Well, it has happened.
My little girl, my first born daughter is officially growing up.
And I am officially not prepared.
No, she has not gone boy crazy.
No she is not insisting on wearing cleavage bearing, butt sharing "clothing."
No, she has not begged to wear make-up, own a cell phone, have co-ed parties, drink beer or smoke pot.
No, my sweet, innocent 8 1/2 year old daughter is getting her period.
I'll give you a minute to let that sink in...
(Do you really need to ask how I know?)
You bet your sweet potato that I freaked out. I cried. I laughed like a crazed monkey. Then, I got on line and checked every source that I could think of.
Here's what I learned: most girls are getting their first period between the ages of 10 and 12 years old, and some as early as 7 years old or as late as 14 or 15 years old. Most sources think that the earlier onset of menses is due to the stress that more and more little girls are under today. When I asked Via's 3rd grade teacher if she was seeing this in school, she said that by the time the year ended last year, 5 girls had gotten their periods. That means five 8 and 9 year old girls had seriously started to become women.
Well, after the initial shock wore off, Via and I had a long talk - I explained as much as I thought an 8 year old would understand. I showed her the pictures from the human anatomy books so that she could get an idea of what her insides look like, and begin to understand why she had cramps. We went to the drugstore and bought pads. We bought some Jr. Motrin (She's not old enough for regular Motrin, but she is old enough to get her period. Huh.)
Then, we planned a date to get together with all of her special women and celebrate this right of passage.
So, now I need some help/thoughts/advice.
(As a girl, I remember getting my period and asking my mom what to do. She basically said, "figure it out." and walked the other way. I don't have the experience to know the best way to handle this, so I hope that you all have some ideas.)
When did you start your period? Do you remember-emotionally-how you felt? Did your mom step up the the plate and help you figure everything out? Did you help your own daughters? How much advice is to much to give to your daughter? A 8 year old? Anyone have thoughts on how to celebrate this milestone? I have heard that American Girl publishes a great book on the subject - anyone read it? Anyone know of any other good resources to help me? Via? our family?
I didn't think that this was a road that we would go down for several more years, but here we go. I just want to make the trip a good one. I don't want Via to feel embarrassed or ashamed in any way. This is such a wonderful change in her life - and I do mean 'wonderful.' She is on her way to becoming a woman, and I want to her to value her body and her self as much as she can.
WOW.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
crazy wonderful
Today, like so many people in our country, I gathered with my extended family - both blood relatives and chosen family - to celebrate Thanksgiving.
As we stood together before our meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said. We took a moment to go around this multi-generational circle and share what we were thankful for this year. Health, friends, the return of children from Iraq, good food, laughter and forgiveness. All of those things were mentioned in our circle today.
Then, all together, we sang grace - our voices blending from years of singing the same grace together. Even my youngest child knows the words and the notes and can probably sing it in her sleep. There are always lots of interesting harmonies and improvised, competitive "Amens" at the end. I love it, and I couldn't imagine a family meal without this grace...
And as I looked around the room (from my vantage point at the CHILDREN'S TABLE!), I thought how thankful I am for this life I live.
I have parents who are healthy. They are friends and mentors to me now. They encourage me and laugh with me and play Christmas carols on the piano with me and, occasionally, scold me. They love my children and my husband. They celebrate our successes and mourn our pain. They are here for the littlest, most seemingly mundane moments of our lives. I am so very thankful.
I have cousins and aunties and uncles whom I adore. I can't remember a time in my life with out them. Their constant, unconditional love is beyond amazing. And, on top of all of that - I like them. They are smart and funny. My Uncle is a terrific cook, and has a wicked laugh when he shares a great joke. My Auntie is such a caring soul, and yet, isn't the slightest bit afraid to tell it as she sees it. My cousin - the only other girl cousin in the batch - is unbelievable awesome - smart and compassionate and good humored and brave. The best thing about all of them is that they love to laugh and talk about serious world issues and then laugh some more. They all seem to know how lucky we all are and how wonderful this world is. I am thankful that I was born into this crazy good family.
I have chosen family that I adore. There is a reason that they were chosen - they fit. And they bring a whole new look at life into this crazy group of people - my uncle's family, my mom's fourteenth cousins twice removed, the people that make the holiday so special.
I have children and a husband who, despite my best efforts, love me and need me. They smile when they see me. They kiss me goodnight at the end of the day. They leap into my arms when I return home from work - well the children leap, Daddyman just sort of collapses.
We don't have banquets, but we have more than enough food on our table. We don't have the fanciest, latest fashions, but we have all of the clothing we need to keep us warm. We don't live in splendor, but we have a comfortable home to shelter us from the elements. We have what we need and some of what we want. Most importantly, we have the love and respect of those around us.
I am so very thankful to be a part of this crazy wonderful world.
I wouldn't change a single thing about it, today. I'd like to hold onto this warm feeling forever, capture the moment for tomorrow when I feel lonely or forgotten.
And so, I wish for all of you, peace and a sense of belonging in your lives. I wish for you joy and laughter. I wish for you music and improvised "Amens." I wish for you happiness. And most of all, I wish this for you: That you have the time to look around at where you are and know that this world is a wonderful place because you are in it.
As we stood together before our meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said. We took a moment to go around this multi-generational circle and share what we were thankful for this year. Health, friends, the return of children from Iraq, good food, laughter and forgiveness. All of those things were mentioned in our circle today.
Then, all together, we sang grace - our voices blending from years of singing the same grace together. Even my youngest child knows the words and the notes and can probably sing it in her sleep. There are always lots of interesting harmonies and improvised, competitive "Amens" at the end. I love it, and I couldn't imagine a family meal without this grace...
And as I looked around the room (from my vantage point at the CHILDREN'S TABLE!), I thought how thankful I am for this life I live.
I have parents who are healthy. They are friends and mentors to me now. They encourage me and laugh with me and play Christmas carols on the piano with me and, occasionally, scold me. They love my children and my husband. They celebrate our successes and mourn our pain. They are here for the littlest, most seemingly mundane moments of our lives. I am so very thankful.
I have cousins and aunties and uncles whom I adore. I can't remember a time in my life with out them. Their constant, unconditional love is beyond amazing. And, on top of all of that - I like them. They are smart and funny. My Uncle is a terrific cook, and has a wicked laugh when he shares a great joke. My Auntie is such a caring soul, and yet, isn't the slightest bit afraid to tell it as she sees it. My cousin - the only other girl cousin in the batch - is unbelievable awesome - smart and compassionate and good humored and brave. The best thing about all of them is that they love to laugh and talk about serious world issues and then laugh some more. They all seem to know how lucky we all are and how wonderful this world is. I am thankful that I was born into this crazy good family.
I have chosen family that I adore. There is a reason that they were chosen - they fit. And they bring a whole new look at life into this crazy group of people - my uncle's family, my mom's fourteenth cousins twice removed, the people that make the holiday so special.
I have children and a husband who, despite my best efforts, love me and need me. They smile when they see me. They kiss me goodnight at the end of the day. They leap into my arms when I return home from work - well the children leap, Daddyman just sort of collapses.
We don't have banquets, but we have more than enough food on our table. We don't have the fanciest, latest fashions, but we have all of the clothing we need to keep us warm. We don't live in splendor, but we have a comfortable home to shelter us from the elements. We have what we need and some of what we want. Most importantly, we have the love and respect of those around us.
I am so very thankful to be a part of this crazy wonderful world.
I wouldn't change a single thing about it, today. I'd like to hold onto this warm feeling forever, capture the moment for tomorrow when I feel lonely or forgotten.
And so, I wish for all of you, peace and a sense of belonging in your lives. I wish for you joy and laughter. I wish for you music and improvised "Amens." I wish for you happiness. And most of all, I wish this for you: That you have the time to look around at where you are and know that this world is a wonderful place because you are in it.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
getting slightly stale and setting up
Sunday: What am I thankful for today? My husband's french toast.
It was the very first meal that he made for me when we were dating.
It is our go-to meal in a hurry.
It is the best comfort food ever.
The kids love it.
Today after church, Daddyman dropped us off at home before he ran to the grocery store to pick up some staples and the fixin's for this morning's meal. The littles "quickly" changed out of church clothes and into play clothes, then Daddyman returned and got crackin'.
The whole French Toast Process apparently involves a certain amount of wait time. The bread has to "get slightly stale." (Is that possible in 10-20 minutes?) Then, the egg batter has to "set up."
He throws those words around like a real chef. All it really means is this:
Getting Slightly Stale
Yes, I know this sounds like my biological clock. It's not. Nor is it the time it takes me to fall asleep after a couple of beers. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to put on lounging clothes and return to the kitchen.
The real time version of Getting Slightly Stale goes like this:
Daddyman takes the cheap brown bread out of it's plastic bag and slaps it on the cutting board, fanning the slices apart slightly. This both allows the air to circulate around each flimsy slice AND give the illusion that he actually bought a great loaf of bread that he has sliced himself.
Setting up
Yep. I know that it sounds like a sports term or perhaps what happens when one is getting ready for a blind date. No. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to go to the bathroom. This time is variable. Naturally.
The real time version of Setting Up goes like this:
Daddyman, now in comfortable clothes, realizes that
1.) his bladder has been loosened from the grip that his belt held.
2.) No one is actually in the bathroom (a rarity in a house of all girls.), and
3.) He just bought the Sunday paper, and he'd rather read it all before anyone else in his family pulls it apart, section by section, with sticky fingers.
And away he goes! Again, I say - the time it takes for Daddyman's French Toast to Set Up is variable and may depend more on the amount of beer consumed the night before than the amount of time the egg needs to combine with the milk and cinnamon.
Please know this. I am not complaining. Remember, I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast. I am only mock him slightly - after all, I know a good thing when I see it. That, and it's the only meal that either one of us makes that the Littles are certain to eat.
And so, today I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast.
It was the very first meal that he made for me when we were dating.
It is our go-to meal in a hurry.
It is the best comfort food ever.
The kids love it.
Today after church, Daddyman dropped us off at home before he ran to the grocery store to pick up some staples and the fixin's for this morning's meal. The littles "quickly" changed out of church clothes and into play clothes, then Daddyman returned and got crackin'.
The whole French Toast Process apparently involves a certain amount of wait time. The bread has to "get slightly stale." (Is that possible in 10-20 minutes?) Then, the egg batter has to "set up."
He throws those words around like a real chef. All it really means is this:
Getting Slightly Stale
Yes, I know this sounds like my biological clock. It's not. Nor is it the time it takes me to fall asleep after a couple of beers. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to put on lounging clothes and return to the kitchen.
The real time version of Getting Slightly Stale goes like this:
Daddyman takes the cheap brown bread out of it's plastic bag and slaps it on the cutting board, fanning the slices apart slightly. This both allows the air to circulate around each flimsy slice AND give the illusion that he actually bought a great loaf of bread that he has sliced himself.
Setting up
Yep. I know that it sounds like a sports term or perhaps what happens when one is getting ready for a blind date. No. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to go to the bathroom. This time is variable. Naturally.
The real time version of Setting Up goes like this:
Daddyman, now in comfortable clothes, realizes that
1.) his bladder has been loosened from the grip that his belt held.
2.) No one is actually in the bathroom (a rarity in a house of all girls.), and
3.) He just bought the Sunday paper, and he'd rather read it all before anyone else in his family pulls it apart, section by section, with sticky fingers.
And away he goes! Again, I say - the time it takes for Daddyman's French Toast to Set Up is variable and may depend more on the amount of beer consumed the night before than the amount of time the egg needs to combine with the milk and cinnamon.
Please know this. I am not complaining. Remember, I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast. I am only mock him slightly - after all, I know a good thing when I see it. That, and it's the only meal that either one of us makes that the Littles are certain to eat.
And so, today I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
standard princess features
I am thankful that Yaya has found a new love - the pretty princess dress.
Ah, now simmer down there, ladies. Read on before you judge. This is not about creating the perfect little lady...
There isn't one favorite princess dress yet, but it must have a few standard princess features:
A bow that ties in the back.
A puffy skirt, preferably floor length.
Shiny fabric.
Sparkles.
It doesn't matter if this dress is clean. It doesn't matter if it is a hand-me-down. What does matter is this: It must fit over whatever outfit Yaya is wearing at the time. (ie, pajamas, tights and a turtleneck, swimming suit, puffer coat...)
Given the chance, Yaya will add onto this gorgeous outfit with a pair of sparkly shoes as well as lots and lots of make-up. She loves to decorate her body and face with color. It's not a girly thing, it's a color thing.
Last night, Yaya climbed into the bottom bunk of the bed that she shares with Noni. She was wearing her zip-up, fuzzy, footed pajamas. Over which she wore, an amethist satin and black velvet holiday dress complete with beaded cumberbun/sash. On her tiny toddler feet, she crammed her silver sparkly shoes - over the footed jammies. She wore her hair piled high on her head, with several silver clips randomly squashed in her hair. She had applied a fresh coat of make-up - purple powder on her lips, glittery lip gloss on her cheeks and eyes and bright blue powder accenting her delicate eyebrows. As she fell asleep, I gazed over at her sweaty little self and fell in love all over again.
This morning, she refused to change clothes. She is child #3, and I have learned to pick my battles. This is not a fight I choose, so she is still wearing this whole ensemble... through playdough and oatmeal and applesauce and peter honey. Her clips are matted and her purple powdered lips are sticky and she is gorgeous!
I am thankful that my Yaya has not been met with the disdainful look that causes her self-doubt. I am thankful that she feels beautiful all on her own, she does not rely on the comments or approving looks of others. I am thankful that she boldly goes out into this world wearing something that she loves and feels so good in that she simply has to dance. And I am thankful to be able to dance that happy dance with her.
Yaya and mommy with beautiful lavender lips.
This is what Yaya thinks is appropriate travel attire. I understand it, somehow.
Ah, now simmer down there, ladies. Read on before you judge. This is not about creating the perfect little lady...
There isn't one favorite princess dress yet, but it must have a few standard princess features:
A bow that ties in the back.
A puffy skirt, preferably floor length.
Shiny fabric.
Sparkles.
It doesn't matter if this dress is clean. It doesn't matter if it is a hand-me-down. What does matter is this: It must fit over whatever outfit Yaya is wearing at the time. (ie, pajamas, tights and a turtleneck, swimming suit, puffer coat...)
Given the chance, Yaya will add onto this gorgeous outfit with a pair of sparkly shoes as well as lots and lots of make-up. She loves to decorate her body and face with color. It's not a girly thing, it's a color thing.
Last night, Yaya climbed into the bottom bunk of the bed that she shares with Noni. She was wearing her zip-up, fuzzy, footed pajamas. Over which she wore, an amethist satin and black velvet holiday dress complete with beaded cumberbun/sash. On her tiny toddler feet, she crammed her silver sparkly shoes - over the footed jammies. She wore her hair piled high on her head, with several silver clips randomly squashed in her hair. She had applied a fresh coat of make-up - purple powder on her lips, glittery lip gloss on her cheeks and eyes and bright blue powder accenting her delicate eyebrows. As she fell asleep, I gazed over at her sweaty little self and fell in love all over again.
This morning, she refused to change clothes. She is child #3, and I have learned to pick my battles. This is not a fight I choose, so she is still wearing this whole ensemble... through playdough and oatmeal and applesauce and peter honey. Her clips are matted and her purple powdered lips are sticky and she is gorgeous!
I am thankful that my Yaya has not been met with the disdainful look that causes her self-doubt. I am thankful that she feels beautiful all on her own, she does not rely on the comments or approving looks of others. I am thankful that she boldly goes out into this world wearing something that she loves and feels so good in that she simply has to dance. And I am thankful to be able to dance that happy dance with her.
Yaya and mommy with beautiful lavender lips.
This is what Yaya thinks is appropriate travel attire. I understand it, somehow.
a month of thankfulness
November seems to be the month to write. A lot.
I could never keep up. I wish that I could. I applaud those of you who do.
Instead, I have given myself the challenge of writing about the things that I am thankful for.
It seems that life these days is filled up with more and faster and gimme gimme gimme and I want and it's not my fault and they started it - both at home and in the world at large...
To combat some of this, our family has started a tradition at dinner time of sharing
something about the day, and sharing something that we are thankful for. Usually, it's just the common things that we are thankful for: a lunch packed for school by dad who puts in a note. Or the beans that I don't have to eat because mom said I only have to eat as many beans as I am years old. I can get 5 in one bite!
Sometimes, it's a little more profound:
I am thankful for my sister who read Pinkalicious to me when I asked her to.
I am thankful for Coco and Zoe.
I am thankful for laughing.
I am thankful that my family loves me even when I shout. Alot.
So, what are you thankful for?
I could never keep up. I wish that I could. I applaud those of you who do.
Instead, I have given myself the challenge of writing about the things that I am thankful for.
It seems that life these days is filled up with more and faster and gimme gimme gimme and I want and it's not my fault and they started it - both at home and in the world at large...
To combat some of this, our family has started a tradition at dinner time of sharing
something about the day, and sharing something that we are thankful for. Usually, it's just the common things that we are thankful for: a lunch packed for school by dad who puts in a note. Or the beans that I don't have to eat because mom said I only have to eat as many beans as I am years old. I can get 5 in one bite!
Sometimes, it's a little more profound:
I am thankful for my sister who read Pinkalicious to me when I asked her to.
I am thankful for Coco and Zoe.
I am thankful for laughing.
I am thankful that my family loves me even when I shout. Alot.
So, what are you thankful for?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
It's my birthday!
YEEE HAW!
It's my birthday! And I am doing a happy dance. I am off from school for 2 whole weeks - do I need to explain the sheer joy I feel in that simple thing along? My husband has planned a party for tonight - I think. I'm pretty certain. We're doing something. He won't tell me what it is. All of my friends have dropped off the face of the earth or are acting particularly odd. As long as it involves a martini, it's all good.
Then, after a night of wild behavior - which of course I will share with all of you. I have no shame - I am packing a suitcase for everyone in my family (because, apparently, only moms know how to pack suitcases), we're loadin' up the family vacation truckster and headin' off the the Wisconsin Dells. In November. A vacation destination for sunny midwestern summers. Lots of out door water parks and not much else. It's going to be very very quiet!
YEEE HAW!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
guilt shmilt
I am sick and tired of feeling guilty.
About what? you ask.
Well, about everything.
It's pathetic. Really.
OK, fine. I'll list them for you, if you insist.
I am tired of feeling guilty about eating that last chocolate chip cookie. You know. The one I'd promised to save for Noni. The one that I will look into her little blue eyes and tell a bold faced lie to - Huh. No, honey, I guess that I don't know what cookie you are talking about. Maybe, your dad ate it...? - The cookie that I ate after 9:00 PM. After I'd already brushed my teeth. After I'd let the dog out and after told Daddyman that I was going up to bed because, Oh, I am so tired... The cookie that I was certain that he'd eat if I didn't get to it first. So, I got there first. And I ate it. In two bites.
Yea. That cookie.
I am tired of feeling guilty about not raking the leaves off of my lawn. I know that the leaves will give my grass some strange mold. I know that my neighbors think it looks trashy. I know that next spring it's going to be impossible to have a nice looking yard - but, heck, I've already got 3 kids and a dog who poops everywhere. The dog. Not the kids. That I know of - why should I even bother trying? So what if the kids would love to jump into the pile so mommy can rake them up again so they can jump in it again so mommy has to rake them up AGAIN. I don't really care. I call it yard art. Get used to it.
I am tired of feeling guilty for telling my girls to keep their rooms tidy, when all I've done is shove every piece of clothing I've ever owned into my closet and then wedged the door closed. You know, the 18 black sweaters that look exactly the same to Daddyman - How could you possibly need another black sweater? Don't you already have like, 20? - No. More like 18. But I can't seem to find one right now. So what if they are in a jumble in the bottom of the closet under the muddy boots that I wore to the pony ranch last weekend Yes, the same closet that I finally had to put a curtain on in place of a solid door because I couldn't lock the avalanche of black sweaters inside! Yes, the same mountain of clothes that the dog and cat sleep on. At the same time. Yes, I know that they hate each other. They can't even find each other once they've entered my closet. Yes, the same closet that the girls quit playing in because they'd get hurt falling over the 24 pairs of black shoes that never found their way into the boxes on the shelves again. I still think that the girls should keep their rooms tidy. It will help when they grow up and have to keep their own homes tidy (HAHAHAHAHA - what a stupid 'girl' thing to say. I promise, I would say the same thing if I had a son.) Can't you see what keeping my childhood bedroom neat and tidy has done for me as an adult?
I'm tired of feeling guilty about putting the milk in the cupboard. Instead of the fridge. Several times. I've obviously got other things to think about. Like all of these feelings of guilt.
I'm tire of feeling guilty about not taking my dog for a walk. Ever. Yes, the dog who looks at me with big, dopey eyes. The same dog that sleeps on my bed every night. Actually, he doesn't sleep as much as snore himself awake over and over and over again. That's how I know that he needs to go for a daily walk. He has sleep Apnea. How do I know that? you ask. Because he's fat. Because I don't take him for a walk. Because I don't own a pair of sneakers and thus, I am fat, too. So just one more thing to feel guilty about. I could just get the poor fat dog a Breathe Right Strip, but I don't think they come in Black Lab. I know they come in clear petite. It's the only think petite on me and I don't mind bragging. I use them every night. Did I mention I need to buy sneakers. But I can't just go out and buy myself a pair of sneakers because I feel the weight of so much guilt resting on my poor, tired shoulders that I can't hoist my big, fat ass off the couch to go an buy myself a pair of sneakers because who can justify $150 bucks on a pair of shoes just to walk the dog when I have 3 little kids who need to eat and I, obviously, need another black sweater to try to camouflage my fat ass.
Oh crap.
All of this guilt. I'm going to go hunt for another chocolate chip cookie.
Don't tell anyone!
About what? you ask.
Well, about everything.
It's pathetic. Really.
OK, fine. I'll list them for you, if you insist.
I am tired of feeling guilty about eating that last chocolate chip cookie. You know. The one I'd promised to save for Noni. The one that I will look into her little blue eyes and tell a bold faced lie to - Huh. No, honey, I guess that I don't know what cookie you are talking about. Maybe, your dad ate it...? - The cookie that I ate after 9:00 PM. After I'd already brushed my teeth. After I'd let the dog out and after told Daddyman that I was going up to bed because, Oh, I am so tired... The cookie that I was certain that he'd eat if I didn't get to it first. So, I got there first. And I ate it. In two bites.
Yea. That cookie.
I am tired of feeling guilty about not raking the leaves off of my lawn. I know that the leaves will give my grass some strange mold. I know that my neighbors think it looks trashy. I know that next spring it's going to be impossible to have a nice looking yard - but, heck, I've already got 3 kids and a dog who poops everywhere. The dog. Not the kids. That I know of - why should I even bother trying? So what if the kids would love to jump into the pile so mommy can rake them up again so they can jump in it again so mommy has to rake them up AGAIN. I don't really care. I call it yard art. Get used to it.
I am tired of feeling guilty for telling my girls to keep their rooms tidy, when all I've done is shove every piece of clothing I've ever owned into my closet and then wedged the door closed. You know, the 18 black sweaters that look exactly the same to Daddyman - How could you possibly need another black sweater? Don't you already have like, 20? - No. More like 18. But I can't seem to find one right now. So what if they are in a jumble in the bottom of the closet under the muddy boots that I wore to the pony ranch last weekend Yes, the same closet that I finally had to put a curtain on in place of a solid door because I couldn't lock the avalanche of black sweaters inside! Yes, the same mountain of clothes that the dog and cat sleep on. At the same time. Yes, I know that they hate each other. They can't even find each other once they've entered my closet. Yes, the same closet that the girls quit playing in because they'd get hurt falling over the 24 pairs of black shoes that never found their way into the boxes on the shelves again. I still think that the girls should keep their rooms tidy. It will help when they grow up and have to keep their own homes tidy (HAHAHAHAHA - what a stupid 'girl' thing to say. I promise, I would say the same thing if I had a son.) Can't you see what keeping my childhood bedroom neat and tidy has done for me as an adult?
I'm tired of feeling guilty about putting the milk in the cupboard. Instead of the fridge. Several times. I've obviously got other things to think about. Like all of these feelings of guilt.
I'm tire of feeling guilty about not taking my dog for a walk. Ever. Yes, the dog who looks at me with big, dopey eyes. The same dog that sleeps on my bed every night. Actually, he doesn't sleep as much as snore himself awake over and over and over again. That's how I know that he needs to go for a daily walk. He has sleep Apnea. How do I know that? you ask. Because he's fat. Because I don't take him for a walk. Because I don't own a pair of sneakers and thus, I am fat, too. So just one more thing to feel guilty about. I could just get the poor fat dog a Breathe Right Strip, but I don't think they come in Black Lab. I know they come in clear petite. It's the only think petite on me and I don't mind bragging. I use them every night. Did I mention I need to buy sneakers. But I can't just go out and buy myself a pair of sneakers because I feel the weight of so much guilt resting on my poor, tired shoulders that I can't hoist my big, fat ass off the couch to go an buy myself a pair of sneakers because who can justify $150 bucks on a pair of shoes just to walk the dog when I have 3 little kids who need to eat and I, obviously, need another black sweater to try to camouflage my fat ass.
Oh crap.
All of this guilt. I'm going to go hunt for another chocolate chip cookie.
Don't tell anyone!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
a complete guide to singin' the blues
My Dad sent this to me. Maybe you've seen it. Maybe not. Made me laugh out loud. Thought I'd share it with you. Hope you like it, too.
A BLUES PRIMER
1. Most Blues begin with: "Woke up this morning..."
2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, unless you stick something nasty in the next line like, "I got a good woman, with the meanest face in town."
3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes, "sort of":
"Got a good woman with the meanest face in town. Yes, I got a good woman with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weighs 500 pound."
4. The Blues is not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in a ditch... Ain't no way out.
5. Blues cars: Chevys, Fords, old Cadillacs and broken-down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or sport utility vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the Blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.
6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues; they ain't fixin' to die yet. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shot a man in Memphis.
7. Blues can take place in New York City but not in Hawaii or anywhere in Canada. Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probably just clinical depression. Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City are still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the Blues in any place that doesn't get rain.
8. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall; the lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot and sit by the dumpster.
9. Good places for the Blues:
a. Highway
b. Jailhouse
c. Empty bed
d. Bottom of a whiskey glass
10. Bad places for the Blues:
a. Nordstrom's.
b. Gallery openings.
c. Ivy League institutions.
d. Golf courses.
11. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be an old guy - and you slept in it.
12. Do you have the right to sing the Blues?
Yes, if:
a. You're older than dirt.
b. You're blind.
c. You shot a man in Memphis.
d. You can't be satisfied.
No, if:
a. You have all your teeth.
b. You were once blind but now can see.
c. The man in Memphis lived.
d. You have a 401K or trust fund.
13. Blues is not a matter of color; it's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods cannot sing the Blues. Sonny Liston could have. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the Blues.
14. If you ask for water and your darlin' give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:
a. Cheap wine.
b. Whiskey or bourbon.
c. Muddy water.
d. Black coffee.
The following are not Blues beverages:
a. Perrier.
b. Chardonnay.
c. Snapple.
d. Slim Fast.
15. If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So are the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely on a broken-down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while getting liposuction.
16. Some Blues names for women:
a. Alma.
b. Big Mama.
c. Bessie.
d. Fat River Dumpling.
17. Some Blues names for men:
a. Joe.
b. Willie.
c. Little Willie.
d. Big Willie.
18. Persons with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie, and Heather can't sing the Blues, no matter how many men they shot in Memphis.
19. Make your own Blues name starter kit:
a. Name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, Ugly, etc.)
b. First name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi, etc.)
c. Last name of a President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)
For example: Blind Lime Jefferson, Jakeleg Lemon Johnson or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc. (Well, maybe not "Kiwi.")
20. I don't care how tragic your life: if you own a computer, you cannot sing the Blues.
I'd love to see what kind of blues you all come up with out there in Blog-Land. Of course, that's breaking a few of the Blues Rules... But aren't the blues all about broken rules anyway?
A BLUES PRIMER
1. Most Blues begin with: "Woke up this morning..."
2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, unless you stick something nasty in the next line like, "I got a good woman, with the meanest face in town."
3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes, "sort of":
"Got a good woman with the meanest face in town. Yes, I got a good woman with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weighs 500 pound."
4. The Blues is not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in a ditch... Ain't no way out.
5. Blues cars: Chevys, Fords, old Cadillacs and broken-down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or sport utility vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the Blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.
6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues; they ain't fixin' to die yet. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shot a man in Memphis.
7. Blues can take place in New York City but not in Hawaii or anywhere in Canada. Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probably just clinical depression. Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City are still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the Blues in any place that doesn't get rain.
8. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall; the lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot and sit by the dumpster.
9. Good places for the Blues:
a. Highway
b. Jailhouse
c. Empty bed
d. Bottom of a whiskey glass
10. Bad places for the Blues:
a. Nordstrom's.
b. Gallery openings.
c. Ivy League institutions.
d. Golf courses.
11. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be an old guy - and you slept in it.
12. Do you have the right to sing the Blues?
Yes, if:
a. You're older than dirt.
b. You're blind.
c. You shot a man in Memphis.
d. You can't be satisfied.
No, if:
a. You have all your teeth.
b. You were once blind but now can see.
c. The man in Memphis lived.
d. You have a 401K or trust fund.
13. Blues is not a matter of color; it's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods cannot sing the Blues. Sonny Liston could have. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the Blues.
14. If you ask for water and your darlin' give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:
a. Cheap wine.
b. Whiskey or bourbon.
c. Muddy water.
d. Black coffee.
The following are not Blues beverages:
a. Perrier.
b. Chardonnay.
c. Snapple.
d. Slim Fast.
15. If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So are the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely on a broken-down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while getting liposuction.
16. Some Blues names for women:
a. Alma.
b. Big Mama.
c. Bessie.
d. Fat River Dumpling.
17. Some Blues names for men:
a. Joe.
b. Willie.
c. Little Willie.
d. Big Willie.
18. Persons with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie, and Heather can't sing the Blues, no matter how many men they shot in Memphis.
19. Make your own Blues name starter kit:
a. Name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, Ugly, etc.)
b. First name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi, etc.)
c. Last name of a President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)
For example: Blind Lime Jefferson, Jakeleg Lemon Johnson or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc. (Well, maybe not "Kiwi.")
20. I don't care how tragic your life: if you own a computer, you cannot sing the Blues.
I'd love to see what kind of blues you all come up with out there in Blog-Land. Of course, that's breaking a few of the Blues Rules... But aren't the blues all about broken rules anyway?
Monday, November 5, 2007
she got me!
I've been tagged by Nikki at i, wright and I promised to answer these 5 questions. Beware, there may be more information than you'd care to know about me...
1. I absolutely love… to laugh. My kids make me laugh. My husband makes me laugh. The brilliance of life and this world make me laugh! I am astounded at how wonderful things can be - what a tremendous gift! Basically, I just think that life is too short to be grumpy all of the time. Of course, I get fiercely crabby at times - just ask Daddyman - but I inevitably revert to my lazy state of happiness.
2. I don’t care if… things go wonky. There is not much in this world that can't be made right again. A last minute party, the minor dings and bumps of life, money woes... it all can be solved. I have found that whatever I need will be available when I need it. So, I take a deep breath and move forward.
3. I like to… sing. Loudly. In the privacy of my own home or car. I sing pretty well, but I almost never know the lyrics to popular songs. I just make up my own. It drives most people absolutely bonkers, hence the "in the privacy of ..." My kids even tell me to stop singing.
4. I play…a mean game of poker. I don't know all of the games, but I am a pretty good gambler. Ha!
5. I have a horrible habit of… being late. I don't like being late, it just happens. I get busy doing something else, or that "one more thing before we go." I know that it is completely rude (certainly not my intention), but I get sort of distracted. I think that it's genetic. My parents were never the most timely people as I was growing-up... c'est la vie.
6. I will never… be a stripper. Oh, I kind of like the naughtiness of that idea, but - c'mon - I've got way too many clothes to take off and it sort of ruins the mystique. Besides, I'd get the giggles and ruin the mood.
1. I absolutely love… to laugh. My kids make me laugh. My husband makes me laugh. The brilliance of life and this world make me laugh! I am astounded at how wonderful things can be - what a tremendous gift! Basically, I just think that life is too short to be grumpy all of the time. Of course, I get fiercely crabby at times - just ask Daddyman - but I inevitably revert to my lazy state of happiness.
2. I don’t care if… things go wonky. There is not much in this world that can't be made right again. A last minute party, the minor dings and bumps of life, money woes... it all can be solved. I have found that whatever I need will be available when I need it. So, I take a deep breath and move forward.
3. I like to… sing. Loudly. In the privacy of my own home or car. I sing pretty well, but I almost never know the lyrics to popular songs. I just make up my own. It drives most people absolutely bonkers, hence the "in the privacy of ..." My kids even tell me to stop singing.
4. I play…a mean game of poker. I don't know all of the games, but I am a pretty good gambler. Ha!
5. I have a horrible habit of… being late. I don't like being late, it just happens. I get busy doing something else, or that "one more thing before we go." I know that it is completely rude (certainly not my intention), but I get sort of distracted. I think that it's genetic. My parents were never the most timely people as I was growing-up... c'est la vie.
6. I will never… be a stripper. Oh, I kind of like the naughtiness of that idea, but - c'mon - I've got way too many clothes to take off and it sort of ruins the mystique. Besides, I'd get the giggles and ruin the mood.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
love and pandemonium
Well, we survived the blitz of a dozen or so smallish people that came to celebrate the birth of our dear, sweet Noni. She is six years old. She is a wonderful person - so full of emotion and tenderness and curiosity and humor and... She is simply amazing!
Big sigh.
The Cake:
I happened to mention that I was in search of a cake to fulfill my daughter's wish of having a birthday-wedding cake while I was in the lunchroom at work. I just happened to mention this in front of a woman who is in the process of starting her own catering business. She just happened to offer her services - for a fee. I just happen to think that having someone else bake a baby pink frosted cake with purple fairy dust and a mini-Noni on top, plus a ridiculously rich chocolate cake for the grown-ups AND that same someone will deliver it to my home is totally worth $50!
The kids loved the fairy dust and the mini-Noni. They hated the cake. It was super yummy. What do they know?
The crush:
This is the Fabulous August watching Noni open the present that he brought for her. He is so sweet. The crush is mutual. He smiled and told her that he'd picked out the present himself (a diary with a lock and a gigantic orange daisy ring.) He told his mom that he didn't care if there wasn't even one other boy at Noni's birthday party. (Turns out there were 4 other boys.) He would go to the party because he loves Noni and it was her birthday and she invited him.
Big sigh.
Is it possible to find your soul mate in Kindergarten? Is it too soon to wish that this nice, polite little boy would stay in Noni's life until she's ... 30, so they can get married and love each other forever?
These two just sort of stuck near to each other the whole day. They watched each other play, or played together. They ate cake together and brought each other juice boxes. They were gentle and kind and sort of spoke their own language. It was innocent and lovely. I am so glad that they feel the same thing for each other.
August, the Hero:
When Noni had to wait for her turn at the balloon rocket launcher, August took it upon himself to blow up her balloon with his own breath. Now, if any of you know the balloon rocket toy that I am referring to, you know that blowing up these super long, super skinny balloons is almost impossible for the average joe. Luckily, love knows no bounds. This kids is going to be an awesome trumpet player.
Happiness:
Noni said that the day was perfect. When we were lying in bed tonight, talking about the day - What was the best part of your day? - she said that she thought the day was almost perfect. She was wrapped in that sleepy warm happiness that comes at the end of a good day.
The only things that would have made the day a tiny bit better are
1.) she'd gotten a surprise in the "pass the parcel" game (She got one.) and,
2.) if I had given her another present today (she was gifted a pink Gameboy Advanced and a couple of games at the family party - plus, I think a party counts for something), and
3.) if August had been the first one at the party and the last one to leave.
Big sigh.
It was a great day. I can't believe that she is already 6 years old. It seems like yesterday that she was projectile vomiting across the living room of our haunted bungalow. Ohh, those days have gone by far too quickly.
Random Fabulous Kids at Noni's Fabulous Party:
Red Light, Green Light
Via the Spy
Dino-Boy
Cake, Yuck!
Singing the Song
Big sigh.
The Cake:
I happened to mention that I was in search of a cake to fulfill my daughter's wish of having a birthday-wedding cake while I was in the lunchroom at work. I just happened to mention this in front of a woman who is in the process of starting her own catering business. She just happened to offer her services - for a fee. I just happen to think that having someone else bake a baby pink frosted cake with purple fairy dust and a mini-Noni on top, plus a ridiculously rich chocolate cake for the grown-ups AND that same someone will deliver it to my home is totally worth $50!
The kids loved the fairy dust and the mini-Noni. They hated the cake. It was super yummy. What do they know?
The crush:
This is the Fabulous August watching Noni open the present that he brought for her. He is so sweet. The crush is mutual. He smiled and told her that he'd picked out the present himself (a diary with a lock and a gigantic orange daisy ring.) He told his mom that he didn't care if there wasn't even one other boy at Noni's birthday party. (Turns out there were 4 other boys.) He would go to the party because he loves Noni and it was her birthday and she invited him.
Big sigh.
Is it possible to find your soul mate in Kindergarten? Is it too soon to wish that this nice, polite little boy would stay in Noni's life until she's ... 30, so they can get married and love each other forever?
These two just sort of stuck near to each other the whole day. They watched each other play, or played together. They ate cake together and brought each other juice boxes. They were gentle and kind and sort of spoke their own language. It was innocent and lovely. I am so glad that they feel the same thing for each other.
August, the Hero:
When Noni had to wait for her turn at the balloon rocket launcher, August took it upon himself to blow up her balloon with his own breath. Now, if any of you know the balloon rocket toy that I am referring to, you know that blowing up these super long, super skinny balloons is almost impossible for the average joe. Luckily, love knows no bounds. This kids is going to be an awesome trumpet player.
Happiness:
Noni said that the day was perfect. When we were lying in bed tonight, talking about the day - What was the best part of your day? - she said that she thought the day was almost perfect. She was wrapped in that sleepy warm happiness that comes at the end of a good day.
The only things that would have made the day a tiny bit better are
1.) she'd gotten a surprise in the "pass the parcel" game (She got one.) and,
2.) if I had given her another present today (she was gifted a pink Gameboy Advanced and a couple of games at the family party - plus, I think a party counts for something), and
3.) if August had been the first one at the party and the last one to leave.
Big sigh.
It was a great day. I can't believe that she is already 6 years old. It seems like yesterday that she was projectile vomiting across the living room of our haunted bungalow. Ohh, those days have gone by far too quickly.
Random Fabulous Kids at Noni's Fabulous Party:
Red Light, Green Light
Via the Spy
Dino-Boy
Cake, Yuck!
Singing the Song
Thursday, November 1, 2007
sugar candied violet
OK. So, Noni's Birthday Whirl has gone really well... so far. She is so positive and happy and exuberant! We had the family party tonight. Oma and Papa went out to eat with our family. Noni got to choose the restaurant. She choose Old Country Buffet. Yack. But it's her birthday, and in our house, you can choose the place to eat and no one can say no. So... I think her night was sent over the top when the O.C. Bee was there. She ran up to The Bee and hugged him/her. It was like a reunion of long lost soul mates. I thought it was slightly frightening, but I am afraid of people in masks and body puppet costumes. I kept my distance, smiling and waving from a good 10 feet away. Then I got the giggles thinking about The O.C.Bee with O.C.D. Poor bee gets hugged by sticky, messy little kids who step on his/her shoes - and then runs to the bathroom for an antenna washing ritual...
This weekend is the big cake bash with all of the buddies. August is coming, too. I'll post pictures. We'll all be as fancy as we can be, I guess. Anyone have any good games for Kindergarten parties? Remember, it's a co-ed party. And, no, it's not a sleep-over!
The day has gone great so far but Noni has had way too much sugar. All of my kids have had too much sugar. Every child in a 20 block radius is hopped up on sugar, so calm it is not. My head is buzzing, my heart is pounding - I am feelin' the stress, and the results of too much sugar. So, to escape and kind of talk myself down a little, I did a little blog gazing. (It's like virtual yoga!) I stumbled upon this at Hiccup's blog, and gave it a whirl. Totally self-indulgent on my daughters birthday, I know. But heck, I can celebrate the fact that I carried this child into the world and have managed not to wreck her - yet.
Here's a question to all of you out there that are dealing with children and Halloween Candy - do you let your kids be the boss of their own candy or do you ration it? Was it the candy policy the same when you were a child, or are you doing things differently than your parents did when it comes to the Halloween Candy Control?
This weekend is the big cake bash with all of the buddies. August is coming, too. I'll post pictures. We'll all be as fancy as we can be, I guess. Anyone have any good games for Kindergarten parties? Remember, it's a co-ed party. And, no, it's not a sleep-over!
The day has gone great so far but Noni has had way too much sugar. All of my kids have had too much sugar. Every child in a 20 block radius is hopped up on sugar, so calm it is not. My head is buzzing, my heart is pounding - I am feelin' the stress, and the results of too much sugar. So, to escape and kind of talk myself down a little, I did a little blog gazing. (It's like virtual yoga!) I stumbled upon this at Hiccup's blog, and gave it a whirl. Totally self-indulgent on my daughters birthday, I know. But heck, I can celebrate the fact that I carried this child into the world and have managed not to wreck her - yet.
Here's a question to all of you out there that are dealing with children and Halloween Candy - do you let your kids be the boss of their own candy or do you ration it? Was it the candy policy the same when you were a child, or are you doing things differently than your parents did when it comes to the Halloween Candy Control?
#EE82EE |
Your dominant hues are red and blue. You're confident and like showing people new ideas. You play well with others and can be very influential if you want to be. Your saturation level is lower than average - You don't stress out over things and don't understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything. |
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