was my reply when the 12 year asked me if I could help her cook up some food for her history class the next day. It was 5:00. I was tired. The "I could hardly keep my eyes open" kind of tired. Also, I was on my way out the door to take the 10 year old to dance class. I still needed to make dinner for my own family that evening. When would I have a chance to rush over to the grocery store in order to buy the necessary supplies for this little "dish" for history class?!!! I needed to get more information.
"What exactly did your teacher say? When did he ask you to do this?"
"Well, when I was on my way out to the bus, he saw me and said, "Hey, you know how we were talking about bringing a dish to class? Why don't you do that for tomorrow?""
"Oh, so is this for a grade?"
"No."
"Well, he can't do that. He can't say, "Bring this dish" and then expect me to drop everything so that I can help you get it done."
"I know. No one likes him."
"Well, you can just tell him at school tomorrow that it is rediculous of him to make that kind of request."
"Ma, you won't have to do a thing. I promise."
"Right. I've heard that before. What were you thinking that you wanted to make?"
"My group was studying China, so I was thinking I could make stir fry."
"Stir fry for 25 people? Are you kidding me? No way. How exactly were you going to keep that from spoiling? Your history class is at the end of the day. When have you made stir fry before?"
"Stir fry is easy to make."
"Honey, I have to get going. I'm sorry, but I need to have more notice than this. You'll just have to tell your teacher that we couldn't make it happen. I have to put my foot down on this one. My answer is definitely NO."
Um....so it only took us a few hours to make pot stickers that night. One for every kid. The 12 year old now knows how to blanch cabbage and make dough. We packed the pot stickers (and dipping sauce) into a little cooler so that the "dish" would still be edible at the end of the day.
Everyone loved them.
Shut up.
The rest of the girls got in on the cooking action the next day. We had to do something with the leftover filling, didn't we?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
"Absolutely not!"
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Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Speaking of shortness
"you look much taller in your photo"
Anthony - you are hilarious! Your comment reminds me of a little inside joke Poetroad and I have.
Neither of us are particularly tall (I am 5'3" and Poetroad is 5'7"). More than a few times, when Poetroad and I have watched a movie or TV show with my dad, my dad has said something such as, "You know that John Wayne is kind of short in real life? He's only like 6'1"." Or "Tom Cruise is tiny. He's only 5'7"."
Of course we've taken that to a whole new level. "You know that John Wayne is tiny in real life? He's only like 4'11". Yeah, it was hard work surrounding him with all of those short actors. Did you know that Robert Duvall is really a dwarf?"
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Tall vs Short
Some of my best friends are tall people...
[Ouch. When she starts out with a line like that, you know it's going to be a scathing diatribe railing against the "tall."]
For the record, I measure up to a mere 5 feet 3 inches tall. That's right - I've gained an entire inch since the eighth grade. Surprisingly enough, I was born to a family of unusually tall people; for example, I have an uncle that is 6'8", a brother that is 6'5"+, another brother that is 6'3" (AND a nephew that is that tall - he is only in the eighth grade), a father that is 6'1" and a mom that is 5'7". She is the shortest of the lot - until I was born, that is. Whatever. I'm not bitter about it or anything...
Anyway, since I'm practically dwarf-hight, it wouldn't surprise you if I observed that America caters to the "tall." At the grocery store in order to get the deli guy's attention, sometimes I have to make a scene because I can only see over the deli counter if I am on my tip toes. In addition, potentially, if I am in an automobile accident, I am in more danger of being injured; heck - a tall person could walk away from a minor accident, and my neck could be broken as a result of the deployed air bag. Also, I have to climb onto and stand on the counter in order to reach the top shelf in my kitchen cabinets. These are typical obstacles I face on a daily basis.
Don't even venture to say that you tall people have tried to accommodate us. Sure, we have our own clothing line fashionably referred to as "petite." The tall have "big and tall" wear too.
But what really chaps my hide is how the tall seem to think that they are "entitled" to certain liberties. Such as standing in the front row at her child's choir concert at the "standing room only" performance. At least be considerate and duck down so that we shorties can also see.
Funny thing about that - even if I arrive early, those tallies always seem to be there fifteen minutes before me. Always standing, too. Geeze - even when I am standing in the front row, I have the decency to scrunch down so that the shorter ones - such as the random 4th or 5th grader - can see. In any event, at every choir or band or dance recital there is a random head or shoulder in the foreground of the picture. Oh, I hold that camera as high as I can - I don't even look in the viewfinder anymore, but the camera lens still won't reach over the shoulder of the guy standing in front of me.
Whatever. My daughter was busy picking her nose at this morning's performance anyway.
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Monday, April 07, 2008
I should say something.
I know I should. Really, I want to say something. Worth reading. So when I am not so darn tired, I will write about...something. Such as the exploits in coaching soccer for my oldest daughter's team. Or the fact that I just found out that one of her teammates is the daughter of this guy (I should have had a clue when we practiced soccer one afternoon at their house...on their baseball field - the baseball field they made on one of the lots they own adjacent to their house).
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Thursday, April 03, 2008
I ate leftover spicy crab rolls for lunch,
and decided to garnish each with a generous squirt of wasabi. I didn't realize, however, (until much later) that the entire packet of wasabi was meant to be doled out sparingly over all of the rolls in the tray and not slathered on just the two rolls I ate.
In other news, my sinuses are well drained right now.
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When it rains here, it pours.
On the heels of a not so fun infection I am battling (can I just say that I was completely out of sorts yesterday - spelling my name wrong, taking two naps, and acting completely cranky), I went to the dentist today for "Root Canal Part Dux."
Going to the dentist wasn't a party, but it wasn't painful either. Mostly, being there was annoying only because it takes so much TIME to do these root canal things. Time that I'd rather be spending doing fun stuff like reading or writing or cleaning up dog poo.
Anyhow, the deed is done. Hopefully my tooth will behave and stop hurting. Soon enough, I'll get the crown put on and be done with the dentist for awhile. At least my dentist is cute and entertaining (and we are about the same age, which equals "shared experiences"). While she was working on my tooth this time, she talked about cleaning the clutter from her mother's house. (Anyone remember the seven can openers I cleaned out of my mom's kitchen last summer?) In particular, she got rid of her mom's kitchen "rainbow" collection. My dentist said, "I asked my mom if she was trying to make some kind of gay statement with all of these rainbows - not that there is anything wrong with being a lesbian or anything - or if she just liked to decorate with "ugly.""
Of course I laughed hard at that.
I think I'll take a nap now.
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11:18 AM
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Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Birthday Hangover?
No, I wasn't out drinking all weekend. Poetroad did take me to U2 3D at the local IMAX on Friday night. Phenomenal! Really - I felt like I could reach out and touch Bono (And Larry Mullen Jr. - oh you know how I feel about him; do you realize that I've had a crush on him for almost 25 years now?!).
OK, I'm back. Had to take a few minutes to stare at Larry pictures.
Anyway, we know a guy who saw U2 3D twice, and he really isn't a U2 fan. Crazy, eh? The concert experience is just that cool!
On Saturday (the actual birthday), the kiddos made and served me breakfast in bed. They made my favorite: strawberry waffles. That evening, Stef and Katherine took me out to dinner and a movie (I finally saw 27 Dresses. I think the character in the movie owned the dress that I made my poor bridesmaids wear at my wedding...only I knew they would never wear it again, and that is why I didn't make them pay for it...and the irony is that Ch@ndy let a gal choose one of her dresses so that this girl could be finely dressed for the prom...and the girl chose to wear the bridesmaid dress from my wedding, lol).
On Sunday, the kiddos and Poetroad made a fine feast for dinner, and then we glutted ourselves on lemon bars and brownie bites for dessert.
And the frivolity just kept going and going and going, I tell you! So much so that I ended up needing antibiotics today (no joke). But I'm feeling much better now.
All I have left to say is, "Hello, 38. I didn't want to be you, but you dragged me there feet-first-kicking-and-screaming nevertheless."
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go slather some lard on my neck wrinkles.
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Thursday, March 27, 2008
You know what I ate for lunch just now
They are round and green and rhyme with "bees."
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8:49 AM
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Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Dreams
A week ago to the day, I read an article in my local newspaper about a visit to the local university by "distinguished" speaker, Richard Dawkins, a scientist and author. Dawkins, an atheist, wrote the book The God Delusion in which he "asserts the irrationality of belief in God and the grievous harm religion has inflicted on society."
Honestly, I am not threatened by atheism or Dawkins's suggestion that belief in God is irrational. The truth of the matter is, in part, that belief in something intangible requires faith, and faith is, essentially, belief not based on factual proof. Although many can make - and have made - sound arguments for logical proof that God does exist, the fact of the matter is that even at the core of scientific theory itself there is a faith element. A theory, after all, is a person's best "speculation" of what is factual.
What disturbs me about Dawkins's assertion is the implications his thought process has on art and literature. I applaud science and all that has been done in the field, including biology, to expand the collective intelligence of the people. However, science is not the end all be all authority on judging the worth or value of all that exists - tangible and intangible. Neither does science have the final word on all that exists.
Take love, for example. I suppose one could scientifically explain the chemical reaction in a human body - or in any animal - regarding the phenomenon of physical attraction. But science cannot successfully predict physical attraction. If that were the case, then matchmaking web programs such as e-harmony and the like would work for everyone. Most likely, we all know people for which a scientifically made match has not worked. On the other end of the spectrum, there are probably cousins in Kentucky who are at this very moment consummating their love. "Cousin love" seems to go against "nature" and works against natural selection (although one could easily argue the converse - cousin love is natural selection in its finest moment).
My point is this: although I applaud the scientific movement, there is danger in attempting to reduce all phenomena into tiny pieces for scientific examination. The scientific method works to explain the tangible, but it is not the best method to explain what is intangible. And plenty of intangible is out there that I, for one, don't want subjected to the scientific method. A poem can be dissected into stanzas, lines, rhymes, rhythm, feet, syllables, morphemes, phonemes - but all of those elements must come together to construct meaning - meaning that says something about a time, a place, a society and can simultaneously speak to an individual in various ways to various degrees. Or meaning might be elusive and inaccessible to the everyone but the creator. Nevertheless, that doesn't make the creation less valid or worthy of being created. I find intense meaning in a poem written by e.e. cummings while others might only see nonsense when they read one of his poems. The scientific method fails to construct meaning in this respect, and neither do I crave the dissection of love, beauty, or art in order to find meaning. But this argument isn't new. It's simply Pater vs. Arnold revisited.
Nevertheless, the implications of such a movement, to scientize all that is seen and unseen (or to eliminate all that cannot be scientifically deduced), didn't work at the turn of the 20th century, and there is nothing new in the movement that suggests extreme scientization will work now. What kind of art - or happiness - was birthed out of Communism, a society that successfully eradicated God and all meaning that was not connected with purpose for the betterment of the people? I would argue that art created under the thumb of Communism was a reaction to being "under the thumb" rather than in celebration of the philosophy.
Do not throw out the scientific method and logic; do not throw out the possibility of God or create a formula for "good art" either.
These are my ruminations cultivated by Dawkins's dogma. I thought about all that I've poorly articulated here as I fell asleep that night. Then I had a dream.
In my dream, I was a little fish that befriended a big shark. We were standing on a beach discussing my friend's dilemma: the shark was on some type of quest - a life or death quest - and there were other sharks that wanted to destroy him. It was decided that we needed to swim somewhere regardless of the inherent danger. Together, we dove into a protected cove and made our way to the ocean. As we swam through the water, I was on the lookout for sharks that might want to attack my noticeably frightened friend.
What do you think that means?
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Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Birthday Month Update
Birthday month is really exceeding my expectations.
I spent 10 days in Oregon. (Thank you Ch@ndy for being such a lovely hostess for the few days I was able to visit with you. The "birthday" homemade Mexican feast was delicious!) The flight to and from Oregon was practically uneventful (my favorite kind of travel = uneventful). Although there was that one flight where Poetroad inadvertently had to entertain/watch over someone else's 8 year old boy...that would not stop talking...the entire 3 hour flight...and who almost barfed but ended up hyper-ventilating into the barf bag instead... And we did have the unexpected pleasure of changing planes - and concourses - in San Jose. If you've flown through San Jose, you know what I'm talking about here. Deplane, run 1/2 mile or so to the bus, travel to the next concourse, go through security again with your four children in tow all the while - do that in a little less than an hour. The excitement never ends with this family!
Then, last weekend, CJ and family drove over from Houston and stayed the night with us. The next morning, we took a hike through the nature preserve that is about a block from our house. I tainted her oldest child by allowing my children to go wading in the creek with their shoes and clothes on. All of our children jumped off of rocks, fell into the water, played in a little waterfall, and got muddy. I thought my friend and her husband would die from anxiety. It was good for them. Every kid needs to play with abandon every once in a while. Can you believe I am saying this? Thankfully, I have friends who have already taught me that precious life lesson.
Also, I got the final official report this week: I passed both tests that I took for Texas Teacher Certification. Just in time for me to move to California! Not bad considering that I only studied for the tests during the two days preceding the test date. To be fair, the tests covered situations and knowledge with which any seasoned teacher would be familiar.
[Side note: I realize that I never told you all about that whole experience. It is worth mentioning that test takers had five hours to finish each test. The multiple choice section of the test took me approximately 90 minutes to answer all 90 questions - this was true for both tests. That's right - I zipped through the tests because I kept thinking, "Hey, I'm moving to another state anyway," coupled with the assurance, "I can miss at least up to 20 questions and still pass the test!" So if I happened upon a test question that I didn't know the answer to, I guessed the answer and tried to keep track of how many questions fell under the "I can miss up to 20 questions" clause. What killed me - time wise - was the essay portion for the English test. Writing the essay was not difficult, but it was definitely time consuming. It took me 3 1/2 hours to write one essay, and not because what they asked us to do was difficult but because I am anal about writing. Basically, given two passages from two different novels - one written at the beginning of the 20th century and one written around 1960 - the test taker was expected to identify, compare, and contrast, and note how literary devices were used in each passage to develop the theme of the work. Of course I couldn't do just that. You know I couldn't! After brainstorming and outlining for an hour, I proceeded to write a 6 page feminist critique(a complete essay with a fully developed introduction, body, and conclusion) of the two passages. My thesis went something like this: "Both the passage from "X novel" and "Y novel" explore perception versus reality in an effort to speak to the disillusionment with expected social-norms for women in a given society." Or something such as that... Anyway, I noted that other people only wrote about a page and a half - and spent about an hour writing that darned essay. But not me. Overkill - my fatal flaw. I sincerely thought it would be my undoing, too. People have to read these stupid essays. And grade them. Who wants to waste 10 minutes of their life reading a stupid feminist critique when all I needed to do was note how literary devices were used to develop the theme of each passage? There was a strong possibility that I could have received a "no grade" and "off topic" note in the comment box, I thought. Mercy me, I earned a "4" out of "4" on that essay. The guy who took an hour to write a page and a half probably did too. Ah well, I passed! I passed!]
Speaking of tests, I took a class and aced another test this month. Okay, it wasn't actually a class to earn credits as much as it was a way to save 200 dollars. Remember that speeding ticket I got last fall? Last Friday, I successfully completed 6 hours of defensive driving training. Today, I'll drive around town gathering and turning in the necessary documents so that I can get that ticket expunged from my record. Yay!
Finally, I got a call yesterday from a friend I haven't talked with for more than a decade. This friend lives across town. Now that I'm leaving, she found a reason to call. Actually, she was calling to get Ch@ndy's phone number. Hey, at least she called! Life is funny that way.
Today is Tuesday, and birthday month is quickly coming to an end. This month has already been so full! I wonder what the rest of the month has in store?
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Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Where did that week go?
Well, here is the dish - bullet points for efficiency as I am working on dial-up here in Oregon:
*Last weekend, Poetroad and I were in Sacramento checking out a job offer.
*Returned on Monday.
*Took my mom to the airport on Tuesday.
*Did things and stuff from Tuesday through Saturday.
*Poetroad, family, and I decided that it would be best for us to move to Sacramento. Poetroad accepted the job on Saturday night. (Yay, pjd and Maria! We will be there in June.)
*Spent all of Monday flying to Oregon. Visiting friends and family here, and so far it has been a fairly relaxing visit.
*P.S. I haven't heard anything from FLVS, but perhaps that is best. It should not be too difficult to find some type of teaching job in California.
*P.P.S. March is officially "Birthday Month" - hence the profile pic of me on birthday number 6. I figure that I should get to celebrate as many days of the month as I am old; I took over the entire month long ago. Soon enough, I'll suggest that I'll need to commandeer part of February and April to accommodate my age.
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10:57 AM
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Saturday, March 01, 2008
I am out of town...
but I'll chat with you all on Tuesday! :)
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6:35 PM
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Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Her name...
...by the way - and I'm not making this up - is J.C. It didn't occur to me the irony of the moniker until late last night.
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Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Coincidence?
I didn't plan to take my three year old out to lunch today. I didn't plan to go out today at all. Had my 12 year old not forgot her library books at home, I would have stayed home. And being out and about gave me a chance to take our old car battery to the car parts store. Had I not done that, I wouldn't have had 12 dollars in cash so that I could say "yes" when my three year old asked if we could go get something to eat.
Because of this series of coincidental events, I was one table away when she dropped her full cup of ice tea she was trying to balance on her tray as she placed her three year old son into the chair beside her. Unlike a paper cup would under such circumstances, the styrofoam cup split from top to bottom. I could see her wither inside when it happened. I hopped out of my seat picked up the cup and what ice I could, and then walked over to grab a pile of napkins so that I could help mop up the mess.
When I came back, I saw that she had thrown her single napkin on the tea. It was swimming in the puddle. I threw my pile of napkins on the puddle too, and she said, "Oh you don't have to do this, but thank you."
"Don't worry - it's not a problem at all. I've spilled lots of stuff in my time."
"Really?" she said in a tone pregnant with relief. "I knew it was going to happen. It's been one of those days."
"Yeah, I know how that is."
We mopped up the puddle together. "Why don't you ask for another drink? This kind of thing probably happens all the time. I've done as much before. Most places are happy to comply. It's just a drink, after all," I suggested.
"Oh, I would even pay for it again if I had to. Do you think I should tell someone so they could mop this up?"
"That would probably be a good idea."
I stood with her son and helped him unwrap his straw and put it in his drink.
When she returned, I went back to my table and finished eating lunch with my daughter. She and her son only spent minutes at her table; most of that time she spent receiving cell phone calls from various people. She and her son went into the play area, and she paced back and forth as she continued a serious phone conversation.
Eventually, my daughter and I gathered our things and went into the play area too. I stood off to the side and played with my daughter in order to give the woman privacy. We entertained her son too. I tried not to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhear bits and pieces of her conversation with school officials regarding her children and the soon to be ex-husband.
After she wrapped up her conversation, she came over to where we were playing - her son, my daughter, and I - and said, "You must think I'm a crazy person. I'm sorry you had to hear all of that."
"Don't worry about it. Somtimes life is rough."
"Well life has been pretty rough for me lately."
"I've learned not to judge. We've all been there."
"Me too. Unfortunately, I had to learn that the hard way."
We chit-chatted a little more. I introduced myself. We talked about her three boys and my four girls, their ages, etc.
When she left, she looked into my eyes and said, "Thank you for helping me today. I really appreciated that."
"It was really nice meeting you. I'll be praying for you."
"Oh, thank you. I really need that right now. I really need that. Blessings to you!"
And then she left.
Lately I've been thinking about change. Not about changing myself or my circumstances in particular, but changing my world and the world around me. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the task. I think, "What can I do about poverty and sickness and pain? I have a hard enough time just making it through the day some days. I am only one person." When I ventured to articulate my frustration to an older, wiser friend recently, he responded with this: "You change the world one person at a time."
One person at a time.
You need to know I don't count myself as a saint - I'm far from that. More and more, however, I'm convinced that we are put into situations where we can offer hope or grace (and one not need aspire to any particular faith or believe in God to do that). But if I believe that God is in the business of transforming his kingdom in the here and now, then it's my job to open my eyes and make the most of opportunity when opportunities arise. My main obstacle in carrying out this quest is me - I'm afraid. Sometimes I'm apathetic. Sometimes I'm pathetic.
How will change happen if it doesn't start with me? I think I'm finally beginning to understand this truth. You just never know how much a person might have needed to see a smile or have someone listen sympathetically. Even if it is only a split cup of tea that needs to be cleaned up in a restaurant, I can take a moment to extend grace to that one person in that one moment. You can too.
Responding. This is living out the gospel.
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Monday, February 25, 2008
Speaking of Poop...
My three-and-a-half year old is not on *my* potty training time line. That frustrated me at first, but I know that to shame her or make her feel bad about her decision *not* to poop in the toilet will only cause more problems. I know it's a contol issue with her. I understand control issues. So I've backed off a bit.
Still, we seem to have this ongoing conversation about poop.
This morning, when I noticed that familiar look of surprise on her face, I encouraged her to finish on the toilet. And once she sat down on the toilet, she did nothing...
...except say, "Mom, I already did a big one last night."
"I know. I had to clean it up."
"It was gorgeous ."
"Gorgeous?"
"Yes. Big and gooooooorgeous ."
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11:06 AM
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Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday
"All my troubles seemed so far away..."
Actually, on Saturday I spent most of the day testing (7 hours? - it could have been more). As in "fill in the bubble and write this essay" type of testing. Look out, Texas. They just might license me to teach here too.
It could have been worse...I could have been getting a root canal.
Wait a minute...
In hindsight, last week wasn't a very good week for me.
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10:03 PM
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Friday, February 22, 2008
Preoccupied
I'm supposed to be studying for a test (so that I can be certified to teach in Texas), but instead I was preoccupied with writing this piece of prose for a writing contest at Jason Evan's blog "The Clarity of Night" . Thanks, PJD for getting me hooked. Enjoy your Friday!
"Metamorphosis"
In obscurity, Aveline peered out her bedroom window. One quarter of an inch she raised the slat on the blind. That was enough. At first, only the paint chipped away from the slat. Now, a half-moon shaped itself on the spot where her thumb and forefinger rested nearly a thousand times a day. On that spot, the worn wood felt like the smoothness of stones that tumbled for a hundred miles or more from the mountains all the way to the creek out back.
When was the last time she gathered stones from that creek? Fifteen years ago?
On stifling August days when her hair and shirt melted into her skin, they used to roll up their trousers and wade in the creek hand-in-hand, all the while collecting flat, smooth stones until their pocket seams threatened to unravel. He wanted to let go and skip stones even though the current greedily tugged at his little legs. “Hold onto my hand, honey, or you’ll be swept away,” she would caution. Undeterred he would squeal, "Didja see that, Mommy!" as another stone skated across the water until it trickled into nothingness.
The solitary tree – a requiem for her son - stood up on the hill. Encircled by the heavens, the tree waited as Aveline outlined it again by sight, tracing every branch, every twig, every bud. Soon the grass beneath the tree would be green again, and pregnant buds would give way to leaf. She knew it, and she felt it.
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Thursday, February 21, 2008
Bad poetry pickled in pain
From the start - what a day - completely unfunny.
A fog infused morn took away what was sunny.
Off to the dentist for appointment at ten
To fix my poor tooth that was rotten from within
The crown. Then my dentist, to work, she was late
As her dog retrieved cat doo; that little ingrate!
Full grasped was her hand around the small turd,
When epiphany struck: not a leaf! So absurd!
Full showered again - full scrubbed north to south;
Sanitized completely 'fore she reached in my mouth!
Painlessly I weathered two shots in the jaw
And soon became numb; I felt nothing at all
As she cut, pried and pulled that porcelain away
And uncovered a tooth stump ravished by decay.
"It's down to the nerve," was her serious tone;
Continued, did she, and the drill bit did drone
On and on 'til well passed hour one. This is not good
I thought to myself. Root canal. Ah! I understood.
Half done with uprooting when she finally said,
"There was no other choice as the tooth was half dead."
TV I watched whilst nodding at her commentary
Of entire root removal; it was quite bloody,
I heard, way into hour two. Thank God for the fare
Of cable show wonder, TLC's "What Not To Wear."
Finally, three hours from the start to completion.
Off went I to Target to fill my prescriptions.
Penicillin, Ibuprofen - four times the pow'r,
Off-brand painkiller, too - the pill of the hour.
Then to home I drove fast so my husband could leave
To attend "because you work here" weekend retreat.
Now I'm left with bad rhymes and my jaw it doth hurt.
Does a root canal mean I may eat more dessert?
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8:05 PM
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Wednesday, February 20, 2008
By Request
You have to read this account of yet another APP. I assure you, the story is all true. Though it's difficult to choose, I think my favorite line is, “Get up! Do jumping jack. So you stop crying. I can’t work like this.”
Enjoy!
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10:30 AM
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Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Anti-dentite
I'm not really an "Anti-dentite." Actually, I'm an anti-pain person(APP)- particularly of the kind that involves shots in the mouth and exposed tooth nerves. Because of that, I'm practically obsessive about my teeth. In fact, I'm probably one of the few people in America that flosses nightly not only her own teeth but also her children's teeth. And let me tell you, that is no small task being that I have four little munchkins to supervise during said nightly teeth-brushing-and-flossing ritual.
So it was no surprise to me that I didn't have any tartar build up when I went in for my annual teeth cleaning (even though I haven't been able to get in an annual teeth cleaning for two years). Clean teeth - check. No gum disease - check. "Bizarrely straight teeth for someone who hasn't had braces" - check. No surprise there. What was a surprise is that I have a cavity - through no fault of my own - or so I'd like to think...
Let me take a moment, first off, to blame my parents for not instituting better teeth cleaning habits, for letting me eat candy, and for...whatever else they did that made me cavity prone. Of course neither of my brothers ever had a cavity when we were kids. Perhaps I am a genetic anomaly? Nevertheless, I was their child. Whether it be via nature or nurture, somehow, my parents are to blame, right?
Anyway, one of my molars had work done on it 30 years ago, and eventually that tooth cracked two years ago. Which meant I had to get that tooth capped. To get the tooth fixed, I went to the same dentist I've had since I was eight years old (he probably fixed that darn tooth in the first place). He used to be a young and competent dentist. Of late, his eyeglasses were getting thicker and thicker. So much so that I couldn't bare to look at him directly in the eyes any more...without laughing. And after the usual minimal pain dulling, he capped the tooth (thank God that Lamaze breathing finally came in handy for something).
But the capped tooth looked kind of strange from the start. For one, there was clear tooth cement hanging over my gum, as if he over-estimated the amount of cement needed (or glue...or whatever they use these days) to adhere the fake tooth to the exposed nervy stump of the existing tooth (did I mention he didn't numb me up for that part of the procedure...that he said it would only "hurt a little bit"...didn't I blog about that before?). And two, the gum never came up snuggly around the tooth as it should have. I went in for a check up a few months later and explained my concern. My elderly dentist explained that he couldn't "see" anything wrong with my new cap.
Fast forward two years, a change of dental insurance, and a visit to the new, young, technologically equipped dentist. Although it didn't take all of the fancy x-ray machines to clue her into the fact that there was a problem with this tooth. She could "see" that there was a problem with this tooth. Because of the geriatric dentist's failure to properly seal off the cap, bacteria got under the cap. Now I have a cavity under the cap. That's right. A cavity.
To make a long and boring story shorter, I have to get this tooth fixed (aka re-capped) on Thursday. Oddly enough, the dentist office called to confirm that appointment while I am writing this post.
I'd really like to deck the geriatric dentist, but he retired last month - lucky for him. Hopefully, this new dentist considers the value of pain killers. Lots and lots of pain killers. And, hopefully, she won't be anything like the Russian mobster dentist of Ch@ndy's past. Power to the APP!
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Friday, February 15, 2008
Once again, I ate peas.
But that isn't the subject of this post.
Last night I had a dream that I wrote a play. It was a slap-stick comedy sort of play to be performed at some type of theme park (this is the third dream this week, btw, that a theme park was in my dreams - although this time it seemed to be Knotsberryfarmish rather than Seaworldish). In this play, the type that might be performed by Jr. High students in drama class, I was the main character.
I can't recall what the play was about exactly, but I do remember that in the last scene as I stood alone on the stage that the janitor character was supposed to join me on stage. In my dream, this actor was played by a Grey Panicka, the doofus ex-husband of childhood friend, Glory Panicka. I was worried that Grey might not be able to deliver the lines correctly - and that the scene did not take into account his weakness: reading. Luckily, actor Tom Hanks took a few minutes to help me re-write the scene in order to guarantee loads of laughs even if Gray completely messed up the dialog. Just in case, I wrote out the dialog on a piece of paper, and had Grey read from it on stage.
In any event, the play was a hit, and Grey reading his script right there on stage was hilarious.
And then I woke up.
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Thursday, February 14, 2008
Let them eat cake.
I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help looking - help *staring* - as I drove by the twisted, gnarly wreckage.
This is how I felt, anyway, as I was flipping channels last night before I went to bed. The teaser - a cute boy saying to another cute boy, "I won't deny that I have feelings for you." "Yeah, but I'm married." WHAT? Wasn't this supposed to be a show about models vying for the "kahuna" of all models spot?
So it was! And not only was this a show about models modeling, it was a show about how models practice to BE models. It was Zoolander, only it was REAL.
Seriously.
Guys strutted back and forth in their room working on their "walk." Girls and guys were chastised for not having the right walk. And, I swear, I think I saw one guy flash "Blue Steel" on the catwalk.
At one point, a model was upset because he "lost his walk." Whoa. Baffling. How does one "loose" a walk? Another girl was taken to task because she "gained inches." (Of course there was the token shot of her eating cake instead of dinner one night.) When the other models were asked about "Kadie's" lack of progress, one boy was quick to suggest that although Kadie thinks she is working hard, she actually is not following through with the model regiment. "One time, I saw her eat bread after a workout."
Oh my Lord. Not *bread*.
I've decided, after watching part of this show, that it is very difficult to be a supermodel. Not only should one know when to eat bread (which is probably *never* if you plan to be a supermodel), one must also know how to walk in different ways (though all walks must look eerily similar) for different types of fashion. And, most importantly, one should *care*.
I'd like to get on my soapbox here and rage on against the shallowness of it all (and how shows like this do nothing to promote health over beauty), but it is Valentines Day. Instead, let me say that you are loved - even if you eat bread and don't know how to walk to save yourself from elimination.
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Wednesday, February 13, 2008
When I feel stressed, my face gets pimply. Right now my face looks like that of a teenager, only I have wrinkles. Pimples + wrinkles. It's a lovely sight.
Shut up. I'm going to go eat some chocolate now.
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Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Messy
Okay, my house is not the cleanest house on the block. For once, though, I would like my daughters to NOT say, "Wow, the house looks great! Who's coming over?"
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Crazy
While I am waiting to hear from the school where I applied and for other randomness to be settled in my life, I am completely undone inside.
*Yesterday, I told Poetroad that I no longer want to be a parent. It seems as if I am always frustrated with the kids of late, and I am tired of being the disciplinarian. To be a proactive parent would be the smart way to handle their typical "kid" behavior, but instead, I am a reactive parent.
*Today, Poetroad learned about what our Nicaragua mission team accomplished on their most recent trip. They built a house so that the children who live in the city garbage dump don't have to live in the dump any more. They will go back and work with an organization that is building a place to house daughters that were forced into prostitution by their parents - all for garbage. For the price of one daughter, the garbage men will deliver the trash right to your door step, and then you can sift through the trash so that you can repurpose or resell what was once thrown away.
*Today, I learned that these daughters have AIDS and other countless STDs. They will die young. Many of these girls have already died or are waiting to die right now - most - if not all - are under the age of 15.
*Today, I decided that I still want to be a parent. Yes, my kids are probably ruined, but at least I'm not forcing them into prostitution.
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Monday, February 11, 2008
Sweet Ride
Back to the bike ride at Reimers Ranch .
At the gate where we paid the day use park fee, the ranger/park attendant gave us a copy of the trail map and explained the codes for the different trails. Much like ski runs, the trails were color/shape coded. So the "beginner" trail was marked with a green circle, the "intermediate" a blue square, and "advanced" trails were marked with single and triple black diamonds. No problem, we thought. Just stay away from black diamond markers altogether.
Hannah asked how long it would take to ride the less challenging trail, and the ranger said, "About an hour." I asked how difficult the "add on" intermediate loop was that looked like a straight line going around the back side of the hill, and the ranger said, "Well, people tell me that it's one big long coast." A coast? We could do that!
His assurance sealed the deal: we would start out on the beginner trail, take the intermediate trail around the back side of the hill (an "easy coast"), and then finish up on the beginner trail. In all, our ride should cover between 8 and 12 miles of territory. We thought our plan should be easy enough to execute, and since I am a novice mountain biker and it has been a while since Hannah has tackled the trails, we didn't want to over-do it. If it were only that easy.
If you look at the map , you'll notice two blue stars in the middle of the map near the word "Reimers." Those are the entrance and exit points to the trail. Important information. [Incidentally, the ranger map didn't look like this colorful map complete with elevation markings. Having those would have helped.] When the ranger/park attendant showed us a black and white simplified version of the park map, he inadvertently traced his finger in a clockwise pattern beginning with the first star. In actuality, the trail starts at the star on the right and goes counter-clockwise around the hill.
So although we figured out where to start our ride just fine (the trail is a single track that is "one way" clearly marked at the beginning of the trail), we hardly made an informed decision regarding which trail we would tackle. We were thinking that it would be a fairly easy jaunt up hill, and then the majority of the switch-back work would be down-hill. In actuality, we had to navigate through the "intestines" part first. Up hill.
To make a long story short, it turns out that the "intermediate" ride is a combo blue square/black diamond. We did see offshoots to the super duper expert trail, and it was hard to comprehend what else a rider would be required to navigate on that jaunt. Already there we were jumping one to two feet off of rocky slopes, speeding into hairpin turns, and navigating roots, logs, rocks, and larger rocks - mostly wedged between two oak trees that, sometimes, were only a bike width apart. Between five or ten times, we had to heft our bikes up two to three feet ledges. I'm sure there are bikers who could easily jump their bike that high. We couldn't.
All in all, we had to stop quite a bit, but still we had fun. The memorable moments were me almost puking from exhaustion (Hannah was merely exhausted and not puking exhausted; did I mention that Hannah is training to run a marathon in April?), egging Hannah on to take the "sweet jumps" (she never complied), and taking in the spectacular view of the cool blue-green water of the Pedernales River set like a jewel in the bottom of a limestone canyon. We screamed a lot, particularly when going down and back up a hill shaped more like a narrow "U" than a skate board ramp. And we never did find the trail that coasted down the back of the hill. Luckily, we eventually came across a "bail-out" path - which doubles for part of the "race run."
Toward the end of the ride two hours later, I seriously contemplated getting off my bike and walking the last mile. But when I saw the parking lot, I decided to stick it out - especially since I didn't want to humiliate myself in front of fifteen other riders who probably wouldn't be this affected by such an "easy" ride.
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Sunday, February 10, 2008
My buttocks hurt
Yes, it will be a nice mountain biking ride...a nice little jaunt...I can get out into nature and spend time with my friend...
Wow. I must have been delusional when I thought that. Actually, I did have fun. And it was nice getting out into nature. I just didn't realize how painful that would be.
My much younger and more in shape friend, Hannah, and I conspired to go for a bike ride yesterday morning. We decided we would drive out to Reimers Ranch - located in the beautiful hill country west of Austin. When we arrived at the ranger station and checked out the map , we decided that we could take the beginner trail, ride a section of the intermediate trail, and then finish the last few miles on the beginner trail. I think it was called the "Race Track" loop. That should have been our first clue that we were headed for trouble.
Anyway, this is just a teaser. More about my biking adventures tomorrow...
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Saturday, February 09, 2008
I'm not gonna lie
[Wow - now you know that I cannot qualify to be a politician...unless of course I am lying, and then I guess I would qualify to be President].
But that's neither here nor there. The main point is that this has been one of the more challenging weeks of my life. Only with less crying. I've had to face some stuff head on, which is good. And (the exciting part), I've applied for an online teaching job. The great thing about this job is that I could live anywhere and still work for this school (unlike when I lived in Oregon, as that school required me to keep regular office hours).
So filling out the application for this school was more difficult than giving birth. At one point, I had to explain what my "Educational Philosophy" is AND why I would be a great fit for this particular school...in 100 words or less. Wow. Don't they know I'm an English teacher, for gosh sakes???!!! My first attempt - which was the "brief" version - came in at 188 words. It took me a half an hour to whittle that baby down to 98 words. I felt like the end product said something to the effect of, "I like to teach kids. I want to teach for your school."
Anyway, I really *want* this job.
Oh, and we might move again. No details yet. Just throwing that out there.
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Monday, February 04, 2008
blah, blah, blogging
Man, oh, man (or woman, oh, woman). January is in the dust. February is here. Been here for one, two, three, four days. What have I been doing? Hmmm. Well, the youngest has been sick with some kind of virus that keeps her coughing all night. Luckily, her sleep patterns are lengthening as each day goes by. Thursday night, I slept three hours, Friday night I slept three and a half hours, was awake for three, then I slept for three more hours. A chunk of four and a chunk of three Saturday night, and so on. I'm crossing my fingers that I wont have to be awake at all tonight.
Hmmm. I read a friend's novel - it is in the 2nd or 3rd draft stage. Four days later, and I am still thinking about the setting and the main character and wondering what she is doing. Now that's saying something!
Came to some decisions about my life. It was a difficult week in that respect.
All in all, I feel content.
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Thursday, January 31, 2008
to the politician
I'd like to say that I like you,
But I don't like you one little bit.
I don't like your promises.
I don't like your accusations.
I don't like you.
And now I will go sit on the toilet
And think about how all you say and do
Is digested by the masses.
Then when all is said and done,
What comes out the other end
Is always the same.
And the stench lingers.
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Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Plans
List of January accomplishments:
*grew out eyebrows. Why I obsessively plucked them in the first place is unknown. Start date of said obsession is also unknown.
*read a book. If I hurry, there is time to finish the other one I am in the middle of reading.
*successfully earned my Florida Teaching Credentials (translation: filled out and filed necessary paperwork so that I can teach in Florida). No, I am not moving there (that I know of for sure), but I wouldn't mind teaching for a prominent online school based in Florida.
*survived a chaotic little girl birthday party
*ran 40 or 50 miles (perhaps I should keep better track of these things)
*worked 0 hours at my un-job
*chatted with my 80 year old grandmother at least once
Immediate goals:
*read another book
*study for Texas teacher certification tests
*get rid of lice on #2 daughter. Just found them on her itching head last night and have isolated problem to this one child.
*pray for...stuff that I don't really want to talk about. Doesn't anyone have any good jokes to tell? Avoidance people - help me out here.
*call grandma again
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Saturday, January 26, 2008
Magical
The father of JG's friend, "Sarah," volunteers quite a bit in their kindergarten class. Sarah's daddy teaches them Spanish words and phrases for their weekly Spanish lessons. On occasion, he also does cheesy magic tricks - the kind kindergarteners love (finds pennies in kids ears, does miscellaneous card tricks, etc.). But one magic trick in particular really wowed the class.
I remember JG was giddy with excitement when she came home from school that day.
"Mom! You shoula saw the magic trick Sarah's daddy did today!"
"Oh, Sarah's daddy does magic tricks?"
"Yes! Today after Spanish class, he had Sarah go up front because he could only do this trick with Sarah and not anyone else."
"What trick did he do?"
"Well, he had a long bunch of scarves all tied together...a long lot of them! Oh man! It was so funny!"
JG was beside herself and practically rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter.
"C'mon. Spit it out, already! What did he do with the scarves? Pull them out of his sleeve? Eat them?"
"No, no, no! He had Sarah go up there and he put that long lot of scarves all tied together down her shirt! And when he pulled them out...and when he pulled them out..." She could hardly spit out the words.
"Finish the story! Did he pull a rabbit out of her shirt?!"
"No! He pulled out a black bra?"
"What?! Do you mean he pulled out a black scarf?"
"No! A black bra! It was so funny!!!"
"Like Sarah's mom's black bra?"
"Yeah - it was black and it had really big boobs!"
"Really? Uh, where was your teacher when all this was going on?"
"I don't know. I think she was there."
So there you have it. A dad is pulling a big boobed black bra out of his daughter's shirt in order to entertain the kindergarten class. It's boy's-club humor in the classroom. Totally inappropriate on many levels. Or, possibly I was the only parent who thought it a tasteless magic trick to be performing for the kids. Sheesh - a person would have to swallow a few martinis first in order to really appreciate the bawdiness of that joke.
But I doubt anyone will say anything because this guy's wife is in a pretty advanced stage of MS. I think he spends all of his time caring for his wife and volunteering at the school.
God forbid I should deny him from sharing his magic tricks with the kids.
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Saturday, January 19, 2008
Chilly Entertainment
It is cold here. Okay, I am whining just a bit because I know it is snowing where some of you live. Yesterday, though, it didn't get above 36 degrees where I live. And that is not normal. When I went running yesterday afternoon, it was barely 33 degrees and there was that annoying misty drizzle in the air - the Oregon type of misty drizzle that I've never loved. I bundled up thinking that I would be a running popsicle - long johns, shirt made to keep one warm and yet not sweaty, special waterproof windbreaker, knit cap, Poetroad's winter gloves.
Half-way through my run, I realized a few things:
1. I was way overdressed - even for 33 degree weather. After mile two, I took off my gloves and considered taking off the windbreaker too.
2. Not only was I the only person running that day in my neighborhood, but I was the only person outside. Actually, that's not entirely true. I did cross paths with one other runner - he is a dentist (I know this because this guy is the father of oldest daughter's friend). Anyway, we all know about a dentist's affinity for discomfort (need I remind you of Ch@ndy's little visit to the Russian/mafia dentist in Pecan Creek? "Stop crying like baby!"). So it only seems natural to see a dentist running in near freezing temperatures. Everyone else driving by me, however, looked at me like I was crazy.
3. I run just as fast as my 65 year old father. Who had a hip replaced only three months ago. Pathetic. It took me 60 minutes to cover 5 miles.
Later that night, H@nnah and I went to the movies - we saw a light little musical called Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. We didn't know anything about the movie except that Mr. Depp was the main character. Honestly, that is the bloodiest movie I've ever seen - no joke. H@nnah and I spent half of the movie cowering in our seats and covering our eyes. Still, the bleak and macabre mood of this flick is oddly juxtaposed with the lightness of "musical" and nicely represents Post-Modern Deconstructionism. The movie sort of had a Moulin Rouge feel, except Sweeny Todd was a more gory representation of the theme.
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Thursday, January 17, 2008
Running
For once, I'm not running away from anything, ha ha. Moving two thousand miles from where I once lived is far enough, I suppose.
Anyway, I enjoy exercising, and lately I've taken to running (again). Which is funny, because I am not a particular fast runner. Currently, I run at a 9 min. mile pace. Also, I have a short and squaty build. My oldest brother inherited all of the leanness and lankiness - the quintessential "runner" look (he has always excelled in distance running too - even when he had a pack-a-day habit).
So I am training for a 5k even though I don't have any plans to race in one. However, should I get the nerve up to run a race, there are plenty to choose from around here. Needless to say, I'm starting off with with a low mile week, which translates into running 15 miles. Training programs for a 5k start a person off with 20 miles per week. Ah, well, I've got to start somewhere.
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Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Warning:
After the frenzy of making lunches for your three school aged children in the morning, do not mistake that blob of cream on the side of your ring finger for cream cheese. It quite possibly - and most likely is - a blob of creamy vanilla scented soap - the "Bath and Stuff" moisturizing kind that sits next to the kitchen faucet. You may not have rinsed off all of the soap after washing your hands in between making those lunches and doling out breakfast this morning. So don't lick off the blob in your haste. It won't taste anything like what you expected. Unless you expected to taste soap - a very wonderful smelling but awful tasting soap.
But should you do so, be sure to have a strong cup of coffee on stand-by. It will help wash the soap down.
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Monday, January 14, 2008
Tea Party
Last Saturday, my oldest planned and executed a fantastic "high tea." You know, the kind of tea party that does not require one to dress up in fancy clothes but instead includes the eating of crustless cucumber sandwiches, chocolate covered strawberries, and pound cake. The cake, again, was made from scratch. I didn't have to intervene once. The food, especially the cake, tasted delicious.
Even the dog loved the cake. We made the mistake of leaving the cake (an entire loaf sans only a few slices) on the kitchen counter Sunday evening when we went out for a bit to visit friends. When we returned, all that was left was the shell of the plastic wrap that had once covered the cake.
Naughty dog! I hope he has a belly ache today.
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Friday, January 11, 2008
Write Stuff Poetry Contest Entry
And not a moment too soon! Here is my entry for the Write Stuff poetry contest...
Don't forget to vote!
"Modern Immigrant"
Early in the morning as the sun barely crests the horizon,
Weathered brown smiles work unaffected.
Hands saw, pound, lift, push, mix, pour, lay, pull, smooth.
Muscles purpose gilded cathedrals of wood stucco and stone for kings of suburbia.
At lunch, Maria's Taco Truck arrives; thick aching fingers
Gather quarters, dimes, nickels for tamales and albondigas.
When the sun begins to set, tools are gathered and cleaned.
Ten or twelve bodies pile into cabs and beds of weathered work trucks.
At the Shady Hallow Trailer park, a shared five hundred square feet
Affords a stove, a toilet, and a few cozy rooms
Lined with homemade double and triple bunks.
Before the sun rises again, fathers and sons call home, south of the border;
Money is sent to wives, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters
For warm meals, a blanket, a roof of stone or plaster to stave off the cold.
Why so hostile, America?
Why turn away those who will do what you will not do?
If they go, who will fashion your houses, tend your lawns, clean your toilets?
Whose hands will harvest your strawberries, peaches, apples?
Instead of appreciation and compassion, you offer bitter contempt
And a barricade.
Is this a new Cold War? Will we also erect a cruel and brutal wall?
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Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Poetroad is home!
And he's breaking out the wine!
He's only been home six hours, and already I've taken a nap, ate a snack, and got a break from the bedtime routine.
Ahhh, it's good to have him home!
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Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Let them eat cake
The two older daughters have always been interested in baking. However, I have been reluctant to indulge them since usually I am the one who has to clean up the resulting mess. Just how does every mixing bowl, measuring spoon, and rubber scraper in the house get dirty in creating one little cake? But feeling the weight of not giving them enough experience in the kitchen, I decided that 2008 would be different. Anyway, what does cleaning a few dishes matter in the full spectrum of life, especially when experiencing the creative process in the kitchen - and spending quality time with my daughters - is what is at stake? So on Sunday evening when they got the baking itch, I let them scratch it. And scratch it. And scratch it. The result was surprisingly delicious, but not at first.
True to her artistic inclinations, the 12 year old had a vision of what she wanted to create and sought out a recipe to match that vision: a two layer lemon cake - made from scratch. Only her version would be iced with white icing and topped with candy sprinkles. I was fairly confident that she could follow the recipe on her own (for heaven sakes - the 12 year old and the 9 year old have baked soft pretzels from scratch six or seven times over the past year all by themselves). So I helped her gather the necessary ingredients, and then I left her on her own.
As I casually went in and out of the kitchen over the course of the next hour, she appeared to confidently have everything under control - careful measuring, adding the eggs one at a time, softening the butter, etc. But her first taste test revealed that - possibly - there was a slight problem. "Hmm, it's a little salty, Mom." A finicky palate? As I went in for the taste, I wondered if we could save the batter by adding a little more sugar to counter a slight saltiness. The batter tasted horrible! Like home-made playdough salty. Like licking the rim of a margarita glass salty.
"Uh, just how much salt did you put in here?"
"I put in what the recipe said to, Mom!"
"Well, how much was that? Come over here and show me."
Annoyed, KC pointed at the ingredients list on the page and quipped, "Right here - 1/4 cup."
"One fourth cup! Try "teaspoon." TEASPOON. Here's a little tip," I suggested, "there isn't any edible baked good where the recipe will require you to add more than a half of a teaspoon of salt."
"Oops. Sorry mom. I must have looked at flour measurement when I added the salt."
I softened my facial response and wondered if it would be a blow to her esteem if I ran and stuck my mouth under the faucet of the kitchen sink in order to get the lingering icky taste of the batter out of my mouth. Instead, I casually suggested that she start over as I walked over to the trash can and scooped the salty batter into the trash.
"It's okay, honey," I encouraged. "We make mistakes and we learn." All the while, we laughed hysterically about her mistake.
Nevertheless, for "take-two" I decided to hang out in the kitchen and watch a little more closely. At least until after she measured the dry ingredients.
And this time around, the batter passed the taste test fantastically.
Afterward, the nine year old and I baked brownies - from a mix. Although I did give her liberty in creating her own frosting concoction. Which also tasted fantastic.
In the end, I told KC that I was proud of her for making her cake on her own, but I was more proud that she did not give up after the first attempt did not turn out as expected.
The sink was full and overflowing with dishes at the end of the day. I happily washed them too.
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Monday, January 07, 2008
overshadowed by
complete idiocy are
snapshots of genius
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Sunday, January 06, 2008
If you were waiting for me to say something profound...
Is it January 7? Glad I didn't resolve to blog every day this year; that goal is already in the crapper.
Quick Notes:
Yes, Texans are required to go to a football game for X-mas. That made me chuckle, Peter! Actually, the high school team for our district went to state playoffs, and the black shirt/Santa hat was the requested attire. Our team won! (p.s. The new profile pic was also taken at that game. Did I mention it was very cold and windy that day?)
No, I didn't get arrested when I went into the precinct to take care of my speeding ticket. Even though I missed my court date. And the ten day grace period after that. I think the lady at the window felt sorry for me. Because I am a complete idiot. Note to self: do not put important papers in special places so that the papers will not be lost or stolen. Second note to self: the ticket you lost is probably with your Social Security card - which you haven't actually seen for seven or eight years because you put that in a really safe place too.
Poetroad has been away at school. He returns on Wednesday. Thank God - then I can get back to my regular blogging of nonsense and the like, starting with my 2008 resolutions. Which I will probably get around to writing in April, right after I send out my 2007 Christmas cards.
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Thursday, December 27, 2007
Guns don't kill people
People kill people. And, occasionally, tigers do too. "The San Francisco Zoo is a great zoo." It probably is. But I kind of think you have to say that. You are the freaking president of zoos. Have I ever mentioned that I do not like going to the zoo? And here is yet another reason why.
I also do not ever want to visit a chimp sanctuary for my birthday. Or for a chimp's birthday. Or for any other reason.
C'mon. You know I had to go there. I can't talk about a tiger maulling and not bring up St. James.
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Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Blogku
You visited me
through my silly blog and I
wish I had said more
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Thursday, December 20, 2007
This little piggy...
Can't recall if I posted these pictures or not, but Ch@ndy and I laughed our butts off posing the piggies around my parent's house last summer. Yes, we found this nonsense in the garage. Apparently, it is a crocheted doorstop. A happy crocheted doorstop - note the smile.
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Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Despair
Tired of unrealistic optimism? Check out despair.com - a dose of reality sure to demotivate the best of them. I highly recommend watching the videos under the "Spin" section.
I'd like to say that I hope I've brightened your day a bit by sharing, but we both know it will be the regular crap-fest regardless. At least browsing despair.com will give you something to do while you are killing time.
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Monday, December 17, 2007
Well that just sucks
My vacuum finally died on Friday. Knowing that this day would come soon enough, I had been researching consumer opinions and already had an idea of what type of vacuum I would buy.
On Sunday afternoon, the oldest daughter and I went to the Best Electronic Crap for Sale store to make our purchase as I was fairly certain I would have the best chance there to wheel and deal with the sales associate. Just my luck, it happened to be a 20-something boy. So I flashed my award winning smile and lured him into the price matching web.
Of course I couldn't get straight down to business; instead, I engaged the salesboy with flirtatious vacuum chat. "Which vacuum gets great reviews?" I mused. Coyly, I pretended that I hadn't spent the last two days pouring over said reviews. Then he began to walk over to the luxury 500$ models. To which I stopped him dead in his tracks with a terse "Ah, no. I'm not buying one of those."
Yeah, I was prepared to waste some time to make the deal, but there was no way I would concede to purchase a vacuum that would die in five years - regardless if it is made with a titanium lined swirling vortex of suction or not. Due to the volume of hair, dirt, and miscellaneous garbage that it would be forced to suck up daily shed from a family of six, a dog, and a cat, any vacuum used in my house is doomed from day one.
So the vacuum boy and I chatted more about the features of various models, and he kept comparing them to the luxury vacuum. I asked him if he was working on commission. And since he wasn't, after a few more minutes of chit-chat, I eventually admited that I saw the few vacuums I was interested in buying online...with a slightly smaller price tag.
After we made a deal and he went to get a cart so that I could lug the vacuum in box to the register and my car, I noticed a few floor models sat off to the side that had drastically reduced price tags. Tempted, I looked over the dust encrusted machines, pulling out filters and such, and seriously thought about aborting the sale in order to snag one of these ridiculous deals.
In the mean time, my oldest returned from trying out video games, and I told her that I was waiting for the salesboy to get a cart so that we could take our vacuum to the front register and pay for it.
By the time he returned, three or four other sales boys were hanging out at the computer near where I was standing. My sales boy snagged the print out of the price-match, and then nonchalantly offered me a tissue. To wipe off the large smudge of dirt on my face. To which the other sales boys quietly snickered.
I was embarrassed, which was quite obvious due to the thirteen shades of red my face was turning. To which he replied, "You hang around with vacuums, you are bound to get a little dirty." Quietly, I rubbed the smudge off with the tissue.
There is no moment in my life this far that made me feel so middle aged. Geeze. It's not like I have big boobs and cleavage working for me either. Just a bunch of sagging skin. Soon enough the only way I'll be able to haggle a deal is if a poor sales boy has pity on me because I remind him of his mother.
I thanked him, and flashed a look at my daughter that said, "You could have told me I had dirt on my face!"
That's not the end of it. The kid walked me up to the register, I bought the thing, and of course I had to show the receipt to the security dude on the way out. That's two more people I had engaged in conversation at this point.
When I got into the car, I took a gander in the mirror. The smudge I rubbed off while in the store was gone, but the four other ashen finger prints all around my mouth were not. So much for being charming. My daughter swore that she couldn't see the smudges of dirt. She needs to have her eyes checked.
And! And! On top of all that, I realized that I lost an earring in the store. Lucky for me, my daughter agreed to go back in there and search for it. Lucky for her, she found it - which easily redeems her for letting me walk around with ick on my face.
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Sunday, December 16, 2007
As always, a big finish
My parents went back to Oregon today; I took them to the airport at 4:45 this morning. And I am exhausted, but not from lack of sleep. We had a fantastic visit though uneventful. That is the best kind of visit! Mostly we shopped and talked and ate. We did a lot of eating. With celebrating two birthdays in one week (Poetroad's on Tuesday and my mom's on Saturday), I ate two month's worth of cake, ice cream, and miscellaneous junk food in this week alone.
The truly exhausting part of the week, however, was enduring the goodbyes from last night. I think I forgot how attached my children are to my parents - for which I am sincerely grateful, but that fact makes saying goodbye all the more difficult. The 6 year old was sobbing her eyes out. So was the 12 year old. And the 9 year old. And the three year old was just saying, "But I don't want you to go, Grandpa."
And then my dad lightened the mood by making fart sounds. Thank goodness for potty humor!
Still, the 12 year old left this note on the steering wheel of my car so I could read it as I took my parents back to the hotel that evening: "I hate Texas. We never get to spend any holidays with our grandparents any more and we don't get to see them every day." Rip my heart out!
Today, I miss my mom and dad very much and I am glad for that. I could have had really crappy parents; I got the opposite of crappy - and if you knew the odds they had to overcome in order to be kind, loving, and caring people, you would understand the miracle that, unfortunately, I often loose sight of in the daily grind of life.
Texas makes the heart grow fonder.
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Friday, December 14, 2007
A little of my work, as promised
Finally, I had a chance to sneak over to the school and take pictures of the art projects I did for the door decorations at school. Her is a close-up of the face I watercolored (using watercolor pencils) for the kindergarten door - Mr. Minty:And the dog (a representation of the principal's dog) that I sketched out in about a half an hour (also using the watercolor pencils, but I didn't blend the colors as I wasn't using the right kind of paper AND I only had a little bit of time to work on it) - Ivan:
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Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Visitors
Yay! My mom and dad are visiting this week! The kids are elated to see their grandma and grandpa. From the time we picked my parents up from the airport until my daughters finally went to sleep around 10:00 PM, my girls chatted incessantly. I can tell that it will good medicine for my parents to spend time with their grandchildren this week - I don't think anyone adores their grandparents more than my kids do.
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Monday, December 10, 2007
Look what kind of randomness I found in my garage...
Here is a toast to longevity, girls. You both look just as beautiful today as you did all those years ago.
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Sunday, December 09, 2007
Put on your shorts and tank tops, girls, 'cause were getting a Christmas tree
By the time we made it out of the house, though, we actually needed to put on our sweatshirts, as it was a chilly 62 degrees outside. Yes, Virginia, we really do live in Texas now. It's different, and different can be good. But when different messes with a long held tradition...well, it takes time to adjust.
Every Christmas ever since my girls can remember, come rain or come rain, we would drive a few minutes from our house to one of the many local tree farms, trudge through the muck, hunt and cut down the perfect Christmas tree. Depending on the quality of the trees, we would either choose a Douglas fir (the Oregon state tree) or a Grand fir (my favorite because it looks like a wild Noble fir, but it has a strong and sweet evergreen scent).
This year, we drove a few minutes to the Home D-place and trudged through the chain link gate in order to pick out the perfect tree. Of course, since we didn't want to spend a ton of money, we had to walk to the very back of the store where the 25$ trees were. And it was a little difficult to find the perfect tree since almost all of the trees were still bundled in twine - fresh off the truck. Lucky for us, the cheap trees were none other than Douglas firs. And, bonus - miracle of all miracles, we noticed that the very Home D-place way over here in Texas imported our perfect tree from this place:
Poetroad and I couldn't believe it! We can't be in Oregon for Christmas, but we can bring a piece of Oregon home with us. Trees: another one of the best parts of Oregon.
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Saturday, December 08, 2007
passive-aggressive
ok, then; I see
how you are and am unmoved
except I wrote this
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Thursday, December 06, 2007
Warning Signs
I suspected the eventuality of it all - I just didn't think it would be so soon. First, we get a little bit of attitude, and before we know it, there is outright rebellion. Should have saw it coming. Finding ways to cut corners, not quite stopping when asked - these were clear warning signs. Then a light clicked on - I realized it was time for a check up. Of course there was nothing inherently wrong, I was told. Typical age appropriate behavior.
But that was before the authorities got involved.
We were driving down the parkway going the flow of traffic, but our little red mini-van, thinking she knew better, just wouldn't listen to reason. She pushed the limit and got pulled over. I tried to talk to the officer, to no avail. She was going sixteen miles per hour over the speed limit! There will be a hefty fine for that ticket too; luckily, if *I* go to traffic school, we can get the fine reduced significantly.
After getting the ticket, I thought she would have learned her lesson, our little mini-van. Poetroad took her out not long after the ticket, and wouldn't you know it - she got another one! This time a parking violation. So I guess her lesson wasn't learned after all. Perhaps if she was the one who had to attend traffic school then our problem would be addressed.
And the light that went off before - it won't turn off. We will have to take her to the specialist at the dealership. Rough times ahead.
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Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Hammered in Oregon
No - this is not a commentary on a favored pastime of Oregonians (although there are some mighty fine spirits made - and consumed - in the Northwest).
Actually, a fairly significant storm hammered Oregon and Washington yesterday. I-5, the major (and only) interstate between Seattle and Portland is closed. Basically, anyone who wants to travel from Seattle to Portland will have to drive east to the Dalles, head up north past Yakima to Ellensburg, and then cut back west across the mountains on I-90. In the best of conditions, that drive would take an extra three hours to trek. Add snow - and traffic - to the mix, and were talking a seven or eight hour drive to get to Seattle from P-town. Holiday travelers, you'd better start driving.
To make matters worse, this latest storm that pummeled the Oregon coast - which was the strongest storm of three consecutive blasts that hit the area over the weekend and early this week - virtually cut off transportation between the valley and the coast. Only recently was highway 20 between Corvallis and Newport opened, which is the main route to the closest major hospital for area coastal residents.
My 80 year old grandma lives in Seal Rock (located about 10 miles south of Newport), and her power has been out since yesterday. Luckily, I have an aunt and uncle that live nearby there, and they were able to transport her to their house. Thankfully, my aunt and uncle have a wood stove and generator supplied electricity.
I haven't heard from the rest of my family - although I chatted with my dad for a bit yesterday afternoon. He said that in the morning the creek behind their house seemed to be at normal levels, but he wouldn't be surprised if the water was up over the road by the time he got home from work (yeah, did I mention that he is back to work already after having a hip replacement no less than two months ago?). Anyway, high water means flooding at my brother's house. I'm not really worried about my parent's home - even in the big flood of 1996, the water only came within a foot to the back door. But where my brother lives down the road - that house was under two feet of water in 1996.
Hopefully, all of the wind and water damage will not affect my parent's flight next Monday. They are coming to Texas next week! Yay!
This kind of sounds like a news report, eh? I need a byline perhaps? Okay, then. Reporting from Texas, this is J@na.
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Monday, December 03, 2007
Art for School Sake
This past week, I volunteered to help with door decorations at JG and KJ's elementary school. For the past few years, the PTO has utilized the "Candy Land" theme, and every grade is responsible for door decorations that reflect the given theme. The school is decorated from top to bottom. Seriously. They go all out for this school wide project. It's like nothing I've experienced at any other school my children have attended.
I decided to volunteer to help JG's class with the "Mr. Minty" theme as there didn't seem to be many people jumping at the chance to work on the Kindergarten door. Two other moms from the class and I tackled the project together, and we had a blast. Mostly because all three of us were willing to go with the flow on this project, and that fact makes anything I create turn out better than expected.
I know you don't want to read all the boring details, but I'm including them anyway.
I ended up water coloring (using water color pencils) Mr. Minty's face, and we made the body out of paper and striped wrapping paper. We also put each child's face on the tummy of a die cut paper gingerbread man ("Misty's" cool idea) and placed those randomly on the door. "Kelsey" cut out candy canes for the "Candy Cane Forest" and worked on the "required" big gingerbread man that must be on every door. Because we didn't "focus on the gingerbread man" as instructed (guess which one us us encouraged non-conformity?), our door isn't quite mainstream, and that is why it turned out so great. I'll have to take a picture of the finished product and post it here.
We also were assigned another door: Art - which turned into a two door project, as there are two art rooms. Actually, another class was supposed to do the other door, but they liked what we did so much that they delegated the entire task to us, lol. It was a challenge. How does one creatively approach "Grandma Nut"? For this door, I threw out some ideas, and the other two ladies ran with it. The Grandma Nut project turned out even better than our first door! While I worked on the gingerbread interpretation of grandma (okay, I caved and incorporated the required gingerbread element more directly), the other two made nuts and vines.
While we were working on the nut project today, I somehow was volunteered or agreed to draw a resemblance of the principal's dog (a very cute Sir Charles Spaniel). That was a stretch for me. I'm kind of (freakishly) a perfectionist about what I draw/paint when the finished project is supposed to look like something. Someone provided a few photos of the dog, and I drew it with my watercolor pencils. More than anything, I was anxious about the fact that (a.) there was a time factor involved (I had the youngest with me, and she is very patient - but I could work on a drawing for hours and hours if left to my own devices), and (b.) I didn't have the right type of paper for the pencils I was using. Plus, the whole idea of using watercolor pencils is that one should actually use water to blend the colors, which I did not (refer to reason "b"). Then they wanted me to sign it and all, and I wouldn't because I didn't want everyone to know who did the drawing (particularly, I didn't want any *real* artists to know, lol).
Anyway, I've forgotten how much creating art energizes me. I am not a trained visual artist, by and stretch of the imagination, but I really like to draw and paint. More importantly, this whole experience helped me understand my mom a little bit better. She is one of the most talented artists I know, but she never did anything with art because she has not even an ounce of self confidence. Ugh. Today, I was my mother!!! Freakishly so. Perhaps creating visual art is one more talent that I restrain because I fear failure (just as I do with my writing). In my mind, I already know that I can't compete with the best, so I don't even want to try.
Interestingly enough, a few months ago, I had a "what do you want to be when you grow up" conversation with Poetroad. Out of nowhere, I replied, "A visual artist." He was a little caught off guard by that and said, "Really. Hmm, well I guess you had better start producing some art, and we will see how that works out. Maybe you can take some classes or something." He wasn't being unkind, but his surprised response was similar to one that I had when a 5 foot tall chubby boy who didn't play on a school or club team told me that his aspiration was to be a professional basketball player. I've got a plan, though. I'm going to start working on Artist Trading Cards. I figure it will give me a creative outlet and a chance to develop my skills.
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Sunday, December 02, 2007
More finger news
Great news - I talked with Saul today, and Tia did really well when they re-attached her finger. They will find out tomorrow when they visit a hand surgeon whether or not the reattached finger will survive. Luckily, she only lost the tip (right below the fingernail) of her middle finger (not sure if it was the right or left hand).
Saul (being a top chef for a prominent frozen food company; his dishes are delicious - not at all like the typical frozen food fare) confessed that he is used to finding random fingers in the workplace - ah, that's the food industry for you. But he said he was falling to pieces when he saw the finger chopped off of his cute little daughter's hand.
Get this - the culprit was none other than...a toy box. So scary! When they returned from the hospital last night, Tia told her dad, "Get rid of that toy box right now, Daddy! Smash it to pieces!" Which he promptly did with an ax in the back yard as she cheered him on. He is a great dad!
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Saturday, December 01, 2007
I am a terrible, terrible person.
As if my last little story had not already swayed you to that reality, this story will show you how truly terrible I am.
Rushing, rushing, rushing around. That is how every day begins in my house. And such was the case yesterday morning too - even though it was a Saturday. So after the eating of the breakfast and the taking of a jog and the showering and the dressing and the getting the two older children ready to go shopping, I headed out the door. Only to return two hours later in a rush because child two had to sing in a concert that afternoon. Poetroad rushed out the door with her, and I gathered together the stuff we needed for a project we were working on at the church later that day.
So I rushed out the door, hastily plopped the two younger kids in their car seats, buckled them in - all the while hearing sirens in the distance getting louder and louder as if they were nearing our street.
In the back of my mind, I knew instinctively (as any idiot would when she hears sirens drawing nigh) that something wasn't quite right. Then I saw my neighbor, "Saul", in his front yard sobbing and holding a telephone.
"Saul, what's wrong? Is everything okay?" I asked as I rushed over to him.
"It's Tia! It's Tia. [Saul and Gwen's four year old daughter, their only child] She cut her finger off."
She cut her finger off! Not "cut her finger." Cut it OFF!
I could tell that Saul was in shock. His face was panic stricken. I put my arm around his shoulder and asked, "Is it on ice?"
"Yes."
"It will be okay, Saul. They reattach fingers all the time. They'll take care of Tia."
I saw the officer cautiously pull onto our street as if he were looking for the correct house. I waved him down and introduced Saul to the officer. The officer took over my job with Saul. Then the fire truck drove up. It blocked my entire driveway.
Knowing that our daughter number two was now beginning her concert - and that Poetroad had asked me to bring some equipment to the concert which led me to believe that he needed it for the concert - I felt an urgency to get to my destination. I told the officer that I couldn't stay. He said that they would take it from there.
Then I looked at the fire engine blocking my driveway - and the three paramedic/firefighters piling out of the engine in a rush to help little Tia. I was thinking, "Did you have to block my driveway?" but I said, again, "I'm sorry, but I need to leave." The firefighters looked at me as if trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted, but they quickly ignored me and went on to do their job.
Here is the thing. Here is what makes me so terrible: I actually - for more than a split second - wanted one of the three firefighters to stop what he was doing, go back, and move the truck.
Thankfully, the officer, not sensing my selfishness, said in his gentle Texan drawl, "That's alright Miss. You go right along. We'll take it from here."
So I waved and got into my car. I felt like an idiot. Here this little girl could be dying for all I know. Loosing quarts of blood. I had no idea how bad the injury was, and all I could think about was where I needed to be and who was in my way.
God help me!
The irony is that this is the very "suburban" attitude we (Poetroad and I - and others) are fighting to change in our homes and churches and neighborhoods and in America and in the world. Self-centeredness rots. Change my attitude, Holy Spirit.
It was a great reminder that I cannot judge others. Just when I think I've got this Christ thing figured out, the ugly truth of my nature is revealed. I am still just a seeker.
I sat in my car wondering how I would exit graciously. Then I remembered that I drive a big rig and, in Texas, would have no problem driving across my lawn. So I did. It was a tight squeeze that I had to negotiate when driving between the firetruck and the neighbor's truck parked across the street, but I managed to skillfully squeeze through without leaving a scratch on any vehicle.
Still, I felt guilty the moment I left. If I had stayed, could I have made a difference? Gwen is a nurse, so I'm sure she had everything under control with Tia. I'm not sure that I could have done anything with my two little ones there either. Who knows what kind of god awful condition Tia was in, and she is a buddy of my two little ones. I couldn't have exposed them to that.
Today I'll go check on my neighbors. I'll do whatever I can to help them through the post-trauma. What I'm sure they'll need is encouragement and prayers (which is all I know to give in a situation like this one).
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Kind of a Crappy Morning
Actually, the night before wasn't that great, and that is what ushered in yesterday's crappy morning. Sometime around 3:00 AM on Friday, JG - the 6 year old - crawled into bed.
Let me interject that as a mom of four, it is not unusual for a kid or two to wander into our bed in the middle of the night. Sure, my sleep is disrupted, but I sympathize because I remember having vivid nightmares as a kid that sent me running and screaming all the way to my mom and dad's room. Typically when one of our kids wants some cuddles, I move to the middle of the bed and lay there until daylight like a mummy entombed by people might.
So I lay there still and silent like any mummy would, and then the littlest daughter wandered into our room. Now there were four people in our bed. After about an hour of me rolling around the bed, repositioning the children, and trying to find a slice of space, I finally gave up and went to sleep on the couch.
Of course, Poetroad slept through the whole thing.
The alarming part of the story is what I discovered in our bed the next morning...
Something brown and squishy that leaves skid marks. Go ahead - take your best guess. The worse part about the discovery was that the skid marks and the deposit were in the very spot I was rolling around in during the wee hours of the morning.
Of course, I did what any parent would in this situation: I totally freaked out.
And I went on a mission to root out (and possibly clean up) the offender. I was certain that it came from our three year old as she is the only one potty training in our house. I checked her pants - nothing. Then I checked the other of the two little bed-mates - not even a hint of brownness.
I didn't even want to venture there with Poetroad; besides, he was still asleep. Instead I looked in the toilet - ah ha, a piece of brown-streaked toilet paper. Who used our toilet in the middle of the night? It wasn't me, so that left only one other possibility in my mind.
Still, I wondered if possibly a nugget could have fallen from our three year old's pants. Could her pull-up have pulled to the side in her sleep? Did she somehow miraculously mess her pants and clean up the evidence herself? No - couldn't be. So, again, that narrowed it down to Poetroad.
When he woke up - all the while I was frantically packing lunches, serving breakfast, and managing the normal morning chaos - I blurted out, "You pooped the bed."
"What?!" he sleepily questioned.
"There is poop in the bed. The girls didn't do it. I didn't do it. A dingle ball must have fell off when you were sleeping."
"No. No! What are you talking about?"
"I cleaned up poop from our bed this morning. None of us did it. It must have been you," I accused. "You must have went poop in the middle of the night and not wiped very well."
"Uh, no. I think I would know if I pooped in the middle of the night."
"Uh, apparently you would not know."
Quietly and obviously annoyed with me, he went back into the room. Only to come out moments later to declare, "That's not poop. That's chocolate. Who ate chocolate in the bed last night?"
"Oooops. We did. Sorry. You should have seen the log, though. Melted and squished peanut M&Ms really look like a nugget of poo. Nevermind then. Apologies all around."
And that was that.
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Thursday, November 29, 2007
Nice turkey...
...shame about the legs. My dad got this crazy idea to deep-fry the turkey this year (as if there wouldn't be enough high calorie fare at the Thanksgiving feastravaganza already). He said that the turkey actually tasted delicious - after the crispy-blackened skin was removed, of course. My dad is notorious for burning food, so the crispy turkey is apropos. Gosh - seeing the burned turkey almost made me wish I could have been there to celebrate with them in Oregon. Don't worry; I enjoyed my Thanksgiving holidays regardless - although, decidedly, the holiday wasn't as lively and chaotic as what I am used to "enjoying." Poetroad helped me feel at home, though, by agreeing to yell at me and slam pots and pans around the kitchen. In turn, I agreed to call him an "ass" (a tribute to one of the few times known to mankind that my mom cursed at my dad).
Turns out I probably would have been bored to tears in Oregon anyway. Besides the turkey surprise ( and the fact that one nephew did manage to shatter the glass coffee table - I've been waiting ten years for that to happen), I heard that both of my sister-in-laws behaved this year - no fighting, cold sholdered conversations, or back-handed complements. Ah, well - there's always Christmas.
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