I HAVE DECIDED

I don't have what it takes to respond to social network requests. So I quit them. Yes that's what I did. Rid myself of the stress of trying to keep up with it, maaaan!

This morning while I was tooling around my facebook page, which by the way I drug myself into kicking and screaming against my better judgement in order to BEEEE more frequently social with more of my friends and family in a more updated way, (see previous post) I was horrified to run upon a double column of 'requests' from friends. All kinds. Of requests that is, not friends. That too but that's not news, and it's fabulous. *_* In total, there were two hundred and seventeen requests. Hugs, eggs, flowers, family tree thingies, songs, you name it. My heart fell. It took me an entire cup of coffee and a protein shake to maneuver around my Face Book (it really is a book, wow....) and figure out that my application settings were set so that I wasn't being notified (duh) when I got a request. So they had piled up in this spot that was obviously pretty tucked away until SHAZAAAAM! this morning, the double column list, the fonts, and the colors became so noticable that even ObbyLivious here noticed.

Irony of all ironies......

This is the same reason I don't participate in Secret Santa and Secret Pal exchanges. I can't keep up.

Talk about pet peeves. I have one friend whose pet peeve is gossip. One whose pet peeve is grammar. One whose pet peeve is people who interrupt others. One whose pet peeve is people who correct others. One whose pet peeve is people who don't take care of themselves. One whose pet peeve is passive-aggressiveness. One whose pet peeve is people who have too many pet peeves (that one makes me laugh. hard.) One whose pet peeve is people who don't eat healthy. One whose pet peeve is women with big hair. One whose pet peeve is people who drive hooptie rides. (those last two tend to go together, by the way) The list goes on......

Well. MY new top #1 pet peeve is overdone social networking. I have a friend who has made a big - uh, I don't know what to call it....game? competition? pride point? out of how many friends she can collect on facebook, how many followers on Twitter. She grieves when she loses a follower. The fact that she even keeps up.......blech. A measure of self worth based on an internet network group. Makes me sad.

I got a new computer the other day and it came with Skype. Nowwwww, I've been hearing about this forever, and apparently this is a means of making free phone calls over the internet. But I already have that. So I'm deleting that one. Whew. One down....

I'm resisting the pressure to join, add on, become a member of, include myself, take part in, and even reciprocate excessive computer and/or social network applications. That last one's gonna hurt, but I counted up how long it was going to take me to pay back two hundred and seventeen requests, at approximately a minute per request, whether all at once or as they come in. They're generous, they're wonderful, they're sent/given by friends, but they're not the reason I joined and I gotta cut it off somewhere. I already spend too much time on the computer, in my own estimation. Besides. What is UP with those dang eggs......it's not even Easter!

So here's the thing about pet peeves. It's only mine....... I love watching my friends do those gift-y things to each other. No judgments, wouldn't make anyone feel bad about doing something just because it's my pet peeve.

A LITTLE CAMARADERIE

This is one of my favorite pictures from this year's Spring Break beach trip.

The photos I pick out are rarely anyone else's picks. This one for example is so dark you can't see the childrens' faces. Wouldn't matter since they're facing the other direction. Their faces aren't the point of the picture for me though. Maybe it's just special to me because I know it's them - I know their profiles so well; I know Jr Mint's cowlick and head shape and #1 son's body, the shape of his feet and that low, lowwwww spot where his pants band sits.

This picture is so meaningful because of the moment it captured between them. The shadows just made it even better. It sort of makes me feel as though I have to guess a little about the detail in their expressions. I really wonder if #1's eyes, especially the right one, are squinting a bit from mischief, or if they're big and round from the onset of a great idea he's explaining to his brother.

I'm having this one transferred onto a canvas and stretched over an artists' frame.

MY FACE HAS A BOOK NOW or, I've stepped into the year 2009

I thought I was a pretty updated gal. Truly. Just goes to show how one's reality can be skewed in an embarrassingly gigantic proportion quite akin to the circus mirror that makes you look short and wide like Humpty Dumpty with a bad case of gas. I have an iPhone and I'm not afraid to use it. I keep my calendar on it, my address book on it, my grocery list on it, my notes on it, my pictures on it, my recipes on it, books on it - written and audio, magazines and newspaper on it, songs .....
I have email accounts, several for different purposes, I sync this to that and that to this. I share my synced stuff with other folks so we're all synced up. I can talk on the phone and look up stuff on it at the same time and while I'm doing that I can look something up on the computer and talk to you on the computer too. Send you something on the computer while I'm talking to you on the computer and the phone aaaaaaaaaaaaall at the same ding dang time.

And I can do 5th grade math. While I'm doing all the above.

Sound impressive. . . no. Everybody can do all that stuff all at one time now. Daily grind. Regular bidness. If you can't do all that at one time you can't get through the day these days. Not only can you not get a job, but I'm here to tell ya you can't make it through a PTA meetin', gerl. Most folks try to do all that while they're drivin'. Ok now I'm exaggerating. Ha.

So anyhow, last week I was talking to one of my husband's cousins. There are hundreds of 'em, law me. Oh are you on Facebook? she says, eyes big, tilts her head SSEWWWWWW innocently. Lots of the cousins are; that's how they're keeping up with each other these days. No, I said. It's all I can do to check my email often enough and respond to them all between soccer games blah blah yada you know the rest. Then there are text messages and the twitter doololly.....whew. My seventeen year old niece is texting me every other day, and I'm getting tweets (sounds so dirty, sheesh) here and there from people all over the world telling me all kinds of innocuous, really bland things that folks are doing or thinking or wondering, and what I'm wondering is how much time I've got left before my eleven year old gets interested in all this uber communication and mostly, whatever happened to wonderful, beautiful, contemplation, reflection, being in the moment you're really IN.

So I'm sitting on the soccer field and I get a text from my brother. When I text him back I ask Hey, do you do facebook?

Of course, he says. It's a great way to keep up with what's going on with everybody, especially folks who are far away.

Keeping up with people I love, that can't be a bad thing. So I thought I'd check it out, but it turns out you can't check it out unless you have an account. THE FAMOUS WAY TO GET SUCKED IN TO MOST EVERYTHING IN LIFE. . . the five little words - You Must Be Logged In.
That's how I became a blogger. That's how I got an email account. That's how I became an online banker.



So now I have a facebook page. *_* And it turns out that I only thought I knew what was going on in the world and how connected people were. Right off the bat Facebook asked me if I wanted it to take my email address book and check it for friends. It found that 118 of my contacts had facebook pages. WHO. KNEW. People I go to church with, people I live next door to, people whose kids bully mine, my chiropractor, people I sit next to at committee meetings, scout meetings, go to parties with, people who teach my kids, coach my kids, cut my hair, massage my back, do our portraits, roof my house, work with my husband, sell me stuff, it is pervasive!!!! And within three days, sure 'nuff, Ronny's cousin was right. I have five of his cousins as friends, one aunt, two nephews and a niece. Most of them are people we don't see but once a year at Christmas. So if this is the only way to see them, how glad I am their face has a book too.

Happy Earth Day, and Hello Again, no the earth didn't swallow me up.....

An abandoned blog, how sad. This is part of my Earth Day clean-up. I am re-activating, greening up my blog.

Hello all you happy people! I should start by skimming my own blog but if I did that I would use up the time I've allotted for blogtime. It's been awhile. So long in fact I don't recall the subjects I wrote about last but no matter. I know what I want to say now. I haven't been compelled to write. For almost a year it seems like - at least - I have been uninspired excepting the mini storytelling episode that only manifested itself from a daily life experience, landing in a note to a friend or a post on my message board. The part perspiration and part inspiration ditty must be specifically if you're getting paid because I never have broken a sweat . . . . wait a minute . . . . maybe that's for good writers. . . . oh hell I can't take time to think about all that deep stuff. Anyway about the inspiration. For me it's part inspiration and part habit and part having the right environment to write. So if I have forty projects going and constructon havoc all around me I can't write. Maybe partially because of the physical environment, maybe partially because me pea brain's so cluttered with trying to get the projects done I can't think about getting inspired to write, maybe because I'm out of the habit, who knows.....

Maybe I'm a fair weather writer.

My Dad and my sister-in-law say I should take my writing tablet or computer (respectively) and go out in the pasture or to the library (again, respectively) and write. May I clarify that both of these lovely individuals have reared their children and kicked them out of their (respective) nests?

Now, I will admit that writing is, like family get-togethers, Pilates, vitamins, and girl parties, therapeutic for me. (How many times have I said 'me' in this post? Yikees.) However it is not like Pilates where I can go every Thursday. It isn't like vitamins where I can go to the cabinet and pour out a measured handful and take my recommended dosage every day. It isn't either like girl parties where I can schedule an event and invite my favorite mix and number and choose a spot to meet. And it especially isn't like family get-togethers where with one call, a little house-cleanin', and a crock pot of chili I can surround myself with those who love me and each other most. It has to hit me. I can't hit it.

But that last one - the family get-togethers......... that's where I'm most likely to get hit.

Appropo of nothing sort of, we were on the way to a friend's house for a party a few weeks ago and Jr. Mint asked "Now where are we going again?"

#1 said "We're going to a friend reunion at the ___________'s house."

"A what?" I said.

"A friend reunion," says he. "You know. Like a family reunion, only but cep with friends instead."

I like it. I like it a lot. It inspires me.

HOME MAKING -or- what makes a home, anyway?

Sometimes when I think about the decade that I was a kid in - a single digit kid that is, I think about trying to describe some of the differences to my kids. Sometimes I give it a whirl, sometimes I sigh and decide it just makes me seem like such a relic.

I mean. Houses were ranch style. Sprawling. They were nice but they were efficient. We l-i-v-e-d in them. Things the family used sat out in plain view. Phones. TVs. Radios. Blenders. Why, it was even common to see a napkin holder on a table. OUT. Y'know. Such as that. Yards were y-a-r-d-s. The grass was green and we had flower gardens, foundation plantings and so on, but as I recall nobody was rabid about landscaping. The kitchen was the center of the house and pots and pans were well used and bunged up, sometimes enamel was even chipped and that's because it was U-S-E-D every day, every day, e-v-e-r-y day. The bacon drippings crock was a large part of the kitchen decor.

The writing or telephone desk was a fundamental piece of furniture. That was back when the telephone stayed in its place securely connected to the wall and we were the boss of it instead of . . . . . well, you know.

I was looking at the volume of my kids' toys -which is moderate compared to their friends-, and I was just thinking that when I was a kid I would have thought I was rich beyond my wildest dreams if I had as many toys as my children. We had some books and one toybox of toys. To be fair, my toybox was a hardsided laundry hamper with a hinged lid that my Mom covered with colorful fabric and edged with trim. I didn't appreciate it a whole lot then but now looking back on it I think a couple of my buddies had round laundry hampers to chunk their toys in. I should thank her for that toybox. I could go on forever about my toys but for the sake of your eyes and having a topic for another post, I will not tell you about my homemade Barbie clothes, homemade stilts and so on WHICH, by the way, were all better and OH so very sought out by all my friends. The Tiedye house was always where all the kids were and it wattn because of bossy Tie for that you can be sure.

It seems like the bathroom was pretty spartan. It never smelled of luxurious bath salts or candles, but rather the smell of Comet always hit your nostrils the moment you walked in, lingered a moment and then was replaced by the strong but pleasant scent of Camay soap, which had a cameo embossed on the front; again, a large part of the bathroom decor, second to the Kleenex box. I can't find that soap now or that stuff would be in my bathrooms as I type. Another example of things you needed sitting out in plain view? Toothbrushes. Manual ones were hung right there on the wall off the ceramic tile toothbrush hanger thingie that had the cup indention in the middle, and electric ones had one base and each family member had their own toothbrush head with a different colored dot. It sat on the countertop. (Eww. What we didn't know then....)

The house never smelled luxurious either. It either smelled like Mama had just vacuumed or dusted, or it smelled like the floor furnace or (when we finally got one), the window air conditioning unit. Twice a week it smelled like Mama had just set and dried her hair with the home Sunbeam hair dryer with the bonnet. All definitive smells. Home smells.

But you know what? Who's to say those aren't luxurious smells? I enjoy them. My kids friends however are not familiar. They come home from school with my kids, walk in the door, crinkle their nose and say, Oooh Mrs. Tiedye what do I sah-mell? Yee-ikes! Well honey bear, that's Comet. Oooh Mrs. Tiedye it's HOT in heah. Well honey the windows are open. Ooooh Mrs. Tiedye what're you doin? You been in here awhile! I'm c-o-o-k-i-n-g, babydoll. Go on back outside, dinner'll be ready in about fifteen minutes.

I'm so thankful for living in today. I'm thankful for the advantages of technology I enjoy them regularly. I'm also thankful for having grown up when I did and knowing I don't have to live by today's standards if I like my own better.

Life's good.

THE LAST HURRAH or, BOONE, neener neener : - '

The boys and I are in Boone. We came to visit my brother and his wife for a few days, the last trip before school starts back. Whenever they know I'm coming to Boone, my friends stick their noses in the air, roll their eyes in their head and poke their lower lips out. Jealous, they are. Grown women. I've aaaaaalways wanted to gaaaawwwwwww thaaaayur.....

Well, I'll bring you something. Whaddyu want?

Oh, anything. . . something kitschy, antique-ish, mountain-ey, North Carolina-like, and OH! it should smell good.

Good grief. It reminded me of a scene from a Diane Keaton movie called Baby Boom, where she was a big money man-eater advertising rep in New York, had quit, moved upstate to the country with her baby and started making baby food in mass quantities with apples from her orchard. In the middle of a frigid winter, frazzled, frustrated and nearly broke she's standing in the general store trying to talk the owner into selling her baby food when two yuppie couples from the city come in. (I think one of the wives was Rita Wilson, by the way, but I can't be sure.....I need to watch this movie again - it's so great - but I digress.)
Anyway, they're going on and on about how cutesy this place is, and oh LOOOOOOK at theeeeees and oh how kaYUUUUUUUUT is thAAAAAAAAT and we need to take six of these flannel shirts back to the city for the wintertime, they're so, oh I don't know, Eddie Baaaa-wer, but here they're only seven dollars (shhhhh). . . . blah blah blah, when they spy a jar of Diane Keaton's homemade baby food with the sweet little country baby label and all that jazz, and one of them, Rita Wilson I think, holds it up and says, OH. MY. GOSH. MARY JANE LOOK AT THIS!!! Cute little small town homemade baby food! We have to have four jars of this and the other one says oh how great! homemade? no how many are there lets take them all and turns to Diane Keaton and says how much are these and back to her buddy and says out of the corner of her mouth lets get 'em all and back to Diane Keaton how much did you say? and she says $2.00 each I mean $2.50 no $3.00 ....$4.00 a jar yeah uh $4.00 a jar.

Now I don't remember why I started this story but I gotta go watch that movie. Which I can go do because I'm takin' it easy for three days in cool, breezy North Carolina. My gosh it's so nice here. It's almost 10am and no air conditioner needed. We slept with the windows thrown wide open. Heaven. Ate dinner last night on the deck. Grilled out. Can't do that at home. It's still brutal at 9:00pm! Ronny called this morning in fact at 8:00am from work in crunchy brown Georgia and I told him how cool it was and he was sooooo jealous. I'm frying already, says he. Don't even tell me says he. I can't stand it.

Yep, I'm looking forward to fall. But right now, lemme tell ya. I'm looking out my brothah's front picture window at the rhododendrons that line his driveway and the hostas that grow the size of shrubs. He has an amazing amount of shade, which is one of the things that comes with the hilly terrain here. It's a give and take I suppose. Last night when I was bragging on the temperature in his house (sans air conditioner) and his lush landscaping, he said I'll trade you that for a flat piece of land.

I guess it's all relative.

HAINT BLUE

Most folks paint the ceilings of their porchs blue, but since it was my floor what needed the paint, that's what got it. Don't fix it if'n it ain' broke. Anyhow haint blue works anyolwhere. I ba-leeeeeeeeev.

Not that we have haints. What we haaaaave, is skeeters, bugs, no see 'ems, bitin' flies, yaller jackits, and any manner of buzzin', bitin', stingin', aggravatin', annoyin', infeeyuriatin' pests that skeet in every time the door's open for a milleesekent. And theeyin, once-chu close the door? Well, they're all yer guestiz; rahht thur on the screen powitch. But cept'n nowwwww, well. The haint blue'll skeer 'em off. *grin giggle snicker snort*

So. It's a few less fer iced tea 'n rockin' t'night, Tater Bug!

Ta.

HELLO FROM CAMP ONESIE

This week we're three. My eldest, my first, my biggest baby - well the truth about that is my first child is my second biggest baby but anybody with a husband knows the honesty swimmin' in THET pool but I digress my baby's at camp for a week and I'm having to keep really busy else I might think too much and well we aaaaaaall know how dangerous THET kin be ohhhhhhhhh NO nobody wants that to hapn.

Plus'n. There's the lil detail of King Jr. Mint. Ohhhhh yes sir. This happens only once a year does he get to be the only child so it has to be pomp and circumstance all the wayyy Mr Jr. Man. Surprises hidden every morning when he wakes up, playdates every day, lunch out, snuggle time in Mommy and Daddy's bed before bedtime, Skittles and chewing gum E-V-E-R-Y day, snuggle up in the loveseat recliner and watch a movie munching popcorn while dinner's cooking and we're waiting for Daddy to get home, activities with Daddy in the evenings. Next week he'll be rotten but oh well.

So last Friday night we have friends over for dinner, the parents of #1 son's best buddy. The one he's at camp with. . . . just to sort of kick off the coming week at camp. Well, that and they're just good friends and it was our turn to have them over anyway. So I roasted two hens, one in the oven and one on the Green Egg, cooked fresh green beans, roasted Vidalias, steamed brown rice, and made homemade whole grain bacon bread. Then at the last minute I decided to whisk up some chicken gravy out of the yummy crunchies in the bottom of the pan to drizzle over the rice and chicken for anyone who wanted it.

We had a good time. Sat out on the patio and ate, drank, and ate some more. I had done a few dips for appetizers - pimiento cheese, fresh salsa (yes I guess we took our lives in our hands....) and a white bean dip that was out of this WORLD). Can't remember where I got the recipe but I've made it a few times, soooooo easy. Here's what I did:

1 can cannellini beans, drained
2-3 cloves fresh garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
zest of 2 lemons

I poured the beans in the food processor, smashed the garlic with my knife and threw those in too. Then I put the top on the processor and turned it on, adding the olive oil through the chute kinda slowly. Let it go until it was all smooth. Then when I turned it out into a bowl I added the zest and a lot of black pepper, little salt. That's IT. It's to die for. If you have any leftover you can put it on a sandwich with stuff like lettuce and tomatoes or grilled veggies. That's delish too.

Got to go. The King is rumbling in his royal bed. I need to hide his surprise before he graces me with his presence.

Ta.

HELLO STRANGERS!

Yup I'm here. Here I am. Contrary to popular belief I am raahhhhhhht heahr, it's just my head that's in the clouds. Har.

Ok seriously. I am S-U-C-H a creature of habit and I got out of the habit. But lets not make this about me.

SO. Have y'misst me?

On the positive side, I have been seriously productive. TreMENdously productive. Yyyyew jess woudn't believe it if I tol ya. So anyhowz, here's what I been about, cuuuuuuz there've been a few changes around here. First off, my handsome hubby's company has been bought out and his work future is uncertain. Not a good thing. Well it could be not a bad thing in the long run but in the meantime? Not so much.

Maybe that wasn't the first thing chronologically but in order of import, certainly.

OK. Thennnnnnn, a big ol' honkin' tree fell on my deck.


Yippie skippie. Really. No really! No one was hurt, and yesssss, it was an inconvenience, and yesssss, it cost us money (boy howdy. . . . .) but ultimately the result, after the insurance claim offset some of the expenditure blahdee blah blah blahhhhh, and much gnashing of teeth and dealing with contractors later, we have a beautiful new stone patio.
Needed to happn. Sometimes y'just need that push, know what uh mean? In this case, our push was a 30 ft tall pine tree that broke off at the middle during a wind storm at 5:00am and landed on our 20 year old deck. I hate pine trees generally, but this one was mah fren, and it gave its life for the cause. Go in peace, friend.


Been a lot more going on around here but I have to save SOMEthing for the next blog entry..... that way I'll motivate myself to actually get back here and DO one, huh. Plus I need to get outside and actually plant something around that new patio. Trim my hedges. Weed. And all before 9:00am when it gets too hot to do anything outside but walk to the mailbox.

Good to talk to ya. More later. Tah.

ONE PRESSES SHARPLY ONE GLIDES GENTLY or maybe he rolls

Guess which is which. (Hint: the pronoun the clue..........)

Hellooooo there! I misstcha. Spring Break with the captl S and B is over and now we're grindin on reg-uuu-laaar life again, headed toward Summer Vacation with the captl S and V so I am here here I am to allow what I found in my head during the time I sat on the beach contemplatively last week. Don't hold your breath for anything grand. Really. Remember. I am blonde. Har.

I read a few books while we were gone and even more magazines - gosh seems like I can speed read while on vacation does that happen to you? anyway once I stick my nose in one (book that is) I can't extract it until I lay my eyes on the last word, to the great pleasure and prolly also the immense annoyance of my handsome husband if he dares get hungry . . . but cest la vie he does know where the kitchen is and how to feed his own and our children's pieholes. Oopsie did I digress?

Anyway when I read that many books in a short period of time, there are words, phrases, concepts that always "stick" to me when I read, in my head, ones I love, ones that make me go hmmmm, ones that just sit on my head stick to me so hard I can't shake them off ones that sink right down through to my bones sit in my core because they're so striking or so "OH!" or so "ME" as in MEaningful or so plagiaristic, that is to say ones that are so terrific I WISH they were mine or they SHOULD be mine ding dang it..... but sadly..... not so much. Or maybe it's because I'm supposed to do something with them? *scratch . . . head . . .blink . . . eyes . . . tweak . . . ear*

It's the ones that stick so much I can't shake them off that are such PESky lil boogers. I read somewhere in my voluminous vacation readings about two people who were very different, one who pressed sharply against life and was hurt by it fairly hard sometimes in return. The other one was the favorite one, favorite of family and destiny and found life and the world to be a comfortable and welcoming place. The minute I read it I felt every nerve ending in my body, every single one. I knew I'd remember every single word of both those sentences but I scrambled for pencil and paper just in case.

All the rest of the week those words stayed with me. Like a haunting they stayed. They kept coming up, like when you throw up in your MOUTH they kept coming up and yet at the same time I knew I had stumbled upon something I needed. Oddly that was comforting or it was going to be comforting sometime in the future, no, it already was. But whyyyyyyy. . . . .
Hmmm this is a good mystery. Mary Higgins Clark would approve. Meanwhile I read one of her mindless mysteries, which I (egotistically and from my amateur throne) declare to be worthless drivel and a total waste of money, badly written and abhorrently predictable.

Dinnertime comes and having just come in from the beach I tossed Ms. H. Clark onto the hydrangea wicker sofa. DH and brother look at me. Ruh roh. Here comes su-thin. They been drinkin beer at the beach.

DH: Can Jr Mint sit in your lap in the Expedition to the restaurant so we can all ride in one vehicle?

What I think: ARE YOU CWAZY MAN? ON THE ROAD? WHAT ARE YOU THINKIN? HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO HAVE THIS DING DANG DISCUSSION? IT'S THE ROAD. THIS IS MY CHILD. HE NEEDS TO SIT IN THE SEAT. IN HIS BOOSTER. END OF DISCUSSION. GEEZ. Why do I always have to be the voice of reason?

WHAT I SAY: I don't think that would be safe, do you?

DH: It's only eight or ten blocks and we're on a beach that's not really that busy. We don't even have to get out on a main road.

What I think: DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST THOUGHT?

WHAT I SAY: So you think that would be safe? I'd really rather not...I'll drive our car with the kids if y'all all just want to ride together and let SIL drive you.

So now DH and my brother both walk away annoyed and fairly scowling. And truly it is only a few blocks away from the beachhouse to the restaurant, and apparently the point was the two of them wanted to have a couple of drinks together while at the restaurant and The One Pressing Sharply fouled or foiled the plans of the One Who glides gently and is Comforted and Welcomed, (and his Cohort).

So but and (spoken like a true Pressing Sharply gnarl of the-what-for), why can't both sides live in tandem is what I wonder, now that I have the epiphany. I mean it's the A personality issue, clearly, and it's the same argument as Sales verses Administration, art department verses accounting department, teachers verses board of ed., parents verses kids, the list goes on forblippinever but the ol story is the same and the older you get well you'd just think you could solve it, live with it, get Ohhhhhhhhhver it. Mahhhhhhhh-an.

Malaise maybe? Living life uncomfortably - or having to work harder to be comfortable, control issues, perfectionism, or just feeling responsibility? Depends who you ask. Decisions, life in general, much smoother for my handsome husband and I envy him that at times with every fiber that makes up my Sharp Pointy Pressy Self.

Everything's relative, perhaps it comes down to picking your battles. My children? Their safety? THE battle to pick every time. Prolly still was a little over the top, considering I watched other folks haul their kids in Jeeps with no roll bars down the same beachy streets all week long, but it just has no bearing so why do I wake up in the middle of the night whimpering all piteeful Why Am I The Bad Guy When I'm Doing The RIGHT Thing????? The Unselfish Thing? It's So Not FAIRRRRR! Waaaaaaah!!!!

Pressy sharp pointy person I am, I got a million examples just like that one. Doesn't matter. Budget, kids, schedule, homework, bedtime well that's schedule isn't it anyway Why Am I The Bad Guy When I'm Doing The RIGHT Thing????? The Unselfish Thing? It's So Not FAIRRRRR! Waaaaaaah!!!!

There's no answer is there, except life's not fair, but at the least I want to have the courage of my convictions but not be the bad guy, maybe can I at least be a nice guy while I'm being a bad guy? Or can I be the prettiest guy or at least wearing pretty clothes with a good haircut and fabulous shoes when I force my children to bed on time even though their father would've let them stay up? And as I do this may I close my eyes and repeat the sage mantra of every lone Mom with no support on bedtime issues: *someday they'll understand, someday they'll understand, someday they'll understand*

A Man and His Dad, or Just What Was the Prize, Anyway

I don't know how I missed this in 1992. I wasn't much into sports. Maybe that was it. Maybe you saw it, but regardless, watch it now:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zi0_LjHHN4

Watch it again.

I've only recently discovered it, and now I watch it about once every couple of days. Our childrens' minister used it as a tool to illlustrate a point at the halftime devotional during soccer games last Saturday. Now I have it bookmarked on both computers.

That video is remarkable in so many ways beside the obvious one that Derek Redmond GOT UP. That his father broke past the security guy (You better git outta my way, that's my boy out there!) I made up words for that part. Just seemed like that's what he was saying. That's what I'd be saying. That his Dad put his arm around his son and helped him to the finish line. That he got him back in lane 5 and walked with him, patting him every step of the way. That his Daddy's right hand did not stop patting, comforting, holding. Pat pat pat. That even though Derek Redmond's biceps qualified for big guns in my book, probably twice the size of his Dad's, Dad had the power of comfort and strength and his hand moved from his son's waist to his shoulder to his arm back to his waist as they walked, patting, squeezing, hugging, giving his son comfort. I doubt he even knew he was doing it.

So they finished the race. Walked across the finish line. Heartbreaking, the whole video clip, but the part that made me sob and snort almost out loud (which would've embarrassed handsome husband except he was too busy trying to look all macho and as though he wasn't teary himself) was when they finished the race and Derek Redmond put his face in his hands and his head in the crook of his Daddy's neck. UNbearable.

The silly thing is, that was 1992. It's sort of but not like crying over a commercial I s'pose. Still cry every time I watch it. But Derek Redmond (I didn't know it thennnnn, the first time I watched) has since parlayed that horrible experience into a great career complete with books, speaking engagements, the works! Good for him. When life gives you. . . . . . . . y'know.

The sermon yesterday at church was wrapped up in the same scripture (which is Hebrews 12 by the way in case anyone's interested). I have to stop here and say that my lil ol brain is so simple that things like this impress the snot out of it. The church coordinates the messages in all areas of the church for the week so that when you get home as a family, here's what happens. You're able to talk about the same message in a googlezillion different ways. Simple? Yes. Do all churches do it? Why yes, of course well prolly maybe but I only go to mine and I'm still impressed. 'K? It doesn't take much.

So anyhootietoo, the preacher calls all the chirren to the front for the kids' message and he (he's so brave) he says sunthin like Has anyone fallen down ever? I mean besides when your big brother or sister helps you fall down? Cuzzz, y'know they do that. And the message went on and on and I listened and cute kids were saying funny stuff like yeah and YEAH and I fell right on my BUTT and I got a bruise you wanna SEE it? and the preacher laaaaughs and the congregations laaaaaughs and all the meanwhile I was still back on that cuzzzzzz, y'know big brothers help you fall down.

Sometimes childrens' sermons aren't just for the children, but the message there is for - well - whoever needs to hear it. And yesterday that was me. Lighten up on your oldest boy, gal. It's normal for him to do that to the lil one. Developmental even. Let it happen, they'll work it out.

Hmm.

Powerful. Suddenly that was me being steered back into Lane 5 and a limp I didn't even know I had was easing.

And I was impressed that my church coordinated messages.

AND WHO WOULD PLAY ME?

It's a game I've played for years. Who would play you in the movie? (The movie of your life of course!) There isn't a single rule, you just cast yourself. That's all. You can cast based on looks, personality, character, mannerisms, whatevah. You're the casting director. It's your call. No judgments either. Okay so there IS one rule.

I cast my family long ago and nothing's changed. Well, rather, the constants have remained......we've removed a few here and there, added more. Here we go:

My Handsome Husband ...................... Bruce Willis or John Travolta
I'm wishy washy on that one.

My Sweet Mama.....................Shirley Maclaine

My Wondermous Daddy...................................Dennis Weaver

Best Seester Ever .......................................Demi Moore

Seester's Handsome Husband......................................Tom Cruise
although with his behavior of late (Tom Cruise's, not my brother-in-law's), I may have to re-cast to the guy from that TV show where all the kids were raising themselves - Scott somebuddy.....???

My Baby Brother..............................................Branden Frasier

Brother's Lovely Wife........................................Sonia Braga

My Sweetiepie Grandmother........................................Olympia Dukakis

I don't usually cast the kids but my gosh my sister's oldest girlie is a dead ringer for Dakota Fanning so there that's a no brainer.

Now then. Let's us delve into the in-laws, shall we? Hee hee eeeeheeeeeeee hehe ha ahem.

Loving Mother-in-law.......................... Elizabeth Taylor.

Hubby's Brainy Brother....................................Ralph Fiennes.
Well he's handsome too, of COURSE, cuz he looks just like my hubby ; ^ )

His Wife, My Wise Sister-in-law ................................... Sigourney Weaver
I have known this since the day I met her. They look nothing alike but she channels her I just know it

Hubby's Wonderful Sister..........................................Delta Burke

Her Hubby, My Talented Brother-in-Law........................... Paul Reiser

What a cast, huh. Some were cast for appearance similarities, some for similarities otherwise. Over the years I've cast others in my life just because the resemblance to some celebrity is in some way so immediately striking.

Because I couldn't cast myself, and because my sister kept on until I just said Well then YOU do it, she cast me as Helen Hunt. A few years later, a good friend recast me as BONNIE Hunt. Ironic, huh. A Hunting I shall be. Har.

In the next few days I hope to have a pic beside each name, so you can see casting for yourself.

Recently I was reminded that there are families that become divided over material things, immediate family members who turn their backs on each other in favor of stuff. Things. People who love each other, have been raised together, lived together, have history together, who have had harsh words and betrayed each other over things that will not last, stuff you can't take with you, material things that you can't tuck into your heart, you can't count on like you can your family......if that is, you haven't put STUFF before them.

I have the most awesome family and things like the family travesty above continue to remind me of it. Well I mean, gosh. How can you lose with Ralph Fiennes, Demi Moore, and Branden Frasier in your sib repertoire? Liz and Shirley for Mamas?

SUPERBOWL WEEKEND naaaahhhhhh GIRLS DAY OUT yeah THAT'S IT!!

See the picture of the feetsies over to the left there, all posed for a picture? The ones that are vacationing in St. Thomas and cruising on a sailboat? Well. The middle three sets of tootsies belong to a set of sustahs in-laws if you must but you can see the previous post for how I feel on that subject and we three had a day on Saturday last. Yes we did.

We spent a lil bit of time at the spa having some stress removed in various ways. Handsome husband's sister had a lil more than stress removed but we won't go there. It was her birthday by the way, double nickels, and after the spa we skipped on down to the bar and celebrated some more. Our intention was to have one lil cocktail and go home, where our husbands awaited. I had cooked dinner earlier in the day and had everything on timers or in the fridge so we could have sister's birthday dinner upon our return but a funny thing happened on the way to the bottom of the glass and the giggles. We ordered the second one (oops) and about that time summmmbunny's cell phone rang. It was handsome husband's brother calling his loverly wife, who was on last sip of first glass of wine. WHERE ARE YOU?

We're here.

HERE WHERE?

Having a drink.

Wull hurry.

Why? What's going on?

Nuthin, we're just here, that's all. Just hangin' out. Y'know. Watchin' the dogs chase each other, playing Wii and stuff. Hurry.

No. In fact, we may be a lil later than initially planned. Buh bye. . . .



Now, these are guys that collectively manage oh. maybe. I dunno. billllllions of dollars? hunnnnndreds of people? meet with EVPs, CEOs, in fact both of them tell THOSE folks what to DO on a fairly regular basis. They were raised together, two of the three of 'em anyway.

Hurry. *sheesh*

Second round comes, the sustahs need food. The beef tenderloin bruschetta begins to look like something we need. But so do the onion rings. Get themmmmm botthhhhhhhh after all there are three of us. Sunbudie's phone dingalings and guess whut. Eeeeet's MINE this time. Hey honey, I just wanted to remind you that you guys need to stop by the package store on the way home - uh, whenEVER that might be. . . you know, no rush or anything. We're low on vodka.

Ronny?

Yeah honey?

Where are you standing?

At the kitchen table.

Turn around.

OH. I didn't see it there. Ok then. . . uh, I guess I'll see you uh, whenever, then. . . . just . . . . when . . . you get home then . . .

And there's more in the freezer. Bye baby.

Wull bye . . .

We owed these men a debt of gratitude simply for providing us material for laughter if nothing else. We giggled, gossiped and scratched our heads over the helplessness and keystone cop frantic antics of our brainiac husbands who are brothers. We clinked glasses, shook heads, and made toasts while we wiped away tears we laughed so hard.

When the checks came, Susan grabbed the checks quickly and over protests began to pay the bill. When we continued to protest, she said LISTEN. There aren't many people I love as much as you.
Now I ask ya. Can the day keep gettin' better?

The answer's yes. When we arrived back home, I got dinner ready, dished everything up so everyone could eat and then the three of us proceeded - we planned it on the way home cuz we weren't reeeeeeally finished with girls day - to go upstairs to my office and work on paint colors for Donna's house. May I share with you that if we thought the earlier outing had discombobulated the men, this sent them spinning into another orbit.

Wull . . . where're you goin? What're y'all doin' up there?

All in all we got about twenty minutes of good girl time before we were just badgered enough that we gave up the ghost and went downstairs and joined. The men almost visually, physically relaxed when we came downstairs and sat down. It became a traditional family get-together and they were happy. We just enjoy your company, they said. We missed you, they said.

I know the solution to this, we said. More girls' days so they get used to it.

FUNERALS, FRIENDS, AND FISTS

When you've been married twenty seven years there isn't a lot of difference between your relatives and your spouse's anymore. The lines are blurred, the words in-law don't mean what they once did and in fact, we drop that designation many times, for it is seemingly unnecessary, almost offensive at this point. My mother in law many times calls me her daughter, my brother has for years and years called my husband his brother. It goes on and on. The words are useful still; "in-law", but alas only to explain to a freshman to the fold which one belongs to which and then, how the association came about.

Earlier in the week my handsome husband's step-Grandmother passed away. "Step" is sort of the same as in-law. I never got to meet handsome husband's Grandmother. She passed away a year or so before we met, and his Grandaddy remarried shortly after. He was married about eleven years to Nell before he passed away but Nell remained Nell or Grandma Nell to Grandaddy's nine grown children, their kids and their kids for the balance of her life. She was kind and generous and she was a loving Southern gal. She was a hoot and a half. She was a story for another post.

A relative of Nell's was responsible for the arrangements of her funeral, and apparently there were either misques that resulted in Nell's wishes not being carried out or Mr. Relative was not particularly sensitive toward said wishes. At any rate the end result was a fairly egregious error of callousness in my humble opinion; not on the level of the Rock Springs Crematorium debacle clearly, but a heavy load to carry nonetheless. It isn't a correctable error should Mr. Relative develop a conscience.

I came home with a heavy heart. Besides the kind of heavy heart you normally leave a funeral with I mean. The kind Mr. Relative will feel should he develop said conscience. Everyone is entitled to a perspecific beautilicious send off, and if they have requested something by golly that means its important to them. If a human person of the humankind goes to the real trouble of writing something down, something they want specifically done after they die, at their funeral, when they don't even truly know it, you better believe it's a MUST. Come onnnnnnnnnn.

There weren't but two things she wanted, and one was a blanket of roses on top of her casket. She didn't get that and in fact she didn't get any flowers or anything on top of her casket and it looked so bare and so spare and I thought about that blank, bare casket all evening and every time I woke up in the night. Nell's first name was Rosie. Y'know I didn't know that, all the years I knew her I feel so bad about that it's so funny the things you don't know about someone. I did know how she loved roses, had them everywhere EVERYWHERE except the top of her casket like she wanted them.

So I was talking to a few friends about it. . . . and here's what one friend said back to me in an email:

I feel bad for her that she didn't get her roses like she wanted. I just sent a big ol' bouquet of imaginary pale pink sweetheart roses to the cemetary and had them put right where she would know they were there. And the thing is, they will always be there and she can always see them.

Hope your day is gu-ud today!

Thanks Beezie. I bet she knows they're there, too. Why didn't I think of that? When I read it I was standing up at the island in the kitchen and as soon as I got to the word cemetary the words began to get slightly fuzzy, my arms locked straight by my sides, my hands balled up in fists, and I stomped. By the time I got to the end I could barely read the words at all and I was stomping HARD. Like a spoiled child. That was right before I melted into a big heap. A big blubbering heap. A gu-ud day indeed. That's an understatement. My heart is light today.

Bee and Nell would have been great friends. There's a blog post in there somewhere. : ^ )

HERE'S THE NEW PLAYSET

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO OUR FAMILY, HUH..... (see the Monday, November 26th post)

I have to wait until Spring to stain it. . . and the top level of the fort. There's a swingset to the left of the pic, but it's not so 'citin'. Jes swings. ;- )

Y'know what a girl I am? I can't wait to see what it looks like when the trees leaf out. *blush*

RESOLUTE

HELLO in 2008!

Long time no see. Where ya been? Hmmmmmm, kidding. ;- )

Okay so earlier this morning as I was doing the earthshaking but olfactorily and (obviously, duh)sanitarily necessary task of pottie swabbing (and for those who have boys, remind me to tell you about the new pottie seat I got. It's a must. . .) I was perusing the ol' thinker for signs of interest in New Years Resolutions. Late, yes. Normally I don't go for them. Yesterday howsomever I began to twiddle with the idear. Twiddled some more around in the gray matter last night when I awoke at 3:30am to the sound of Jr Mint talking in what I thought was his sleep but it turned out he was wiiiiiide awake.

HELLL-lllo he said when I tiptoed into his room.

I jumped. "Why are you awake?"

Because I'm fweezing. Bwuddah stole all da cuvahs.

They were having a sleepover in #1 son's bed. Their Dad set them up to watch Osmosis Jones on his laptop lying in the bed, then they decided to camp out together for the night. Ahhhhh, Christmas vacation.

So stea- errrr, take some back!

I caaaaaan't, he's lying on them. He won't BUDGE. He's like a BWICK, Mmmmmom.

So you're just lying there, freezing, talking to yourself.

Uh huh.

Ohhhhh-ba kay-ba, well if you decide you want to warm up, let me know how you think you might could solve that......in this big ol' house......with several bedrooms......and lotsa beds...... See ya.

So, back in my (warm) bed, (with lotsa covers pulled up) I flipped the TV on and while I cursed past all the informercials I started thinking about resolutions and why it was that the word and the deed stuck like a hairpin somewhere between my medulla and my oblongata. So I looked it up. Miriam says resolute means to be 1. resolved and 2. bold and steady, then she defines a resolution simply as the act or process of resolving.

VOILA! THERE's my prollem! The New Year's resolution is only the first step. If a resolution is the act of resolving, then that only takes a split second. "I'm going to --BLAH--." Take your pick of vices -quit smoking, lose weight, exercise more, read more, sit less, walk more, clean your car more, spend time with your family more, spend time on the computer less, spend less money, save more money, ever noticed how all or most all end in LESS or MORE? Hmm. A trend.

The biggest part of this exercise isn't the resolution itself. It's being resolute the REST of the year. Hunh. Gooooo figure. Maybe that's why normally I don't go for them. Maaaaaaan I love it when I can figure out little tidbits of my goofy self. Baby steps, woman, baby steps.

Arright. So. Now you're laughing and rolling your eyes, further proof that crackers really are as dumb as you've always thought, because people have known this about resolutions for centons, you say. Well, simple simon here, clearly, no. Takes me awhile to catch on.

So the bottom line is, I have one. I have been thinking about it for awhile, and I'm going to commit to it. I haven't done it in years, this resolute-tion thing, but I'm going to take it seriously. This one doesn't take any giant will power, it's not physical, won't require dietary changes or exertion on my part (although I ought be doin' all that too) but I know myself and one thing at a time is my mantra.

It's gonna take all the gray matter my medulla oblongata can spare. Changing a habit always does.

15 FOR A MOMENT

Been sitting at my dining room table this morning designing a playset to connect to the boys' fort. They call it a fort but actually it began its life in my mind as a playhouse. They poo-poo that designation. Sounds too girlie but you look at it and tell me just which name sounds more accurate. Its the picture directly above this post, dead center of the collage. At any rate, handsome husband and I were out to eat last week and he says to me over his poached salmon What are we going to get each other for Christmas? and I said Oh we're doing that this year? and he said Yeah, you know, collectively, for the house and I said Well I don't want to get anything that requires the initiation of any ongoing projects and so here's how that goes. I say how bout this and he says nahhhh, and I say how bout that and he says mmmmm nahhhhh, and I say well ok how bout the other thang and he says well uhhhh hmm nahhhhhh don't think sewwwww, and I say ok then Mr. Man what are your ideas and he says I du-nno I just thought maybe we could go sort of big ticket and get ourselves something we both want and also knock out something we've sort of been needing, but if you don't like the ideeeer. . . .

Kiss my tiara, big foot.

Y'know, they just like to turn up the volume and watch you dance. Then if you don't do the steps they like, they take away the music. But they don't ever join you on the dance floor. It ain't fair, it just ain't fair. Ain't fair.

So. I smiled sweetly, sorta like Melanie did to Ashley, and I said Welll, you know there IS one thing I have really been wanting to knock out for several years but it would - nah, it costs too much.

Whut?

Nothing. And actually, we - the boys - can just wait and you can do it. It's one of those things you can do better anyway. You said you wanted to do it and we've been waiting, its on your list. Never mind.

WHUT?

It'd be a lot cheaper for you to do it and . . .

WHAAAT?


And that's how I got the playset for Christmas. It's been on "the list" of "things to do" for three years. The boys are going to be in high school by the time you can get to it I've been saying, as he rolls his eyes. Guess I just caught him at a weak moment. It's a gift that will pay us both back all year long. Kids come over to play with my boys all the time. I have a backyard full a couple of afternoons a week. This is an investment. What better place to invest than your children and their creative play? Besides. I'm hanging my airchair from the breezeway that's gonna connect the playset to the fort. Playhouse. Everwhat.

So as I sit here and play with designs, which elements to put on the thing, I think about the words to this song I love.


A family on my mind
I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

I don't think I'm heading into a crisis but 50 isn't a party I was begging to be invited to exactly. Not complaining, just reporting,

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

and I'm so looking forward to my childrens' lives, all every single minute and week and month and year of them....playgrounds and teen years. Everyone says I'll change my mind about the latter. I'd rather be here for it than not, that's my statement.

Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye

Sure don't think I'm wise now but when I look backwards I was such a dummy then. Another blink and they'll be grown and then I'm looking forward to being two again. We were a couple before and we'll be a couple again but richer because. Wow so many becauses - years together, children, families, friendship, crises, memories, all that sappy stuff.

WULL WHURE'D THEY GIT THET FRUM?

We went to visit my Mom and Dad this past weekend. During the course of the visit my sister and I made the executive decision to go shopping. I know you're shocked. Handsome husband, brother in law, and Daddy were attached by the posterior to the couch, by the eyeballs to the football game.

I'm leaving our children with you honey.

Huh?

Seester and I are going shopping.

Wha...?

Our kids. They're here. Sister and I are leaving. In the car. Watch them.

Watch hu . . . who?

Y'know here are a couple of facts you may not be aware of. When a game is on, the volume on the TV is permanently set on BLAST YOUR EARDRUMS and the remote does not function.

WATCH OUR CHILDREN. OUR KIDS. OUR YOUNG!!!!!

OK, I git it. AHHHHHHHH, TOUCHDOWN!!!! Y'don't have t'yell, for cry'n ayut layoud. Young. Ayr yung. Hunh. Fpmpt. Pass it pass it pass it paaaaaaass iiiiiitt.......... I'll put'em on m'back and hobble around and pertend I'm dayid if sumbuddy points a bagel dubba barrl at me. WHOA, DIDJU SEE DAT????? Ho, me. Thatuz a goodun......


Mercy.

On the way home that night, we had a conversation about a new vehicle for handsome hubby. Went something like this.

Weeeeehoo, ju see thet?

What, what?

That pea cup thet just passed us?

Oh. No, I missed that. Durnit.

Well here, lemme ketch up.

Oh no no no neeeeeeewwww, that's OK!

Oh you gotta see it - it's a bagel thang. Be turble if you mist it. It's what I wonna replace this ol' peesa sh - err, this older Volvo with. (Insert nice, smarmy smile here)

But baybee. That thang's a deezel. Eeewwwwww sheeewwweeee. Ba the way, haintchu bedr git outa the lay-uft lane?

Ahsposo. Leesn. Deezel doan smayal so bad eeny mo-ahr. An I kin git a great deeel downtown 'Lanna. Listen, see? It's not even thet loud? Juhere?

Mmmmm. Good grief, I bet that thang's goin' 90 maul anar. Here. Jauntsamore a these cashoos? I'm done. Well you find out whut the innerst rate is, we'll go from thar if you find one you like, I reckon.

So we got home. Kids were asleep. Carried them upstairs, put them to bed. Next morning, they're sitting at the breakfast table eating their waffles and Dad is reading the Sunday paper. "Ewww, thur's a fly!" says Jr. Mint. "Git the floss water!"

WHUR IN THE HECK DIDJU GIT THET HILLBILLY ACCENT?" says his Diddy.

HAPPY VETERANS DAY AND THANK YOU

And thank you is just something we say so often it hardly means anything anymore.

I guess by now we could call this shameless laziness, copying a previous post, but my preference is calling it a deep, important connection. A couple of years ago on Veterans Day I posted this letter. It's a letter from my Dad to his Uncles on Memorial Day. Pretty self explanatory. He copied my siblings and myself and sent it to me in a plain white #1o envelope with a little note attached in his (usual) henscratch that said something simple like that he thought I might like a copy, that this was something he felt strongly about, needed to get out, something, I don't remember now. I have it in the "treasures" box.

My Dad has a way of writing that goes right to the core, right to my core. This is one of his most powerful pieces and I only read it once a year, but on that one occasion I read it over and over and over. And over. Then I have to go wash my face, thank God for my Uncle Paul and Uncle Ralph, my Dad. Wash my face again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul and Ralph,

I guess I would not have started this letter had not some things come together. Mainly the publication of the book THE GREATEST GENERATION by Tom Brokaw, the observance of Memorial Day by the nation, and the need I have to tell you both that you have always been my heroes. I'm sure I culd not say that face to face without making a fool of myself. My son and I have frequently talked of the selfless, noble self-sacrifice of your generation during World War II, and have lamented the passing of that great large-hearted outlook in defense of your country. It has probably not been said as it should be said yet, but Tom Brokaw does a credible job while we are waiting for perfection.

Both my son and I are in awe of your generation. That something horrible has happened to the American heart and spirit between then and now we both know, but we do not know how to say it. The wonder for both of us is that the people of your generation are not affected by the current one. There remains the same spirit of manners, helpful cooperation, humility and the total lack of pretension as were present when you served.

Among the several blessings I realize regarding my children is that they all three got somehow the gene for analysis and the ability to see, quickly, to the core of a matter, and as a result we talk of the two of you more than you realize. I know you have seen the "media" coverage of Memorial Day and all the hype attendant on such an occasion. I doubt that all that meant much to either of you. Well, this letter is a poor attempt at bringing the hyperbole right down to the most elementary level, in an effort to persuade you, fifty four years after the fact, that, if you both had not risked getting you ass shot off a hundred, a thousand times, we would all likely be speaking Japanese or German now.

So never doubt that, in the extended family, everyone in my age range and younger, whether they say it or not, realize that we all owe you, both of you, a debt that we can never pay by simple thank yous. And it is not strange that the attempt to express what we feel chokes us up so that we feel like fools trying to get out what we feel.

We all know that you are heroes, and you will always be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's a common myth that in order to be called a veteran you have to've served in a war, but actually you just have to've served in the military. Clearly there are distinctions, particularly to a mother, a family, a friend, but I believe I want to say thank you to anyone who served. In the miliary. Who signed up. Wore a uniform. Learned how to be a soldier. Took the chance that while they were "in", they could be sent somewhere or called up somewhere dangerous or far away, and, well, bad things could happen. So thank you from me. Thank you. If you were here I would hug, bake, have you sit at my kitchen table and pour you a cup of coffee, offer you a beer and some nachos..... but cyberly speaking I am just so grateful for you. It's about all I can do from here.

Locally there was a Veterans Day breakfast at my childrens' school, where I had the honor of serving veterans coffee. I've never waitressed, but every year I am honored to don an apron and refresh coffee cups. It's MOST difficult to do it dry eyed because rather than seeing a cafeteria full of humans sitting at tables talking and eating, what I see is a room full of senior relatives of the children in our school, the 'people' of our kids, (that's what we call 'em in The South - yer 'people') a sea of folks who've every single one served our Country. Every. Single. One. And I get to serve them. Just coffee, but I get to serve them. It's powerful, it's humbling, and I couldn't dare say it out loud because it would sound EVER so melodramatic, and I know it must be so because every year I look around and no one else is fighting away tears but me. Well hell. Screw 'em. These folks deserve a wrenched tear or two.

YOU CAN PUT YOUR BOOTS IN THE OVEN, BUT THAT DON'T MAKE 'EM BISCUITS

This morning as I was helping the kids get their breakfast, I made the mistake of lamenting how old I felt, due largely to an untimely cortisone shot in my derriere. posterior. hipbone. my butt. Yup, my ass is grass but that's another story for another post. So Jr. Mint says Ohhhh Mom, 60 is young! Now he thinks he's bestowing a compliment because he's five and learning numbers and number relationships, so the look on his face is one of pure joy until he sees the demon in my eyes which has come out quite by accident and immediately, I might add, upon the number 60's entrance into the room. It would have come out had the number 50 joined us as well, but the point is, how come? Why did that lil demon pop right out there I mean I look like I look. I feel like I feel OOPS! BINGO! There it is.

Sometimes when my handsome husband and I have spent time discussing a subject and suddenly the answer bonks him on the head from outa nowhere and flows from his lips as if given to him on a plate, his famous statement is And there it is. Arrright maybe not famous but I always know its coming. But this time I didn't know this was coming. This birthday has been a lesson, a struggle. I didn't look forward to it, I was on the verge of tears during most of it, and now that I'm on the other side of it, I'm glad it's over. I feel pretty alone about the way I want to celebrate my birthday, fairly misunderstood. I guess that happens when you live with boys. Don't care much about material gifts of financial import, there's nothing I really want of much meaning in that respect. My body wasn't keeping up with me. I limped with my hip, a limp that of a person twice my age, someone who has had a hip replacement or a broken hip. I limped like Gramma Nell, the one who used to squeeze our cheeks and wear too much bright pink cakey powdered blush. As she walked, her head would bobble back and forth like a metronome, from high center to low left, high center, low left. It was her left hip too, just like mine. She was ninety if she was a day.

So it's just a birthday. That's the thing. There are wildfires in the west. Droughts in the south. A war in Iraq. I have friends who need prayers for family members who have real problems, my friends have real problems. My handsome husband comes home every day saying if he has to work one more millisecond he'll explode and he has too much to do and too little time to do it in and he's forty million hours behind and so stressed out and his cell phone rings every two seconds and he's a Crackberry, checking his phone email every twenty three seconds.....

I'm so lucky I'm alive on my forty eighth birthday, well, luck has nothing to do with it. God is good. But it is what it is. And a blog is where you do this. Say what you want. And so I did. Say what I wanted that is. Now what I wanna say is this: This ain't my first rodeo, an' akshully, come to think about it, if things got any better I'd have ta hire sumbuddy ta hayulp me enjoy it. So.

Time to swap spit and hit the road. I'm gone!

THE WITCHES OF AVEDA

One of our yearly Halloween traditions is trick or treating at a local open aire mall. The mall hosts a lovely event on a Saturday afternoon, and not only does each shoppe give out candy to trick or treaters, but the mall provides jugglers, scarecrows, complimentary pictures, goodie bags, apple cider, balloons, and well, you get the picture. It's very festive, gives you warm fuzzies just to be there. We usually run into several friends, as do the kids. Good times.

Each shoppe has an employee or two that stands outside the door with a large cauldron of candy - and generally a coupon and a brochure for Mom can't beat that - so the kids walk up, grin and say TRICK OR TREAT! get their candy, say thank you and then between that stop and the next one which is only twenty to thirty feet down, become distracted by seven critically interestingly things they find absolutely necessary to pay attention to. Now then. We have just finished with Swoozie's and are headed to Aveda, where two young (you know they always make the freshmen employees do this Halloween duty) employees are standing out front eagerly (yeah, right) awaiting the next precious trick or treaters. These two gals are dressed in black and white, because Aveda employees always are. They both have very dark hair, short, uber trendy, severely geometric hair cuts, one of them fairly spikey-ish. Both girls have smoky grey/black eye makeup and a fairly lot of it. One is wearing pointy toed black boots with her long black skirt. Anyone see where this is going yet? So. Handsome Hubby cranes his head around in the other direction and hollers Hey kids! Come back over here they had wandered over out of the direct trail from one storefront to the next in order to, Idunno, step on a bug er sumpin and get some candy from these weetches!

Ohhhhhh nnnnnnnnnewwww. Oh no oh no oh NO he didn't just DO that. Bless his heart did he. . . . he DID . . . I can't look at him I can't look at him is that him HIDING BEHIND ME???? From behind me I hear a small weak voice. They aren't dressed up, are they. *Giggle giggle*

We moved on swiftly and for the rest of the trip Mommy was the mouthpiece. OK it wasn't a stretch. No comments from the peanut gallery. Daddy sipped on his Starbucks Triple Skinny Short Soy and smiled at the kind employees giving out candy, waving and nodding thanks as they plunked candy in his childrens' pumpkin basket.

We've laughed about his poo-faux this week. It's destined to become a family classic in some measure, some phrase, some meaning. It hasn't found its niche yet, but it will. Sorta like the burnin' squirrel. ;- )

TTFN

WUUUP! M' SQUIRREL'S BURNIN'!

There's a madly popular - cultish, really - show on, hmm the Discovery Channel I think, maybe Nat Geo, but no matter - name of the show's Survivor Man. Well. My brother introduced my children and my handsome husband to the show (along with another, similar one which I'll laugh with you about another time). Now the premise of the show is this. This Australian guy who used to be a, I dunno, Green Beret or Silent Operations Ninja or sunthin for the military, gets dumped from a helicopter with only a knife, a bottle of water and the clothes on his back, or suuuumthin like that (and his cameras to film the whole thing) in the middle of the wild, six days from NO-frackin-where. The object is for him to - drumroll please - SURVIVE - until he makes it back to civilization. My three (four, when brother's here) fellas could sit and watch this man eat bugs, McGyver stuff in the cruelest of natural environments, sleep under rock formations and kill wickedly weird and gross animals to cook over a fire and eat - (or just eat raw if he can't make a fire) for DAYS (because there are be still my heart Survivor Man marathons) and only get out of their chairs upon necessary callings.

Now then. At one point during a Survivor Man marathon weekend - and if it's not a true Survivor Man marathon weekend, the three/four of them are not past boasting a faux Survivor Man marathon weekend. Record back to back episodes and watch the DVD.... yep. Alright so now I decided at one point that if I was to spend any time at all with the dudes I'd have to ratchet myself right into the middle of 'em. So I took my book or my whatever I was doing and plopped myself down in the family room between a couple of them, and I might've even made some popcorn or some sammies or wraps, chips 'n dip, whatev, and brought it in so I'd be sure to be noticed upon my entrance. Otherwise, if I don't come bearing some kinda gifts I surely can't compete with an Aussie wearing all kinds of cool outfitters' clothing and shoes, who can hold a dead squirrel by the neck, give it a good fling and send all it's innards out it's ass end.

Speaking of that. It is that now innardless squirrel that makes me bring up this Survivor Man in the first of places. Be patient. There IS a point. So Survivor Man puts gutless squirrel on a stick spit and begins to roast him over a fire, and while he's doing that he's talking to us into his lil camera. Close up and personal, and he looks like who-dun-it. Course he does, bless his heart. His hair's greasy, nappy, his face is ruddy and he has bags under his eyes that even Princess Marchella Borghese concealer, good lighting and mebbe airbrushing wouldn't eliminate . He's telling us what his next move will be and why he won't drink the water in this lil pond over here, and why, in the morning he's going this direction instead of that, blah de blah blah BLAAAAHHH AHHAAAA AHHAAAAA, and suddenly, his eyes got HUGE, his head WHIPS around - those two things that happen instanTANeously when you remember something y'know?, and he says "WUUUP! M' SQUIRREL'S BURNIN!" and for suuuuuum reason, I dun know why, but I just LOST IT. It. was. just. the funniest thing I had heard come from a human's lips. That's all. And all four of the guys looked at me like I was dissin' a holy man or sumthin'. . . . . . and then slowly . . . . . one by one. . . . . . they started chuckling too, and in a minute. . . . . all of us were guffawing. Chortling. Shoulder-shakin'-tears-running-down-your-face laughing.

So ever since that night it is a family phrase. WUUUP! M' SQUIRREL'S BURNIN'! Can be used for a multitude of things, but it has a certain meaning. Just like any family phrase.

Wellllll, we went camping for several days last week, returned yesterday. It was a lovely trip . . . camping always is with handsome husband. It's second nature for him. He and I have been camping together for over twenty five years. My brother and his wife joined us after we'd been at the campsite for a day. It rained, ohhhhh it rained, and you can say oh it's just so great to be out here in nature it just doesn't maaaaaaadderrr and we had a tent city (that's another family phrase) set up, tarps over the campsite so we were dry, played games, cards, etc., but it's still miserable I mean come on. But after almost a full day and a half of solid rain, it stopped. Stopped. Sun came out, weather was beautiful. For another full day. Guys trout fished, we hiked, walked, enjoyed nature, sat around the fire, did all the stuff you do. Enjoyed each other instead of electronic things, interruptions..... But there'll be no pictures, cuzzzz I look worse when I camp than Survivor Man looks.

My guys were in their glory. They were in their element. They were in their "kitchen". Their "decorated house". Their "garden". YOU know the place. You know that place where you know where everything is, and you know how everything works, and you're comfortable with everything around you, and you enJOY everything that you can see, everything within your visual scope, love how it looks, how it's situated. They belonged. It belonged to them.

And I got a glimpse, or I had a sudden epiphany, understanding - ohhhhh ohhhhhkaaaayah maybe a reminder is a more accurate term, if I'm to be honest, darn it - why it's the other way around at home. I'm resisting the urge here to say they don't have to clean the tree if somebody pees all over it instead of just at the base. Pretend you din't read it.

Anyhow, I thought back to Survivor Man and the look of sheer joy on his ruddy, dirty, puffy face when he, in surprised shock yelled, "WUUUP! M' SQUIRREL'S BURNIN!" Now where would you EVER get a chance to say something like that, as my brother says..... but say it he did, and with sheer joy on his puffy lil red face even though his only dinner was charred beyond rodent recognition, and he ate it too, humming happily. He was in his element.

Now as much as I adore camping, the outdoors, nature, and this particular trip as a matter of fact, still I'm not able to place four days of primitive camping with no bath in the category of my element. On the way home from camping however, we stopped at






The Tomato House






I stood right in front of those baskets of potatoes and walked slowly down the aisle to the end where the cider and molasses are lined up like soldiers, turned on my heel and did it again, up and down that aisle. It's better than yoga, better than breathin' into a bag, better than classical music and a cup of tea.


On the left wall past that column on the top shelf, almost to the end, is Paula Deen's new line of marinades:

They were so proud to have them, too....one of the first, they said. You won't see 'em nowhurs ayulse. We's one a th' furstuns. Yew better grayub a cuuple, thayza flyin awfan the shevvs.

And they were, too.
You know they sell a lot of boiled peanuts when this much space and organization is dedicated to the effort. Can't recall at the moment how many pounds or gallons or whatever the measurement would be they sell per day, but it made handsome husband's jaw drop. Not much does that.

Out the back door of The Tomato House. Just makes me smile, even looking at the picture. It's sweet, the setting, the location, the place, the people. Feels good. And here's the thing. They didn't try, it's not DONE. It's not set up, there aren't vignettes (I'm beginning to not like that word). These folks are folks, the old faded country chairs that are full of pumpkins and scarecrows and aluminum pans and mums are that way because well they're that way, they're short on space so someone shoved stuff in there and maybe they have an eye for how to shove stuff in, but that's about the extent of it. It's rural Georgia. The extent of how "fixed" they get is they front the shelves and keep stacks neat and straight, and check inventory often cauz the place was jam packed. It's the old timey farm/country ethic. It allows me to breathe big, deep breaths from waaaaaay down.

Now you know the boys couldn't hack being there for long, so we took them to

The Fish Hatchery
They were thrilled. This place is an incredible resource, and there are childrens' ponds for fishing, all kinds of educational material for parents to teach their kids all about Georgia and our natural resources. Do you see a single soul there besides us? Nnnnnnnewp.









My favorite stop on the way home. Just look at this place. No words needed.














Upon our return home we were all fulfilled, mostly with having spent time with each other but also satisfied by filling whatever needed filled with nature and natural things, country and the countryside. Most satisfying to me was that of all the places we visited, we only brought home memories, we didn't purchase anything with the exception of a couple of teacher gifts the boys picked out - from The Tomato House. ;- )

TODAY'S THE DAY.! IT'S BLOG ACTION DAY, FOLKS. Well, it's a commitment....

Sorta like leaving only your footsteps when you walk in the woods. Unless that is, you find a bunch of garbage. Then you bring that out with you, along with the joy of the walk, and the memories.

My handsome husband loves to go metal detecting. It's a hobby he's been enjoying ever since he was a kid. He and his Dad would go to the land around Kennesaw Mountain, Lost Mountain, and listen for that beep beep that would let them know they had a find, something from the war they just KNEW - a piece of a soldier's belt, gun, hunk off a cannon, a mini ball. More often than not however, it was a nail. A coke top. Something someone had carelessly thrown down. Know what my father in law did? He put it in his pocket. My handsome husband does it to this day, and he's taught our children to do the same. Saving the environment isn't new. It isn't trendy. It's whatever you want it to be, whatever part you can play.

Here are two pictures of a male and a female ruby throated hummingbird. I like to think they're in love. ;- ) They've been coming back to my sister-in-law's home every year for several years now, because she and her husband (the artist) take care of them.


This is St. Thomas right at dusk. You won't find a more peaceful place. The animal life is allowed to roam the streets and sidewalks, the lush plant life is taken care of before the streets (gotta have your priorities). . .



More St. Thomas. The picture of the stairway is one of my favorites, and I can't really say why. We went up and down that set of stairs countless times while we were there and I never was able to get a good count of the different types of plants along the way.
Heck I dunno whether it was because of the incredible variety of plant life or because that stairway was the way to the partyboat. *hiccup*





My garden. May not look like much, but that's because I employ the "plant everything I can all scooched up" method, for several reasons.

1. Leaves more room for the kids to play, thus they don't trample my garden.
2. Leaves less room for weeds to grow, so I don't have to pluck - or spray or use ACK chemmies.
3. If I plant the runner beans at the base of the corn, I don't have to stake the beans. (laziness is the mother of . . . you get the jist.)
4. Less square footage for handsome hubby to plow at the beginning of the season and less to mow down at the end.
5. Less compost and fertilizer to have to deal with.
   

I could go on and on, but everyone knows the advantages of doing this kind of stuff. Here's the thing. I hate it. I hate it because I like beautiful, straight, airy, open rows and I LOVVVVVVVE Round Up oh my gosh it's my favorite stuff in the WORLD. So it's a struggle for me to do this, it's a - it's not a sacrifice that sounds like I'm well you know - but anyway I hate it. Big whuup. Not easy for anyone that's not the point. Not easy to remember to turn off the water when you brush the first seven times, but the eighth time you do it without thinking. Not easy to bend over and pick up the piece of trash yeah you could walk by it but don't. Costs more to buy environmentally sound, green cleaners and other products and you can't just do it all at once and you can't throw away all your stuff wouldn't be environmentally a great idea to do it anyhootiepo you just do what your heart and your head tells you to, not what anybody else tells you. It's your planet.

Enjoy this beautiful day on it.

STEAMY

I took the plunge. Bought another appliance but I did clean out my appliance cabinet today and got rid of a few I haven't used in three years. Came out to the good, square inch wise. That's my story and I'm stickin..........ehh you know the rest.

I had consulted friends, cyber and real life about whether it was the thing to do, buying one of these things that is. I had a heavy feeling in my stomach and I got sweaty palms every time I looked at one of them. Big, heavy bubbly appliances with a footprint. Can't like 'em. I don't like leaving them on my countertop, and I don't like to have to get them out every time I want to use them. And I don't like conundrums either. And I don't have an appliance garage, so that's the only solution to that, right?

Here's the pic from the website. The front of mine doesn't look exactly like this, mine has a couple more buttons, but it's made like this one. Not bad, huh?

But as I read the box and all the features, and I thought about our lifestyle, our diet, and the amount of time I have to prepare dinner and - here's the straw that broke the camel's back - how both my steamer and cooking rice sputters all over my cooktop and makes a huge mess - I blinked my eyes and that rice cooker just jumped right in my buggy!

Here's what the box says:

• Cooks a variety of white, brown, or wild rice to perfection
• Steams a variety of food while cooking rice
• Non-stick cooking pot
• Prepares up to 12 cups of cooked rice
• Easy 1 touch operation

But there are a couple of additional neat things it does too which might've been deal clinchers. It has a delay timer. Delay timers are in my top five favorite things. They make me twice as efficient. They sort of allow me to be in two places at once, which is almost a turn on, maaaaan I love efficiency . . . and at the very least a necessity around here. At any rate it's what I do.
The other thing is that it keeps the food warm, which is also a pretty cool feature. Supposedly it does so without drying it out, and since it's a steamer, I'm assuming so. We shall see.

My idea is going to be to cook the largest portion - or perhaps all - of our meal in this contraption. Throw it all in there, hit the delay button, then go. I guess I'll have to put rice, broccoli, and fish in at three different times but that's OK. That'll take three different trips into the kitchen but only a few seconds each time. I can run in from a yard soccer game with the kids, cleaning out the garage, or planting fall flowers and gardens. Can you tell I'm thinking about the coming week?

So I'm off to look for great recipes for steamed stuff.....

TTFN

YYYYEEAAUUUUUP. HERE'S PROOF, IF YOU NEED IT.

We're rednecks. Crackahs. From the cy-oth. Where the women swarr annna menr . . . well, mostly named Bubba.

We do all have guns. Yes. In fact, there's a quaint little burb very closeby that reQUIRES you to do so. Not a prollem, Mayor. I never did understand why they made such a big honkin' ta-do about it. Everbody around there had a piece anyhow. Duh. But the media got aholt of it, and there it went. Well there's dumber thangs. Remember Ross Perot?

Ok so anyhow when your life is The South and you were born in it raised in it live it and breathe it and thrive on it, and it's rich beyond your wildest dreams, then you get to make fun of it. Just like when you vote you can complain.

This is my brother and my son in my brother's basement. I may've described my brother's basement before in a previous post. It's a 1970's home and what they're doing is working on a computer but more importantly what they're leaning on is a black leather bar. Note the print in the background. It's my brother's favorite,and one of mine.

I'll resist the urge to use the "You may be a redneck if...." schtick. I think sumbunny with the initials Jeff Foxworthy already thunk up that one but nevertheless my brother and I have always joked about loving that print so much. Clearly there's an appropriate environment for it and his basement is the perfect one. It's absolutely in it's spot right there behind that black leather bar and really there's not another print that would look any better, one that I'd rather look up there and see. . . . . still. You have to have the redneck in ya.

And you know what? Redneck has nothin' to do with intelligence either. This is a common misnomer with folks who aren't familiar with the club. The redneck club that is. Mebbe is cause rednecks sound so goofy or some of the behaviors or slang appear or sound a little less than intelligent but just lemme tell you whut's the truuuuth. (See now that's a perfect example right there.) I know a VP of Corporate Communications with a large cable network and a research scientist at the CDC that both use that expression regularly actually truth be known I know beaucoup folks that use it iss just that those are the two with the best titles to make my point at this particular juncture.

This young man is going to be a doctor. Dontcha just hope he's YOURS? Har. This is my nephew, the seventeen year old son of my husband's brother. He really was just clowning around at a party at my house (he's wearing a used up, empty car pinata on his head) but it illustrates another of my points, which is that us'n rednecks have NO SHAME. We don't care. We just don't! This kid - who by the way made something like a 180,000,000 on his SAT's and is the most pleasant, most respectful, most responsible kid EVVVer, (just had to get that in) - picked up the pinata after the candy-frenzy pile-up was over to help his Uncle clean up - that would be my handsome husband - and took a look at it and up it went! onto his head! without a thought! what a personality....but there it is. Now to his right that half face you see is his Aunt Donna, my handsome husband and this child's daddy's sister. See that smile on her face? She's proud of that baby walkin' around like at. Rednecks. All-un-us.

You gotta be proud of your kids. All of your kids, I mean, not just your own, see? Down here we boss each other's kids around and brag on 'em like we raised 'em our very own selves, which actually we sorta do. It's not uncommon at a family gathering for a Mama to bark at a child that doesn't belong to her, but my gosh if we tried to stop long enough to figure out what kid it was that was doing wrong before we barked the dang biscuits'd burn or the mimosas wouldn't get mixed right and priorites do have to be established, deah.



Here's one of handsome husband at one of our kids' birthday party. The deal was our kid wanted to have water battles in the back yard, and Daddy was supposed to manage the event. Do you see who has on the largest water weapon?
Weapons and southern men. Well. We've already had that conversation.

This is the future of the South. Right here before you. Now we're done with redneckville and just onto silly boys I think. I dunno. I guess boys all over the world do stuff like this. But as I uploaded this picture, and as I was waving bye to my boys this morning when the three of them left to go on their Cub Scout camping trip, they looked so grown up with all their gear and their Daddy The Den Leader was discussing with them how much fun they were going to have with the hiking and the campfire and the woodchopping and the BB gun
and archery practice and the marshmallows and I thought what if they're NOT the future of The South? What if they grow up and move away? Settle in California? Idaho? New York?

How do I enjoy The South then? How do you get joy how are you joyful in your heart when your heart leaves you? Goes to another state? Another part of the country? Oh! What if they go TO another country? The two right there with the buckets on their head. Yeah those two. So I - in my first minutes of Mommy freedom which I'd been looking forward to for weeks - sat with tears in my eyes and my heart feeling as though rubber bands were squeezing it, and grieved over my children leaving me on airplanes and boats and taking all their possessions and making a wonderful life in parts thousands of miles away.

Then a couple of the rubber bands broke and I heard in my head the one word I was neglecting to comprehend. Wonderful. Yeah, I guess you can make a wonderful life somewhere besides The South. Was that why I couldn't hear it in my head, because it wasn't in The South, or because it was just far from me. Three guesses. South shmouth. And their leaving is about them, not me, and besides that, it's not happening this weekend. Or this year. Or this decade you numnuts. So I won't think about it today. I can't. I'll think about that tomorrow.

Right now I'm going to buy some new shoooooooes!!! Then I'm goin' for an RC and a moon pie.

Ta.

ZEE COLLAGE

Yes, tis fineeee. That word collage just makes me feel so verrrrry Fraiinch. And no my dear handsome husband if you read this I am NOT wearing the french maid costume. Anyway thank you friends for the comments, compliments, words of encouragement. My children and I worked on this together and it turned into the most enjoyable of projects. I guess you never know what's gonna work itself into a memory builder and somehow the header of my cyber journal ended in a tousel in the kitchen floor between an old broad and her two sweet boys well that's not true, that's just what happened when we needed a break. After that, we brushed ourselves off (boy did I realize just how much I needed to mop!) and got back after it. At the next break time I fixed graham crackers and peanut butter and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows floating on top just the way they like it.

The thing about letting someone else work with you on a project is that you lose some ownership of the end product, although the positives of my oops our lil group project far outweighed what I missed in having a collage that represented exactly what I saw in my initial vision, in this case. The pics scattered throughout this post are ones that ended up on the cyber cutting room floor. I couldn't let them go, so here they are. There are more yet, ones I love but didn't belong in the collage, ones I ran into while looking, so they'll go in the next post or the next. Thank goodness for this outlet to show off the pics I love. Blogs, huh. What'd we do without 'em.

The thing about letting your children work with you on a project is that hmmm they have their own brains and well, while most of the time you nurture that and celebrate that, give them their heads when you can and go to bed happy they've developed grey matter of their own, sometimes this being one of them you just wanna

QUASH IT. Like when they take the mouse left instead of right, click before asking why, keep clicking, click click click CLICK clicky clickidy double click click some more...... get the idea? My kids. Buffalo clickers. Click then ask. POOF! Where'd the pikshur go? wOopsie. Then click on the eraser, What's THAT? THAT's coowull Mom. Hey let's slash that thing across the whole collage we've worked on for a half hour and haven't saved. K? What'r these colors down at the bottom? Hey y'know what? If you click on this spray can and then the blue you can WHOAAAAAA lookie! Granny's face.......... brother looooook, it looks like Granny's smuutherin, man! Blue, she's baaaluuuuuue!

HEY MOM???? Mom, mom mom mom MoMOmOMomom caaaaaaan you make me a big ol blow up of this picture of Granny, please? Liiiiiiiiike, how big can you make it? hhhhheeeeeee hheeeeeeeee bruuuther cmmmeere.

And so. The upshot is this. The collage, after the collaberative effort of my two random clickers and myself, turned out to be something ever so much more representative of our family and the message this blog was created to convey. So as usual I was taught a lesson in letting go.

Just wait'll Weezie sees herself in Smurf.

GET FUNKY WITH IT! Hands on your kneeeees . . . .

Don't tell me you won't enjoy it. Ahhhh, come on. Let loose. Give it a chance. Look around, make sure nobody's lookin' and go WILD. Oh before you know it you will just be laughing out LOUD. This is contagious.

STOMP! Left foot. Four stomps.

Here's how this came about. We have the coolest coaches in the WORLD at our elementary school, and a few years ago I walked into (actually I just walked BY) the gym on the way to the front door and I heard this - the Cha Cha Slide (it's in the music playlist at the top of my blog) - bbbbblaring such that the gym was sort of orbing, pulsing, bubbling with the beat. It stopped me in my tracks and I looked at the gym and thought ok that HAS to be the coolest thing that I've come across today, that my kid is in there doing suuuuumfink to THAT, and not doing sit ups. To a whistle.

So I walked in I couldn't help it it drew me in like chocolate strawberries draw me I was helpless to stay away. Surely the rhythm gods would be on my side and my child would not be amongst the little people moving and bopping to the beat but alas no there he was stomping three times to the left. Maybe I can scooch in behind him but hmmm priorities . . . *sigh*

Well, the upshot - I asked Coach to burn me a CD. At the time, nobody knew who this artist was and the Cha Cha Slide wasn't really popular, but the Assistant Coach had been on a cruise with her daughter and they had done this as a line dance, so she came back with the idea to do it with the kids as an exercise. It has clean lyrics but also it's 'hip' and updated and something the kids go wild WILD I say when they're allowed to have Cha Cha time in PE.

So. Get Funky With It! My kids requested that I change up the music and add some that they like, which reminds me of skating rink music. Well actually that's prolly zakkly what it is, so here it is. They've also requested that I spice up the format. I've no clue how to do that, and I s'pose they think I'm made of time (ha, you thought I was gonna say money - well that's usually what comes out of Moms' mouths, ittn it.....) but I'll be making the effort in the near future. I reckon. Gads.

HANDS ON YOUR KNEES!!! ;- )

....AND HEEEEEERE'S WHY THEY NEED US......among other reasons

I met handsome husband at Sweet Tomatoes for lunch. Outlook calls it a "recurring event". I call it my every Wednesday lunch date with my very own hunk meister. So we're talking about Cub Scouts - ain't THAT a kick in the head. I have him to myself and whadda we talk about? Crrrrrimany.

I talked to Mark last night, says he. Mark's his Assistant Den Leader. Our den is in charge of bringing the Halloween lollipop tree for the Pack Meeting Friday night. So Mark's got a two by four and he's-

Wait. A two by whuuuu?

A two by four. Youuuu know, lumber. So he's gonna make a cross-base for it and then use a drill to drill holes for the loll-

Hold up there Bubba. How's that gonna look like a tree? In fact how's that gonna look like anything but a 2x4 with lollees stuck in it?

Blank stare.

And another thing. Before you tell me you're gonna use duct tape for any portion of this lollipop tree, can you tell me if there's any particular reeeeeezun you're a-doin it this-a way? Is this the Cub Scout method or sunthin?

Nnnneeeewwwww, you got a better idea?

Smatter a fact, I dewwwww.



OH MY GAWSH, IT'S A READY MADE LOLLIPOP TREE! AND IT'S NOT EVEN WOOD! Well that's entirely too easy. Who knew? Mark won't even get to use a saw or wood glue or nuthin.

No, but on the upside, it'll look like a lollipop tree. Well. When you stick lollees in it. Tell Mark he can get one at Walmart. Tell him to get a green one.

Why green?

You're kidding. Right?

MARIO PATRICK AND 4999 OTHERS. . . . .

Here's an excerpt from the website 5000 orphans. Please go there and sign the petition.

You could sign it for my cyber nephew Mario Patrick, who hasn't gotten to come home yet with his Mom Jill, or you could sign it for the 4999 others who are waiting patiently for their parents. Doesn't matter. . . . just sign.

http://www.5000orphans.com/

There is currently political unrest within Guatemala. The outgoing Guatemalan administration intends to shut down Intercountry adoptions.

There are approximately 5000 pending American adoptions in Guatemala right now. The Department of State (DOS) has announced that these cases may not go through. Why?

UNICEF is dangling several millions of $$ in front of outgoing Guatemalan President Berger. He gets the money, if Guatemala gets "Hague compliant", which will effectively shut down adoptions. Berger announced on 09/26/07 that ALL CASES, including the pipeline (5000 cases) would NOT be grandfathered in after January 1st 2008.

The Media has not been helping this cause. Many media outlets have been ignorant and slanted regarding this issue. Most recently NPR aired a clueless piece with false and biased information provided by an under informed Unicef representative. Many media outlets are producing articles and television pieces without clarifying the FACTS.

Update: On 10/3/2007, it has been reported that Guatemala has passed the Ortega bill (#3217). This is disappointing news to families that support intercountry adoptions through Guatemala. More news to follow over the next week.

This is a crisis waiting to happen.

Guatemala has NO WELFARE SYSTEM, NO INFRASTRUCTURE and a weak economy. So what is going to happen to the 5000 children? We don't have an answer to that.

Seems that the children are the losers in all of this.

What are our government, the media, UNICEF and other child welfare agencies doing to help these children and us as citizens, taxpayers, consumers and waiting families?

We don't know. But we need to find out. Today. Now.

AND HEEEEEEERE THEY ARE.........my shining lights

This is last year's cub scout caving trip. My three lovelies. Now they're getting ready to go on a camping trip. . . . oooooOOoOoOOoooh right around Halloween. BOO! The big boo is that Mommy gets to spend the weekend alone. Is that booooo-tilicious, or WHAT???!!! Oh, I can't even just wait to PLAN it. Wow.

Aoooouuuuu, focus woman. The guys. Camping. Anyhooptie, they're doing their gathering thing. Every time I go somewhere it's a personal victory for their trip. "Can you git me a can of corn or two? Has to be Green Giant'cha know. Niblets. NIBLETS, k? N-I-B-L-E-T-S!!!"

Got it, babe. Niblets. *sigh*

Screwed up and mentioned I was going to Walmart. "Oh! Scream through the sporting goods department for me, wouldja? See what's on sale in the camping aisle. We need some light sticks, coleman fuel, mantles, and our air mattress has a hole in it somewhere. OH! And pick up a couple roles of duck tape. Uuuuuh you know the camo kinduud be guud but jes any ol' ell do."

*sigh*

And yes. I know how to spell duct tape. Ask me if my hunky husband knows how to SAY it. ;- \

Saying duct tape the proper way in The South if you're a man would be tantamount to admitting you're a real wuss or a Yankee schmoe* or something pwiiiiiiiity howwible. Whyyyyyy, I have seen Southern men in custom made suits wearing $1000 Italian shoes with two personal assistants use duct tape to fix something and act like it was exactly the thing to do. Right out in the open!! Only in The South.

So then the weekend after they return from their Cub Scout camping trip, the family is taking a camping trip to the mountains to camp by a North Georgia stream in a location that we have called "our" camping spot for over ohhhhhhh twelve or fifteen years I guess. Other family members are meeting us there. We'll have a camping COMPOUND. It's a sight to behold. Ropes strung from one tent to another with wet clothes flung over them, firewood stacked up ready for the evening campfires and overnight fire for warmth, coolers full of food, big water bladders hanging from trees, canteens hanging from limbs here and there, fishing rods stored in tree limb V's, but the best part of the whole campsite ALWAYS is my lawn chair sitting by the mountain stream with the fleece blanket in it. When we first started camping hunky husband complained a little that lawn chairs didn't belong on camping trips. They don't look right he said. Well he's either given up, realized it's part of my camping experience, or he's decided he likes to look over and see it. I hope it's the latter. I think so because for the past twenty years every time we go camping he's packed the sucker for me before I have a chance to ask.

TTFN


*Nothing wrong with being a Yankee you understand, but a Yankee schmoe is a Yankee who has not learned the Southern colloquialisms. Now THAT is a prollem because it either means said Yank a. doan ketch on too fast, er 2. doan keer. Needer's guud.

FUNNEL CAKES AND JUMPIE THINGS

The North Georgia Fair is in town. Our Friday night is booked baby. I got ta hunt up the sh*t kickers. Haven't worn 'em yet this season. Traditionally the fair is the first time to pull out the cowboy boots. The boys, all three of them - one big and two littles - will have to wear camo on some part of their body, else people on the midway'll thank we're uppity. Cain't have nunn uv it.

Naayow the exhibits'll be first, eeeeein aaaaaawl the fleurs'll be hunkered over dayedd beeins its the third day of the competishun. The leaves'll be crispy and brown, an all the first and second place ribbons will-a been yanked off the winnin' displays by the monster no-count yung-uns what their monster no-count parents is off drinkin' at the nickel-suds ring toss. Where'dja winnat ribbon, Chesterjunior? At the whuuuut? The PETTIN zoo?!!! They give 'em for whuuut? They do not. Do not. Do NOT! Ches Ter Ju UHhhh They do NOT. Give ribbons. For ridin'. A dayum GOAT backers now go git me another Buuuuuuuuuud gooseneckkkk.

Fortunately for us our kids have taken field trips in school earlier in the week to see the exhibit hall and the petting zoo. We can skip that side of the fair tonight and go STRAIGHT for the animal shows, the funnel cakes, corn dogs, cotton candy, and various and sundry other delights known only at the fall county fair. We'll come home coated with a film of fair dirt, sticky midway ashphalt, overstimulated, smelling of beer, overfilled garbage cans, and totally thrilled with the whole experience. It's a once a year experience. That's a good thing. ;- )