My mom was so cool about making costumes. I was blessed with creative, imaginative, homemade costumes every year. Somewhere there are pictures to prove this, I just wish I had them.
When I was in second grade, my mom decided my younger sister and I would be martians. I loved the idea. Nobody in my class was ever dressed the same as me. I was unique. My sister, on the other hand, wanted to be like everybody else. I think she wanted to be a ballerina. There were probably 7 ballerinas in my class that year. (All of the lucky girls who took dance classes, and whose parents were not as creative.) I,unlike anyone else but my sister, had this pointy-hat, green polka-dotted, space kind of outfit. It was cool. Mine was green. Laurie's was pink. Somewhere there is a picture of us together. There I am in all my glory, and there my sister is, arms in the air, toes pointed with one leg up in her most ballerina kind of way while wearing this martian space suit.
Makes me wonder if she remembers this. Could have been one of those childhood traumatic experiences for her, while I have nothing but fond memories.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Batteries
I walked in the room to see Michael pulling my cell phone from my purse.
"You caught me," he said matter-of-fact. Then proceeded to remove my battery.
"So what are you doing?"
"My battery is dead, so I'm swapping it for yours."
Ah, since he was golfing he needed a freshly charged battery and I have no where to be so I can stay home and charge mine. But today I had a lot of errands to run...sigh. I have no life.
A few days ago I plugged my phone into the charger and it didn't work. "What the...my charger won't work."
"Oh yes it does." (This response from my daughter Elisabeth.) "You just have to hold it just right, and move the cord like this until it starts charging."
"And you know this why?"
"I swapped chargers with you."
Oh, I see. The charger works perfectly fine for someone who has no life and can sit and play with the cord until it is working. But for someone who has places to be and doesn't have time....sigh. I have no life.
So what was I doing this morning with my freshly charged battery? I was swapping it out for Hilary's dead one. She, in her most generous way, loaned her charger to a friend who'd left hers at someone's house. She assumed since we have 5 of the same phones and chargers here, it wasn't a big deal. She's right. The mom volunteered her battery without even being asked, since she has no life.
(A P.S. For those who are curious, no I did NOT make the game Friday night. It was one of those fierce debates that goes on in my head and when I finally decided to go I began to second guess whether I'd REALLY make it in time. By the time that wrestling match was decided, I knew I would be late. To make up for it, I stayed at the performance on Saturday for 5 hours, even though the girls dance was only 3 minutes long.)
"You caught me," he said matter-of-fact. Then proceeded to remove my battery.
"So what are you doing?"
"My battery is dead, so I'm swapping it for yours."
Ah, since he was golfing he needed a freshly charged battery and I have no where to be so I can stay home and charge mine. But today I had a lot of errands to run...sigh. I have no life.
A few days ago I plugged my phone into the charger and it didn't work. "What the...my charger won't work."
"Oh yes it does." (This response from my daughter Elisabeth.) "You just have to hold it just right, and move the cord like this until it starts charging."
"And you know this why?"
"I swapped chargers with you."
Oh, I see. The charger works perfectly fine for someone who has no life and can sit and play with the cord until it is working. But for someone who has places to be and doesn't have time....sigh. I have no life.
So what was I doing this morning with my freshly charged battery? I was swapping it out for Hilary's dead one. She, in her most generous way, loaned her charger to a friend who'd left hers at someone's house. She assumed since we have 5 of the same phones and chargers here, it wasn't a big deal. She's right. The mom volunteered her battery without even being asked, since she has no life.
(A P.S. For those who are curious, no I did NOT make the game Friday night. It was one of those fierce debates that goes on in my head and when I finally decided to go I began to second guess whether I'd REALLY make it in time. By the time that wrestling match was decided, I knew I would be late. To make up for it, I stayed at the performance on Saturday for 5 hours, even though the girls dance was only 3 minutes long.)
Friday, October 27, 2006
Sigh
I'm sitting here, listening to Christmas music and feeling incredibly guilty. Christmas music???? Yes. Two days ago I saw my neighbors Christmas lights going up, so I figured if they could put their lights up, then I could listen to music. No, they aren't for Halloween. These are CHRISTMAS lights. They have this sweet deal. A company comes out and puts them all up for them. Then sometime after Christmas they bring their trucks and ladders and take them all down. They even store them during the rest of the year. I have no idea how much it costs, but sounds pretty sweet if you ask me. So, as I said before, if they can have their Christmas lights up, I can listen to Christmas music.
Oh, you want to know why I'm sitting her feeling guilty? No, no, it isn't because I don't have my lights up, or because I'm listening to Christmas music before Halloween. No, not anything like that. It is Friday afternoon. Hilary is at a football game and I am not there. I try not to ever miss my kids games. (No, she doesn't play football.) But she is on the Pom line and they perform during half time.
So why am I not there? Well, I could say that it is because I still am not feeling well, but when does that ever stop me? Maybe it is because they've been doing "mini-poms" all week. That is where younger girls come and the Poms teach them a dance over several days. They then perform at the football game. So technically, Hilary isn't really performing. She is dancing with them, but it is a simple dance and really for the younger girls and their parents to come watch. (We went to many "mini-cheerleading" performances when my girls were in elementary school.)
I know, I should be more supportive. But tomorrow Hilary has an all day competition that I will be at for her. Doesn't that count? Can't that count for a football game too? Shoot! If I leave right now, I can still make half-time and see her perform. I better get off the computer and get my shoes on. I don't like feeling guilty.
Oh, you want to know why I'm sitting her feeling guilty? No, no, it isn't because I don't have my lights up, or because I'm listening to Christmas music before Halloween. No, not anything like that. It is Friday afternoon. Hilary is at a football game and I am not there. I try not to ever miss my kids games. (No, she doesn't play football.) But she is on the Pom line and they perform during half time.
So why am I not there? Well, I could say that it is because I still am not feeling well, but when does that ever stop me? Maybe it is because they've been doing "mini-poms" all week. That is where younger girls come and the Poms teach them a dance over several days. They then perform at the football game. So technically, Hilary isn't really performing. She is dancing with them, but it is a simple dance and really for the younger girls and their parents to come watch. (We went to many "mini-cheerleading" performances when my girls were in elementary school.)
I know, I should be more supportive. But tomorrow Hilary has an all day competition that I will be at for her. Doesn't that count? Can't that count for a football game too? Shoot! If I leave right now, I can still make half-time and see her perform. I better get off the computer and get my shoes on. I don't like feeling guilty.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Behind
Well as you can tell, I've been behind in blogland once again. I was getting so tired of myself, I finally broke down and went to the doctor yesterday to get treated for this sinus infection. I am hoping in the next couple of days I will feel "normal" once again. I have several posts begun and saved that I WILL get to. For now, you have to enjoy Colorado with me. The first photo was taken this morning. The second this afternoon. Notice the sunshine (it is the same tree and hedge.)
Did I mention that I LOVE Colorado???
Did I mention that I LOVE Colorado???
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Yum
Mmmmm...Delicious
I didn't get to sleep in this morning, but as the sun began to come up the freshly fallen snow glistened in the light. Every tree was covered in sparkling white-just beautiful.
The carpool didn't show up, so I had to quickly dress and make the 40 minute roundtrip drive. But when I arrived home, I met the Fed-Ex man bearing gifts. I quickly opened the package to find some of these:
Six huge mouthwatering brownies and a bag of coffee beautifully wrapped with a note reading,
"A Surprise Treat! Take a well deserved break. Love, Mom & Dad"
Now is that a delicious morning or what? Brownies and coffee for breakfast in the peace and beauty of newly fallen snow. Just had to share.
P.S. Thanks Mom and Dad! And if anyone is interested in these delicious brownie gifts they come from Fairytale Brownies Mom has sent these before and they also have coffee, hot chocolate and everything is scrumptious. They come beautifully wrapped; makes you feel like royalty. I should have taken a picture of them. Try them out if you want to surprise someone with an exquisite chocolate treat.
I didn't get to sleep in this morning, but as the sun began to come up the freshly fallen snow glistened in the light. Every tree was covered in sparkling white-just beautiful.
The carpool didn't show up, so I had to quickly dress and make the 40 minute roundtrip drive. But when I arrived home, I met the Fed-Ex man bearing gifts. I quickly opened the package to find some of these:
Six huge mouthwatering brownies and a bag of coffee beautifully wrapped with a note reading,
"A Surprise Treat! Take a well deserved break. Love, Mom & Dad"
Now is that a delicious morning or what? Brownies and coffee for breakfast in the peace and beauty of newly fallen snow. Just had to share.
P.S. Thanks Mom and Dad! And if anyone is interested in these delicious brownie gifts they come from Fairytale Brownies Mom has sent these before and they also have coffee, hot chocolate and everything is scrumptious. They come beautifully wrapped; makes you feel like royalty. I should have taken a picture of them. Try them out if you want to surprise someone with an exquisite chocolate treat.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wake Up
Beep! Beep! Beep! This is my alarm clock so rudely interrupting tranquility of the early morning. I despise being awakened by anything other than the sweet whimpering cry of a newborn babe, soft caress or warm embrace. Several years back, when I was no longer awakened by gentle, child noises, I set out to find a kinder alarm clock.
A clock radio. I do love music, so I could awaken to the soothing sounds of jazz, a melodic country jig, a powerful praise to the Father-any radio station I pleased. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be a peaceful move. We live near a beautiful mountain. It makes for a lovely view, but blocks out many radio stations. Too often I awakened to white noise or "snow," or those old enough to remember. It was was produced when television stations would sign off at night. (Yes, for you young ones, there was a time in the wee hours of the night that one could turn on the idiot box to find nothing but fuzz on their screens-signaling a time for activity to cease.) This static noise was not the wake up call I desired, so I returned to the beep.
I was well aware that I could purchase a CD clock radio. The problem is I was too cheap to do that. I figured I would wait for the price to drop. Eventually, it did. I began looking at them in various stores. But one day I happened across a clock with nature sounds. Ah, now this might work. It was actually cheaper than any of the CD alarm clocks, so I went for it. Chirping birds, singing crickets, bubbling water. It worked for a couple of days. But my grandson was fascinated by this new electronic device with big buttons and regularly changed my preferences. He also liked the big off button and I enjoyed a few times of sleeping in later than I should have. It found its way into the trash can beside the bed. (It didn't hold up well to the abuse it sustained.)
I'd waited long enough for pleasant early mornings. I bought a CD clock. Excitedly, I placed my current favorite disc into the slot. I then spent quite a long time figuring out how to work the blasted thing. There were 2 alarm options-his and hers I can only assume. Totally unnecessary. Michael has never used an alarm clock in the 23 years we've been married. Where was the snooze button? Ooops, that turns on the radio. That is the selection for which song on the disc I want to hear. Nap feature-when accidently set, the alarm goes off 20 minutes after laying down. I can adjust the snooze from 9 minutes to 20. Shoot! I just picked 6 p.m. to awaken. Grrr...the format was nothing like any of the others I'd had. How was I going to adjust this one in the dark if the need should arise? Could I tell late Friday night whether or not I'd turned it off so my one day to sleep in wouldn't be disturbed? Ugh!
It was not a wise thing to use my favorite CD. Too often I would play it during the day with the volume turned up so I could hear it better, only to find it blast me out of bed the next morning. Or I would swipe the disc for my listening pleasure while driving my car. Then there would be lovely white noise, or worse-silence. I began to believe there was a conspiracy. Possibly, someone was trying to tell me I really shouldn't awaken so early in the morning. Really, I must need my sleep.
But then, something funny happened. One morning I awakened to the rousing anthem of the Star Spangled Banner. I'd pulled my CD the day before and in its place was a new radio station that was tuned. Wow, now I could get used to this patriotic nostalgia. Guess what? They played it every morning. I still fumbled for the snooze button, didn't remember which buttons did what, but life was good.
This morning I hit the snooze as usual. When I heard talk coming from the radio, I hit snooze again and fell back asleep. The third time music was playing. I could not believe I had hit snooze more than once. What was I thinking? I do not allow myself enough time to snooze more than once. I hastily swung my arm over the edge of the bed to turn the noise off before Michael's sleep was too disturbed. What in the...??? The numbers were blurry but that first digit looked much more like a 4 than a 6. I began pushing buttons trying to figure out if the second alarm had somehow been set for this earlier time, or if mine had been changed. I inadvertantly turned on the CD, then the radio. I could not make any of it out, but as I became more awake, I realized that my alarm had not gone off at all. I had not snoozed 3 times, only in a dream. Ok, maybe it was a nightmare, but who dreams about their alarm clock waking them up? Apparently I do. This whole thing must be more stressful than even I realized.
A clock radio. I do love music, so I could awaken to the soothing sounds of jazz, a melodic country jig, a powerful praise to the Father-any radio station I pleased. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be a peaceful move. We live near a beautiful mountain. It makes for a lovely view, but blocks out many radio stations. Too often I awakened to white noise or "snow," or those old enough to remember. It was was produced when television stations would sign off at night. (Yes, for you young ones, there was a time in the wee hours of the night that one could turn on the idiot box to find nothing but fuzz on their screens-signaling a time for activity to cease.) This static noise was not the wake up call I desired, so I returned to the beep.
I was well aware that I could purchase a CD clock radio. The problem is I was too cheap to do that. I figured I would wait for the price to drop. Eventually, it did. I began looking at them in various stores. But one day I happened across a clock with nature sounds. Ah, now this might work. It was actually cheaper than any of the CD alarm clocks, so I went for it. Chirping birds, singing crickets, bubbling water. It worked for a couple of days. But my grandson was fascinated by this new electronic device with big buttons and regularly changed my preferences. He also liked the big off button and I enjoyed a few times of sleeping in later than I should have. It found its way into the trash can beside the bed. (It didn't hold up well to the abuse it sustained.)
I'd waited long enough for pleasant early mornings. I bought a CD clock. Excitedly, I placed my current favorite disc into the slot. I then spent quite a long time figuring out how to work the blasted thing. There were 2 alarm options-his and hers I can only assume. Totally unnecessary. Michael has never used an alarm clock in the 23 years we've been married. Where was the snooze button? Ooops, that turns on the radio. That is the selection for which song on the disc I want to hear. Nap feature-when accidently set, the alarm goes off 20 minutes after laying down. I can adjust the snooze from 9 minutes to 20. Shoot! I just picked 6 p.m. to awaken. Grrr...the format was nothing like any of the others I'd had. How was I going to adjust this one in the dark if the need should arise? Could I tell late Friday night whether or not I'd turned it off so my one day to sleep in wouldn't be disturbed? Ugh!
It was not a wise thing to use my favorite CD. Too often I would play it during the day with the volume turned up so I could hear it better, only to find it blast me out of bed the next morning. Or I would swipe the disc for my listening pleasure while driving my car. Then there would be lovely white noise, or worse-silence. I began to believe there was a conspiracy. Possibly, someone was trying to tell me I really shouldn't awaken so early in the morning. Really, I must need my sleep.
But then, something funny happened. One morning I awakened to the rousing anthem of the Star Spangled Banner. I'd pulled my CD the day before and in its place was a new radio station that was tuned. Wow, now I could get used to this patriotic nostalgia. Guess what? They played it every morning. I still fumbled for the snooze button, didn't remember which buttons did what, but life was good.
This morning I hit the snooze as usual. When I heard talk coming from the radio, I hit snooze again and fell back asleep. The third time music was playing. I could not believe I had hit snooze more than once. What was I thinking? I do not allow myself enough time to snooze more than once. I hastily swung my arm over the edge of the bed to turn the noise off before Michael's sleep was too disturbed. What in the...??? The numbers were blurry but that first digit looked much more like a 4 than a 6. I began pushing buttons trying to figure out if the second alarm had somehow been set for this earlier time, or if mine had been changed. I inadvertantly turned on the CD, then the radio. I could not make any of it out, but as I became more awake, I realized that my alarm had not gone off at all. I had not snoozed 3 times, only in a dream. Ok, maybe it was a nightmare, but who dreams about their alarm clock waking them up? Apparently I do. This whole thing must be more stressful than even I realized.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
A Good Friend
Have you ever used this great little product? It was my best friend in each of my pregnancies. 
It coats your insides to keep heartburn away. I drank it out of a little plastic medicine cup. Immediately afterwards I would rinse it and place it in the dishwasher. But in taking out the clean dishes I would find the little cup still coated with this magical substance and I'd scrub it again. I knew it was powerful stuff if it could withstand that level of cleaning, imagine how nicely it must coat my stomach.
Sunday night Sarabeth wasn't feeeling well. She'd performed the last night of her high school play "The Philadelphia Story." (She also learned she was allergic to stage makeup, but that is another post.) I decided what she needed was this lovely medicine to soothe and protect her insides, so poured her out a little cup. Upon returning to the kitchen, though, the bottle had disappeared. Oh my! I found an empty bottle next to a huge puddle of soft green liquid, seeping into and coating the wooden floor. Walking from the puddle were white/green, perfect little foot prints atop my dark red carpet. Oh it was sort of Christmasy, it would have made a lovely stamped wrapping paper. The sticky steps wound around the corner, through the living room, along the dining room, and back to the bedroom. Ah, my entire upstairs was decorated in soft green footprint motif. Knowing how great this product coats I will be enjoying this picture for quite some time. Never again will I buy a bottle of this minty fresh goo.
It coats your insides to keep heartburn away. I drank it out of a little plastic medicine cup. Immediately afterwards I would rinse it and place it in the dishwasher. But in taking out the clean dishes I would find the little cup still coated with this magical substance and I'd scrub it again. I knew it was powerful stuff if it could withstand that level of cleaning, imagine how nicely it must coat my stomach.Sunday night Sarabeth wasn't feeeling well. She'd performed the last night of her high school play "The Philadelphia Story." (She also learned she was allergic to stage makeup, but that is another post.) I decided what she needed was this lovely medicine to soothe and protect her insides, so poured her out a little cup. Upon returning to the kitchen, though, the bottle had disappeared. Oh my! I found an empty bottle next to a huge puddle of soft green liquid, seeping into and coating the wooden floor. Walking from the puddle were white/green, perfect little foot prints atop my dark red carpet. Oh it was sort of Christmasy, it would have made a lovely stamped wrapping paper. The sticky steps wound around the corner, through the living room, along the dining room, and back to the bedroom. Ah, my entire upstairs was decorated in soft green footprint motif. Knowing how great this product coats I will be enjoying this picture for quite some time. Never again will I buy a bottle of this minty fresh goo.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Text Message
Last week I received this text message:
Hey ma. Just wanted to say hi and i love you!
Aren't text messages the best? This one was sent by my favorite son. (Yes, I know I only have one, but he's still my favorite one.) Does it get any better than this? Actually it does. I thanked him for such a sweet message and he wrote back:
Well you were on my mind and i wanted you to know how much i appreciate you on a daily basis
Did I mention how much I love text messaging? (Thanks Christopher-YOU are the best!)
Hey ma. Just wanted to say hi and i love you!
Aren't text messages the best? This one was sent by my favorite son. (Yes, I know I only have one, but he's still my favorite one.) Does it get any better than this? Actually it does. I thanked him for such a sweet message and he wrote back:
Well you were on my mind and i wanted you to know how much i appreciate you on a daily basis
Did I mention how much I love text messaging? (Thanks Christopher-YOU are the best!)
Monday, October 09, 2006
First Date
Her head was pounding, she could barely swallow her throat was so sore. What was she thinking when she agreed to meet him for dinner? Partly she was curious. He seemed like a decent guy. She passed on the lunch invitation in his plane. She did not have that kind of time and wouldn't have been able to take off of work. If she'd gone on a weekend it would have robbed her of time spent with her daughter. No, meeting on her way home from work was about the only option and it wouldn't cost any extra for the extended childcare. If only she hadn't felt so lousy.
She pulled her car into the parking lot and looked around. He said he'd be in a white BMW. He was already there. She should have brought a change of clothes and freshened up a bit. In spite of wearing an apron, she'd spilled coffee on her pants. Her nose was stuffy and she couldn't tell, but figured she was wearing the scent of fried foods and cigarette smoke. He got out of his car when she pulled up. Darn! No time to even put on lip gloss or check her hair in the mirror. He was walking towards her.
He greeted her warmly, as if she'd just spent the last hour puttin on her best. She was glad the restaurant wasn't well lit. Maybe he wouldn't notice too much. She quickly took her seat as the hostess handed her a menu.
"Can I get you something to drink?" It felt a bit strange being on the other side of an order.
"Yes, could I have a glass of peach brandy?" She was hoping it would numb her aching throat.
"And for you sir?" The waitress turned to him.
"No thanks. I don't drink."
Stupid! It hadn't even occured to her that he might not drink. She was used to her husband who not only smoked and drank, but used drugs also. She wanted to say that normally she didn't drink but was only having the brandy because of her sore throat. But truthfully, she had been drinking lately. It took the edge off of her stress. She mumbled something about her sore throat and the brandy, but felt foolish. He seemed to have so much class.
They sat there making small talk. Her brandy arrived. It went down pretty smooth. Maybe she had been drinking too much. After a bit her throat was definately feeling a bit of numbness. In fact, it was feeling so much better, she thought she might be able to smoke a cigarette. There was a lull in the conversation, so she reached down into her purse to retrieve her smokes.
"Oooh, I hate that," he said looking across the room.
Turning her head that direction while still leaning over she asked, "what?"
"Women who smoke." Her hand was already moving the package up towards the table. Immediately she threw it back into her purse, but she'd already placed her lighter in her other hand. She sat upright.
"You don't smoke, do you?" he queried.
"Uh, no...well," she felt very sheepish. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was just reaching for my cigarettes when you said that." She laughed out loud. She didn't know what else to do. She certainly wasn't making a very good impression. When she got nervous she laughed-even at very inappropriate times.
"What's so funny?" He wanted to know. She wished she'd never agreed to this meeting. She hadn't always been this way. Nobody in her family smoked or drank. She'd only started because she'd been around it so much in her marriage. He on the other hand was thinking she was laughing at him because he was such a nerd. He'd never so much as tried a cigarette and wasn't even remotely interested in drinking and making a fool of himself.
The rest of the evening is just a blur. And that is how my first date with Michael began.
She pulled her car into the parking lot and looked around. He said he'd be in a white BMW. He was already there. She should have brought a change of clothes and freshened up a bit. In spite of wearing an apron, she'd spilled coffee on her pants. Her nose was stuffy and she couldn't tell, but figured she was wearing the scent of fried foods and cigarette smoke. He got out of his car when she pulled up. Darn! No time to even put on lip gloss or check her hair in the mirror. He was walking towards her.
He greeted her warmly, as if she'd just spent the last hour puttin on her best. She was glad the restaurant wasn't well lit. Maybe he wouldn't notice too much. She quickly took her seat as the hostess handed her a menu.
"Can I get you something to drink?" It felt a bit strange being on the other side of an order.
"Yes, could I have a glass of peach brandy?" She was hoping it would numb her aching throat.
"And for you sir?" The waitress turned to him.
"No thanks. I don't drink."
Stupid! It hadn't even occured to her that he might not drink. She was used to her husband who not only smoked and drank, but used drugs also. She wanted to say that normally she didn't drink but was only having the brandy because of her sore throat. But truthfully, she had been drinking lately. It took the edge off of her stress. She mumbled something about her sore throat and the brandy, but felt foolish. He seemed to have so much class.
They sat there making small talk. Her brandy arrived. It went down pretty smooth. Maybe she had been drinking too much. After a bit her throat was definately feeling a bit of numbness. In fact, it was feeling so much better, she thought she might be able to smoke a cigarette. There was a lull in the conversation, so she reached down into her purse to retrieve her smokes.
"Oooh, I hate that," he said looking across the room.
Turning her head that direction while still leaning over she asked, "what?"
"Women who smoke." Her hand was already moving the package up towards the table. Immediately she threw it back into her purse, but she'd already placed her lighter in her other hand. She sat upright.
"You don't smoke, do you?" he queried.
"Uh, no...well," she felt very sheepish. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was just reaching for my cigarettes when you said that." She laughed out loud. She didn't know what else to do. She certainly wasn't making a very good impression. When she got nervous she laughed-even at very inappropriate times.
"What's so funny?" He wanted to know. She wished she'd never agreed to this meeting. She hadn't always been this way. Nobody in her family smoked or drank. She'd only started because she'd been around it so much in her marriage. He on the other hand was thinking she was laughing at him because he was such a nerd. He'd never so much as tried a cigarette and wasn't even remotely interested in drinking and making a fool of himself.
The rest of the evening is just a blur. And that is how my first date with Michael began.
Down
I hope to be back up and blogging in a more regular, timely fashion. Somehow I managed to be under-the-weather. My brain is only functioning as far as being able to grab a box of tissues, along with some cold medicine, and prop my body up in a comfortable chair. I've been trying to catch up on reading some blogs, but can hardly manage to bring myself to comment. My brain must seriously be working out, diverting all its energy to healing. It certainly is not in creative mode, or even think intelligently.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
I awoke with a stye on my eye, a cold sore on my lip, and cramps. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I decided to make eggs for breakfast. Then I remembered that the night before I set some frozen chicken not-so-gently, on my glass stove top. It shattered and was going to cost over $500 to fix. So I threw some bagels in the toaster, but somebody left the toaster on high and they burned. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
The men were coming to replace our heater. I was happy because we've already had some cold days. But I forgot to remove everything from the laundry room before they got there. I was still in my pajamas when they arrived. I hate having men working in my house and showering with no hot water.
It was my day to drive the carpool, only I'd made a mistake and it wasn't. I had to take Ethan home, which is a 3 hour drive, unless there is construction on the highway and it takes 4. We sat down to dinner at 6 to eat homemade soup, only it wasn't done. It was still chunky. I would have taken it out of the crockpot and put it on the stove, but what was I thinking? My stove was still broken. We ate the soup anyway, with cold bread. It was going a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, I think I'll move to Australia.
I awoke with a stye on my eye, a cold sore on my lip, and cramps. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I decided to make eggs for breakfast. Then I remembered that the night before I set some frozen chicken not-so-gently, on my glass stove top. It shattered and was going to cost over $500 to fix. So I threw some bagels in the toaster, but somebody left the toaster on high and they burned. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
The men were coming to replace our heater. I was happy because we've already had some cold days. But I forgot to remove everything from the laundry room before they got there. I was still in my pajamas when they arrived. I hate having men working in my house and showering with no hot water.
It was my day to drive the carpool, only I'd made a mistake and it wasn't. I had to take Ethan home, which is a 3 hour drive, unless there is construction on the highway and it takes 4. We sat down to dinner at 6 to eat homemade soup, only it wasn't done. It was still chunky. I would have taken it out of the crockpot and put it on the stove, but what was I thinking? My stove was still broken. We ate the soup anyway, with cold bread. It was going a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, I think I'll move to Australia.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Interruptions
None of us knows what today holds. I can look at my calendar or my to-do list and see what is scheduled, but how often is that a true picture of the day? Saturday I blocked off the entire day for the big Homecoming Game and Dance two of my girls were planning to attend. It's a good thing. It took the entire day. (Wish I could post a picture of the two of them together, but the timing was off and we had to rush out the door with one to get to the festivities.) I was exhausted by 8:00p.m. My girlfriend called; the one who helped so much getting the girls ready. She wanted to go to a movie. All I really wanted to do was rest, but went anyway.
Sunday morning I get a call, "Can you come get me ASAP?" I was still dripping from the shower. I don't like leaving the house with wet hair and no makeup, but I did. I could tell from my daughters voice something wasn't quite right. Apparently, she'd awoke with violent protests originating from her stomach. I wish she'd warned me BEFORE I left the house. I would never have taken my, never-been-vomitted-in car.
On Monday, I was a bit behind from the weekend. This is also my grocery shopping day. Michael had a 9 a.m. Dr. appointment that I agreed to go to with him. Walking out the door, my cell phone rings. It is another daughter. I missed the call, so phoned her back as we were driving. I hear a quivering voice, "What are you doing?" I quickly give her the details and ask what is wrong. "How soon can you get here? I am going to the ER and I need someone to take Ethan." I told her I'd be there as soon as we were finished at the appointment. Why is it when you are in a hurry the doctor is running an hour late for his first appointment of the day?
I look at my calendar for today. I need to add grocery shopping to the list. I don't know what today will hold or what phone call I may get. But I know the One who does. And if I listen, I will be prepared for interruptions. I need to pay attention to the little promptings that in retrospect I will see the pieces of the puzzle fitting together. Saturday I left a towel in my car that I needed on Sunday. Last week I made an extra pan of enchiladas and put it in the freezer. It made a nice dinner when I wasn't here. I normally don't freeze that last bit of roast beef, but I packed 2 lovely sandwiches into lunch boxes this morning. If I am attentive to that still, small voice, I can have peace in the midst of the storm.
Sunday morning I get a call, "Can you come get me ASAP?" I was still dripping from the shower. I don't like leaving the house with wet hair and no makeup, but I did. I could tell from my daughters voice something wasn't quite right. Apparently, she'd awoke with violent protests originating from her stomach. I wish she'd warned me BEFORE I left the house. I would never have taken my, never-been-vomitted-in car.
On Monday, I was a bit behind from the weekend. This is also my grocery shopping day. Michael had a 9 a.m. Dr. appointment that I agreed to go to with him. Walking out the door, my cell phone rings. It is another daughter. I missed the call, so phoned her back as we were driving. I hear a quivering voice, "What are you doing?" I quickly give her the details and ask what is wrong. "How soon can you get here? I am going to the ER and I need someone to take Ethan." I told her I'd be there as soon as we were finished at the appointment. Why is it when you are in a hurry the doctor is running an hour late for his first appointment of the day?
I look at my calendar for today. I need to add grocery shopping to the list. I don't know what today will hold or what phone call I may get. But I know the One who does. And if I listen, I will be prepared for interruptions. I need to pay attention to the little promptings that in retrospect I will see the pieces of the puzzle fitting together. Saturday I left a towel in my car that I needed on Sunday. Last week I made an extra pan of enchiladas and put it in the freezer. It made a nice dinner when I wasn't here. I normally don't freeze that last bit of roast beef, but I packed 2 lovely sandwiches into lunch boxes this morning. If I am attentive to that still, small voice, I can have peace in the midst of the storm.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Toast & Water
"Here he comes again, your toast and water." The waitress smiled. What was with this man who'd been in 4 times in the past 2 weeks? Surely he did not come in for the food. His order was always the same, whole wheat toast and a glass of water. Fifty-three cents. He'd drop a dollar on the table before leaving. He asked to sit in her section each time, so she'd pretty much figured out that he came in just to see her.
Today she didn't feel much like being social. Her baby was sick. She couldn't afford to take time off. She dropped her off at daycare feeling guilty. Her daughter had cried when she pulled her out of bed and tried to dress her shivering body. Probably running a fever. She shook those thoughts from her head as she approached the table. She mustered up what she thought was a pleasant voice, "hi, how are you today? Toast and water?"
"No, I think all have a couple of eggs." Taken back, she asked, "how would you like those cooked?"
"Hmmm...I don't know. Just a couple of eggs."
Maybe if she'd been in another mindset, she would have put his order in with Over Easy written down. She herself despised eggs with any hint of yellow liquid. But maybe he didn't like scrambled and if someone had given her a runny egg she could not have gagged it down. She was an emotional wreck and was not in a place to make decisions for someone else.
"I have to tell the cook how you want your eggs."
"Alright, how about poached?" Poached? Poached? Ugh! She wanted to tell him that poached eggs were awful, that they took longer to cook, that waitresses hated waiting for poached eggs.
She smiled weakly. "Ok, I'll get that right out." He grinned back at her. She wondered who he was and why he seemed interested. It certainly wasn't her sweet disposition. She wanted to tell him, "I am married, I have a child, so please don't bother coming back." But truthfully, her marriage was over and she knew at some point she would be interested in dating again. For now, she had way too much stress to even think about it and nothing left emotionally to give. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd asked her out on a date. No, the only thing he'd done was frequent the diner. She had nothing to say to him.
"Here you go, hope you like your eggs." She slid the plate of poached eggs towards him.
"I was wondering. How would you like to go to Prescott? We could take my plane and fly up there for lunch."
(To be continued...)
Part Two
Today she didn't feel much like being social. Her baby was sick. She couldn't afford to take time off. She dropped her off at daycare feeling guilty. Her daughter had cried when she pulled her out of bed and tried to dress her shivering body. Probably running a fever. She shook those thoughts from her head as she approached the table. She mustered up what she thought was a pleasant voice, "hi, how are you today? Toast and water?"
"No, I think all have a couple of eggs." Taken back, she asked, "how would you like those cooked?"
"Hmmm...I don't know. Just a couple of eggs."
Maybe if she'd been in another mindset, she would have put his order in with Over Easy written down. She herself despised eggs with any hint of yellow liquid. But maybe he didn't like scrambled and if someone had given her a runny egg she could not have gagged it down. She was an emotional wreck and was not in a place to make decisions for someone else.
"I have to tell the cook how you want your eggs."
"Alright, how about poached?" Poached? Poached? Ugh! She wanted to tell him that poached eggs were awful, that they took longer to cook, that waitresses hated waiting for poached eggs.
She smiled weakly. "Ok, I'll get that right out." He grinned back at her. She wondered who he was and why he seemed interested. It certainly wasn't her sweet disposition. She wanted to tell him, "I am married, I have a child, so please don't bother coming back." But truthfully, her marriage was over and she knew at some point she would be interested in dating again. For now, she had way too much stress to even think about it and nothing left emotionally to give. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd asked her out on a date. No, the only thing he'd done was frequent the diner. She had nothing to say to him.
"Here you go, hope you like your eggs." She slid the plate of poached eggs towards him.
"I was wondering. How would you like to go to Prescott? We could take my plane and fly up there for lunch."
(To be continued...)
Part Two
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Power Ranger
I don't know much about Power Rangers, but I do know one little boy who thinks he is one.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Again
She did it again. My 3rd child received another speeding ticket. Let's see, that makes 3 total. I admit, it was probably my fault. I was the one who sent her to pick up her sister that night. I thought she'd learned her lesson after the first ticket, and then the second. I foolishly believed that the money she spent on those tickets would mean something to her, as well as our trip to court. Apparently not.
What now? I figured I needed to do something as her right foot must be very heavy while driving. But wait. This child is 19 years old. I realize she still lives in our home, but my guess is if she hasn't figured out that driving too fast is not a good idea, that anything I might do to try to force the issue is probably a waste of time. When I was 19, I was married and parenting my firstborn. I was at the point in life where I was thinking about teaching my child right from wrong and why it was important to follow rules and laws. I think there comes a time in every parent's life where we need to step back and allow a child to make choices-even when they are not making wise ones. That doesn't mean we don't talk and discuss the issues. But it does mean I am going to allow her to continue on her merry way and speed if she so chooses. I cannot hold her hand, or ride along in her car and make sure she does everything my way, or even the right way. At some point, she has to be responsible for herself.
Sigh.
It is not easy to give freedom.
What now? I figured I needed to do something as her right foot must be very heavy while driving. But wait. This child is 19 years old. I realize she still lives in our home, but my guess is if she hasn't figured out that driving too fast is not a good idea, that anything I might do to try to force the issue is probably a waste of time. When I was 19, I was married and parenting my firstborn. I was at the point in life where I was thinking about teaching my child right from wrong and why it was important to follow rules and laws. I think there comes a time in every parent's life where we need to step back and allow a child to make choices-even when they are not making wise ones. That doesn't mean we don't talk and discuss the issues. But it does mean I am going to allow her to continue on her merry way and speed if she so chooses. I cannot hold her hand, or ride along in her car and make sure she does everything my way, or even the right way. At some point, she has to be responsible for herself.
Sigh.
It is not easy to give freedom.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Blunder
Oh, I completely forgot about my blunder this weekend. We experienced an unusually chilly day. Last week we found out our heater is no longer working. The beast is scheduled to be replaced in October. In the meantime, the basement was quit chilly. In my brilliance, I realized it was a perfect time to clean my downstairs oven. During summer months, my ovens are not run on the clean cycles. It is too hot. But what a great way to warm the downstairs during this cold snap.
Truthfully, I cannot remember when I last cleaned it. I rarely use this oven, so it doesn't get that dirty. (Well, it did look like someone had spilled a pizza in there.) I tried to switch the lever to the lock position so I could set the timer to clean. It wouldn't budge. Oh no, I must be doing something wrong. I no longer have a manual for this darn thing. It is older than dirt. I mean, seriously. It is Harvest Gold in color. That should tell you something. I don't think I could look this one up on the internet.
I was competely befuddled. Then I noticed atop the stove were the cleaning instructions. 1. Lock Oven. Grrr...that is what I was trying to do. Oh, there is a release button. It still did not work properly. 2. Raise glass door shield if your oven model is equipped with one. Well, I didn't have one of those, at least I'd never noticed on previous cleanings.
I opened the door to see where the latch was supposed to hook. It seemed jammed. I stuck a spoon in it, jimmied it a bit, and somehow the door locked. Woohoo! I set the timer for the start and stop time and off I went. I was very pleased with myself for finding a way to warm the downstairs. When it was finished, I'd open it up as soon as I could and that hot blast of air would permeate the entire downstairs.
Sometime later in the day, Michael mentioned to me that the oven door downstairs was broken. What? How could that be? But upon inspection, it certainly was broken. When I was messing with the door, I'd noticed what look like it could have been a shield. But for the life of me I could not imagine how this shield could be raised. There were no levers or buttons or secret compartments. Upon opening the door, though, there right in front of me were levers to raise the shield to keep the glass window from breaking. I feel pretty dumb now. Oh sure, the downstairs is warmer, but it would have warmed by today anyway. It is over 70 degrees and tomorrow it is forecast to be in the 80's. But there is a bright spot. I think it is time to say adios to my lovely Harvest Gold oven and hello to a nice stainless steel one.
Truthfully, I cannot remember when I last cleaned it. I rarely use this oven, so it doesn't get that dirty. (Well, it did look like someone had spilled a pizza in there.) I tried to switch the lever to the lock position so I could set the timer to clean. It wouldn't budge. Oh no, I must be doing something wrong. I no longer have a manual for this darn thing. It is older than dirt. I mean, seriously. It is Harvest Gold in color. That should tell you something. I don't think I could look this one up on the internet.
I was competely befuddled. Then I noticed atop the stove were the cleaning instructions. 1. Lock Oven. Grrr...that is what I was trying to do. Oh, there is a release button. It still did not work properly. 2. Raise glass door shield if your oven model is equipped with one. Well, I didn't have one of those, at least I'd never noticed on previous cleanings.
I opened the door to see where the latch was supposed to hook. It seemed jammed. I stuck a spoon in it, jimmied it a bit, and somehow the door locked. Woohoo! I set the timer for the start and stop time and off I went. I was very pleased with myself for finding a way to warm the downstairs. When it was finished, I'd open it up as soon as I could and that hot blast of air would permeate the entire downstairs.
Sometime later in the day, Michael mentioned to me that the oven door downstairs was broken. What? How could that be? But upon inspection, it certainly was broken. When I was messing with the door, I'd noticed what look like it could have been a shield. But for the life of me I could not imagine how this shield could be raised. There were no levers or buttons or secret compartments. Upon opening the door, though, there right in front of me were levers to raise the shield to keep the glass window from breaking. I feel pretty dumb now. Oh sure, the downstairs is warmer, but it would have warmed by today anyway. It is over 70 degrees and tomorrow it is forecast to be in the 80's. But there is a bright spot. I think it is time to say adios to my lovely Harvest Gold oven and hello to a nice stainless steel one.
Dates
Look at this little gem I found:
Why yes, it does say Sell By Feb 27. No, there isn't a year, but I'm pretty sure it was '06. Now in all fairness, I do have 2 refrigerators. The one downstairs is used mostly for keeping beverages cold, but also as an overflow when I have the main one stuffed. I do recall oh so long ago, a meal where I was sure I had sour cream. I searched and searched and never did find it. Well, I DID find it, but 7 month later. But this happens regularly at my house. Yes, if I was better organized this wouldn't happen with such frequency. Here is another example:
In case you can't make out what is in my pantry, I will tell you. On 6 different shelves you will find Rosarita Refried Beans. (And yes, having a large family it would be more cost efficient to buy the larger cans, but they don't fit neatly on these tiny shelves.) There isn't any organization, which translates into lost items.
If I had larger shelves I could label, alphabtize and really be organized. But in this pantry I have to put things where they fit. (Ok, no real excuse as to why the beans can't all be near one another, but I do like seeing the variety on each shelf.) Doesn't seem so boring.
Why yes, it does say Sell By Feb 27. No, there isn't a year, but I'm pretty sure it was '06. Now in all fairness, I do have 2 refrigerators. The one downstairs is used mostly for keeping beverages cold, but also as an overflow when I have the main one stuffed. I do recall oh so long ago, a meal where I was sure I had sour cream. I searched and searched and never did find it. Well, I DID find it, but 7 month later. But this happens regularly at my house. Yes, if I was better organized this wouldn't happen with such frequency. Here is another example:
In case you can't make out what is in my pantry, I will tell you. On 6 different shelves you will find Rosarita Refried Beans. (And yes, having a large family it would be more cost efficient to buy the larger cans, but they don't fit neatly on these tiny shelves.) There isn't any organization, which translates into lost items.
If I had larger shelves I could label, alphabtize and really be organized. But in this pantry I have to put things where they fit. (Ok, no real excuse as to why the beans can't all be near one another, but I do like seeing the variety on each shelf.) Doesn't seem so boring.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
With Child
I was reading a new-to-me blog by Ginnie the other day and a familiar one by the Questing Parson. Their memories brought back to life some of my own.
It was nearing Christmas and I was 32 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child. The hustle and bustle of the season was wearing on me. The focus was not on the true meaning of Christmas but the just busyness of a holiday. On that particular morning, I was up extra early. I was determined to have some quiet time before my children awoke. I needed that quiet.
Even though I shivered in the cold morning air, I opened the drapes to the big picture window. As early as it was, it appeared to be light outside. I stood there in amazement. Snow had fallen overnight and the grass and trees were blankets of white. The sun was not up yet, but the snow glistened in the moonlight. It was one of those moments I wanted to share with others but didn't dare move for fear of missing out on it.
After a bit, I cozied myself into an overstuffed chair by the window to spend some of that quiet. I asked the Lord to help me keep the stillness inside so I could reflect on the true meaning of Christmas. I began to think of the birth of Jesus. Was it a cold night when his mother gave birth outdoors in a stable? I wondered at her thoughts about her child as she neared the end of her pregnancy. Being with child myself, I knew the hours spent thinking of this baby. What would she look like, would she be all girl wearing lace socks and frilly dresses or would she be more of a tomboy preferring to stomp in puddles in mud-stained jeans?
How did Mary deal with thoughts of the awesome task before? She was to raise Jesus, the Son of God, God himself. Did she worry about the mistakes she'd make? No parent is perfect. Even if her little boy was without sin, that didn't mean being his parent was easy. She would have sleepless nights, her baby would cry. It was her responsibility to teach him right and wrong, to guide and direct him ultimately train him up and he would be the Savior of the world. I was completely overwhelmed at the thought of what it would be like to be the mother of Jesus. The task was daunting. Just as I was imagining my inability to perform this duty the words of Jesus flooded my mind:
"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
The gravity of it pressed in on me. I could not move, I could hardly breathe. My child, each one of my children, was no less important than Jesus himself. Being a mom and raising my children right was every bit as serious as it was for Mary to parent Jesus. I sat there for a good long while. I was only pregnant with my 3rd. I wasn't even aware that I would be blessed with 2 more precious children. At that moment, 3 was almost terrifying.
But then, just as the snow had blanketed and softened the outdoors, the Lord's presence enveloped me. I knew I was not alone in this task. I was partnered with God. He already knew everything about my unborn child and what she would need for her future. I would surely make mistakes, but by taking the quiet times with Him and silencing the noise around me, He would show me how to be the parent my children needed.
It was nearing Christmas and I was 32 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child. The hustle and bustle of the season was wearing on me. The focus was not on the true meaning of Christmas but the just busyness of a holiday. On that particular morning, I was up extra early. I was determined to have some quiet time before my children awoke. I needed that quiet.
Even though I shivered in the cold morning air, I opened the drapes to the big picture window. As early as it was, it appeared to be light outside. I stood there in amazement. Snow had fallen overnight and the grass and trees were blankets of white. The sun was not up yet, but the snow glistened in the moonlight. It was one of those moments I wanted to share with others but didn't dare move for fear of missing out on it.
After a bit, I cozied myself into an overstuffed chair by the window to spend some of that quiet. I asked the Lord to help me keep the stillness inside so I could reflect on the true meaning of Christmas. I began to think of the birth of Jesus. Was it a cold night when his mother gave birth outdoors in a stable? I wondered at her thoughts about her child as she neared the end of her pregnancy. Being with child myself, I knew the hours spent thinking of this baby. What would she look like, would she be all girl wearing lace socks and frilly dresses or would she be more of a tomboy preferring to stomp in puddles in mud-stained jeans?
How did Mary deal with thoughts of the awesome task before? She was to raise Jesus, the Son of God, God himself. Did she worry about the mistakes she'd make? No parent is perfect. Even if her little boy was without sin, that didn't mean being his parent was easy. She would have sleepless nights, her baby would cry. It was her responsibility to teach him right and wrong, to guide and direct him ultimately train him up and he would be the Savior of the world. I was completely overwhelmed at the thought of what it would be like to be the mother of Jesus. The task was daunting. Just as I was imagining my inability to perform this duty the words of Jesus flooded my mind:
"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
The gravity of it pressed in on me. I could not move, I could hardly breathe. My child, each one of my children, was no less important than Jesus himself. Being a mom and raising my children right was every bit as serious as it was for Mary to parent Jesus. I sat there for a good long while. I was only pregnant with my 3rd. I wasn't even aware that I would be blessed with 2 more precious children. At that moment, 3 was almost terrifying.
But then, just as the snow had blanketed and softened the outdoors, the Lord's presence enveloped me. I knew I was not alone in this task. I was partnered with God. He already knew everything about my unborn child and what she would need for her future. I would surely make mistakes, but by taking the quiet times with Him and silencing the noise around me, He would show me how to be the parent my children needed.
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