the manager.

The manager was a young woman, and she completely understood that this was a serious situation. I said to her, "I don't usually splurge, but I would've, to recreate my wedding cake, but this is... crazy madness."

She got it. She said she understood that I must be truly disappointed. She then told me to pick any cake in the bakery, and there would be no charge.

I, of course, picked this one:

She asked me if I thought it would feed everyone I needed to feed, and I assured her that it would. (Since really, how much cake do two adults, a teenager, and a five year old need?) Then I started feeling guilty. I didn't want to deceive the lady into thinking I was throwing some sort of bash, when it was just a family party. (Not that I said anything to imply that, but still.) I mean, I'm sure the crazy cake tastes good, right? Can't we just take it home, laugh about it, and move on? I told the lady to forget about the chocolate one, I'd just take the wacky one.

Can you guess how this story ends? Yup, she insisted we take both cakes. For free. Happy anniversary! And also, mmmmmm...

Nearly Wordless Wednesday, the "What my husband didn't win for me at the fair" Edition

2011-11-09T21:40:00.000-06:00

(and I think I may have actually needed a giant Rasta banana.)

Life, with Sound Effects

2011-11-08T21:39:00.000-06:00

We were recently lucky enough to have a day at Disney World. Yaay us! Also, yaay for my cousin, who works there and got us tickets.

In any event, we had a great time. One of my all time favorite Disney rides is Splash Mountain, wherein characters from Song of the South sing cheery songs while visitors ride in logs down a lazy river, that suddenly turns into rapids, at which point the logs go over the waterfall.

MC and I rode together, and unfortunately, the ride was malfunctioning. Not too terribly, but the logs kept slowing down and stopping, and a cheery voice would announce that Brer Bear and Brer Fox were causing trouble downstream, and so on. We started to get a little bit nervous, because the logs kept getting closer and closer together, as we neared the crucial "heading up to the falls point". I had a terrible mental image of all the logs creeping up the track to the top, then careening into a pile up at the bottom of the drop. Tick tick tick tick KaSMASHo!

Nothing happened, we didn't die or anything, and in fact, the ride ended up being pleasantly uneventful, in a nice roller coaster-y sort of way. But when I retold the story to the Man, he was wildly entertained by my sound effects, and suggested that the next morning's paper would have featured, as its headline, "KaSMASHo!"

Funny thing is, I actually heard a sound tonight that I can only describe in the same way. I'm visiting my cousin, and we attempted to make au gratin potatoes in the oven. Strangely enough, within 5 minutes of putting the oven-safe dish into the preheated oven, KaSMASHo!

Were you aware that this is the sound an oven-safe dish full of cheesy potatoes makes when it explodes over every inch of the oven?

Veggie-tarians

2011-11-07T18:27:00.000-06:00

The Man is a vegetarian. I am decidedly not, and I am anti-vegetarianism when it comes to children. I'm sure there are plenty of vegetarian parents who raise perfectly healthy kids, with very balanced diets and plenty of proteins, but the research I'd have to do to make that happen in my world is way more than I care to manage. I know how to raise omnivores, and I'm ok with that.

Meanwhile, if it weren't for me, I'm pretty sure that the Man would live on pasta and muffins. Well, ok, there would be yogurt, eggs and cheese, too, but he is not a very vegetably vegetarian. I try to provide healthier options for him, and I'm pretty good at always incorporating vegetables into the meal. My kids, all three of them, are really good about eating vegetables. Small loves butternut squash soup, for example, and salads with no dressing.

She also, however, likes cheeseburgers. She likes them so much, in fact, that her fourth birthday party was cheeseburger themed, right down to the cheeseburger cupcakes

She is not a huge fan of steaks, and other meats that are hard for her to chew, but she enjoys bacon as much as the next girl, and really appreciates a good piece of fried chicken.

As anyone who knows her can attest, though, she is the penultimate Daddy's girl. Daddy is king of the world. He's very smart (knows everything about black holes!) and extra tall. She is like him in so many ways, it is not surprising that she sometimes considers emulating his dietary choices.

Yesterday, she said to me, "When I grow up, I'm going to be a veggie-tarian."

I looked at her askance. She was eating a chicken tender, really relishing it. I asked her why she was thinking about that, and she said that she really does not like to eat animals. I pointed out her cheeseburger affection, and the chicken in her hand, and I may have mentioned bacon.

Her response? "Well, I don't like to eat pets."

I told her that was probably fine, that people do not generally eat their pets. She countered that some people eat hamsters, (by which she actually meant guinea pigs), and other people eat cats and dogs. I confirmed that this is true, but told her she was not in much danger of eating those things, since no one we know has that sort of dietary practice.

She asked me if anyone eats turtles or frogs. I told her that yes, people do, and they also eat alligators. I explained that, especially in the days before grocery stores were so prevalent, people needed to figure out how to eat whatever was within their reach. For people in certain swampy environments, that sometimes meant that they learned to eat frogs, turtles, and alligators. Then I asked her, what would she eat if she lived in a swamp?

She thought for a minute, and then said, "Lettuce. I'd find where some lettuce was growing, and eat that. Because vegetables like lettuce grown everywhere."

I let it go. I don't know whether lettuce grows in the swamp, but anyway, it's pretty pointless to argue with someone who already has it all figured out.

Traveling Times

2011-11-06T23:01:00.006-06:00

This summer, I took my girls on a road trip, through Kentucky, up to Chicago, down to Bloomington, Il, over to St Louis (to see the arch)...

We also went back to the town from which we moved a year ago several times. We typically go once a month, sometimes twice. Then in October, we took a week long Florida vacation (pure bliss!) complete with beach and Disney World.

So, about a week ago, Small One says to me, "Mommy, why don't we travel any more?"

Ha! I am absolutely delighted to know that somewhere, amidst the gigantic cluster of her father's personality traits, there is at least a glimmer of me. She's inherited my wanderlust.

Anyhoo, we are on the road again. My cousin, to whom I am extremely close, has had to have major surgery, and I'm going to try and be of some assistance. MC is staying home, and the Man has to work, but since my work is portable, and Small is only in preschool, we're off. Interesting, though, the four hour road trip we made today. Here are some things I learned:

Small does not like meteors. Because "Astronauts are floating around up there, and they are wearing helmets and stuff like that, but they can still get killed by a meteor."
In fact, she's not so sure being an astronaut is such a great plan, since there are a bunch of dangerous things out there, including the sun, which has fire on it, and also, space dust. She doesn't seem clear on what space dust does, but it does not seem good.
If anyone lived on Jupiter, they would not be able to move, because there is too much gravity. People on Jupiter would be very short, and would not be able to move. She told me this by way of warning, in case I was considering a move to Jupiter. Her advice? Don't do it.
Giraffes are the coolest animals in the world. This is because they have super long necks.
Penguins are the coolest ducks in the world. What's that you say? Penguins are not ducks? Ok, well, they are the coolest birds in the world that are not ducks. Or rather, they are the coolest water birds.
Not only that, but they are the biggest birds in the world. Other than flamingos, of course. What? No, they are super big. They're only a couple of feet tall? Well, that is super big for a bird. Oh yeah, maybe ostriches are bigger. But even ostriches are not bigger than Daddy, because Daddy is super tall.(Mom's note: Dad is 5'9", maybe 5'10". So...)

All in all, a very informative trip.

Love and Death

2011-11-05T07:05:00.046-05:00

Today, I'm sad about my husband's grandfather. He passed away yesterday, and his funeral will be held tomorrow. The Man will be there, but I will not, primarily out of respect for the family. I am not close to my husband's family, which is not the way I want it, but I am not going to force the issue at such a sad time.

I will be thinking of all of them, though, with affection and sympathy. "Papa" Paul was a great man. I didn't know him well, because the family situation has prevented it. I read his memoir, though, and I have nothing but respect for him. He was interesting, intelligent, and successful. He lead a fascinating life, raised a family, and lived into his nineties. He was roundly adored by his children and grandchildren.

I wish I'd gotten to know him, but more than that, I wish my Small had known him. Because we live far from the grandparents, and because we are not close to that side of the family, Small only had the opportunity to meet him twice, and she does not remember him. I tried to keep them up to date on her life, through photos and notes, but I will admit I was not as good about it as I should have been. It was hard, because I am not someone with whom that side of the family attempts to connect.

It makes me think, though, about how minor our gripes with each other really are. I don't mean the issues between me and my in-laws in particular, but the complaints between people in general. When my own grandmother passed away, earlier this year, I felt sad about times I could have spent with her and didn't. I knew she loved me, she knew I loved her, but I could have sent more photos, made time for more visits, stayed longer and listened more willingly. Now, facing another funeral, I feel the same heaviness of heart.

My friend's mother passed away last week. She was not sick for very long, in the grand scheme of things. She was about the same age as my mother, I think, and beautiful. She looked strong, but she was not. I saw her a couple of weeks before she died, and I knew at that point that she was not responding well to treatment, but I had no idea that was the last time I'd ever see her. I patted her arm, told her I was praying for her, but if I'd known that was the last time, I would have hugged her.

If I'd known my husband's grandfather was going to be gone so quickly, I would have ~~encouraged~~ ~~forced~~ done whatever it took to make him go visit his grandparents before it happened. But isn't that the sort of thing we always say? I know it's the sort of thing I always say. I'm going to visit more, complain about people less, send more notes, more photos, make more phone calls. I'm going to share the good things in my life with the people I love while I still have the chance. I'm going to forgive more easily. Better yet, I'm going to decline to take offense in the first place. I'm going to choose not to take offense, to resist pressing my own agenda.

I always say it, and I always attempt it, but I'm not "there" yet. I want to love with abandon, or at least more assertively. I want to love my mother-in-law whether she wants me to or not. And I want to encourage my uncommunicative husband to communicate, because he cares, he just doesn't always show it.

How about you? Do you show it? Are you purposefully conscious of the uncertainty of life? Do you strive to love abundantly, and without reservation?

Several months back, I read a familiar passage of scripture in a different translation. It struck me, and now I read it all the time, whenever I need to remember how we're supposed to love each other, and what that really means. And so, I'll leave you with this, because loving like this is the ultimate goal of my life.

1st Corinthians 13: 4-8 (From the J.B. Phillips translation):

This love of which I speak is slow to lose patience- it looks for a way of being constructive. It is not possessive: it is neither anxious to impress, nor does it cherish inflated ideas of its own importance.

Love has good manners and does not pursue selfish advantage. It is not touchy. It does not keep account of evil or gloat over the wickedness of other people. On the contrary, it shares the joy of those who live by the truth.

Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love never fails.

The Morning After

2011-11-04T17:04:00.000-05:00

Has this ever happened to you? You're out at night, looking fierce and fabulous, just absolutely glowing. You're in fine form, to say the least.

The next morning, though, it's a different story. Something is seriously up with your head, you're feeling a little shriveled and somewhat worse for wear. And don't get me started on the snail that's crawling up your lip.

Ok, maybe not the snail part. But the rest of it, I'm pretty sure we've all been there.

Road to the Whitehouse... 2044?

2011-11-03T07:49:00.003-05:00

Small One is pretty ambitious, and likes to make plans. For about a year now, she has been telling anyone who will listen that when she grows up, she is going to write books and make movies. Specifically, she will be "a guy who writes books and makes movies". (Guy being a completely genderless, favorite word of hers, indicating a person.)

She's a little bit impatient about not being in the movies or on television yet, and she questions me about that quite a bit. Clearly, her lack of involvement in the entertainment industry is my parental failing. She is also concerned that those of us who know her now may not be savvy enough to determine which books and movies are her creations, and so we might miss something. We've all assured her that we will stay in touch with her, so that she can keep us abreast of her projects.

Over the summer, she learned to swim, and decided that she will also be a lifeguard. This is something she will do when she's a teenager, though, and not an adult. She's still planning on the books and movies track for adulthood.

Except... she may also want to be president. She's torn on this one, because she is not quite sure of how involved American presidents are in wars, and she absolutely does not want to be a soldier and go off to war. We told her that it is not necessary to be a soldier in order to become president, but that she will have to make good choices, and do well in school.

This is no problem, she assured us, saying "I'm always good in school! I never put my blanket in my mouth, like some of my friends do."

Well, ok! How very presidential! I know that is the first thing I ask about any candidate. Forget the economy, what is his or her stance on blankets in the mouth?

Halloween with the Creatures, part deux

2011-11-02T11:48:00.001-05:00

Small One was the best five year old ever on Halloween. She had good manners trick or treating, looked adorable, and when she helped us hand out candy, she not only complimented each trick or treater's costume, but she also offered up her own haul, when we ran out of candy. Of course, as usual, she was also pretty quotable...

Designing a Jack o' Lantern: "I want the pumpkin to have a frowny mouth, angry eyes, and tears. He is so mad he's crying!"

Later, to a neighbor we do not know: "Did you see our Jack o' Lantern? He's got tears, and he's mad at his kid."

On zombies: "Zombies are the scariest monsters, I think. Because they look like guys that are hurt, but when you go over to them, to try and help them, they eat you."

Note: all she knows of zombies is that a little boy was dressed like one in the grocery store, and when she asked me what he was supposed to be, I said a zombie, which is a type of monster. Yet, strangely, she has a pretty firm grasp of the concept. Is zombie knowledge innate?

Halloween with the Creatures, part 1

2011-11-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

I hinted at an update, and I promise I'm going to start rewinding soon, but wanted to share some Halloween moments while they are still fresh.

First, I mentioned the pink poodle obsession... more on that later, but suffice it to say, when I asked what she wanted to be for Halloween, she looked at me like I was crazy. A pink poodle, of course! Duh.

MC was torn on her costume ideas. She had some really good sci-fi related thoughts, but I'm not going to share them here, for fear of retribution. She likes to hang onto her ideas. She finally decided that she'd be Alice in Wonderland, and the boyfriend would be the Mad Hatter. Have I mentioned the boyfriend? MC has quite a serious boyfriend these days. Like, talking about marriage, serious.

I should probably be more freaked out about that, but I'm not. He's an Eagle Scout, so...

Anyway, they wanted to do a couple's costume, so the hunt began for an Alice in Wonderland dress. This was a challenge, because she did not want "Sexy Alice", which is pretty much all they sell in adult sizes. My sister rose to the occasion and took her to a mack daddy costume shop, to no avail. I took her here and there, spent some time poring over pattern books... finally, we had two days left, and we determined to spend the whole day looking for the costume. Twelve hours of shopping for a blue dress. Twelve. By hour 10, we were about to pass out, and a kind and well-meaning saleslady mentioned that blue dresses are really hard to find. Oh, really? Thanks for letting us know! By hour eleven, MC was grasping at anything blue she happened to see.

I said "I feel like you'd take a blue sock if you saw one, and call it a costume."

She said "Yes! I would! I'd be Alice in Wondersock!"

We hit the fabric store again, and she found a pattern that alleged to be "very easy", but required darts and gathers. I began to hyperventilate at the idea of sewing darts and gathers when I had a 24 hour timeline. She saw the panic on my face and decided we should skip it.

At hour twelve, we found a blue dress. It did not, for the record, look like Alice in Wonderland, but it was blue. I went to look for accessories, and she called me on the phone to tell me that she'd discussed it with her boyfriend, and they'd decided to be wizards instead, which would involve her buying a sparkly shirt she wanted anyway, and making a construction paper hat. What it would not involve was me sewing anything. Best costume idea ever.

Pink Poodle Time- Halloween 2011

2011-10-31T23:55:00.000-05:00

I neglected to post about the 5th birthday pink-poodle-palooza, but here is the Halloween continuation of the pink poodle obsession.

And who knows, maybe I'll post an update soon!

Warning, this Post is not Funny

2011-09-06T11:28:00.000-05:00

Normally, I blog because I want to share something funny, or strange, or because I need a creative outlet. I talk about fluffy stuff... my kids, biodiesel... (see, I told you I was going to try to work "biodiesel" into every post). Occasionally, though, I feel reflective, and I need to write for myself, not my readers, in order to work something out. I think it's only fair to warn you, this is one of those. It's not for you, it's for me, and if you are offended by Christianity, go ahead and stop reading now. I promise, soon I'll be back with lighthearted tales of funny kids and weird things I've observed.

Anyone who knows me knows that my faith is central in my life. I absolutely believe that God is the reason for all the good things in my world, and I do my best to live a life that follows the example of Christ. I do not always succeed. Sometimes I'm petty and selfish, sometimes I make terrible choices, but I really try to ask for help, ask for forgiveness, and keep on going. I'm not guarded about my faith, but I am private about it. I feel like my relationship with God is an intimate thing, and I guard it as I would any other relationship, which is why it is not often on my blog, or my facebook status, or my tweets.

But here's what I am working out today, and I thought I'd share, because maybe other people are in the same place, or maybe they've already traveled past it, and can offer insight. I'm reading Romans at the moment, and have had some really great "aha!" moments, but today, I felt like what was being imparted to my heart was broader than the passage I was reading. Romans deals pretty heavily with the law, and our justification through Jesus Christ, and what it all means in regards to works... and this is where I'm hung up. So here are some passages from the Phillips translation, and let's see if they take anyone else where they took me:

Romans 3:23, "...everyone has sinned, everyone falls short of the beauty of God's plan. A man who has faith is now freely acquitted in the eyes of God by his generous dealing in the redemptive act of Christ Jesus."

and down in verse 27, "What happens now to the pride of human achievement? There is no room for it. Why, because failure to keep the Law has killed it? Not at all, but because the whole matter is now on a different plane- believing instead of achieving."

Ok, so that's awesome, and I've always known it was awesome, but today the part that stands out to me is the part about "a different plane".

Chapter 5:1-5, "Since then it is by faith that we are justified, let us grasp the fact that we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him, we have confidently entered into this new relationship of grace, and here we take our stand, in happy certainty of the glorious things he has for us in the future. This doesn't mean, of course, that we only have a hope of future joys- we can be full of joy here and now, even in our trials and troubles. These very things will give us patient endurance; this in turn will develop a mature character, and a character of this sort produces a steady hope, a hope that will never disappoint us."

So, what I take away from all this is... jumping off of the idea of trying to look at things as being on a different plane from just obedience to the law, and moving off to this confident grasp of the peace and grace of God, we come around to patiently enduring whatever life throws at us, in order to develop a more mature character, and part of that maturity is a sense of hope.

This is all really intertwined, isn't it? It's faith that gives us the confidence to endure, which builds our character. That maturity produces hope. And then this makes me think of Hebrews 11:1- "...faith means we have full confidence in the things we hope for...", so the hope we build in our characters leads us to more faith. It's circular.

Previously, when I've read Romans, I've come away with this idea of being justified by faith, not works, which is, of course, a big theme. But this time, I'm seeing much more personal responsibility. It seems to me that we need to get it through our heads that we already have this grace and peace, and provision... we don't need to grasp for it. And I think it's really true in life... when we're not trying to prove ourselves worthy of something, it gives us breathing room to accomplish something bigger. Also, ceasing to worry about material things gives us room for a view of the bigger picture.

Jesus said in the Beatitudes that we're not supposed to worry about food, or clothing, or shelter, or any other material thing, but just trust that God will take care of us. I think we often stop there, or we stop at being justified by faith, or whatever other passage makes us feel protected and comfortable. God will supply all my needs, if I just have faith? Excellent. Thanks, God!

But what does it mean? I mean, really, why are we told not to worry about all of that? Just because God is benevolent and wants us to have a carefree life? Well, no, I don't think so. If we were going to have a carefree life, why would we need patient endurance? To build our character. But to what end?

I often feel, in my life, that my prayers are ask-heavy. Please heal this person or that person, give me this or that, bless us, keep us, help us... not without thanksgiving, because I'm extremely grateful. But how often do I wake up, hit the floor and ask God what I'm supposed to be doing?

Jesus wraps up the Beatitudes with an admonishment to put his words into practice. And what were his words? He told us to love our neighbors, refrain from being critical, angry, or judgmental. Feed and clothe the poor, tend to the sick, care for the needy, and do it all without making a big deal about it. Love love love... flowing through all of this is the admonishment to love people. Is that what we're doing? Is that what I'm doing? Probably not enough.

I guess what struck me today, what I've been trying to work out here, is this idea that I want to get to that higher plane, a place where I just gain confidence in God's provision, for things both material and immaterial, and move on past that into a place where I work harder at giving out, rather than taking in. Work at being joyful no matter what, at patiently enduring (patience and endurance are not my strong suits), and understand that I'm building my own character, so that I will innately have hope that sustains me, not just so I can be sustained, but so that I can do whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing to make a difference. I want to be squared away enough in myself, and in my relationship with God, to be able to access the sort of big picture thinking that will truly make me a worthwhile person in the world.

Anybody else struggle with this concept? Anyone out there with thoughts on this? Or are you all just ready for me to stop pontificating and return you to your regularly scheduled fun blog?

Biofuels, Lifetime Movies, and whether my Blog is Socially Relevant (doubtful)

2011-09-02T23:20:00.000-05:00

I was not going to blog tonight. I had absolutely no intention of it, and only popped on because I thought I might share some of the Sputnik posts with a friend who recently lost a hamster. However, when I failed to type the entire address into the browser's address bar, I stumbled upon something I found a little bit surprising.

It's this: THE CARBON CAPTURE REPORT.

Apparently, this is a site that monitors mentions of biofuels on the internet, and investigates the sites where they're mentioned. It is run by the University of Illinois, and it stumbled upon my blog, and noted that I mention biodiesel, and Lifetime Movie Network. The post in which it discovered these things is one from June of this year, entitled "Inner Dumb Guy", which contains the following passage:

I find that watching television helps me blog. No, really. Here's why: I have an inner dumb guy. While I'm sitting here, trying to concentrate on the merits of biodiesel, or what have you, my inner dumb guy is thinking about everything BUT blogging. Singing stupid songs in my brain, basically tugging on my mind's sleeve, demanding attention. Turning on the Lifetime Movie Network or a soap opera is like throwing my inner dumb guy a hush puppy, so I can turn my attention to more pressing business.

Now, obviously, this is not in anyway relevant to anyone with any interest in biofuels, though I suppose it could be considered a plug for the Lifetime Movie Network. The monitoring site, in addition to mentioning my Lifetime Movie Network connection, was quick to point out that no other blogs repost my blogs, nor are my posts tweeted, or in any other way acknowledged outside of my own little space here.

Thanks, University of Illinois, for pointing out my utter insignificance on the world wide web. I'm going to tweet about it right now. (No, really, I am.) And from here on out, I'm going to mention biodiesel every time I possibly can, in order to boost my virtual carbon footprint. Or something.

Made It!

2011-06-30T21:05:00.001-05:00

Here it is, the last day of the month, and I have an overwhelming sense of relief to have gotten through it. I attempt NaBloPoMo a few times a year, usually when my creativity feels lost, in order to push through it. That's how I handle creative lag: I write, I read, I brainstorm, I think think think. I am nothing if not a Protestant, and the work ethic is hardwired. Can't think straight? Feeling unproductive? Try harder, work through it, stay up later, do something, even if it's wrong.

I'm beginning to question this approach, though. I think that sometimes, we're so busy that we forget how important it is to rest. The scripture is full of admonitions to rest, be still, be quiet, but I, for one, tend to focus on doing much more than being.

Yesterday, I was weepy. I had multiple projects on which I was working, I was experiencing technical difficulties, and I just couldn't get my brain to work. I thought about scrapping the whole day and playing hooky while my husband had the day off, but I decided to push through. My work was flat, and I didn't get it all done. I ended up staying up much too late, waking up exhausted.

Today I was devoid of creative spark. When my computer turned itself off, I took it as a sign, and left the house. I took my Small One to lunch, out for ice cream, shopping at the craft store, and to the playground. I left my phone in the car and sat on a park bench to watch her play, and suddenly, I knew exactly how to solve the problem that had plagued me for twenty-four hours straight. I came home, renewed, and did what I needed to do, in no time at all.

That, then, is my advice for today. Knock it off. Stop trying so hard. It's summertime, for crying out loud. Go lie in a hammock. Commune with nature, or with God, or with someone who loves you, or just with yourself. You may find the answers you were seeking, when you just decide to stop.

Wordless Wednesday: The Random Souvenir Edition

2011-06-29T21:11:00.000-05:00

A question for my readers

2011-06-28T23:54:00.002-05:00

Running late tonight, and almost forgot, in truth. It was a busy day, with plenty of chores, topped off by a lovely concert in the park, and I just didn't think about blogging. Well, that's not technically true, I actually thought about it all day, but just not when it actually counted, when I was home with access to a computer. (This is sort of when you think as you're going to sleep that you should call someone in the morning, and then when you're in the shower you keep reminding yourself to call that person, but you don't actually remember it again until it's entirely too late to think about calling anyone.)

Anyway, while thinking about my blogging, earlier today, it occurred to me that I would really like to know what the lovely people who read my blog are reading in real life. (Real life, in this instance, refers, of course, to things not involving a computer.)

I'm reading a few things. For example, my dad gave me A Jane Austen Education for my birthday, and in starting to read it I realized I was not educated enough on Jane Austen, having never read Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park or Persuasion. I bought myself the complete works of Jane Austen, and now I'm reading what I'd missed.

Typically , I try to read three things at once: one spiritual, one fluffy, and one somewhat educational. Right now I'm sort of floundering between things, so I could use some suggestions.

So, spill it! What are you reading? And while we're on the subject, what are you usually reading? Preferred genres? Authors? I'm interested, not least because I'm always looking to broaden my horizons.

I look forward to your answers!

Happy happy birthday, Baby!

2011-06-27T10:24:00.085-05:00

My Middle Child turns 17 today. This is pretty unbelievable to me, as she was only born a few years ago. My small pink cherub, my little lamb, the baby that looked to me like a rosebud more than anything, is now an almost adult.

When she was little, MC was my pal. She was so bright and funny, such a ray of sunshine, and I was the center of her world.

The past few years? Not so much. Adolescence has hit hard, and as much as I've tried to make light of it, especially on this blog, it's been a long and bumpy road for us. I once heard it theorized that girls who are very close to their mothers in childhood tend to push harder against them in the teenaged years, in preparation for the separation necessary for adulthood. Maybe this is true, maybe not, but it has definitely been challenging, helping her prepare for what is ahead of her.

The funny thing about being a mom is the momvision. I know that any mom will back me up on this, but when a mother looks at her child, she sees the person, but she also sees every incarnation of that person, from birth on. Not to say it's not sometimes maddening for the child, to feel that someone is looking through you, and not at you, but that's not it. I see her.We see our kids. We just see them for who they were, who they are, and who they can and might be in the future.

So when I see her, I see the sweet funny baby, the bright and intelligent child, the rebel, the artist, the science fiction lover. I see the young woman she is now, and all the possibilities in front of her.

Happy birthday, my girl. I see you, I love you, and I hope this birthday is the best one yet.

Storytelling Sunday

2011-06-26T22:13:00.110-05:00

Having finally gotten some sleep, I'm feeling a little more coherent than I have been. It also helps, to be honest, that I have absolutely no obligations tomorrow, other than a few tasks for work, some of which I will complete tonight. I'm hoping to spend the day doing boring things, like laundry. I guess you might say I've had enough adventure to last me a while.

Last weekend's camping trip was an adventure, to be sure. We weren't even sure, when it started, that it was going to be a camping trip. Leaving in the middle of the afternoon, we threw some camping gear in the car, in case we decided that it was something we wanted to do but, in reality, I was hoping to be home before midnight.

Driving through the state next to the one in which we live, we did some meandering. We stopped for fireworks and snacks, we stopped so the teenagers could take pictures in a field, we stopped at a flea market. Turning into the parking lot of the flea market, we passed a field full of groundhogs, who were remarkably undisturbed when MC got out of the car to photograph them. At the flea market itself, we had the chance to hold puppies and browse.

We headed off to a National Park, and let me just take this moment for a sidenote: my affection for the US National Park System can not be overstated. We once took a sixteen day family vacation, built around the National Parks, and it is something the kids still talk about, eight or ten years later. The topic of National Parks will definitely be revisited in more than one blog in the future.

On the way to this one, we happened upon a ramshackle building with a sign outside that said "Modern Cottages" . The building was a stone cottage with undeniable mystique, so the teenagers were once again out of the car with the camera. I was glad to let them do that, but by the time we got to the National Park, it was closed. That settled it, at least for Middle Child and her cohort: we were camping out.

I was admirably good-natured about this, if I do say so myself. Our gps was no longer able to locate us, instead replacing the car icon with a blinking question mark. I did not consider that a good sign, as far as the level of civilization in our location. I'd told the kids I'd take them to dinner, so we ate at the only sit down restaurant within ten miles of the campsite. After dinner we went back to camp, where there was no running water, no cell signal, and certainly no internet. As I said, I was good-natured. It was an effort, because, as I believe I may have mentioned, I prefer the comforts of indoors.

Our tents assembled, mattresses inflated, we built a fire to make s'mores. At this point, it was about 10:30pm, which is normally about the time I'm starting my evening computer tasks, having fed the family, done the nightly chores, and seen Small One off to bed. At a campsite, however, for me, 10:30 is the time of darkness and supreme boredom. I bid the teens goodnight, left them to their s'more-ing, and took to my tent with a book and a flashlight.

A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and heavy breathing, just outside the tent. I am a TERRIBLE camper. The impact that ghost stories had on my childish psyche is clearly major, as I am absolutely sure that at some point, a man with a hook for a hand will be more than a little interested in my campsite. My adult brain understands the lack of logic in that, but my inner scaredy-cat is very loud, with her screaming. I played it cool, though, softly calling out first MC's name, and then her boyfriend's. No answer came. I took a few deep breaths, turned off my flashlight, and was quiet, listening for more noises.

Suddenly, the noises came. A snarling, hissing, growling melee started up about ten feet from my tent, and kept up for a good ten minutes. My heart was racing, and I was mentally going over a list of local wildlife in my head. Sounded too small to be bears, but there were definitely several of whatever they were. It sounded like a pack of wild dogs had been unleashed, and I had a fleeting thought that they'd eaten the teenagers. I considered raccoons and opossums, but still, wondered if wolves lived in the area.

The choice I had to make was this: do I sit in the tent waiting for the creatures to tear the the nylon and possibly eat me, or do I unzip it and try to be menacing, using only my wits and a flashlight? I decided on the second option, and summoned my courage.

Raccoons. There were somewhere in the neighborhood of five to seven large raccoons at our picnic site, fighting over the marshmallows and chocolate. And I will say, raccoons are cute, but they are pretty much known for carrying rabies, so I really was not feeling all that reassured. The primary relief I felt was in knowing that I could probably frighten them off pretty easily. I shined my flashlight and encouraged them to leave, and, with the exception of a couple of really aggressive ones, they scrambled away. The last two I had to actually approach and shoo away, but finally, they left as well.

I found them sitting peacefully, on a bench by the river. They did not have any chocolate or marshmallows with them, nor any wrappers to suggest they'd already ingested them, which leads me to believe their claim that they'd left it all on the table when they went to sit and talk. This means, of course, that at that moment, a raccoon was probably scrambling through the underbrush with a bag of marshmallows tucked under one furry little arm. The question that I still have, though, is why two almost-adults, one of them an Eagle Scout, would leave all that food out at a campsite! (The next day, I answered MC's lamentations over lack of chocolate with stony silence, and a look that suggested she accept responsibility for its absence.)

I returned to my tent to try and sleep, and was joined by MC in a short while. I did eventually fall asleep, though I will never understand the appeal of sleeping in a hot sweaty tent on an air mattress.The sleep was broken, though, by what happened next: torrential rain. Ah yes, the joy of camping is so deeply enhanced for me by trudging through the rain to an outhouse. Sigh.

I can only hope that my remaining offspring prefers indoor vacationing.

Quote of the Day

2011-06-25T23:47:00.001-05:00

I went out tonight, to hear the Symphony in which my sister plays. After a lovely evening of Rachmaninoff and companionship, I returned home to find my Small One still awake. The Man had to dash out for an errand, so Small and I snuggled up to read some books and talk about dollhouses. While we were chatting, I asked her what she had for dinner.

"I don't remember what it's called, " she said with a big smile, "but it was black."

Well, at least I know she's well tended when I'm away.

The Great Equalizer

2011-06-24T22:59:00.047-05:00

Picture, if you will, a road trip. Two teenagers, a four year old, and a vaguely harried mom, on a rather muggy, overcast day, starting off down the road a good two hours later than initially planned. By the time they are two hours into the trip, the mom is exhausted, the teens grouchy, the preschooler a little whiny. The one bright spot is that they are making excellent time, certain to be at the destination before any of the people waiting for them become disappointed.

Suddenly, traffic grinds to a halt. The mom watches helplessly as the estimated arrival time winds forward at a rapid pace, and soon, they are set to arrive far later than predicted. Mutinous murmurs start up in the back seat. Demands for ice cream are put forth, and mom, needing to get off that road anyway, gives in. Because, in truth, the Small One needs a bathroom as well.

Even with ice cream, spirits do not really lift. The detour required to circumvent the traffic adds over an hour to the arrival time. People begin to be disgruntled.

Then, the miraculous happens. The mp3 player, set to shuffle, but perhaps somehow sensing the tension, finds one Weird Al song, then another, and another. By the second one, everyone in the car is singing. By the third, they're all friends again. The silliness of the songs has made them equal in their helpless amusement, and everyone, regardless of age or mood, is giggling. The Middle Child realizes that the mp3 player has not three, but FIFTY Weird Al songs! She takes it off shuffle, and immerses the car in goofy goodness for the remainder of the trip.

Has anyone considered blasting Weird Al across the Middle East?

Running out of Steam

2011-06-23T23:57:00.003-05:00

I swear, I feel like I've been running non-stop for a month. I guess I sort of have, traveling to Atlanta in the middle of May, to Chicago in early June, and Kentucky last weekend. In addition, I've had a teenaged boy for a houseguest for a week, so there's that.

Tomorrow, I'm off again, on another roadtrip, to take MC to her dad's house, and her boyfriend to his home. It will be a brief trip because, quite frankly, I'm exhausted. I may not be as young as I used to be.

Anyway, my lack of steam is pouring over into my blogging, and please do not think I'm not aware of it. I promise, very soon I'll have a really entertaining story about a close encounter with wildlife. In the meantime, maybe this dog video will tide you over.

Wordless Wednesday: 17th Birthday ShinyDinoKittenParty Edition

2011-06-22T23:51:00.000-05:00

Talking to Strangers

2011-06-21T09:36:00.033-05:00

I talk to strangers. I mean, I talk to everybody. I can basically strike up a conversation with anyone in the world; it's a skill I inherited from my mom. She is queen of the shmoozers, and it often nets her discounts from salespeople she chats up, in her true Southern Belle style.

With Small, strangers are a bit of a conundrum for me. She tends to cozy up to people really quickly, and obviously that makes me uncomfortable, but on the other hand, I want her to be politely friendly. After a stranger danger unit at school she became freakish for a little while, and we had to work on who is a stranger, who is not, and how to handle situations. At the zoo the other day, she walked up to my friend's husband, turned to me, and said "I've met him before, can I hold his hand?" This is the sort of thing that comes up.

Talking to someone you don't know is a weird experience, because you can basically say anything you want, but does that mean you should? Recently, I was in the checkout line, and the cashier was chatting me up. She said something about being married, I responded, and she suddenly got grim.

"I used to be married," she said, "until he left me. For another woman. After twenty-one years. I signed divorce papers on our twenty-first anniversary, and now I have to work here."

I had no response to that. Seriously. I had no idea what to say other than, "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry." But mainly, I just wanted to be done with the checking out, so I could leave. She wasn't done, though. She laughed at something one of the kids said, and I asked if she had kids. Once again, her answer was more than I bargained for.

"Yeah, I have kids. My youngest is dead, though. Drowned. Got hit in the head, fell off a boat. Was nineteen."

What is the appropriate response to such outpouring of personal tragedy, at the checkout counter? I noticed she told me these things in a quiet voice, looking around herself nervously, so I can only assume that she's been reprimanded by management for oversharing. It certainly brings a dark tone to the transaction.

How about you? Do you talk to strangers? Are any topics off limits?

Hobo Bucket List

2011-06-20T18:46:00.000-05:00

I've stated before, unapologetically, that I am an indoor cat. I was thinking about it the other day, though, and I realized that I've come to this conclusion through many outdoor experiences, both the usual kind and the kind that's a little bit outside the normal realm. I've done enough field research to be able to draw the conclusion that I vastly prefer the indoors. When it comes down to it, I have a completed bucket list to make any hobo proud.

I've camped out, road-tripped across the country, biked with camping gear for a week, fished and swam in oceans as well as rivers, lakes, and streams. I've gone cliff diving, horseback riding, hiked on both sides of the country, camped in the forest and the desert. I've been to summer camps, on a mission trip, and all sorts of places as an adult. I've camped in miserable heat, in rain that flooded the tent, and, once, in a hail storm.

On the other side of the coin, I've showered at truck stops. I've brushed my teeth at train and bus stations, and in the woods, with a canteen instead of running water. I've sponge bathed with a bucket and a hand pump. I've not only used, but also cleaned outhouses.

I've slept in my car, with and without children. I've slept on the floor of an airport. I've spent the night on the street corner in a foreign country. I've gone to the bathroom in a stall where the "toilet" was a hole in the corner, where the mosquitoes were so thick on the walls that they looked like wallpaper. I've shooed scorpions away from our campsite, and cooked over a Coleman stove in the rain. I've worked on a car at a campsite. I've broken down by the side of a wide variety of roads.

In some of these experiences, I was one of a crowd, in others, the lone adult. In many of them, I experienced beauty so breathtaking that it will stay with me forever. I've awoken in the morning, beside the Rhein, to find swans swimming silently just feet from my campsite. I've turned a corner and surprised a herd of deer, sending them flying across the field in front of me. I've watched my children play in wildflowers, swim in oceans and lakes, and be rendered speechless with delight over the wild creature in front of them. Those are the times I think it's worth it.

How about you? How much of a hobo's bucket list have you completed? What's your experience been, and do you prefer indoors or outdoors?

Sentimental Sunday

2011-06-19T22:22:00.004-05:00

My Dad

The Big Kids' Dad

The Man

Happy Father's Day, y'all!

Lazy Saturday

2011-06-18T12:42:00.001-05:00

As I mentioned, I have two teenagers in my care this weekend, and I'm trying to keep them busy. The intention this morning was to leave bright and early, to visit some touristy spots and possibly camp out. That did not happen.

First, it rained last night, and a little this morning. The narcotic effect the rain has had on us can not be overstated, and all three of us have been moving like tree sloths- you know, the ones that grow algae in their fur from lack of movement? It's after noon, and we're almost ready to go.

Another time sucking factor, I'll be honest, is Animal Planet. With Cats 101 and My Cat From Hell on back to back, how can anyone expect us to leave the house? We want to stay and play with the cat, while we also watch cats on tv.

Alright, alright, we're leaving.

The Challenge of NaBloPoMo

2011-06-17T21:23:00.000-05:00

I think this is the third or fourth time I've done this challenge, and let me just say, it's hard. I absolutely do not have something pithy to say every day for a month. That being the case, I think today's post will be a journal entry, pretty much.

The Man has gone away for the weekend, and he took Small One with him, They're off visiting the paternal grandfolks, which would normally leave me alone with MC, except this week, her boyfriend is visiting, so I'm alone with two (count 'em TWO) teenagers. Teenagers who are infatuated with each other, no less.

My strategy for handling this is simple- keep them busy. They've hung out at the pool, played with Small One, come with me to the grocery store... and this weekend, I'm supposed to take them camping. I've been really dreading this part of it, because I loathe camping, with every fiber of my being, but hey! I may be in luck. The weather channel is predicting rain, and since camping in the rain is no-one's idea of a good time, I think I'm off the hook. Our camping trip will turn into a day trip, or maybe two.

Of course, this brings me back to the original dilemma, of how to keep them busy. Any suggestions? I'll be back to check for answers later- right now I'm off to the dollar theater.

Thursday Thirteen: Random Thoughts from my Trip

2011-06-16T12:47:00.001-05:00

I grew up in Florida, and lived in Georgia for a long time, and both of those states have beer and wine at the grocery store, and liquor at the liquor store. Now I live in Tennessee, where you can buy beer at the grocery store or the "beer and tobacco" store, and wine and liquor at the liquor store. But in Illinois, you can buy beer, liquor, and wine just about ANYWHERE. Drug stores! Gas stations! Interestingly, the pricier liquors have electronic caps to protect them from theft. So weird.
Drivers in Chicago are insanely aggressive. I mean, by the time I left I'd sort of gotten the hang of it, but wow! They will cut you off, keep you from merging, whip around you... and then they'll stop, in the middle of the road, and open all the doors to their cars. Then, while you are stuck behind some nutty person with all their car doors open, the aggressive people behind you will come around you and squeeze through the narrow space on the wrong side of the road, to get around the open-doored car. They manage it, too!
I love big cities. I came to this realization when I was in Chicago. For lack of a better, less cliched term, I just really love the energy of a big city. I love the buildings, I love the crowds, I love the wide variety of things to do, I love driving around, even when the other drivers are trying to kill me.
I have a weird but persistent yearning to go everywhere and see everything. I even want to see things I've already seen. Right now, though, I'm a little bit obsessed with the idea of Mount Rushmore. Must. See. Mount. Rushmore.It's a 21 hour drive, though, so I'm not sure when that's going to happen.
On that note, however, I am pretty much a badass when it comes to road trips. Last night, for instance, I drove all night, arriving home at 6am. Sure, I was having some minor hallucinations by the time it was all over, I'm not sure I should ever drink any more coffee, and I could write a guide on gas station restrooms between St. Louis and Nashville, but I did it.
Smaller children, in my experience, are more interested in seeing new things. Teenagers, not so much.
Parking at Navy Pier in Chicago is $25. Parking at Gateway Arch in St Louis is $9. Why the big disparity? The Arch is a National Park. Solution? Government takeover of all parking garages! Whee! (My Republican friends are hissing and spitting at me right now, maybe.)
Gas prices are wildly disparate across the country. In most of Illinois, it is a fifty cents more per gallon than it is Tennessee. In Chicago, it is over a dollar more! What's that about? I'm wondering if it has anything to do with proximity to the Gulf coast? Probably not.
In Illinois I ate something called "farmer's cheese". I have never heard of this. I speculated that it is a Midwestern thing, maybe, and was assured that I can get it in the South, I just have to ask for it. But how would one know to ask for it, when one has never heard of it? Have any of you heard of farmer's cheese? Is it regional?
Indiana is boring. I apologize if I'm hurting anyone's feelings by saying this, but I can't help it because it's super true. Or maybe it's just driving through Indiana that's boring? Thoughts, anyone?
Much of the country has a lower speed limit than I'm used to driving. I did not know that. I am typically not a speeder, but I was sort of a speeder this week, because I was consistently surprised by the lower limits.
Another Chicago observation: Chicago has a heaping ton of cool restaurant, yet they also have places like Chili's and Applebee's. How on EARTH do those mediocre chains survive in towns with plentiful and excellent restaurants?
Australia has many American chains, but not Outback. When we told our Australian friend that Outback has a dish called "Alice Springs Chicken", she pronounced that item "random". I guess I hadn't thought about it.

Speaking of random, I think I'm done with this list!

Wordless Wednesday: Parts of Landmarks Edition

2011-06-15T23:28:00.000-05:00

Homeward Bound

2011-06-14T23:43:00.000-05:00

So, tomorrow, we head back home. It's always bittersweet for me, the end of a vacation, because as much as I look forward to my home, there are always things I meant to do before I ran out of time. I never seem able to squeeze it all in.

It's sort of a metaphor for life, isn't it? Doing all the things you mean to do, before you run out of time? I'm trying to learn to live in the moment, and it is a long and drawn out process. I wonder if I'll ever get it right.

Tomorrow night, I'll sleep in my own bed. The next morning, MC's boyfriend will arrive, and I'll have to entertain him for a week, before driving four hours to return him to his home, and take MC to her dad's house. By that time, June will be over, and where is the summer going, so fast?

Summer days are supposed to be long, aren't they? Does anyone else feel like nothing is long anymore, that time just zooms right past? Is this a sign I'm getting old?

Maybe don't answer that last one. For now, I'm going to bed, to snuggle with my Small, and relish this time, while she's little and sweet, and still thinks I hung the moon, because I know for a fact that this is something that will pass too quickly.

And tomorrow, I am totally going to cheat, and post vacation pictures, because it's Wordless Wednesday, and I can.

Photo Brag

2011-06-13T22:42:00.001-05:00

I try not to post too many photos in lieu of words, because I feel like it's almost cheating. However, I can't help but post this one.

I didn't bring a camera to Chicago. I didn't even think about it, really, though I'm sure the man would not have minded if I'd brought his Nikon. I probably should have, since we were in a photogenic city, with people I was excited about seeing. Instead, I took a couple of shots with my cell phone.

Including this one:

How cool is that?

Gonna kick up Highway Dust

2011-06-12T23:56:00.000-05:00

Yeah, if you're an Aristocrats fan (and really, if you've seen it, don't pretend you're not) you'll recognize the blog title as a line from Thomas O'Malley's song about wanderlust. I chose it because, well, that's me. I've got that wanderlust.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm a homebody, for sure. I like my routine, I like my community, and I like my life to stay put. But conversely, I absolutely love to travel. I am completely thrilled by new experiences, and foreign environments, and I will admit, I even like the road trip. I like seeing what's out there, whether it's the terrain, the shopping, or the food. I like staying in hotels. I like watching miles of countryside go by.

The Man and I are extremely compatible, but this is one area in which we are vastly different. He spends so much of his life inside his own head, he doesn't really understand my need to leave home and see new things. He likes the occasional adventure, but mostly, he's content to sit at home and read.

So this is how we've worked it out, almost eleven years into our marriage. I go, he stays. It works out wonderfully. I don't worry about the pets being home alone, we get to miss each other, and I come home better for having gotten a break from the routine. And, as I told my mom when she asked about it while I was preparing for this trip, it's really everyone's ideal situation. I get to go somewhere, take my girls someplace to have a new experience, and he gets to be completely alone, and devoid of human contact, for a whole week. Win-win!

Flashback Saturday

2011-06-11T23:58:00.000-05:00

Navy Pier Ferris wheel, 2005 vs 2011:

Imaginary Friends

2011-06-10T22:59:00.001-05:00

I'm on vacation right now, spending the weekend with a bunch of friends. This morning I met two of them in the lobby of my hotel, and we all rode in my car down to brunch with another two women and their children. After that, one friend took Small back to her house, so that MC and I could do some shopping. The two friends with whom I'd carpooled to breakfast came along. We had fun, browsing in boutiques, giggling in the vintage store, singing along with radio. Then we returned to the home of the friend who'd had Lily all afternoon, and were joined by several other friends, and some accompanying husbands and children, for pizza. Everyone had fun, the kids played, the grownups conversed, and everyone stayed for quite a long time. Tonight, the girls and I are forgoing the hotel, in favor of staying at our friend's house. Tomorrow, we're all going to the zoo.

This doesn't sound unusual, I realize, but what makes it a bit strange is this: we all met on the internet. A little over four years ago, we formed a group based around the commonality of having children born in the same two weeks, in 2006. On this basis, we became friends. If that sounds like an incredibly sharp focus, well, yeah, it is. But somewhere along the way, between the discussions of diaper rash and potty training, milestones and meltdowns, we became close. We started talking about all the other aspects of our lives too, our likes and dislikes, personal comedies and tragedies, and we came to care deeply about each other. When one of us has a problem, the others find a way to support her. When something wonderful happens, we celebrate together. And when nothing happens, we're still there. Every day, several times a day. we pop online and chat with each other. We also talk on the phone. Some of us Skype, most of us are Facebook friends. And once in a while, we do something like we're doing this weekend- travel to a new place just to hang out.

We crack jokes, about it all being a con. Before this meetup, some husbands were worried that some of us might not be who we claim to be. We refer to our imaginary friends, who live in our computers. We take pictures, half-jokingly, as proof that we're not pervy middle aged men, posing as mommies. And of course, we also take pictures to commemorate the time together, because it's fun.

It seems strange to most people, I think, because it is a relatively new phenomenon. But I think this sort of thing will become more and more commonplace as years go by. The truly interesting thing about meeting someone on the internet- (and before I say this, let me say I know con artists abuse the web, and take advantage of the naive, but that's not what I'm talking about here, I'm talking about sincere people who sincerely communicate)- is that online, you meet people from the inside out. Four years later, I know what these people look like, and their approximate social status, and what they do for a living, and their true religious beliefs. But at the start, I didn't know anything except that we all had babies exactly the same age. It is a truly beautiful thing to learn what someone really thinks, and if you share a sense of humor, or a sensibility, or a faith, before you are influenced by looks or other surface concerns. It's a very interesting phenomenon, I think, to understand who someone is before you actually meet.

I am a person who is blessed in many ways, with a close-knit family, and many friends. I can't help but feel even further blessed by living in this age, where I can meet someone who lives on the other side of the country, or world, or a even just a few states away, and feel connected in a really meaningful way. What a really strange but really wonderful byproduct of technology!

Meanderstall

2011-06-09T23:55:00.032-05:00

Today I left the house at 7:30am, drove to Chicago, which would normally take about 8 hours, and got here at 11:30. You can do the math on that if you like, but I'll give you a hint... it wasn't 8 hours.

It was good, though. Typically, when I travel, there is someone waiting for me on the other end of the trip. This time, I planned it differently. I booked a hotel room for the first night of my trip, rather than staying with my friend, so that it wouldn't matter when we got here. The Man didn't come with us, so it was just the girls: me, my Middle Child, and my Small One. I looked at the route before we left, and thought about some things we might do along the way, and planned to throw out any thought of a direct route.

It went really well. We drove for about an hour, then stopped for breakfast. We never do that. We always grab food and shove it into our faces while flying down the highway. This time, we ate pancakes, and I taught Small how to play tic tac toe, and MC and I conversed.

After breakfast, we stopped, on a whim, at a place that advertised "Underground Boat Tours". It was, to put it mildly, super fantastic. We learned some history, and some geography, and heard some interesting Civil War era stories, then rode on a boat through a cave. Afterwards, we hiked about a mile, saw a beaver, and ended up at a butterfly habitat. The girls had a blast, and I was not even bothered that we spent about three hours there.

Even once we got back on the road, we were in no hurry. We picked up drinks and snacks at a grocery store, pulled off the road to take pictures of giant fake dinosaurs, and stopped for a sit-down dinner. We hit some traffic jams, too, but they were not particularly troublesome, since we had no timeline.

Meanwhile, we sang silly songs, and and talked about everything under the sun, and laughed. We made more plans for the summer. No one got grumpy, no one got argumentative, no one cried. The girls napped, I managed to keep from falling asleep.

Am I exhausted? Absolutely. But I'm incredibly glad we did it this way. I don't know how many more road trips I'll make with MC, and Small is growing not so small right before my eyes. Today, though, they were here, and I was here, and it was good.

And did I mention there were butterflies?

Wordless Wednesday: Summer's Here

2011-06-08T23:18:00.003-05:00

Zoom a Little Zoom in a Rocket Ship

2011-06-07T23:37:00.001-05:00

Small One is in a question-intensive phase right now. My days are full of "whys", and each answer I give seems to only lead to more questions.

Ever since we moved, she asks a lot of questions about when we can go certain places or see certain people. She asks when we can go visit friends, when we can visit family in Florida, and when we can go camping. I wasn't prepared, though, for the question I got this afternoon.

"Mommy," she asked, "When can we go to the moon?"

Hmm... I tried to explain that we are not really going to the moon, because we don't have a rocket. She suggested we buy one, and paint the words "Rocket Ship" on the side. She changed her mind, though, when she learned that "Rocket Ship" contains no "L's". I suggested "Lunar Spaceship", and she thought that sounded better.

She's into labeling things, of late. We're about to take a week long vacation, and I bought her a hard-sided suitcase. It's really pretty cool. it looks like a ladybug, and the child can ride on it.

It came with stickers to personalize it, and I thought she'd put her name on it, but she had a different idea. She did put her name, but followed it with an apostrophe, and the words "Suitcase Ride".

As a family friend pointed out, you don't get much more personalized than that.

My name is Tick: Or, Why I Prefer the Indoors

2011-06-06T18:23:00.001-05:00

A little girl we know came home once repeating a cheer she'd heard at school, only we were all pretty sure she was repeating it wrong because, according to her, it went like this:

My name is Nick
My name is Tick
Tick Tick Tick BOOM dynamite!

That's not how it really went, by the way. It really went like this:

Our team is dynamite
Our team is tick tick tick tick BOOM dynamite!

But I must confess, I like the "my name is Tick" one better.

I've got that cheer in my head today. I may have mentioned this before, but I am an indoor cat. Anything outdoorsy is so far out of my comfort zone, it is not even funny. I'm so sensitive to the sun that it gives me a rash, I hate bugs and dirt, I kill plants much easier than I grow them... the outdoors and I are not pals.

Today, though, I pushed through it. I do that, from time to time, because I do like to watch the water roll in at the beach, and I like to swim. I like to see how much my kids enjoy outdoorsy things, and I like to travel, so sometimes we camp. Today, I went for a walk with my mom, my sister, their dogs, and my Small One.

It was pleasant enough. The weather was nice, the walk was scenic, and even though Small whined incessantly about her legs aching and how tired she was, I was able to distract her with nature facts, so I felt pretty good about that.

Until we got home, and I found SEVEN ticks under my little girls underwear! Holy guacamole. I am now convinced that I am completely covered in those disgusting little critters, and I'm engaged in the fruitless pursuit of pulling off my own freckles and moles. BOOM, dynamite!

See? THIS is what happens when you go outside.

Step Away from the Computer

2011-06-05T22:36:00.005-05:00

The Man and I are pretty much nightowls. Because I work from home, and he does much of his work from home as well, we are often up late, sitting next to each other, working on our laptops. Note: this is not romantic.

One thing that completely infuriates me is The Man's tendency to fall asleep at his laptop. Whether he's at a desk or the kitchen table, on the couch or on the bed, I will look over at him, and there he'll be, head lolling onto his chest, dead asleep. It drives me crazy. If he has a deadline to meet, I spend the night elbowing him viciously in an attempt to rouse him.

I've always been a little superior about this. I often say to him "You should be more in touch with your body. There's no way I would fall asleep at my computer, because I recognize when I'm about to fall asleep, and I know that's when I should turn off the machine and go to bed."

Of course, that was before last night. I'm about to leave town, you see, and before I go I need to finish a large number of assignments. In a desperate attempt to get more done last night, even though I was worn out from attending a child's birthday party in three million degree heat, I attempted to push past my own sleepiness and get one more blog done.

It was when I typed a sentence that suggested "teaching children about charitable giving through scrap-booking" that I realized it was over.

(Slowly backs away from the keyboard...)

To Be the Bad Man

2011-06-04T20:49:00.002-05:00

I mentioned the kitten in my last post. That being the case, I thought I should introduce him a little more thoroughly. This is the kitten:

(He's the one in the back.)

He's cute, for sure, but he's also a wild thing. He is a total instigator when it comes to fighting with our dog, for example.

Together, they enjoy racing through the house, tumbling across the floor, and, of course, the time honored tradition of naughty punks everywhere- harassing cranky old ladies.

And do not get me started on the number of times he leaps out at us and catches us by surprise, to bite our toes or whatever else he can reach. He has officially hit what we in this house like to refer to as the "bad guy phase". He murders objects left on the floor, leaps out of the shadows to attack, rips his own kitten chow bag open, jumps onto the table, hops on computer keys, bites and scratches, wakes us up in the middle of the night and before our alarm goes off in the morning... everything you'd expect from a four month old cat. We sing to him the same song that we used to sing to our dearly departed Sammy cat, that we began singing to him right around the same age. "No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man..."

On the other hand, he jumps on the bed, runs up my chest, and "kisses" me on the face with his cute little kitty nose. He stretches his long skinny kitty belly out in front of the window to soak up the sun. He purrs and cuddles, and is the most fun our dog has had in his entire life. I, personally, am hopelessly in love with him. Of course, he knows this, which is why he plays hard to get. The Man likes him, but doesn't care much for kitty kisses and cuddles, so naturally, this happens:

(He's resting up, for more mischief later.)

Fan Wars

2011-06-03T19:58:00.000-05:00

The Man weighs about 3 pounds. Ok, so maybe that's hyperbole, but I'm just saying, the man has no body fat. I, on the other hand, have plenty of cushion, perhaps even to share with a friend. This disparity causes a bit of an issue sometimes, when it comes to the temperature of our home.

Now, I don't think I'm over the top with my cooling needs. My mother, for instance, is much more the hotblooded type. She has been known to keep her home at such a low temperature that it's been a bit of family joke. "Remember," one of my siblings will say, "when we used to wake up in the early morning, at mom's house, all warm in our sweats, wrapped in blankets, drinking our hot coffee, and talk about our plans for the day, and what time the 4th of July parade was happening?"

I do like it cool, though, and staying cool upstairs requires the use of the ceiling fan. My husband has learned not to turn off the fan- at night, in particular. Rather, he just burritos himself in a blanket and makes the best of it.

Some members of the household have not yet gotten the memo. Last night, I was just drifting off to sleep, when I heard a jangling sound and awoke with a start. My husband sighed and got out of bed. I said, "What are you doing? I think that was just the kitten, playing with the necklace Small One hung on the door."

"No," he replied, "I re-hung it, on the lightswitch. Kitten just turned off the fan."

Kitten! Behave!

Inner Dumb Guy

2011-06-02T21:01:00.000-05:00

So, I have not been blogging much of late, and the reason is primarily because I really have been blogging much, just not around here. I am working now as a professional blogger, though I don't know if that is really correct terminology. Basically, all those blogs you see on websites, with no byline, that inform you of some pertinent information, are written by someone like me. So if you are reading up on how to save money with coupons, or what is involved in LASIK surgery, or how to get the most house for your dollar, that may be mine. Who knows? (Well, to be honest, I know, but I'm not going to detail it here.)

I get my information for these blogs from many different sources, mostly internet based, and in searching for information, I often come across things that are truly wacky. For example, when looking for ways to earn money from home, I came across a blog that suggests that stay at home moms can "Make crafts – Making crafts is a candid part, though once you have a unequivocally good total of crafts achieved take a small to informal benefaction retailers as well as qualification retailers as well as see if they will await you marketplace them."

What? Clearly not a native English speaker. Even among English speakers, though, there are some weird posts. Like this advice for how to have fun with your kids during summer vacation: "Start by waking the kids before eight thirty every day during the summer months. Start waking the kids with a question. 'What would you like for breakfast today?' Start a conversation about food first thing in the morning and the kids will begin to find an appetite. Begin to make breakfast for you and the kids right after you wake them up.Cook two eggs, two toast, and 4 bacon. Kids enjoy eggs scrambled"

Now, I get the part about waking the kids up during summer vacation, but certainly it is not mandatory for every family, in order to have fun. And I'm not really clear why you would wake the kids up and ask what they want for breakfast, when you know you're going to make two eggs, two toast, and 4 bacon. And scrambled eggs at that, not even any other options there.

Anyway, knowing what is out there, I do my best to make my blogs factual and not completely ridiculous, though I'm not sure I always succeed. Some of my topics are easy, because they are on topics I already understand. How to have fun with your kids? Bring it on! How to work the Mercedes E Class navigation system? Huh? Yeah, no, I'm awake.I'm just puzzling over what the words in this instructional pdf mean.

I find that watching television helps me blog. No, really. Here's why: I have an inner dumb guy. While I'm sitting here, trying to concentrate on the merits of biodiesel, or what have you, my inner dumb guy is thinking about everything BUT blogging. Singing stupid songs in my brain, basically tugging on my mind's sleeve, demanding attention. Turning on the Lifetime Movie Network or a soap opera is like throwing my inner dumb guy a hush puppy, so I can turn my attention to more pressing business. It seems counter-intuitive, I realize, but for some reason, by dividing my attention, I'm better able to focus.

I'm wondering though, am I alone in this? Or do other people share the affliction of the inner dumb guy? Anyone?

FANtastic

2011-06-01T11:51:00.039-05:00

Trying the NaBloPoMo thing again, which may be foolish, since I'm totally swamped with work and about to go on vacation...

Anyway, the word for the month of June, from the NaBloPoMo powers that be, to inspire bloggers as they try to muster up 30 days of things to say, is "fan".

I was thinking about all the meanings of that word, whether to fan yourself, turn on a fan to keep cool, or to be a fan... I'm not much of a fan. I don't get overly impressed with people or teams. Not to say I don't like certain actors or athletes, or what have you, I just don't get obsessive about it. I was analyzing myself on this topic, and I think it may have to with my lack of competitive spirit. I am a fairly cooperative type, and have never understood the point of all that "us against them" sort of behavior. Can't we all just get along? Not to say that I don't want to do the best I can, I just don't care if I do better than someone else. Your pie is better than mine? Hurray for you! You can run faster/jump higher/type faster/do whatever better than I can? Go for it! The exception to this may be trivia, because I do like to win at trivia.

Anyway, this lack of competitive understanding makes me completely disinterested in sports. I do not understand how people get so into watching grown men trying to beat each other at a game, usually through aggressive shows of force. I particularly do not get the whole "we're winning" when you, in fact, are drinking a beer and watching them play. It all holds absolutely no appeal for me.

Even with that being the case, I recently went to a baseball game, with a group of friends and family. The company was pleasant, though it was blisteringly hot, and I honestly had no investment in the game whatsoever. Small One, on the other hand, was into it. She really wanted to be in the game, not just watching. When our friend told her she could run around the bases after the game, she was so excited she could hardly stand it! "When," she asked, "will this game EVER be OVER?"

When it finally was over, she eagerly went down and ran the bases. She was definitely one of the smaller kids out there, and it was pretty funny, watching her little legs pumping around the field. We clapped and cheered, and when she came off the field, we told her how well she'd done, but she only had one question. "Did I WIN?!?"

I guess she inherited the competitive gene from her daddy. Who knows? We may even have unwittingly produced a sports fan.

Casual X

2011-04-14T00:45:00.000-05:00

I am, as I’ve mentioned, a Southern girl. And as any good Southern girl will attest, the mamas in the South have traditionally expected their girls to adhere to certain standards in terms of appearance. “Put on a little lipstick, it’ll make you feel better!” is such a common sentence, it’s been referenced in books. Southern women have always felt they had a responsibility to project charm, grace, and beauty. Now, this is not saying that the rest of the country is composed of slobs; I’m just speaking to my own experience.

Here’s my not-so-secret secret. I don’t dress well. It’s not really a lack of resources, or laziness, or rebellion against societal standards- I just don’t really think about clothes much. My skin is sensitive, and so I don’t wear makeup any more often than necessary, and I tend to wear the same pair of jeans every day. And by “wear the same pair of jeans” I mean “keep the same pair of jeans handy if I have to leave the house, thereby necessitating a change out of pajama pants”. Now, I know people will think pajama pants are lazy, but I swear, I get up just like everyone else, wash my face and put on lotion, drink my coffee and eat my breakfast, do my household chores and brush my teeth; but when I get dressed, unless there’s somewhere I need to be, I often put on a fresh pair of pajama pants in the morning.

Don’t look at me like that. I bet you’d do that too, if you worked from home. Some days it’s sweat pants or yoga pants instead of pajamas but let’s be honest- it’s the same thing.

Today I took my Small One to preschool, and now I’m heading over to see my mom. I had a rough morning, with Small acting as though some vital cord connecting her brain to the planet had been loosened or perhaps sliced through, and I’m dressed, admittedly, like a slob. My hair, which is not long enough for a pony tail, is in a pony tail. I’m in jeans and a t-shirt, with crocs. The people on What Not To Wear would have a field day with me. As I was dropping Small at her school, though, I happened to look around me, and realized, that is the uniform of choice for about eighty percent of moms dropping off their kids.

I think this is maybe a flaw of my generation. For the purposes of this post, I will say Generation X, though I know there’s debate over the usage of that term- when I use it I’m referring to people my age and a little younger, the children of the Baby Boomers. Are we, as a generation, too casual?

I tend to work under the assumption that the actions of each generation are pretty much a reaction to those of their parents. This is the way of nature, I think. And when I think back to my own school days, I remember moms in skirts, with their hair done, wearing makeup. So maybe that’s it. But on the other hand, we are the children of the generation that made jeans a wardrobe essential, a generation of bra burners and hippies. Could it be that we’ve all just been on a slippery slope since then, careening towards utter slobdom?

Yes. And it’s not just clothes. Our generation is largely casual about sex, about information, about housekeeping, about almost everything, if you really think about it. We share things that mortify our parents, and post our intimate details on facebook. In truth, casual seems to be the watchword. And the generation behind us is even more so! They wear pajama pants to the store, for crying out loud.

Don’t get me wrong, this is not a call to action. It’s just something to ponder. I wonder - will it continue this way, until we eventually devolve into high tech cave people, sitting around in our underwear, tweeting about what we picked out of our teeth that morning? Or will the pendulum swing back the other way, with our grandchildren wearing ties and pantyhose as they silently remember, with some embarrassment, that time Grandma came to the school play in yoga pants?

What do you think? Are we all too casual today? While you’re thinking, I’ve got to go buy some new pajama pants, to spruce up my wardrobe.

S#!t my kids says

2011-03-19T01:15:00.002-05:00

I keep thinking that maybe I need to do a separate blog, all about the things that Small One says, because she makes me laugh every day, and I know there are people who would laugh as hard as I do. Then on the other hand, I also know that it gets tremendously annoying to constantly hear how cute someone's kid is every day. That's when I come to the conclusion that I ought to do another blog, just so the people who find it amusing could follow it, and the people who hate cutesy kid crap could not be bothered with it.

In any case, she's come up with a few, of late, that I'm going to share here, so if you're tired of hearing about how funny my kid is, stop reading now.

We took her to hear a concert by a chamber ensemble of which my sister, a violinist, is a part. My sister played in a piece that featured two violins, drums, and a marimba. When we asked Small One about her favorite part of the concert, she said it was that piece, adding "It really pissed me out!" (Apparently, to her mind, that was an expression that meant "Really got me excited!" We were pretty tickled that she tried to find a new, adult way to express her excitement, but warned her against the use of the word "piss", pledging that we, too, will find other words to express ourselves.)

My mother got a new sofa and loveseat. Small One sauntered into her den, sat on the sofa with her arms stretched out on the back of the sofa in an exaggerated posture of relaxation, and said "So, Gigimama, it seems like you've changed things up in here!" (Not sure where she got "changed things up", but we thought it was pretty good for a four year old.)

(This one's actually from a few months ago, but I still like it) I was petting the cat, and I said "Aww, he loves me." to which Small replied "Yes, and he would NEVER barf on you!" (A sign of true love, to be sure!)

We were out in the car, traffic was not great, and I was in a grouchy mood. Small said "I love you Mommy. I'm sorry people are such dude-asses." (Indeed they are!)

My sister is taking Small to a farm tomorrow, and she said "They have horses at the farm, and baby goats, and PEACOCKS!" Small replied, with great enthusiasm, "I ate something like a peacock. It was an apricot!"

That's all I have for tonight.

I keep wanting to blog, but I'm writing things for pay these days, and it takes up a lot of space in the writing part of my brain. By the time I think of something I wanted to say here, I no longer have the wherewithal to say it the way I'd want to, so I just skip it. I'm hoping that as I become more used to writing on assigned topics, I'll figure out a way to balance things so I can continue blogging personally as well. For now, my life's a little bit too complex.

I'll try to be back soon though, and not just to tell you the cute things my kids says. And if anyone has a name suggestion for that alternate blog, I'm all ears.

Wordless Wednesday, the Sammy Edition

2011-02-02T00:10:00.000-06:00

There's that word again: Perfect

2010-12-16T02:11:00.001-06:00

Busy time, this. Today I made a decision to stay in all day, avoiding all errands in order to get all my holiday baking done. Ha! First of all, anyone who thinks she's going to get "all" of anything done with a four year old in tow is seriously delusional. Second of all, the quickest way to assure you're going to be obligated to go to the store is to foolishly announce that you are absolutely NOT going to the store. For me, that statement instantly led to rancid whole wheat flour. (Well, technically, I would wager that it was rancid before I said anything, but you understand what I mean.)

The day began with a once again fallen Christmas tree, which the Man was kind enough to set upright, but it fell to me to pick up all the ornaments that had fallen off, and fix all of the ones that had not fallen off, but were twisted and strange, some of them hanging upside down. In addition, the lights were all wonky from the fall, so I had to figure that out, too, and if I haven't mentioned it before, "the perfect tree in the world" is very sappy. Sappier than a Karen Carpenter Christmas song, the Man has decided, and I'm pretty sure he's right. In any case it's a messy business, fixing that tree.

From the tree I moved on to the kitchen, where for some reason I could not figure out how to bake cookies. Strange, because I bake zillions of them every year around this time, but today I sort of wandered back and forth, looking at recipes, incapable of making a decision. I also made lists of cookie recipients, and counted tins, though I never did come to a conclusion regarding whether the numbers match up. I think I may be coming down with a case of brain fog.

Small wanted to help today, bless her little heart. But she has the sniffles, which has put her out of sorts, and on top of that, well, she's four. She helped me turn the mixer on and off a few times, then lost interest and began singing songs and telling stories. This all sounds very charming, I realize, but there are few things more capable of sucking your brain out through your ears than a four year old, on her 400th chorus of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, or telling you in great detail the particularly fascinating story of why her rubber ducks have decided to hide in a shoebox. When it came to the part where she was explaining to me the relationship between her pull toy ducks and her toy horse, while the pull toy quacked incessantly, I assigned her the task of setting up the Nativity scene in the living room, which kept her out of my hair for about ten minutes, and afforded me enough brain capacity to make lunch.

By naptime, though, I was ready for her to go to sleep. I was hustling her up to her room when she asked me, "Mommy, why does Rudolph have a red shiny nose?"

I was feeling sassy. "Birth defect!" I answered cheerfully.

She had a different explanation. "I think," she said, "that God made his nose bright and red so that he could see through the fog."

I felt bad for being flippant, and I told her she was probably right.

"I also think," she continued, "that our car is just like Rudolph's nose. Because our car doesn't look like ANYBODY else's car in the WHOLE family."

This is true. Our car has been the victim of a few mishaps, and it is not in, shall we say, showroom quality. It looks very poor indeed next to my mother's convertible, or my sister's sporty little suv. But that, I was surprised to learn, is not what Small One meant.

I asked her how our car was different, and she looked at me in surprise that I didn't know something so obvious. "It's big enough to hold our WHOLE family!" she said. Then she continued, "That's why God gave it to us, it's just like Rudolph's nose. It's perfect for us!"

Ahh... where I saw the surface bumps and bruises, she was looking at the deeper blessing. Seems like perfect is her word of the month, and I'm beginning to think that is my Christmas gift from God- the perpetual reminder to see the perfection in the mundane, to understand that things don't need to be flawless to be perfect for us. I think this Christmas will be perfect.

Wordless Wednesday: The Perfect Tree in Progress Edition

2010-12-15T02:28:00.000-06:00

The Perfect Tree in the World, Part 2

2010-12-14T00:01:00.003-06:00

Every year, usually around the middle of December, we get our Christmas tree. Sometimes it comes from Home Depot, sometimes from a cut your own tree farm, last year it came from our lovely friends at NorthStar Christmas Trees, (in metro Atlanta, that's a great place to get a tree- last year, ours lasted til February!), but no matter the origin, there's always a constant- the party. I throw a "family party" every year, which means each of my kids gets to invite a friend or two, and we drink eggnog and eat festive holiday snacks, listen to Christmas music and make ornaments, and decorate the tree. It's rowdy, and messy, and one of the highlights of the season for me, right up there with the candlelight Christmas Eve service.

This year is a little bit different. This year, I thought we'd have an even more festive time, as my mother and sister now live within a few miles of us. Unfortunately, the timing is all wrong. Middle Child is recovering from her surgery, but still feels rough, and mainly wants to be quiet and still, which pretty much rules out any sort of party plans. So this year, there is eggnog, and some foods that are festive but soft, like pumpkin custard and peppermint ice cream, and there won't be any partying, but we will get the tree decorated eventually, even though it will happen in fits and starts, and that's ok. By week's end, it will be up. Maybe even by wordless Wednesday.

It's ok with me that this is the way it's worked out. This has been the year of plan B turning into plan C, and so on. I've always considered myself to be flexible, this year has pushed me to prove it.

I've already detailed this year's tree acquisition. This morning, the tree was lying on the floor, despite many adjustments last night to the tree stand. The Man picked it up, and I held it steady while he tried to adjust it further, until we decided that what was needed was something to slide under the tree stand, as a brace. Knowing he'd be able to find something that would work in the garage, but not wanting me to have to hold it while he looked, the Man slid a book under the stand, as a temporary measure, and then left to take the dog for a walk.

A few minutes later, I heard a commotion. I was getting dressed, and MC was sleeping, so I asked Small One to look and tell me if the tree had fallen again. A few minutes later I heard her say "No, but someone stuck a book under the...AAAAAAA!"

Yep, she had decided to remedy the situation by pulling the book out from under the tree, and had ended up pulling the whole thing down on top of herself. I dashed down the stairs to find her sprawled, all Flat Stanley-like, arms out to the side, tree on top of her, wailing. I am pleased to report she was shaken but unharmed, though she eyed the tree a little more warily after that, gave it a wider berth.

She's over it tonight. Tonight she discovered the treetop angel, and had to get her Daddy to lift her up so she could put it on the tree. It seemed fitting to me that the angel would go on first, when nothing else will be up until tomorrow and later. "Is this the same angel," she asked, "that watched over Mary, and Joseph, and the baby Jesus?"

Maybe.

The Perfect Tree in the World

2010-12-13T15:16:00.000-06:00

This December, so far, has not been great. Because of the recent move, we're far from all the familiar holiday things, our church, our friends, our traditional haunts and celebrations. In addition, Middle Child's recovery from surgery has been slow and difficult, complete with scary moments and feelings (for the mom) of helplessness and inadequacy. Christmas is now only 12 days away, and I'm not ready.

So, this past weekend, we decided to get a tree. We could have gone to Home Depot, or Lowes, or a grocery store, but I'm the romantic type, so I decided to find a "cut your own" lot. We've had a great time, in the past, cutting our own tree, or pumpkin, or picking our own strawberries, so I thought it'd be a good way to go ahead and kickstart this holiday season into gear. I did a little bit of internet research, and found one where you choose your own tree (from their pesticide free, organically grown-whatever that means- Virginia pines) and they cut it down for you. Win win! All the romance with none of the hack sawing! What could be better? We planned to go on Saturday.

Saturday was rainy and grey, and very cold. Not ideal weather for a tree hunt. The website said they were only there on Saturday, except that the first weekend they'd be there on Sunday if the weather was bad on Saturday. I called, to see if that was an every weekend policy, and the man told me he was planning to spend the night at the farm on Saturday and would be there until Sunday at 10:30am, if we wanted to come in the morning.

This was good news, except for the whole church issue. We are trying to find a church, and have thus far been unsuccessful in our efforts, but still, we go every Sunday, to an 11:00 service, and we absolutely did not want to miss any Sundays in Advent. The Man and I discussed this, and discussed MC's medication schedule, and decided that we would get up early, hit the tree farm before church, pick up MC's prescription (that wouldn't be ready until some time after 10), drop it and the tree off at the house, then head for church. This would be perfect, I could already picture in my mind's eye, with Small skipping merrily through the rows of perfect trees, dressed in her beautiful Sunday dress and coat.

We are incurable optimists.

Why did we think that, in a town still unfamiliar to us, we were going to be able to navigate all ends of it successfully on a snowy morning, in time to make it to church?

We started out late, as is our custom, and headed down the highway. Unfortunately, we missed a very valuable part of the directions, and did not realize that there was a point at which we'd be forced to choose between going East or West on another highway before we reached our destination. As we needed to head neither East nor West, but rather North, we were flummoxed, and chose incorrectly. I was on the phone with my sister, who has lived here for years, and she was telling me how to get back on track, when the Man decided he'd found an alternate route, and we'd just take that. (Insert foreboding music here.) Despite my sister's predictions of doom, we headed off, and for about 10 minutes it seemed to be going really well. After that, though, the road that was supposed to take us all the way to our destination suddenly dead-ended. Downtown. Tree farms are not downtown.

I pulled out the map again, and found the way back to where my sister had been pointing us in the first place. Told the Man which exit to take, but as luck would have it, I got distracted by a text from our cell phone company, informing me that they'd taken a double payment from our bank account, and while I was distracted by that, he missed the exit. I looked up to see the next exit approaching, and we made another u-turn.

To our credit, we did not lose our cheerful outlook. We found the road, and were zipping along, Celine Dion caterwauling some overdone holiday tune, Small One asking weird questions from the back seat, ("Why she doesn't sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?" "Why only one reindeer liked Rudolph?"), snow falling more and more heavily... and we passed the farm. It doesn't look like a tree farm, you see, it looks like a long driveway up a hill, with a grove of trees to one side of it. On this particular day, it also featured a man sitting in a truck waiting for some losers who had told him they'd be there a long time before. Two more u-turns, and we finally made it.

And there were the Virginia pines. We didn't know this at the time, but we don't like Virginia pines. We are city dwellers, the kind of people who are inordinately proud when their basil doesn't die, or they can identify a rhododendron. We don't know a schefflera from a pittosporum, nor did we, before Sunday, know a Frazier fir from a Virginia pine. Here's a quick lesson for the rest of you:

Frazier firs

Virginia Pines

Note, Virginia pines do NOT look like Christmas trees, at least in our definition of the word. But at that point, we were running late, we'd made the nice man sit in his truck for an hour, and we were NOT leaving without a tree.

Things you should know about the tree farm man. 1)He is very nice. 2)He is a little frenetic. 3)He could be Alan Arkin's voice twin. Seriously. He looks a little bit like him too, but I'm telling you, if you ever want to do a fake Little Miss Sunshine voiceover, let me know, I'll give you this guy's number, because he is a ringer. We'll call him "Fake Alan Arkin" from here on out.

We get out of the car, it's freezing, it's snowing, and the Man has a look on his face that says "wait, these aren't Christmas trees", so Fake Alan Arkin starts virtually tapdancing around him, giving the Virginia pine spiel. I can only imagine he gets that look a lot, because he had several points ready, such as "these trees smell great" (true) and "Frazier firs aren't native to Tennessee, so these are the seedlings the state gives me." (Did not know that.) We wandered around, FAA went back to sit in his truck, and the Man and Small One each picked out a tree. Small's pick was only about 2 feet taller than she is, and looked pretty much like Charlie Brown's tree (I think Charlie Brown's tree WAS a Virginia pine, in fact), but her second choice was the one her dad found. FAA got out of the truck and chopped it down with a chainsaw (nothing like the sound of a chainsaw to create warm holiday memories) and asked us how long we actually wanted it to be.

The Man estimated that we have nine foot ceilings. For future reference, we don't. We probably have eight foot ceilings, but we did, in fact, come home with at least a nine foot tree. Strapping it to the roof proved to be an arduous task, and one for which Fake Alan Arkin did not want ANY help. He scurried around the minivan like a mad man, looping twine here and there, shooing the Man back into the car every time he got out to help, shouting over the wind that he was SURE it would stay on. By the time he was done, the tree was tied on, but not really to the roof- fully 1/3 of it was hanging off the back. Miraculously, it DID stay on, through the long drive down the highway, to...church. Because seriously, we were out of time for any other pursuits. I texted MC and told her to drink the rest of the medicine in the bottle (relax, it was only about 1/6th of a normal dose, but I figured there'd also be a kick from the placebo affect of drinking the whole bottle) and hang tight.

We eventually made it to a little less than half the church service, and Middle Child lived long enough for us to make it home with the new prescription, but as we were driving away from the tree farm, dashing through the snow in our beat up minivan, Small exclaimed from the back seat, "I'm so excited that we got to pick the perfect Christmas tree in the WORLD!"

So here it is, folks, the perfect Christmas tree in the world:

I think my prayer for the rest of the season will be to see it all through the eyes of a child.

Being the Mama

2010-12-11T01:46:00.000-06:00

So, of course, the holiday season is upon us, with all that it entails. As luck would have it, Middle Child ended up needing to have her tonsils and adenoids removed right now, just at the beginning of this already hectic season. The surgery was Monday, now it's Friday night, and she's a miserable heap of teenager, complete with fever and throwing up.

I feel really sorry for her. But I feel a little bit sorry for ME, too. I'm not a natural nurse. I'm empathetic, to be sure, but there comes a point where I have NO idea what to do or say. She calls me, and she's in the tub, crying, and she's just barfed, and I have no idea how I can improve this situation in any way. I mean, here's what I know about nausea: it helps to drink ginger ale and eat saltines, neither of which she can do right now. Therefore, once I've given her the anti-nausea medication they prescribed, I'm out of ideas.

I hate being out of ideas, too. I pride myself on being resourceful, and it rankles me that she's in need and there's not really anything to be done. I get frustrated.

Today I was extremely frustrated. I had every intention of having a really productive day, but got hung up on a research project last night, that ended up pushing my "real" work back until really late, and I ended up with close to no sleep before I had to get up again and help MC with her pain meds. The Man let me sleep in, which was wonderful of him, but it also meant I started the day behind schedule.

I was trying to play catch up while my internet lagged, Small One was needy, and MC was weeping in pain. The phone rang, and just as I answered it I heard a door slam downstairs. Stepping into the hallway to make sure Small hadn't left the building, I discovered that MC had decided to take a bath, and had somehow sloshed enough water onto the floor to create a lovely babbling brook through the upstairs (carpeted) hallway and into Small's room.

When I got off the phone, I cleaned the carpet, found Small, (she was in the downstairs bathroom crying because I hadn't heard her calling me while I was on the phone), wrestled the internet some more, and by that time I was out of sorts, and my morning had slipped away. I needed to shower, I had errands to run, the house was chaotic, both girls were crying, and I was fussing at people. I took a breath and said a little prayer, for calm.

In that moment, it dawned on me. I remembered a conversation I had with a dear friend, maybe a year ago, and she said this brilliant thing: "the mother sets the emotional tone of the house". It was like someone turned on the light for me. I looked at Small, and said, with a new found calm, "Come on, Sweets, let's go get some lunch!" I settled her at the table with a cream cheese and date sandwich and a glass of milk, then ran upstairs to check on MC. Assured that I'd done all I could to help her, I returned to the kitchen, where I sat looking through a cookbook and discussing with Small One, in a calm, quiet voice, which cookies we should make for Christmas presents. Once she was finished, I sent her into her room to pick out some books, and I hopped in the shower. By the time I got out, she was ready to settle down for some reading and snuggle time.

It was amazing. The minute I decided to change the tone, it changed. The house was still a wreck, MC was still miserable, Small was still over tired, but no one was freaking out about it any more. Everything was calm. The girls napped, I took care of business, and when they woke up, I gave MC her medicine, packed Small into the car, ran my errands, came home, made dinner, and baked cookies. It wasn't an early night, but it was ok, because it's Friday.

I have to remember this. There is this choice, and I often make the wrong choice, because I'm not paying enough attention, or I'm tired, and not thinking clearly, but the choice is whether life happens to you, or whether you live it. I have to remember that being the Mama doesn't just mean I'm responsible for the well being of these people, for their food, clothing and shelter, but to teach them how to live their lives. And I do remember that, on the big picture things, but I need to remember it on the day to day things too, because teaching them how to live life includes teaching them how to set their own tone. And what better time to choose peace and calm than during the season of Advent?

"Let everything about you breathe the calm and peace of the soul." ~Paul Gauguin

Joie de Vivre

2010-11-07T13:46:00.001-06:00

I've been on a blogging hiatus, of late, because life has overwhelmed me. Moving, helping my mother move, trying to get adjusted to a new town, trying to help my offspring adjust to the changes... it's been a hectic couple of months.

It's easy, I think, to get bogged down. I, for one, am very guilty of missing the forest because of all these troublesome trees. That is when I'm the most grateful for the presence of a preschooler in my life.

The view from about three feet above the floor is a lovely one, full of optimism and promise. Everything is very straightforward, people are either good guys or bad guys, and the people in charge always have a plan- and it's usually a darned good one, too! If you have an available preschooler, and can take the time to actually explore his or her point of view, you'll be amazed at how uplifting it is.

The flat out JOY is the best part. Joy over everything... joy over nothing. The scruffy, smelly, sometimes ill-behaved dog becomes "the goodest goodest dog in the whole wide world!", and inspires an impromptu songwriting session. A visit from Grandmama leads to whooping cheers of "I'm so excited!!!!! I'm so excited!!!!!", even if she just saw her grandmother yesterday. Every birthday gift is greeted with open mouthed wonder.

Small One is not unique in this gift of joy.When she was a small person, MC was exactly this exuberant. We called her Tigger. (Now we sometimes call her Darth Tigger, but that's another story, for another day.) I look at her sometimes and feel a great tenderness for the little girl who used to be so inordinately happy over the tiniest things, and I hope she still retains some of that in her soul. I honestly can't imagine how the parents without preschoolers make it through the surly teenage years.

I want what Small has. I try to remember to share in her joy, because that kind of ebullience feels wonderful! I can't even explain how easily a bad day is lightened after I've joined one of Small's games or jokes. It's even scriptural- "the joy of the Lord is your strength", "rejoice always". Remembering to take a minute and just appreciate the world the way she does, immerse myself in the joy of it, I will confirm, I do feel renewed and strengthened.

Yesterday, I was under the weather, trying to fight off a cold, feeling pretty low. I decided the best course of action would be to stay home and try to rest as much as possible, so I put a movie on for Small, and snoozed while she watched it. Afterward, we practiced letters on an erasable book she has, and then she played in her room by herself for awhile, with me happily listening in on the conversations between bears, the songs being sung, the fun being had. In a little while, I suggested we go downstairs for a snack, and some coloring.

You would have thought I'd invited her to the circus, and told her she'd get to ride the ponies and fly with the acrobats. She began jumping up and down, waving her arms in giant circles, yelling "Yaay Yaay Yaay! I'm SO excited!!!" I told her we could have apple slices and cheese. Blissed out hysteria ensued. She asked if she could have a banana, too. When I answered in the affirmative, the crowd went wild. (And by "the crowd", I mean Small, her teddy bear, and the always eager to participate dog. You know, my homies.)

As we entered the kitchen, Small still whooping, cheering, and waving her arms, I noticed we were out of bananas. I turned to her and said "Uh oh, no bananas.". She froze in her tracks, arms still up in the air. She didn't move a muscle as she asked, "Can we still have apples? And cheese? And color?" I said yes, and she went back to her previous routine. "Yaay yaay yaay! I'm so excited! I'm so excited!"

When faced with the little disappointments of life, I want what she's having.

Halloween and Gender Bending

2010-11-04T21:20:00.008-05:00

Almost two months of absence, and now I'm back and ready to be controversial. I joke, but seriously, I'm going a little deeper tonight than my usual lighthearted silly business.

Through the magic of facebook, this blog was brought to my attention earlier this evening. In it, a mom describes going to the preschool Halloween party with her son, who was dressed as a girl, specifically Daphne from Scooby Doo. The costume was her son's idea, he's five years old, and the other moms were mortified. The blog writer is troubled by this reaction from the grown ups, and asserts in her post that she doesn't think dressing up as a girl when he's five means her son will grow up to be gay, but if he does, she's ok with that too.

This blog, my blog, is not going to address homosexuality. I, personally, have a pretty firm "don't ask don't tell" policy that applies to people of all gender and orientation equally. I do not want to know what you do behind closed doors, nor with whom you are doing it, so please do not share, unless you are in my top tier of girlfriends, in which case you know who you are, and I still don't want detail without a disclaimer beforehand. I, in turn, will not tell you what I'm doing, unless, again, you are in that top two percent of besties, and you ask. So no, I'm not going to state my positions on anyone's sexuality.

What I am against, though, is crazy madness. When did the world become so bizarre? When did it become normal to speculate on the sexuality of a five year old? Five year olds are learning their letters and numbers, they're learning how to navigate basic social customs like not picking their noses in public... I hardly think this is the time to wonder about their sexuality.

My Small One was a cupcake for Halloween, which is, admittedly, girly.

In the grand scheme of things, though, she's not at the top of the girlymeter. Her favorite color is red, for example. While this doesn't seem to have a gender slant- (who doesn't like red?)- you'd be surprised at how difficult it is to find red toys, decor, even bikes that are made for little girls. If there's a primary colored bedspread, it's much more likely to have trucks and footballs on it than anything gender neutral. Go to the "girl" section of any toy department, and you'll be accosted by a wave of pink and purple. (And don't get me started on the concept of gender divided toy stores, because we'll be here all night.)

When given the choice to be a princess or a fire chief for her preschool party, she chose fire chief. The Man insists that this was not a non-girly choice, because girls can be fire chiefs if they choose, but come on. This is a traditionally male costume.

I don't care, though. Sometimes she feels like being a fire chief. Sometimes she feels like being a princess, or a cupcake, or a fairy. Sometimes, she apparently feels like being a fire fighting fish on the way to the Emerald City. Who am I to judge?

My brothers dressed up as girls. (Well, ok, we dressed them up. Potato Po-tah-to.) My youngest brother once went for portraits with his nails painted a tasteful coral. (Mom forgot about the nails when she was getting him ready.) Both of my brothers are flamingly straight. Happily married with beautiful wives. No bi-curious tendencies, to my knowledge, but feel free to suggest it to one of them, if you'd enjoy a knuckle sandwich. (Just kidding about that, they're pretty peaceable guys.)

My Eldest played with dolls, dollhouses, tea sets- whatever he wanted to play with. Middle Child played with trucks and skateboards, in addition to dolls and fairy wings, and she once went to a little girl's costume party as a gorilla. They've both expressed a healthy interest in the opposite sex. Small One has a Disney Princess lunchbox full of Matchbox cars, and she doesn't know the difference between boys and girls yet. As far as she's concerned, they're all just "friends".

People decry intolerance and lack of acceptance. Others decry the sort of political correctness where we're obliged to accept everything without question. I have a different theory, though, as to why the world's gone crazy. I don't think the issue is with acceptance. I think the issue is with imagination.

Small One is probably not going to grow up to be a firefighter, or a fairy, or a princess. I am 99% sure she is not going to grow up to be a firefighting fish. But right now, her mind is open to all those possibilities, through the glory of her imagination. Eldest didn't grow up to throw tea parties, but he has grown into exactly the sort of sensitive man that I'll be proud to see become a daddy.

My brother did not grow up to be curly-haired orphan, running away from the orphanage in a flowered dress, curls peeping winningly from under a kerchief. He did, however, grow up to be a creative, intelligent man with a vivid imagination. Our mother believed in the power of imagination, and we were encouraged to make our own fun, invent our own fairy tales. Television and video games were limited, reading was encouraged, and plenty of time was afforded for free play.

Our society is very technologically oriented. The media is everywhere. Preschool children are becoming consumers, wanting the things the commercials tell them they should want, playing games increasingly based on specific characters and marketing devices. True imagination becomes a precious commodity.

High schoolers are so inundated with the "it's ok to be gay" message that it seems to be a conclusion that gets jumped to far too often. Certainly it is not ok to bully gay students, or ostracize someone because of their sexuality, or taunt someone who seems different. But assuming that someone is gay because of their taste in music or clothing, or deciding you're "bi" because you find a friend of the same sex attractive seems to me indicative of a serious lack of imagination.

It bothers me, in many different arenas. It bothers me that if a boy likes musical theater, his sexuality is immediately questioned. It bothers me that if I voice a political opinion, I'm labeled immediately as being a member of a group. I have a lot of opinions, and they don't fit into neat little boxes. It bothers me that we, as a society, seem to want to label everything and put it on a shelf. It bothers me to think that children are growing up so inundated with images and information that they seem, more and more, to be losing the ability to think for themselves. Everyone knows what the "right" answer is, if you want to be considered a reasonable person by this group or that group.

A hundred and fifty years ago, boys wore dresses in early childhood. They grew up to be, for the most part, manly men. Supporters of families. Pillars of society. But then again, that was before we had television and video games and movies to let us know how we were supposed to dress, and behave, and think, and vote. That was back in the day, when people were expected to have imagination. Those people, with their imaginations, created the world in which we live today. I honestly think, if there is not a movement to bring imagination back as something of value, the progress we'll make in the next hundred and fifty years will pale in comparison.

Remember Me?

2010-09-09T15:32:00.005-05:00

I used to blog around here, from time to time, until I had to pack a 4 bedroom house with a full basement, and move 4 hours away. Too busy to sleep, let alone blog. But today, I've slept. I'm taking a mini-vacation, back to the old home town, staying with my darling cousin so I can tie up ends left loose by the move, but also so that I can take an extended breather. I decided to take this opportunity, 9 days before Small One's fourth birthday, to take photos of her, in the garden where we've taken her birthday photos for the past three birthdays. If you'll recall, I bought a dress in a size I thought she could wear for her first two birthdays. I was surprised to find that it still fit on the third birthday, and even more surprised to learn that it still does!

This calls for a retrospective.

One year old:

Two years old:

Three years old:

Yesterday:

I realize it might seem like cheating, to post a bunch of photos on my first blog after a long absence, but that's all I've got for now. I'll be back soon, I promise.

Accidental Photographer

2010-06-17T20:06:00.004-05:00

I have a new phone, and for some reason, it is remarkably easy to accidentally take pictures with it. Obviously, I usually delete those, but some of them I actually like. Here's one from a recent trip to Trader Joe's:

I love it, and I can't even tell you why, really. It just makes me smile.

Photo Friday- Law Enforcement Shrinking Edition

2010-06-11T08:08:00.001-05:00

Passed this sign during my travels last week:

Seriously, how do they do it? Take a little off the top? Or do they just relieve them of 20% of their responsibility? Or did they eliminate 20% of their security force? Camino Real, now with 20% less law enforcement! Let the shenanigans begin!

How does my garden grow?

2010-06-10T11:40:00.003-05:00

No cockle shells, I'll admit, but I have to say, I think it's doing pretty well, all things considered. Of course, the things I'm considering are the fact that I'm gardening-impaired and my primary gardening assistant is three years old. But all in all, I'd say we're doing ok. I thought I'd show my faithful readers some garden highlights...

Here's my lovely assistant tending our vegetables and herbs:

These are my impatiens, which make me very happy indeed, as I grew them from three tiny little starter pots:

This is the impressive catnip, more than enough to satisfy the nip-head in residence:
Our tomato plant is pretty productive:

My basil is a thing of beauty, towering over its rosemary friend:

And the plant of whom I am the most proud, for its sheer resilience...

My geranium!

Yes, folks, that is the dear little geranium that got hacked to a nub by an overeager weed-eater. If it can come back, there's hope in all situations.

Simple Pleasures

2010-06-09T12:22:00.002-05:00

I think Bobby McFerrin said it best when he said "Bedoodle doo I'm so happy hah bedoo uh so haaappy-simple pleasures are the best!". Or something like that.

I'm in a dither these days, my brain running in circles at a dizzying clip, while I sort and pack and give things away. When I'm not doing that, I'm online, trying to learn more about the town to which I'm moving, or I'm figuring out our budget, or trying to remember the zillion things I need to do before I leave town. Basically, the move is consuming my every thought and action.

Today, though, I decided to put it all aside for a few hours and just be in the moment, in this beautiful summer day, with my Small One. We worked in the garden. We put together puzzles and played a board game. Lunch was peanut butter and the strawberry-rhubarb jelly we purchased at the strawberry festival last month, and fresh watermelon. Is there anything more indicative of summer than a game of Sorry followed up by watermelon?

Crime Scene Photos

2010-05-31T18:54:00.001-05:00

Small One has a limited collection of Barbie dolls… only princesses, with one Handsome Prince thrown in by my delighted cousin, whose poor daughter always had to let Cinderella date Ken. These dolls live in a pastel briefcase when they are not in use, but today I could not locate the Prince when it came time to put everyone away.

But wait… what’s this?

Oh no!

I’m sorry to say, I suspect foul play.

Summer Sunday

2010-05-30T22:45:00.002-05:00

Drove out to my cousin's today, forty five minutes from my house, and visited with family and old friends. Small One was a little territorial, because there was a new little person visiting her auntie's house, and she was not about to be displaced.

The new little person was a charmer, though, and the day was sunny but not too hot, with intermittent drops of rain to cool it further. We ate and talked and laughed...guitars were strummed, songs were sung. Small One played in the sprinkler, and picked flowers, and by the end of the day her braids had come loose, her feet were bare, and she was running joyfully through the green grass, a wild creature of summer. Watching her reminded me of other summers, years ago, when my older two ran with abandon and fell into the green grass, laughing.

These little moments, these small pictures in my mind, that's what I carry with me of my children's childhoods. I hope that these are the things they carry as well, into adulthood with them, and into the hearts of their own children.

Date Night Fail

2010-05-29T22:49:00.003-05:00

The Man, as I've mentioned, is commuting between states. For the next two months or so, he'll be driving four hours on Friday to come home, four hours on Sunday to go back Knowing he was going to be home this weekend, I decided to plan a date night, and bartered friend-time permission for Middle Child in exchange for a long night of babysitting.

It was to be a long night, because first, a new local restaurant was having a sneak peek of their menu before their grand opening on Tuesday. Those of us who are on the email list for the owner of the restaurant got an invitation to come and eat appetizers and drink wine, in the cool of the evening, until 8pm. The Man and I planned to attend that event, and then proceed to the drive in, for a double feature.

The first blunder of the evening was mine, to be sure. Since last September, I've suffered with tinnitus- persistent ringing in the ears. No one has had much positive to say to me about it, though I've seen an ear nose and throat guy and a neurologist. The neurologist gave me a prescription, though, for something that really helps, but I never take it because it makes me sleepy. In the afternoon, getting ready for date night, struggling to remember why I wasn't taking it, I thought that being sleepy wasn't so bad because my Small was napping. I'd just take the pill and then take a nap, and wake up refreshed and with quieter ear noise! Ta dah! No, not so much. I forgot that "sleepy" doesn't cover it- it puts me into a coma like Sleeping Beauty state that lasts a good 18 hours. I fell asleep at 2pm and at 6 the Man brought me coffee and I dragged my still mostly asleep bones into the living area of the house.

Middle Child was grumpy. She'd planned to meet a friend for lunch, and then have that friend spend the night, and help her with the babysitting. So far, no friend. That being the case, the Man and I reworked our date night plans, and took Small with us to the tasting event. (We invited MC as well, but she declined.) Arriving at the tasting, we declined the free wine- in my case, because I was still struggling with the effects of the ear pill and couldn't get my eyes all the way open. We then played with a three year old while waiters occasionally brought us things like salmon tartare and pimiento cheese on toast- not really ideal. But, no matter! There's still the drive in, right?

We hurried home from the tasting, still starving, and situated Small at the table with some spaghetti. MC was still sullenly awaiting the arrival of her friend, and I must say, I was nervous when we left for the movies. After garnering a promise of attention to her sister from MC, we heated up dinner for ourselves, kissed the girls, and ran back out the door.

Did I mention the sleepiness brought on by those pills? In case you're not yet clear on how bad the effect is, let me just say, I fell asleep at the drive in. During Iron Man. During an ACTION SEQUENCE. The man kept waking me up, and I kept apologizing, because I really wanted to hang out with him, and I really wanted to see the movie! Alas, midway through the film, MC called. Small had vomited in her bed, and our assistance was needed.

We bargained for a rain check, and raced home to clean vomit off of sheets and floor- MC had focused solely on her sister, who was playing happily in the tub when we got there. No friend had arrived for MC, so she went to bed, discouraged.

We finally got the whole situation resolved at 11:30 pm, and settled in to watch a dvd, which is the same time that I wrote this blog entry. Deciding at 11:50 that I was too sleepy to proofread, I told the Man that I was going to snooze for 20 minutes, and he told me he'd pause the dvd player- it was 6:30 am when I awoke to realize his laptop and mine still between us on the bed, with his hands, in fact, still on the keys. The laundry from last night's debacle, still needing to be folded, still on the foot of the bed, both of us sleeping awkwardly positioned around all of that. Are we having fun yet?

Highlight of my Night

2010-05-28T22:57:00.002-05:00

I didn't feel well today. I woke up nauseous, with the kind of vertigo that I've ever only experienced a time or two, after a night of drinking. No drinking last night or today, just the disorienting feeling that the room was alternately spinning in circles and rolling beneath me as though we were at sea.

I looked it up on WebMd.com. This is not really the best choice, I realize, and it's probably better never to google your own health issues, but I was curious as to what I should do. There was a checklist on the vertigo page, and two thirds of the way through it, it asked "do you have ringing in the ears (tinnitus)?" Well, yeah. I've had that for the better part of a year, to the bewilderment of the ent, general practitioner, and neurologist. So I checked "yes", and WebMd immediately became very closed mouthed and told me I needed to get to a doctor immediately. Sigh. So I did what any sensible person would do- I took a Dramamine and went to sleep.

Feeling a little better this evening, I bustled about, packing boxes, cooking, cleaning... the Man was due home tonight from his new out of state commute, and I was letting Small stay up to see him, so it was very hectic. Small was "helping" me by packing things she wanted to keep into boxes that were going away, and similar unhelpful tasks. But then something happened that made me laugh out loud.

I was loading the dishwasher, but a box had somehow migrated under the dishwasher door, so I could not get it all the way open. I nudged the box with my foot, knowing it hadn't yet been packed, but it was heavier than I thought, or perhaps wedged, so I gave it a slightly firmer kick. At that point, my foot slipped inside the open end of the box, and the box hissed really loudly!

My laughter did nothing to assuage the offended feelings of my feline, I assure you. The disdainful glare he gave me as he exited the box and shook the dust off of his tail was one of the better moments of my day. Sorry, kitty!

Song Choice and a Personal Trainer

2010-05-27T22:47:00.003-05:00

As I mentioned, I went out last night. Arriving home, I became engrossed in research regarding my impending relocation, and did not go to bed at a reasonable hour. My little dog, not known for his timing, began barking his crazy head off at midnight- presumably because an errant bunny was considering breaking into our home to steal the television?

I went in and silenced the dog (not with a silencer, just by asking nicely), and locked up the house, but still didn't make it to bed for quite a while. At 3:30, he started up again, and again at 5. At 5, when I went to handle it, I realized I was humming. It took me a minute to remember the words to the old tune, but when I did, it made me giggle:

"Whisper a prayer in the morning
Whisper a prayer at noon
Whisper a prayer in the evening
To keep your heart in tune..."

I'm certain that's what the dear canine was doing- whispering a prayer.

To her credit, Small One slept in until 8:22 am. I coerced her into watching public television for a little while so I could steal a few more minutes, not even caring that my doze was peppered with visions of Dinosaur Train and Curious George. After a brief while, though, Small One shook me back awake.

"Mommy!" she said, "You needa wake UP! I think the gym is open, and the kids' club!"

Ah, it's good to have a live-in personal trainer- even one that's three feet tall.

Girls' Night

2010-05-26T22:51:00.004-05:00

It's been hectic around my house lately, with a lot of changes and a lot of traveling. Tonight, though, I had the opportunity to spend some time with some of my girlfriends. I have to say, it was a wonderful time of refreshment for me, and really reminded me of how much I've missed some of these wonderful women.

I was never really much of a girlfriend type of girl. I've always been the type to prefer the simplicity of male company, and at any given time I've really only had one or two truly close girlfriends. I was never in a sorority, never understood the appeal of groups like that, always had likeminded girlfriends who considered themselves "more a guy's girl than a girly girl".

Now, though, I'm ridiculously wealthy when it comes to female friends. I have a lovely Sunday school class, full of wonderful, warm, funny women. I have wonderful older women who have been mentors as well as friends. I have a sister, cousins, sisters in law, all of whom I love with my whole heart. And I have an eclectic mix of girlfriends, including the crew that came out tonight. Some of them knew each other quite well, some met tonight, some I've known for my whole life, some only a few months, but everyone chatted, laughed, and generally spent two and half hours enjoying each others company. It was such a blessing to me, I felt like I had a giant smile on my face the whole time, and it wasn't just the pomegranate martinis doing it.

I did have a funny moment early in the day, though. I received an email inviting me to enter a contest with a local mom's group, to win tickets to the sneak preview of Sex and the City 2. I told my girlfriends this tonight, and they all responded with excitement- until I said that I didn't enter the contest because the tickets were only good tonight, and I knew we already had this planned dinner. They looked disappointed for a moment, but then laughed just as I had earlier, when I pointed out that it seemed imminently better to actually go out, with my actual girlfriends, for real cocktails, rather than sit in a theater and live vicariously through fictional girlfriends. After we finished laughing, we ordered another round. Much better than a movie. Thanks, girls.

The Great Outdoors

2010-05-25T22:57:00.004-05:00

I may have mentioned this a time or two before, but I am an indoor girl. You know, there are indoor cats and outdoor cats? Yes, well, I am the kind of girl who much prefers a saucer of cream and a velvet cushion to chasing mice through the tall grass. I'm not a big camper, sunbathing literally makes me break out in a rash, I don't care for outdoor sports- (who am I kidding, I don't care for sports in general)- I've never understood the charm of working in the garden, and I loathe yard work.

Last year, with the help of an outdoorsy friend, I cultivated a successful container garden. This year, buoyed by last year's triumphant basil and tomato-ing, I've planted another one. I was even bold enough to go one step further and purchase impatiens and a geranium! The impatiens are thriving, (no surprise there, they're hard to kill), my vegetables seem to be doing well, the catnip is out of control, the basil is gorgeous, but I must admit, the poor little geranium has been looking a little bit peaked. I was at my cousin's house today, admiring her gorgeous garden, and I complimented her geraniums, mentioning my sad little specimen. She told me you really have to cut the geraniums back for them to do well.

Returning home, I was thrilled to see that the yard guys had come. Yard men are a new addition to my world. We are not the sort of people who typically hire help, but since the Man is out of town, leaving me in charge of the yard as well as the house, I asked for help from my dear friend and neighbor, from Northstar Christmas Trees, who is a landscape designer during the non-Christmas-tree months. He was on his way out of town, but assured me he'd "hook me up" and let his guys know what needed to be done- and wow! My yard has never looked so fantastic! It's mown, edged, blown, and probably other words I don't know since I'm yardwork impaired, but trust me, it's a miracle to behold.

I was so excited, I went to check out the similarly beautified back yard, and was inspired to tend to my little garden. I filled the watering can for Small One, and turned my hose towards the little geranium...gasp! The dear little geranium has been hacked down to a nub. Uh oh, yard guys. On the other hand, my cousin did say they needed to be cut back. Mission accomplished!

Boxy Mcboxerton

2010-05-24T22:17:00.002-05:00

My home is becoming a little overwhelmed with boxes right now, which is fitting, because I'm a little overwhelmed with the thought of packing all those boxes. It all makes sense.

Boxes, good boxes, are pricey. Yes, I know you can get boxes from the liquor store or the grocery store, but the ones I really want to use are the real truly live packing boxes, the ones that were meant to be used in a move, and have never held a head of lettuce or a bottle of whiskey.

Luckily for me, I know about Freecycle. In case any of you are not aware,Freecycle is one of the greatest concepts known to modern man, a group people join to promote reuse and save things from the landfills. Here's how it works- people who want to get rid of things post a note offering them up to other "freecyclers" for (and this is the key) free. Contrariwise (as the Tweedles would say), people who need things can post a "wanted" note, and other freecyclers volunteer to give them those things!

It's a genius system. We've gotten rid of appliances, baby toys, books, and other unwanted brick-a-brack, and received good and useful things like, in this case, boxes! Boxes aplenty! Wonderful, generous freecyclers have come forward, and I even scored a wardrobe box. Amazing, but true!

One box, though, has me a little bit bewildered. On the side of it, it reads "Mini Puppies- best by 2/26/2011". I don't even want to speculate on the origin of that box.

Lazy Sunday

2010-05-23T20:47:00.003-05:00

Doing this NaBloPoMo challenge is exactly that- a challenge. It doesn't sound so hard to blog every day for thirty days in a row, but some days it's more difficult than you would imagine. Let's face it, I'm just seriously not that interesting! Sometimes I do nothing notable for an entire day.

Today, for example, was an extremely lazy Sunday. The Man was preparing to leave for his new job, planning to return later in the week. He didn't really want to go to church, preferring to hang out and spend some quality time before the routine changes. So we slept in, ate French toast, played, and just generally lounged about.

We did pick up some boxes and packing tape, so I guess that's an accomplishment. But perhaps more noteworthy, I got my three year old to not only eat kale, but to declare it "super yummy!". That, I'd say, is the most satisfying accomplishment of my day.

Sometimes I'm easily satisfied.

Giving it Up

2010-05-22T22:23:00.002-05:00

As I mentioned in an earlier post, we're contemplating a move. The Man has been through all the meetings and negotiations, and it now comes down to a decision on our part. Do we stay or do we go?

I'm not really an obsessive person. I'm actually pretty relaxed, in most circumstances. But when I have a big decision to make, I can't stop going over and over it in my mind. I think about it, I pray about it, I make lists of the pros and cons, I talk it over with friends and family...I blog about it.

Over the past few days, I started to have the nagging feeling that I was getting too tangled up in emotions to think clearly, and too circular in my thoughts to hear any answers to my prayers. I started redirecting my prayers, turning them from pleas for a sign on the decision to a request for clarity on what's me and what's more than me. And suddenly, I had an answer:

"The decision belongs to your husband."

Huh? Yeah, ok, but we're partners. I'm hardly a strident feminist, but there is a certain equality that I treasure in our marriage...

"The decision belongs to your husband. You chose him as your husband, let him make this choice."

Ok, that definitely did NOT come from my own brain. My brain is the one that almost lost my last baby because I was so convinced that the world would stop revolving if I slowed down at all, stopped making all the decisions, stopped trying to save everyone.

I paused to consider what I was hearing. I allowed myself to become quiet, in my person, and in my mind. And the interesting thing is, I felt a sudden peace about the situation, once I made the choice to allow the decision to belong to the Man. It was liberating.

And here's another interesting thing. My typically indecisive husband thanked me for stepping back, and he quietly but firmly made a decision. We will be moving. Whether it's long term remains to be seen, and I've requested that he keep an ear to the ground for opportunities here in our beloved home, but for now, the decision has been made.

Having given up that piece of control, I'm really at peace with the whole thing.

Hope

2010-05-21T21:50:00.005-05:00

I am not tall. This is actually an understatement, as I am five foot two inches, taller than very few of my friends and acquaintances, short by any standards. When my son was a preteen and got excited about outgrowing me, I had to burst his bubble and point out that, even for a twelve year old, this is not such an accomplishment.

Most household tasks I handle quite well, and don't consider my height an impediment. But this year, I decided to grow my tomatoes upside down- (all the cool kids are doing it, it seems)- in one of those containers meant to be hung from the eaves. This was a dilemma for me, not only because my height makes all things eaves-related daunting,
but also because the package also specified "full sun", and our eaves are rather shady. I thought I'd solved the problem brilliantly when I purchased a shepherd's hook for the garden, but while I was out of town, it became apparent to the Man that the shepherd's hook was no match for the heavy planter. His solution was to hang it on the hammock.

I argued that this was not a good spot, because it was too low to the ground, and I encouraged him to hang it from the eaves by the front door, which was my mother's suggestion. He did not. This was great news for the bunnies who live in our yard, because it was directly within their reach, which was, of course, bad news for the tomato plant.

The delighted little bunnies chewed it down to a nub, at which point the Man acquiesced, and decided it was time to move it to the front eaves. I was doubtful that it would make any difference at this point, as it was literally a sad little leafless green nub, but today when I went to water it, I saw this:

I don't know if you can see it, but there's a sprout on the bottom, a little green leaf midway up, and, right where it meets the container, a new little shoot has sprouted it's own leaves and grown about an inch long.

That, in my opinion, is what hope looks like.

Summer Start

2010-05-20T19:12:00.008-05:00

The definition of a cockeyed optimist, in my opinion, is someone who knows full well that she has a preschooler, and yet tells people she will leave her house in ten minutes. I'm not sure why I always do that, overestimate my own ability to be a superhero, but I always truly believe in what I'm saying, even though I realize that ultimately it makes me look like a flake. I'm not a flake, I just overextend.

We did eventually get to where we were going today, and where we were going was a playdate with our dear friends. Small One was excited to get into her bathing suit for the first time this year, and who can blame her? These two girls are awfully cute in their swimwear.

They were shooting water rockets and playing with the hose, and there was initial trepidation- they kept saying "this water is too wet!" I found this funny, because isn't that pretty much the definition of water? They got over it, though, because who can resist the allure of playing with your own personal rainbow?
It gave me a general sense of well being, watching these sweet girls play. I love Summer almost as much as I love Spring, though for different reasons. I love Spring because of the lush beauty of it, the aspect of rebirth after the Winter, the gorgeous bursts of color everywhere you turn. I love Summer for the laziness. Summer is Spring's more laid back sibling, shaking its head over Spring's excesses, from the vantage point of a hammock in the shade. As with every hammock lying creature, Summer is burnt out after a few months, but these first days are wonderful, to be sure.

Middle Child finishes the school year tomorrow, and there are many changes coming in our lives very soon. But for now, I just really want this Summer, the lazy days, a time to kick back with my children and enjoy the people they are. I'm grateful for today, for just that sort of opportunity, to start the Summer the right way, with friends and water and ice cream and rainbows. Here's to many more days like this!

Wordless Wednesday: Look Up Edition

2010-05-19T22:17:00.005-05:00

Today

2010-05-18T22:59:00.002-05:00

Today marked two momentous gatherings. The first was a meeting my dear Man attended, in which he was more or less offered a job in another town, four hours from here. (I say more or less because there's an additional meeting in the morning, to wrap up the details.)

The gathering of which I was a part was the final class of the year for my Small One. I don't think she quite understands that preschool is over for the year, and I don't think her classmates realize it either, but I could tell from their faces that it was a bittersweet moment for many of the moms. Childhood goes too quickly, and every milestone is just another reminder that they're moving on to the next age, the next phase. It was a great time, this morning, and the teachers gave us these wonderful keepsake books chronicling our children's first year of preschool, but even looking through the books pointed out how far they've come in a year, and how quickly they're continuing to go.

It was particularly emotional for me, though, because if the Man takes this job (and he really should, it's a significant pay raise), my Small will not be back at that school next year. As much as I'm trying to keep a stiff upper lip about it, for the good of the family, that makes me incredibly sad. I really wanted her to stay at that school until kindergarten. The school is part of our church, and we've been at that church, and in this town, for thirteen years. I'm sure that there will be many positive things about moving away, but I'm not in a place to see them yet. My friends are here, my community is here, my life is here.

My bank is here. Small One and I stopped by the bank today after the preschool party. We bank at a local bank, with free popcorn in the lobby and tellers that have doted on Small since she was much smaller. We opened our account the month after we got married, and everyone there knows us by name. I mentioned to one of the women there today that this move may be in the works, and she shook her head adamantly. "You go on and move then," she said, "because I know the money's good, but the baby stays HERE, with us. Don't worry, Mama, we'll take good care of her!"

We laughed, and I made the usual comment, about not being able to manage without her. But it makes me wonder- how will I find another such bank?

Jiggety Jig

2010-05-17T19:40:00.004-05:00

I'm home again, and happy to be here. It seems like I've been perpetually on the road lately, and I feel like I'm behind in every area of my life- stalled out by too much time in other places, not enough attention to my own world. I'm trying to get caught up, but I'm mindful of the fact that I will probably be back on the road within the next couple of weeks, so I feel a real time crunch. I'm trying to arrange time with friends, set up meetings regarding new opportunities, tend to the garden and pets, and clean the house.

Cleaning the house, to be honest, feels a lot like digging to China with a teaspoon. I'll start in the living room, for example, dusting, sweeping, and mopping, move on to the dining room, head to the kitchen, and, feeling a great sense of accomplishment, walk through the living room to put something away, only to find that the fur on the floor is equivalent to the fur I removed ten minutes earlier. In addition, having a teenager and a preschooler in the house assures that for every piece of clutter I put away, two more pieces spring, unbidden, to take its place. It's frustrating, to be sure. I'm scooping away with the spoon, and China is never any closer.

If I'm being truly honest, I will also admit that we have a minor hoarding problem. Well, ok, it may be more than minor, but I promise it's not like the people on A&E, but I do feel a sad sort of kinship with those people when I watch the show. I don't have cable, so I really only watch the show when I'm visiting my sister, and then I'm sitting alone, after she has gone to bed, in horror, unable to look away. The problem with that show is that those people have experts that come and fix them, which I must admit makes me insanely jealous, because I want someone to come hold my hand and say to me "It doesn't matter if your grandmother gave it to you, it's a polka dotted suit, and you won't wear it, so give it away!" Or "No, you actually don't need that broken hair clip or the egg dipping wires from Easter."

No one comes to do that. No one holds my hand. So I have to tell myself that I don't need those egg dippers, when in fact I put up a pretty good argument for keeping them, since most egg dyeing sets only come with one dipper and we all have to share. Wouldn't it be more convenient if we each had our own? The problem is, by next Easter I will have forgotten where I put the wires, even if I've made every attempt to find a logical spot for them.

I'm also, of course, perpetually struggling with my darling Man's idea of recycling. I believe I've mentioned his recycling technique in a previous blog entry, but to recap, he puts things in my way until I can't stand it any longer and a)throw them away, b)figure out somewhere to take them, or c)throw a fit that causes him to put them in his car. I'm not sure that leaving egg cartons and plastic bags in his car is actually considered recycling, but at least they're not in a landfill, right? My soapbox of the day is batteries. We have two junk drawers in the kitchen, and over half of each drawer is full of dead batteries! What am I to do with those? I have no idea. More research is needed, I suppose. For today, I've closed the drawers and I'm pretending they aren't there.

I had a small victory today, though. I'm actually proud enough of it to share, and if any of my dear readers have a hoarding issue like mine, you'll appreciate the enormity of this accomplishment. I threw away my wedding bouquet. Because, after almost ten years of marriage, I have come to terms with the fact that, since I'm keeping the Man, and I have photographic documentation, it's rather pointless to keep a dried out, unattractive, somewhat dusty bouquet. China, here I come!

Silly Sunday Part 2

2010-05-16T12:38:00.003-05:00

It's just not a party until my mom teaches a clinic on how to make flatulent sounds with the hands. (Because you never know when you might need to know that!) Poor video quality, but you get the idea.

Silly Sunday

2010-05-16T10:05:00.002-05:00

Someone had too much to drink at my birthday celebration. Hint: it wasn't me, and the beverage in question was water.

No Moon Pies THIS Time

2010-05-15T22:53:00.000-05:00

So, today was my birthday, and we're in Nashville. I have some family up here- my aunt and uncle, cousin and her family, and of course, my sister. Additionally, my mom's up here this weekend, because of the Alias show last night, so it was nice timing to have a family celebration for my birthday.

We had my birthday in Nashville last year, too, but that was a little bit different. It was the brainchild of my sweet young sister-in-law, who thought it would be fun to combine my birthday and her bachelorette party, and make a weekend of it. It was a lot of fun, I will say, but involved a lot of drinking, as well. In fact, this afternoon my sister-in-law and I were trying to reassemble the order in which we visited various places that weekend, and were pitifully inept. As the song says, blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol.

This weekend had a different tone. Unlike last year, we did not have bachelorette party girls with us, and, also unlike last year, we did have the Man and Small One in tow- so the venues were tamer, the fun more family friendly. Last night, of course, we went to my sister's show, and during intermission, my aunt asked me if we wanted to go to the Moon Pie festival.
"There's a Moon Pie festival?" I asked, incredulously.
"Sure!" she exclaimed, "Do you know how many flavors of Moon Pie there are? A LOT of flavors. AND they deep fry them. AND there's R.C. Cola."
Well, now, I ask you- who could resist an event like that? So I said that of course I'd want to go, and then I asked what time they were leaving. She said 8:30. I paused for a moment, certain I'd misheard, but no. 8:30. In the MORNING. Because if you don't grab that first Moon Pie before 9, you've wasted your day? Nevertheless, despite my personal "no Moon Pies before noon" philosophy, we decided to go.

Arriving home, I puttered around a bit, then at about 1am thought I might check out the Moon Pie festival online. Turns out, it wasn't this weekend at all! I'm really glad I figured that out, though, because there actually was some sort of biker gathering in the town to which we were headed, and I would have been deeply upset to have gotten up early on my birthday to go see bikers. We regrouped, and decided to go to the Strawberry Festival in Portland, TN.

It was a wonderful day, overall, and I very much enjoyed having a chance to visit with my family. We ate lovely strawberry shortcake- really, top notch, and probably too much of it. And Small One had fun bouncing,

climbing,

and sliding down various inflatable things.

I learned a few things today, as well, like this:

which I wouldn't have expected, since it was roughly three hundred and eight degrees outside today. I also found out what the Six Million Dollar Man has been up to since 1999:

That's really good, I think- good to see him staying busy. But the biggest revelation at the Strawberry Festival was some of the crafts. I'd been blissfully unaware, until today, that people made hair bows out of bottle caps! Were you aware? I didn't get a picture, but you can get the idea out of this one I found online. You get the idea, though, and I can't figure out where one might wear these unless it is to some sort of pageant. A pageant for the tacky, perhaps.

The biggest surprise to me, though, was the garden hose wreaths. I mean, nothing says "Welcome to Our Home" like a big old garden hose hanging on your front door. Thanks, Strawberry Festival folks, for the idea- I'm going to go put on one my door the instant I can manage it.

Talk amongst yourselves- Wordless Thursday?

2010-05-13T22:14:00.002-05:00

Oh, no she DIDN'T

2010-05-12T19:08:00.002-05:00

But oh, yes, she did.

I need a vacation. Preferably all expenses paid, to some tropical locale like Maui or Jamaica. I need massages and time to read novels by the pool, and fruity drinks.

It's not going to happen, of course. I'm the Mama, and whoever said woman's work is never done was dead on. Today was one of those days, where I hit the ground running, and ran until Small One and I were both a bit ragged. Truthfully, it was two hours past naptime when I took her to the grocery store, which is a rookie mistake, and I know better, but sometimes, that's just the way it goes.

We walked into the grocery store, and Small began clamoring to ride in one of those ridiculous buggies with the steering wheels on the child's seat, meant to look like a car. Some of those buggies aren't bad, but this particular store has horrible ones, twice as long as a regular cart, and practically impossible to maneuver. Sometimes I'm indulgent, but today I was not. I told her no and firmly but calmly wrestled her into a cart, under the malevolent glare of several old biddies, because of course, Wednesday is when senior citizens get a discount, so they firmly believe they should be the only ones allowed in the store, I think. Silly me, forgetting.

Just as I got her settled and walked through the door, something completely unbelievable and horrifying happened. My Small, who is typically rather mature for her age, leaned over and put her MOUTH on the side of the cart. Mortified, I grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back far enough to remove her mouth from the e coli she was surely about to ingest, and she let out an impressive wail. "Yooou HURT meeeeee!" she howled, and I glared at her and informed her through clenched teeth that much worse things would happen if the noise did not stop. It stopped.

The rest of the grocery trip was uneventful- as uneventful as any grocery trip with a preschooler can be- and I'd almost forgotten the incident when we got to the register. At that point, she began begging for a balloon. Still not in an indulgent mood, I declined to troop back to the floral department for a free one, and further declined to pay for one of the pricey ones at the register.

She was mad. SO mad, that just then, she smiled prettily at the cashier to get her attention, then turned to me and loudly said, "Mommy, why do I have tears in my eyes? Oh, I remember- it's from when you grabbed my arm like THIS and hurt me really really bad." (This was accompanied by her pinching her own arm so hard it turned bright red.) I looked at the cashier, who looked back at me with a face of stone. I smiled at her. Then I fled the premises.

Small knew she was in trouble. Before we even left the store she started apologizing. I told her that if she ever did anything like that again, she would not even know what hit her, she'd be in so much trouble. Then I made her sit in silence on the way home, no music, and none of the fruity snack she'd been promised. She broke the silence occasionally, to tell me how very VERY sorry she is, and what a good girl she'll be in the future. I told her to be good in the present, by zipping her lip.

I love my children, really I do. Children are a gift from God, and I'll keep saying that as a mantra until mine are grown, because what else can I do? He didn't give me a gift receipt. But I need a vacation. Or at least a nap.