Just For Fun
I was reading Heth's Blog and saw she had linked to this. Yes, Janice & Susan at 5 Minutes for Mom are giving away a Dyson Vacuum cleaner.
Confession: I already own a Dyson. Yes, I truly love it. So why do I need another one? Well, mine has not been working so great recently. I am hard on vacuums. Don't let that discourage you from entering the contest. The suction on the thing truly is unbelievable. But it is all plastic. I broke off the plastic hook that you wind the cord around. Now I need a new hose, as I suppose I put too much stress on it when stretching it all the way down the stairs. (It is a very long hose, but ok, maybe I became so accustomed to the convenience that I pulled it a bit further than I should have.)
The real test: Would I spend that huge amount of money and buy another one? You bet I would. It is by far the best vacuum I ever owned. (I've owned some great vacuums, and it was my 4 or 5th one.) So I thought I would share this good news with the rest of you.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Pillow Presents
For as long as I can remember, I've shared a bedroom. It isn't always easy having someone in your space, but what incredible richness it has brought to my life. Life skills were learned, negotiation techniques mastered & sisterly bonds formed within the confines of shared sleeping quarters.
Sometime before I entered the 5th grade, Laurie and I began this adventure. My parents had purchased a 4 bedroom home. The 3 girls no longer were grouped together. My brother and older sister now had the privilege of residing in their own rooms. This left Laurie and I very unhappy with the new arrangement.
We had our ups and downs, but when we climbed into bed at night, we became comrades. We'd lie awake discussing how we could divide the room to give each of us our own separate space. We chattered about our day, commiserated about the struggles with certain friends, or expressed our secret fondness for a really cute boy. We'd tickle each others feet to see who would be the first to flinch. We laughed and laughed. We needed that physical contact but even more, we needed to connect. It didn't matter what we might have argued about earlier in the day. At bedtime, we became best friend sisters.
I don't recall exactly when it happened. It might have been Laurie's birthday. Maybe not. But one night, I left a note on her pillow. It said something like, "In order to find your very next clue, look around the room for something blue." I'd made a scavenger hunt of sorts for her. At the end of the hunt, she was directed back to her pillow. Underneath it, I had placed a small treasure.
That was the beginning of pillow presents. It wasn't every night, although in the summer it sometimes was. One or both of us would make, create, or find a treasure for the other. I was better at it than she was. I was supposed to be. I was older. I loved making scavenger hunts and they always had to rhyme. Laurie made up a few too, and it was ok that they didn't rhyme. Laurie's favorite pillow presents to give me were tamales. No, not red hot tamales candy. We're talking honest-to-goodness tamales. My mom (usually with our help) would make 12 dozen tamales around Christmas time each year. She'd cook them up a dozen at a time for dinner. If any were left over in the 'fridge I received a tamale under my pillow that night. I still can't eat tamales without thinking of them as pillow presents.
Last week, on Hilary's birthday, I saw her walking around searching. I wondered what she was doing. She was on a scavenger hunt Elisabeth and Sarabeth had created for her very late the night before. At the end were some small gifts they'd purchased. (You can see one of them in the wordless wednesday photo.) That was when the pillow present memories came flooding back to me. What richness comes to sisters who have shared a bedroom. Makes me feel sorry for only children and those who have small families and never had to learn to "live" with one another.
P.S. (My dad was/is an only, and he always told us to have more than one. I did my best to have a houseful.)
Sometime before I entered the 5th grade, Laurie and I began this adventure. My parents had purchased a 4 bedroom home. The 3 girls no longer were grouped together. My brother and older sister now had the privilege of residing in their own rooms. This left Laurie and I very unhappy with the new arrangement.
We had our ups and downs, but when we climbed into bed at night, we became comrades. We'd lie awake discussing how we could divide the room to give each of us our own separate space. We chattered about our day, commiserated about the struggles with certain friends, or expressed our secret fondness for a really cute boy. We'd tickle each others feet to see who would be the first to flinch. We laughed and laughed. We needed that physical contact but even more, we needed to connect. It didn't matter what we might have argued about earlier in the day. At bedtime, we became best friend sisters.
I don't recall exactly when it happened. It might have been Laurie's birthday. Maybe not. But one night, I left a note on her pillow. It said something like, "In order to find your very next clue, look around the room for something blue." I'd made a scavenger hunt of sorts for her. At the end of the hunt, she was directed back to her pillow. Underneath it, I had placed a small treasure.
That was the beginning of pillow presents. It wasn't every night, although in the summer it sometimes was. One or both of us would make, create, or find a treasure for the other. I was better at it than she was. I was supposed to be. I was older. I loved making scavenger hunts and they always had to rhyme. Laurie made up a few too, and it was ok that they didn't rhyme. Laurie's favorite pillow presents to give me were tamales. No, not red hot tamales candy. We're talking honest-to-goodness tamales. My mom (usually with our help) would make 12 dozen tamales around Christmas time each year. She'd cook them up a dozen at a time for dinner. If any were left over in the 'fridge I received a tamale under my pillow that night. I still can't eat tamales without thinking of them as pillow presents.
Last week, on Hilary's birthday, I saw her walking around searching. I wondered what she was doing. She was on a scavenger hunt Elisabeth and Sarabeth had created for her very late the night before. At the end were some small gifts they'd purchased. (You can see one of them in the wordless wednesday photo.) That was when the pillow present memories came flooding back to me. What richness comes to sisters who have shared a bedroom. Makes me feel sorry for only children and those who have small families and never had to learn to "live" with one another.
P.S. (My dad was/is an only, and he always told us to have more than one. I did my best to have a houseful.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Fear Of Failure
Well, would you look at this. Yes, I am actually posting, and yes, I realize it has been over a week since I've posted and over 2 weeks since I've really written anything. Sigh. I remember this feeling. It is de ja vu. (Ok, maybe not quite so serious and life-changing, but the feeling remains.)
It happened sometime during my senior year of high school. Classes began at 8 in the morning. At 10:45, after my 3 core subjects, I spent the next 6+ hours at "beauty school." (Wouldn't it be terrific, if we'd been learning to be beautiful both inside and out?) It was good old fashioned learn-to-cut-and-style hair school. I'd convinced my parents that when I finished, I'd have a good steady job to pay for college. Honestly, I'd never thought it through at all. It was just something I thought would be fun.
At 5:00 o'clock, I'd rush home, change into my busboy clothes and get to the restaurant as quick as I could. I didn't mind busing tables. It was interesting to watch the different people come through. Old men eating steak, would talk your ear off, but leave a decent tip. Couples were harder. Some were obviously there to discuss serious subjects and didn't want to be disturbed. Others welcomed any interruption as if bored to tears by their date.
By 9 p.m., I was exhausted, but not smart enough to go home to bed. I needed to unwind. I would go out with friends or to my boyfriend's home. Some nights I'd make it home by 11, but often it was 1 or 2 in the morning when I'd lay my head to rest. Getting up at 6 seemed to arrive earlier and earlier.
It was those early mornings that I felt the gnawing sensation. It ate away at my sense of well-being. It told me that my life was out-of-control. There was an emptiness, and it wasn't just my lack of completing assignments. Homework? I didn't have time for that. I didn't study, read, or write anything for school outside of class. I began falling behind.
The constant inner nagging left me feeling like a failure. I didn't know how to catch up. I told myself I'd do better. But nothing changed. One day I couldn't face going to class unprepared. I had an idea. Instead of attending class, I'd spend those 3 hours getting ahead. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Catching up turned into a couple of extra hours of sleep. It felt good for the moment, but only made things worse. I began attending class 2 or 3 times a week. I didn't graduate that year.
A few days of not blogging, and I start to feel that same gnawing inside. Ok, maybe it isn't quite that bad, but with each day that passes I feel like I am running behind. I am sure fellow bloggers can relate to the thoughts that come each and every day, the words that fight to get out. But when the words aren't written that day, the following day new words form and the earlier ones are pushed to the back. After a week or two, the unfinished thoughts feel heavy. It takes great effort to sort through. Unfinished assignments. It is hard to know where to begin. Instead of blogging, I lay my head to rest at night believing I will do better in the morning.
I must be tired. I sound way too dramatic without good reason. Perhaps tomorrow I will feel caught up. This is extra credit for my missing assignments. I won't be withdrawn for lack of participation. I will graduate to a new day. Hope to see you then.
It happened sometime during my senior year of high school. Classes began at 8 in the morning. At 10:45, after my 3 core subjects, I spent the next 6+ hours at "beauty school." (Wouldn't it be terrific, if we'd been learning to be beautiful both inside and out?) It was good old fashioned learn-to-cut-and-style hair school. I'd convinced my parents that when I finished, I'd have a good steady job to pay for college. Honestly, I'd never thought it through at all. It was just something I thought would be fun.
At 5:00 o'clock, I'd rush home, change into my busboy clothes and get to the restaurant as quick as I could. I didn't mind busing tables. It was interesting to watch the different people come through. Old men eating steak, would talk your ear off, but leave a decent tip. Couples were harder. Some were obviously there to discuss serious subjects and didn't want to be disturbed. Others welcomed any interruption as if bored to tears by their date.
By 9 p.m., I was exhausted, but not smart enough to go home to bed. I needed to unwind. I would go out with friends or to my boyfriend's home. Some nights I'd make it home by 11, but often it was 1 or 2 in the morning when I'd lay my head to rest. Getting up at 6 seemed to arrive earlier and earlier.
It was those early mornings that I felt the gnawing sensation. It ate away at my sense of well-being. It told me that my life was out-of-control. There was an emptiness, and it wasn't just my lack of completing assignments. Homework? I didn't have time for that. I didn't study, read, or write anything for school outside of class. I began falling behind.
The constant inner nagging left me feeling like a failure. I didn't know how to catch up. I told myself I'd do better. But nothing changed. One day I couldn't face going to class unprepared. I had an idea. Instead of attending class, I'd spend those 3 hours getting ahead. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Catching up turned into a couple of extra hours of sleep. It felt good for the moment, but only made things worse. I began attending class 2 or 3 times a week. I didn't graduate that year.
A few days of not blogging, and I start to feel that same gnawing inside. Ok, maybe it isn't quite that bad, but with each day that passes I feel like I am running behind. I am sure fellow bloggers can relate to the thoughts that come each and every day, the words that fight to get out. But when the words aren't written that day, the following day new words form and the earlier ones are pushed to the back. After a week or two, the unfinished thoughts feel heavy. It takes great effort to sort through. Unfinished assignments. It is hard to know where to begin. Instead of blogging, I lay my head to rest at night believing I will do better in the morning.
I must be tired. I sound way too dramatic without good reason. Perhaps tomorrow I will feel caught up. This is extra credit for my missing assignments. I won't be withdrawn for lack of participation. I will graduate to a new day. Hope to see you then.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Old Or Grumpy
Old & Grumpy
(I used to wonder where my kids got their sense of humor.)'
Happy 15th Birthday Hilary!
(I used to wonder where my kids got their sense of humor.)'
Happy 15th Birthday Hilary!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Friday, March 09, 2007
I am so excited. Summer is almost here. I feel the warmth as I step barefooted onto the pavement. It is not cold. I sense heat radiating up through my toes. The air smells summery, like a hot breeze blowing about dusty hay. I imagine cool wet sand as I scrunch my toes inside my boots. I tilt my head back, eyes closed and I soak up the bright sunlight that makes me squint. I want to squeeze into a swimsuit, slather on tanning oil and bake in the summer sun.
What is summer for? It is a time for growth. Little seeds are buried into the soil and in a few short months are producing luscious, edible fruits. I mostly look at summer as a time to slow down. Long, hot days are intended for more hours to work, but I like to believe we are afforded a bit more leisure. Time for staying up late and going out for ice cream cones, for cool, refreshing swims and water balloon fights. Summer is a time for marathon monopoly games that last for days and watching hours of home videos. Let's not forget the soft, green grass for laying upon while trying to figure out what character the cloud formations have created.
Summer is just around the corner, and this year we will share it with my inlaws. They are going to love summer in Colorado.
What is summer for? It is a time for growth. Little seeds are buried into the soil and in a few short months are producing luscious, edible fruits. I mostly look at summer as a time to slow down. Long, hot days are intended for more hours to work, but I like to believe we are afforded a bit more leisure. Time for staying up late and going out for ice cream cones, for cool, refreshing swims and water balloon fights. Summer is a time for marathon monopoly games that last for days and watching hours of home videos. Let's not forget the soft, green grass for laying upon while trying to figure out what character the cloud formations have created.
Summer is just around the corner, and this year we will share it with my inlaws. They are going to love summer in Colorado.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
I have so many things running through my head that I want to share. Unfortunately, I seem to have very little time to accomplish this. How can I squeeze more time into my day??? No, I will not get up any earlier. My body severly protests early mornings. If I stay up late, I will hate myself in the morning. (This makes my body even more unhappy than usual.) So I will have to settle for not being able to blog as much as I want to. (Insert a huge sigh here.)
A few weeks back, in the middle of dinner, Elisabeth noticed brownies sitting on the counter. "Are those FAIRY TALE brownies????"
I nodded, since it is not polite to speak with a mouth full of food.
"Where'd they come from?"
After swallowing I answered, "My mom sent them."
She scrunched up her face as if I'd said a very strange thing. "Your mom? Oh that sounds weird. I can't imagine ever saying 'my mom sent brownies."
I had to think about this for a second. Was it too difficult for her to imagine me buying & sending brownies to her and her some-day family? Could she not fathom anything but homemade brownies? Or was it because I'd said "my mom" when I usually referred to her as Gramma?
It turned out that it was the latter. I think it is hard to remember that "Gramma" is "my mom." One day "Gramma" for her kids will be "her mom." (ME!) Why is it so hard for us to wrap our minds around these thoughts?
I remember similar times through the years. Watching my grandma become a great-grandma I wondered what it would be like when my own mother was a great-grandma. It happened when Ethan was born and now she had 2 great-grandchildren. But my mom and dad don't seem old. I have a hard time imagining my parents having serious health problems, or being frail. They've always been...well, the parents. Parents are supposed to be the ones who do everything, take care of everything. Or are they?
Michael's parents are in the process of a huge change in their lives. They've lived the past 42 years or so in Arizona. This Thursday, they officially become Colorado residents. They are coming here to live out their remaining years. We feel so privileged and blessed, but I wonder what they might be feeling. I can't imagine such a huge life-change at this point in my life. What would it be like in another 35 years or so? They are leaving everything comfortable, all the familiar. Not only will the weather and altitude be very different, the only ones they will know is us. New friends, new doctors, new church, new home...pretty much everything about their lives will change. I wonder if Fairy Tale Brownies would welcome them to their new life? Nah, I think I'll go for homemade cookies and a cozy, warm, electric blanket for their bed to remind them of the Arizona sunshine.
A few weeks back, in the middle of dinner, Elisabeth noticed brownies sitting on the counter. "Are those FAIRY TALE brownies????"
I nodded, since it is not polite to speak with a mouth full of food.
"Where'd they come from?"
After swallowing I answered, "My mom sent them."
She scrunched up her face as if I'd said a very strange thing. "Your mom? Oh that sounds weird. I can't imagine ever saying 'my mom sent brownies."
I had to think about this for a second. Was it too difficult for her to imagine me buying & sending brownies to her and her some-day family? Could she not fathom anything but homemade brownies? Or was it because I'd said "my mom" when I usually referred to her as Gramma?
It turned out that it was the latter. I think it is hard to remember that "Gramma" is "my mom." One day "Gramma" for her kids will be "her mom." (ME!) Why is it so hard for us to wrap our minds around these thoughts?
I remember similar times through the years. Watching my grandma become a great-grandma I wondered what it would be like when my own mother was a great-grandma. It happened when Ethan was born and now she had 2 great-grandchildren. But my mom and dad don't seem old. I have a hard time imagining my parents having serious health problems, or being frail. They've always been...well, the parents. Parents are supposed to be the ones who do everything, take care of everything. Or are they?
Michael's parents are in the process of a huge change in their lives. They've lived the past 42 years or so in Arizona. This Thursday, they officially become Colorado residents. They are coming here to live out their remaining years. We feel so privileged and blessed, but I wonder what they might be feeling. I can't imagine such a huge life-change at this point in my life. What would it be like in another 35 years or so? They are leaving everything comfortable, all the familiar. Not only will the weather and altitude be very different, the only ones they will know is us. New friends, new doctors, new church, new home...pretty much everything about their lives will change. I wonder if Fairy Tale Brownies would welcome them to their new life? Nah, I think I'll go for homemade cookies and a cozy, warm, electric blanket for their bed to remind them of the Arizona sunshine.
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