The days are just packed

Thanksgiving Memories

2011-12-19T19:05:00.002-06:00

This past Thanksgiving, we packed up our minivan and headed west for some long overdue family time. We just love Thanksgiving in New Mexico! Below are just a few highlights of the many things I was thankful for...

Cousins! (first cousins once removed, that is.)

Reading time.I loved (!) listening to the kids and their beloved Aunt Bambi (not her real name) giggle with delight while enjoying the latest installment of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. She giggles as much as they do.

Cribbage with my daughter. Here she is being instructed by cribbage master Uncle Bob (his real name), who shows no mercy. Her glee at beating the pants off me several games in a row was cute. His glee at her beating the pants off me was a touch humiliating, yet also endearing. The pride of the teacher oozed from his mockery. What I loved most was her progression. At first, Uncle Bob was at her side, helping her choose her cards and count her points. Later, she began to play on her own, but a particularly confounding hand would send her running from the table, cards in hand, shouting, "Uncle Bob!!" Eventually, the time for consultations was past -- she played me mano-a-mano... and held her own.

Sibling love and goofiness. Yes, they bicker. A lot. But, as I always remind them, they love each other. I tell them often that they hit the jackpot with their sibling, because they did. He is a wonderful brother. And she is a wonderful sister. Amidst the squabbles and general annoying of one another, are pockets of sweetness -- shared candy, kind words, and bedtime "I love you"s. And hugs on a mountainside.

Snow. We had to travel up into the mountains to find it, but it was worth the drive. (There's a funny story behind this excursion. Of course - it's us.)

Hi-D-Ho. What can I say about Hi-D-Ho? If you ever find yourself in downtown Alamogordo (but, why would you?), skip the familiar fast food chains and hit this local drive in. You'll be glad you did. Get the Tiger Burger. And the Butterscotch Milkshake. Mmmm. (And wear your stretchy pants.)

White sand.In your hair. And in your pockets. And in between your toes. And in your ears. And in other ...[ahem] ... unmentionable places. If you have never been, you should visit White Sands National Monument. The largest gypsum dune field in the world. The world. It is cool. Bring a couple of sleds. And unleash your children (and yourself!) Don't be afraid to put your 41-year-old body on a sled and head down a steep sandy slope. Remember to laugh as you tumble end-over-end ever so gracefully. Make sure the video camera is rolling.

Running. In the mountains. More on this elsewhere. It was awful and awesome all at the same time.

Woodstock. An impulse buy. Because I had $4 in my pocket. And he makes me smile.

Parents who love you and never stop praying for you.
Big, goofy dogs.More on them in my previous post.

And much, much more. Glorious sunsets. The stars at night. Hot oatmeal after a cold run. Thanksgiving dinner prepared in love. A cat named Smokey. A roaring fire and warm quilts. The neighbors' hysterical pet goat. Hastings. A shooting star just for me.

And Cherry 7-Up.

The dogs of Thanksgiving

2011-12-13T16:05:00.001-06:00

Our Thanksgiving was fraught with puppies. Four, count 'em, four puppies. Two big, two small. If you like dogs, my sister-in-law's is the place to be. This plethora of puppies is one of the many reasons my kids LOVE going to Aunt Vangie's. My kids (and my husband) are definitely dog people. Their glee and giggles at the puppies' antics always put a smile on my face. There really is nothing like a dog to bring a special kind of joy to a child's heart.

Quadruple the puppies, quadruple the fun!

First up, there is Snuggles. The miniature matriarch.
She's a slightly tubby chihuahua, with a freakishly long tongue. Needs assistance scaling the height of the couch cushions. Tends to the asocial, but has an affinity for my boy child, who has a gentle way with her.

Then there's Eva. With a face only a mother could love. She's everything you expect a chihuahua to be. Excitable, tremulous, underfoot, very licky. This tiny lady awoke us many a morning with her excitement-induced, snorting asthma attacks. Ah, good times, good times.

And then there are the big dogs: Molly and Ivan.

Molly is a hulking bear of a dog with a bulldog's stance and a bionic tail. Neurotic as all get out -- chews her nails and spends an inordinate amount of time grooming herself. It makes you want to pet her gently and soothe her like a distraught child, "There, there... it's okay... everything's going to be okay." Can you imagine what it's like to wake up each morning to this face ... ... inches away from your face? We can.

Finally, there is Ivan. He's an imposing figure. But here's the truth: it's a facade. Behind the I-could-tear-you-to-pieces-in-a-nanosecond exterior lies the softness of a teddy bear. He's just a huge baby. And he has the whine to prove it. He is the most attention/love seeking, doe-eyed, dog I've ever met. He knows he's found a sucker in my husband, and they have a special bond. I'm not much of a dog person, but it's true -- I have been caught, on occasion, wrapping my arms around this big galoot. Or letting him snuggle up to us while watching the big game.

Thanksgiving in New Mexico wouldn't be the same without these pups. When it's time for us to head home, we are told there is a collective depression that settles upon them.

And the feeling is mutual.

Duct tape summer

2011-08-19T16:35:00.022-05:00

First of all, I have to give a hearty thanks to my friend, Hannah, who introduced us to duct tape crafting at this summer's Bible Camp. At the camp, the kids made duct tape wallets such as the très chic one you see here ...

It was a labor-intensive craft for the workers, but oh-so-worth-it, as the kids loved it!

After Bible Camp, we came across this little book at our public library ...

(Stick It!: 99 DIY Duct Tape Projects)

... and she was off!

A few of the summer projects included more duct tape wallets: for Daddy on Father's Day, for Grandpa on his birthday (in Dallas Cowboy colors and with a fresh dollar bill tucked inside), and for her brother, just because.

There was a duct tape flower frenzy, with custom orders being taken for Daddy, Mommy, her brother, her BFF and of course, herself ...

Empty tissue boxes scored at a birthday party became treasure boxes (one for her and one for her BFF) ...

Beloved doll, Julie, received a much needed dresser for her clothing and accessories (at the foot of her fabulous canopy bed, which just so happens to be at the foot of my daughter's fabulous canopy bed) ...

(notice the divider to separate the compartments)

Somewhere floating around is a duct tape ring, which may never be found.

This little horse (found randomly in our sewing table and measuring 1-1/2" high by 1-3/4" long) now has a saddle, blanket, feed bag, and some sort of collar ...

(wearing the saddle and collar)

(wearing the blanket and feed bag)

And last, but not least, some duct tape flip flops (I got to help with these) ...

The girl just couldn't understand why (and was none too happy when) we would not allow her to wear the flip flops outside.

Have duct tape, will craft!

Love to share - locks and locks of it

2011-08-16T10:17:00.004-05:00

Oh, this girl. Where did she get her heart? The girl who, when she gets some candy, immediately says, Can I share some with my brother? The girl who jumps at the opportunity to help. The girl who is always on the lookout for gifts for her BFF. The girl whose primary joy is to make things that she can bestow as gifts upon others.

My giving girl.

Most of all, she gives love and I am always awed and grateful for it. I don't deserve it. But I receive it and it makes me yearn for a heart like hers. Just the other night at bedtime she took my face in her two soft little hands and planted a ring of sweet kisses from my chin up around my cheek to my forehead and back down the other side and ending on the tip of my nose. She has no idea what a quiet ecstasy it is, to be the recipient of her gift of love. But I know.

So it is no surprise that as her hair grew heavy and summer fast approached and talk turned to a short summer do, her first thought was, Who can I share this with?

If you have a like-minded little girl, or you yourself are in need of a style update, please consider donating to Locks of Love. Your donation will help provide hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children suffering from long-term medical hair loss. My daughter was thrilled when she received her thank-you card in the mail from the Locks of Love organization.

The hair grows back and the heart grows bigger.

How can you mend a broken heart?

2011-05-13T15:59:00.005-05:00

The other evening while my attention was absorbed by a phone call, my sweet girl was sitting quietly nearby flipping through an old photo album. At one point I glanced in her direction and was shocked to see her little body hunched over, weeping. I motioned to her to find out what had happened and she lifted up the photo album to show me this:

(Not his best photo)

It has been 8 months. 8 whole months. And she still dissolves into a puddle at the sight of him. Not all the time, of course. But sometimes, still.

As I held her, I had to let her know that I still miss him, too, and think of him at the oddest of times. Like the other day when I opened up the bathroom cabinet and remembered that we always needed to keep the cabinet shut or he would simply HAVE to check it out, wide-eyed and tentative, forcing his massive girth into the small space because, because .... well, I just don't know why. I'm sure he got trapped in there once or twice. Not the brightest bulb was he. Nope, not too bright.

But gosh, I miss him!

What I wouldn't give right now to lay my weary head on his oh-so-soft, warm, motoring tummy and make him comfort me (you always had to make him) and then laugh when he immediately set about cleaning whatever area I had besmirched with my offensive human touch.

Miss you, Seb ... you big dummy.

The Marathon

2011-02-24T16:01:00.002-06:00

This past Sunday, my husband ran the Austin Marathon. This is the story of that day.

The participants
My husband -- the runner

My brother -- race support team member, comic relief

My sister-in-law -- fellow marathoner, race support team member, the brains of the outfit

Me -- the wife, designated navigator
The kids -- the encouraging progeny

5:45am
The runner and his race support team head downtown for the start of the race. Confidence is high. So is the humidity.

6:55am
I leave the house with the children - late. We drive downtown to rendezvous with the race support team at (or near) mile 2, where we discover that parking is scarce downtown on marathon day.

7:00am, Mile 0
The race begins.

7:20am, Somewhere downtown
I locate the race support team and finally find a parking spot. We missed the runner at mile 2, but we are ready to catch him at mile 8.

Mile 8
The under-dressed children (who remind me, "Mom, you told us to wear shorts!"), now clad in borrowed long-sleeved shirts, cease shivering and are ready for Daddy with camera and hand-made signs.

We are looking for the runner, scanning the crowd for his white shirt. Suddenly he appears (in his grey shirt, not his white shirt, which he has already stripped because it is dang warm & humid), flying past us as he tosses his watch to the boy. Race spectating is a weird business.

Mile 12.5
We are waiting at the crest of a doozy of a hill. We are rethinking the message we have written on our dry-erase sign ("You're not slow, you're just enjoying the course"), judging that the folks coming up this hill are in no mood for humor.

We spot our runner reach the bottom of the hill. As he makes his way upwards toward our position, my brother, ever the motivator, approaches him to yell at him to get moving. When he reaches the top of the hill, as we shout words of encouragement and woo-hoos, he cries out, "Do you have socks?! Socks!"

- aside -

The day before the race, while talking to his race support team, the runner pulls out some sweet looking fancy socks that he has recently purchased, never worn. My sister-in-law, the experienced marathoner, warily asks him, have you run in those socks before?? No, but .... She and my brother, the experienced half-marathoner, exchange a look as the runner assures them that while he did not train with these socks, they are awesome and all will be well.

Mile 12.5 (cont.)
"Socks! Socks!" The requested socks, the trained-in socks, are in the runner's backpack. In the car. Two blocks away. I vow to be better prepared at the next checkpoint.

Mile 16
The runner is shirtless now. Confidence is, um ... medium? Humidity, high. He changes his socks.

Mile 19
We are just past mile 19. The kids are taking turns holding our sign, keeping count of smiles, chuckles, and comments elicited from the runners. Emma counted 47. Only one person said, "That's mean!" (but they said it with a smile.) One girl exclaimed, "That's right! What is wrong with me!?!"

My phone rings. It's the runner. He is close. I wonder why he is calling. He breathes into the phone the unexpected words, "I'm done."

You must know this man to know what this means. I know this man. This man is not a quitter. He is not fainthearted. This man is a runner. He runs. This is a man who routinely, daily, pushes through pain. He is a man who does not lightly abandon a goal. I know this man. And I know what it means when he says that he is done. My heart sinks. Because I know what it means.

The support team, the family, is deeply concerned. My brother walks to meet him, to assess his condition. He is unsure whether to push the runner to go on, or not. When he reaches the runner, he understands better. Nauseous and in pain, the runner tosses his cookies. As I approach, I find him heaving behind a fence; my brother is with him. I go to my husband and I stand with him, I lay my hand on him, I wait.

We are all waiting. We have no other agenda for the day than to be here for this man. Whether he stops or whether he continues, we are here with him. We are not in a hurry, we are not disappointed, we are not hungry, we are simply here. With him.

As he sits to rest with our sister-in-law, my brother and I go for some mineral water. In our absence, he asks advice of the woman who understands his struggle, his pain, his desire. And she advises him - wisely, realistically, quietly. It's not a pep talk - her words are simply truth.

My brother and I return with the Perrier and we sit with him. We wait with him. There is nothing I want more than for him to finish his race. For him. We all want that. And so we wait. I sense a peace in the waiting. With him. We are with him. For him.

Eventually, he stands. He walks. He moves forward, toward the goal. We leave him to head for Mile 22, but, really, we are still with him.

Mile 22
He comes. He is moving forward. He smiles. He continues past us. We are still with him.

(The race support team detours for lunch. I know I said we weren't hungry. We weren't, but now we are, and there are children.)

Mile 23.5
We arrive at mile 23.5, sit on the curb, eat our Chipotle, and wait for the runner. Quietly hoping. He comes. He rests. I rub his back. I joke with him that he had to run 23 miles to get me to do that. We encourage, he departs, we finish our burritos, and then we head downtown to meet him at the finish line.

The finish line.

Mile 26.2
I am excited, guardedly excited. 7.2 miles ago, I didn't expect to be here, waiting, at the finish line. Yet here we are.

We find a good spot along the final stretch and watch the runners come in. It is a moving thing to witness. We are past the 6 hour mark, so these folks are not the elite. They are not running for glory, not now, or even for personal best. They are running to finish. They are the ones who could have given up, should have just stopped, but didn't. They are the mom who covers the last 50 yards hand-in-hand with her toddler. They are the woman celebrating her 66th birthday - on a grueling race course. They are the dad crossing the finish line with his child on his shoulders. They are the man with a prosthetic leg, showing the rest of us what is possible. They are the many others whose stories we do not know, whose secret motivations are hidden from our eyes. But still we are inspired by each one, because we see their heart. We revel in their triumph, and we are proud.

My brother sees him first -- "Here he comes!" I barely have time to get my lens cap off, barely have time to snap the photos and call his name, barely even see him as he is sprinting down the stretch. Sprinting. The man who was overheated at mile 12, breathless at mile 16, done at mile 19. Sprinting the final .2.

This day did not go as any of us had planned or expected. Does anything, really? But we gained so much. I witnessed my husband emerge from a dark place of pain and defeat. He did not do it alone. None of us do it alone. I witnessed the love of family - husband, wife, brother, sister, child - and its power to comfort, encourage, believe, motivate, sustain. This love cherished me and it cherished him.

Don't let anyone tell you that 6:28:46 is not a triumph. It was.

Postscript

When I began writing this tale, I intended it to be his story, but I realize now that it is mine. The runner has his own story to tell and you should ask him about it. It involves many of the things I have mentioned - determination, despair, hope, pain, family, love. All that ... and a cup named Turq.

The girl doesn't like math

2011-02-16T16:03:00.000-06:00

I find it ironic that my daughter, the child who consistently professes her dislike of mathematics, spent a good part of a recent afternoon speaking to me in fractions.

Such as ...

"Mommy, so-and-so has a van that fits eleven people." "Wow," I say, "That's a lot of people." She surveys the inside of our van. "Ours has room for seven. So their van can fit one and a half more people in it."

(So maybe she didn't phrase it exactly right, but you can see where she was going with it.)

And later, as we are driving down the street ...

"Emma, look at that big dog!" (Because we simply must observe and report any and all cute and furry animals encountered on our travels.) "Ooh!" she replies, "That dog is three-quarters my size!"

But don't be fooled. I have it on good authority that the girl does not like math.

Heart of gold

2011-02-14T08:04:00.002-06:00

A couple of weeks ago I was inspired by my son's new organization scheme for his gymnastics medals, which came into being after he earned his first ever silver and bronze medals.

The new system looks like this.

(For those of you who are having trouble making out the light pencil on white paper on white backboard on not-so-white wall, the categories are "4th place or lower", "Bronze", "Silver", and "Gold".)

What I love most about this system is its implicit optimism. The way it quietly screams, "I don't have a gold ... YET!!")

Hope is one thing. Expectation is another. I wondered which of these filled his heart. Especially when, at the very next meet, in the middle of what was shaping up to be a stellar, gold-medal floor routine, he had a major flub. A one-full-point-deduction flub. I considered the empty peg on the wall in his room. I wondered how his heart would fare. Where did his focus lie?

My child made me proud. This boy - ahem, this young man - did not give up nor did he fall apart. He recovered from his error and finished his routine. And after he left the floor, I was even more proud. There could have been tears, frustration, anger. He is eleven, after all. He easily could have focused on the negative, on what had been lost. Instead, and with some encouraging words from his coach, he embraced the positive.

And then on Monday he went back to the gym. And he worked. Hard.

This weekend he had another meet. His floor routine was stellar.

Do I have to tell you the boy was floating on air?

Snow Day

2011-02-04T14:50:00.001-06:00

Usually Jim Spencer gets waaay too excited about these things, as all of us here in central Texas are prone to do, so last night I scoffed at the weatherman's "computer models" and their snow-filled "predictions." Snow, schmo. We went to bed around 11pm, not a flurry in sight.

We awoke at 6am and with grand anticipation checked the local tv channel where we received the happy news - no work for me and no school for the kids! I'm sorry I doubted you, Jim.

I do have to admit I was pretty disappointed with the paltry accumulation (I didn't grow up here. I know what snow, real snow, is.) But a day off is a day off, and snow on the ground is snow on the ground. And kids who have not grown up with regular snowfalls are wonderfully, blissfully easy to please in the snow department.

As I write this, around 2pm, the white stuff has pretty much melted in the withering 39 degree temperatures and blazing sunshine bearing down from a cloudless sky.

Go ahead and laugh at us, you mid-westerners, you mountain-dwellers, you snow veterans of the northeast. It's all we got. And I loved it.

I loved the glee on their cold little faces.

I loved their obliviousness to the cold & wet.

I loved their first snowball fight.

I loved their giggles and silliness.

I loved their sweet snow creations.

I loved filling their bellies and warming their hearts with hot chocolate (which they happily declared to be the best hot chocolate EVER! despite the fact that I would not allow them to adulterate it with marshmallows.)

I loved the simple beauty which lay hidden all around us.

And I loved hearing the following words, uttered by my youngest, "Thank you, Lord, for the snow."

Amen.

The Ladybug

2011-01-18T20:55:00.004-06:00

Today was a beautiful day, warm and cool and mosquito-free. We were outside with our daughter while she rode up and down our driveway and around the cul-de-sac on her bike.

At the top of the driveway, she spotted a ladybug and called us to see. I stooped down to pick it up. So my daughter could hold it. Because holding a ladybug is fun.

I held it for a moment and then put it in my daughter's hand. It landed on its back, so I moved in to assist it. In a blink, it was flipped out of my daughter's hand. In alarm, she quickly pulled her foot back against the ground, and began to search for the ladybug.

I found it.

It was flat.

I said to my child, "I think we killed it."

As I looked down at the flattened form, I felt a stab of guilt. For the bug I had disturbed, had caused to die. My daughter looked down at the ruined bug. I feared the tears would flow from her sensitive being. I braced myself. A few moments passed.

As she looked down at the pavement, she uttered the following words, in her trademark flat, matter-of-fact tone...

"I'm glad I'm not a bug."

And then she pedaled on.

A few minutes later she spotted another ladybug. I didn't pick it up.

Disney Memories

2011-01-10T10:20:00.003-06:00

Well, it only took me a year, but I finally finished my first Disney scrapbook, the one for my parents, who generously arranged our trip. The book is now in Florida, but, since I remembered to scan it, now I can look at it any time I want AND I can share it with you!

The pages are 8x8, if you're interested, and I never would have finished it without the help of my good friend, Marcie, her treasure trove of *highly* organized papers and stickers and tools, her donated Disney embellishments, and the all-day scrapbooking event she invited me to. Yay, Marcie!

A Christmas Poem

2011-01-06T16:03:00.000-06:00

Or:

How to make Clement Clarke Moore cringe from the grave

Or:
How to make my brother laugh (and cry) even when he's not happy with me

A Gift for Rory

'Twas the week before Christmas
And my heart was aflutter.
I had all my gifts,
Save the one for my brother.

For his list many times
We cajoled and we pleaded.
But to our dismay,
Our pleas were not heeded.

Where would we shop?
Oh, what would we buy?
What in the world
Can we get for that guy?

A-shopping we went
With grandiose design.
We'll sure knock his socks off
This Christmas time!

We shopped at the mall,
Old Navy and Target.
We even hit Wal-Mart;
You know we were desperate.

We queried the kinfolk,
"What did you get for Rory?"
Each person we asked
Just had the same story.

"You know your brother
Didn't send us a list.
He's always been difficult,
That Rory!" they hissed.

So what can we get for this
Super cool man?
Maybe something to show
He's the ultimate fan.

Aggies or Cowboys
Or maybe the Rangers
(So bummed that the trophy
And they remain strangers.)

Nah, sports is too obvious.
How 'bout a top?
Something blue or deep green
To make his eyes pop!

"Get him some wine,"
Suggested the nephew.
Hmm, maybe instead
We should call Dr. Drew.

A nice vuvuzela
To relive World Cup fun?
But that crazy noisemaker
Would make Mom come undone.

Perhaps something quirky
Like a jar of cashews,
Chia pets or a clapper,
Or a Snuggie or two.

What can you give to
The man who has all?
Surely he doesn't need
Crap from the mall.

When truly the one thing
We wish to convey,
Are three little words
We don't often say.

So if you're not satisfied
To hear "We love you."
Then give us your list
Before the day's through.

Although I would love to post the video of the live reading ... I won't. And, dear brother, your gift is on the way (along with our thank-you notes.)

Griffin

2010-11-17T19:56:00.002-06:00

If you hear of a dognapping in the area, I'll go ahead and confess - it was us. Okay, me. I'll not implicate my innocent family.

What, pray tell, would compel me to commit such a heinous act and embark upon a life of crime?

This guy ... meet Griffin.

Because if I were ever going to dognap a dog, it would be this one. There is none other that I want.

Here's how it happened. A few weeks ago, a friend of ours asked my husband if we would be willing to dog-sit for the weekend. As in, bring his dog to our house. My husband (oh-so-wisely) put the query to me, and to our mutual surprise, I said, Sure, why not? With the following conditions: YOU make sure the fence is secure, YOU feed the dog, YOU walk the dog, YOU take care of any and all requirements pertaining to the care of the dog. Having thus absolved myself from any onerous obligations, I resigned myself to tolerate having a dog in my house for a weekend.

What happened, of course, was that this scraggly little pooch stole my heart. I mean, just look at that face! What can I say about Griffin? Probably first and foremost, the thing I loved best about little Griffin is this: not once did he make any attempt to lick me. Not once. That alone sets the bar high for any dog which may come after him. So very high.

As if keeping his tongue to himself wasn't enough to forge an undying attachment to him on my part, Griffin also happens to be a love bug. Docile, sweet, gentle. Say a word to him, or merely glance in his direction, and he rolls over onto his back and looks up at you with a face that simply says, Rub my belly. It is slightly reminiscent of the dog in the movie Up: "My name is Dug. I have just met you, and I love you."

We didn't tell the kids beforehand that we were dog-sitting. We thought that would be a fun surprise. It was. It played out like this: The kids walked in from school, saw Griffin, and immediately exclaimed in ecstatic and rapturous wonder, We got a dog??!!

To which we laughed, and said... no.

Don't worry, they were not scarred (on some level, they knew such a fortune could not possibly be true); the initial disappointment was eased plenty enough just knowing we had a whole weekend with our new friend.

As a family still grieving the loss of the old man cat, we showered our pent-up affection on this willing recipient. I knew I was sunk when the little guy snuggled up in bed ~~with~~ between us at night - and I liked it. (Not to besmear the memory of the old man cat, but did he ever snuggle with us? Uh, no.) That dog has a special way about him.

When it came time for Griffin to go home, how the tears did flow from you-know-who. And I'm not embarrassed to tell you that the first couple of days without him, I missed him something fierce.

*In case the father of the sweet girl to whom Griffin belongs is reading this, of course you know I'm kidding about the dognapping. Besides, we already returned your house key.

The latest stack

2010-11-16T16:47:00.008-06:00

Well, I've done it again. Why can't I stop myself? After a quick afternoon trip to my favorite branch of the Austin Public Library, I returned home with yet another insurmountable pile of books. The three books I had on hold were ready, plus I found a few others.

Is this a sickness? It's like being at a buffet and not being able to stop yourself from piling 2 weeks of food onto your plate. Sure, you're hungry. But you're not THAT hungry. I feel like a glutton. Why can't I leave some of these books on the shelf? What am I afraid of? It's not like they're going anywhere. At least not for more than 3 weeks.

So, here's what I've got and I've got 3 weeks to get 'em read.

The three on top are books on CD (for the kids) for the car. And one of the books is my daughter's (The Battle of the Labyrinth). And one of them I actually just finished (Into Thin Air). But I didn't photograph the one I'm currently reading (The Sun Also Rises). I don't know, maybe the stack isn't so daunting after all. Besides, I'm anticipating having oodles of time over Thanksgiving. Because that always happens.

P.S. I love you, Library.

Meet your favorite rock star author

2010-11-11T17:22:00.006-06:00

I know Betty White thinks that Facebook is a huge waste of time, but here's is why I disagree (for the most part.)

The other day as I was scanning my Facebook page I noticed that one of my friends had posted a quick comment about an upcoming event (that very day) taking place at a local bookstore. It was the world release party (WORLD release, people) of the latest in the Diary of Wimpy Kid series. The author himself would be on hand signing copies of the book and meeting his young fans.

Being the mother of a Wimpy Kid fan, I knew I would be AWESOME MOM if I surprised my kid and took him to the event. A quick internet search provided all the necessary information. With an assist from my husband and a quick call to my Facebook friend, we were armed with a plan to head downtown, pick up our copy of the new book, and meet the man himself - Jeff Kinney. Woo-hoo!

All thanks to Facebook. Someone should tell Betty White how useful it can be. You never know, it could even help you get a gig hosting SNL.

We came. We stood in line. We slung mashed potatoes. We stood in line. We sat. We stood in line. We took pictures. We stood in line. We read the entire new book, cover to cover. We stood in line. We stood in line. We stood in line. We met Jeff Kinney. Whew.

My feet hurt. The boy's head hurt. We were hungry. We were tired. Would we do it again? You bet. Why?

That's why.

[Imagine the Rocky theme in your head]

2010-10-23T22:40:00.003-05:00

I just wrapped up week 5 of my renewed exercise campaign. My forty-and-fabulous campaign. Although I'm fairly certain I will reach forty-one before I reach fabulous. But then I will just change the campaign slogan to forties-and-fabulous. Either way, it's a goofy slogan.

Much to my own surprise, my exercise of choice these past weeks has been ... running. (Stop laughing, Dad.)

Now why would I go and do a thing like that? I wasn't sure myself the answer to this question. But then I recognized that I happen to be surrounded by a particularly wacky group of people - let's call them runners. People who run even though there is absolutely nothing chasing them.

I live with one. I am married to one of these runners. He likes running. For real. In fact, he likes it so much that he has signed up to run the Austin marathon. Again. He's looking forward to it. Wacky, right?

My sister-in-law is also a runner. I've never explicitly asked her, but I'm pretty sure she likes it, too. She runs marathons. Plural. In many ways, I want to be like her - because she is very cool. Today is her birthday. And what did she do on this day, her birthday? Yeah, she ran. Dear Sheila, you are an inspiration to me.

I am also related by blood to one of these people. My brother. He runs. In fact, you could say that the man is a veritable running fool (right, Dad?) But he's the kind of runner I can really relate to. The kind of runner who looked at me on the eve of his running the half-marathon and said, with a sigh and a pained expression on his face, "I hate running." But did that stop him? No way - the man ran his 13.1 miles, and then threw down some DoubleDave's.

So, you may say it was inevitable that I would be drawn into this insanity. Peer pressure. The need to belong. The desire to be a contender in the annual Villa Sabine Mini-Triathlon (oh yeah!)

But here's the really weird part: I like it. Maybe not the running per se, but there definitely is something about it that is very nearly enjoyable. It could be the challenge, the solitude, the endorphins, the satisfaction of reaching of a limit and then pushing past it, the almost imperceptible thing called progress.

Yeah, I like it.

And the grief goes on

2010-10-08T18:15:00.012-05:00

Two days from now, it will be one month since we lost our old man kitty. I still tear up when I come home and he isn't at the door waiting for me food. Sometimes I think I hear him down the hall. I even miss his caterwauling (well, that not so much.) In these past few weeks, each of us has traveled varying distances on our own winding paths of grief.

It is a painful thing to watch this grief wash over your child. I will never forget the night before he left us, the night we all came to realize that his life was slipping away. How we cried together. How we fawned over him. How we longed to ease his suffering. My son sitting at the table eating his dinner and bursting into tears at the sound of our little friend's pained cries. How my heart nearly broke at the two mingled sounds.

My own pain at the loss of him has eased in this time. Age and perspective and the cares of this life intervening to dull its effects. Until the sweet girl comes out of her room at night, tears in her eyes, with the now anticipated words on her lips ... I miss kitty. My own pain is further diminished when I consider the magnitude of hers, when her broken heart is written there, on her face, in her voice. And then a fresh pain, the pain of a mother, as she utters the words that pierce me - I just want him to come back. If only I could give that to her.

But I can't.

So, I do what I can. I lie with her in the dark and hold her. I let her cry. And I cry, too. I let her talk. I suppress my own desire to speak, to fix, to coax the tears away. I stroke her tear-streaked face, and listen to her pour out her grief. I listen as she tells me she doesn't think there is another kitty in the whole world like our kitty. And I agree. I listen as she lays out a plan to honor and remember him. At the appropriate time, I remind her of that silly thing he used to do and elicit a shared chuckle amid the sobs. The pain is still there. But grief once shared becomes a lesser burden. And sleep comes.

She showed me today the drawing she made and taped upon her door....

... and I wondered if her grief would ever end.

And then she speaks of the future, of the kitties which are to come.... And I am reminded that life goes on, that though the heart does not forget, it yet was made to be healed. And healing slowly comes.

A girl and her kitty

2010-09-21T21:37:00.005-05:00

Her first word was meow.

I still remember the day she discovered him. I mean, really discovered him. It happened fast and he escaped so quickly (but not as quickly as he could have) that by the time I got the camera it was over. But I remember her face. Her face was bliss. And his little kitty life was never the same.

I always marveled at how much he was willing to put up with at her hands. Perhaps he sensed there was no malice in her touch - just pure, absolute adoration. Perhaps he sensed her gentle spirit. Perhaps he sensed that a girl with a heart as soft as hers needed a soft and pliant kitty on which to lie. Perhaps he secretly enjoyed being that kitty.

There has never been a time in her life when he wasn't in it.

Until now.

In loving memory of our sweet old man kitty, Sebastian

March 1996 - September 2010

Encouragement

2010-08-27T17:41:00.005-05:00

A friend shared this verse via Facebook today,

Come and let us return to Jehovah;
For He has torn us, but He will heal us,
And He has stricken us, but He will bind us up.

Hosea 6:1

My very first thought when I read it, was AHA! I knew it! HE has torn us. HE has stricken us.

But then I read again. And my heart softened (cue miraculous music).

But He will heal us.
But He will bind us up.

[sigh] It has been quite the doozie of a week. Twice this week I collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep. This is something I never do. But this week really did me in. And to be honest, this past year has really done me in. This past two years. Okay, nearly this past decade. I am tired. I am torn. I am stricken. I am wallowy. (I made that word up.) For years I have been descending deeper into this abyss of self-pity, desperate for rescue, yet each day more confidently assured there was no hope of rescue for me. And I remain ever stubborn, hardened, unturned, unyielding, unwilling to return.

And here on this day, the culmination of a week of being pressed beyond my limits, this verse. From a friend who has endured her own week (and more) of affliction and has need of its comforting as much or more than I. And not only that, but also on this day, this friend entered in to my life to meet another of my needs, most graciously and sweetly.

Does she know that her coming was God's coming? That her presence was God's presence? That her comfort was God's comfort?

That is not all of the comfort of today, but it is all I can bear to share. And Hosea 6:3:

Therefore let us know, let us pursue knowing Jehovah:
His going forth is as sure as the dawn,
And He will come to us as the rain,
As the latter rain which waters the earth.

Family Night

2010-08-25T21:37:00.004-05:00

At our beloved local library. (Since we had about 20+ books that were due -- TODAY. And nothing makes me want to kick myself more than owing the local public library money for all of my free books.)

One of my favorite sights of the day:Like we aren't busy enough with the onset of school, here's our latest stack serving its dual purpose of holding down the hearth. (Notice one of the titles is Deadly Perils and How to Avoid Them. I just noticed that one. Yes, my 11-year-old son picked it out.)
So, I mentioned in my last post that I was starting Anne of Green Gables. How did I not read this book as a youngster?? Love it! I continue to be surprised each time the storytelling causes an involuntary smile to break forth on my face. In fact, the other day I was so enrapt in the book I actually ran into an old guy on campus (old guy = distinguished professor who works in my building), a collision which sent my beautiful Italian bookmark flying across the floor (recovered, unharmed.) I told you this would happen some day. Thankfully, I didn't hurt Dr. So-and-so, nobody fell down and only a few scattered people were witnesses - if they noticed, they pretended not to. To be fair (to me), he did stop very abruptly and change direction right in front of me. In the future, I'll be watching out for this guy.

The Red Pony

2010-08-19T15:45:00.009-05:00

I just finished reading The Red Pony, by John Steinbeck. It was a very satisfying little book. I would love to recommend it to my son, but I have learned that the surest way to disinterest him in something (i.e. a book) is for me to suggest it to him. [sigh]

Any strategies out there to combat this phenomenon?

I eagerly await your wisdom. In the meantime, I will share with you a little quote. It is short. It may not strike you the way it struck me. That's okay. I think its poignancy is somewhat lost out of context. But anyway.... Just picture a 10-year-old boy growing up on a ranch in northern California around the 1930s. The boy has been given a responsibility and a promise and is setting off to complete his task with a sense of earnestness and importance.

The warm morning sun shone on Jody's back so sweetly that he was forced to take a serious stiff-legged hop now and then in spite of his maturity.

That's all. Just felt like sharing a tiny tidbit. Now it is on to Anne of Green Gables.

Sewing Camp

2010-08-10T14:43:00.002-05:00

Have you heard of such a thing? Well, I hadn't. But thanks to our friend, Jennifer (thank you, thank you!), now I have. And not only have I heard of it, but thanks again to wonderful Jennifer, my daughter was a happy attendee in the camp last week. For those of you who have a little girl (or boy, because why can't a boy want to sew?) who's itching to get creative with a sewing machine, just visit Austin School of Fashion Design to find out all of the camp info. As I understand it, they also have classes during the school year and even classes for adults (like me) who own a sewing machine but haven't the foggiest idea what to do with it (me) and who may be currently using their sewing machine table as a TV stand (yeah, me).

Back to my awesome girl, though. Over the course of the week she made a hat, a purse, a shoulder bag, an apron, and at least 11 little pouches. Here's a picture of her wearing most of her handiwork.

And the cute little purse with a hand-sewn button.

And the many, many pouches. Very pleased with herself, she is.

True to her generous nature, she made gifts of the many pouches to family members - I was the recipient of the chic red and black paw print pouch, which is the perfect size for my cell phone.

And this is the girl in action. No hesitation, no fear. Speedy Gonzalez, they call her.

The following project was not a part of sewing camp per se, but was more the inspiration. Jennifer has been spending some quality time with our daughter over the last couple of months and they have been working on a very special project together. This project was finished on the final day of sewing camp, providing a wonderful consummation to the week. The project was a special bag in which to carry a very special doll, Julie. Julie is the much cherished American Girl doll received for Emma's 8th birthday and Julie needed a mode of transport. Now she has it.

Stitching of the names and little dog (hard to see) done by Emma.

Jennifer and Emma (and all her stuff!)

Summer Reading List (Completed)

2010-08-09T16:28:00.003-05:00

Since I can't muster up enough brain power to string together words into an amalgamation of coherent and/or witty sentences, I give you my summer reading list. A list of the books my nose has been buried in while walking up and down campus this summer, making you nervous for my safety, if you saw me, wondering when I was going to finally trip, fall down, possible break something and most assuredly embarrass myself. (And by "summer" I'm counting all the books I've read since May, since that will make me feel more accomplished even though it is essentially cheating.)

The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas.
NurtureShock: New Thinking About Children, by Po Bronson.
Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett.
The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood.
Islands in the Stream: A Novel, by Ernest Hemingway. My first time reading Hemingway. Loved his style and will be adding more of his works to my list.
The Lucky One, by Nicholas Sparks. You probably shouldn't follow up a Hemingway novel with something like this - it makes you feel like a literary snob. (No offense intended toward Mr. Sparks. I certainly couldn't write a novel. And anyway, I read it while on vacation at the beach, which it was perfectly suited for.)
The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde.
Fantastic Mr. Fox, by Roald Dahl.
Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt.
Girl with a Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier.
Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut. This book has been on my to-read list for a while. I really didn't expect to like it and meant to slog my way through it so I could finally just check the darn thing off my list. I was surprised that I was continually drawn to it and found myself sneaking away time to read it. I found the following passage absurdly beautiful:

Billy looked at the clock on the gas stove. He had an hour to kill before the saucer came. He went into the living room, swinging the bottle like a dinner bell, turned on the television. He came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

Here kitty, kitty .... Kitty?

2010-08-04T15:56:00.004-05:00

It was so peaceful this morning. No caterwauling at 5:30am. 6:00am. 6:30am. Ahhh.

But I didn't notice the silence. I was sleeping.

I vaguely noticed when I entered the kitchen that the old man cat was not hot on my heels demanding his morning meat paste. Vaguely. I did have a fleeting thought that he must be lying dead somewhere in the house if he wasn't out pestering us (what else could keep him from his meat paste?) Eh. Whatever - the cat's moods cannot be accounted for and I needed to get to work.

I made my breakfast and prepared to leave. I finally heard a distant sound of meowing. Weird, I thought, why is he crying in the back of the house if he wants to be fed? Why doesn't the stupid oaf come to the kitchen instead of trying to wake everyone up? Again, eh. Not my problem. He knows where to come if he wants to be fed.

Almost ready to leave, I hear the meowing again, but this time I perceive the direction from which it emanates. I walk to the door that leads into the garage, unbolt it, and open it. Well, wouldn't you know it - in darts the kitty, wide-eyed, whining, a little dingy, and ravenously hungry (no surprise there).

Huh. That's weird. What is the cat doing in the garage? I do remember bolting the door the night before. I do not remember a fuzzy hulk of a cat breezing past me into the garage to explore its myriad wonders. I bet he felt pretty smug about his stealthiness until he heard the bolt click and the lights went out.

Now, we didn't lock him in the garage all night on purpose. Honest. Sure, sometimes we call him names. Stupid. Whiny. Oaf. Fatty. Dolty McDolterson ... but we really do love him. Honest. Poor little (and I use the term loosely) guy. Stuck in the stuffy, dusty, dark garage all night. No vittles. No prospect of waking up the people with his offensive odors and sounds. We felt bad. Honest. That said, you can be sure we got a good chuckle this morning over his plight.

I am baffled he was able to get into the garage without me noticing, but man, oh man, was it quiet and peaceful this morning!

You can see he's none the worse for wear (picture taken at 4:00pm today).
Um, does he still look mad?

Summer Road Trip Soundtrack

2010-07-14T11:48:00.009-05:00

Nearly 2 weeks ago, as we embarked on our most recent road trip to lovely Pensacola Beach, there was a moment. A moment when my heart was charmed. A moment when I fell further into love with the man who sat beside me. A moment in which I was keenly aware of his sweet love for me. I'll get to that moment in a minute. First the background.

Before our 12-hour road odyssey can even begin, there exists the ritual of the frantic organizing and packing and the loading of the minivan. Let me be clear (do I sound presidently?): the frantic part of this equation is me. I accuse no other parties of being frantic. They are not. It's me. I simply become overwhelmed with the magnitude of what must be accomplished in order for us to leave our house. Mostly the tasks are small, but they just never end. It does me in. Every. Single. Time.

In the midst of my frantic packing chores, I decided that what I needed was some music. Something peppy and energetic and uplifting. So I went to the computer, pulled up Pandora, clicked on my ABBA station (yes, I have an ABBA station), and set the volume on high.

You can dance, You can jive, Having the time of your life....
See that girl, Watch that scene....

I then set about my tasks with renewed vitality, singing and um, jiving about the house. (Which scene promises to be a ~~favorite~~ emotionally scarring memory of my children one day.)

Now back to the moment. The car has been packed, the house is secured, the kids are buckled, the cat has been unceremoniously deposited at the kennel. We're heading down Manchaca (for you non-Austinites, that street is pronounced 'man-chack' - just go with it) and I am sorely missing my 70's disco music. I look at my husband and wistfully say, I wish we could listen to ABBA in the car.

Which is his cue. He slyly leans forward, hits the power button on the CD player, and the opening strains of "Dancing Queen" pour through the speakers.

I love that man. He had burned me a CD while I was in freak mode. The man loves me.

Driving out of Austin has never been so fun. But by the time we hit "Fernando" the kids were pretty much done. I was subjected to pathetic whimpers of How long is this CD? and Are we going to listen to ABBA the whole way? wafting forward from the back of the van. I didn't care. On I sang...

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line, Honey I'm still free, Take a chance on me....

Well, wouldn't you know it, by the end of the trip, as we rolled back through Texas, the following question was posed by my son, the heretofore most vocal opponent of ABBA in the van, Hey, can we listen to some ABBA? The girl chimed in, Yeah, yeah! Mamma Mia! Mamma Mia!

Ah, converts.

You can take the boy out of the gym...

2010-06-18T12:51:00.009-05:00

.... but you cannot take the gymnast out of the boy.

Haiku fun

2010-06-17T16:23:00.004-05:00

A few weeks ago, my son excitedly related to me his idea for a new game. I encouraged him to write down his ideas and create the rules so we could play it. For your family's game night pleasure, I proudly present to you:

"Quicku"

(If any Parker Bros. reps are trolling the internet for new game ideas, we do expect to see some royalty checks when you roll this one out.)

The basic rules are as follows. The game consists of 10 rounds. In each round, a subject card is drawn. (We made our own subject cards, including the following subjects: gum, noodles, soccer, pizza, a rainforest, birthdays, a purse, vegetables, gymnastics, etc.) Each player then has 90 seconds to write a haiku about that subject. Players start with 100 points. You lose 10 points if you fail to complete your haiku, or if your haiku does not follow the proper format. (The scoring needs a little tweaking, and I think some sort of creativity bonus needs to be added in, but for that each round would require an objective judge. I expect you folks from Parker Bros. to iron out all those details.) At the end of the game, whoever has the most points wins.

We actually played the game to test it out. We had fun! Here are a few of our haikus.

Chewing gum is fun
Blowing bubbles is crazy
Gum sticks to your shoes

Pizza is tasty
I like good pepperoni
There are healthy herbs

Made out of leather
Women wear purses a lot
Men do not wear them

Cheese and mushrooms, yum
Dripping, cheesy pizza slice
Wow, I'm getting fat

We love Wii

2010-06-13T20:50:00.006-05:00

Ladies and gentleman, the Wii has arrived. And just whose Wii is it? The children's Wii? No, no, no. It is ours. Said Wii was purchased with anniversary cash (thanks Mom & Dad!). It is ours! OURS! We may occasionally allow the cute little people in the house to play it.

Truthfully, though, I imagined the Wii would be ours primarily in name, the kids' in action. But as it turns out, we really like the Wii. As a gift it ranks way up there with the trampoline we got my husband for his birthday one year. After the kids go to bed, we fire that thing up! I can just picture them, tucked snug into their little beds at 8:30, listening to their parents playing the Wii, filled with all kinds of jealously. Poor kids - it's not even dark out at 8:30 in the summer.

My favorite game so far - table tennis. It is, in fact, one of the very first things I did this morning. Sleep til 9:30 (not the norm, but I had a crazy week and my husband had mercy on me), eat a little cereal, play a little ping pong. My daughter was watching me. In the course of play, as I put the hurt on one of my challengers, I did take a moment to explain to her that we only talk smack to our simulated opponents; if we were playing a real game against real people, we would be most respectful, exercising our good sportsmanship. (Yes, top-notch parenting while wildly swinging a remote around my living room. It's impressive.)

The husband's favorite game - golf. Of course. Why does golf bore me so? The upside of Wii golf, though: my husband isn't gone all weekend getting sunburned and I get to chat with him while he tries to make a putt for birdie (is that a thing?) He loves that. I mean, doesn't every man think to himself, Man, golf would be so much more awesome if only I could bring my wife along with me and we could chat about her day and the kids and what we need from the store and which bills are due.... Oh ... they don't? Oh.

If only we had a second Wii remote, we could really heat things up and I could practice good sportsmanship. And I haven't forgotten the original dream: the Wii Dance Dance Revolution. But I only plan to play that one when my kids have their friends over.

Memorial Day Weekend in Pictures

2010-05-31T22:20:00.012-05:00

We don't do much, we don't get out much most of the year. (It's hot here, you know.) But on Memorial Day weekend, somehow we find a way to pull out all the stops and go for broke. I don't know why it happens that way. It just happens, thanks to friends that help jump start us into action. Thanks, friends. We love you.

On Sunday evening (on the recommendation of 2 sets of friends) we went to the Zilker Hillside Theater to see a production of DREAM! A Midsummer Night's Dream with a 1960's Music Beat. It was hot - the weather, I mean. So very hot. We have a suggestion for the people that put on these summer programs: How about Winter Shakespeare in the Park? We would totally go for that. Summer heat + lots of people committed to keeping Austin weird + all of their dogs = Not as much fun as it could be. Just a suggestion. Winter. I have a coat. It would be awesome. In spite the heat, though, we really did have an awesome time. Next year, we plan to hit the April shows.

My kiddos, aren't they sweet? They only complained a little. Only fidgeted a lot. In the end, they were enchanted. There were fairies. And 60's music.

The kids got to meet the fairies at intermission. Can you say, HIGHLIGHT? This is Emma with Mustardseed (I think.)

Jared with Puck, a very mischievous fairy.

On Monday, we went with some friends to Bull Creek (our first time after many, many years in Austin.) There is no better way to beat the heat than to have your ten little piggies submerged in cool flowing water. Ahhhh.

My son, so serious, about to slide down the slippery rock 'slide.' From his expression, you'd think he was about to go for the gold.

Tadpole fishing. Good times.

Not my kid, our friends' kid. He doesn't know it, but I love him. He used to think I was okay, when he was four. Now, he's not sure he knows me. Oh, to be 8 again, carefree, and bask in the creek bed!

Not my baby - our friends' baby (the cutest baby EVER!) When Titus helped her go back to her mother, a child who was playing nearby told him, "Someone's stealing your baby!"

This face, this sweet, adorable face, pretty much sums up Memorial Day weekend 2010.

Can I get a LOL?

2010-05-28T09:53:00.002-05:00

Everyone thinks their kid is the best. You know you do. Everyone secretly ('cause let's be honest, it would be obnoxious to flaunt it) believes that their kid is the cutest baby. The smartest kid in the class. The most talented kid on the team. The most beautiful child EVER.

Well, mine is the funniest. There. I said it. You'll have to take my word for it, though, as most of her witticisms do not translate into the written word. Plus, well, humor is highly subjective. But whatever - my kid is funny.

Take for example, the other night at the dinner table. We (and by 'we' I mean the children who eat at 5 times the speed of sound) had completed the main portion of our meal, which is the cue for one of the kids to ask a specific question. This night Emma did the honors.

Emma: What can we have for dessert?

Daddy: You can have some nice, fresh air!

Emma: Can we have some fruit with our fresh air?

The girl does not miss a beat. And the deadpan expression is simply not conveyable. Are there any open mic nights for 8-year-olds?

Daddy material

2010-05-25T20:42:00.000-05:00

We have some friends who have the cutest baby EVER. Although, she's not much of a baby anymore, streaking pell-mell into toddlerhood. My son, who has a soft spot for babies (much like his father before him), got to spend some time playing with the cutest baby EVER this past weekend. He shared with me afterward how he walked her around the playground, holding her little hand, making sure she didn't fall. He told how, when her adventurous nature led her to imitate some of his prowess on the playground equipment, he helped her to climb and how he held her tightly so she wouldn't slip and hurt herself.

This child is constantly inquiring as to when he will be old enough to babysit. This child has often spoken wistfully about the things he will do with his own children ... someday.

Yesterday, we happened to meet these friends in the gym parking lot and the cutest baby EVER was strapped snugly into her carseat in the back. My son asked if she was in the van, and could he please see her. The mother obligingly rolled down the window and allowed my son to greet and fawn over the cutest baby EVER for a couple of minutes. As I was concerned about the traffic flow in the parking lot, I finally said to him, Okay, enough - time to get going.

My son thanked the mother, and as we walked away he mentioned how happy he was that he got to see her and then added, in all seriousness, "It's an honor."

Young ladies, he'll graduate from college in 2021.

15 years

2010-05-20T16:59:00.012-05:00

If, 15 years ago today, the day of my (outdoor) wedding, it had been as humid in Austin, Texas as it is today, I would have cried. It's possible I may have also passed out. And I may have sweated more than it is decorous for a bride to sweat (er... perspire.)

I'm not saying it wasn't warm. Or that the sun wasn't glaringly bright. Or that I didn't get sunburned on the left side of my neck and back. Or that certain parties weren't concerned about the icing on the cake. Or that someone wasn't overheard saying, "It's Africa hot." I'm just saying it wasn't as humid as it happens to be today. So I didn't cry.

We had a good time. We didn't pass out. We got married.

The cake survived, and it was super yummy.

I mentioned to a co-worker today that it was my 15th wedding anniversary and the question came, "So, you still love him?"

Yes, I said. Yes! YES! I love him! I like him. I still love him. I am in love with him. He is my best friend. He makes me laugh. He makes my breath catch in my chest. He is my champion, my protector. He is my hope. He is my completion. He is me and I am him. And yes, I still love him.

Well ... all I actually said aloud to my co-worker was the emphatic, don't-even-have-to-think-before-answering, Yes! But I'm pretty sure the rest was implied.

Game Time

2010-05-16T19:46:00.005-05:00

For my rapidly retreating recent birthday, I received a gift of cash, which I finally found time to spend on myself a couple of weeks ago. Yes, mama did get a new pair of shoes! 2 pair, in fact. Plus some other clothes - yea! After my shopping spree, I had a handful of dollars left in my pocket, not enough really for a 3rd pair of shoes, and I have been contemplating what to do, what to do. Today, as we took an impromptu stroll through our local bookstore, I saw the perfect cherry on top to complete my birthday gift....

A little game I have been eyeing for quite some time now. A cute little game that comes in a little yellow zippered pouch shaped like a banana. BANANAGRAMS! I brought the little yellow banana-shaped pouch home and eagerly anticipated playing it with my kiddos.

--thud--

That was the sound of my hopes and expectations for a new family favorite hitting the floor. Don't get me wrong - I love it! But I quickly realized (helped along by my daughter's whimpering, frustrated little face) that it is a game that might just be more fun when the players' skills are more evenly matched. Me vs. my 8-year-old (and my 11-year-old, for that matter) was a little lopsided in the skill department.

Eh. We did what we could. I'm sure we'll amend the game to suit our needs (specifically my need not to make the kids cry.)

Which brings me to my next board game tidbit. One of our current favorites is Apples to Apples. The kids love it, mostly (I suspect) because game time is the time that Daddy breaks out the silly voices and the silly comments and we all break out into general silliness. Plus, the game itself is fun. But we have begun a new tradition recently with the game that everyone looks forward to nearly as much as the game itself.

At the end of the game, each player is left with about 6 or 7 Red Apple cards. Each person takes a turn trying to weave their cards into a coherent sentence/story. For example, if your leftover Red Apple cards were: Airline Food, Vampires, Noisy Neighbors, A Flat Tire, Baby Showers, The Beatles, and The Green Bay Packers, your sentence/story might go something like this:

The Beatles were living next to some Noisy Neighbors, The Green Bay Packers, who kept throwing Baby Showers for Vampires. So they tried to get away, and on the way to the airport they got A Flat Tire, which saved them from eating Airline Food.

Results vary, depending on your cards, but are generally good for a chuckle if not outright hysterics (like the time we played with my parents and my mother had us in stitches!) Recently one of us hit the jackpot with the cards: Bill Clinton, Waterbed, and Glazed Donuts.

Want to play along? Here are a few randomly selected Red Apple cards for you:

Hockey, Brain Surgeons, Nicholas Cage, Girlfriends, Country Music, Elvis Presley and Toasted Marshmallows

Ready .... GO!

Date Nights

2010-05-07T16:55:00.007-05:00

This week just concluded was Staff Appreciation Week at my place of employment. A week with perks like free concerts, tours, giveaways, food discounts, etc. Now, I could have saved some folks a lot of trouble putting this week of appreciation together if they had bothered to ask me my opinion. My opinion is that what really would make me feel appreciated is if the powers that be would lift the morale-killing salary freeze they have imposed. But I'm sure the powers that be are under the assumption that we, the masses, are just so darned happy to even have a job that we really don't mind taking one for the ~~faculty~~ team. What starts here changes the world and all that.

Ahem ... I seem to have veered slightly off topic. Where was I? Ah, yes ... date nights.

Of the wonderful perks offered to the staff this week were free concerts (2 tickets, to be exact) from the School of Music. I checked out the calendar and found there was a concert scheduled each night of the week. My first impulse was to take my son, who recently participated in the All-City Music Memory Contest and who has a taste for beautiful music. Upon further reflection I realized that I could not possibly leave my daughter out of the special treatment and decided to take each child on a separate night.

My son and I decided to attend Wednesday evening's concert, featuring the Wind Ensemble. The concert was long, and I wasn't sure my exhausted 11-year-old gymnast-in-training was going to make it through. I gave him the opportunity to leave early, but he declined. My favorite part of the evening was at the end when I looked over at him and he flashed me the sweetest smile and spontaneously exclaimed how great the concert was. I also was quite tickled when at one point during one of the pieces I looked over at him and he was attempting to stifle some giggles. When I leaned in and whispered to him to find out was so amusing, he quietly responded, "I tooted!" Yep. He's eleven.

My daughter and I chose to attend the Thursday evening concert featuring the Jazz Band. I had mentioned to her earlier that people sometimes dress up when they go to a concert and my girlie girl ran with that little tidbit. She appeared ready to go in her fancy long black skirt and a black sparkly top and had pulled her hair up in a fancy little ponytail. I wore jeans. Two things were learned this evening: 1) My daughter likes jazz, and 2) I do not. Like her brother before her, she was given the option of leaving the concert early. She was ambivalent, expressing that though she was very tired (and cold), she really liked the music. In the end, the jazz won, we stayed.

Notwithstanding my earlier comments, I am very happy to have been appreciated this week, as it afforded me the opportunity to spend some sweet one-on-one time with 2 of my favorite people on the earth.

My glam girl on the way to the concert

An embarrassment of riches

2010-05-03T20:49:00.005-05:00

I told you exactly 2 weeks ago, as I giddily professed my love for the local library, about my latest stack of books. Six books, to be exact. Books which are due in exactly 1 week. You knew I was kidding when I said I was going to try to read ALL of them in my allotted 3 weeks, right? Just a little literary embellishment. I do that sometimes. Seriously - 6 books read in 3 weeks just isn't going to happen. Not by me, anyway. Especially since two other books I had put on hold became available last week, increasing my stack to 8. Talk about too much of a good thing.

A few I will finish, a few will be renewed, and a few will be returned to the library until next time.

Franny and Zooey -- Finished!
The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings -- I inadvertently left off the "and Other Writings" when I listed this last time. I have finished the Tell-Tale Heart (all 5 pages of it - whew) and am tackling some of the other stories/poems when the mood strikes. (Honestly, though, the mood for Poe does not seem to strike often.)
The Count of Monte Cristo -- I'm on page 174 (of 580) and am completely enthralled.
Wintersmith - Emma and I started this one, but, as she is currently enthralled with her own chapter book in which she has been working on for a while, we have not gotten very far.
NurtureShock -- This is one of the newcomers to the stack and I'm about 2 chapters in. I allowed it jump ahead in line because (due to its apparent popularity) someone else already has it on hold, so there will be no renewing.

The rest of the stack, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Handmaid's Tale, and Foundation (the other newcomer, by Isaac Asimov) may not get cracked at all this go-around. But it's okay. I prefer to have too much of a good thing than none of it.

Dear Library, I love you

2010-04-19T21:40:00.004-05:00

So, I can't fight the giddy feeling that rises up inside me as I cast a glance over to the passenger seat of my minivan and gaze upon the stack of books I've just procured from my local library. I am brimming with excitement. Giddy, I tell you.

I am such a geek.

Last week I finished the latest book I was reading (A Hat Full of Sky, by Terry Pratchett, if you must know) and had absolutely nothing as a backup in my bag. Or on my nightstand. Or in the car. Or on the coffee table. (I'm not counting the outdated book I got recently about the dangers of MSG.) I always try to keep a backup. Somewhere. Today, I was unprepared, and as I waited for my bus this morning, was left with nothing but the Daily Texan as reading material. Not exciting. And ofttimes, may I say, a tad offensive. (I pick up this free campus newspaper for the daily NY Times crossword puzzle. Duh.)

Once seated at my computer, I plotted to remedy my booklessness. Searched the local library catalog for titles on my to-read list (thank you Goodreads.com) that were available RIGHT NOW at my favorite branch. Was pleased with the results of my search. Scribbled the call numbers on a notepad. Expectantly awaited the afternoon and ... the procurement. I am such a geek.

Ahhh ... beside me, in the passenger seat, my hand protectively resting upon the stack as I rounded each curve, were the following gems (I actually don't know if they are gems yet, as I have not read them, but that is part of the magic - the promise that they hold...):

The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe
The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde
The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas
The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood
Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger
and
Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett

The first five were scribbled on my list. The last one I happened upon, not exactly by chance. But as soon as I pulled it off the shelf and saw the little blue Nac Mac Feegle on the cover, sword raised, fist clenched, I simply had to bring it home with me.

Can I read all of these books in the 3 weeks allotted to me by the Austin Public Library system? At my usual pace, I don't think so, no way. Will I try? Oh, yeah.

Because I am a geek. And the giddiness is making me do it.

Man vs. Nature

2010-03-31T16:09:00.002-05:00

Or, Woman vs. Nature

Or, Me vs. Nature

Or, Me vs. My Yard

Or, Me vs. The Rampant Unruly Growth That Has Overtaken My Neglected Yard

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my nemesis:

I liked it when we moved in years ago. Thought it was charming and provided a beautiful backdrop for family photos. I even think it looks pretty in this photo. So richly green and lush.

I'm over that now. I have grown weary of it taking over my trees and my fence and my lawn. I tire of the mosquitoes it harbors.

It's not its fault. But the reign of the ivy is over.

Who else am I warring with?
This guy. I especially like the name of this one - sticky willy. Really. There was an article in the paper on it. It has other names, but sticky willy is my favorite.

A little of this stuff pops up in the yard every year, but this spring it is out of hand. Again, my fault.

But it's easy to uproot and my daughter loves helping me with it.

Gotta use the gloves, though.

Also awaiting conquering:
The leaves. Piles of leaves. Lots and lots of leaves. You may be wondering why I didn't take care of these guys in the fall. Yeah. That would have been a good idea.

Even if I had, though, I'd still be dealing with the live oak leaves, since those lovely live oaks (ah-choo!) love to dump their small hard-to-rake leaves in one big -WHUMP- in the spring.

And finally, the bane of my existence:
The fruit of the chinaberry tree. I hate these things. We've got one chinaberry tree in our yard, and two others that may as well be.

The one redeeming quality of this tree is its blossoms. They are pretty and delicate and our neighborhood becomes heavily perfumed with their fragrance in early April. I love it.

But I'm not sure if a couple of weeks of pleasantness make up for the never ending multitude of gross berries all over my yard. How do I get rid of these things?

I am SO not a gardener. Outdoorsy? No way. But I have determined to reclaim my yard! My ultimate goal is to be able to start a garden of some sort (any sort!) with my darling daughter who dreams of having one. Wish me luck.

The perfect rain

2010-03-11T21:35:00.000-06:00

I felt the first few drops as I walked down the street to my bus stop. Sporadic and tentative, they made me happy. It was a lovely day. Ahead of me, the sky was clear and bright and blue; behind me, mildly threatening and dark and gray. A brilliant contrast of sunshine and shadow.

The gullywasher didn't come until I entered the shelter of the bus. Only minutes later, I exited its dry confines with a splash into the unavoidable fast running water on the road surface. The air was rich and aromatic - you know the smell - the indescribable, intoxicating, caressing smell of rain. Spring rain mingled with sunshine. And dirt. For an instant I was transported to youthful days of bare feet and wet hair and rain on my face and girlish joy.

It only took a few moments for my shoes to be soaked through, my slacks wet to the knees. Still, I couldn't stifle the giggles that bubbled up from within. Couldn't unsmile the smile that touched the corners of my mouth. The shoe-preserving dance to avoid puddles and rushing streams was just so silly for all its uselessness. The shoes were drenched. So why not simply walk, in the rain? Why not even skip and dance and shout and allow the water wash over me? How cleansing to heed not the rain!

And I may well have renounced the umbrella altogether, yielded to the joy, had it not been for my good leather jacket and my sensible, grown-up reasoning mind. I clung to the umbrella, salvaged the leather.

But I still giggled.

So you think you can sing

2010-03-09T20:57:00.002-06:00

Of course, my brother has Karaoke Revolution Volumes 2 & 3 and Karaoke Revolution Party for his PlayStation. Of course, my brother has a PlayStation. Our household currently has no game system, although the idea of a Wii has been floated on occasion. We'll see. But for now it is enough to know that going to my brother's means excitement and entertainment for the whole family.

On past visits, we have discovered the fun of Guitar Hero. This trip we discovered the joy and hilarity of Karaoke Revolution. And we very nearly got all of the family members involved in the fun. Actually, we did get all of the family members involved, we just didn't get all of the family members to sing. But all were partakers of the fun.

For those of you who know me, I want you to try to picture this: me boldly singing I Will Survive - that 70's disco paean of female resiliency and empowerment. Yes I did. In front of PEOPLE. The mental image is good for a chuckle, is it not? If not, try this one: Titus and I performing a poorly coordinated duet of You're the One that I Want (ooh ooh ooh, honey). Can you see it? In our defense, we didn't get to rehearse, so it is understandable that we got our lines mixed up. A LOT. But with a little practice and some black leather pants we could have rocked it!

I loved watching Emma, the self-proclaimed shy girl, microphone in hand, belting out the tunes. Did she know the songs? No. Did she care? Absolutely not! Tune? I don't need to know the tune of a song to sing it! Music doesn't scare me! She wiped the floor with me with her rendition of I Will Always Love You. My version - cringeworthy. Slightly disturbing was walking into the room and hearing my sweet little 8-year-old girl singing Papa Don't Preach. We quickly removed that particular gem (thank you, Madonna) from her approved playlist.

And then there is the man who has never met an audience he couldn't entertain. Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you, our host and headliner, my brother. First of all, you should know, the man cannot sing. Absolutely CANNOT. You might be inclined to be embarrassed for him, if he cared. He doesn't. I find it amusing that as a child he was in a choir. With him, much as it was with Garth Brooks before him, it's not about the singing ability, it's about the show. And we surely enjoyed the show. He worked the room, talked to the crowd, and embellished the lyrics here and there (for example, when singing The Joker, at the line, "I'm a smoker" he added, "not really," which tickled the children every time.)

Sure, it was a little awkward when he was singing Against All Odds, moving about the room, personally serenading each one of us in turn. My mom and I put up with it and we couldn't contain our laughter. My husband had to draw the line. Because your brother-in-law singing "You're the only one who really knew me at all" to you just crosses a little too far over the inappropriate threshold. But you've gotta love the guy's dedication to his craft.

Quite honestly, nobody in my immediate family can sing. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, so they say. My mother, secure and unapologetic about her lack of vocal talent, would not be persuaded to take the mic. But happily, we did manage to get my dad in on the action. The song? I Got You Babe, vintage Sonny and Cher. Awesome. If you met my dad casually, you would never guess, but the man is an entertainer. I've always known it. Watching him take my mother's hand (not inappropriate), singing, "Babe. I got you babe," was so perfectly hysterical!

I see a Wii Dance Dance Revolution in our future.

Surprise!

2010-03-08T17:12:00.008-06:00

This past weekend we traveled to Houston for another of my son's gymnastics meets. We were excited that my parents made the long trip from Florida to see their grandson compete, and that my brother rearranged his work schedule so that he and his wife could also attend. It was a whirlwind mini family reunion.

We arrived Saturday morning and spent the day visiting and playing karaoke on the PlayStation (more on this later). My sister-in-law was baking a cake, which I assumed was for a belated birthday celebration for my son. That night we went out for dinner and when we returned to the house, I hopped on the computer to check ~~Facebook~~ my e-mail. Which is when people started acting strangely, whispering furtively, closing doors, giggling faintly, scattering like rats. I didn't pay this behavior much notice, subconsciously assuming they were getting ready to surprise the boy. Eventually my brother appeared with that feigned-innocence-but-I-really-have-something-up-my-sleeve grin of his, and beckoned me to come into the other room. I still had my coat on.

When I turned the corner I saw my family - my mother, my brother, my sister-in-law (who I really just want to call my sister), my son, my daughter, and my husband - all with big, joyous we-sure-pulled-one-over-on-you smiles on their beautiful faces. And I saw the lovely cake with the candles that tipped me off that this celebration was indeed not for my 11-year-old son, but for his 40-year-old* mother. Balloons cascaded from the landing above (that's where my dad was, in case you were wondering.) They sang 'Happy Birthday' (gloriously off-key as tradition dictates it must be sung.) I still had my coat on.

*I'm not actually 40 yet. I still have 8 more days left at 39. It's important to clarify.

I'm not a party person, I don't like crowds, and I embarrass easily. So I don't generally dream of a surprise birthday bash. But present in the room that night were the people that I love most dearly in all of the world. And I knew in that moment that they love me most dearly in return. It was the perfect surprise. So, precious family: Thank you. And I love you, too.

Not a book review

2010-03-02T20:26:00.006-06:00

I just finished reading a book that, yet again, was brought home for my children, and, yet again, became mine. I intended to sit down and write a little review of this book. Because I liked it. But as I was composing my little review in my head, I came to realize that all I really wanted to do was share a quote from the book. Just one. Because her words are better than mine. So, here it is. It's a little melancholy, but then again, recently, so am I.

Looking out over the city, Peter decided that it was a terrible and complicated thing to hope, and that it might be easier, instead, to despair.

The Magician's Elephant
by Kate DiCamillo

This is the reason that I read. Because I, myself, am so limited in my own ability to express, or even to understand, the hidden inner workings of my own fragile heart. This is why I read. Because it consoles the heart to discover that another has articulated for me the very thought, emotion, desire, that my own utterance is too weak to convey. This is the reason that I read. Because my soul is moved by the quiet power of language. Because I admire and appreciate those with both the ability and the desire to construct it into a thing of beauty and of meaning and of weight.

They are just words. It is just a story. But in the hands of the gifted few, the words become potent, full of impact and of recognition and of healing.

This is why I read. What about you?

And I don't even like peanut butter

2010-02-26T16:06:00.007-06:00

I am going to show you a picture. This picture serves the purpose of proving that looks can be deceiving and that you can't judge a book by its cover and whatever other similar trite adage you can come up with. This cupcake is not a beautiful cupcake. It's a little misshapen. The frosting is not smooth and creamy. You can't tell (thanks to the covering of the not smooth and not creamy frosting), but the cupcakes are also sunken in the middles. When I pulled the first batch out of the oven, I was bummed because they looked so sad and pathetic.

Not pretty, is it?

However... My son said they were phenomenal. His exact word. I agree with him. So I will share my recipe with you, taken from The All New Fannie Farmer Boston Cooking School Cookbook, Tenth Edition (published in 1970, the year of my birth).

Peanut Butter Cupcakes

At their best when freshly baked

Put paper baking cups in muffin tins (16 or more, according to size). Set the oven at 375 degrees. Cream together until smooth

1/4 cup peanut butter
1/4 cup butter

Beat in

3/4 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla

Sift together

1 cup pastry flour or 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp baking powder

Add in small amounts, alternating with

3/8 cup milk

Fill the paper cups half full. Bake about 20 minutes.

I doubled the recipe and ended up with 32 cupcakes, just enough for my son's 5th grade class and a few left over for me the family. I frosted them with chocolate butter frosting (homemade, of course - if canned frosting looked like mine, Duncan Hines would go out of business). I'd give you that recipe, except I kind of cannibalized two separate recipes and to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure what I did. It may not be aesthetically pleasing, but it sure tastes good!

Nighty-night, sleep tight

2010-02-24T16:44:00.002-06:00

So the other day, my daughter tells me she has a library book from school that she wants me to read to her. We didn't have time that night. The next night she tells me she has to return the book the next day, and she really wants me to read it to her. I tell her to get ready for bedtime and then we snuggle up together in her bed and I open the book.

We begin to read. The story opens with a poor little girl, out walking in the snow on a cold night. She has lost her slippers (one having been snatched up by a young boy) and she is barefoot in the cold. Sounds a little serious, but on we read.

Continuing. The girl finds a corner between two buildings to curl up in; she is freezing cold. She is afraid to go home because her father will beat her for not selling any matches. Yes, BEAT her.

I'm a little disturbed now, but my daughter says she has read this book before, so I trudge forward.

The girl has her matches (which she did not sell) and begins to light the matches to warm her hands. In the light of the matches she sees beautiful visions of Christmas trees and warm rooms and wonderful feasts. I think to myself, it sounds like this child is hallucinating.

With the next match the girl sees a vision of her loving grandmother (who is dead) and proceeds to light the remaining matches so as not to lose the vision. A little more disturbed, yet I continue to turn the pages.

And we come to the delightful finale about how passers-by the next morning find the little girl's frozen body with a handful of used matches in her cold, dead hand. (No, the actual text did not say, "cold, dead hand," but it may as well have.)

I looked at my daughter incredulously, my voice slightly choking, at the conclusion of this story, "Emma, why would you ask me to read this story right before bedtime?" She only offered a meek shrug while gazing at me with her own misty eyes. "Your teacher read this to you?" I ask, trying to imagine a room full of 2nd graders gathering for story time only to be slapped in the face with death. The answer, "Yes, but we actually read it in 1st grade." Of course you did.

I consider myself fairly well-read, but I have to admit I had never heard of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen before this night. I think it's one of those classic tales. I'm sure there's a reason. Don't get me wrong - I am generally not against my children reading stories concerning death and other such serious topics. But a little emotional preparation would have been nice. For me, anyway.

Eva, oh Eva

2010-02-19T16:31:00.009-06:00

I fell in love this week.

It was unexpected. It was magical. It was puppy love. Literally.

I mean, who can blame me? Just look at that face!

(This is Eva, who came to visit us this week all the way from New Mexico with my husband's sister and brother-in-law. I already miss her.)

This cat person is slowly being converted.

What a treat to be greeted at the door after a long (okay, not so long) day at work, by an energetic, bouncy little creature who is so happy to see me she is beside herself with joy! Instead of being greeted (if I am greeted at all) by a whining cat whose only reason for dragging his white self off of the black slacks I left on my bed is to see if I would put some meat paste in his bowl.

How yummy to have the little big-eared love bug snuggle up next to me and fall fast asleep. You think that cat snuggles up to anyone? Truly, he is defective.

How convenient that any tiny morsel of food dropped on the floor is instantly sucked up by the little four-legged bissel. The cat? Useless. In fact, he won't even eat his OWN food that HE drops on the floor.

So what is keeping me from giving in to this irrational love feeling? What's stopping me from "accidentally" letting the indoor-only cat outside on a cold night?

It's the licking. So much licking. Can somebody please explain the incessant licking? I don't want my face licked. I don't want my hands licked. I don't want my toes licked. Really, I don't. Do they make a dog who doesn't have this insatiable need to put its tongue on everything? I almost wouldn't mind receiving her little doggy kisses if I hadn't just watched her lick the cat food off of the floor. Ugh. The licking is just too much.

That cat (who at this very moment happens to be curled up next to me, purring) has no idea how lucky he is.

A Tribute

2010-02-01T16:38:00.003-06:00

Last week, American author J.D. Salinger died.

I feel the need to mark his passing because I acknowledge a certain indebtedness to this particular author. Not because reading The Catcher in the Rye held any significance for me (to my remembrance, I hated this story when I read it in college.) But because his writing (yet perhaps his only by chance) had a hand in the reawakening of my soul to its forgotten love of all things literary. It was his collection of short stories (Nine Stories) that I happened upon at the local library a year or so ago. I don't have the utterance to express what I experienced as I read this collection. I can only say this -- that it wasn't the stories that touched me, but more simply the writing itself that moved me. Reading this writing was the highest pleasure. The prose was pure poetry. I was hooked. Again.

I read in the university newspaper that many of the author's materials have been donated to the Harry Ransom Center, materials that "offer an intimate perspective of his life." When I saw this, immediately I was intrigued and thought about making a trip to the center to peruse the collection.

But then, I thought, considering what little I have read about this man and his life, wouldn't it be more fitting NOT to go? This person who chose to life his life in a reclusive manner, out of the limelight, whose last published work was in 1965 - would it honor this person to flock together with all the other Salinger devotees to rifle through his personal materials and speculate about his life? I don't believe it would.

So for my part, I will only offer this small, inconsequential tribute. I will remain hooked. And I will continue to be inspired.

Many thanks.

Grasping the Opportunity

2010-01-25T17:15:00.003-06:00

As my son and I sped along highway 71, homeward bound, at midnight, under the guidance of a brilliant half-moon (so bright I lowered the sun visor), after spending the entire day at the GymMasters Invitational gymnastics meet in Houston, my son's incessant stream of excited chatter silenced as sleep, having bided its time, finally pounced and held the boy snug in its clutches, my own body heavy with the fatigue that can only come from 8 hours of bleacher-sitting ... this is what I was thinking:

That was SO TOTALLY WORTH IT.

Here's what was supposed to happen. The boy and I (just the 2 of us because my daughter had a stomach bug) drive to Houston on Friday, spend the night, Jared competes on Saturday morning, we have lunch with my sister-in-law, and then we head back to Austin, home by4:00pm. A compact, sensible plan.

However, upon arriving at the meet, at the door I was asked if I would like to go ahead and purchase a ticket (at a discount, no less) for that night's competition featuring Jonathan Horton, member of the 2008 olympic bronze medal winning U.S. Men's Gymnastics Team, olympic silver medalist in high bar, 2009 Visa National Champion, AND my son's gymnastics idol. I said, "I'm not sure. Can I get back to you?"

After considering it for a little while and then calling my husband to discuss the matter, I had an epiphany. You know how Oprah has those "aha" moments? Well, mine was more of a "duh" moment.

OF COURSE I would like to purchase a ticket (at a discount) to see Jonathan Horton, member of the 2008 olympic bronze medal winning U.S. Men's Gymnastics Team, olympic silver medalist in high bar, 2009 Visa National Champion, AND my son's gymnastics idol, compete tonight. Duh.

It didn't matter that it meant sitting on hard metal bleachers all the livelong day. It didn't matter that it meant hanging around a Barnes & Noble on a sketchy street somewhere in Houston for 2 hours, just to kill time (I say this like it wasn't fun - in truth, hanging out at a bookstore with my son is a pretty darn good time.) It didn't matter that it meant dinner was an overpriced slice of Dominoes pizza and an overpriced coke. It didn't matter that it meant getting back home at 1:00 o'clock in the morning. I mean, how many times will a kid have the opportunity to see his gymnastics idol rock the high bar from less than 10 feet away? Just imagine if you had the chance to see your gymnastics idol, but your mom said, "I know we're already here and everything, but I just don't feel like sitting in this gym all day and I'd really rather get home this afternoon so I can sit on my cushy couch and do my crossword puzzle." That mom is lame.

So, not only did he get to SEE his gymnastics idol rock the high bar (and rings and parallel bars and pommel horse), he got to MEET him.
I believe the words, "dream come true" were uttered.

And something about the 2016 Olympics.

Sometimes I am crafty

2010-01-15T15:26:00.003-06:00

In my post about the wonderful seashells we collected at the beach, I told you I would share some of my latest card creations with you. Well, here they are.

For this one I used one of the fan shells I found on the beach. It's nice and flat, which makes it easy to affix, and I love the colors in it. (Note: I think the color of this paper looks awful now that I've scanned it. In real life it was not so pukey-green looking.)

One of my favorite stamp sets from Stampin' Up! is the On the Beach set. Most of the cards I make have a beach theme. And most of the cards I make are sent to my mother, who lives at the beach.

Also from the On the Beach set. (It looks crooked because I didn't line it up well in the scanner.)

Rockin' the PTA Meeting

2010-01-14T16:20:00.003-06:00

** WARNING **
-----------------------------------
This post may contain statements that might be construed as bragging about my kid. Please discontinue reading this post if you are prone to nausea while reading bragging monologues about somebody else's kid.
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You've been warned. And I feel okay doing it, because I am convinced that whatever virtue this kid happens to have has absolutely NOTHING to do with me, my genetic material, or my parenting skills, which are gravely lacking. I know what you're thinking -- here's another mom-blogger spewing out some self deprecating statements, fishing for positive comments from the blogosphere. But I assure you, for every feel-good moment with my kids that I blog about, there are thousands of non-blog-worthy (more cringe-worthy) moments that I desperately try to put out of my mind and have no intention of sharing with the world. That's just the truth.

So, about the boy. He's been playing the piano for a little over a year now. Because of time constraints and money constraints, however, we haven't been able to continue his formal piano lessons since last summer. Between school and his gymnastics, the child hardly practices. And yet, when given the opportunity to play in front of an audience, this is what he does:

(The vibrating sound you hear around the :05 mark and :44 mark is my phone receiving a text message from my husband that he cannot get into the school. Now, I ask you, what kind of school holds a PTA meeting and then KEEPS ALL OF THE DOORS TO THE SCHOOL LOCKED?? Seriously.)

I'm not bragging about my son, the virtuoso, playing a perfect piano solo. He's no prodigy. There are a few mistakes and he even omits the most difficult part of this piece (and fairly seamlessly, in my opinion as both a mother and a pianist). But he keeps going and he doesn't melt over the mistakes. Which is impressive given his tendency toward perfectionism (which particular quality he DID inherit from me.)

What I really enjoy and admire about this boy is his complete (over) confidence and insouciant attitude about performing. The kid was not nervous. Just absolutely, categorically, quietly, excited. Can you imagine?

Jared, you rock!

Road Trip Games

2010-01-11T16:11:00.005-06:00

When our family travels, we go by car. And when we go, we go far. No sissy 3 hour road trips for us. If you're lucky enough to have your family close by, bully for you. We must drive! And drive. And drive.

Someday I will show you the laptop mounting device thingy my husband custom-built for our van so that we could watch DVDs. But, as they say here in Texas, that's a whole 'nother story.

I've always got my ear to the ground for new activities/games to play while cooped up together for 12 hours. When the kids were younger, I was much more proactive than I am now. For long trips, I used to pack a surprise bag for each child. Usually containing a spiral notebook, new markers or crayons, activity books, coloring books, puzzles, sometimes a new plushie travel companion. I was thrifty and found many of the items at second-hand shops or the dollar spot at Target. The point was not to get the kids some fancy new toy, just something novel to add some excitement and help pass the time. If you don't have one lap desk per child, get some.

One of the games my kids still like to play is the Alphabet game. I marvel that it never gets old to them. Because for me, when one of them says, "Let's play the Alphabet game!" I inwardly cringe and scream, "No! No! No!" Outwardly, I cheerily say, "Sure!" (Or if the screaming in my head is particularly loud, "Maybe later, sweetie.") Here's how it works. One person starts with the letter 'A' and might say, "My name is Alphonso and I am from Alaska and I like to eat anchovies." And so on. To alleviate some of the boredom that may set in, you can change the parameters - for example, instead of a food, list an animal who is your pet. There are lots of ways to change up this game. The trick is to keep everyone else from shouting out suggestions to the person whose turn it is. (Please explain why, when it was your turn on 'P' you were drawing a complete blank, but now that your sister is on 'Q', you are full of ideas that you just can't keep quiet - Quentin! Queenie! Qatar! Quiche! Quesadillas!)

Another game which is not really a game, per se, is the license plate game. Simple. See how many of the 50 states you can find while on your trip. Our record (achieved on our latest road trip) is 44. Which is pretty darn good when you are driving from Texas to Florida on I-10. This activity gives the kids something to look for while on the highway. If you know the song "Fifty Nifty United States" now is a good time to teach it to your kids and they will learn to recite the states in alphabetical order (an indispensable skill!) I find it strange that I have yet to get any takers on this suggestion.

We recently started playing a new game on our road trips. Perhaps you and your family have played it in some form or fashion. For lack of an actual name that I know of, let's just call it the Make-up-a-Story game.

It is a fairly simple and cooperative venture. Here's how it works. One person starts the story; for example, "Once upon a time there was a cat named Whiskey who liked to sail." Then you go around and around with each person contributing a new portion to the story. You continue in this way until either the story reaches conclusion or, as frequently occurs in our vehicle, somebody gets upset because they are not happy about how their brother changed the story right before her turn and she had such a great idea and now she doesn't want to play anymore. It's oodles of fun.

Anyway. We have discovered that it is best to limit each storyteller to one or two sentences max. This (theoretically) keeps one person from monopolizing the story and sending it randomly careening down a new and crazy path. Which is, really, part of the fun of this game. My husband has a knack for being able to completely twist a storyline in the briefest of sentences, sometimes making the entire story up to that point a dream sequence of a completely new character. And my son is learning to master the fine art of the run-on sentence and liberal use of conjunctions.

Maybe "oodles of fun" is overselling it a bit. But it is good for passing the time, fosters creativity and expands language skills. As additional side benefits, it provides a venue for the parents to learn how to exercise patience toward their offspring in a confined space and creates real-life conflict resolution experiences for the children.

Or you could just pop in a DVD.

Happy trails!

Cupcakes! You don't need a reason.

2010-01-09T18:16:00.004-06:00

Although I did have a reason, on Thursday anyway. Today I didn't really have a reason, if you don't count the facts that I had a lot of frosting left over from Thursday and that we (okay, I) had not gotten to enjoy any of Thursday's cupcakes.

Why didn't I get to enjoy Thursday's cupcakes? Because they were not for me. I had been wanting to take cupcakes to my daughter's 2nd grade class for her birthday. We had just enough for her classmates, her teacher, 3 other teachers, her brother and a friend.

Today ... today I needed cupcakes. I needed to bake. Baking is therapy. For some of us, eating is therapy. Not long-term effective therapy, but I'll take my enjoyment where I can get it.

When I decided to take cupcakes to the class, I had two parameters -- 1) I did not want to take store-bought cupcakes. 2) I did not want to make boxed cake mix cupcakes. Having queried the girl and finding out she wanted strawberry cupcakes, I commenced my search. And found this recipe for Pink Strawberry Cupcakes.

I think hers are prettier than mine, but no matter. They are delish.

I frosted mine with cream cheese frosting (simple recipe from Better Homes & Gardens). For the kids' batch I didn't tint it and just spread it on the tops plain jane style. Today, I tinted it pink and broke out my old Wilton decorating tips. Took me a minute to find my groove, but I like the way they turned out. I even got Emma into the decorating action (as if I could stop her) and she came up with her own unique designs (not pictured).

Enjoy!

Have I mentioned our trip to Disney?

2010-01-08T16:11:00.007-06:00

I have? Oh. Well, this will be my last post about it. Promise. I just had so darned much fun.

First, the food. Oh, the food! (It's weird that the first thing I'm mentioning is food, isn't it?) I think I told you in my first Disney blog about all our desserts. Let's just say it's a good thing we had to do so much, so VERY much, walking.

One of my favorite meals was at the restaurant Sanaa at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge. What's cool about this place is that there are giraffes and zebras and wildebeests and many other animals that come right up to the lodge. When the kids got bored waiting for our food, we just went outside and looked at the animals.
And here's the good thing about your 10-year-old being considered an 'adult' by ~~the money-grubbing~~ Disney ~~machine~~: he gets to order off of the adult menu. Which is cool if your 10-year-old is an adventurous eater. Which mine happens to be. So he will have a big smile on his face when his entree of Shrimp with Green Curry Sauce, Beef Short Ribs, and Five-Grain Pilaf arrives at the table.I enjoyed the Grilled Pork Chop glazed with Ginger and Pickled Lime Sauce served with Warm Potato and Spinach Salad.I also relished my dessert of Orange-Sesame Cake with Passion Fruit Kulfi. Mmm-mmm!And that is why food is up high on my list of highlights. It could have been so much worse. (Anyone eaten at Sea World?)

Now, on to the fun stuff! If one day you find yourself and your brood at Disney's Hollywood Studios and you notice 3 men dressed up like the green (and I mean GREEN) army men from Toy Story furtively moving about the place, follow them. You won't be sorry. My husband spied them as we were leaving our encounter with Prince Caspian (of Narnia), and thankfully he followed them. When they began 'recruiting' kids, we shoved our boy front and center. (The girl would have none of that, to be sure.) We have snippets of their schtick on video, but I wish I had the whole thing. Hysterical!

If your kid is into Star Wars, then definitely do the Star Wars: Jedi Training Academy at Hollywood Studios. It is great fun for the kids and grown-ups alike. Kids get trained in the Jedi arts (or, mainly, the art of fighting with a plastic lightsaber) and even get to battle Darth Vader (or Darth Maul) one-on-one. Be warned, though - if your kid scares easy, this might not be for him/her. One little tyke had to be escorted off the stage and another girl was in tears while fighting Darth Maul (that guy was scary! He completely stayed in character). Looking back, I'm glad my daughter bailed out before the thing even started. I thought my 10-year-old was a tad too old for this make-believe, but he totally got into it. And at the end of the show, each kid gets a certificate. Very cool!

The other thing we really enjoyed doing together (also at Hollywood Studios) was a 'class' where you could learn to draw Disney characters. If your kids like to draw, this is a definite stop for you. We loved it! And you get to bring home your handiwork as a keepsake. You never know what character you will get to draw. We did it twice and got to draw Goofy and Donald Duck.At the end, our "teacher" asked if anyone wanted to share their pictures with the whole class. My son raised his hand and she displayed his Donald Duck on the big screen up front. She then asked if anyone else wanted to share. This is when my occasionally timid daughter shot up her hand, and in the picture below she can be seen rising from her seat, sketch in hand, steely determination written on her Minnie-Mouse-ears-framed face, making sure her picture would be chosen for all to see.
And it was. I told you she was awesome.

DISNEY! DISNEY! DISNEY!

2010-01-06T14:35:00.003-06:00

Okay, so I totally didn't expect to LOVE Disney World. But I did. LOVED IT. So. Much. Fun!

Mind you, this wasn't my first time. The first time was way back in 1985 ... a vacation which will live in infamy. The involved parties know what I'm talking about.

I returned in 1993 with my childhood friend who just happened to live in Orlando at the time and just happened to have a friend who worked for Disney, so we got in for free. Awesome. (Two girls in their early 20's should NOT get this excited about meeting Mickey Mouse. Seriously.)

I returned again in 1994. Same friend. Same admission fee. Only this time we toted along her husband and 6-week-old baby. Because babies love Disney.

I did not expect to ever go back to Disney World. I just don't have that kind of moo-lah. Let's face it, I don't have any moo-lah. But this trip was a gift. And I am thankful.

It was a hastily arranged trip, expertly assembled at the last minute (thanks to my dilly-dallying) by my mother in less than a month. Three cheers for Mom! Apparently, those in the know plan these trips waaay in advance. Like a year or more in advance. Well, pack your bags because I am here to tell you, it can be done in less than a month! Just give my mom a call. (I'm just kidding, don't call her.)

I was appointed tour guide/day planner for our 4 days at Disney, and let me tell you I took it VERY seriously, spending most of the 8 hour drive to Orlando studying the 900+ page tome, the Unofficial Guide to Walt Disney World 2010. I was NOT going to go into this teeming mecca on its busiest day of the year without a plan. Give me a touring plan or give me death!, I shouted.

Yeah, I was near tears by bedtime, staring helplessly at my husband, my mind numb with park maps, attraction descriptions, touring plans, dining plans, transportation options, and show summaries, the prospect of waking early after our grueling drive hanging over me like a pall.

But the cramming was so worth it! I awoke refreshed. We had a plan. A flexible plan. We knew what rides we wanted to ride, what shows we wanted to see. We understood the Fast Pass system. We knew where to ~~stalk~~ find our favorite lovable Disney characters. We had dining reservations. Oh yeah!! Bring it on, Disney!

I'll just share here two of my favorite experiences (because I know you do not have the inclination nor the stamina to read through ALL of my favorites. Did I tell you I had a good time?):

Roller Coasters!

A great joy was watching my daughter, the cautious child, step up and not only ride the roller coasters, but revel in them! Our first foray was to Space Mountain. I was a little nervous because my girl is not a fan of the dark. I was prepared for her to bail out at the last minute. Right before we got on, I felt her little heart beating thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump!

Did she bail? No way! She rode Space Mountain and that girl was hooked! She rode every coaster Disney had to offer, including the Rock 'n' Roller Coaster - also in the dark, but with the added thrill of loops and corkscrews and the adrenaline rush of being launched from zero to 60 in 2.8 seconds. I've said it before and I'll say it again - she is awesome!

She came. She saw. She conquered.
(Oh yeah, it's also her birthday, evidenced by her special birthday button. Nothing screams, Hello, world, I'm 8! like riding Expedition Everest 5 times in a row.)

Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular!

Before getting in line to see the show, I approached one of the Disney cast members in front of the attraction to ask some inane, obvious questions (BTW, the vast majority of the Disney cast members are quite skilled at fielding your inane, obvious questions with a cheery, pleasant demeanor and without making you feel like a complete dolt who has just wasted 2 minutes of their valuable time. I really like this.) She spied my kids and began to ask me would they like to help kick off the show and could they speak loudly and clearly. I said, Heck yeah, they can! Will we get good seats? And then I briefly morphed into crazy stage mom, coaching the kids on their one line all through our 30 minute wait. I knew the boy would relish being on stage. It was the girl I was not so sure about.

I think she did just fine, what do you think?
(And, yes, we got good seats.)

Disney vacation - by the numbers

2010-01-02T18:23:00.011-06:00

Number of miles driven - 2,442
Number of DVDs watched in the car - 6
Number of pictures taken - 841
Number of desserts on our Disney dining plan - 60 [burp]
Number of times in a row the kids rode Expedition Everest - 5
Number of times in a row Mom rode Expedition Everest - 2
Number of times Mom should have ridden Expedition Everest - 1
Number of Disney plushies Emma bought with her birthday money - 4 (Stitch, Bolt, Mickey & Minnie)
Number of Disney character signatures in the kids' official autograph books - 58
Number of times the boy asked for a fedora after watching the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular and meeting the Indy stunt double - 5, at least
Number of minutes (some) people (not us) are willing to wait in line to ride Space Mountain - 200
Number of minutes we were willing to wait to meet Tinkerbell - 60
Number of states spied in our license plate game - 44, a new trip record (only missing Delaware, the ever elusive Hawaii, Montana, North Dakota, Rhode Island, & West Virginia)
Number of days in a row Emma wore her princess shirt - 3
Number of hours of sleep needed to recuperate from our vacation - zzzzzzzz.

Today's Treasures

2009-12-22T16:58:00.023-06:00

I love the beach. Winter. Summer. Whenever. Each season holds its own unique charms. I spend most of my time on the beach hunched over combing the sand for shells. There is just something about the vastness of the ocean and of the shore that makes finding a tiny thing of beauty so immensely exciting and satisfying. Over the years I have become more and more finicky, instructing the children that no broken shells, no matter how pretty, are to be put in the shell bucket. (I have a big drawer full of these things at home.)

What I am always on the lookout for is a perfect sand dollar. Not an easy find. My son discovered one a couple of years ago. Who knows how long it remained unbroken under the care of the sea. It lasted about 4 minutes under ours. At least I got a good photo before it was violently dropped into the shell bucket.

Today I found one of my very own. It is perfect. It measures a minute 1/2-inch in diameter. It's tiny. Sure, it has a hole in it. I don't care. It is a perfectly formed hole on my perfect teensy sand dollar.

This little gem was not plopped into the shell bucket, but placed gingerly into my shirt pocket.

Here are some of the other treasures we happened upon today.

Titus found this one for me. We call it a fan. (It may have another name. I can't find it on the internet.) It is flat and delicate and hard to find in one piece. I love them. And they make great embellishments on homemade cards. (Maybe I'll show you my handiwork in another post.)

If you break open a sand dollar, you will find 5 little 'doves' inside. I didn't find the sand dollar that this little dove came out of - most likely it was in pieces nearby (or not nearby).

These are also pretty rare to find intact, for us anyway. The shell is rather thin and delicate. It is a moon snail called a shark's eye.

A scotch bonnet - a thick and sturdy shell, and one we don't find too often.

A perfect whelk, possibly a Lightning Whelk. Hard to find in one piece. Titus usually finds these, and found this one.

I love the colors in this little Coquina!

This one is super cool. I think it is an Imperial Venus Clam.

Admittedly, this one isn't very pretty. And it's fairly common. But I like it. It's a Kitten's Paw.

And that's not even HALF of all the shells we collected today. But I'm hungry and mom's cooking!

Broken

2009-12-15T19:10:00.013-06:00

Such things exist once broken cannot be mended.
A fragile bubble,
First floating, iridescent,
Fading, bursting,
Droplets falling,
Irreparable.
A delicate orb of glass,
Shattered,
In pieces, scattered,
Fine slivers, bits of dust,
Irreparably separated.
Though fashioned again into one,
Its nature ever altered.
A frail heart,
Once buoyant,
Fractured, bursting,
Countless slivers, prosperity of dust, mournful droplets,
Irreparably broken.

Tale as old as time

2009-12-08T22:11:00.006-06:00

Today I saw a play. Not just a play -- a musical. Is there such a thing as Off-Off-Off-Off-Off Broadway? My son's music class had a field trip to one of the local high schools to watch a production of Beauty and the Beast. I volunteered to be a ~~bus~~ minivan driver. You know, to spend time with my kid ... AND get to see a play. For free. (No, I don't get out much. Culture? What's that?)

Is it weird that I teared up at times during the performance? I venture to admit that I don't think it was the brilliant acting that moved me. (Not to discount the fact that Belle was played by an absolutely enchanting young lady with a beautiful, beautiful voice.) I chalk it up to stress. And something about being a mom. Watching these young people perform was such a pleasure - just knowing the amount of work and effort and dedication and teamwork it must take to put on a show like that just makes you want to beam with pride for them. As if I really were their mom.

Additionally, I, myself, never was much the performing type. (Shocking, I know.) My only foray into the world of theater being in 3rd grade, as the lead in Little Red Riding Hood, thank you very much. Having been such a self-conscious person by nature, I have great admiration for young people who have the audacity to get up on a stage and sing and dance their hearts out. It tugs at my heart.

Or maybe it's the stress.

The entire audience at today's performance was made up of elementary school students (very well-behaved elementary school students, I might proudly add). We must have been their dry run before they lift the curtain on the real performances for a paying audience. It was so much fun! I encourage you to seek out and attend some sort of high school production such as this. You'll laugh, you'll cry, your kid will be impressed with the skills of the high schooler on the snare drum - it's better than CATS.

My favorite part of the outing? I'm glad you asked.

It came at the end of the show, once the spell had been broken and the Beast returned to his previous state of being young, dashing, and uber-princely. Having professed their love, he and Belle gaze at one another ... and then they kiss.

Immediately after which, my son turns to me and whispers, aghast, "Did they really kiss?" "Yes," I replied (because from my vantage point, it certainly appeared so.) Upon receiving confirmation, he uttered some unintelligible syllable of shock and disgust.

When the actors lined up to take their final bow, we got a better look at the cast. My son took notice of the young man who played the dashing prince, a slender, delicate featured teenager with longish blonde hair, and said to me, "Is that a girl?" To which I replied, "No, it's a boy. He just has long hair." (And is SO pretty, I thought quietly to myself.)

"Oh," he says, still disturbed at having witnessed THE KISS. "It should have been a girl. Because if two girls kissed, it wouldn't be so frightening."

Now, call me old-fashioned or whatever, but a girl-on-girl kiss in a high school play performed for elementary kids would have been infinitely more frightening than the innocuous stage kiss we did see. But then, I'm not a 10-year-old boy.

Instant car trip fun - Just add cat

2009-12-04T14:28:00.011-06:00

If you read my last post, you're may be wondering how I learned that my cat only behaves like an idiot at home. Well, I'll tell you.

As if this family doesn't have enough trouble getting ourselves out the door for a road trip, what with the packing of the stuff (so much stuff), and then the loading of the stuff (so very much stuff), AND THEN the dead battery - we, the family that finds ever new shades of meaning to the word 'debacle,' decided that we should bring along the old man cat. We had permission from my family, of course. And we tried to warn them; we didn't sugarcoat it. He whines. He wails. He runs into things. With his head. He sheds his white hair on all of your black stuff. There is the hairball issue. And what is that smell? -- It's exactly what you think it is.

And if those aren't good enough reasons to kennel this creature, there is the infamous CAT INCIDENT of 2002. We ourselves can't recall it without reliving the horror. I won't go into the details, but you can do the math: one 14 pound cat + one 6-inch deep shelf approximately 4 feet high + one terrazzo floor + one valuable family antique. Oh, yes he did.

I'm sure you understand why kitty hasn't been invited on a road trip in 7 years and can sense our trepidation at bringing this four-legged furry oaf into another person's home, a home with light colored carpeting and pretty, breakable things.

But, as I learned, it turns out my cat only behaves like an idiot at home. Oh, he was such an angel! So pretty. So white and fluffy. So amiable. So cuddly with his big blue eyes. Waiting patiently to be fed. Quietly mewing in a cute, kittenish way. Not heaving his hulking mass onto tiny antique-holding shelves.

Not that we're unhappy about this uncharacteristic display of good behavior. We just wish he had brought it home with him.

Things I learned over Thanksgiving

2009-12-03T08:21:00.002-06:00

You can never make too much stuffing. I'm serious. Your recipe - double it.

Mom doesn't like it when you say 'pecan', in a twangy Texas accent, as in, "I'm a fixin' to make me a PE-can pie!"
Watching a football game indoors, in a toasty house under a warm blanket, is every bit as exciting and fun (if not more so) than actually being there.
Grandparents just can't help buying stuff for their grandkids wherever they go (say, for example, a football game.) BTW, the back of the girl's new, very pink, A&M shirt says, "The difference between boys and girls soccer? Girls make it look good!"
My cat only behaves like an idiot at home.
Guitar Hero (though ~~some~~ most of the graphics & music make me cringe) is a fun game to play.
It's not Thanksgiving without Mr. Turkey.
Kids are cute when they are sleeping (Yes, I already know this. I just wanted a reason to post this picture.)

Hap-PIE Thanksgiving

2009-12-02T10:41:00.017-06:00

Thanksgiving 2009 - the Thanksgiving of the Pie

Not to be confused with Thanksgiving 1997 - the Thanksgiving of the Pies. It's an important distinction. That was the year we were with my husband's family in New Mexico and for some reason, that particular year, everybody made a pie. The pies that year may have outnumbered the people, but who really knows? It has become such legend now, it is hard to separate fact from fiction. Oh, how fondly we recollect the Thanksgiving of the Pies! Who knew such little people could eat so much pie.

By comparison, this year's festivities only featured 2 pies. But still, the holiday merits its own title: The Thanksgiving of the Pie. With emphasis on quality over quantity. And, boy howdy, did we have quality!

My mom made the pecan pie. Her mother's recipe. You can't go wrong when you take your grandmother's tried-and-true recipe, sprinkle in your mother's perfect execution, with a dash of assistance from your own 7-year-old daughter. We're talking four generations that went into the making of this pie. It was lovely - pecans expertly arranged in concentric circles, toasted to a nutty perfection, and a crust that absolutely did not crack.

I made the cherry pie. And you can, too! Now, don't be intimidated by the lattice top crust. It's not that hard. Here's my secret: The first time you make this pie, have your little daughter help you with it and show her how to weave the lattice. Then, each subsequent time you decide to make the pie, when your brain goes DUH! How do I weave those lattice strips again? Why, your darling daughter, whose brain is not decaying at the speed of light, will be there to assist you and say, "This is how we did it, Mommy, you dolt." (No, of course she didn't say that.) Easy, right? Yeah, I know, I should have my own cooking show.

One Word Tag

2009-11-23T15:59:00.010-06:00

Thanks, Hannah, for jump starting me with a blog idea. It is painful to limit my answers to one word.

1. Where is your cell phone? Unknown

2. Your hair? Up

3. Your mother? Generous

4. Your father? Role model

5. Your favorite food? Chocolate

6. Your dream last night? Weird

7. Your favorite drink? Coca-cola

8. Your dream/goal? Debtlessness

9. What room are you in? Living

10. Your hobby? This

11. Your fear? Hopelessness

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Free

13. Where were you last night? Home

14. Something that you aren’t? Ambitious

15. Muffins? Yes

16. Wish list item? ???

17. Where did you grow up? Everywhere

18. Last thing you did? E-mail

19. What are you wearing? Black

20. Your TV? Off

21. Your pets? Kitty

22. Friends? Scattered

23. Your life? Messy

24. Your mood? Stressed

25. Missing someone? Family

26. Vehicle? Minivan

27. Something you’re not wearing? Earrings

28. Your favorite store? Thrift Town

29. Your favorite color? Yellow

30. When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday

31. Last time you cried? Today

32. Your best friend? Husband

33. One place that I go to over and over? HEB

34. One person who emails me regularly? Nobody

35. Favorite place to eat? Tree House

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

2009-11-11T08:53:00.003-06:00

Sebastian, I've a feeling we're not in our twenties anymore.

(Sebastian = my cat)

On the eve of my forties, it is finally beginning to dawn on me - I'm on the eve of my forties. My twenties are long (l-o-o-o-o-n-g) gone. I'm not sure where they went, but I am telling you, those crazy days of boundless energy, oodles of free time, and startling insecurity are nowhere in sight. I am, however, well aware of where my thirties went. They were trampled in a mind-numbing stampede of pregnancies becoming babies becoming toddlers becoming school aged kids. And WHAM! Here we are waking up from the fog at 39. On the cusp.

It's comments like the following that really bring it home:

One of our college student friends who attends the university that I work for recently asked me, "So, hey, do you work with D-Rod's mom?" (It's like he's trying to speak to me, I know it.)

"D-Rod" being his roommate. "D-Rod's mom" being my co-worker.

And here's what hit me at that moment: My co-worker, my colleague, my friend ... is ... D-Rod's mom. Not my friend Sue. Somebody's mom. Somebody called "D-Rod". More startling than walking outside and finding a pair of ruby-slippered feet sticking out from under my house, it hit me that I am now a mom figure, which of course is not new, except in the frightening aspect of being a mom figure to a COLLEGE STUDENT.

Yes, it's comments like these -- and every time one of the twenty-something-year-old grad students I work with calls me "ma'am" -- that tell me it's time we faced facts here.

Dorothy had it easy. One minute she was in black-and-white Kansas and the next minute - BOOM! She was smack dab in the middle of a technicolor world of munchkins, yellow brick roads, and walking, talking, brainless scarecrows. Clearly not Kansas. Sometimes, I'm still not quite sure where I am. Maybe if I click my heels together three times ...?

Three Guesses

2009-11-03T21:24:00.001-06:00

And the first two don't count.

I don't mind disappointment ...

... as long as it's not pointing at me.

Guess which kid said that.

Flight Pics

2009-11-01T20:13:00.022-06:00

Okay, so I was going to blog about what a big moment it was letting my oldest child take his first trip on his own, on an airplane no less, and even allowing him to return home UNACCOMPANIED (Yikes!) Because when the plan was first proposed to me, I thought, Ha! Like I will ever let my 10-year-old do that! I'm a little over-protective of my offspring. But the funny thing was, when the time came to let him go, I simply let him go. I shared in his excitement and knew he was ready to spread his wings. I was a little surprised at my own lack of anxiety, but hey, I'm not complaining about that. It feels good to let go. One little bit at a time.

Getting ready to board the big blue Southwest Airlines plane.

Having an uncle who's a pilot has its perks. Like getting to visit the cockpit and meet the pilot! (Who also is an Aggie, by the way.)

And getting to test out the controls.

TAKEOFF! Excited?

Settling in for the long 30 minute flight from Austin to Houston ... working the crossword puzzle (That's my boy!)

And more shenanigans from Uncle Mike.

The boy has wings

2009-11-01T19:53:00.005-06:00

So, last Saturday we let the boy take a trip with his uncle by plane for the day. It was a grand success. Here's a summary of his day in his own words.

My Trip with My Uncle Mike
by Jared, age 10

Whoosh! The plane set off into the sky. I told my Uncle Mike that the view was awesome. "Yep," he said, "amazing." When he told me we were about 11,000 feet above the ground I was thinking, "What! 11,000 feet!" The rest of the flight went on with my face pressed against the window.

When we got off the plane we met my Aunt Sheila inside the terminal. We signed me up for my flight back (just to get ahead) and went to the parking garage when I asked my uncle where we were going. He said we were going to a place called Kemah Boardwalk.

When we got there I saw the craziest carnival rides you could ever imagine. There were things like the Invert, the Drop Zone, and the Aviator. They all looked crazy to me, but my Uncle Mike and I went on the Aviator and had a bunch of fun! After the ride, I got some Dippin' Dots and we saw a game where you could win a Scooby Doo plushie. Before we did that we decided to walk around and when we stopped at the dock, we saw a bunch of catfish. My Uncle Mike told me to watch as they would swarm for his spit. He spat into the water and they gulped it up. I did the same. We started walking farther and came across a vampire/magician who was cracking a bunch of corny jokes. I told my uncle Mike, “This guys tries too hard.”

We made our way back over to the booth where you could win the Scooby Doo plushie. We were hoping to play only the 3 of us, but we ended up with a few other players, so we had some competition. My Uncle Mike won the plushie and I took it home.

When we decided to go back to the terminal, I decided to eat at Wendy’s, but they didn’t have a kid’s meal. So I ended up getting about a 6-inch slice of pizza from a different restaurant. When we had eaten and gotten ready, I got on the plane and my Uncle Mike told me, “Try to look for me and your Aunt Sheila in the window and we’ll be waving.” I said okay, and when the plane took off, I saw them waving and I waved back.

I had an awesome day!

Everybody's got one

2009-10-30T20:26:00.007-05:00

Everybody's got one. That uncle. Uncle fill-in-the-blank. The one that's just a tad crazy, a little juvenile maybe, but a whole lotta fun. The one your parents are not quite sure they want you spending too much quality time around. The guy that's more friend, less authority figure. A little kid in a man's body.

Mine is Uncle George. The one who likes to refer to me as his favorite niece. (Yes, indeed, I am his only niece. But I still like being his favorite.) I love that guy. You all know who I'm talking about. Maybe you have more than one.

Well, my kids have Uncle Mike.

And the other day, I let my kid get on an airplane with him.

She had me at hello

2009-10-23T19:34:00.007-05:00

We tuck our kids in at night. Get them into bed, give them a kiss and a hug, tell them we love them. Night night, sleep tight, and all that. We don't sing lullabies, but we used to. Funny aside: when the boy was just a tiny tyke, he asked us to sing the "Cheese is a person in your neighborhood" song every night. (Google "Ben Stiller Sesame Street"). E-v-e-r-y night.

Another aside (just for me): When the boy was just a tiny baby, I used to sing to him,

On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moondust in your hair
Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue

[sigh]

Anyway ... Back to the present bedtime ritual -- sometimes, if mom or dad isn't feeling well, we ask the kids if we can say goodnight to them in our own room or wherever we happen to be lying prostrate and incapacitated.

The other night, Daddy was listless (cold, fever, etc.) in the living room and had the kids say goodnight to him there. They hugged and kissed him and made their way to their rooms. Mommy tucked them in, according to custom.

After lights-out, the girl crept tentatively into the living room, snuggled up to Mommy and ventured the following statement, fraught with the hemming and hawing of a kid who knows she is not supposed to be out of bed:

I don't know why ... but when one of you comes ... and one of you doesn't come into my room ... I don't feel ... complete.

You can believe that Daddy got up off his sick patootie and tucked that girl in.

He completes her, you know. And so do I. For now, anyway.

Spelling Lesson

2009-10-06T08:52:00.002-05:00

'Kitty' is 'cat' spelled a lot differently.

-- Emma, age 7

Here's one for Grandma & Grandpa

2009-10-03T11:36:00.004-05:00

The other morning, as I was fixing the girl's hair, she asked if she could have a bun. Not the warm sticky sugary buttery cinnamony kind, but the schoolmarm kind. I helped her put her hair up and she commented that the bun made her look older.

So ensued an early morning discussion about buns and their aging effect.

Jared threw in his 2 cents: That's why Grandma doesn't look old.

(Unspoken, but implied: Because Grandma doesn't wear her hair in a bun.)

And while he was at it, this for Grandpa: And Grandpa only looks as old as Daddy.

Which statement could be either a compliment for Grandpa, or a subtle dig at dear old Dad. Let's err on the side of flattery.

Barbie in Aggieland

2009-10-02T17:48:00.016-05:00

For my Austin friends who don't already know this about me ... I am an Aggie.

An Aggie who subsequently attended U.T. (sorry, Mike, t.u.) and now works for said rival institution, and is yet, ever always an Aggie. It is a known fact that graduate school engenders no true allegiance, and well, a job is a job. Any (good-natured) disparaging comments will be tolerated (I know where I live), and if you have a good Aggie joke, bring it on.

As a student, I attended quite nearly every home football game, and happily stood throughout. Thanksgivings were spent in the stands for the big A&M/t.u. game. We camped overnight for tickets. I'm a fan. However, in the past decade, I have attended exactly 3 Aggie football games. The most recent of which took place last weekend.

My brother (also an Aggie and a season ticket holder) kindly invited me to attend with him, as he had an extra ticket, and I happily made the drive to my alma mater to enjoy a little nostalgia, some football, and a little brother/sister bonding time.

On my way out the door, sweet girl asked if I wanted to take a Barbie with me (seeing as she has, hmm, say 20, Barbies, sparing one for the day could be no inconvenience to her). No difficulty for me to stow a Barbie in my bag for the drive down to elicit a smile from my girl.

And then I had an idea...

The pictures below chronicle Barbie's first trip to Aggieland. She'll never be the same.

Barbie chillin' at the tailgate. Soaking up some warm College Station humidity (a humidity like no other) and watching some college ball on the flat screen t.v.

Before the game began, Barbie decided to catch the "Spirit Walk" where we greeted the football team in addition to the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band.

The nationally famous Fightin' Texas Aggie Band is the largest military marching band in the nation and all 350+ members are cadets. Barbie was really into the half-time show.

Here's Barbie performing an Aggie yell. Don't ask. I can't explain it. We're a peculiar sort.

After the conclusion of the game, Barbie joined the hundreds (thousands?) of other fans who flooded the playing field. Dodging flying footballs and dashing children, we made our way to the 50 yard line, where Barbie struck a dainty pose.

Final score: A&M - 56 UAB - 19

Gig 'em.

The randomness of a youthful mind

2009-10-01T19:31:00.003-05:00

It's 7:00am and my daughter says to me,

I'm really glad we - you know, you, me, Jared and Daddy - won't be around when the sun explodes.

Me, too, honey. Me, too.

Unfinished posts

2009-09-21T17:49:00.003-05:00

How many unfinished blog posts do you have?

I have 22.

They date back to January.

Is this normal?

Do any of you begin a post and then either get distracted by life, or just hit a block? How long do you let it sit there? Do you ever finish these? Should they be finished, or abandoned? I've noticed that once I start a post, if I don't complete it within a day, I usually let it slip away. I'm not sure why.

What do you think?

Delete? or Salvage?

The Tea Party

2009-09-17T16:20:00.011-05:00

One fine September day, the girl child had the sniffles and a fever. It was a school day.

Not just any school day. It was Friday, a special day, the day of the Tea Party. A day most eagerly anticipated.

The sick child was made to stay home. To rest. To miss the Tea Party.

She cried.

The mother soothed. The mother made an offhand, un-thought-out promise to the crying child. Something about a tea party. The girl was noncommittal. The mother was subconsciously relieved.

Later, the child remembered the promise. Asked sweetly, Mommy, when are we going to have our tea party?

The mother was noncommittal.

It was raining. The mother was tired. Nobody felt well. Was that the beginning twinge of a headache? To let her child down, to break the offhand, un-thought-out promise, would not have been unexpected. I rather believe it was expected. It would have been forgiven.

But...

I went to the store. In the rain. For tea party supplies. Namely, ~~tea~~ limeade. And cookies. Specifically, Central Market Cranberry Walnut cookies. So. Very. Yummy.

A special table was set, complete with flowers (faux). Individual china tea cups were chosen. We dressed up. I wore a dress. Not nice slacks and a fancy blouse. A real dress. The boy was invited. He dressed up (voluntarily).

We drank our fake tea. We ~~ate~~ gobbled our cookies. We laughed. The girl's heart was cheered. We chatted. We took goofy pictures. When the fake tea was spilled, we laughed. The girl's heart was cheered.

The girl smiled. The mother's heart was cheered.

I must confess to you that I am proud of this moment. Because, quite frankly, I rarely live up to my own expectations. But every now and then, I stumble upon some hidden virtue within myself and manage to do something I feel proud of. It was admittedly a small thing, a fleeting moment in our lives.

I cling to these moments.

But then, it's really not about me. I am ever increasingly thankful for my children. For their gentle, believing, forgiving hearts. For their unwavering, persistent faith in me, their mother, to get it right.

Guinea pig dreams

2009-09-07T09:20:00.004-05:00

My son is currently waging a great campaign. The Great Guinea Pig Campaign of 2009. He wants one. Desperately. A few library books have injected the months-old campaign with renewed vigor.

Yesterday in the car, he was presenting his case and making grand plans. What color it would be, what he would name it, how it would take care of it, how he would protect it from the cat, etc. He mused out loud about whether he should get a male or a female.

J: I think I would want it to be a female, so it could have babies. Then we could give them to other people. [a pause, and a sweet dreamy smile] You know, spread the happiness around.

For all of his pessimistic nature, sometimes the boy is just so wistfully optimistic. It's sweet, isn't it?

And in case you missed it: guinea pig = happiness.

What I am reading

2009-09-03T17:33:00.007-05:00

This post is in response to Raji's question posed in response to my last post. Um, not sure that made sense.

Her question got me thinking about my motivations.

For background, what spurred my reentry into the reading world was reading the A Series of Unfortunate Events series with my son. Details, if you are interested, here.

I started with Moby Dick. A little ambitious, eh? I actually got the book on CD from the library and tried to listen to it. That was in January. I couldn't get through it in the 3 weeks allotted by the library. I checked it out again later and got a little further. But I have since concluded that listening is not the way to go with this one. I need to put my eyes on the page. Too many big words. Listening and driving = not enough attention paid to either activity. So this one's a work in progress. It is a challenge. You could say it is my Moby Dick. (Okay, I just read that sentence and agree that it is groan-inducingly lame, but I'm leaving it in.)

I think that is the motivation behind my reading a great deal of the books I am reading - the challenge. I am trying to catch up on a lot of the classics that I somehow missed in high school and college (I minored in English lit, yet I missed so much!) It's a lot about the challenge. But that's not enough. It's also about the enjoyment. It has to be.

Here are a few of the books I've finished recently and why I chose them.

Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie. This one I planned to read on my own, but ended up sharing it with my daughter, which was magical. It is now a favorite that I will read again.
Night, by Elie Wiesel - This was a difficult read, but worth it.
The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath - I read this just because I had always heard of it, but never read it. I had no idea when I picked it up what it was about, nor did I know anything about the author. I liked it.
Persuasion, by Jane Austen - Because it's Jane Austen.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl - Read with my daughter.
Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, by Roald Dahl - Also read with my daughter. Roald Dahl is a favorite in our house.
The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy, by Jeanne Birdsall - I intended to read this to my kids, but started it on my own, just to see if it was age-appropriate and interesting. It was interesting, but ended up being just for me.
Old Yeller, by Fred Gipson - I read this one because I thought it would be good to read with my son. Again, I ended up not sharing it. But I loved it! Absolutely loved it.
Wuthering Heights, By Emily Bronte - Not at all what I expected; quite a strange tale.
I'm a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America After 20 Years Away, by Bill Bryson - I had read one or two of his other books in the past. The man is funny. Laugh out loud funny.

One of the first things I picked up this year was a book of short stories by J.D. Salinger. It was delicious. I'm currently in the middle of The Hobbit and it is awesome! I am having so much fun.

So, I don't know where you should start, but it really doesn't matter. Half of the books I listed above are children's books. (Another favorite: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo.) Chick lit sounds good; I wouldn't mind reading a good fluffy love story. I also always enjoy a good tale of suspense from Mary Higgins Clarke, just for fun. Predictable, but still fun. I'd like to find a good biography. Years ago I read a good one on Lincoln.

I could go on and on.

Ooh - I'm also in the middle of The Princess Bride, but had to return it to the library because someone else placed a hold on it. But now I have a hold on it, heh-heh. And thanks to Goodreads, I won't forget what page I was on.

Share with me your favorites so I can add them to my to-read list!

My Own Reading Adventure

2009-09-02T17:30:00.006-05:00

About 9 months ago, when I began blogging in earnest, one of the things I wrote about was my rediscovery of reading for pleasure. I began to pick up a few books here and there, just reacquiring my taste for the world of words.

This summer, I began to more systematically read through the (many!) titles on my 'want-to-read' list.

By the way, to this end, I discovered a great tool for keeping track of my book lists - Goodreads.com, which is actually a social networking site for readers. The literary Facebook. The idea is to create a network of friends and post book reviews to share with each other, but I have no friends, and I'm okay with that. I have yet to write a review. And that's okay, too. I mainly use the site to keep track of the books I have read, the books I want to read, and the books I am currently reading. Tracking this progress is very satisfying. So now, whenever I hear about a good book (on someone's blog, or listening to NPR, or reading the paper, or wherever), I can find the book on the site and add it to my "to-read" list, instead of jotting it down in crayon on the back of that HEB receipt from my purse whose fate is to be lost forever. Awesome.

Upon checking my progress since July, I found that I have read 10 books in the past 2 months! Wow. This includes a couple of books that I read with my daughter, but still. I'm pretty sure that's more than I read in the previous 5 years (10 years?).

The other day I was telling a friend how I had been catching up on my reading lately and she asked me, "When do you read?" I understood her to mean, "When do you find the time to read that much?" It's a good question. I have 2 kids. These kids have homework and various other activities and needs. I have a husband that I enjoy spending time with. I have a job (part-time, but somewhat consuming). I have a house to maintain. I have bills to pay. I like TV. There's the old man cat (I tell you, he's trouble.) When in the world am I reading?

I read:

while waiting for the bus that takes me from my parking garage nearer to my office
while riding on the bus
while walking up the hill to my office
while stopped at traffic lights (I NEVER read while actually driving - you've seen people do this, right? I do not.)
while the kids are otherwise occupied and don't need me (although I have found that when I pick up my book, often that ignites a spark in my daughter who says, "Mommy, let's read my book!" And we do.
while lying in bed before sleep

These are not great spans of time. It's a little here and a little there. Slow and steady wins the race, so I've read.

But time is only one side of it. The other is desire. My husband has a saying: "People do what they want to do." Boy, that little phrase used to irk me no end. (Do any of your husbands have their own pithy observations like this?) Translation: You may say you want to do something, and for sure you even believe that you want to do it, yet you expend no effort to actually do it, meaning you don't really want to do it. Because if you really wanted to, you would.

The bottom line: I do what I want to do. I want to read. It matters to me. So I make it happen.

Apparently, though, I don't want to exercise.

The Reading Adventure

2009-09-01T19:35:00.006-05:00

Today I got to wondering. Is one ever really satisfied when arriving at the end of a book? I often feel vaguely disappointed when arriving at the final sentence.* Either the book itself was unsatisfying, or the book was so very enjoyable, that coming to the end of it could be nothing but a terrific let down. I'm generalizing, of course, grabbing the extreme examples, but am I the only one? Does this happen to you?

*The major exception to this (in my experience) is the Bible. Always satisfying. Never a let down.

Well, I know I am not completely alone, as I witnessed my daughter experience this today. We have been working on Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator for the past few weeks. We almost finished last night, but had to stop at the next-to-last chapter. So close. Today, with excitement, we picked up the book to finish the final chapter.

I was sitting on one end of the couch; she was at the other end facing me. When I came to a picture, I would turn the book for her to see, watch her expression, wait for the giggle, then turn the book back around to continue the reading. When I came to the last page (which also had a picture), I read to the last sentence and then turned the book to her so she could see the picture. I was watching her face carefully. She took in the picture, and when she looked away, that's when I realized that she didn't realize it was the end. And so, reluctantly, I told her, "That's the end."

The expression on her face spoke volumes. Utter disappointment. And slight bewilderment. Betrayal, even? It was as if I had slung a bucket of water in her face. She had to know we were close to the end, she knew it was the last chapter. But she was not prepared for the end. She was immersed in the adventure, waiting expectantly to hear what antics Charlie and his crew would engage in during their White House visit. But that will remain forever a mystery (unless there is another sequel that we don't know about).

It was a let down.

Until we picked up a new book...

And the adventure continues...

Come home, family!

2009-08-18T14:29:00.004-05:00

In a few short hours, my week long staycation will come to an end. Around 6:00pm today my family will return to me. Am I ready? I think so. Well, okay, probably not. I should vacuum. And unload the dishwasher. And go grocery shopping. And take out the trash. And ... here we go ... the familiar stresses of being responsible for a household have already arrived! [sigh] So ... early.

But, emotionally, I am more than ready. I cannot wait to take them all into my arms - oh, how I have missed these pieces of me! I think the little one will still let me smother her face in kisses. And the older one may even indulge me this expression, just for today. For sure, the husband will welcome it (and more)! I can't wait.

It's been an interesting week for me. This is the longest length of time I have spent alone, in my own house, for years. Since I have been a mother. Since I have been married, even. Years. As a person whose disposition requires a healthy degree of solitude, in this respect, the week was a welcome respite. Which is not to say that I wouldn't have rather been with my people enjoying the New Mexico adventure. Of course I would have. I missed so much. But it couldn't be helped and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time. It's just one of those peculiar pain/pleasure kind of things.

The week turned out to be a time of decompression. And I think, ideally, decompression is a slow process. It takes time. Of course I originally had lofty goals for the week. Just think about how many things you could accomplish if you had your house to yourself for a week! Just imagine! It's dizzying, isn't it? But in the end, I succumbed to the lull of the quiet and allowed myself to be rested. And I am okay with that.

(Just to be clear, I didn't do NOTHING. I accomplished a few things. Things I never would have accomplished with the time constraints of my normal daily life. I am satisfied with this. It is enough.)

But now I need my people.

So, am I ready to face the insanity of that is heading down I-10 toward this house? The unpacking, the laundry, the feeding, the bathing, dishes, the clutter, the activities, the back-to-school shopping, the grocery shopping? No way.

But, to quote my best friend, an eloquent man, to be sure, "Bring'eth it on'eth!"

Vacation Vignettes #5 - The Slide

2009-08-17T18:11:00.007-05:00

The Slide

Whaddya think? I'm not sure the kids had fun.

Here's the story.

The pictures don't show how big this thing is. It's pretty tall and it's a long climb to the top. Emma was NOT interested in going alone. Which is how I ended up along for the ride. I committed myself to slide with her until she was comfortable going alone - one or two slides oughta do it.

So, you may wonder ... how many times did I drag my 39-year-old body up that slide? More than twice, I assure you. (I included one picture of myself in the above collage, only because, mercifully, the view of me is mostly blocked by my dear daughter - pictures of me in my old-lady floral swimsuit-with-a-skirt don't belong on the internet.)

I tell you, it was quite a ride. (By the way, on the basis of overwhelming empirical evidence, I have concluded that dissimilarly weighted people are at a disadvantage when sliding together.) We held hands and, inevitably, I slid a little faster, resulting in our being turned sideways and me dragging (yes, dragging) the poor girl along to the bottom. It was either that or let go of her hand completely, which I dare say she may have interpreted as abandonment. Embarrassing, to be careening downward, out of control, arms and legs flailing about, but oh! did I laugh!! This turning sideways also had the unfortunate result of a fair amount of water being forced into our ears when we hit the pool of water at the bottom of the slide. Which is why you see Emma with her hands tightly clenched over her ears. It took a while to dislodge all that water.

Eventually, I begged off and suggested she slide with her brother if she was still nervous. Of course, he was thrilled to accompany his little sister (now re-read that sentence with a decidedly sarcastic tone.) On the first attempt at a sibling slide, he left her in the dust, having not taken a good hold of her hand, and having not really waited at all for her to be ready, and really having no interest in sliding with his sister whatsoever. He had flips to do and people to impress.

So there she was. My little girl. Stranded at the top of the slide. She would not slide down on her own. We waited and watched as she let child after child (after adult) take her place next in line. I managed to quell the burning desire to go rescue her. I have learned with this child (and believe she is the better for it), that she must often be forced to face and overcome such hurdles on her own. No, 'force' is not the right word. It is better to say it this way: She must be permitted to fight her own battles. Because it is a privilege to be afforded the opportunity to succeed (or to fail) in the things we undertake and against the things that most frighten us.

But, sometimes we need a little help and it is good when the help doesn't come from mom or dad. Eventually, her brother made it back around the circuit and appeared again at her side. He redeemed himself, proving his tenderness of heart, by being much more solicitous, and down they came.

That ride was all the girl needed to jump-start her engine. For the remainder of the time, she was quite independent and unafraid. And, well, you can see the smile.

Vacation Vignettes #4 - The Tooth

2009-08-12T16:16:00.006-05:00

"The Tooth that Wouldn't Budge"
Or, more accurately,
"The Tooth That Wouldn't Stop Budging and Just Fall Out Already!"

This is the story of a girl and a tooth. An obstinate, pertinacious little tooth. A tooth which rather reveled in remaining lodged in the girl's jaw. An irksome tooth that teased and tormented with its wiggling and ever-so-slight loosening for months on end. A tooth, which, with its latter looseness, was the source of no small amount of discomfort and inopportune bleeding. A tooth whose location (upper right central incisor) and degree of previously mentioned latter looseness made the consumption of all things requiring incising (sandwiches, pizza, fajitas, apples, corn on the cob) troublesome, if not altogether impossible.

But this tooth was not equipped to win this battle. It met its match in tenacity. The girl would not rest until she wiggled that tooth out of her head. She was constantly at work. Wiggling with her fingers. Wiggling with her tongue. Wiggling in the day. Wiggling in the evening. She probably wiggled in her sleep.

Each day I inquired, "Still have that tooth?" Each day the answer was the same. Though she hoped it would be out soon, she equally hoped it would remain long enough to make its grand exit in Florida. I don't know why. Perhaps she thought the Floridian tooth fairies are of a more generous sort than the Texas variety. As we shall see, they're a little quirkier, to be sure.

For a time, I was certain the tooth could not possibly remain to accompany us to Florida. Once there, as the days dragged on, I became convinced the tooth was determined to return to Texas as it came - still firmly entrenched.

But, on the final morning of our visit, with only one evening remaining in which the girl's pillow would lie in the realm of the Sunshine state, the tooth, wearied and defeated by the incessant, unrelenting wiggling of its foe, relinquished its hold, and emerged.

And what did the Floridian tooth fairy leave in exchange for this humdinger of a tooth? None other than a clean, crisp $2 bill. (I told you they were quirky.)

And now the other incisor is beginning to budge. Who's up for round two?

What is that wet stuff falling from the sky?

2009-08-10T15:09:00.008-05:00

Is it ... could it be ... rain? [sigh] I vaguely remember rain.

No, it's not falling now ... nothing but blue sky in all directions.

But yesterday we had a lovely little shower. One of those sudden, albeit brief, downpours. It started with a crack of thunder - an odd sound because the sun shone brightly overhead. I went outside to try to capture the view of pouring rain mingled with bright sunlight, but I may have been too late. If you look closely at the photo, you can see the rain drops falling against the backdrop of the blue sky.

The bit of rain temporarily perked up the withered grass and brought a little critter out to play.

Unfortunately, the rain didn't wash away the heat -- in fact, I think it ratcheted up the humidity a notch or two. But still, a nice surprise.

Vacation Vignettes #3 - Cribbage

2009-08-09T20:06:00.004-05:00

Cribbage Anyone?

I've mentioned previously how one of the things I enjoy when visiting my parents is getting to play cribbage with my dad, and happily on this trip we were able to sneak in a few hands.

While DH and I were on our vacation staycation and the kids were hanging with the grandparents, Grandpa figured that the eldest child (age 10) was ready to be introduced to the game. So on a free evening, Grandpa showed him the ropes and Jared even managed to squeak out a win. He was very satisfied. In fact, when telling me about it, his victory was one of the first things he mentioned. Knowing from personal experience that Grandpa does not let anyone win (oh, the memories! Risk, bowling, ping pong, gin! The man gave 100%.), I was duly impressed.

Grandpa also wanted some play time with the younger child (age 7, not quite cribbage age). Grandma suggested that they play Uno (one of our favorites). Emma resisted, being slightly more interested in Slap Jack. Again, she was prodded to 'teach' Grandpa how to play Uno.

Let it be known that this child is generally pretty clear about what she does and does not want to do. And is always up for a challenge (you just try to tell her she can't do something). Emma would not be enticed to play Uno, and even abandoned the idea of Slap Jack. She said, "No. I want Grandpa to teach me cribbage."

And that was that.

And my 7-year-old now plays cribbage.

Stop! Daddy Time!

2009-08-07T15:11:00.002-05:00

Several months ago, my husband and son discovered a book to enjoy together (a rather thick book) and the ritual of the male bonding began. This nightly reading time with Daddy is coveted and Mommy simply will not do. That's mostly okay with me, although I kind of miss being his go-to parent for all things snuggly. But this has afforded me and the girl-child to have some reading adventures of our own. Why, just last night we finally finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

So, earlier last evening, while sitting around the dinner table, my son asked me, "How was your day today, Mom?" (And he asks in a way that is so grown up and sincere - I'm just sure he really wants to know!) I mumbled something noncommittal as a response, something like, "Fine." or "It was okay." Not unsatisfied, he moves on to dad, "So, Dad, how was your day?" Whose (better) response was (not necessarily based in reality), "Awesome!"

The next thing the boy said was one of those statements that make a parent's heart swell with pride and a mushy-gushy kind of feeling ...

"And it should get better, 'cause we're going to read tonight!"

It's a good thing that thick book has a sequel.

And so I will leave you with this little snippet of a poem from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl (one of my daughter's favorite authors):

Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something good to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowing growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Vacation Vignettes #2 - Vacation Staycation

2009-08-06T18:17:00.010-05:00

A Vacation within a Vacation

Here is the view from our hotel room where my husband and I had a few days to ourselves (that's right, sans los ninos) while on our family vacation.

My parents generously offered to care for our offspring while we ventured out on our own. Something we rarely ever do. Since our hotel was only about a mile from my parents' house, it was our own little vacation staycation.

It's a strange experience to be away from your kids when you are not in the habit of doing so. It is quite a curious mixture of pain and pleasure.

We experienced unhurried, leisurely, grown-up dining (we didn't order coffee, but we could have), watched cable tv, slept late, enjoyed a late night stroll on the boardwalk, and, at the top of my list -- we swam at the beach, I myself floating serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds. That was sheer bliss. It's been years since I floated peacefully in the ocean.

But somehow in the midst of my delight, I couldn't help but wistfully think of the kids and long that we were all together.

Of course, later in the trip (once our little honeymoon was over) we got our family time in the water -- and don't you just know what I was thinking: Man! I wish I could just float serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds!

[sigh]

I may never get used to this conundrum that is parenting.

Vacation Vignettes #1 - Mickey Dee's

2009-08-03T17:57:00.003-05:00

"You want fries with that?"

On the road to Florida, somewhere in east Texas...

Reluctantly conceding to patronize McDonald's for a bite on the road (mainly for the super cute Ty Teenie Beanie Babies)...

We pull up to the drive thru to place our order. Being a bit of a plain Jane and wanting to be sure to avoid mayonnaise at all costs, I inquire at the intercom, "Can you tell me what comes on the Southern Style Chicken Sandwich?"

A brief pause from the voice on the other side ... then the reply, "Pickles and butter."

Another pause while I cast an incredulous sideways glance at my husband, a glance that says, "Did he just say butter?"

"Butter?" I repeat into the intercom, seeking confirmation.

"Just a sec," the voice says, turning off the mic to (presumably) confer with the McDonald's higher-ups.

The voice returns. "Yeah. Pickles and butter."

Um, okay.

The pickles I get. Mayo, mustard, secret sauce - all possibilities I was expecting. But butter ... as a condiment?

I wondered, would it come with a thick slice of butter? Or a pat of butter? Could I get the butter on the side? Or was it the brushed-on melted butter? Would it be anti-American to ask them to hold the butter? How much more time would this special request take? And the big question - does a fried chicken sandwich on white bread really need extra butter?

Curiosity led me to later consult the ingredients list on the McDonald's website. Consider it my civic duty to inform you that the ingredients for the Southern Style Crispy Chicken Sandwich do indeed include pickle slices and melted margarine.

In the end, I opted not to get the fries.

Way back when

2009-07-23T08:48:00.005-05:00

Yesterday evening, while enjoying the sounds of the heavy rain and rumbling thunder,

Mom (ever the optimist) mused out loud, "I hope we don't lose power, I need to do laundry tonight."

Son replied, "That's okay. You can do it by hand."

To which Mom replied, with a stifled laugh and roll of her eyes, "You can do it by hand."

Son reflected, "Hmm. It must've been hard in the 70's."

Now, I know I joke about being old all the time. I don't really mean it. The 1970's are not that long gone. I will concede there are a few things we did not have in the 70's:

The internet.
CDs.
MP3s.
Cell phones.
Airline deregulation.
DVDs (you should have seen the mechanical monster of a VHS player we had!)
Digital cameras.
Laptop computers.
Go-gurt.

Yes, son, life was hard. But we most certainly did have washing machines.

And an Atari.

I'll take that ego boost

2009-07-20T17:57:00.004-05:00

My hair has finally grown long enough to be pulled into the tiniest of ponytails. I don't know why I'm letting it grow. I actually prefer it short, and when it is long, it resides twisted up in a clip. But I'm stuck in that in-between stage, not sure what I want to do with it. And so it grows.

So the other day, daring to make a grand divergence from the comfort zone of the clip (if that thing breaks, I will be lost), I grabbed one of my daughter's elastic bands, pulled my hair into a perky little ponytail and headed to the gym.

The reactions of the children when they saw their 30-something mom in a ponytail?

The girl proceeded to tell me how cute it looked, put her own hair in a ponytail and proudly declared us twinkies.

The boy was adamant that it made me look like a teenager.

A teenager? You don't say!

So if you happen to see me around town sporting a sporty ponytail, now you know why.

Snuggle up with a good book (and a good kid)

2009-07-12T15:08:00.006-05:00

Yesterday, I concluded a most wonderful experience with my daughter. We finished reading Peter Pan. No, not the sugar-coated-based-on-the-Disney-movie picture book that somehow made its way onto my children's book shelves, but the original novel by J.M. Barrie. Reading this enchanting book, finally, makes me want to chuck that colorful little Disney book right out of the window.

You may wonder what took me so long to read the original story. To tell you the truth, the only exposure I had ever had to Peter Pan was the animated Disney movie, and based on that, I really had no interest in the story. Oh yeah, and Hook, the movie with Robin Williams cast as Peter. Oh, and images of Sandy Duncan in a bright green elfish-looking outfit. Yeah, no interest.

But a few years ago, I came across a delightfully well-done little movie, Peter Pan. It had a darker, melancholy feeling to it that was intriguing. (Though the movie is rated PG, my kids have not seen it - the scene with the mermaids is a little dark and creepy, which, while true to the book, knowing my kids, would be too much). Seeing this particular movie awakened the interest in me to read the original book.

As I mentioned in a recent post, my DH picked up the book for me on his library excursion with the kids. I intended it for myself, for my own solitary reading pleasure, but offered to read it to the kids (expecting to receive a lukewarm response). My daughter surprised me by taking me up on my offer, and I would be lying if I told you I wasn't a tad disappointed, thinking it would take too long to read aloud and that her waning interest would slow our (my) progress.

Happily, my prediction couldn't have been more wrong. Though I am sure a great deal went over her head, she was a superb listener - active, attentive, inquisitive. The icing on the cake (as if a good cake really needs icing) was having our own special time together to read "our" book, snuggled up on my bed, snuggled up on her bed, snuggled up on the couch. Oh, the snuggles! It took us less than 2 weeks to read it through.

I think she was perplexed (and amused) when my voice cracked and tears welled in my eyes while attempting to read aloud the sweet moment near the end when the 'gay and innocent and heartless' children returned to their mother. But, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't get a little misty-eyed over the happy reunion?

I'm trying to find a good snuggle-up-book to read with my son. But he's a tougher nut to crack. So independent and above being read to by mom. I'm thinking about Old Yeller. I have not read the book nor seen the movie, though I am, of course, acquainted with the story. What do you think? Too much? Or the perfect bonding vehicle?

Where's Mom?

2009-07-02T16:10:00.006-05:00

My daughter is currently watching a movie with one of her best friends who is over today for an extended play-date (i.e. sleepover). The movie is the 12 Dancing Princesses. As they came to a particular spot in the movie (in which the (worn out) king is speaking wistfully to a painting of his late wife, the queen), I overheard the following:

(All delivered in the most hushed whisper. Why they are whispering, I do not know. I am the only other person in the room and I am most clearly and actively NOT paying them any attention)

Daughter's Friend: [whisper, whisper, whisper] What happened to the queen?
Daughter: [whisper] I don't know.

(and then, with a certain authority and air of a person who knows about such things)

Daughter: [still in a whisper] You'll see in stories they just die for no reason.

So this got me to thinking:

12 Dancing Princesses - dead mother
Finding Nemo - dead mother
Brother Bear - dead mother (bear)
Cinderella - dead mother
Ice Age - dead mother
Lilo & Stitch - dead mother (& father)
Aladdin - no mother (?)
Beauty & the Beast - no mother (?)

Anyway ... just wondering.

Through the eyes of another

2009-06-27T21:17:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it takes a fresh, objective eye to open your own to something that is right in front of you.

I had the pleasure of making a new acquaintance recently, and in the midst of our conversation she complimented my son and mentioned that he seemed very 'self-possessed.' I made some comment in response, at which point she elaborated on what she had meant, thinking I had misunderstood. She said he appeared to be self-confident and of a thoughtful sort, to which I agreed.

But, of course, I looked up the word as soon as I had opportunity. Just to assure myself that I really did have a full grasp of its meaning. Below is the definition from the Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

self-pos·sessed adj
confident and in control of your own emotions

When I read this, I very nearly laughed out loud.

Not once before this moment had I heard anyone describe my son with any word that implied any sort of hold on one's emotions. Oh, how I would LOVE to share this with my son's former preschool teachers - I'm sure they would appreciate the irony.

He has come a long way. As have I.

May I always remember where we have come from ...

... and never lose sight of where we are going.

The Great Book Quest of Summer 2009

2009-06-26T17:27:00.004-05:00

With the advent of summer has come the much anticipated summertime bedtime schedule. We have been putting the kids to bed a little later and allowing them some individual reading time before lights out. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see my 7-year-old plugging away night by night at her chapter book.

But, for the past several nights, the 10-year-old has asked to use his reading time to play with his action figures -- because he has nothing to read. Nothing to read?? Yikes!

So I mentioned to my husband this crisis and suggested perhaps we should get these kids to the library soon to find the boy some books.

Lo and behold! This morning while I was at work, I received a text message indicating that my dear husband had ventured out with the children in search of books. Which turned out to be more of an adventure than planned, as they had to visit 3 libraries before they found one that was open on Fridays -- budget cuts. Hence, the "Quest".

Yea for Titus not giving up! (I would have gone home after finding the second branch closed.) And not only that, but remembering my recent offhand remark that I have been wanting to read Peter Pan, what did he bring home for me? Why, Peter Pan, of course!

Did the boy find something to read? Hmmm. Let's see ... 4 Far Side books, 3 chapter books, and 1 Calvin & Hobbes. I think he will be covered for a few days.

Welcome to Austin

2009-06-25T20:30:00.011-05:00

I have lived in Austin for 17 years. On Monday I visited Barton Springs Pool for the very first time. I also have never seen the Congress Avenue bats.

But, lest you think I am a poor excuse for an Austinite, I have:

been to the State Capitol,
seen an IMAX movie at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum (on whose location I used to park when I was a graduate student),
strolled through the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center,
canoed on Town Lake (a muggy, fairly forgettable April afternoon),
shopped and dined at Central Market,
been to the top of Mount Bonnell (where my husband asked me to marry him - sure, it sounds cheesy, but was, in fact, an unplanned, spontaneous moment),
ambled along the Town Lake Hike and Bike Trail (I don't jog. I amble.),
attended a book-signing at Book People (This was fun - Mo Willems gave an animated reading of "The Pigeon Wants a Puppy!" and the kids were thrilled to meet him and get their book signed.),
visited the Zilker Botanical Garden,
enjoyed (i.e. sweated profusely) at the Children's Day Art Park in Symphony Square many a summer.

But I have now totally digressed from the original purpose of this post.

The reason I finally ended up at Barton Springs on Monday was that I was given the opportunity to play tour guide to the wife and children of a professor being recruited by my department at the University. I was happy to do so for several reasons, not the least of which being that 'work' for the day meant spending time doing fun things with my kids instead of sitting in my office.

Now, I'm not sure if this is the best way to entice someone to move here -- "Welcome to Texas! It's 101 degrees - let's spend the day outside!" But, we shall see.

We began the day with a trail ride on horseback at Bear Creek Stables. This activity had the potential to be either super fun or super not, given the heat. Happily, there was a steady breeze and ample shade, and all parties involved reported being quite satisfied. My youngest was so enchanted that she is now begging to go to their summer camp. You should have seen my tiny little child sitting atop that big ol' horse like nobody's business! My eldest was certain that he got the best horse of the bunch and afterward proudly declared that he now has 'riding experience'.

After the horses, we headed back downtown to hit the pool, stopping along the way at P. Terry's for burgers and some tasty fries!

Of course, I had heard that the water at Barton Springs was cold, but there simply is no preparing oneself for the shock of it. Almost too cold to be refreshing. (Almost. It's 100 degrees, people.) I laughed because while wading through the water, I noticed goosebumps on the arms of nearly everyone I passed. It was so cold, in fact, that my son really couldn't (or wouldn't) bear it, and sat on the edge most of the time watching the scene at the diving board. (Don't feel bad for him - he was content.) Emma wasn't too fond of the slippery bottom of the pool, but soon found her footing and had a great time with her new friends. Not once did I hear her comment on the water temperature.

And eventually Jared made his way into the pool -- right about the time we needed to leave -- and proceeded to protest the very thought of having to depart this wonderful place. Now, isn't that just typical?

To cap off the day, we were invited to attend a riverboat cruise on Lake Austin and had an enjoyable evening hobnobbing with the faculty. (Not generally a fan of hobnobbing -- still, it was a good time.) The kids had the most fun, running rampant on the boat and helping themselves to the free-flowing sodas and array of desserts. Emma was in tears at the conclusion, not wanting to leave the boat or her new found friends.

I do not know if the family was sold on Austin. I know I am.

Conversation overheard

2009-06-24T17:26:00.004-05:00

Background: Tomorrow our son has a much-anticipated play-date with a new friend from the gymnastics team. Past experience with his sister is that when he has a friend over and she does not, she can be a bit, um, shall we say, pesky.

So the conversation went like this:

Jared: Um, Emma, tomorrow when Nathan comes over and we're in my room ... can you try not to keep opening the door and closing the door and ... uh, bothering us?
Emma: [innocent, bewildered look upon her face - no audible reply]
Jared: Really, Emma ... you know how sometimes when I have friends over, you come and open the door and say, "Hi!" real loud and then close the door?
Emma: [nearly inaudible acknowledgment of this behavior]
Jared: Okay, Emma ... please?
Emma: [delivered with a straight face, flat affect, and only the slightest hint of a smirk in her voice] And no putting naked Barbies under the door?

At which point I couldn't help but to interrupt the negotiations with my laughter. And so it was agreed - no naked Barbies.

She's subtle, this one, but you've got to admire her ability to put the 'pesk' in pesky.

A brief trip down Memory Lane

2009-06-23T15:28:00.002-05:00

Before we were married, my husband shared an apartment with two other college students. Over the years, I have always enjoyed hearing a good Matt & Al story from the past. They (the stories) are most amusing. One of these former roommates we see quite frequently; the other, having moved out of state, much less so.

This past weekend, we had the opportunity to have lunch with the latter former roommate. And, as it always must be when old friends are reunited after a long separation, the conversation was full of reminiscences and 'Remember that time...?' and 'Remember that cat...?' or some other such perfectly random utterance.

After spending this short span of time with his dad's old roommate, my son enthusiastically declared, "I can't wait 'til I have a roommate!" and set about questioning his dad as to how he could acquire one.

What sold him? Was it the tales of rubber band fights, stray cats, potstickers and dumplings, the belch-producing combination of Gumby's pizza and root beer? Or was it the swapping of favorite The Far Side/Calvin & Hobbes strips over burgers & fries? Or was it simply the charming experience that is Matt? I do not know, but somebody better sign this kid up.

Let's hope that when the time comes, his experience will be as sweet, and the friendship as enduring.

Bible Camp

2009-06-14T15:05:00.010-05:00

Well, after months of preparation and coordination and much prayer, Bible Camp 2009 is officially behind us.

I am a little tired.

But my heart is full. There is simply much too much to share.

Here are a few of my top enjoyments:

At the end of the last day of the camp, my husband noticed a little girl crying. Upon checking with the girl's teacher, he found out the reason for her distress - she was sad because Bible Camp was over. This touched my heart so much, to know that this little one had such an enjoyable time at camp that its ending moved her to tears.

One dear sister who I had not met previously, came from out of town to attend the camp for the first time. She drove by herself with her two children (a 5-year-old and a 5-month-old) and came in faith because we did not know until the last minute where she would stay. Her first day was difficult, to say the very least, and culminated with her becoming lost, unable to find her way back to her host's home, and sitting stranded in a Whataburger parking lot. This very same sister, later in the week shared with us how happy she was and even told us, "Here, I feel spoiled!" If this isn't the God of all comfort, I don't know what is.

From the front foyer of the meeting hall where we held the camp, I could see directly into the Pre-K boys' classroom. Seeing ten active 4-year-old boys sitting attentively, enrapt, as their teachers shared with them the story of Ruth was priceless. Hearing them sweetly sing, "Wherever You Go, I Will Go" at the end-of-the-week celebration time was doubly so (if even pricelessness can be doubled!)

There is a couple who drive all the way down from Canada to bring their girls to the camp. I'm not sure how, but a couple of years ago, my daughter and one of theirs became fast friends. Though there is a 2 year age difference, somehow these two just fit together. Friendship can be a mysterious thing. When they first met and became enamored of each other, my daughter did not even know her name and simply referred to her as 'my friend'. And we all knew who she meant. This year, she again told me about having fun with 'her friend'. On the very day this family was to leave town to make the long journey home, her parents took the time to bring their daughter by our house so that these young friends could have just a few more precious moments together. This surely cherished my heart.

One of my son's good friends moved with his family to Belize 2 years ago. Last year and this year, his mother brought him to Austin for the Bible Camp and we had the privilege to host them in our home. This year, she also brought her nephew - another sweet and delightful young man. A grand time was had by all! They swam, they bounced, they played basketball, they played laser tag, they memorized verses, they ate pizza, they had sleepovers. My favorite thing was hearing these three boys giggle - that's right, giggle. (It is a rare phenomenon, this giggling 10 year old boy - if you happen upon it in the wild, be sure to tightly tuck the melody away in your heart.) There will be tears tomorrow morning when these treasured friends depart.

Most definitely, though, my top enjoyment was in allowing the Lord to be the I Am. In every situation that arose, He more than abundantly supplied His grace. When we prayed, He responded and met our every need in His Body. I count it the highest privilege to have had the opportunity to serve Him in such a small way. May He guard the good deposit received by each of these little vessels this week!

Where I have been

2009-06-06T07:27:00.002-05:00

I know, I know ... you all have been wondering where I have been lately. All three of you. Waiting patiently for a new post.

In the past several weeks we have had, not one, but two visits from my in-laws (delightful!), I have become increasingly consumed with preparations for the kids' upcoming Bible Camp (starting Monday!!), not to mention the ending of the school year and, oh yeah, my (other) job.

More to come on all of these things in the near future. I hope.

Memorial Day Weekend

2009-05-26T09:28:00.004-05:00

or "How to Wear Out Your Eldest Child in 10 Simple Steps"

Take your eldest child to his 2-hour gymnastics practice on Friday evening where he ends up practicing with the senior team instead of his own level.
On Saturday morning, take him to the special senior team practice (because his coach said it would be okay and your child will be extremely chagrined if you do not), where he will have an intense 3-hour workout.
After practice, drag him to Sam's before feeding his hungry, energy-depleted body, to pick up a 'few things' (which you would have picked up earlier had you not been shuttling back and forth to the gym.) Don't worry, though, Sam's has plenty of samples to keep his energy up until you get home.
Accept an invitation from some friends to go to their house for a cookout and stay much later than you had intended. The pool and trampoline will help wear out your child, in addition to pushing his bedtime back.
In the morning, take the kids to the church children's meeting where the eldest will stuff himself chock full of Nilla Wafers (this child, much like the old-man cat, does not self-regulate when it comes to food).
After the meeting, go over to some friends' house for lunch.
After lunch, invite some of your kids' friends over to play for a couple of hours.
Hmmm, you note ... he's still not worn out? The next logical step is to accept an impromptu invitation for a sleepover that night. Off he goes. No, you tell his friend's mother, no special instructions or restrictions for him. It does not occur to you that he will NOT SLEEP at the sleepover.
When the child returns in the morning, glassy-eyed and weepy with fatigue, you march him straight to bed. But you are not done with him yet.
After 2 hours of sleep you wake the child, because you have previously arranged lunch plans which you are determined NOT to cancel because you have been attempting to get together with these particular friends for at least 6 months. (The boy regains some of his composure and trademark gift of gab in the car ride over.)

How much do you think his teacher is loving us right about now?

Chagrin

2009-05-20T16:28:00.005-05:00

cha·grin n
a feeling of vexation or humiliation due to disappointment about something
vt
to frustrate or annoy somebody through disappointed hopes

(Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.)

You know, sometimes a word just pops into your mind that is so fitting, so apt. Well, today, in our house, that word is 'chagrin'. We have found the word that sums up our boy.

(Lest you think I am being too hard on the boy, I offer this: The word is not fitting all of the time. Of course. He is a wonderful, sweet boy who I adore. But it does fit sometimes, and to be honest, ofttimes. Often enough, in fact, that when we happened upon it the other day, we, the parents, cried - That's it!)

It's the word 'hopes' in the definition that sealed it. I cannot tell you how many ~~lectures~~ conversations are had in our house about the exceedingly high expectations and hopes this child has. I don't mean expectations pertaining to life goals or aspirations; we're talking about relatively small things.

For example:

Dinner is over. Sweet boy asks, can I have dessert? (I usually provide the kids with some kind of fresh fruit for dessert each evening.) Because of time constraints or lack of fruit on hand or maybe because Mom JUST - DOESN'T - FEEL - LIKE - IT (hey, it happens), the answer is, much to the boy's chagrin, 'No, not tonight.' And here it comes..... The countenance falls (like countenances have never fallen before!) The shoulders slump. The voice transforms into something timid and squeaky. The mood becomes mopey. All over the dashed hopes for a bowl of strawberries.

I have to tell you that this child's real life experience is that his every whim is NOT indulged. I say 'no' all the time. I really do. So when this big dramatic scene plays out, it always takes me by surprise. I'm sure all of your children respond quite pleasantly when they don't get what they want and say something like, That's okay, Mom, thanks for making dinner! It sure was yummy! Can I help you with the dishes? Did I mention that you are the best mom ever?

So, we decided to introduce the word to the boy the other day. He said he didn't know it, but he made a pretty accurate guess as to its meaning. We had him look it up anyway.

And about this - this being chagrined - he said later in the evening with a smile, It's my hobby.

Some kids collect baseball cards, some play soccer. Mine gets chagrined. I love that kid.

The Piano Recital

2009-05-20T09:52:00.003-05:00

This past weekend we attended my son's first piano recital. It was really quite delightful. The children were all precious and the music both varied and well-played. And there were Coke-floats at the end. (Mmm. Coke and ice cream - genius.)

I will share with you my top amusement from the event.

During the recital, after playing their selections, each child was to stand from the bench, turn around to face the audience, and bow. From the outset, we could easily see that this was the most painful part of entire recital for most of the kids.

Forget playing Nocturne in E Flat Major - that was a cinch! But now I have to ... to ... [gulp]... bow! ... while everybody is ... [gulp] ... looking at me ... and applauding. I feel nauseous.

I'm sure it didn't help that as the adults all noticed this, the applause was also peppered with amused chuckles meant to convey 'Aw, isn't that cute!' With nearly every child, the dreaded bow went something like this: expression of dismay/embarrassment on the face, eyes cast downward boring a hole into the floor, cursory little bow, and a speedy retreat.

And then there is my son.

If you know my son, then you know he is nothing if not a performer. A boy who relishes the spotlight, to be sure.

After finishing his (rousing) rendition of the theme from Star Wars, he stood and turned to face the applauding audience, his face one big smile, his eyes lifted to the room, and bowed, clearly basking in the warm glow of the accolades. With all the flourish he gave his bow, you would think he had been wearing a fine tuxedo instead of the t-shirt, athletic pants and sandals he actually had on.

Yep. That's my boy.

Conspiring to do good

2009-05-13T08:40:00.003-05:00

About a month ago, after witnessing a (not uncommon) raucous bout of bickering over something (insignificant) or another between my little ones, I ~~lectured~~ had a discussion with them about how they needed to learn to work together toward a common goal, be respectful of one another, compromise, yada yada yada ....

A day or so later, we were traveling in the car on a Saturday excursion and I noticed my youngest whispering something to her brother with a sly twinkle in her eye. Not wanting to intrude on this private pow-wow, I restrained myself from doing so.

Later, having inwardly noted how pleasant our little outing had been, I asked the eldest, What did your sister whisper to you in the car?

Oh, he said, She just told me, 'Jared, I have an idea..... Let's not fight.'

When I complimented him on how well they had done, he just answered by saying, Well, we just set a goal.

So easy. So nonchalant. So it's-no-big-deal-Mom.

Two epiphanies:

1 -- They DO (on occasion) listen to our words of wisdom and instruction.
2 -- It IS possible for these little people not to squabble incessantly.

Today I will rant

2009-05-06T08:46:00.006-05:00

Ah, central Texas.

Where May feels like July and July feels like, well ... July. Actually, in nearly every month, save January, February, November and December, we are just as likely as not to have at least one day that feels like mid-July. And to be quite honest, neither February nor November deserve to be exempted - the temperature in Austin, Texas reached 87.1 degrees on November 1, 2008 and on February 22, 1996 -- get this -- 99 degrees. February, people. I could even quite reasonably make the argument that January and December don't belong in the list either, but I choose to cling to the delusion that winter does exist.

There is a reason my dear Aunt Liz refuses to come to Texas.

And that reason is this: It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

Or, more accurately: It IS the heat AND the humidity.

Yesterday was one of those days here in central Texas where the heat is just plain, in-your-face oppressive. One of those days where you walk outside and immediately wonder, Why, exactly, did I bother to shower today? The sad thing is, it wasn't even that hot yesterday. Our high was only 84 degrees. You may say, 84 degrees sounds nice. Oh, but you are mistaken. You see, it's the humidity. As I was walking outside, the air was a palpable presence surrounding me, like a heavy, sopping, suffocating blanket. I imagine I could have had a conversation with this pervasive entity, which would have gone something like this:

Me: Get off me!
Air: Ha-ha! Why did you bother to shower today?

The gentle breeze that drifted across my face brought no relief, as it ought, but only more of the thick, damp, warm air.

Today, more of the same.

I think Aunt Liz may be onto something.