One Hot Mama's Guide to Life

The Don't Wannas

2012-01-27T09:54:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we don't want to go to school. It's fun there, most of the time. But sometimes it's scary. There are people there who rub us wrong, and there is food we don't like to eat, and there are problems we don't know how to solve. It's also frequently loud and and sometimes unfair. People don't do what they are supposed to do. People ask us to do things we don't want to do. Sometimes we're mean to each other. Sometimes we say things we didn't intend to say.

Come to think of it, school is just like home. Or the office. Or church. Or anyplace a bunch of people cluster and rub up against each other.

I'm going out of town soon. Because going to school is ruining our lives, I told Small Fry I'd come to her school lunch, but she had to make me a promise. If I came, no crying when I had to leave. Because it would make me cry, too. You know how that goes.

She promised.

After we ate our saltines and turkey slices and drank all the juice and sweet tea, it was time to say good-bye. And do you know what that turkey did? She lets out a big wail - Nooooooooo - and throws herself onto my lap. Great, I'm thinking. How am I going to get out of this?

Suddenly she pops up, one finger in the air and a smile on her face.

"But I'm not crying," she said. "I'm just shrieking."

Love that kid.

Taking Love

2012-01-16T07:08:00.000-08:00

I really enjoyed this beautiful post about falling in love, all over again:

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/01/the-4-minute-marriage-habit-how-to-make-2012-the-year-you-fall-madly-in-love-all-over-again/

It reminds me of taking love.

Sometimes Cutie Pie gets claustrophobic when we cuddle up. I know, right? This is a source of great entertainment to me, especially when he tries so gentlemanly-like to scoot out of my hot embrace. I can always make him laugh by clinging on for dear life and breathing hotly on his neck, refusing to let him escape. We call this "taking love." Sometimes he does it to me, when I'm in a give-me-my-space-I'm-trying-to-read frame of mind. He does it to the pets sometimes, when they try to climb out of his lap or jump out of his arms. He holds them ever tighter and pets them over-enthusiastically, exhorting them to take love.

He does it to our kids too, when one is crabby and sulky. He scoops the offender up into his arms, gangly legs and arms shooting out at all angles, and tries to rock them as he did when they were babies, shaping them into the little footballs they refuse to become again. Back and forth, tighter and tighter, telling them to take love.

It's just a silly thing that makes us laugh, but there is something profound even in the silly things. Aren't we grateful for those people in our lives willing to reach out to us in our prickliest times, when we are all Push Away and Grumble? Those who determine to remind us: We are loved. We are loveable. Even when we don't act like it. Even when we don't feel like it.

I know well that God puts those kind of people in our lives for a reason - to give us a glimpse of Himself. And because He delights in giving us good gifts.

Take love, He insists. Will I?

Stuffed

2011-12-30T13:11:00.000-08:00

Here we are...mid-vacation, and I have just plumb stuffed myself.

I stuffed myself into a minivan with three other people for 650 miles (and counting).

I stuffed myself into childhood bedrooms, beautifully appointed guest rooms and cramped hotel rooms.

I stuffed myself with beautiful, rich, homemade food as well as poorly cooked, oversalted and overpriced restaurant food. I've scaled the heights of my mother's delicious baked turkey, and I've plumbed the depths of IHOP. I've eaten a lot of chocolate. I've downed countless cups of coffee and glasses of wine.

I've crisscrossed the state, taking in the glorious Atlantic Ocean, the manicured, blue-sky middle, the moss-laden oak trees, the swaying palms and the lakes and rivers that have formed the backdrop of my life.

I've stuffed stockings, suitcases, and gift boxes under the tree. I've stuffed Christmas traditions and child happy-making experiences into every minute of every day.

I've stuffed as much meaningful conversation and lingering hugs and expressions of love as possible into brief, once-a-year encounters with far flung loved ones and friends. I've stuffed 365 days of life into two hours. They call it "catching up."

I've grieved...we've lost people this year. I've been elated...we've gained new people this year. I could cry just thinking about it all.

Today, we're quiet. The four of us stumbled into my parents' house and pretty much passed out. We are veggie-like, lying low in our birth soil, breathing in the nutrients all around us. Recharging. I think my children have watched about 6 hours of Sponge Bob, Square Pants. This will scare me, tomorrow. Right now, I'm so grateful for the quiet.

I'm stuffed full of life and all its messy, beautiful, overwhelming bits. Or to say it more eloquently...my cup runneth over.

I hope yours does as well.

Are you ready?

2011-12-22T05:47:00.001-08:00

"Are you ready for Christmas?"

These late December days inevitably lead to that question. And the inevitable answer...nah, still have this to do, that to do... And the sometimes spoken (sometimes not) feeling of, ugh, I just can't wait for all this craziness to be over.

But I think we are ready. In fact, I think we are desperately ready. Today, I declare myself DONE (love those Target commercials) and ready to receive the gift of Christmas. Ponder my incarnation, my devotion read this morning, but not intellectually. Instead, do as the wise men did...follow the leading of the star and fall down in humble worship when you find me.

It's time to get quiet and get out of the stores. I'm pondering my blessings, the grace that God has shown me and all of us. He still performs miracles in our midst! Just look at the two He performed for me. Walking, talking, funny little miracles. Even as He offered the grace of His Son, He still cares about our little happinesses and our everyday joys. This is a mystery that I cannot ponder intellectually, but humbly and with my whole heart.

Merry Christmas.

Taking Sides

2011-12-19T20:42:00.001-08:00

"Why can't you see my side?"

These are the words I was faced with tonight at the moment, the very moment, when I was so tired I didn't want to see ANY sides except maybe my backside glued to the couch with a glass of eggnog on one side and a quiet, loving husband on the other.

The trouble is...I do! I see both sides of every pancake but it doesn't make it any easier to resolve the trouble. I just don't know the right answer. Do we just enjoy the argument, the spiraling down...("What's a debate team, mom?" Lord, help us.) Or do we truly hope for a bit of wisdom, some nugget that will make everything OK again? Don't I long to make everything OK again for them? God knows I do.

When I run to Him with my list of grievances, isn't that what I desire? Make it all OK again! Ride in on your white horse and smite these bothersome enemies who have unfairly bothered me. TAKE THEM OUT. It's all I want. Didn't David beg for the same thing? And when it doesn't happen, don't I feel slighted, petulant, gloomy and unloved? But how does a mother (or Father) choose between two beloved children? I envy God His perfect justice.

There's something there, something profound, that I'm still trying to grasp. Justice, fairness and dealing in Reality, all wrapped up in unending, unstoppable, Ain't No Mountain High Enough kind of Love. And there is Christmas in a nutshell. Nothing could keep Him from me. Nothing could stop Him from delivering Perfect Justice wrapped in Perfect Love. The ultimate gift.

My shortcomings will continue to pain me. But I just keep hoping that wrapping them up in Love will make everything OK again.

Linking up with Chatting at the Sky for Tuesdays Unwrapped here:

http://www.chattingatthesky.com/2011/12/20/tuesdays-unwrapped-the-last-one/

Looking Up

2011-10-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

The pace of life can be frustrating. With so many options, how do we select the right path? With so many ways to bear fruit, how do we dig through the abundant piles to find the perfect seed to plant? I'm so easily discouraged when my attention is diverted from Heaven to the imperfect earth. I'm like the 2-year-old boy I held on Sunday...he was crying and unable to focus on anything except his grief at being separated from his daddy. I held him and tried all my tricks -- rocking, patting, reasoning, reassurance. He allowed Big Stuff to dab at his tears, but they continued to fall unabated. Nothing worked until I remembered that oh-so-effective 2-year-old tactic: Distraction!! As I held him close, I directed his eyes up, to the shapes on the wall...friendly squares and smiling circles, hearts that held up their hands as if to say "What's up, little dude?" His eyes traveled away from all the unfamiliar not-daddy faces to the fascinating information that he was learning, step by tiny step. Looking up mitigated his grief and helped him look forward. It's so hard to look up sometimes. Our heads and gazes gravitate to the ground, our necks pressed hard and bent by trials and suffering. Sometimes we can only see a few inches around our own feet. That is when we must ask to be carried, patted, reassured and shown the way to look up.

2 Corinthians 1:3-7: Love that.

A Severe Case of ADD

2011-10-04T10:42:00.000-07:00

I think I may be a victim of focus deficit or information overload. ADD? Who DOESN'T have it in this world we live in? I may have said yes one too many times. I'm usually so good about that. No tends roll easily off my tongue, and (I'm sure you're shocked) I almost never feel guilty about it! I can say no to other people but I think, lately, I've been saying yes to ME too much!

It goes something like this: Yes, I will get utterly organized and on top of everything in my life. Because I never again want to lose an important document or piece of paper that costs me 45 minutes to find. Yes, I will eat healthy. I will reduce my portions and eat mostly fruits and vegetables. Except for cantaloupe. Because apparently you can't even eat a dadgum piece of fruit anymore without sending it through a biohazard removal machine. I will scrub my fruit and vegetables. That reminds me...Yes, I need to plant and grow my own food. Yes, I will play tennis because that is good exercise and a great mind-clearer. Except for when you lose five matches straight, and it starts becoming one more reason to feel inadequate. Yes, I will show up more at my kids' activities and at their schools. I'll be more involved. I will know their friends. I'll monitor their texts and filter everything they see and hear. I'll protect their hearts. Yes, I will declutter, I will wash the dog, I will reorganize my closets, I will start dusting and washing more often so it won't pile up, causing me to cry when I consider the sheer enormity of the pile. Yes, I will hunt down and remove allergens so my kid can sleep at night without a Breathe Right strip on her little freckled nose. Yes, I will make dinner because it is cheaper and more nutritious and when kids have dinner with their parents more than five times a week, they are unlikely to get involved in sex, drugs or rock n roll (who has the time to do these studies is what I would like to know). Yes, I will track down every last stinking coupon I can find for toothpaste, even if it's not the kind I like, saving me vast amounts of nickels and dimes, and I will stock up, make room for massive hoarding and as God is my witness, never run out of toliet paper again. Yes, I will watch the news and be informed, and I will read quality fiction, and I will not be distracted by Facebook and interesting blogs that make me feel like an unproductive slug who lacks ambition and I will WRITE and I will get published (hooray!) and I will help children learn long division and math facts (blech!). And yes, I will make time for myself, and I will pray and I won't forget about Cutie Pie and I will check in and make dates and take the dry cleaning that has been piled in my closet for who knows how long. Yes, I will give generously to well researched causes. Yes, I will make my kids do chores so they can learn responsibility and how to handle money and one day they will be financial geniuses who can afford to take care of their decrepit parents in the style to which they have become accustomed (beachfront, that is). Yes, I will drive myself into an early stint at the institution.

It should go like this: STOP IT! One thing at a time.

What do you HAVE to do today? Breathe in and breathe out. That's it. Let's all take a moment.

Fall

2011-09-07T14:19:00.000-07:00

Image: Pixomar / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I love Fall in my town. Yesterday we had our first cool day, after several brutal weeks of 90+ degree heat. It takes me back to the autumn when we first moved here, away for the first time from the state of our births where the seasons are not exactly prominent. It also reminds me of when we moved to the house where we now live...also a cool week in autumn five years ago, one week before Halloween. I knew we had found the right place when I saw all the kids in our neighborhood and their parents out trick or treating on that festive night. I don't know what it is. The warm colors, the fine quality of the air, the excitement of a new school year and college football... The taste of apples, pumpkin bread, chili and cinnamon on our tongues.. Fires in the fireplace and blankets on our bed...

Funny how a simple drop in temperature and a smell in the air can bring back such strong memories.

Reminiscing...aka a good way to avoid the gym

2011-08-23T06:43:00.000-07:00

First Days

What promise they hold....

1st day of preschool 2006

What excitement....

1st day of kindergarten 2006

Maybe even a tear or two? (for mamas alone)

First day of school 2011

First days remind me of how far we've come, and how fast. Is it actually possible to grow a whole inch in a single month? (Yes, yes it is!) Is it really true that baby teeth drop away and young lady smiles come into their own? It is possible that miraculous, super hero brains add new pathways and connections every day? Is it accurate that little beings who were once woven into my very DNA could be becoming people with their own opinions, perspectives and lives? Could it be that these girls are growing up? Say it ain't so!! But at the same time, Thank You, God, for letting it be. Healthy, happy, lovely girls that I haven't screwed up too much. Yet.

We are blessed beyond measure.

What do First Days make you think about?

Happy Times

2011-08-04T06:25:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a week at the beach with friends. It was a repeat of a trip we took together in 2007…same people, same house (aptly dubbed Happy Times), same beautiful views. We looked at pictures of our 2007 trip and noticed: We are four years older… which, to the adults, seems like no time at all. (Some of us even recognized hats and bathing suits that made encore appearances at the beach). However, 2-year-olds have transformed into 6-year-olds and those who were merely 6 have suddenly become 10. The youngest will be starting kindergarten, while three will be ending their elementary school days in a few short months. Our list of Things to Bring in 2007 included strollers, play-doh and highchairs. This year we had to discuss ahead of time whether we’d be allowing iTouches, texting, DS games or the Wii. (We decided, with the kids’ leadership, that none were needed at the beach). Last time, we had to consider diapers, water wings and naptimes. This time, we could watch from afar as six children moved as a herd between riding the waves, digging holes, building sprawling fantasy forts in the sand, throwing their lines into the creek and pulling back fish after tiny fish, digging for clams, making tie dye and chocolate moustaches, playing board games and foosball, preparing their own snacks and trekking back to the waves to do it all over again.

They were a sight to behold.

Sometimes we joined them in their adventures. Sometimes we buried ourselves in those rarefied times called Reading for Pleasure. Sometimes we reconnected with spouses and treasured friends with whom we never have enough time to converse. We took naps, we slept until we woke naturally in the morning, sans alarm clocks or rushes to feed rapidly melting children. (They made their own breakfasts!) We took long walks. It was an entirely different experience from 2007, so much better in some ways, but one that tugged on the old heartstrings too. We understood with each memory shared, each tradition relived, that we are moving ever farther away from those little kid days we used to know. It is such a rich season though. It’s a wonder to experience their independence – which brings us greater independence as well – while still enjoying their need for us. We loved the glimpses of who they are becoming. Who will be the entertainer, who will be the leader, who will be the mother hen, who will be the outdoorsman, who will be the creative one? They reveled in the freedoms afforded to them. They smiled big smiles. They gave us beautiful views.

Indeed.

Happy Birthday, Big Stuff

2011-05-04T20:17:00.000-07:00

"If there is a tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember... you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think...but the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you."
-- Winnie the Pooh

10 years ago today, I fell in love....

April 29, 2011

2011-05-02T10:59:00.000-07:00

Swooning.

My friend hosted an English tea party (with real scones and lemon curd - oh, the wonder!) and wedding-watching extravaganza on Friday. I care not how shallow it may be...it was an AWESOME wedding. Loved the dress, loved the uniforms, loved the yellow, loved the tiara, loved the long walk down the aisle, loved the look of relief on their faces afterward, loved the flyover, loved the flower girl with her hands over her ears, and the two kisses. Lovely all the way around. Later I watched it on the internet with three of Princess Catherine Elizabeth's namesakes. We pulled out pictures from our 1999 trip to London, pointing...there we are at Westminster Abbey, there we are in front of Buckingham Palace! They asked to see my wedding gown (under the bed? what's it doing there, Mama?), which we pulled out, gently touched and ooohhed and ahhheed over. I was not brave enough to try it on...I might have broken down in tears if I wasn't able to zip it up (a most likely scenario). Big Stuff queried whether she could wear it at her own wedding one day. Talk about breaking into tears! Of course she had to throw in "IF I get married..." I think she and her sister have made some kind of pact about growing old together as spinster sisters/farmhands on their own farm, where they have already named all the horses and dogs and divvied up the daily chores. What need have they of husbands? To kill the bugs, I wonder? Nahhhh, peace and harmony will reign supreme on Biggie Small's farm. We hope the same is true in the English cottage housing two sweet newlyweds. Bless their hearts!

Happy Wedding Week

2011-04-25T05:43:00.000-07:00

Pip, pip...Let's go all out, I say...this week, I shall be boycotting any news of Congress, budgets, war criminals and the state of public education. I will accept any news of wedding gowns, jelly molds, Corgies, guest lists, Bucklebury, tea, the line of succession and mementos bearing the British flag. Bad news is like the laundry. It'll still be there next week.

Swift Justice

2011-04-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

I'm being very bad tonight. I'm playing hooky and also making these evil and yummy little guys for my children's dinner. Instead of a nutritionally balanced, homecooked family meal (the usual, I swear), I'm letting everyone fend for themselves.

I remember when I was a little girl, my babysitters took me to the store once to buy some cans of Sketti-gos for our dinner. They tried to get me to eat them cold right out of the can, saying it's how all the cool kids ate them. I refused. My mother worked for a doctor, and I well knew that you should not eat things without cooking them first. Bacteria, you see. Quite the square, even at the age of 8. Of course I had no idea of those wonderful things called preservatives that miraculously keep canned items edible 100 years thence. Later, in the safety of my mother's kitchen, I asked her if I could eat Sketti-gos out of the can. She said yes, and I tried it for the first time. So sublime it was I may have refused to eat them any other way for awhile.

As I made them for Big Stuff and Small Fry tonight, I guiltily wondered if half a can would be enough for each child's sad little supper while at the same time sneaking a big yummy spoonful for myself right out of the pot. Justice is swift, however. I totally burned my mouth, thereby destroying every last taste bud and my own leftover bowtie pasta dinner, which I had intended to eat cold right out of the tupperware. So bad.

Recovery of the Heart

2011-01-26T05:35:00.000-08:00

I almost lost this picture. When my computer crashed in the summer, along with it went pictures taken over three years. Long story short, Cutie Pie is my hero and the Saver of This Picture. Look at those cheeks, look at those sweet pudge-alicious arms. Ahhhh. That is my aunt, by the way, smooching on Small Fry. That is my parents' backyard. The occasion was Big Stuff's 4th birthday. The other picture saved from this day shows her in a Snow white costume licking the icing from her birthday cake.

See how well I remember it? But memory is faulty, and you can't show it to your kids when they grow up. You never know when the memory hard drive in your head will crash. Better to have the pictures. Backed up. In four different places. Baby smooching and Snow White backyard birthday parties will never happen again, you know. Thanks for the memories....

Southern Snow Bunnies

2011-01-25T07:40:00.000-08:00

Rain boots, pajamas under blue jeans, sleds of all varieties + a big hill = southern-style snow days. Now this is something we won't soon forget.

Raw

2010-12-16T08:30:00.000-08:00

I suppose it is inevitable. If you live long enough, your holidays begin to be affected by tragedy and loss. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's: When we're children, they are characterized by pure excitement, anticipation and joy. They tend take on a deeper meaning each year, like the year when I saw Mary with a new heart as my baby jumped inside of me at the sound of the Hallelujah chorus. The holidays may even spark a new, raw emotion, which you are unable to name. Three years ago, our Thanksgiving brought news of cancer returning with a vengeance. Our Christmas was characterized by a final meal and one last Christmas tree, followed by a pain and suffering we had never known before. Our New Year's Day was a strange juxtaposition of a new start and a last goodbye. Today, one dear friend faces the first Christmas without her mother. Another gives her 4-year-old early Christmas gifts to help cope with a shocking diagnosis of cancer. Another stands by her family in a hospital room, savoring every smile and sign of appetite. At our church, we are reminded that human beings are curled under bridges, in below-freezing weather, hoping that they will wake up to see another day. This is hard. This is more than we can take. But this is the greater meaning and what inspires me and infuses my hurting heart with hope:

Graceful strength in the face of tremendous loss
Faith and trust in a big God to do big things for a little girl
Unwavering loyalty to family, implicit trust in God's plan
God moving in the lives of thousands of volunteers and setting compassion's fire within their hearts

And, AND... an improptu manger scene, now built in my playroom...where Barbies and Polly Pockets are dressed as wise men (and women), shepherds and angels. Where the baby's gifts are Chuck E. Cheese coins. Where the Littlest Pet Shop animals keep watch over a silent, amazing night of long ago when God came down and walked among us - Immanuel. This is why Christmas belongs to children. Excitement, anticipation and joy. They've got it all, and they're willing to share. Merry Christmas!

Please Pray for a Beloved Family Friend!

2010-12-14T19:18:00.001-08:00

http://www.prayingforansley.blogspot.com/

Missing Italy

2010-10-26T09:35:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, Small Fry joined Cutie Pie and me on the couch as we were watching television. She crawled up into my lap and announced, with a tremor in her voice, "I miss Italy!" We took a family trip to Rome, Florence, Lucca and the Cinque Terre in September, and I, too, miss Italy. I think I know why I miss Italy, but I wondered what a 6-year-old missed about Italy.

Was it the massive amount of time spent on planes, trains, buses and automobiles?
Or the people we met along the way?

Was it the food?

Or the way our waiters made us feel like honored guests?

Was it the priceless artwork?

Or the way angels popped up when you least expected them?

Was it the fine restaurants, full of ambience and perfectly prepared Italian delicacies?

Or was it the gelato, twice a day?

Was it the historically significant buildings and architecture?

Or the things that made us go hmmmmm?

Was it the unique, warm, child-centered culture?

Or was it sister time?

Was it seeing Michelangelo's breathtaking masterpiece?

Or was it feeding the pigeons outside?

Was it the churches?
Or the way Mary held Jesus like any grieving mother would hold her beloved child?

I guess it was all of these things and more that we all were missing about Italy. I hope she'll always remember, and always miss, Italy.

Crickets

2010-06-07T20:15:00.001-07:00

The quiet in the house is deafening. When Cutie Pie came in the door from work today, he made the sound of crickets. We laughed, but still...it was odd. My kids are off visiting family for a week. The first day of freedom brings an uneasy feeling. CP and I walk out of church and straight to our car without stopping to pick up Sunday School girls, without pausing to chat with other families, without passing Go. My mommy brain surveys the scene suspiciously and whispers, "Aren't you forgetting something?" We feel out of place, like a pair of single people being given a wide berth on our awkward first date. We wonder if we are allowed to go home together to an empty house. We do it anyway.

The next day is better. We go to work, and I hang around the library afterward browsing books of my choice, far away from the children's section. An hour slips away, and no one cares. I go to the grocery store without a list and remember everything I need to buy. I don't yell at anyone to stop running or to cease and desist punching their sibling. This makes me smile secretly to myself because I think how funny it would be if I actually did yell at a fellow shopper to stop running and threaten her with no free sugar cookies if she keeps behaving in such a manner. I relish the knowledge of my ability to embarrass total strangers as well as close family members. My grocery bill is $32.76. This is a small miracle, and it is enough to keep CP and I in food for a whole week. It's like fishes and loaves.

We make dinner at a leisurely pace. I don't have to refer to a recipe 90 times because I am distracted. I go with the flow and cook on a dime, the process feeling kind of organic and fun. I don't require alcohol to get through it. We eat grilled salmon, lemon parmesan risotto and a fresh cucumber and tomato salad. No one says ewwww. No one says what's this green stuff. No one says why don't you ever cook something that I like. No one begs for dessert or cries when they are told they aren't getting any. Life is good. But it's still quiet. And I still miss them.

What will I do when they leave me? What will I do when I can't hear their little voices and running footsteps filling all the rooms of my house? I guess I will be reduced to reprimanding strangers in the grocery store and remembering the unspeakable fullness of these days.

More Clever Than Ever

2010-03-29T14:59:00.001-07:00

Our conversation as we shopped for birthday party items:

Her: "Mom, I don't want to get older, but I have to. I want to still be your baby."

Oh, how I love that girl.

Me: "Yeah, but 6 is a great age. Not too young, not too old. It's a perfect age to be."

Her: "Okay, then I'll be 6 forever."

Me: "Okay. Or at least for a whole year."

Happy Birthday to a sensational 6-year-old! May you enjoy all 365 days of it.

The Gratitude Project

2010-01-30T16:25:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine and I used to play a game called "Three things." When one of us was feeling stressed or out of sorts, we would send an email to the other. The subject line might read, briefly: Three things? Or if we were feeling really desperate, it might read: Three things, please. NOW? If you received an email like this, it was your job to send back three things the other could be happy about. For example, I might write back:

It's Friday / You're cute and everyone knows it / There is a margarita in your future

Or she might write:

Only two months until vacation! / Your friends are really awesome (especially me) / There is a piece of chocolate cake in your future

I was reminded of this game when I thought about my New Year's Resolution for 2010. I wanted something that would really improve my mind and heart (I've given up hope that I'll stick with the "I'll go to the gym three times a week this year.")

And so 2010 is the year of my personal gratitude project. It's good for me to come up with one thing every day that makes me happy. Even if I have to scrounge. There's always something. And that's the whole point I think. What are you grateful for?

Cleaning Out

2010-01-28T08:58:00.001-08:00

So it's January and the theme is decluttering. This used to be a fun job when I was a kid and my Mom did all the real decluttering for me. I could just work on my own room... my bookshelves, my closet, my desk maybe. It was a one-hour job, tops, and it was gratifying as all get out. Tangible results! Praise and kudos from mama! Yippee! But trying to declutter a whole house is something else entirely. Especially when your house is shared by two treasure-seeking, sentimental hoarders who, if you could look through your X-ray hoarding glasses as they pass through space, have stuff and things and papers and hair bows attracted like magnets to their little persons at all times. Which drop gracefully and in equal parts in every room of the castle. Small Fry in particular has a special talent for treasure seeking. Wherever you go, she is three steps behind with her sharp little eyes scanning the ground and her pockets growing full of crystals, discarded gum wrappers, tiny sequins, acorns and teeny flowers. Big Stuff's talent is for dropping all the things that cling to her as she passes from room to room. Backpack, shoes, a sock, a sweater, some school papers, a jump rope, four books, and the other sock ....she leaves a trail of bread crumbs like Gretel but in reverse. The bread crumbs lead FROM there TO here. You never have to wonder where or if she's been in a room. Just check for open drawers and towels on the floor. So my decluttering theme includes the vast and scary "Playroom." And I am cleaning and cleaning in there. I am taking out garbage bags full of toys, stuffed animals, Polly Pocket shoes, broken dolls, torn playing cards, and I am amazed that hours later, it doesn't look much better! I am overwhelmed. And annoyed. But then I come across a stack of baby books - Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? Goodnight Moon. Jeremy Fisher. And I recall hours of rocking in my glider and reading these sweet books to them as they snuggled in my arms and stroked my hair. And I come across a destroyed versions of Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders and remember playing these first sweet games with them as they learned their colors and how to count. And I find the purses I bought to match their Easter dresses, full of treasures, of course. And the dollies we used to feed and burp when they were not far out of the feeding and burping stages themselves. And I thought, how would I feel about cleaning all this out if they were grown up and these many and varied treasures represented long-ago memories of the little girls I once had? Suddenly, these things are no longer clutter to be cleaned out but a picture of happy childhoods being lived. And I felt better about the cleaning and looked at it in a whole new light. Although my ruthless plan now became derailed by sentiment for things I cannot bear to part with. Mess, repurposed as ways to appreciate my life. It's still recycling. :-)

We are Not the Bradys

2010-01-18T17:50:00.000-08:00

Here's the story

Of a lovely lady

Who was bringing up two very lovely girls

Both of them had hair of brown

Like their mother

The youngest one in really straight hair....

How did they do it, that Brady Bunch? They were always so happy-go-lucky and full of good intentions. And if they weren't happy, the parents always knew just the right thing to say to put them back on track. Gentle correction mixed with loving encouragement. God, how I hate those Bradys. Why did Sherwood Schwartz think it proper to torture the parents of the future with his mad, mad vision of the happ-happ-happiest family in all of TV Land? Why can't I come up with snappy, insightful comebacks when my children are acting up? How did Carol manage to look cute and perky for Mike after handing out said snappy, insightful comebacks all day? All Cutie Pie gets is an earful. I'm just spreading the love, of course. Just making him feel part of the daily affairs of the family. Whew, God knew what He was doing when he gave me that man. St. Everlasting of the Patience. I will try not to be a Brady-hater. Anyway, Mike Brady doesn't hold a candle to the man of our house.

Fearless

2009-11-11T18:53:00.000-08:00

How good is our God! How awesome. He tells us, over and again, not to be afraid... and then offers us the opportunity to be FEARLESS. What freedom He offers those who trust Him. What peace. A peace that truly defies understanding, comprehension or explanation. And yet there is daily opportunity for renewal because life can throw me to my knees in a split second. We can look around us, without the benefit of trusting God, and we are surrounded by pain, death, destruction, unbearable suffering, illness, perversion and cruelty. A broken world is breaking up all around us, like a city in the midst of an earthquake. But if I look at it through His eyes, I can see His hand in it. His plan being worked out. His goodness shining through in the actions and words of ordinary people. True Love. Overflowing blessings, amazing in their perfect match -- perfect in pitch, tone and note -- to a person's deepest need (like a tiny baby girl I know, born today! Joy!). He knows us. He wants us to know Him. Does that blow the mind, or what?

Starstruck

2009-11-03T07:02:00.000-08:00

There is a day, in late October, when the sidewalk in front of my house becomes a yellow brick road. When characters from my favorite books step from their pages and knock on my front door, asking for treats. I am starstruck and want to ask for their autographs, but they play it off, their existence just an ordinary miracle of Fall. They are apparently accustomed to adoration and the flash and crush of the papparazzi. I want to ask one what it feels like to be the smartest witch at Hogwarts. I'd like to know from the other what went through her mind when that Lion began to cry. But these are personal questions, and I've only just met them. I guess they just want to be normal children, with everyday lives like everyone else. At least that's what they say when they are interviewed by Diane Sawyer on GMA. I never really believe them when they say that, but that's just me.

Instead, I just watch them move on to the next house and wonder what it would be like to be them....

Take a Picture. It Lasts Longer.

2009-10-09T06:45:00.000-07:00

I had a really great moment the other night where I could feel the flow of things. Everything felt structured, ordered and organized. Everything was happening just as I had planned, I was prepared for what was to come and peace reigned throughout the land. Lasted for about five minutes, but still. It was something. I once read that everything in our lives is constantly moving toward chaos. In a fallen world, even our bodies betray us by falling apart a little every day. Which makes perfect sense when you think about it. That's why it's so difficult to maintain a home, when the universe is insisting that evil weeds, dirty laundry and messy cabinets become eviler, dirtier and messier as I am sitting here writing this. And it's why it's so difficult to maintain our health, our relationships, our schedules, our careers. The Chaos Theory. You can just FEEL things getting away from you, a little at a time. Is it just me?

Did you watch The Office last night? Jim and Pam got married, and it was just the sweetest wedding...I'm thinking about the moment in the car when Pam told Jim she had been advised to take "mental pictures" of important moments during the wedding because it goes by so fast. And it's true, isn't it? Actual photos are great but can't always capture the feeling that went along with the moment. Plus you never have your camera on you when the really good stuff happens. Life is unpredictable that way. Pam spent the weekend taking mental pictures with her imaginary camera, and it was so precious. I am going to do that more often. Because I do feel the important moments slipping out of my memory, like precious water, as I toil to hold back the chaos flood.

Here were my mental pictures this week...I try to write them down if I'm near a pen. This week, while driving in the car, I wrote the following on the back of a flyer from school:

Foots asleep dotty. good comics - apple jacket. Dec 5 signup gym. hypnotizer/appetizer.

Now some of that, I must admit, I have no idea what it means. But this is what I remember. Small Fry saying she was shaking her foot in the back seat because it was "all dotty." Which means it had fallen asleep, and she was deliciously describing the pins and needles feeling. I think the hypnotizer/appetizer has to do with our recent vigorous use of hand sanitizer. (Swine flu, you know.) Small Fry is either washing with hand hypnotizer or a hand appetizer. She herself is not sure which, but it's definitely one of those. The apple jacket, well ... I just have no idea. Oh yes, and I need to write December 5 down on my calendar. Registration for gymnastics.

Click.

In Praise of Self-Centeredness

2009-10-09T06:36:00.000-07:00

Great post....

http://segullah.org/cjane-speaks/the-art-of-self-centeredness-in-motherhood/

Dream, Dream, Dream

2009-09-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

There is a place I'm dreaming of.

At the end of this dock.

A place where the sun sets. Quietly, but with maximum impact.

And the moon rises. Silently, but with a beauty that steals your breath a little. And reminds you of the thing you already knew. I'm small. Very, very small.

This is a place where no one can find you. Unless you want them to. Family, best friends, birds, oysters, fish, Bobs and Bobalinas: Yes. Telephone sales hasslers, time/money/happiness suckers, uncertain workplaces, CNN and Fox News: No.

We could just hop on here and sail away, couldn't we? Why not?

We'd have everything we need. Room and board. Sky and sea.

We could eat these for dinner every night.

Or these.

I even have children and a FisherMan who are good at catching these. I'll bait all the hooks, promise. The bounty of the waters would feed us. The bounty of our hearts would nourish us. We'd be set. At least for a little while. And if we needed some Land R&R, a little cee-vah-lized company?

It's all good.

But I'd want to get back to this. ASAP. Road trip? Anyone? Anyone?

Stormy Weather

2009-09-01T07:11:00.001-07:00

There's been a storm brewing in our house. Transitions, changes...we don't deal well. Small Fry is utterly grumpy, and Big Stuff has had it. I can just see her seething quietly about how this cocky little upstart sister of hers thinks she knows everything now just because she's at MY school, on MY bus, talking trash with MY friends. She's tries to be patient, but she simply cannot let an incorrect math fact or incomplete recitation of vowels pass uncommented upon. It just burns her up. And for her part, Small Fry has taken on a new arrogance that is breathtaking in its scope and fury. This morning, I ruined her day completely when I disagreed with her that Daddy got her up late (I think because it was still dark outside, although the time, of course, was 6:45 on the nose, just like every other day. Explaining why it was getting darker in the mornings was beyond me, prior to coffee. And probably still, after coffee). She also now notices tone of voice. Patronizing will not do. She needs to understand. Or rather YOU need to understand her. It's tiring.

They still find ways to relate though. I felt that I might laugh uncontrollably two days ago when they came downstairs to perform the "Dog Show" for us. This consisted of Small Fry following Big Stuff, on a leash mind you, and performing various tricks and doggy behaviors on command and without benefit of human voice to argue or propose changes. The show ended with the "amazing doggy headstand" in which Yogurt the dog happily stood on her head for unending minutes while doing various yoga poses in the air. I can't even properly explain to you how cute/hilarious/absurd this was. Big Sister Gets Her Revenge In the End. Never fails.

Firsts. And Lasts.

2009-08-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

Well, it happened. The baby started kindergarten. And I'm still alive. I wasn't so sure I would make it through the first day, but there were small graces. Like a donut party and pictures and sweet traditions at the bus stop. Like furtive hugs and hand squeezes when the kids weren't looking. Like coffee and breakfast and laughs with those who understand and empathize and who don't ask what you're going to do to fill your days now. As if. And like bright smiles from two girls who bound off the bus after the first day saying things like - It was GREAT! My teacher is PERFECT! I had the BEST day! And suddenly everything was OK again. I won't say I'm not still grieving. It is a transition, after all, from baby days to big kid times and it's not easy. I search for the baby that she was not so long ago (Big Stuff has been gone from Babyhood so long, I now have to refer to pictures to find my First Baby)....I listen carefully for it as she mimics the sassy conversations of the older girls and pretends to know things she has not yet grasped. I'm pained by little things, like how she refused to let me wipe her hands and face after breakfast. I wonder where mama's girl has gone. Then today, as I jump into her path on her way to lunch, I receive my prize. Joy, joy... as she grabs my neck and lets me carry her into the cafeteria...sticky, smiling cheek pressed into mine and little hands tangled in my hair....And I thought, Ahhhhh, there she is. And I get to have her for a little longer.

Zzzzzz....Harumph!

2009-08-07T19:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I don't sleep well. Cutie Pie tries to convince me that we are Getting Older, and that this is a Sign of an encroaching love of elderhostels. I prefer to disagree and cling to my youth. He is giving up too soon, IMHO. There was a perfectly good reason, or make that many good reasons, why I didn't sleep on Tuesday night. There were dream beetles to battle in the girls' room. There was the dog. (There is always the dog.) There was the full sippy cup of water that leaked slowly onto my back, causing me to jump up in the wee hours, strip off my nightclothes wildly, and accuse people and/or animals of peeing on me. See, no one...whether 14 or 105... could sleep through these things. Old? Ha.

But last night, not sleeping well had to do with Worries. Ugh. I hate waking up at 4 a.m. in a relatively peaceful state only to have a flood of worries leak into my brain from all directions. I hate having ridiculous, repetitive conversations with phantom people in my mind...I should have said this, I should have done that. What if this happens, what if that doesn't happen? Why is it that we feel so small at 4 a.m.? So insecure and wobbly? Does the earth shift a little beneath our beds in the dead of night, causing us to wake in a slightly panicked state and we're not sure why? My mind had a life of its own because even though I prayed with conviction that my worries should be laid at His feet, my brain kept saying...yeah, yeah...laid at His feet.... except for this one.... Truly annoying. But I learned today that my prayer was heard. Because today brought restoration, reassurance and encouragement. All may not be exactly right with the world, but it's okay. He is with me. He is with them. The beetles weren't real. It was just water. It's okay to sleep now. The Guard has the watch.

Always Close on a High Note

2009-07-30T18:54:00.000-07:00

Well, the time is closing in fast. You know what I mean....Summer: End. Kindergarten: Begin. We have been busy as bees getting the girls ready for the First Day. Kindergarten screening? Check. New backpack? Check. New shoes? Check. School supplies? Check, check. I've refrained from crying for the most part. Cutie Pie, always the realist, just shakes his head at me and wonders at my sentimentality so I've been working on fooling him with my Strong, Take-Charge Attitude. One of the sweetest moments was taking Small Fry for her back-to-school haircut. Big Stuff, who is Retro and a born again Hippie, although she has no idea what those words mean, has eschewed haircuts in favor of growing her hair "really, really" long. But Small Fry is still happy to climb up in her airplane chair and let Miss Tina make her into a living doll as often as I suggest it. One of the more adorable moments is when Miss Tina weaves a small braid into her freshly cut hair and sticks brightly colored jewels on the braid. I mean, words do not express how cute this is. And so I drag my melancholy self home, thinking all the while of the pure innocence and sweetness of my youngest child. A few minutes after she is sent up to get a shower, she calls to me from the top of the stairs. "Mama?" "Yes?" "Look at this." Giggle, giggle. And what do I behold at the top of the stairs but my innocent girl, stark naked, with three strategically placed brightly colored jewels stuck to her person. From kindergarten to bellydancing school....my, how time flies.

PS - And for my readers who are also real-life family and friends....My kids, one of whom can now read and Google things faster than I can, do not exactly know about my blob, as GG calls it. Which is how I like it. So keep it on the DL, people. I'm already in trouble for telling you things on the phone, I can't imagine the trouble I'd be in if they started reading about themselves in cyberspace. Dang, I've got to start putting bells around their little necks. :-)

Road Trip

2009-06-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

Big accomplishment today: We booked our vacation. After weeks of hemhawing and trying to decide on the "perfect" place, under the guise of we-really-don't-care-we-just-want-to-relax pickiness....Well, it is the ONE WEEK out of the year when we get to do something totally fun, random and responsibility-free. And it's the one week out of the year that we fling a bunch of precious cash and time at something all in the name of togetherness. It needs to be goooooood. Also, this is technically the first time we are going on a "family" vacation, that is just the four of us for a whole week, and no work for Daddy. All week. No kidding! It's very exciting! What will we do? What will we talk about? Where will we go? What will we eat? How will we make everyone happy? Oh, it's just ever so much pressure!! But it's done. A week in the mountains on a lake and near a bunch of cool, mountainy adventures that mama and daddy experienced in their growing up years and are now excited to share with the offspring. I think it will be just the ticket. Even the dog is going. Now if I can just get rid of the lately ever-present "planning" headache and "can I go back to bed now" fatigue.

Deep and Shallow Thoughts by Jack Handy

2009-06-18T20:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in so long, they insisted that I type in one of those funny, wavy passwords when I came online. And that is so hard when it's late, late at night, pitch black in your office and your brain is foggy. It's hard to spell too. But who cares. I am quite thrilled to be thinking about my friends, who left on a mission trip to Kenya today, and who are approaching the halfway mark of their trip as we speak! Just another hour to go. Dreams come true, you know. ...What a thrill to see God work.

Dreams come true for little girls too. For instance, one of my little girls has spent the week with a bunch of smelly horses at riding camp. I love picking her up in the afternoon - covered in dirt and who knows what else, hay in her hair, boots up on the table like she's been there her whole life, a radiant smile on her freckled face. I know she has encountered a trial or two and yet... she preserveres. She is making her way in the world. She is gorgeous.

We talk to them sometimes about the husbands we pray they will have one day. Someone who loves them, someone who is nice like Daddy. Recently, as Small Fry and I were flipping through the channels, we came across a commercial for an exercise program. A buff, muscular man hawked his product, shirtless and magnificent. She pointed at him, and without reservation or hesitation, proclaimed - that is going to be my husband. I ask her, "How do you know that one will be nice to you?" She replies, "I don't know, but that is my husband." Her daddy says that girl is going to be trouble. I'm beginning to wonder if he's right.

Forget it

2009-04-27T12:41:00.000-07:00

I love the post-PreK pick-up (like that alliteration?) conversations. It is one of the things I will most miss next year when Small Fry and Big Stuff burst Kramer-like into the house together, talking at once and fighting for my attention after school. Last week, the thoughtful conversation topic was the phenomenon of diverted attention. Small Fry said she was really happy that her sister helped her the other day when she was crying. Big Stuff told her she was sorry that she felt bad (Go empathy!), and said "Let's read a book together." Small Fry said, "I took that part of my brain that was thinking about crying and threw it away. And then I put the book into the place where the crying was." Utterly impressed with her self-analysis, I asked, "Who told you about the brain thing?" She said dreamily, "Oh, I just thought about it myself."

Today our conversation began with Small Fry declaring that she really, actually thinks that we should move to another house, in Florida, where we can raise racoons and squirrels (raise??) and some other animals. I said, "Oh, well Big Stuff says she's going to have a farm of her own when she grows up. Maybe we can go visit her racoons and squirrels and horses and dogs." To which Small Fry asks, startled, "You mean Big Stuff isn't going to live in our house anymore when she grows up?" Right, says I. She is silent for a few minutes, ruminating. Then she says, "Mama, can we just forget that thing you said about Big Stuff living in another house? I love her, and I want her to live with us always." Consider it forgotten, sweet girl. Consider it forgotten.

Little Princesses

2009-03-24T14:14:00.000-07:00

Reading this today, reminded me that I did something horrifying on Saturday. It just goes to show I'll do anything for my kids. We had Small Fry's birthday party at the theater (say it like this ...theeahtah...but picture a teeny hole-in-the-wall overrun with adorable child actors and stage-moms-turned-face-paint-artists). Part of the deal was that Small Fry got to get up on stage and have the audience sing Happy Birthday to her. I was seated next to a loquacious 5-year-old by the name of Talky McTalkerson. Talky is just about the cutest little thing you've ever seen in your life - long dark ponytails, a delightful, bubbly personality and an amazing conversationalist, let me tell you. After the birthday song, during which Small Fry stood in the spotlight with a peaceful and satisfied look on her face as if to say, Yes. Yes. Now, this is living....the master of ceremonies informed us that they were holding auditions for a new play called A Little Princess. He tells us that the lead character is a spoiled little girl who frequently throws tantrums. To which my sweet Talky whispers, what's a tantrum? Obviously she is much too sweet and angelic to have ever thrown one so of course she doesn't recognize the word. I mime to her, you know... a tantrum...and I clench my fists and stomp my feet a little to demonstrate. The gentleman on stage continues to talk and then asks, Now who out there knows how to throw a tantrum? To which my sweet, darling, precious Talky shouts out - SHE DOES! and points at me. I am called up on stage and asked to throw a tantrum. For everyone. With a spotlight on me. It's strangely like every nightmare I've ever had. Except I am wearing my clothes. And as for dear, sweet Talky? Well, that girl is dead to me now.

Wow

2009-03-12T17:15:00.000-07:00

One of the most beautiful blog entries I've read lately....

News Flash

2009-03-03T18:01:00.000-08:00

Did you know that there is a cruel and appalling thing that happens to mothers called mylastbabyisgoingtokindergarten? The ogres in the school system actually force this information down your throat in FEBRUARY, for pete's sake, even though you've been studiously avoiding thinking about it since last August. This really is happening, and apparently there is nothing I can do to stop it. When the ogres informed me of this completely unfair and unwarranted eventuality, I cried for a day and a half. I actually could not keep from crying any time I thought about it. I don't remember the last time I couldn't keep from crying....I'm thinking the year was 1985, and it involved some unfortunate 15-year-old failed romance. Since then, I have stopped crying but there is a lump in my throat the size of Texas that I cannot seem to swallow. Every time I look at her (oh the chubby cheeks, oh the eyelashes to die for, oh those sweet fingers and toes), the lump grows little bigger. Every First with Big Stuff feels like a great adventure, but every First with Small Fry is also a Last that I know will never pass my way again. I guess it is very unfortunate for her, to have the burden of all her mama's lasts. I think I do a good job of faking my enthusiasm....Oh what a big girl you are, how wonderful it will be to get on the bus and go to school, yippee.... but I wonder if she has any inkling of just how much the thought of all this is twisting my heart inside out. Thankfully, the Lord has given her the kind of compassion that astonishes sometimes. So perhaps she will forgive me. We have long established a conversation about growing up...I tell her she's growing up too fast, and it really must stop. I threaten to put a brick on her head. She tells me she's not a baby, but she will always be my baby....This has sufficed well in the past, but I think the next few months are going to call for more. Drastic Measures, I'm thinking. Such as Avoidance of the Truth, Living in a Dream and Pretending Kindergarten Doesn't Exist. Wish me well.

Snow Day

2009-03-01T13:26:00.000-08:00

Snow days are a rarity in the South. Just when we think we've happily left winter in our collective dust...And we begin to obsess over the idea of sitting by the pool, lake, ocean or some other body of water...with our toes on the deck, dangling off the side of a boat or buried in the sand....And we are exploring vacation spots on the internet and sighing deeply at the sight of palm trees and water parks...Well, that's when March sneaks up behind us and shouts, Surprise! You're not done with with me yet! And before you know it, children are newly obsessed with finding two gloves, the art of layering and the making of the perfect snowman. No matter that the snowman's body consists mostly of wet clay, dead grass and pine needles. This is fun, fun, fun!
And yet soon our personalities, quirks and genetics begin to show. It's too cold, mama. I'm wet, mama. My hands are stinging, mama. But I don't waaannnna to come in, Mama...wails one. While the other happily persists in making the clay-grass-snowman, tasting the enormous snowflakes and crafting perfectly spherical snowballs.... until finally she looks up and realizes her thin-blooded, warmth-loving family has flat-out deserted her. Puzzled, she stands at the door and says, What are you doing? Come out and play. But alas, the moment has passed, and we are all back in our places by the fire and space heaters observing, from a distance and from the inside out. As it should be if you live in the Deep South, and it insists on snowing one fine March day.

Funky Town

2009-02-09T16:51:00.000-08:00

I woke up today in ...well, it was nothing short of a funk. I don't know what it was. It may have been the dream I was having right before I woke up. It was one of those dreams where you kind of think God is trying to tell you something, but you are thinking....no, no, no sir. I don't want to do that. Sorry. Know you are Creator of the Universe and all but that thing You want me to do is not happening. My reticence made me grouchy. Also, there is something about coming out of a really, really fantastic weekend featuring unbelievable guacamole and margaritas that makes Monday morning's bowl of granola seem really drab. Plus the cloudy morning skies. And the tangly hair. And a friend's devastating and completely unfair loss. And the bad news. There is an unease in the air that keeps picking at me...You could be next. All good things must come to an end.

Three things cheered my mind: The Miracle on the Hudson interview on GMA....what better story to remind us that life is fleeting and yet what a difference we can make in one another's lives. And there was Small Fry...the compassionate girl that she is, putting her head against my chest and listening intently to what was going on in there after I told her my heart felt sad today. The wee doctor then came up with various diagnoses and suggested cures that were sweet and on-target and also made me laugh. Finally, an impulsive lunch with Big Stuff where she jumped out of her seat when she saw me and ran into my arms. In front of the whole lunchroom. Without reservation. I thought my formerly sad heart might burst with happiness then.

Hello from Sunny Florida

2008-12-24T13:00:00.000-08:00

It happens every year. It never fails to surprise me when it is 78 degrees on Christmas Eve. I know, I know... I lived my whole life here until a few short years ago, and I've returned here every Christmas since...but still! 78 degrees??! In December??! What the what? This year, instead of mentally fighting it, I'm trying to fully embrace it. For instance, I actually packed a pair of shorts and two pairs of flip flops this year. Whereas in the past, I have suffered in silence in my jeans and oh-so-cool (NOT) urbanite black sweaters and boots. Nope, I've gotten on the crazy train this time. And I'm so much less irritable. Go figure. Maybe the Snowbirds have something here after all. It is really quite a scene. We've already been to the beach, collected shells, watched children splash and turn blue in the waves (hey, I haven't completely lost it - the Atlantic is COLD in December) and adopted a mostly-bare-feet policy for the week. Big Stuff and Small Fry, although consumed with Christmas-is-coming ADD madness, are taking to long hours in the backyard, lots of satellite TV and wearing their bathing suits once daily. Thank goodness I don't have to put on my bathing suit. Because I just can't stop eating. My people are amazing cooks, and they just don't stop the cooking and the eating, they don't care how big your butt gets. BTW, Small Fry asked me yesterday if "ass" is a bad word. New Year's Resolution #1: Stop eating every two hours. You are not a newborn. Resolution #2: Stop saying ass in front of the children. Now have a merry Christmas, people...and if you are a non-Floridian, don't hate me because I'm sweating.

Mmmmmmmagic

2008-12-18T20:16:00.001-08:00

Christmas, Oh Christmas. A blur of expectation, getting ready for this event and that one, enjoying this event and that one, creating meaning, living tradition. It's exhausting but I love the magical moments that happen, especially those that you least expect. Like tearing up in the American Girl store, knowing how happy Santa's gift is going to make one and yet feeling so melancholy in the knowledge that the other is way past such childish things as dollies with matching shoes and hats. Only six Christmases have come and gone, and yet Big Stuff is already "too old" for some of the "wow" toys! How did that happen?? More melancholy comes over me in the clothing store, when I realize that I can't really buy them matching dresses this year on account of the embroidered peter pan collar and soft brown velvet jumper with the pearl buttons that I'm getting for Small Fry will just be too little girly for my big girl. Who by the way, insisted on wearing a stained Silverbacks soccer T-shirt with camo gauchos on pajama day today because she was too "embarrassed" to wear her cute baby blue bunny Christmas pj's on the bus. And you're not embarrassed to wear that get-up, I kept wanting to blurt out. But I didn't. Because it's starting to be important not to be embarrassed on the bus. And I remember how that felt. Although I was probably in the 6th grade before I knew from embarrassment, but still. I remember. But here's something she's not too old for. Not yet anyway. Santa. Reindeer. The tooth fairy. Kitchen fairies. Wary and watchful (and beloved, don't you know) elves who bring messages to Santa every night. Thank goodness we still have some magic alive and well in this home. But for how long? Is it strange that sometimes I want to whisk my brood away and go live in Walnut Grove, in a little log cabin? On Christmas Eve I could tuck my girls, in bedcaps and braids, into their rope beds in the loft while a merry fire crackles outside my and Pa's bedroom door. Someplace far away from Hannah Montanas and Wiis and Playstations and Spongebob Scarepants? And they would be thrilled with candy canes and oranges in their stockings and those incredibly special rag dolls I made from quiliting scraps? Is that so wrong?? Obviously, I would never survive the bone cracking hard work it took to live On The Prairie but it's a nice thought anyway. And I shall savor these magical times, even if they insist on sliding through my fingers like running creek water.

Sexy Exits

2008-11-12T17:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been sitting at Moe's, innocently eating your taco salad, pretending to listen to a 4-year-old trying to spell (Mama, how do you spell Exit? What does P-S-A spell? How do you spell Taco?) when all of a sudden, it happens.

Her, matter of fact-like: Mama, I'm spelling s-e-x. That spells sex.

Me, horrified: Say what, Small Fry? Are you trying to spell six, like the number? Please God, let her be spelling six like the number.

Her: No, sex like sexy. Oh no.

Me: What is sexy, Small Fry? What does that mean?

Her: You knnnnnoooowwww, like when you're all pretty with red lips and you're sparkly and you're wearing fancy clothes and like that. Waves hand vaguely in front of her face.

Me: Uhhhhhhhhhh.

Me, later: And where did you hear about sexy, honey?

Her: Duh, mom. The cheer? Boys are the strongest? Girls are the sexiest?

Me: WHAT?

Me, later, lame-like: Yeah, of course you know girls can be the strongest too.

Her: Yeah, of course I know that mama.

Annnnddddd I have nothing more to say. Continue eating taco salad and mourn the loss of innocence.

My Voting Buddies

2008-11-05T10:08:00.000-08:00

Proud and honored to vote.

Things that Made Me Happy Today

2008-11-03T18:32:00.000-08:00

Numero uno: Memories of Halloween. One of the
best nights of the year. And the seemingly unending supply of
Reese's pb cups and Hershey's dark chocolate that now
resides
in my
kitchen.

Numero duo: MY 4-year-old, that's right, MINE...who was possibly the only one in her class (at least that's how I heard the it) who knew the names of both presidential candidates. And their platforms. And their voting records. OK, maybe not. But she can pick them out of a line-up from a distance of 10 feet and that's
pretty
darned
cool.

Numero three: The mental prep my girls are doing to be sure they are prepared for long lines tomorrow. We have listed all items we will bringing to the voting place (Harry Potter book, a Barbie computer, drawing papers, Uno, fold up chairs and a pen. And possibly candy.) And we have figured out a plan for what we'll do if we need to visit the potty during our wait in line (we will go with our sister while mom holds our place in line). If you see us there, please feel free to
join us
in a game
of Uno.

Number Four: Lunch. Friends. Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion, honey.

Number 5: Coming home hugs and kisses from this one. Ahhhh.
That's better.

What Does God Look Like?

2008-10-20T05:42:00.000-07:00

Enroute between church and home on Sunday afternoons, we sometimes are treated to interesting conversation. This week, Big Stuff asked, What does God look like? Apparently unsatisfied with my lame response - We don't know honey, but we'll find out someday - Small Fry immediately takes up the challenge with all the authority of a theologian. "He wears a long white shirt. His hair is like this (gestures), and he has a moustache." She thinks for a moment, then adds (for humility's sake, surely): "But I don't know what kind of shoes he wears." I'm going to go with flip flops.

Heaven Sent

2008-10-15T17:49:00.000-07:00

I got a gift today. I'm watching Small Fry on the playground, and mulling hard and heartbreaking things over in my mind, when I notice a little girl of about 3, with Down Syndrome, was going around the playground giving out hugs. I smile and think, oh how cute. How precious. Her little polka-dotted bow was stuck precariously in her bobbed haircut. Her great big eyes were smiling and delighted. My mind, as it is apt to do, wanders back to my worries, and I look away. But wait... Here she comes, arms outstretched. Oh! For me? A sweet moon face turns up for a kiss. Now how did she know that is exactly what I needed today?

Monday's Provisions

2008-10-13T18:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know the world is crashing all around us.

And our 401ks look like minus 401ks.
And the election. And the banks. And the layoffs.

And so on, and so on, ad nauseum.

Really, how could I miss the constant barrage of news and conversation on these very topics??

What an unfortunate time to get accidentally free cable.

But still I'm grateful.

Call me One Hot Pollyanna, but I'm actually rather stubbornly determined to be grateful.

I'm grateful for a husband who makes me laugh by saying, hey if the worst happens, we'll just go back to Florida and move in with your parents. (Just kidding, mom and dad!) And I'm grateful for a partner who nods and truly agrees with me when I say, as long as we've got the Good Lord and each other, we'll be fine.

I'm grateful for kids who are so oblivious to the world's woes that they can be happy for hours catching lizards and meticulously constructing fairy houses from sticks and rose petals.

Talk about trust.

I'm grateful for those kiddos, just in general. The opportunity to love on them. Pet them. Make them feel better when they are sick. Delight them with outlandish bedtime stories. Kiss their toes. Grant their wishes. (At least some of them). Cart them around and swell up with poorly concealed pride that I am, actually, their very own mama. Me!

It's easy to forget that there are people in the world who would give anything, anything to love on their babies tonight. And mine are right here! Within my reach. Ready for some good lovin' any old time. Can you believe my luck?!

Me either. But I'm working on it.

How's Your Mom and Them?

2008-10-09T17:34:00.000-07:00

An excellent primer for Yankees on the use of y'all.....

It's a Snowflaky World

2008-09-30T12:08:00.000-07:00

I've been turning over the premise of a study I've been doing in my mind for a couple of weeks. The premise is that we start out life as maverick-like Individuals...we have all these hopes and dreams and ideas in our youth. Children revel in themselves and love to feel special. Then we grow up and begin to make decisions. A funnel effect occurs as we make one decision and rule out 10 others, and so on down the line. One day we wake up in a life that looks eerily like the lives of every other person we have surrounded ourselves with. You look around and see very little variation in the landscape. Everyone is thinking, doing, feeling, talking and living...exactly the same way. And all of a sudden, you feel a little Trapped. That's when you know that the Individual part of you is feeling smothered, shoved into the back room closet.

It's so interesting how we are made. God made each one of us completely unique - no two exactly the same - just like the snowflakes. But he also made us so alike that we have many, many things in common with the other humans. We're all snow, after all, even if we're also all flakes. And isn't is such a delight to find common ground with a new friend or a writer's words or a piece of music ...it Resonates. And you say, YES! I have felt that. I have thought that. I believe that. And it's a great feeling. It's simpatico. Commonality allows us to feel connected. Individuality allows us to feel special. And God, brilliantly, made us with both halves of the same whole. Individual, but yearning for connection. Unique, but made for community.

I think one of our downfalls is when we cannot appreciate that dual nature in others, or in ourselves. We swing too far either way and forget that the most natural place is right in the middle. Some cling to their individuality at the expense of their connections with others. Then come the feelings of isolation and resentment that no one understands. Some become obsessed with conformity and begin to drown in self-imposed rules about how they "must" act or dress or think. Then come the feelings of entrapment. If only we could regard ourselves as God must. Completely unique and precious individuals, who are designed to love and be loved by their understanding journey-mates. This is why I love travel so much. It is a reminder that anywhere you go in the world, people are very different. And very alike. See? Snowflaky!

Finding Love at the Skating Rink

2008-09-08T15:15:00.001-07:00

Remember when we were too young to drive and too old to hang out with our parents on Friday night? And we put on our cutest clothes and our pinkest lip gloss and our biggest hairdo and had our moms drop us off at the local skating rink? As we walked in the doors, we were mesmerized by the mysterious darkness, the pulsating music, the smell of overcooked pizza and the sight of the glittering disco ball. Ahhhh...pre-teen heaven. It was one of the first places we went to see and be seen. We could scan the room instantly, and with laser-like precision, pick out our friends, our frenemies and the objects of our romantic crushes. Let the drama begin!! A successful night might mean escaping the wrath of the ever-present skating rink bullies or being asked to couple-skate by the right boy. A really successful night might end with you and the-cutest-boy-ever "going together," whatever that meant. It was all about looking for love, wasn't it? Just like every other Friday night for the rest of our lives, until we hopefully found "true love" and made it our own. There is something magnetic about the skating rink. Even Big Stuff, who is a few years away from looking for love (Thank you, Jesus), could not get enough of the skating rink recently. Round and round she went. For almost three hours. She cried when we finally had to go home, and said we could live at the skating rink if only her parents weren't so mean and unreasonable, insisting on living in a house and sleeping in beds and all. Cutie Pie, who was apparently a preteen skating rink god (you learn something new every day!), picked up all his old moves right away. He tried to teach me to turn and backward skate, but apparently if you don't learn these skills by age 13, your chances of mastering them are close to nil. He did hold my hand for a few turns around the floor though. And he did try to show off a little (hey, don't we look better than that other dad and daughter?) It was cute. Toward the end, the DJ hooked us up with the Alan Jackson 9/11 song, which goes something like this: And some good things He gave us are Faith, Hope and Love....and at this moment I'm passing my sweet little girl holding hands with her Daddy and looking up into his encouraging eyes, big smiles on both of their faces....And the greatest is Love..... And the greatest is Love. My conclusion? It's still possible to find true love at the skating rink.

A Composer in the Making

2008-08-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

I get treated to the original works of a singer/songwriter most every day. The Silver Bullet seems to be a constant source of inspiration for my budding musician because songs just come to her out of thin air everytime we get in it to go somewhere. Today I heard the first-ever public rendition of a song called If You Like Bugs and God is in Your Heart (a working title). It went something like this:

If you like bugs
and you think they are delightful
Delightful, delightful
You should keep the bugs
and never squish them
You're not afraid
Because you adore God
and you praise Him
Because of the bugs
They swim in the pool
In the pool, in the pool
And God is in your heart
in the pool, in the pool
And that's all....

She always asks how I like the song, to which I always reply - I love it!! Where did you learn that song? And she scolds me gently, Mama, I didn't LEARN it. I thought of it. Myself. Yes. Of course you did.

Bringing up the Rear

2008-08-24T20:39:00.000-07:00

Our Small Fry joined her first soccer team today. Actually her first official team ever. I must say I derived great joy from the whole thing. Seeing her in her tiny uniform just about sent me over the edge into the land of There Has Never Been a Cuter Child Than This In All of History. It's the land where her older sister lives also, in case you were wondering. But really, the greatest part of the whole thing was seeing her out there, just doing her thing. Her Daddy pointed out early on..."Look. She's last." And we exchanged knowing looks. There is a universal truth about Small Fry that we have all come to accept. She's always last. No matter where you're going or what you're doing, the kid will be bringing up the rear. Trying to rush her will do you no good. In fact, in her younger days, it might have brought on a fully involved, five alarm tantrum. I've even gone so far as to warn preschool teachers trying to hustle her out of the car..."Don't Do It. Just let her finish her thought. You will be so glad you did. And so sorry if you don't." Nowadays she takes it mostly in stride, just looking at us quizzically as if to say, What's the rush folks? I've got butterflies to catch and songs to sing. What's your hurry, what's your worry? And soccer practice was no different. They tried to get her to kick the ball and hustle back in line. She was not fazed in the least. She took her time, never noticing that she was taking longer than anyone else or that she was always the last to get back in line. She swung her hair. She played patty cake with her friend. She waved at us on the sidelines. La La La. And she was so happy every single second. God, I love that about her! Not to say it hasn't frustrated the living bejesus out of me now and again, but I think I've learned to let her be. And I so rejoice in her being-ness. I have a friend who is around us a great deal, and she often comments that I am so patient with her. This is, of course, quite comical to me as I would not rate patience at all high on my list of good qualities. But she just brings it out in you. She has trained me to be patient. She insists on doing things at her own pace, and what's wrong with that? We should all insist on the same thing.

Just Keep Swimming

2008-08-16T07:09:00.000-07:00

We have survived the first week of school. Summer seems a long-ago memory, although the air is still heavy with Indian Summer heat. It seems that I require a good long while to process life, a system that does not respond well to frequent interruptions and constant sidetracking. There are a lot of experiences and lessons-to-be-learned from this summer that have yet to be fully experienced or properly learned because I'm not an on-the-fly experiencer or learner. My ability to multi-task is just not up to snuff, people! And I have this idea that at my age, my psyche really ought to be a little more settled. You know, like I should know what I want to be when I grow up already. I don't have the luxury of time to ruminate, reflect and figure things out, and yet I feel constant pressure to have things figured out so that I can be this steadfast rock and foundation to some other little growing psyches in this house. And so I'm back gulping snatches of air while the crashing waves of let's-just-get-through-today churn over my head. Is that any way to live?? I think not. But what can I do? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...I guess that's what Dory would say. Sounds like a plan. Not a great plan, but it's the best I can come up with on limited oxygen.

10 Things to Love About Summer

2008-07-24T17:51:00.000-07:00

Swim team! Where else can you gorge yourself on Twizzlers and Pop Rocks whilst screaming your head off for your offspring, whilst simultaneously trying not to cry because you're so stinking proud of her?

Slip-N-Slide! The genius who invented this glorious contraption should be crowned in the How to Kill a Summer Afternoon Hall of Fame.

Low Country Boils. YUMMMMM.

Naps, because we aren't on a schedule, you see, and 10 p.m. has suddenly become a perfectly acceptable bedtime! Heck, it's not even dark at 8:30, mama!

Backyard tomato gardens. No fear of salmonella!

Using my passport twice in one month!

Florida sunsets. Small Fry kept prodding me...get a picture of it now, mama. Get one now, mama. She was right. It just got prettier and prettier.

Hello Kitty kites.

Days when blood is thicker than beach sand.

Olympic fountains on a blazing hot day.

Puddle Jumping

2008-05-13T06:28:00.000-07:00

Don't you love how one thing leads to another? Serendipity. I popped onto a new blog today by an writer I loved when I was pregnant with Big Stuff about 7 years ago. I saw Catherine Newman's name in a magazine I was perusing whilst waiting for my OB-GYN appointment a couple of months ago. Cool right? And finally, I've gotten around to catching up with her new blog at wondertime.com. In the comments section of her latest entry, I see a shout-out for a book that sounds good - The Creative Family: How to Encourage Imagination and Nurture Family Connections. So I pop over to that author's blog, which I'm loving already. Then I click onto her book for sale at Amazon. I stash it in my wish list, to perhaps purchase later when I have other things to add in the hopes of getting free shipping. I wasn't too sure I even had a wish list, but I actually do and there were 22 items on there, none of which I remembered. The earliest wish was entered in 2001, a few months after Big Stuff was born. Apparently, I was interested in Tony Bennett singing the blues that day. Hmmmmm. A year later, I wanted Jewel's new album along with the Spanish versions of The Big Red Barn and Goodnight Moon. Because I was really into my one-year-old being bilingual at that time. And liking quirky folk music. Apparently. Two years later, we were into fairies and Harry Connick Jr. In 2004, I was all about creating family traditions and heading off sibling rivalry (I was pregnant with Small Fry at that time, and apparently planning ahead for the Big Bang that was about to shatter my only child's life). Since I've had no wishes since 2004, I'm thinking that was about the time I decided getting books from the library would be so much more economical than buying them from Amazon, seeing as how we were becoming a one-income family. I love how jumping around in some link puddles on the internet suddenly shows you a bunch of links in your own life. Who knew?

Dream of a Summer Day

2008-04-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

Hey, that thing I said about summer...I really need it to come. I do. And soon. I need to wake up in the morning at a less ungodly hour and to the sound of snuggle-happy voices (can we get in, mama?) instead of the obnoxious beep-beep-beep of my alarm clock. I need to be free from having to remember 18 pieces of paper, two checks, three overdue library books and 39 permission slips that must be tucked into backpacks, purses and preschool bags before anyone can set foot outside the house. I need to think about how I can make a memory instead of a dollar. Memories last so much longer, you see. I need to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watermelon and cut-up apples by the pool instead of remembering to send in lunch money. And snacks. And water bottles. And juice boxes. I need to smell sunscreened faces, chapsticked lips and chlorinated hair instead of stale laundry that I forgot to put in the dryer. I need to take walks outside with my kids at 8:30 p.m. without a barrage of thoughts running through my mind about how quickly I need to bathe them, read to them and shuffle them off to bed (can I shove all that into 25 minutes? Sure! Step up the pace, girls!) I need to lay on a raft after dark and watch the stars pop out, one by one. Those stars, they love to show off, and I haven't paid the least bit of attention to them in months. I need to read something for fun instead of because it was assigned. Or because it's on the AR list. I need to take trips to faraway places where I can appreciate companionable silences. And really tall mountains. And lakes and oceans in which you can float and talk and laugh about stuff and reminisce (remember the time I saved you from that big wave, mama?). Because memories, they last so much longer than dollars.

Summer is Only Four Weeks Away, I Promise

2008-04-28T17:39:00.000-07:00

It's official. I'm just not cutting it this week. I'm losing my mind. I'm not on top of ANYthing. In fact, I think I may be under a few piles of s.... something. Laundry most likely. Actually I haven't been cutting it for several weeks now. It's so lame to complain about how busy things are...it's to be expected, and nearly everything going on is Good Stuff. No doubt about that. School is wrapping up for the year, we've had St. Patty's, Easter, visits from the tax man, three birthdays, overnight guests, planning for summer trips and activities, end-of-the-year parties, field trips and gatherings, concerts, sports and school functions, ordering things, returning things, wrapping up my own classes and studies, oh yeah and throw in trying to make a little cash to pay the aforementioned tax man. Everyone's busy. We expect to be busy in April and May. What I don't expect is to lose brain cells over it! And really disturbing is the fact that I seem to have no control over this loss of mind. No matter how much time I put in trying to catch up, reorganize and reprioritize, I am still letting some not-so-minor things fall through the cracks. Last week, I realized at 1 p.m. that I had just plain forgotten to send Small Fry to preschool. Today I remembered to send her to preschool and even packed her lunchbox, along with snack for the class and money for her end-of-the-year pictures (which were overdue, natch). Unfortunately, I forgot to put anything INSIDE the lunchbox. The look on her best bud's face was priceless. He was appalled and ran over to me, saying dramatically "Small Fry Mama, Small Fry Mama, Small Fry opened her lunchbox and....THERE WAS NOTHING IN IT." Sadly, Small Fry herself seemed not at all surprised that her mama would do such a thing. Which prompts me to muse...have I forgotten to feed her other meals in the past few weeks? Luckily, she is pleasantly chubby and could probably miss a meal or five with few ill effects. But still. It's disturbing. But what can be done? I imagine most people I know are going through the same thing right now. It's why everyone is saying how they can't wait for summer to come. Although I wonder if their dirty deeds are staying better hidden than mine? I have no time to notice or to comtemplate this. Now there is a cheering thought! If I have no time to notice their flaws, perhaps they are too busy to notice mine. See, I knew this post would make me feel better. Here's to hiding behind a pile of dirty laundry!

Smelly

2008-03-17T21:08:00.000-07:00

If you are a Seinfeld fan, do you remember the "B.O. in the car" episode? Remember when the valet left the highly offensive O. in Jerry's car, even after the B. had long since departed? I am thinking lately of funky smells, because there is one that seems to have invaded my house. Over the past two weeks, Cutie Pie and I are like the Hardy Boys sniffing every crevice and corner around here to narrow down the Smell's emanation. Is it on the staircase? Is it in the hall? Is in a child's room? Is it in our room? Is a family member possibly producing the Smell and refusing to confess, sending the Hardy Boys on many wild goose chases? Every day, we are sniffing household items and questioning each other in Dr. Suesslike fashion: "Do you smell it here? Do you smell it there? Do you smell it everywhere?" The frustrating part is that a) I have a bad smeller, made worse by a recent cold-cough-croup-fever combo and 2) once you live in the smell for more than 3 minutes, you stop smelling it and apparently become immune to its odious charms. You trick yourself into thinking it's gone. Until you come home from the outside world and walk into the Smell, all fresh and smelly again. Finally, last night, I believe we narrowed the Smell to our children's playroom, which has direct access to the attic. This was after closing off certain rooms for specified periods of time and then rushing in, pouncing cat-like and nose-first, to try desperately to capture a whiff. So, after turning the playroom upside down looking for the culprit, we discussed the matter for probably 30 or 40 minutes. Yes, this is how sad we have become. And yes, this is how we know the truth about our marriage: We are no longer newlyweds. AKA, The Honeymoon's Over. We discussed the Smell at length. What the Smell smells like. What could be the source of the Smell. Why the Smell is stronger late in the day. Is the Smell animal, vegetable or mineral. I even asked for a crash course on duct work and attic joists so I could intelligently add to the theories being bandied about. The unfathomable mystery is: How can we have a smell in the house that smells like a dog's rear end (this was the conclusion we came to after many scientific comparisons of the Smell to known and unknown smells) when in fact, we do not own a dog? This is a mystery. And it's driving us crazy. If you know any specialists, experts, vendors or Smellologists who would consider taking our case....well, we would be ever so grateful.

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

2008-02-28T13:27:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, I used Photoshop in my job. I never really got the hang of it, outside of the mundane importing and cropping of boring product shots into even more boring product information bulletins that went on and on about mind-numbing properties such as Viscosity or Flash Point. But it's ever so much more fun to learn when you have a subject as cute as this to work with! So tell me, do you like rosy, pink cheeked Small Fry or Vintage-y, colorized Small Fry? Personally, I think either one is beyond adorable. But that's just me!

Wild Things

2008-02-27T16:58:00.000-08:00

Man, weather can be wild sometimes. We've gone from a balmy, spring-like Monday to Tornado Tuesday to Snow Day Wednesday and that's just so far this week. I make a whole lot of fun of Cutie Pie because he is mildly obsessed with radar and forecasts, and he would watch the Weather Channel like sports 24-7, if only we had cable. But I can see the draw. It's big, it's wild, it's uncontrollable and nearly unpredictable... although he would probably disagree with me on that. Because an intelligent enough weather person, or perhaps a cute enough weather woman (he has crushes on most of them), can certainly give a highly accurate forecast IHHO. (I remain unconvinced).

But there is no doubt that a force strong enough to snap a tree in half, or pull it up by its roots and deposit it upon your roof is certainly interesting, to say the least.

And a trampoline in a tree...you just don't see that everyday.

But it was also interesting how quickly a house could move in my mind from a cozy, nesting place for a family, from a point of pride and status....to a pile of nailed-together wood whose only true purpose and worth is to remain standing and sheltering three small people huddled on the stairs should a gi-normous pine tree decide to fall on top of them. What clarity a bit of wind and rain can provide!

I think I'm usually pretty good under pressure. I had to laugh afterward, though, when I thought about how fast my heart was beating and how I was gulping in ragged, shaky breaths but I was still able to have that breezy, "isn't this fun, kids?" crazy Stepford mom voice coming out. Later they said they weren't scared. And that is good. Because Mama was scared enough for all of us.

Fresh Start

2008-01-31T13:42:00.001-08:00

I love January. I know some people dislike old Jan...maybe it's the post-holiday letdown, or the bleak weather she brings or the cynicism of unkept New Year's Resolutions. But it does feel like a new beginning, no matter how you slice it, resolutions notwithstanding. You've got all that great loot from Christmas to pretty up your home and closets, which forces you to organize and declutter and throw out all your old raggedy stuff because it just doesn't go with the new, shiny stuff, does it? You make an effort to reconnect with the dear friends you missed seeing while you were all whirling around in a holiday frenzy. And you get a new calendar! Ahhhh. I love a new calendar. The blank pages are so pretty and crisp. Uncreased, they fan themselves out at me...full of possibility and hopefulness. I love to consider the ups and downs of the past year, the accomplishments and failures ....and think of new goals and milestones yet to be reached. And I think a lot about my peeps, too - the old and new friends come to mind as I write down their birthdays and their new addresses and their updated emails, maybe adding a new baby's name to the family profile. And I think, I'm so glad I met her last year. I hate that I haven't seen him since his last birthday. I've got to return that book to her, and she would just love the last one I read.... And I also, inevitably, experience the sadness of purging people that, if I'm following the rule of clean closets, I haven't spoken to in the past year. Some of them are easy to let go...like the annoying editor I had to work with at my last job. Or Animal Control, who really fell down on their job of controlling the mean dogs that kept getting out of my former neighbor's fence. But some are harder to let go. Like the one who moved two states away and didn't keep in touch or the one who has gone Home to "have fun with God," as Small Fry will say. I tend to keep those in my calendar. I may not have celebrated their birthday with them in several years, but I leave it written on the usual page because I imagine, if nothing else, I can think of them fondly on that day and maybe send a good vibration or two their way. I can look at their old phone number, and recall the conversations we used to have. I can look at their address and remember the great times we had around their dinner table. It gets a little crowded in my shiny new calendar, but I figure...I can always purge next year. Organization is overrated anyway.

Pay No Attention to the Chick Behind the Curtain

2008-01-31T10:07:00.000-08:00

Well, we've been on a little hiatus haven't we? I'm sure, as my Twelve Most Devoted readers, you have taken note and perhaps have been wondering... What Gives? OK, maybe just one of you took note, but whatever. It's just a little case of stage fright combined with several weeks of personal drama not fit for internet consumption. But here I am - Happy New Year, Ya'll!- and I am in that Clean Sweep frame of mind... therefore, I am blogging again. And blog I must. Because it's an awfully good way to clear a girl's mind. And 12 readers isn't exactly what you'd call a stage, right? So I'm just going to get over that. But maybe you could help me out? If you are a member of my real life and you read me here, maybe you shouldn't tell me. Better to just leave me an anonymous comment or something like that. Otherwise, I may start sweating and blushing and otherwise dying of embarrassment. Obviously, I'm highly un-evolved and also a big old fraidy cat. But I'm really glad you're reading. Just don't look at me while you're doing it.

Pride Before the Fall

2008-01-21T17:45:00.001-08:00

Habitat for Humanity Blitz Build 2008

I am proud to tell you that I am related to a couple of these people. They are two of my coolest relatives. One of them was not supposed to be on the roof. But here is the irrefutable proof that he was indeed on the roof - for all of the internet to see. He is officially in trouble with his loved ones, namely me. But he's still really, really cool so I guess I'll have to let him slide. Also he doesn't listen to anyone, so you just have to roll with it. No one can wear a Friday shirt like this guy. You have to admire fashion sense combined with technical know-how. It's a rare and precious thing to see. Way to go Mema and Da! You inspire your offspring, namely me.

I Got My Christmas Present Early

2007-12-21T13:19:00.000-08:00

Santa brought me exactly what I wanted this year.

No, not the Lego Santa! The REAL Santa...

Cleverly disguised as a birthday present for this guy. Isn't he cute? Doesn't he look cold? He didn't bring a hat. Or a scarf. Or gloves. P.S. You don't know it yet, Cutie Pie, but it's going to SNOW tomorrow.

A birthday present that was just just as much fun for This Girl. Doesn't she look cold? I said COLD, not OLD. Notice, please: Scarf? Check. Hat? Check. Gloves? Check. It's possibly the first and only time in 19 years of being with Cutie Pie that I was more prepared than he was. (evil laugh). I did, however, wear loafers and cute trouser socks instead of boots. Well, I had to look good, didn't I?

We did NOT do this. Because we choose not to compete. Also, our chiropractor advised against it.

Would you look at that? I mean, really. I heart New York, yes I do. And I would have bought the shirt to prove it. If it hadn't been so cold. No, I don't want to marry it. But that's because I already have a cute husband.

And look, now he has a hat. And a scarf. And gloves. And ear muffs. We may be southern but we catch on fast. Don't mock his hat. Everyone had one in New York. No, not just people over age 60 either. Hey, if Brad Pitt can wear one, why can't he?

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

My Baby is Telling Me What to Do

2007-12-10T18:00:00.001-08:00

I recently had a weekend alone with my girls, which was actually pretty fun, but also had its trying moments as I'm spoiled by the fact that I usually have my Cutie Pie with which to tag-team. One particularly trying moment occurred on Sunday morning when Big Stuff was giving me the business, and I'd not even had one cup of coffee. I sent her away from the kitchen a) to get dressed and b) because the situation was deteriorating at the speed of light. I looked up, heavenward, and said "God, Help Me!!" Then Small Fry pipes in, "Mama, if you want God to help you, why don't you just prayer to Him?" Yes, yes... Why didn't I think of that? Later, she was talking with me while I got ready to go out. She asked me, "Mama, why don't you have a chart?" (Referring to her "chore" chart, which reminds her to brush her teeth, brush her hair, and put her clothes in the dirty clothes basket). I said, "Well, I'm a grown-up. I remember all the things I have to do." She says, "Then why don't you pick up your clothes off the floor?" Yes, yes... Why, indeed? Thank you, darling. You are much wiser than those preschool teachers give you credit for.

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas

2007-12-06T12:44:00.000-08:00

St. Nicholas came to visit Small Fry at preschool today. This was a huge deal, because he leaves TREATS! IN OUR SHOES! TREATS! MAMA! TREATS! In their little shoes placed outside the classroom door, they found "Landy Cans," "Licklish" and chocolate kisses. How sweet is that? I really like Christmas Number 3. At 3, you're old enough to understand the concept, but young enough to be thrilled by the most simple of gestures. When Big Stuff was 3, she asked Santa Claus for a candy cane. That's it. Just a candy cane. Santa was apparently so impressed by this simple, sugary request that he brought her a candy cane the size of my arm. My favorite Christmas picture of all time features Big Stuff thrusting her Candy Cane treasure toward the camera with a look of complete and utter joy on her face. And in keeping with the feast, which is meant to teach us to love others the way St. Nicholas did, Small Fry held back one chocolate kiss to share with her sister - all her idea, swear. She did accuse her sister of eating all her candy afterward, but you take what you can get, right?

Thanks for the Memories

2007-11-20T06:26:00.000-08:00

Birthdays still have the power to enchant me. Some people start to dread them after the age of 30 or so. Maybe it's the sand-slipping-through-the-hourglass feeling a.k.a. How Many Good Years Have I Got Left? Some people thoughtfully contemplate the past and the future. I save that for New Year's Day, usually. On my birthday, I still live in the shallow mindset of "Hey, look...presents!" How can you not love a day dedicated to celebrating YOU? ...Where little girls make you cards and gifts marked "Don Open Til Saterday" ...Where sweet friends tell you how glad they are you were born...Where people give you homemade cake and insist that you eat a really big piece...Where hubbies take you out for pancakes...Where mamas and daddies reminisce about the Great Day When You Came Into the World. What could be better than this? Nothing, I tell you. The only thing I don't like about birthdays is when they come to an end. What? You mean I have to wait a whole year until I get one of these again? Grrr. Luckily, because my birthday is in November, my indignation is soothed by the eminence of Thanksgiving (a perfect follow-up to the decadence of birthdays), Cutie Pie's birthday (in which festivities and gifts I get to share if I play my cards right, see how that works?) and then Christmas (Yay! Christmas!!!) There's so much to look forward to that I can't be too sad about the appearance of a November midnight and that princess-turned-back-pumpkin feeling. Oh yes, and there are the memories. I can bask in those for as long as I want!

I Told You It Was Too Early For Christmas

2007-10-27T17:37:00.000-07:00

Because if I were thinking about Christmas, I might have missed this:

And this:

And, the ultimate in pumpkin-y goodness....This:

Although, I kind of wish I had missed this:

But never mind my CRUSHED SPIRIT ....in general, I'm thinking Fall itself just can't be rushed. It must be savored. Because really, is there is anything more savory than a child, dressed as a vegetable (or is it a fruit?) downing as many packs of the anti-vegetable (also known as M&Ms) as is humanly possible? Does a witch with shocking pink hair normally mix it up with those little elves and their flighty reindeer? I think not. Apparently people, fall has arrived!

I intend to savor it.

And we'll just pretend fall football doesn't exist. We can face that tomorrow. Or next year. Whatever.

I've Fallen Off the Wagon

2007-10-25T18:12:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the full moon.

Maybe it's the many hundreds of dollars I dropped on new brakes today. You may not know this, but brakes are apparently coated in 18K gold these days.

Maybe it's Sabrina the cat's fault for coming in and out of doors all day long. And also pooping on the white carpet. And also tearing open the garbage bag in a quest for 3-day-old chicken legs. She looks innocent, doesn't she? Don't let her fool you.

A day like this one can only end in one way:

Look at all the lovely uneaten fruit in the background. I don't even care. I'm so glad I got this new jar of peanut butter this morning.

For the kids.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-10-24T18:59:00.001-07:00

"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia....."

See more Wordless Wednesday here.

Why? Because We Like You!

2007-10-24T18:25:00.000-07:00

And because anything that makes me laugh out loud at my computer screen is worth sharing.

So what is the deal with the perfection gene? I have been pondering the topic of Worry lately. It seems, through many intersecting conversations, readings and events, that the Big Guy is flashing a neon sign at me, you see. It's like one of those crawlers at the bottom of the C-SPAN screen: Stop Worrying....Cease Fretting....Desist Hand Wringing....I Am Not Kidding....Are You Listening to Me, Woman????? Worry. I know it's wrong. I know it's bad. It makes me yell at my kids. It makes me snappish with the mister. It gets me all wound up in a tight, furious little ball by the name of Mrs. No Fun. And what really gets me (and Worries me, if you want to know the truth) is that I know better! Worry gets me nowhere, and it implies an extreme lack of faith and gratitude. And still I do it. Why? Because I want to be perfect! I want to hold on to the delusion that I'm in Charge Here People, and I'm Doing it Perfectly and Don't You Forget It! Even Big Stuff, at age 6, suffers from the struggle with perfection. Yesterday, as I very proudly read the teacher's comments about her from her report card (She is a delightful child! She is a great reader! She excels in almost every area!), she immediately blurted out - "What does she mean, ALMOST?" Oh dear, dear girl. Indeed you are your mother's child. Have I passed it along to her, or is it just the common struggle of the crazy humans? I don't know, but I'll tell you this. I got the nicest comment from Cutie Pie the other night after he listened patiently to a tirade of my worries over the gals. He said the sweetest words - You are Too Hard on Yourself. Which I would never have believed or accepted from anyone else but him. Because he's smart. And he adores these little creatures too, so I know he's not just blowing me off. My voice of reason guy reminded me - they are kids. Tomorrow is another day. They will be all right. Of course, he almost blew all his street cred when HE read the report card and commented - "What does this mean, she could 'Work on Her Handwriting?' What's wrong with her handwriting?" Oh dear, dear man.

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

Matthew 6:27

Merry What??

2007-10-16T13:15:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm looking at a Web site recently about organizing Christmas, and I am swaying between two opposing thoughts:

a) Wow, this is a great idea! Some entrepreneur was really using her head.

b) Organizing Christmas? What the?

Has it really become necessary to obtain organizational tools to handle the overwhelming toil and stress of Christmas? The stress of Christmas? Did I just say that? I am not happy with Society at Large and what they have done to my favorite holiday. Really I'm not. A recent topic of conversation (in OCTOBER) was Christmas gifts and how some of us aim to be finished shopping by the time school starts. Which again, is a fantastic idea to help simplify and avoid the stress of the holidays (there's that word again), but an idea I wish was not thought necessary by so many of us. It's Christmas, people. Not an impending war or famine! What happened to the joy, the happiness, the sweet anticipation? I also saw some ladies looking for Christmas cards at the new Target yesterday. With excitement. I refused to even glance at the display. I may be in a completely different card "mood" by next month. Why would I buy them now and be stuck with cards in December that no longer inspire me? Besides, I am in a spooky, spidery, witchy kind of mindset at the moment, and New Target, nor any other freakish peddler of premature Christmas joy, will deprive me of it. If you still see pumpkins outside my door on December 1, you'll know why. I'm rebelling!

Who Was That Girl in the Floral Dress?

2007-10-10T12:25:00.000-07:00

Guess what internets! I cleaned out my closet. That's right! Earthshaking news, people! This is a BIG accomplishment. Well, not really. Not in the whole scheme of things. But a stay-at-home mama has to grab hold of the accomplishments where she can get them. I used to clean out my closets once or twice a year, thanks to much smaller closets and an insatiable thirst for new clothes. My closet is much bigger now, and I still have the insatiable thirst, but thanks to a lighter load in the wallet (see the stay-at-home mom thing), I'm not as likely to overfill the bigger closet as quickly. I think the last time I cleaned out the closet, I lived in a different house and my outgoing trash bags were full of maternity clothes. I shudder to think how much unwearable apparel I hauled between houses during the move because I couldn't handle the thought of cleaning out. Because I hate the thought of cleaning out the closet, but I rather like the act of it. Once I'm in the middle of it. It's soothing, you see. It's manual labor, and you don't have to think too much. And you do get a free and groovy trip down memory lane. Especially when you're finally letting go of clothes two sizes too small that you haven't worn in 10+ years. Because you are finally accepting the fact that even if you could fit in the darn things, they really are NOT in fashion anymore. And never will be. It was all there.... the red silk dress Cutie Pie gave me when we were dating. The ivory floral suit, with shoulder pads and large pearl buttons no less, that my mom bought me when I got my first job in the big city. The black and orange floral dress, with shoulder pads, that I wore on my honeymoon. The short floral sundress (Hmmm, I see a pattern emerging here...) that I wore once a month for photos when I was pregnant to show how much I was growing. (Why do we want to document these things?) The really cute shoes I bought on sale, because they were on sale, even though they were about a size and a half too small. (Why, you ask? I'm not smart.) The Harley Davidson jacket with polyester lining, purchased during our brief fling with a motorcycle (not even a Harley Davidson), that always made me sweat. Everything had a little memory attached to it. I didn't linger too long, however. I slapped Cutie Pie's hand and told him he wasn't allowed to look in the bags and try to talk me back into anything. I was brutal. Heartless. And four overflowing trash bags later, and I feel like a load has been lifted from my shoulder-padless shoulders. From my mind. From my very soul. Now if I could just live in the clean closet, everything would be A-OK.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-10-10T09:46:00.000-07:00

The Virtual Bookclub...Installment One!

2007-10-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

I wrote this a few months ago, but thought I would post for The Virtual Bookclub....

If you haven't yet read Eat, Pray, Love....consider this your spoiler alert. If you're going to read it, progress no further! Because really, I would love to hear your opinion untainted by mine. I read this book just last month, and the author was on Oprah this week (love those serendipitous surprises). For me, Eat, Pray, Love was Magnificent, capital M. And although she and I will disagree on her theology, or lack of it, I rooted for her throughout the whole book. What I liked about Liz was that she was off to find not only herself, but she bit the universal bullet and decided to try to find God too. Not to mention her Purpose, Inner Peace and a host of other completely elusive and seemingly unattainable goals. What I really liked about her was that she was so purposeful about it. She knew what she needed to learn, and she chose three locations specifically for what they had to teach. Liz said that one of her main (and one of the more daring, to my mind!) goals in India was to be still, something she had rarely been able to do before. The Hebrews believed that if you saw God's face, you would immediately drop dead. Maybe a little of that terror still exists in our modern hearts, which is why so few of us seem to be able to sit still and listen to our inner thoughts for more than 5 seconds. She really dove into it though. She was determined to heal. And finally, she nears the end of her yearlong journey. She feels that she's heard her Creator's voice (she describes writing comforting words to herself in her journal in a voice, "not quite mine"). She believes she's sat in the "palm of God." She's experientially learned something about what it means to be on this earth- she's grasped love and compassion. And then she abruptly concludes by saying that maybe the voice she heard back in the dark days, comforting her, was just herself. Her future self (more mature and growing) comforting her present self (crippled and struggling). And I thought, OH NO, she's missed it! No, no, no! You were right the first time! God was there. God was guiding you. God was revealing Himself to you. You spent all that time trying to give up control, just to snatch it back when things began to go well. You found inner peace and then tried to take credit for it. I felt strangely disappointed in the ending. I listened closely to her interview on Oprah, trying to figure her out. I guess the conclusion I came to is this: We all have completely unique paths to God. And certainly He is awesome enough to take every one's unique journey into account, to even delight in each twisted path. Because that's how He made us. No two exactly alike. And maybe the point I'm trying to grasp here is to have the courage to take the journey. How He must love it when we do that! So more power to you, Liz. Keep going! And it was nice to see you on Oprah. Smiling.

Family Trees

2007-10-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

Let me just tell you what Small Fry is doing as we speak... She is dressed in a pink princess costume, bouncing a Barbie basketball in the marble foyer and saying (loudly) "Praise the Lord, I'm going to meet Beanie B. Jones!!!" (AKA Junie B. Jones) She's a vision in pink chiffon, let me tell you. She has kept us laughing these days, as we have been saddened by the recent loss of a family member. You know what they say: We never get together like this, except for weddings and funerals? Wish I had been at a wedding. But it was truly touching to see so many family members gathered in one place, and my girls got to meet some lovely people for the first time. They got to hold their four-month-old cousin, with the beautiful red hair. They got to play with cousins Shelby and Cranky (Small Fry-speak for Frankie), whom they have not stopped talking about since. They "searched for clues" in the Selection Room. (Can you guess what that is? I didn't, until it was too late. So much for protecting them from life's harsh realities.) But the larger point is that they were part of something big, huge even. Two newly formed leaves on a family tree with many, many branches - some broken, some grafted on to the trunk, all going in different directions. And what a legacy to the one who has gone ahead that all those branches were gathered for a few days under the same roof. Unified in purpose. At peace with each other. Loving each other. Comforted by the promise of seeing their loved one again. As we circled and held hands in prayer before the service, I was overwhelmed with the thought that Life goes on. Love goes on. And maybe the most important mark you can leave on this world is to be a part of that cycle, nurturing the love part and loving the life part. Praise the Lord indeed.

Am I Smarter than a First Grader?

2007-09-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

Apparently not. Do YOU know the meanings of any of these words?

count on
doubles
rule
number line
count back
related facts
fact family

If you do, don't tell me. It's too depressing. Big Stuff's first grade teacher sent this math vocabulary list to we underachieving parents to prompt us to, I guess, practice them at home with the little tykes? I wonder if she intended the secondary effect of all parental self-esteems within a 10-mile radius falling in unison as we come to the realization that we don't know these words and never did? I guess it's all part of the circle of life, Simba. Your kids are going to know more than you do, and this is inevitable. Recently, some friends and I were discussing when your influence over your kids switches from size and position (as in I am bigger and smarter than you, therefore you will bend to my will) to respect and relationship. I'm all for that, really I am. But I didn't expect to lose my smarter-than-you card so early. Well, at least I'm still a few inches taller than she is. Although, knowing our shared gene pool, I don't expect that to last long either.

The Simple Life, Part Deux

2007-09-12T19:47:00.001-07:00

Cutie Pie and I once visited Costa Rica, and we were treated one day to a tour of the farm of a "very important man," a big landowner by the name of Don Pedro. The richest man in all of Costa Rica, mind you. The tour appeared on an official-looking, glossy brochure, which I fervently wish that I had saved. Because it was a totally classic marketing spin job targeted at the American mind. And being the Americans we are, we naturally had visions. Visions of touring a Costa Rican mansion, with manicured lawns and rolling vistas, and meeting some kind of Latin American Honcho and having a spot of tea with him. Turns out Don Pedro may have been the richest man in Costa Rica, but he had very few teeth, very many cows wandering in his front yard, and a rope belt around his waist in addition to his regular belt. Never figured that one out. His "estate" was apparently entirely hand-built by him - house, animal stalls, everything...nailed and tied-together wood planks with tin roofs. No windows - just cut-out holes in the walls. We were served lunch. And let me tell you, it was probably one of the best lunches I have ever eaten. They served homemade bread and cheese, coffee from his own beans and plantains from his own trees. It was delicious. We ate on an open-air porch. With the cows and horses looking on. Our food was served on sweet little china dishes. He and his family let us make conversation with them in our stumbling, ridiculous Spanish. His daughter picked flowers for my hair and made a big speech when she handed them to me. I didn't understand a word, so she could have been calling me a stupid, wretched American, but it sounded really warm and lovely and generous. We loved every minute of it. We ate many great meals in Costa Rica. All were simple. Fish, mixed vegetables, plantains, beer. It was jolting to come home. Everything suddenly seemed so Loud. So Big. So Fast. And so Overdone. The billboards on I-75 were Obnoxious, SCREAMINGINYOURFACE, whereas before my trip, I had barely noticed them. The portions when we went out to eat seemed big enough to feed entire families. What a waste of mediocre food, we thought. That feeling went away after a few days, but I was sad to see it go. It can't be helped - you are a product of your culture and you adapt to whatever your circumstances may be. But I do dream of that simple place now and again. It's the kind of place where you can hear your own thoughts, without someone or something trying to drown them out all the time. I could use more of that.

My New Favorite Dream

2007-09-12T18:12:00.000-07:00

Isn't it the coolest thing to be on a similar wavelength with someone across the miles? I was just reading this post from my dear cousin, which reminded me of a news byte I saw last week. I have already discussed with Cutie Pie, at length, (or he may say ad nauseum) the cost, logistics and possibility of me starting an Outstanding in the Field in Atlanta for my next career. It will never happen, of course, but I was completely enamored with the thought of it for several hours. It combines absolutely everything I love in life. Beautiful places...fantastic, locally grown food - right out of the ground or sea or pigsty, so to speak....great wine, with every course, no less - yum!....great conversation with interesting people. Well, if nothing else... maybe I can attend a dinner. OITF is coming to Atlanta and Florida next year, ya'll. It's a mere $350 or so a couple to sit down to dinner. Hey, it's only money! Let's go! Take a look at this sample menu if you need convincing. OK, I agree...I myself would probably look askance on the pigs feet paté and the chicken liver and gizzard “campagnola.” It sounds a bit like what my poor, southern ancestors may have eaten. Not by choice, but because that was all that was left after they ran out of grocery money halfway through the month. But my, how they've gussied it up eh? I would try it anyhow. In homage. And because I paid a whole lot of money for it. But really, I'm thinking that you wouldn't even have to be this fancy. In fact, in accordance with the simple, fresh, farming theme - you could do a whole lot with simple food and maybe bring the cost down a bit for the penny pinchers like myself who would probably not pay $150 a plate for any kind of food. Unless George Clooney was spoon feeding me or something.

Pachelbel Bedtime

2007-09-10T18:34:00.001-07:00

Gotta love Daddies who GET IT! Ain't nothing better!

Brain Clouds

2007-09-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

I just did two things that made me laugh at myself. One: I swatted a fly after putting up with its torturous buzzing for more than 30 minutes. (There it is again. Maybe it will go away. Why is it so lively? Maybe it will get tired and go away. There it is again. Why is this fly trying to kill me? There it is again. My GOD, that is an annoying fly) I swatted it, with a gusto bordering on rage, and then I couldn't see it. But I could still hear it. Still buzzing. Still buzzing. The buzzing sound is following me. Where is this freaking fly? Where? Where? Finally I realized that it was stuck to my rolled-up paper swatter, which I was holding in my hand, because I had swatted in a corner and picked up a whole bunch of cobwebs. To which the fly was now nicely stuck. Good Lord, I need to dust this place.

Two: I kept looking at a date I had written on the blog - 2008. (That's not right. It's not 2008. Yes, it is 2008. No, it's not. Let's see, last year was 2006. No, 2007. What the heck year is it, cobweb brain???) I actually had to check my email to determine WHAT YEAR I AM LIVING IN. This is sad beyond belief. I was once a smart girl. I swear. Darn kids.

Ellen and Madonna dancing

2007-08-31T12:35:00.001-07:00

OK, now really...just because you CAN wear something, does it mean you should?? I am so flashing back to 1978 band color guard baton twirlers meets Sparkles roller rink backward skating with Shane and Raymond.

And here is proof! Exhibit one: the purple sparkly 9th grade majorette uniform, with the unfortunate flesh-colored strap LOL. Madonna has ripped this woman off. Outrageous!

Buddies and the Brouhaha

2007-08-28T13:11:00.000-07:00

Here's something fun to do. Gather up all your best buds and cart yourselves up to the lake for a need-free, demand-less, apple pie-laden brouhaha. Stay up until all hours. For fun, not because one of your kids is throwing up. Watch a show called Intervention together so you can psychoanalyze strangers. When that gets too sad, flip to the Miss Teen USA pageant and psychoanalyze hairdo choices and the mindset of the runners-up as they come to grips with the inevitable fact that their lives are ending. Talk about Everything. With a capital E. Eat Anything. With a capital A. Make sure nutritional value is minimal while fat and carbs are maximal. (I know. It's not a word, but it's descriptive.) Create a new drink. Name it the Lake Runner. Declare it medicinal and healthy because that splash of Pomegranate juice really does outweigh the 8 ounces of rum it's mixed with. Swim around on floats for six hours straight, getting out of the water only to have a snack, a cocktail, or because you fear the pruning may be permanent. Meet a dog and invite her to join your merry band of Beeches. Call her Buddy. Because she is. Until she starts eating your pistachios and smelling like a dog that has been swimming in lake water and chewing on fish heads. Be forgiving. Even when Buddy's family leaves her with you while they go on a boat ride, happily waving at her from afar as if they know quite well that she's a big ole pain in the rear. One of us is meant to be a vet or an old lady with 12 cats, and we love that about her. Learn to play Gin Rummy. Even though strategic thinking is not the easiest kind of thinking to do through a Lake Runner haze. Wave at boys on the lake and pretend that they find you remotely interesting. Sit on a dock under an almost-full moon for hours. And talk. And talk. And talk. There is nothing at all better than this. There is a certain kind of therapy that takes place when you learn that a bunch of people you love and admire are going through the same things you are. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Even the really bad stuff that you wouldn't admit to most people. The book I'm reading at the lake calls it L'ho provato sulla mia pelle, which means in Italian "I have experienced that on my own skin." The author explains that it means- I have also been burned or scarred in this way, and I know exactly what you're going through. Somehow there is nothing more comforting than L'ho provato sulla mia pelle. Being understood... it just makes everything better. And then you get to go home to a little family, who is happy to see you. Who, really and for true, missed your presence. And you feel needed. In a good way. Amazing what a little brouhahaing can do for you.

Because I Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself

2007-08-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

This is what I wanted to say.

If a Tree Falls, and Everyone Hears the Cursing....

2007-08-20T12:26:00.000-07:00

We had some trees taken down at our house recently. If you haven't had the opportunity to witness such an event, it really is the bomb. I wish I could have gotten some better pictures, but I felt a little strange snapping photos of my shirtless guests, like some crazy suburban mother papparazzo. But let me tell you, it's pure, riveting entertainment for 8 straight hours. The passion, the drama, the blood, sweat and tears, the firings and rehirings all before lunch, the massive consumption of Gatorade, cigarettes and hose water...And for the low, low price of thousands of dollars you too can get the show to make a stop in your very own backyard! I was a little disappointed that the girls didn't find it quite as thrilling as I did. Boys would have been more fascinated by the process, perhaps. The girls instead were in all their bossy, nosy glory. First things first...Big Stuff comes to tell me (in case I was unaware) that there are some strange men in the backyard, and I should tell them to not even THINK of cutting down her friends, the small Christmas trees. Or there would be TROUBLE. Maybe she thought I would have the guts to put 6 grown men in timeout? Then Small Fry pipes up with her loud cautions and warnings directly to the crew, through the windows: "Be careful! Don't fall! That's too high! Stop yelling!" I don't know where she got that litany of bossy phrases. Finally, it was the colorful language that drove us away from the windows. Although I was riveted for longer than prudent I imagine. After 6 years of constantly stifling various curses, it was quite a shocking something to hear them flying freely and unrestrained throughout my backyard. I thought, this is the most excitement we've had around here in weeks! But, being the Mama and everything, I tore myself away from the show and hightailed it to Target, where the curses are muffled and the living is easy. We shopped in the usual boring fashion for school supplies, with nary a What The? Except in my head, of course.

See What The Heat Has Reduced Us To?

2007-08-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon, overcome by heatstroke and too many episodes of Looney Tunes. And if you think a very similar version of this picture was not being staged in an upstairs bedroom amongst the adults, you are sadly mistaken.

It's Hot, and I'm Not Kidding

2007-08-18T18:21:00.000-07:00

Houston, we have survived Week One of first grade. I say we, because naturally I've been as nervous and anxious as Big Stuff has. Or I guess more accurately, I've been nervous and anxious. She's been fine. Cutie Pie had to point out to me last week that I was not the one going back to school. Like I don't know that. Sheesh. (Maybe I should change his name to Smarty Pants...) Something about the Times They Are A Changin' just gets me all tied up in knots! Can't help it. Maybe I'm just going stir-crazy. Because it's like ONE THOUSAND degrees outside, and you don't even want to think about going outside, even to travel a mile or two in your swamp of a van so you can run as fast as you can to the door of your destination and collapse inside in the AC. I mean, are we living on the SUN or what? Yes, I'm a total wimp. Yes, I should be able to handle the heat better. I'm from Florida, the Sunshine State, for Pete's sake, where it is hotter than your wildest nightmares of Hell for most of the year. Which is why I MOVED, hello? But at least in my current state, you have the hope of cooler temperatures just around the corner. And I am all about hope. In the meantime, I will be hibernating indoors and talking myself down from the proverbial ledge, called Changes I Didn't Ask for Nor Want. Especially those involving little girls growing up.

Welcome Home, Hurry Back

2007-08-07T18:42:00.000-07:00

My cousin's husband came home from Iraq recently for an 18-day R&R. We didn't get to see the homecoming in person, but luckily Channel 4 covered the whole thing just for us!! Wasn't that thoughtful of them? My other cousin covered the family angle, in all its (almost) indescribable joy. Hey, if you have a minute or two...would you send up a prayer for Our Soldier and all the others like him? Love ya for that!

Remember When

2007-08-03T11:41:00.000-07:00

So, while I was on child-vacation I actually did more than redo the playroom. I remembered. Tried it lately? It's fab. I remembered what it was like when I was just ME, and when we were just US. Seeing as how the kiddies make such a dramatic impact on one's life, this was quite a feat in itself and an interesting jolt to the psyche. But FUN! Oh, really fun. Even though I kept looking for where I set down my right arm, we made the most of it. Cutie Pie and I started the week by meeting like undercover agents at a downtown hotel. One of the many great features of this hotel is a spinning-loungey thing on the top of it where smartly dressed young urbanites have drinks and watch the sunset. (Confession: We smiled chummily at the urbanites, while looking dismissively and disdainfully upon the haggard parent-tourists dragging children around up there. I mean, really, the nerve...to bring children to OUR place. Then we giggled at each other, knowing full well that would be us if not for Camp Grandma). We spent an hour or so there, fancy cocktails in hand, spinning around and reminiscing about this or that building, this or that experience. We had 6 years in Atlanta B.C., so we had plenty to talk about. And it was amazing! Hear this, friends: You can actually have a conversation with your beloved without interruption. It's true!! Such a thing exists! And contrary to your worst fears, you actually still have stuff to talk about that does not involve potty training, 529 plans or back-talking. After our sunset spin, we ate our favorite grown-up food - sushi - and finished the night with huge desserts, liquoured-up coffees and jazz music. It was heavenly. I didn't want to leave the next day. Because leaving meant Home, with all its accompanying responsibilities. And home is the best place on earth, right? It's every dream I ever had, come true, and yet...I think there are a couple of people who are missing each other when that Mama and Daddy thing takes over. So, how can we have our chocolate cappuccino cake and eat it too? How can Mama and Daddy co-exist with the undercover agents? It's a compartmentalization vs. integration problem really. At least, that's probably what all those GA. Tech-educated, young urbanites would say. It's a stumper. Let's think about it over another glass of wine and a sunset spin.

Well, I Was Right...

2007-07-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

Yep, the bad follows the good. I got three days of all-out, life-couldn't-BE-any-better bliss before the crap rained down. Well, I can't say it rained down really..it's just that one piece of my elaborate, 458-balls-in-the-air balancing act got jettisoned into outer space unexpectedly, leaving me dumbfounded and perturbed. Doesn't it just plain old stink when you can't orchestrate every detail of your life to your liking? But things could be worse. And I'm nothing if not adaptable! LaLaLa! So, disappointments and annoyances aside...I've just come off a week of child-free bliss. My girls were happily ensconced at Camp Grandma and Grandpa last week. They had a fantastic time swimming, having tea parties, discovering river gems and lizard skeletons and a ton of other happy events while Mommy....that's right, remodeled their playroom. I should have probably spent the week doing something completely unrelated to childhood (and I did a few things -more on that later), but it was actually rather fun! I spent hours and hours painting and putting together furniture and reorganizing stuff (oh the joy!) without having to feel guilty for saying 12 times a day...Hey, go watch another movie and don't you dare stick your hand in that paint can or you will be sorry. And it turned out so cute. I myself would like to play in there now. And I did. Do you realize how relaxing it is to put puzzles together? If it's good enough for a mental patient, it's good enough for me I always say. LaLaLa!

Isn't Life Just Like That?

2007-07-13T22:13:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about two things tonight. Donna Reed and how great life is. Remember the scene from It's a Wonderful Life when Mary is welcoming the Italian family (and their abundant livestock) to their new home in Bailey Park? She gives them bread, salt and wine - the symbolism has something to do with the nourishment, flavor and celebration of life. (I would look it up, but I'm trying to convert a huge file into a PDF in the other window, and it's about to kill me. Adobe, you are on my POOP list. I curse you.) That old fashioned ritual just got me to thinking about the counterbalance we experience every day. Salty and sweet, joy and tears, ups and downs. God gave me a bunch of ups this week, and I am all up in the sweet zone tonight. I'm just sitting her marveling at how really, really GOOD life can be. Of course, because you try to be a realist, or maybe it's the Catholic upbringing in you...you feel a teensy bit guilty and maybe a little bit apprehensive because you just know, without a doubt, that the bitter herbs will be on your plate at the next meal..But you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking I need to tell my future self - hey, don't lose heart now. Remember yesterday when God was so close that he actually answered a prayer? Well, He didn't go anywhere. He's still right here. So try not to worry. That big piece of cake will be coming out of the kitchen soon. And not only is He here with you, he gave you a whole bunch of angels disguised as best friends and kinfolk and crazy little kids just to cheer you up and keep you company at the table! And that is what you call True Love.

My Kids Say the Darndest Things - Part Deux

2007-07-08T19:15:00.000-07:00

Small Fry was in day camp for two weeks recently, which gave Big Stuff and me the chance to spend a few days alone together doing stuff that her little sister and I often do when she's in school....real quality-time stuff like running errands and having lunch at the Atlanta Bread Company. I'm too tired to be creative right now, ya'll. But even lunch at the ABC yields some good mama-daughter talks sometimes. Like this one:
Her: Mama, was Mema your mama when you were my age?

Me: Yes. She still is.

Her: Was she old then? (Apologies, Mom :-))

The mental wrangling she performs as she tries to understand time is hilarious. I'm pretty sure she was trying, in her mind, to stuff my 36-year-old self into a shorter version of me, because of course, shorter equals 6, and she was trying to figure out where grandmother fit into that line-up. In addition to the time and space continuum, she has also become quite interested in the Chinese. A few days ago, she saw some mundane item around the house and she called Small Fry over, reading out loud. "SF, this says Made in China. That means it's verrrryyyy special." Serious as a heart attack. Small Fry also performs mental gymnastics for our entertainment, and some of her best stuff is word twisting. At the pool, Small Fry kept trying to tell Cutie Pie and me something, and she became more and more frustrated that we couldn't understand her. She kept saying, "I've got an egg cake, mama." I would repeat back, "An egg cake?" And she would say, "Noooooooo, an egg cake! An egg cake!" This was accompanied by a look that told me I am surely the dumbest and deafest mama in all the world. Finally, after 8 or 9 tries, I got it. She needed a Tylenol, you know.....for the HEADACHE!! Sheesh.

A Little Bit of Knowledge

2007-07-05T17:52:00.000-07:00

A little bit of knowledge can be a confusing thing. Especially when your knowledge was acquired in Kindergarten. And especially when you require technically correct answers to all questions, and you are completely colorblind when it comes to shades of gray. So yesterday, I'm watching the fireworks...tear ducts and heart overflowing with pride and gratitude. I'm thinking about bravery and sacrifice and love. I'm looking around me wondering if anyone else is appreciating the "reason for the season," so to speak. And I think to myself (haughtily)... By God, MY kids are going to appreciate the significance of this moment! So I start talking in Big Stuff's ear about why we have fireworks on the 4th of July. It went something like this:

Me: Nice fireworks, huh?
Her: Yep.
Me: Big Stuff, do you know why we have fireworks?
Her: No, why?
Me: Because we want to remember when we became our own country.
Her: You mean Florida?
Me: No, honey, the United States. You know, America.
Her: Does everyone in the world have July 4th? Do they have it in China?
Me: Well, no, only Americans. People in other countries celebrate other stuff. But a long time ago in America, some people wanted us to have our own country instead of being part of Britain.
Her: What's Britain?
Me: (Note to self: Drill it down). That's a country way across the ocean.
Her: What do people in Mexico have?
Me: Cinco de Mayo.
Her: Do they speak Spanish or English?
Me: Yes. Anyway, we wanted to have our own country and be free. A lot of brave people had to fight a war so we could be free.
Her: That's the war B's mommy is in.
Me: No, actually, B's daddy is in that war, but I'm talking about a different war. (Note to self: Avoid talking about wars.) So, remember George Washington?
Her: Yes, he was our first president. Now George Bush is.
Me: (Relieved) Right!!
Her: Mom, does George Bush know George Washington?
Me: You mean personally? No, George Washington lived more than 200 years ago.
Her: That was before I was born.
Me: (Relieved) Yes!
Her: Was he the one who got killed before I was born?
Me: (Ackkkkk!) Killed? No, he died before you were born but he didn't get killed.
Her: Someone shot him.
Me: (Acckkkkk!) No, you're thinking of another president. So anyway..... how do you like being part of the best country on earth?
Her: Good.
Me: (Relieved) Nice fireworks, huh?

The Best Time of Day

2007-07-03T17:54:00.001-07:00

The best time of day was five minutes ago. That's when you get to lay in bed in the finally quiet half-light, with two wet heads resting on each shoulder, two exhausted little bodies cradled in each arm, and say to yourself: I am so lucky.... I am so lucky.... I am so lucky.....

This is Your Brain on Drugs

2007-06-28T17:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry ya'll, but this is just too funny to let pass unread.

Dinner with Meme

2007-06-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

I have the coolest supper club. We not only eat the most amazing food, visit the most amazing homes and laugh ourselves silly into the wee hours of way-past-our-bedtimes...we have these great conversations, too. There's this Question of the Night thing we do. I didn't realize this, but there's an equivalent in the blogging world called the meme. (Learn something new every day). This past week, the supper club's meme was "What was your first car?" which turned into "Tell us about every car you've had since you turned 16." Now, I must warn you, I'm the kind of gal who thinks a car is pretty much a mechanism to get from Point A to Point B, although I wouldn't turn down a red convertible if you offered me one. I once dated a guy who drove (he told me many times) a carefully restored, mint-condition Camaro. He was extremely proud of this vehicle. But when he drove up in it on our first date, I was apparently not as impressed as he would have hoped. He kept hinting around...so, what do you think of my car? And I think I said something about it looking very clean and asking did he recently wash it. (I know, catch a clue right?) I guess he was intrigued by my "feigned" non-interest in his car, and so he spent the next year of our relationship trying to "educate" me about cars. Yawn. In any case...I'm not a gearhead or whatever they call car people. But this dinner conversation was incredibly interesting to me, because I never realized how much of a milestone a car is to a person - myself included. There's always a story about where you were in life when you got the car, who you had to share the car with, what the car's name was, who helped you buy it, why you chose a certain make and model, how the car treated you and how you treated the car, how it made you feel about yourself.... It was all very telling about our personalities, our hopes and dreams at different times of our lives and how The Car is more than just transportation (OK, I'm finally getting it Mr. Camaro!). What was your first car? Mine was a Pontiac Su nbird - black interior and exterior...in Florida. Thaaaatttt's right. (It was implied at dinner that someone probably paid us to take the car instead of vice versa). It was ugly and it was hot, but I loved that car because it was MINE. And there is nothing like driving over the St. Johns River bridge at sunset with the radio blaring, the windows down (AND the AC on - sorry, Mom) in a car that is YOUR VERY OWN. You can't beat it with a stick shift.

Dreamy

2007-06-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

I have a recurring dream. I guess you could call it recurring...I'm always dreaming about a house. The house is always different, but all the houses have a few things in common. They are always HUGE with a spectacular view and many, many bedrooms. It's like my great-grandmother's house where I grew up, in that all the bedrooms are connected. In old houses, you had to walk through the "front" bedroom to get to the "back" bedroom. Our old house only had three bedrooms, but the houses I dream about have countless bedrooms. Here is the weird part. (I know, dreaming about houses is weird enough...I am an HGTV addict. Maybe that has something to do with it.) The houses I dream about are usually in major need of remodeling. They are all grand, old gorgeous things decorated in Brady Bunch-esque '70s decor. Which is, of course, hideous. You know, paneled walls. Golden Harvest shag carpeting. Scratchy tweed furniture in rectangular and square shapes. The houses are never mine. I'm usually walking through it trying to decide whether to buy it or not...trying to see the potential (great view, lots of bedroooms) behind the remodeling nightmare. What does it all mean?? It's starting to make me crazy. Last night, I dreamed about the same type of house, except it belonged to an old friend of mine, whom I'm not in touch with anymore. This time, she was about to remodel it. So today, thank you God for the internet, I researched the meaning of my dream. Dream interpretation? Completely uncredible and unscientific I'm sure, but worth a look-see if something is driving you nuts. There must be a reason I keep having this dream, right? The dream dictionary gave me this:

To see a house in your dream, represents your own soul and self. Specific rooms in the house indicate a specific aspect of your psyche. In general, the attic represents your intellect, the basement represents the unconscious, etc. If the house is empty, then it indicates feelings of insecurity. To dream that you are cleaning your house, signifies your need to clear out your thoughts and getting rid of old ways. You are seeking self-improvement. To dream that you are in the bedroom, signifies aspects of your self that you keep private.

Deeeeeeeeep, huh? They didn't have a dictionary entry for decor or Brady Bunch-esque, what are the odds? But perhaps that has something to do with getting rid of old ways, since I was a child in the 1970s. I need to improve something about myself that is hanging on since childhood. (Don't we all?) I don't know what the friend thing was about...except in my dream, I was annoyed that she saw the potential in something that normally only I would have been sensitive enough to appreciate. (Did I mention that I'm full of myself in my dreams, too?) So, apparently I'm haunted by a deep (and private) need for self-improvement coupled with an insecurity that someone is going to remodel my psyche before I get the chance. Either that, or it was the two very large margaritas I had last night.

This is Why I Don't Cook Breakfast

2007-06-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

And what is sadder still? I actually cooked another batch. And it was burned too. I didn't have the heart to take a second picture of the slightly-less burned bacon and burned freezer biscuits I served to my children. This is what happens when Daddy has to work on a Saturday! My brain just does not function at an acceptable level until 10 a.m. Is that so wrong?

I complained bitterly under my breath that I am incapable of making a decent breakfast when Big Stuff piped up, "Don't say that, Mama! It's not that bad. In fact, it's sort of good (as she eyed the bacon suspiciously.) I'm going to eat it." Man, I love that girl.