1. Catching Happy Hour at Sonic for a 1/2 priced Lemon-Berry Fruit Slush (just 80 cents!)
2. Grocery shopping alone, wandering through Sam's alone...tasting any samples I want!
3. Planning a yummy special meal for a romantic date night at home!
4. Having a purse full of ad-matches and coupons, making my total for two(ish) weeks of groceries come to half off (from $200 to $110) Not bad for a trip I barely planned for!
5. Coming back to mom's, where my children are happily playing in the rain, to find my clothes have been washed and folded, and dinner is already made!
The thing that really makes me sad: Realizing we just started a diet/exercise program, and all of the "Things that make me happy' involve food.
This is gonna be grrreeeaaaat.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Recently, the weather around here has perked up a bit. We are above the frost level at night, which is great for us- typically, the no planting before mother's day rule applies. But right now, it has been gorgeous. Or, so it seems from my window.
I have been sick now for a mere three and half days. It seems like torture to watch my crab apple tree blossom into amazing pink billowy blooms while I languish in my jammy pants for another afternoon. There are bulbs and seeds trying to sprout from their little nesting spots in my laundry room.
Despite the wonderful change in weather, I managed to catch...something. I have no idea what. E coli? Disentary? I don't get sick often. When I do, it usually isn't that bad- generally what I have remains for only a fraction of the time others were sick, and it hits me maybe half as hard. I usually get it last, after it has cycled through my kids and my husband. I don't know why this is- but I seem to have a higher level of immunity to the general flus and colds. Maybe it comes from years of living in a foreign country, maybe it is the multiple times I have lived through diseases like malaria.
But when I do get sick, it is always accompanied by an overhwleming depression. Laying in bed, physically incapacitated, watching my husband work his terribly long days, and then come home to a dirty house and dirty, hungry, kids and a miserable wife. It makes everything even worse. There is a monumental difference between apathy for cleaning, and a desire but inability to clean your house. I know this is a temporary illness, but in my horribly morbid mind, thoughts begin to circulate- what would my family do without me? Would they cry and suffer? Would they grow up to be sad, lonely, half-loved children? Would the woman who came into their lives later love them? Or hate them? Or make them resent their father? What would their weddings be like?
Normally, these thoughts might pass through my mind, but then be lost in the millions of other pasing thoughts interupted by my hectic days. But when I am sick, and all I can do is lay there, and try to read, or post sad little rants like these, those thoughts don't go away as easily.
Today I am finally feeling better. Much better. I am going to lunch with my dad, always a glad occasion, and we are celebrating our birthdays together (his is December 25, mine December 11- we've been a little busy.) Yesterday I spent the day happily mopping and reorganizing, and helped Lilly plant some perennials. The kids played outside all day, even during the sprinkling showers. And I cooked dinner on the grill- one of my most favorite things to do in warm weather. Some delicious green peppers and garlic, potatos and chicken- oh, it was yummy.
I like to live as though each day matters- that each day is a gift, something special. Each day I can spend with my little ones, loving them, meeting their needs and making them laugh; each day I can greet my husband with a hug and a kiss and warm dinner and listening ears- that is what I am put on this Earth for. Each day I cannot- is very hard for me. I count myself blessed to have my very good health, and pray continuously that it remains. When I was a child, I would follow my mother around the house and "help" her do chores. I remember hearing her repeat to herself "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" on a daily basis. My father, an artist, drew a picture for my mother that remained in our dining room for many, many years- it depicted our house on a typical day back then- my brother, red-faced and screaming in his high chair with food splattered all around. Beneath him, our dog, lapping up his spilled food from the floor. Me, sitting in the bathroom, playing with toilet paper, singing to myself. Pots and pans boiling and rattling on the stove top, dishes in the sink. In the middle, my mother stands, bedraggled, in work clothes, with my father's pet bird on her shoulder, her head bent in prayer. As a wife and mother now, I now see that portrait on a near-daily basis. But I can only keep trying to be as wonderfully loving and accepting, as calm and hard- working as my mother was. A few days of being sick, and I feel as though I will never be as good as she is. Lord, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me! And thank you for such a great mom.
I have been sick now for a mere three and half days. It seems like torture to watch my crab apple tree blossom into amazing pink billowy blooms while I languish in my jammy pants for another afternoon. There are bulbs and seeds trying to sprout from their little nesting spots in my laundry room.
Despite the wonderful change in weather, I managed to catch...something. I have no idea what. E coli? Disentary? I don't get sick often. When I do, it usually isn't that bad- generally what I have remains for only a fraction of the time others were sick, and it hits me maybe half as hard. I usually get it last, after it has cycled through my kids and my husband. I don't know why this is- but I seem to have a higher level of immunity to the general flus and colds. Maybe it comes from years of living in a foreign country, maybe it is the multiple times I have lived through diseases like malaria.
But when I do get sick, it is always accompanied by an overhwleming depression. Laying in bed, physically incapacitated, watching my husband work his terribly long days, and then come home to a dirty house and dirty, hungry, kids and a miserable wife. It makes everything even worse. There is a monumental difference between apathy for cleaning, and a desire but inability to clean your house. I know this is a temporary illness, but in my horribly morbid mind, thoughts begin to circulate- what would my family do without me? Would they cry and suffer? Would they grow up to be sad, lonely, half-loved children? Would the woman who came into their lives later love them? Or hate them? Or make them resent their father? What would their weddings be like?
Normally, these thoughts might pass through my mind, but then be lost in the millions of other pasing thoughts interupted by my hectic days. But when I am sick, and all I can do is lay there, and try to read, or post sad little rants like these, those thoughts don't go away as easily.
Today I am finally feeling better. Much better. I am going to lunch with my dad, always a glad occasion, and we are celebrating our birthdays together (his is December 25, mine December 11- we've been a little busy.) Yesterday I spent the day happily mopping and reorganizing, and helped Lilly plant some perennials. The kids played outside all day, even during the sprinkling showers. And I cooked dinner on the grill- one of my most favorite things to do in warm weather. Some delicious green peppers and garlic, potatos and chicken- oh, it was yummy.
I like to live as though each day matters- that each day is a gift, something special. Each day I can spend with my little ones, loving them, meeting their needs and making them laugh; each day I can greet my husband with a hug and a kiss and warm dinner and listening ears- that is what I am put on this Earth for. Each day I cannot- is very hard for me. I count myself blessed to have my very good health, and pray continuously that it remains. When I was a child, I would follow my mother around the house and "help" her do chores. I remember hearing her repeat to herself "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" on a daily basis. My father, an artist, drew a picture for my mother that remained in our dining room for many, many years- it depicted our house on a typical day back then- my brother, red-faced and screaming in his high chair with food splattered all around. Beneath him, our dog, lapping up his spilled food from the floor. Me, sitting in the bathroom, playing with toilet paper, singing to myself. Pots and pans boiling and rattling on the stove top, dishes in the sink. In the middle, my mother stands, bedraggled, in work clothes, with my father's pet bird on her shoulder, her head bent in prayer. As a wife and mother now, I now see that portrait on a near-daily basis. But I can only keep trying to be as wonderfully loving and accepting, as calm and hard- working as my mother was. A few days of being sick, and I feel as though I will never be as good as she is. Lord, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me! And thank you for such a great mom.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Isn't this what everyone does for Earth Day?
Today is Earth Day (isn't it? I think it is. I don't leave the house much...sometimes I loose some days). So in honor of saving energy, my children (particularly Graecy, our resident streaker) have decided to forgoe clothing in lieu of going "au naturel." Since we live in the midwest, and recently have been subject to some unseasonably cold weather, their naked rears have been confined to the Great Indoors, and they have been entertaining themselves with a number of fascinating games: Spin til You Drop, Color-By-Number Brother, and the all-time favorite, Run Around the Kitchen in Circles. When they get so dizzy they nearly puke up their organic Bunny-O's, they resort to watching their favorite classics: Dumbo, Alice in Wonderland, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and The Sound of Music (you should hear the three of them try to harmonize with Julie Andrews...that is worth paying money for).
Today, the TV was left on by a forgetful mommy, and The Wiggles came on. Suddenly there was silence in the room, as three dizzy little dears in their birthday suits stopped to stare and glaze over at the screen. They haven't watched that show in...ever, I don't think. Lilly might have watched it a few times when she was an only child, but since then, I don't think we've been entertained by the Aussie Posse for a while. In fact, when the show came on, I was reminded of my mommy-crush on Anthony Field, the "blue" Wiggle. His sexy salt and pepper hair, his funny accent, his oddly bright white chiclet teeth. Only today, I feel it is now necessary for me to rescind that former crush, as I do not think I can respectably say I "know" him anymore. There is something attractive about a man who can take care of children- someone who is good with kids, who jumps right in and isn't afraid to hold a little one, or change a diaper, or comfort them after a fall. But when you put this man in a butterfly costume, and make him say "Butterfly Antennae!" repeatedly, something about that attractiveness is lost. When you make him dress in gaudy western garb and make him dance and sing to "Turkey in the Straw" like an elderly person, not only is some attraction lost, but some manhood as well, you suppose.
I just don't find a person I can't respect attractive. Someone who has no respect for themselves isn't attractive either. All I have to say is: that must be a pretty big paycheck, Mr. Field. Does it buy you your manhood back? I doubt it.
I'll stick to crushing on Sealy Booth. He is the perfect combination of machismo and caring father, of braun and brains, and he looks quite hunky in just about everything (though I've yet to see him in a butterfly costume....)
Today, the TV was left on by a forgetful mommy, and The Wiggles came on. Suddenly there was silence in the room, as three dizzy little dears in their birthday suits stopped to stare and glaze over at the screen. They haven't watched that show in...ever, I don't think. Lilly might have watched it a few times when she was an only child, but since then, I don't think we've been entertained by the Aussie Posse for a while. In fact, when the show came on, I was reminded of my mommy-crush on Anthony Field, the "blue" Wiggle. His sexy salt and pepper hair, his funny accent, his oddly bright white chiclet teeth. Only today, I feel it is now necessary for me to rescind that former crush, as I do not think I can respectably say I "know" him anymore. There is something attractive about a man who can take care of children- someone who is good with kids, who jumps right in and isn't afraid to hold a little one, or change a diaper, or comfort them after a fall. But when you put this man in a butterfly costume, and make him say "Butterfly Antennae!" repeatedly, something about that attractiveness is lost. When you make him dress in gaudy western garb and make him dance and sing to "Turkey in the Straw" like an elderly person, not only is some attraction lost, but some manhood as well, you suppose.
I just don't find a person I can't respect attractive. Someone who has no respect for themselves isn't attractive either. All I have to say is: that must be a pretty big paycheck, Mr. Field. Does it buy you your manhood back? I doubt it.
I'll stick to crushing on Sealy Booth. He is the perfect combination of machismo and caring father, of braun and brains, and he looks quite hunky in just about everything (though I've yet to see him in a butterfly costume....)
Monday, April 20, 2009
Brainless!
Why is it that everytime I get in front of a screen and keyboard, my mind goes blank? I think of a thousand things I'd like to say, then sidle up to the blue glow...and nothin.' I need one of those mini recorders, the kind you see them use in awesome cop-dramas, or spy missions. Yeah! Picture it: I'm cruising the aisles at Wal-Mart, just checking out the clearance section for a pair of size 14 green jean shorts I just cannot pass up, and lo and behold! Inspiration strikes! I could record my thoughts as I think them, and remember to pick up eggs, milk, and butter! I can see it now...headline reads "Youngest woman ever to be institutionalized for dementia: Found wandering alone at 2 am, rambling on about buffet lines and Grande-sized MRI machines. She has yet to be claimed at the Lost and Found for Crazy People."
By the way, did you know that dogs can get breast cancer? I did not. This is tragic.
Other random thoughts I have had this week:
Why is it that my mother in law sees no purpose in ever cleaning out the catbox? Or buying a new nightgown? Perhaps these are all related to her inability to buy anything but the cheapest kind of toilet paper and her absolute abhorence of cleaning the bathroom in general.
Why do children shout when it is quiet in the house, and whisper their demands when they sit the very back seat of the van?
Why must every Sunday that I wear a dress be cold and rainy?
What is it about getting married that makes people stop being who they really are? Or is that the other way around?
That is all. I have forgotten the rest. I think I will invest in a good pen and new note pad, cause I'm just more the old-fashion (read:cheap!) kinda gal. But I have some interesting and awesome thoughts...if only I can remember them!
By the way, did you know that dogs can get breast cancer? I did not. This is tragic.
Other random thoughts I have had this week:
Why is it that my mother in law sees no purpose in ever cleaning out the catbox? Or buying a new nightgown? Perhaps these are all related to her inability to buy anything but the cheapest kind of toilet paper and her absolute abhorence of cleaning the bathroom in general.
Why do children shout when it is quiet in the house, and whisper their demands when they sit the very back seat of the van?
Why must every Sunday that I wear a dress be cold and rainy?
What is it about getting married that makes people stop being who they really are? Or is that the other way around?
That is all. I have forgotten the rest. I think I will invest in a good pen and new note pad, cause I'm just more the old-fashion (read:cheap!) kinda gal. But I have some interesting and awesome thoughts...if only I can remember them!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The Jokes On Me
It is April 1st, and for the first time in years, I did not try and prank my husband. I thought I would leave him alone this year. In the past, I have done such horrible *snicker* things as call him and tell him I lost my engagement ring. That sounds alot worse than it really was- when we were first engaged, we worked across the street from each other. He would run over and we would eat lunch together every day. So, when I knew he was already on his way over, I called him on his cell phone, and told him I took the ring off to put lotion on my hands, and I couldn't find the ring. My husband, being the wonderful man that he is, said very calmly "Don't worry about it! I'll help you look." So he walks into my office three seconds later, and hugs me, then looks down at my hand on the desk and sees the ring there. He sort of looked at me, then slapped his forehead, and grunted a little. That was our first April Fools together, and I have aimed to tease him every year. And to be fair, he had just pranked me pretty good that morning. I was a receptionist at our church. He called the church's line, and put on a fairly convincing "hick" accent, and claimed to be a snake-handler who wanted to come visit our church and handle snakes for us. Being a 19 year old college student without much experience in diffusing situations like this, he had me rattled a bit. So, you see, I was merely retaliating.
Then, the year Graecy was born, I pranked him by suggesting I was pregnant again. Graecy was born January 27, so to be pregnant again by April 1st would have been pretty soon after, and I just evidently had a mean streak in me. (: I laid a pair of baby booties (they were blue, I picked them up at Goodwill the day before) and put them on his pillow, along with a note that said "Hopefully this time it will be a boy!" So he came into our room, read the note, and sat there for a few minutes. I could see his mind working, the wheels turning. I waited another moment, then casually came in to fold laundry. He turned to me, and the look on his face!! Oh, man, I lost it! IHe realized what I had done, and started to tickle me mercilessly. This was also the year we were living with my inlaws, and Jon was relating the story to his dad later, and I have to tell you- I got an almost bigger kick out of my father-in-law's reaction- "Is that even possible?!" Oh, dear.
But this year, I just didn't think of anything. My mind is too consumed with other things.
The other day, as we drove to church, I saw a tree in the middle of a farming field. This tree was huge, and perfectly round. How had I never seen it before? I had a fleeting thought that this tree was just beautiful- solitary and tall and massive. But that thought was quickly forced out by the need to know why the farmer would be so impractical as to leave a tree in the middle of his field. Property division; it must have been, for there were other brush and small shrubs along the same row. But the nagging point was stuck in my head- sometimes I am overwhelmed by this immense Practicality, to the point that everything else is driven away. We had driven that same road for 2 years on the way to town, every week, three times a week or more, and I had never noticed that tree in the field. And when I did, it's beauty was lost to my need for it to make sense.
I haven't always been this way. Believe it or not, I was going to be an artist, who taught school to pay the bills. I was quirky, and wild. I wasn't Jon's type. I never wanted to get married; I wanted to live alone in New York or someplace similar. I never wanted kids. Meeting Jon changed my life, in nearly every way, and I am glad- I am immensely glad. But- how did I get to this place where the simple sight of a tree takes all joy from my morning until I know a reason why? I want to feel that sense of freedom again. The kind that lets me sleep in in the morning, without guilt or the sinking knowledge that the kids are watching junk on TV and destroying the remains of our very used furniture. I want to be able to see something like that tree and just accept it, without anything more.
But that's what happens when you wake up. That's what happens when everything matters, even the small things. I think I need a break. I need a night out! Hey, Jon, if you read this- I didn't even try and pull anything this year...don't I deserve a nice night on the town? I think I do! (Right now, I am sitting at the kitchen table, where my 3 year old just streaked past, stopped to takea sip of her grape juice from the table, then shook her naked behind at me and sang "Ooobla Boola Naaaaked Girrrl!" I need a break.)
Then, the year Graecy was born, I pranked him by suggesting I was pregnant again. Graecy was born January 27, so to be pregnant again by April 1st would have been pretty soon after, and I just evidently had a mean streak in me. (: I laid a pair of baby booties (they were blue, I picked them up at Goodwill the day before) and put them on his pillow, along with a note that said "Hopefully this time it will be a boy!" So he came into our room, read the note, and sat there for a few minutes. I could see his mind working, the wheels turning. I waited another moment, then casually came in to fold laundry. He turned to me, and the look on his face!! Oh, man, I lost it! IHe realized what I had done, and started to tickle me mercilessly. This was also the year we were living with my inlaws, and Jon was relating the story to his dad later, and I have to tell you- I got an almost bigger kick out of my father-in-law's reaction- "Is that even possible?!" Oh, dear.
But this year, I just didn't think of anything. My mind is too consumed with other things.
The other day, as we drove to church, I saw a tree in the middle of a farming field. This tree was huge, and perfectly round. How had I never seen it before? I had a fleeting thought that this tree was just beautiful- solitary and tall and massive. But that thought was quickly forced out by the need to know why the farmer would be so impractical as to leave a tree in the middle of his field. Property division; it must have been, for there were other brush and small shrubs along the same row. But the nagging point was stuck in my head- sometimes I am overwhelmed by this immense Practicality, to the point that everything else is driven away. We had driven that same road for 2 years on the way to town, every week, three times a week or more, and I had never noticed that tree in the field. And when I did, it's beauty was lost to my need for it to make sense.
I haven't always been this way. Believe it or not, I was going to be an artist, who taught school to pay the bills. I was quirky, and wild. I wasn't Jon's type. I never wanted to get married; I wanted to live alone in New York or someplace similar. I never wanted kids. Meeting Jon changed my life, in nearly every way, and I am glad- I am immensely glad. But- how did I get to this place where the simple sight of a tree takes all joy from my morning until I know a reason why? I want to feel that sense of freedom again. The kind that lets me sleep in in the morning, without guilt or the sinking knowledge that the kids are watching junk on TV and destroying the remains of our very used furniture. I want to be able to see something like that tree and just accept it, without anything more.
But that's what happens when you wake up. That's what happens when everything matters, even the small things. I think I need a break. I need a night out! Hey, Jon, if you read this- I didn't even try and pull anything this year...don't I deserve a nice night on the town? I think I do! (Right now, I am sitting at the kitchen table, where my 3 year old just streaked past, stopped to takea sip of her grape juice from the table, then shook her naked behind at me and sang "Ooobla Boola Naaaaked Girrrl!" I need a break.)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Naive
So it occurs to me recently that I am naive. I don't want to be naive, but you can't be born into experience. I don't mind that I am young, or that I have a young family; hey- that can stay that way for a long time, as far as I'm concerned! But I would like to have the wisdom and knowledge and experience that someone who has lived a little more would have.
I have tried, since early last fall, to begin educating myself in the realm of "politics", or rather, what my viewpoints really are. I don't really care about politics, but I want to know exactly what it is I believe in and why, so that I can share this view with everyone and do it responsibly. This self-education is not as easy as you may think. One of the reasons I find it so important to be informed is my children; yet, I find it takes a back-seat to parenting...kind of a rock-and-a-hard-place, catch 22 sorta deal. Spend all my time with the kids(not hard to do at all) and know nothing more than they do; or spend hours and hours researching and listening and learning about what has already happened and what is going to happen in the world of our messed-up government and in doing so, neglect the fam. My husband has an advantage/disadvantage: he drives alot for work, and subsequently listens to alot of talk radio. While talk radio hosts are not the end-all of informants, they do sorta keep you in the loop. But, the disadvantage to this is that he is gone so much- and he misses us. So there is the catch 22 again- be with the family, or not.
If someone would just send me everything there is to know to be responsibly educated on the viewpoint of being a Constitutionalist or Libertarian (don't mock me for sounding dumb- are they different? I am just not well-versed in these things), then I could read, absorb, and move on. But every time I think I know something, I am reminded I know nothing.
I spent a decent amount of time last fall convincing my brother not to vote for Obama. His opinion was, and I quote "Well, he's (Obama) young, so I have to vote for him. I don't think I can vote for someone who's so much older than me. (McCain or Paul) They just don't understand my generation." In the end, he didn't vote at all. I voted for McCain. Now, slowly, I am realizing- that was a mistake. I would take it back if I could, but alas, it is not to be. I thought, at the time, that I was being responsible. I had never voted before. I wish I could melt into the resolve that "my vote didn't matter anyways," but the knowledge of my lack of knowledge, and the fact that I contributed in such a way at all, makes me ill with remorse.
This is a world where nothing is as it seems, where "people" (they say they are human, but I've yet to see them bleed, so I can't be sure) can say they are one way or stand for one thing; but in reality it's all politics. They don't anymore stand for one thing than they do the other. I just want some honesty, folks. No duality. To me, it seems pretty simple: you have the rules, follow them.
My professor said to me the other day that he finds there are quite a few flaws with capitalism; mainly that it isn't fair that someone who has worked hard all their life could be wealthy while someone else in America is starving. So when I asked him then if he believed in the redistribution of wealth, he said yes. And I then asked if he was a socialist. He answered, no, that his disagreement with capitalism came from a "moral" point of view; he thinks that people should be obligated to give to others because they may not be so inclined otherwise. (at this point, I am trying really hard not to laugh at him). I begin telling him capitalism, like anything else, is a vehicle, and it in itself is not necessarily flawed; it is only to be driven one way or another, and it's there that it becomes flawed. The idea behind the redistribution of wealth is socialism- forcing taxing or what have you on someone who has done well for themselves and giving it to a bozo who doesn't do much more than wait by the mailbox for the next check, and calling that fair. The founding idea behind America is that you come to work for yourself. Not for someone who doesn't care or doesn't want to. The founding fathers are undoubtedly rolling over in their graves at the amount of power we have given our government to take from us. At the point in this little rant where I said something about the "founding idea behind America" my professor smiles this smirky little smile, as if to say, well, we just don't see eye to eye because you are "one of those people" kinds of smiles. This both pleased me and irked me at the same time. I am glad that I presented some thing to him that he opposed- I hate to be a sheep. But it reeally bothers me that he honestly thinks that it is wrong that people like my in laws have the money and property that they work very hard for. Sure, they aren't in Forbes or anything, but in his opinion, they shouldn't have "wasted their lives on pursuing the selfish goal of money." This angered me: they have worked, and they have given, and they have been blessed. God intends for some to have and some not to. God rewards faithful children who obey Him and the law. Why then is it wrong?
Thing is, he's Catholic. He confessed to me that he was forced to vote for McCain because Obama is pro-choice, and his bishop said they had to vote for McCain or else (not really sure what "or else" would have meant.) He is also my age, and this was the first time he and his wife had voted as well. So, perhaps he was floundering, and just took the lead his misguided church gave him. But I think he would have rather voted the other way. I think he idealizes the path of knowledge in the liberalist manner that many professors do; oh, give up, you hippies! Get real. What did you get from "free love"? AIDS and STDs and death. And those stupid little leather headbands across the forehead looked super dumb, btw. (He has also told me on many occasions that his parents were both educators and vegetarian hippies...he really had no hope of becoming much more).
I am saddened that he thinks this way. In many respects, he and I are alike, and I thought we might be friends even after these classes are over. But he made it clear that he didn't agree with me, and since then, has been avoiding more conversations with me than are necessary. Oh, well. Hippie.
Our exchange may have put a wedge between us, but it also opened my eyes to how little I still know, and how much more I need to know to be able to converse with confidence. I might feel a certain way, and believe in certain ideology, but without the words and knowledge to put behind it, I am nothing more than a hippie with "feelings."
The pursuit of knowledge continues. I am planning on watching Glenn Beck's show on Fox on Friday- he is going to unveil the "We Surround Them" deal he's been working on with people across the country. That sounded interesting. I am going to research Chuck Baldwin and try and not think about the other Baldwins...
It is long overdue that I begin taking responsibility for my own views.
I have tried, since early last fall, to begin educating myself in the realm of "politics", or rather, what my viewpoints really are. I don't really care about politics, but I want to know exactly what it is I believe in and why, so that I can share this view with everyone and do it responsibly. This self-education is not as easy as you may think. One of the reasons I find it so important to be informed is my children; yet, I find it takes a back-seat to parenting...kind of a rock-and-a-hard-place, catch 22 sorta deal. Spend all my time with the kids(not hard to do at all) and know nothing more than they do; or spend hours and hours researching and listening and learning about what has already happened and what is going to happen in the world of our messed-up government and in doing so, neglect the fam. My husband has an advantage/disadvantage: he drives alot for work, and subsequently listens to alot of talk radio. While talk radio hosts are not the end-all of informants, they do sorta keep you in the loop. But, the disadvantage to this is that he is gone so much- and he misses us. So there is the catch 22 again- be with the family, or not.
If someone would just send me everything there is to know to be responsibly educated on the viewpoint of being a Constitutionalist or Libertarian (don't mock me for sounding dumb- are they different? I am just not well-versed in these things), then I could read, absorb, and move on. But every time I think I know something, I am reminded I know nothing.
I spent a decent amount of time last fall convincing my brother not to vote for Obama. His opinion was, and I quote "Well, he's (Obama) young, so I have to vote for him. I don't think I can vote for someone who's so much older than me. (McCain or Paul) They just don't understand my generation." In the end, he didn't vote at all. I voted for McCain. Now, slowly, I am realizing- that was a mistake. I would take it back if I could, but alas, it is not to be. I thought, at the time, that I was being responsible. I had never voted before. I wish I could melt into the resolve that "my vote didn't matter anyways," but the knowledge of my lack of knowledge, and the fact that I contributed in such a way at all, makes me ill with remorse.
This is a world where nothing is as it seems, where "people" (they say they are human, but I've yet to see them bleed, so I can't be sure) can say they are one way or stand for one thing; but in reality it's all politics. They don't anymore stand for one thing than they do the other. I just want some honesty, folks. No duality. To me, it seems pretty simple: you have the rules, follow them.
My professor said to me the other day that he finds there are quite a few flaws with capitalism; mainly that it isn't fair that someone who has worked hard all their life could be wealthy while someone else in America is starving. So when I asked him then if he believed in the redistribution of wealth, he said yes. And I then asked if he was a socialist. He answered, no, that his disagreement with capitalism came from a "moral" point of view; he thinks that people should be obligated to give to others because they may not be so inclined otherwise. (at this point, I am trying really hard not to laugh at him). I begin telling him capitalism, like anything else, is a vehicle, and it in itself is not necessarily flawed; it is only to be driven one way or another, and it's there that it becomes flawed. The idea behind the redistribution of wealth is socialism- forcing taxing or what have you on someone who has done well for themselves and giving it to a bozo who doesn't do much more than wait by the mailbox for the next check, and calling that fair. The founding idea behind America is that you come to work for yourself. Not for someone who doesn't care or doesn't want to. The founding fathers are undoubtedly rolling over in their graves at the amount of power we have given our government to take from us. At the point in this little rant where I said something about the "founding idea behind America" my professor smiles this smirky little smile, as if to say, well, we just don't see eye to eye because you are "one of those people" kinds of smiles. This both pleased me and irked me at the same time. I am glad that I presented some thing to him that he opposed- I hate to be a sheep. But it reeally bothers me that he honestly thinks that it is wrong that people like my in laws have the money and property that they work very hard for. Sure, they aren't in Forbes or anything, but in his opinion, they shouldn't have "wasted their lives on pursuing the selfish goal of money." This angered me: they have worked, and they have given, and they have been blessed. God intends for some to have and some not to. God rewards faithful children who obey Him and the law. Why then is it wrong?
Thing is, he's Catholic. He confessed to me that he was forced to vote for McCain because Obama is pro-choice, and his bishop said they had to vote for McCain or else (not really sure what "or else" would have meant.) He is also my age, and this was the first time he and his wife had voted as well. So, perhaps he was floundering, and just took the lead his misguided church gave him. But I think he would have rather voted the other way. I think he idealizes the path of knowledge in the liberalist manner that many professors do; oh, give up, you hippies! Get real. What did you get from "free love"? AIDS and STDs and death. And those stupid little leather headbands across the forehead looked super dumb, btw. (He has also told me on many occasions that his parents were both educators and vegetarian hippies...he really had no hope of becoming much more).
I am saddened that he thinks this way. In many respects, he and I are alike, and I thought we might be friends even after these classes are over. But he made it clear that he didn't agree with me, and since then, has been avoiding more conversations with me than are necessary. Oh, well. Hippie.
Our exchange may have put a wedge between us, but it also opened my eyes to how little I still know, and how much more I need to know to be able to converse with confidence. I might feel a certain way, and believe in certain ideology, but without the words and knowledge to put behind it, I am nothing more than a hippie with "feelings."
The pursuit of knowledge continues. I am planning on watching Glenn Beck's show on Fox on Friday- he is going to unveil the "We Surround Them" deal he's been working on with people across the country. That sounded interesting. I am going to research Chuck Baldwin and try and not think about the other Baldwins...
It is long overdue that I begin taking responsibility for my own views.
Friday, March 6, 2009
I really don't understand...
Why can't any technology just function correctly for once? First, my laptop died, in the middle of a busy week with a paper due. Now, out of three digital cameras, we have lost one and the other two refuse to work. The oldest of the bunch was on it's way out, we knew that. But that is why we just bought the new one to replace it. Now the new one doesn't work! What gives??
I wanted to show you my daughter's first spelling test, but instead I will have to tell you. I think, first of all, that having impromptu spelling tests for half-day kindergarteners is a little much, and apparently so do most of the other mothers. Especially when the kids are graded, and then given their tests back with big ol' red x's all across them. Lilly came home almost in tears. Give me a flippin' break!! It would be ideal if she could spell all those words, and had this year been given a little more thought and consideration, I can guarantee you she would be able to spell all those words, as well as read them! But she can't. Neither can any of the other kids in Miss Helton's class. That is partially my fault (for letting her go) and partially Miss Helton's fault (for being a teacher who doesn't know how to teach). I am a little bit flustered by this situation, as you might have detected.
So, she comes home with this spelling test last week. We look it over, and she tries again, and guess what! She spelled every word correctly, at home. Twice. When she had a little time to think about it. She is entirely capable, and actually is doing quite well at the basics--at home. But when Miss Helton evaluates her...not so much. She always scores very poorly. The only thing her teacher will tell me is that she does "satisfactory" work. Pshaw! Whether it is a combination of teaching style, Lilly's nerves, or who knows what else, the learning just isn't happening. This is a child who has memorized nearly 100 verses for AWANAS-- and she is only there 1 night a week! One night a week, for two hours, and she can learn a boatload more than Miss Helton has even tried to teach her!! She can recite off the top of her head all the books of the New Testament (granted, she sings the end of the song a little differently than it goes..."1,2,3 John, Rude and Violations!" I giggle every time) and can easily sing each of the AWANAS songs, or tell you any of those 100 verses from memory. Folks, she can remember how to say "Thessalonians" but gets a bad grade on a spelling test for "we"? She has a brain! She can use it! But whatever Miss Helton is doin', it ain't workin'.
So today, Daddy went to pick her up. She came in, brought me her homework folder (yes, homework. They have also had to do presentations and dioramas and posters...ridiculous!) She pulls out today's spelling test and hands it to me with a downward cast face. She was afraid to show me that she missed two words!! My heart ached.
Today they had to spell, impromptu, from verbal commands only, these 7 words : me, my, to, be, the, said, and we. Except Lilly had written "Wii." And her teacher marked it wrong! I know it technically is wrong, but she did spell "Wii" right! I showed Jon, and we could not stop laughing. Finally, Jon hitched up his pants and said "Well, that there is how we teach 'em around here!" My mom called, and as we were chatting, I told her about the spelling test, and she thinks Lil should get credit- hey, she did spell it right after all!
That is my daughter, child of a video gaming generation; bright, witty, and maybe a little bit out of the box. I'll take her.
I wanted to show you my daughter's first spelling test, but instead I will have to tell you. I think, first of all, that having impromptu spelling tests for half-day kindergarteners is a little much, and apparently so do most of the other mothers. Especially when the kids are graded, and then given their tests back with big ol' red x's all across them. Lilly came home almost in tears. Give me a flippin' break!! It would be ideal if she could spell all those words, and had this year been given a little more thought and consideration, I can guarantee you she would be able to spell all those words, as well as read them! But she can't. Neither can any of the other kids in Miss Helton's class. That is partially my fault (for letting her go) and partially Miss Helton's fault (for being a teacher who doesn't know how to teach). I am a little bit flustered by this situation, as you might have detected.
So, she comes home with this spelling test last week. We look it over, and she tries again, and guess what! She spelled every word correctly, at home. Twice. When she had a little time to think about it. She is entirely capable, and actually is doing quite well at the basics--at home. But when Miss Helton evaluates her...not so much. She always scores very poorly. The only thing her teacher will tell me is that she does "satisfactory" work. Pshaw! Whether it is a combination of teaching style, Lilly's nerves, or who knows what else, the learning just isn't happening. This is a child who has memorized nearly 100 verses for AWANAS-- and she is only there 1 night a week! One night a week, for two hours, and she can learn a boatload more than Miss Helton has even tried to teach her!! She can recite off the top of her head all the books of the New Testament (granted, she sings the end of the song a little differently than it goes..."1,2,3 John, Rude and Violations!" I giggle every time) and can easily sing each of the AWANAS songs, or tell you any of those 100 verses from memory. Folks, she can remember how to say "Thessalonians" but gets a bad grade on a spelling test for "we"? She has a brain! She can use it! But whatever Miss Helton is doin', it ain't workin'.
So today, Daddy went to pick her up. She came in, brought me her homework folder (yes, homework. They have also had to do presentations and dioramas and posters...ridiculous!) She pulls out today's spelling test and hands it to me with a downward cast face. She was afraid to show me that she missed two words!! My heart ached.
Today they had to spell, impromptu, from verbal commands only, these 7 words : me, my, to, be, the, said, and we. Except Lilly had written "Wii." And her teacher marked it wrong! I know it technically is wrong, but she did spell "Wii" right! I showed Jon, and we could not stop laughing. Finally, Jon hitched up his pants and said "Well, that there is how we teach 'em around here!" My mom called, and as we were chatting, I told her about the spelling test, and she thinks Lil should get credit- hey, she did spell it right after all!
That is my daughter, child of a video gaming generation; bright, witty, and maybe a little bit out of the box. I'll take her.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Obituary
Laptop, 2 years old
This laptop served its functions well. It was lightweight, very portable, and always had a ready battery. It stored photos, research papers, and business documents with ease. It nearly always connected to the world wide web without difficulty. It rarely complained when the children poked its screen and pulled its cord. It suffered only momentarily as a fatal virus worked its way through the system. It leaves behind three children who were just discovering Noggin games, a student in desperate need of Word and email access, and a business owner struggling to work three jobs and research new house plans. A successor has yet to be named.
Memorials can be sent to the borrowed laptop. The viewing has been postponed due to the autopsy. As per request, there will be no burial; the remains will be scattered across Ebay.
RIP, laptop. You will be missed.
Laptop, 2 years old
This laptop served its functions well. It was lightweight, very portable, and always had a ready battery. It stored photos, research papers, and business documents with ease. It nearly always connected to the world wide web without difficulty. It rarely complained when the children poked its screen and pulled its cord. It suffered only momentarily as a fatal virus worked its way through the system. It leaves behind three children who were just discovering Noggin games, a student in desperate need of Word and email access, and a business owner struggling to work three jobs and research new house plans. A successor has yet to be named.
Memorials can be sent to the borrowed laptop. The viewing has been postponed due to the autopsy. As per request, there will be no burial; the remains will be scattered across Ebay.
RIP, laptop. You will be missed.
Did I not warn you my kids are cute?
So, just a very few minutes ago, the girls and I sat down around the table for "nap-time craft time." The girls are quite certain that their purpose in life is to create small bits of cut -up paper and glue and glitter, play-doh snakes and braclets, and new this Christmas, alien goo creatures; these works of art all become a "present" for mom. So I always highly encourage craft time! We have had to add the "nap-time" part due to a dear little boy who doesn't quite grasp the intricate qualities and concept of sitting still and not eating glue; so craft time has been curtailed to nap time. Lilly also hasn't quite grasped the idea of descretion- Lil will come up and ask me "Why can't he take his nap NOW??" while he is sitting on my lap finishing his lunch. Nicky knows something is up, but he's usually too tired to fight it.
So today the craft of choice was "Martian Alien Maker." This is, in my opinion, a marketing scam, a waste of time, any number of ridiculous things. But it was the only thing Lilly asked for for Christmas. Recently, at a friend's birthday party, the little girl opened a refill kit for her "Martian Alien Maker," and I saw the glimmer of realization spark in Lilly's eyes. I told her, a few weeks ago, that when the "goo" was gone, then it was gone. Thinking of course, that's all the money I'm going to spend on this ugly plastic waste; unfortunately, Lil came up to me after the present opening and said, very excitedly "See! I told you they had refills! I can make more even after the goo is gone!" Ugh. Anyways. A lesson in how money is spent in our house is due again about now.
The girls were bantering back and forth as they worked on their respective aliens. It went something like this:
Lilly: "Look, Grae! Do you like my creation?"
Grae: "What? You made a lion?"
L:"Nooo...I made a 'creation.'"
G:"A bea-lay-ton?"
L: "No, a creation. Everything is a creation- God created it. He created all the animals, and us, and the whole world. A 'Cre-at-ion!'"
G:"Cwe-ma-shun?"
L:"NO! 'Cre-AY-SHUN!"
G:(shouting) "BE-LAY-SHUN! CWE-AH-BUN!"
L:"Ah! NO! It's CREE-AY-TION!!!"
G:(singing and "shaking her booty" as she says) "Cweadulun...beation...cwemation...YEAH!"
L to me: "Is she really in our family???"
At that point, I was laughing too hard to answer. This "shaking the booty" thing, well, that is another story; but seeing how Graecy instinctively got under Lil's skin...oh, that was just too funny. Not that I am happy Lilly was annoyed, but the fact that Graecy knew what would make her mad and undermined Lilly's determination to make Graecy do what she wanted her to. Maybe you think I am a terrible mother for thinking that, but the earlier they learn to accept that they are entirely different personalities, and that they may not always get along or agree, then hopefully they will have a better time of it than if I constantly made them 'kiss and make up." Lilly hates that her brother and sister have their own ideas about things, and she wants to constantly make them fall into line like her own little ducklings. But Graecy is not about to be put in any place...so seeing them interact without coming to blows was funny, as opposed to frustrating.
I have to now go wipe the goo off the kitchen table before it hardens into neon green and pink fossils that chip away the varnish.
So today the craft of choice was "Martian Alien Maker." This is, in my opinion, a marketing scam, a waste of time, any number of ridiculous things. But it was the only thing Lilly asked for for Christmas. Recently, at a friend's birthday party, the little girl opened a refill kit for her "Martian Alien Maker," and I saw the glimmer of realization spark in Lilly's eyes. I told her, a few weeks ago, that when the "goo" was gone, then it was gone. Thinking of course, that's all the money I'm going to spend on this ugly plastic waste; unfortunately, Lil came up to me after the present opening and said, very excitedly "See! I told you they had refills! I can make more even after the goo is gone!" Ugh. Anyways. A lesson in how money is spent in our house is due again about now.
The girls were bantering back and forth as they worked on their respective aliens. It went something like this:
Lilly: "Look, Grae! Do you like my creation?"
Grae: "What? You made a lion?"
L:"Nooo...I made a 'creation.'"
G:"A bea-lay-ton?"
L: "No, a creation. Everything is a creation- God created it. He created all the animals, and us, and the whole world. A 'Cre-at-ion!'"
G:"Cwe-ma-shun?"
L:"NO! 'Cre-AY-SHUN!"
G:(shouting) "BE-LAY-SHUN! CWE-AH-BUN!"
L:"Ah! NO! It's CREE-AY-TION!!!"
G:(singing and "shaking her booty" as she says) "Cweadulun...beation...cwemation...YEAH!"
L to me: "Is she really in our family???"
At that point, I was laughing too hard to answer. This "shaking the booty" thing, well, that is another story; but seeing how Graecy instinctively got under Lil's skin...oh, that was just too funny. Not that I am happy Lilly was annoyed, but the fact that Graecy knew what would make her mad and undermined Lilly's determination to make Graecy do what she wanted her to. Maybe you think I am a terrible mother for thinking that, but the earlier they learn to accept that they are entirely different personalities, and that they may not always get along or agree, then hopefully they will have a better time of it than if I constantly made them 'kiss and make up." Lilly hates that her brother and sister have their own ideas about things, and she wants to constantly make them fall into line like her own little ducklings. But Graecy is not about to be put in any place...so seeing them interact without coming to blows was funny, as opposed to frustrating.
I have to now go wipe the goo off the kitchen table before it hardens into neon green and pink fossils that chip away the varnish.
Monday, March 2, 2009
She comes by it honestly?
Tonight was a bath night. Not unusual; in fact, most nights should be bath night with my kids, but we don't always get around to it before bedtime. But Mondays, they are always bath night. (I love the smell of a clean baby's head- there is nothing better than Johnson's and soft, warm baby hair).
I should also say that I have never, ever, in my entire life, known of human children who love the water more than my kids. It is a bit unnatural. They will sacrifice dessert (even chocolate!) to have a bath instead. They will soak themselves repeatedly while washing dishes (they love to wash the dishes- standing at the sink, scrubbing things with lotsa bubbles- amazing it doesn't hold my interest as much) and have no problem just hanging out in wet clothes.
My mom gave them a toy fishing rod with foam fish for Christmas- they stopped opening presents and insisted she get out a bucket for them to play "fishing. " Which they then did, for nearly 2 hours. We had to bribe them back to opening the rest of their presents! So tonight, I strapped them into their seats so they would be forced to finish at least half their macaroni before the wailing for bath time started (if I don't strap them in on bath night, they will skip dinner all together).
We have also resolved the (occasional) issue of dessert on bath nights- popsicles in the tub! This is another reason why bath night is such a favorite. I have discovered a new kind of popsicle called "minis"- about 1/4 the size of regular pops, and in fun shapes. My kids can eat them (because they aren't too big, they don't melt and fall of the stick before they have a chance to take a few bites, and they are small enough that little hands can hold them), and they do so with vigor. Tonight both Nick and Graecy chose orange, so they would match. And in the tub they went!
Nick's mouth was getting a little cold, so he was trying to find a place to set his orange pop down, and inadvertently stuck it under water.
Me: "Oh no! Don't stick it in the water! It will melt!"
Nick:"Mewt? Mewt mewt!"
Graecy: "Yah, Bayba, and then it will be gone!"
(Graecy has taken to calling Nick "Bayba"; apparently it is a combination of the endearing term "bubby" - which Lilly calls him, and "babe"- which I call Jon.)
N: "Ooh!"
G: "And then that is how the earth makes gets our tummy's full."
M: "The earth makes our tummies full from melted popsicles?"
G:"No, silly mommy!"
Me: "Graecy, move your washcloth. The water needs to drain."
Graecy:"But I don't want to get out!"
M:"Bath time is over! Please hang your washcloth now."
She stands to do so, then turns to me,
G:"But I'm just so sad.'
M:"Why are you so sad?"
G:"Because my toys is going round and round and down and down."
M: "Your toys can't fit down the drain. They're ok; come on, hop out!"
G:"Mommy! Princesses don't hop! They flop!"
Well. That is bath night at my house. They make Mondays a little easier.
I should also say that I have never, ever, in my entire life, known of human children who love the water more than my kids. It is a bit unnatural. They will sacrifice dessert (even chocolate!) to have a bath instead. They will soak themselves repeatedly while washing dishes (they love to wash the dishes- standing at the sink, scrubbing things with lotsa bubbles- amazing it doesn't hold my interest as much) and have no problem just hanging out in wet clothes.
My mom gave them a toy fishing rod with foam fish for Christmas- they stopped opening presents and insisted she get out a bucket for them to play "fishing. " Which they then did, for nearly 2 hours. We had to bribe them back to opening the rest of their presents! So tonight, I strapped them into their seats so they would be forced to finish at least half their macaroni before the wailing for bath time started (if I don't strap them in on bath night, they will skip dinner all together).
We have also resolved the (occasional) issue of dessert on bath nights- popsicles in the tub! This is another reason why bath night is such a favorite. I have discovered a new kind of popsicle called "minis"- about 1/4 the size of regular pops, and in fun shapes. My kids can eat them (because they aren't too big, they don't melt and fall of the stick before they have a chance to take a few bites, and they are small enough that little hands can hold them), and they do so with vigor. Tonight both Nick and Graecy chose orange, so they would match. And in the tub they went!
Nick's mouth was getting a little cold, so he was trying to find a place to set his orange pop down, and inadvertently stuck it under water.
Me: "Oh no! Don't stick it in the water! It will melt!"
Nick:"Mewt? Mewt mewt!"
Graecy: "Yah, Bayba, and then it will be gone!"
(Graecy has taken to calling Nick "Bayba"; apparently it is a combination of the endearing term "bubby" - which Lilly calls him, and "babe"- which I call Jon.)
N: "Ooh!"
G: "And then that is how the earth makes gets our tummy's full."
M: "The earth makes our tummies full from melted popsicles?"
G:"No, silly mommy!"
Me: "Graecy, move your washcloth. The water needs to drain."
Graecy:"But I don't want to get out!"
M:"Bath time is over! Please hang your washcloth now."
She stands to do so, then turns to me,
G:"But I'm just so sad.'
M:"Why are you so sad?"
G:"Because my toys is going round and round and down and down."
M: "Your toys can't fit down the drain. They're ok; come on, hop out!"
G:"Mommy! Princesses don't hop! They flop!"
Well. That is bath night at my house. They make Mondays a little easier.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
I was reading back through the literature book that I kept (whoops! teehee!) after my last community college class, and stopping at each of the many earmarked pages. This is possibly one of my very favorites.
What are Years?
What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt-
dumbly calling, deafly listening-that
in misfortune, even death,
encourages others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
find its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. the very bird,
grows taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.
Marianne Moore
How pure a thing is joy. How pure a thing is joy! Joy, not happiness, not contentment- joy.
What are Years?
What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt-
dumbly calling, deafly listening-that
in misfortune, even death,
encourages others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
find its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. the very bird,
grows taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.
Marianne Moore
How pure a thing is joy. How pure a thing is joy! Joy, not happiness, not contentment- joy.
News Item
Men seldom make passes
At girls who wear glasses.
D. Parker
(this generalization, fortunately, does not apply to my husband. )
At girls who wear glasses.
D. Parker
(this generalization, fortunately, does not apply to my husband. )
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
R. Frost, 1923; timeless
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
R. Frost, 1923; timeless
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Today I bought a book! Do you know how long it has been since I bought a book to read for pleasure? Quite a while, my friends; too long, in fact. For a girl who spent more than 2/3rds of her life with her nose in a book, it has been ages since I sat down to read something that I wanted to read for myself. Admittedly, I didn't come up with this genius plan on my own; I owe it to the wonderful women in my family who have bonded together to read simultaneously a book of our choosing, and then comment on it. A sort of book club, via email. I am very excited to be included, and more excited to start digging in to a fresh page. This got me thinking: now that have a little place to put it, I should write down my "new" year's resolutions, or at most, a list of things I would like to accomplish this year.
1. Read a book! For fun! (ok, that one is kinda cheating...)
2. Yell less, hug more. It seems the older the kids get, the more there is to tell them not to do. I find that overall, they tend to respond so much better when I tell them, and not yell it at them. But after a day of repeating myself, I feel pushed to the edge. My goal is to take a step back, and remember that they are, at the very least, just little people; let alone MY little people, who love me and are most likely just bored. I would never yell at my husband or my mom or another adult in that way- my children deserve a little more grace.
3. Above all, resist the hair salon! I am growing my hair out, and that's final. Ok, folks, I must come clean: I am a chronic hair-cutter. When I am at the grocery store, and pass by a Great Clips, my mind starts to drift...and suddenly I am in the chair getting yet another trim! It's just that for a mere $10, I can blab to a stranger about my great kids (do you know how many second glances I get when I tell people I have three little ones? That in itself is a mood-booster), and walk away feeling prettier and looking less like the bedraggled momster I so often feel like. But new year, new hair, tighter budget- no spontaneous hair cuts!
4. Finish school! Ok, that one is a little unrealistic. But I am setting my bar high here- if I keep chugging away at it, I should be relatively close by the end of this year. An amendment, then: keep my perfect grade point average. Yes, that's right, it's pretty perfect right now. We'll see where I'm at after the next college math class...
5. Lose 10 pounds. Ok, I would really like to lose alot more, but this one I am going to be conservative on. It may take me a while longer than I hope, so I'll shoot for a small number. I am not the exercise guru; in fact, hauling the groceries in is about the most weight lifting I do each week. But, this year is about doing better, being better- so, Buns of Steel here I come!!
6. Plant a vegetable garden. This one, though it may seem banal, is quite possibly the most terrifying one on my list. I, by nature, have a black thumb. And then, beyond that, I don't know the first thing about gardening. When we were first married, I planted some mums. Before I could water them twice, they were dry, thin, brown bare fingers in a pot. The next spring, I planted a rose bush, some yellow lilies, and some annuals. I don't think they lasted the summer. In our back yard, the fence was engulfed in a horrid, stinky, prickly, viney weed. It grew taller than our shed! And I would hack and hack at it, to no avail. So no matter what side I was on- grow them, cut them down; I couldn't win. I bought a book. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I watched for two years as my mother in law planted, watered, and weeded. I feared to touch the poor things lest I be the death of them. We moved to our current residence in the month of November, so I reasonably said to myself I would wait and just see what came up in these foreign beds. By spring, however, I had found a new excuse to avoid the yard work: I was near the end of my third pregnancy, and felt no where near capable enough to get down in the dirt and try weeding or growing things. My belly was evidence of my fertility, must I make things grow from the ground, too?! So, I passed for that year. By the time this past spring rolled around, the garden beds had been untended for more than a year, and it looked as though we were being engulfed in a mini jungle. So, I took my less-than-knowledgeable hands and did the only thing possible in that forest of weeds: I pulled. And pulled. And pulled. For days, I pulled weeds. My mom came out, and we pulled weeds for 5 hours together! Finally, we tamed the wild things enough to see the few scrawny starved flowers and bushes that were left, and by that point, I gave up again. I resolved to keep the beds moderately weeded, but beyond that, I could do no more out there. So this year, I am going to step WAY outside my comfort-zone and attempt to grow something. Maybe some cucumbers, and a tomato or two. Graecy really wants some watermelon. We'll see. It may be the biggest flop, but I am at least going to TRY.
Well, that is all I've got. For now. I may come back and add some things, but if you ask me, I am going to have my hands full just trying to figure out the garden...
1. Read a book! For fun! (ok, that one is kinda cheating...)
2. Yell less, hug more. It seems the older the kids get, the more there is to tell them not to do. I find that overall, they tend to respond so much better when I tell them, and not yell it at them. But after a day of repeating myself, I feel pushed to the edge. My goal is to take a step back, and remember that they are, at the very least, just little people; let alone MY little people, who love me and are most likely just bored. I would never yell at my husband or my mom or another adult in that way- my children deserve a little more grace.
3. Above all, resist the hair salon! I am growing my hair out, and that's final. Ok, folks, I must come clean: I am a chronic hair-cutter. When I am at the grocery store, and pass by a Great Clips, my mind starts to drift...and suddenly I am in the chair getting yet another trim! It's just that for a mere $10, I can blab to a stranger about my great kids (do you know how many second glances I get when I tell people I have three little ones? That in itself is a mood-booster), and walk away feeling prettier and looking less like the bedraggled momster I so often feel like. But new year, new hair, tighter budget- no spontaneous hair cuts!
4. Finish school! Ok, that one is a little unrealistic. But I am setting my bar high here- if I keep chugging away at it, I should be relatively close by the end of this year. An amendment, then: keep my perfect grade point average. Yes, that's right, it's pretty perfect right now. We'll see where I'm at after the next college math class...
5. Lose 10 pounds. Ok, I would really like to lose alot more, but this one I am going to be conservative on. It may take me a while longer than I hope, so I'll shoot for a small number. I am not the exercise guru; in fact, hauling the groceries in is about the most weight lifting I do each week. But, this year is about doing better, being better- so, Buns of Steel here I come!!
6. Plant a vegetable garden. This one, though it may seem banal, is quite possibly the most terrifying one on my list. I, by nature, have a black thumb. And then, beyond that, I don't know the first thing about gardening. When we were first married, I planted some mums. Before I could water them twice, they were dry, thin, brown bare fingers in a pot. The next spring, I planted a rose bush, some yellow lilies, and some annuals. I don't think they lasted the summer. In our back yard, the fence was engulfed in a horrid, stinky, prickly, viney weed. It grew taller than our shed! And I would hack and hack at it, to no avail. So no matter what side I was on- grow them, cut them down; I couldn't win. I bought a book. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I watched for two years as my mother in law planted, watered, and weeded. I feared to touch the poor things lest I be the death of them. We moved to our current residence in the month of November, so I reasonably said to myself I would wait and just see what came up in these foreign beds. By spring, however, I had found a new excuse to avoid the yard work: I was near the end of my third pregnancy, and felt no where near capable enough to get down in the dirt and try weeding or growing things. My belly was evidence of my fertility, must I make things grow from the ground, too?! So, I passed for that year. By the time this past spring rolled around, the garden beds had been untended for more than a year, and it looked as though we were being engulfed in a mini jungle. So, I took my less-than-knowledgeable hands and did the only thing possible in that forest of weeds: I pulled. And pulled. And pulled. For days, I pulled weeds. My mom came out, and we pulled weeds for 5 hours together! Finally, we tamed the wild things enough to see the few scrawny starved flowers and bushes that were left, and by that point, I gave up again. I resolved to keep the beds moderately weeded, but beyond that, I could do no more out there. So this year, I am going to step WAY outside my comfort-zone and attempt to grow something. Maybe some cucumbers, and a tomato or two. Graecy really wants some watermelon. We'll see. It may be the biggest flop, but I am at least going to TRY.
Well, that is all I've got. For now. I may come back and add some things, but if you ask me, I am going to have my hands full just trying to figure out the garden...
Monday, January 19, 2009
So...here is the first blog! Give me a minute, and I will post some pictures, but don't hold your breath- I'm pretty horrible at remembering to do those kinds of things. I guess it is about time I started writing something like this; I mostly want to have a place to vent, or maybe more an outlet for the thoughts that fly through my mind each day that need to be pinned down somewhere. I have a thousand things I'd like to say, all the time, so stay tuned! Certainly there will be bits about my family, and all that goes on in the growing lives of my little ones. And now, for sure, Jon will be relieved to not have to hear the same story more than sixteen times in a row! But give me a minute...homework is calling, and I have a short story and a poem to write, as well as several poems to read and "analyze." The dishes have yet to be done, and my floor (actually, all the floors in every room of the house) look like Hurricane Nicky just blew through. 18 months and quite possibly the cutest, most boyish little boy; 18 months, and quite possibly the end of my sanity.
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